The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  ‘I made better decisions watching you sleep than I did pacing the throne room,’ his mother would say with a laugh, often when she would allow him to turn away from his studies and escape into the gardens. Relatable as her words might’ve been as he ran away from his lessons, they couldn’t ring any truer now.

  The gentle knock on the door pulled them both out of their thoughts, sparking an ember of alarm—people knew better than to disturb them there.

  Drawing Neaera into his arms, he seated her in Malia’s lap, allowing her to lean into her before approaching the door.

  Neyva stood on the other side, her actions watched closely by the guard that defended the nursery.

  Riffin’s gentle smile immediately put the guards at ease and, as he pulled open the door and stepped aside, Neyva entered. Although her face beamed with light at the sight of his daughters, the sadness in her eyes never quite left. “He wouldn’t come back?” he asked, softly.

  Neyva shook her head, offering him a sympathetic smile before allowing herself to approach the children. “I told him he was missed,” she said, glancing his way as she crouched onto the carpet. “He would hear none of it—not for the moment.”

  Riffin nodded, licking his lips as he thought. “Does he require anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head, a grin on her face as she tickled Dione and Neaera simultaneously, showing the young girls a false happiness, withholding the darkness that the sight of her father had caused. “I asked,” she said. “His income from Warren is more than enough to sustain him.”

  Riffin scoffed, “He’s under the assumption Niles will let him keep the land,” he said.

  She cocked her head to one side, “That’s what I said,” she replied, “but he seemed adamant.” Looking to Malia, gaining silent permission, she drew Dione into her arms and rose to her feet. “Should anything change in Ludorum, I will return to him and offer my support.”

  Riffin’s shoulders dropped, “Do you really think he won’t come back?” he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders, bouncing as she walked about with Dione giggling in her arms. “I think it’s too soon to say,” she said.

  “Give him time,” Malia said, cutting in. Saddened by the sound of their conversation, she touched the corners of her eyes with the tips of her fingers, breathing out a heavy sigh. Her mind drifted back—Riffin could tell—and went to a place that was too dark for the nursery. “It’s not easy to lose a loved one,” she said.

  Riffin understood. Just as he had thought Malia lost to him when she’d been taken by the rebels, Malia had been plagued with similar thoughts. Married to a man she didn’t love, forced into his bed, to mother his children—the only way to cope was to act as though he was dead to her. She had felt the loss of him, even though he’d not gone anywhere.

  He’d felt very much the same. Refused over and over by Ludorum, initially refused by his mother, each refusal seemed to be the nail in her coffin—she was just about buried when he’d decided to rebel against his mother’s orders.

  Malia lifted Neaera into her arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead in her bid to distract herself from the memories.

  Sensing the darkness that had washed over them both, Neyva retreated somewhat, still cradling Dione in her arms as she doted on their youngest family member.

  Riffin mustered a gentle smile, extending a helping hand to his wife as she rose from the ground with their child in her arms. He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing in her scent.

  Holding her close, breathing her in, served as a reminder that, despite everything, he hadn’t lost her. And, though it brought him comfort, it made the pain at the thought of his father’s a great deal deeper.

  Chapter 13

  THE HOURS AND HOURS Riffin spent in the throne room seemed to blur together. Although he had seen manifests from across his mother’s kingdoms before, hundreds of times, as she pushed him to learn what he would one day inherit, he couldn’t help the confusion that befell him at the sight of each and every new page. A heavy knock on the throne room doors once filled him with fright but, this time, filled him with a sense of relief as it allowed him to drag himself away from the paperwork for a little while.

  Malia’s brows furrowed together, sat across from him, “Are you expecting news?” she asked.

  Riffin shook his head, standing tall as he straightened his jacket and combed his fingers through his hair. He hardly looked befitting of a King, but just sitting on his throne would right what hours of being slumped over his work had wronged.

  Malia took her place on the throne and Riffin followed her, beckoning his sister to join him at the top of the steps. A united front mattered, his mother always said. ‘Show them you are united and they will think twice about challenging so many of you.’

  Thane entered the room and Riffin caught sight of a young man standing at the doors, “Introducing Manus Baran,” he said, a touch of scepticism in his tone.

  Riffin’s brows twitched in confusion, especially at the sight of the obvious weariness in Thane’s eyes.

  “He comes with news of The Alliance Council,” he said.

  Riffin clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his gaze flittering between Thane, standing confused and uncertain, and the man in the distance who seemed unnervingly confident when faced with the prospect of gaining an audience with the King.

  Riffin beckoned him forward and, with a flit of his gaze, Thane backed away, exiting the room and closing the doors behind himself. “What is this about?” he asked.

  “I have been ordered to acquaint you with The Alliance Council, your Majesty,” he replied, bowing his head.

  “Ordered by who?” he asked.

  “By the members of the Council, of course,” he replied, a touch of a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Riffin refused to shift, though every nerve in his body dared him to do so. The man’s confidence seemed misplaced, his calm verging on arrogance. “And what is this Alliance Council?” he asked.

  “The Council has come together in the interest of our kingdom’s alliance—namely, the alliance between the three kingdoms and Ludorum,” Manus said.

  Riffin’s eyes narrowed. “In the interest of the alliance?” he asked. “Need I remind you that this alliance has been in place for seventeen years?”

  “The length of this alliance is precisely why it needs protecting, your Majesty,” he said.

  Riffin resisted scoffing, biting the inside of his cheek in his effort to temper his growing discontent. “And what makes you think I would be incapable of maintaining it by myself?” he asked. “Why would I be in need of a Council?”

  Manus shifted his weight, though not for a second did an ounce of uneasiness cross his features. “The Alliance Council believes, considering the tenderness of your age, as well as the most recent events to plague the alliance, that you may be pushed to sever ties between us.”

  Riffin puckered his lips, biting the inside his cheeks as he thought. “Does the Council not agree that there is adequate reason to do so?” he asked. It couldn’t be argued, no matter what people thought of his mother, that an affront such as executing their Queen couldn’t go unpunished—such thoughts would be treasonous.

  “The Council believes the reasons that instigated Ludorum’s difficult decisions were founded,” he replied. The ease with which he spoke, the boldness with which he implied that his mother’s execution was in any form justified, had Riffin seething with anger.

  “Is that so?” he asked, speaking through gritted teeth.

  “An alliance requires sacrifice,” he said. “A partnership requires compromise and, after all your kingdoms have gained from it, Ludorum’s request was fair. When it was dishonoured, a response was expected.”

  “Ludorum’s price was far too great,” he said, struggling to release the tension in his jaw.

  Manus cocked his head to one side, his lips twitching at the corners in what Riffin was certain was a smirk. He licked his lips, “
And some would argue the price you were forced to pay was much greater,” he said.

  Riffin bolted to his feet and he realised his mistake as soon as the man openly smirked. Malia, having been seated silently beside him, extended her hand and placed it over his clenched fist.

  “It matters not of the price,” Manus said, offering him a dishonest smile, “as I reckon tensions of sorts would still exist, regardless of what price was paid.”

  “No council would’ve been formed beneath my mother’s rule,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  The smirk on the corners of his lips became more prominent, so much so that he lowered his head for a moment in his effort to hide it. “No,” he said, “this is a result of your tender age. There’s a fear amongst the nobles as to what your next move might be.”

  It was Riffin’s turn to smirk—both amused and insulted at the thought of these nobles thinking him so fickle. “You suspect my judgement may be clouded by vengeance?” he asked.

  “Considering your mother’s own actions at your age, it’s hardly far-fetched to imagine—“

  “My mother raised me better than that, I can assure you,” he said.

  He shifted his weight, his smug smile becoming more prominent once again. Riffin clenched his hands into fists at his sides before lowering himself back into his seat—Manus got under his skin, and Riffin couldn’t stand to give him the satisfaction. “The Council requires action as assurance, not words,” he said.

  Riffin tilted his head, gaze softening, “And what does the Council propose?” he said.

  “A marriage would be a start to repairing what has been broken here,” he said, disturbingly quick.

  Riffin shrugged with indifference, nostrils flaring, “I’m already married,” he said, “and my daughters are too young to even consider.”

  Manus nodded slowly, nibbling his bottom lip for a second before replying, “But your sister is not,” he said, eyeing him from beneath his lashes with a look of defiance.

  Riffin could feel Neyva’s shock beside him, a short gasp escaping her. “My sister is not royal blood—none that is legitimate,” he said. Though it pained him to say it, knowing that his mother cared little for who was legitimate and who wasn’t, no one in his family would deny the importance of legitimacy from a political standpoint.

  “With legitimate royal blood in short supply, your sister will have to do,” he replied, unfazed.

  Neyva took a step forward and Riffin threw his arm out, keeping her from advancing further and entering herself into the discussion.

  “I do not mean to offend,” Manus said—though he certainly lied. “Your sister carries a great deal of royal blood through your father—both from Evrad and from Ludorum. One might say she is the perfect person to begin repairing this alliance.”

  It wasn’t even worth considering. He was never going to marry his sister to anyone less than worthy—and a traitor of any sort was certainly out of the question. “Perhaps you believe flattery will get you everywhere, Sir Baran. However, I have to refuse on the grounds that a political marriage was not forced on me, and that I have no right to force it on my sister.”

  Manus seemed unfazed by that, “You are the King,” he said, “and political marriages are to be made at your discretion.”

  “And, at my discretion, I have declined your request,” he said, through a clenched jaw, wanting nothing more than the end of this conversation.

  Shifting his weight, Manus’s arrogant smile persisted, “If this were a request, I mightn’t be so blatant. This is more of a demand,” he said. “One I have no doubt you will find it within yourself to grant, seeing the severity of the situation you will find yourself in, should the nobles on the Council be unappeased.”

  Riffin bit back a chuckle, eyes lit up with amusement, “And what power does the Council have to make such a demand?” he asked.

  “A great deal,” he replied. All amusement fell from Manus’s face as he became cold and serious, his eyes dead and void of all emotion. “The nobles are relied upon to keep your kingdoms functioning, those that supply grain, military resources, even manpower. That could all change, should you refuse to make amends with Ludorum as the Council desires.”

  Riffin smirked, retorting before he’d given his words any thought, “I could demand compliance,” he said, “or have you risk having your land seized from you.”

  Manus cocked his head from side-to-side, shifting his weight, “Acts of a tyrant, no doubt,” he mused aloud. “Acts which would prove you unpopular amongst the people who serve in the nobles’ lands.”

  Riffin’s nostrils flared as he bit into the side of his cheek, holding himself back. Bide your time, his mother would tell him. He shouldn’t be quick to anger—a solution could be found for everything, if only one would take the time to consider every facet of the problem at hand.

  Silence fell between them and that familiar arrogant gleam returned to Manus’s eyes as he waited for his agreement.

  “I will do it,” Neyva said.

  Riffin shot a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, only Neyva was too preoccupied staring into Manus’s eyes. “Come now,” she said, eyes narrowing, filling with an arrogance to rival his own, “why the surprise? After all, I will be doing my duty to my King—unlike others.”

  Riffin clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, turning back to Manus. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach, but being united when faced with an enemy mattered more to him than his own feelings, rendering him incapable of undermining his sister’s decision in public. With her declaration as clear as day, the weightiness of what it meant bore down on all of them. “Who is she to marry?” he asked.

  Manus smiled, tearing his gaze away from Neyva’s. “We are not so callous as to not provide you with options,” he told Riffin. He withdrew folded parchments from the inside of his coat—he came prepared—approaching to extend them to him.

  The guards stood between him and the steps, snatching the parchment from him before handing them to the King on his behalf.

  “My sister, you mean,” he said, handing her the pages blindly. “My sister will be granted the options—this is her choice to make.”

  “Surely her choice is limited only to who she marries,” he said, prying to reaffirm Riffin’s agreement to his terms.

  Riffin leaned back in his seat, “This is no place for threats, Sir Baran,” he said. “Or need I remind you that my mother started whole wars on this very matter?”

  Manus chuckled and it was a sound that caused a shiver to run down Riffin’s spine. “I need no reminding,” he replied. “But, perhaps, I may remind you of your claim that you are wiser than your mother—this would certainly be the opportunity to prove it.”

  Riffin clenched his jaw, biting back all desire to speak out of turn. Out of turn—he wanted to scoff. He was King, and there should’ve been no such thing as speaking out of turn for him.

  “You will have my choice of suitor by tomorrow,” Neyva said, before their argument could persist.

  With her word more than enough for him, Manus bowed his head deeply in Neyva’s direction and, with a flick of Riffin’s wrist, he dismissed him from his sight.

  The doors closed with a heavy bang and, as its echoes faded, the room fell into a thoughtful silence.

  Never taking his eyes off the door, the sight of the man’s back burned into his mind, Riffin’s vision blurred as he submerged himself into the very depths of his thoughts. Leaning back, he considered his next move carefully, skimming the lion-head on his throne with the tips of his fingers.

  “Brother,” Neyva whispered, meant to drag him out of his anger.

  Riffin blinked, shifting the world back into focus. “Malia,” he said, “look into which nobles most benefit from the alliance with Ludorum—and those who have the most to lose if it fails.”

  Malia nodded curtly, rising to her feet before descending her throne and leaving.

  “This isn’t right,” Riffin said, glancing over his shoulder in his s
ister’s direction.

  “This needs to be done,” she said, her head held high. “You heard him. If you refuse, the nobles will withdraw their support—you cannot have that.”

  “I don’t care about their support,” he said. “I care about you—I care what happens to you, above the kingdom.”

  She faltered ever so slightly, glancing elsewhere. “I’ve agreed to it,” she said, softly. “Now, all that’s left to do is choose a suitor.” She sighed, holding up the pages she’d been given.

  Riffin bit the inside of his cheek, nostrils flaring. “I don’t want this for you,” he said.

  “I don’t want this for myself,” she retorted promptly, throwing her hands up at her sides. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe this was always a possibility for me.”

  Riffin huffed, shaking his head, “Mother would never have allowed this,” he said. “I cannot allow this.”

  “You must,” she said. “You heard him—if you don’t allow this, this alliance falls apart and you will lose favour. You cannot have that. Mother didn’t teach you to lose this.”

  “My mother’s rule couldn’t have been this fickle,” he said, throwing a hand up. “She didn’t work that hard for it all to fall apart as soon as she was gone.”

  “This is your rule now,” she said, dropping to her knees beside him. “And you need to do what needs to be done.”

  Looking into her eyes, finding her pleading with him, all resolve shattered, “This shouldn’t be it,” he said.

  “But it is,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  He rolled his eyes as they field with grief, turning away to avoid showing the extent of it to her. “I cannot ask you to do this,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she said, squeezing his shoulder, “which is why I agreed before you had to.”