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

by Frost Kay

  “You ready?” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  They both ran for the door, stumbling and screaming. It was easy to move through the people when they were only feigning panic, not truly terrified. Pyre held his breath as the soldiers pushed past them, not sparing one glance in their direction as they emerged from the ceremonial hall. People only saw what they wanted to see.

  They moved through the crush, and as they reached the top of the stairs, the skin between his shoulder blades tingled. He slowed and carefully glanced around the chaos to find whoever was watching him. From beneath his lashes, he glanced up and paused as he locked eyes with the king who stood two stories above. His sire blinked slowly and then smiled before moving away from the banister.

  Nyx tugged at his arm, pulling him down the stairs as he tried to digest what had just happened. There was no way Destin could have recognized him. He had been just a child the last time the king had seen him.

  As they fled, Pyre couldn’t help but feel like something had gone wrong.

  Twenty-Eight

  King Destin

  The Jester was alive.

  Bloody hell.

  Of all the things Destin had imagined for his wedding day, discovering that his bastard son was alive rankled more than the damned rebel attack. The Jester didn’t think that Destin knew about his other form, but he did. His spies had made sure of it. He stormed to his rooms, shock and anger rolling through him. The bastard had infiltrated his home!

  Blood dripped from his sword as his Hounds followed silently in his wake. Clearly, Tempest hadn’t given him the heart of the Jester. The question was if she’d knowingly betrayed him.

  How was that blasted blighter alive? Any other child would have died in the woods years ago, but somehow the whelp had managed not only to survive but thrive and take control of Heimserya’s underworld. If he didn’t hate the boy so much, he’d actually be impressed at his tenacity.

  Tenacity that’s now focused on your crown.

  His fingers clenched on the pommel of his sword.

  It was clear the boy had scented blood with the death of Destin’s heir, but the knave would never claim the crown. Maven was as deceptive and slippery as an eel, but he was better than the Talagan pup of a maid. Destin would die before he allowed shifter scum to dethrone him.

  His lips twitched. And he had no intention of dying any time soon.

  His mind ran over the attack as he ascended the stairs to the royal wing. Why strike today? The palace was a poor target. The rebellion was outnumbered ten to one. An assassin would have had an easier chance murdering anyone from the royal family than a bold-faced attack. Was it a fear-mongering gambit? If so, it wouldn’t work.

  He reached the top of the stairs and paused, his eyes narrowing before he continued on to his rooms. The Jester was supposed to be dead. He picked up his speed. A mistake had been made, or he had a potential liar and traitor on his hands.

  He slammed through the doors leading to his chambers, finding several Hounds guarding each window and his queen-to-be standing stoically next to the fireplace. She was bloodied and disheveled, her perfect gown torn and her hair in disarray. His Lady Hound looked delectable. Irritation pricked him at the thought.

  “Leave,” he ordered.

  Maxim took a step forward, concern plastered across his ugly mug. “Your Grace, it isn’t safe to leave you al—”

  “Leave,” he repeated, his voice thick with warning. “Now.” His bride moved to follow, but he held up a hand, his gaze pinned to her face. “My future queen stays.”

  Maxim glanced at Tempest askance, and Destin almost took a swipe at the Hound. The only person he should obey was his king. Maybe her ties to the Hounds weren’t as useful as he’d thought. Her dismissal of her uncle’s concern was the only thing that comforted him. She clearly knew her place.

  As she should.

  Destin slammed the doors shut, the force rattling the lanterns that bracketed the entrance. He heaved a breath and slowly faced the room. Tempest had drifted to his west window, her profile facing him. The light illuminated the painted panes of glass, casting colorful patterns across her pale skin and ruined dress.

  He leaned against the door and observed her. Ever dutiful. If only she knew what a prize she was. Every moment she spent in his presence was another blow to her father. Destin covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. No one deceived him without repercussions. It would have been easy to have Tempest executed as a child or sold to a Hinterland barbarian, but revenge was so much more satisfying as he watched it play out year after year.

  His attention moved to the diamond choker encircling her throat. Flecks of dried blood spattered the gems. It made a barbaric but appealing vision. Was such a deadly beauty also deceptive?

  Did she betray you?

  He pushed away from the door and tossed his sword onto the nearest chair, then moved to the mahogany cabinet where he kept his spirits. Destin watched his intended from beneath his lashes. Spending time with Tempest had taught him one thing: she wasn’t a very good actress. She loved Heimserya and hated shifters as much as he did, which was ironic, because Destin was really the root of her pain. As for the Jester—Destin’s dirty fingers squeezed the glass he pulled from the cabinet—he was known for his trickery. It wasn’t a far stretch to reason that the Dark Court had pulled the wool over her eyes.

  In all honesty, the king didn’t think she had it in her to deceive him, but women… They were tricky creatures. They betrayed as easily as they crooned sweet nothings in one’s ear. It was in their very makeup. Women could not help it. He liked to think his Hound was better than the women he’d formerly engaged with, but she was still female—expendable—no matter her assets.

  He carefully pulled a bottle of fire whiskey off the shelf and took a long draught straight from the bottle. It had always been the plan to use her as a martyr, framing either the rebels or the South Isles. Destin had hoped for the latter. He’d wanted to at least have some fun with her first. He needed a new heir. That meant a year, minimum. But if she had tricked him…

  Her time would be cut short.

  “You should sit,” he murmured, nodding toward the chairs and table that sat in the center of the room. Delicacies were set artfully across the surface, along with fine wine. The perfect meal for newlyweds. “After the ordeal we’ve been through, the least we can do is recoup our strength.”

  Tempest pulled away from the window and rubbed at her bare arms. “If it doesn’t trouble you, my lord, I would like to sit near the fire. I can’t seem to get warm these days.”

  He sauntered to the table and smiled as she passed him, her hand gently touching his bicep. His body heated at the innocent touch. Destin plucked several choice items from their post-wedding private dinner: sliced meats, an assortment of cheeses, flaky crackers, tiny pastries of caramel and cinnamon, and a single apple and set them on a small china plate.

  He dragged a chair across the floor, managing to balance the plate of food in his other hand. Destin groaned as he sat. He flashed a smile at his betrothed. “I’m getting old, dearest.”

  She cocked her head, her crown sitting precariously on her brow. “My lord, you are hardly decrepit, as you know. You’re a fine male specimen, to be sure.”

  “Such compliments,” he murmured. “What a lucky man I am.” He held out the plate after plucking a few pieces of meat and cheese and popping them into his mouth, chewing and then swallowing. “You should eat something. I doubt you’ve had much of anything today.”

  “I’m not very hungry.” Tempest held up her filthy hands. “Plus, I’m hardly in a state to touch anything that I’ll eat.”

  “We both need a bath. I’ll give you that.” He pulled a dagger from his waist and observed her as she watched him set the food on the small table between them, unsheathed a blade, and begin cutting the apple. The knife glinted in the firelight as he focused on his work. “The attack was distressing, to say the least. Violence turns anyone’s
stomachs, even if they’ve had training.” He peeked at her from beneath his lashes.

  Her eyes tracked his movements as he carved the apple. His spies had informed him that she had a weakness for the simple fruits. Destin leaned closer and held the piece out to her. “Take a bite, dearest. I can’t have my fierce bride going hungry. And it would settle me to see you eat something.”

  Her stomach gave a small growl, and he couldn’t help the small chuckle as she rolled her eyes. Any other lady would have likely been mortified, but not his Hound. He wiggled the apple slice, daring her to take it.

  Tempest bent closer, her teeth clamping on the apple slice, her lips brushing his fingers. Sweet poison, it was sexy. She chewed the morsel before swallowing it. Destin suppressed his smile as he wiped his knife and hands on a cloth before replacing it in its sheath. Now all he had to do was wait. His poison blade was his favorite. Tasteless and odorless—a poison refined from his favorite source. The mimkia plant.

  If she was innocent, she had nothing to fear. He’d interrogate her and then administer the antidote. If she’d betrayed him, well, then she’d signed her own death warrant and he’d enjoy what fun he could get from her before she expired. Just a few minutes and the poison would take effect. Sleepiness. Heavy limbs. An inability to fight.

  He ate tidbits from the plate, relaxed into his seat, and noted as her lids began to droop and she leaned her chin on her palm.

  He rose from his chair and reached for her hand. “You are tired, my dear,” he crooned. “I think you need to lie down. Come, I’ll help you to my—”

  “No, thank you,” Tempest cut in, frowning as she staggered to her feet. She braced a hand against his chest, swaying slightly. “I feel—I need to return to my own room, I think. You are right: I’m in shock. I just need some time to…recover. Today is not what I expected.”

  She staggered around him, and he let her go, casually stalking after her. He placed a hand on the door above her hand as she fumbled with the lock.

  “No need. What is mine is yours. We were to be married today anyway.”

  “I think I should return to my rooms.”

  He leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “You aren’t going anywhere, Tempest.”

  She stiffened. “My lord, it is unseemly. I must go.”

  “No.”

  Tempest spun to face him, her gray eyes narrowing on his face. Destin grinned. He loved when her feistiness came out. His kitten liked to scratch and he, for one, enjoyed each and every moment.

  “Move aside, my lord.” She swayed, but held her ground. “I’m leaving.”

  He leaned down, a smirk playing about his lips at her sass. “You are not the master here.”

  His words triggered a response. He saw the mutiny and determination flash though her eyes a second before she jerked to his left, beneath his arm. He grabbed her forearm and yanked her back. She twisted toward him, and he caught the glint of a blade a moment before pain slid across his nose and beneath his right eye. Destin hissed and released her, gently probing his face.

  “You bitch!” he growled.

  She’d actually cut him. None of his partners had ever dared raise a hand to him. He bared his teeth in a smile, arousal rushing through his body. This was going to be more fun than he’d anticipated. She took a stumbling step away and tripped on her dress, crashing to the floor. Destin launched himself at Tempest as she twisted and kicked. He wheezed and dropped to the ground, his hands cupping his crotch. It hurt. Tears blurred his eyes, and he blindly reach for his lady, snagging some of her hair in his fingers, his other hand digging into her thigh to hold her in place. She grunted and kneed him in the face

  He opened his mouth to yell but choked on his own pain. Tempest crawled away from him, and he glanced in shock at his fist. She’d sliced off some of her own hair to escape him. Tempest stumbled to her feet as he wheezed. With clumsy fingers, she managed to open the door and fled. He gurgled on a laugh as more tears squeezed from his eyes. Poisoned and outnumbered, she still thought she could escape his wrath.

  “Guards,” he huffed.

  Two men appeared in the doorway of his chambers and stiffened when they spotted him on the floor. Destin hauled himself to his hands and feet, then retched. He slapped away the helping hand of one of the guards and clambered to his feet as his stomach and groin cramped with pain.

  “Bring my future queen back to me,” he growled.

  They were far from done.

  Twenty-Nine

  Tempest

  That bastard had attacked her.

  Tempest stumbled into her closet as the world lurched beneath her feet. She crashed into the dresser, her fingers clinging to the edge as she leaned heavily against it, her head swimming.

  He drugged you. Get it out.

  Tempest shoved her fingers down her throat. She trembled and retched, spitting bile and chewed apple onto the gleaming wood floor. Her eyes watered, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her legs shook like they were on the verge of collapse.

  This is the first place they will look for you. Move.

  She tugged on the dress but couldn’t get her fingers to work well enough to remove the buttons or laces. Tempest clumsily groped for her dagger and sliced the skirt. Grabbing handfuls, she cut the soiled fabric from her body until only the corset-like bodice was left. There wasn’t time to do anything about it. Good thing she always wore hose beneath her dresses. They would pass for trousers. She blinked hard as the room waved and she swayed, bumping her hip against the cursed dresser. When the hell had she lost her shoes?

  Tempest wiggled her bare toes and lurched toward her boots. She had to get out of there. It was a bloody miracle she’d gotten away from the king in the first place. Jerkily, she managed to get her boots on and collected her emergency bag, sword, and weapons. A huge wave of exhaustion hit her, and she could barely keep her eyes open. Wicked hell, what had he given her?

  She stumbled from her closet and fought to keep her balance. Her body was shutting down. If she didn’t get out now, she’d pass out and be at the mercy of the king. Movement from her window caught her eye. She sloppily held a dagger and squinted, trying to make out who was in her room.

  The princess’s face swam into view. “You—Ansette, what are—”

  The girl seized her arm, eyes wide. “What is wrong?” A cool hand touched Tempest’s brow. “You’re burning up and spattered in blood. You need to get into bed now.”

  “Can’t,” Tempest gasped, grabbing the princess. She closed her eyes and tried to get her balance. “I need to leave.” Opening her eyes, she focused hard on the girl. “I need…no. We need to get out of here, Ansette. Now. There’s no time.”

  Ansette’s gaze narrowed, and she propelled Tempest to the door. The girl checked the corridor before navigating outside. The princess steered her into a dark, empty room three doors down from her own. The girl locked the door, towed Tempest through the dusty room, and pulled back an old tapestry, revealing a hidden passage.

  “Before we go any further, I need you to be honest with me,” Ansette murmured. “Are you with the rebels?”

  Tempest shook her head, a lie on the tip of her tongue.

  “Just be honest with me. I’m not some little girl you have to protect from the truth.”

  She had no doubt of that, looking at the princess standing there with her head held high. Whatever the king had given her was clouding her mind. Her tongue felt too slow and thick in her mouth as she replied, “I just want a better future for Heimserya. Better for everyone.” Her head drooped.

  “None of that!” the girl whispered harshly. She shook Tempest. “Do not go to sleep. I’m not sure what you’ve been dosed with, but sleeping is the last thing you want to do.” She huffed. “Even drugged, you’re a vault of secrets. I can’t imagine what your training must have been like.”

  Tempest smiled widely. “Hound.”

  Her head lolled to the side as she registered shouting and the thunde
r of steps. Ansette pulled her into the hidden passage, made sure the tapestry was back in place, and began guiding them down the narrow dark passage.

  Tempest’s boot slipped, and it was only Ansette’s strong grip that kept her from tumbling down the steps headfirst.

  “I wish you had told me sooner,” the girl whispered. “Things could have been so much easier for the both of us.”

  Tempest blinked. “How—”

  “You’re not the only one who sees the suffering and wants things to change for the better.” She paused. “I kept waiting for someone to reach out. Not all royals are bad.”

  “Never thought you were,” Tempest slurred. There was a reason she liked the princess. “Where are you taking me?” She didn’t really care where it was, as long as she could lie down and sleep.

  Weak light shone between the two stones on the wall, illuminating Ansette’s profile as she glanced over her shoulder. “The palace is full of secret passageways. This one is only known to those of royal blood.”

  “Not even the Hounds?” Tempest asked, her voice sounding loud in her own ears.

  “Our family is secretive. Hush, we will be passing some of the guest rooms. Sound echoes in here something terrible, and we must get you out before it’s too late.”

  Tempest closed her mouth, hardly daring to breathe. She focused on putting one foot ahead of the other as time slowed. Every step was a fight. Frowning, her mind went back to their conversation and she struggled to process the princess’s words. There was something wrong about them. And then it clicked.