Heir of Broken Fate

Copyright © 2023 by Mads Rafferty All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to places, events or real people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. ISBN: 978-0-6458037-0-9 Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 A Note From The Author To my younger self, There is always hope to be found Chapter One No matter how strong I get, I always end up here. Lifeless, helpless, and hopeless. I feel it physically first, the burn in my cheek as my skin tears open. The protests of my ribs fighting to stay intact. The blast throughout my body as my knees hit the marble floor and the indescribable pain of my lungs screaming for air as it’s stolen from me. My body sees it coming before I do, locking up every muscle until I'm frozen in place, my blood slowing in preparation to pour out of me. No matter how much I scream no sound slips between my lips. Never mind screaming, it will never do any good. I can never move, never fight. Not with him, never with him. My father is beating me again. The one who's supposed to protect me, cherish me, and love me is the one who breaks me every day. Chipping tiny pieces away until I’m nothing but a broken shell of what I used to be. I can never do any good, because it is never enough. “How dare you disrespect me with such filth!" he booms, the heel of his boot connecting with my stomach. I don’t dare speak, for the fear of his fists never stopping until I’m buried six feet underground. "You’re an embarrassment to this family. You should be ashamed of yourself,” he seethes. Shame? No. I never feel anything when this happens—not emotionally. Just the brute force of my father’s assault on my body. It’s as if my heart can’t bear to witness, so it checks out until my father is long gone. I’m not sure what I did to earn this particular beating. Perhaps it was my horrible training lesson this afternoon. My father doesn’t view mistakes as a normal human experience; he sees it as an abomination to not be a perfectly unflawed person. However, I don’t see Easton running to tell him about my little mistake today. He hates my father more than I do. My father retracts, straightening his rumpled tunic as he slowly eases himself into the dining room chair. Gently picking up the silver cutlery beside his plate, he cuts into his roast, as if nothing happened. He snaps his fingers once, twice. “Take care of it.” It. Not daughter. Servants are next to me in a flash, gentle hands under my arms lifting me to a standing position. I steal a glance toward my mother, who predictably is staring at nothing. She hasn’t been mentally present in a long time, let alone ever stopped this. If she didn’t wear the same bruises I do, I’d hate her more than him for sitting by silently while her only daughter is beaten to a bloody pulp. I don’t need to look up to know where I’m going. The aftermath of my father’s rage has become as predictable as a ritual. The servants help me walk the long corridors to the nurse’s quarters where Annie will suck in a deep gasp and rush forward to tend to my wounds, while trying to inconspicuously wipe away the tears that escape. Annie was hired as the palace’s head nurse before I was born. Besides the graceful ageing of her features, not much has changed over the years. Annie’s still got her gorgeous bright red curls pulled into a tight bun on her head, held by her signature white bow. Gold-ringed, kind eyes that see too much and plump, heart-shaped lips that smile extra wide when she sees me. Annie was unable to conceive children, she says it allowed her to focus all her motherly instincts on me over the years. If it wasn’t for Annie and Easton…I don’t know how I would have survived the past twenty-two years. “Mean old bastard. I’m surprised he still finds the time to do this, considering the number of people he butchers,” she spits. My cheeks burn red. There’s the shame my father wanted to see. Annie clicks her tongue. “His barbaric actions have nothing to do with you. You can’t so much as drop a pea on the floor without getting hit.” “That doesn’t change the fact that my father kills innocent people.” That makes Annie pause. “No, it doesn’t,” she says quietly. I lower my voice. “Any updates on the people?” I know I can trust Annie with my life, and hers with mine, but my father has people everywhere in this castle that kiss his ass to gain the slightest lick of attention from him. Not to mention the spies that riddle these halls. Annie’s features visibly shut down, her face going wholly blank, her telltale sign. “What?” I ask. Her only response is a muscle ticking in her jaw, the silence in the room suffocating. “Tell me what happened,”