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

by Frost Kay

  “My best qualities I’m told.”

  He released her, a hard expression taking over his face. “Leave now. Stay out of the way while the Jester does what he does best.”

  “And what is that?”

  Brine grinned, canines on display. “Cause chaos.”

  “Destin is out for blood. You’ll die if you don’t escape before you reach the execution courtyard. Trust in the Jester if you must, but if no escape comes before that point, you take that lockpick and escape.”

  “And what of the other members of the rebellion down here with me? What of them? You won’t leave me. What makes you think I’d leave my men?”

  She understood, she really did, but it didn’t stop the pain that rippled through her at the thought of losing him. “I wish I could guarantee the safety of all of you.”

  “No one’s life is certain. You cannot take responsibility for us. We’ve made our own choices.”

  He was speaking like he deserved to die. Like his life meant nothing. Like he’d resigned himself to death.

  “Listen here, wolf. Your life is not over,” Tempest hissed. “You’re getting out of this.”

  “I may not. But it is better me than you.”

  She jerked. “Not true. Your life is worth just as much as mine.”

  “That’s what makes you special, pup. If more people had your viewpoint, our world would be a better place. You’re in a position of authority, and soon, you’ll hold real power. Make sure that each decision you make reflects the sacrifices that have been given and will be given.” He retreated until he leaned against the back wall. “Remember you can’t win this war alone. Trust those around you and set your pride aside. The fox will get us out.” His tone held certainty. Brine had complete faith in Pyre.

  The wolf is an excellent judge in character. You trust him.

  While her mind knew that to be the truth, she couldn’t shake the kitsune’s final words during their recent meet-up.

  I will try.

  There was an uncertainty about it, like she didn’t know if Pyre could save Brine and the rest of his men.

  “I swear to all that is holy that if you don’t move your ass out of this prison, when I do get out, I’ll paddle you something fierce. Leave. I will not tell you again,” Brine threatened.

  She nodded slowly. There was no changing his mind, and her time was up.

  The dungeon door squealed, and Tempest stiffened. That wasn’t part of the plan. Was Levka coming for her?

  Brine’s wolf ears pricked up to attention, and he growled, his silver eyes glowing. “The prince,” he muttered just as Tempest heard the words Your Royal Highness echo down the staircase.

  Wicked hell. Why was the prince coming down to see the prisoners?

  Brine’s eyes flashed to her. “Go,” he urged.

  She bolted into the same alcove she’d hidden in before. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she prayed it was dark enough to conceal her. Tempest just barely pulled the train of her damned dress into the protection of her black cloak before footsteps echoed across the stone floor toward her.

  Don’t look left, don’t look left, don’t look left.

  Time slowed down as she released her dress and reached for the dagger secured at her waist. Her fingers curled around the cool hilt as she pulled it from the leather sheath. If Maven discovered her…

  You’d have to kill him.

  Her right hand shook, the tip of the blade rubbing against her dress. It was one thing to fight in battle, to defend herself. But if she attacked the prince…it was murder. Plain and simple. Her heart pounded, blood rushing through her ears. She’d be a murderer. A person couldn’t come back from that.

  Time slowed as Maven entered her view. He sauntered down the hallway, an expressionless Levka in his wake. The prince peered into each cell as he passed them as if searching for something. Or someone.

  She almost jerked when all the prisoners began to scream and rattle the iron bars. Tempest held her breath as Maven passed. Levka didn’t look in her direction but she was sure he knew she was there. She crept forward as the cacophony grew louder and louder still. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as her friend caught the movement and directed the prince’s attention to a cell at the far end of the hall.

  Now.

  Tempest burst from her space, her steps silent as she sprinted from the hall and up the stairs.

  No mistakes. Sweep the area.

  She paused behind the closed door and peeked outside. Only the three Hounds stood there. No ambush awaited her.

  With a stuttering breath, she nodded to the Hounds and ran as hard as she could. Tempest rounded the corner. The hallway was too long, too open.

  “Is someone here?” Maven’s voice floated to her.

  She ducked into the nearest alcove as his voice grew louder. Tempest peeked out from behind the wall hanging. The prince had reached the junction of the two hallways. He swung his head left and right, his eyes narrowed. Levka stood silently behind him.

  “My lord, there’s been no one here but the king.”

  “No one?”

  “Nobody, your highness,” her friend lied smoothly. “There is nobody here but you and my men.”

  Maven did not seem convinced. For a horrible moment, Tempest was sure he was going to come down the corridor after her, but instead, he skulked back the way he’d come. “I want to see the leader. I have a few questions of my own before they’re taken to my father…” His voice faded.

  She caught her breath and forced her muscles to move, even though her legs shook. There wasn’t time to consider what Maven was doing in the dungeons or whom he would be interrogating.

  What if he’s working with one of the rebels?

  The horrible thought stopped her in her tracks. She shook her head and cautiously made her way up two levels before entering the servants’ corridors. Her skin crawled the entire way back to her own rooms.

  She smiled pleasantly at the guards outside her door and entered, closing the door softly behind her. With care, she examined her room for any intruders. What had happened with the king earlier couldn’t happen again.

  You were almost caught. Again.

  Tempest kicked off her soiled slippers and tried to decide what to do. Should she hide, clean, or toss them out the window? Her gaze snagged on the fire. She’d burn them. She tossed them in the flames and added more wood to the fire, then she moved back to her wardrobe and put on another pair of black slippers.

  On autopilot, she drifted back to the mirror, making sure not one hair was out of place. She met her gaze in the glass. Her actions had been brash. She’d allowed herself to be ruled by emotion, and it could have cost many people their lives. Madrid would kill her when he discovered what she did.

  As you deserve.

  It pained her to admit, but Pyre and Brine were right. She had to trust others. If she didn’t, people would die, and that would be on her. It was against her very nature to do nothing, but maybe standing aside wasn’t as passive as she thought. It was a choice.

  She pulled the black cloak from her shoulders and stared at the woman in the mirror. A cold queen gazed back at Tempest. When had she become this distrusting, isolated person?

  “Who are you?” she whispered. The backs of her eyes burned.

  How would she help anyone if she lost herself in the process?

  “Accepting the king’s offer was a mistake.” Her soft words reverberated right down to her marrow.

  It didn’t matter that the Jester and the Dark Court considered her position as queen to be a boon to their cause. Or that the Hounds were making a move to strike against Destin. Every day closer to her wedding felt like a noose tightening around her throat.

  A bleak chuckle escaped her.

  Chances were that the king would try to kill her once he’d gotten what he wanted from her. It may not be tomorrow, or in two months’ time, but the inevitability was there. Every moment she was in the palace could be her last.

  She’
d been so focused on becoming a Hound, on securing a place on the war council, on ridding the kingdom of its underworld lord, on discovering the truth and securing freedom for all, that Tempest had forgotten why she’d started fighting at all.

  For honor and vengeance.

  There was no honor in marrying the king.

  Tempest turned her back on the woman in the mirror and tossed her cloak onto her bed. She’d been naïve to think she could secure equality for all just by marrying a powerful king and becoming his queen. She’d have to fight for it like everything else.

  Her uncles had given her many tools over the years. Dima constantly preached about the effectiveness of a mask or disguise.

  The queen in the mirror was Tempest’s mask.

  She’d play the king’s fierce new toy until the opportunity presented itself, and then she’d strike.

  Sixteen

  Tempest

  Her heart beat in tandem with every step she took toward the throne room, but she wore a cool mask of indifference. Showing weakness in front of Destin was not an option. She had to remain stoic and strong.

  Tempest felt anything but.

  Two young guards opened the tall white-and-gold double doors that led to the throne room. Her palms grew clammy as she entered and gained the attention of the two royals standing near the throne.

  Destin and his son.

  The prince eyed Tempest with obvious disdain but schooled it into something more pleasant when his father looked his way. She ignored the prince and approached the king with confident strides. The prince was suspicious of her, but if he had any real proof of her wrongdoings, she’d be in chains already.

  “You are looking well,” the prince murmured. “Such dark colors against your pale skin. One could almost say you look like a ghost.”

  “I’m very real, my lord,” she said, stopping before the two men and curtseying.

  “No doubt. You’ll fit right in. Ghosts haunt all parts of our castle, especially the dungeons. So many lost souls there.” His smile became predatory, and the look in the prince’s eyes dared her to spar with him.

  Not today, demon.

  Tempest risked a glance at the prince from beneath her lashes. “I don’t believe in such things.”

  Destin glanced between his son and her, a small smile playing about his mouth. “My Lady Hound is far too reasonable to believe such nonsense.”

  “Very true, sire. I tend to believe in what is tangible. Ghosts don’t leave evidence of their wicked behaviors. Humans do.”

  “How very astute,” the king praised.

  Tempest squashed her distaste for the condescension in Destin’s tone. Let him talk down to her. It would be his undoing for underestimating her.

  “I live to serve, my lord,” she said dryly.

  “Sarcasm. The lowest form of wit,” the prince quipped.

  Temp arched a brow at him. “Pot, meet kettle.”

  “You’re starting to learn already,” Destin commented, shaking his head, eyes crinkled in mirth.

  “What, my lord?”

  “Banter.”

  “Word play is just another form of warfare.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken.”

  The king held his hand out, and she took it. He maneuvered her until she stood between him and his son. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end when Maven stared down at her and pressed closer to her left side as Lord Betraz pulled the king’s attention away from them.

  “You may have my father beguiled, but I see you for what you are. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. You best keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong. It’s a long way to fall from where you are.”

  “Two cleverly worded threats in one day. What have I done to receive such attention from the prince?” she murmured, while surveying the room. Several aristocrats stood around, yawning and looking disheveled. Had the betrothal ceremony only happened last night? Tempest flicked a look at the prince. “You’re welcome to bestow them on anyone else.”

  His breath heated the side of her neck, and he leaned in closer. “You think you’re so much better than me. You think you can refuse your Crown prince anything?”

  “My allegiance lies with the king,” she said lightly. “You are not king.”

  The prince hissed out a breath, and his face slowly turned red. “Enjoy your freedom while you have it,” he bit out. “Soon, you’ll be the one on the execution block.”

  He stormed away, and Tempest hid her relief. Her neck tingled, and she longed to wipe any evidence of the prince away from her. There was something wrong with him. He was unhinged. She’d have to look out for that one. Evidence of any wrongdoing on his part would be an asset. If the king had reason to doubt his heir, then any accusations the prince threw against her would look unfounded. But that was an undertaking for another day.

  The king glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, holding his hand out in invitation once again. How could he look so damn happy when he was about to attend a mass execution? The prince wasn’t the only one unhinged—he came by it hereditarily.

  Lord Betraz gave her a faint smile, his bloodshot eyes looking weary. Had he even gone to bed, or was he still drunk from the night prior? She smiled prettily as he took her hand and kissed the back of it, murmuring empty compliments. He released her hand and gestured toward the balcony.

  “It will be quite a sight, no? The court always loves a little bit of blood sport.” An unholy gleam entered his gaze.

  With some difficulty, Tempest reined in her distaste for the hedonistic upper class. “Indeed,” she commented, her tone bland. She’d heard of Lord Betraz’s love for spilled blood, but she hadn’t known if the rumors were true until now.

  The doors to the throne room opened, pulling her attention. Tempest blinked and then managed to conceal her reaction as a huge, hulking man strode into the room. A Kopalian. A giant! She eyed him with intrigue. He was the largest person she’d ever beheld and that was saying something. The giant made Briggs look small. She eyed the muscles that strained the sleeves of his silk shirt and the size of his hand. He could probably crush her skull with just one palm. Intriguing.

  “What a bestial man,” the lord whispered. “How marvelous and barbaric.”

  “Brutes they may be, but strong allies they make,” the king said softly.

  The lord blanched and bowed deeply. “My apologies.”

  Destin nodded and held his elbow out to her. “My lady, shall we go?”

  She dutifully linked arms with him, then led the procession toward the execution grounds alongside the king.

  “What do you think of our Kopalian friend?” Destin whispered conspiratorially.

  What answer was the king looking for? “I know a warrior when I see one,” she replied honestly. “I would like to spar with him.”

  “Of course you would. Always ready for a challenge, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be.”

  They fell silent as they exited the palace and entered the Forsaken Grounds; Tempest had been there just once before. Dima had taken her there during her training, so she could understand what happened to those who were convicted of a crime and the seriousness of a Hound’s duty to look at all the facts. No one wanted innocent blood shed.

  She swallowed hard as her hatred for the place rushed to break free. The smooth black granite of the ground seemed to soak up all the light from above. She looked around at the raised plinth with two thrones and a small ornate chair to the left of the center throne and luxurious seats in rows below. The thrones stood like a sentinels over the grounds. The wind tousled her hair, and snow drifted over the onyx ground. Her gaze moved to the guillotine with its wicked blade gleaming in the dull morning light.

  Tempest lifted her skirts as the king escorted her up the plinth. Each step she took, her stomach knotted tighter. Sweet poison, how was she supposed to sit through this? What if Pyre wasn’t able to get the men out? There was no way she could sit silently while innocents wer
e executed.

  Trust. Trust. Trust.

  They reached the top of the plinth, and Destin patted Tempest’s arm, a gentle smile on his handsome face. “You can rest after this, Temp,” he said. “I imagine you’re exhausted after everything that went on last night. Justice will be served this day.”

  The king’s touch and his words made her skin crawl—though, in reality, his sentiments would have been comforting coming from anyone else. Anyone who meant them.

  Bile burned the back of her throat. “I admit, it’s been a trying few days.”

  “Don’t fret, darling. Everything will be all right.”

  She swore her heart skipped a beat as she stared up into the king’s face, so full of affection. Not because of his attention, but at the dangerous idea that planted itself in her head. One she wasn’t even sure she should attempt to consider.

  He led her around the thrones and sat her in the ornate chair, the prince taking up residence on the smaller throne to the king’s right. Destin held her right hand loosely in his own when he sat in the huge center throne as highborn lords and ladies filed in around them. Wine was poured into goblets, and the sour stench was almost enough to make her retch.

  Damn her, but her hands trembled.

  The king ran his thumb over the top of her knuckles and glanced down at her, his tawny hair falling boyishly over one eye. “Tempest?”

  Here’s your chance.

  “You are right,” she stated softly. “I am tired. But, more than that, I am troubled. By the execution, I mean.”

  Destin frowned at her. “Whatever do you mean? They must die. They—”

  “No, no, I agree with you,” she reassured him. Tempest stared up at him with earnestness. “It is just…I fear that killing the rebels now will merely serve to rile the Talagans further.” Tempest was disgusted at how easily the lies dripped from her tongue. “If we kill them now, then we would be making martyrs out of them. We could be dealing with even more assassination attempts within the palace as a result, and we might not be so lucky next time as to merely have the death of a handmaid on our hands.” She squeezed his fingers for good measure.