Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy)

Her Demon
Prince

By
Cathleen Ross

Published
by Cathleen Ross at Amazon

Copyright
2013 Cathleen Ross

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Chapter 1

944BC

Princess Phoebe gasped when she first caught
sight of the fortress city of Jerusalem, the enormous palace so different from
her father's Nordic hall. “What do you think of your new home, Princess?” asked
the king’s envoy, a middle-aged man who rode alongside her litter.

Phoebe couldn’t drag her gaze away from a
semi-circular building, its domed roof held high by rows of columns.

“Magnificent,” she said, too awed to affect
the stiff haughtiness expected of her station.

“You pass the armory and further to the right
is the Hall of Justice. Many people gather to hear the king’s famous wisdom.”

“It will be an honor to be queen to such an
esteemed king. I intend to make him proud,” she answered with the dignity her
father had impressed upon her. She noticed the envoy give her a glance. Was
that pity in his eyes?

Although something about him made her
uncomfortable, she couldn’t fault his behavior. A trickle of perspiration
started to build at her temple along the rim of the gold coronet she wore. She
reached up and gently dabbed at her forehead with her handkerchief, then
shifted her long blond hair from the back of her neck where it had started to
stick. “I have heard that His Majesty’s other wife has the face of an angel,”
she said.

“King Sol has built his favorite a palace. The
king gives her everything she wants,” the envoy said.

It was an honor to marry a king and her family
was proud of the match, but what if he only had eyes for his favorite? Although
she knew that her marriage was an arrangement, she hoped that the king would
grow to love her, like her father did her mother. “My mother explained that the
men here
can
have more than one wife. Does…His Majesty
spend all his time with his favorite?” She couldn’t bear to be alone, not when
she was used to living with her eight brothers and all of her cousins in the
hall.

Perhaps the envoy saw the concern in her eyes
because his expression became guarded. “Rest assured, Princess, even his queen
does not have eyes the color of the sky and skin of alabaster. I am sure the
King will notice you.”

“Notice me?” For the first time uncertainty
struck her, sending a shiver skating up her spine. “What do you mean? I am to
be his wife.”

The man avoided her eyes. “Excuse me, Princess,
we’ll arrive soon at the Women's Palace. I must arrange the gates to be
unlocked.” The envoy rode off before she could reply.

She gazed around her as they entered into a
densely-built
part of the city. Merchants, farmers and
peasants gathered on the streets to admire her and the cavalcade that passed
through.

Although a swathe of fabric covered the top of
her litter, the
heat of her new land made her woolen dress
cling
to her body. Phoebe pushed her locks from her face. Why weren’t
the people bowing as they should?

Instead, the women pointed and pulled their
head coverings close so that all Phoebe could see were their dark eyes. Clearly
these people were unused to the beautiful clothes of her country. She unhooked
the gold brooch at her neck and let her cloak fall from her shoulders to reveal
the linen petticoats and maize-colored dress that matched her hair color. Proud
of her loose flowing hair she held her head high. In time, she would introduce
the fashions of her people to these tightly covered women.

The women chattered and pointed, peering at
her. The men moved forward, their faces leering until the soldiers accompanying
the litter shoved them back. The furs and brightly woven fabrics on her litter
suddenly seemed too colorful amongst the dowdy colors worn by her new people.
Sun hit her skin and burned or was the heated feeling something else?
Discomfort. She reached around behind her, grabbed her cloak and pulled it
close despite the warmth.

Phoebe’s hand rose to her mouth and she bit
her fingernails. Her dowry had cost a fortune and she hoped the jewelry: the
armbands, the necklaces and earrings along with the gifts of the carved wooden
shields and double handled battle axes would awe this wealthy king. Her father
had impressed upon her how important trade with this land was and that the
family’s fortune depended on her.

When they approached the
guard
house
of what the envoys called the Women's Palace, the slaves put down
the litter. The envoy dismounted and spoke to the guard. After several minutes,
a man dressed in battle gear stormed toward them. From his bearing and the way
the envoy bowed, he appeared to have rank.

Phoebe’s breath quickened as her gaze moved
over him. She pushed herself to her knees and the man’s gaze hit her with such
force that she felt as if she had gulped too much mead. He was the most
striking man she had ever seen with his dark eyes, hawk-like nose and wide
sensual mouth. Could this be her husband? Her heart leapt as she strained for a
better view of him. From a distance, he appeared young and had the huge build
of a warrior, as dark as her father’s men were fair. For a long moment, their
eyes locked as he walked toward her. Close up he had broad shoulders, his arms
were thickly muscled and his body honed for battle. His black hair, cut
straight at his shoulders, contained plaits entwined with colorful symbols,
their weight stopping the breeze from blowing his hair in front of his eyes.
When he opened his mouth she noticed his teeth were white against his swarthy
complexion.

A quiver of excitement, of hope, raced through
her. If this was her husband, he was the most imposing man she’d ever seen.

“My lord, Prince Agrat, heir to the Jerusalem throne,
wishes to be presented to you,” the envoy said.

The Prince bowed. “Princess. Welcome to the
land of my father.” His eyes moved over her.

Normally she could manage some pretty words,
but her mouth dried under his scrutiny. “The King’s son. I hoped…”

“My lady?”

“That you were the king.”

"Would you wish to be my bride?" His
mouth formed a slight smile.

"What woman would not? Oh!" She put
her hand over her mouth realizing she had spoken out of turn.

His gaze moved over her as he appraised her
and he held out his hand. “You have had a long journey. Walk with me to the
women’s quarters.”

Phoebe wondered if in this land it was
improper to touch the hand of a man she didn’t know, but the call of him was
irresistible. She placed her hand in his and his fingers closed over hers with
the grip of possession.

The envoy emitted a hiss of shock, but Prince
Agrat silenced him with a glance.

Once she had stepped from the litter she
slipped her hand from his, conscious that she must not show her attraction to
him, but her heart raced from his touch.

When they moved out of hearing range, he said:
“Would that I were king to have a jewel such as you. I have never seen a woman
with amethyst eyes and hair the color of corn. My father is a fortunate man.”

“Are you married, my lord?” It was a forward
question to ask him but somehow she couldn’t bear to think of him with another,
though she chided herself for the foolish thought.

His eyes blazed and she swore they glowed for
an instant. “I desire to marry a woman who loves me, not for a political
alliance.”

When she looked in his eyes she saw yearning
for her there, desire mixed with frustration. A flicker of arousal flared
between her legs in response and she fought the urge to acknowledge it. As the
Women's Palace loomed in front of her, she knew her time with this fascinating
prince was short, but she wanted to know more about this man who talked of love
like the bards from her homeland. “I’m sure many would fight for the honor of
marriage with you.”

“No, Princess, his Majesty looks toward
building his own alliances rather than those of his sons. His Majesty owns all
available princesses. Already he has over five hundred wives,” the prince said,
his voice brittle.

Shock made Phoebe halt. She wavered on her
feet as the image of so many wives fixed itself in her mind. She noticed for
the first time, the bars on the windows of the Women's palace and the huge
guards standing in front of the doors. The gold bracelet on her wrist with the protective
charms of Odin, Thor and Freya jingled as her fingers instinctively clutched
them for comfort.

Her body started to tremble. “I was only told
of one wife, one with the face of an angel.”

“The queen and her son have locked my father’s
heart from all others. His other marriages are no more than alliances.”

“I refuse to be locked away.”

“It is for your own safety. This is a dangerous
land for unprotected women and we have trouble brewing on our borders. It is my
job to keep order in our lands. Tomorrow, I leave for the battlefield to join
my father in securing our borderland.”

How could she live in a place where men shut
up their women like possessions? She felt scared, angry and confused all at
once. She needed to hold this man, to have him hold her. She was certain that
in Agrat lay her only hope of freedom. “I pray that I will see you again,” she
said, her voice low so that only he could hear her.

“You are my king’s concubine.” His jaw
tightened.

“Concubine? I was to be his wife! My father
signed an agreement with your envoy.”

His
face hardened
.
“My father does not honor…” He clamped his lips shut.

Her heart seemed to shrink though it beat as
fast as a trapped animal sensing death. “I beg you. Do not put me away. I
didn’t leave my family to be dishonored. Imprisoned.” The words burst from her
lips. She grabbed his chest though her fingers struck the cold metal of his
breast plate
. Tears sprang from her eyes.

He gripped her shoulders, his face a mixture
of agony as if debating with himself. “Take heart, Princess. I will free you,”
he said, his voice low.

“You would put yourself at risk for me?” No
king would tolerate this, she thought. Taking a king’s woman was like a threat
to the throne.

Several palace guards approached.

“The Princess is to be treated well in the harem,”
the Prince ordered the guards. See that the eunuchs attend to her needs. He
took one last searching look at her. “I give you my oath. Be brave, fair
princess. I will come for you.”

Phoebe looked at the white palace looming in
front of her and choked back tears. Her new home was a beautifully built prison
and she was no more than a gift to open a new trade route.

Phoebe entered the harem, her
guards retreating when the eunuchs of the harem bade her to step forward. On
scanning
their
round, fleshy faces, she saw no sign of
interest in her arrival.