by Linda Skye
Myrine followed Jamshid to her suite, where she docilely submitted to his fussing. After only a few minutes she appeared even more radiant than before-a tint of rouge on her fair cheeks, a dark lining of kohl around her blue eyes and a hint of coral-pink on her pouting lips. She changed into an outfit that consisted of several sheer chiffon veils wrapped around her breasts and hips; the material clung to her curves and just barely obscured the shadows of her body.
“Go, now,” Jamshid prompted. “I will prepare your chambers should his majesty visit you.”
Myrine hurried out to the harem’s main courtyard, where most of the concubines were already waiting. The gongs sounded, they all bowed, and Darius walked in with Atossa on his arm.
“Well,” Darius said, turning to his marriage prospect, “what do you think?”
Atossa shrugged, her eyes casually roving over the women who might well be her rivals for the king’s affections in the future.
“Does my collection please you?” Darius needled shrewdly. “Perhaps you would like to help me choose my bed slave for the night?”
Atossa turned to him, her eyebrows haughtily raised. Darius smirked.
“Rise, my concubines,” he commanded. “My guest would have a look at you.”
Atossa pulled away from the king and wandered about the hall, pausing to inspect the concubines as one would fruits at a market stall. She stopped in front of Farida and lifted her chin with a finger, tilting her face back and forth. Though Farida seemed pleased, it was evident to all the others that Atossa had simply chosen a paler, less impressive version of herself. For though Farida was beautiful, her dark hair was just slightly less lustrous and her skin less golden.
“This one seems pleasing enough,” she commented lightly, turning back to face the king.
Myrine hid a frown. All her work earlier would be for nothing if Darius chose another. But she needn’t have worried.
“And what of my newest acquisition?” He beckoned to Myrine, who diligently raised her head. “This one promises a more...exotic experience, do you not think?”
Atossa sniffed delicately. “I do not have a taste for foreign things.”
Darius walked over to Myrine and placed one hand under her chin, lifting her face so that her eyes caught the light.
“But I do,” he countered lightly. “In fact, I find this foreign flesh very pleasing indeed. What do you think, Atossa? Should I not desire her?”
“It is not my place to tell the king what he should and should not desire,” Atossa said loftily.
Darius’s eyes grew sharp.
“Well said, lady Atossa,” he said, his tone dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Now go and give your father the very same words. I’m sure you understand my meaning.”
Atossa blinked and stiffened. An angry blush spread up her neck. Nostrils flaring, she bowed her head.
“I will give my father your message, my king,” she said, her voice nearly trembling.
Then, with a toss of her head, she turned and marched out of the harem. Darius sighed.
“You are all dismissed for the evening,” he said, signalling his servants to lead the concubines away.
Myrine edged backward, only to have Darius catch her by the elbow.
“Not you,” he said, drawing her close. “I believe we have unfinished business, you and I.”
“Yes, my king,” Myrine replied, dipping her head.
“Lead me to your quarters,” he directed, his voice slightly drawn.
Myrine gently guided the king through the harem’s corridors to her suite of rooms. Jamshid was waiting to greet them. He held out a silver tray bearing a cool drink for the king before he drew the heavy drapes closed to leave them alone. Darius sipped the honeyed water slowly as he paced around Myrine’s chamber. It was nowhere near as opulent as his own, but he could plainly see that she had been favoured by the eunuchs, for there were lush tapestries and silk aplenty.
“You have adapted well, I see,” he said drily.
“And you are tired, my king,” she cooed. “Come, let me ease your fatigue.”
Darius chuckled and lowered himself onto a pile of large pillows that had been strewn haphazardly over a low mattress.
“Are all Scythian women so bold?” he questioned.
“No,” Myrine admitted as she settled in behind him, “we are not.”
She gently peeled away his overcoat. After oiling her hands, she began to work her fingers into his shoulders, gradually increasing the pressure of her kneading until he groaned in satisfaction. Myrine continued to massage his back, applying pressure where she felt the knots of tension.
“You are a woman like none other,” Darius breathed admiringly.
And you are a king like none other, she thought to herself.
She had never before seen a ruler so deftly handle a political disaster, nor so gently treat his slaves. She had only known men to take what they wanted without care or compassion, but this man—this man was different.
She slid her hands around his shoulders to his chest, her fingers skilfully working around his muscles. Lowering her lips to his shoulder, she began to trace the lines of his veins with the tip of her tongue.
Darius’s breath caught in his throat as Myrine lightly scraped the edges of her teeth down his shoulder blade. He spun around, and she fell back against the heaps of pillows. He caged her between his arms and legs. Nosing forward gently, he planted row upon row of hot kisses down the column of her throat. She mewled as he splayed his fingers over her ribs. There was a ripping sound and a cool rush of air as he suddenly ripped away the fine gauze binding her breasts. He gathered her up in his arms and lavished her soft mounds with kisses. Then he took the peak of her breast in his hot mouth. When he began to alternate between sharp tugs and a gentle laving with his tongue, she could not help but cry out in pleasure.
“My king,” she breathed helplessly.
“What do you need, my darling one?” he asked, lifting his head to meet her hazy eyes.
“I want—”
Her words were abruptly cut off as he pinched one nipple, rolling the bead between his thumb and forefinger.
“What was that?” he teased, giving her breast a firm squeeze.
With a throaty moan, Myrine arched up off the pillows and tangled her legs around his hips. She rocked desperately against his engorged member, seeking the relief that she knew only he could give. Darius chuckled.
“Greedy little thing,” he whispered as he continued his slow, pleasurable tortures.
He slipped his hand up her inner thigh, and with two fingers he had her writhing in delight beneath him. She dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades, and when he withdrew his fingers, they were slick and sweet with her essence. She collapsed onto the pillows, panting.
“We’re not even nearly done yet,” Darius warned with a wide grin.
“No,” Myrine agreed breathlessly, “we’re not.”
Tangling her fingers in his curls, she pulled him down for a slow, winding kiss as her hands worked the bindings of his trousers. She felt them give and pushed them away. He sprang free, pulsing and hard. She gripped him in her hands, working his length with smooth, practiced strokes. He grunted into her mouth and reached for the fabric tied at her hips, and she arched up to let him pull the last of her coverings away. But when Myrine made as if to guide him in, he pulled away slightly, his gaze dark and intense.
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��No,” he growled, “I want to see you when we join.”
He splayed the fingers on one large hand over her slim neck, gently pinning her in place. Holding her impassioned eyes with his own, he leaned forward until their noses were barely touching.
“Remember this moment, Myrine of Scythia,” he said in a low whisper, his warm breath moistening her lashes.
And then he thrust forward, filling her completely in one stroke. Myrine gasped, her mouth agape in pleasure, but Darius did not release her and did not allow her to look away. Hooking one of her knees in the crook of his arm, he withdrew—only to thrust forward again fully. Myrine cried out as his wide girth filled and completed her. With a groan, he began to plunge his hips against hers with wild abandon. Lost in carnal sensations, Myrine could hear nothing but the slap of his skin against hers and his hoarse grunts.
But through the bright cloudiness of burning lust, she dimly remembered her purpose, her one goal. And there could be no better moment than this.
She needed to get on top.
Myrine dug her fingers into his shoulders and twisted upward so that he lay on his back, propped up by the silken cushions. Planting her small hands on his chest, she rocked against him, setting a furious rhythm. He grabbed her hips, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
She threw her head back in rapture, pleasure spiking up her spine as the angle of his thrusts twisted just so—and for a brief moment she lost all recollection of her mission. Her mind warred with her body as she resisted the urge to simply ride out her pleasure on his slick body.
Here is bliss I’ve never known before, she thought desperately. But it could not last forever.
Myrine closed her eyes and reached for her poisoned hairpins. Her future was on the line, and she needed to follow through or she would surely lose more than just a few minutes of carnal pleasure.
But then Darius rose onto his elbows and took the hardened caramel nub of one of her breasts between his teeth. He alternated between laving the sensitive bud with his tongue and tugging at it gently with his teeth. Myrine cried out in surprise and delight, her fingers dropping away from her weapons.
Stop! she shouted inwardly at herself as the distracting haze of passion swirled once more through her head.
Darius trailed roughened fingertips down her ribs and over her hips. She began to pant like a wild, crazed animal as he timed his thrusts to the furious working of his tongue and fingers. Myrine shivered under his deft touch—both from ecstasy and fear. No man had ever brought her so close to completion; no man had ever turned her own body against her.
It could not last. It would not last.
With one last, desperate scramble for control, Myrine tugged the needles free and clasped them fiercely in her palm. All she needed to do to complete her mission was to lightly pierce his skin—just one scratch! Surely she could manage that despite the roaring in her ears.
And then Darius grabbed her hips and began to move her forcefully upon him. The veins in his biceps bulged as he grunted, his superior strength making her slide faster, deeper and harder than she ever had before. All rational thought fled her mind as each frenzied thrust plunged her closer to an elusive delirium. Her toes curled as her moans grew into hoarse screams. With a cry, Myrine dropped the three golden hairpins onto the mattress behind her, and they disappeared amid the pile of pillows—completely forgotten in the throes of passion.
Darius’s fingers dug deep into her hip as he thrust upward one last time, and together they found a release like none they had had before. Spent and satiated, they tumbled away from each other, collapsing in a sweaty tangle of limbs onto the silk sheets. Just before Myrine could drift off to sleep, Darius rolled over and trailed a fingertip down her arm.
“Do not sleep, darling one,” he whispered fondly.
“Will you keep me awake?” Myrine asked lethargically.
“Yes, my sweet,” he answered. “Or did you think that your duty would be fulfilled so quickly?”
“Quickly?” Myrine muttered in disbelief. “Have you enough strength for more?”
“Do you dare question my strength, concubine?” Darius raised a questioning eyebrow, his lips turning up in a dark smirk. “Or do you simply fear being unable to satisfy me?”
Myrine sat up, her eyes gleaming at the challenge.
Assassination be cursed, she thought. If she could capture his attention through a game of sex and desire, then she would have him at her mercy at any moment, and could easily land the finishing blow after having her fill of his...assets.
This man had dared to question her sensual prowess, and she had every intention of proving him wrong.
But as Myrine began to lead the king through a very thorough demonstration of her skill, she was completely oblivious to the sound of shifting velvet drapes. If she had just turned her head a fraction to the side, she would have caught a glimpse of a very unwelcome observer—one who had seen just enough to turn her plans to dust.
Chapter 4
Myrine crept through the marble corridors, silently and stealthily tracing the king’s steps. Moving through the cool shadows like a ghost, she easily evaded the sharp eyes of the guards and the curious stares of servants. It helped that the desert heat of high noon had made everyone slightly lethargic. But still, the palace grounds were extensive, and as she slowly made her way to her goal, she let her mind wander to the wanton pleasures of the night before.
The young king had given as good as he got, and they’d traded sensual tricks in a heated battle that had lasted well into the early hours of the morning. When finally they had tumbled apart, exhausted and sated, Myrine hadn’t had the strength to even lift her head—much less contemplate an attempt at assassination. She had slept soundly for the first time in ages, not even waking at the smells of the midmorning meal. The sun had climbed almost to its zenith when she had finally managed to rouse herself enough to bathe and dress.
It had been slightly troubling that she hadn’t been able to find her golden hairpins amongst the piles of pillows on her bed, but after catching whispers that the king was visiting soldiers in the palace courtyard, she decided to abandon her search in order to gather information about the king’s routines.
And so she had snuck out of the harem and was skilfully slipping unnoticed toward the courtyard. The sounds of wagon wheels, animals and the clink and clash of metal gradually grew louder, and Myrine knew she was close. She slid around one last imposing pillar and was greeted by the sight of courtyard chaos. Dust rose in clouds from where animals, carts and armoured men trailed after one another. Rough shouts and commands could be heard echoing from pavilion to pavilion.
But only one voice interested her—and it rose easily above the rest.
Myrine’s sharp eyes travelled to where the sound of Darius’s clear baritone had come from. Her eyes widened slightly at the scene he cut.
The king of Persia was bare chested and wore just a pair of loose-cut trousers and sandals. The only clue to his regal status was the intricate gold armband that circled his biceps. Myrine watched as he disappeared into a shaded pavilion, and she followed him, ducking behind massive pillars and statues. Peering around one of the marble columns, she studied his handsome form.
King Darius was bent over a wounded soldier, and two elderly men who held various bottles and a tray of instruments were at his side. Perspiration beaded on his temple as he smoothed
a salve over a grotesquely infected injury, his fingers sure and his eyes shining with determination. He spoke in low tones, his smooth, deep voice calm and cool. After finishing with a bandage, he carefully rinsed his hands in a bowl of water and moved to the next soldier.
Without thinking, Myrine followed. Her head spun with questions. What was such a powerful king doing amongst his peasant soldiers? She carefully circled his position, her eyes trained on his concentrated expression. Then suddenly, before she could react, his eyes rose—and landed squarely on her face. For a moment she froze as their eyes met. Then she ducked behind a pillar and took to her heels, silently fleeing in the quiet shadows of the hall.
But she had not been nearly quick enough.
Firm fingers latched on to to her upper arm, and she was suddenly spun around and backed up into the cool surface of a wide column. Her chest heaving and her cheeks flushed, she was now face-to-face with Darius’s stormy glare.
“And what are you doing away from the inner palace, my concubine?” he asked, his large hands pinning hers to the smooth marble.
“My king,” she began, her voice faltering slightly, “I only wanted to see your work.”
“My work?” He raised a brow. “And why would a royal concubine be interested in learning about a king’s work?” He lifted a hand to trace a fingertip down the line of her jaw. “Why would she leave the harem to visit the courtyard when such an act is strictly forbidden?”
Myrine swallowed nervously. She had no weapons and no excuses. Unless...
“You spoke of physicians and apothecaries,” she said, her eyes wide and pleading,.”I only wished to see what these were.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, my king,” Myrine replied emphatically. “The art of healing is very intriguing.”
“You wish to learn about medicine?” Darius asked, his tone taking on a boyishly eager lilt.