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

  His desperate words slammed into her. Tempest felt like she could barely breathe. There was real emotion in Pyre’s words—and on his face. She hadn’t dealt with this side of the kitsune in a long time. She’d almost convinced herself that it didn’t exist.

  His ears twitched, and he inhaled deeply, something warm entering his molten eyes. Panic seized her. She couldn’t deal with him like this. Handling the stony faced Mal or the care-free Jester was one thing, but the soft, caring side of the kitsune she had met in the forest? She had no defense against him.

  Pyre took another step closer as she took one backward, keeping the same amount of space between their bodies. But then he glided forward, his steps predatory. Tempest halted, refusing to run. Letting him stalk her would only rouse his baser instincts. His hands cupped her face and tilted it up to him as her hands rested on his chest to keep him from getting closer. Pyre paused, his mouth an inch from hers, and the world around them began to fade. Tempest shuddered when his warm breath teased her lips. Her pulse raced through her veins.

  “Temp, I want to kiss you,” he whispered, his voice all honey and sin. His hot amber eyes soaked in her expression. “Yes or no?”

  Yes. Yes.

  Her hands softened against his chest for one second before reality came crashing in. Despite her hatred for the king, she was no adulterer.

  “We can’t.” The words hurt to say.

  He lifted his head, iron stillness running through his body. “I want you. This isn’t a game to me.”

  Her will wavered, and she almost swayed against him. It would be too easy to fall into his arms.

  Neither one of them could afford that.

  “I made promises. Please don’t make me break my vows. Or my honor.” It was a plea, but she didn’t care.

  Pyre shuddered, his eyes closing. He tore away from her and stalked toward the window. The look he shot Tempest was dark, dangerous, and hungry. “You want me. Your scent calls to me.”

  “What I want and what I should do are not the same.” Her words felt hollow.

  He glanced away. “I always forget that you’re a better person than me.”

  Her heart ached as she took another step toward the attic door. If she didn’t leave now, she’d do something stupid. “I’m not any better than you. We’re no different.”

  A dry chuckle escaped him as he ran his hands over his head, disheveling his hair. “That’s where you’re wrong, love. I would lie, cheat, and steal to obtain what I want.” His molten stare left nothing to the imagination of what he wanted. Her.

  “Just save Brine and the rest of your men,” she finally uttered. “Just…save them.”

  “I will try,” he answered.

  He pushed the window open, and leaped from the windowsill into the dark pre-dawn without a goodbye.

  I will try.

  His words chilled her to the bone.

  The Jester had always been cocksure, arrogant, and certain. The was never a question of whether or not he could accomplish anything he set his mind to.

  But the Jester was just a mirage.

  Pyre was a man with faults and limitations like any man.

  Brine could die.

  Trust him to succeed.

  There was nothing she could do now but trust him.

  When had she become so useless?

  Ten

  Pyre

  He’d made a mistake.

  Pyre should have sent someone in his stead. But, like a fool, he’d arranged a meeting.

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, he stared at the storm approaching as the sky began to lighten. The ship rocked beneath his feet as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to calm himself down. Each time he left her behind, his soul rebelled. If he wasn’t careful, he’d cross a line that neither one of them could return from.

  Would that be so bad?

  He cursed and dropped his hands, glaring at the turbulent ocean waters. As soon as she’d stepped into the attic, all he’d wanted to do was kiss her and press her back against the faded paint of the bakery wall and lick his way down her throat.

  It was dangerous and dumb.

  “It’s almost time,” Chesh said softly.

  Pyre scowled. He’d been so lost in his thoughts about his mate he’d not even heard the cat approach. He glanced to his left and eyed his friend. Chesh pulled at the collar along his throat, exposing several intricate tattoos.

  “Good. If everything goes to plan, the men will be on your ship within a few hours,” Pyre muttered.

  The cat flicked an amused look his way. “And yet that’s not what’s on your mind. You stink of frustration. You should have just kept her locked away in your cabin until she capitulated and accepted you as her mate.”

  He glared at Chesh. “You would keep your mate as a prisoner?”

  “There’s no telling what I’d do if I came upon my mate.”

  “That’s the damn truth.” Pyre turned his attention back to the ocean, observing the occasional fin slice through the inky water. It seemed like he’d reeled himself back hundreds of times when it came to Tempest. He’d need to make a decision soon on how to proceed. If he didn’t, his shifter side would make the decision for him. Neither Tempest—nor he, himself—would enjoy that. “Have you spoken to Damien?”

  Chesh eyed him but allowed the subject change. “He’s causing mischief as always, but he has the militia well in hand. Our men are ready. Did Brine get the information he needed?”

  “He did. Let’s hope it was worth the cost.” Pyre nodded as the first snowflake fell from the sky. “If anything goes south, you’ll have to sail in this weather.”

  The cat smiled lazily. “No need to be worried. I love a spot of adventure.”

  Eleven

  Robyn

  Helping the local people of Locksley was the highlight of Robyn’s week.

  It always started with a visit to the bakery with her elderly father to pick up hot bread rolls for the children at the local school. Many of them were orphans or from families with so many children that they could not hope to feed them all properly. While it killed her not to be able to donate food every day, she took pride in what her family was able to do. The fiefdom of Locksley may have been small, but they prided themselves on generosity.

  Next, Robyn and her father moved to the town hall to speak with the elders, who, more often than not, complained about the war brewing just under the surface of their province Merjeri. It always soured her mood. Former Lord Merjeri had been a horrid man who’d deserved to be strung up for his crimes and yet had gotten away with everything. His son was even worse. His prejudice didn’t extend to only the Talagan people, but also to the poor and those born female. Her stomach always churned when his lordship was brought up. He cared nothing for the people he governed, and had more blood on his hands than the Jester. Something needed to change. The villages in the province were proof of that, with their poverty and lack of working-age men and women within its walls. Too many of the residents were old and infirm or so young they were yet to possess any adult teeth—not that it kept the lord from working them to death.

  After meeting with the elders, Robyn and her father would part ways for the afternoon; she’d head to help the few young maidens who did live in the village with washing and dyeing fabrics while her father visited the blacksmiths to see if he could help with the horses or any leatherwork. Back in his day, he’d been incredibly gifted with both and had been an asset to the army.

  He was still an asset, despite what others may think.

  She pinned a length of cotton to the line and pushed an errant hair from her face, her heart aching for her father. During the last rebellion, her father had permanently damaged his left leg and right shoulder. She’d been just a toddler at the time and didn’t understand why he hadn’t picked her up or chased her like other fathers did. Despite his injuries, he’d always been a major part of her life. Always setting aside his work when she or her brother wanted his attention.

 
Her breath caught, and she stifled a gasp as grief threatened to choke her. Robyn’s eyes watered, and she stared at the basket of wet laundry, her hands on her hips. The death of her twin had left a gaping hole in her soul. Most days, she felt like half of a person without John. She had been the first born and John had arrived a few minutes after her. He hadn’t grown like the other boys of the village and had a weak constitution. Her parents had kept him sheltered from the world—not out of shame, but to protect him. John had been a sweet idealist with a generous heart and gentle soul. It still seemed unfair that such a person was gone from the world.

  Most days, she felt like she should have been the one to die.

  Robyn wiped the back of her arm across her eyes. Now, she lived for both of them.

  She reached for the next linen and frowned when the thunder of approaching horses reached her ears. Robyn straightened and glanced at the three young women working around her who all had their eyes trained on the soldiers approaching.

  Please, let it not be Lord Merjeri and his men.

  The soldiers had a foul reputation of accosting young women, and recently Merjeri had turned his attention toward Robyn. She shuddered as she thought of the courting gifts he’d sent, her eyes pinned to the approaching mass. Even if she had to disgrace herself, she’d make damned sure that he’d never get access to her or her dowry. Dotae only knew what he’d do with the wealth.

  The tension between her shoulder blades disappeared as she spotted several purple-haired members flanking the group of soldiers. The King’s Hounds. Maybe they were going to put a stop to Merjeri’s corruption for once.

  Robyn snorted and watched as the soldiers passed by, their hooves clacking against the stone cobbles of the village street. She peered down the lane as the soldiers leapt from their mounts and began systematically moving to each home, leaving either a scroll with the owner or nailing it to the door.

  She dropped the linen back into the basket and nodded at the girls. “You stay here. Keep your head down and don’t draw attention.”

  “Yes, my lady,” the girls chorused.

  Robyn edged along the madness as the townspeople began to make their way to the village square. She lifted her hood over her hair and melted into the crowd as a Hound jumped onto the edge of the well that sat in the middle of the square. The crowd murmured around her, and she spotted her father, his limp more pronounced as he shuffled toward her. He would definitely need a poultice tonight to help with the pain. Maybe some salts and incense from the apothecary for his bath as well.

  Her father made it to her side, and she wrapped her right arm around his waist, supporting some of his weight.

  “Sweet girl, I am all right.”

  He wasn’t, but she wouldn’t point it out. “Do you know what this is about?”

  “Something Merjeri has done, no doubt,” he muttered.

  Her left fingers curled into a fist. Locksley was always taxed the hardest for Lord Merjeri’s mistakes. The bastard.

  “Come forth and heed your king’s decree!” the Hound called, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

  “What is it now?” Robyn’s father grumbled. “There is nothing here for them. Nothing for the king. What could he want from us?”

  Robyn knew he was not talking about crops and livestock.

  The Hound held out his hand to a messenger dressed in finery. The thin man stepped up onto the well’s edge as the Hound jumped down. The pompous man unrolled the parchment in his hands. He peered over the top of the edge and then began in a nasal voice.

  “War is upon us!”

  She froze, her heart thundering as her father cursed.

  “The king’s army has already suffered heavy losses at the hands of the Talagan traitors. Therefore, we must turn to our ever-faithful, loving citizens to draft new soldiers for our kingdom.”

  And there it was.

  Robyn gritted her teeth and glared at the messenger. They were taking people for the fight—people the village could not afford to spare. There were hardly any men left after the last uprising.

  “Each family shall submit every man over the age of fourteen to our cause. No family will be spared the sacrifice, low or highborn. But, rest assured, each and every one of you should be honored to do this. It is a privilege to fight for your country. The king is proud and grateful to call you his subjects.”

  But that means…

  Her body flashed hot and then cold as she turned to her father whose face had become ashen. He was the only man in their family. The only one.

  They meant for him to fight in this war.

  It meant certain death.

  “This is madness!” she cried before she could stop herself. Robyn released her hold on her father, storming forward. The village folk parted as she strode toward the impassive Hound and haughty messenger.

  “And who are you?” the messenger sneered, his eyes raking her clothing.

  Robyn pushed back her hood, held her head high, and didn’t let herself waver as she felt the gaze of the soldiers on her. “I am Lady Marian of Locksley.” Her formal name felt odd on her tongue. She waved around at the frightened members of the village. “Can you not see there are no men capable of fighting here? And winter is upon us—we need what few young men we possess to help with the last of the harvest. You cannot expect the elderly, or families who haven’t the sons to spare, to take part in this war!”

  “Ah, Lady Marian. Women do have such bleeding hearts,” an annoyingly familiar voice laughed.

  Her hackles raised as Lord Merjeri stepped from the crowd behind the well. He smiled at her, his expression patronizing. Her hand tingled, itching to slap his smug face.

  “You know nothing of the honor of war, my lady,” he crooned. “Every man in this village—young and old—wants to fight for their kingdom. Dying for one’s king is a noble thing—”

  “Death is not noble, my lord. Glory will not feed the people, will not fill our king’s coffers—”

  “Robyn, stop this,” her father chastised quietly.

  His fingers brushed against her right sleeve, and she swallowed down the treasonous words she’d been about to spout. It was a difficult thing, but out of sheer respect and trust in her father, she bowed her head and played the spineless, submissive woman Lord Merjeri expected her to be.

  “Your men have three days to arrive at the war camp with your orders,” the messenger called. He rolled up the scroll and waved a negligent hand at the crowd. “Be off with you.”

  Her father gently gripped her arm, and Robyn kept her eyes on the cobblestones, so no one saw the rage and mutiny that writhed inside her. She and her father made their way back to their mounts they’d left at the tavern stable that morning without a single word. Her mind spun during the ride through the fields back to Locksley Keep. What were they supposed to do? Her father could no more fight than she could turn into a shifter.

  Snow began to fall as they entered the grounds of the keep. Jim, the old horse master, met them in the courtyard and took their horses. Maya, the housekeeper, opened the huge double doors. Maya’s round cheeks were pink as they made it up the stairs and into Robyn’s family home.

  “There’s a hot bath awaiting you, my lord,” the housekeeper said to Robyn’s father with a small curtsey.

  Robyn yanked off her cloak and hung it, her back to her father. “What are we going to do?”

  “We will discuss it later,” he said firmly.

  She swung around and snapped her mouth shut at how weary he looked. There would be time to speak later, once he’d warmed up. Shame started creeping up her spine as she gazed at her father. “Are you angry at me?”

  He shuffled over to her and pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’m not angry at you, dearest.”

  Her shoulders slumped as he limped away and disappeared around the corner.

  “You look mighty upset, miss. Is there anything I can do?” Maya asked, her brown eyes full of concern.

  “Not yet.” Robyn sighed, massaging the b
ack of her neck. “Where is Mama?”

  The housekeeper pursed her lips. “In bed. She has not left it all day. It has been a…bad day, Lady Robyn.”

  If Maya was admitting it was a bad day, then it must have been truly horrendous. Her mother was rarely lucid these days, and her manic days were the worst. Robyn reached out and clasped the housekeeper’s shoulder. Maya had been her mum’s companion before she’d married. They had spent nearly thirty years together.

  “She’ll be better when he visits her,” Maya said softly.

  Robyn nodded. Her father was the only one who could calm her mother when she flew into manic rages. He dutifully read to his wife every night and made sure she was treated with love and respect. It was plain as day to see it broke him a little more each day, but his love never wavered.

  Robyn released Maya and drifted toward the stairs, fighting back a sob as she took each step. If her father went to war, how would her mother survive?

  Locksley Keep was barely held together.

  Twelve

  Tempest

  I will try.

  Tempest tried to keep her nerves in check as she snuck back inside the castle, Pyre’s warnings and wishes ringing loudly in her head. Dima accompanied her until they once again reached the grand hall. Not once had her uncle spoken since they’d left the bakery. He gave her a short nod and disappeared back the way they came.

  She gazed after him for a moment before moving swiftly up the nearest set of servants’ stairs. Two warm pastries wrapped in paper crinkled with her movements. Her legs burned as she sprinted up each level, her gaze constantly straying to the windows as the darkness turned from black to dark gray to a light blue far more rapidly than she was comfortable with. The rebels’ execution would be held within the hour, which meant she had no time to waste in getting back to her chambers and getting dressed for it.