The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five) (2 page)

She held out her hand to him and he quickly grasped it. She passed a bag to him, heavy with gold then turned and walked away. The guard glanced at her and she smiled at him. She said a few words that Rajak couldn’t hear then turned back to the entrance to the harem. The other women followed, swaying like flowers in the moonlight. Soon the garden was empty save for the guards who looked around then seeing nothing amiss, left the garden as well. When he was sure everything was clear, Rajak rose and made his way back the way he’d come.

Basa was watching for him and his worried expression lightened when he caught sight of Rajak.

“What took you so long?” his servant demanded sharply. “Where did you go? We thought you had been captured.”

“Don’t worry about me so much, old friend,” Rajak said, placing a hand on Basa’s shoulder. “Tonight, we make our first stand against Mohan.” He turned and moved among his men who greeted him with quiet words and affectionate handclasps.

“Kalari,” he said when he reached a slim, young man with a round face. “What have you found out about
The Black Swan
? Have you spoken to the captain, and will he and his crew sail with us?”

“Madhava declares his allegiance, Rajak, but I do not trust him, nor do some of his crew. We must proceed with caution.”

“You are wise beyond your years, Kalari. I will heed your warning. Where is he waiting?”

“This way, my prince,” Kalari said and led the way toward one end of the wharf where a warehouse cast deep shadows.

Rajak followed, his gaze darting here and there for signs of treachery, but there seemed to be none. Perhaps Kalari was overly cautious. They came to a halt in the deepest shadows, when a man dressed in the finest of garments stepped forward. He was a portly man of medium height with a fleshiness about him that hinted of his preference for easy living.

“Prince Rajak,” the man called, holding out his hand in greeting. His voice rang out in the darkness.

“Madhava,” Rajak replied in a quiet voice meant to carry only to the captain’s ears.

Suddenly, the empty wharf erupted with moving shadows as guards came out of their hiding places and rushed forward.

“It’s a trap, Rajak,” Kalari cried.

He and Rajak’s men raced to form a circle around their prince, but Rajak had already drawn his sword. He wrapped his arm around the neck of the rotund captain and held the point of his weapon against the man’s fat neck.

“Call them off,” he ordered.

“I can’t. They’re not mine,” Madhava gasped. He was sweating profusely and a stench rose from his body.

“Then you are of no further use to me,” Rajak said and made to plunge his blade into Madhava’s neck.

The man squealed like a pig and struggled. “I’ll do as you say,” he cried. “Don’t kill me.”

“Call them off.” Rajak repeated his order.

He could feel the man shaking like a leaf. In a voice considerably less arrogant than he’d sounded upon first greeting Rajak, Madhava called to the men and one by one, they drew back.

“They would not have obeyed you so readily if they’d not been your men,” Rajak muttered.

“Yes, yes,” Madhava said and hiccupped, “but I was only following orders.”

“Whose orders?” Rajak tightened his hold on Madhava’s neck.

The man squealed again and shivered harder. “I cannot say, oh prince, for it would surely mean my head,” the frightened man whimpered.

“You need have no fear of that, Madhava,” Rajak replied. “For if you do not tell me, you will have no head to lose. Which is it to be, a quick death now or a chance to flee?”

“It was your brother who ordered all men along the wharf to report if you appeared seeking passage. When your man talked to me, I knew I must send word to him or else be killed myself.”

“You would betray your sovereignty to save your own neck?”

“I’m sorry, Prince Rajak, but I had no choice.”

“Of course, you did. And you chose your life over mine. I would have done the same.”

He released Madhava, shoving him away with contempt, so the man fell to his knees and looked up worriedly.

“Wha-what are you going to do, great Prince of all India?”

“I’m taking your ship,” Rajak replied “and any of the crew who wish to join me.”

“But what about me?” Madhava whined. “What will I do? What will I report to the sh—” He hesitated, aware he’d betrayed his own allegiance. “Please, Prince Rajak. I am but a poor captain who has nothing but loyalty for whoever sits on the throne. They tell us Mohan is our new ruler and we must be loyal to him, so I am loyal.” He shrugged as if he truly didn’t know or care who ruled him.

Rajak thought that was probably true. As long as the man had his ship and was well rewarded for his service to the throne, Madhava didn’t care who ruled. Money was his ruler.

Disgusted with the corrupt man, Rajak knelt over him. “I will give you your life,” he said, “and I will take your ship in return. Go to your sovereign and tell him these words and from whom they came. Say, his rule on the Peacock Throne will be fraught with danger for one day I will return and kill him as he has killed our father. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, prince.”

Madhara looked at him with uncertainty, his eyes reflecting the sudden respect he felt for this young royal, but Rajak didn’t pause long enough to assess the man’s mood or loyalty further. He straightened and signaled to his men. With single-minded purpose, they moved toward the ship, weapons drawn, expressions grim. Any man who sought to stop them would meet with death this night.

Chapter Two

“All will be well, Azara, my little princess. The gods will smile on you and bring you great things. It is foretold that for a princess, these things should happen. Did you not know that?” Oma crooned as she gently brushed Azara’s waist length black hair.

“Is that why I was named thus? Because I am a princess?” Azara asked lanquidly.

She’d had a long, tiring day with her father and the emissaries from India, where she would soon be wedded to a powerful Prince of India. The prospect was both exciting and daunting. She had not yet seen her bridegroom, although she’d had a peek at his brother whom she’d found most pleasing. Rajak Jehan. Even his name spoke of bravery and great wisdom as well as beauty. If Mohan was half as handsome as his brother, she would be pleased with her royal groom.

True, she would only be his third wife, not his first. She’d railed against such a betrothal, but finally, she’d come to accept it. She knew as the second daughter, she held less favor in her father’s eyes. She should be pleased he’d made such a good marriage for her. She would live her life in luxury and ease in Mohan’s household. But would she be happy to continue her life in such sequestered surroundings? Hers was a restless heart and she longed for high adventure.

“Fortune has smiled on you, my child,” Oma said. “I overheard a messenger reveal to your father that the shah has died and your betrothed is now the ruler of the Peacock Throne.”

“But how can that be?” Azara asked, turning to look into Oma’s soft eyes. “Mohan is second in line for the throne. His older brother is first.”

“Did you not think it strange that the oldest was sent to procure the bride for the second? Especially a third wife?” Oma whispered. “The second son is the favored. And now that the shah has died and Rajak Jehan is away, Mohan has taken the throne.”

Azara was silent, taking in all her serving woman had revealed. “Will he be able to hold the throne once Rajak Jehan has returned and discovered his treachery?”

“We will see,” Oma whispered. “Let us pray to Allah that Mohan prevails. To be third wife to a shah is far more important than your father had imagined.”

“That is so,” Azara replied evenly.

She turned away from Oma, her thoughts on the handsome man who’d come to negotiate for a bride for his brother—the same brother who had betrayed him. There was little hope for Rajak now. He was a threat to Mohan’s claim to the throne, so he must be killed.

Some part deep inside her grieved for such a loss. She remembered his dark eyes, and the flash of his white teeth against his dusky skin. Though tall and thin, his body had possessed a sinewy grace that thrilled and reassured one of his power. She had been mesmerized by him, though she’d taken great care that no one knew her thoughts. She sighed, causing Oma to put aside her brush and look at her.

“What’s wrong, my little princess?”

“Why must men fight and scheme and betray their families? Is the throne so important as that?”

“Azara,” Oma cried, obviously scandalized at her comment. “What would your life be if your father were not the highest royalty in Persia? You would not live in a palace or have servants to wait on you or be given to such a powerful man as Mohan.”

“But if Mohan is willing to betray his own brother and take what is not his by right then what kind of husband will he make?”

“It will not matter as much as you think it will,” Oma scoffed. “You will be one among many of his women. After a night or two in his bed, you will be returned to the women’s quarters and another will take your place. Then you may spend your days and nights as you wish. And if you bear a child to the new shah, you will be raised even higher in his household, so you must be as fruitful as you can.”

“What about what I want?” Azara asked mutinously. “What if I don’t wish to spend my days and nights alone with a bunch of other women?”

“Shhst! Do not say such things,” Oma said, placing her hand over Azara’s mouth. “If you are unfaithful to your husband, you will be killed. No, child, you must content yourself with your lot in life.”

Azara shook away Oma’s hand. “What if I don’t wish it? And what about love? Am I to go through life without the benefit of love from a husband? What good is to be a princess?”

Oma smiled, her expression sly. “There is a way, my princess. You must make the new shah love you above all others. There is a woman in the palace who can teach you many ways to ensnare a man’s heart. Has she not done so with your father?”

“Surely, you don’t speak of Hasna?” Azara looked at her nursemaid in horror. “She is my father’s whore and she’s full of herself. She disrespects my mother and all the other wives. I will ask nothing of her.”

“You will do as I say and learn from her. It is for your own good, and your father has decreed it.”

“My father!” Azara scoffed.

“He is the ruler of this country and must be obeyed, even by his headstrong daughter who has found little favor with him of late, for she speaks too freely and thinks beyond her place as a woman.” Oma leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Men are not to be trusted. They think with that thing in their trousers and so can be easily swayed. Men rule our world, but a clever woman can learn to rule even the strongest of men. You must put aside your wayward feelings and learn the subtleties of being a woman. Listen to me, child, if you are to fare well in the world, you must do as I say. What I tell you is true. Only Hasna can teach you the things you must know.”

Azara gazed into Oma’s faded eyes while all the woman’s words spun around in her head.

“It is for your own safety, princess,” Oma whispered. “You are going to a strange country where you will have no allies.”

“But you’re coming with me, aren’t you?” Azara cried out, tears forming in her eyes at the thought she would separated from Oma.

“Alas, I’ve been told to ready you for your marriage, but I am not to accompany you.” Oma’s eyes were liquid with unshed tears.

“I will insist,” Azara cried.

“No, it is better this way. Your father wishes to send one who is younger and more comely, someone who can attain information about the shah’s palace. Those days are over for me. I am old. I accept my fate.”

“I do not,” Azara cried, furious at this turn of events. Leaping from the bed, she straightened her dress and turned toward the door.

“What are you going to do?” Oma cried.

“I will insist you come with me. He can send as many serving women as he wishes, but one of them must be you.”

“No, child. Do not anger your father.”