Heir of Broken Fate (HOBF Book 1)

Easton lunges, his left foot pivoting as his right hand strikes with his blade, yet too slow. I turn, spinning to his vulnerable side. My sword swipes his exposed belly, a smirk dances on my lips as Easton rolls his eyes. We view every training session as a competition. We’ve lost count over the years, yet I’d say my winning tally is higher than Easton’s. I threw myself into training at a young age, at first to be strong, to fight back against my father when he hurt me. Over the years that dream faded away after each hit I wasn’t able to stop. I kept up the grueling schedule purely because there’s nothing else I’m allowed to do around the palace besides train and appear like a doting, loyal daughter.

It’s a miracle in itself that my father believes I shouldn’t be completely useless.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s been manipulating me all these years to create a carbon copy of himself. Yet for him to do that, he’d have to teach me or speak to me.

Yelling and belittling doesn’t count as speaking.

“Okay, I concede for the day.” Easton mock bows. “The victory is all yours.”

I smile triumphantly despite where my thoughts turned. “Now who looks unfit?”

Easton huffs out a laugh. “Oh get over yourself.”

I chuckle as I follow him out the door. “Joining me for lunch today?”

Easton dips his head.

We’re strolling through the east wing from the training rink when we hit the first floor of the palace and watch as all hell breaks loose. The halls are buzzing, people running around in every which way. Gasps, whispers, and sobs reach my ears as my feet touch the landing.

In a daze Easton and I turn to each other, making eye contact before we take off for the nurse’s quarters, heading straight for Annie.

With everyone running around no one pays us any attention, which in itself is worrisome. I push myself faster. Reaching the nurse’s quarters, I bash through the doors, only to stop dead in my tracks.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Annie is huddled in her office chair, her head resting on her knees as her body shakes with sobs. At the sound of our entrance Annie looks up. Her eyes are bloodshot and cheeks blotchy as she covers her mouth with her hand, trying to hide the sounds of her sobs.

I kneel beside her. “What is it? What happened?”

Easton’s boots squeak as he steps closer, his warmth radiating behind me.

“H-he killed them,” Annie stutters.

My heart begins thumping erratically. “Who? Who did he kill?” I ask, waiting for the answer that will shove the dagger in my heart.

“All of them…Everyone in sector seven.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Annie crumbles, her lips quivering as she cries. I stay on the ground utterly frozen.

“All of sector seven? That’s eleven thousand people,” I breathe.

Annie’s voice cracks. “Everyone’s dead. He ordered everyone into the town center, saying he was going to give a mandatory speech… Then he b-bombed them.”

My heart stops beating as time pauses. My ears ring so loudly I can’t hear anything, yet Annie’s lips continue moving. Easton walks around me to Annie, his own eyes full of tears as he hugs her.

I don’t feel my body as my feet move on their own accord. As if my body isn’t my own. The world might as well have just been pulled out from under me. I knew my father was a horrible person—a murderer—yet I never in a million years thought he’d do something like this.

Executing thousands in one go…

I don’t understand any of it.

Why do his men follow him blindly? Why does his army accept his preposterous and horrid orders? It’s one thing to receive an order, it’s another to follow it.

I exit into the hall, my ears buzzing, fingers tingling and chest heaving as it struggles for oxygen. My vision’s blurry as I watch the people around me cry, falling to their knees, while others are vomiting. Some are just as lifeless as I am.

And then I’m running. Suddenly I’m standing in front of Creseda and in the next beat I’m sitting on her bare back as we ride as fast as lightning. I’m not steering her, yet she seems to feel my sadness and knows where to go.

We get no further than a few miles before I’m urging her to stop abruptly. Jumping down, I vomit the entirety of my stomachs contents.

I feel it now. I feel it all.

The bile rising in my throat, the wind slashing across my face, my tears as they stream down my cheeks, the sound of Creseda’s worried whines and the tip of her snout nudging me in the back.

I feel the heartbreak, I feel the sadness and I feel the guilt as it begins to kill me from the inside. I feel the grief for every single soul that was taken today.

Eleven thousand people are dead. Innocent people were murdered.

They will never see their family, never feel sunshine on their face, never laugh again, never have a birthday, never see their parents, siblings, and children grow older…because they’re dead, they are all dead.

I scream.

I scream so loud and viciously my voice cracks as my throat burns.

My knees give out and I hit the ground, a sob wracking my body. My heart hurts…It hurts so much.

My entire being is in unending pain, and it is nothing compared to what those innocent people experienced.

Standing once more on shaking legs, I mount Creseda and urge her forward, getting her to take me as far away as she possibly can.

Creseda halts so suddenly I lurch forward, whacking my forehead as I land on her neck with an oomph. Creseda squeals, throwing her head up and down.

“Hey, hey,” I soothe, running my hand down her neck. The short black hairs tickling my palm as I do. “What’s got you—”

Either I fell asleep on top of Creseda and we’re no longer on the capital grounds, or I’m truly going insane.

Words fail me as my jaw hangs open. Three compound buildings sit where my treehouse once was. I’d understand someone destroying it, knocking it down even, except multiple compound buildings being built in under a week? Absolutely impossible.

I check my surroundings, looking for the signature marks around the treehouse. The old unused brick well, half-fallen oak tree, and the red hand paint I placed on the boulder when I was eleven.

I spot them all.

Dismounting Creseda, I find some rope near the old well and create a makeshift rein for her. If I’m going near the mystery building, so is she. Yet when I try to pull her, she stays rooted to the ground.

“Come on, don’t be chicken,” I pant. “It’s just a building.”

No matter how much I tug, she won’t budge.

Huffing, I pull her toward a tree near the well, tying the end of the rope around it to keep her from bolting. Stroking her snout, I whisper, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Giving her a kiss, I walk toward the buildings.

There’s one substantial brick building sitting in the middle between two identical brick buildings half the size, a tiny outback shed sits in the far back. Making my way to the large brick building before me twigs snap and leaves crunch behind me, making me freeze. Unsheathing my fighting knives, I search the area.

I’ve never been more thankful to be wearing my fighting leathers than in this moment.

I plaster my back against the brick building. Inching around the corner, I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes grow wide as I take in hundreds of people walking around a courtyard, working in unison. Each second I stay here, the more my heart beats faster.

Half the people are tall and the other half so short I’d have to kneel for them to be at eye level with me, yet they’re not children. All their faces are in various stages of ageing, some young and others old, weathered and peppered with gray hair.

The air leaves my lungs as I look at each of them, my eyes darting around the lively courtyard, focusing on one detail they all have in common.

Elongated ears.

Fae.

I ease back around the corner, placing my hand over my chest to stop my heart from exploding, only to be met with a pulsing warmth and a zip of electricity as it shoots through my palm. Pulling my hand away, I dig out the crystal pendant under my shirt, dropping it the moment I lay my eyes on the iridescent crystal.

What was once a dull white crystal is now glowing, pulsing with light.

With each burst of light from the pendant comes a short breath from my lungs. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to calm my breathing.

In and out. In for four, out for—

A twig snaps beside me. My voice reacts before my mind can stop the squeal from escaping. I lock eyes on a small man, no taller than my thighs, carrying wood. My brows lower as he walks past me, hobbling from side to side as he carries the stack of chopped wood in his arms.

He doesn’t react to my scream; in fact, he doesn’t acknowledge me at all.

I peek my head around the corner to see if the others heard me, only to find none of them have stopped their work and no one is looking this way.

Can they not hear me?

Taking a tentative step forward, I tighten the hold on my fighting swords as I edge out into the busy courtyard.

“Excuse me?” I call out.

Nothing. No one acknowledges my presence.

“Hello?”

They truly can’t hear or see me.

I must be losing my mind like my mother.

That thought alone sends ice down my spine.

Sheathing my swords, I gaze around the courtyard, stunned speechless.

They’re truly Fae, albeit some are tiny and pudgy, unlike the strong, tall Fae you read about.

Yet they’re all Fae.

Rows upon rows of workers mull about the courtyard, plucking herbs from garden beds, carrying wood, planting seeds, and carrying products into the back door of the main building.

Steeling my spine, I head for the back door.

No one pays me a lick of attention when I join the back of their line. They move as if they’re a marching army. It takes less than a minute before I’m in the building, stepping out of the line to the right before I halt.

My eyes nearly bulge out of my head as my hands begin to tremble.

It appears to be a lab with endless rows of tables, covered in glass bottles, boiling pots, burners, tubes of liquid, and tiny glass bottles full of a vibrant orange liquid. The room is so large you could fit my east quarters in here—twice. It’s an industrial building with tall ceilings and an open floor plan. Windows line the top half of the walls, beams crisscross overhead, and the floor feels as hard as stone.

I must have truly gone mad.

Is this how my mother feels every day? Stuck in her own mind wondering if she’s gone insane?

The Fae working indoors are taller than the ones in the garden, their facial features human, yet their ears are elongated and pointed.

None of them stop their work as I walk around to get a better look. None of them talk either. The only sounds I can hear are bubbling liquids, glasses clinking and clashing, and the scuttling of footsteps.

Until a door clangs to my left. Following the sound, I see several Fae exit another room. I stroll toward the door they disappeared through, passing by rows of working Fae.

Opening the steel door, I’m met with the sound of buzzing, so much buzzing it feels like a bee is flapping around in my mind. Confusion mars my features as I enter what appears to be a storage closet. Shelves line the room, creating endless rows like a library, except the shelves are full of only one thing—tiny glass bottles no bigger than the size of my hand.

Descending the small flight of stairs into the room, I pause. Multiple glass jars begin lighting up, glowing with a yellow tinge as small sniffling sounds join the buzzing. I step toward the nearest bottle that’s glowing, yet the moment I’m close to it the light extinguishes, taking my air with it.

A sob leaves my mouth. My knees buckle, taking me to the floor where I’m met with more glass jars.

They’re all faeries.

Every single bottle contains a tiny faerie, all of them crying.

They’re small and yet still have to crouch in the glass, their tiny opalescent wings folded around themselves as they hug their knees to their chest. Their elongated and pointy ears are so small they’re barely visible.

My hand shakes as I reach for the faerie closest to me and pick up the glass bottle. Tears roll freely down my face as the faerie begins to scream and sob as I hold the jar. I gently place it back on the shelf, not wanting to cause it any more pain.

“Can you hear me?” I whisper.

I bring my face closer. It’s not looking at me.

“I can help you; can you hear me?”

Holding my breath, I wait for any sign that the faerie can hear me, to no avail. It doesn’t stop crying and it never looks my way.

None of them can hear me.

How do I free them if they can’t see the humans in this world? They’d have nowhere to go, and I couldn’t even tell them where to go.

It must be a spell.

It’s impossible considering there’s been no magic for one hundred and forty-eight years, yet the Fae race died then also, and unless I’ve lost my sanity, these Fae are very much alive. Standing on wobbly legs, I make a vow to the Fae that I will return and help them. I refuse to see any more innocent people held against their will.

I catalogue every detail as I make my way through the compound back to Creseda, anything that might tell me what they’re creating, why they can’t see me, how they’re here, and why I couldn’t see them before now.

Creseda is still spooked when I reach her. Stroking her snout, I ease the rope off and mount her, riding back to the palace as fast as we can.

A new sense of urgency in Creseda’s gallop.

Standing in the middle of the vault, I rummage through the remaining books I didn’t have the chance to go through. I pluck up any books that have the slightest mention of Fae, their lands, or magic. I’m pumped up on adrenaline, moving throughout the room a lot louder than intended, when Easton’s deep gravelly voice drawls behind me.

“What are you doing?”

Jumping as I turn to face him, I hiss, “You scared me!”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he states.

His gaze lowers to the books in my hand. When he lifts his face to mine, concern and confusion swim in his green eyes.

“What are you doing?” he repeats.

“I’m looking for my mother’s journal,” I lie, hiding the books behind my back.

I’m a terrible person for lying but I think I make up for it with being a horrible liar. I hate lying to him. It makes my stomach queasy and guilt fill my heart, but I can’t stand the idea of him thinking I’m losing my mind like my mother. I can handle a lot of things, but Easton looking at me with disbelief? That I cannot handle.

I know how it would sound to him. Easton, I discovered Fae aren’t dead! They can’t speak, see, or hear me but they’re real! I’ll pass.

“Where did you go?” he asks curiously.

I blink. “What?”

His brows lower. “This morning,” he states flatly.

“I went to the treehouse, why?”

“Why? Because one moment you’re behind me and the next you’ve disappeared.”

My heart sinks at the reminder of what happened to sector seven.

With everything I saw at the treehouse, my mind short-circuited, making me forget what happened and why I went there in the first place.

Shame and guilt coat my tongue. I can’t believe I forgot.

“I needed to be alone,” I whisper.

Easton rubs the back of his neck. “Do you want to go for a walk and talk?”

“No. I doubt anyone wants to see a royal right now and I can’t handle it if they look at me with disgust.”

Easton’s eyes soften. “You didn’t kill those people, Delilah.”

“My father did.” My words are coated with venom. “It doesn’t matter that I didn’t give the order. They’re still dead at the hands of my own flesh and blood.”

Easton’s mouth opens to protest, but I cut him off before he can speak. “I love you Easton, but please don’t try to make me feel better about this. I don’t deserve to feel better, no one does. Everyone who was involved should be ashamed of themselves.”

Easton doesn’t say anything. Taking his silence as an opportunity, I pick up the remainder of books lying at my feet.

“I want to be alone right now,” I say gently.

Standing, I step forward, wrapping an arm around his waist, letting his warmth and sandalwood smell soothe me. “I’ll see you at dinner. We can eat in my room,” I offer.

Easton’s lips touch the top of my head. “Of course, anything you want.”