The Warlord's Price

By Cynthia Carole

In the mythical land of Baraht, beautiful princess Sanji lives a life of soft but lonely comforts. When her brother’s enemy, the ruthless warlord Raj-Kumar, kidnaps her and takes her deep into his mountains, he begins a campaign of seduction on her senses, awakening her to pleasures she has never known.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Sword Publications
• Release date: Aug 20, 2009
• ISBN: 9781936165155

Cynthia Carole

I wrote my first story when I was in the fourth grade—it involved talking animals, a dark forest, and of course, romance. A hundred and fifty handwritten pages later, I knew I was in love with telling stories. When I’m not chasing after my three kids, walking my dog, or being condescended to by our cat (who believes he is feline royalty), I am chasing after my muses. They always involve strong men and women finding love and passion against the odds. Whether they are ruthless warriors or noble vampires, runaway princesses or powerful witches—I hope my characters resonate with my readers and bring them a well-deserved escape. One thing you can count on, I will always provide a happy ending.

Book preview

The Warlord’s Price

Cynthia Carole

Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC at Smashwords

www.PurpleSword.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

THE WARLORD’S PRICE

Copyright © 2009 Cynthia Carole. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN 978-1-936165-15-5

Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah

Edited By Traci Markou

For my husband.

Chapter One

Sanji peeked through the stone filigree, her gaze resting on the man standing in the center of her brother’s court. A ray of sunlight penetrated the tiny windows near the rafters of the great hall and fell upon the tall stranger’s chopped, black hair and lit his strange gold-brown eyes as if they glowed. Behind her, her brother’s wife Alja whispered with the ladies of the hareem, their muffled giggles as annoying as the sickly sweet blend of perfume wafting through the air. Sanji wrinkled her nose. So this is the man that my brother lives in terror of—this barbarian from the mountains.

Compared to her brother, who wore a golden tunic set with river-pearls and emeralds, the man dressed plainly in a dust-covered robe and loose trousers. The curved saber at his waist bore no ornament or precious stones—it was not worn to impress.

Sanji frowned, watching the barbarian stalk toward her brother’s dais. He radiated masculinity, dominating the wide chamber as if he were the ruler and not the petitioner. Though a petition was hardly what she’d call his mission—he had come to make demands. Her heart raced faster as she pressed close enough for the cold of the stone filigree to penetrate her silk blouse. Her nipples tightened, but she told herself that it was the chill of the lattice and not the man she stared at.

Warlord Raj-Kumar. I welcome you, her brother announced. His lip curled in disdain, but the sweat on his brow gave away his nervousness. I am wondering why you threaten my princedom, he continued. Andish did not ride against you last winter. We live in peace with our neighbors…

The lattice was close enough that Sanji could see the mud clinging to Raj-Kumar’s boots, and the single drop of sweat running down her brother’s temple. The warriors on Abishak’s right openly sneered at Kumar, fingering the hilts of their swords. Mal-Jor, her future husband, crossed his arms, frowning in fury. He had argued last spring for her brother’s army to join with the other princes on their excursion into the mountains, but she wondered what he thought now. Now that the other princes are dead and their armies vanquished. Did he still think the southerners had no ability to fight? That the mountains were ripe for plundering?

Her eyes moved from Mal-Jor to Raj-Kumar. No man in the Great Hall could compare to him. His hard, stern face was not handsome in a traditional sense, but he riveted her attention anyway. He dominated the great chamber, despite his lack of jewels or glitter, and his smoldering gold eyes stared right through her brother. Prince Abishak of Andish. I have been given proof that you helped supply the attack against my people. While no soldiers of Andish rode to war, you aided my enemies. I have come to collect a war debt from you.

His voice was articulate and deep, the accent smooth and strange to her ears. Sanji sucked in a breath, loud enough to be heard in the greater court. A blue-robed minister turned to frown at her but so did Raj-Kumar. Even through the lattice, he met her eyes and blinked in surprise. She stepped back, her heart pounding. He couldn’t have seen me, could he? Even if he did, all he could have seen was a patterned shadow through the filigree.

Show this proof, her brother demanded, fingers tapping on his golden throne.

The Warlord gestured, and two of his dark-clad servants strode forward. They wore the Sindi covering over their mouths, strips of cloth that hid half their faces so only their eyes glared like chips of jet. They dropped a large pile of sackcloth on the floor, flaxen bags used to store grain and each marked with the crossed spears of Andish. These were found by the hundreds in the wagons of our enemies. Do you deny the mark of your house, Prince Abishak?

Her brother squirmed. Everyone in the court knew