Heir of Broken Fate (HOBF Book 1)

I grit my teeth, breathing deeply through the pain wracking my body. Despite my pain tolerance being high after years of abuse from my father, I know this task would have been easier to do without the new injuries, yet I’m running out of time.

I watch as the palace guards posted in the gardens below leave their post for the changing of shifts. The second the five shadowy figures turn the corner, I swing my legs over the windowsill, wincing as my ribs flare in pain. Balancing on the balls of my toes on the window’s ledge, I grip the drainpipe to my right as I gently close the window at my back, leaving a small crack open to get back inside.

Digging my hands into the chalk in my pants pocket, I lather my hands, coating every inch of my skin with the powder before I begin to climb. I’ve climbed this drainpipe so often over the years I no longer shake at the knees by the sheer drop. I clear four stories before I reach the roof of the palace, my nails digging into the tiles as I heave my body over, rolling onto my stomach.

Righting myself once more, I run, clearing the east wing roof, making my way to the outer ledge. I pick up the rope wrapped around the chimney I’ve had concealed here for years. I tie the free end around my stomach, sliding down the curve of the roof that leads to the stables below. I drop and roll onto the stable roof, the impact making my bones sing in pain.

The skylight window shines in front of me. Untying the rope, I lift the heavy glass and peer inside. I can make out Creseda’s shape moving to the far wall, as she knows to make room for me to land. A slow smile spreads across my face at the sight. Clever horse.

I’ve had Creseda for the past nine years, my love running as deep for her as it does for Easton, a true companion in this miserable life.

Landing into a pile of hay with a small oomph, I stand, taking her in. The most beautiful Friesian black horse in all the country, six feet tall and thirteen hundred pounds of pure beautiful mammal. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pull out three large carrots, her mouth tickling my palm as she eats.

“Hi, gorgeous,” I whisper. “Are you up for another evening stroll?”

A stomp and a snort have my heart melting.

After getting her saddle ready and taking the reins, I ease Creseda out of the stables, the other horses putting up a fuss that they’re still locked in. Sticking my head out the barn door, I check left and right. The grounds are clear, the in-training guards late as usual.

The only time I can get away with leaving the grounds are in the middle of the week, an hour past midnight. The only shift the royal guards allow the trainees to work on. They’re all cocky, boasting about their new titles. It makes them sloppy…and late.

Although the curfew laws aren’t enforced in the capital, I can’t risk being seen leaving the palace grounds. Everyone knows Creseda and who she belongs to. They’d spot her a mile away and inform my father about his precious doll’s activities.

Keeping to the shadows, I mount Creseda in one fell swoop, digging my heels into her sides. We take off as fast as lightning into the woods beyond. The crisp night air whips across my face. My hood blows off my head with the speed, my black cloak spreading out behind me as we ride south.

My father keeps the sector prisoners sentenced for executions on the capital grounds. The old egotistical fool that he is, thinks no one in the capital would ever dare betray him and his precious laws.

As the trees begin to part, opening to the view beyond, I spot the silver metal boards of the prison roof. Pulling the reins, I ease Creseda to a stop, finding my usual hiding spot—a large oak alcove, the middle of the tree stump curving in on itself, as if someone cut out a door from it. I dismount Creseda and ease her in backward, hiding her large behind and swishing tail within the oak tree. The rest of her glorious black body camouflaged by the darkness of the night sky.

“I’ll be back, you know the drill,” I say, planting a kiss on her nose before I back away.

Easing between trees, I make my way to the border of the prison compound, a horrible ugly metal building with no windows and only one way in and out. The metal doors are held together by a deadbolt lock and chain.

A deep chuckle fills the air around me. Guards. I grit my teeth as I pull back toward the other side of the building. Lathering my hands in chalk I climb once more, treading carefully on the roof as I pray none of the metal below my feet bends or squeaks.

Crouching onto all fours, I peek over the side of the roof. Three guards are stationed in front of the prison doors.

A young dark-haired male crosses his arms as he puffs out his chest. “Did you take your turn with the whore?”

Another guard smirks. “Which one? The blonde or the brunette?”

The dark-haired man takes a bow. “Both.”

As each horrid word enters the crisp air, my blood slows, turning to ice.

How dare they violate the very people they’re meant to protect and serve.

Stillness overtakes my body. A silent killing calm.

I feel no guilt as I lunge, free falling to the earth before I land on top of the guard in the middle. A blade imbeds in his gut as another flies from my hand. Before the guard in front of me can so much as blink, a knife is lodged in his leg. Whirling, I roll onto the ground, kicking out my legs and knocking the guard behind me onto his ass before he can so much as touch me. I unsheathe the sword from my back in a breath, bringing the hilt of it down onto the guard’s head, rendering him unconscious. With the other two injured they can’t stop me as I do the same to them.

There’s no need to kill them as punishment for their horrid acts. Once my father finds out what I’m about to do tonight on their watch, he’ll have the guards sentenced to the dungeons for failing him. Where they’ll never escape, let alone see sunlight again. The sheer violence my father inflicts on those who are disloyal to him are things you only hear about in nightmares.

Lifting my sword over my head, I take one step forward as I plunge it down with all my weight and remaining strength, slicing the chain in two.

I drag open the metallic doors, holding back a gag as the horrid smell of over a hundred people cramped into the small room assaults my nose. Their bodily fluids mingle with the musty smell. My father likes to herd the prisoners like cattle, making them wait days in their own filth before their execution.

Gasps ring out as everyone shuffles backward. People begin to sob and shake as they believe they’re about to meet their end.

I take a step forward into the compound, sheathing my sword behind my back. I pull my black hood off my head. “Who knows how to sail a ship?”

Hushed whispers break out, heads turning this way and that with a mixture of confused and shocked expressions.

A hand shoots up at the back of the room. The sea of people part instantly for the courageous person, revealing the volunteer to be an older, gray-haired man. His hand trembles as it slowly lowers. The man starts to take a tentative step forward before thinking better of it and halting. His mouth opens and closes before a cracked, dry voice stutters out.

The guards clearly haven’t given them any water since they’ve been imprisoned.

“I-I was a sailor, Your Hi-highness.” The man takes an audible gulp before he continues, despair coating his words. “Before the capital took over the trading duties.”

My heart twists, my throat going dry as my eyes burn.

Many people lost their livelihoods the day my father put his own men in control of the trading duties. Hundreds of families became homeless within that very week, soon dying from starvation.

I take a deep breath, swallowing my emotions. They don’t need a crying martyr, they need strength right now.

Striding toward the man, people part for me, scattering away faster than before. Stopping before him, I lift my hand, palm up between us. He hesitates for a moment before placing his in mine. I gently squeeze it, looking into his tired, hopeless brown eyes.

A smile tugs at my lips. “Good, because we need someone to sail the getaway ship.”

The room fills with gasps and relieved sobs of joy as the people around me realize I am not their executioner, but their salvation. Whispers spread faster than I can hear.

“It’s true…”

“The princess is a rebel.”

“…She’s going to save us.”

“The princess is on our side.”

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I turn, everyone falling quiet as they look at me in my fighting leathers, gently holding the man’s hand.

They begin to listen.

“Yes, it is true. I can’t explain all the details because we don’t have much time. Three miles to the east lies a ship full of supplies to last you a month.”

More gasps go up around the room and I finally see hope lining the eyes of my people.

“I will show you the way, yet once you are all on safely, I will leave you.” Turning to the older gentleman, I say, “This courageous man will sail you to safety, yet he will need your help. So, I hope we have more than one volunteer.”

An array of people—young, old, female, and male—step forward, yelling out their offerings of help.

“I can’t give you a safe place in Aloriah. My power over these circumstances is limited,” I say soberly. “However, there’s land east of here. It’s a three-week sail with good weather and it’s safe. I’ve received letters proving so from previous ships I’ve sent. I promise, you will find no harm once you reach its shores.”

The infamous rumors are true. Heir to Aloriah, the daughter of the tyrant running this country, is working on the inside to free as many people as she can. Receiving the letters were the most dangerous part. The first ship I ever sent off, only holding three people, made it to shore safely four weeks later. With my instructions, they addressed a letter to Lady Ophelia, knowing that no one in the palace resides under that name. Befriending the young gentlemen in the mailing room to accompany the lonely princess for weekly tea sessions gave me the access I needed to steal the letters.

Receiving that first letter three years ago was one of the few times in my life I have felt useful toward change in these lands. Ever since, I’ve been sending as many people as I could to those lands, knowing they’re all waiting to help those that arrive.

I look around at all the astonished, hopeful expressions, feeling my heart grow.

“A new world,” I declare.