Unveiled for the Persian King

by Linda Skye

  Myrine felt her world expand and then contract to the point where they joined, a million electric tingles shooting out to every nerve in her body. She reached up to wrap her forearm around his neck, turning her head so she could catch his lips in a kiss. A knot at the base of her belly tightened—and then unfurled into sparking bliss, and she cried out into his mouth.

  Darius picked up his pace one last time, helping her climb to her climax. And when she had reached the very pinnacle of pleasure, he buried his face in her neck and let loose inside her.

  His arms tightened like bands of steel around her, and he refused to let them move until they had both stopped quivering. He slid free and gently eased them into sitting down in the warm water. Myrine lounged between his loosely crossed legs, her breath still as light and quick as a butterfly’s wings. Darius smoothed his fingers through her long hair and waited out his own diminishing climax.

  It seemed hours later when they finally unfolded themselves from the bath and called for warm clothes to dry off with. As Myrine pulled a silk robe over her shoulders, Darius called Jamshid aside to whisper instructions in his ear. She could not know if he still intended to send her away alive or if he had changed his mind—but there was absolutely nothing she could do about it now. So she simply waited, staring dully past them.

  When Darius strode back to where she was, he looked down and met her mournful eyes.

  “You will sleep in the harem tonight,” he announced. “And tomorrow, before the sun rises, Jamshid will send you off into the desert with a flask of water and a cloak. And you are never to return—on pain of death.”

  Myrine swallowed, her throat dry. Darius bent to plant a tender, bittersweet kiss on her forehead. He cupped her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle.

  “Good night, my concubine,” he whispered, “and farewell.”

  Chapter 6

  It was pitch-black, but Myrine had long ago grown accustomed to such darkness.

  She was perched on a windowsill in King Darius’s bedchamber, her catlike eyes watching him as he slept on, oblivious to her presence. She traced his dark curls, the ridge of his nose, the arch of his cheek and the strong line of his jaw, burning his image into her memory.

  She would not wait for morning.

  Myrine had slipped from the harem as soon as all had gone quiet, and she fully intended to flee before dawn. But first...first she had to have one last glimpse of the man who had caused her to falter.

  “Good night, my king.” She mouthed the words. “And farewell.”

  She turned to retreat from her perch, but then paused as a strange sound caught her attention. She straightened suddenly, her skin tingling with cold. Fear pricked at her heart and made her eyes go wide in the silvery moonlight.

  There was a low grunt and the sound of a falling body, and then the doors to the chamber slowly swung open.

  “I was wondering if I might find you here.”

  From the shadows emerged a figure she knew well. She opened her mouth to shout a warning.

  “Don’t bother, Myrine,” Scylas chided quietly. “The guards outside are dead, and by the time others arrive, it will be too late.”

  He slowly approached the bed and looked down at Darius, who was still sound asleep. Scylas clucked his tongue.

  “I should have known better than to send a woman to do a man’s job,” he said regretfully. “You just couldn’t do it, could you?”

  Myrine looked on in horror as Scylas brandished an exact copy of one of her needles, lifting it high above his head.

  “I’ll just have to finish the job myself!”

  “No!” she choked out.

  And not a moment too soon, for the sound woke Darius. He moved in time to see the needle stab straight into the mattress where his arm had been not a moment earlier. But before he could sit up, Scylas had him pinned with a knee to the chest, a second needle already at his neck.

  “You don’t seem all that surprised,” Scylas commented quizzically as he stared down at Darius’s defiant expression. “Ah,” he nodded knowingly, “I see that our young Myrine has completely fallen for you after all. She obviously told you everything already.”

  “Please,” Myrine hissed, “I beg you, King Scylas, do not do this.”

  “Foolish whore,” Scylas sneered. “This was going to happen whether or not you did it. It is a small thing to frame a harlot posing as a princess.”

  “What?”

  Scylas chuckled drily, and Darius growled.

  “Did you actually think I would buy your freedom after this was done? Or that if you fled, he would be spared?” he asked with a condescending smirk. “You were never more than an expendable pawn, Myrine.” He glanced down at Darius’s furious expression. “Surely a fellow ruler can understand my meaning?”

  “You are a poor excuse for a ruler.” Darius ground out the words. “Not even fit to govern pigs.”

  “You wound me,” Scylas responded with false hurt. “But since Myrine here does not understand, I feel compelled to enlighten her.”

  He looked back to Myrine, who had gone even paler in the moonlight. He shook his head sadly.

  “Poor little Myrine,” he cooed. “Destined to die for her country.”

  “I d-don’t understand,” she stuttered. “You promised me my freedom.”

  “And have you always trusted the promises of men, Myrine?” Scylas tutted. “If you had done your job properly and killed this brat of a king, I would have let the Persians find you, judge you and execute you as an assassin. After all, everyone knows you always wear these hairpins, and everyone would recognize the wound that caused the king’s death. After all, who would really believe the word of a foreign concubine?”

  “But I didn’t kill him,” Myrine whispered.

  “Which brings us to this situation,” Scylas said, annoyed, “where I am forced to intervene and do your job for you.”

  “You can’t!”

  “I can, and I will!” Scylas said angrily. “And then I will kill you and leave your bodies for the guards to find in the morning. Who knows what conclusions they will draw—but what does it matter? This king will be dead.”

  Scylas smiled.

  “But don’t worry, my dear,” he comforted her. “All I need to do is pierce his skin. The poison will kill him instantly. It will be relatively painless.” He paused. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Fixing crazed eyes on Darius, Scylas lifted the second hairpin.

  For Myrine, it felt as if time had slowed. She saw the poisoned tip of the needle glint. She saw that Darius would not be able to move in time to avoid its deadly point. Her heart hardened against her former king, and she lunged forward just as Scylas brought the needle down. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she knocked his hand away, sending the metal needle skittering across the floor. Scylas dived for the discarded weapon, while Myrine turned to grab at the needle still embedded in the mattress. As her nimble fingers locked onto the slim hairpin, Scylas tackled her from behind and they tumbled into a heap of clawing hands. With a cry, Myrine rolled to her knees atop Scylas and plunged her needle fiercely into Scylas’s chest. Pinning him down, she watched as the former king slumped on the floor, dead with a bewildered expression on his face.

  “Myrine!” Darius cried out hoarsely.

  She turned in time to see Darius jump from the bed. All of a sudden, a tingling numbness began to slide through her veins. She wanted to get up, but her body refused to ob
ey. Darkness crowded her sight as she fell to the side. Her eyes slid to her forearm.

  A long, jagged scratch extended from her wrist to her elbow.

  The other needle...

  Darius knelt by her side and gathered her limp form into his arms. Myrine’s vision grew hazy, and her limbs felt heavy as lead. She could barely feel the warmth of Darius’s body as he cradled her in his arms. She wanted to frown and reach up to touch his face, but she found that her mind no longer held sway over her body.

  My king, she thought weakly, are those tears for me?

  His eyes wild, Darius was shouting loudly—for the guards, for help, for anyone to come—but it seemed a distant noise in her ears. She thought she heard the word physician, but everything seemed increasingly garbled. She willed her lips to move one last time. Darius looked down, rocking her softly and pressing his face to hers.

  “Don’t you dare die.”

  She heard him say the words as a prayer, over and over again. And then Myrine slipped away into darkness.

  Chapter 7

  Darius sat back, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Unread rolls of parchment were stacked in a neat pile on his desk. He sighed and tossed the missive he had been reading to the floor. It was a trivial issue brought forward by a very powerful noble—and thus annoyingly important to the kingdom. He sighed again. Standing, he walked over to the open window. He closed his eyes and let the arid desert breeze wash over his skin.

  It had been months since his assassin-concubine had disappeared completely from the palace. She had saved his life, and he had vowed to save hers. So he had entrusted her care to his finest physicians. Her recovery had been slow but encouraging—until the day she abruptly disappeared. The physicians had no idea where she had gone; one day she had been barely alive in her cot, and the next she was missing without a trace.

  He wondered if she had fled. Or if his advisers had quietly done away with her. He found himself hoping that she was safe.

  A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Enter,” he called.

  “My king,” Araxes announced, “here is a new policy I wish for you to approve.”

  “Put it with the others,” Darius said with a dismissive wave.

  “No, my king,” Araxes said, holding out the parchment. “This is of utmost urgency, as it concerns your safety. You only just survived a clever assassination plot—who knows when there will be another?”

  Darius turned to regard Araxes with a sharp look. His eyebrows rose as he noticed the silent, black-clad attendant who was standing behind his adviser. With a shrug, he pulled the thin sheet of parchment from Araxes’s outstretched fingers. His eyes scanned the characters quickly.

  “And I assume this is the personal bodyguard you have appointed?” Darius questioned, glancing past Araxes to the silent observer.

  “Yes, my king,” Araxes confirmed. “A skilled guard. Perfectly trained in the art of battle and stealth, this one has already proved their worth.”

  “Very well,” Darius said with a drawn-out breath, “I will entrust my safety to this...guard.”

  “Thank you, my king.”

  With that, Araxes turned and exited his chambers, leaving Darius to scrutinize his new attendant. He paced in a circle around the guard, his eyes taking in the thin black cloth that obscured almost every inch of the guard’s skin. He paused, tapping a finger against his chin. There was something very peculiar about this person.

  “You are very slight of figure for a warrior,” he commented. “And short.”

  “I am” came the response, a low voice muffled by cloth.

  “One could almost say that you were very...feminine.”

  “I would hope so.”

  Darius’s forehead creased in confusion.

  “You would hope so?”

  He stepped forward suddenly and jerked away the cloth covering the guard’s face. A mass of silvery-blond hair spilled out, and a pair of startlingly clear blue eyes stared back up at him.

  “Myrine,” he breathed disbelievingly.

  “Yes, my king.”

  “How...?”

  “Araxes took me from the infirmary,” she explained with a light smile. “He gave me a choice—exile or this new appointment. I chose to stay by your side as your guard.”

  Darius scooped her up into a fierce embrace.

  “Good,” he said fiercely. “This is good.”

  Myrine gently smoothed her hands over his arms, noting how he sagged against her.

  “What has made you so tired, my king?” she inquired.

  “My advisers never tire of hounding me,” he said wearily, dropping his chin to her shoulder.

  “To do what?” she asked lightly, gently stroking his forearm with a fingertip.

  “To take a wife,” he mumbled morosely into her skin. “Specifically, Atossa.”

  “Oh,” Myrine said flatly. “Her.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Darius groaned.

  Myrine turned in his arms, winding her slim arms around his neck.

  “Then,” she said, her tone low and sultry, “let me help you forget your troubles, my king. After all, it is my job to protect you from all harm.”

  She began to ply him with sweet kisses, her soft lips tracing imaginary patterns over his face. As she slowly drew him into a long, languid kiss, he dropped his hands to her hips. She smoothed her palms down his back, rubbing circles into his aching muscles. He slid his palms up her sides, his fingers spreading over her ribs. When his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, she gasped, and he pulled away to taste the sweet skin at her neck. The electric spark between them grew into a lusty blaze, and Myrine hitched a leg over his hip. He ground into her core with his hips, and Myrine could not contain a low moan of pleasure.

  “Why not give up your new position for one of more prestige?” Darius suggested as he moulded his palm to her breast.

  “And what would that be, my king?” Myrine moaned into his mouth.

  “Royal consort,” he said, nipping at her chin with his teeth. “If I take you as a wife, they will drop the matter of Atossa for a while.”

  “And return to the harem?” Myrine began to laugh until Darius pinched the erect bud of her breast. “I’d rather not, my king.”

  “You dare to refuse this honour?” Darius teased playfully as he gradually pushed her toward his bed.

  “Yes, I refuse,” she replied, brazenly straddling his hips as they tumbled to the mattress. “Besides, as your personal guard, I could spend every night in your chambers.” She slowly began to peel away the fabric covering her creamy flesh, a lascivious gleam in her eye. “And every night I would make sure to...protect you.”

  Darius hummed as he slid greedy palms up her sides, reaching up to pull her down for a kiss.

  “Yes, I suppose that is acceptable,” he said with a quick upward thrust of his hips. “But I will not yet give up on my idea of making you a royal consort.”

  “I’m sure you will try all manner of methods to convince me.” Myrine laughed, meeting his thrusts fervently as she reached to tear away what was left of his clothing. “But I will not be so easily swayed. I think I’ll rather enjoy being your bodyguard instead.”

  “Very well,” Darius said with a sigh, “I will let the matter drop for a while.” He began to rub circles over her rib cage with his thumb. “If you will do one thing for me.”

  “Yes, my king?”

>   “That you will now cease speaking and introduce me to some of your finer talents,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting suggestively. “The type that leave us both sweating and exhausted.”

  “Come, my king,” she said with a devilish grin. “There are still many of my secret skills that I have not shared with you.”

  With the desert sun at its peak, a concubine turned assassin turned personal bodyguard and the king she conquered melted into each other in a fiery blaze of passion. Their laughter and moans of pleasure echoed off the marble walls for hours as the sun set over the empire—promising to return with new days of adventure for them both.

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