TOU couldn’t say how long she huddled in her chamber, trying to will away her uneasiness. She’d bested the prince, proved her control. She was queen of him in much more than name.
Which didn’t explain why she’d left his seed spattered on her breasts.
“I burn,” she whispered to hear the words. She hugged her knees and rocked on her bed. That’s what he’d said while she sucked him…right before he’d flooded her with his orgasm.
She wondered if he’d felt what she did now. She wanted to ease herself more than she could remember wanting anything, and yet she couldn’t bear the thought of any hands on her but his. Better yet, she wanted his cock inside her, his hips jolting against hers as hard as they could, his slit shooting that strange, fiery fluid into her womb.
She pressed both hands over her tortured groan, then grabbed for a robe when a polite tap sounded on her door. Anyone who saw her naked would guess the state she was in.
“My queen,” Deir said with a graceful bow. “I’ve brought your nightly cup of wine.”
Tou tightened the wrap of the silk around her and composed her face. This was a tradition of theirs. She should have been expecting him.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, setting down the tray beside her bed. “I found Prince Memnon’s body slave wandering the halls. Quite the haughty cat he was to be scolded. Claimed he’d only been looking for a salve to soothe his master’s wrists.”
“We bound the prince and made him watch,” Tou explained with a twinge of guilt and arousal. “Joseph and Abram lured him into a fight.”
“Oh,” said Deir, his mouth dropping in dismay. “That’s why they sent me to the kitchen to check on the progress of Mohinder’s farewell banquet.”
“So you didn’t know what they were planning?”
Her old friend offered a rueful grin. “I’m not that petty, even if I can see how fast this one makes your heart pound.”
Tou gnawed her lip, stopping only when Deir noticed. “He won’t be easy to control. He’s had his own way too long.”
Deir shrugged as if to say, what else could one expect from a prince? “I have faith in you, my queen.” He set her wine cup on the little burner and dropped the spices in. While they mulled, he slanted a look at her. “Watching you and Prince Memnon makes me wish I were young and just come to you. Then again, you never looked at me like you look at him. Nor sat up sleepless over me, I suspect.”
Having no response, Tou straightened the fall of silk that covered her shins. “How is Mohinder’s banquet progressing?”
“Very well, though the boy is having trouble pretending he isn’t elated about you setting him free.”
“I expect Lady Orissa wanting to marry him has a little to do with that.”
“Perhaps.” Deir’s eyes were gentle. “You didn’t choose Mohinder very often. He may be looking forward to having his manly skills employed more than once a moon.”
Tou sighed and propped her chin on her knees. “I didn’t used to neglect any of my harem. I used to employ them all equally.”
“Everyone matures, my queen, even you. Perhaps your body is becoming more decided in its preferences. Perhaps it’s getting ready to settle on a true consort.”
“I don’t feel ready,” she muttered ill-temperedly.
Deir leaned to her and pressed his lips softly to her hair. When she looked at him, startled by the paternal nature of the gesture, his gaze was bright with unshed tears.
Concerned, she lifted her hand, but he moved away before she could touch him.
“Drink your wine,” he said, his voice as light and fond as ever. “The gods watch over your dreams.”
“And yours,” she murmured, though she had a feeling neither she nor Deir would sleep a wink tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
The queen was tired, irritable, and felt as if a permanent fever had taken hold of the swollen flesh between her legs.
Other than that, Tou was perfectly fine.
“If he can go a month without taking lovers, so can I.”
“My queen!” The exclamation was barely out before Deir pressed a hand over his mouth and glanced warily around. He and Tou were strolling her gardens, which were shaded, lightly at least, by her precious irrigated palms. Bromeliads climbed their trunks, riotous with bloom in this hot season. Her guards formed a loose circle around them, protecting their queen during a much-needed respite from dealing with her advisors. Their broad, sunbaked backs were what faced Tou and her oldest friend, but that didn’t mean their ears had stopped working.
Though Tou trusted her men, no purpose could be served by presenting them with too great a temptation to gossip.
When Deir spoke again, it was in a barely audible undertone. “My queen, is that why you’ve avoided your harem these last five nights?”
“Has it been only five?” She rubbed her face and laughed weakly. “He obsesses me, Deir. This morning, I found myself tracing his name on the tiles while the slave girls gave me my bath. I’m surprised the water didn’t boil off my back.” She paced to a beautiful sandstone bench but did not sit. “It’s obvious the gods’ blessing has passed to him through his father’s blood. If Memnon can fight this fever, how can I do less?”
“You honestly think the tales of King Ravna’s godhead are true?” Deir wagged his head, his hair pure silver in the bright sunlight. “The gods came to you, my queen. They spoke their blessings to you when the people of Kemet cast you out.”
“I was no one special as a child, Deir, not even close. I’ve come to the conclusion that the gods blessed me by chance, a chance that might as easily have struck Memnon’s sire. And, no, I don’t believe Ravna is a god, no more than I believe I’m one.” The struggle that crossed Deir’s features was comical. He knew her flaws as well as anyone. “Better you than him,” was all he ended up muttering.
Tou squeezed his shoulders. “In that we agree, though at the moment I don’t think the gods care a whit for my preference.”
“If it makes you feel better, I believe Prince Memnon suffers as well.”
“Do you?” she said dryly, doing her best to hide the keenness of her interest.
“He sleeps no more than you. The others hear him pacing his rooms at night, and he has—” Deir hesitated until she leveled her brows at him. “He has been erect since he returned from his first visit to your highness’s room. We have given his slave permission to go to the kitchens to get him ice from the stores, but it does not help. One of the men—”
Deir cut his eyes away from her. “Please do not ask me which. He meant it only as a joke. One of the men gave the prince a flask of almond oil from Jeruvia, which the males of that country rub on their staffs when easing their needs. Prince Memnon was so angry, he dangled the man over the upper railing by his ankles, and said he’d do worse to any whoreson who couldn’t leave him alone.”
“And you felt no need to report this?”
Deir pulled himself straighter. “It was an internal matter, between the men. I have to let them settle some things among themselves.”
“And what of the next man Memnon decides to dangle from a height?”
“I don’t believe he would have dropped your consort. Prince Memnon is very strong.”
“And fair?” Tou suggested. “Even in anger?”
Deir’s eyes lowered. “I believe that to be true, your highness.”
Tou laid her hand against the base of her throat. She was oddly breathless, her pulse thrumming in her neck as strongly as it did between her legs. The prince was suffering. He had been aroused all this time. What would that feel like? And how powerfully would he take her if she gave him the chance to now?
“Deir,” she said, speaking with some effort. “I want you to ask Prince Memnon if he’d like to come to me tonight.”
Deir’s eyes went rounder than she’d ever seen them. “You want me to ask?”
“I cannot order him. It would make me look too needful.”
“And who—” Deir clear
ed his throat. “Who else shall join him in your bed?”
Tou forced herself to meet his gaze. “No one. I shall see the prince tonight or no one at all.”
Her master of the harem stared at her, then shut his mouth and bowed. “It shall be as you wish,” he promised as he withdrew.
Tou rather doubted that. Her enemy’s son was too independent to be fulfilling anyone’s wishes.
MEMNON paced his rooms like a caged tiger. With every stride, his unholy erection bounced beneath his starched white kilt.
His cock was too hard to let him sit or sleep or even think of anything but her. The cresting of his desires had never been this bad. Worse, some of the symptoms were entirely new. For one, his anus was itching like the devil, not an erotic area for him before. For another, two glands in his neck were sore, the skin above them inflamed and pink. Spotting the swelling, Zahi had dosed him with teas from the kitchens—to no avail. Memnon would have thought he was ill, if the rest of his body hadn’t been all too hale.
He didn’t understand what Tou was up to. Oh, he’d told her the worst of his lust was a week away, and her avoidance suggested she meant to use that against him. But why not take any of her men? Was her abstinence some new, more devious torture?
Thinking of how aroused she must be almost made him sorry he’d tossed that almond oil away.
Tou had cast a spell on him. He could remember her mouth on him as if it were there now, her hands, the lightning bolts of bliss as his seed shot from him in huge, hard spurts. She’d been so strong, so skilled. Would he even have to hold back with her? Could she be the woman who’d finally take all of his passion?
Idiot, he thought, his nails scoring his palms. This wasn’t some poet’s romantic tale. This was politics, pure and simple. Politics and intense physical torment.
Grinding his teeth, he turned at his narrow window to follow the path he’d worn in the carpet the other way. In the last five days, he’d memorized both the pattern on the rug and the one on the pierced stonework that screened the outside window. Although he could see out, strangers weren’t permitted to see in. It was forbidden to gaze upon the faces of the queen’s consorts.
Despite being neglected the same as he was, his peers were keeping entertained, vying against each other in various games. The stupidest, in Memnon’s opinion, involved seeing whose rigid prick could support the heaviest weights without sagging. They’d strung little lead beads on cords that they could hang over the flare of their penis heads. Memnon knew the value of fitting in, but when they’d asked if he wanted to compete, the only answer he could manage was to curl back his lip and growl.
Some of the harem dedicated their victories to the queen. They seemed sincere in this rather than resentful, and Memnon couldn’t doubt they admired her. If nothing else, this week from the netherworld had taught him that.
The men were also occupied in planning a farewell banquet for a consort named Mohinder. Unbelievably enough, the queen was releasing him from his vows so he could marry a lady of the court. Memnon had to wonder if he’d be cut loose someday. Was that what Tou’s unaccustomed absence meant? The possibility should have cheered him, but he was too obsessed with her to want freedom. He couldn’t leave Hhamoun. Not until he’d had her and had her and—
The door behind him opened.
Memnon spun, fully prepared to bite Zahi’s head off, but the intruder wasn’t his servant.
“Forgive the interruption,” Tou’s master of the harem said. “The queen wishes to know if you’d like to visit her tonight.”
Memnon took a moment to close his jaw. “Is this a joke? Because, let me tell you, I am not in the mood for one.”
Deir pulled his shoulders back. “I am no prankster, and neither is the queen. She knows of your condition and—”
Memnon moved so fast he shocked them both. He had a grudging respect for the queen’s old consort. His job wasn’t easy, and he knew how to hold the reins without choking his men. Nonetheless, Memnon’s hand was around Deir’s neck and slamming him into the wall far sooner than he could think better of doing it.
“She knows?” he growled as he lifted Deir off his feet. “You told her what she’s done to me? You think I need her mercy?”
Deir had too much dignity to kick or struggle, though his face was quickly going red. “Prince Memnon,” he said, his tone as cool as the ice he’d given Zahi permission to obtain for him. “Please release my neck. It is my job to keep the queen apprised of all her men’s wellbeing. As for mercy, if the queen chooses to honor you with hers, I would advise you to accept. Queens possess no less pride than princes and, should you refuse, the offer may not be extended again.”
Memnon’s hand would not release the man right away. He blew out one breath and drew in another before his fingers would relax.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, massaging his cramped knuckles. “My temper isn’t what it ought to be.”
Deir nodded curtly, leaving the red marks on his neck untouched—which shamed Memnon even more. “What answer do you wish me to relay?”
Memnon turned away from him. “I can’t.”
“Pardon, prince, but it seems quite obvious you can.”
Memnon’s laugh was as hoarse as Deir’s throat must have been. His readiness was a bit difficult to hide. “Oh, I’d like to accept the queen’s invitation, as anyone with eyes can see. I promise you, though, if I have to watch her take four men besides me, I’m going to rip their fucking hearts out of their chests. But, please, feel free to rephrase that when you relay my regrets.”
He’d turned back to give his answer, in time to see a look he couldn’t read come over the master of the harem’s face. The look might have been part envy, but that wasn’t all it was.
“Prince Memnon,” Deir said, the softness of his voice close enough to pity that the prince’s hands fisted. “I fear I wasn’t clear. The queen’s invitation was for you alone. She does not wish to see the other men tonight.”
His body’s response was galvanic, a flood of prickling heat huge enough to drown. She was inviting him and not the others? His toes curled into the silk-wool rug, his cock jerking so forcefully it felt ready to levitate. “You’re sure. You didn’t misunderstand what she meant.”
“The queen’s exact words were, ‘I shall see the prince tonight or no one at all.’”
That was almost worse than before. His eyes stung with an emotion this woman shouldn’t have been able to inspire in him. Embarrassed, he blinked blindly at the screened window.
“I’ll need to…to bathe and—” He spread his hands helplessly. He wanted to present himself in a more civilized fashion than he had when he arrived, something he wasn’t used to worrying about. He was clean, yes, but he’d never doubted he could please a female just as he was.
Again, Deir spoke too gently. “You have time to prepare yourself. The queen will not expect you until sunset.”
It took all Memnon’s strength not to demand how many hours away that was.
THE queen was nervous. She knew she didn’t look her best, though her worst wasn’t anything most men would complain about. They might not even notice the shadows lack of sleep had drawn beneath her eyes.
She donned her best jewelry, then took it off. Memnon wouldn’t care about that. He was more warrior than prince from what she’d observed.
My warrior. My lovely, angry-mouthed warrior.
She snapped herself out of her reverie with a curse. What exactly did she think this night was going to be?
And then he was there. She recognized his footfall, his delicious scent. She couldn’t turn. The lamps she’d lit and set on every surface did not burn more brightly than her soul.
Her heart felt ready to burst open so he could walk in.
“My queen,” he said, the sound so wonderfully broken and breathless she had no choice but to close her eyes.
He came to her, not waiting for permission, simply walking to her as any man might to a woman who wanted him. He brushed her hair around her
shoulder onto her breast, then kissed the back of her neck. His hands slid gently up and down her arms.
“What have you done to me,” he whispered, “to make me tremble like a virgin boy?”
He undid her. All her guards. All her vengefulness. She felt him tremble, and she let her history dissolve.
She turned in his hold and met his waiting eyes. “I’ve done nothing you haven’t done to me.”
He groaned, and an ache as deep as the sound blossomed in her core. “I’m on fire for you, Tou.” He shook her, as if only that could make her believe his words. “I can’t be kind to you. I can’t be gentle.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Tou—”
“No.” She pushed away from him, searching the room for a suitable demonstration tool. A sturdy bronze walking stick hung on one wall, a gift from the chief of a southern tribe. She lifted it, showed him, then bent it with barely an effort into a loop.
“Gods,” he breathed.
“You could do the same,” she said, tossing it away with a clang. “I know no one chained you to that wall the other night but you. Neither of us has to be careful with the other, because neither of us is going to break.”
“We heard stories…I wondered…”
“You hoped.”
His eyes looked black when they fastened on hers again. “I hoped. I didn’t know I was doing it, but I hoped.”
How could she resist when he answered so honestly? She slid her arms around his warm, strong neck. Something made him wince, a chafed looking redness on either side. He swallowed, licked his lips, and she couldn’t care enough to ask what had caused it.
“Will you kiss me then?” she asked. “Or shall I do the—”
He crashed his mouth down and silenced her. His taste flooded her, the same sweet, drugging spice that had flowed from his cock when she’d suckled him. The effect was even stronger with the second taste. Her head spun as his tongue drove deep. He clutched her to him with arms of iron, making a small pained sound, as if the kiss itself was a dire relief. She had seconds to feel the hugeness of his erection before he tore her gown from her. He removed his kilt from himself just as violently.
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