The Heir: A Snow White Retelling (The Twisted Kingdoms Book 3)

by Frost Kay

  Tempest touched Destin’s right hand with her own. “I am tired, Your Grace.”

  Going by the dark circles under her eyes, he could believe it.

  “After what happened last night and the fact I’ve only just returned, I must admit you took me by surprise. I—”

  A knock on the door interrupted her, and a young maid with white hair entered without waiting to be told she could do so. “I’m the third one who’s been sent up to rouse you,” she said as she placed a fresh set of clothes on the chair near the fire, her gaze downcast. “The king will not be happy when you are late!”

  “Indeed, I will not,” he rumbled.

  The young maid squeaked and dropped into a deep curtsey. “Forgive me, Your Grace!”

  He eyed the girl who hadn’t dared look up from the floor. Her hair looked suspiciously like feathers. A shapeshifter.

  “Do not let the staff badger you, my lady,” he said to Tempest.

  “I’ll try to do better, my lord.”

  He ignored the servant and pressed a kissed to his betrothed’s lips. “I shall see you at the execution, Tempest.”

  Destin shot one more disgusted look at the servant girl and then exited the rooms.

  Time to move another piece on the board.

  Let the executions begin.

  Fourteen

  Tempest

  Tempest couldn’t even look at Juniper. Her stomach was sick; she’d been avoiding her friend for months. What was she supposed to say to her? She blankly gazed to the door, still reeling from the king’s impromptu visit as well as his interrogation and kiss. Had the prince gone to his father after all? Thoughts for another time. She needed to deal with Juniper.

  With a thump, Juniper tossed a pile of linens onto Tempest’s bed, then retrieved the fresh underclothes from the brocade chair and stormed across the room. She thrust them into Tempest’s arms. Her huge owl-like eyes narrowed.

  “Are you going to say anything to your former best friend?” she demanded. “Or are you just going to stand there in silence and pray that I disappear?”

  “You are not my former best friend,” Tempest said, though her voice was small and listless. What right did she have to call anybody a friend right now? It was too bloody dangerous to have any friends. Especially Talagan friends. She hadn’t missed how the king had looked at Juniper before he left.

  “Oh, so you’re not too good for me, then? You’re not above having shifters in your social circle? Because it damned well looks that way to—”

  Tempest dropped the undergarments and threw her arms around her oldest friend before she could stop herself, burrowing her nose in the girl’s snowy hair and willing herself not to cry.

  Juniper stilled in her arms before finally returning the hug.

  “Tempest?” she said, though her voice was muffled against Tempest’s chest. “Just what is going on?”

  “I’m not above having shifter friends.” Tempest pulled back. “That’s never been the case. I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting. I really am. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Then…” June choked on her next words and grabbed Tempest’s hands. “Why the king? What in Dotae’s name are you doing marrying King Destin?”

  That was a loaded question.

  “He took an interest in me.”

  “You’re better than that,” Juniper retorted.

  “I want to make things better,” Tempest whispered. “For everyone. In order to help as many people as possible, I have to make some personal sacrifices…including giving my freedom to the king. As queen, I can help all of Heimserya—and the Talagans, too, if I play my cards right.”

  “He’ll never allow it.”

  “I can’t do nothing.” She paused to rub her face against Juniper’s hair, a gesture of affection in Juniper’s family nest. “How can I stand by and not help when I’ve seen the way you’ve been treated our whole life? What kind of friend does that make me if I have the ability to make a change for the best but I do nothing?”

  Juniper pulled out of Tempest’s embrace, vehemently shaking her head. “We’re speaking of your life!”

  “I’m speaking of thousands of lives.”

  Juniper eyed the door nervously before speaking in an undertone: “There are…rumors…of King Destin killing his women. There’s too much truth to them for all the rumors to be false. You know this! Marrying the king at this point feels like a death wish!”

  “They’re just rumors.”

  But Tempest knew they weren’t. Three of the king’s mistresses had been found dead in the harbor. That was no coincidence. And, after spending time in the company of the king, she was inclined to believe every depraved rumor abounding about Destin.

  Tempest held her hands out, palms up. She’d made her bed, now she had to lie in it.

  Preferably with a nine-inch blade in her hand and one eye open.

  “You know better,” Juniper said.

  She forced a smile to her face. “I’m a Hound, or have you forgotten that, Juniper? I am not so easy to kill. Who bested a lion? I’ll be able to handle one man.”

  “He’s not a man, but a monster.”

  “Be careful with your words,” Tempest chastised gently. “You never know when someone might be listening.”

  Both women fell silent.

  “So, you’re to be married…” Juniper started. “Bloody hell, that is weird to say. And it feels like it was only yesterday that you had your Trial. How is that possible?”

  “I feel years older.”

  In a matter of months, her life had been thrown upside down. So much had changed. Alliances had been made—and betrayals, too. Enemies and friends. Nausea rolled over Tempest, and she inhaled sharply.

  Please, please let Brine and his men be okay.

  “Temp?” Juniper cried, clutching at Tempest’s shoulder until she steadied herself. “What is wrong? Your face—oh, you’re so pale. Are you sure you’re okay? I will kill the king himself if he has—”

  “I’m just tired,” Tempest said through gritted teeth. It was painful keeping the truth from Juniper. It would be so easy to spill her secrets to her friend. But the risk wasn’t worth it. She had to protect Juniper. “I need to get ready. The king expects me.”

  Though Pyre had insisted Tempest not interfere with his rescue attempt, she couldn’t hide in her room while it went on either. And besides, it was out of character for her not to attend the execution as Destin’s fierce and fearless future queen, who’d given him the heart of the Jester and helped him quash the rebellion.

  She had to get herself together.

  “More is wrong than you just being tired,” Juniper insisted, as Tempest strode into the wardrobe and selected a sober black-and-gray dress.

  “Life in the palace is…a lot.”

  She exited the wardrobe with the garment, and June held out a glass of water and took the elegant dress from her. “Drink up.”

  Tempest forced the cold liquid down with shaking hands and inwardly berated herself for being so transparent.

  Juniper laid the dress on the bed and began to unlace the back. “It’s all abuzz in the castle. Did somebody really try to murder the princess last night? Is that why you’re so upset?”

  She nodded. In truth, she had no space in her heart right now to worry about Ansette. The princess was out of danger as much as she could possibly be. “It was fortunate that the princess had not been in bed. Not so much for her maid.”

  Her friend gasped.

  Tempest glanced at Juniper and regretted her calloused words at once. She set her glass down on the trunk at the foot of her bed and swept the owlet into her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Jess,” June stuttered. “Princess Ansette’s handmaid. She didn’t return to her room this morning when her shift had ended. She’s dead?”

  A lump filled Tempest’s throat, and she felt genuine tears burn the corners of her eyes. What was wrong with her today? Her emotions were all over the place.

 
Hold it together. There’s no other choice.

  “What happened?”

  Lie.

  “She was covering for the princess so Ansette could stay at the betrothal ceremony longer,” Tempest explained, choosing her words very carefully. “It was a horrible accident. But she—Jess didn’t feel a thing. Her death was quick, and she was sound asleep when it happened.”

  “Her poor family.”

  She nodded, the memory of Ansette’s room rising to the forefront of her mind. It was a sight she’d never be able to wipe from her mind as long as she lived. How would they return the girl’s body to her family? Tempest frowned, making a mental note to speak to Madrid about it. No one else needed to imagine the horrors that had gone on in the princess’s rooms.

  Glancing at the window, she winced. Her time was up.

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I really do have to go.”

  Juniper wiped her eyes and nodded. “Thank you for letting me know. I hope something like this doesn’t happen again. It—it won’t happen again, will it?”

  “Of course not,” Tempest reassured her. “Destin has tripled the palace guards for now. And you always have me to protect you. Don’t worry, everything will be all right. Just keep your head down and focus on your job.”

  “I won’t draw attention to myself. Working at the palace has taught me many things. While advantageous, it is not always a safe place to be Talagan.”

  Temp nodded. “I promise to change that.”

  Juniper inclined her head. “I know you will. Let’s get you dressed.” She lifted the dress from the bed and shook it. “Out of that robe.” A wry smile crossed her impish face. “It’s such a change to see you in something so…”

  “Feminine?” Tempest drawled, shirking her robe. Her skin pebbled, and she shivered as Juniper lifted the gown over Tempest’s head.

  “I was going to say so fine. Now, hold still while I get you wrangled into this dress and get your hair presentable.”

  Juniper was a master.

  After ten minutes of fussing, tugging, and pulling Tempest into the tightly laced dress of onyx and smoke with trailing silver lace and too many pearl pins in her hair, she was finished. Juniper tutted quietly and adjusted a stray wave here and there.

  Tempest stared at the mirror. She looked like a proper lady. Except for the hair. Women in court wore their hair in ringlets. Hers was wavy at best, not that she minded. She was proud of her periwinkle hair. It showed her off for what she was—a Hound of the Madrid line. Given that they had all put their lives on the line for the sake of the kingdom, she couldn’t be gladder to belong to their ranks.

  “You’re going to start a new trend,” Juniper said, taking a step back to admire her work. “You look lovely. Like a queen.” She exhaled deeply after she finished fussing with Tempest’s billowing skirt.

  Tempest rolled her eyes. “Black and gray are my colors. They’re dark, like my soul.” She thought of the wintery dress Pyre had picked out for her for the masquerade ball. Its delicate swathes of silver fabric, and the tiny blue flowers weaved into her hair. The kitsune had given her a taste for pretty things.

  “Given who you’re marrying, I imagine you’ll have to get used to it,” Juniper said, pulling Tempest out of her own head. She squeezed her hand. “I best be off. I love you. And…be careful.”

  “Love you, too,” Tempest whispered back, hugging her friend quickly. “Be safe.”

  Juniper nodded and left the room, casting a worried look over her shoulder before she shut the door behind her.

  Her friend’s final words echoed in Tempest’s mind.

  Be careful. Be careful. Everyone wishes you to be careful and do nothing.

  She squared her shoulders and inhaled as deeply as the bodice would let her. Doing nothing had never been a choice. She had not accepted King Destin’s proposal to sit at his side and look pretty, hoping that the odd word here or there would change his entire nation for the better. No, she had to be active in the rebellion.

  Just so long as she treaded carefully while doing so.

  With another look of resignation at the mirror, Tempest pulled on her black cloak and ensured it covered every inch of her gaudy dress.

  Then she headed down to the dungeon before she could change her mind.

  Fifteen

  Tempest

  “Damn this dress to hell,” Tempest muttered under her breath, sweeping up its infuriating train of black and silver beneath her cloak for the fourth time in the last minute. A corseted, sumptuous gown was the worst possible item of clothing for what she planned.

  This is stupid.

  She gritted her teeth and picked up her speed, her hands full of the crinoline skirt. Her meeting with the Jester hadn’t inspired any sort of confidence. She’d seen what he’d done before in the name of the rebellion. Could she trust him with Brine’s life?

  An image of the gruff wolf on the execution block, neck exposed to the sharp blade of a guillotine flashed though her mind. Her stomach rolled. The risk was too high to stand aside. The wolf shifter was her friend. Minutes prior, Temp had told Juniper that she protected her friends. What good was being betrothed to the king if it did not afford her any privileges? If she couldn’t save Brine from a court-sanctioned death, then what was she doing playing nice with the king?

  She paused where the hallway leading to the dungeon bisected her own. Tempest peeked around the corner, her attention pinned to the ornate dungeon door. It still perplexed her that something so beautiful was the gate to hell. Maybe that was the point. The Crown was attempting to cover up their sins with something less unpleasant.

  Her lips curled in a smile as she got a good look at the four Hounds stationed outside the door. The king was using his personal assassins to keep the rebels secure. One of the Hounds rolled his neck and glanced in her direction. She pulled back abruptly.

  Levka.

  How fortuitous. She was sure he would let her in without issue.

  Is this a trap?

  The Hounds were on her side, but had the king placed them there as a test or because he truly believed they were the best option of protection?

  You’ve been among devious courts for too long.

  It was possible. But she hadn’t been caught yet. Paranoia had kept her alive.

  Not much time. It’s now or never.

  She exhaled and rounded the corner, her head held high as she approached the door. All four Hounds stood to attention as she swept her hood back, revealing her hair. Levka broke out in a smile and met her halfway.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping her dress. “You’re not dressed for battle.”

  She glanced over his shoulder at the three silent Hounds. “I hadn’t planned on coming here. I’m due to see the king any minute. I need to get inside the dungeon. I wish to inspect the prisoners before their execution.”

  Levka sobered. “I’ll let you in, but don’t act foolishly. If any persons go missing, the Crown will come down hard on the Hounds too.” He gave her a stern look. “That is something we don’t need right now.”

  Translation: we’re all committing treason, and if the crown investigates, heads will roll.

  “I will keep that in mind.” She chucked her chin at the other Hounds. “They are trustworthy?”

  “I would trust them with my life. Who do you think has kept the guards from beating or starving any of the prisoners to death?” Levka spun on his heel and moved to the door, taking a set of keys from his belt. “Make sure you cover that hair.”

  Tempest pulled her hood over her locks and pulled the cloak around her dress once more. Her friend opened the door wide enough for her to enter. She squeezed his arm once as she passed by.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I’m locking this behind you. Knock softly three times, and I’ll let you out. If I don’t answer, hide yourself,” Levka said gruffly.

  She nodded and began to descend the stairs. The door creaked as he c
losed it behind her, the snick of the lock seeming overly loud in her ears. Torches burned along the stone walls but did nothing to ward away the chill as she entered the bowels of the castle.

  Tempest hoisted up the hem of her gown to ensure it did not touch the cold stone floor of the prison—an almost impossible task, but necessary. No one could know of her impromptu visit to the dungeon. Filth becoming stuck to the hem of her dress could condemn her, and King Destin had a way of noticing even the smallest details. Cobwebs, slime, and dust would be suspicious, especially given he believed she’d come straight from a bath.

  Ignoring the other prisoners, she practically sprinted to Brine’s cell. She skidded to a stop, her heart hammering with each second that passed. “Where’s the lockpick I left here last time?”

  The wolf in question leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest. He arched a brow at her and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here, pup.”

  “I’m exactly where I should be. Where is it?”

  His eyes glittered in the low light. “Don’t test me, Tempest,” he muttered. “It isn’t safe for you to be here. You need to leave.”

  “And it isn’t safe for you to be here, either,” she retorted. She gathered her skirt into her left hand and pushed her right hand through the bars of the cell as far as she could. “Please, let me help you.”

  Brine eyed the space between them and sighed, closing the distance. His cold fingers wrapped around her own. “You already have, girlie.” A wry smile crossed his face. “Should have known Pyre and I couldn’t trust you to do as you’re told.”

  She bristled. “I’ve never been one to blindly obey without knowing all the facts. If you didn’t want me to interfere, then don’t keep me in the dark.”

  “He’s going to be angry when he finds out you’ve been here,” Brine drawled.

  “Don’t care. Your life is more important.”

  The wolf squeezed her hand. “You’re loyal. I’ll give that to ya, girlie. Could have sworn you’d been born a wolf because of that and your stubbornness.”