Anaya's Pride: A Reverse Harem Love Story (Beasts of Ironhaven Book 1) Read online

  Anaya’s Pride

  Chloe Cole

  Frog Prints Publishing

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also by Chloe Cole

  Introduction

  Teaching the lionesses selected for the Royal Harem how to please their king is a time-honored tradition that has served the shifters of Ironhaven well for over a thousand years, and, as luck would have it, the Saint John brothers love their work. But when they’re called upon to tutor auburn-haired Anaya Eldrich in the ways of seduction, all four brothers quickly realize that they don’t want to let her go.

  As their bonds strengthen and whispers of a dark secret run rampant through the palace, will the Saint John brothers turn her over to their king or will her tutors become her guardians and lay down their very lives to protect her?

  Chapter 1

  “Anaya!” Iris hissed under her breath as she shoved a glass of punch under my nose. “That guy just looked over here!”

  I ignored her words, sure she was mistaken, and focused on the drink she was handing me. “What’s this for?” I asked with a frown.

  Iris shrugged. “A little extra courage never hurt. Come on, it’s your big night. You’ve got to start at least pretending like you’re enjoying yourself.”

  Taking the drink, I closed my eyes and did my best not to wrinkle my nose as the liquid, more liquor than punch, burned its way down my throat.

  Iris was right, of course. That was an annoying habit of hers. Still, the warm, illicit rush of alcohol coating my veins did nothing to alleviate the pressure that had been growing in the pit of my stomach since we’d arrived an hour before. Despite the platters piled high with roasted meats dripping with juices and plump, stuffed hens with buttery, golden brown skin, I’d barely managed to choke down a bite.

  I glanced around the room again and gnawed fretfully at my lower lip. Nearly every other nineteen-year-old girl here—and they were easy to spot in their garnet-colored gowns—was talking animatedly with one prince or another. If I were smart, I would have been with them, shouldering the other girls out of the way until the men could do nothing but focus on me. Anything to set myself apart from the crowd, right?

  I cringed at the very thought. As if me and my dark auburn hair clashing with this dress like an off-key harmony didn’t stand out enough already.

  “Oh, oh, he’s coming over,” Iris whispered, squeezing my arm hard enough to bruise.

  I jerked away and tried to act casual despite the sizzle of nerves running through me. “He’s not a prince.” Granted, he was of royal blood somewhere down the line or he wouldn’t be wearing a purple sash, but that wouldn’t be enough. “You know Father will be irritated if—”

  Iris wrinkled her nose and cut me short. “Who cares what he says?”

  “Easy to say when he’s not expecting anything of you tonight,” I shot back. My gaze fell on our father, sitting alone on one of the tufted purple cushions in the opposite corner of the tent, his own gaze following every movement my mother made.

  The ever-watchful warden, both a blessing and curse. Sure, he protected my mother, sister, and I from marauders. The male lions without royal blood who had refused to accept the king’s decree to only mate with those below their station were a threat to every female lioness in Ironhaven, taking what they wanted, raping and murdering in protest.

  The protection was needed, no doubt, but that protection came at a steep cost.

  What price freedom? I wondered, suddenly melancholy.

  “Excuse me,” a deep, dark voice purred beside me. I swiveled to find the male Iris had been talking about standing only inches away. He was handsome, stunningly so, with tawny eyes and a thick mane of golden hair.

  Only he wasn’t here for me. He was talking to Iris. Which meant my seventeen-year-old sister was officially getting more action than me at the Offering ceremony.

  I blew out a sigh and tried not to wince.

  Just perfect.

  “I haven’t been able to look away from you all night. I have to know your name.”

  Iris’ smile faltered, and she glanced from me to the tawny god and back again before answering. “Oh, um, I’m not…” She gestured to her white dress, and he glanced at it, too, though he didn’t seem nearly as concerned as Iris.

  “I’m not of age yet. My sister, though.” Iris cleared her throat and gestured my way. I straightened, shame burning the back of my throat. “She’s…”

  “Right.” He nodded, glancing from my face to the crimson gown that effectively marked me as meat up for auction. “How do you do?”

  He couldn’t have sounded less interested if he was a butcher asking what cut of meat I preferred. I could practically see the comparisons between my sister and I whizzing through his mind.

  Not that I could blame him. In our family, Iris had always been the great beacon of hope for our parents—the one chance for the Eldrich name to leave the farming legacy behind and rise in the ranks of society and create a new generation of royalty.

  Iris had all the markings of a princess, after all. The sleek, golden hair with bright amber eyes and cheekbones so high they made her already angular face look almost otherworldly. Her graceful form was lean and long, trim and agile. When she moved, it was almost like watching water traveling downstream—effortless and fluid.

  In short, Iris was everything a lioness ought to be. With healthy females of an age to procreate in short supply since the Great Sick, she was a prize to be sure. The illness had swept the land, wiping out thousands of our kind and almost exclusively young females. In the two decades since, our population was slowly increasing in numbers again, but not quickly enough for our king. Despite lions being the most formidable shifters in Ironhaven and the ruling faction for centuries, our numbers were still perilously low. Talks of a coup by the wolf and bear shifters had been growing louder each year. The king had been very vocal about wanting to ensure we kept our stronghold on the power, and had encouraged young male lions with even a drop of royal blood to find “worthy”, robust mates to meet that end.

  Apparently, I did not fit the bill.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head as the young male before me waited politely for my response.

  “I’m doing quite well, thank you,” I replied. “But we won’t keep you. I’m sure you have other girls you’d like to meet. Perhaps we can speak again later?”

  Relief, plain and clear, washed over his face and he nodded quickly before rushing off across the tent to another group of lionesses in wait.

  “Good riddance,” Iris muttered. “What kind of gentleman vies for a girl who is not even on offer?”

  “Like trying to take a haunch of venison from the butcher before he even lops it off the carcass, amiright?” I snorted, trying to will the stain of humiliation from my cheeks.

  My off-color joke did the trick and Iris glanced at me reproachfully before eyeing the crowd again.

  “Gross,” she muttered and then shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been with him, anyway. Did you see his shoulders? So narrow. Not
something I want to add to the gene pool.”

  It was a lie. His shoulders, like all the rest of his parts, were just fine. No, my sister was as kind as she was lovely and she felt bad that he’d spurned me.

  Even more of a reason to make like the fact that I still hadn’t caught the eye of a single male all evening didn't bother me one bit. Like me, she was a victim of circumstance and I wasn’t about to add to her burden.

  Iris tipped her beautiful blonde head toward a man sitting alone at one of the tables in the center of the room. “Who’s that?” she asked softly, a gleam lighting her gaze.

  I had noticed him, too, a few minutes before. Even sitting down, it was easy to tell he was tall. In fact, if he stood, I might have guessed he’d tower over most of the lions in the room, princes included. Unlike the majority of the other men present who had thick manes of hair ranging from blonde to light brown, his was dark, shot with hints of red whenever the candles flickered near him. Instead of making him stand out like a sore thumb, women’s gazes seemed to seek him out in hopes of catching a glimpse of that fire when he turned his head.

  So unfair how well men like that—men with confidence—pulled off being different. And this one, despite his regal bearing, wasn’t even wearing a purple sash.

  I ran my fingers through my own thick waves. While the males were a bit more diverse, the females were not. In fact, as I looked around, I realized that I was the only female in the room with hair this color. The rest, from the darkest skinned females to the palest, had hair of spun gold. And, based on the fact that no man had dared approach me, it had not gone unnoticed.

  My parents had sworn before we’d made the journey that it would be all right. That, with so many unmated royals and so few cubs being born after the Great Sick, I’d still find myself a husband. I’d known better, though.

  God, sometimes I hated being right all the time.

  Catching myself, I crossed my arms over my chest. I couldn’t allow myself to get caught in that never-ending loop of self-doubt. There was no changing the dark red of my hair or the stormy gray of my eyes. No altering the fact that I’d never been lean and lithe like my sister, but curvy in ways that would ensure beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would not be chosen tonight.

  So ridiculous, this ache in the center of my chest. I didn’t even want a mate. Not really. But that wasn’t an option. All I could do was hope that someone with noble blood would want me. Because the other option—that I was destined to bring my family shame and dishonor? That I would never rear cubs of my own?

  Was too painful to bear.

  I shoved that thought away and tried to think positive.

  We’d traveled almost five hundred miles, far from the relative safety of our own territory, risking our very lives to be here. I wouldn’t let it be for nothing.

  “I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth into that,” Iris murmured, recapturing my attention.

  I followed her gaze and realized that she was still discussing the dark-haired guy at the table.

  “Gatlin Saint John. He’s one of King Sebastian’s tutors,” I explained with a nod. A fact which I only knew because I’d overheard another girl say it a few minutes before.

  Unlike the princes who, since the Great Sick, were allowed two wives in order to replenish the population more quickly, our king had one wife and a whole harem of women at his disposal. Each female carefully selected for both their beauty and other desirable genetic attributes and then instructed by a team of tutors who molded them into a perfect concubine for him. At any given time, there were a dozen or more living in a series of elaborate rooms in the castle.

  I’d seen sketch renderings of its inhabitants in one of the few books in my father’s study years before. Even now, my cheeks heated at the memory of the sensual images.

  “Seriously? He’s one of the Saint John brothers?” Iris asked, her bright eyes flashing with a new kind of appreciation.

  He was compelling, no doubt about it. As I tried to drag my gaze away, suddenly, he turned his head and caught my eye. Heat stole over my face and I fixed my mouth into a polite smile before turning my head.

  Why couldn’t I be even one ounce less awkward for just one night?

  Still blushing, I looked from Saint John to the other man a little ways away from him, seated on a throne made of pure gold. He was as large as Saint John, almost hulking, but also elegant in his strength, and he stared at the sea of people with nothing but clear and unbridled delight.

  Our king, Sebastian Du Monde, and he couldn’t have looked more the part.

  Between his bright, gleaming hair and his beautiful, predatory grin, he was like a beacon to every unmated woman in the room, calling them to his attention.

  And no one, of course, it seemed, was more aware of that than the haughty-looking, sour-faced woman sitting at his side. But Queen Gwynthryl needn’t have worried. Tonight wasn’t about the king or his sexual desires. The Offering ceremony was all about finding mates for the rest of the males with royal blood in Ironhaven.

  “Wow.” Iris let out a low whistle. “I could definitely let him teach me a thing or two.”

  I knew, of course, the process of becoming part of the revered and respected harem, but it was so out of the question for me that I’d never dared to think of it on any practical level.

  “Do you think the king gets jealous?” Iris asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Of the tutors. Do you think he gets jealous? Like, he’s selected this woman to be his, and then he sends her off to a bunch of guys to—”

  “Teach her how to please him,” I finished, my cheeks burning hotter. “I think everyone looks at it as job training. And it’s not as if the king loves them all.”

  Or maybe he did. We lived so far from Ironhaven proper that any news we received about the castle and its inhabitants was both spare and precious. I’d heard about grand balls and feasts and some of the gossip, but out in the country we were largely out of the loop when it came to life behind the city walls.

  “But that doesn’t exactly change the fact that some other guy will teach one of your mates how to…” Iris trailed off and then coughed delicately, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Take his you know what into her—”

  “Ooookay then, I think maybe we should just, you know, focus on the here and now,” I blurted in a rush.

  At that very moment, from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my father glaring at me.

  Crap.

  I cleared my throat and mentally prepared to at least attempt to mingle, but was saved from that Herculean task when King Sebastian stood and clapped his hands. The clinking of glasses and chatter ceased as, all around the massive tent, lions and lionesses alike went silent as their gazes fell on him.

  Without a word, he motioned for his servants to move his seat. They carried the huge throne to the clearing just outside the tent where a bonfire leapt and pulsed in a hypnotic dance. He took his queen’s hand and led her outside, taking his place on the throne and pulling her onto his lap. He beamed out at his subjects, all of whom hung on to his every move.

  “Come, join us,” he said, and his deep, rich voice was enough to temporarily soothe my fraying nerves.

  Low murmurs sounded as we all trailed from the massive tent in a wave to settle around the roaring fire.

  “I cannot tell you what it means to me to be surrounded by so many beautiful women, ready to bring honor to your prides and to our kingdom. Now, as several of our princes have yet to select a second mate and several more of our royals have yet to select their one, it’s my great pleasure to request that our lionesses of honor provide us with some light entertainment.”

  My heart thudded into my chest, and he gestured toward the fire.

  “Please, ladies, delight us with some dancing. With any luck, it may help a few of our princes decide upon their future brides.”

  A line of drummers strode forward, flanking him. At the wave of his hand, they began pounding out a primal beat
that echoed through the starry night.

  My skin was so icy with panic that I barely felt Iris pinch my arm.

  “Anaya, you’ve got to go,” she hissed in my ear. But my feet were rooted to the spot. I’d known this was a possibility. Had heard from my mother that the king could ask all manner of things to help the princes decide. But dancing? That was something that had never been mentioned.

  What god had I offended to deserve this?

  I was still lamenting when I felt Iris’ hand on my shoulder an instant before she shoved me into the throng of girls scuttling toward the flames.

  Of all the requests he could have made, this one was by far the worst. Why couldn’t he have asked us to maybe, I don’t know, bake some pies? Or carve our own names into our arms with daggers? Both seemed like better options than to bring more notice to the fact that I stood out like a boil on the backside of a crone in this army of perfect women. No doubt their thin frames would bend like willows in the wind, swaying perfectly to the beat of the drums, and I’d be there, bobbing my head and moving my hips from side to side trying to catch the beat I could never seem to find.

  But as I stood in the moonlight, surrounded by dozens of my peers, I knew I had no other choice. This was the will of my king. Taking my place, I swallowed hard and caught one last glance of my father’s thunderous face.

  You can do it. Fake it if you have to.

  I glanced at Iris, and as my sister nodded encouragingly, her amber gaze brimmed with hope.

  I closed my eyes and raised my arms over my head, bopping my hips from side to side, all too aware of the way my over-ample chest jiggled and shook like jelly. Focusing on the moves, I called on every prayer I could think of, willing myself, for the first time in my life, to be graceful.