Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) (2 page)

"Come," one barked
at her.

She followed the eunuch into a
large courtyard, surrounded by high arches and elaborately painted walls. Women
sat in groups on cushions, their bodies swathed in colored fabrics reminding
her of brightly feathered birds kept in cages.

The eunuch led her to a large dais
with a throne-like chair, on which sat a woman swathed in gold, her face stern
but beautiful. Although there were few signs of aging, Phoebe guessed her to be
past her
child-bearing
years.

"Kneel," the woman
said.

Phoebe's chin jerked up.
"I am Princess Phoebe, daughter of the king of the Norse people. I do not
kneel."

The woman nodded to someone
standing behind Phoebe.

Something struck the back of
her knees so that her legs buckled. A cry left her lips and she looked around.
One of the eunuchs held a crop, which had cut into the soft skin behind her
knees despite her gown.

"How dare you?"
Phoebe cried, turning to the woman. "I am a princess." She tried to
stand but the eunuch who had led her in, pushed down hard on her shoulders.

The woman leaned forward on
her seat. "I am Tamir, head of the concubines. Here you are nothing. You
will serve me. If you please me, you will live. If you defy me, I will have
your bones ground to dust and your ashes exposed to the winds. Understand —
it is the only way you will leave the harem."

Phoebe looked around her and
she sucked in large gasps of air. The walls seemed to be closing in on her. The
sickly, sweet scent of women and spices verging on decay seemed to clog up her
throat. Women, servants and eunuchs stared at her as if she were the latest
entertainment in their unchanging lives.

"I am to be married to
the king," she said, trying to stop her voice from trembling.

Twitters of laughter rang
around her rising up through the courtyard.

"Another queen,"
tittered one of the women seated at Tamir's feet.

"Married to the king, you
say?" Tamir laughed, though her gaze was cruel. "Look around you, Princess.
Why do you think you are any different to those you see here?"

Desperation filled her heart
but she raised her chin. "Prince Agrat ordered that I be treated
well."

The women murmured and
whispered to one another. Tamir leaned forward. "You trust the word of the
demon prince?"

Phoebe gasped.
"Demon?"

"Foolish concubine, how
easily you fell prey to the spell of the unfavored son."

"What spell?" The
princess wrapped her arms around herself.

"The prince can make any
woman fall in love with him, which is why the king locks all his women away,
for to take the king's woman is to challenge the king."

Were Tamir's words true? The
attraction had been overwhelming. Oh by the goddess, she was a fool. Demons
were known to seduce maidens in her own country to implant their devil spawn
and she would have walked willingly into his arms.

"Do you think he will
help you? Pah!"

"But he is the son of the
king."

"The son of a demon queen
who seduced the king. The prince will not help you, nor will you attract the
king's attention with your fair hair and bright eyes. He has already married an
angel. Next to her, you are nothing."

Her heart thudded in her chest
and seemed to miss a beat as the sickening reality struck her. "The king
never comes here?"

"Do you hear the laughter
of children? Do you see them?" Tamir's mouth had thinned to a bitter,
crimson line. "There are no men here except those who have paid a great
price to serve his majesty. They call this the Women's Palace; perhaps they
should have called it the palace of the living dead."

Four
moons later, despite the suffocating heat, Phoebe pulled the dark fabric around
her face so that none of her blond hair could escape and give her away. How
long before Tamir, the head woman of the harem, heard of her escape? If she
were caught, she knew she would be locked in a cell again where Tamir kept the
women who displeased her. She’d never allow herself to be put in one of the
dark punishment holes to wallow in her own filth.

Her princess status was
nothing in the harem, where Moabite, Ammonite, Edomite, Sidonian and Hittite
princesses were gifted to the king in return for trade and political alliances.
Every day in the harem had been hell, waiting for her prince who never came.
What a fool she was to think he would risk his life for her.

Careful to keep her eyes
downcast lest their bright color attract attention in this land of dark-eyed
people, she walked through the main gate of the city, following several wagons
of goods and a large group of people walking after it, relieved that she had
made it this far. The eunuch she had bribed with the last of her hidden gems
had been as good as his word and set her free. It would be many days travel to
the ancient port of Tyre where the merchant ships plied the trade routes to the
Mediterranean. Already the harsh morning sun rose high and the beat of the sun
made her head throb, but determination made her press forward. She would not be
any man’s concubine. Many tales circulated in the harem about the demon prince,
too. Some said he was the most fearsome warrior, strong beyond measure, fierce
in the face of danger and that his father hated him because he was a threat to
the king. The women whispered that to look into his eyes was to fall under his
treacherous sexual spell. Phoebe shook her head and stumbled forward on the
cobbled road. No wonder she had been so foolish and had imagined herself half
in love, the prince had used magic on her. Few possessed it in her land, but
those who welded it were feared.

The sound of horses
approaching rattled the ground until it rumbled beneath her feet. Voices rose
from the tribe in front of her. The men looked about them and the women
gathered their children close.

Phoebe flashed a glance behind
her at the distant walled city of Jerusalem to see an ominous cloud of dust
rising from the mass of approaching horsemen. She clenched her hand into a fist
and bit hard on her knuckle to stifle a gasp.

Already the families started
moving to the side of the road to let the army pass. Fear bit deep, as head
down, Phoebe moved to the back of the crowd, careful not to draw attention to
herself
. Surely an army this size, complete with chariots,
would not be sent for a mere escapee concubine?

A woman screamed and a shudder
of fear echoed through the crowd around her. Risking discovery, Phoebe looked
up at the approaching army. A spinning, plummeting sensation gripped her when
she saw them.

“Djin! Djin!” screamed a
woman.

The crowd pushed and shoved as
terror drove them further off the flat road. Little children wailed in the
confusion.

When the army approached,
Phoebe saw their distorted animal faces and bodies. Tales of King Sol’s demon
army had reached her in the harem. She had heard they raped women and devoured
the flesh of men. How long before they fell on the people like savage creatures
and tore them apart?

Dust and the stink of death
rose in the air and the crowd moved in a confused, fear-crazed mob so that
women and children fell. Screams rent the air.

Sick with horror, Phoebe ran
with the crowd, praying to Odin that this evil horde would not find her amongst
the people. A woman beside her tripped and fell grabbing at Phoebe as she did
so, wrenching her robe. Phoebe shoved the woman away, clutching her robe close.
If the blondness of her hair was seen…

When the horsemen reigned in
their mounts, several of the Djin walked toward the quivering crowd, their
swords drawn. One huge man with long, flowing black hair and merciless eyes
stepped from a chariot and strode forward, ahead of the others.

A shot of recognition swept
through Phoebe and even after so much disappointment, her heart fluttered.
Dressed as a warrior with his magnificent lapis lazuli
breast
plate
and long curved dagger at his side, Prince Agrat was the most
arresting man she had ever seen.

On the Prince’s right marched
a menacing monkey-faced demon that must be the infamous Snarcus, dressed in
black body armor bearing a sword with an evil twisted blade. Phoebe had heard
he ate babies. To the prince’s left, another demon approached, as tall as a
giant. On lumbering limbs with a long torso and carrying a severed head under
his arm with a burning, gaping mouth and no eyes, the demon neared the crowd.

Fear crystallized amongst the
crowd into a silence of terror. Not even the birds in the sky sounded their
calls and the livestock no longer bleated.

The woman beside Phoebe
whimpered. “The Prince has brought his demons.
Do
not
let Envy see your face.”

The woman’s terrified whisper
rippled through Phoebe’s mind like a shock wave. Even she, new to the land, had
heard of this putative demon with the severed head that searched out those
suffering the deadly sin of Envy. Could he see into her soul, despite having no
eyes? Would he know how she envied King Sol’s queen her freedom? Would he be
aware she had hoped that Prince Agrat would be her chosen husband before she
had discovered how treacherous he was? She tried to shield her thoughts. How
soon, before he dragged her out before the Prince to display her foolishness?

And then
what?

Death.

All except Prince Agrat wore
the brand of King Sol’s Seal, showing their obeisance to the king. Oh good God,
how did she think she ever had a chance of escaping this powerful king who
honored not his promises and could control evil itself?

Women around Phoebe crumpled
to the ground while their children clutched their mothers’ bodies. Even the men
turned their faces away, clearly fearing to catch the eyes of the Djin General,
Prince Agrat, lest he cleave their heads from their bodies.

“Cast aside your cloaks. Let
fall your headgear. The prince wishes to gaze upon the faces of the women,”
shouted Snarcus, the monkey-faced demon.

A shudder passed through the
crowd.

Phoebe watched as one brave
man stood in front of his wife. No woman was permitted to show her face to men
not of her tribe, to do so would make her a whore.

Snarcus lifted his sword and
ran the husband through. The husband fell to the ground unmoving. His wife
screeched in terror, sank to the ground and put her palm onto her husband’s
chest. “He is dead,” she wailed. She looked around, her eyes wild, her gaze
settling on the prince. The woman crawled toward him. “Please, great prince. I
beg of you. Give me back the husband I love. I carry his child. A child cannot
be without a father to protect him. Oh, please, great lord, grant him life.”
Wretched with tears, she clutched his foot and kissed it.

Phoebe sank to the earth,
recoiling at the abomination of these monstrous demons.

“I desire no bloodshed,”
Prince Agrat said. “I am here to protect my father’s people, not harm them.” He
pointed toward the husband and an incantation left his lips. Black energy left
the prince’s fingers and hovered over the dead man. Inside the black cloud grew
the glowing shape of a man. The force lowered over the man’s body, shifting and
buzzing and the man-like form entered the body.

The man took a great
shuddering breath, groaned and clutched his side. Although blood stained his
fingers, it no longer soaked the sand. The wife let out a cry of joy. “He
lives. Thank you, great Lord.” She crawled back to her husband, clutching and
kissing him.

Phoebe shoved her hand to her
mouth to stifle a cry, awed at the prince's magic. Prince Agrat must truly be a
demon if he could force a soul back into a body. It was hideous. Not natural.
No one in her country possessed this type of power.

“Do not test my patience,” the
prince said to the crowd. “Show your faces.
All of you.
Now!”