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

by Frost Kay

  The king gasped one last time before stilling. Tempest’s heart pounded in her chest and her bottom lip quivered as Madrid lifted his head and looked at her. So much emotion lined his face. The world melted away, and the air seemed thinner.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  It took only two little words to answer the question she’d wondered most of her life.

  Madrid was her father.

  She didn’t even know his first name. “What’s your name?”

  He swallowed. “Garen.”

  Temp nodded. Garen Madrid. Her father.

  He offered her a small smile before he transformed back into the stoic Madrid who had helped raise her.

  “Today, we finish what Destin started. Tomorrow, we deal with the fallout. For Heimserya!” Madrid shouted.

  “For Heimserya,” Tempest echoed. She peeked at Pyre from the corner of her eye, but he was a thousand leagues away. Her heart ached, and she wanted to reach for his hand again but kept her hands to herself.

  He’d come to her when he was ready.

  Thirty-Seven

  Tempest

  Four Months Later

  Spring basked Dotae in warm, promising sunshine that almost felt perverse in its beauty. Four months had passed in a blur since the death of King Destin at the hands of Madrid.

  Tempest’s father, Madrid.

  They hadn’t spoken in depth about that significant detail of their relationship yet. Everything was still too raw to talk about such a thing. Too painful.

  The kingdoms still mourned.

  The Hounds mourned.

  Her heart squeezed. They’d lost Aleks and Levka in the fight. Aleks had made some poor choices in the end, but it didn’t erase the time he spent raising her. Tempest missed him. And as for Levka… She still couldn’t believe he was gone. Maxim was a shell of himself. Sure, he still joked, but it was sharper and his laughter was less often.

  In the immediate aftermath of King Destin’s death and the successful takeover of the Crown, neither Tempest nor Madrid nor Maxim knew of Aleks’s and Levka’s fate. It wasn’t until hours later, when the Hounds came together to count their numbers, celebrate their success, and mourn their losses, that Tempest and her family became aware of their absence.

  Now, it was all they could feel.

  Even as Tempest spent more and more time with her quiet, biological father, each of their interactions were overshadowed by loss, trauma, and lies. They both were trying to deal with the loss of Aleks. He’d taught Tempest how to read and tucked her into bed every night. Aleks and Madrid had been raised and trained together.

  “Are you with me?”

  She blinked at Madrid and rubbed the back of her sweaty neck.

  “Why was Aleks in that village the night I ran from home as a child?” Tempest asked Madrid, the words spilling from her lips. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her pounding heart. They’d been sparring every morning. The routine helped center her; after a while, she realized it helped her father do the exact same thing. They weren’t so dissimilar. He’d kept to himself most of her life. He was the most distant of her uncles.

  Now, she had her explanation for why that had been: to protect her.

  Madrid smiled at her, and it was sad. “I’d sent a band of Hounds out that way under the pretense of dealing with some Talagan rebels. In truth, it was because I learned of Destin’s plot to get rid of you and your mother. I couldn’t go myself, but I wanted to prevent it from happening.”

  They cleaned their swords in silence as Tempest took in this information. It was the first time they’d talked about the day of her mother’s death, though Tempest had discussed the subject with Maxim on nights when sleep had evaded her in the weeks following the king’s death. After Levka’s death, Maxim hadn’t wanted to be alone. She and Dima moved into his house immediately. Maxim was warm and approachable in a way Madrid was not. Tempest wondered if the dynamic between them would ever change.

  Or, more importantly, if she wanted it to change.

  Regardless of what she wanted, though, there was one piece of information only Madrid could give her. Tempest chewed her lip and forced back a scratchy gulp of air as she willed herself to ask for it. There had been secrets between them for too long.

  “Speak, child,” he said after several long moments of silence.

  She kept her eyes on her sword, staring at the distorted reflection of her father. Tempest peeked at him from the corner of her eyes, and he looked uneasy. It struck her that perhaps she was not the only one who felt unsure and nervous about the new dynamic between them. She wiped her blade one final time before facing Madrid.

  “The shifter,” she began, “the one King Destin sent to take care of me and my mother.” She couldn’t face saying murder. “Is he—”

  “Gone. Dead. Destin made sure of it. The bastard always did hate loose ends.”

  Her breath caught, and she swallowed hard. She didn’t know if she felt relief or disappointment. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “The risk was too great. Destin wasn’t sure which of his Hounds had hid a child from him, but he wanted us all to pay. You were the example. Once you were placed with the Hounds, there was no escape for you. I did what I could to make sure you were safe, that you had the skills to protect yourself.” He paused. “I made sure you knew love and had a family, even if I couldn’t get any closer to you.”

  She understood, she really did. “Did you love Mama?”

  His face creased with old grief. “Loved her more than anything, and then you came along, and I knew I didn’t know anything about love. Children show you what real, unconditional love means. My only regret is not being able to protect the both of you better. If I had done things differently—”

  “Don’t go down that road. We can’t change the past,” Tempest cut in. She reached a hand out for her father—a gesture Tempest had never indulged in before—and was surprised when he took her hand in his and squeezed.

  “Wise words. You’ve grown into an extraordinary woman. Your mother would be proud.”

  “I know.”

  There was no arrogance in Tempest’s answer. For the first time in her life, she was comfortable with who she was and was certain her mother would approve. Even if she only saw her face in her dreams and only heard her voice in the all-too-short moments before Tempest awoke, she knew her mother would be proud of her.

  A beat of awkwardness passed. Two. Three. But Tempest did not care. Eventually, she and Madrid would get used to their new dynamic. She was in no rush to push things between them.

  “Lady Tempest.”

  The two of them turned to see who had addressed her. A servant from the palace, clad in an ankle-length white dress.

  The woman inclined her head politely. “Her Grace requests an audience with you.”

  “I’ve just finished up here,” Tempest said, sheathing her sword before running her hands through her hair. It was sweaty and tangled from fighting, but she knew Ansette would not care. Queen Ansette, Tempest thought. That will still take some getting used to. “Lead the way.”

  With a final smile from Madrid, she followed the servant through the winding streets toward the palace. Around the Hound barracks, the faces that greeted her from shop windows and doors were content and excited in a way they never had been before. King Destin had never been a friend to the lower classes, even within the capital’s walls.

  By the time they reached the wealthiest part of the city, however, the looks Tempest received changed drastically. Many of the lords and ladies had supported their king until the end, and why not? He had been good to them. Spoiled them. Took their briberies and swept away their problems. Too many within the aristocratic classes believed the war against the Talagan rebels was justified, and the idea that Destin had been responsible for the mimkia problem still plaguing Heimserya was still spoken about with some skepticism. Destin’s hold over parts of the kingdom would be a difficult thing to break.

  She arched a haught
y brow at a highborn man, and he dropped his gaze.

  How many were still running the drug? The threat hadn’t been eliminated. At least, the Hounds had put a dent in the number of recreational drugs that were being moved through the capital. The Jester was probably not happy. Tempest kept her expression placid and gentle as she and the servant finally reached the palace.

  Pyre.

  She tried to push him from her thoughts, but it didn’t work.

  He always seemed to be on her mind. She hadn’t seen him in four months. He’d been in contact with Madrid and was using his people to help ferret out anyone who was still trafficking, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He was doing his best, but it would take time, even years to straighten everything out.

  Her heart clenched. She thought he’d come around, but Pyre hadn’t. He’d avoided her and gone back to his prior life.

  Without her.

  It hurt.

  “Lady Tempest to see you, Your Grace,” the servant announced, startling Tempest out of her own head and back to the present.

  “Let her in,” Ansette’s soft yet assured voice called back.

  Tempest pushed open the door to the private study and sat down opposite the young queen’s desk. Despite her new position of absolute authority, Ansette had insisted on no formalities between them. It was bizarre to think only five months prior, she had been set to be the one sitting behind the desk. Winter’s bite, Tempest was glad it was Ansette and not herself. The girl would make a far better queen than she ever could. Plus, Tempest wanted to fight with swords not with words.

  The queen’s lips curled over her cup of tea as she eyed Tempest from head to toe. “Sparring hard, I see. Is that all the Queen’s Advisor does with her time? Practice?”

  “Only until such time as my attention is required elsewhere,” she said. Ansette held out a teacup and Temp took it. “I hate being still.”

  “So I noticed.” The girl set her cup down. “I think you will be glad to hear what I am about to tell you.”

  “Don’t keep me on edge,” she murmured, adding a spoonful of sugar to the tea. “I hate surprises.”

  “You know as well as I do that drugs are rampant throughout the country. While mimkia has many amazing properties, it is also extremely dangerous. We need to regulate it, but that’s only one of our main concerns. The northern lords aren’t happy with me, and there are pockets of fights all over the kingdom. It’s a bloody mess.”

  “What do you want of me?” Tempest asked, curious about what her new mission would be.

  “I want you to find out who is still brewing and trafficking,” Ansette replied. “I have a strong feeling that the perpetrators were close with my father. I want to know what my enemies are plotting. If we cut off their income, we cut off their power.”

  “Is that all you want?” She took a slurp of her hot tea, savoring how it warmed the back of her throat. “Sending the Hounds out would be dangerous as I’m sure Madrid has advised you.”

  Ansette nodded. “He has, which is why I’m speaking to you. The Hounds will stay here but you will spearhead this.”

  “That a large task for one person,” she said slowly, setting her own cup down.

  The queen nodded. “Exactly. I know this is too much work for one person to do, so I’m willing to, um, pay handsomely for any such persons as you see fit to use to accomplish our goals. My father’s coffers are overflowing thanks to his drug trade. I hear a certain fox has recently lost some of his income, so perhaps…”

  Tempest laughed in disbelief. “Are you honestly telling me to hire the Jester with official Crown money?”

  “Oh, no, I could never be seen to be doing that. But if I granted my official advisor to do whatever she deems necessary to get the job done—well, that’s another thing entirely.”

  “Well, aren’t you just all sorts of gray,” she muttered.

  Ansette arched a brow. “I’m also looking for a spymaster, and I think Pyre would be perfect for the job. I would be obliged if you extended the offer.”

  Tempest straightened in her chair. “I think it would be better coming from you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then you’d be wrong. He’s not said one word to me in months.”

  “Men are stupid.”

  She snorted. “That’s the damn truth.”

  “Did you know that Brine is in town?”

  Her attention snapped to Ansette. “Since when?”

  “Since the day my father died.” The girl’s tone wavered for one second. “Who do you think he’s been looking after? Because it hasn’t been me.”

  A squirm of nerves and surprise twisted her stomach. “Why hasn’t he come to see me?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I’m sure as soon as you leave the city he’ll make his presence known.” Ansette stood and moved around the desk. She pulled Tempest from her seat and hugged her tightly. “Wish Pyre well, would you?” she whispered. “And should he find a way to attach himself to you in a more official capacity, then—”

  “That’s enough of that,” Tempest said gruffly. She pecked the girl on the cheek and headed for the door. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  “Not if the Jester has anything to say about it,” the girl called.

  She shook her head. Flights of fancy were one thing. Reality was another. She’d reach out to Pyre for the queen and for the people, but as for anything between them…

  Well, Pyre had some explaining to do.

  Thirty-Eight

  Tempest

  A sense of belonging settled over Tempest when she reached the Dark Court five days later.

  The sun had long since set as she moved through the looping hallways of the upper mountain palace. The place was as shadowy as its namesake, with torches flickering in sconces along the stone walls, barely breaching the blackness, but she held no fear for them. The Dark Court was like a second home for her now, despite the dubious deals the Court itself dealt in.

  Her feet slowed as she neared the door to the Jester’s study. Brine placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed before continuing down the hallway and disappearing from view.

  Tempest turned back to the door. How would Pyre react to her presence? She’d asked herself that question time and time again over the last five days of her journey. Their relationship had been a rocky one, but she had believed him when he’d revealed that she was his mate, but now Tempest wasn’t so sure. When he hadn’t come to her or sent word, she’d written to him and he’d never written back. After that, she’d done some digging about Talagan mates, and learned that the male couldn’t keep away from his mate for long periods of time. If that was the truth, then she wasn’t his mate. His actions proved it. A pang of sorrow had vibrated in her chest, but she’d ignored it. The Jester took whatever he wanted. The fact he hadn’t returned was enough of a message. She shouldn’t still be holding on.

  Tempest took a deep breath and knocked before opening the door and pausing in the entryway.

  The kitsune was sitting by the crackling fire, stretched out languorously on a massive leather chair. He didn’t look in her direction as he swirled fire whiskey in his glass.

  “If it’s about the brawl earlier, Briggs, it was necessary to put the pups in their place. They need an elder to teach them some respect.”

  “I’m sure they did,” she remarked casually.

  He stilled, and his attention snapped in her direction.

  Her traitorous heart thumped painfully, but she gave him a droll look and entered the room like she had every right. Tempest ignored the way his gaze tracked her movements and she sat down in a vacant chair adjacent to his own. She let her focus linger on the flames for a few moments before meeting Pyre’s scrutiny headfirst.

  Tempest laced her fingers together over her stomach to keep from fidgeting.

  The silence lengthened as he stiffly straightened and carefully set his glass of whiskey on the small table between the chairs.

  “Tempest,” he sai
d, cocking his head to the side as if studying her. “What a pleasant surprise. I was sure you’d forgotten all about your friends in the Dark Court.”

  His inflectionless words cut, but she didn’t react. That’s not why she was here.

  She ignored his goading. “You missed me, I take it?”

  “You know you are always welcome here.” A small pinch of emotion leaked into his voice.

  “I can see that from your warm welcome,” she retorted.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Tempest rubbed at her brow. This was not the right start to a diplomatic conversation. She turned her face to the fire. Why was it so hard to talk to him now? Her gaze darted to the whiskey, and her stomach tightened. Researching Talagan mating customs had been eye-opening. One such one was sharing food. It was fine between kin, but if you weren’t related, then only mates could share food and drink. Her fingers twitched. What if she just reached out and took a sip?

  Don’t be stupid.

  She shook some sense back into herself and steeled her nerves to get down to business. Pyre’s statue impression melted, and he gave her a lazy smile, throwing his leg over the arm of his chair like an indolent royal, the leather of his trousers creaking.

  “How is my sister?” he asked.

  “Well,” Tempest replied. “Or, as well as one could expect. The royal court is not making things easy for her. And the upper classes—”

  “Are hell. Of course, they are. They’re corrupt, each and every one of them. Plus, I’m sure they’re not happy with being cut off from their fun.”

  That was a bit hypocritical coming from the Jester of the Dark Court. Those were fighting words. She didn’t want to stir his ire. They had more important things to discuss. She quirked an eyebrow. “Somebody sounds angry.”

  “That’s because somebody stopped me getting all kinds of silly, expensive drugs to my best and most foolish clients.” He arched an eyebrow back. “Not that you had anything to do with that.”