The Heir: A Snow White Retelling (The Twisted Kingdoms Book 3)

by Frost Kay

  “Not a problem. Just trying to keep the guests entertained until my father deigns to make an appearance,” she said, laughing softly.

  Ansette drifted through the room like a leaf in the wind, introducing Tempest to one highborn after another. After the seventh, Tempest began to see a pattern in the people she was being introduced to. They worked with the biggest merchants in the country or held political power along the borders of Heimserya with their neighboring nations—particularly those with which they were not friendly.

  They all seemed to hold the princess in high regard. Interesting. Tempest glanced at the girl from the corner of her eye. Ansette was forming alliances that her father was not necessarily privy to. Many saw a spoiled fourteen-year-old girl, but she was so much more than anyone gave her credit for. And Ansette clearly liked it that way…

  Just what are you up to, Princess?

  Ansette had many masks, apparently. She spoke about topics from trade to embroidery and everything in between. Not only that, but she remembered something personal about each person they spoke to. Tempest did her best to engage in the conversations, but the longer this went on, the more she felt like she didn’t belong.

  You belong wherever you want to.

  Dima’s words came back to her. She’d struggled as a young girl when training in espionage. He’d helped her to think like her targets and to become whoever she desired. That’s all this was. She needed to stop thinking that she was separate from their world. If she was to appeal to them in the days to come, she needed to take a page from Ansette’s book. So, Tempest laughed and joked and made witty comments until the aristocrats laughed and joked alongside her, until they weren’t looking at her like she was an outsider. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same.

  The king entered the room, and the sea of people bowed. He caught Tempest’s gaze and smiled, holding his hand out to her from across the room. A blatant command.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Tempest murmured politely.

  Her heart beat in sync with the clack of her heels as she crossed the marble floor. She wasn’t one for being summoned, but one never refused the king.

  “Hello, my darling,” he whispered as he took her hand and led her up the stairs to the dais.

  “My lord,” she said softly as he released her and took his throne. She sat demurely at his side. A banquet of food was laid before them on the table.

  “You look beautiful,” he murmured, signaling to the rest of the room that they should be seated and begin eating. His eyes roved over Tempest’s frame, but she resisted the urge to shiver in disgust.

  “You look handsome as always, Your Grace,” she replied.

  A pleased smile crossed his face, then he picked up a goblet of wine and began the meal.

  Not much was said throughout dinner which was a boon in her eyes. She exchanged pleasantries with the king as they made their way through the seven courses presented in front of them.

  “Aren’t you going to ask where I was?” the king asked.

  Tempest blinked and stared into his golden eyes. What did he want her to say? “It’s not my place to ask,” she answered carefully.

  “Come, now. Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he teased.

  “Curious, sure, but a Hound isn’t privy to information that’s unnecessary. If it’s necessary, you’ll tell me, I’m sure.”

  He chuckled and reached for her left hand. He kissed the back of her fingers. “Conversing with you is always stimulating. What an interesting woman you are.”

  She shrugged, not knowing what to say to that.

  “There have been more attacks,” he murmured.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Along the Dread Mountains and in Betraz. It’s seemingly random, but I’ve had the infantry in the areas mobilized.”

  “Betraz?” She took a slow sip of her wine. What were they doing near the giants’ border?

  “Yes. If the mongrels make trouble between Kopal and Heimserya, I won’t be pleased. Luckily, an ambassador of Kopal should be arriving soon. In fact…” the king trailed off, his gaze scouring the room. “I half expected him to be causing a ruckus among our guests.”

  “Intriguing,” she said, her mind still focused on the attacks. Were they of the Jester’s designs or of the extremists? “Am I needed there?”

  Destin glanced back at her with a smile and kissed her knuckles. “No, my dear. You’re exactly where I need you.”

  She almost gagged. Where she needed to be was far, far away.

  Madrid materialized, seemingly out of nowhere, and leaned in to whisper in the king’s left ear, his gaze meeting hers before settling over her shoulder as if Tempest was not there at all. Destin released her hand, and Tempest focused on her creamy dessert, her ears straining to hear what Madrid was saying.

  Blast it. She couldn’t hear a bloody thing.

  Madrid’s words were barely a whisper, and Destin’s expression was blank. The king betrayed nothing when he waved Madrid away. Then he stood up, and Tempest braced for the betrothal toast.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the king said, sweeping his arms in a grand gesture until the room was silent and all eyes were on him. “It is my greatest pleasure to have you all here to celebrate my betrothal to Lady Tempest. Many of you had hoped—nay, had pushed—for me to remarry, so I hope my choice of bride satisfies that desire.”

  Cheers and whistles filled the air.

  She kept her smile in place.

  “Tempest has brought me many things,” Destin continued. “Joy, excitement, companionship. But she has brought me far more than such personal feelings.” He paused for dramatic effect. “She’s delivered triumph after triumph for our country against the enemy. I have made no secret that she is responsible for bringing the heart of the Jester to me. Then, she fought valiantly by my son’s side when he was ambushed. Though she could not save him…” the king trailed off as if choked up.

  Tempest’s smile didn’t waver despite her sorrow and the disgust she felt for the king. He was a liar. He was partly responsible for his son’s death. It was vile.

  “She made certain as many rebels as possible who were responsible for Blain’s death were slaughtered. So, it gives me great pleasure to tell you—tell her”—Destin turned his gaze to Tempest, a fierce grin on his face, and her stomach dropped—“that we have abducted several members of the rebellion who were found sneaking into the city. They will be executed in three days’ time as payment for the death of my firstborn son. Though nothing will bring him back, I feel their deaths are appropriate retribution for his slaughter. Let this be a warning to the rebellion that we do not stay our hands. We will wreak vengeance upon them until they are completely snuffed out.”

  Destin’s speech was met with rapturous, fervent applause, which she had to work hard to emulate. Tempest’s mind spun. Who had he captured? She’d dealt with those who’d attacked the former Crown prince. Sure, the Dark Court had been present and were guilty, but it was the king who’d had the information leaked about where his son would be. The king held responsibility for killing his own flesh and blood.

  The king turned to her and held his hand out. She had no choice but to take it and stand. He brushed his calloused thumb across the top of her hand and crooned in her ear, “Won’t you join me in my chambers for some fire whiskey after this, my Lady Hound?”

  Refuse.

  Every fiber of her being wanted to say no, but the die had been cast. She took a step closer to him, the metal of the blade at her thigh and the heavy weight of the poisoned pins in her hair giving her strength and courage.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Six

  King Destin

  He could spend ages watching the Lady Hound. Destin observed her over the rim of his glass of fire whiskey, a small smile on his face as Tempest—his queen-to-be—warmed herself by the fire. There was an alertness to her posture, evident even with her back turned to him, that gave away the fact that Tempest was no s
oft lady but was, indeed, a formidable warrior. Even the delicate, sweeping dress with its embroidered bodice and jeweled neckline could not hide this fact. Tempest was dressed as a lady, yes, but she was most definitely not one. She was something feral…

  A lioness.

  Amusement simmered in his chest as she slightly turned, so he was awarded with her profile. Her gaze may have been on the fire, but her attention was most certainly focused on him. The king had always liked that about Tempest. She was a born and bred predator, just like him…which made the hunt even more fun. His heart rate increased in anticipation when she took a deep breath, her breasts straining against the top of her dress. Sweet poison, the temptation to lure her into his bed was almost impossible to resist, but that would ruin all the fun. Destin had been seducing women for long enough to know that the hunt was the best part. He had to extend it for as long as he could, so the victory would be all the sweeter.

  He stretched and stood from his chair, his fur robe trailing behind him. The king approached Tempest and soaked in the heat from the roaring fire. He hid his smile behind his glass when she turned to face him. Always wary… It would be an immense pleasure bringing her to heel.

  She met his gaze head-on, as she always did, and his body heated. She never hid from him, nor cowered. Tempest was wise enough to fear him and yet…she still held her ground, apparently not intimidated one bit. He reached out slowly and brushed his thumb along her collarbone, noting the small change in her placid expression and the hitch in her breath. His lips hooked to the side in a crooked smile. The little Hound wasn’t completely unaffected by him.

  Destin dropped his hand.

  “I must be honest, my Lady,” he said. “I’m surprised you accepted my invitation to have a drink.” He arched a brow as he eyed her empty hands. “Though, I must note that you don’t actually have a drink.”

  “You never offered, my lord.”

  He smiled and gestured to the fire whiskey. “What is mine is yours, darling. What would you like?”

  She shifted, putting more space between their bodies. She smiled ruefully at him and shook her head, a loose periwinkle curl falling against her pale cheek. “I assure you that I had enough wine earlier. If I add that to the mix, I’m sure I would be very ill come morning.”

  “Ill?”

  Tempest frowned. “I suppose I’m not to speak about such things, or so I’m told.”

  “Your candor is welcome,” he murmured.

  She scrutinized him like she was trying to decipher if he meant his words or not. “If you wish.” Tempest rubbed the back of her head. “If I’m honest, my head aches something fierce from all these bloody pins, and I can barely breathe in this dress. I swear a sadist must have invented the corset. It is a torture device to be sure.”

  Destin chuckled. “I’ll make sure to mention that to the dungeon master.”

  “Just make one of the prisoners wear one of these for an hour, and they’ll give you any information you need.”

  He shook his head and took another sip of whiskey as they both lapsed into silence. “It was a long day, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep on my feet.” She gestured at his whiskey. “Another reason why I’m abstaining from spirits. I’m sure the alcohol would knock me out where I stand.” She paused and then glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “And I don’t think either one of us wants that.”

  The king blinked slowly and cocked his head. Many women had looked at him with hot eyes and come-hither smiles in his lifetime. He knew she was an innocent, but the heated look she threw his way could have made the most seasoned courtesan proud. What was his betrothed playing at? Whatever it was, he was willing to wager she wasn’t prepared for the outcome.

  Destin set his glass on the mantel and took one gliding step forward. He brushed a hand down Tempest’s left arm and clasped her fingers between his own, satisfying himself by bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it. She was a puzzle of opposites. The back of her hand was soft while her fingertips were calloused.

  He flicked a glance upward as he turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist, making sure to drag his tongue along her pulse point. A shiver worked through Tempest’s body that caused her hand to tremble ever-so-slightly between his. He grinned against her skin as her expression melted into one of apprehension. Pleasure ran up his spine as he met her gaze once more and sucked lightly on her wrist. Anticipation filled him as he pushed up her sleeve, revealing more creamy skin. Just how far was she willing to go in this game she’d started?

  Destin lifted his head to place a kiss just beneath her elbow when Tempest skillfully twisted her arm and deftly moved out of his grasp. He watched her from beneath the fringe of his hair and straightened. She was slippery. One moment in his arms, the next warming herself next to the fire like nothing had passed between them. That could be problematic in the future. He would need to acquire more rope and manacles. His last rope had been disposed of, alongside his mistress.

  Tempest caught his stare and gave him a small smile, color high in her cheeks as she held her hands out to the flames. Her embarrassment was a surprise. He hadn’t expected a blushing virgin, but he was enjoying it. Although he knew she was innocent, he had expected her to be more open and honest about her interest in such matters as to what went on behind closed doors at night. She clearly wasn’t naïve as to what happened between men and women. Hell, she’d grown up in the barracks. Perhaps what made her so worldly was almost what made her innocent. The Hounds no doubt had protected her from any advances. As they should.

  He smirked.

  Women had one purpose and one purpose only: to create heirs. They were never supposed to be promiscuous…or, at least, not unmarried women. And though he enjoyed the company of loose married women, reveling in their skill in the bedroom, once the pleasure dissipated, his loathing for them returned. It was in a man’s right to take whom he’d like to bed, but women were the vessels for the next generation. By tainting themselves with lovers, they polluted the highborn bloodlines, which was unforgivable. Which is why the moment he tired of them, they were disposed of. A female creature driven by lust was the devil in disguise and deserved to be destroyed.

  What kind of woman was Tempest? Would his queen be honorable, or would he kill her?

  Only time would tell.

  Destin contented himself with the soft silence that settled between them once again. He plucked his whiskey from the mantel. Slowly, he took a long sip, his attention moving between the flames and his soon-to-be queen.

  She rubbed the back of her skull and then pulled a long pin from her coiffure. Shining periwinkle curls tumbled down her back, and she sighed. The king froze, his arousal rising as she shook out her hair. A soft moan escaped her lips. Tempest was playing with the devil, and she didn’t even know it.

  His betrothed stiffened and abruptly faced him, looking like she’d just taken a tumble in his bed. She stepped into his space and pushed onto her tiptoes, placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek.

  “I am very tired, Your Grace,” she whispered breathily. “Perhaps next time, we do not wait until the end of a banquet to converse with each other in private. Good night.”

  He reined in his rampant desire and watched silently as she pulled open his door and left. Despite what he had decided earlier, he was tempted to run out after her and drag her back to bed by her glorious hair if he must.

  Destin ran a hand over his face and chuckled to himself. Either she was the world’s best actress, or she really was genuine.

  If it was the latter, it was a shame he’d have to ruin her.

  Seven

  Tempest

  Somehow, Tempest always found herself fleeing from the king’s chambers. Goosebumps still stood along her arms fifteen minutes later, and she scowled and rubbed at them. She was a bloody Hound for heaven sakes. Why was she running from that scoundrel? It wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle him.

 
; He scares you.

  She wrenched her door open and stormed inside her rooms. Two maids squeaked in surprise at her arrival. Tempest paused and eyed them as they gazed back with wide eyes. Licking her lips, she smiled softly and held her hands out placatingly. She didn’t need to scare the poor staff any more than she already had. Plus, most of the castle suspected Tempest had gone with the king; no need to stir up gossip about how ruffled she was.

  “I can handle it from here,” Tempest said gently.

  “We haven’t finished turning down your bed and your dress, my lady,” the maid closest to the fire murmured with a little curtsey.

  “I’ve been undressing myself the entirety of my life. I can manage one more night. Thank you for your help, but you’re dismissed.”

  Both maids bobbed curtsies and scampered from the room.

  Tempest’s smile fell, and she stared at the closed door for far too long, rubbing her bottom lip. She cringed and rushed toward the wash basin sitting on an orange side table to the left of her bed. The skirts of her dress tangled around her legs. She yanked them out of the way. Hastily, she poured some water into her mouth, swished, and spat into the basin before using clean water from the pitcher to scrub her lips and face. Even though the king hadn’t kissed her lips, she still swore she could taste his whiskey in her mouth. The stuff was that potent. She snatched a mint leaf from a dainty saucer and popped it into her mouth. The sharp, pungent flavor drowned out the fire whiskey.

  What had she been thinking tonight? It was one thing to tolerate Destin’s advances but another thing to encourage them. She cringed at the memory of him sucking on her wrist. Tempest yanked up the long lace sleeve of her dress and cursed. A mouth-sized red and purple bruise was already forming. He’d given her a love bite.

  Disgusted, she tugged the sleeve down over the evidence and prowled toward the fire, shivering. The memory of his touch made her feel cold and empty.