The Heir Boxed Set

by Kyra Gregory

  “I didn’t fail,” he whispered, words tinged with disbelief. One arm draped across the small of her back, clinging to her side and holding her close, or holding himself upright with her support, he reached across the table. It was then that she saw the chalice, filled to the brim with a concoction of something foul.

  Abruptly, he fell into his seat, still reaching for vials and tipping their contents into his cup.

  “What?” she pressed, impatient and desperate.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow, taking a deep breath before taking a swig from the chalice. “I didn’t fail,” he said, breathlessly.

  Relieved as she might’ve been to find him on his feet, there was no deluding herself into believing he had recovered. The walk across the palace, evading the guards, possibly breaking into her chambers, and returning, appeared to be the finally push towards the cliff’s edge.

  “I didn’t fail to taste the poison,” he said. Allowing another sip of the concoction to slip down his throat, he broke out into a wide smile and leaned into the back of his seat. “There was no poison to taste because I never ate it,” he said.

  Her brows furrowed together. Why did he seem so surprised? They had long suspected it may not have been a recent poison doing this to him, but harm brought on by his years of training.

  Downing the last of the contents of his cup, barely able to grasp it any longer, he raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, head tipped back and gasping for breath.

  His smile—one of pride and joy—shook her. How could he look so pleased with himself at a time like this? Of course, because he hadn’t failed.

  “I smoked it,” he said. He met her gaze, then allowed it to flicker towards the hearth.

  Seizing the cup from his loose grasp, she followed his line of sight. She barely noticed it at first—this small, insignificant box, lying on the stone, only a short distance from the fire.

  Picking it up, she felt the weight, not of the box, but of the weapon it carried. Someone had tried to poison them. Someone had tried to poison him.

  Chapter 20

  SEEING INTO THE WORKINGS of another kingdom was a scarce, often unlikely privilege. Few people were privy to the meetings between Kings and their advisors. Fewer still were those people of another kingdom. Discussions of anything of great importance happened amongst the King’s most trusted. Unfortunately for King Niles, those people had grown few and far between.

  As his mother had remarked, seeing into the throne room of another kingdom, witnessing the arguments, could put Riffin’s mind at ease. His own family had been known for heated discussion. Respectful and loyal as they might’ve been to their Queen or King, none of them were ever truly capable of keeping their opinions to themselves. He hadn’t minded it when he was King, however brief that moment was. It gave him perspective and, though it often made matters more complicated, gave him peace of mind that he was approaching an issue from more perspectives than just his own.

  Seeing Niles struggle, debating with himself on the way forward, he almost felt bad for him. Many of his nobles couldn’t be trusted, the rest would be of little use, and, finally, his own brother appeared to have betrayed him.

  Pietros would try to help. He’d prompt their discussion forward, give him options, only to be shot down, either by a glare or a snide remark. The younger twin would just take it, bowing his head, pacing at a distance, and leaving his brother to his own thoughts. He would make another attempt every so often, only to be shot down in much the same way each time.

  “You need to make a decision,” his mother said. “Should you dawdle much longer, I’ll be forced to have to make it for you.”

  Niles shook his head, “You’re asking me execute every man you’ve captured,” he said.

  She shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head, “I am not asking you to do anything,” she said. “I am asking you to deal with your traitors in whatever manner you see fit. I am asking you to ascertain that I won’t have to bring an army here every month to keep your people under control.”

  “Executing those who have led their people to betray you will send a message,” Pietros said, “and sparing those people who purely followed will be the mercy keeping you from being a tyrant.”

  “Would that satisfy you?” Niles asked, looking beyond the Lionessan Queen towards his brother. “It would be only fair to have you hang from the gallows beside them.”

  “Do it then,” Pietros demanded. His voice boomed, the tremor of anger enough to send a slight shiver down Riffin’s spine. It wasn’t like him to anger like that.

  Niles bolted to his feet but, before he could spit back a retort or give the order, the Queen marched towards him. Her hand flew across his face, leaving a stinging red mark across his cheek.

  “Do you think my son would have had reason to march an army here to protect you?” she asked. “After everything you did to keep him from the woman he loves, do you think he would have offered you the same courtesy I have?”

  Niles emboldened himself, standing tall enough to rival her, but never daring to utter a word.

  “Your brother has had every reason to turn his back on you and let you fend for yourself after everything you’ve put him through,” she said. “Instead, he acted in your favour and released me when you wouldn’t. He stayed by your side, uncertain if I would return with the army needed to keep the blade from both your necks. He has stood beside you, whether he agreed with your decisions or not, so you will show him some respect. Either that, or I will be taking my men, and your brother, and you will be left to fend for yourself.”

  She needn’t wait for his response. Having spoken in a single breath, she turned away from him, certain his reply would be one of compliance.

  Sensing the tension in the room, a messenger entered quietly and, with matters of greater importance to deal with, they paid him little mind when they saw him approaching Riffin, even though he himself showed the most surprise.

  Marked with his father’s seal, he broke it with a growing apprehension, holding his breath as his eyes scanned the contents of the letter. “Who is Lady Vimont?” Riffin asked, abruptly, cutting through the argument.

  Niles glanced his way, brows twitching together. He had far more problems to deal with than some woman—certainly this woman, however little he may have thought of her. “Lord Vimont’s wife. Why?” he replied, indifferently. He didn’t seem interested—not in the slightest. She mustn’t have been anyone of note. Not to them at least.

  “I gathered by her title,” Riffin retorted. “Who is she?”

  Niles didn’t seem to know, or, at the very least, didn’t seem to care.

  “She’s Lord Girgani’s younger sister,” Pietros said, suddenly. Realisation seemed to have dawned on him, a rippling effect Riffin felt coursing through him almost as soon as the words had passed his lips.

  His mother forced a smile in Niles’s direction, excusing herself softly as she approached her son. “You need to leave this to me,” he said, anger blazing within him. This wasn’t the time for his mother’s politics. Not the time for his own politics either. He didn’t care who Lady Vimont was. He didn’t care where she came from. He didn’t care who might be insulted or troubled were anything to happen to her. This was about vengeance.

  She held her head up high, never alluding to any trouble towards the Ludorum nobles. “Is this about Thane?”

  He was transparent and he knew it. Nothing, no one, was capable of riling him up quite as much as this.

  Riffin handed her the folded letter, summarising the contents through a clenched jaw, “Thane determined the origin of the poison,” he said. “Were it not for our servants taking painstaking note on gifts and their givers, we might never have known where it came from.”

  “Retaliation for Lord Girgani’s death, no doubt,” she murmured, folding the letter once again.

  “One that will cost Lady Vimont dearly,” he said. Snatching the letter from her, filled with a nervous energy to storm from the room and
do what needed to be done, he struggled to keep himself still, already half-turned towards the door. “I won’t be asking permission,” he declared.

  His mother smiled, bowing her head, “I would never ask you to,” she said. “Most certainly not for this.” She turned back towards their Ludorum hosts and, their argument be damned, she asked, “Where might my son find Lady Vimont?”

  Chapter 21

  COMFORTABLE IN A SEAT in Lady Vimont’s sitting room, a leg propped up over his knee, Riffin glanced her way when she entered. With a sullen expression, but a twinkle of mirth in her eyes upon having returned home, she went a moment without seeing him sitting there. Although he remained unmoving, it wasn’t long before she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, leaping, a yelp escaping her, and a hand falling to her chest. “Who are you?” she asked. “How did you get in here?”

  “You send poison into a man’s home and you don’t recognise him?” he asked, brows furrowing together.

  “Who are you?”

  Shifting his weight, drawing attention to himself at Riffin’s side, Jared spoke. “His Royal Highness, Prince Riffin,” he replied for him.

  Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but raised amongst nobility meant she kept many of the subtleties of emotion from her features. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Your Highness?” she asked.

  “Displeasure,” he replied, offering her a smile. “You sent a gift meant to poison my friend.”

  She didn’t seem surprised, though not abhorrently shocked either. “Your friend was said to be responsible for my brother’s death,” she said, matter-of-factly. “However, I’m not the sort to believe rumours,” she added. “You shouldn’t either.”

  “You think I have mistaken rumour for fact?”

  She offered a smile she must’ve meant to appear sympathetic. He only saw it as arrogance. “I think the grief of a friend’s death might cause one to look for blame anywhere,” she explained, pacing like a tutor would.

  Riffin smirked, amused by her act. “I never said he died.”

  She faltered then, a touch of surprise sparking in her eyes. “I suppose he’s been fortunate,” she said.

  “Your brother was not, however,” he declared. He met her gaze, searching for the semblance of emotion in the depths of her dark eyes. “Isn’t that why you did this?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “My brother was a good man,” she said. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “He assaulted my sister,” he retorted, calm. He knew his own hand in that, only he knew Lord Girgani to have done a great deal more than what had been agreed between them. “I would hardly constitute those the actions of a good man.”

  She shook her head, “He wouldn’t. He always did his duty,” she said. “He was summoned to become a husband for the sake of an alliance and he answered the call.”

  “Your brother was a traitor—to his King and to that of the woman he chose to take as a wife.”

  Defiant, refusing to hear any of it, she folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” she said. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”

  Riffin hung his head, smiling, “But I know you did,” he said. “I’ve been told your husband’s grandmother was known to dabble in poisons. I suppose he picked up on a few things—difficult to say when such skills are rarely advertised over tea amongst nobles.”

  “Again, more rumours,” she whispered, waving her hand dismissively.

  “Rumours founded on truth,” he said.

  Arms folded over her chest, she seemed to have given up on the lies. Her eyes met his and they darkened, becoming firmer in their resolve. “My brother was a good man,” she said. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “I’ve played this game,” he said, nodding, slowly. He met her gaze, softened. He knew her anger. He knew her frustration. He knew the game of vengeance well. “We make a move. The other retaliates. We go back and forth until our battlefield blurs together into one large bloody stalemate. Both sides incur losses and for what? None of it brings our loved ones back to us.”

  Her shoulders dropped and she appeared to soften. A woman in her position had little opportunity to let her feelings be known. Her wounds were often less considered, and poisoning Thane the only way she knew how was her way of putting her word forward.

  He’d been there before.

  He was there now.

  He shifted in his seat, tugging at the front of his coat. “I’d like to say I’ve learnt to look beyond the insult—do away with the need for vengeance altogether,” he continued, striking fear in the heart of her. “I’ve had to close an eye to certain grievances for the sake of politics but...not this one—there are just some grievances I won’t look past, some which call for an answer, irrespective of the political consequences.”

  When Riffin made no effort to move, speaking in a calm and collected voice, void of anything but a tinge of anger and a drop of hurt, Lady Vimont’s eyes flickered in Jared’s direction and dropped to the weapon at his hip.

  Dropping his gaze, Riffin smiled, “You have no reason to fear him,” he said. “Jared doesn’t quite have it in himself to lay harm to a woman.”

  She knew not to breathe a sigh of relief just yet, taking a step away. “Ranson,” she called, a tremor of fear in her tone.

  There was no hiding Riffin’s amusement but, rather than interrupt, he waited in silence. Relief washed over her face as she heard heavy footsteps approaching the sitting room.

  The door behind her opened ever so slightly, just wide enough for his father to enter. He looked to Riffin and he offered him a smirk that only served to rile Lady Vimont up further, causing her to back away from the door. To think him just a man could instil one sort of fear, but to know who he was, that would make himself clear. “Have you met my father?” he asked, glancing between the two.

  Her eyes widened then and the air vacated her lungs. Rumour, it seemed, had done its job in one regard—cementing his father’s reputation.

  “Unfortunately for you, my father doesn’t quite share Jared’s reservations,” he said.

  The emotion absent from his gaze, his father seized the short sword from his side and, in one swoop, grabbed her by the waist and held the blade to her neck. A smile, wicked and fearless, graced her lips. Sliding against her neck, the knife robbed her of it.

  Chapter 22

  AFTER ALMOST TWO WEEKS confined to his bedchambers, nobody could say they were surprised to find Thane enjoyed the outdoors the most. Be it the fresh air, the smell of the trees, the flowers in bloom, something about it dragged him towards it. Once he’d mostly recovered, he found little purpose in remaining confined to his chambers. Only, by that time, he had little purpose in the throne room, or in his office, with others having taken over his duties in his absence.

  Following the long, intricate paths, Malia tired looking for him. The guards had seen him enter, never exit, and was told he would be there, but their gardens were expansive, making looking for him a feat within itself.

  Despite the obvious frustration, feeling the sweat trickling down her spine, she took comfort in knowing he was well enough for the long walk. It was only some days ago when even standing caused his heart to race, thundering in his chest, struggling to cope with the prospect of having to fuel his movement.

  Then, there he was. Seated at table, hunched over a portable writing desk, he raked his fingers through his hair and scribbled. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly to herself. They had been too ambitious to imagine he would put work to rest for a little while and should’ve expected him to go as far as this to work in secret.

  About to make her presence known, she came to a stop as he lowered his head, features disappearing in their entirety behind his hand and the writing desk. With the sun beating down on him, she couldn’t imagine sitting outside for as long as he had did him any good.

  Ready to order him inside, she took a step forward, only to stop again. He shot to his
feet and rushed towards the hedges that surrounded the clearing.

  Clinging to the foliage, fingers turning white at the knuckles, he bent over, retching violently in the hedge. Weak at the knees, his body trembled, coordinated as he lowered himself onto the pebbled surface to keep himself from falling.

  Fear instilled in her once again, she found herself rooted to the spot and unable to move. It was only when the papers on his writing desk caught the breeze, fluttering in the wind, did she rush forward. She grabbed the pages before the wind could lift them out of reach, turning to face him to find him frightened by her abrupt appearance.

  She didn’t think to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. His watery eyes dropped, filled with so much shame. He didn’t need her to pry.

  Searching through the folds of her dress, she retrieved her handkerchief and handed it to him. On the floor, staining the smooth white and grey pebbles that surfaced the ground beneath her feet, the crimson colour she had grown to know so well was a stark contrast.

  When he wouldn’t look at her, taking the handkerchief timidly, she turned to the writing desk, slipping his letters into the box before shutting it firm to keep anything else from taking flight. “It’s all a little too much too soon,” she said. “Your throat is likely raw from all the retching and coughing, hence the blood. You should see the physician. He might have something to soothe it.”

  Thane lowered himself slowly onto the nearby stone bench. A smile flickered on his lips, though he struggled to maintain it. “I doubt that,” he said.

  Heaving a sigh, propping a hand on her hip, she approached. “Rest will help,” she said.

  “I doubt that as well.”

  She took a seat beside him, brows furrowed at the sight of him so dejected. Over the last few days they had started to see glimpses of the man they knew him to be. The life in him had returned. Although he had clung to his wit, his humour, a spark of life in him, for as long as possible, hopeful to keep up the spirits of those around him, they could all see he had been on the cusp of death. But that was behind him. He was on his feet more. Colour had returned to his face and the prominent dark circles around his eyes had faded with time and rest.