He smiled as he massaged her firm breast. “It is only the needs of your body manifesting themselves, milady,” he told her. “I too am experiencing a great need that is turning my blood to molten lava.” He pressed his straining cock against her hip. “Feel how much he desires your sweetness?”
A blush of maidenly embarrassment spread over her high cheekbones and turned her flesh from honeyed silk to a ruddy plain of delight. “He is so hard, my Prince,” she said.
“And will grow harder inside your hot sheath,” he said. He ground himself against her. “Inside you, he will grow and grow until he is a mighty rod filled with pleasure.”
“Pleasure?” she questioned, her eyes wide. “What kind of pleasure, milord?”
“This kind,” he said, and slid his hand down to the juncture of her thighs. Bunching the silky fabric up slowly—inch by inch—until he exposed her heated loins to the cool, wafting wind, he held his hand with the rumpled material against her lower abdomen, pressing down just enough to make her clitoris ache with desire.
“Milord,” she said then sighed, arching her head back so that her breasts came prominently to his notice.
He swept down to close his mouth around one firm globe, lapping his tongue against the silk fabric, wetting it with his saliva, plucking at her dusky nipple with his teeth.
“Milord!” she gasped, writhing beneath the firm pressure on her abdomen and the heady suckling at her breast.
He let go of the bunched fabric in his hand and slid his palm to her thigh, dragging her right leg farther from the left until he could insinuate the flat of his hot hand against her spiky curls, the base of his palm grinding gently as his fingers rested lightly upon her nether lips.
She arched her hips upward, wanting the delight of his strong fingers touching her more firmly. She groaned as he tapped those warm digits against her opening until one slid deliciously into her honeyed channel.
“Ardalan!” she called out this time.
He lifted his mouth from her breast and smiled, gazing down into her ebony eyes, slowly passing his attention over the dark caramel of her lovely face until it settled on her soft, full lips. “Your Ardalan,” he said. “Yours and yours alone from this day forward.”
He took her mouth with a kiss that left no doubt he was on fire with desire. Flicking his tongue into the sweet recesses of one mouth, he dipped his middle finger into the hot, moist recesses of the other.
She trembled as his tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, his finger moved in and out of her cunt. The rhythm of his movements appeared to be driving her insane with lust and she lifted her hips from the grass, seeming to need his finger deeper inside her aching chamber. When he removed his finger from her, she groaned with disappointment.
“Shush, milady,” he said against her lips. “There is more pleasure to come.”
Ardalan moved over her, his knees on the outside of hers as he reached down to push the elastic waistband of his loose pants down, allowing his staff to spring free of its confinement. With his rod in his hand, he dragged it across her throbbing flesh.
“Please!” she begged, panting as she writhed there on the grass beneath him.
Lifting one leg, he put his knee between her legs and spread her open to him. He brought his other knee into the V of her thighs to push her legs farther apart. With her exposed to him once more he dragged his member over her heated opening, sliding the ooze of his pre-cum along her thighs.
“He wants you with a mindlessness I am finding hard to control, milady,” he whispered to her, leaning over to place his lips to her ear. “It is a pleasure-pain I am feeling that I have never known before, but since this is your first time, I want the experience to be perfect for you.”
She groaned again as he leaned back until he was sitting on his haunches between her thighs. She tucked her lower lip between her teeth as he pushed her legs even farther apart.
Turning his hand palm upward, Ardalan placed the tip of his middle finger just inside the wetness of her sheath. He smiled as her muscles automatically clamped around him. Very gently, he slid his finger into her then slowly removed it, going a bit deeper the next time before coming out even slower. With the third press, he was as deep inside her as his finger could go.
“A woman’s body was made to be worshipped by a man,” he said. “Everything that makes her a woman excites him and turns his blood to a fiery stream of lust.”
She was moving her head from side to side as the delight of his finger impaled her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. When he added a second digit to the torment, her hips left the grass, taking him fully inside her.
“You are an eager little minx, aren’t you?” he quipped as he slowly and firmly moved his fingers in and out of her heated slickness. “Look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. His gaze held hers as he removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth to taste.
“Ahhh,” she moaned, her breath coming faster.
“Sweet,” he pronounced the flavor. “Sweet and hot and almost ready for me.”
She gasped as he bent forward and pressed his lips to her vagina. She brought her hands up to thread through his dark curls, anchoring his head to her as his tongue flicked along her nether lips and stabbed delicately into her entrance.
With his tongue thrust deep inside her, his teeth grazing her clit, she came in a rush of warmth that flooded her channel and flowed across his tongue. Her hips were bucking beneath the sensations rocking her and the little pulses that rippled through her body caused her to tighten her hold on his hair. He probed at her straining core over and over again until the last tremor of pleasure claimed her and she lay limp beneath him.
He raised his head up then slid his body over hers until he was lying atop her. “That, milady,” he said, “is only the beginning.”
Her eyes grew wide as his mouth descended upon hers so she could taste her own essence on his lips and tongue. He ravaged her mouth, grinding his heavy erection at the V of her thighs until she was groaning, writhing, beneath him once more.
He pushed himself up and looked down at her. “Now let me show you how a man truly fulfills his lady.”
She was wet, slick, and his hand pushed against her spiky curls, but when he pressed the tip of his hot rod into her channel, she tensed.
“No, milady,” he protested. “Relax and let your man take you to the heavens and beyond.”
Slowly, her limbs lost their tenseness. He pressed a bit farther inside her, going slowly as he stretched the taut muscles, striving not to cause her more discomfort than he must. She was hot and creamy, the scent of her musk making it hard for him to hold his pleasure at bay.
“Lift your hips, sweeting,” he ordered. “I want to bury myself deep inside you.”
Her hands were gripped around his upper arms, the sleek, bulging muscles of his biceps taut. She did as he bid her and he slid a bit farther into her heated sheath.
“Ardalan,” she whispered. “You are killing me.”
“Then let us die of this passion together, my love,” he said, and pressed himself past the thin membrane whose gentle rupture took her from girl to woman.
She tensed for just a moment as her maidenhead was pierced then her nails were digging into his muscles as she arched her lower body closer to his.
With sure strokes he eased in and out of her, accustoming her to his fullness, the size and length of him inside her. Their combined wetness was a heady scent that filled his nostrils and made his shaft even harder.
He slid his hands beneath her firm buttocks and lifted her up to meet his deeper penetration. A smile of satisfaction spread over his face as she brought her legs up to encircle his waist as if by instinct.
The friction he began to generate inside her moist channel increased both the depth and speed of his thrusts. His flesh felt nigh to bursting and the heat pooling in his loins was a sweet agony that spurred him on.
Her legs tightened around him and she ground her lower body upon his
thick, hard erection. He was sliding in and out of her with faster, deeper strokes, setting his blood to pounding in his veins. Sweat glistened on his face and he felt her breath blowing over his heated flesh. With a groan, he slammed his mouth over hers and took that sweet recess as his right.
They came together in a burst of pleasure that had him tearing his mouth free of hers to throw his head back and roar. Thick, hot cum shot from his rod like lava from an erupting volcano and he shook with the intensity of his release. As the last spurt jetted into her welcoming folds, he collapsed against her, panting.
His hands were beneath her hips, holding her to him. His lower body was pressed between her silky thighs. His cheek rested upon a sweet, caramel breast, her chin upon his head.
In his drug-induced sleep Ardalan Jaleem sighed then slipped into the thick, black fabric of nothingness.
Chapter Two
Sitara and the corpsman entered a small hollowed-out room in which the statue of one of the lesser Kishnu gods was displayed. Sabir had provided a soft pallet for his prince and was sitting on the ground beside him, passing a cloth over Ardalan’s sweaty face. He glanced up, frowned, and then re-wet the cloth. “He is burning up with fever,” he accused as though it were her fault.
“That is to be expected,” Sitara said. “It is good you removed his clothing.”
“I am so happy you approve,” Sabir snapped, pulling the lightweight blanket securely around his prince’s waist.
Sitara knelt down beside Ardalan and put the back of her hand on his cheek.
“Do you think I lied about his fever?” Sabir demanded.
She locked her gaze with the major’s. “I am checking to see if he is any hotter than he was when last I checked.” Her eyes narrowed. “Thankfully, he is not.”
Dismissing the irritable man from her thoughts, Sitara passed her hands above Ardalan’s unconscious body, seeking the places where infection had spread. When she found a spot that appeared hot to her, she concentrated her energy there, disbursing the bad spirits that had claimed his body.
“Kiyan, do you have herbs?”
“A few, Your Grace. What is it you require?”
“Goat’s rue, mugwort, myrrh—especially if you have it—rosemary, vervain or—”
“Vervain will only make him sweat the harder,” Sabir snapped.
“It also helps in healing when applied directly to the wound as well as reducing the fever,” Sitara said, not bothering to look at the major. She turned her attention back to Tarik. “What about willow bark?”
“I have them all, Your Grace,” Tarik told her.
“Then gather them and I will use what I need as it is required. Bring me the willow bark first.”
Tarik bowed and hurried off to the large medicine chest the physician had brought with him to the campaign.
“I will test whatever it is you give him first,” Sabir warned her.
“Suit yourself, but a man who is not sick will be soon with all that in his system.” She looked up at him. “It matters not to me that you have the quick steps or that you puke your innards up, but do your prince the courtesy of not doing it near him.”
Halim appeared at the entrance to the little room. “How is he?”
“He is healing,” Sitara answered before Sabir could voice his opinion. “He most likely will not wake before morning.”
“He needs the sleep,” Halim stated.
“So do you,” Sabir remarked.
Halim shrugged then came to sit beside his brother-in-law. He watched the Kishnu princess as she continued to sweep her hands over Ardalan’s still body. “What is it you do when you do that?” he asked in a soft voice.
“I am directing the energy flowing from the cosmos into his body,” she answered.
“Does he feel it?”
“Perhaps a soothing warmth if anything at all.” She glanced at Halim. “Do you know what my people call him?”
“The Evil One,” Sabir groused.
“Were he evil,” Sitara said, “I would see evidence in his aura. I do not. Nor do I feel vibrations of wickedness coming from this man.”
Halim folded his arms over his chest. “What is it you feel?”
Sitara’s eyes were once more closed as she absorbed the energies and redirected them into the prince. “I feel much sadness and a great degree of helplessness.”
“Prince Ardalan? Helpless? That is ridiculous!” Sabir hissed.
“The helplessness stems from his inability to make his sultan and the sultan’s council to see reason in this wretched war,” she said quietly. “He was against the invasion from the beginning.”
Sabir started to protest, but Halim held up a hand in warning. It was obvious the older man had lost all patience with the younger. “Prince Ardalan did, indeed, argue against attacking the Kishnu people. He has no desire to be a ruler of the world.”
“As does his father,” Sitara pointed out.
When once more Sabir would have argued the point, Halim conceded that the sultan had made it plain he wanted to rule all the lands within striking distance of his huge army.
“I also sense anger,” Sitara said, and opened her eyes. “Regarding a certain woman.”
“Princess Adala,” Halim said. “His father wishes for the prince to take her to wife.”
“Ah,” Sitara said. “What I am feeling makes more sense to me now.”
“In what way?” Halim questioned.
“The prince does not wish to dishonor his father, but neither does he wish to live his life in misery.”
“She’d make his life miserable, all right,” Halim said. “She cares more for the title of sultana than for the man who will one day be sultan.”
There was something else Sitara sensed in the unconscious man and it disturbed her greatly. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, her attention passing over the multilayers of aura that clung to his body. Compassion filled her face as she put one hand gently on his chest, absorbing savage memories that came from his soul in black waves.
“This man has suffered greatly and unjustly,” she whispered so softly no one heard her.
Tarik returned with several bottles filled with herbs, some in liquid form. He placed them beside Sitara.
“Thank you, Kiyan. You are a good assistant,” she complimented Tarik.
“Why did you not tell my men you were the shamaness for whom they were searching?” Halim asked.
Sitara smiled briefly. “I was hoping they’d leave me alone if I was not the one they sought. Apparently the gods had other notions.”
“For that, we are grateful,” Halim stated.
Giving Tarik some brief instructions on what to do with the herbs and how best to administer or apply them to the prince, Sitara got wearily to her feet. “I will see the other men now,” she said then put a hand on Tarik’s shoulder. “Yon major wishes to test everything you give your prince.”
Sabir’s face turned red for Halim had turned an exasperated countenance to him. “I will forego the tasting since Tarik is the one handling the brews.”
“You are starting to piss me off, Asif Masood,” Halim snapped. “Leave off with your mistrust, man!”
Leaving Sabir with Tarik, Halim escorted the princess to the men whom she had asked to be moved off to one side. Already two of those she had not had moved had gone on to their maker and those who had remained behind surmised their fate and were lying quietly, mumbling prayers to Alel.
“I hated to segregate them, but it will be easier for me,” Sitara said.
“I understand,” Halim assured her.
“But do they?” she asked.
“When it is our time, it is our time, Your Grace,” Halim reminded her. “To rail against fate is useless.”
As she knelt down beside the men she could help, Halim stood behind her, observing her. He was in awe of her ability and deeply impressed with her as a person. She had stamina and courage, and from every indication, a gentle soul. When she had seen to the last man and got t
o her feet, weaving with exhaustion, he snaked out a hand to steady her.
“You should rest now, Your Grace,” he told her.
Sitara put a trembling hand to her head then began to sag. Halim moved quickly, scooping her up in his arms. He stood there—looking around him—then realized there was but one place where he could lay the princess down and headed that way.
Sabir frowned deeply as Halim came into the room carrying the princess. “What ails her?” he demanded.
“She is exhausted,” Halim replied. “Move so I can lay her down.”
“Here?” Sabir questioned with a gasp. “Beside our prince?”
“Move!” Halim ordered.
“But she is a darkling, Halim. She is—”
Halim crowded Sabir against the wall and bent over to lay the unconscious princess beside Ardalan on the soft pallet of wool blankets.
“This is unconscionable, Halim,” Sabir complained. “And highly improper. He will be offended.”
“They are both deep in slumber,” Halim pointed out. “I don’t know what concerns you. Neither one has the stamina or the ability to jump the other.”
Sabir’s chin rose in the air. “As if he would lower himself to touch a darkling!” he said with a sniff.
Halim sighed heavily as he stood up. He grabbed Sabir’s arm and yanked him from the little room, his head bent toward the shorter man. Whatever he was hissing into Sabir’s ear turned the younger man’s face a dull crimson.
Tarik finished dribbling the infusion of drugs down his prince’s throat then stood. He looked at the princess for a moment then quietly left, instructing those closest to the room to seek him out if he was needed.
Sitara woke briefly, saw where she was but was too tired to protest. She turned over with her back to the prince and gave in to the pull of sleep. Her restless sleep was filled with sights and sounds she felt to her innermost core and that left her aching with sorrow.
Chapter Three
The first time his father beat him until he dropped, he was five years old. He could not remember what he had done to incur his father’s wrath, but whatever it was, it had brought out a brutal anger that had nearly crippled him. Had it not been for his mother’s pleading, the priests’ intervention, Ardalan might have died that day in Tehan. As it was, he spent almost a week confined to his bed, unable to walk and in so much pain he recognized no one. There had been numerous whippings before that one, but none had revealed the beast within his father that the young boy had discovered that day.
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