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

by Frost Kay

  She huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face in the process. Now that her mind was clear and strength had returned to her body, she was itching to get back to normal. Staying still was never one of her attributes. Fighting was all she knew how to do. “Taking it easy isn’t in my vocabulary.”

  “I noticed.”

  “So, spar with me!” she needled, gesturing to her sword leaning against a nearby stool.

  “Not a chance, lass.”

  “Brine—”

  “I’ll fight you,” a deep baritone voice offered.

  The tent flap lifted, and Damien stepped into the room, his green hair a shock against the bland color of the tent. He held the canvas open for Nyx. Tempest blinked at them. Whereas the dragon lord was dressed impeccably in silk, leather, and brocade, Nyx was muddy and sopping wet. She waved haphazardly at Tempest and then shuffled toward her own quarters that branched off from the main room of the large tent.

  Damien smiled, his teeth a little longer than normal, and winked. “I’m always in the mood for a battle or two.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she reflected on the night of the masquerade ball and the subsequent murder of the Crown prince. “I strictly remember you turning tail and abandoning me when I needed your help.”

  “It was not my fight.”

  “What are you doing here, then?” she challenged, feeling prickly.

  “This is my battle. Destin’s greed is far-reaching and will not stop.”

  “Lives were lost,” Tempest said. Her thoughts flashed back to the moment the prince died in her arms.

  “People die all the time.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to think.”

  The dragon shrugged. “It is the way of life. Now, how about a sparring session?”

  Brine growled, but Tempest ignored him. She eyed Damien carefully. Tempest didn’t like his outlook of the world, but that didn’t stop her from seizing the opportunity. “You will? This isn’t some ploy to grab me and forcefully throw me back into bed?”

  Damien threw back his head and roared in laughter, the scaled surface of his neck exposed. He caught her gaze, his green eyes twinkling. “I always did enjoy a bit of bed sport, but I didn’t know you liked to play rough.”

  “Oh, for Dotae’s sake,” she muttered, swiping a hand over her burning cheeks. Of course, he had to go there. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “You’re so much fun to tease,” the dragon said, smiling. “I forget how much innocence intrigues me.”

  “I’m not so innocent,” she blurted, her head held high. “I was raised by men. Nothing has been kept from me.”

  “There’s knowing and then there’s knowing, lovely,” Damien murmured.

  “Bloody hell,” Brine groused, glaring at the dragon. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to rile her up or seduce her, but stop it. She was in a coma and should take it easy. Plus, I’m sure her protector won’t appreciate your interest.”

  Protector?

  “Indeed?” Damien’s brows rose, and he inhaled deeply. “She has no protector yet. If he doesn’t want anyone to encroach, he should take care of that. You never know when someone might come along and steal your treasure.” He grinned at Tempest.

  She rolled her eyes. “Stop making mischief. Will you, or will you not, spar with me?”

  “If you’re sure you can handle me,” the dragon said, “then I’d be happy to fight you.”

  Tempest grinned and snatched up her sword from where it had been leaning against a nearby stool. “Lead the way.”

  She followed Damien from the tent and huddled deeper into her cloak. The snow and cold had never bothered her before. But since her swim in the ocean, she still hadn’t been able to get rid of the chill. It was as if the cold had rooted itself in her bones. They rounded tents and lean-tos until they reached a makeshift training ground that was encircled by bales of hay. Tempest rolled her eyes as Brine stomped behind them.

  “Stop pouting,” she called over her shoulder.

  Her friend cursed. “He’s not going to be happy with you.”

  She snorted. “He is not my owner.”

  Pyre’s constant attention since she’d woken had been simultaneously overwhelming and endearing. But she would not stay abed while he waged war against the king. The kitsune would just have to get used to it.

  She scooted between two bales of hay and entered the ring as the dragon lord sauntered to the other side of the space, stripping his vest and shirt from his body, leaving him bare-chested.

  “Is that necessary?” she drawled, pulling her sword from the scabbard. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Ice dragon. We love winter.”

  She rolled her neck and settled into her stance, Damien mirroring her.

  “Let me know when you’re ready, lovely,” he said, his sharp teeth gleaming in the winter sunlight.

  “No sword?”

  He held up his hands, and wicked claws sprouted from his fingertips. “Don’t need any.”

  Arrogant bastard.

  “Come and get me,” she whispered.

  The dragon smiled, and it was all the warning she got before he surged forward. Tempest backpedaled and swung her sword as he made a grab for her. It was by the skin of her teeth that she avoided his claws, letting her knees buckle beneath her in order to skid across the muddy ground.

  She leapt to her feet, the movement clumsier than she would have liked. Tempest circled to the left with her eyes locked on Damien.

  “You’ll have to do better than that to beat me,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m just getting warmed up, I promise.”

  Her blood heated, and her nerves sang as he launched a few more attacks and she managed to keep out of his grasp. Sure, he’d shredded part of her shirt, but he hadn’t gotten a solid hit yet.

  Adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her more daring with every strike she tried—and failed—to land against Damien. The man was bloody quick.

  “You going to actually attack sometime soon?” His feline eyes danced with laughter.

  She smiled, enjoying herself too much to rise to his taunt. It didn’t matter who won. All she cared about was getting back to optimum shape. No one would ever render her helpless again. Some of her joy slipped away at the thought, and her jaw clenched. If she’d been more dedicated to her training, such a thing would never have—

  “Ah!” Tempest yelped, when her feet were knocked out from beneath her. She wheezed as she landed on her back in the mud and snow. Where had that come from? She lifted her head and caught Damien’s tail slowly sweeping across the snow. “That isn’t fair.”

  “Fair?” he teased, huffing out a laugh.

  Her nose wrinkled as the tail slowly shrunk and disappeared behind him. “How does that work? Does it hurt?” she asked, clambering back to her feet.

  “It’s painful at first, but our bodies eventually learn what they’re supposed to do.”

  “Old stories used to say Talagans were born of magic,” Tempest said, brushing the snow from her arms.

  Damien closed in on her, and she swiped at him, catching him on the arm. Her eyes widened, an apology on her tongue. He knocked her back down, slamming her into the ground and keeping her there with the thick trunk of his forearm.

  He smirked. “Do I seem like I’m made from magic?”

  “No.”

  “People label things that are beyond their comprehension as magic. Our bodies are different from yours. When your body heals, do you call it magic?”

  “No, it’s just how our bodies work.”

  “Much like how shifters change.”

  “Interesting.” Her gaze stayed locked on his face as she drew her dagger. “Sorry I cut you.”

  “You didn’t. Scale, remember?” Damien smiled. “Did you really think you could hurt a dragon, lovely?”

  She smiled as she pressed the tip of her knife to the inside of his thigh. “This seem familiar to you?”

  “You little minx. No w
onder he’s besotted.”

  “Yield.” Tempest pressed harder.

  He smiled and then tossed her through the air. A shriek caught in her throat as she was airborne. She tumbled onto a bale of hay and rolled over the side, miraculously landing on the balls of her feet. She lifted her head, breathing heavily, not sure how she’d managed the feat.

  Damien began a slow clap, and the two shared a grin.

  “Well done,” he called.

  Her smile slid from her face as Pyre jumped into the ring, his face a mask of rage. She blinked as the dragon lord faced the kitsune and held his hands up. “She’s fine.”

  “If you ever lay a hand on her again”—the kitsune sucked in a sharp breath—“I’ll kill you.”

  “So, it’s to be that way?” Damien muttered. “Wondered how long it would take you.” He glanced over his shoulder and inclined his head politely before leaving the training ring without another word.

  What was that all about? Tempest rolled her shoulder and clambered back over the bale of hay, her attention pinned to Pyre, whose gaze was locked on to the dragon lord’s retreating back. He’d run off her sparring partner.

  “Why’d you chase him off?” she demanded. “I was doing just fine.”

  Pyre’s attention snapped to her, his amber eyes narrowed. “Did you, or did you not miss the part when he threw you across the entire training ring?!”

  “And? I need the training, and Damien was willing to help. I may have a few bruises, but he didn’t risk my life. He knew exactly how far he threw me.”

  “And you know him so well?” Pyre bit out.

  “As well as anyone.” She shrugged and frowned when Brine shook his head at her, his eyes uncharacteristically wide. “What am I supposed to do now? I need training, not to be coddled.”

  The kitsune cursed and ran a hand through his ruffled deep-red hair. “Fine,” he hissed, pulling out his daggers. “I’ll spar with you. Let’s see how long you manage.”

  Brine kicked the nearest bale of hay. “You’re not supposed to indulge her, Pyre! She needs to—”

  “If she needs to fight, she’ll spar with me.”

  That was presumptuous. Tempest swung her sword in a lazy arch. “Weapons?”

  “Doesn’t matter what you use, you won’t hurt me.” His tone was saturated with arrogance.

  He was trying to rile her. She sank into a defensive pose and arched a haughty brow. “When you’re ready.”

  “Just go for it, love.” He smiled, and a strange light entered his eyes. Pyre looked almost eager for her to attack him, as if he meant to teach her a lesson.

  Tempest schooled her expression.

  It was his mistake to underestimate her.

  She wasted no time in slashing her sword forward, using the momentum of Pyre’s resulting parry to spin around and attack him from the back. He avoided her and threw one of his daggers in her direction.

  That was his second mistake. One never got rid of their primary weapon.

  He danced around her, darting in and out to test her guard. Her breaths came heavier than before, and her muscles burned with the strenuous activity. She glowered at the kitsune. He was just trying to tire her out.

  “Are you going to play games all day, or are we going to crack on?” she murmured.

  “You’re the one who wanted to spar,” Pyre insisted, almost lazily avoiding another attack from her in the process. “If you can’t keep up, you shouldn’t be in the ring.”

  Now that got under her skin.

  “You bastard,” she snarled. Forget proper swordplay. He didn’t want to play fair? She’d give him a dose of his own medicine.

  Pyre darted in and swung his dagger. She ducked under his arm, and, instead of sliding away, she tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. Tempest shimmied up his body and straddled him, attempting to immobilize his arms with her knees. She squeaked as he tossed her to the side. She scrambled to her hands and knees and growled as his arms wrapped around hers, pinning them to her body as he hauled her to her feet. Tempest tossed her head back and bucked against him as something began to unwind in her chest. Her breathing sped up, and the world began to turn blue on the edges.

  “Let me go!” she demanded.

  “Yield,” Pyre’s calm voice whispered in her ear.

  The ugly feeling of helplessness uncoiled further, and she began to fight wildly. “Let me go! Let me go!”

  “Calm down, and I will.”

  She registered tears on her cheeks and began to shake. All she could feel were Destin’s hands on her body. “I—I can feel him touching me. I can’t get him off my skin. I can’t—I can’t—”

  Pyre spun her around and pulled her into a tight hug. She sucked in a breath, his spicy scent grounding her some.

  Tempest’s fingers grasped at his shirt, and she released a shuddering cry. “How am I supposed to get rid of Destin if I can’t fight? I have to be ready. I can’t let myself be caught unaware again. I can’t.”

  “Shhh…” he crooned, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “You are one of the strongest women I know. You are powerful. I vow that he will never touch you again.”

  She believed him.

  Another sob escaped her, and she just let it all go. All the fear, pain, uncertainty, and guilt she’d been carrying for months. Pyre rocked her back and forth, humming softly. She turned her face to the side and noticed Brine and Briggs hovering on the outskirts of the training ring. Instead of feeling embarrassed, their presence somehow, inexplicably, helped calm her. She wasn’t trapped in the palace with Destin. Tempest had her uncles, her Talagan friends, and…

  She had her kitsune.

  Her fox.

  When had she decided that? Sure, he was handsome and fun, but he was also dangerous and mercurial. Pyre was all sorts of gray, where she was black and white. Her skin tingled as she realized how intertwined they were right now. She swallowed hard, hoping he couldn’t scent her change in emotions. Time to get away from him.

  “If you’re ready, we can start again,” Pyre murmured in her ear, affection infusing his tone. His grasp on her loosened. “Or perhaps we can try tomorrow. Allow some time for you to work your strength back. I promise to be gentle with—”

  In one quick movement, she turned around and nimbly tossed him over her shoulder. The kitsune landed in the snow and mud. Brine’s booming laughter brought a smile to her face. Pyre grinned as he rolled over and hopped to his feet, brushing at his clothing.

  “I don’t do gentle,” she stated. “Let’s go again.”

  Thirty-Four

  Tempest

  War was ugly. Tempest had only seen the battlefield from afar, and the horrors of that wouldn’t leave her anytime soon.

  She left the war meeting and tried to clear her mind. What had made her think she was ready for this? Her body ached from her recent sparring session with Brine. Winter’s bite, the wolf had a mean right hook. Her gaze was drawn back toward the battlefield. Were her uncles all right? The Hounds were gearing up to make their move. It had to be at the right time, or the king and his army could pull back to the capital, and it would be almost impossible to bring about a siege.

  Please be okay.

  Tempest reached her tent and moved through the outer room, then into the smaller sleeping area. Sitting on the bed, she stared at the gaudy carpets and then ran her hand along the luxurious blankets that covered the mattress. Her attention moved to the open trunk at the end of the bed that held both Pyre’s and her clothing. Something about the combined mess felt right.

  Alarm ran through her at the thought. They were not together. The kitsune flirted and cared for her, but he showed affection to most women. What was she still doing here? It wasn’t her tent, and it wasn’t her bed. It was Pyre’s. What did the rebels think of her? She’d seen the looks thrown her way. Did they think she was a loose woman? Hopping from one man in power to another?

  You need to get out.

  She lurched from the mattress and grabbed he
r rucksack from beneath the bed. It was time to move. She couldn’t stay here anymore. But who could she speak to? Briggs or Nyx could probably find her a place to stay. Her heart ached as she yanked her belongings from the trunk and stuffed them into her bag. Pyre’s things looked forlorn all by themselves.

  Stop being a ninny.

  Since she’d woken up, he’d become more of the playful attentive fox she’d first met, rather than the Jester of the Dark Court or the cold-hearted Mal or even the king’s bastard son. Pyre had become her friend, and she liked having her meals with him every night before he would remove himself to the outer room to sleep on the floor in front of the entrance of the room where she slept. Becoming accustomed to him would be problematic in the future. If they both survived, she’d still be a Hound and Pyre would still be the lord of the underworld.

  It was necessary to set some boundaries now, so no one got hurt.

  You’re already in too deep.

  She swiped the leather ties for her hair from the side table and ignored Pyre’s rings and comb. She and Pyre were already far too tangled, and the war should be her priority. Distraction cost people their lives.

  Tempest closed the drawstrings on her bag and then swung it over her shoulder. She turned away from the side table and cringed.

  Pyre stood in the entrance to her sleeping quarters.

  Former sleeping quarters.

  “What are you doing?” he asked slowly, his gaze missing nothing as it lingered on her bag. He raised an eyebrow. “Is the princess fleeing her cruel and vicious captor? And just when he was bringing her lunch. How ungrateful,” he said lightly. He held up a basket filled to the brim with breads, cheeses, meats, and apples. “Nothing fancy, but it should do the job. Are you hungry?”

  She was.

  Tempest shifted awkwardly. “I was just packing.”

  He stepped inside the light room, the flap closing behind him. The kitsune strolled to the other side of the bed and placed the basket down carefully. “I can see that. Were you just planning to flee without saying anything?”

  “I just—I need my own space,” Tempest murmured with a weak smile. “I can’t exactly keep expecting you to sleep on the floor while I take up your bed. That’s not right. It’s downright rude. I should have moved to my own tent days ago.”