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

by Frost Kay

  “Must get me out? What about you, Ansette? It isn’t safe for you here,” she muttered.

  “And you think it’s any safer for me out there?” the girl countered. “If I go missing, you and I both know my father will blame the rebellion for my kidnapping.”

  “But the king is already at war with the Talagans. How much worse could things possibly get if you leave—”

  “My place is here.” A pause. “To act as your contact inside the palace. You cannot tell me you don’t need one.”

  “It’s not safe,” Tempest argued, feeling her nausea return. Sweet poison, she was going to vomit. “Your father isn’t who you think he is.”

  “I’ve grown up with him my whole life. Do you think I’m blind to his machinations? Do you think I don’t know what he did to my brother?” Her voice broke on the last word.

  Way to go, Tempest. You made the princess cry.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t kill him. My father did. He was the one who released the information. We’re just pawns.”

  “He cares for you,” Temp offered.

  “Only as long as I fall into line. If he knew what I’d been up to for the last year, he’d have had me executed already.”

  “What have you been up to?” Tempest asked, her words slightly garbled.

  “The same thing you have been up to, it seems.”

  She wanted to question Ansette more, but it was too difficult to speak and to walk. They twisted and turned down narrow passage after narrow passage. When they finally reached the end of the passageway, Tempest almost cried in joy. The girl paused at the end of the corridor and leaned her ear against an old, plain wooden door. A bitter draft whistled through cracks around it, and Tempest shivered at the haunting melody it created.

  “I think the coast is clear,” Ansette said softly. “You need to go now.”

  Tempest sagged against the slimy wall and scowled. “I don’t want to leave you, but I know it’s the smart thing. You need to be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  “I can’t prove it yet…but I believe your brother might have had something to do with the assassination attempt.”

  Ansette’s expression turned grave. “I’m not ignorant of his sadistic ways. I’ll keep my head down and keep out of his way.” She straightened and threw her shoulders back, her lips forming a sharp smile. “Living with such a family has given me many skills. I can handle myself, make no mistake.” She pulled Tempest from the wall and hugged her fiercely. “Be careful, and if you need to send any messages to me, send them through Maibeth, the cook.”

  Tempest nodded, her head bobbing. Bloody hell, she hoped she could remember that.

  She pulled back and gazed down at the resourceful royal. This was who should be on the throne. Ansette was the ruler the kingdom needed. Heimserya already had their queen—they just didn’t know it yet.

  “Stay safe and be careful,” the girl said, opening the small door.

  “You as well.”

  Tempest stepped from the passageway, the bitter wind waking her up the tiniest bit. She blinked. It led completely outside the palace gates. Useful, but only if she could remember where it was.

  Move.

  She made sure that her hood was secure and stumbled north toward the city gates. The king would expect her to go to the Hounds for help. It wouldn’t be safe there. Staying in the city wasn’t an option, either. The people knew her face—Destin had made sure of that. Each step she took felt like it would be her last. Tempest dug deep and pressed on, determined not to slip in the snow and fall asleep.

  A wagon trundled past her, and she hopped on, tucking herself under a blanket. She gagged at the stench. Someone was emptying privies. That alone should keep her awake. Tempest wiggled in between pots, and her nerves were strung tight as the wagon stopped.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” a thready voice whined.

  “The king is missing his betrothed. We’re to check everyone.”

  “He has himself a runaway bride, eh?” the wagon-owner said with a chuckle. “Women are flighty things.”

  “This one is dangerous too,” the guard mumbled.

  Damn right.

  Tempest pulled her dagger from her waist with a trembling hand as several heavy steps crunched in the snow near her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself. If they discovered her, she’d fight her way out or die trying.

  The blanket rustled near her feet, and she didn’t dare move as it was lifted the tiniest bit. A man gagged as the blanket was lowered.

  “That’s disgusting. How can you stand the smell?” the soldier asked.

  “You get used to it. Am I allowed to go?” the wagon-owner whined. “Got places to be.”

  “Get on with you,” the soldier barked.

  The wagon jerked, and Tempest winced as something wet sloshed over the edge of the nearest pot onto her leg. She dry-heaved and tried to stifled the sounds. But once she started, she couldn’t stop. Her throat felt too thick, and the air was dry and scratchy as if she hadn’t drunk in days.

  Tempest scooted to the back of the wagon and peeked out. It was the wrong move. Her sober self knew it the second she locked eyes with a soldier on the top of the wall.

  “I see her!” he cried, lifting his bow. She retched and rolled from the wagon, crashing to her knees. She shoved to her feet and ran past the wagon toward the woods, her feet catching on rocks.

  Zigzags. Don’t give them an easy target.

  Half stumbling and half running, she made her way toward the dense forest. Sweat coated her body, and her lungs were on fire. She could barely breathe. Tempest tripped and fell, her right leg taking the brunt of her weight.

  An arrow whipped past her ear. Another.

  Get up and run.

  She lurched to her feet and darted into the woods, thankful that the snow wasn’t as deep. All sound ceased to exist as she ran for her life. In the back of her mind, she knew she was leaving a trail straight to her and that it would have been better if she took to the trees. But there was no way she could climb. Even if she did manage it, she’d have broken her neck on the first jump. And it wasn’t as if she was in control of her body any longer.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still pursuing her. They would likely send the dogs after her.

  Fatigue weighed her down like a boulder on her back, crushing the air from her lungs and begging her to close her eyes. She tripped, and her arms wind-milled as she tried to catch her balance. Tempest crashed face-first into the snow. She lay there and slowly lifted her head, whispering a prayer of thanks. The entrance to a burrow of some sort was right in front of her. Hopefully, the beastie wasn’t home or wouldn’t mind her presence.

  She yanked her knife from her waist and crawled through the small hole. It was blessedly empty. Tempest turned onto her back, panting, and stared at the ceiling. Two large bushes had grown next to an oak tree and formed a bower of sorts.

  “Just f-five minutes,” she stammered, scooting until her back was pressed to the tree trunk and she was nestled between the roots.

  The blade fell from her fingers, and she couldn’t pick it up again.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her mind went blank.

  Only five minutes.

  Thirty

  Pyre

  “Get ready to move,” Pyre ordered his men.

  They all moved into action to pack up their makeshift camp. Destin’s forces were moving into action as they spoke. The king’s army had been gathering troops and steadily moving through the province of Merjeri toward Betraz. Pyre smiled as he gazed down at the map in his hands. The king expected the rebels to attack from the farms in Talaga as they had two times before. The Kopalian giants causing mischief along the borders of Betraz and Fiergone were a bonus. While Destin would be looking to the east for the next attack, the shifter forces would attack from the west.

  Pyre rolled up the map and tucke
d it into his back pocket, his attention moving to the south. The towering trees of the thick forest blocked the capital from view, but he felt himself pulled in that direction. Pyre growled and pulled his hat from his head, slapping it against his trousers. He’d left Tempest again when all his instincts had begged him to steal her away. Coming to terms with what she’d meant to him had been difficult, but standing aside while she made her own way was even harder. It seemed like all they did was walk away from each other when they were stronger together.

  But sentimentality didn’t win a war. Neither of them could afford weakness now. The stakes were too high. It was lucky Nyx had gotten to him before he’d made a grave mistake that he couldn’t take back.

  Pyre stuffed his hat back on his head and huffed. The damned woman was turning him into a fool.

  His sister approached from his left, her boots crunching in the deep snow. She pushed her dark braid from her shoulder and paused next to him, her gaze trained to the south. Nyx hadn’t said much to him since they’d left the capital. She had a nasty mouth when provoked and had learned to keep quiet until she was calm enough to have a conversation. Her self-control was impressive. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and Pyre squirmed. She was still angry.

  “She can fend for herself, you idiot.”

  “I know.”

  Nyx rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Then why are you brooding over here, hmmm?”

  “Just because I comprehend a fact, doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the scratchy feeling beneath my skin.”

  “You alphas,” she groaned. “So dramatic.”

  “Just you wait until your mate comes along,” he retorted. “Most men don’t have a tenth of my self-discipline and patience.” Well, fraying self-control.

  “On that, we can both agree.” She spun and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tempest is a distraction.”

  “I know,” he bit out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “You can’t live in this in-between space. You need to put her completely out of your mind, or you need to claim her.”

  “And how do you suppose I do either of those things?”

  “By making a bloody decision. The Jester I know would never let anything come between what he desired.”

  “The bloody woman is engaged to another man!”

  “She is not married. You made damn sure of that today. And when have you ever cared about such things?”

  “It’s Tempest,” he said softly. She made him want to be better, to do better.

  Pyre groaned and ran a hand over his face. Not for the first time, Pyre wished Tempest wasn’t so damned good. He’d been so close to kissing her in the barracks. She’d read the intent on his face and had scrambled out of there like a frightened hare. But it was one of the things he loved about her. She was loyal. When Tempest gave her word, she meant it. His sire may be the devil, but she still upheld her vows. That type of honor was attractive and admirable.

  “It will all work out, brother.” Nyx patted him. “The men are ready to move. We’re just waiting on the scouts to return.”

  Pyre nodded as she strode away, his head swimming with thoughts of his mate and the battle ahead. His ears twitched as he picked up the sound of running footsteps headed their way. Brine loped into view, a limp figure in his arms. A weary traveler or one of their people? The figure looked too small to be one of their scouts.

  He inhaled deeply, scenting the air. Pyre staggered, his heart racing. It was Tempest.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded as Brine skidded to a stop.

  The wolf’s ears were flat against his head, and worry carved lines into his face. “One of the scouts discovered her and called for me. We found her in a burrow beneath the snow.”

  Pyre pushed back her hood and scanned her pale face. “Any injuries?”

  “A few minor scrapes but no blood.” A pause. “I can’t… I can’t wake her up. She won’t wake up.”

  “Nyx!” he barked. His men gathered around them as his sister appeared at his side. “She needs help.”

  His sister placed her hand over his mate’s forehead. “She has a fever, and her breathing is labored.” Nyx frowned. “She couldn’t have been out in the elements for long. It wouldn’t have caused this reaction. Was she sick at the wedding?”

  “Not that I know of,” Pyre said. He inhaled deeply near Tempest’s cheek and frowned. “She doesn’t smell right.” Another inhale, and his nose wrinkled. Her breath was bitter.

  Nyx leaned closer and inhaled. Her eyes widened, and the color drained from her face. “Poison,” she whispered.

  His stomach bottomed out. His claws slid from his fingertips, but he barely felt the pain. Someone had poisoned his mate.

  “Her clothing is wet,” Brine said. “We need to get her warm.”

  “Not until I know what she’s been given. Different types of poison react to temperatures. The cold might be the only thing keeping the poison at bay,” Nyx said. “I need my herbs and a place to test and treat her.”

  “Where is Briggs?” Pyre snapped, tremors running up and down his arms. Someone had tried to kill his mate.

  “He’s in the village ahead of us.”

  “Swiftly,” he called. The horsey man stepped forward. “I need you to carry us to Briggs.” He glanced at Brine. “Can you carry my sister?”

  “I can.”

  Brine held Tempest out, and Pyre pulled her into his arms and held her close to his chest. Terror threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced it down. He had to be calm for Temp’s sake. “Everyone, move out. We’ll meet you at the village.”

  Pyre felt neither the cold, nor the wind, nor the snow against his face as they finally arrived on the outskirts of the village. A howl cut through the air, letting him know Brine was close with Nyx. Pyre vaulted from Swiftly’s back, Tempest limp in his arms, and leaped up the steps leading to one of their small holdings. He kicked the door open and swept inside.

  Briggs held two curved, wicked-looking blades and stood in the middle of the room. The healer cursed. “How about a warning next—” he bit off his words as he spotted Tempest in Pyre’s arms. “What happened?”

  “Nyx says poison,” Pyre responded, his voice shaking as he moved. “Brine found her in the woods.”

  “How in the hell did she end up in the woods?” Briggs growled and grabbed a towel from the small table at the end of the room before moving to the fireplace to retrieve the boiled kettle. “Place her on the bed.”

  Pyre strode across the room and laid her down on the mattress. He pushed her hood from her face and ran a hand over her cheek. Her skin was hot to the touch.

  Boots thumped against the porch, then Nyx came bustling in, followed by Brine and Swiftly, who both only wore trousers. The wolf slammed the door behind them. Nyx stripped her gloves and cloak off and tossed them into a chair on the right side of the bed.

  “What are we dealing with, Nyx?” Briggs asked as he nudged Pyre out of the way.

  He growled and glared at the healer.

  Briggs held his hands up. “I only wish to help. You need to move so I can do so.”

  Pyre nodded and moved to the foot of the bed. This wasn’t happening.

  “Poison,” Nyx said sharply.

  “Damn it.” The healer opened Tempest’s mouth and inhaled. “Bitter, but sweet. What are her symptoms?”

  “Shallow breathing, fever, sweats, and unconsciousness,” Nyx replied, stripping Tempest of her cloak.

  Pyre stiffened as he got a good look at her clothing. She still wore the bodice of her wedding dress. Jagged scraps of the skirt clung to the soiled hose she wore. Weapons were strapped to every part of her body.

  She ran with only the clothes on her back and her blades. Dread churned in his gut.

  “Pyre?”

  He blinked at his sister.

  She gave him a stern look. “Take her boots off. We need to check every inch of her skin to see if she was injected or if she ingested the poison, perhaps both.
It will narrow it down.”

  Woodenly, he yanked her boots off and hissed when he caught sight of her feet. They were bloodied. She didn’t even have socks on.

  “I need to turn her onto her side.”

  Briggs helped turn Tempest over, and Nyx used a knife to cut through the laces on the bodice. Her skin was red and bruised. Pyre snapped a look in Swiftly’s and Brine’s direction, but both men had their backs firmly to the bed. Shifters didn’t care about nudity or privacy, but Tempest appreciated privacy.

  Be honest. You don’t want anyone looking at your mate unclothed.

  He was a jealous brute.

  “If you don’t strop growling,” Nyx warned, “I will toss you outside or gag you. You’re putting everyone on edge.”

  His upper lip curled, and he snarled at his sister. He was barely keeping it together.

  Nyx slapped a warm wet rag against his chest as she passed by. “Clean her feet.”

  He took the rag between his numb fingers and did as he was told. His mind raced as he cleaned Tempest’s heels, and Briggs and Nyx began scouring his mate’s body for needle spots. Where had her uncles been? Why had there been no one to help Tempest? How had she been exposed?

  He blinked, and the rag fell from his nerveless fingers. A whine escaped him, and he began to shake. “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

  Nyx frowned at him. “She made her own decision. Don’t take this upon yourself.”

  “He saw me,” Pyre mumbled, his eyes glued on Tempest’s frozen, unconscious face. He wanted nothing more than for her to open her eyes. “Destin recognized me. He knew I was the Jester. Tempest was tasked with giving him my head.” He wheezed as if kicked in the gut and braced himself on the mattress.

  “He wouldn’t have let her live,” Nyx said, more to herself than anyone else. “He wouldn’t—”

  “He likes suffering, and she was his trophy.” His claws sliced through the bedding, and he shook.

  “No punctures on my side.” Briggs said. “You?”

  “None,” Nyx huffed. “So, ingestion. I’ll swab her mouth and test it against any of the antidotes I have on hand. Also, we need charcoal.”