The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  “We’ve already spoken about this,” he said. “There is no place safe enough for them. Those allies we may trust our children with will be the first ones set upon in the event of a war. They’re safest here.”

  Malia returned to his side, resting her head against his shoulder. She peeked at their son, his name yet to be decided even in his sixth week. “I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to them,” she said.

  Riffin chuckled, pressing a kiss into her hair, “Your mother is with the girls,” he said, “and, should she turn on an enemy the way she turned on me as I entered that nursery, any one of them would flee in fear of her retribution.” A soft chuckle escaped her, allowing her to bury her smiling face into his chest.

  A knock on the door, as well as an abrupt opening of it, tore their attentions away from each other, stifling their shared laughter.

  Thane entered the room swiftly, coat billowing in the breeze he created with his march. His gaze was enraged, his nostrils flaring, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. “Your Majesty,” he said, his jaw tense, “Manus Baran is here to see you.”

  Malia took her son into her arms, holding him close and concealing him as best she could with her protective embrace. The last thing she wanted was for their enemies to lay eyes on their children, lest they get any new ideas. “Go through the gallery,” Riffin ordered in a whisper.

  Immediately, she did as he asked. Ascending the spiral staircase that led to the wooden balcony overlooking the throne room, she waited in the shadows until Manus entered to meet Riffin and the doors closed behind himself.

  “What convenient timing,” Riffin remarked. “I’ve only just returned.”

  “I believe it was of utmost importance to bring the news to you as soon as possible,” he replied, bowing his head with a measly show of courtesy.

  The man, normally arrogant, was no less so today, though visibly miffed at the same time.

  “Tell him,” Thane growled.

  Riffin glanced in his direction out of the corner of his eye, brows twitching together. Few things would set Thane off this way, none of which could so easily come to mind. “Tell me what?” he asked.

  “Out with it,” Thane said, gritting his teeth together.

  Riffin turned his attention away from his friend, taking in Manus’s sudden hesitation as he looked Thane up and down. Before Riffin could reiterate Thane’s order, Manus spoke, “Your sister has fled from her husband,” he said. “She has yet to be heard from, or seen, in days.” Winded by his words, Riffin dropped his gaze. What had happened? Was she safe? Where was she? Why had she not come home? “Her home in Darner was searched,” he said, answering at least one of his questions. “She was not there.”

  Riffin scoffed, “And you think she’s here? What? Being hidden away?” he asked. His hands balled into fists at his sides, he took a step towards the Council member, just about ready to launch a throw at his jaw.

  “We know she isn’t here,” Manus said, an eery statement that sent a shiver down Riffin’s spine.

  Thane took a step forward, approaching Riffin and leaning into his side, speaking in his stead. “Neyva is a woman of duty,” he said. “She wouldn’t just flee—not unless she’d been given reason to.”

  Riffin dragged his gaze from the ground, staring at Manus from beneath his lashes. It was then that he saw it—that shift that saw him move further from arrogance and closer to unease. “What happened?” he asked.

  Manus breathed out a sigh, shifted and then held his head up high, putting on airs and restoring all of that arrogance to appear indifferent. “Lord Girgani struck her,” he said. “She took no liking to the treatment and she fled in the dark.”

  Before Riffin could so much as open his mouth to reply, a flurry of insults on the tip of his tongue, Thane lunged forward. In the blink of an eye, Thane had Manus on the floor, inflicting blow after blow of his clenched fist. “Animals!” he growled.

  Riffin reached forward, dodging Thane’s flying fist as he attempted to drag him off the other man. Thane allowed himself to be dragged away reluctantly, skin flushed a deep crimson colour, his eyes blazing with anger, features contorted in a scowl of disgust. “Easy,” he said, pulling him off, dragging him far enough that Manus could lift himself from the ground.

  Thane shrugged out of Riffin’s hold, spinning around, giving them his back until he could recompose himself, chest rising and falling at an alarming pace. Unable to keep his eyes away from the enemy, not with his King in such close proximity, he had no choice but to turn back before that could even happen.

  Manus staggered onto his feet, touching at the corners of his lips as he lapped up the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. “A poor decision on Lord Girgani’s part, I understand,” he said.

  Thane lunged forward again, only for Riffin to grab him in time before he could do anymore damage. Again, Thane pulled himself away, shrugging Riffin’s hands off of him—King be damned—taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

  “A poor decision, indeed,” Riffin agreed, his gaze flitting in the direction of his enraged friend. As much as the anger ebbed and flowed within him, Thane had expressed enough of it for the both of them, for the moment. “There will be repercussions,” he said. “Such action cannot go unpunished.”

  Manus opened his mouth but Riffin threw up his hand, silencing him before he could consider saying another word. “Go,” he said. Manus eyed Thane over Riffin’s shoulder and the two gazes met, no doubt influencing Manus’s decision to heed his command.

  With Manus out of sight, Thane crouched onto the ground, biting the inside of his cheek, nostrils flaring.

  “Thane?” He looked up at the sound of his name, only for Riffin to grab him by the front of his coat and pull him to his feet. “Find my sister,” he said. “Bring her home.”

  Hands forming fists at his sides, Thane nodded curtly, doing his utmost to steady his breathing. “Yes, your Majesty,” he replied.

  He needed no time to consider his next move. His orders were clear and Thane was nothing if not efficient. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left, his rhythmic footsteps resonating through the empty corridors.

  Chapter 22

  THERE WERE A GREAT plenty of mysteries bequeathed to those that resided in the Lionessan Capital. Who were those nobles that formed the Alliance Council was one of them—the mystery of utmost importance. Then there were mysteries that were deemed far less so, mostly because few lives would be affected if they remained unanswered.

  But in Riffin’s family, the mystery of his sister’s whereabouts was far greater than others might deem. In his family, there was nothing of more importance, and there was nothing more significant than those of duty abandoning their posts without word or warning.

  Neyva’s whereabouts weren’t as great as a mystery as the Alliance Council would believe, however—not that Thane would ever tell them that.

  The truth was, there were a great number of places that one could hide—checking the place Neyva had title over was amateur at best. Though there were very few occasions in which she had been taken away from the palace, those few would mean something to her, and all Thane needed to do was narrow it down.

  It was a simple enough task. Neyva, put into a carriage with her new husband the night of her wedding, was on her way to his home in Ludorum when she fled. Wherever she was hiding, it was en route between the two—too great of a risk to remain out on the streets.

  Wherever she was had to be remote—there had to be no nobles, nobody who would recognise her, in the vicinity. Uncertain as to who was on the Alliance Council, uncertain which of the nobles conspired against her brother, she would know better than to let herself be seen by any of them. She may have been just an illegitimate child to most, the bastard daughter of the Queen’s husband, but she was smart, and she would know that not a single noble, no matter who they were, could be trusted.

  That narrowed down his search further, leaving Thane with only three p
laces worth exploring. Each time, he and his men approached under the cover of night, with their raid lasting only a few minutes.

  The third place was a fort—a small, abandoned and crumbling fortification, neglected for hundreds of years. With craters in the walls the size of wagons, it was hardly a place of safety, not only because it was so clearly penetrable, but because it was deteriorated and too perilous to even consider entering. Distant as a memory as it was, Thane recalled the area from his travels with Riffin and Neyva as a child. Out of the way of most of the larger villages, it was the perfect place for them to stop and picnic, allowing them to stretch their legs and frolic while the adults mapped out the path ahead.

  Derelict as the fortification may have been, many had entered it. As his men, a group of ten, charged inside, they came face-to-face with men who could easily have been leapers and outcasts—until they withdrew their swords.

  Mercenaries were the strongest of fighting men—they were not only fuelled by the fight for their own survival, but by the prospect of what wealth they would gain with each successful mission. Nonetheless, the number of men he commanded, as well as the quality of their training, was enough to overpower them.

  Thane stepped over the bodies in his wake with ease, his sword at his side, firm within his grip, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him. The inside of the fort was nothing but rubble and overgrown foliage, leave little room for hiding and little place to escape. “Surround the entire building,” he ordered. “I want men posted on every single opening.”

  The men dispersed, two men remaining at his side. “Go,” he ordered.

  “But Captain,” one protested.

  Thane shot a glare in his direction, dismissing them both with a cock of his head. The downstairs space was empty, nothing but rodents creeping between the bushes, leaving the narrow stone staircase that appeared to have started to wither away with the elements. His first step caused a few stones to come loose, tumbling down, the sound of their landing echoing in the empty space. In the distance, crows cawed in the most eery of fashion, causing the tall trees that had grown through the chaos to shift, as well as for leaves to shed, fluttering around him.

  Step after step, he knew his arrival would be met shortly. Seizing his short-sword from his side, the first figure to emerge from the darkness, crying out in anger, was slaughtered before Thane could take even a step backwards to avoid him. Struck in the face and reeling from the sudden blow, he shoved him over the side of the unguarded staircase, his body landing at the bottom with a heavy thud while Thane threw himself into the wall behind him and caught his breath.

  A quick glance to the top of the stairs and he saw something run across—the unmistakable whimper of a girl resonating throughout the barren halls.

  “Neyva,” he called. His fingers sank into the wall he leaned against, more stones crumbling to the ground against his touch. “Neyva, it’s all right,” he said. Biting back his frustration, tearing his eyes away from the drop beside the stairs, he rushed to the top at the sound of distant whispers. “Neyva,” he called again, “are you hurt?”

  The sound of something, indiscernible, caused him to spin on his heel in time to see the hilt of a blade coming towards him. Losing his footing in the dirt, he slid to the ground in time to avoid it, taking a blade to the man’s ankles before striking him in the neck with his sword.

  As he steadied his racing heart, taking a look around, he made out the figure of a man in the distance. Bit by bit, he advanced towards him, his hand appearing unsteady around the hilt of his sword. Squinting in the dark, Thane readied himself for a fight, only to find himself hesitating as his eyes made out a familiar face. “Walsh,” he said.

  The man paused, coming to a stop in the sliver of light that came in from a crack in the ceiling, startled by the sound of his own name.

  Behind him, standing beside a window, her back up against the wall, he could make out another figure with her long opulent dress glistening in the moonlight.

  “Neyva,” he said, smiling, awash with relief. “Neyva, it’s all right.”

  “It’s not,” she sobbed, barely able to get her words around the lump of emotion in her throat. “I ran away.”

  Thane lowered his sword, “It’s all right,” he said. He mustered a smile but, startled by her fear-stricken appearance, watching as she inched towards the window, even a smile fuelled by relief at having found her alive proved to be hollow. “It’s all right—truly.”

  “It’s not,” she said, shaking her head furiously. “It’s not.”

  Thane took a step forward and Walsh, a young, soft-spoken soldier, solidified his stance, steadying his sword within his grip.

  “I won’t go back,” Neyva said.

  “Go back where?” he asked, shrugging. “I’ve come to take you home.”

  “So you can give me back to him?” she asked.

  “No,” Thane said, doing his utmost to conceal his uncertainty. He’d grappled with it for a few days. He’d not remained in the Lionessan Capital long enough to find out what Riffin had planned next, uncertain as to what would happen once he returned. “Your brother’s worried about you,” he said, certain of that much. “He wants to know you’re all right.”

  Neyva stifled a sob, clinging to the wall as she hung her head.

  Thane took a step closer, only for Walsh to raise his sword. Thane held up his hands in response, shifting his footing against the uneven floor as he readied his own stance, preparing for the worst. “Walsh,” he said, “you and I trained together as children.” He was a young soldier, abandoned by his parents when he was only little, leaving him to be adopted into the armed guard. Their training together had been rigorous, not just in battle, but in loyalties. “I come on behalf of the King,” he said, shifting again, “and you know to act against the King is treason.”

  Walsh’s eyes watered, understanding the dilemma, “She doesn’t want to go back,” he said.

  “But the King has demanded it,” Thane retorted, “and if you’re to stand in the way of the King... If you’re to stand in my way, I might have to kill you.” Speaking the words very much meant coming to terms with it and dread arose inside of him, stifling his next breath, “Don’t make me kill you, Walsh,” he said. “Put down the sword. Let me take her back home and I will speak nothing of this.”

  Walsh, steadying his sword in his hand, seemed to await Neyva’s command. None came—only another hitched sob. To Walsh, that was answer enough. A growl rumbling in the back of his throat, he launched himself towards him.

  Memories aside, Thane charged and swung his sword, matching him steel for steel each and every time. His sword sliding against Walsh’s, his strength too great, Thane placed his hand against the blade of his sword. The sharp steel cut deep into his palms as he warded him off, then, catching the sight of the staircase so close behind him, he shoved him off with all his might.

  Scrunching his eyes shut against the sound, Walsh’s body tumbled down the staircase with a number of bone-breaking snaps before falling from it entirely.

  Neyva’s sobs grew louder and when Thane looked back, she’d pulled herself away from the wall long enough to snatch a dagger from a fallen mercenarie’s hip. “I won’t go back,” she said, backing up further. “I won’t go back to him.”

  Thane advanced towards her, only for Neyva to cling to the window, paying only a short glance towards the drop below. “You don’t want to die, Neyva,” he said.

  Shaking her head, her hair in disarray, loose strands clung to the tear-stained paths down her cheeks. “No,” she agreed. “But I want to go back even less.”

  In the blink of an eye, she’d brought the blade to her throat, the tendons beneath her skin visible as she held her breath.

  Thane moved to take a step forward, only for her to bring herself closer to the window. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t. There’s no need for this.”

  “They’ll take me back,” she declared, tearfully. “They’ll demand to take me back!”


  Thane extended his hand to her, struggling to speak over his own fear of having to watch her fall to her death or slit her own throat. “Give me the knife,” he said. “It’ll be all right. Just give me the knife.”

  She shook her head, pressing the blade flush against her skin. “I’m a traitor,” she whispered.

  “Neyva, don’t!” She scrunched her eyes shut, as though doing whatever she could to block out his appeals. “You don’t need to do this,” he said.

  “I can’t go back,” she repeated. “They’ll—“

  “Then don’t,” he said, flatly. She paused, her eyes dripping with tears. Lowering his sword, placing it on the ground beside himself, he leaned forward, hands extended, ready to seize the blade from her, or grab her if she dared move any closer to that window ledge. “Don’t go with them. Take a stand—refuse them.”

  “I’ll be a traitor!” she said. “I am a traitor! I’ve failed my brother, I’ve failed the King—“

  “Then I will fail him too,” he said, breathlessly. “Be it if you kill yourself before me now, or if I protect you later, I would fail him too.” He inched forward, her shock keeping her from noticing. “The way I see it, one of these keeps you alive and I need you to choose life!”

  She pulled back her tears, shaking her head as they only poured from her eyes faster than her efforts to contain them, “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Thane’s lips drew into a short smile, feeble and unstable considering the circumstances. “I’m a Master of Poisons,” he said, going by the title others gave him. “You know that! Return with me and I will do what I can to see you rid of your husband! Just come back with me!”

  She shook her head furiously, “You won’t betray my brother that way!” she declared. “You won’t put his throne in jeopardy!”