In a time of war and conquest the new Queen of Alexandria seduces a Macedonian King in hopes to bring about an alliance that will free her people from Persian rule. But with the arrival of his son, young prince Galen, Isra succumbs to new desires possibly sealing the fate of her kingdom.
Not a romance, but filled with every romantic notion that can be shared between a young Queen and Prince who’s lives are destiny.
“Za, Queen, he asks for you.” Nafrini gave a deep bow.
Isra stood before two slaves of her personal cohort. She was draped in linen woven from flax and trimmed with spun gold. The sheer fabric felt like a sheath of heaven over her curves. It wrapped neatly around her trim waist. A golden collar was brought down over her head and placed upon her shoulders. It was adorned with emeralds and lapis lazuli stones, an assortment of different shades of blues and greens. Isra’s darkly shadowed lids lift and her eyes never leave Nafrini. Her short-cropped hair is tied down with linen strips before a coal-black wig with bangs cut to cover her brow was placed on her head. Next, she received her crown. Light and golden, at its center was a cobra’s head with rubies for eyes. To the back of it, a long fall of fabric, sheer and flowing, would glide when it trailed behind her.
Isra smiled at her maiden. Since four they had been paired. Nafrini was the closest she’d come to having a sister. For that reason, among others, she loved her dearly. Though her position in life prevented her from expressing it, she made sure that Nafrini and her family had every advantage that her title would permit. Mistress to the Queen meant esteem on the level of a royal.
But what did being Queen really mean?
“What is it father?” Isra peeked out of the magenta day-curtain. The sun’s rays burned her eyes. It was too bright. She shrunk back scooting close to her mother.
Semerkhet turned. With the height of a God the ebony Pharaoh reached in the chariot and lifted little Isra from the comfort of the seat next to his Queen.
Isra looked back at her mother who winked. In her mother’s arms was her baby brother Hakor suckling while little Nafrini sat close fanning them both. Isra was placed on her father’s left shoulder. She could feel the warmth of Ra’s touch as the sun covered her and her eyes adjusted to the glare. Her elevation exposed her to the full majesty offered in the sun God’s breath as the winds from the Nile blew in to cool her. She was six, but old enough to understand many unspoken meanings bestowed upon a princess. The love and blessings of Ra were to be cherished and not taken from granted.
“It is Atum-Ra, the creator of all things breathing. He rules the day because the sky goddess Nut is accepting of him this morning. This is a good sign. It means harmony. Your ancestors are pleased as they should be for now,” said her father. “But look Isra to the Nile. That is your lesson today.”
“Not what, who Isra.”
“Yes father, who comes?”
“Many. And as the Pharaoh’s before us it will be Hakor’s duty as yours to protect our kingdom. You must practice your studies. Learn their language, and the customs of these men who walk in armor with pale skin and eyes bluer than the Nile. Some day the future of our people will depend upon it.”
Isra’s gaze lifted to Nafrini, who remained with her head bowed. “Leave us,” she said to those grooming her. The room was cleared. “Nafrini?”
The maiden slowly raised her head.
“I will have a moment in the House of Pharaoh’s. I need…” Isra swallowed the ball of nervous energy that churned its way up from her gut and lodged in her throat. “I need counsel.”
“Shall I call for Imhotep?”
“No. Alone. Be sure I remain that way.”
Isra saw the question in Nafrini’s eyes. Since the ships arrived she has entertained King Perdiccas. She’d even taken him into her bed. Yet now she delayed the moment that everything hinged upon—an alliance that would keep her people from an unwinnable war.
Nafrini bowed and Isra braved the steps past her out of her royal chamber. She hurried. The golden doors to the sacred temple chiseled with glyphs that told of her ancestors entry into after-life parted by her humble servants. With her heart beating madly in her chest she immediately bowed before the throne of her Sun God. At his feet was the story of her mother, father and brother. Her parents were taken inexplicably soon by an unknown illness that would later claim her brother. She was the last of her dynasty, and it was a lonely existence. Her eyes swept the glyphs of her ancestors for wisdom.
Rising from her bow she approached Ra blinking away her tears. On her shoulders was the weight of her people. Make the wrong choice, act to hastily and spurn the King’s advances then all would be lost.
Isra blinked and a few tears fell. She smiled. Nafrini knew her so well. Red and green breccia stones scorched by the sun were placed near the feet of Ra. They cooled for her. The chalky essence singed the hairs in her nostrils. For three days and three nights she ignored the false promises of worship from the pale lips of King Perdiccas as he indulged in the pleasures of her kingdom and her body. The first night he took to her bed he discovered her virginity and was floored. He saw it as a great offering. Isra saw it as a necessary sacrifice. He would only remain until sunrise, and no promises have been made to aid in her peoples plight against the Persian’s. What would become of them if she does not make the King do her bidding?
“Father what is it you want of me?”
“It is not my wants Isra,” the Pharaoh answered as he removed her from his shoulder and placed her on her feet. He captured her little hand and walked her toward the waters of the Nile through the tall cypress that grew lush and green near its banks. “It’s destiny. Just as it was the sky goddess Nut’s destiny when she gave birth to Ra.”
Isra had heard her father tell the tale of Nut and Ra many times. It was one of her favorites. She smiled up at him hoping he would share with her once more. With the sun behind the Pharaoh high in the sky Isra squinted up at her father hanging on his every word. He smiled down at her with the golden halo of his dome shaped crown casting new shade upon her. “Shall I tell you more?”
“Oh yes. Tell me father, tell me the story of Ra.”
“Ra was born each morning on the eastern horizon.” The Pharaoh lifted his arm and Isra followed his point to the clear blue sky. “His majesty was birthed from the womb of the sky-goddess Nut. He travels across the vault of heaven from the east, which is her body, to be swallowed by her once more at sunset on the western horizon.”
“That means, my daughter, Ra see’s all, but only along the nurturing channels of his Queen. When they come, the men from the East, they will want to claim Egypt, everyone. Hakor will be younger but you will be wiser. Ra has shown me, he will show you in time. As Nut has done for Ra, your grace will be Egypt’s glory.”
Isra crossed her arms before her resting her palms on the opposite ends of her shoulders. She closed her eyes and let the breecia’s heat wave draw her closer to her God. Only he could show her the way. Her eyes slowly opened and she peered into the grey milky wave drifting up from the heated stones. Ra revealed to her the King’s heart and the path to it, was not his desires. It was his son. The one he spoke of constantly when he slept in her arms. Isra smiled. Alexandria would be saved and she knew the young prince could show her how. Now she had to convince the King to bring him to her land.
* * * * *
“I must take leave soon,” said Perdiccas. From the golden chalice, he drank an elixir that warmed and coated his throat, with an after burn that left his chest tight. He licked his lips. His eyes searched the bottom for more. “What’s this?”
Isra reclined upon the large ruby-red pillows covering her royal bed. Kyphi burned in surrounding pots. Its strong fragrance brought a misty swirl of pearl-white smoke around them. The incense filled the chamber with the sweet ripeness of juniper berries in summer. That aroma and the strangest wine King Perdiccas had ever sampled put him at ease. The Queen’s royal chamber is open on every side, and thanks to the moonlight, she is revealed to him. Her bronze skin is hairless. Even her cunt was absent of hair. It was undeniably irresistible.
To say she captivated would be the wrong choice of words. Queen Isra enslaved all that know her: her beguiling nature overwhelms. Like the others in this foreign land, he drops before her, submits beneath her. Perdiccas, King of Macedonia, bows to a brown Queen young enough to be his daughter? It was ludicrous but true, after weeks of long stares and even deeper wants; he was forced to act on his desire. The forbidden taste of her fruit has drawn him to the soft comfort of the silken heat he has known only between her thighs.
A golden chain crowned Isra’s heart-shaped face, setting off dark hair that flows to her shoulders with tiny medallions woven through her thick strands. She had brown, deep-set eyes that were angular, like a cat’s, drawn darkly to her temples. Her lips were full, two-toned, and always moist. Kissing her was different to the touch of any other lips he’d known. And when that supple pair parted from his to swallow his cock, by the Gods he was shown the glory of Mount Olympus.
“Tell me more tales of your son?”
“I can do better, how about I bring him, to meet you,” he asked, and it seem to please her. He hadn’t spoken of returning, hadn’t considered it until that very moment. Perdiccas laughed to himself. Of course he considered it. It was one of his new hearts desires, to see her more, to have more of her.
“When will you return?” asked Isra, idly. She reached her long arms above her head, giving a feline stretch before she rolled to her side. She was too close to be ignored. Perdiccas lowered the chalice. The golden goblet dropped from his fingers and rolled, spilling the few remaining drops of magenta liquid. He pressed her to him; her tongue slid over one flattened nipple. Delicate golden-ringed fingers caressed his battle-scarred chest. The king stared. His lids at half-mast, Perdiccas was barely able to formulate a single thought. Her head lifted. Again he was held down, locked into a deep stare with her long-lashed eyes, darkly lined with kohl piercing and aware.
“Soon.” King Perdiccas managed as he stroked her arm adoringly. He swallowed deep in his throat to maintain control. It’s was her skin that that made him crazy, skin soft and delicate along with the fragrance rubbed into it by her body slaves. Her scent was so fresh, like fig leaves after a new rain. Isra was young, ripe, and wise. Her face drew near. Her breath, sweet, her lips soft as clouds, pressed into his. She pushed the hard points of her nipples up into his chest and parted her legs to wrap one around his left thigh. She pinned him forcefully to her.
Perdiccas rolled to his back, bringing her along. Isra maneuvered over him. A jolt of desire charged just for her seized and squeezed his heart. Her face lowered and his lips again parted under her command. Shyly, her small tongue dipped between. Then boldly it explored the deepest cavern of his mouth. With feminine agility, her curves glide up and down his angular build and her nipples graze his chest in delicious swirls. Her body wicked with intent, is her strongest weapon against a conqueror.
The wine mixed with the bittersweet nectar of her kiss weighted his lids and rushed the blood to his groin. Isra continued, plunging her tongue into his mouth over and over. The taste of her was the sweetest ambrosia straight from the Gods. He couldn’t stop his groaning as he fought for possession of her tongue.
Perdiccas’s erection pulsated between his legs. He shifted under her, angling his jumping cock for entry. But his dark Queen denied him the pleasure. She leaned in for a kiss and her sweetness lifted from his lap depriving him of the warmth he craved from her positioning. She moved again, this time pushing down, rubbing warmth and softness into him and gliding up and down his frame.
Perdiccas opened his eyes with a deep growl buried in his throat. He had half a mind to flip her and end the torment. But he was obedient. With her, he found it hard not to comply. He despises her disappointment. Isra seduced him with whispers in her foreign tongue and feather soft kisses to his clenched jaw, then under his unshaved chin. There was a slow rhythm to her actions almost stirred by music of her own making. A small smile of satisfaction touched the corner of her mouth as his erection became the dividing force between them.
By the Gods she teases me too long!
Isra rocked back and forth, still refusing his entry. His lust and desire had his chest twisted as tight as a coil threatening to snap free at any moment. But he endured. Perdiccas caressed her leg from knee to thigh. His back arched when she ground her moist center harder on his pained cock.
“Promise your return, King Perdiccas. Promise a future alliance for my people and yours. Promise and you shall have me with every pleasure you desire.”
“I swear it.”
King Perdiccas could stand it no longer. He flipped Isra to her back and was rewarded with languid giggles. His hips lifted. He probed her tightness like an amateur. He must remind her he is King. He could have her and all of Egypt if he commanded it so. She was his, not the other way around. Regaining control, he ground his teeth. Isra licked her thick lips. Her lashes fluttered. The whites of her eyes were all he could see as he entered her. And what a glorious plunge it was. Soft, tight, moist, heat engulfed him as her channel swallowed his cock. Perdiccas gave her two long, measured thrusts, then grabbed her other leg and secured it around his hip. The snug fit of her inner walls clenching and constricting around his member should be expected. But it was almost virginal, how sweetly pleasurable he found her each time he possessed her. He had to remind himself that he has been here before. There was a brief pause as he sucked in a deep breath. A momentary lapse and his body was again racked with pleasure. Perdiccas throttled her sex, worked his hips, and slammed into her repeatedly. He finally had her; at long last the torturous wait was over.
Perdiccas raised himself over her writhing body with the palms of his hands, and opened his eyes. He stared down at her beauty. Isra’s breasts were covered in a slick sheen of sweat. They moved with his rhythm, thrust after thrust. Her harmonious moans of pleasure drove a current from his groin through his heart. Over and over, he plunged himself into her, unable to hold back, unable to slow down. Her flesh was so addictive. He bit hard on his tongue and dropped into the curve of her neck and shoulder. She spoke sinful words of encouragement in her native tongue. His large, calloused hands went under the soft mounds of her ass and squeezed tightly. With one last mighty plunge, he roared his completion. His body stiffened as he shot his essence deep inside. Perdiccas had never known pleasure as great, and he was a connoisseur of pleasure. How could one so strangely different, so exotically beautiful and so dangerously innocent own him as she did? Would the Gods save him from turning over his soul?
“Perdiccas,” she whispered in his ear.
“Yes, my love.”
He lifted his head and smiled. “To you.”
The Red Sea 399 BCE
Perdiccas emerged from his sea of memories and returned his attention to his son. With the sun to his back, Galen held to the side of the bow. His blond locks and blue eyes were a striking contrast against his evenly golden-toned skin, the gift of their travels at sea. The royal vessel, with billowing dark purple sails, bobs and dips, and is tossed about the turquoise blue waves.
King Perdiccas Dares stood at the bow. He gave his son the nod to continue his approach. His men at the hawse row over a hundred oars as one. The fleet of over thirty ships flanked them to port and starboard. They drew closer to the majestic shores of Egypt. To her.
Perdiccas, a direct descendant of Alexander the Great, stood nearly six-foot-three with hair the color of henna, a beard that trimmed his jaw and connected evenly to his thick mustached chin. His sun-drenched skin was golden from his travels and conquests along the Mediterranean. A warrior in his youth, he still had a body of a God, with the ego to match. Galen, his son, was blessed with his spirit and iron-will. Someday, he will be the future of Greece.
“Speak your troubles?”
“I am told that these savages worship animals. Cats? Dogs? Alexius says that they live in houses of sand and wear no clothing. That the Queen drinks from her servants’ hands and she walks on their backs.”
Perdiccas tapped Galen’s shoulder and raised his eyes above his son’s golden hair to find Alexius, his greatest warrior, watching as he cleaned his sword. Perdiccas surmised that Galen wanted to be treated like a Prince by the men, not the boy that followed them around wanting to play swords. He smiled. The men are again having fun with Galen’s inexperience.
“A word of caution son: be careful of your tongue. The Egyptians will see you as the savage and remove it for your lack of respect.” He chuckled, patting Galen’s cheek. “Dare I say die trying, for no one trifles with my boy.”
Galen half-smiled at his father, clearly irritated by the joke. He was no longer a kid. Perdiccas dropped his arm around his son’s shoulder and turned him to look out across the sea. The shore of Alexandria could be seen in the distance.
“Here… take this.” He unhooked what appeared to be a tube from his hip.
“What is it?” Galen asked.
“A looking glass. I got it on my last visit to Alexandria, a gift from the Queen to ensure my safe return home. Put it to your eye and see for yourself.”