The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  Loud, heavy footsteps clicked through the corridors, ringing out throughout the throne room. A young man, dressed in a loose cotton shirt, tucked into dark pants, with no jacket, bowed his head deeply in the Queen’s direction. “Your Majesty,” he addressed.

  Surprised by the man’s unmade appearance, Riffin looked his way with furrowed brows, taking in every detail of him. “Who is this?” he asked.

  “This is Castor Bates,” she replied, stepping forward to make introductions.

  An unfamiliar name to all their ears, even Malia’s when first introduced, but Riffin’s greater concern was that he was a face he didn’t recognise. Growing up in the palace where guards closest to them were trained and housed meant that he knew just about every one of them that would have such close proximity to the ruler.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Castor said, bowing.

  Riffin offered him a brief, polite smile, all while his gaze took in his features. He was young, though not quite as young as Riffin or herself. Youthful would be the word to describe him, though up close one could see the wrinkles of worry slowly creeping into his skin. “He’s from Ludorum, isn’t he?”

  Sensing his resentment, Castor bowed his head and pursed his lips together, keeping himself silent as the heir to the throne turned to his mother for answers.

  “He is,” she replied, sighing.

  “What do you do here?” Riffin asked, cocking his chin in Castor’s direction.

  “I inform her Majesty on matters in Ludorum,” he replied.

  “We have spies for that,” Riffin declared, matter-of-factly.

  “He advises me,” his mother interjected.

  Malia bit her bottom lip, doing her utmost to keep herself from the argument. Riffin looked to his mother with raised brows, “You’ve replaced Thane then, and Ewin,” he retorted.

  “I haven’t,” she countered, rolling her eyes. “He provides context to the matter.”

  Riffin licked his lips, using the action to hide his disagreeing smirk. “I hope its working,” he said.

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and left. Offering the Queen a polite and patient smile, receiving one in return, Malia followed him. He never acknowledged her walking behind him, knowing she was there and leaving the door to their chambers ajar. “I might not agree with everything she’s ever done but she’s right about this,” she said.

  He glanced her way. He admired her. She was exactly the woman—the Queen—he’d hoped she’d be. Tough and gentle in equal measure, she was the balance he longed to strike within himself. Soft in her love for him, there was no asking her to stand down from providing him with her thoughts. “I know,” he said.

  She sighed and her shoulders dropped. The tension left her face and she licked her lips, summoning the patience to understand. “Then why are you giving her such a hard time about it?”

  He lowered himself onto the bed, staring at the wall until his vision blurred and his thoughts danced before his eyes. “I want to know how she does it. I want to know how she stomachs saving the people who allowed this to happen.”

  Silence fell between them. She pondered it considerably, never moving from where she stood, watching him with great intent. “I don’t know if she does,” she whispered. “I suppose if she did, she would’ve told you. It seems to me... I think she just...focuses on the greater good.”

  “I tried that,” he said, dismissive and prompt. “When I paid Lord Girgani to...strike my sister, I did it telling myself it would—”

  “And it worked,” she asserted.

  “She almost killed herself,” he said. His words came as no surprise to her—not in the slightest—and, for a moment, he wondered if she had felt the same way, pushed to such thoughts and actions when she was held captive by Ludorum’s rebels. After all, it was exactly like she’d said; Malia and Neyva were remarkably similar, both from lower stations but having grown up around noble families, people that were to be deemed above them, and insulted over their privilege of having done so.

  Try as he might to drag himself out of a depth of despair, to turn a blind eye to all that had happened, he only made matters worse.

  “Thane was there—”

  He scoffed, shaking his head. “Lucky me—having Thane clean up my messes,” he said.

  “It worked out—it all did,” she asserted. “Your sister, Thane—they’re happy together. They’re in love with each other.” She approached him more determined than ever, straddling his hips with ease and taking his face in her hands. There was no getting away. “If we’re going to survive this, we need to look at all we must cherish, not dwell on the dark.”

  He leaned into her touch, resting his forehead against hers. She supported him, just as she always did, and all he could think about was what it meant for her to bear it all. “I just want to be better,” he whispered. “I want to do better.”

  She smiled, jolting his head, forcing him to look at her, “Then go back,” she said. “Because the King you were had struck a balance between his head and his heart. He did right and he didn’t let it consume him.”

  He shook his head. It didn’t consume him then, but it lingered—festering until it led to this. He took her hand in his, pressing his lips to the back of her fingers. “What would I do without you?”

  She laughed, finding the love in his words, and kissing him.

  He knew the answer, and it was no laughing matter.

  What would he have done without her? He would’ve become his mother when she first ascended the throne. He would’ve been unbridled, his fury unconfined, his agony consuming. He would’ve been the same as the woman she was before his father. Kingdoms would’ve been brought to ashes.

  Chapter 3

  LETHARGIC BEYOND COMPREHENSION, THANE threw his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. The journeys had been long, arduous even, and he had despised nearly every second of it.

  Time in Darner had been comfortable, with Neyva’s estate very much a home fit for royalty. Luxury wasn’t the matter, however, but stability. Her home was well-guarded, it contained those she trusted and nobody else.

  The same couldn’t be said for all the other places they visited. Having lived a year under threat, fearing an attack from just about anyone and everyone, nowhere but home seemed safe.

  When Riffin had decided he needed to have a greater hand, a more personable approach, to matters across Lionessa and Evrad, he dreaded it all.

  But, where Riffin went, Thane went. That was how it was and that was how it would be—and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

  When Neyva decided to join them, that caused him the greatest grief of all. After years of being told love and duty never mix, that love and feelings drove men away from duty, those two aspects of his life had thoroughly married themselves together in what could only be problematic had they been attacked.

  But they weren’t.

  They got back to the Lionessan Capital in one piece. Everyone was safe. His King was safe. His wife was safe. He hadn’t been forced to choose love over duty. He hadn’t been forced to choose between protecting his best friend and the woman he loved. After years of letting his teachings rule his life, everything he’d ever been taught never came to pass.

  Their return forced him to crumble. All that time he had spent, racked with so much concern, holding himself together for the sake of everyone—he felt himself beginning to fall apart now.

  The ache in his spine verged on debilitating and, were it not for the couch, so much as craning his neck back could cause it to snap. With the candles lit, the scent of lavender and sandalwood in the air, the chambers that weren’t his own felt like home.

  “Have you looked through the gifts yet?” Neyva asked, peeking through the open doors of their bedchambers.

  “Not at all,” he replied.

  She came to an abrupt stop, her smile falling from her lips as she found him unmoving, resting his head in his hands. Visibly troubled, she advanced towards him, “What’s w
rong?” she asked.

  He glanced her way, grinning uncontrollably at the sight of her. She was a beauty to behold, that was for certain, and he still couldn’t quite get used to considering her his wife—and one that was no longer just in name only. Still very much done up from their day of travels, she’d made herself more comfortable by replacing her thick, heavy gowns for a light, silk dress. “Nothing at all,” he said.

  Her shoulders dropped, breathing a soft sigh of relief. “You worry me when I see you this serious,” she said. She lowered herself onto the couch and draped her legs over his knees, extending her hand to stroke his tired features.

  He smiled, sliding his cheek into the palm of her hand. He sighed, withdrawing as he leaned into the couch. “What would you prefer?” he asked. “That I were serious, or the immature child you always thought me to be?”

  All traces of happiness fell from her face, her gaze saddening at the thought of such a time. Licking her lips, she glanced elsewhere for only a second, “I was wrong,” she said. “I didn’t understand.”

  While she might’ve saddened at the memory of how she once treated him, he could only smile at the thought that he had, somehow, changed her perception of him. “I never expected you to understand,” he said.

  Her smile was small—delicate even. Her fingers skimmed his cheeks, her fingers brushing the stubble along his jaw. He delighted in her touch, gentle and exhilarating, surprised by it each and every time.

  Her lips touching his did little to help when his breaths had been shallow thus far. She leaned into him, her smile growing as he allowed his hands to drop to her waist. As her kiss became more fervent, the more he could feel his own passion rising, his fingers entangled in her hair as he swept it away from her face.

  She withdrew slowly, grinning at his laboured breathing, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. It was then, in that moment of pause, looking at him from under her lashes, that she dropped her hands to his chest.

  He caught it then, hiding his momentary alarm by kissing the back of her fingers. She smiled, inching in closer, luring him out of his own head with a brush of her lips against his. “Think nothing of it,” she said. “I don’t.”

  Taking in the scent of rose in her hair, tucking his hand beneath her jaw, he needed to hold her close, searching for the distraction in her touch.

  Still, there wasn’t enough. Even as she lifted herself into his lap, her hand on his chest played in the back of his mind, his palms sweaty as he gripped her silk gown.

  Withdrawing ever so slightly, their foreheads pressed together, she licked her lips. Looking down his nose at them, tempting as they were, he expected to see to disappointment, only to see a smile. She pressed soft kisses to the corners of his lips, emitting a soft giggle, before she drew herself out of his lap and off the couch.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, nails scraping the nape of his neck as he watched her pick through some of the weddings gifts that had been piled in the corner of her chambers in their absence.

  Returning with four small wooden boxes, intricate in their carvings, she seated herself beside him, inching beneath the arm he’d rested on the back of the couch. “Open one,” she said. “I’ll never get through all this if I have to do it alone.”

  Fiddling with the clasp on one of the boxes, a short gasp escaped her as she drew a magnificent piece of jewellery from within it. A necklace, made of silver and green stone, shone in the light and glistened as she laid it over her skin.

  With one hand on her shoulders, he opened the other box one-handed. The gift of choice for a groom was hardly as spectacular—a large bottle of wine, laid in a case of burgundy satin. It was a good bottle, at least.

  The next box she opened contained a bracelet, while the next one he opened contained cigarettes. “Seems to me they’re trying to make me a widow,” she said, eyeing the two gifts.

  He smiled. “I drank and smoked long before I married you,” he said.

  She pouted, rising to gather another couple of boxes, “Smoking’s a filthy habit,” she said.

  As the words left her lips, Thane had already drawn a cigarette from the box to his own. By the time she turned around, it was lit.

  Coming to a stop on her return to the couch, she stared down her nose at him, raising a brow, just about ready to cross her arms over her chest had she not already been carrying the gifts.

  “You can take them to your chambers if you like,” she said. She dropped the gifts beside him, snatching the cigarette from between his fingers and putting it out in one of the candles. “But I won’t have that stench in here.”

  He feigned a pout but, having her lean over him, the playful scowl on her lips, they both couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Whatever you say,” he whispered, certainly convinced by it. She lowered herself back into his lap, gifts abandoned, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She made no attempt at touching his chest, no attempt at drawing herself any deeper into the life he concealed from her. This was enough. They could find comfort and enjoyment in this.

  Chapter 4

  MAKING HIS WAY DOWN the corridor from the throne room, the giggles of youth echoed throughout. Looking on ahead, Riffin listened for the sound of quick steps slapping against the stone floors, he slowed. King Niles’s young children rounded the corner, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of him.

  Castor and Queen Meryl quickly followed, with King Niles’s wife uttering scolding words. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, not having seen him since his return. “I beg your pardon,” she said.

  Riffin shrugged his shoulders and stepped aside, allowing them the freedom to pass.

  Quickly, her hands against the children’s backs, she ushered them out of his way.

  Castor offered him a polite smile as he went. He might’ve been well-intentioned, perfectly sensible and gentle even, but months of worrying where the next dagger would come from had left him callous to the introduction of foreigners within the palace he called his home.

  “Prince Riffin,” she called, softly, taking him by surprise.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he found Queen Meryl had stopped. Her children, escorted a little further down the corridor by Castor, no longer privy to the conversation she might’ve wished to have. “Would you care to join us in the gardens?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, biting back a nasty retort of sorts, he considered his reply more carefully. “I have a little time,” he replied.

  So long as the children remained within earshot, they walked side by side but said nothing. When they were in the gardens, the children began to run, chasing one another, giggling and playing their make-believe stories under Castor’s watchful eye.

  “I understand your resentment towards us,” Queen Meryl said, seating herself on one of the stone benches.

  She sat on the edge of her seat, hands clasped together in her lap. A humble woman of noble blood made Queen by marriage to a King, she didn’t convey any of the might the women in his life shared. Any man with sense would wonder how it were possible to resent a woman as meek and as unassuming as her, but he wasn’t any man. He was a King once, and heir to his mother’s throne again, and he knew history and had the foresight to know that whole kingdoms could be taken down by a woman as quiet and as unassuming as she appeared to be.

  “I understand it, such that I wouldn’t be here if it were just my life that needed protecting,” she added.

  He didn’t doubt her, not for a second. A woman such as herself would’ve been raised to withstand the politics, withstand the bloodshed and the turmoil. Children, however, weren’t capable of that by any stretch of the imagination. In their world, children were the most vulnerable. Some, like King Nero, chose to use them as pawns. But his own family would rise above the exploitation of the weak in the attempt to gain a victory.

  “Your mother has shown a great deal of care for us,” she said.

  “My mother is a good woman,” he said.

  Tearing her eyes away from her ch
ildren, she looked to him, “Queen or not, I know I would not still be here had it not been for your approval,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Licking his lips, Riffin began to pace, spinning the ring on his finger. “You have my wife to thank for such mercy,” he said.

  She hung her head, undoubtedly suspecting where this was going.

  “A wife I wouldn’t have, were I to have listened to your husband,” he said.

  Although she hadn’t been there when they argued Malia’s release, she had undoubtedly heard about it. Even if King Niles hadn’t involved her in all the politics, she would’ve heard about it once the need of their allies came up in conversation. “I understand,” she whispered.

  “Niles made a point of telling me that my decision to favour love over a political marriage would be my ruin,” he said, “but it’s the love of my wife that has kept the rebel’s blades from your throat and those of your children.”

  She smiled wearily, eyes glistening as she admired the carefree manner in which they played. He knew that look—him and his wife shared it, watching their innocent, oblivious children enjoy their childhood, free of the constraints of their world. “You’re right,” she said.

  Shifting his weight, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he paused. It was a struggle to rid his tone of anger, to hide his resentment and show a little more mercy, certainly when he suspected that Niles might never have shown Malia and his children the same courtesy had their roles been reversed. “Should you be so lucky to return to your kingdom, should you be so lucky so as to return to your husband, you might do well to remind him that the woman he vilified and abandoned in the hands of our enemies is the one that spared the lives of you and your children.”

  Determined, almost fiery, she met his gaze with eyes as dark as night. “You have my word,” she said.