Reviews:
This is a wonderful fantasy, sexy, fun read.

I was reminded of Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy arguing it out in the 40's comedies which (way ahead of their time) showed gender prejudice for what it was--a stupid set of societal rules.

The writing is crisp and fast-moving. "Prisoners" is a fun romp and a good fantasy book, too. His handling of Bardak in Marissa's body and Marissa in Bardak's shows his sensitivity to both sides of the physical spectrum.

I can't say enough positive things about this wonderful novel. It had my rapt attention and I didn't want it to end. Wonderfully written, it vividly captured the era of chivalry, kings, knights, and ladies of the court. But most of all, the author really understands what gender is all about and describes the human experience so vividly, that I was moved to tears. I can't wait until they turn it into a screenplay and make the movie! 

An evil wizard captures the princess and a botched spell puts her mind in the injured warrior's body.

He must rescue them both, though he's now in the princess's frail, petite frame.

She's overcome with surging testosterone and wants to try out her new "equipment."

The warrior, however, has sworn to the king that he will protect her virginity.

No wonder the king is royally pissed off.

Curious now that they'd settled things, Bardak picked up his bowl of soup and slurped a goodly swallow, then grabbed an entire slice of meat and jammed it into his mouth. It was overcooked and a bit sour with age, but he'd eaten worse. As he chewed, he became aware of Janelle staring at him in horror.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Milady." The maidservant put her hand in front of her mouth, apparently not quite sure of herself. "I have never seen you act so. . . so hungry."

Crap, what was the matter with his thinking? Of course a princess would not gobble like a peasant. "It's been a long day," he muttered. From then on, he tried to eat with decorum, like he'd seen noble ladies do.

When they finished, night was falling. Janelle cleared away the mess. He thought to ask her to keep back a knife and then thought better of it. Volsar, although stupid, was not a complete fool and might be staging another test of the princess's loyalty. But Volsar probably didn't know about the smaller knives in the cutlery box, so all was not lost.

Then Janelle astounded him again, by producing a candelabra and lighting the tapers. "Would you like your sewing case, Milady? Perhaps you'd like to sew for a while?"

He grinned, thinking of his clumsy fingers trying to thread a needle. "Janelle, you are amazing. After a day like today, do you think we can go on as though nothing has happened?"

The girl looked at the floor. "No, Milady," she replied in a whisper.

"Stop acting that way. Pretend I'm not the princess anymore. Now, I suggest we both go to sleep."

"In here?" She looked about. "With you?"

"Yes. With me." That ought to end the discussion. But it did not.

Janelle nodded in agreement and said, "Yes'm. I'll prepare your bath."

"Let's just go to sleep."

"But, Milady." Again Janelle looked horrified. "Your dress is torn; your face is smudged and your skin is dirty. If I don't bathe you, you might begin to," she wrinkled her nose, "smell."

Godsblood, now what to do? He didn't want this woman to bathe him; he hardly knew her. She expected him to get naked? What to do? He was still befuddled with the sensations of being some other person, one not even of his own gender. But what would Princess Marissa do? Would she be as calm and matter of fact about being kidnapped as her maidservant appeared to be? Well, he remembered, one thing he'd noticed about her, her appearance and costume had always been perfect.

"Perhaps you're right. A bath might help calm my nerves." He'd heard women saying things like that; they seemed to actually enjoy bathing.

Once again Janelle erupted into a flurry of activity. The table and chairs disappeared and were replaced by a stack of folded clothing, a basin, cloths, towels, brushes and several implements he'd never seen before.

He stood watching with wonder and didn't think much about it when Janelle went behind him – until she began unlacing his bodice. He gulped.

Suddenly a feeling of freedom came over him, and he became aware how tightly he'd been strapped in. Two breasts dropped slightly to rest against his chest. Then Janelle whipped the bodice away. He looked down. It wasn't just the odd perspective of looking down at two mounds on his own body that made him gasp, it was the sheer perfection of Princess Marissa's breasts, despite the pressure lines where the bodice had been cutting in. Not overly large, they were just the right size for his hands – at least the ones he'd formerly had – he thought and then was instantly ashamed of himself for thinking of those rough, soldier's hands on the flesh of a princess. And now he realized he was blushing, for the second time.

Janelle had him step out of the princess's shoes and then began removing skirt, petticoat and undergarments.  Her touch was impersonal, but still soft and gentle.

Soon he stood naked – as a woman. He refused himself permission to look down; he couldn't demean the princess by gazing at her with the eyes of a woman but the lust of a man. And then he thought those feminine eyes might drop out of his head as Janelle took off her own bodice, apparently to avoid wetting it because she stooped down to pick up the water skin and to wet a cloth in the basin. Her full breasts hung down just slightly, larger than those of Princess Marissa, undulating with her movements. He didn't hesitate to look. Janelle certainly wasn't off limits for a captain of the guards.

She stood in front of him, naked from the waist up and he struggled to meet her gaze without revealing the lust he felt for her. Since he now occupied the body of a small woman, he actually had to look up slightly. In those eyes he saw a sadness he hadn't noticed earlier, and again he felt ashamed. This woman had on this very day been nearly raped, apparently, and he was ashamed of belonging to the same gender – normally - as the type of man who would do such a thing. Why, if he ever found out who any of her molesters had been, his sword would taste their blood.

"We need to wash your hair this evening, Your Highness," Janelle said. "Lower your head, please."

He did as requested, which forced him to look at Janelle's chest again. And, if he lowered his gaze further, the princess's breasts also came into his view.

For a long while, as the maidservant poured water onto his head and began to wash, he studied those mammaries – Janelle's, of course – as drops of water from his tresses splashed on them. He came to the conclusion that a woman's breasts must be the most beautiful creations in the universe.

Janelle's skin, darker than the princess's and with several freckles, looked as smooth as a baby's bottom. They jiggled, those orbs, and,as she washed her mistress, he noticed their firmness. The nipples, with their dark aureoles surrounding, had the color of ripe raspberries in the summer woodlands and were of similar size.

He felt himself becoming aroused, but it was not what he had always thought of as sexual excitement. His body felt no swelling, no urgency. Instead there was an emptiness, a need for fulfillment, although that wasn't quite it, either. A spark had been kindled deep inside, warming his entire body. He tried to keep himself in check, driven by the need to appear to be Princess Marissa, but it was impossible not to stare. As seconds stretched long, he learned a new meaning of "Look, but don't touch." And now he knew that he had not lost his appreciation for the finer sex when he'd become one of their kind.

If he'd been in his masculine body, he would not have been able to dissuade himself from pulling Janelle to him and tasting her lips. But he lacked the urgency to conquer that he'd once felt in lovemaking and in war. This was something softer, something that could be savored inside without overt action.

Finishing the princess's hair, the maidservant toweled his head dry. Water had run down Janelle's arms and onto her front and sides while washing her mistress, giving her skin a sheen. He continued to admire her womanly assets.

Then the most exquisitely delightful torture that could be imagined commenced. Janelle began at his neck and began to wash him, moving down his body – the princess's body. Bardak marveled at how sensitive a woman's skin could be, from a unique, inside perspective. Janelle's touch was not sexual but – perhaps because his lustful masculine thoughts had aroused this female body – every touch was sexually exciting. When the other woman washed his breasts, he nearly cried out in pleasure as the cloth brushed his nipples. And when she washed farther down on his body, he clenched his jaw, denying the princess's lips from begging for more.

Excerpt:
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