His mouth was warm, and smooth and hard, but Zenobia, innocent as she was to kisses, felt his restraint. He kissed her gently with great tenderness, his lips drawing the very essence of her from her untutored body. Deep within her core she felt the ache begin. She longed for something, but she knew not what, and when, after what seemed an eternity, he finally lifted his lips from hers she murmured, "More!"

He looked upon her, his brown eyes almost liquid with his passion. "Oh, Zenobia, you have intoxicated me!" he said softly, and then he kissed her again. This time his kiss was less gentle, but she felt no fear, only a desperate longing to know more. He parted her lips, his tongue seeking, learning the velvet softness of her mouth. She wanted-she wanted she knew not what; only that she didn't want him to stop. She shivered deliciously as he sucked for a moment on her little tongue; and then she nestled closer against him, her young breasts taut.

With a groan of impatience he thrust her away from him. "You are so young, my flower," he said softly. It was almost a reproach.

"Have I displeased you?"

She was distressed, he could see. "Come!" He took her hand, and they began to walk again through the darkened garden. "You do not displease me, Zenobia. In fact you please me mightily. At this moment I very much want to make love to you."

"Then let us make love," she said simply. "I have never been with a man before, but both Tamar and Bab say it is a natural and good thing between a man and woman. I am not afraid, my lord Prince."

He smiled in the darkness. "No woman, I believe, should make love to a man for whom she doesn't care, for whom she has no feelings. That, my flower, is immoral. I have never made love to a woman who did not love me a little. Tonight you have barely been awakened to the sensual side of your nature, and you long to know more. You do not yet know me, Zenobia. There is time for us, I promise you."

"You make me feel like a child," she pouted.

"You are a child," he said. "But there will come a night when you and I care for one another, and then, Zenobia, I shall make you a woman, fully aware of her passionate powers."

She sighed. "I must be content with your judgment then, my lord Prince, for I know naught of such matters."

Odenathus laughed softly. "I think I shall enjoy this small submission, for I suspect that you seldom defer to anyone."

"I know that I am not like other women," she said defensively. "If you truly want me, my lord Prince, then you must accept me as I am. I do not know if I can change, nor if I choose to do so."

"I want you as you are, even if I suspect that my desert flower has thorns." He stopped for a moment, tipped her face to his, and kissed her again, sending a pleasurable thrill through her. "Please learn to love me, Zenobia. I ache to love you."

"Love me?" she said. "Or make love to me?"

"Both," he admitted.

She gave him a quick kiss in return. "You are an honest man," she said. "I believe that we can be friends, and friends, I have been told, make the best lovers."

Odenathus was amused. She was quite serious, and he had never met a female who was so delightfully interesting. "Why do you not use my name, Zenobia?" he asked. "You call me 'my lord Prince,' but you never say my name."

"You have not given me permission to use your name, my lord Prince. I may be naught but a Bedawi girl, but I have manners." She paused, and in the dark he could not see the twinkle in her eyes. "Besides, I do not like your name."

"You do not like my name?" He was astounded.

"It is a very serious, almost pompous name, my lord Prince."

"If we are to be married you cannot keep calling me 'my lord Prince."'

"It is not settled that we are to be married," she said calmly. "Besides, I do not think of you as Odenathus Septimius, my lord Prince."

He could hear the teasing laughter in her voice, and with the same spirit he entered into her little game. "We will be married, my flower, never fear. I am going to teach you to like me, to love me, and to call me by my name." He paused. "If you cannot call me Odenathus, then what will you call me?"

"In public I shall call you 'my lord Prince,' but in private you shall be Hawk, for you look like that bird to me with your long straight nose and your piercing, dark gaze."

He was flattered beyond measure, as she had known he would be. "So I am Hawk to you." He chuckled. "Do you fancy to tame this wild bird, my flower?"

"One should never tame wild things, my Hawk. One should gain their trust and respect, become their friend, as you and I shall do."

Once again she had surprised him, and he grinned to himself. "Hawk I shall be if it pleases you, Zenobia, but now it is late. Come, and I will return you to your quarters."

Taking her hand, he moved through the dark gardens with the surefootedness of a camel traveling a familiar trail. They entered the palace, and she followed him up an almost hidden staircase and found herself in the hallway outside her own rooms. They stopped before the large double doors.

"Can you ride a horse?" he said.

"Yes."

"Be ready at dawn," he said and, turning, strode off down the corridor.

For a moment she watched him go, and then his figure in its long white tunic disappeared around a corner. Zenobia sighed, and stood for a moment before her door. Then one of the soldiers guarding her apartment leaned over and opened the door. With a blush she hurried into her rooms, and closed the door behind her as Bab hurried forward. "It went well, my baby?"

For the first time in her life Zenobia did not want to talk to her dearest servant. What had been between herself and the prince was something she did not choose to share with anyone. "It went well, Bab."

"Good! Good!" the older woman approved.

Sensing that if she did not give Bab something more the servant would continue to pry, Zenobia said, "I am to go riding at dawn with the prince."

Bab was successfully diverted. "Dawn?"

"Yes." Zenobia feigned a yawn.

Within minutes Zenobia found herself undressed and in bed. To her delight, she was alone, for Bab had been allocated a separate small room off her antechamber. She stretched out in the comfortable bed, wiggling her toes in delight beneath the fine silk coverlet, her mind busy with thoughts.

Everyone said she had a choice about this marriage, but the truth was that it was a choice already made. Marriage to Palmyra's prince would make her a woman of property and a person of importance. All she had to do was produce the next ruler of Palmyra. He was a gentle man, the prince. Like her father, he seemed to genuinely care what she felt and what she thought. There was no real choice, and yet was it that terrible a fate? She turned restlessly in her bed, remembering his kisses-and what they had done to her.

In a way those kisses had frightened her, for they had rendered her so helpless. She hadn't known what was expected of her. She had never allowed a man to kiss her before. The young men of her tribe had wanted to often enough, seeking to catch her alone, or entrap her in a tight place; but she had always escaped their seeking mouths, their eager hands, using violence if necessary, for she was no man's toy, and never would be. He had held her gently, tasting of her lips just enough to arouse her curiosity, which, she suspected, was exactly what he had intended. He had touched her nowhere else, and yet she knew from Bab and Tamar's prattle that a man liked to fondle a woman's body. Why hadn't he touched her? Was there something wrong or displeasing about her body?

Wide awake again, Zenobia rose from her bed and walked out onto the portico overlooking the garden and the city. Distracted, she paced back and forth for some minutes. What was wrong with her? To her complete surprise, she was near to tears. Where was her Hawk now? Had he left her at her door only to go to Deliciae's arms? Two tears rolled down her cheeks, and she brushed them away furiously. Why should she care what he did?

"Zenobia?" His voice sounded in her ear and, startled, she cried out. Strong arms wrapped around her, and to her horror she burst into tears, sobbing wildly against his bare chest. He let her cry, and when at last her weeping began to abate he lifted her up in his arms and carried her back into her bedchamber. Sitting on the edge of her couch, he cradled her against him.

"Why do you cry, my little flower? Are you homesick?"

"N-no."

"What is it, then?"

"I thought you had gone to Deliciae."

"I have not sought Deliciae's bed for months. I go to her apartments to see our children. Do not tell on me, though, Zenobia, or you shall ruin my reputation." He was close to laughter-joyous laughter. She cared! She cared enough to weep when she thought him with another woman! Still, he must not press her too closely, though her slim hand caressing the back of his neck was maddening.

"Where did you come from?" she asked him.

"My chambers are next to yours, my flower," came the reply. "The portico is mine to walk upon, too, and I also found it difficult to sleep."

She was suddenly aware of his bare chest, of the fact that he wore nothing but a wrap of cloth about his loins; of the fact that she was practically naked herself in her sheer white cotton chemise. It was something that had not escaped the prince's notice, and he could feel his manhood rising to meet the challenge of her beautiful body. He moved to put her away, but her arms tightened about his neck.

"Zenobia!" His voice held a plea.

"Love me a litde," she said softly.

He shuddered. "Zenobia, my flower, have mercy. I am only a man."

"Love me a little, Hawk," she repeated, and then she moved her body in such a way that her chemise fell open. She shrugged the flimsy garment off her shoulders and it fell to her waist, baring her round full breasts.