The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  Winding her, he gave her no chance to reply, nudging his horse into motion before making his way out of the Lionessan Capital.

  Left standing alone, she shifted her weight, lips twisted together. He was probably right, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest. And, perhaps, the Queen was right again—perhaps men’s capabilities to see the sensible way forward came from women.

  Chapter 10

  IN THE EARLY HOURS of the morning, the sunlight barely piercing through the sheer curtains, there was a heavy knock on the door to the King’s chambers. There was only one person that would be this unrelenting. Slipping beneath the blankets, pulling them over his head, Riffin scrunched his eyes shut and breathed out a heavy sigh. The sheets above him shifted and, when he opened his eyes, he found Malia’s head beneath them too. “Are you not going to get that?” she asked, wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

  “Would you, if you knew who stood on the other side?” he asked.

  Malia laughed softly—not having heard the sound of amusement that didn’t come from the children for weeks—and Riffin’s heart skipped a beat at the sound. “You should see her,” she said. A fist pounded on the heavy door another time, threatening to take down the entirety of their chambers. “Now,” she stressed.

  Riffin raked his fingers through his hair, throwing down the sheets. A quick glance in the mirror as he splashed his face with water had him pause—he’d aged. In a matter of weeks, he’d aged considerably. The circles under his eyes were more prominent than they once were, and his eyes didn’t seem as vibrant as he remembered them. He got dressed quickly, pressured to do so by the knocking on the door and Malia’s disgruntled groaning from within their bed.

  “Sister!” He greeted with feigned enthusiasm before he had the chance to lay his eyes upon her, throwing the door open.

  She looked him up and down, her gaze locking in on his, causing her own to soften. “I came as soon as I heard the news,” she said.

  He pursed his lips together, nodding. “It’s good to see you,” he said. It was—even if he had avoided it. He’d considered her absence upon getting the news of his mother’s execution; while his father’s response had left him preoccupied, he’d given thought to how she would feel, receiving the news from one of his messengers rather than from one of them.

  She welled up with tears almost immediately, struggling to rein them in, “It’s true then?” she asked. “Has it been done?”

  Riffin licked his lips, pursing them together before answering. “It is—it has,” he said. “The news will go out to the people tomorrow. King Niles has written to say a funeral effigy has been commissioned for atop her tomb, and her body will be returned to Lionessa as soon as it’s finished.”

  Her jaw tensed at the sound of the King’s name, a blaze growing behind the tears. “You are King then,” she said.

  He licked his lips, shifting his weight, “It’s what they tell me,” he whispered, allowing himself a short, nervous laugh.

  “Are we at war now?” she asked, concern evident in her eyes. “It hardly sounds like it, even after what they’ve done. How has father taken this?”

  “Badly,” he replied, shifting his weight. In part, he was to blame for that—what he’d done, in his father’s eyes, wasn’t enough. “He’s left for Boardeck Castle.”

  “By himself?” she asked, brows twitching in confusion. “Are you sure?” Of course, nobody would imagine that Deros Bonomo would take the death of his wife lying down—the idea that he would do nothing was absolutely absurd.

  However, Riffin nodded, “I’ve had him followed,” he said.

  “He won’t let Niles go unpunished,” she said. “If you don’t make a move to make him suffer for this then father certainly will.”

  “Neither one of us will—not for the moment at least,” he replied. With a flick of his wrist, she started to walk alongside him. He had no destination in mind, though he preferred not to stand in one place, having these conversations in the middle of a corridor—it was never his mother’s way, and it wouldn’t be his either.

  “What do you mean?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Father keeps talking about us having the means to retaliate and that we should do so immediately. I suspect mother had her reasons for not doing so and I will make no move until I have established why that is,” he said.

  Neyva huffed, shaking her head, “I don’t follow,” she said.

  “Mother would’ve retaliated—on that, father was right. If she was in a position to retaliate, she would’ve demanded it of us.”

  Neyva tore her gaze off of him, her stare of confusion set on the path in front of them, “And she didn’t,” she said.

  “She told me to bide my time, to focus on matters closer to home before allowing this alliance to sever,” he said. “Shattered by grief as he may be, I believe father has withdrawn the way he has because he knows this is true.”

  “I will pay him a visit,” she said. Considering her words again, she spun in his direction to face him, “If you’ll allow it,” she added.

  Riffin nodded. While he’d been incapable of keeping his father there, maybe Neyva could do what he couldn’t. “Try to bring him home,” he whispered. “We need him here.”

  Neyva smiled sympathetically, her eyes warm, “How do you fare?” she asked, a subtle crack in her tone.

  “About as well as you’d expect,” he replied. “That’s about losing our mother,” he added. He sighed, taking a moment to bite the inside of his cheek and consider his words—there was no room for vulnerability in his newfound position, but he had to believe that it needn’t be that way around those closest to him. “As for being King, I think she was wrong to reckon I was prepared for this—and I was wrong to believe it too.”

  “I’m sure she felt the same when she ascended the throne,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Cocking her head to one side, offering her a gentle smile, she continued, “I have no doubt she’s taught you all there is to be taught. The rest you will learn as she did.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said. Licking his lips and eager to turn the conversation away from his own incapabilities, he changed the subject, “Will Darner cope without you for some time?” he asked.

  Surprise returned to Neyva’s gaze and she cocked her head to one side. “Yes, I suppose. Why?” she asked.

  Riffin paused, considering his words carefully. “I could use you here,” he replied, allowing her to bear witness to at least some of his vulnerability. “I believe you rival him in your intellect—you would be a great asset.”

  Neyva’s eyes lit up, her smile gentle, all the while brimming with pride. “Of course,” she said. “Whatever you need.”

  Riffin licked his lips, a smile tugging at the corners. “Whether father returns or not,” he started, “you will always have a place here.”

  Slowly, Neyva recoiled, eyes wide as the weight of his words sank into the depths of her.

  Strong, dutiful, the personal followed the professional, leaving her little room to confront what mattered most. With their father in self-imposed exile, having lost two mothers in her young life, all she had left was him, the boy who had allowed her, and embraced her, to be a sister.

  At the sight of her shaking hands, Riffin took them both in his own. Closing the distance between them, he drew her into a gentle embrace.

  There were many lessons Riffin had learnt as a young Prince—being the heir to his mother’s throne had provided him with many. Each and every one of his lessons blurred together, each one indiscernable from the last until they all made up this wealth of knowledge to be tapped into at the most opportune moment. But one lesson stuck out from the rest; King or not, they were still brother and sister.

  Chapter 11

  THERE WAS A HEAVY knock on the throne room doors, startling Riffin into turning in its direction. The thought of his mother’s body arriving, any day now, leaving him incapable of confronting certain realities, had him sitting on the edge of fear fo
r the unknown.

  Thane entered briskly, “Your Majesty,” he greeted, bowing his head.

  Riffin stood tall, pulling himself away from the marble-topped table, “Come off it, Thane,” he said, waving his hand dismissively at the formal address. “What’s the matter?”

  Thane slipped some folded letters out of his inside pocket, handing them to him. “Word from our spies,” he said.

  He tapped them against the tip of his fingers, shaking his head. “Have you read these?” he asked.

  Thane nodded curtly and Riffin dropped them onto the table, beckoning him to continue with a flick of his wrist. “There’s word of upset amongst the nobles. There’s fear as to what this action from Ludorum would cause. Nobles fear their trade agreements are in tatters, theirs already talk about preparing for war.”

  “Fair concerns to have,” he murmured, shrugging indifferently.

  Licking his lips, he saw Thane shift his weight out of the corner of his eye, gaining his attention, “There’s more,” he said.

  Riffin leaned back over the table, drawing the letters out in front of him. “Go on,” he said.

  “From those spies that’ve been in contact, it seems to me that these...sentiments are being felt throughout Lionessa and Evrad,” he said. Riffin’s brows twitched together in thought as he turned his full attention to his friend. “The words they’ve used are much the same, which leads me to believe that the nobles are conspiring with one another. They’re no longer just voicing their concerns amongst themselves.”

  Riffin skimmed his thumb against his bottom lip, scanning the letters he’d been handed. “And no word from those in Azura?” he asked.

  Thane shook his head, “Nothing so far,” he said. “Though bad weather has limited correspondence with Sir Arrer also.”

  Riffin nodded curtly, withdrawing from the table again, “Return word to the spies,” he said. “Ask that their correspondence be more frequent—if the nobles are a threat, I want to know about it before they have a chance to do any damage.”

  “Of course.”

  Shifting his weight, moving to pace as he thought, he raked his fingers through his hair. “In the coming days, nobles will begin arriving—take note of those who make an appearance, and those who do not.”

  Thane nodded curtly, retrieving the letters from the table before leaving.

  Malia entered in his stead, light on her feet for someone who could barely bring herself to leave her bed only a few short hours ago. He was quick to meet her in the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around her waist, “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m all right,” she said, placing her hands on his chest. “What’s happened here?” she asked. She paid a short glance over her shoulder, the doors now shut, “Thane looked to be…troubled. Is something the matter?“

  He cocked his head to one side, leaning into the table. He enlightened her on what he’d learnt, taking the opportunity to come to terms with it himself, capable of giving it more thought in the retelling.

  Arms crossed, steeling her nerves, Malia shifted, “Do you think the nobles will move to rebel?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, he shrugged his shoulders, “I cannot say,” he said. “Maybe they’ve sought inspiration by way of Ludorum’s rebels.”

  “Or perhaps they’re working together,” Malia remarked.

  Riffin, now seated on the steps to his throne, glanced at her from beneath his lashes. “Perhaps,” he agreed.

  Placing her hand over her swollen abdomen, Malia lowered herself beside him, breathing out a short sigh. “What’s next then?” she asked.

  What was next? Squinting, giving it some thought, Riffin could only come to one conclusion. “I do as my mother said,” he whispered. “I bide my time. I watch carefully. Then I act.”

  Nodding slowly, Malia lowered her head onto his shoulder, clutching his arm. He leaned into her, pressing his cheek atop her head. They stayed that way for some time—Riffin was grateful for it, coming away from the silence between them with a thought worth pursuing.

  It was on day fifteen, after his mother’s death, that the nobles started arriving in the Lionessan Capital. One by one, they would make their way to the throne room. It was all very much the same; the men and women came to pay their respects, offering words of condolences, making gentle offers of assistance during this trying time for their King and Queen, as well as the young family they needed to tend to alongside their kingdom.

  As Caterina of Guignol was announced, Riffin leaned into his throne, sucking in a deep breath as his next subject entered the room.

  Caterina entered swiftly, her dress swishing with grace until she came to a stop in front of him. With her red hair and pale skin, she looked as though she could very well be a relation of Malia and Kara. But Caterina was no Evradian and, short of a few physical traits, she bore no other similarities to them.

  She was stern-faced, not in the way that Kara was. Her eyes were hardened, not by the violence Kara had witnessed, but by the air of superiority she carried. Graceful as she may have seemed, all the way down to the way she clasped the skirts of her dress, she was a form built of a harsh lines, sharp shoulders and features. She wore it well, however. With just a touch of a smile on her lips, resonating in the depths of her eyes, one could easily be fooled into thinking her an ally, rather than an enemy.

  “Your Majesty,” she curtsied deeply, perfected over years of being in his mother’s presence. “May I begin by saying I am deeply sorry for the loss of your mother,” she started. Riffin offered her a grateful smile, stiff as it was, and Malia did the same. “I understand this must be a difficult time for you, what with how complicated matters with Ludorum have become.”

  “It’s not complicated,” Riffin said. He took her by surprise—perhaps she hadn’t expected him to be so bold in his response. His family was right; to be underestimated was a luxury. “I crossed the King of Ludorum and he retaliated. It cannot be a great deal simpler than that.”

  Caterina shifted her weight and her mouth fell open as she searched for something to say.

  With a glimmer of intrigue, his eyes narrowed, “Why are you here, Caterina?” he asked.

  Her brows furrowed together and she pulled her shoulders back, as though suddenly wishing to retreat from this entire exchange. “Your Majesty?”

  “Surely you’ve heard about it,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

  “Heard about what, your Majesty?”

  Riffin slumped back in his seat, tearing his eyes off of her for a second, allowing his gaze to return to her with a touch of amusement at watching her squirm. “The whispers amongst the nobles, those that speak of my alliance with Ludorum as though it’s already long gone,” he said.

  Caterina shrugged softly, “I know there are concerns, your Majesty,” she said. “Concerns for the uncertainty of our agreements, of course. Many of these such agreements are the foundation for—”

  “Enough concern that they would turn on their King?” Malia asked, raising a delicate brow.

  Caterina’s mouth fell open, absent a reply, and Riffin leaned forward in his seat, “You aren’t the first to come here today,” he said. His hands clasped together, he pointed his index finger in the direction of the door behind her, “Those people out there have heard these whispers—as I suppose you have too. They’ve come here, not to pay their respects, not out of love or loyalty towards my mother, but because when this war begins, they want to make sure I don’t mistake them for enemies.”

  Caterina’s mouth remained agape a moment longer, her eyes wide.

  Unfazed, Riffin cocked his head to one side, “Is that why you’ve come Caterina?” he asked. “Or have you yet to choose a side?”

  Chapter 12

  “SHOULD YOU HAVE BEEN that hard on her?” Malia asked.

  With the last of his visitors gone, Riffin rose to his feet and extended his hands to his wife, helping her up from her throne. “Caterina has a lot of influence amongst t
he nobles, and she’s always had plenty to lose, should she have gained my mother’s ire,” he said. “If anyone is to know anything, it would be her.”

  “She and your mother were close,” she recalled, “would she take up arms against her son?”

  “They were close during childhood, more so than in their later years. When they both took after their fathers, everything changed.”

  “How come?” she asked.

  Riffin took her by the hand, leading her out of the throne room. “Because they took after their fathers,” he said, smiling wearily. “Because duty to their people, the wars they waged, mattered more than friendship—more than the love they once shared.”

  Malia watched her next step, fingers interlaced with his as they made their way to the nursery.

  “I don’t want that for myself,” he said, suddenly, taking her by surprise. “I’m grateful my mother was done with her wars by the time I was a few months old. She could care for me and raise me herself, rather than leave me solely to servants and tutors. I won’t deny that of our children, even while we’re embroiled in war.”

  Shifting her weight, Malia turned her attention to him, “Do what you must and leave raising the children to me,” she said. “Trust that they’re in my hands, just as I trust that our lives are in yours.”

  He pulled her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He couldn’t help but smile, his mind at ease with her by his side.

  Entering the nursery, he lowered himself onto the ground, seating himself beside his babbling children. He drew Neaera into his lap, allowing her to lean against him as she shook her silver rattle and followed her sister’s actions closely.

  Slowly, Malia took a seat beside them, replacing the servant sat behind Dione and, quietly, they watched their children, occasionally glancing in the other’s direction.

  The nursery was unique—the problems of being a King didn’t follow him there, nor did Malia seem at all troubled by the thoughts of being Queen. There, the concern of being parents replaced it all—the need to care for their children superseding the need to care for their kingdom. Although Riffin knew not to allow himself to fall too deeply into the comforts of the nursery, it provided him with a peace of mind that was more a help than a hinderance.