by Chloe Cole
"If you threw a sandwich and a trough of water in here once a day, I could die a happy woman," I murmured.
Lucian's sudden smile packed such a one-two punch that I nearly stumbled backward from the force of it. Granted, it was gone by the time I'd blinked, but still.
"Glad you like it. Then I won't have to listen to you complain about your work today." He passed by me and made for the giant, mahogany desk at the center of the room that didn't look nearly as large with him standing next to it. "These are the books you're expected to start." He gestured to a three-tome stack with a jerk of his thumb. "These ought to help when it comes to dealing with harem rules and the way things work at the castle. The more you know before you go in, the more comfortable you'll feel."
I scanned the titles and winced.
Proper Meal Etiquette.
Behaving Like a Lady.
The Politics of the Royal Harem.
Borrring. Although, the last one seemed like a must read if I hoped to make any friends once I was there. Clearly, judging by the way they’d treated me at the king’s dinner party, at least some of the other women were going to dislike me just on principle.
“Tea and sandwiches will be brought in around dinnertime. You can stay here until you’re tired but we don’t expect you to finish all the volumes. Get through what you can and then, in your spare time, try to read a chapter here or there.” He paused and eyed me again with that enigmatic gaze. “Feel free to take any of the books in the library back to your room to read as well.”
A rush of gratitude welled up inside me and I wondered if he had any clue what he’d just given me.
As I glanced around the room again, still in awe, I almost wanted to request a pack mule to help me transport them up the stairs.
“Thank you, Lucian. I truly appreciate it. This is…wonderful.”
His wide shoulders tensed as he muttered an unintelligible response before turning around and crossing the room toward the door.
A few seconds later, the doors closed behind him and I was alone. Just me and the books. The choices were mine to make. I could go to magical places with wizards and witches. Distant lands with volcanoes and rain forests.
It seemed like a slice of heaven.
The second he was gone, I lifted my skirts and all but ran for the shelves. The colors of the bindings--shades of brown and black and green and red--made for a kaleidoscope that was only slightly less dizzying than the heady scent of the pages. I ran my fingers over them lightly, reveling in the buttery softness of the leather. It took me ages to settle down enough to even read the spines and truly start to explore all the treasures the room held.
I’d leafed through maybe a dozen of them and was standing atop the portable ladder on wheels to check out the middle shelves when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," I called, cupping the tome I'd selected close to my chest as I climbed down.
Cook stepped in with a tray in her hands and a smile lighting her face.
"Ah, right at home then, lass?" she asked, huffing her way across the room to set down the tray.
I hopped off the last rung and made my way toward her, sniffing the air appreciatively, mouth watering at the scent of what smelled like game pie. "What time is it?" I asked, surprised to realize I was famished.
“Almost five, Miss. You've been in here for hours."
Crap. I shot a guilty glance at the little pile of books Lucian had left for me, realizing with a start that I hadn't even opened them yet.
I took the seat in front of the desk, set down my latest selection and leaned forward to poke my fork into a golden hot pie practically bursting with duck.
Guilt could wait. Besides, I was a fast reader. I'd eat and then dive in to my assigned work. Worst case, I'd skim for some important bits in case there was a test and hope for the best.
I tucked the fork load of food into my mouth and almost purred. "Oh, Cook, this is divine."
She beamed and patted the back of my hand affectionately. "There's a good lass. Finally, one who will actually eat instead of worrying about being perfectly ladylike all the time."
I realized that I'd probably dug in a little too heartily and straightened, forking up a more modest morsel. All right, so maybe the etiquette book could be of some use after all.
"You enjoy, and I'll be back to collect the tray later."
I thanked her again and watched as she left, wondering about her life here at the estate. Did she have a husband and children of her own, from before the Great Sick? Was she happy? Which led me to the question that had been hanging over my head for my entire life in one form or another...
Were any of us females truly happy with the way things were in Ironhaven? Even other shifters, while free to mate as they wished, were under the rule of the one true king, Sebastian Du Monde. If he so chose, he could scoop one of them up today and make her his own.
I forked up another bite of duck and shoved the thought away. Today, here and now, surrounded by all of this knowledge, was one of the best days I could remember. I wasn't about to ruin it by being melancholy.
Once I'd finished my pie and wiped the butter from my fingertips carefully, I picked up the book on top of the pile. I tugged open the cover and flipped to a random page to read aloud.
"The longest-standing member of the harem, while likely no longer the favorite of the king, is to be treated with respect and deference as one might treat the Queen Mother. Appropriate address is ‘Yes, Ma'am. No, Ma'am’ even in the company of her contemporaries."
I rolled my eyes and flipped a few more pages in.
"His Highness does not function on our clock. Should he require attentions, be it morning, noon or night, a harem member will leap to accommodate. For this reason, all members of the Royal Harem will be freshly bathed, coiffed and clean-shaven from chin to toe at all times."
I blinked and read that section again. Clean-shaven from--
Heat rushed up my neck as the puzzle pieces clicked into place.
Dear lord, was that even done? I made a mental note to ask the maid, Hattie, in the event I could muster the courage and then continued reading. Parts like those were shocking and kept me from falling asleep, but most of it was just infuriating. By the time the clock struck nine, I wished that I'd been invited on the hunt with the boys despite my full belly because I definitely had the urge to kill.
I tapped my fingers restlessly on the desk and peered around.
The other book...the one with the maroon cover that I'd plucked from the high shelf at the back of the room, sat peering at me, just inches from my fingers.
The Art of Pleasure.
I blew out a sigh and focused back on the words in front of me. It wouldn't do at all to have Lucian come back to find that I'd learned almost nothing for all the time I'd spent here. Having them take away my library privileges seemed like a fate worse than death, so for the next while, I actually did it. I managed to buckle down and get another full chapter in before I finally broke.
"Damn it all," I murmured, clapping the cover shut and reaching for the book that had been taunting me.
If the thought of shaving my lady bits was shocking, this book was a revelation. Page after page of drawings and sketches that had my whole body vibrating. Women, sprawled on cushions, thighs spread wide, swollen sex on full display as partners ministered to them. Men, sometimes more than one, drawn naked in painstaking detail as they knelt before their lovers. Thick muscles, firm lips, huge, stiff--
"Now, why am I not surprised one bit?"
I let out a squeal and slammed the book shut as my head shot up in surprise.
There, a few feet away, stood Gatlin Saint John, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth.
"I-I-um, Lucian said I could read the books once I reviewed the ones you left me and this one..." I trailed off, irritated at the way my heart thundered out of control. Like I was a child caught with my hand in the sweets jar about to get a whipping.
Or a woman caught reading
dirty books by a man whose face she'd pictured on at least half of these drawings, a little voice inside me mocked.
"By all means. I was just observing that, in all this," he lifted a hand and swept it around the grandly appointed room, "you managed to sniff out the one shelf of erotic reading. I can honestly say that's a first."
I couldn't tell if he was mad--he didn't seem mad--but that hardly mattered. Somehow, I'd yet again managed to mark myself as other. Different.
Weird.
I sucked hard on my cheek and rose, bending to collect the books I'd been tasked to read and gathering them against my still-galloping heart, pointedly leaving the maroon one behind.
"I apologize. I'll take these back to my room and finish reading them now, if you'll excuse me."
I started across the room and had nearly made it to the door before he called to me.
"What did you think?" he asked, his voice low and strained.
I paused mid-step and then turned back to face him. "About what?"
"About the content of the book on pleasure." His face was a mask now, giving nothing away, but something about the tension in his body...the intensity of his gaze, told me there was more to the question than idle curiosity. "What did you think of it?"
I probably should've lied. Later that night, when I lay in bed, flesh tingling, blood pulsing in a low, primal thrum, I'd wish I had. But now, in this moment, sick with embarrassment and sick of being embarrassed, the truth came tumbling out.
"Compelling. Some of the images were horrifying and seemed impossible, but others..." I swallowed past the sudden sticking in my throat and shifted the books in my arms restlessly. "Most, actually, made me feel strange inside."
His lips parted and he tipped his head back. By the warm glow of the candle, I could see the very tips of his slightly descended fangs gleaming and the sight made my bones turn to butter. "Strange how, little one?"
In for a penny...
"Achy. Here." I laid the flat of my palm low on my belly and his gaze shot down to follow its path. "Like there's a pressure inside me that can't quite be reached."
The silence between us was as thick as rolling lowland fog, but then he broke it, stepping back with a curt nod. "Right, then. Continue with your studies tonight and lessons will resume in the morning with Connor in the ballroom."
With that and the flick of his hand, I was dismissed.
He didn't need to tell me twice, I was almost at a dead sprint by the time I reached the door.
I rushed through the house in record time like the hounds of hell were nipping at my very heels and, by the time I slammed my bedroom door behind me, I was gasping for air. Not from the running, I could do that for miles. No, I'd been holding my breath the whole time.
I gently laid the books onto the vanity in the corner and then took a flying leap face down onto my bed.
Surely, a person wasn't meant to go through so many emotions so quickly over and over. Elation, terror, excitement, anger and...whatever this new one was that seemed to crop up whenever a Saint John male was in my presence?
These colossal mood shifts were going to be the death of me. Maybe that was part of the training, I wondered. Maybe that was their whole job in a nutshell. See if you can drive her to the loony bin. If not, she's a keeper.
I managed a half groan, half laugh as I rolled into a seated position.
If I was going to make it through this, I needed to get ahold of myself. The worst was, surely, over. They were all relatively nice to me, and I'd been treated kindly. Fears of being forced into intercourse or rushed in any way had been all but laid to rest. It was clear that this was a slow, meticulous process. I needed to trust in that process or I was going to drive myself batty.
I sucked in a calming breath and blew it out.
Tomorrow would be a new day and a brand new Anaya. Or rather, the old Anaya. The one who did her best to follow the rules and keep her nose clean instead of looking for trouble.
I stripped out of my clothes and donned my nightclothes quickly before climbing into the cool sheets. Exhaustion hit me almost instantly, but right on its heels were those images, now in motion.
Writhing bodies. Flicking tongues. Arching hips.
Sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter 8
When I awoke the next day, my eyes felt gritty and my tongue felt thick. My dreams had been so frequent and so graphic, even an hour later, as I ate my breakfast from the tray Cook had sent up, my face flamed. I was so distracted with the memory of them that it wasn’t until I was about to leave for my late morning lesson with Connor that I glanced at my little stack of books. Four now, where there had been three.
I stepped closer, my pulse knocking, as I gazed at the maroon cover that sat on the top of the pile.
Gatlin. He must’ve had one of the maids bring it in earlier that morning. Or maybe last night? Lord, had he delivered it himself while I was only yards away, dreaming of him? Of his brothers?
My nipples went tight and I traced the title reverently before turning to the door.
It was still a new day, but if Gatlin’s actions were to be trusted, he was basically giving me permission…no, encouraging me to read this book. And, as a rule-follower, who was I to argue?
I grinned a little and stepped out of the room, feeling pretty good about the start of my day despite my exhaustion. Until I reached the ballroom, at any rate.
I stood outside the wide doors, palms suddenly slick with sweat. I could be walking into literally anything right now. As much as I’d talked myself into believing the worst was past, for all I knew, there could be an army of men behind that door waiting for me to service them like I’d seen in that book. Trial by fire.
My stomach churned as I raised a hesitant fist up to rap sharply on the heavy walnut panel. Then, I waited. Five seconds. Ten.
No response. The breath I'd been holding came out in a whoosh. Well, my duty here was clearly done. I'd been summoned, I'd shown up and now, I could leave with a clear con--
"Enter."
Crap.
Okay, Anaya, you're going to be fine. In fact, you're going to be better than fine. You're going to be great, the tiny cheering section inside me crowed.
I wasn't sure about all that, but I was strong and determined not to let whatever this new, unexpected future held, break me.
I cracked my neck and squared my shoulders before pushing the heavy door open. The light that poured out was so brilliant and magical, I blinked and swallowed a gasp.
Gleaming marble floors went on for ages, the light shining from the massive brass chandeliers hoisted high in the air making the flecks of gold and silver interspersed throughout the stone glow like true, precious metals. The walls were a soft, creamy dream, with stylized patterns carved into each and every panel, making each a singular work of art. It even smelled like heaven, the scent of summer lilacs filling the air in a heady, light perfume.
"Pretty amazing, yes?" a low voice murmured.
I whipped my head to the right to find Connor Saint John smiling at me from a few yards away. He was leaning against a long oak bar that had been polished with beeswax to a high shine. But as opulent as the room was, I found myself even more taken with his man's face.
Again, I noticed his resemblance to Gatlin...sort of. They shared that square jaw, and those broad, muscular shoulders. Both exuded a lazy confidence that most men could only dream of, but that was where the resemblance ended. Connor’s snapping hazel eyes looked like he'd just heard a good joke, and a dimple that was permanently etched onto one cheek, even though he wasn't smiling, exactly. His hair was a riot of curls that made my palms itch with the need to touch.
My heart had kicked into overdrive and I swallowed hard.
"Y-yes. It's lovely," I replied.
Understatement of the century to be sure, but between the anxiety and anticipation of the past week, it only made sense that it was all taking me awhile to process.
His easy grin set me more at ease almos
t instantly. "I'm glad you like it. And it’s good to see you again, lass.” He straightened, standing to his full height, and made his way over to me until we were only a few feet apart.
Lord, he's huge, I noted again as I blinked up at him. They all were. A full head taller than me, and I craned my neck to meet his gaze. Maybe it was the light but…
"You really do look like an angel." It wasn't until the words had popped out of my mouth that I even realized what I was saying and my cheeks flamed. The fact that it was true--if Gabriel himself had come to life and walked the earth, it would be in this man's body--did nothing to assuage my mortification.
But the angel tossed his head back and laughed. A glorious, joyful sound that had my own lips twitching with the need to follow suit.
“Thanks for finally noticing," he replied, eyes twinkling. He held out a hand and I took it without hesitation. “Glad we’re getting to spend some time alone together.”
His strong fingers closed over mine and a shiver shot through me.
Dear god, what was it about these guys? Did they possess some sort of hereditary magic that made every woman they touched turn to jelly?
Or maybe it's just you, dummy.
I cleared my throat and tugged my hand away, forcing my lips into a smile to take the sting away. It wasn't that I didn't want him to touch me, exactly. It was more like I wanted him to touch me too much.
I found myself wishing for the millionth time that I had been given some sort of lessons manual instead of those stupid etiquette books because this was getting ridiculous. I had no earthly idea what was expected of me and it was terrifying.
What if I screwed up? Would I be sent away in shame? And, if so, would my father even accept me back?
I shifted from foot to foot restlessly, tucking an errant curl behind one ear.
“Ready to begin?” he asked softly.
Was this it? Was this where he pushed me to my knees and asked me to do the thing I'd seen in that other book? To take him into my mouth and--
“Today's lesson is ballroom dancing." He held out an arm and winked at me, sending my brain into a whole new tizzy.