Scylas’s chest began to heave, and colour spread from his cheeks to his neck. Darius raised a brow and turned to his vizier.
“Do not stoop to baiting our guest, Araxes.” He coolly interfered. “What is your suggestion?”
“My lord,” the vizier said, bowing at the waist, “I humbly suggest that you but try this woman for yourself. Examine her fully before you add her to your harem. We daren’t pollute your playground, after all.”
“Do you dare to suggest he take her here,” Scylas retorted, his red face a mask of horror, “in front of his guests? You would dare to shame a princess of Scythia?”
Darius’s expression hardened.
“And do you dare to object to the rulings of your empire, Scylas of Scythia?” Darius challenged. “Remember, she is princess no longer—you yourself gave her to me as tribute for my every whim.”
Scylas trembled under his merciless glare, and he stepped back with his head bowed. Darius’s eyes slid to the disinherited young woman. She stood statue-still, her face carefully neutral and her eyes downcast. Though he could read no fear from her body language, he caught a glimpse of her fists clenching tightly at her sides.
He could have her strip naked and expose her to all—a definitive show of force and power. After all, he had even heard of former kings lavishing their carnal affections upon prospective concubines in full view of the court. But it did seem a pity to degrade such a dignified woman after her sultry performance just moments before. He had no desire to break the creature or to make the defeated king chafe even further under his hand. Making his decision, Darius rose from his throne and stepped forward to stand at the edge of the platform.
“People of Persia,” he boomed, raising his deep voice so that it echoed from the four corners of the great hall, “behold the tribute of a conquered people—gold for our city and pleasure for your king!”
A great cheer rose from the crowd.
“Continue the celebration,” Darius commanded. “Drink and be merry, my people, for tonight I have claimed lands for our empire. And I will take their princess for my own.”
The musicians immediately began to play, a string of dancing girls started to circulate through the crowds, and laughter and the sounds of merrymaking once again filled the hall. Darius looked down at Araxes and Scylas.
“Step down from my dais,” he commanded sternly.
They bowed their heads and began to descend the steps backward. Darius turned sharply and strode back to sit again upon his marble throne. With a flick of his fingers, he gestured to his eunuch attendants.
“Draw the curtains,” he commanded imperiously.
Several rich, purple velvet curtains were quickly pulled shut around the top tier of the dais, completely cutting off the throne from the rest of the hall. Even the sounds of revelry were muffled by the thick drapes.
And so finally the conquering king and his living tribute were alone.
Darius leaned back, studying the woman who had not budged a millimetre since being commanded to rise. She stood perfectly still, presumably waiting.
“So, Scythian,” Darius asked, his tone hard, “do you speak our tongue?”
“Who does not speak the language of the Persians?” she replied without lifting her head. After a moment’s pause, she added, “My king.”
Darius smirked. So there was fire underneath her docile facade after all.
“You speak well enough to be insolent, then?”
“I speak well enough to be understood.”
His grin widened. Her voice was sweet and high, her foreign accent lending a unique melody to her words. But there was an edge to her dulcet tones that he had not been expecting.
Interesting. He changed tack.
“Then do you also understand well enough to know why you are here?”
She glanced up, and the look in her eyes was all he needed to confirm that she did in fact understand her position quite perfectly. Yet still he waited for her answer in the long silence that followed.
“I am a tribute,” she finally said softly. “Given to be used for your pleasure.”
“Indeed.” Darius paused, leaning back. “And does your new position please you, princess of Scythia?”
She arched a delicate brow, cocking her head to one side.
“I am no longer a princess, as you have said,” she replied calmly, “And I am not here for my own pleasure but for yours...my king.”
“So,” Darius said, his tone deceptively light, “do you know why I have had the curtains drawn?”
Myrine struggled to quell the tremble in her thighs, keenly aware of his heavy stare. Out of habit, she dropped her eyes.
“I would not presume to know the mind of a king,” she answered quietly.
“Oh come now,” Darius chided playfully, “this pretence does not suit you.” His tone darkened. “And I am not one for games.”
Myrine heard the warning in his voice and raised her eyes to his.
“Apologies, my king,” she said loftily. “I am not accustomed to men who care to hear the thoughts of their women.”
“There are many things you will not be accustomed to in my kingdom,” Darius said pointedly. “But you have not yet answered my question.”
“You plan to examine my flesh to prove my worth as your bed slave,” Myrine said, her voice deliberately flippant.
Darius tutted and shook his head.
“Why so callous, my darling?” He said with a light frown, “You have misunderstood my purpose. The curtains were drawn to protect your modesty as my property. But yes, I would see what my battles have purchased.” He lifted a hand and beckoned her closer. “So by all means, please show me what you have to offer.”
Myrine considered this king. He was cunning—of that she was certain. And though she had heard of his ruthless savagery in battle and of his iron fist in dealing with his enemies, he did not seem to rule his people or his conquered vassals with a heavy hand. He had dealt fairly and calmly with both her king and his vizier—demonstrating a level head and exceptional self-control. She had not even expected him to speak with her before indulging in her flesh, much less engage her in a bout of verbal sparring. His courteous manner left her confused, forcing her to change her strategy in approaching him. He seemed driven by his kingdom, rather than drunk on power.
Darius the Great, indeed.
Myrine inhaled, her mind racing to formulate a plan. After all, she too had a duty to complete—and all her training had prepared her for this moment. Rolling her head back to stretch out her neck, she began. She daringly stepped forward until her legs were almost between his knees. Then, as she raised her arms, she twisted her hands in intricate patterns and bent forward and back, shaking her shoulders so that her breasts shook alluringly. With her arms still upraised, she held her upper body stiff and began to move her hips in sensual circles—at first slowly and then in tight, quick motions. Turning, she presented him with a view of her elegant spine.
Despite his impeccable self-control, Darius felt himself harden almost immediately at the sight. This dance was completely different from the last. While the latter had been slowly seductive, this was plainly provocative. She began to twist in place, lowering her gyrating hips until she barely touched his clenching thighs—only to rise again in an enthralling parody of lovemaking. She was so close that he could smell her sweet scent and feel her silky tresses brush against his bare chest. The proximity was both enticing and infuriating.