Darius, King of Persia, has many beautiful women in his harem—but none entice him more than his latest prize: Myrine of Scythia. The princess’s overwhelming beauty and provocative dances fill him with lust—and his desire is matched by her own boldness.
Myrine has been given to the new king as a tribute, a tantalizing prize for the fierce warrior. But she is no submissive concubine, and her veils hide more than her sensuous curves. If she can capture Darius’s attention through a game of seduction, she will have him at her mercy!
Unveiled for the Persian King
Linda Skye
Contents
Chapter 1
Myrine fought the urge to fidget underneath the many veils that artfully covered her body. Though a cool evening breeze occasionally lifted a corner of the luxuriant material swathing her, it was not enough to quell the vestiges of the hot summer sun or the heat emanating from the hundreds of revelling Persians in the grand palace. She suppressed a scowl as a drunken Persian ambled by, pausing to lean in and ogle. She knew he couldn’t have seen much through the translucent fabric, but he had obviously seen enough to ignite his lust. He stumbled even closer, hands outstretched and fingers curled to pull at her coverings. A harsh smack from one of her male attendants sent the man careening backward.
“This woman is not to be touched,” her guard boomed sternly.
When the drunken reveller sneered and edged closer, the guard crossed his arms over his burly bare chest and glared.
“By order of the king,” the guard commanded.
Even in a drunken stupor, her would-be attacker seemed to reconsider. Then he slunk away, muttering Persian curses and taking a long swig from his flask of wine. The guard turned to Myrine.
“Apologies, noble lady,” he said in his deeply accented voice, “We Persians celebrate with song and wine, but the spirits can make men foolish.”
Myrine hummed her acknowledgement, a line creasing her brow—for she knew that after this night, she was not and never would be a noble lady. She sighed and admitted to herself that the Persians had a right to celebrate—especially on this night.
The new Persian emperor, King Darius, had just returned after subduing a violent, warlike tribe who had never before been subjugated. Despite the tribe’s ferocity in battle, Darius had easily crushed their rebellion, swept their lands into the rapidly expanding Persian empire and demanded tribute. The Scythian people—her people—had been utterly enslaved. And so an envoy of Scythian nobles bearing gifts of tribute had returned with the conquering king to the royal city of Susa, ready to formally present themselves as loyal subjects of the Persian empire at a lavish banquet.
Myrine cast a quick glance at the other Scythian nobles who were poised to be presented to the Persian court. Each was traditionally dressed and adorned with fine jewels unique to their lands—their former lands. Their spines were ramrod straight, their fists clenched. They knew, as did she, what they were there to do. The nobles stood in pairs in a long line ahead of her with trunks filled with gold and precious jewels between them, just waiting to be lifted and brought before the king’s dais.
And she was the last in the procession—as well she should be! For what could possibly be a better symbol of servitude or a more poignant acknowledgement of defeat than to offer the deposed king’s only daughter as tribute, to be used for the conqueror’s pleasure?
Myrine’s lips thinned. King Darius hadn’t even demanded such a thing; it had been King Scylas of Scythia who had deemed it necessary to offer up his daughter as a sacrifice.
A great cry rose from behind the heavy oak doors that blocked their view of the banquet hall. The sounds of drumming, music and laughter seeped into the marble corridor where she waited, and Myrine knew that her time was near. She fought the beads of perspiration that threatened on her forehead. It would not do to be a sticky mess; she needed to appear fresh, cool and composed. She carefully shifted from foot to foot under the many sheer layers of coloured gauze. Each translucent veil had been meticulously arranged so that it covered and yet tantalized, offering nothing more than a faint glimpse of a sensuous curve or hint of skin.
The drumming climbed toward its crescendo.
The four bare-chested male attendants around her took up their positions and bent to lift four wooden poles onto their shoulders. With a quick tug, they released the four silken drapes that had been wound around the rods. The heavy silk formed a perfect square around her; a prison of shining red and gold. All was set for her dramatic entrance.
Just as the drumming reached its frenzied climax, the majestic oak doors were pulled open. Myrine waited as the crowds quieted. Then the drummers began a low, slow marching beat, and the procession began to move forward. Myrine timed her steps to the drumbeat, measuring the length of her strides to stay at the centre of her silken cage. Through the thick curtains she could hear the clank of coins as the trunks of treasure were set at the feet of their new emperor. As she made the long walk to the front of the hall, she could pick up the hushed whispers of the onlookers as she passed.
Then she heard the voice of her king. She stopped and steeled herself, knowing her moment had finally come.
“And finally, great King Darius,” King Scylas announced, “One further gift to be used at your whim and for your every pleasure. To show our complete and absolute loyalty to the empire, I give you—” he paused dramatically “—my daughter, the Princess Myrine of Scythia!”
The drapes dropped with a swish, revealing her veiled form to all in the hall. In the hush that followed, Myrine stepped forward with a sensuous sway of her hips and dropped to one knee before the king. When King Scylas sent her a pointed look, she stood with a smooth twirl, her veils flaring outward to show glimpses of her long legs. It was time to enrapture a conqueror. She began to dance before the dais, weaving her svelte limbs in intricate, enticing patterns.
King Darius straightened minutely on his throne, his eyes trained upon the woman’s lithe form. He’d been pleased with the Scythian tribute of gold and precious items—but also rather uninterested in the lot. After all, they had been suitable and adequate expressions of servitude, and his city stores could always receive new loot—but really, what were a few more trunks of gold to an already wealthy kingdom?
But this woman, this deposed princess—her dramatic appearance had him captivated. Though she was covered from head to toe in gauzy veils, he could easily make out her sensuous silhouette. When she spun, he caught a glimpse of her shapely calves. When she dipped backward with arms upraised, the veils shifted slightly to show the pale plane of her abdomen. When she rolled her hips seductively in time to the drumming, the fabric parted to reveal the creamy length of her thigh.
And then she began to drop the veils.
Darius’s fists clenched involuntarily as he watched with ever-building anticipation the woman discarding