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Princess of Persia- War of the Gods

Contributing Authors: ChuckEPoo 
Do not lie with thy enemy ...

Blood. It is all I have ever known. From the moment I was brought into this world, shrouded in it, to present. I carry sword and shield in hand, leading my army to battle, feeling the blood of the enemy spray onto my face, covering my body with crimson rain. War. It is all I have ever known. They call me the God of War, not knowing that my reputation precedes farther than what is actual truth. Death is my companion. From my first breath in this god forsaken world, it has been a battle. War isn’t a word. It is a way of life. Perhaps the gods have cursed me to live out my existence as an executioner for the Roman Republic. Death is not my enemy. I do not fear dying. And yet, whatever efforts to rid myself of this world seem futile. Do I have a death wish? Yes. But the angel of death will not release me from this mortal plane. I have not finished carrying out my life sentence. My karmic balance has not been restored. Until it is, I am doomed to wake and face another day. Another day to cheat death. Not by sheer force of will.

I am tired. My blood courses through my veins, but my heart ceases to beat. My future has been determined. Not by divine intervention. I am but a tool for those that wield true power. This knowledge has been known to me; those that gain from war, sit within the senate with their white tunics unstained of blood. Yet, they command me to spill, and I shall. Like a maddened, rabid wolf. My vocabulary is simple; capture, conquer, destruction and death.

I seek the eternal sleep. Not just for my weary body, but for my very soul. I am tainted in sin. Where is my salvation? I have none. A man such as myself does not get a chance at redemption. That road is too far beyond my reach. If I were to step on such a path, it would crumble beneath my feet. There is nothing divine and pure about who I am. My name is Marcus Maximus Arillias, and many a man have discovered God at the edge of my sword. But I am not God. I am the king of the damned. The bringer of blood.

Chapter 1 

The Royal Renegade 

“You are a princess, Mina. With that comes great expectation. Not just from your family, but from your people, this kingdom.”

“Yes, yes, I know, mother. This kingdom expects great things from me. If that were the case, then why is father forcing me to marry that dreadfully arrogant, Assyrian prince?”

I was sitting in the garden with my mother, dipping my hand into the pristine water that flowed from the fountain. The climate in Shiraz was always hot, but it was not humid. It was a dry sort of heat.

“We ride back to Persepolis tomorrow.”

“I wish I could leave this land and journey to somewhere new.”

“The Persian Empire is beautiful and prosperous,” my mother said. “Why would you even entertain such silly thoughts?”

“Every empire that rises will fall, mother.”

“Do not speak blasphemy, my child. Especially in front of your father.”

“I am not a child. I am a woman. I have hopes and dreams that I aspire to achieve one day.”

“Pray tell, dear daughter of mine.”

It was as if all the warmth of the sun shone through my mother’s smile. She had aged gracefully through the years. I had her alluring aqua eyes, long raven hair, and delicate facial features. But my height I inherited from my father’s side. I was quite a bit taller than my mother and sister.

“I wish I could explore the world.”

“You are ruling this world, Mina. Do not strive to reach beyond your reach, my love.”

A wistful smile formed on my lips when I felt the gentle hand of my mother’s touch against my cheek.

“You have my spirited nature.”

“Then you cannot hold me at fault for having such strong convictions about life.”

“My dear girl, I see no flaws in your character, nor in the beauty that I created. You have a passionate heart. It is a strength and a weakness. A curse, and a blessing. But something you should take pride in.”

“Us Persians are infamous for our prideful natures,” I snickered.

“And we are rightfully proud. Must I lecture you again about our history?”

A flock of birds flew above us, soaring across a fuchsia sky. The sun was setting, and soon the city of Shiraz would be illuminated by diamonds, twinkling in the darkness of the night.

“Your bath is ready, my lady.” My handmaid Parisa approached me, curtsying routinely.

“You must prepare for tonight’s festivities. I expect you to be pleasantly social this evening. And please, do not engage in heated debate with the Ashvahan family tonight, Mina.” Mother warned.

“My quarrel is not with that family, only with the father … and his sons … oh, and the uncle. They are chauvinistic sort of men, mother. Please, you cannot expect me to reserve tongue and be amiable.”

She rose to her feet, in all her majestic glory, and cupped my face. “You are my daughter. Make me proud.”

There it was. The never ending expectations. I would miss my mother the most. My plans to escape would soon be executed tonight. It was only a matter of time.


The palace was filled with guests that evening; all of Royal status within the higher social ranks of the empire. The young Persian princess was still getting ready in her bed chamber after she had finished bathing inside the Royal Bath House. She smelled of jasmine and roses. Her long silky hair was curled and done up, overlapping with braids and curls, and her olive skin showed a healthy glow, as her servants dressed her. She wore a wide skirt, permitting long strides with the legs. It was peacock blue. The Fabric was a luxurious design with elaborate gold ornamentations and intricate hand painted designs on the front part of her garment. The blue pleated fabric extended from the back over her shoulders and arms. She had ample arm movement with a gold chained belt gathering all the fabric together at the waist. The outfit was modest enough for a princess to wear at a social celebration, yet Mina desired to wear less clothing on such hot evenings.

“Thank you, Parisa, for your assistance.”

“You look beautiful, your majesty.” The servant girl, bowed and escorted the princess to the hall where the guests were mingling. Her father had arrived and was sitting upon his throne; a dark bearded man of intimidating stature. He wore a green tunic, brown pants, and black leather riding boots. In one hand he held a golden scepter, and on his head, a tall golden crown. King Cyrus III was a mighty leader, but also known for his tyrannical ways.

A Herald announced the Princess’s entry, as the guests turned and bowed politely. There was live music playing from one corner of the palace. A tabla drummer, two musicians playing the santoor and sitar, and a vocalist singing a popular Persian folk song.

“And here is my youngest daughter, Mina. At last, you grace us with your presence my dear.” King Cyrus proudly presented her to the Assyrian King that was sitting next to him.

“Apologies father,” she then looked at the other King and curtsied, “Your grace,”

“She is a beautiful desert flower,” King Azarah smiled, his dark eyes cascading her body from head to toe. “My son would be lucky to acquire such a fine young specimen for a wife.” He chuckled, causing the princess to cringe inside. She hated how her father paraded her around to all these potential suitors, as if she was property to be sold.

“Come, let us feast and enjoy warm company. You are among friends. We have much to discuss, my brother.” Cyrus slapped Azarah’s shoulder and filled his golden chalice with red sharaab (wine).


This unrelenting heat had been the fiercest opponent I had yet encountered in this god forsaken land. Why Rome would even desire such a barren desolate place as this was beyond my comprehension. Our enemy was fast and elusive and this campaign had consisted of chasing ghosts around the desert. Looking in the faces of my men, I realized that they were weary and beaten down from heat, exhaustion, and half rations. This was my third year as Imperator (commander) of the Roman expeditionary force, and if I were to guess, this was an assignment given to me doomed for failure. I was used to opposition from my detractors in the senate. They had no fondness for my lack of aristocratic pedigree and my legendary name that was earned in blood on the battle field.

"Anthony!” I beckoned. “I leave to my tent to wash up. Fetch someone to tend to my horse and tell the other legion commanders we will be meeting in my tent at sundown."

"Yes, my Imperator," he replied with a sharp fist on chest salute.

Stripping off my heated armor, I stood in my loin cloth and had my servant girl sponge the sweat and grime from my body. She was a young Persian girl that was truly beautiful like most women within this country. I had saved her from certain rape and eventual death during our last campaign. She was safe as my personal servant and would remain so, seeing as she had no family to return to.

I lay back while she massaged my calves and thought how the Roman tacticians had doomed this campaign to failure along with my position and reputation. I had my orders, and to change them was tantamount to treason. However, that was precisely my intention.

Once I was dressed and fit for private conference, I called out to my Centurion once more. "Anthony!"

"Yes, Imperator."

"Gather my legion commanders in my tent and set up the wine."

"Right away, Imperator."

With all assembled around my chart table, I addressed the best leadership Rome had to offer. Careful to avoid naivety, I knew each man was ambitious in their own right; four men that were skilled, but not to be trusted. My position was the prize. I spoke to them after light discussion about low supplies and poor moral. Everyone had a complaint, but not one solution. Nothing worse than whining leadership.

"Here are the facts as I see them. We are a large force with little recourses. Our enemy is on horseback, fast, mobile and elusive. We cannot fight what we do not see. They have abandoned the cities, burned what food supplies they can’t carry, and poisoned the wells. They seem to have hidden supplies and wells in the desert. A war of attrition. Any suggestions?"

"Imperator, I see no solution but to fall back to more a favorable position," Luscious Aelius offered.

"Do you mean retreat?"

"Not retreat. Reconnoiter, Imperator."

"We are Romans. We. Don't. Reconnoiter," I replied sternly. “Here is what we will do. We need to reduce our forces. Feeding all these soldiers is a logistical nightmare. I shall form one legion of our finest fighters and send the other three legions to strategic positions blocking all exits for our enemy. I want all the Calvary here,” I pointed on the map. “Take minimum rations with you and leave the rest for us. I will lead this legion myself."

"Apologies, Imperator, but you cannot change tactical plans that have been given directly by the higher command. As political officer appointed personally by Caesar himself, I am forced to report this to my superiors. This is high treason!" The threat came straight from Brutus Domitius’s mouth.

I placed my arm on his shoulder, holding him firm before plunging my dagger in his heart to the shock of all. The life disappeared from his eyes, and his body soon slumped to the ground.

"Any other disagreements to this plan?"

The reply was almost in unison, "No!"

"We will start perpetration at sunrise tomorrow. When you leave, take this garbage with you." I kicked the lifeless corpse on the ground.



Political gain. My future marriage to Prince Natan was strictly seen as an opportunity for my father to ally our kingdoms, expand our army, and drive out Roman occupancy. I was not aware of the extent of discord within our other cities. This evening, my brother Armin expressed that the Romans had attacked the North. Father was counting on me to go through with this marriage so that we could save the empire. I did not wish to marry a man I did not love.

It was well past into the late hours when I arose from bed, grabbed what little belongings I had earlier on prepared, and slipped out of my chamber like a thief in the night. I was aware of the allotted guard posts within the palace, and carefully avoided discovery, exiting through the back garden.

My handmaids were not aware of my plans to escape, for if they knew and aided me, my father would have surely executed them. I knocked out one of the guards by the stable with a heavy rock, and stripped him of his clothing. Once I was dressed in my disguise, I saddled on horseback and exited the palace gates. My destination? Unknown. I just needed to get as far away from my father as possible.

I rode through the deserts ‘til sun up. Unfortunately. I hadn’t taken enough food and water with me. With these meager rations, I would survive but a few days. I was beginning to worry. What if I was circling the desert? I had no map. My impulsive decision to escape a life that was being dictated to me had clouded my better judgement to survive.

At sundown, I managed to find an oasis. At first I thought it was a mirage, taunting me. But it wasn’t. My horse was replenished, and just as I was about to dip hands into the water, someone grabbed me from behind.

“What do we have here?”

I dared not speak. For if I did, they would discover that I was a woman. My hood and face cover was the only thing hiding my feminine features.

“Perhaps we should remove balls from cock, teach this Persian a lesson for trespassing on our territory!”

I struggled to break free, but it was no use. I was captured by Roman soldiers, and my situation had quickly become dangerous. They began to laugh and were about to remove my trousers, when I cried out, “Don’t!”

Ooooh, this Persian speaks our tongue. What say you, Quintus?”

The solider stared into my eyes suspiciously, and yanked the cloth that was wrapped around half my face. He looked at me in disbelief and pulled down my hood. “It’s a woman!”

“Unhand me, you savages!” I screamed.

“Feisty too!” The other soldier laughed.

“We’ll have fun with this one,” he groped me as I gasped and slapped his hand away, but he forced me into his arms and tried to kiss me. Thankfully the other soldier stopped him.

“Have you no brain in head? She speaks our tongue you imbecilic moron!”

“But she’s got nice tits! Let’s have a turn with her and then take her back to camp.”

“I am the Princess of Persia! Release me at once, or face the wrath of my father’s deadly army!” I tried to threaten them, but they only laughed in my face.

“Saddle her on horseback. We ride back to camp. The Imperator will know what to do with her.”

“Come on sweetness, let’s ride the horsey, since you won’t be riding this well hung cock tonight.”

I spat in his face and then yelped in pain when he twisted his fist around my hair.


The sky began to rumble above us, as lightning lit up the sky.

“Give her to me.” The other soldier took me away from the aggressive one and helped me onto his horse. The heavens opened up, and soon we were drenched.


The sky deities had gathered in the heavens, watching the mortals below. Helios, god of the sun and guardian of oaths, sat atop a cloud and gazed down at the beautiful Persian princess that was being taken to the enemy camp. He shut his eyes, as the thunder crashed harder.

“Helios, my son,” Zeus appeared at his side. “What troubles you so?”

“You know what troubles me, father.”

Zeus was King of Heaven and god of the sky, clouds, rain, thunder, and lightning.

“You must not dwell on the matters of the mortals. They must endure their trials and obstacles. It is a part of their life.”

“I cannot bear it! I cannot sit here all day and watch her suffer! I love her, father!” Helios stood up and faced his mother, Hera, who was standing next to Zeus. “She has to know I exist.”

“You cannot leave the sky and break your oath.” Zeus warned.

“How many times have you descended to earth, father? How many mortal women have you bedded?” Thunder crashed so loud that it shook the earth. His father frowned and used his powers to calm the sky. Hera knew about her husband’s indiscretions, and yet, there was nothing she could do to stop him. She remained silent, but felt sad for her son.

“Mind your tongue, Helios.” Zeus expressed in an angrier tone. “The princess will survive this.”

Helios knew she would survive. He just didn’t want her to suffer. More than anything, he wished to fly down to her on his winged black stallion, if only to slip an exotic flower in her hair. For years he had been watching over her, and could never cease his infatuation and fascination with the Persian beauty.

“Calm yourself, my son, and trust in my wisdom.”

Helios was the most handsome sky deity. He had jet black hair, sapphire eyes, and a hard, chiseled body that was plated in gold armor. Around his sculpted shoulders hung a majestic golden cape, and golden gauntlets on both wrists. Mortal men wore leather sandals, but the sandals on Helios’s feet were shimmering. A magnificent gold leafed crown rested on his head, with dark thick curls hanging over the sides of the crown. He was a divine masterpiece. Hera was proud of her son.

“Come, Helios. Join your mother for some wine in the hall of divination.”

With much reluctance, he forced himself to look away from the captured girl on horseback, and obeyed his parents.


This relentless desert heat showed no mercy, even after sunset. I reclined on my matted bedding and called out to my slave.

"Girl, come here and sponge me off again," I commanded, hoping the moistness might relieve my rising body temperature.

She sponged my back with cool water and fanned me with a big straw woven leaf. This was about the only preferential treatment I received as supreme commander; an aid and servant girl. Oh, I could have taken her sexually, but I didn’t, in fairness to the men who were away from wives and lovers. I already had one infantry man flogged for touching her.

As I lay relaxing, I thought back to my beginnings. I was told my mother, Octavia Maxima Basilus, was one of the most beautiful women to ever grace this earth. My entire family had died in a village fire at the hands of the Persians when I was a child. I was spared and later brought to another Roman family for adoption. My father was Tiberius Arillias, a dominie that trained gladiators for the ring. I had siblings, but I remained separated from them, living in the slave quarters. The earliest memories I had were holding a sword. My education included more than learning to read and write. It included training in every form of mortal combat. I was a free man, but indentured to Tiberius like many a young man was to their father as apprentice in his trade. My adoptive father did not make bread or furniture. He made killers.

Life was brutal and filled with blood and death. The champion of my father's stable of fighters was Crispus, the most feared swordsman in the land, and my personal instructor. He was a hard man, but fair and had enforced in me that perfecting these skills meant living another day. The best gladiators could earn their freedom through a set number of matches, if they survived, that is.

I was being groomed not to fight in the arena, but to take my father’s place as Dominus. Like the slaves, I yearned to be free of the stable and free to make my own life. One of the rewards a gladiator received for an arena victory was to bed a young slave girl. I was raised watching men openly take their gratification out in public on these young frightened women. It disgusted me then. However, when I reached the adolescent age of seventeen, it appeared to me much differently. I remembered asking Tiberius to fight in the arena so I could win a night with a girl. He laughed and said I wasn't a slave. I told him I was skilled enough to beat any man. He was amused, but I persisted showing off in the training sessions with the wooden swords. I was trying to impress so much that I was injuring the gladiators and thus, harming his livelihood. Crispus was stern with me as my father was, but I continued. Finally, my father agreed to have me fight. Excitement strengthened my spirit, knowing I was to use my training at long last. Much to my misfortune, I had forgotten this was a fight to the death.

The tunnel was long and dark leading to the arena. I put on my helmet and slammed the butt of my sword into my armored chest to check that my breast plate was secure. Crispus looked at me and said, “You’re next. Make us proud. No mercy."

The gate slid up, and I stormed out of the tunnel with fierce intent. My eyes adjusted to the blast of the noon day sun and the crowd roared to life. At the far end of the arena was my opponent. He stepped out of the opposite gated entrance. As I approached him, I saw the fear in his eyes. He wasn't any older than I was and was shaking pathetically. With sword in hand, he held it high, and I hit it aside and leapt at him, kicking his chest armor and knocking him to the ground. The match was over in seconds, as I stood over this crying boy with my foot on his throat. The crowd was screaming death, yet I stood there, indecisive. I was a fighter, not an executioner. The ranking official gave me the thumbs down, and I walked away.

Upon entering the tunnel, Crispus was once again at my side.

“Now you will see what happens when you don't finish your opponent. You should have killed him while opportunity still presented itself, Marcus.” The gate to my tunnel dropped, and the far gate opened. I stood in horror, as a large lion stepped out, and then another … and another. The frightened boy ran, but had not a prayer. The first lion took three bounding strides and ceased his prey. The second beast tore his arm from the socket with a ferocious growl. The crowd went wild in delirium, as the lions ripped his lifeless carcass to shreds.

"See, boy. You were doing him a favor to put a quick end to his suffering," Crispus instructed.

"He had no chance." I muttered in shock.

"You are so well trained. None of your opponents will."

I knelt to one knee and purged my morning meal. This was not what I envisioned.


I was suddenly pulled back to my tent, abandoning the sea of memories that had swept over me.

“Yes, Dani?”

“Do you feel better now?”

“Much,” I offered a smile. “Gratitude.”

She had the darkest eyes, a thin frame with long curly hair that was as black as the night. Dani could not speak a lick of Latin when I first brought her to our camp, but she had become quite fluent in the passing years.

“I …” she started, but I sensed hesitation.

“What is it, girl? Do not hold tongue. Speak.”

“Please promise not to sell me, master. I beseech you.”

In truth I had not even thought that far.

“Is it not freedom you seek?”

She shook her head and got to her knees in front of me. “I only wish to pledge my life to you and serve the great Imperator of Rome.”

Like my men, she was fiercely loyal.

“And so you shall.”

She took my hands and kissed them.

“Have you filled stomach?”

“No, master.”

“Go on, join the others. Eat.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, master?” Dani placed her hands on my thighs and slowly caressed them, moving upwards in a sexually suggestive way.

“No, Dani,” I stopped her hands and stood up. “That will be all.”



We rode through the desert for what seemed like forever, until we finally reached the Roman camp. The rain had finally let up, but my clothes were soaked. Hundreds of tents were set up all over the dry land, illuminated by brightly lit torches. My wrists were bound behind me, as the Roman soldier helped me off his horse and pushed me forward.

“Walk faster Persian!”

Never in my life had I been treated this way. But what more could I expect from a Roman? I did not wish to die, so I complied. The other soldiers jeered and mocked me as I passed them.

“Guard the post, Rufus. I shall bring the Imperator.”

I was left alone with the soldier who kept harassing me, making crude, sexual comments. For the first time in my life I felt a fear.

“A woman doesn’t wear a man’s shirt,” he said, ripping my shirt in half. I gasped, hanging my head down, unable to cover my nakedness.

“A woman doesn’t wear pants!” the awful soldier reached for my belt.

“What is the meaning of this?” A loud voice bellowed from behind me. It sounded deep, and I was not familiar with it.

“I told you to guard her, not strip her!” The other solider by the name of Quintus, rushed to his side and made him step back. “We found this Persian in the desert, Imperator.”

I kept my head down, refusing to look up, until I felt some rough and calloused fingers coax my chin upwards. Al-mighty-gods-in-heaven … my body began to tremble as I stared into the eyes of the man known as the Imperator. They were a light emerald color, glimmering with flecks of blue. I had never seen such attractive eyes on a man before. His skin was darkened and tan from the hot desert sun, and I noticed battle scars on his arms and legs. His hair was brown, cut short, and his jaw was covered with a light spread of stubble. The bridge of his nose was straight, only enhancing the attractive symmetry of his face. His piercing eyes bore right into me, making my heart pound violently in my chest.

“She speaks our tongue, Imperator.”

“Does she?” his voice sounded more modulated, as he removed his red cape and covered it around my body.

“She claims to be of royal blood.” Quintus added. “The Princess of Persia, to be precise.”

“Is that so?” the Imperator never took his eyes off me. His bronze plated armor was polished, but I could only imagine how many times my people’s blood had stained it. He was my sworn enemy, and yet, his subtle smile was warm and gentle towards me. Did he find my imprisonment amusing? He must have. I could never find a friend in this foe.

“If you do not release me, my father will kill you and your entire army. He will show no mercy. I promise you that.”

“Jupiter’s cock! She speaks!” The Imperator chuckled.

“Shall we take her to the prison camp, Commander?”

“No. You may leave now. I will take her to my tent for further interrogation.”

“Yes, my Imperator.” His men saluted him and left us alone.

I was soon led into a big white tent. There were torches lit inside, and a huge table covered in maps and other trinkets I was not familiar with. In the corner, was a table filled with bowls of fruit and wine. To the left of me was a large matted bed with a sheer canopy.

“I demand to be released!”

“I’m afraid you cannot make such demands, princess.” He replied, pouring himself a cup of wine and offering me some, but I turned my head in refusal.

“Pray tell, what caused you to stray from the safety of your fancy palace walls and wander into Roman territory?”

“Roman territory? This is my land! You have no right to be here!”

“I have every right,” he expressed in a calmer tone. “I have ceased and conquered. Gallivanting into the deserts is not safe for a princess such as yourself. So, I ask again, why have you left your home?”

I watched him study me inquisitively, which only worsened my nerves.

“The reason is not important. I made a mistake, and now I wish to return to my family.”

“A runaway princess. A renegade.” He chuckled to himself, took one last sip of his wine, and placed it down on the wooden table before pacing around me like some predator about to devour living prey. “It would make quite the tale, would it not?”

“Just like your reputation? All legendary men are glorified through mythical tales of unbelievable battles and victories. But that is all they are. Myths.”

“Most intriguing that you believe I am legendary. Are you clairvoyant, princess? Or is it because I fit the profile of a legendary man in those beautiful almond eyes of yours?”

“There is nothing good about whatever ‘legendary status’ that follows behind your name.”

“Marcus Maximus Arillias.” He stepped forward and stared at me with intensity. “Does that name trigger any recollection in that pretty little head?”

I tried to maintain my composure and held his gaze with confidence. Everything about his demeanor exuded dominance, power, and control.

“Why should it?”

“How did you learn our tongue?”

“I am educated in many.”

I could hear the sound of drums playing in the distance, as men began to cheer and holler sexual expletives at dancers, I presumed.

“Your father is a coward. Sending his daughter to spy on Roman cavalry.”

As much as I hated my father, I could not help but take offence.

“I am no spy! If my wrists were not bound, I would strike you.”

He laughed and moved behind me, untying the rope around my wrists.

“Go ahead,” the Roman was in front of me again. “Demonstrate bravery.”

A visible frown appeared on my face, as I raised my hand, ready to deliver a slap across his cheek, when he grabbed my wrist, right before assault. “Formidable attempt.” He smiled and wrestled my arm down with ease. “Now, will you reveal to me your name, or must I be forced to use unnecessary tactics to receive a confession?”

“Is that a threat?” I asked, flashing a scornful look.

“My name is of knowledge now. Reveal yours.”

“I am the Princess of Persia. I suggest you adhere to formalities.”

“Formalities?” he scoffed. “As you wish, princess. You may address me as Imperator, but I would much rather prefer, master.”

“I am no slave!”

How dare he cast me to such a lowly rank!

“Imperator will do just fine,” he laughed.

“You will suffer greatly for holding me captive, Roman.”

“You should show gratitude for separating you from my men, Persian,” he darkened his eyes “They have not bedded women in months …”

“And is that what you intend to do with me? Strip me of my virtue?”

“You stir a carnal desire in my veins, but that is to be expected from the beguiling beauty of a Persian princess … whatever her name may be.”

I felt his hand brush against my cheek.

“Regardless of Roman reputation, I am a man of honor. You will not be harmed in my camp, so long as you remain under this tent and abstain from attempting to escape. Mark my words, princess. It will not bode well.”

How could I run away? Even if I wanted to, I was outnumbered.

“My men are a frightening breed.”

“Bred by you?”

“I have raised vicious warriors. Your empire is falling.”

“My people will not fall victim to your slave driving dictatorship.”

He regarded me with a subtle smile. “Dani will bring some proper clothes for you.”


“My slave girl, Danish.”

This was a Persian name. It meant wisdom.

“How dare you oppress my people and force them into slavery!”

“Your father would have done the same with the Romans. This is war times, princess, not peace.”

And with that, he left me standing alone in his tent. A few short moments later, a dark, curly haired woman entered the tent, handing me some garments to change into. The clothing was hardly modest.

“I will not change into this.”

“It was all I could find.” Dani said to me, in Farsi. She was dressed in a green skirt, with a white fabric covering her breasts, leaving her stomach exposed. I noticed that she had no iron collar around her neck.

“How long have you been a slave?” I asked her, as she helped me into the garments.

“Two years. The Imperator has been kind to me. He saved me from certain rape when the Romans raided my village.”

“What happened to your family?”

“All dead.”

“At the hands of the Romans.”

“My loyalty is to him.” She declared.

“How can you be loyal to the Roman Republic? That man’s army murdered your family!”

“And what did your father ever do for the people in my village? We were all left to starve! You sit on your fancy throne, believing that you are building a great empire, while your people die of hunger.” She said this with much venom in her voice. I felt terrible for my ignorance in the matter.

“Sincerest apologies, Danish.”

“Call me Dani. My master calls me Dani.”

Hamvatan; a citizen of my mother country, standing before me. Yet, she felt more Roman than Persian. This truly saddened me. I did not hold her at fault.

“He is not your master, Dani. You are a free woman. I will take you with me when I finally depart from this Hell camp.”

“I will not leave my master’s side.” She shook her head adamantly. “Wherever he goes, I follow. I will never abandon him.”

This astounded me. Was it possible that she was in love with that horrible man? Unbelievable.

“My master is kind. He is not as terrible as you believe he is.”

I had yet to see otherwise. She finished clasping on two golden cuffs around my wrists and stood back. I was dressed like one of those dancers that gyrated their hips to the beat of drums with undulating movements and quivering thighs. My skirt was a sheer, red color, hugging my hips tightly, with my stomach in plain sight. The top part of my garment only covered my breasts, leaving my arms and a generous amount of cleavage unprotected. It was decorated with thin golden chains and gold embroidered designs.

“Gratitude, for your services.”

She nodded and left the tent.


Farah Soltani was a seductive woman. Her dark, raven locks flowed down to her breasts that were covered by two golden, nipple plates. A sheer white sarong was wrapped around her waist, and her wrists and ankles were cuffed in golden chained jewelry that jingled every time she walked. She was a Persian sorceress that had been exiled from Persepolis many years ago by King Cyrus III.

She was now living in a large house in the city of Isfahan, using her powers to disguise her identity and evade capture. Farah was standing in front of a large gold basin that night. She had ordered her male slave to fill it with water and burn some incense.

In the house of Farah Soltani, all her slaves were men who wore iron collars around their necks and loin cloths. The sorceress loved to look upon their naked bodies.

“Leave.” She commanded in Farsi.

Once the room had cleared, she whispered an incantation causing all the torches and candles to suddenly glow to life.

Mina, my sweet. Show your face.” She waved her hand over the basin, and seconds later, the princess’s face appeared in the water.

Farah smiled. “It is time, my child. Time to fulfill the prophecy.” She slowly hovered her hands above the gold basin, in a slow, circular motion, chanting words in Farsi. She was summoning the dark Paryas that were shadow people, born from the fire. She called them to come forth and fulfill her dark deed.

Farah stared into the water and laughed in a very sinister way when she saw what was unfolding. Music began to echo in the house, as a dark, drumming rhythm filled her ears. The sorceress was attempting spirit possession, while she began to sway her body and arms in the air.

“Dance, my daughter … dance for him. You will conceive his child tonight. Rise up …”


Marcus was sitting around a burning bonfire with a large group of his men. They were enjoying their fill of wine and spoils of war. Ten women were dancing around them, when suddenly a loud trumpet was heard in the distance, and then the sound of drums.

“Anthony, do you hear that?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, Imperator.”

“What is this sorcery?”

The music only amplified in volume as the princess began to emerge from the tent. She walked with purpose, as if she were under a spell, her aqua eyes almost glowing. She grabbed two small torches and stepped into the circle of men, joining in with the dancers.

Marcus was confused. He wanted to get up, but for some reason he couldn’t move. The way the princess was dancing had completely hypnotized him. She spun round and round, waving the torches in the air with her in a spellbinding choreography that had every soldier mesmerized.

Within seconds, the entire camp was invaded by mysterious women that hardly had any clothes on. They were all very attractive and desirable, as they danced around the soldiers, enticing them to engage in sexual acts.

Pretty soon, every Roman soldier was having sex, taking each woman like a whore. Marcus’s camp had turned into one giant orgy, but he was completely oblivious to what was happening around him. All he could focus on was that alluring Persian princess that kept rolling her body and gyrating her hips to the music. He watched her moved backwards, signalling him to rise to his feet and follow her while she continued to dance towards his tent. This was a dance of seduction. This was the dance of the devil.

Marcus stood up, completely entranced, pursuing Mina into his tent. The music continued to reverberate around them, aiding the demons that were at work. As soon as he entered, she began to strip out of her garments really slow and seductively. Mina was a virgin princess, but in that moment, there was no difference between her and a brothel whore. She helped Marcus out of his armor, and pushed him back on the bed.

“I need you inside me,” Mina breathed, mounting him, completely unaware that she was about to make love with her enemy.

“I don’t even know your name.” Marcus groaned when she stroked his length in her hand, rubbing his large testicles and then grazing her fingernails up his throbbing manhood once more.

Mina,” she whispered in his ear and licked his earlobe in a really sexual way.

Marcus felt his heart pounding harder when she pressed her palm against his chest and kissed him. Her body was that of a goddess’s.

“Do you want me?” she breathed against his lips, kissing him with more passion.

“Yes,” Marcus grabbed his aching cock and rubbed it in between her dripping, velvet folds.

Mina moaned, as her eyes transitioned incandescently for a second. Marcus’s eyes were glowing as well. They were both under Farah’s enchantment. The spell was working. The Roman commander rolled on top of her, and pressed himself in between her legs. Their bodies were about to couple together. Still, he held off, desiring to kiss her longer and fill her body with fever, until she could not take anymore. But Mina knew what she wanted. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around him, causing Marcus to groan in pleasure once more.

“Give it to me,” she stared up at him with lust drenched eyes. “Fill me to the hilt.”

Farah laughed as she spun in time with the music. She abandoned the basin and motioned her favorite man slave forward, Rostam. Luring him to her bed, she mounted him and slipped him inside of her pulsing sex, while the music continued to play.

“Yes … do it …” she tittered like a mad woman while she bucked her hips and rocked herself back and forth over the hard body beneath her.

Up in the heavens, Helios observed all the events that were transpiring below. He could see the evil sorceress casting her spell, influencing his beloved princess to bend to her will. Despite Zeus and Hera’s warnings, he could no longer pretend to be blind and allow these occurrences. He had to put a stop to it. No deity was allowed to take a human life … no god but Zeus. Impulsively, Helios saddled his winged stallion and descended to Earth at light speed.

He arrived amidst the camp that had turned into a ghastly orgy. There was a line up of Roman soldiers fucking a woman in turns. Two on one, three on one, moaning, groaning, and breathing in heat. Not one person acknowledged the God’s presence, as they continued to fall under the spell of the song that was playing from Farah’s wicked heart.

Helios held out his hand, as a white light blasted from his palm, expanding and increasing its glow. The music stopped, the women that had appeared out of nowhere disappeared, leaving hundreds of Roman soldiers humping nothing but air.

Noooooooooooooooooooo!” Farah’s raging outcry of defeat echoed in his ears, followed by Princess Mina’s scream of terror.

“Get off me! Get off me!” she pounded on Marcus’s chest, screaming in fear and confusion.

The enchantment had worn off. The spell was broken. Marcus immediately backed away from the princess’s naked body.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me!” she gathered the bed sheets, in a desperate attempt to cover up her nakedness.

“You seduced me!” he defended himself.

Helios heard his princess in distress and was faced with two choices now; leave, or finally make an entry into her life and break his father’s rules. This would have waged war in the heavens. He walked towards the tent, sword in hand …


Authors Note: This story is a collaboration by me and ChuckeePoo

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © SweetestSins holds the copyright to this material
© 2013, Mina Alexia (SweetstSins)
Self publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

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