Heir of Broken Fate (HOBF Book 1)

My arms are open wide as I sprint through the soft grass, running so fast I practically fly through the field. Tilting my head to the sky, the sunshine streams down my face as I smile so wide my cheeks ache as laughter floats from my throat. A deep husky voice rumbles behind me, the laughter sending peace throughout my body as he chases me through the plush, vibrant forest.

I smell ocean and pinewood before sun-kissed arms latch around my waist, hurtling us up into the sky. I squeal with joy as I hold onto the muscular forearms. Taking in the breathtaking serenity before me, the vibrant colors of the field sing to a part of my soul.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

My stomach lurches as the male behind me drops to the ground, the wind pulling my hair as it whips across my face. Stopping at the last second, he gently lands, rolling us onto our backs.

Laughing with happiness in my heart, I lay my palms flat on the grass, planning to sink my fingers through the soft, thick strands. Only to halt the second my palm connects with the field’s floor.

Instead of grass, I’m met with ash.

Sitting up, I lift my hands in front of me, watching as gray ash flutters from my palm, sprinkling through the gaps between my fingers as it floats to the ground. The sun making it twinkle.

Looking down, I find I’m sitting on cracked black rock. Horror fills my heart as my eyes connect with the once vibrant forest as it burns, blowing away in the wind.

It’s dying. Everything is dying.

A scream of loss rips from my throat as I see everything I love disintegrate into nothing.

I’m jarred awake by my body thrashing, my throat raw from screaming in my sleep. I scramble out of bed for water, drinking deeply from my waterskin. Rushing through my dressing suite, I throw on tailored pants and a maroon satin shirt.

I need to find the history books of the Fae.

It’s driving me insane dreaming about the Fae every night and not having answers as to why they’re no longer here.

Slipping through my suite door, I check that Easton’s room is silent and dark. Heaving a sigh of relief that my screaming didn’t wake him, I head out of the east wing, descending the stairs into the family vault below the palace.

Everything of importance is stored in the vaults. There’s no point checking the library—I know my father would hate to have any type of book speaking about magic or Fae in his palace.

No guards are stationed throughout the palace, only on the outside and at the borders, searching for the one who freed the rebels. Guards only monitor the halls around my father’s quarters in the west wing. I suppose he only cares whether he lives or dies, not his daughter.

I shake my head, trying to erase the thought and the pang in my heart.

I light the gas lamps lining the vault’s corridor. Following the line of fires, I walk the long empty hall until I’m standing in front of the entrance. Its circular door takes up the entire wall, a turning mechanism centered in the middle, designed in the shape of a ship’s helm.

Taking out my key, I unlock the door and turn the wheel, heaving at the strength needed to move it. The click as it unlocks echoes throughout the empty hall, and I can only pray that someone has oiled the hinges.

A sigh of relief escapes me when the door opens silently. Plucking a candle off the wall, I enter through the arch. You’d think with all the money my father has he would have built a better vault or at least organized its contents.

The circular room is filled with ancient armor strewn about, books scattered over the floor and any available flat surface, and piles of gold coins tower in every direction. Heirlooms overflow from trunks and odd pieces of furniture lay piled throughout the room.

I huff out a breath as I begin to dig through everything, the dust flying throughout the room mingling with my breath. It’s only until what feels like hours later, after picking through half the room’s contents, do I finally find anything.

Picking up a heavy leather book, I blow the dust off its cover as I trace my fingers over the raised words. It’s an ancient book, well before the Fae lands fell. However, it contains writing about the Fae land—elemental magic, courts, spells, and rituals. I flip through the book, pausing as I reach the different types of magic used in the land—candle, elemental, pure, dark, and crystal magic.

Tucking the book into my bag, I start to pack up. I can go over it tonight without the risk of getting caught snooping. Walking out, I lock the vault, blowing out the flames lining the corridor walls as I sneak back upstairs.

Three days of my father being absent, along with his cronies, has left me with the best sense of peace I’ve felt in a long time. Annie cleared me to go back to training tomorrow morning. I have a sinking feeling that it’s going to be brutal on my muscles after not being able to train for almost a week.

Eating a mouthful of chicken, I lift my gaze to my mother sitting across from me. The past two nights, she’s stayed in her own quarters, declining the invitation to dine with Easton and I for dinner. I wonder why she decided to join us tonight.

“Gold is the song she sings,” she mutters to no one in particular.

Easton sighs beside me. We’re both accustomed to my mother’s ramblings, yet sometimes the sadness of it all becomes overwhelming. My mother used to be a beautifully intelligent woman according to Annie. One moment she was here and the next she was gone, as if overnight something snapped her mind in half, spinning and weaving nonsense until nothing made sense.

“I know, Mother, the song is lovely,” I say, sipping my water.

I never knew what to say to her when I was younger. I was so confused that one moment my mother was lucid and the next she had seemingly disappeared. With none of the doctors being able to give a medical reasoning for her sudden mental decline, it only confused me further. Over the years I’ve come to accept that my mother is gone, her lucid moments being few and far between. Now I just go along with whatever she says to calm her.

“Peer inside and find the layers of lives,” she whispers.

Ignoring my mother, Easton gazes around the room before lowering his head to mine. “Did you hear the whispers in the palace?”

My brows lower. “No, what is it?”

“The king’s army has disappeared.”

“The ones with scales see all.”

Easton and I lift our heads at my mother’s outburst, her face devoid of emotions as her unseeing eyes look past our shoulders to nothing in particular. I resume our conversation when she begins to eat again.

“What do you mean they’ve disappeared? Did something happen to them?” I ask.

A lock of brown hair falls into his face as he shakes his head. “No one knows. Nobody has seen them since they left.’

“When is my father planned to arrive in the seventh sector?” I ask warily.

Concern flashes across his green eyes. “Tomorrow.”

I lower my fork, pushing the vegetables around the gold-rimmed plate. I whisper, “We need to pray for the people in sector seven.”

Easton’s voice wavers as he speaks. “What do you think he’ll do?”

The sound of the dining room doors opening snaps both our heads up.

A male server walks in, his face grave as he begins clearing the empty dishes on the dining table. I pick up my glass, taking a sip as all conversation in the dining room stops.

Even my mother seems to hold her breath.

I mean no harm to the servers. The majority of them are lovely people who are trying to survive and make a living, yet I know there’s multiple spies that work as servers. It isn’t wise to speak around them, for fear of my father hearing every word that comes out of my mouth.

Easton’s voice floats through the silent room. “Prepared to kick ass in training tomorrow?”

I grimace. “I am, but my muscles aren’t.”

Easton rolls his eyes. “It won’t be that bad.”

I deadpan, “When you were out for two days, you vomited after the warmup.”

Cutting into his food once more, he scoffs, “That was entirely different. I was hungover.”

“Same thing.” I shrug.

“Being hungover and out of shape aren’t the same things.”

My jaw falls open. “I am not unfit!”

“We’ll see tomorrow,” he sing-songs.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I’m one of the best trained fighters,” I state proudly.

“Yep,” he chirps. “Just wanted to hear you sound like an egomaniac.”

I lower my voice. “I’m hiding the chocolates from you for a week.”

Easton’s eyes harden. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

“The gates were opened. They’re watching all of us,” my mother blurts.

I frown. That’s the most coherent sentence I’ve heard from her in months.

“What gates were opened?” I ask.

“The devil’s,” she whispers.

I hold in my sigh. My mother was once a very spiritual woman, praying to the moon on the lunar cycles, worshipping the gods and telling me stories about the universe.

Now she rambles about it.

I’m snuggled in bed later that evening, running my fingers up and down the silk sheets when my bedroom door hinges squeak. Jolting into a sitting position, I find my mother standing in the doorway, holding a lantern beside her, her white dressing gown fluttering to the side from the veranda wind.

I heave a sigh, placing my palm over my pounding heart. “Mother, you scared me.”

“I don’t have much time,” she breathes.

I sit up straighter as she rushes over to my side of the bed.

She sets the gas lamp on the nightstand before taking my hand, her soft creamy skin sliding against my palm before squeezing my hand tightly, forcing me to look into her eyes. My spine stiffens as my gaze connects with clear brown eyes. Not the murky dullness that I’ve grown accustomed to. I haven’t seen my mother lucid in over two years.

“Mom?” I croak, tears pooling in my eyes.

“It’s getting worse, and I don’t have much time,” she rushes out. Digging into her nightgown pocket, her hand returns with a silver-chained crystal pendant dangling between her fingers. Before I can study the pendant, she places the silver chain around my neck, the pendant resting on my chest.

“You must never take it off, Delilah. No matter the truth they try to hide, the darkness isn’t as strong as the light.”

I open my mouth to speak, my head shaking side to side as disbelief courses through me, but my mother cuts me off.

“In the eyes of the blind it sparkles, whereas the one who wears it prevails.”

She’s not lucid.

Disappointment and sadness flood my heart, the weight of it making me slump. I’m prepared to tell her to go back to bed when she squeezes my hand tighter, her eyes widening.

“Delilah, I’m serious. Please wear this at all times. Hide it under your clothes and show absolutely no one that you’re wearing it,” she pleads.

The conviction in her voice makes me pause. Her clear eyes tell me she’s lucid, yet what she’s saying isn’t.

She must see my hesitancy and confusion.

“I know dear, but in time it will make sense.” She plants a soft kiss on my cheek, then whispers strongly, “I love you.”

Tears freely roll down my cheeks as she leaves just as fast as she arrived, taking the glass flame with her, her nightgown flowing behind her.

I wipe my tears away, burying myself in the sheets once more. I cling to the pendant as my tears continue falling, even in my sleep.