The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

She turned her back on her and Malia noted the shaking of her shoulders. But when Neyva spun around again, unable to put an end to their conversation, she didn’t seem the slightest bit grieved by her own confessions. “The very fact that you still feel bad for me, that he still feels bad for me, shows me that you’ve learnt nothing at all of what it means to be Queen and King,” she said. “He never had a choice, but you did. It’s time you resigned yourselves to the fact that your life isn’t truly your own and that of your children is not truly their own either—I did,” she said. “I did—a long time ago.”

  She swallowed the lump of emotion that’d formed in the back of her throat—the only tell-tale sign, aside from the crack in her voice, that she felt anything at all. Blinking all thought of emotion from her eyes, she turned her attentions back to the dressing table covered in tiaras.

  Malia’s vision blurred, a hot mist descending over her eyes, tearing herself away from the world around her.

  The world snapped back into focus as Neyva stood tall once more, holding up a diamond and ruby bandeaux tiara. “May I?” she asked.

  Malia put on a smile, nodding, “Of course,” she said. “An excellent choice.”

  Just like that, they spoke as though their earlier conversation never happened—as though the world around them hadn’t just been torn to shreds.

  Chapter 16

  WITH MEMORIES OF HIS own wedding day still fresh in his mind—the joyful extravagant affair that it was—Riffin’s stomach churned uneasily as preparations were made for his sister’s.

  With The Alliance Council pushing for an immediate marriage, with only two days notice given until the groom arrived, there was little he could muster together. It didn’t matter much, Riffin thought. No matter how much he dressed up the palace halls with flowers and finery, none of it would balm the wound he was inflicting upon his sister. It was a mortal wound at that, as far as he could see. With little thought as to what he could do to resolve it, and how soon that would come about, it would be a wound she would be afflicted with for some time.

  There was no time to summon an audience—not that there was enough time, or anyone Neyva was in a rush to invite to this shambles of a marriage. A few, local nobles were invited, to make up the audience the Council demanded, but, other than that, the throne room was empty.

  Riffin stood at the front of the room, meant to preside over the nuptials at some point, same as his mother had presided over his own. Thane stood beside him, glaring daggers in Manus’s direction.

  Malia, pained and tired, excused herself for the occasion when she realised she could hardly lift herself from her bed after an afternoon rest. Kara and Jared stood in her place, however, both equally flustered at the turn of events. The occasion they stood for now was precisely everything they had once stood against, having escaped to the seas for freedom from these very confines of life.

  Kara stood most angered by it, a testament to how deeply her own arranged marriage had affected her. Although she now wore dresses, though nothing fanciful, Riffin could still see the girl from the stories he was told during his childhood. He could still see her as the pirate, short-swords at her side, ready to slash the throats of all that dared so much as look at her the wrong way.

  Neyva, wearing a white dress trimmed with lace, marched into the room. There was no walking in time with the music that was played for her. Instead, she did what she always did—she marched to her own tune, defiant of all those who would turn their noses down at her.

  It filled him with confidence in a moment when all he wanted to do was pity her, and feel ashamed of himself. She would survive this, just as she did everything else. She was a noble in her own right, with sizeable land and a lot to bring to a business, and to a family—she would find a way to make this benefit her. If that was all she could do for the moment, he was grateful she had it in her to do it.

  Her would-be husband stepped forward to greet her. A man with greying hair, well and truly into his years, he bore deep wrinkles around his mouth and nose as he smirked at the sight of her. With dark eyes, drinking in every detail of her, he looked at her with a delight more genuine than what she returned.

  The hand on her arm, gentle as it may have seemed, irked him, and he didn’t miss the sound of Thane breathing out a stifled sigh behind him, shifting his weight as he mumbled something indiscernible beneath his breath.

  Neyva seemed to take in as little as possible, head held high, paying the man little mind as she faced forward and waited to be wedded. The ceremony was brief, papers were signed and a kiss, chaste and uninspired, sealed the deal marked between them.

  A festive meal was about the only thing that could improve the darkness of the occasion in the slightest. With morbidity drowned out by loud music, dancing blurring the sullen faces of those most displeased by the event, one could almost imagine it was a joyous occasion…if they didn’t look too closely.

  Sat at Riffin’s side, Thane shifted and leaned forward. “Is it too much to hope that he chokes on his pie amidst the celebrations?” he asked.

  Riffin glanced over, following his line of sight to the man that had now wedded his sister. Lord Girgani paid Neyva little attention, having boisterous conversation with those that approached his table with words of congratulations. His sister sat back in her seat, an arm folded against her chest while she held a glass of wine up to her lips. She didn’t seem to let it move very far, allowing the glass to cover what was obviously a scowl as she scanned the crowd. “Considering the Alliance,” Riffin started, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they grieved for him for just an hour before they thought to marry her off to their next choice.”

  Excusing himself quietly, Thane’s second-in-command approached, bending down to Thane’s height and whispering into his ear.

  Riffin raised a brow in his friend’s direction and Thane shifted in his seat before lifting himself up, “Prince Pietros of Ludorum has just arrived,” he said.

  Heaving a sigh, Riffin rose to his feet and followed Thane out of the dining hall, scanning the room briefly for those who might take interest in his absence.

  Prince Pietros, recalling their last private meeting, came to an abrupt stop upon seeing him. Hands clasped behind his back, he shifted his weight and bowed his head, “Your Majesty,” he greeted.

  “What are you doing here, Pietros?” he asked, breathing out a heavy sigh. He wanted to say this was a happy occasion, that he was interrupting, but that couldn’t be furthest from the truth—no doubt Pietros knew it.

  The Prince licked his lips, biting the inside of his cheek, “Lord Girgani made a formal invitation,” he said, none-too-pleased about the admission. “I’ve been sent to represent the Crown.” Sucking in a deep breath, eyes flickering towards the closed doors and the privacy it allowed them in the open corridor, he advanced towards him.

  Light on his feet, Thane slid between the two before he could fully close the gap but Riffin placed a hand on his shoulder, putting him at ease and moving him aside.

  “I swear I know nothing about this,” Pietros whispered, his jaw tense. “If my brother has a hand in this, I know nothing about it. I’m simply here following orders.”

  Perhaps, Riffin thought. More than just ‘perhaps,’ he reconsidered, as he looked into his eyes. Pietros’s gaze was woeful at best, as though he’d seen things he dared not speak, though craved for nothing more in this world than to do so.

  “You’re late,” Riffin said, stepping aside to allow him through.

  “I left as soon as I was given the order,” he said. Riffin bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself from saying anything else. Pietros, however, didn’t seem to be finished. Considering his words carefully, he paused again, glancing at Riffin, “If my brother had a hand in this, do you not think his actions would be more timely?” he asked.

  Riffin smirked. “I think,” he started, leaning in, “knowing your brother, that he would account for anything that would make him seem less culpable than he is.”

  Ha
ving licked his lips, Pietros sighed, casting his gaze towards the dining hall as the doors opened for them, “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Perhaps you know my brother better than I do.”

  Perhaps. Perhaps he was right.

  Chapter 17

  AFTER A DAY SPENT out riding, an escape that he long craved since his mother’s death, Riffin returned home with an ounce of regret that riddled him with guilt, dismounting his horse with a heavy breath. Back to responsibility, he thought, taking in the sight of the palace’s intimidating walls. Back to duty and back to all his concerns.

  Before he could make it up the steps, the doors flew open. Aylee came running down the hall, hands clinging to her skirts. It was then that he saw it, the bloodied apron that she held, folded over against her clothing. “It happened quickly,” she said, out of breath.

  Without waiting for another word to escape her lips, Riffin sprinted up the steps, through the long corridors and towards their chambers. The guards saw him coming, throwing open the doors with little decorum, allowing him to skid along the smooth stone floors right into the room.

  The physician was already cleaning up, the servants pottering around the room in their effort to restore some sort of order. The figure in the bed was small and insignificant, buried beneath a mess of blankets. He held his breath, then saw a hand shift along the silk bedding, knuckles white with strain. Malia came into view seconds later, lifting herself into an upright position with much difficulty, a grimace crossing her features. The servants moved to help her, only for him to cut them off as he made it to their bedside in time. Half-lidded eyes honed in on him in an instant and her hand flew into his chest as soon as he sat beside her, “Where have you been?” she asked, her tone broken, dripping in grief and exhaustion.

  Riffin combed his fingers through her sweat-soaked hair, “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I had no idea.”

  Unable to support herself for much longer, she threw herself against his shoulder, lying against him as she steadied her breathing. “He’s so small,” she whispered, her eyes glassy, her hand clenching into a fist. “The physician’s unsure he’ll survive.”

  Riffin’s heart cracked, though he didn’t miss a beat before kissing her temple. “All that matters is you,” he whispered, brushing his thumb back and forth against her cheek. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” she croaked, her voice breaking. Her hand slipped beneath the sheets, clutching at her abdomen.

  Defeated, more so, he thought. Whether she’d laboured for minutes or hours or days, labouring for a child who wouldn’t survive was soul-crushing in itself. She said nothing else, nestling against him, curling up against his chest while the whole world disappeared around them. She was right. Hours later, when he tore himself from her side, finding her at ease in the depths of slumber, he entered the nursery to find his newborn child being rocked to sleep, resting against the chest of one of the servants.

  Crouching beside her, unwilling to take him from her and risk stirring him, he found his features small and scrunched. His tiny lips were parted just enough to take his breaths, each one quick and irregular as his chest rose and fell beneath the servant’s palm. Nonetheless, he seemed at peace, and, knowing it was about all he could hope for, he moved to kiss his daughters goodnight and returned to his chambers to be beside his wife.

  Chapter 18

  ONE WOULD SAY MALIA ran right into stupid situations. Others would say she was playing to her strengths, taking every opportunity she had at her disposal in an attempt to better her own conditions. The public who disapproved of a pirate marrying their King certainly thought that of her, so why not use it to her advantage?

  This time, as her carriage approached Boardeck Castle, having torn herself away from her children’s side, she wasn’t sure what she most considered this decision—be it stupid or smart.

  Descending the steps, clinging to the side of the carriage, she couldn’t help her hand ghosting over her abdomen as its ache reminded her of all that she had left behind in the palace.

  Deros Bonomo exited the castle before long. For a man in mourning after the death of his wife, he looked a great deal stronger than he had the day she saw him off from the Lionessan Capital.

  A gentle smile, though not enough to conceal his woeful gaze, graced his lips. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, bowing deeply.

  Malia shifted her weight, still unused to being addressed as such, bowing her head in return. “It’s good to see you,” she whispered.

  “Likewise,” he said.

  Reluctant as he may have been to go further with this, seeing her uneasy on her feet was enough to have him step aside and gesture towards the Castle doors. “Come inside,” he said.

  The castle was freezing cold, damp and unwelcoming. The corridors were akin to those of the palace’s cells; dark, unadorned, and likely riddled with vermin. He led her to a living space that was somewhat more comforting, though a far cry from the luxury found in the Lionessan Capital he once called his home. The couches were rickety, though soft furs had been laid over them in an effort to make them more inviting. An uncontrolled fire was ablaze in the fireplace, heating the room and adding a warm, golden glow to its surroundings, taking away from some of the dark, unexplored corners of the large room.

  She took a seat slowly, wincing against the pain in her back after hours in her carriage. “I’ve had a son,” she said, as he handed her a drink.

  Deros smiled, “Congratulations,” he said. He took a seat across from her, a large table keeping the distance between them. “Although, I take it after months as Queen, you know that there are messengers to bring this sort of news. You needn’t have come here yourself.”

  She nodded slowly, licking her lips. “I know,” she said. And, though it had been months, his mourning wasn’t over in the slightest. Perhaps he was no longer angry, but the wound was still fresh. “How have you fared?” she asked.

  “Why are you here, your Majesty?” he asked, cutting off any attempt at idle conversation. “It must be important, to have the Queen rip herself from her children,” he said.

  The Queen—she had to remind herself. She was the Queen and she ought to act like it. “I would like you to come back,” she said. Maybe she was a Queen, but she couldn’t bring herself to make a demand. She wanted him to come back, she wanted him there, but she couldn’t demand it of him.

  “Why?” he asked. He sat back, kicking one leg over the other.

  Malia rose to her feet. Why? She had so many reasons, none of which she supposed would be enough to compel him.

  “There is a Council that slowly strips Riffin of his powers,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder, though Deros remained unmoved. Most of all, he seemed to remain unsurprised. “They made him marry off Neyva to a Ludorum noble only days ago.”

  He licked his lips—a shred of regret. “So I’ve heard,” he said. “Advantageous as the marriage may’ve been, I know my daughter to have no desire for a political one.”

  “We need your help,” Malia said, her voice cracking. “Your family needs your help.”

  “There’s nothing I can do,” he said, half-shrugging. “Riffin knows all there is to know and I trust that, if there is a way out of this, he has the knowledge required to do so—he doesn’t need me there.”

  Malia swallowed the lump in her throat, her next breath catching as she turned to him, “What if my children are next?” she asked. “What if their next demand is to marry off my children?”

  “Riffin would never allow that,” he said.

  “The man I know would never have allowed them to marry off his sister either, but it’s happened!” she said, speaking through a tense jaw. “I know it to be beyond his control and I fear what will come next!”

  Finding him unmoved, she shook her head, strands of dark red hair falling in front of her face. “If you won’t come back then I have another request,” she said. “One that would not require you coming under our roof again.”

  Deros sighed, “An
d what’s that?” he asked.

  “Keep my children,” she said. Before he could so much as open his mouth to reply, to tell her this request was absurd, she persisted, “I will send you all the help you need, and finance the entire thing, of course. I just want you to keep them.”

  He shook his head, “Why?” he asked. “They deserve to be in the Capital, amongst family—that’s the way it’s always been done.”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever been surrounded by such uncertainty,” she replied. “I fear the Council will make demands of Riffin, pertaining to our children, and I want to give them no opportunity to do so.”

  Deros leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrowed in confusion, “So you want them to be hidden here?” he asked.

  She half-shrugged, “I want them to be at a distance from us,” she said. “If they seem to make demands of them, the distance between us will give ample time for them to be smuggled away before anything could come into play.”

  Deros raked his fingers through his hair, bringing his hands to his mouth as he eyed her from beneath his lashes. “You’re serious about this,” he declared.

  She glanced around, “I’ve ripped myself from my newborn child’s side for this,” she said. “Of course I’m serious!” She threw herself into the seat beside him, more flustered than before, not caring for the pain her carelessness inflicted upon her, “The uncertainty means there could be a substitution at any moment,” she said. “And, in that moment, I need to know that my children are in safe hands and that those hands are capable of preparing them to rule in their father’s stead one day. You’ve raised one King—you have the knowledge to raise my daughters to be Queens.”

  “They’re barely a year old,” he sighed.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding, “but if they’re in that palace, I don’t see them growing much older—not while this threat lingers.”

  Nostrils flaring, wanting nothing more than to dismiss her, Deros bit his tongue. He turned his attention elsewhere, refusing to look her way. Hanging his head, blowing out a heavy huff, he shifted to glance in her direction, “Discuss it with Riffin,” he said. “If he approves, and I doubt he will, send them to me.”