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

by Frost Kay

  Tempest wrapped her arms around her waist as another shiver worked through her and she moved toward the fireplace. “Not only that.” She sat and stared grimly at her uncles as they joined her. “He plans to draft from the people without compensation.”

  Maxim cursed loudly, running a hand through his long light bluish-purple hair. “That complicates things. What is that bugger thinking?”

  “Watch your words,” Dima chastised softly.

  Maxim rolled his eyes but kept silent.

  “How does this complicate things?” she asked, holding her frozen fingers out to the fire. The heat hurt a little bit, but it was better than being cold.

  “I guess you’ll find out this evening,” Dima answered. “Madrid’s called a meeting among us and the rebels. Say you feel too unwell to be at dinner and sneak along to see us.”

  Tempest chuckled, the sound rusty. She winced at the pain in her throat and pulled a wry smile. “That shouldn’t be too difficult as I feel like death.”

  “Look like it, too,” Maxim commented as he retrieved a blanket from the foot of her bed and laid it over her shoulders.

  Tempest gave him a grateful smile and huddled into the blanket cocoon. “Okay. I’ll be there.” She stared at her uncles and swallowed hard. Now was the time to ask her questions. Who knew the next time she’d get them alone? “I know you’re both lying to me,” she said softly.

  Dima blinked slowly and Maxim frowned.

  “What do you mean?” Dima asked carefully.

  So, he was going to play it that way.

  Temp sighed and rubbed at her throbbing temple. She didn’t want to play mind games. All she wanted was answers. “I heard you in the village in Merjeri. I know you’re keeping secrets about my mum.” She stared at Maxim, letting her hurt and desperation shine through. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

  Maxim’s expression crumpled and he ran a hand over his beard. “I don’t know what to tell ya, girlie. She’s gone and nothing we say will bring her back.”

  Her attention moved to Dima who was doing his best impression of a marble statue. “Don’t pretend you can’t hear me or that you don’t know what I’m talking about. This is my life. I’ve formed pieces together, but I don’t know everything.” She swallowed and looked between her uncles. “I know my sire hid me away to protect my mother and I. Which one of you is my father?”

  Both men said nothing. They weren’t going to tell her the truth.

  Maxim held his hands out, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “You are a daughter to us both. What does it matter who sired you? We raised you as our own. We love you.”

  She knew they did, but it still hurt that they wouldn’t be honest. Her gaze strayed to her bed and she willed herself not to cry. It would just make her head and throat worse.

  “I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve had a very, very long day—and night—and I could do with some rest for a while,” she said woodenly. “If I don’t get some sleep now, I won’t be going anywhere tonight, or I very well may pass out on my way to the meeting tonight.”

  “Of course, lass,” Dima said, breaking his silence. He patted her on the shoulder on his way out of her room.

  “You’re loved. Don’t let this build a chasm between us. One day we will tell you everything, but today is not that day.” Maxim bent down from his towering height and kissed her on the top of her head. “You need to take better care of yourself, girlie. You’ve scared many years off Dima’s and my lives.”

  “I’ll try,” she mumbled, turning her attention to the fire when Maxim straightened and left the room, the door clicking shut.

  That didn’t go as she wanted but she was too tired to agonize over it.

  Temp dragged herself from the chair, locked her door, and crawled into bed on the off chance that she might actually manage to snatch a few hours of sleep.

  She opened her gritty eyes and groaned, snuggling deeper into her bed. Her head felt like it was full of cotton. Weak light spilled through her windows. What time was it? Sunset? It wasn’t fully dark yet, but storms always made it difficult to discern the time of day.

  Tempest flopped onto her back and sighed. Her body still ached, and the chill hadn’t left her, but it was better than before, at least. A servant knocked on the door, and Tempest forced her groggy carcass from the bed. The maid’s eyes widened when she got a good look at Tempest.

  “My lady, are you all right?”

  “Just some fatigue and a headache. I wish to rest tonight. Please pass on my regrets for not making it to dinner. I also don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  The maid sketched a curtsey and moved along.

  Tempest closed the door and leaned against it. She rubbed her brow, noting how clammy her skin felt. That wasn’t a good sign. Her legs carried her back to the bed, and she stared at the covers.

  If you get back in that bed, you won’t get out.

  Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Winter’s bite, she was so bloody tired. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she stiffly donned her Hound uniform, folded the spare one that Levka had given her beneath her arm, and left her room. It was a surprisingly quiet journey through the palace. People tended to settle in when a storm raged outside. Her legs felt like noodles by the time she reached the entrance hall. Two familiar figures caught her attention, and some of her worry faded away. Maxim and Levka waited for her. She joined them, feeling lighter by their sheer presence. Family had that effect.

  “Thanks for the clothes,” she told Levka once they were within throwing distance of the barracks. She held out his uniform. “They really saved me.”

  He nodded. “No problem.”

  “Look at the two of you finally getting along!” Maxim bellowed, wrapping his humongous arms around both their shoulders to hold them tight. “The impossible has happened. Who knew it would take fifteen years for you to not argue with each other? Not me!”

  “Get over it, Dad,” Levka muttered, though a bashful smile crossed his face at his father’s approval.

  Tempest grinned, her heart filling with warmth that she’d not experienced in ages. Sweet poison, she missed her family. She missed the Hounds. She missed Juniper.

  Tears once again began to burn at the back of her eyes, and she blinked repeatedly.

  She missed Briggs and his sister and her little fawn boy, and Nyx, and Brine, and…even Pyre.

  She longed to be home. To feel safe.

  The snow fell heavily around them, swallowing their footsteps. Tempest got a hold of herself as they strode past the barracks, the garrison, and finally entered the multi-hall of the Hounds. All conversations were better when served with a warm meal and some mead. It was surreal to enter the room full of jovial men. She surveyed the Hounds and their trainees. These were the men who had served the Crown for generations or would in the future.

  Forced servitude.

  The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Tempest gazed at her family in a new light. How many had been torn away from their families? How many mothers had lost sons or daughters to the king’s machinations and selfishness?

  She skirted around the edge of the hall as Madrid stood. Several Hounds took their places near the doors, making sure to shut and lock them. Maxim pressed a hand to her back and directed her to a nearby bench. She wordlessly sat down, her focus locked on Madrid.

  “You all know what happened in the small hours of this morning and what has now occurred in Fiergone. The king has called for war and is forcibly drafting all able-bodied men to fight. You know what this means.” Madrid cast his gaze across the entire group. “It means we must move our plans ahead.”

  “How far ahead?” Dima asked, who was sitting with Aleks two benches in front of Tempest.

  Unease skittered up her spine when Madrid’s gaze moved to her and held. All eyes turned to her. She resisted the urge to withdraw; she had never shied away from her Hound brethren before. She would not do it now, despite how uncomfortable all the a
ttention made her.

  “In three weeks’ time,” Madrid answered.

  Her heartbeat whooshed in her ears.

  “On the day of Tempest’s wedding to King Destin.” A pause. “We will not be alone in our endeavors. Each leader will be given an assignment for his group. Be ready.” With that, Madrid sat back down at the head of his table and the room lightened once again, as if they hadn’t been planning treason.

  A shadowy form pulled her attention to the left-rear corner. She blinked. Briggs and Nyx. The curvy shifter waved Tempest over. On wobbly legs, she stood, giving Maxim and Levka a parting smile before shuffling over to the shifters.

  Nyx pulled her into a huge hug, her scent of violets and snow filling Tempest’s nose.

  “Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Nyx murmured in her ear.

  She released Tempest and reached for her hand. Briggs led them from the dining hall back to the quiet barracks. Her lungs burned, and she coughed as they entered her old home.

  Nyx directed Tempest to her old bed and made her sit. Briggs knelt on her floor, his dark eyes sweeping over her face. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead and tutted, clucking his tongue when she coughed again.

  “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I think I know,” he muttered.

  “Tired, that’s how I’m feeling.” And beat up.

  He gestured to her shirt laces. “I’d like to listen to your breathing.”

  Tempest waved a hand at him. “You’ve seen me naked before. Go ahead.”

  Briggs unlaced the top of her shirt and crowded in, pressing his ear against her chest. “Breathe in and then out.”

  She did so. “Do you not have a tool for this?”

  The healer pulled back with a twinkle in his eye and tugged on his right ear. “Talagan hearing, lass. No need for human tools.”

  “That’s convenient,” she mumbled.

  “It is.” He clapped his hands together. “I have some tinctures for you, but you’ll be all right.” Briggs smiled, the tilt of his lips a little devilish. “I knew you’d be all right, but someone insisted we see you.”

  Tempest managed a smile. “You telling me you didn’t want to check up on me?”

  “Always, but he’s been a little demanding.”

  Her stomach flipped as Briggs stood and held his elbow out to Nyx, who took it.

  “We’ll take our leave.” They waved and exited the barracks.

  Tempest stared at the closed door for a long time, knowing she wasn’t alone.

  “How long are you going to pretend you don’t know I’m here?” a sensual voice crooned.

  She exhaled and swiveled around, eyeing the kitsune lying across on the bed next to hers. He hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “How?” she growled as she made to stand up.

  Pyre snapped upright, his feet hitting the floor as he reached for her. Tempest stared at his burnished hand curled around her pale wrist. She settled in and gently pulled her arm from him.

  “The usual way,” he joked. When she didn’t return his smile, his amber eyes sobered. “I came to explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  The kitsune glanced away, his throat working as he gazed blankly at the wall behind the head of the bed. “Everything, I guess.”

  “Like how you have royal blood running through your veins?” she asked evenly. “Are you sure you want to talk about his now?”

  He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, his fox ears nowhere to be seen.

  “What other time is there but now? A few weeks from now—hell, a few days from now—one or both of us could be dead.” He winced and fully faced her. “Sorry.”

  Tempest shrugged. “You speak the truth. When I took my oath as a Hound, I knew my life would be short.”

  “You will not die.”

  She startled at his snarled words and cocked her head as Pyre worked to calm himself.

  He exhaled heavily. “After I sent you off earlier…I regretted my words.” His amber eyes locked on Tempest’s gray ones, and he leaned forward, erasing most of the space between their bodies. “You deserve better than to be kept in the dark. About me. I should have been honest with you the moment I knew I could trust you.”

  The air seemed to flee the room.

  Trust.

  He trusted her. It felt…big.

  “When did you decide you could trust me?” she managed to ask without emotion leaking into her voice.

  He let out a self-deprecating chuckle and moved to the foot of her bed. The bed dipped, and she leaned toward him, her pulse picking up speed.

  “It seems like the moment I met you.” He ran a hand over his face and rolled his eyes. “It sounds ridiculous, right? I told myself I had to put you through your paces—it was idiotic to trust someone so blindly. And the enemy, no less!” Another chuckle. “When you set foot in that tavern with coal in your hair and watchful gray eyes full of secrets, I knew what you were.”

  She stared at his handsome profile, barely able to breathe. For a minute, neither of them said anything. Tempest wasn’t sure what she could say, anyway. From the first minute she’d met the handsome rogue who was playing cards, she’d been intrigued. She glanced at her lap and struggled to keep her feelings bottled up. If she let them out now, all hell would break loose. She was betrothed and had to keep a level head.

  Betrothed to his sire.

  The thought made her feel ill.

  Pyre flopped backward, jostling the bed. She twisted to face him, but he kept his unsettlingly beautiful, dangerous eyes on the ceiling instead of on her, as if he knew the last thing Tempest wanted to see was the most telltale sign that he was related to the king.

  “My mother was a pretty maid,” he began, voice singsong and far away as if he was recounting a tale that happened to someone far removed from him. “She had fire, charisma. Her hair was a deeper wine than even mine. The king, of course, took a liking to her,” he continued, his face slowly creasing with rage, “and snatched her up without her consent. He kept her locked away. Like a bloody prisoner, he locked her away. At some point, she realized she was pregnant, and my mother—well, she was fierce of spirit. A fighter.” Pyre paused in his story, and the look on his face told Tempest everything she needed to know: his mother’s nature was both her saving grace and her downfall.

  Temp swallowed hard, already knowing how this story ended. She almost told him not to continue, but she kept silent. If Pyre was sharing his pain with her, she owed it to him to listen.

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You can imagine how much Destin loved that spirit of my mother’s. But, one day, she went too far. Her fighting with the king got her thrown in the actual dungeon, and he left her there to die.” His jaw worked. “It was Madrid who discovered her and sent sympathetic guards to watch over her, you know. He’s a good man.”

  “All the Hounds are,” Tempest whispered, realizing tears were already filling her eyes.

  “Not all,” Pyre argued softly. “At least, not at that time. Things are better now.” He blew out a breath, ruffling the white streak of hair that lay across his forehead. “Anyway, Destin left my mother in there for so long that she gave birth to me. He didn’t know. For three years, she and Madrid somehow managed to conceal my birth.”

  Tempest’s heart ached at what his mum must have gone through. The dungeon was a horrid place. Imagining a child spending the first few years of their life there… “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He nodded and kept going. “But they couldn’t keep it a secret forever. He caught wind of it—his wife was pregnant at the time with their first son. Madrid got us out. To this day, I still don’t know how. I remember snippets as we ran. We found solace in a small house in a remote village at the edge of the forest, and my mother met a man who treated me like his own son. His family accepted us, and then Nyx was born.” He closed his eyes, his brows slashing together as if in pain. “And then…”

  “The king found you,” she mur
mured, knowing it in her heart.

  Pyre nodded, opening his pained eyes. “My mother handed me Nyx, who was a baby, and told me to run. I was five.”

  The same age she had fled her own burning house. Empathy for Pyre, plus her old pain, wrapped around Tempest, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

  “We escaped, but I made the mistake of looking back.” A cluck of his tongue. “At least Destin had the decency to strangle my mother with his own hands.”

  Her hand found his before she knew how it had gotten there. She had thought her origins were sad. She lay down and pulled him into her arms, his face buried against her shoulder. Tempest ran her fingers through his silky hair, a tear leaking from the corner of her left eye. They’d both lost part of their family at the age of five. What a sad pair they were.

  After a moment, he threw an arm around her waist and hugged her hard, his lips brushing her forehead in a tender kiss. “Please don’t let your guard down around him,” he begged, his breath tickling her scalp. “You witnessed firsthand what he does even when he promises something else. Never trust him. Never.”

  Numbly, she nodded. Then, Pyre lifted her chin so he could stare down into her eyes. How could I have believed his eyes and Destin’s were the same? Tempest thought, ashamed of herself. There was compassion and kindness in his eyes that she doubted Destin was even capable of.

  “If you get in too deep, you run, do you understand me?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I know you can. I just want you to know that you will always have sanctuary with us, with me, if you need it or want it.”

  She glanced away, seeing more emotion in his gaze than she could handle. If he wanted to, he could break her in a way Tempest didn’t think she could come back from.

  “I am truly sorry for bringing monsters into your life,” he murmured.

  It would have been easy to cry. Instead, she grinned. The Hounds had been feared for generations. “Good thing I was raised by monsters.”

  Twenty-Four

  Robyn

  “We can’t keep avoiding the subject,” her father said softly.