The Peerless Concubine Novels & Stories

The pain in my chest had already stolen my appetite. Today, someone finally came. It was Thomas. He brought me a bowl of rice porridge. "Mother is making Uncle Gregory an official consort tomorrow. Are you happy now? Don't you understand? She's only doing this to get a reaction out of you. Just give in a little. What's so hard about that?" "Get out," I said coldly. "You're impossible! How did I end up with a father like you?" The day after the ceremony, I heard that Gregory had fallen ill. A demon, people said. A restless spirit.

She had not expected either. Lunch was a thick stew and hard bread served in a long open hall. Phyna took her bowl to the end of a table and ate without looking up. Conversations flowed around her—boasts about pack rankings, speculation about which instructors were hardest, quiet bets on who would wash out first. Her name was not mentioned. She preferred it that way. A girl with ink-black hair and a faded northern crest slid onto the bench across from her without invitation. “You’re the one who put Renn on his back three times,” she said. Not a question.

A chill ran down their spines and Lady Noh felt herself in the middle of another trouble. The dress belonged to Lord Cyrus' beloved concubine who had died a horrible death just because she was not his mate! “My lady…this…” Lady Noh tried to prevent Danielle from choosing that pink gown which was alpha Cyrus’ concubine’s gown. The head maid was unsure who would do such a terrible thing to bring that dress there. It was evident that the female staff despised and resented Danielle because they wished to warm the alpha’s bed. But he bought a lowly slave to do that and it was beyond their patience. It infuriated them and perhaps that was why one of the ladies set that trap.

The curve of her pale, slender neck catches the moonlight, and she pouts up at the domineering man. "My alpha, we've been looking everywhere for you," she whimpers, sauntering toward him. The tension in the back of his neck releases as he catches her scent. I recognize it as well. Rebecca, one of his concubines. His favorite, from what I can recall. She's in his ear and his bed, even more than the Luna. I'm caught in the doe brown of her eyes as her gaze shifts between us, a knowing smile curving her red-painted lips.

“I don’t wanna hear that word right now.” I told my best friend and she paused for a second. “Is this about your Dad?” Another cringe. “Lisa can we not say any D word for the meantime.” I groaned. “Sorry.” She whispered and just then our ride stopped before a garden walk way. As we got out, a tall blonde lady in floral prints kimono came out of a mansion and I’m stunned by her extraordinary beauty. She had perfect skin, her suspiciously full lips heavily painted red and her nails matching red too.

I always wanted to experience it but the men here are scumbags who are not even able to fulfil your bedroom needs. Venoshin was a world far away from earth. We shapeshift into the animal our soul connects to. Mine was a snake while Diana was a cheetah. It is ruled by a woman but to be honest the men still call the shot here. A man could do whatever he wanted to a woman and no one could say anything. That was not even the worst part. When a woman found her mate, he could either choose to reject or accept her. Even if he accepted her, he could still go to other women and the mate would not say anything. That's how fucked up my world was.

“She worked here.” A muscle moved in his jaw. “In the kitchens,” he said. “Six months.” The hallway seemed to tilt a little. Clara had not been some perfect society girl with pearls at her throat and a family name strong enough to survive scandal. She had been staff. A girl in an apron. A girl people probably looked through until Adrian didn’t. A girl like Elena. The thought settled cold beneath her ribs. “So that’s your type?” she asked, before she could stop herself. “Poor women who need rescuing?”

The house was always quiet in the mornings. Not the peaceful kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a warm blanket—but the heavy, watchful kind. The kind that made every footstep sound louder than it should, every clink of porcelain echo just a little too long. Amara had grown used to it. She moved through the marble-floored hallway with practiced grace, balancing a silver tray of freshly brewed coffee and toast. The sunlight filtered in through tall windows, casting long shadows across the pristine walls. Everything in the house was immaculate—polished, ordered, untouched.

“You’ll need all the armor you can wear in that court—even if it comes in silk.” Elianna lowered her gaze. “I don’t know what to expect.” “That’s because no one tells the truth in this palace,” Seraphina said quietly. “So allow me to give you one.” She sat gracefully beside her, folding her hands in her lap. “There are fifty concubines, but only ten truly matter. The rest are shadows—whispers in the hall. But those ten? They are power wrapped in perfume.”

"Your favorite moonstone's been protecting you this whole time. I hope it keeps bringing you good luck." A faint blush crept onto her face. She glanced at him shyly and whispered, "Simon, you'll always stay by my side too…" Surprise flashed in Simon's eyes. It seemed as if he hadn't expected her to say that. "Laila, I've always seen you as a sister. When Zora agreed to donate her kidney, I promised her she'd always be my mate." Laila's eyes reddened. "But Simon, I love you," she whimpered. "And I know you love me too. Why else would you treat me so well? I don't want to be your sister. I want to be your mate!"