Her Demon Prince

By Cathleen Ross

In ancient times, the handsome Demon Prince Agrat paid a deadly price for seducing the virgin Princess Phoebe, his royal father's concubine. But his love for her was so strong it survived the centuries.
Fast forward to the 21st century, where Agrat strives to win Phoebe again. Phoebe has to overcome all her preconceived ideas about demons and angels to believe in Agrat. Together, the reunited lovers must fight the demonic curse that threatens their future.
Highly erotic and passionate, this book also has some laugh-out-loud moments as the Demon Prince adjusts to life in modern-day New York City.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cathleen Ross
• Release date: Oct 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310293528

Cathleen Ross

Cathleen Ross likes to write about the quirky side of life. She loves writing erotic romance. Psychic Sex and Shift into Pleasure are her latest Harlequin Spice Brief releases. Psychic Sex was included in the Naughty Bits Anthology. When Cathleen's not writing for Harlequin, she's working on her Forbidden Fantasy self-published series.

Book preview

Her Demon Prince

By Cathleen Ross

Copyright © 2013 Cathleen Ross

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

944BC

Princess Phoebe gasped when she first caught sight of the fortress city of Jerusalem, the enormous palace so different from her father's Nordic hall. What do you think of your new home, Princess? asked the king’s envoy, a middle-aged man who rode alongside her litter.

Phoebe couldn’t drag her gaze away from a semi-circular building, its domed roof held high by rows of columns.

Magnificent, she said, too awed to affect the stiff haughtiness expected of her station.

You pass the armory and further to the right is the Hall of Justice. Many people gather to hear the king’s famous wisdom.

It will be an honor to be queen to such an esteemed king. I intend to make him proud, she answered with the dignity her father had impressed upon her. She noticed the envoy give her a glance. Was that pity in his eyes?

Although something about him made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t fault his behavior. A trickle of perspiration started to build at her temple along the rim of the gold coronet she wore. She reached up and gently dabbed at her forehead with her handkerchief, then shifted her long blond hair from the back of her neck where it had started to stick. I have heard that His Majesty’s other wife has the face of an angel, she said.

King Sol has built his favorite a palace. The king gives her everything she wants, the envoy said.

It was an honor to marry a king and her family was proud of the match, but what if he only had eyes for his favorite? Although she knew that her marriage was an arrangement, she hoped that the king would grow to love her, like her father did her mother. My mother explained that the men here can have more than one wife. Does…His Majesty spend all his time with his favorite? She couldn’t bear to be alone, not when she was used to living with her eight brothers and all of her cousins in the hall.

Perhaps the envoy saw the concern in her eyes because his expression became guarded. Rest assured, Princess, even his queen does not have eyes the color of the sky and skin of alabaster. I am sure the King will notice you.

Notice me? For the first time uncertainty struck her, sending a shiver skating up her spine. What do you mean? I am to be his wife.

The man avoided her eyes. Excuse me, Princess, we’ll arrive soon at the Women's Palace. I must arrange the gates to be unlocked. The envoy rode off before she could reply.

She gazed around her as they entered into a densely-built part of the city. Merchants, farmers and peasants gathered on the streets to admire her and the cavalcade that passed through.

Although a swathe of fabric covered the top of her litter, the heat of her new land made her woolen dress cling to her body. Phoebe pushed her locks from her face. Why weren’t the people bowing as they should?

Instead, the women pointed and pulled their head coverings close so that all Phoebe could see were their dark eyes. Clearly these people were unused to the beautiful clothes of her country. She unhooked the gold brooch at her neck and let her cloak fall from her shoulders to reveal the linen petticoats and maize-colored dress that matched her hair color. Proud of her loose flowing hair she held her head high. In time, she would introduce the fashions of her people to these tightly covered women.

The women chattered and pointed, peering at her. The men moved forward, their faces leering until the soldiers accompanying the litter shoved them back. The furs and brightly woven fabrics on her litter suddenly seemed too colorful amongst the dowdy colors worn by her new people. Sun hit her skin and burned or was the heated feeling something else? Discomfort. She reached around behind her, grabbed her cloak and pulled it close despite the warmth.

Phoebe’s hand rose to her mouth and she bit her fingernails. Her dowry had cost a fortune and she hoped the jewelry: the armbands, the necklaces and earrings along with the gifts of the carved wooden shields and double handled battle axes would awe this wealthy king. Her father had impressed upon her how important trade with this land was and that the family’s fortune depended on her.

When they approached the guard house of what the envoys called the Women's Palace, the slaves put down the litter. The envoy dismounted and spoke to the guard. After several minutes, a man dressed in battle gear stormed toward them. From his bearing and the way the envoy bowed, he appeared to have rank.

Phoebe’s breath quickened as her gaze moved over him. She pushed herself to her knees and the man’s gaze hit her with such force that she felt as if she had gulped too much mead. He was the most striking man she had ever seen with his dark eyes, hawk-like nose and wide sensual mouth. Could this be her husband? Her heart leapt as she strained for a better view of him. From a distance, he appeared young and had the huge build of a warrior, as dark as her father’s men were fair. For a long moment, their eyes locked as he walked toward her. Close up he had broad shoulders, his arms were thickly muscled and his body honed for battle. His black hair, cut straight at his shoulders, contained plaits entwined with colorful symbols, their weight stopping the breeze from blowing his hair in front of his eyes. When he opened his mouth she noticed his teeth were white against his swarthy complexion.

A quiver of excitement, of hope, raced through her. If this was her husband, he was the most imposing man she’d ever seen.

My lord, Prince Agrat, heir to the Jerusalem throne, wishes to be presented to you, the envoy said.

The Prince bowed. Princess. Welcome to the land of my father. His eyes moved over her.

Normally she could manage some pretty words, but her mouth dried under his scrutiny. The King’s son. I hoped…

My lady?

That you were the king.

Would you wish to be my bride? His mouth formed a slight smile.

What woman would not? Oh! She put her hand over her mouth realizing she had spoken out of turn.

His gaze moved over her as he appraised her and he held out his hand. You have had a long journey. Walk with me to the women’s quarters.

Phoebe wondered if in this land it was improper to touch the hand of a man she didn’t know, but the call of him was irresistible. She placed her hand in his and his fingers closed over hers with the grip of possession.

The envoy emitted a hiss of shock, but Prince Agrat silenced him with a glance.

Once she had stepped from the litter she slipped her hand from his, conscious that she must not show her attraction to him, but her heart raced from his touch.

When they moved out of hearing range, he said: Would that I were king to have a jewel such as you. I have never seen a woman with amethyst eyes and hair the color of corn. My father is a fortunate man.

Are you married, my lord? It was a forward question to ask him but somehow she couldn’t bear to think of him with another, though she chided herself for the foolish thought.

His eyes blazed and she swore they glowed for an instant. I desire to marry a woman who loves me, not for a political alliance.

When she looked in his eyes she saw yearning for her there, desire mixed with frustration. A flicker of arousal flared between her legs in response and she fought the urge to acknowledge it. As the Women's Palace loomed in front of her, she knew her time with this fascinating prince was short, but she wanted to know more about this man who talked of love like the bards from her homeland. I’m sure many would fight for the honor of marriage with you.

No, Princess, his Majesty looks toward building his own alliances rather than those of his sons. His Majesty owns all available princesses. Already he has over five hundred wives, the prince said, his voice brittle.

Shock made Phoebe halt. She wavered on her feet as the image of so many wives fixed itself in her mind. She noticed for the first time, the bars on the windows of the Women's palace and the huge guards standing in front of the doors. The gold bracelet on her wrist with the protective charms of Odin, Thor and Freya jingled as her fingers instinctively clutched them for comfort.

Her body started to tremble. I was only told of one wife, one with the face of an angel.

The queen and her son have locked my father’s heart from all others. His other marriages are no more than alliances.

I refuse to be locked away.

It is for your own safety. This is a dangerous land for unprotected women and we have trouble brewing on our borders. It is my job to keep order in our lands. Tomorrow, I leave for the battlefield to join my father in securing our borderland.

How could she live in a place where men shut up their women like possessions? She felt scared, angry and confused all at once. She needed to hold this man, to have him hold her. She was certain that in Agrat lay her only hope of freedom. I pray that I will see you again, she said, her voice low so that only he could hear her.

You are my king’s concubine. His jaw tightened.

Concubine? I was to be his wife! My father signed an agreement with your envoy.

His face hardened. My father does not honor… He clamped his lips shut.

Her heart seemed to shrink though it beat as fast as a trapped animal sensing death. I beg you. Do not put me away. I didn’t leave my family to be dishonored. Imprisoned. The words burst from her lips. She grabbed his chest though her fingers struck the cold metal of his breast plate. Tears sprang from her eyes.

He gripped her shoulders, his face a mixture of agony as if debating with himself. Take heart, Princess. I will free you, he said, his voice low.

You would put yourself at risk for me? No king would tolerate this, she thought. Taking a king’s woman was like a threat to the throne.

Several palace guards approached.

The Princess is to be treated well in the harem, the Prince ordered the guards. See that the eunuchs attend to her needs. He took one last searching look at her. I give you my oath. Be brave, fair princess. I will come for you.

Phoebe looked at the white palace looming in front of her and choked back tears. Her new home was a beautifully built prison and she was no more than a gift to open a new trade route.

Phoebe entered the harem, her guards retreating when the eunuchs of the harem bade her to step forward. On scanning their round, fleshy faces, she saw no sign of interest in her arrival.

Come, one barked at her.

She followed the eunuch into a large courtyard, surrounded by high arches and elaborately painted walls. Women sat in groups on cushions, their bodies swathed in colored fabrics reminding her of brightly feathered birds kept in cages.

The eunuch led her to a large dais with a throne-like chair, on which sat a woman swathed in gold, her face stern but beautiful. Although there were few signs of aging, Phoebe guessed her to be past her child-bearing years.

Kneel, the woman said.

Phoebe's chin jerked up. I am Princess Phoebe, daughter of the king of the Norse people. I do not kneel.

The woman nodded to someone standing behind Phoebe.

Something struck the back of her knees so that her legs buckled. A cry left her lips and she looked around. One of the eunuchs held a crop, which had cut into the soft skin behind her knees despite her gown.

How dare you? Phoebe cried, turning to the woman. I am a princess. She tried to stand but the eunuch who had led her in, pushed down hard on her shoulders.

The woman leaned forward on her seat. I am Tamir, head of the concubines. Here you are nothing. You will serve me. If you please me, you will live. If you defy me, I will have your bones ground to dust and your ashes exposed to the winds. Understand — it is the only way you will leave the harem.

Phoebe looked around her and she sucked in large gasps of air. The walls seemed to be closing in on her. The sickly, sweet scent of women and spices verging on decay seemed to clog up her throat. Women, servants and eunuchs stared at her as if she were the latest entertainment in their unchanging lives.

I am to be married to the king, she said, trying to stop her voice from trembling.

Twitters of laughter rang around her rising up through the courtyard.

Another queen, tittered one of the women seated at Tamir's feet.

Married to the king, you say? Tamir laughed, though her gaze was cruel. Look around you, Princess. Why do you think you are any different to those you see here?

Desperation filled her heart but she raised her chin. Prince Agrat ordered that I be treated well.

The women murmured and whispered to one another. Tamir leaned forward. You trust the word of the demon prince?

Phoebe gasped. Demon?

Foolish concubine, how easily you fell prey to the spell of the unfavored son.

What spell? The princess wrapped her arms around herself.

The prince can make any woman fall in love with him, which is why the king locks all his women away, for to take the king's woman is to challenge the king.

Were Tamir's words true? The attraction had been overwhelming. Oh by the goddess, she was a fool. Demons were known to seduce maidens in her own country to implant their devil spawn and she would have walked willingly into his arms.

Do you think he will help you? Pah!

But he is the son of the king.

The son of a demon queen who seduced the king. The prince will not help you, nor will you attract the king's attention with your fair hair and bright eyes. He has already married an angel. Next to her, you are nothing.

Her heart thudded in her chest and seemed to miss a beat as the sickening reality struck her. The king never comes here?

Do you hear the laughter of children? Do you see them? Tamir's mouth had thinned to a bitter, crimson line. There are no men here except those who have paid a great price to serve his majesty. They call this the Women's Palace; perhaps they should have called it the palace of the living dead.

Four moons later, despite the suffocating heat, Phoebe pulled the dark fabric around her face so that none of her blond hair could escape and give her away. How long before Tamir, the head woman of the harem, heard of her escape? If she were caught, she knew she would be locked in a cell again where Tamir kept the women who displeased her. She’d never allow herself to be put in one of the dark punishment holes to wallow in her own filth.

Her princess status was nothing in the harem, where Moabite, Ammonite, Edomite, Sidonian and Hittite princesses were gifted to the king in return for trade and political alliances. Every day in the harem had been hell, waiting for her prince who never came. What a fool she was to think he would risk his life for her.

Careful to keep her eyes downcast lest their bright color attract attention in this land of dark-eyed people, she walked through the main gate of the city, following several wagons of goods and a large group of people walking after it, relieved that she had made it this far. The eunuch she had bribed with the last of her hidden gems had been as good as his word and set her free. It would be many days travel to the ancient port of Tyre where the merchant ships plied the trade routes to the Mediterranean. Already the harsh morning sun rose high and the beat of the sun made her head throb, but determination made her press forward. She would not be any man’s concubine. Many tales circulated in the harem about the demon prince, too. Some said he was the most fearsome warrior, strong beyond measure, fierce in the face of danger and that his father hated him because he was a threat to the king. The women whispered that to look into his eyes was to fall under his treacherous sexual spell. Phoebe shook her head and stumbled forward on the cobbled road. No wonder she had been so foolish and had imagined herself half in love, the prince had used magic on her. Few possessed it in her land, but those who welded it were feared.

The sound of horses approaching rattled the ground until it rumbled beneath her feet. Voices rose from the tribe in front of her. The men looked about them and the women gathered their children close.

Phoebe flashed a glance behind her at the distant walled city of Jerusalem to see an ominous cloud of dust rising from the mass of approaching horsemen. She clenched her hand into a fist and bit hard on her knuckle to stifle a gasp.

Already the families started moving to the side of the road to let the army pass. Fear bit deep, as head down, Phoebe moved to the back of the crowd, careful not to draw attention to herself. Surely an army this size, complete with chariots, would not be sent for a mere escapee concubine?

A woman screamed and a shudder of fear echoed through the crowd around her. Risking discovery, Phoebe looked up at the approaching army. A spinning, plummeting sensation gripped her when she saw them.

Djin! Djin! screamed a woman.

The crowd pushed and shoved as terror drove them further off the flat road. Little children wailed in the confusion.

When the army approached, Phoebe saw their distorted animal faces and bodies. Tales of King Sol’s demon army had reached her in the harem. She had heard they raped women and devoured the flesh of men. How long before they fell on the people like savage creatures and tore them apart?

Dust and the stink of death rose in the air and the crowd moved in a confused, fear-crazed mob so that women and children fell. Screams rent the air.

Sick with horror, Phoebe ran with the crowd, praying to Odin that this evil horde would not find her amongst the people. A woman beside her tripped and fell grabbing at Phoebe as she did so, wrenching her robe. Phoebe shoved the woman away, clutching her robe close. If the blondness of her hair was seen…

When the horsemen reigned in their mounts, several of the Djin walked toward the quivering crowd, their swords drawn. One huge man with long, flowing black hair and merciless eyes stepped from a chariot and strode forward, ahead of the others.

A shot of recognition swept through Phoebe and even after so much disappointment, her heart fluttered. Dressed as a warrior with his magnificent lapis lazuli breast plate and long curved dagger at his side, Prince Agrat was the most arresting man she had ever seen.

On the Prince’s right marched a menacing monkey-faced demon that must be the infamous Snarcus, dressed in black body armor bearing a sword with an evil twisted blade. Phoebe had heard he ate babies. To the prince’s left, another demon approached, as tall as a giant. On lumbering limbs with a long torso and carrying a severed head under his arm with a burning, gaping mouth and no eyes, the demon neared the crowd.

Fear crystallized amongst the crowd into a silence of terror. Not even the birds in the sky sounded their calls and the livestock no longer bleated.

The woman beside Phoebe whimpered. The Prince has brought his demons. Do not let Envy see your face.

The woman’s terrified whisper rippled through Phoebe’s mind like a shock wave. Even she, new to the land, had heard of this putative demon with the severed head that searched out those suffering the deadly sin of Envy. Could he see into her soul, despite having no eyes? Would he know how she envied King Sol’s queen her freedom? Would he be aware she had hoped that Prince Agrat would be her chosen husband before she had discovered how treacherous he was? She tried to shield her thoughts. How soon, before he dragged her out before the Prince to display her foolishness?

And then what?

Death.

All except Prince Agrat wore the brand of King Sol’s Seal, showing their obeisance to the king. Oh good God, how did she think she ever had a chance of escaping this powerful king who honored not his promises and could control evil itself?

Women around Phoebe crumpled to the ground while their children clutched their mothers’ bodies. Even the men turned their faces away, clearly fearing to catch the eyes of the Djin General, Prince Agrat, lest he cleave their heads from their bodies.

Cast aside your cloaks. Let fall your headgear. The prince wishes to gaze upon the faces of the women, shouted Snarcus, the monkey-faced demon.

A shudder passed through the crowd.

Phoebe watched as one brave man stood in front of his wife. No woman was permitted to show her face to men not of her tribe, to do so would make her a whore.

Snarcus lifted his sword and ran the husband through. The husband fell to the ground unmoving. His wife screeched in terror, sank to the ground and put her palm onto her husband’s chest. He is dead, she wailed. She looked around, her eyes wild, her gaze settling on the prince. The woman crawled toward him. Please, great prince. I beg of you. Give me back the husband I love. I carry his child. A child cannot be without a father to protect him. Oh, please, great lord, grant him life. Wretched with tears, she clutched his foot and kissed it.

Phoebe sank to the earth, recoiling at the abomination of these monstrous demons.

I desire no bloodshed, Prince Agrat said. I am here to protect my father’s people, not harm them. He pointed toward the husband and an incantation left his lips. Black energy left the prince’s fingers and hovered over the dead man. Inside the black cloud grew the glowing shape of a man. The force lowered over the man’s body, shifting and buzzing and the man-like form entered the body.

The man took a great shuddering breath, groaned and clutched his side. Although blood stained his fingers, it no longer soaked the sand. The wife let out a cry of joy. He lives. Thank you, great Lord. She crawled back to her husband, clutching and kissing him.

Phoebe shoved her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, awed at the prince's magic. Prince Agrat must truly be a demon if he could force a soul back into a body. It was hideous. Not natural. No one in her country possessed this type of power.

Do not test my patience, the prince said to the crowd.