The Prince's Harem Box Set: The Prince's Harem Books 1-5

by Carly Roberts

  “Another night,” I said, yawning, and climbed on the bed.

  Laughing, he drew the silken sheets over us and pulled me into his arms. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

  Curling up against him, smiling, I fell asleep.

  The Seductive Princess

  The Prince’s Harem: Book 3

  by Carly Roberts

  Chapter One

  It was nearly midnight.

  I stood at the window, looking out across the oasis city of Samarkand. Though the streets and markets were empty, many buildings were lit from within by lamps and candles, and they glowed like jewels in the darkness.

  Sighing, I turned my gaze up to the heavens, where more gems glittered in the night sky. Raising a hand, I traced the shape of Pisces, my birth sign—from the star Al Rischa to Fum al Samakah at the mouth of the fish.

  I knew the sun had been present in Scorpio when the Prince was born. Today—his birthday—the constellation would not rise until dawn, but I had traced it so often I could have drawn it blindfolded.

  As I thought of him, my heart rate sped up at the realization that soon he would be sending for someone to come to his bedchamber.

  No matter how busy his day—and lately his time had been filled with matters of state and politics—the Prince always stopped work at midnight. Then his mind, and his body, would turn to matters of pleasure, and he invariably called for a companion or two to share his bed.

  I was aware that wishing on a star was a task for children, but even so I closed my eyes and hoped fervently that tonight he would request me.

  I didn’t have long to wait to find out. Footsteps echoed along the corridor, and then the doors to the harem opened.

  Malik, one of the Prince’s slaves, stood outside. He would not enter the harem, but one of the concubines went to the door and exchanged words with him.

  We all waited, all four of his wives and twenty-plus of his concubines collectively holding her breath, to see whom he would call.

  The woman at the door turned and beckoned at two concubines sitting together—two sisters. They both squealed, and together they headed off with Malik to the Prince’s bedchamber.

  As one, the remaining women exhaled. Now everyone could go to bed and relax.

  Everyone except me. I sank onto the window seat and looked down at the palace gardens that appeared cold and sad in the moonlight. I felt like the fountain in the center, busy performing, but with nobody there to watch.

  Three months ago, I had borne the Prince a daughter. I had fallen pregnant within weeks of being wed—I was almost certain it had happened the first night he’d taken me to his bed after we’d married.

  Although he’d called me to his bedchamber occasionally early in the pregnancy, as I grew larger his requests had become less regular, and since the baby was born he hadn’t asked for me at all.

  He loved me, and he loved our daughter who currently slept under the watchful eye of a slave, of that I had no doubt. He spoke to me often, and he enquired about my health and that of our child, but it was always in the presence of others, and he hadn’t shown any sign of desiring me.

  And he obviously hadn’t thought about me tonight either. I sighed forlornly. I would walk across the palace to his observatory and spend some time studying the stars. For some reason that always comforted me.

  “Nedira?”

  I looked around to see the Prince’s first wife, Jamila, watching me with kind eyes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  To my surprise, behind her stood Alesha and Farah, the Prince’s other wives. The room had emptied, the concubines having retired to their own chambers, and the other three young women sat in the small nook with me.

  “Do not be sad,” Jamila said. “He will ask for you again. You will return when the time is right.” Jamila had given the Prince a son over six months ago, and she had only just returned to his bed.

  She had seemed content to wait for him to call her, though, whereas I could not contain my impatience. My body had healed, and my sexual appetite had returned stronger than ever. I did not want to wait another three months to feel him in him my arms.

  Alesha took my hand. Both she and Farah were pregnant, and they were both proud of their tiny bumps.

  “I know he will not leave it much longer,” she reassured me. “He speaks often of his love for both you and Rasha. You are very dear to his heart.”

  “It is not his heart I am concerned about.”

  They smiled wryly. We all knew well enough that after midnight the Prince favored an organ other than the one in his chest.

  I sighed. “It feels as if he has forgotten about me. There are younger, prettier women in the harem to entertain him now.”

  I stopped speaking, overcome with emotion. This was silly. One of the first lessons we had to learn when we joined the harem was that we all shared the Prince. He hated us being jealous of one another.

  But I wasn’t jealous, not really. I didn’t resent the others when the Prince called for them and not me. He had a way of making all of us feel as if we were special in our own way. I just missed his touch, that was all. I ached for him.

  Farah nibbled her bottom lip. Playful and mischievous, she also had a heart of gold. “I am sure he has not forgotten you. He just wants to make sure you are properly healed, that is all.”

  I smiled. “He will call you back to his bed quickly, Farah—you and Alesha are definitely two of his favorites. I am not sure he misses me so much.”

  In answer, Farah snorted, and Alesha cried out her resentment.

  “That is rubbish,” Alesha said. “When I first came to the palace, the Prince talked to me often about the harem and what was to be expected of me. He cited you, Nedira, as the perfect example of the sort of wife I should strive to be. He has very high opinions of you.”

  “That is true,” Farah added. “He says you are kind, gentle, and obedient. He has frequently yelled at me ‘why can’t you be more like Nedira?’”

  I smiled as the others laughed. We all knew how Farah’s rebellious nature sometimes drove him mad.

  “After saying that,” Farah continued, “I have learned how important it is for us to celebrate our differences. The Prince does not want four wives and numerous concubines exactly the same. He loves the things that make us special, and we should all rejoice in those.”

  “I’m not sure what makes me special,” I admitted.

  “Your gentleness,” Alesha said. “Your compassion.”

  “And you are very clever,” Jamila added. “The Prince loves an intelligent woman.”

  But I didn’t want to be gentle, compassionate, and clever. I wanted to be desirable. I yearned for his hands on me, his mouth on mine. I wanted to see his eyes grow dark with desire—I wanted him to lust after me.

  I didn’t know if that would ever happen, though. I had never been one of his favorites in the bedchamber. I felt that I puzzled him. He talked often to Jamila, he enjoyed Farah’s wholesome sexuality, and Alesha’s innocence intrigued him.

  With me he was polite and courteous, and he seemed happy enough to take me to bed and do his husbandly duty, but we had always been like strangers, and it made me sad.

  He was so handsome, clever, and worldly, but I lacked confidence and faith in my own abilities. I felt shy and dull when I was with him, and I knew I came across as timid, quite the opposite to outspoken Jamila or feisty Farah.

  The Prince fascinated me—I loved his intelligence, his intense manner, and the fact that although he was so young, he was well-respected, a scholar and a warrior, beloved by all his people.

  I was proud to be his wife, but I wanted to know the man behind the Prince better. How was I going to do that when he never called me to his bedchamber?

  “We need a plan,” Jamila said, surprising us. When our eyebrows rose, she continued, “We are all his wives. We know what it is like to vie for his attention. He has told us many times that he wishes for us to look after and support each other.
Well. That is what we should do.”

  I blinked at the determined look on her face. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We need to tempt him back to you,” Jamila said.

  “I’m not sure how,” I said softly. “He sends Malik to fetch a concubine every night. It is difficult even to get to see him alone.”

  “I know what to do,” Farah announced brightly. “We should hold a show.”

  “A show?”

  She grinned impishly. “Yes. Come on, Nedira, one thing you can do better than any of us is sing and dance.”

  It was true—I did have a natural rhythm, and my voice when I sang was low and husky, although I was sure the Prince had never seen me do either.

  Did he like that kind of thing? Whenever we had entertainment at the palace, he tended to leave us to it and head off with visitors to talk matters of state. He was not a man who enjoyed frivolities and time-wasting.

  “We will ask Malik to help,” Alesha said, sitting forward on her seat, clearly excited by the idea. “And Jasim. He likes you.”

  My cheeks grew warm. The Prince never minded his slaves showing affection to the women in his harem—in fact in the bedroom he positively encouraged it.

  As a consequence, the men tended to pick their favorites—Malik adored Farah, Kedar preferred Jamila, while Hamal, a quieter slave, enjoyed treating Alesha with the gentle hand she preferred.

  Jasim was devoted to the Prince, but if he called several of us to his bedchamber together, the slave had always chosen me to play with in the past.

  I liked him too—he could be quite naughty, but beneath my reserved façade I could be adventurous when encouraged.

  “Um…I’m not sure about this.” I wasn’t a confident person at the best of times. “I don’t know if I can stand in front of everyone and sing.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Farah’s eyes gleamed. “Anyway, we wouldn’t leave you alone—we will all do it together.”

  Jamila leaned forward eagerly. “You know what day it is soon?”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “It is his birthday.” Every woman in the harem was doing something to mark the Prince’s special day, whether it was making him a piece of embroidery, cooking him a treat he liked, or writing him a poem.

  “Is it not your anniversary, too?”

  My eyes widened. “Of course.” We had married on his birthday—he had told me on our wedding night. “We will have been married a whole year.”

  “And that deserves celebrating, does it not?”

  Excitement rose within me, not only at the notion of giving the Prince a gift for his birthday, but also maybe of tempting him to take me to his bedchamber.

  “We will use henna to decorate our skin,” Alesha said, “and the best silks and jewels for costumes.”

  “We’ll have to practice,” Farah said.

  “We will start tomorrow.” Jamila stood and held out her hands to the two pregnant girls. “Come, you should get your sleep now.” She smiled at me. “Think on it. I believe Farah is right—it could be a fun way to tempt the Prince.”

  Giving me a final wink, she took the others back to their chambers.

  I rose, pulled a scarf over my head and wrapped it around my shoulders, and left the harem for the Prince’s observatory. I felt the need to study the stars and let the darkness of the room calm me.

  My stomach churned and my mind spun with these new ideas as I descended the stairs and walked across the cool courtyard.

  Did the Prince still find me attractive? Could I lure him back to my bed? Or had I lost him forever?

  Chapter Two

  Five days later, I stood outside the large blue doors to the Prince’s bedchamber, waiting nervously with the other wives.

  The Prince had been finishing off some business, and as we watched, one of the doors opened and a messenger came out carrying a tray bearing letters written in the Prince’s neat handwriting.

  The messenger headed along the corridor, where he would exit into the night, bound for the Mediterranean, or India, or maybe even the northern lands, where the air grew cold and snow fell in winter.

  The door remained open, and Jamila, Alesha, Farah, and I waited, holding our breaths as we listened. I closed my eyes, thinking of the glittering star in Scorpio and making a wish that everything would go according to plan.

  I heard the Prince murmur, the clatter of cups and the slosh of liquid as someone poured wine, and feet padding on carpet, no doubt as he paced the room, which he tended to do when he was thinking.

  He spoke again, and I heard his question this time—he was asking someone, Malik presumably, about his harem. How were his wives and concubines, and his children? Had they had a good day? Was there any news? Gentle affection filled his voice, and I caught Jamila’s eye and we both smiled.

  Malik replied, telling him a little about the events of the palace. The Prince listened, and then yawned. “’Tis time,” he said. I imagined him stretching like a sand cat, sexual desires stirring within him as the midnight hour passed. “Will you go to the harem for me?”

  Malik cleared his throat. “Actually, my Prince, we have a little surprise for you, if you are willing?”

  “Oh?” The clink of jug to cup again.

  “Yes. Now the midnight hour has passed, it is time to celebrate the day of your birth.”

  The Prince laughed. “You have made me a cake?”

  “Not quite, my Prince.” Malik’s voice was full of humor. “Something much more…to your tastes than cake.”

  The Prince said nothing for a moment, and I imagined his eyes meeting Malik’s, puzzling, considering, because he did nothing without weighing up the options. He probably didn’t like surprises, I thought, because he would not like the uncertainty of the outcome—he would never be the type of man who gambled.

  Perhaps he would say no, and all our efforts would have been for nothing.

  But he chuckled, and the sofa squeaked as he sat. “I trust you,” he said to Malik. “It has been a long day, and I am in need of some…entertainment.”

  I met the others’ gazes with an excited smile. In the room, I heard the setar player begin the first song we had rehearsed.

  Footsteps came toward us, and then the other blue door opened. Malik smiled and beckoned us in.

  I led the way. Jamila entered on my left, and Alesha and Farah took up positions on either side of us. Together, we walked toward the Prince.

  He sat on a sofa along one side of the room, watching with surprise as Jasim and Hamal moved the nearby armchairs and the table out of the away, leaving a large space in the center of the room.

  We approached, and his eyebrows shot up at the sight of us all. He leaned back, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and observed us with interest.

  Resting his right arm along the back of the sofa, he held his cup with his left hand and toasted us as we neared. “My wives. Welcome.”

  He wore loose dark trousers and a tunic that had been dyed light orange at the top darkening to a deep red at the bottom, decorated with hundreds of gems that glittered in the candlelight. A gold ring with a large ruby shone on his right hand

  He looked every inch a prince at that moment, young, strong, and handsome, and I felt a surge of longing to hold him, to have him inside me once again.

  His eyebrows rose even higher when the four slaves in the room joined us, standing just behind us, their hands on our hips. He stroked his short, dark beard, and studied us all, obviously intrigued.

  Jamila, Farah, Alesha, and I all wore outfits cleverly made from scarves fastened at appropriate points so they draped invitingly over our bodies.

  Alesha had pinned the hair of the others into intricate styles beneath their head veils, although my hair remained loose, flowing over my shoulders and down to my waist in dark waves.

  Farah had played with henna, and the hands of the others were covered in flowers that wound up their forearms.

  My patterns lay hidden for now, although my h
eart raced at what the Prince would think when he saw them.

  To one side, the setar player nodded at me, and I began to sing.

  I had written a play for the Prince. It was about the constellations in the sky, and as I sang of each one, we took turns to illustrate it with dance. But that was not all—the slaves who danced with us began removing our veils, gradually revealing our bodies to the watching Prince.

  His eyes widened as I started singing, and he tilted his head to the side, studying me with interest as I moved. I sang about the archer in the sky, and the four of us wives moved together in a simple dance that nevertheless had him smiling within seconds.

  Behind us, the slaves echoed our movements, and then I felt Jasim’s hands release the clips fastening the large scarf draped across my body. As I twirled, he whipped the scarf away, and the other slaves did the same to the women dancing with me.

  The Prince sipped his wine, his lips curving into a sexy smile as he obviously realized the game we were playing. His eyes met mine, and I winked at him, continuing to move slowly and sensuously as the setar player changed his song.

  I sang of the goat, the water carrier, and the bull, and while I sang Jasim slowly plucked the scarves from my body, beginning to reveal the henna tattoos Farah and I had drawn onto my skin.

  At first, I could see the Prince hadn’t noticed. His attention was caught by our semi-naked forms as we wound our hips and shook our breasts at him in a suggestive manner. While the scarves continued to fall, his eyelids lowered to half-mast and took on the look of dark desire that we all knew so well.

  I shivered, feeling an echo within my own body, my nipples tightening and an ache beginning low in my belly.

  Seduction is an ancient game and I was relatively inexperienced at it. I had not expected to turn myself on, but as the mood gradually changed from light and fun to dark and sensual, I realized I wasn’t the only one being affected in that way.

  As I continued to sing of the twins, the lion, and the scales, Jasim pressed himself behind me, and I felt the swell of his cock against my bottom. I lifted my hair with my hands, winding my hips and rubbing against his erection.