The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  He raked his fingers through his damp hair, hoping to relieve himself of the burning flush that stung his skin. He turned on his heel, breathing out steadily.

  Neyva stepped into his path, arms folded over her chest. “You’re weak,” she said, adamantly. “You need to lie down.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, he took a step forward. Very much in her nature, she did the same, squaring up to him with the same muster of intimidation that he had intended. “If I lie down without finding out what poison did this to me, I might never get up again,” he said.

  Realisation sank in and showed on her features, the severity of her anger dissipating, her eyes dropping.

  Licking his lips, they stung against the air. “Someone’s out to hurt this family,” he whispered, “and I’m going to do my part to keep this family safe if I have to check every piece of fruit on every damn tree in the Capital.”

  Hanging her head, she stepped out of his way. Her heels clicked against the stone ground, continuing to follow him out into the dining room.

  “Anything?” Malia asked, rising to her feet.

  Swallowing, his throat dry, he shook his head. “The food that’s fed to the children is accounted for and clean,” he said.

  Malia’s shoulders dropped and she took a step forward, “Are you sure?” she asked.

  Riffin held a hand out in front of her, keeping her from moving further, “Enough,” he chided quietly. “If he said it’s clean then it’s clean.”

  “No,” Thane cut in, swaying on his feet, reaching out to hold onto the back of a chair. “She’s right to be concerned—if I didn’t taste what poisoned me then she’s right to doubt me.”

  Malia’s shoulders fell further, ample regret awash her features. She had no reason for it—he doubted himself.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I tasted nothing,” he continued, “but we can be as cautious as we need to be in the meantime.”

  Riffin pursed his lips together, lifting himself from the table. “Your parents are least recognisable in Lionessa,” he said, looking to Malia, “send them out to buy food for the children. All the children—have them account for those of the servants and—”

  “Of course,” she said, mustering a smile.

  “Good,” he quipped quietly. The world around him shifted in and out of focus. “Now that that’s settled—” He spun on his heel to leave and the world spun with him, his next step forward uncertain. The dimly lit room blurred into darkness, the speckles of golden candlelight dancing before his eyes.

  Hands grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and there was no mistaking their owner. “I’m going down,” he confessed, softly.

  “I know,” Riffin said. “I have you.”

  His heart sank in his chest, the air vacated his lungs and his knees hit the ground. He reached out, searching for safety. His fingers grasped the air at first, then came in contact with a shoulder, cool, delicate fingers atop his.

  Chapter 7

  RECOGNISING HIS RUSHED PACE as he made his way down the corridor, the guards pulled open the throne room doors in time for him to slip through without breaking his pace. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. His mother and father glanced his way, eyes flooded with sympathy at the sight of the obvious grogginess.

  There was no need to wonder what had brought upon such a state. Thane’s poisoning had alarmed them all, stripping them of their ability to sleep.

  Worry hung over each and every one of them. While they did their utmost to shield Thane’s state from the guards and servants, everybody knew what had brought this on. The ‘Master of Poisons,’ as he was often called, had been poisoned, and if there was no hope for him, what hope was there for them?

  “How’s Thane?” his father asked.

  His reasons were more personal than political. Thane grew up alongside Riffin, sat with him in his lessons—including those with his father. He doted on him in the same way he did his own son.

  The ache in Riffin’s chest was immediate. He’d torn himself away from his side for an hour—just enough time to rest his eyes, bathe and change, so as to rid himself of the stench of sweat and blood. He needed a clear mind. He couldn’t dwell on the negativity—not if he was to move forward. “In and out,” he said. “The physician is with him but there’s nothing to do but keep him comfortable. It’s up to him to pull through.”

  “I’ve sent word to his father,” his mother said.

  Riffin scoffed. “What good would that do?”

  His mother hung her head, pursing her lips together as she mustered her patience. “I know how you feel about him,” she said, “but, for Thane’s sake, it would be best if you kept matters civil between you.”

  He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and smirked. “You know I’ve always tried my best,” he said.

  “And I admire your efforts,” his father quipped, though of little worth coming from a man who possibly had less respect for Ewin than he did.

  “May we move on?” his mother asked.

  Riffin cleared his throat, and wiped his mind— for just a moment—of his friend. “What have we learnt?”

  “That Niles and Pietros are running out of time,” she replied, casting her gaze towards an elaborate map of Ludorum. “Their men have held off the rebels and they’ve turned them away but they look to be going back for reinforcements.”

  “And they’ll be faced with our men—they won’t win.”

  “They will if they can’t get there,” she replied.

  His father nodded, supplementing her observation, “If we outnumber their forces along the way, pose no threat to the innocent, no one will move against us.”

  “We can only hope,” she said.

  “The numbers are important,” Riffin said. “Too few and they’ll think they can take us in a fight—it’ll be a bloodbath of scared, innocent victims. Too many and it’ll be far worse—the panic will push people to fight, word will travel to the rebels and they’ll be prepared—then it’ll be a bloodbath for us all.”

  “Smart boy,” his mother murmured, eyeing him from beneath her lashes with some semblance of admiration.

  “Numbers aren’t our only concern,” his father said.

  Way ahead of him. Riffin nodded curtly, “No,” he agreed. “Timing is of equal importance.”

  “Assuming we want to keep Niles and Pietros alive—”

  “Which we do,” his mother interjected with a raised brow.

  “Then we need to be early enough to get to them before the rebels do,” he said.

  “But not early enough that we give the rebels opportunity to arm themselves against us.”

  “Correct.”

  “The last of the rebels will convene with the rest in three days,” Gyles said, entering briskly.

  His mother lifted her gaze in Riffin’s direction, sympathetic, “Which means we need to leave.”

  “We?” his father asked, raising his brow. “There’s no ‘we’ here.”

  “Riffin and I will be going,” she said, sternly. “As is Gyles.”

  A shiver ran down Riffin’s spine at the thought of leaving—he never wanted to be home more than now—but nothing paralleled the horror on his father’s face. “I don’t want to be apart from you,” he pleaded, speaking through a tense jaw.

  “I need you to stay behind and take care of matters here,” she said.

  “Riffin can do that,” he said, cocking his chin in his direction. “He can stay here where he’s safe and—”

  “Riffin needs to be seen as formidable, and his part in rectifying matters with Ludorum needs to be seen,” she said. “And Neyva needs you here. If Thane—”

  “Don’t say that,” Riffin said, cutting her off, shaking his head. He could stomach her using every other argument to convince his father to stay but not that one. The thought it was there, even fleetingly, disturbing the back of his mind. But hearing it said aloud was about more than he could bear.

  “If Thane is stuck in bed,” she started, un
derstanding, “someone is going to have to get to the bottom of this,” she said. “And there’s no one I can trust to make sure our home is safe more than you.”

  His father shook his head adamantly, pulling himself away from the table and folding his arms over his chest. “He checked the food already—it’s safe,” he said.

  Riffin hung his head, hunched over as he was, fighting every fibre in his being that told him to agree with his father and stand against his mother. “Father,” he pleaded, a croak in his voice. His father gave him his undivided attention, his eyes dark but very much attentive. “Someone’s hurt Thane—the most dutiful man in this entire kingdom—I know that doesn’t sit right with you, and I need you to stay behind and see to it that that crime is paid for.”

  It was a tall ask, but one he knew his father would see through. After years of having Thane at his side, sitting in on his lessons with him, he’d grown to love Thane like a second son and he provided him with the love and concern he so rarely got from Ewin.

  His father’s eyes narrowed darkly as he considered his request. “The two of you certainly know how to manipulate a man into doing your bidding,” he hissed softly.

  Stomaching his words to the best of his ability, Riffin shifted his weight against the table. “It makes the most sense,” he said, telling himself as much as his father. “I’ll leave with mother. You stay behind and take care of this family.”

  Reluctantly, his father nodded, squeezing his eyes shut, undoubtedly against the thought of possibly losing his wife and son in one fell swoop.

  “We need to move quickly,” Gyles said. “Best we start sending word out, putting the armies Thane accumulated in the right places together. We’ll meet them on the way.”

  The weight on his heart grew, and he could just about feeling it pressing on the pit of his stomach.

  From having schemed to survive the scheming of others, to survive the betrayal and the potential rebellion, and having survived it all—he couldn’t bear the thought that his death, once again, seemed just about reassured. A death that would come from saving the people who wished his family harm in the first place.

  Chapter 8

  SAT BY HIMSELF ON the front steps of the palace, only days after his tenth birthday, Riffin perched his chin in his hands. Pouting, eyes narrowed against the sun in his eyes, he watched the soldiers—little speckles of darkness as they crossed the path of the blinding sun—pacing atop the walls.

  An hour out there, watching the comings and goings of people, and the sweat slid down his spine, the sensation causing him to shudder as it tickled.

  The soldiers that passed him by paid him respect with a smile and a bow of their heads. The messengers, or foreigners, stared at him wide-eyed as they crossed his path, wondering what a Prince was doing by himself, seated in the dust, as though waiting for someone.

  That waiting did him little good and, after what must’ve been two hours, he rose to his feet and went back inside. The dark interior of his home came as a relief after hours of squinting in the sunlight and walking through the long dark corridors was enough to rid his body of the burning, stinging heat that clung to his skin.

  Heels clicked against the stone floors. A familiar sound. He lifted his gaze just as his mother came into view. He came to an abrupt stop, standing to the side, bowing his head. It was only when she stopped in front of him that he addressed her. “Your Majesty,” he said, a quiet croak in his voice.

  When her mind was filled with matters of politics, troubled by concerns her messengers laid upon her shoulders, she would carrying the weight of being Queen throughout the palace. In those times, he did his best to stay out of her way.

  Other times, she was very much his mother.

  She crouched down to his height, her hands on either side of his face as she brought him to look at her. “What’s the matter, my little Prince?” she asked. Her brow wrinkled with concern, her eyes searching for the answers in his, scrutinising the way his lip wobbled against the want to cry.

  He puffed out his chest, shaking his head, and swiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. “Nothing, mother,” he whispered.

  She cocked his chin up, bringing him to lift his attention back to her. “Don’t lie to me,” she whispered. “What’s the matter?”

  He shrugged his shoulders but he said nothing at first, fearful his voice would crack. “Father—”

  She leaned in, “What about him?” she asked, unconcerned.

  “Father left for the day,” he whispered, “and gave me time away from my lessons.”

  She broke into a smile. It would be too good to be true to hope her son would be so studious as to miss his lessons when given a break.

  No longer containing himself, he threw his hands up at his sides. He couldn’t help himself. “Thane isn’t allowed time away from his lessons,” he whispered. “It’s no fun without him.”

  Her brows twitched then, her concern for him taking a turn, but her smile stayed where it was, shifting somewhat—well-placed and polite, now more political than maternal. “Has Thane been in lessons all morning?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I thought I’d ask Ewin when he got back but—”

  She mustered a greater smile. “Perhaps we can ask his tutor,” she said. She rose to her feet and extended her hand to him, prompting him to take it.

  Deep down, he knew this wasn’t a matter for his mother to be dealing with. He knew she wasn’t meant to be pulling other peoples children out of their lessons. She was Queen—she was meant to be ruling her kingdoms. Nonetheless, sensing his hesitation, she took his hand in hers and kissed the back of his fingers before starting on the path towards the chambers Thane shared with his mother and father. She knocked once. Then a second time, letting go of his hand, and folding her arms over her chest as she waited.

  Nothing.

  His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. “I’ll check the study room?” he tried.

  She nodded curtly, licking her lips. Then, a guard made his way down the corridor, and she brought Riffin to a stop. “Is Thane in the study room?” she asked, having seen him come from that way.

  He shook his head, “No, your Majesty,” he said. “The door was open and nobody appeared to be there.”

  She knocked on the door again, only to hear a muffled sound from the other side.

  Riffin couldn’t contain himself any longer, pushing past his mother and opening the door.

  Thane was a small, vulnerable figure, even at full strength. Seated on the ground, leaning over a steel basin, his golden curls fell in front of his red, sobbing eyes. Little fingers moved from clasping the bowl to swiping at his damp cheeks, unable to keep up with the rate he cried.

  “Thane!” Riffin ran to him, as did his mother, throwing his arms around his shoulders, searching his face for the causes of the grief.

  Thane’s moment of relief was short lived at the sight of the Queen. He pulled his shoulders back, doing his utmost to sit up straight, chewing into his bottom lip as he willed himself to stop crying.

  “Darling, what’s the matter?” the Queen asked, cupping his face in his hands.

  Thane, looking a great deal paler than usual, dropped his gaze. A hiccup in the back of his throat, he struggled to contain himself, though did his very best to quash his fears.

  “What’s wrong?” Riffin asked, running his fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong?”

  Thane trembled and sunk his teeth further into his bottom lip. “I’m failing,” he said, quickly.

  Riffin shook his head, not understanding, but, looking to his mother and seeing the look of horror flood her expression, he knew she did. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good, leaving him to draw his young friend into his side.

  “Is this a test?” his mother asked, wide-eyed and flooded with alarm.

  Thane nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Riffin squeezed his shoulders tighter. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said.

  His mother r
ose to her feet, turning to the guard and uttering something Riffin couldn’t hear. She was enraged. Her eyes were ablaze, much like they were when she dealt with unfavourable news her messengers brought. When she returned, all anger had dissipated. Her gaze was softer now, like it was whenever she doted on him. The Queen was gone again. She was his mother.

  She licked her lips, tucking her hand beneath Thane’s chin. “This is important,” she said. “What must you do to expel it?”

  Thane’s eyes fell to the basin between them, abandoned in favour of clinging to the front of Riffin’s shirt.

  “You can do this,” she said.

  He shook his head quickly. “I can’t,” he whispered.

  “Yes, you can,” she said, adamantly. “To arrive at a test, you must’ve had your lessons,” she said.

  Riffin looked down to find him pursing his lips together. “I’m scared,” Thane confessed.

  His mother smiled softly, squeezing his shoulder, “I know you are,” she whispered, “but we’re with you—we won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  Having his mother rip Thane from his grasp, Riffin never felt such a surge to be violently protective before. Fear struck him at his core, but the way his mother looked at him from over Thane’s shoulder told him to trust her.

  It wasn’t about him. It was about Thane. She knew what she was doing and having her convince him with an argument took time and attention from the one who needed it the most. So he didn’t argue. He let her pull him out of his grasp and watched as she placed him at her side.

  Quietly, she put the basin in front of them and stroked the hunch of his back as Thane threw himself over it, retching violently to little result. “Go on,” she said.

  Riffin crawled to sit himself beside him, following the pattern his mother had set along Thane’s back. “Go on,” he told him.

  The sickness, the shuddering agony, all came at once. Thane’s body wracked with sobs, his mother smiled—not with delight but with relief—as she combed his blond curls away from his sweat-slick forehead. “You’re all right,” she whispered. “You’re all right.”