Captive Bride 2; Daughter of Sparta

by Andromeda

  With a sigh, she stood up from her desk and walked out to the window, looking out of it. While the news from Matthias should have made her happy, she was a bit nervous, as her mother had summoned her to talk about something important: her marriage proposals.

  She had gotten a lot of them, now that she was 17, but the only one she truly wanted was from Abeeku. They were more in love than ever, yet they were careful, with Matthias’s warning about the council looking at her like she was a piece of meat, to be used how they wish. What they forgot to realize was that she was the daughter of Zenobia, the daughter of a queen. She already had to fight them several times over minor things; she wasn’t going to let them rule her life.

  *******

  Philomena fidgeted slightly as she stood in front of her mother’s chambers. She knew that this shouldn’t be, yet every time she got summoned to face her mother, the childhood feelings returned. But she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and pushed the doors open to walk inside.

  Zenobia sat in front of the fireplace, her hounds at her feet, asleep. For a moment, Philomena stood back, watching her mother stare into the flames. It was a cool night, and both women were wearing gowns made of thicker materials and fur around the sleeves and neckline to keep warm. When she heard the door open, Zenobia turned her head and looked at her daughter.

  It was like looking at a younger version of herself, though Philomena had the green eyes of her father, not Zenobia’s silver. For a moment, Zenobia wondered what her life would have been like if her people hadn’t been slaughtered, if she had stayed in Ethiopia. Yet, the past is the past for a reason; she couldn’t linger on it. So, she cleared her throat, and nodded for her daughter to take the seat across from her.

  Philomena obeyed, and even accepted the goblet of warmed wine that was offered. “I am thinking…you didn’t just summon me to gossip over the fireplace,” she said.

  Zenobia smiled ruefully. “Quite the observation, my child. You are correct. I haven’t just summoned you here to gossip over the fireplace. Instead, I am here to talk to you about your upcoming marriage.”

  Philomena swallowed slowly and then nodded. “C…Continue…” Her heart thudded in her chest as she wished with all her might that her mother would say the words she longed to hear.

  “In five years time, you will marry King Darius of Persia,” Zenobia said without ceremony.

  The goblet dropped from Philomena’s hands, shattering onto the floor. The room seemed to spin as her heart froze in her chest. All the blood drained from her face; her eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “C…Can you repeat…that, please?” she choked.

  “You will be marrying King Darius of Persia when you are 21 years of age,” Zenobia repeated.

  “Why?” Philomena gasped. “Why me? Why not Zeta?”

  “Zeta is too young,” Zenobia answered. “And Darius needs a woman now. In five years, you will be in the prime age for childbearing.”

  “How could you do this to me?” Philomena asked. “He’s the enemy!”

  “He’s a man that needs to be tamed,” Zenobia retorted. “And you are the woman to do it. Not only that, this will seal an allegiance between our two kingdoms and stop all this petty warring.”

  “B…But…” Philomena stammered. “I…I’m to marry Abeeku…”

  “Who told you that?” Zenobia asked.

  “You said he could court me…” Philomena reminded her.

  “Did the words ‘you may marry’ ever leave my lips?” Zenobia asked, already knowing that Philomena knew she never said such a thing.

  “N…No…” Philomena whispered.

  Zenobia sighed, as she saw her daughter’s face had fallen and she looked like the world had come crashing down. “Mena, look at me,” she commanded.

  Slowly, Philomena raised her eyes obediently. “Yes?”

  “I didn’t choose your father,” Zenobia said. “How we met was…very inconvenient, yet we grew to love each other.”

  “But I know I won’t love Darius!” Philomena snapped. “The boy is childish and is nothing like Papa!”

  “No man will ever be like your father,” Zenobia said, trying to calm her down. “He was one of a kind, and it took a while, but I’m sure you’ll grow to love Darius the same way I grew to love Alexander.”

  “No, I won’t!” Philomena cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I won’t ever love him that way! The man I already love is Abeeku!”

  Zenobia stood up, but Philomena had already stood and led, rushing out of the room, crying as if her heart had been torn out. Zenobia sighed and collapsed into the chair behind her, rubbing her temples.

  She knew that telling Philomena was going to be a hard step, yet the girl had to know sooner or later. Zenobia liked Abeeku, she truly did, but he wasn’t king consort material, and the council wouldn’t accept him. They would want someone of royal blood to rule, as well as sealing an allegiance.

  She didn’t want to lose her daughter, however, as she knew that Philomena was both headstrong and passionate, just like her father. While she looked like her, Philomena was Alexander in spirit.

  “My love…” she whispered to the empty room. “How I miss you. I could use your help in this…”

  *******

  Darius glared at his mother, fury he’d never known before rising within him. “You did what?!” he roared. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

  Rhodogune looked up with disinterest. “Oh, stop acting like a drama king. You knew this was going to happen sooner than later.”

  “But to some pompous, spoiled little princess from Sparta?!” he demanded. “I’m surprised if she really is a woman, as you know the tales of their kind!”

  “Darius, you need a strong woman by your side; what is stronger than a Spartan Princess?” Rhodogune asked.

  “I don’t want her!” Darius yelled. “I’ve told you that over and over again!”

  “You will accept her,” Rhodogune said firmly. Standing up, she glared at her son. “This is the best thing to happen, as it will bind both kingdoms together and stop all this useless arguing! We need peace! This marriage will seal it together! For once in your life, think of your people! Do you think they want to continue with this petty fighting?!”

  Darius wanted to scream, he wanted to rage, yet deep down, he knew that secretly she was right. He knew that he had to put his people first; he knew that he needed to grow up and be the king he should be. And he didn’t care.

  Chapter Eight

  Dorian watched as Abeeku stroked Philomena’s arm, listening to her quiet sobs. The whole palace knew by now that she was to marry Darius of the Persians. Most were happy with the allegiance; others weren’t as they didn’t think a Persian was worth a Daughter of Sparta. Especially a royal one.

  As he watched them, a sudden idea came into his head that made Dorian grin. Most marriage contracts barely lasted a year, two if the people were lucky. Why would Sparta send its beloved daughter to another land, to a foreigner for a husband, when there was a pure, worthy Spartan within the land who had royal blood in his veins also? The man in mind: Dorian, himself. The idea was perfect; he would get the throne of Sparta and a beautiful wife to match. And was Philomena beautiful…

  She was 18 now, of prime marriageable age and the thought of having her in his bed made his loins quiver. He would be lying if he said he didn’t desire her. She was tall, athletically built, but not as muscled as her mother as Philomena preferred running and archery over swords. He would be lying if he said he didn’t dream of her. The last dream he had was of her laying naked under a thin sheet of fabric, the roundness of her breasts showing, her long black hair fanned out on the pillow. She’d call to him, yet when he would reach her, she’d disappear and he’d wake up feeling sexually frustrated and needing a release. It was then that he’d call a servant girl, but he would imagine her to be Philomena.

  This was quickly becoming an obsession, a slightly unhealthy obsession, but Dorian didn’t care. Philomen
a was the prize any man would want, and he was going to make sure that she would be his. He didn’t care what he had to do. True, he hardly knew the girl, but lots of people hardly knew their mates in life; however, he had an advantage in being in the palace.

  He had to tread carefully, mainly because of Abeeku, who had been particularly attentive to the girl ever since the word had spread. He hadn’t had the girl yet, Dorian knew that, but they were close to it. While he secretly was angry knowing that another man would take her maidenhead; if she got with child, then that would prove that she was fertile as he needed a fertile bride. As for the man, Dorian knew that an ‘accident’ could befall him, when he was sure that Abeeku had outlived his usefulness; he just didn’t know how…for now.

  He turned away from the window and walked back into the palace, his fertile mind working.

  *******

  Abeeku watched as Philomena pulled her arrow back and released, missing the mark by several inches. He frowned, upset at how she was acting. He was the first to know of her marriage contract and he felt like such a fool. He knew that the queen had let him court her, but he really wished that she would have let him marry Philomena. She was his world. He knew that she would be his from a young age and the thought of another holding her in his arms infuriated him. There was no way that he’d give her up without a fight.

  He’d been watching Philomena lately and hated that she seemed to be a former shadow of herself. He needed a way to bring her back to her normal, bright self, and he’d be damned if that Persian king thought that he would turn her into his little slave. Philomena was a strong woman and she needed a strong man by her side; he was going to fight for her.

  Later that night, he sent word that he wished to see her and when she came to his chambers, his heart broke when he saw the shadows under her eyes and how she walked as if she had lead in her sandals. She looked as if she had lost her father again, and it annoyed Abeeku to no end that she felt as if her world was ending.

  “Mena…” he whispered softly. “Please…”

  “What is it that you wanted, Abeeku?” she whispered, rubbing her eyes that were puffy from crying.

  “I wanted to see you,” he said, tenderly grasping her shoulders. “I needed to see you…”

  “We can’t do this anymore, Abeeku,” she said in a monotone. “We can’t see each other. I’m to be married to another…”

  “Do you think I give a damn about that?” he said firmly, gripping her tighter. “You are mine, Mena. Do you hear me? Mine!”

  “Abeeku…” she had begun to say, but he cut her off by pressing his lips to hers.

  This wasn’t like a normal kiss; this was a kiss to claim her, a kiss to make her believe that she was his. She felt her blood begin to warm as his kisses became more possessive, more desire filled. A low moan rumbled in her throat and Philomena allowed him to pull her into his chambers.

  Her hands moved on their own, exploring his body and tugging at his clothes; wanting, no, needing to touch his skin. Abeeku laid her on the bed and pulled away briefly to take off his linen shirt. Philomena reached out and caressed the hard muscles, roaming her hands over the body that she had loved since she was a young girl.

  Reaching up, Abeeku pulled out the pin that held her hair up, allowing the long curls to cascade down. Grabbing a handful, he kissed them, inhaling their scent before his lips looked for hers. Once found, he gently sucked on her lower one, asking for entrance, and once she parted them, he slid his tongue to meets hers.

  Philomena groaned and arched her body up, pressing herself against him; wanting, no, needing his touch. Her hands roamed over his powerful back, feeling his rippling muscles flex under her hands.

  “We can’t…” she whispered between kisses. “He is to come within the month…”

  “I don’t give a damn about him,” he whispered hoarsely, his hands working to pull up her dress. “I will have you first. I will show you what love truly is…”

  She pulled at his own leggings, tugging at the strings that kept them together, but a knock on the door made her freeze.

  “My lord,” a voice said on the other side. “Lord Srax is asking for you; he needs your help in something.”

  “Tell him I’m busy!” Abeeku growled.

  “Go…” Philomena whispered. “Another time?”

  Abeeku scowled. He wanted to finish what they had started, yet he knew he shouldn’t force her either. Also, he didn’t want their first time together to be rushed. He wanted to worship her, he wanted to show her what love truly was; he wanted to give her the ultimate pleasure before that pompous king got his hands on her.

  So, he nodded and pulled away. Tying the strings of his leggings, he looked into her eyes. “Soon.”

  “Soon,” she repeated.

  Chapter Nine

  The entire palace was abuzz in preparations for King Darius’s arrival. He was set to arrive on the eve of Philomena’s 19th birthday; plans were made for the grand event. There would be hunts, hawks, banquets, and more; royalty from far and wide were coming to celebrate the day of Philomena’s birth. Several people also hoped that this time would prove vital for the king and princess to get to know each other; to form a bond that would last. However, not everyone wanted this; the key players being Philomena, of course, Abeeku and Dorian, who had his own personal agenda that no one knew of.

  Philomena hated what was to come, as she vaguely remembered the king from the last time she saw him. Not that she cared really. She didn’t want to get to know him; she already hated him. She wanted to marry Abeeku and no other; yet, for the sake of politics, she must sacrifice her heart for her people. The only good thing to her that would come out of this would be Matthias’s return.

  How she missed her brother, and she wondered how life would be for he and Adonia. His letters hinted at a big surprise, but the type of surprise he might have escaped her. But then again, she wouldn’t put it past Matthias to plan something big and over the top; after all, it would be his 19th birthday, too.

  The day before Darius was set to arrive, Philomena sat in her mother’s chambers, looking over the dresses she was supposed to wear. The dressmaker presented each one as if they were works of art, statues made in the likenesses of the gods; things of high value and works to be admired by all.

  In reality, Philomena was only there because Zenobia made her. If she had her way, she’d be cuddled in Abeeku’s arms, needing his touch before she met the man that was to be her captor forever. They still hadn’t joined together as one yet, as Zenobia had kept them apart. Not long ago, she called them both into her chambers and told them in uncertain terms to stay away from the other. She didn’t want the Persian ambassadors thinking that she had a lover…yet. The last part of the conversation confused them both, but they said nothing, and only nodded their heads.

  It’d been torture for her, though, as Philomena missed the feeling of his lips on hers. Yet, she knew that this was only to be a temporary show; afterwards, she would do whatever it took to break up this allegiance.

  “What do you think of the blue and silver dress?” Zenobia asked suddenly.

  Philomena blinked and lifted her face to the dress the dressmaker held up. “It’s pretty…”

  “Just pretty?” Zenobia asked. “Is that all you can think of it?”

  “It’s all I want to think of it,” Philomena grumbled slightly.

  Zenobia frowned slightly and nodded for the dressmaker to be dismissed. The man bowed, gathered the dresses and disappeared, leaving mother and daughter alone.

  “You’re not still moping over Abeeku, are you?” Zenobia asked lazily. Getting up, she walked to a nearby table and poured herself some wine.

  “I’m not moping,” Philomena said.

  “Yes, you are,” Zenobia said, taking a sip. “Darius isn’t going to like that.”

  “Like I give a damn about what Darius thinks!” Philomena snapped. “I’m not going to marry him!”

  “Yes, you are,” Zenobia said in a
sing-song voice; a voice that she always used to hide her irritation with her children. “We have talked about this.”

  “I know, I know,” Philomena grumbled. “I just don’t know why I have to do all the sacrificing.”

  Zenobia sighed and turned to face her daughter. For a moment, she saw him, Alexander, sitting in that chair, his green eyes full of anger, but also hurt. She missed him. She missed him kissing her, she missed him making her laugh, she missed how he would annoy her, but then turn around and make things right. She would never forget or forgive the Persians for taking him away from her; that is why the treaty between the two was so harsh for them. She would never forgive them.

  “You have to learn to pick your battles,” she said smoothly. “You have to learn which battles are fought with a sword, and which battles are fought with a pen. Do you understand?”

  Philomena nodded slowly. “I…believe so…”

  “Good,” Zenobia said. “Now, go to your chambers and get a good night sleep. Tomorrow, I have a surprise for you.”

  She watched as Philomena stood up, called to Hera and left. With a sigh, Zenobia walked to her cold, empty bed and crawled under the covers. Her dog hopped into bed with her, his tongue licking her face, which made her chuckle and cuddle him close. She thought in the past of taking a lover; she wondered what Alexander would think of such a thing, but quickly forgot it. There was only one man for her, always and forever.

  *******

  “Announcing his Royal Highness, King Darius of the Persian Empire!” the herald declared.

  The sun was high in the sky, beating down the warm rays; the song of birds filled the air. All the servants and members of the palace gathered in the courtyard early that morning. When the watcher on the wall spotted the royal progression nearing the gates, he raised the alarm and everyone rushed to get everything ready.

  Philomena, who was in her chambers at the time, turned around when she heard a knocking on the door. She nodded to a servant to open it, and when she saw that it was a messenger, she knew that her time had come. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror, making sure she looked no less than perfect.