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

  I will not leave her.

  It was one of the easiest decisions she’d ever made. If things went badly and she had to flee, she would take Ansette with her. The girl didn’t deserve to live the rest of her life in this viper’s nest. The princess might not understand what Tempest was doing, but, in time, she would. The girl wasn’t blind to the monster her father was and the havoc he caused. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d see the truth. She had no other choice.

  “I won’t leave you. I promise.”

  Ansette pulled away, her lips twisted in wry smile. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “You can trust me,” Tempest whispered.

  “I know.”

  They fell into silence as Ansette continued brushing Tempest’s hair until it was dry and shining. The next few hours passed by in blur of ice wine, primping, and unsolicited marital advice.

  Her fingers brushed over her wedding dress as Ansette set a delicate silver crown onto her head and the servants wound her hair through and around it. Tempest shivered as a collar of clear diamonds and white gold was placed around her neck.

  The women cooed in awe.

  Tempest stared at the mirror. A queen stared stoically back. Oh, how far she’d come from the little forest imp she’d been as a child.

  “That king will not be able to take his eyes off you,” Lady Dimpleton commented.

  “Or his hands!” the Duchess of Fiergone crowed with a smirk.

  Tempest blushed. She’d grown up with bawdy uncles, and a few older women were getting to her. She’d been gone from the barracks for too long.

  Ansette stood to her right, her dress a pale lilac, complimenting Tempest’s hair in a way that was clearly deliberate. The princess smiled. “We look quite nice, don’t we?”

  Tempest smiled warmly at the girl. “You are beautiful, Ansette. You better be careful, or you’ll overshadow the bride.”

  The princess laughed. “I highly doubt that. Shall we go?”

  Tempest lifted her heavy dress and glided toward the door as the women crowded around, throwing compliments her way. A maid opened the door, and Tempest’s mood soured as Maven swept into a low bow. She curtseyed back, keeping her placid mask in place. He straightened, his eyes unashamedly roving up and down her body as if she’d dressed just for him. Bastard.

  “My soon-to-be stepmother,” he drawled, holding his hand out to her. “I am here to escort you and my lovely sister down to the ceremony. Shall we head down?”

  He was a snake who needed to be beheaded. Her skin crawled at the thought of touching the prince, but there was little choice. She couldn’t mess up today. Tempest placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to guide her down the hallway. Ansette followed in their wake, along with the horde of ladies, their excited chatter a dull roar.

  “You look the part of a bride and queen,” the prince murmured, pulling Tempest closer to his side. His breath ruffled the hair around her temple. “He’s even dressed you in diamonds and jewels. The question is, can you play the part?”

  “There’s no question of me playing the part, Your Royal Highness,” she replied calmly. Maven was a toad, and he wouldn’t get to her. “I am a bride, and, by the end of the ceremony, I will be queen. No playing about it.”

  He smirked. “We’ll see how long that sticks. My father’s tastes vary often.”

  That was a damned truth.

  They lapsed into silence as they descended the grand stairway, and Tempest was half-prepared for the prince to trip her or toss her down the stairs. He did neither, although he caught one of her looks and grinned, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Her pulse hammered as they arrived at the gargantuan wooden doors that led to the ceremony. Two footmen bracketed the entrance. They watched her, waiting for the signal to open the doors.

  She was really doing this.

  Maven released her arm and smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “Don’t get comfortable,” he warned under his breath before sliding one of the doors open to join the ceremony. The highborn ladies smiled and wished her well as they also entered the room. The door slid shut, and Tempest tried to regulate her breathing.

  Oh, God. She really was marrying the monster.

  Ansette appeared at her side and squeezed her fingers. “It's okay to be nervous,” she said, handing Tempest a beautiful bouquet of white and blue lilies. “It’s your wedding day. But maybe take a breath and put a smile on your face.”

  Tempest nodded and curled her lips into a small smile.

  “That’s better.” The princess kissed her right cheek and stepped to the other side of the footman, gathering Tempest’s train. “It’s now or never.”

  She smoothed her hands over her dress one more time, and then nodded, her fingers practically crushing the stems of the flowers. The footmen swung the heavy doors open, and she inhaled slowly, her soft court smile in place. Her eyes threatened to water as the blinding lights from the ceremonial hall hit her eyes.

  The aisle stretched out before her and the music began.

  There was no turning back.

  Her steps were smooth as she slowly glided down the aisle. She caught Ansette moving to her seat from the corner of her eye before she focused on the altar. Her stomach twisted as she stared at Destin, who waited for her at the base of the stairs. He looked resplendent in claret and gold, with a sumptuous, deep-burgundy, fur-lined cloak adorning his shoulders. The man was handsome, there was no doubt about it. She met his gaze and inwardly quailed. It was as if Pyre was staring at her from Destin’s face.

  Focus.

  The king smiled, his eyes full of pride, possessiveness, and heat. She was going to be sick. Her legs trembled, and, for once, Tempest was thankful for the damned dress that hid her weakness. Her palms began to sweat as she reached the middle of the long aisle, where all eyes were on her. The space between her and the king seemed to shrink to almost nothing. Soon, he would own her. What had she done?

  Someone, save me.

  As if a deity heard her, an explosion rocked the room, and the music screeched to a halt. Tempest froze as the crowd screamed and chaos ensued. Assailants dropped from the rafters, and soldiers rushed into the fray. Highborn men and women rushed toward the exits, clawing at and tripping over each other.

  She slid her hand through the hidden pockets she’d had added to her wedding dress. Her fingers slipped through the layers to the daggers she had strapped to each thigh. A high-pitched whistling cut through the air, and she dove for the ground as another explosion went off. The floor groaned, and small pieces of stone fell from the ceiling. Screams of terror echoed around the room.

  Tempest lifted her head and peeked over the nearest pew. A soldier launched at a man dressed in black and tore his mask off. She stiffened as serpent-like eyes connected with hers before the Talagan opened his fanged mouth and bit the soldier on the shoulder. The man’s squeal was cut off.

  She rose to her feet as the serpent man stared her down and wiped his mouth. Tempest held her ground, her fingers curling around the knives in her hands. Was this a shifter insurgent or someone from the Dark Court? Was she still supposed to appear like the queen-to-be? Or was the attack on the wedding her go-ahead to act? Sweet poison, someone should have clarified what her role was.

  Your only goal is to marry the king.

  Tempest bared her teeth at the man as he took one step in her direction. She’d have to take her cues from those around her. Unless provoked, she would not attack. The serpent hissed as another soldier rushed him. Tempest spun on her heel and gathered the train of her dress. She quickly cut the excess off and began pushing through the crowd toward the altar. Her eyes locked on her king. He wielded a crossbow in one hand and a sword in the other, his long fur cape long gone. Blood spattered him from head to toe, and he smiled as he cut down his attacker.

  She could take him now.

  All sound ceased as she advanced on Destin. He neither heard nor saw her as she battled her way toward him. His reig
n would end now.

  You’re not a murderer.

  She faltered. An arrow whistled past her nose, and she blinked. Her life literally flashed before her eyes. A shifter barreled over to the Duchess of Fiergone, knocking the woman to the floor. Tempest snapped out of her stupor, when he snarled at her and closed the distance between them. He took a swipe at her with his broad sword. She ducked and slashed him from elbow to shoulder, cutting deep. Not a killing blow, but bad enough that he dropped his sword.

  He growled, eyes narrowed on her. The shifter meant to kill her. Definitely not Pyre’s people.

  Her attention once again returned to the altar. Destin had disappeared. She needed high ground. Tempest grabbed handfuls of her dress and ran for the altar. It would give her the greatest vantage point, but she’d be exposed as well. She had to be quick.

  A soldier caught her about the waist, and she tossed her head back, breaking his nose. He yelled. She stomped the heels of her slippers on the top of his foot and slammed the butt of her dagger into his groin. The man collapsed in a moaning heap as she kept moving. She caught glimpses of periwinkle hair amongst the writhing mass. Hounds.

  Before Tempest could work out what to do next, however, she was swept into the large and burly arms of Maxim.

  “What?” she yelled as he wasted no time careening through the bloody chaos of the hall to get her out.

  “Thought it was high time you escaped,” he shouted back, smiling grimly. “Don’t want to ruin your dress any further, after all.”

  Tempest huffed out a laugh. The dress was now covered in blood, torn, and missing its train. “I’d call these alterations an improvement,” she joked as they bowled over a man wearing too many feathers in his cap. “You can put me down.”

  Maxim loped away from the bloody chaos. “No. I have orders.”

  “What orders?” she said sharply.

  “You’re to be protected.”

  “I am the protection,” she said flatly.

  “I’m taking you to Destin’s quarters.”

  Tempest wrapped her arms around her uncle’s shoulders and stared at his dirty face, a knife in each hand. “Who attacked us?”

  Maxim’s gaze flicked to hers for a moment. “Us.”

  She blinked slowly. “But they tried to kill me.”

  “It had to look good. Today was never meant to be about defeating him in the first place; it was simply about getting the first strike in. Steel yourself, girlie. He’s going to be in a mood.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. She’d almost attacked the king. If he’d died…then Maven would’ve become king.

  Tempest shivered and closed her eyes for one second.

  Twenty-Seven

  Pyre

  He’d broken his own rules.

  Idiot.

  He wasn’t supposed to be at the wedding. Nyx was taking care of this part of the plan—they’d already agreed to it. Plus, he was a liability, and everyone knew it, himself included. But every time he thought of his bloody sire getting his grubby, bloodstained hands on Tempest, he could hardly breathe. His damned emotions had been out of control since he’d hauled her freezing body from the sea. She’d almost drowned trying to save his men. She could have died. It changed things for him. Over the years, vengeance had been his sole focus. Pyre had given everything to the cause, but now he found there was something he wasn’t willing to give up.

  His mate.

  It had taken him far too long to admit it.

  Nyx is going to kill you.

  His life had always been far too dangerous for a wife and kits. It wasn’t a risk he could take until now. He smiled grimly. Who better to claim than a fierce assassin? Tempest fitted in his life, whether she realized it or not.

  Pyre shifted slightly, his body hidden in the shadows above the ceremony.

  Nyx’s men hovered around him, their gazes trained on the procession below. The sumptuous crowd of strutting peacocks and fine ladies whispered and gossiped as they waited for their soon-to-be queen. His jaw clenched beneath his black mask as Maven slipped in the far door. What was his slimy half-brother doing out and about? Maven sauntered down the aisle and took his place near the front.

  Pyre eyed the king when his flinty gaze turned on his son. Trouble between the ruler and the heir? How very useful in the coming times. The kitsune tried not to let it bother him how well his sire looked. King Destin stood on the altar, dressed head-to-toe in reds and golds, his chin held high, legs braced apart. He cut a powerful figure. Pyre stifled a growl. While he mostly took after his mother, it was still difficult to see some of his own features on the king’s face.

  The musicians struck up their music, and Pyre’s attention snapped to the rear doors of the cathedral as they opened. All thoughts of his father disappeared as he caught sight of Tempest. His chest seized as she took her first step down the aisle.

  Agony. That was the only way to describe how she affected him.

  She looked stunning. Too beautiful, almost ethereal. Her elaborate gown trailed behind her like fresh snow, and the cold diamonds encircling her neck glittered in the light. The silver crown upon her head looked like it was meant for her. She looked immaculate, polished, and elegant. Everything a queen should be.

  The placid expression she wore didn’t fool him. Tempest was cataloging the room. Always a Hound. As she neared the center of the room, her footsteps slowed a touch before she resumed her speed. He glanced back at the king and froze. The predatory grin worn by Destin and the possessive glint in his eyes sent Pyre over the edge.

  Nyx’s first explosion rocked the building.

  That was their cue.

  Pyre signaled the men to attack. No one looked at his mate like that. No one.

  Their men dropped from the rafters, into the screaming throng of courtiers and onto the backs of unsuspecting guards and soldiers. The crowd screamed, trying to get to their feet. They rushed toward the exits, slippers, wigs, and fans abandoned, as well as those they crushed in their mad dash to escape the carnage. Pyre had no interest in them.

  No, he only had eyes for King Destin.

  Pyre crept around the room, closing the distance between himself and the altar. A guard rushed him, but he ducked under his arm and swung around, slamming the pommel of his sword into the man’s temple. The guard dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Pyre stood, his focus moving back to the altar. Destin had moved away, farther down the dais and into the crowd, wildly swinging his sword around at whoever dared come close, friend or foe. A balding man with a portly belly yelped when he caught the receiving end of one of the king’s swings. The man scrambled away as Destin cut down one of Nyx’s men.

  Red descended over Pyre’s eyes as he prowled closer. The king would die this day. He didn’t care about anyone but himself, and Destin would destroy the kingdom brick by brick.

  He’s your father.

  Pyre faltered for a moment and shook his head. No. The monster had only contributed to his creation. This man was the demon who strangled a young woman to death simply because she’d had a child and fled to keep that child safe.

  He stalked closer to Destin, his eyed locked on the king.

  Pyre’s keen ears caught the whisper of a blade slicing through the air barely in time. He darted to the right, cursing as the dagger sliced across his left cheek, tearing his mask from his face. He spun and faced his attacker, his hood falling back, his white hair visible. He’d chosen his Mal form for today.

  The prince sneered at him, a sword in his hand.

  Maven, his half-brother, spat on the floor. “I’m going to kill you, you filthy mongrel.”

  Pyre rolled his neck and eyed the prince. His younger brother certainly had the look of their father in him, but where the king was all brawn, the prince had a physique like a serpent. Fast and limber. There was something simultaneously weak and cruel about his disposition. One could almost pity him if it wasn’t for the hateful, scheming gleam in his eyes.

  “Get back, boy,” Py
re snarled at the prince, parrying his next blow before attacking with his own dual daggers. Maven avoided them both, moving like oil.

  The prince grinned, the sight chilling. “I don’t think so, fox. Your blood is mine.”

  Pyre kept his rage banked as they danced around each other, intermittently attacking and defending, slashing and ducking, stabbing and backing away. He didn’t have time for this rabble. He needed to be done with him. Just kill him and be done with it.

  He’s your kin.

  He growled, hating the thought that the slimy bastard held any relation to him. From the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of white. His gaze darted toward Tempest as she battled an assailant who was twice her size. Pyre took a step in her direction.

  “Look what you’re doing, you idiot!” Nyx screamed as she seemed to appear from nowhere, swinging a club.

  She bashed Maven on the head, and his eyes rolled up before he collapsed on the ground, his sword skidding across the stone floor, pausing at Pyre’s feet.

  His sister glared at him. “You almost got your fool-self gutted!”

  “Not the first time,” he replied.

  Nyx shook her head. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to stay away. Now, get your head in the game. Her uncle has it covered. Tempest won’t be hurt.”

  He grinned. “She doesn’t need him.”

  “True.” Nyx grabbed his arm and began towing him toward the exit, her fine clothing spattered in blood. “Time to retreat and actually follow the plan.”

  He dug his heels in. Destin needed to be dealt with.

  Nyx glared at him. “He’s gone, brother.”

  Pyre glanced over his shoulder and scanned the chaos. The king was nowhere to be seen. Damn it.

  “You can’t go rogue on me now. We’ve spent too much time on our plans,” his sister growled. “Even in this form, you could be recognized.”

  Today had been a show of how weak the king’s defenses were—to cause mischief and havoc and, coincidentally, destroy his wedding day. Even though he longed to hunt the king down, it would be a suicide mission, and Pyre planned to live a long life. Soldiers flooded the cathedral, battling through the panicked courtiers. Nyx was right. It was time to go. They were outnumbered. He inhaled deeply and focused on shifting his white ears completely out of sight. It hurt, and his hearing dulled, but it was a necessary evil. He dropped his black cloak to the floor, revealing gaudy clothing, and clutched Nyx’s hand.