The King's Harem

by Derr, Megan

  More laughter and looks exchanged, then the blond man picked up the story. "I do believe he curbed his indulgence after that night! Young Prince Ryder sat down, right there at the king's table and set the pieces up. Such a frown of concentration on his face!"

  Gorky grinned and slurped his wine, absently pouring more as he spoke in turn. "The game did not last long before Prince Ryder checkmated him neatly with a rook!"

  Noor frowned. "I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the game."

  "It's a strategy game, much like taaki. Only two persons play at a time, and the rules are not quite as intricate or varied, but it is just as difficult, for all that." Rook swallowed his wine in a single gulp and poured more. Something dark violet, which Noor suspected was rather strong. "A rook is one of the playing pieces, similar in nature to the tarka piece."

  "I see," Noor said, not entirely understanding but comprehending enough. "Is this story that upsetting to you?"

  Rook shrugged. "Embarrassing, mostly," he said. "I should have been told no right from the start, if not beaten for my audacity." He shrugged again. "I wanted to try and play, though, and did not think past that."

  A sudden silence fell.

  "Try and play?" Gorky said finally. "Lord Rook … Are you saying you had never played before that night?"

  Rook buried his face in one hand as the table erupted into all new levels of delighted laughter. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, please," he said, voice tight, then stood up and all but bolted.

  Noor did not bother being polite to men who had been rude first, simply stood and followed Rook out of the banquet hall. He caught up with him two hallways later, latching on to a slender wrist. "I apologize," he said. "You clearly did not want the story told, I should not have so willingly listened."

  "It's all right," Rook said tiredly, sighing softly. "From all viewpoints but mine, it is a fine tale. I understand why they like to recount it."

  Slowly letting go of him, Noor waited.

  "People back home like to say I am not my father's son. I think sometimes even my father suspected my mother of dallying with his brother. My father is no tactician, and the present king is quite sharp of mind, as was the late king—the man I played. My grandfather. On top of that, my father has always been sickly. Everyone else sees the game which was played, that a boy of fifteen beat the king, who until then had never been defeated." He laughed bitterly. "All I remember was that my father still would not smile at me, and the rumors of who truly sired me tripled that day."

  Rook turned sharply away. "I apologize. It is not fair to make you listen to me whine, nor did I mean to ruin your dinner."

  "You did not," Noor said quietly. "Their odious behavior spoiled it long before that. These fancy dinners do not suit this son of the Lady, anyway."

  "They do not suit this heathen either," Rook said with a more genuine laugh. "Shall we enjoy our wine in peace, then?"

  Noor smiled. "That sounds ideal, heathen."

  "Then follow me, savage," Rook said, returning the smile. He halted a passing servant, requesting wine be brought to his room, then led the way through the halls.

  They settled in Rook's room. It was much like Noor's own, save it was decorated predominantly in blue and orange. The wine arrived only a moment later, set neatly on the table along with a tray of food. It never failed to amaze him, the vast array of wines in Tavamara. More colors and flavors than he could ever think of, and he would never recall all the names.

  Rook burst out laughing, suddenly, as he looked at the wine. "Perhaps I gave the wrong impression when I asked for wine, though I don't see how given the snit I was in."

  "Wrong impression?" Noor asked, sitting at the table, gratified when Rook sat perpendicular to him. He glanced at the wine. Three small carafes, at least a dozen wine dishes, each one different. One wine was so dark it looked nearly black, but he could see hints of blue in it. The other was a rich orange, the last had only a faint touch of pink to it.

  "Uh—nothing," Rook said, looking away.

  Noor quirked a brow. "What are the names of these wines? I am afraid I'm quite hopeless at remembering them."

  Rook looked at him, tilting his head, clearly uncertain. Finally he gave up, sighing softly. "The pale one is called Sweet Kiss. The orange is called Consuming Fire. The dark one is called Midnight Tryst. All can be used at any stage in a meal, though Sweet is often used for a dessert wine, the other two for main courses, but the flexibility of the three make them ideal for drinking in any situation … including those which their names imply." He turned to look anywhere but at Noor. "I did not mean to give that impression to the servant."

  He would be offended, except he had been looking most carefully since that kiss. Noor smiled and reached out to pour wine, deciding on the Midnight Tryst. Taking a small sip, immediately liking it, he finally spoke. "That is a pity."

  Rook's head snapped back around, his eyes widening as he took in Noor's expression. "What? Since when? You have given no cues that—"

  Noor cut him off with a soft, easy laugh. "Saa, heathen. I hid from Sheik Hashim for years that I wanted to kill him. You are so busy here, watching everything else, I could hide my thoughts for a couple of days. Not much longer, I am sure." He took another sip of wine, then set the empty dish down and reached out, unsurprised that Rook started moving at the same time.

  He did not speak again until they were only breaths apart. "You looked quite fine kissing your old friend, heathen. I wanted to know what it would be like to do the kissing."

  Rook sank one hand into his hair, tugging his head down closer still. "Then kiss me already, savage."

  Noor complied, wasting no time in taking possession of that fine mouth, immediately entranced that Rook's taste matched his scent—sunshine and sweet wine. Yes, kissing Rook was much finer than watching him kiss.

  Lady of the Sands, why had he been blind for so long? Tightening his hold on Rook, Noor shifted, twisting away from the table to lay Rook on the floor, breaking the kiss to pull back and simply admire. "If all heathens kiss like you, it is no wonder His Highness has two of them."

  Rook laughed.

  It was too much temptation to resist, and Noor did not bother to try, but dipped his head to claim another hot and heady kiss. "Saa, heathen. I wish I had taken notice sooner."

  "I'm amazed you took notice at all," Rook said, looking somewhat sad. "There is little to recommend this heathen to a son of the Lady."

  Noor shook his head. "Or perhaps we all have sand in our heads," he said.

  Rook smiled faintly. "Perhaps."

  He took another brief kiss, then could not resist a smirk. "Not so much sand, however, that I did not figure out what I was gifted with." He pulled the strip of black fabric from his robes.

  Beneath him Rook went still—then flushed, groaning. "Oh, no."

  Chuckling, Noor rubbed it against Rook's cheek and then draped it over his eyes. "Oh, yes."

  "How …" Rook shivered beneath him, and Noor thought that was something he could get quite used to feeling.

  He dipped his head to nip at Rook's jaw, his throat. "It was not so hard, once I began to pay attention. Your mind never stops, heathen. Always you see, predict. It strains you."

  Rook drew in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in Noor's robes. "You noticed."

  Noor pulled the blindfold away, then bent to give Rook another long, deep kiss. "It took me a long time to start paying attention, my heathen, but once I did I realized there were many things worth seeing."

  Rook smiled faintly, hesitantly, and reached up to brush back a few strands of Noor's hair. "You had more important things to pay attention to than a useless heathen."

  "Useless?" Noor frowned. "Yet always my Sandstorm Prince speaks highly of you, and all that you accomplish in assisting him. Her Highness too says you are the finest of diplomats, even from a distance. I have never heard anyone call you useless, my heathen."

  "Mm," Rook murmured. "I would rather be put to a different use right now."r />
  Heat flared at the words, the look on Rook's face. "I believe I could find a use for you," Noor replied, then took Rook's mouth in a kiss that was nearly savage in its ferocity, only growing hotter, harder, when Rook met it full measure.

  Pulling back, drawing breath, Noor slowly stood and then hauled Rook to his feet, guiding him toward the low bed, stripping away his clothes that he might finally see his heathen completely bare.

  Beautiful.

  "Saa, heathen," he said, running his hands over that fine, gold skin. "How is it you are free for this savage to take?"

  Rook's expression turned gloomy, even as he moved beneath Noor's hands. "Everyone gets tired of me. Of my predicting, or of the blindfold. My mind does not stop so long as I can see." He tugged Noor down, nails digging lightly into his arms, as tense as he'd been before when discussing his father and the chess game. "Eventually, they all hate that either I know all their actions, or go blindfolded. Everyone wants to be seen, especially …"

  Heathens, minus a few exceptions, really were stupid. Noor consigned them all to the Lady's wrath. He spread Rook out on the bed, nearly distracted by the sight of all that fine skin, muscles that were only lightly toned, so strange a sight but not unappealing. Spreading Rook's legs, he settled between them, then pulled Rook up to kiss him deeply once more.

  As he finally let Rook go, he covered those vibrant eyes, knotting the blindfold securely before laying Rook down once more. He bit lightly at one shoulder, liking the gasp, the shudders that raced through the slender body, then shifted to the long throat, lavishing attention upon it with teeth and tongue. "Saa, my heathen," he said at last, voice soft in Rook's ear. "You forget I am Ghost. I thrive on being unseen."

  Rook shivered beneath him, and Noor realized he enjoyed the feel of it very much indeed.

  He pulled back slightly, one hand smoothing down Rook's thigh, the other his chest and stomach, extracting more of the delicate shivers.

  Hands reached out to touch him in turn and Noor caught one, bringing it to his mouth and sucking up a mark on one fine-boned wrist. The moan that elicited was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

  Lady, how had he ignored this pretty heathen who looked at him with such want and need?

  Fingers ghosted over his chest, hot and fine—but Noor wanted to be the one touching, and he wanted his heathen only to enjoy.

  Looking around, wishing he'd had the chance to plan for this, his gaze finally landed on the silk cords tying back the bed curtains. Yes, that would suffice. He smiled at Rook's quickly-muffled protest as he moved away, rapidly untying the cord he needed. The curtain fell free, half-hiding them in gauzy folds meant to filter the morning sun and the sweltering heat.

  "Noor?" Rook asked, sitting up slightly, braced on his hands.

  Settling once more between Rook's thighs, Noor pushed him back down and caught up those slender wrists, leaning down to swallow Rook's questions with a deep kiss. When his heathen could only pant and gasp, writhing against him, Noor returned to his task, swiftly binding Rook's wrists above his head.

  "What in the world are you—"

  Noor kissed him again, stroking the smooth chest, teasing over Rook's nipples. He pinched one lightly even as he dipped his head to taste the other. When he'd elicited the moans and shivers he wanted, he switched his attentions, murmuring approval as Rook bucked in need. "It has always been common amongst the tribes to kidnap women and children as necessary. Once, it's said, the tribes kidnapped any who were foolish enough to venture into the sands."

  He trailed his mouth down further, abrading the gold skin lightly with his rough cheeks, nibbling at the flat stomach, the juncture of groin and thigh, biting more firmly at the soft skin of one inner thigh. "I always wondered if that meant the tribes kidnapped stray heathens, and what was done with them."

  "I doubt they did this," Rook said with a deep groan, hips jerking in futile effort to draw Noor's attention to his leaking cock.

  Laughing softly, he surged up to take a proper kiss, lost utterly to the feel of his heathen, the scent of sunshine and lust, the fine sheen of sweat on golden skin. Noor decided he would be keeping this heathen to himself for as long as the Lady permitted. "Of that I would not be so sure, my heathen."

  "Noor," Rook moaned his name, writhed beneath his hands and mouth.

  Finally relenting, Noor combed his fingers through the thatch of gold curls at the base of Rook's cock, then stroked it with light, teasing touches, pressing firmly at the slit before wrapping his hand more tightly around the long, thin cock and stroking it firmly. He bent to take a deep kiss, tongue sweeping Rook's mouth, drinking in the moans and cries, the needy way Rook gasped his name as he came.

  "Saa, heathen, you are a pretty sight." He painted one soft inner thigh with the evidence of Rook's pleasure, stroking the soft skin of his balls, then slipping behind them to tease at his tight entrance.

  Rook groaned, those delicate shivers returning as Noor continued to tease. "You have an evil touch, savage."

  Noor chuckled. "You seem to like it well enough."

  "I would like it more if you quit teasing," Rook said, but with a smile, his cock already stirring with renewed interest.

  "Have you anything to ease the way?" Noor asked, just barely pressing one finger inside, enough to notice, to burn slightly.

  "The b-basket by the bed," Rook replied, pushing back ever so slightly, moaning.

  Noor smiled and withdrew, finding the basket and the vial inside it, returning swiftly to the spread thighs which waited so eagerly for him. Slicking his fingers, he slowly pushed one inside, bending to take another deep taste of his heathen's mouth as he prepared him. "Saa, heathen. So well prepared, and the oil half gone. What thoughts hold your interest so well at night?" A less pleasant thought occurred to him, and he would be surprised at the fervor of his discontent except he had already decided Rook was his. "Or did you find another to warm you while this savage remained blind?"

  Rook's cheeks burned dark, and he shook his head in embarrassment. "Only thoughts of you warmed my nights."

  Satisfaction poured through him, and Noor kissed Rook again as he finished readying him. Withdrawing his fingers, he settled his cock in place and slowly pushed in, hands braced on Rook's hips, keeping him in place until he was firmly seated.

  The sounds Rook made were finer than the best songs. "All right, my heathen? Or shall I stop?"

  "If you stop, savage, I will kill you."

  Noor laughed and kissed him, nibbling at the full, wet bottom lip. "If you can get out of the binds, perhaps you could kill me." He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in sharply, swallowing the cry that elicited—and groaning himself as Rook rolled his hips, thrusting forward.

  Giving up the teasing, he began to move in earnest, pulling out before thrusting back in, bracing his hands on either side of Rook, driving into him, pushing them both hard. He took Rook's mouth, claiming it as thoroughly as he claimed Rook's body, pulling another climax from his heathen before rapidly following him, their cries of pleasure tangling together.

  Collapsing, he rested for a moment on his new lover, intoxicated by their blended scents. With a soft groan he finally rolled away, swiftly working to undo the cord binding Rook's wrists and stripping away the blindfold before settling on his back. He pulled Rook atop him, stroking lazily at his sides, his back, sated but only for the moment.

  "Heathens will never make sense to me," he said idly, nuzzling at Rook's throat. "Someone as fine as you they should cling to fiercely, be willing to fight for. Lady knows I would not let one such as you slip so easily away."

  "They have other strategists," Rook said, voice heavy with sleepiness. "I'm better than all of them, but not worth the trouble to coax or take back."

  Noor did not reply, merely let Rook drift off to sleep, but wondered how such stupid heathens had managed to survive.

  *~*~*

  "Incredible," Noor said softly, eyes wide with amazement, even awe, as he looked at the book Ro
ok had given him.

  Rook warmed with happiness, hating that his cheeks flushed but unable to help it. He turned back to the clerk of the binding shop, passing over the necessary coin and arranging for the manuscripts he would periodically be sending.

  Outside, Noor still could not tear his eyes from the book. "All this you did yourself, my heathen?"

  His cheeks heated again, and Rook could not tamp down on the smile which spread across his face. That 'my' made him far too happy. If not for the persistent dread of wondering when he would no longer hear it, he would be the happiest man in the world. "Yes, and I've nearly finished a third. Do you like the binding? We had a time settling on what might hold up best in the desert, without losing the aesthetic qualities. This leather is specially dyed and treated, and the paper is durable. Pleasing?"