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

by Carly Roberts

  His hunger spilled over when I returned to his chamber at night. Sometimes Malik, Jasim, and others joined us, including some female slaves, and I learned how to draw out another person’s climax to increase their pleasure, under the careful instruction of the Prince. On other nights, he sent the slaves away and made love to me alone, taking hours to bring me to the dizzy heights of orgasm after orgasm.

  He was the only man who ever took me vaginally, though. It was as if he wanted to retain that privilege for himself, and certainly none of the other male slaves ever complained.

  In between lovemaking sessions, we talked and enjoyed each other’s company. We bathed together, took strolls in the garden, and listened to the setar player under the stars.

  And gradually, as the nights went by, I fell in love with him.

  By then, Bashir was barely speaking to me, and the other dancers in the group also shunned me, jealous of my new position. I was so caught up in the Prince that I barely noticed.

  But of course, all good things come to an end, and eventually it came to the night before the Prince was due to leave.

  A small part of me held out hope that he would ask me to return with him to Samarkand. He hated to be apart from me during the day when he had to attend state meetings, and Malik had whispered to me that he’d never seen the Prince as entranced as he was with me.

  I’d been practicing a new, private dance for him, and that night was one of the sweetest we’d spent. I danced my new routine, and then the Prince carried me to the bed. He tied my hands above my head to one of the posts, and then he, Malik, and Jasim spent hours torturing my body with earthly delights until we were all exhausted.

  Afterward, the slaves left us to tidy up the room, and I curled in the Prince’s arms, sated and spent, happier than I’d ever been in my life.

  “I have something for you,” the Prince murmured in my ear.

  “Oh?” I managed to summon the energy to push myself up.

  He reached across to the table beside the bed and lifted a cloth. Beneath it lay a circular piece of wood topped with something that sparkled in the candlelight.

  He brought it over and tipped it to show me. My eyes widened. It was a bracelet formed of precious stones the like of which I had never even touched, let alone owned. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “It’s for you,” he added, his voice somewhat wry at my bewildered expression.

  I didn’t know what to say. I ran my fingers across the stones, open-mouthed, noting the intricate gold settings and the fine clasp.

  “Please,” he urged, “I want you to have something precious to remind you of me. I understand it might not be to your tastes, but I thought that if you do not like it, you could sell it and keep the money.”

  My heart stopped. In just two sentences he’d told me more about our relationship than I’d understood in a week.

  He wasn’t going to ask me to go with him. And he wanted to pay me for my services, although he felt a little awkward about doing so. In his mind, I was a whore he’d hired for the week. We’d had fun, but now it was over. He was going back to his Palace in Samarkand, and I’d have to go back to my caravan.

  Cold filtered through me, and at that moment, a little piece of my heart died.

  I glanced up through the curtains and met Malik’s eyes. The slave looked alarmed, as if he realized his master’s error.

  I gave him a little shake of my head and lowered my gaze to the bracelet. I couldn’t take it, of course. Five minutes after I walked through the town carrying it, some light-fingered cut-throat would relieve me of the precious burden, and I’d never see it again.

  But the Prince wouldn’t understand. His eyes were filled with hope that I’d like his special gift. He was young and rich, his world so far separated from mine that he would never be able to comprehend my distress at what he’d just done.

  I smiled and touched his face. “It’s beautiful, Tash.”

  Relief crossed his features. “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “I do. Thank you for being so thoughtful.” I curled up next to him and hugged him tightly.

  Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. What had I expected? That he would whisk me away to his home city, where he was soon to marry his first wife? That he would ask me to be his second wife?

  I had to bite my lip hard to stop myself laughing out loud. He was a prince, and his marriages were arranged to satisfy agreements between states. He would marry untouched virgins, not dancers with sleazy eyes who had already had many partners. His wives would be regal princesses, and even his concubines would probably be the daughters of rich families.

  He would no longer need whores.

  He kissed my hair and settled back onto the pillows. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. The familiar scent of sandalwood and warm male encircled me like his arms. I would never forget it as long as I lived.

  *

  Much later, when the Prince slept and the slaves had blown out all but a few candles, I arose from the bed and dressed. The slaves had retired to the room next door, even Malik, who often slept with us, perhaps wanting to give us a little privacy for our last night.

  I paused and looked down at the sleeping Prince. Beside him, the bracelet glittered in the light of the lone candle on the table.

  I let my gaze rest on him for a while. In sleep he looked younger, his handsome face relaxed. So young, and yet soon he would be married and the ruler of a great city, with lots of responsibilities to cope with.

  Soon, he would forget me, and eventually he would doubt his own memory and think that Samira, his midnight dancer, could not possibly have been as wild and wonderful as he remembered.

  And indeed, perhaps I wasn’t. He was an experienced lover—that much had been clear from the first time we lay together. I’d pressed him for details of his love life, but he’d sidestepped the issue every time, and I’d sort of forgotten about it, even coming to assume that I was different from the others. But maybe I wasn’t as special to him as I’d thought.

  He’d said to me, I do not see how a man can make love to a woman with feeling without loving her. When I’d laughed and said Then you love me? he’d replied With all my heart, and I’d been stupid enough to believe him. But maybe that meant something different to him than it did to me.

  My throat tightened.

  Resisting the urge to lean over and kiss him, I turned and left the room without looking back.

  Chapter Eight

  Three years later

  The two guards standing in front of the gates to Samarkand Palace stared down at me. Both raised an eyebrow as if one were a reflection of the other.

  “I don’t think so,” one said.

  “Please,” I begged. “Just tell him I’m here.”

  They looked down their noses at me. I swallowed, acutely aware that although my tunic was clean, it had been mended in many places, and it was bare of the finery that would adorn any respectable woman’s clothing. My ears and fingers were free of rings, and my veil was plain.

  “Go away,” one of the guards said. “The Prince is in the middle of preparing for war. Do your really think he has time for the likes of you?” They both laughed.

  I had expected this reaction, but it still stung. I looked at my feet for a moment, fighting against tears. I had to find a way to see him. I knew he would almost certainly be angry with me, but if I could just stand in front of him for five minutes, I would be able to explain my predicament, and maybe then he would help.

  “What about Malik?” I whispered. “Is he still the Prince’s favorite slave?”

  “You know Malik?” the guard on the left asked.

  I thought of the times we’d spent together with the Prince, the way the two of them had spent hours teasing me to the dizzy heights of pleasure, and I smiled. “Yes. Do you think you could send him a message? If he doesn’t wish to see me, I promise I will go.”

  The guard’s expression softened. Maybe he knew of the
Prince’s proclivities and suspected how I knew the two of them, or maybe he could see the desperation in my face. Whatever the reason, he nodded and said, “Wait here. I will return shortly.”

  Leaving me with the other guard, he disappeared into the Palace grounds.

  I turned and sat on the steps so I didn’t have to look at the guard’s disapproving frown, and studied the scene before me.

  Even though it was late at night, and the moon hung above Samarkand like a silver juggling ball tossed into the air, the square before me was filled with people. The majority of them were soldiers, having arrived from neighboring cities in support of the Prince as he prepared to defend against an imminent invasion of nomadic warriors intent on destroying the city.

  A desert wind gusted across the square, bringing with it a fine sheen of sand that glittered in the moonlight, carrying the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, as well as the smell of roasted meat. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it, too nervous to eat.

  I knew this was the absolute worst time I could have come. The Prince’s mind would be fixed on matters of state and war—thoughts of his midnight dancer would be buried deep in his mind.

  Still, I held out some hope that maybe Malik would remember me. Surely he wouldn’t have forgotten me, even though it had been three long years since that magical week?

  “Samira?”

  My head snapped around, and I rose to my feet. Malik stood in the doorway to the Palace grounds. He looked the same as the last time I had seen him—tall, slender, and muscular, his hair a little longer, a shadow of a beard on his face.

  I looked up into his eyes, fearing that I might see anger or resentment, but they still held the same kind, gentle look I remembered.

  “It is really you,” he whispered. I nodded, but couldn’t bring myself to speak.

  He ran down the steps toward me, and then to my complete surprise—and the surprise of the two guards—he threw his arms around me and hugged me.

  I stood stiffly in his arms for a moment, and then emotion washed over me and I sagged against him.

  “We’ve missed you,” Malik said, resting his lips on my hair.

  “I’ve missed you too,” I said. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

  “Come on.” He moved back but kept his arm around me. “Come inside and have a drink and something to eat. You are as thin as a reed.”

  He took me into the Palace, which was even more magnificent than the one in Qarshi. The outside walls were glazed with blue and gold tiles, and above it rose the magnificent dome of the Prince’s observatory that I had heard so much about. We slipped through a pair of golden doors held open by eunuchs in blue Samarkand livery, and walked along gleaming marble corridors.

  We climbed a flight of stairs, and then Malik turned off into another corridor. At the head of it I could see two more blue doors with guards, and I knew it was the Prince’s chamber.

  Before we reached it, however, Malik turned left into another chamber. I followed him in—a bed lay against the far wall, and a couple of chairs sat in front of a fire that glowed in the grate.

  “Is this your room?” I wrapped my arms around me as he walked over to throw some more wood on the fire.

  “Yes. I stay here some nights when the Prince is otherwise occupied.” He turned and smiled—we both knew what that meant.

  I couldn’t bring myself to smile back, though, and he sighed and beckoned me to sit in one of the chairs. “You look ready to drop.”

  I sat on the edge of the chair, nervous and apprehensive, while he poured me a glass of wine and placed some roasted meat, bread, and some sliced peaches on a plate. He’d remembered that I’d favored them, which touched me.

  I’d thought I was too worried to eat, but the smell of the meat hit my nostrils and my stomach rumbled, so I took a bite. In minutes, I’d eaten it all.

  Malik moved around the room, pretending to be busy with tasks while I ate. Only when I’d finished did he come and sit with me and take my hand. “Tell me about yourself,” he said. “Where have you been, and what have you been up to?”

  I started with my decision not to re-join the troupe but instead to leave Qarshi and travel on my own to a neighboring city to look for work.

  I didn’t go into detail about the terrible argument I’d had with Bashir. He’d laughed in my face when he’d realized that the Prince hadn’t asked me to stay. I’d spat at him, and he’d hit me. I’d picked myself up off the floor and walked straight out. I hadn’t gone back.

  I summarized the rest of what had happened, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. I studied my hands as I did so, afraid to see the pity in Malik’s face, as I knew it would make me cry.

  When I finished, we sat in silence for a while. I eventually plucked up the courage to look up. Malik was staring into the fire, quiet and thoughtful.

  “Do you think he will help me?” I asked.

  Malik’s gaze came back to me. “I can never predict what the Prince will do or say on any one day. He was furious when you left. His anger was like a great storm that hung over the Palace for many weeks.”

  I stared at him, confused. “Why was he angry? I thought he wanted me to leave.”

  “He was very young then, and he did not understand his own emotions. He knew the ephemeral nature of his relationship with you. He was due to be married, and he knew he could not take you to Samarkand. And yet he had not taken his own feelings into account. You broke his heart, Samira.”

  A tear ran down my cheek. “He told me the relationship was over.”

  Malik’s expression softened. “I know. You did the only thing you could have done. I explained to him how his generous gift could also perhaps have been slightly insulting—he was completely taken aback and horrified that he’d upset you.”

  He sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “Anyway, that is the past, and we must look to the future now. I think you know that the Prince is making preparations for war.”

  “Yes.”

  “He is very worried about it. He has taken part in many battles, but this is the first time he has had to defend his own city against the threat of an invading army. I have never seen him so concerned. He spends hours surveying the defenses, talking to his captains, and in his chamber poring over maps.”

  Malik ran a hand through his hair. “You remember what he was like in the bedchamber. Now he has a whole harem of women, including five wives.”

  I nodded—I had heard the tales of his prowess with women over the years, and it had always made me smile.

  “Well, he has not called anyone to his room for two weeks. I’ve never known him go more than a few days without a woman, not in all the years I have known him. All his wives in turn have tried to distract him, but he has sent each of them away. He is not sleeping and hardly eats. I am very worried about him.”

  Malik’s eyes met mine, and his lips curved. “But maybe you will be the one who will take his mind off battle for a while.”

  “I do not see how.”

  “We shall talk about what to do.”

  I blew out a long breath and tried to calm myself. But it was difficult. Even though Malik seemed inclined to help me, there was no guarantee the Prince would do the same.

  Chapter Nine

  A short while later, Malik led me along the corridor to the doors to the Prince’s bedchamber.

  We paused outside, and he glanced at me and gave a reassuring smile. I nodded, ignoring my pounding heart, and he gestured for the two guards to open the doors.

  We walked into the bedchamber, and I paused a few feet into the room to let my eyes adjust, the same way I had all those years ago. The room was dark apart from a few lone candles on a large round table that stood against the wall. Even so, I could see the sumptuousness of the decor, the thick, lush carpets, the finely embroidered tapestries on the walls, and the rich silk hangings around the bed.

  The Prince sat at the table, which was covered with piles of sheets of paper
. He was resting his forehead on a hand, holding a piece of paper with the other, and didn’t even look up when we walked in.

  He wore a deep blue tunic over the same color trousers, and it was difficult to distinguish him from the shadows that stretched across the room. I held my breath, finding it difficult to believe I was this close to him, after all those years of thinking about him.

  “My Prince.” Malik walked forward to stand a few feet from him. “You have had no rest for days. Please, I have brought you someone to take your mind off things for a while.”

  The Prince waved a hand in the air. “Not now.”

  “My Prince,” Malik persisted. “You need to rest and attend to matters of the body as well as of the mind. Please, come and let us entertain you.”

  “Not now,” the Prince snapped. “Leave me.”

  Malik glanced at me.

  I walked forward until I stood six feet from the Prince. I unclipped my veil, then I gathered my tunic in my hands, lifted it over my head, and let it drop to the floor.

  Naked, breathless with a mixture of anticipation, excitement, and fear, I waited for him to look up.

  He turned over a sheet of paper and then glanced across at us, obviously impatient that we hadn’t heeded his wishes. His gaze fell on my bare legs, and it traveled slowly up my body, pausing briefly on the curve of my hips and the swell of my breasts before it reached my face.

  My heart pounded so hard I feared I might faint. I swallowed, but forced myself to stand there while he stared at me. What would his reaction be?

  He stared at me for a long, long moment.

  Pushing himself to his feet, he stood and then walked across the carpet to stand a few feet in front of me.

  “Samira?” He made it a question, clearly not trusting his vision. My hair had grown past my shoulders over the years, but I hadn’t changed that much, had I?

  I nodded.

  His chest heaved and his eyes blazed. He walked forward. I refused to step back, even though for a brief second I thought he was going to explode with fury.