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

by Frost Kay

  Robyn glanced up from her mashed potatoes and locked eyes with her papa. So, he wanted to have it out at the dinner table? She pushed her plate away and braced herself.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she managed.

  He rolled his eyes and pointed a fork at her. “Stop pretending. Tomorrow, I have to leave. We need to discuss what will happen should I die.”

  She stood abruptly, her chair screeching across the polished floor. “This is stupid. You can’t possibly go!”

  “We have no other choice. If I do not go, the soldiers will come and drag me from the house, or worse they’ll look for John.”

  Her heart squeezed at the mention of her twin. Only a year since his death. Only a year since everything began to truly fall apart. “There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t, dearest.”

  “Who will care for Mama? She needs you.” It was a low blow to bring up her mum, but Robyn was desperate.

  Her father’s expression faltered. “She’ll have you and Maya. I’ll be home before you know it.”

  She placed her palms on the table and stared at its shiny surface. If her father joined the king’s army, he wouldn’t be coming home and he knew it. “So, what happens if you don’t come home?” Robyn lifted her head, gazing over the tips of the flickering candles that ran down the middle of the long table. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Protect your mother and yourself.”

  “What of the people of Locksley?” she asked.

  “Just do the best you can.”

  “As John or Robyn? Do you want me to pretend to be your son or your daughter?”

  Her papa stood slowly. “As yourself of course.”

  She pushed away from the table and shook her head, pacing behind her chair. “People will ask questions. I won’t be able to keep this secret if you go.”

  “Our people have always known John is sickly. It’s why we’ve kept so isolated. There will be questions but nothing we can’t handle.”

  Robyn chuckled, and her throat began to tighten. All of this was wrong. “We won’t be able to hide the truth forever. Your son is dead.” Her papa flinched, but she carried on. “We’ve hidden the truth for over a year to protect our people and our home. I can’t live as two people. I live as my twin.” She rubbed at her brow. “If you don’t come home, John will be expected to marry—I will be expected to marry. Women will come from all over to seek the heir of the house of Locksley. Except they won’t find him. They’ll only discover a fraud in his place and when that happens the Crown will seize everything we own, and Mama and I will be locked up, or worse, hung. If you leave, this is our future.” She took a deep breath and soldiered on. “But if you let me go in your stead—”

  “Out of the question!” her papa interrupted, shaking his head. “I will not have you head to battle.”

  “I am well trained,” she answered evenly. “I can fight as well as any man. You made sure of that.”

  “You’d be living with men. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  She snorted. “I have been impersonating my brother since I was a child. I’ve grown up with the menfolk in our area with no one the wiser. I wear boys’ clothing more than I wear dresses these days. I’ve long since abandoned what is proper.”

  His face flushed red. “It’s not safe.”

  Robyn threw her arms in the air. “We are on the verge of collapse. One mistake could bring our lives tumbling down. Nothing is safe in Merjeri, nothing.”

  “Enough, Marian Robyn Locksley!” he barked, his voice booming.

  She flinched. He rarely raised his voice.

  “We’ve done what is necessary to keep our people safe, but I will not sacrifice anything more. I will not sacrifice my only child.”

  “Your last child,” she whispered, her eyes heating.

  Her father limped to her side and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you, Marian. You are the bright spot in my day, and I’ll be damned if you take one more thing upon your shoulders.”

  He stiffly hobbled out of the room, and Robyn gulped down air as she tried not to cry. Life had never been easy in their home, but as a family they’d made the best of it. They had achieved happiness despite adversity. All of that seemed to disappear when her twin died. It was as if he’d taken the light from the world with him.

  She angrily wiped the tears from her face and glared at the lavish dining room. Sometimes, she wished they’d been lowborn. No one would be eyeing their holdings like a plump goose to pluck then.

  Her twin’s health had been concerning growing up, but they’d been able to keep it mostly under wraps. Their servants were fiercely loyal and never spoke about the young master’s frailty. His delicate figure was scorned in the world but was a blessing in disguise. It made it that much easier for Robyn to go for rides, play with the children of the holdings, and train with weapons growing up, all the while pretending to be John. Living as two people hadn’t been easy but it had afforded her more freedom, and her brother loved hearing the stories of her adventures.

  His death had changed things.

  Their ruse had been a source of protection over the years, but now it was more necessary than ever. Locksley had always been a profitable fiefdom. The lords of Merjeri had been salivating over it for years. They imposed unreasonable taxes and caused all sorts of mischief to get their hands on her father’s lands, but it all came to nothing because of her father’s careful planning.

  John’s death changed that. Without an heir, their land and people were completely vulnerable. Robyn pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. For the last year, playing her twin wasn’t a fun pasttime, but a duty that rested heavily on her shoulders.

  She lifted her head and gazed at the mirror across the room, her splotchy reflection staring back at her. She pushed her hair over her shoulders, and it was as if John was looking at her. Their resemblance had always been striking.

  You only have one choice.

  Robyn swallowed and steeled her nerves. The fact of the matter was that they could not lose her father. She had no choice but to fight in his stead as John.

  “And the fairies settled into their beds…” she trailed off, peeking over the edge of the book. Her father sat in his chair, chin to his chest with eyes closed, snoring softly. He usually read to her mama, but tonight he wasn’t up for it.

  Robyn closed the book softly and stood, setting it on the high-backed leather chair. She moved to the large bed and pulled the covers up over her mum’s shoulder. Her mother blinked sleepily up at her and smiled before her hand snuck out and grasped Robyn’s.

  “Thank you, daughter, for all you do.”

  She froze and peered down at her mum, noting the lucidity in her eyes. Dropping to her knees, she pressed her mum’s palm against her cheek. “I love you.”

  “As I love you. You and your brother are my greatest gifts.” Her mum smiled softly. “I see a restlessness in your spirit, and I see what you do for our family. Don’t let duty rob you of your joy or living your own life.”

  “I promise,” she whispered.

  Her mum’s expression changed, and she patted Robyn’s cheek. “Make sure to tell your brother I wish for him to visit tomorrow and that I know it’s him getting into my sweets.”

  The lucid moments were few and far between. Robyn swallowed heavily. “I promise.”

  She stood and tucked her mum in once again before placing a blanket over her father’s lap. On light feet, she left their chambers and snuck to her own. Quickly, she began to pack. If she left within the hour, she would arrive at the northern regiment by dawn.

  Dressed in her boys’ clothes, she moved to her mirror and pulled out her dagger.

  One last thing to do.

  Robyn grabbed a handful of her waist length hair and cut it. A chunk of black hair fell to the floor. There weren’t any tears. With each cut, she left behind the girl she was and became a new person. She eyed her work. Her hair brushed the top of her shoulders and with her bre
asts bound and dressed in male clothing, she looked exactly like her brother.

  There wasn’t time to mourn. She swiped the sheared locks of hair from the floor and tossed them into the fire. Emotion swelled in her chest, but she shoved it down ruthlessly.

  Today, Robyn ceased to exist.

  Only John remained.

  Twenty-Five

  Pyre

  Seven days until the wedding

  “You don’t want us to attack now?” Maxim asked, his thick brows furrowed together. The big man crossed his arms as he stared at the map on the small table in the center of the room.

  Pyre shook his head. “No. The palace is a poor place to strike. We won’t be able to smuggle in enough men for a strong attack.”

  Dima picked at his nails. To anyone else, he’d seem disinterested, but Pyre guessed the man had already figured out ten ways to kill everyone in the room. He may be shorter and of slighter build, but Pyre knew a viper when he saw one. Out of all the men, Dima caused his hackles to raise. The assassin was the kind of danger you didn’t see until it was too late.

  “The Hounds are an army in and of themselves,” Maxim argued.

  “He’s right,” Madrid said softly. “Even with our skills, we wouldn’t be able to take on the king’s army by ourselves.”

  “It would be easy to kill Destin,” Dima commented, his tone flat. “He’ll be on display for all to see on the day of the wedding.”

  “True, but then we’d have to contend with Maven,” Madrid countered. “He is unknown to us.”

  Pyre snorted. His half-brother wasn’t an unknown variable. He was a psychopath who thrived of sadism.

  “Something to add?” Brine asked, his silver eyes narrowed on Pyre.

  “I agree with Madrid in this instance. As much as I would love to wipe Destin from this earth in less than a week, it would be to our detriment. Maven isn’t stable, and we don’t want him on the throne. If Destin died, the prince would have Ansette assassinated that very night and that wouldn’t go over well with anyone. We’d have civil war on our hands. The lords of this kingdom are only united by their greed and selfishness. They’d all fight for power.”

  “Civil war isn’t something any of us wants,” Chesh muttered from his slouched position from the east wall. He glanced away from the window and scanned the room, uncharacteristically somber. “The Hinterlands have been salivating over Heimserya for ages. If you think Destin is a tyrant, he’s nothing compared to the Empress of the Hinterlands. Your kingdom will be painted with blood if she invades.” The cat yawned and then went back to staring out the window, as if he was bored.

  Pyre watched his friend for a moment. Chesh had a dark past with the Hinterlands and he rarely shared anything about his former homeland. The kitsune moved his attention back to the map and ran his finger along the border of Talaga and Fiergone.

  “Destin expects the rebellion to come from this area. I ensured that his attention will stay focused there.”

  Maxim ran a hand over his mouth. “We’ve received word that the workers on the farms are rebelling. That’s your doing, not a product of the attacks in Merjeri?”

  Pyre nodded. “Yes. The extremists in Merjeri were dealt with, but it gave us the perfect opportunity for the workers on the farms to execute their part of the plan. Nothing they do is down to chance.”

  “And you can trust these men?” Dima asked.

  Brine shared a glance with Pyre before addressing the Hound. “I have family on the farms. They are as loyal as they come.”

  The Hound sheathed his blade. “Wolves are known for their loyalty. We are lucky to have their support.”

  “Where I go, they go,” Brine said gruffly.

  “And your lady commander has the attack on the palace well in hand?” Madrid asked, his dark gray eyes holding no trace of his thoughts.

  “Nyx has everything well in hand,” Pyre answered.

  Chesh snorted. “That female is the best commander I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. If she demanded that the mountains bow to her, they bloody well would. Everything will go according to plan.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Madrid arched a brow.

  “Then she has a hundred backup plans.” Chesh flicked an amused look in Pyre’s direction. “She comes by it naturally, it seems. Like brother, like sister.”

  Maxim clasped his hands together. “So that settles it. We hold position.”

  “We hold,” Madrid echoed. “Until the battle, then the king will be dealt with.”

  “One last thing,” Dima murmured. His chilling gaze locked on Pyre. “Tempest.”

  “What of her?” Pyre held the assassin’s gaze.

  “She’s ours.”

  His hackles rose, and his nails began to pierce his fingertips.

  Reel it in.

  “She belongs to no one,” he said evenly, proud that he kept his expression blank.

  “True, but we raised her. Tempest is a Madrid and belongs to the Hounds. She may be working with you, but she’s not of the Dark Court. She’s not one of you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Brine growled, his silver eyes flashing. “Is that a dig at our heritage?”

  “No.” Dima’s attention cut to the wolf. “We respect those of shifter heritage. My meaning is that we protect our own, and, if anyone hurts her in any way, well…” Dima cracked a small smile for the first time. “We’ll kill them.”

  Pyre smiled, his canines showing. “On that we can agree.”

  Anyone who hurt Tempest would die.

  Painfully.

  Twenty-Six

  Tempest

  The wedding day

  War had begun, and she was being pampered. Men had been forced from their homes to fight a battle they believed nothing in. She stared at the crackling flames as women nattered about everything and nothing.

  By the end of today, she would be married.

  To the king.

  She blinked slowly. At least they only had to share one night together before he moved to the front lines. Hysterical laughter caught in her throat. Just enough time for Destin to bed her and possibly sire an heir.

  If you survive the night.

  Ice trickled into her veins, numbing her. She would handle what was coming. Tempest had to.

  In the three weeks that had led up to her wedding, it had been a flurry of festivities, war planning, and subterfuge. It was a bloody miracle she hadn’t blown her cover. Maven had been a constant thorn in her side, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

  Numb, she glanced around the room filled with servants and fashionable women of the court. She knew who they were but not why they were there. None of them were her friends, save Ansette, who chatted animatedly with Lady Dimpleton.

  Whooshing filled Tempest’s ears, and it felt like her head was underwater. The sounds of the world dampened until she could only hear her own heartbeat. It was as if the day was happening to someone else and she was merely an observer.

  Snap out of it.

  She couldn’t afford to be a mere observer. She had to keep her head in the game—see everything and miss nothing. One wrong slip today meant death…for more than just herself.

  Her thoughts turned to all the secrets she held.

  Pyre was the king’s first born.

  The Hounds were rebelling against the king.

  The Talagans were prepared for the army the Crown had amassed in the northwest.

  She hated the king and…cared for another.

  At that last thought, she shook her head, ignoring how a maid pulled her hair. Tempest rubbed at her temples and tried to keep calm. She’d not heard from the kitsune since their time in the barracks. It unsettled her. It was smart to keep isolated until the wedding, so mistakes couldn’t be made, but the lack of information was bothersome. She wanted to know what was going on. What was being planned for today?

  Do you really want to know?

  Temp rolled her neck and popped a small tart into her mouth, hardly tasting it. While she
was a creature designed to gather intelligence, she wasn’t sure she could handle one more thing. Playing the perfect queen-to-be had been more difficult than she’d expected. Every decision she made, she questioned. Tempest ran over every conversation with the king and paid special attention to everything she said. It had been like walking on knives.

  A hand touched her shoulder, and she blinked, glancing to her left as Ansette sank onto the nearest chair.

  “Such a grim face for a blessed day,” the princess said, taking a sip from a glass of iced wine.

  “Much is on my mind,” Tempest murmured. “Today is a serious occasion.”

  The girl eyed her and then waved away the servant brushing Tempest’s hair. Ansette set her wine down and picked up the abandoned brush. “Let me help.”

  Tempest obediently scooted her stool over and sat in front of the princess, the mirror to her left catching part of her profile. Ansette gently pulled the brush through Tempest’s hair.

  “You are like no one I’ve met before.”

  “I was raised by men,” she replied, eyeing the girl’s reflection.

  The princess laughed. “That is true, but not what I meant.” The girl sobered. “You care for others and truly believe in the Crown.”

  If only the princess knew.

  “I appreciate what you did for those prisoners.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “Tempest, can I ask you a question?” Ansette murmured.

  She glanced at the room from the corner of her eye. No one was seemingly interested in their conversation. She turned to the younger girl and reached for her hand.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  Ansette stared down at her with serious, knowing eyes. “Are you going to leave me?”

  Tempest blinked at the princess. That was not what she was expecting. She found herself pulling the girl into a hug before she could stop herself. The princess felt delicate and fragile in her arms. It would be so easy for someone to kill her.