The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

Shuffling closer to her, Riffin felt an undoubted calm wash over. As her gaze softened, he couldn’t help but smile, taking in her beauty, no longer clouded by stress and anger. “Maybe we can go back to just being husband and wife,” he agreed, “at least for a little while longer. Maybe then I can offer you the marriage you deserve.”

  “I always knew… I always knew what I was getting into,” she said.

  Riffin nodded, albeit somewhat unconvinced after everything they’d endured. “You’ve exceeded every expectation—I never had a doubt you would,” he declared.

  While the smile on her face did everything to comfort him, an uneasy confession he needed to make kept him from revelling in the den of peace they’d subjected themselves to. That smile, coming from a person capable of digging into the depths of his soul, slowly faltered. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, he sat up on his elbow, the sullen expression on his features indisputable. “I have…a plan to deal with the Alliance Council,” he said.

  Her forehead furrowing, she mirrored his upright position, “Why is that a bad thing?”

  He met her gaze, sucking in a deep breath before uttering, “You’re not going to like it,” he said.

  Chapter 32

  ALTHOUGH THE TEMPTATION HAD been to unite together over supper, the shock of the news caused each and every one of them to retire to their own chambers for the night.

  Leaving Riffin and Malia to coddle their children in the nursery, Thane retreated into his chambers, pecking at his meal intermittently as he busied himself with letters from their spies while he paced.

  There was a brief knock on the door, more like a soft thud against the formidable wooden surface, before it opened. Few people had the right to enter another’s chambers so abruptly—one’s wife was amongst them, even if that wife was in name only.

  Thane turned his back on her almost immediately, reaching for a grape on his plate.

  Assuring the door had been closed behind her, Neyva turned to him, youthful with her hair cascading over her shoulders. As the bruises on her face healed, her pale, somewhat rosy complexion returned to her, with one less reminder of the trauma she had endured. “Won’t you be coming to bed?” she asked. “I thought my brother relieved you of duty for the night.”

  Thane licked his lips, nodding, “He did,” he confirmed. “I won’t be much longer. I’ll be sure not to disturb you.”

  With her arms crossed against her chest, a quick glance at the food on his plate, she shrugged, “I’ll wait,” she said.

  Tempted as he was to dismiss her, he bit back the demand and lowered himself into his seat.

  Step-by-step, she wandered around his chambers. They were modest when compared to hers. There were no elaborate fabrics hanging over the windows, nor draped over his bed and couches. The dressing tables and armoires were lacking the usual trinkets of a room normally lived in and the vases on his table and nightstand remained empty after months of telling servants that he wasn’t in his chambers enough to enjoy the flowers they placed there.

  The only thing unique to his room, setting it apart from all the other personal chambers, seemed to be what she took the greatest interest in. Standing off to the side, beside his desk, towered a large stack of shelves, closed pigeonhole compartments donning the entire thing. Massive, bulky, and lacking the fine craftsmanship awarded most furniture in the palace, it often caught the attention of those who entered. “What’s this?” she asked.

  He bit back his reply, though there was no use in lying, “My collection of poisons,” he replied.

  It mattered little if she was told, or if anyone knew, especially when the rumours went around amongst the servants and guards within the palace already. Those that were old enough to have known him as a child, knew of the education he endured—each and every one of them had an opinion on it. Those that were new or too young to know wouldn’t be around long before they caved to the temptation to ask those more knowledgable if the rumours were true.

  Those that cast their eyes on it were few and trusted, even when secrecy mattered little. Each of the pigeonholes were locked, each one with its own key, each key hidden from anyone who could possibly misuse anything they found within—if they dared. Poison was an art—few dared try their hand at it.

  “How many do you have?” she asked, unmistakable intrigue in her voice.

  “A hundred and seven,” he replied, off-handedly, speaking around the pip of one of his grapes. “The largest collection of poisons within Lionessa, Evrad and Azura,” he added.

  She laughed softly, “You sound very proud of yourself,” she declared.

  He smirked, cocking his head to one side, “Somewhat,” he replied. The fact that he had them wasn’t the feat worth being proud of—it was being able to detect each and every one of them.

  Backing away from the cabinets, she smiled, “I once feared you would accidentally poison my brother,” she said, taking him by surprise. “Now I see you’ve taken ample precaution to keep them locked away.”

  He felt a flush of anger, tempering it with a deep breath. “Did you really think me fool enough to put your brother—my King—in danger?” he asked.

  He knew Neyva had ample reason to think poorly of him. He didn’t come from wealth, he didn’t come from land or anyone of great title. He came from a Queen’s Guard and a servant girl—ample reason to be looked down upon if how he had always been treated by nobles was anything to go by.

  While his education had been extensive, afforded the same tutors granted to Riffin, his sarcasm and sharp tongue as he grew older got him into a great deal of trouble. That trouble led to a little bit of rebellion, and a little bit of distraction, in the form of taverns and brothels.

  Even then, whatever he did never seemed to give anyone, other than his father, reason to believe he wasn’t performing his duty. No matter what, the Queen always trusted him to be by Riffin’s side, not just to be raised and educated alongside him, but to have a hand in protecting him. Neyva, he knew, didn’t quite believe in him the same way the Queen did.

  A blush formed in her cheeks as she bowed her head, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, “I believe I was a fool to even think it,” she said. Licking her lips, she met his gaze with something he’d never seen in her before. Her gaze was soft, kind and gentle, a little embarrassed and woefully apologetic, “I should never have suspected that a boy, willing to let himself be fed poisons each and every day of his life, suffering the agony, would have anything but loyalty and care for my brother,” she said.

  He lowered his head, unable to look at her. She was wrong. Well, she was right. Everything he’d endured—he could’ve resented Riffin for all of it, even if it was never at his behest.

  “Which is why I find myself asking,” she started, gaining his attention once more, “do you have an interest in my brother?”

  Thane shot his attention back to her, blinking rapidly in utter confusion. “I’m sorry?” he asked, leaning in. “Interest?”

  Neyva twisted her lips for a moment, then averted her gaze, “I’m asking you if you favour men,” she said, “amongst them, my brother, perhaps.”

  Blinking once more, Thane burst into laughter, rising to his feet. He turned his attention away from her, only to look back and find himself laughing at her elegantly raised brow. All thought this was a joke, the best joke she’d made to date, evaporated from his mind when faced with her unamused expression, and the laughter died down. “What?” he asked. “You think—“ He cut himself off, reconsidering his words as he raked his fingers through his hair, “Why would you ask that?” he asked, a grin growing on his lips.

  Stiff, refined as always, she held her head up high, though now with flaming red cheeks in the process, “I wondered if that was the reason you wouldn’t share a bed with me,” she said. “I wondered if that was the reason you wouldn’t touch me. I thought, perhaps, that you had no interest.”

  Thane chuckled, brushing his tongue against h
is teeth as he walked away. Snatching his napkin from the table, he wiped his mouth in the hope that the grin would wipe away along with it. “That’s amusing,” he said, unable to contain himself.

  Seating herself at his table, she scoffed, “I can see you think so,” she retorted, a touch of bitterness lingering in her tone.

  Glassy-eyed, likely from being laughed at, she glanced elsewhere, turning her attentions away from him as best she could.

  Swallowing the last of his laughter, though unable to erase the entirety of the grin from his face, he turned back to her, crouching before her in his attempt at infiltrating her line of sight. “I don’t share a bed with you because, as far as I’m concerned, you and I are husband and wife in name only,” he said. “And I don’t touch you for the very same reason.”

  She visibly swallowed, taking a deep breath, “Is that the only reason?” she asked.

  “Mostly,” he replied, nodding. “I’ve had my fair share of women. I don’t find myself so starved of pleasure that I need impose myself on one.” The smile returned to his lips, growing faster than his ability to control it, “As for your brother,” he started, “I do love him,” he confessed. “I love him with all my heart and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect him. As to where that love starts and ends, my attraction to him isn’t...physical. It’s...something else entirely.”

  Neyva’s shoulders dropped, a short gasp escaping her, her hot breath brushing his cheek. “I wish... I wish I married a man who loved me half as much as you love him,” she whispered.

  Thane smirked, biting the inside of his cheek. The truth was... She had. Though she drove him absolutely mad, though they misunderstood each other more often than not, he found himself falling unequivocally in love with her. Although it was a love so very different from that with which he shared with Riffin, there was so much about it that was the same.

  He just couldn’t get himself to tell her that.

  While it was true that he loved her, love wouldn’t be enough for her. Love, whether it faded or not, wouldn’t stand the tests of a marriage between two people as different as them. His father was right, whether he liked it or not. He would never be enough for her—he would never be enough for the nobles who expected a Princess, even one in name only, to be married to someone of worth.

  “Perhaps, one day,” he whispered.

  She smiled, wiping away the trickle of tears on her cheeks.

  Smiling back, he extended his hand to her, the two of them rising together. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “You should get to bed.”

  She nodded slowly, pursing her lips together as she agreed in silence. With his supper finished, he picked up his clean clothing for the following day and draped it over his arm before extending his other to her.

  Looping her arm through his, she leaned against him as they made their way down the corridors. “Your father will be staying for some time,” he said. “Until a proper plan can be agreed upon, he will be here.”

  She hummed in agreement, “It will be good to have him back,” she whispered.

  Thane opened his mouth, then closed it again quickly as he reconsidered his words. “I wondered if you would like to leave,” he said. “Should you wish to return to Darner for a few days, I could escort you.”

  He could feel her eyes burning into the side of his face, taking him by immediate surprise. She looked away almost as soon as he looked at her, focusing on the next step she took in the dimly-lit corridors. “That’s very kind of you,” she whispered, “but I think we should stay. I feel like matters here are of far greater importance than my business in Darner.”

  Thane nodded slowly, “Normally, I would agree,” he said. “However, your brother wisely once told me that it’s important not to forsake the world outside a war, for when the war is over it’ll be all we have to turn to.”

  Seemingly pausing for a moment, in thought rather than in step, she tilted her head from side to side. “True as that might be,” she said, “I think I’d feel safest here.”

  Smiling, he nodded in agreement. There was no need to dwell on the impact Neyva’s first marriage had on her—it was clear to him in every decision she made. Once keen to get out of the palace, to separate herself from the life of her noble family, to make something for herself in Darner, she now retreated from all of that. Even if staying in the palace made her a target for the Alliance Council, or any of their other enemies, she seemed to feel a great deal safer here than anywhere else.

  Thane allowed himself to be led away, dumping his belongings less than ceremoniously in the corner of her chambers. He was quick to make his way to the couch, laying himself down without giving much consideration to the pillows or his clothing, or the fact that he was lying above the blankets that had been afforded to him.

  Neyva stood in her bed chambers, about to close the doors when she paused.

  As he combed his fingers through his hair, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes and rolling his aching shoulders back, he lifted his head at the sound of her approaching. “What’s the matter?” he croaked, withholding nothing.

  She licked her lips, picking at her cuticles as she avoided his gaze. Following her line of sight, she seemed to be taking in the state of his sleeping arrangements, haphazard as they were, “Are you sure I cannot interest you in the bed?” she asked, softly. “I reckon it’s big enough for us never to know the other was there.”

  He smiled, “I would know,” he said.

  Pursing her lips together, nodding as though she understood even when he knew she didn’t. “Thank you,” she said.

  Having closed his eyes and rolled over, he lifted his head from the pillow long enough to look at her, “For what?” he asked.

  “For your interest,” she said. “For your kindness, for your consideration—all of it.”

  Thane resisted rolling his eyes. Whatever she was thanking him for, he didn’t think he’d done enough of it. She thanked him for being civil, she thanked him for doing his duty, for being courteous as he was raised to be. None of it warranted thanks.

  Chapter 33

  THERE WAS A GENTLE knock on the nursery door and, gentle as it was, Malia’s heart leapt into her throat. Murderers didn’t knock, she tried to tell herself, rocking her son as she stilled her racing heart. Slowly, the door opened and both her parents crept inside. “We saw your guards posted at the door,” her mother said.

  Malia nodded slowly, “I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered. Tearing her eyes away from her son, she took in the sight of her parents instead. “Why are you both up?” she asked.

  Her mother shared a short glance with her father, a faint smile on her face that he responded to by drawing her into his side by the hip. “We took a walk through the gardens,” she replied softly.

  She watched them share their tender smiles, warmed by the everlasting nature of their love. Bringing her son closer to her chest, she couldn’t help but sigh, casting a glance out the window. It’d been a long time since they’d been able to talk a walk in the gardens.

  “What’s the matter?” her father asked.

  Malia licked her lips, shaking her head, “We’re no closer to finding out about this Council,” she said, “and, the longer they have the upper-hand on us, the more comfortable they get.”

  “Maybe it’ll be for the best,” her mother said.

  Malia glanced in her direction, raising an inquisitive brow.

  “The more comfortable they get, the more mistakes they make.”

  “Their mistake will be ever thinking they can get away with this,” her father said. “With everyone united again, it won’t be long...”

  “United or not, that does little to deal with the problems we’ll face if they ever make it inside this place,” she said. Faced with both their confusion, Malia quickly realised that neither of them had been told yet—Riffin had told the truth, he’d held this back until she knew. Biting the inside of her cheek, contemplating speaking plans without her husband, she shifted her weight
and clutched her son closer to her chest. “Riffin seems to want to invite the nobles for a celebration. We never had a proper coronation so he deems this a replacement.”

  Arms folded over her chest, her mother seemed to the same problems she did, casting her gaze elsewhere in silent thought.

  Her father, however, puffed out his cheeks and said nothing at first. Instead, he lowered himself into a seat on the couch.

  Malia raised a brow in his direction, scoffing when he met her gaze from beneath his lashes, “Surely you don’t agree with this,” she said.

  Kara glared at her husband out of the corner of her eye, then turning to him fully with utter disapproval in her widening eyes.

  Faced with his wife’s admonishment, his shoulders fell as he sat forward, “Think of all we accomplished by allowing the danger to get just that little bit closer to us,” he said.

  “Think of all the times we almost lost each other because of it,” Kara retorted. “We almost lost our lives. I almost lost you and—“ She cut herself off before she could go any further, withdrawing.

  “I know,” Jared said, softly.

  Kara sighed, turning her back on them both. Arms crossed against her chest, she withdrew from the conversation, only for the father and daughter to fall silent, having come to a dead end. “It’s not a bad idea,” Kara said.

  Malia turned her attention to her, intrigued by her mother’s sudden change of heart.

  She rolled her eyes, her lips turned down at the corners in an obvious scowl. “If you keep your guard up, their methods will always be more covert—they’ll keep their distance. Open yourself up, they’ll do whatever they can to exploit your vulnerability.”

  Malia knew she was right—the advantages weren’t lost on her in the slightest but, clutching her innocent son to her chest, overlooking her slumbering daughters, she couldn’t find it in herself to expose them to such a risk. “But what about the danger?” she asked. “You said it yourself, you almost lost each other,” she said. And, though her mother didn’t say it, they lost more than that—their firstborn.