The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  Only one person at the table seemed out of place within the otherwise happy scenery. Neyva ate her dinner in relative silence, her eyes holding a blank stare. Even as the plates were cleared, she sat back in her seat and sipped her wine with an arm crossed against her chest. “Is something the matter, sister?” Riffin asked.

  Neyva blinked and a smile sprung to her lips, “No,” she said. “My mind is taken by other matters; I didn’t expect to have to return so soon.”

  The smile on Riffin’s face dwindled, “I take it you won’t be staying long then,” he said.

  Neyva shook her head and laughed for the first time that evening, “I will stay for all the celebrations,” she said. “It’s not every day that my brother gets married.”

  Riffin’s shoulders dropped with a sense of relief and the smile returned to his face.

  “How are you finding it, being away from home for so long?” Malia asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Neyva shrugged her shoulders, “I’ve made it a home away from home,” she said. “I’m at ease there.”

  Malia pursed her lips together, nodding, “Even if you’re alone?” she asked.

  Neyva cocked her head to one side and her gaze lingered on Malia’s, trying to discern what feelings may have resided beneath the question. “It’s not possible to feel alone in a place you belong,” Neyva replied after a moment of silence. “There’s only a short accommodation period. After that, you make a place for yourself.”

  Although she wasn’t at all convinced, Malia pursed her lips together and nodded, as though she understood. She didn’t, however. She found it hard to believe that, even if a place was of her own making, that there wouldn’t be forces greater than her that would keep that place far from her ideal.

  But, perhaps, there was some truth to be found in her words. Perhaps the period of accommodation would be short. Perhaps she would find out soon enough whether the palace was a place that could embrace her.

  They all rose to their feet when dinner was finished. Neyva was the first to retire for the evening, wishing the others a restful night before leaving.

  The Queen and her husband were next to leave, sharing a few words with her parents along the way.

  Riffin soon tore himself away from them and the fluttering of her heart became more apparent. “Our parents will be having discussions,” he said, “and I’ve been asked to stay.”

  That fluttering soon faltered and she wondered if her disappointment was visible on her features. She pursed her lips together, putting on her best smile and nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning then,” she whispered.

  Riffin grinned and nodded. With a quick flicker of his gaze, ascertaining that nobody that mattered was watching, he leaned in for a short, chaste kiss. As quickly as it had disappeared, that fluttering returned. How childish, she thought, that he could still do this to her after all this time.

  He took a step back at the sound of footsteps, clearing his throat, “Thane will escort you back to your chambers,” he said.

  Thane, having done his best until that point to ignore the goings on, took a step forward and nodded curtly. “Of course,” he said.

  Malia scoffed and broke out into a laugh. “I think I can walk myself,” she said.

  He chuckled, pursing his lips together and nodding. “And I agree,” he said, “but, perhaps, you could start getting used to being escorted.”

  Malia resisted rolling her eyes. Most of her time spent in the palace meant she was escorted. As children, carers and guards kept a close eye on the Prince—even when he was in the company of the girl who loved him. “Fine,” she agreed. She paid a quick glance in Thane’s direction, “I hope he can keep up,” she said.

  The three laughed as they wished each other a good night and separated. Malia walked down the corridor with Thane at her side. The two of them said nothing for most of the way there but all she wanted to do was break the silence. If anyone could help her, it would be Thane.

  When she got to her chambers, her door was opened for her and she found herself lingering at its entrance. As she spun to face him, Thane bowed his head. “Will you come inside?” she asked, quietly.

  Thane lifted his head and his brows furrowed together. “I’m sorry?” he asked.

  Malia stepped inside, pursing her lips. “I’d like to speak with you,” she said. She didn’t miss Thane’s glance up and down the corridor before doing as he was asked. “Close the door,” she said.

  Thane glanced at it, though his hands remained clasped behind his back. He licked his lips, turning back to her, “You’re the future wife of my best friend,” he declared as his gaze met hers, “so understand that I cannot be seen closing that door.”

  Malia sighed and her shoulders dropped. Fine, she thought. If he couldn’t be seen doing it, then she would. She stormed passed him, only for the door to be held in place by an abrupt, firm hand.

  When she followed Thane’s arm up to his features, she found him glaring at the ground, stern. His gaze shifted to meet hers and she felt a shiver run down her spine. “Do you think that’s wise?” he asked. “If you have a child, so much as a day premature, do you not think that word will spread of this one moment?”

  Malia’s hand fell away from the door. She licked her lips and walked away, going as far into her chambers as she could. Wandering amongst her couches, though filled with too great of an uneasiness to sit, she contemplated her words before speaking. “How bad is it?” she asked.

  Thane made his way into the room. “How bad is what?” he asked. The man from just moments ago melted away.

  “How bad is the disdain towards this union?” she asked.

  Thane chuckled, “This one here, or the one you are about to have with the future King?” he asked.

  Malia broke out into a smile at the sound of his words. His laughter was contagious. “You know what I’m talking about,” she said. Seriousness returned to her features, though not overtly so. Her shoulders dropped, weighted by the thought of consequences. “Ludorum has already voiced their disagreement. How many more have done so that Riffin refuses to tell me about?”

  Thane shifted. “You’ve already said Riffin has refused to tell you,” he said. “What you’re asking now is for me to go against the will of my superior.”

  Malia crossed her arms over her chest and turned to face him square on. One day, she would be his superior too, and he knew it.

  Thane heaved a sigh before starting, “There’s a considerable amount of disagreement, of course,” he said. “He’s the Queen’s only son—every noble would’ve preferred having their daughter in your place.”

  “But could it prove dangerous?” she asked. “For the family, for Riffin...”

  Thane shook his head as a smirk grew on his features, “So much as breathing is dangerous for them,” he said. “You won’t be sparing them much grief if you allowed your place to be taken by another.”

  Malia lowered herself into her seat. Comforting as Thane’s words were, they did little to provide her with any.

  Thane lowered himself onto one knee, gaining her attention yet again. “Riffin is my friend,” he said, “and I want to see him happy. You... You do that. Foolish is the man that tries to stand between the love the two of you share for each other.”

  A smile crept onto Malia’s lips. The thought that Riffin had expressed that love to more than just her—that warmed and comforted her more than anything Thane could’ve said.

  Thane rose to his feet, straightening out his uniform before tucking his hands behind his back. “I have no doubt there is disagreement towards this union, but you will face it together.”

  Together, Malia agreed with a gentle nod. “Thank you,” she said as she stood.

  Thane bowed his head and turned on his heel, ready to leave.

  “Thank you,” she repeated. The peace of mind he gave her... She wasn’t sure if she could thank him any other way.

  Thane turned again, smirking, “You have no need to th
ank me,” he said, with a touch more exuberance in his voice. “Just... Consider yourself lucky you’ve been allowed to marry the one you love.” Before she could so much as say another word, he turned away and left, drawing the door shut behind him.

  The words lingered in the air. She knew he had meant it to remind her of the blessing but...all it did was have her wondering... Would he ever be allowed to marry the one he loved?

  Chapter 9

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS were a blur. There were no more chatty, joyful meals. Instead, their parents would discuss celebration arrangements. Every spare moment in between political work and meals was taken up by another fitting for a dress, or a uniform, or a crown, or a tiara, or with news of which guests had sent word of their attendance and which hadn’t.

  By the night of their engagement party, the palace was teeming with servants, rushing from one place to the next to see that every single chandelier was lit, that decorations were perfect and that not a single thing was out of place.

  After finishing with his mother, Riffin separated from her just long enough to bathe and get into his uniform. There was barely a second extra for him to check himself in the mirror, trusting in his valets and Thane to tell him if something was wrong.

  Riffin’s heart raced, thudding painfully against his chest as he stopped outside of Malia’s room. She was ushered out in much the same fashion that he had—rushed and a little flustered by it. After so many days of preparation, they were still treated as though they were late.

  As she stepped out, the tips of her fingers touching the tiara on her head, she stared up at him with large eyes. Her breathing accelerated, her chest rising and falling quickly, contained only by the corset of her deep teal dress.

  “You look wonderful,” he whispered.

  A smile, brief as it was, twitched at the corners of her lips, “As do you,” she said.

  “It’s time to go,” Thane said, cutting in.

  With little choice in the matter, Riffin and Malia nodded curtly. As the two of them walked, side-by-side, down the corridors, Malia’s fingers slipped into the palm of Riffin’s hand. There was a subtle series of steps between their fingers before they threaded themselves together, holding on tight as they reached the ballroom.

  Loud as his heart rattled, it was nothing when compared to the music that could be heard from the other side of the door. Trumpets blared, hushing the room. The doors opened and, hand-in-hand, they entered to the sound of cheers.

  What unease either of them may have felt couldn’t show on their faces. Instead, that unease channelled itself to their hands, both of them tightening their hold on the other; one relayed their nerves, the other squeezed back in a show of support, and they went back and forth that way until they made their way entirely inside.

  After that, as the music played and everybody turned to their own conversations, the nerves slowly dissipated. They stood by each other’s side as nobles approached them, granting them their well-wishes.

  “How are you coping?” Riffin asked Malia, given their briefest of seconds alone.

  “Better than I could expect,” she whispered.

  Riffin smiled, looking down at her. He wanted nothing more than to press a kiss to her head, to pull her in his embrace. But that would have to wait, just a little while longer, he thought.

  Riffin watched through breaks in the crowd as a guard approached his mother. He leaned in and his mother took in every word while revealing nothing on her features. Years in her role as Queen had allowed her to master the art of receiving news of all sorts, and betraying nothing of it to those around her. His father was the same; as the guard leaned over to him, upon the Queen’s instructions, uttering the news, nothing could be discerned from him either—not if the news was anything good, not if it was anything bad, and not if it made matters for them any better or worse. No—his father listened with nothing more than attentiveness on his face, all the while showing short smiles to those who walked past.

  The Queen and her husband shared a glance, brief and meaningful, before they rose from their seats and separated through the crowd. Escorted by the guard who had broken the news to her, the Queen soon appeared beside him. “Come with me,” she said, shortly. “Both of you,” she added.

  Riffin and Malia shared a glance. Riffin shrugged his shoulders when faced with the questions in her eyes and the two followed the Queen wordlessly into the throne room. “What is this about?” Riffin asked, waiting until the doors were sealed behind him.

  Without a word, the Queen took her place on the throne and Deros seated himself beside her, beckoning Riffin closer.

  Casting a glance in Malia’s direction, a pang of discomfort in his heart at the thought of leaving her in as much confusion, Riffin left her side, willing her to trust him.

  Malia shifted where she stood, waiting patiently to be informed of what was going on. She couldn’t help the fears that something had happened—that something had gotten in the way of this marriage, despite the announcement having been made to the nobles already. But the severity of the matter, whatever it was, on the Queen’s face seemed to be more than that. Insistent as she had been that this wedding would go on, she didn’t think that going back on her word would warrant the grave look she now wore.

  Whatever it was, Riffin recoiled at the sound of the news that was whispered to him, whatever it was, and was slow, in a trance, coming down the steps.

  “What is it?” Malia asked.

  Riffin placed his hand on the small of her back and led her aside, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he had long desired to do. “We have a visitor that has demanded an audience,” he said.

  Malia’s brows furrowed together in confusion but, before she could even consider asking questions, her mother was escorted into the room by a guard that’d been sent to seek her out. She moved to join Malia but there wasn’t even a moment to speak to her before a figure entered the room, carrying himself with confidence to rival that of the Queen.

  “Tagert Sethers, your Majesty,” the guard announced.

  The man who entered the room was tall—just a head taller than Riffin, Malia noted. The man didn’t have an imposing figure, other than his height. He was tall but he was lanky, bulky only by way of the thick cape he wore over his shoulders. His reputation, however, did more to impose than his appearance did, causing mixed feelings as Malia took in the sight of the man she only heard about in stories.

  The doors shut behind him, causing the man to glance over his shoulder, shifting his weight where he stood in the centre of the throne room.

  The name was familiar to all. A shiver went down Malia’s spine and she tightened her hand around Riffin’s.

  “This is a happy occasion for my family, Mr Sethers. What’s this about?” the Queen asked, feigning disinterest.

  “It is a matter of my family, your Majesty,” he replied.

  Malia felt her mother tense beside her, hands clenching into fists in the skirt of her dress. A quick glance in her direction, she saw her lips pursing together, her teeth sinking into them to keep her from speaking out of turn.

  “You see, I was once married to the mother of your son’s future wife,” he said. The way he spoke, domineering, a scowl in his voice, threatened to send another shiver down Malia’s spine.

  Queen Sybelle raised a delicate brow and a faint smile started to pull at her lips. It was reassuring to Malia, somehow, to watch the Queen so unfazed by the man that had tormented her mother. “And?” she prompted.

  “She and I were never divorced,” he said. “Thus, should I claim her as such, her daughter is my own.”

  Malia felt her mother jolt beside her and Malia slipped her hand over her clenched fist, feeling both their hearts thudding in unison.

  Queen Sybelle licked her lips, “And, I imagine, that means you wish to be paid for her,” she said.

  “Is that not the custom?” he asked. He was arrogant, standing as tall as he could manage, carrying more confidence than he ever had right
to. “A bride price is always paid. I have no doubt that you must’ve agreed to one.”

  “And you think you should be eligible to receive it?” she asked.

  “That is the law, is it not?” he asked. “The child was born within my marriage; on paper, I have a claim to her. Should I choose not to claim her, considering the marriage, she would be declared illegitimate.”

  That shiver that had threatened to run down Malia’s spine finally did so at the sound of the word ‘illegitimate,’ a feeling she was sure would play to the man’s intentions. Should she be declared illegitimate, she wouldn’t be allowed to marry Riffin. No man carrying any title would dare risk their reputation with her.

  Queen Sybelle looked to her husband and, tugging at his coat, he rose to his feet and skipped down the steps. He stopped in front of Kara, extending his hand to her with a respectful bow of his head, “My Lady?”

  There was an unmistakable flash of fear that crossed her face, but meeting Deros’s gaze did everything to soothe her. She took his hand and allowed herself to be escorted up the steps to his throne. She took a seat upon his gentle instruction, appearing dwarfed by the size of his seat.

  Placed side-by-side, her mother didn’t carry herself in the same way the Queen did. She didn’t look nearly as imposing, her shoulders slumped, making herself look smaller than she was. All that mattered was how it looked, the statement that was made to the man before her—the man that was her ex-husband, no matter how much he wished for it to be otherwise.

  “Mr Sethers,” the Queen started, “your marriage was terminated quite some time ago—seventeen years ago, in fact.”

  “I was never informed of such a thing,” he said. “Divorce requires consent and I did no such thing.”

  “That is true,” she said. When all Malia could feel was defeat, she found herself captivated by the smile twitching on the corners of the Queen’s lips—her inability to be fazed by anything was striking. “We tried to inform you but it would appear that you could not be found. I imagine leaving your home in shame is the standard response to your wife leaving you for a pirate.”