The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  Neyva embraced him before he could say a word. Fear and anger drilled down into the depths of him—it was shameful he was the one being comforted in a moment when his sister was the one in need of it. Grieved as he might’ve been at the thought of allowing this to go on, nobody had it worse than his sister—the one who would have to marry a man she didn’t love, just to keep him on his throne. Sucking in a deep breath, he clung to her, holding her close. He’d make this right—he swore it to himself. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day.

  Chapter 14

  LEFT ALONE TO HIS thoughts in the throne room, Riffin told himself time and time again to drag himself out of his seat and get moving. The thought of a Council forming beneath his rule, eager to stifle his power and twist it in their favour, irked him beyond measure. It was as though, before the war could even be declared, it was over—as the smoke cleared, he was the loser.

  A knock on the door broke through his thoughts, same as it always did. He didn’t know to be frustrated or thankful for it anymore, somewhat regretting all the time he spent as a child running in and out of this very room, vying for some of his mother or father’s attention. He wondered how they ever got anything done. Although his tutors would often try to take his mind elsewhere, nothing could stop him from approaching them, no matter how busy they were. Now, sitting in their place, he wondered how much he’d inconvenienced them, and how they found it in themselves never to turn him away.

  Thane entered, an unmistakable blaze behind his eyes, “Prince Pietros of Ludorum is here to see you,” he said, speaking through a clenched jaw.

  Riffin smirked, pulling himself upright in his throne as he beckoned him to allow him in. “What convenient timing, Prince Pietros,” he remarked, loudly, as he entered the room.

  Prince Pietros’s brows furrowed together, confusion emanating from him as he glanced around at being faced with such a hostile greeting.

  “I didn’t have to think much about the prospects of you having a hand in this—though more so your coward of a brother,” he said.

  Pietros glanced around again, looking to Thane who made his way further into the room, stopping short of the stairs as he put himself between him and his King. “I beg your pardon?” he asked. “What is this about?”

  “Don’t you know?” Riffin asked, looking him up and down. Brows twitching together, Pietros shook his head. “The Alliance Council, as they’ve called it,” he said. “A council of nobles brought together to see that your King and I get along swimmingly so as to maintain our trade agreements—seems to me they’re looking to reign in my place.”

  Pietros shook his head, “I can assure you, we have absolutely no hand in that whatsoever,” he said.

  Leaning forward in his seat, Riffin’s glare intensified, “And why should I believe that?” he asked.

  The Ludorum Prince half-shrugged his shoulders, “My brother doesn’t act beneath a veil of threats,” he said. “You know him to be more honest than that—far more direct.”

  Riffin’s jaw tightened, his fingers squeezing the lion-heads, knuckles white beneath the pressure.

  Pietros licked his lips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a bid to relieve the tension. “I come here out of respect towards this alliance,” he said. “I am here to...see what I can do to repair what has been broken between us.”

  Riffin scoffed, biting the inside of his cheek as he took a pause, both angered and amused by their circumstances. “Why would you try to break something, if all you seek to do afterwards is fix it?” he asked.

  Pietros’s shoulders dropped, his head lowered as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His words dug deep inside his distant cousin, causing a greater deal of upset than Riffin had thought possible. Unable to look at him, Pietros shifted his weight again, his gaze burning into the dark stone floors, “I had no hand in the decision that fractured this alliance,” he said.

  Riffin shrugged, “But I did,” he said, voicing all that Ludorum, and the Alliance Council, believed. “It was my decision that fractured this alliance.”

  Conflicted, Pietros swallowed the lump in his throat, casting his gaze elsewhere before returning it to Riffin. “I never said that,” he whispered.

  Riffin rose from his seat abruptly, descending the steps, “But your brother has! This Alliance Council has! Though that doesn’t support your brother’s involvement, it does nothing to disprove it!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls.

  Pietros lowered his head in his presence, jaw clenched, lips tight together as he took the verbal assault like he was trained to—just as they were all trained to.

  Riffin allowed his anger to temper, chest raising and falling at an uneven pace. Taking a deep breath, he shifted uneasily, “The Alliance Council pushes my sister to marry one of Ludorum’s nobles,” he said. “Though it isn’t required, it is preferred... You know nobles seek permission of their King where marriages are involved.”

  Pietros glanced at him from beneath his lashes, searching his gaze for answers to his confusion.

  Riffin shrugged, throwing his hand up at his side, “Don’t tell me your brother has no hand in this,” he said, “because, seeing you here, it seems to me you know nothing of the man you call your brother, or your King.”

  Wanting nothing more than to resolve matters, though absent the confidence to do so, left him standing in awkward silence. With nothing left to say, he bowed his head again, swallowing thickly before licking his lips. “Should you require anything, Ludorum will be glad to assist the new King as he takes to the throne,” he said.

  Unnerved by his sudden vulnerability, Riffin nodded, blinking the emotion from his eyes and replacing his long-standing anger with a shred more consideration. “Is that all?” he asked.

  Swallowing thickly, averting his gaze for all but a second, Pietros nodded curtly. Riffin flicked his hand in the direction of the door, dismissing him before their argument could go any further.

  As he left, Neyva entered without much consideration, finding Riffin still red in the face and combing his fingers through his dark hair in his effort to cool himself down. “What was Prince Pietros doing here?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Riffin replied, promptly, through gritted teeth. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Neyva didn’t think to pester him on the matter, taking his reply with ease, preoccupied with the pages in her hands as she moved to lay them on the table. Breathing in a deep breath, he approached her slowly, “Have you chosen?” he asked.

  She hummed an affirmative, unable to look at him. “Cinto, Lord of Girgani,” she said.

  His details were on the page at the top, details that Riffin scanned with interest. If someone was going to marry his sister, he wanted to know everything there was to know about them. Having taken the page into his hands, those of other suitors remained on the table, though it didn’t mean he paid them no attention. “Of the four suitors you’ve been given the option of, you choose the one that’s twenty-five years your senior?” he asked.

  Neyva remained stone-faced, calm and composed—almost too much. She was doing her utmost to hold herself together, to make herself seem so unfazed by this that it only proved the contrary to someone who knew her as well as he did. “Aside from having vast lands, he is responsible for his regions prison,” she replied. “I would propose to him that, rather than foot the expense of keeping those alive in cells, he relinquish them to me to be used as cheap labour in the mines.”

  Riffin raised a brow and he could hear Thane scoff over his shoulder, earning him a hardened glare from his sister. “If I’m to marry a man I do not love, I may as well benefit from it,” she hissed.

  Riffin nodded slowly, “Rightly so, but—“

  “But nothing,” she said, finally. Unable to look at him, her intense gaze glistened with both anger and agony, “The only choice within my power is this one—and I’ve made it,” she said. “You would do me a favour if you could keep yourself from questioning it.”
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br />   Before Riffin could say another word, she turned on her heel, clutching at her skirts, and left the room.

  Alone, the large throne room doors separating them from the rest of the world, and allowing most formalities to slip away, Thane turned to him, “Are you really going to let him marry her?” he asked.

  “What choice do I have?” Riffin retorted angrily. “She accepted and, if I refuse, the nobles could rebel.”

  Eyes wide and enraged, Thane clenched his jaw, “Those animals,” he hissed, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “And Neyva is fine with this?”

  Riffin threw his arms out towards the door, “You saw her,” he said. “She accepted before I could even think to refuse and she’s taken to the preparations herself! She’s making the best of this in the only way she knows how!”

  Thane raked his fingers through his hair. “There has to be another way to deal with this,” he said.

  Riffin lowered himself onto the step, shaking his head, “Malia has employed her mother and father, as well as Gyles, to find the connection between the nobles and Ludorum, but it’s taking time,” he said. “Without that, the Council has the anonymity to do as they wish.”

  “Until they decide to move against you,” Thane said. “Once they do that, their position will be revealed.”

  “Even then, what do we do?” Riffin retorted. “If I make a move against them, strip them of their lands, make threats towards them, they will deem me a tyrant! Even those who are still on my side will turn against me out of fear that they will one day gain my ire.”

  Thane lowered himself beside him, perching his chin atop his fingers, “There’s some other way,” he said. “Some way your mother would’ve kept them under control.”

  Riffin shrugged, “She would’ve appeased them,” he said. “Somehow, she would’ve.”

  The more he thought about his mother’s refusal to intervene with Ludorum, about how quick she was to leave Lionessa and appeal to King Niles herself, the more he thought she knew plenty of what was at stake. “She told me to bide my time,” Riffin whispered, gaining Thane’s ear. “I’m hoping agreeing to them now means I can restore matters enough to resolve this later.” He ran his fingers through his hair, scraping his scalp along the way before digging his blunt nails into the back of his neck, “What I despise is that... Agreeing to them now means giving up my sister,” he said.

  Thane clapped a hand onto his shoulder, breathing out a shaky sigh as he rested his head against his arm.

  The weight of their new roles fell heavy on them both and, as unsteady as it made them, they would have to get through it.

  Chapter 15

  SAT IN HER CHAMBERS, Malia glanced at the swell of her stomach, angling herself in front of the mirror in such a way that she could make out the way it protruded. It wouldn’t be much longer now. Although she’d been blessed not to suffer even half the illness or misfortune her mother had, she dreaded much of it and keenly awaited the day she could hold in her arms the new addition to their family.

  There was a gentle knock on the door and Aylee moved swiftly to answer it. Neyva entered, appearing composed, and just about everything Malia had ever wished to be. “You asked to see me, your Majesty?” she asked.

  Malia rose to her feet, uneasy. She hadn’t expected to be Queen so soon—not this young. She’d hoped she’d have had time to learn from the Queen herself, from Riffin’s mother, the same way Neyva had learnt from her. The illegitimate woman was stunning in her own right, taking after her father and, apparently, her birth mother also. But she carried herself with a poise and grace that could only come from her upbringing inside the palace—from years of watching the Queen demand attention, all the while graceful as she walked up and down the steps, head held high and without the need of support.

  She got her stone-faced features from her father, however. Whenever she broke into a smile, the light filled her eyes in the same way they did his. It took plenty for her to smile a great, honest smile, but, when she did, just like him, it was a sight to behold. She didn’t smile now though. She appeared almost emotionless—she wasn’t fearful, or angry, just void of any possible emotion.

  Malia hung her head, “The Queen—your mother—“ she stuttered, nothing graceful about her, “was a great deal of support in the days leading up to my marriage,” she said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, turning away from the young woman who, with her very existence, made her feel small and unworthy of the position she’d found herself in. “She gifted me one of her tiaras for my wedding day,” she said, “and, I thought, it’s only right that I do the same for you, knowing she certainly would have.”

  Looking back, Neyva shifted her weight, a small smile, weary as it was, growing on her lips. Her gaze saddened as she took a step closer, her turn to feel uneasy. Neyva, fortunate as she might’ve been to have been taken in by the Queen, seemed to have closed herself off to acts of kindness some time ago. Malia could hardly blame her, having been raised in a world surrounded by schemes and traitors, out to take advantage of one’s weakness.

  Malia stepped aside, allowing her to move closer and admire the selection of fourteen tiaras that sat out on dressing table for her to choose from. Each and every one of them sparkled in their own magnificent way. Tiaras made of rubies, made of diamonds and sapphires, emeralds and topaz… The matter of choosing between them was complicated enough but, when faced with all life had thrown her way, Neyva seemed glad to be making a choice as trivial as this. Unsure if she should speak, unsure if it would make matters worse, Malia grappled with her thoughts and debated long and hard, going as far as to bite her tongue before she opened her mouth. “It hurts him,” she started.

  Neyva paused, glancing over her shoulder.

  “It hurts him to know that you’re doing this because of him,” she said.

  Neyva turned back to admiring the tiaras, skimming them with the tips of her fingers, admiring beauty she’d never been able to lay her hands on before. “I do it for my brother, and for my King,” she said. “I would’ve done the same for our mother, and for my father. He needn’t feel troubled by it.”

  Malia licked her lips. Of course Neyva would make it about duty. There was never a doubt in any of their minds that she would do whatever she was duty-bound to do, regardless of what it meant for her. It had unsettled Riffin for some time, as they proceeded with their engagement despite Ludorum’s anger, and as he blamed himself for his mother’s death.

  None of this would’ve happened if Neyva had been named heir to the throne. Neyva would never have demanded to marry someone out of love, never would she have gone against her mother’s instructions in a bid to save someone she loved, thus, matters between them and Ludorum would never have deteriorated the way they had. The Queen would still be alive, likely reigning for the next thirty years, until she was old and grey like her father was when he passed.

  Instead, Riffin was the heir—he was the Queen’s blood and it was his decisions to pursue love over duty that led to them all to making sacrifices to survive and cling to what was left of their power.

  Malia licked her lips, shifting her weight. “He’s argued to abolish the viewing of the consummation,” she said. “You aren’t of legitimate royal blood, no remarkable agreement comes out of this marriage, and he’s used that as an excuse for it to be avoided.”

  “And they’ve accepted?” Neyva asked, scoffing. “I must hand it to him, my brother’s negotiation skills have improved over the years.”

  “He intends to find you a way out of this,” she said. She almost despised herself for saying it, knowing that nothing was certain. Even so, the words escaped her, knowing it was the least she could do to be of some sort of comfort to her husband’s sister. “I’m sure,” she started, smiling, “his persistence will see him succeed.”

  Neyva stood up, no longer hunched over, admiring the tiaras. “I don’t want a way out of this,” she said.

  Malia’s brows twitched, inching together in confusion.


  Harmless as Malia intended her words to be, they seemed to have struck a nerve, a grimace of some sort crossing Neyva’s features. She shifted her weight, then began to wander around her chambers. “Marry, consummate a marriage, have children,” she said, “all that might happen before a way out can be found, and then what? Annul the marriage? Who will marry me after? Who will raise children that aren’t theirs? What will become of those children? Will they be ripped from me, and left in the hands of this man I don’t know?” she asked.

  Malia took a step forward, mouth falling open with every intention to quell her concerns.

  But Neyva persisted, her stern gaze enough to silence her, “I have lived the confusion of a collapsed union,” she said. “I don’t want that—not for myself, not for my children.”

  “Your brother will make this right,” Malia said.

  “My brother has limitations to his power,” she said, a glistening sheen to her eyes, “even as King.”

  Malia’s shoulders dropped—on that, they could agree. If there were no limitations, Neyva wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. If there were no limitations, the Queen would’ve saved herself.

  Neyva held her head up high, stifling her emotions as she continued. “I was lucky,” she said. “I was blessed to have the Queen grant me her attentions, I was blessed to gain her love, and to be allowed to call her my mother.”

  But—the word lingered in the air as she paused.

  “I always knew what it meant. I always knew what having my father’s blood in my veins meant. I always knew what having the Queen’s attentions meant,” she said, her voice cracking. “I knew an arranged marriage was a possibility, I knew that my life would never be truly my own—that I would earn ire and false respect of those who had no consideration towards who I was, but who were more interested in the contacts I had.”