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

by Frost Kay

  Tempest tripped and crashed into a large black rock near the peak of the coastline, and his heart ceased beating. There was too much space between himself and his mate. If she slipped and fell, he’d be too far away to catch her.

  He sped up as she caught herself and a curse fell from her lips that almost had him smiling. Brine glanced in his direction, his serious gray eyes narrowing as if to say he had it under control. The wolf and his mate crested the hill, and Pyre watched as they ambled into the city.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Briggs said from his left. “She may be abed for a few days, but the lass is healthy. I don’t anticipate any long-lasting effects.”

  Pyre stared after Tempest until she disappeared into the city. He turned and began to slowly descend back to the cave, anxiety riding him hard. What if she was attacked on her way home? What if the king discovered her loyalties?

  She has Brine. Calm down.

  “I can smell your worry from here.”

  “How would you feel if your mate was engaged to another man and living in a den of vipers?” he shouted.

  “I’d lose my mind.” Briggs paused, his deep brown eyes full of compassion. “I thought you said you weren’t going to pursue her. That she wasn’t your mate?”

  “Things don’t always go to plan,” he muttered. “How can I not want her?”

  “She’s prickly and rash, plus she has a mean mouth.”

  Pyre scowled at the healer. “True, but she’s also kind, generous, fierce, and loyal.”

  Briggs grinned, his white teeth gleaming against his onyx skin. “Told ya so.”

  He blinked and then returned the smile. His friend was only trying to get a reaction out of him.

  “So how are you going to get her to accept you? Do you have courtship gifts yet?” Briggs asked as they continued their trek, the snow falling heavily around them.

  “No. Tempest has made her decision to be queen. She won’t accept anything from me as long as she’s betrothed to the king.” He swallowed, feeling queasy at the thought of his father taking the one thing most precious to him.

  “So, what are we going to do about it?”

  Determination filled him, and his smile turned sinister. “We kill the king.”

  Twenty-Two

  Tempest

  There was no way she could enter the palace, not if she was a lady. If her lack of dress was discovered, any chance of marrying the king was out of the question. She was half-tempted just to chance it so she could get out of it. But that was a purely selfish thought. Brine licked her fingers and disappeared when they reached the Hound barracks.

  In a haze, she entered the barracks courtyard, not able to feel her fingers or toes. No one was really about. That worked perfectly since she was about to steal a uniform from her uncles. Given the time of day—just before noon—she imagined that all the men would be currently out. Carefully, she opened the door to their home and popped her head inside. Nobody was around. She slipped inside and closed the door softly, looking for any sounds from the rear bathing room.

  Nothing.

  Tempest crept farther into the room, her attention pinned to Aleks’s bunk. He was the shortest of her uncles. His uniform would have to do. As she reached his bed, the floor creaked and she froze in her tracks as a man materialized in the washroom entryway, dressed only in a towel.

  Levka.

  “Hello,” she mumbled awkwardly, keeping her eyes firmly on his face. A shiver worked through her, and she gritted her teeth.

  Levka blinked slowly and shook his head, wearing a small smile. “Is there any point in asking what you’re up to, Temp?”

  Her lips curled into the ghost of a smile in response. “I guess not.”

  “What do you need?”

  “A spare uniform, if you have it,” she replied. And then: “Perhaps a new cloak.”

  “I think I can manage that.” His sharp gaze ran over her as he moved to his bunk. “You look like hell. Did you take a swim or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  Levka frowned at her and then dug through the chest at the end of the bed. “You’re starting to worry me.”

  “You and everyone else,” she muttered.

  “If I asked you what you were doing, would you actually tell me?” he asked softly, handing her the clothes.

  She pulled them to her chest, holding his gaze, her mouth in a firm line. “Let’s just say it’s not something to discuss aloud and leave it at that.”

  To her relief, he did not press for more information. She muttered a quick thank-you and scurried into the washroom. The steam from the warm pool immediately caused sweat to dampen her temples and the nape of her neck. She glanced longing at the water but grudgingly got dressed, shivering the whole time, despite the heat. Her hair was beyond tangled, but she was able to coerce it into a long braid that was passable at best. Levka’s pants gaped at the waist, but she used a nearby belt to cinch them and loosely tucked her shirt in before exiting the room.

  Her skin rippled, and she trembled as she left the washroom. Levka sat on the chest at the end of his bed and watched her approach. She held out the damp gray cloak, and he took it. Tempest wrapped his black one around her shoulders, the hem dusting the ground.

  “Thank you. I promise I’ll return your things.”

  He waved a hand at her. “Don’t worry about it. I grew out of those a while ago. Keep them.” He stared up at her. “You’re a mess, and you haven’t stopped shaking since you’ve arrived. I’m not sure I should let you leave.”

  She smiled faintly and headed for the door. “I don’t really have a choice. See you soon.”

  “Wait!” he called out after her, and his hand on her shoulder urged her to stop.

  She twisted and stared at him impassively, fatigue weighing her down. If she didn’t get back to the castle and climb into bed, she might not make it back at all.

  “I’m in a rush, Levka. You know I shouldn’t be here.”

  He floundered on the spot, looking down at his shuffling feet before forcing his gaze back to hers. “Temp, I… Everything I said to you in the past. About selling out. And—well, just everything. I’m sorry. I—”

  “You helped save me from the king’s men when they cornered me by the gates,” she cut in, a more genuine smile on her face now. “You’re on my side, aren’t you? So, there’s nothing to apologize for. We all have made mistakes while trying to better our kingdom. Perhaps just…grow up a little bit.”

  Levka let out a soft laugh at her comment, looking more like his carefree father, Maxim. “Okay then. I’ll accept that. Be—”

  “If you say be careful, then I swear to Dotae, Lev, I will kill you.”

  “Then I won’t say it.” A pause. “Good luck, Tempest. Don’t get killed.”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed him good-naturedly before sneaking from the barracks. She huddled in her cloak, the snow crunching beneath her boots. Everything was white, and the storm looked like it would not stop anytime soon.

  Her mind wandered back to Pyre as she slogged to the palace, each breath and step a labor. Had she managed anything good thus far? Her heart sank. It seemed all she had done was get people killed. And now, to discover that the man she had been working with—the man she had come to like, despite everything—was King Destin’s son? It was all too damned much.

  Pyre was older than both the first-born prince and the now-Crown Prince. The king wasn’t Talagan, so it was clear the king had taken a shifter lover. If the kitsune hadn’t been bastard-born, then he would have been the heir to the throne. Could his words be trusted when he said he didn’t want the throne? Pyre liked power, that was apparent, but he didn’t seem like he was scheming to become king. Why hadn’t he told her?

  Tempest chuckled darkly and began to cough. It was because she was prickly and had a temper like a badger. No wonder he hadn’t brought it up. He probably trusted her as much as she trusted him.

  A few of the guards exchanged glances when she ret
urned to the palace, but none questioned her. No one questioned a Hound. Her ascension to her room was thankfully unimpeded. Her throat burned, and her limbs shook as she arrived in the royal wing. Thank the stars her bed was close. It felt as if her legs would give out any second. Tempest managed to open the door with shaking hands before the sound of footsteps behind her gave her pause.

  Please don’t be the king or the prince.

  She steeled herself and turned.

  Madrid stood a few paces away, his expression unreadable. He eyed her from head to toe, his expression thawing into something softer that she couldn’t understand. “Tempest,” he said. “A war meeting has been called in the council room. We must go.”

  She dropped her head and nodded. “I need just a moment.”

  As fast as she could, she entered her room, changed, and forced herself away from the comforts of her bed and the fire. She locked her room and dutifully followed Madrid to the east wing of the palace. The silence grew between them, becoming more and more awkward with every passing second.

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You don’t look so well.”

  “You’re not the first to make that remark,” she grumbled, feeling even more ill. Tempest wrapped her arms around herself. The memory of the icy water caused more ripples to break out along her skin. Did the Hounds know what the king was planning to do? “Did you know?” she whispered. “About what would happen to the prisoners after I asked for them to be gifted to me?” She studied her sternest uncle.

  Madrid nodded, and she swallowed. Why hadn’t anyone said anything? If they had shared even a scrap of that information with her, lives could have been spared.

  It goes both ways. You should have gone to them for help.

  She hung her heavy head, feeling the weight of failure on her shoulders.

  “Tempest.”

  Madrid’s serious tone caused her to lift her head and meet his gaze. He gently placed his hand on her left shoulder and steered her toward the inner wall, far enough away from the door to the council room that nobody would overhear them. She surveyed the man, the head of the Hounds. He looked tired and older. Silver littered his lilac hair near his temples, and there were lines around his eyes. While he was still a man in his prime, it was startling to realize that he wouldn’t be young forever, and, sooner or later, someone would replace him. The thought alone had her heart clenching.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, frowning.

  She grimaced. Sweet poison, she hated the fact she was so transparent.

  “I just…” she began, not quite knowing what to say. She sighed. “I don’t want anyone else to die, I guess.”

  Madrid barked out a humorless laugh. “Then you’re in the wrong profession, lass.”

  “I didn’t exactly have a choice in that matter, did I?” Tempest muttered before she could stop herself. She held up the end of her braided hair. “I was found out—smoked out, really—and had no choice but to be a Hound. Isn’t that the way of it, Madrid? I’ve always belonged to the Crown.”

  The man flinched. The Hound who never balked at any situation flinched as if she’d struck him. She almost put him out of his misery as he struggled with what to say. The door to the council room opened, and they both pulled away from the wall. The royal treasurer stepped out and waved them in, annoyance plastered all over his sallow face.

  As they approached, aggravated voices reached them and became louder as they entered the chamber. Tempest observed the room, her stomach sinking as she noticed the prince. Maven had never been to one of the war meetings before, as far as her knowledge went. It was reasonable for him to be there now that he was the heir, but it still bothered her. She hovered near Madrid and hid her mirth as the king growled something at his son, his face ruby red.

  Somehow, the prince had earned the king’s ire, and that pleased Tempest more than it should have. She hid her smile.

  “What happened?” Madrid asked, calm as ever.

  “There’s been an attack in the northern province of Fiergone,” the treasurer informed them. “The rebels are responsible, apparently. But intelligence suggests that the rebels in question are giants.”

  That was an interesting piece of news. Hadn’t the king sent the princes to be ambassadors to the kingdom of Kopal? What were the giants doing working with the rebels? There’d been a Kopalian ambassador in attendance for the execution that morning. Something wasn’t right.

  The king glared at his son. “Just what in Dotae’s name have you done?” he demanded, his voice raising to almost a shout. “What were you doing while you were there? You had one job. One. God, what I wouldn’t give for different sons.”

  Tempest kept all emotion off her face and directed her attention to the table with a map strewn across it in the middle of the room. She peered through her lashes to gauge Maven’s reaction. The prince looked like he was about to launch over the table and attack his father. Was this why Maven had turned out the way he did? Without any paternal affection, did it always create monsters?

  She eyed him, theories running through her head. Was the giants’ attack a ploy from the rebels or from the prince? Could the Kopalians be colluding with Maven?

  Don’t let your imagination go crazy. Not everything is the prince’s doing.

  “How would you like to proceed, my lord?” Madrid asked King Destin. “The Hounds are ready to do your bidding.”

  “Mobilize the army into Fiergone,” the king replied immediately, thrusting a pointed finger down onto the map on the table. “We need to hit them hard and fast. They can’t be given a chance to retaliate with their full numbers. This needs to be nipped in the bud now.”

  Tempest held her breath.

  “We don’t have enough men,” one of the councilors pointed out, his long gray goatee quivering. “Most of them are still in the south. We—”

  “Then get more men!” Destin hollered. “Draft them from every household if necessary. We’ve already begun the process anyway.”

  She blinked slowly. He’d been drafting men for his army? Tempest glanced at Madrid from the corner of her eye. His expression was blank. How long had he known?

  “We do not have the money to pay for new soldiers,” another councilor pointed out. “The Crown cannot afford this.”

  “Our men should want to sacrifice their lives for the kingdom! This draft is not optional—it’s compulsory. Send out the order now.”

  She kept her mouth shut as the horror of Destin’s demand sunk in. Anything she could have said would have been treason. She didn’t agree with this decision at all, and, going by the faces of everyone in the room, they all agreed with her. War was one thing, but a draft without compensation for the families? It would lead to a riot in and of itself.

  A riot.

  Would this be the straw that broke the people who were still loyal to the Crown? While horrible, it was the perfect solution to unite all the people—those of Heimserya and Talaga.

  Tempest’s attention moved to the king, who hadn’t looked away from his son. Her heart picked up speed as she saw Pyre’s angry sneer in his expression. It was ironic that Destin desired different sons when he had a powerful, scheming son already. What would the kitsune have been like if he’d been raised as the heir?

  The idea made her colder than she already was. If he’d been raised in the palace—under the king’s direct tutelage—then any of the good, honorable traits Pyre possessed would have been completely snuffed out.

  It was better that he was a rebel. Better that he was the Jester. Better that he worked with the Dark Court.

  She curled her hands beneath her armpits to keep her fingers warm as she came to another epiphany. It didn’t matter that he was Destin’s son. Blood meant nothing. Only the actions.

  You should have said something.

  Judging a person’s parentage, which he had no say in, was as bad as someone judging her for her lack of a father. Shame washed over her. She’d have to make amends. Well
, after they dealt with the pressing issue at hand.

  War was coming.

  Twenty-Three

  Tempest

  She didn’t remember much of the trek back to her room as the chill from the sea seemed to seep as deep as her bones. The bath burned her skin, but it still wasn’t warm enough to dissipate the cold that lingered in her blood. Tempest shivered as she climbed from the bath and wrapped herself in a fluffy robe, her eyelids almost too heavy to keep open. Only a few more steps and she would be in her bed.

  Swinging open the door, she released an embarrassing squeak when two newcomers surprised her with their presence. Maxim and Dima sat by her southern window. She scowled at them. Hadn’t she locked the door? What was up with everyone invading her privacy?

  Her uncles stood, and Maxim rushed forward, wrapping his burly arms around her.

  “Girlie,” Maxim breathed, “Levka just told me about you showing up in the barracks looking like a half-frozen, drowned rat.”

  “That sounds about accurate,” she mumbled against his chest, his familiar scent of leather and mead curling around her. Tempest turned her face to the side and gave Dima a weak smile while soaking in Maxim’s heat. “What are you both doing here?”

  “What was said at the meeting?” Dima asked instead of answering her question. His serious face was uncharacteristically haggard. She frowned. Clearly, something was troubling him.

  Join the club.

  “When was the last time you slept?” she asked, eyeing her bed longingly. They all could use a bloody nap or two.

  “It’s been a while,” Dima muttered before continuing on. “Now, the news.”

  “There’s been an attack in Fiergone,” she replied, reluctantly releasing Maxim. “There is to be war.”

  “We knew that was coming. He’s been mobilizing soldiers around the kingdom for the last four months.” Dima nodded slowly. “The king is going to put a draft in place.”