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

  “You know, you would have made a great heir,” the king drawled, arrogance seeping from his tone. “My first son—first legitimate son—was a useless drunk. It was a relief when he finally died.” He chuckled. “At least he had the decency to die in battle. A martyr is always good for the cause. Now, my second son is more promising. He has the makings to be a true ruler. His shortsightedness and lack of vision is concerning, though, as is his charisma. The boy scares people more than he draws them. But you…” He waved an arm toward the destruction around them. “Look at what you’ve achieved, little fox. You truly are my son, through and through.”

  Disgust rolled through Pyre. “I’m nothing like you.”

  “We’re more alike than you know.” He laughed. “It’s not too late. Think of what we could do with the Dark Court and my power. Nothing would be out of our grasp. We could control the kingdoms around us. Be gods among men.”

  “An interesting proposal, but what will I gain?”

  Pyre darted in and slashed at the juncture of the king’s elbow. Destin grunted as Pyre cut through muscle before Destin jerked back and examined his bleeding left arm that now hung uselessly by his side.

  “Power, freedom, women,” the king offered.

  “It sounds intriguing, but I will pass.”

  “Always difficult.” Destin shook his head and then surged forward.

  Pyre rolled through the muck and snow, kicking Destin’s left knee inward. The king yelled as he fell, landing in the mud hard. The kitsune rolled to his feet and stepped onto the king’s right hand, forcing him to release the broad sword.

  “So overconfident,” the king tsked. “So, you’ve dealt with me. Now, how do you plan to deal with my Hounds?”

  Pyre smirked and ground his boot against his sire’s wrist. He leaned down and cocked his head before pointing a dagger over his shoulder at the silent Hounds. “You mean my Hounds?”

  Thirty-Six

  Tempest

  Hack, parry, slash. Hack, slash, block. Hack, jab, parry.

  Tempest was running on a wondrous, beautiful autopilot. Her body was a weapon honed to a fine point, and she was wielding it with expert precision. So long as she didn’t overthink things—or look at the fallen bodies or breathe in the smell of blood and iron too deeply—she was a whirlwind tearing through the battlefield.

  Training every day for thirteen years had its advantages.

  Several times, she’d scanned the battle for the kitsune. Pyre was a madman on the battlefield. Tempest couldn’t help but feel awe and…possessiveness. Her stomach fluttered, and she squashed her feelings. Now was not the time to think about what he’d said the night prior. If they made it through battle, she’d figure out her feelings once things had calmed down. The fox shifter deserved a true and straight answer from her, with absolutely no uncertainty or pressure coloring her decision.

  Today, she would fight. Tomorrow, she would think.

  She wiped her bloody fingers over the uniform of one of the king’s fallen soldiers. The frigid wind whipped across her face as she stood, and she caught Dima’s eye as he signaled her next move; she then sprinted toward Maxim, leaving Dima behind. He’d catch up soon enough.

  A soldier spotted her and lunged into her path from the right, swinging a massive battle-axe. Tempest dropped onto one knee and slid in the muddy snow. Time seemed to slow as the blade cut through the space above her head, the slick soft sound of metal slicing the empty air. She twisted in the snow, then swung her sword backward, catching her enemy above his ankle, severing his Achilles tendon. The man bellowed and crashed to his knees, betrayal and hatred burning in his eyes as he clutched his leg.

  He may hate her but at least he still had his life. Tempest knew he was just following orders. If possible, she only wounded and moved on.

  Tempest pushed to her feet and continued to run, the mud and snow beneath her boots threatening her balance. She wobbled for a moment, then steeled herself, before she crashed into the chaos surrounding Maxim. Her burly uncle bellowed and swung his battle-axe with a crazed smile on his face. Her fingers squeezed the hilt of her sword, and she gracefully avoided a soldier as he clumsily hacked at her. She spun to face him when the man staggered and fell to the ground.

  She blinked as Aleks sheepishly smiled at her, a handful of pink powder in his hand.

  “Thanks,” she muttered. Tempest had never seen him spar once in her life. It was jarring to see him on the battlefield.

  “Move it, girlie!” Maxim yelled.

  Wind blew her hair, and she rolled out of the way as a scaly tail slammed into the ground three feet from her spot and swept the earth. She grinned at the dragon whose emerald eyes twinkled as soldiers ran screaming from him.

  “Lovely, you’re always in the thick of it,” he rasped in his deep dragon-like voice.

  Brine came loping into view, his black cloak wet.

  “I can’t help it.” She nodded toward the regrouping soldiers. “Move on three. One, two three!”

  Tempest sprinted forward with Brine at her side. A soldier approached from their left. The wolf leaped onto him, taking the man down. She kept running, jumping over the body of a soldier, and twirled around to knock down an approaching attacker from her right.

  “Keep it up, lass!” Dima yelled out, appearing on her left.

  She grinned. “Learned from the best, didn’t I? Might be even better than you now, uncle!”

  “Ha! Only because I am getting old.”

  “If you’re getting old, then I’m already middle-aged.”

  Their wild, inappropriate-for-the-occasion conversation was abruptly cut off when Maxim roared past them both, distracting three of the king’s men long enough to allow an injured shifter to retreat into the forest.

  “Stop yapping and get to work!” Maxim admonished both of them, though he was laughing. “No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

  With that, Tempest followed the ebb and flow of the battle, her uncles and friends always at her back. She spied Levka holding his own against two opponents but not the third that snuck up from behind. Her jaw clenched, and she narrowed her eyes on the guard about to covertly cut Levka down. Breaking away from Brine and Dima, she dodged attacks and full-out ran toward her friend. The rush of her footsteps must have given her away, but not soon enough to change the outcome she had in mind for the soldier. The man spun toward her, as she leapt over the remains of a huge fallen tree and launched through the air. By the time she hit the ground, the man fell beside her dead. There wasn’t remorse or shame or rage—just determination and an animalistic need to save her family.

  Levka dispatched the enemy and wiped at the sweat pouring down his face. He nodded to her and stormed forward. She glanced at the felled men and guilt cracked through her shield of numbness. How many would take their final breath today?

  A whisper of sound.

  Her face snapped to the right, toward the woods and the tension between her shoulders lessened. It was only wounded shifters retreating. She breathed a sigh of relief. Not an enemy.

  “Ah, here you are,” an ugly, twisted voice drawled behind her. “I thought I’d never find you, Mother.”

  Tempest stiffened and spun to face Maven.

  She eyed the prince, noting the sheen of excitement in his gaze and the blood that painted his body. It was as if he’d rolled in it. Her stomach heaved, and she barely kept from retching.

  “Nothing to say?” he crooned.

  “Not your mother.”

  He laughed, the sound sending chills down her spine. What was it about him that unnerved her so?

  “I’ve been looking for you. You’ve been missed.”

  “And I you.” It was partly true. Number one on her list had been Destin; number two was the prince. “In truth, I thought you’d be back at the palace trying to murder your sister since no one would be around to stop you,” she remarked casually, circling to his right.

  Keep him talking. Distracted.

  “You are such a deligh
t.” The prince huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “While my father was blinded by what’s between your legs and the idea of expanding his legacy, I was watching. I knew you were more than you appeared to be. You always knew too much and were in the wrong place at the wrong time whenever I looked for you.” A malicious smile played about his mouth. “Tell me: how long were you going to let my father bed you for the sake of the people? Or had you planned to cut his throat open on your wedding night?”

  “Seems like we’ll never know,” Tempest whispered as he rotated to keep her in his sights.

  With his back to the log, she attacked. The prince was quick to parry, his movements agile and liquid. Where he lacked the sheer size of his father, he made up for it in lithe grace. He was good. Better than many of the trainee Hounds if she was being honest.

  She needed to be incredibly careful.

  “After you disappeared, Father told me what you’d done and how he’d dealt with you,” the prince called between blows. “He said you’d be dead before you reached the forest, after you fled Dotae. But I knew you’d still be alive. Gutter rats like you never die when you’re supposed to.”

  “What can I say, I’m resilient.”

  Disgust crossed his face as he lunged, slicing at her side. She skittered out of the way. “You commoners are all cockroaches. Impossible to kill. Well, not impossible.”

  The prince kicked a fallen body toward Tempest, forcing her to move to her left to avoid it, and he closed the gap between them. They locked blades, and he snapped his teeth at her. Her arms trembled as he pressed her backward. She needed to disengage now.

  Tempest caught the flash of a blade a moment before searing pain bloomed in her side. She gasped and dropped to her knees, rolling away. Maven slashed at her, gouging the ground. Climbing to her feet, she touched the throbbing wound at her side, her fingers coming away wet with blood. He’d stabbed her.

  “I will cut you down here,” he purred. “But you won’t die. I’ll drag you back to Dotae, and, when I’m through with you, you’ll beg for death, but I won’t grant your wish. In the end, you’ll acknowledge that I’m your master.”

  “Like hell,” she hissed.

  Her response seemed to inflame him.

  He likes to be in control. Let him have it and then end him.

  A dangerous plan, but one that might work.

  Tempest screamed and lunged. The prince met her strike for strike. The mud and snow sucked at her boots and she pretended to lose her balance, stumbling into his chest. Maven grabbed a fistful of her braid and yanked her head back. She hissed and kept her eyes pinned to his face as she released the hidden blade in her sleeve. He dropped his sword and wrapped his fingers around her throat and lifted her. Tempest gripped his wrist with her left hand and gasped.

  Just a little longer.

  “Beg for your life,” he whispered as he pulled her closer.

  That was his mistake.

  She drove her knife into the space between his waistband and chest plate.

  Maven’s mouth gaped open as he choked on a soundless cry, his hand releasing her.

  Tempest stumbled away from him, coughing as the prince stared down at the blade sticking out from his belly. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him, but painful enough to stop him from fighting.

  Maven lifted his head and glared at her. “You wench!”

  He took one wooden step in her direction when movement caught her eye from the left. A giant man appeared at the edge of the forest. His gait was brisk as he approached them. Tempest swallowed hard and kept her sword raised. It was the Kopalian from the palace. He was even bigger up close. The man had to be nearly eight feet tall.

  “Don’t just stand there! Take care of her!” Maven commanded.

  The giant glanced between the prince and herself. She kept her chin up as she contemplated fighting the giant. If he came for her, she had to run. There was no other choice.

  “I shall be taking this one off your hands,” the giant said, gesturing to Maven.

  She blinked. That was not what she expected. “I cannot allow that.”

  The Kopalian chuckled, the sound like two rocks being rubbed together. “I don’t need your permission, my lady. He has committed crimes against my people that must be answered for.”

  Maven paled and took an unsteady step back. “We had a deal!”

  The giant glared at the prince as if he were an ant beneath his boot. “Which was severed when we discovered your treachery and depravity.”

  Tempest shut her mouth as the giant strode forward and overpowered the prince. He began dragging him by his armor toward the woods, the young man screeching and clawing at his captor.

  The giant paused and glanced over his shoulder at Tempest. “We are no friends of Destin. Should you have need of us, we will answer your battle call.” He turned around and disappeared into the dense forest. Maven’s wailing faded into the distance.

  Tempest stared after them in stunned silence.

  What were the odds?

  Pain cramped her side, and she pressed her palm against the wound with a hiss. There was no time to ponder the prince’s future. Maven had made his bed, now he had to lie in it.

  She ripped the sleeves of her shirt off and tied them together, then wrapped it around her waist to staunch the blood flow. It wasn’t terribly serious, but it hurt something awful.

  Tempest waded back into the fray, scouring the fight for Pyre. No doubt the kitsune was on his way to Destin. Hopefully, he hadn’t killed the king yet. Destin deserved death but not on the battlefield. He didn’t merit that honor. He needed to face up to his crimes publicly. He needed to hang in front of the people he betrayed.

  Fighting through the battlefield, it didn’t take long for her to spot the circle of Hounds and Pyre kneeling over Destin, a dagger at the man’s throat.

  “Stop!” Tempest yelled, barreling through the wall of Hounds. “Pyre, stop!”

  Both Pyre and his father stared at her with wide eyes.

  “You are alive,” Destin said, almost in wonder. He grinned, causing the wound she’d given him to crease. “You always surprise me.”

  Bile burned the back of her throat, but she ignored the king, her sole focus on the fox.

  “Why should I stop?” Pyre bit out, his expression empty of emotion. “He deserves to die.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Tempest said softly. “But he needs to pay for his crimes publicly.”

  “But you—Tempest, you of all people should understand. I need to do this.”

  She shook her head. “What you said to me the other day. When you helped me through…” Tempest glanced at King Destin, who was watching her with confusion that was slowly turning into realization. “Well, with everything,” she continued. “You told me to let it go. All of it. It would have eaten me up, otherwise.”

  His jaw clenched, and he pushed his dagger further against his father’s neck. “This is different.”

  “It’s the same,” she insisted, taking a step toward them. Around them, the last of Destin’s soldiers were beginning to surrender. “He will never be your father, but he is blood. If you do this, it will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  “Or I’ll sleep better than I ever have.”

  “His death doesn’t belong just to you,” she stated firmly. “You’re not the only person he’s harmed. The people of Heimserya and Talaga deserve their justice.”

  His ears flattened against his skull.

  “Ah, I see,” Destin cut in, his tone lazy as if he didn’t have a knife to his throat. He grinned. “It seems you have a very particular taste in men, my lady. I never took you for a filthy, animal—”

  “One more word, and I’ll slit your throat,” Pyre said, his voice as sharp as steel. He swung back to look at Tempest. “You’d ask me to spare him? Even after everything he has done?”

  “I am not sparing him. Let him hang. In public, for everyone to see. He deserves to be shamed before all like the criminal he is.” Tempe
st locked eyes with Destin. “He needs to know what it feels like to be led to the gallows and have the people scream for his blood.”

  Pyre gave her a hard look and then glared at his father’s face. She knew, from the look on his face, that he knew she was right. To kill Destin now was wrong for multiple reasons.

  “He will pay.”

  Her words seemed to resonate with him, and Pyre pulled his knife away. His movements were jerky as he rose to his feet. The Hounds around them pointed their swords at Destin to keep the king from rising.

  Pyre stared at his sire and then flicked an apathetic look her way. “You win, Lady Hound.”

  His hollow words chilled her. “It was never about winning. It’s about justice for all.”

  “Justice? What does this world know about justice?”

  “Enough to know that what you planned wasn’t just defense but murder.”

  The kitsune stepped to her side but refused to look at her. She reached for his hand, but he pulled away slightly. Her breath caught, and she swallowed down her hurt. They watched as Destin was yanked to his feet.

  The king smiled at her and then Pyre. “You think taking me back to Dotae to answer for my crimes will work, boy? I have more people there on my side than you do. The lords of Heimserya will never allow it.” He laughed. “Do you think they will let you cut them off from their source of power? Their wealth? I—”

  Destin’s gloat was cut short by a sword driven right into his heart, between the crack in his breastplate and shoulder plate. Tempest startled, her gaze moving over Destin’s shoulder. Madrid stared back at her, rage, hurt, and guilt churning in his eyes. He turned his attention to the king.

  “That’s for taking my family away,” Madrid murmured to the king, removing his sword and kicking the man to the ground with contempt twisting his face. “For touching what’s not yours.”

  Destin gasped and turned onto his back, his eyes wide.

  Madrid stared down impassively at the king. “I hope you burn in hell.”