Heir of Broken Fate (HOBF Book 1)
Heir of Broken Fate: Chapter 4

The following day, after Annie tried to hide her tears from me while Easton hovered over us, I’m lying on Easton’s chest in my bed. It’s been silent for what feels like hours. The wind flutters in through the open veranda, but not even the soothing smell of the lake and forest beyond has been able to soothe my aching heart.

I twist my head up to Easton’s face. His brows have been pulled down all day, as if his face is frozen in a scowl.

Dragging myself from bed, ignoring the dull pounding in my head, I enter my dressing room. Quickly changing into my riding leathers, I grab my day bag, filling it with my diary, fruit, and the current book I’m reading—which reminds me, I need to go in search of Fae history books—but that can wait until tomorrow. I need to clear my mind.

Walking out of the closet, Easton sits up. I quickly cut him off before he can utter a single word. “No. I need to clear my head. I’m just going to the tree, nowhere else. I promise.”

“You shouldn’t be going anywhere with a head wound. What if you fall off Creseda riding?”

“Annie checked me out. No concussion, just a little head cut,” I state, slinging my day bag over my shoulder.

Easton’s brows furrow. “It’s not just a little head cut. You needed two stitches, Delilah.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I can’t argue with that, so I climb onto the bed, giving him a big squeeze. “It wouldn’t have done a lick of difference if you were in that room, Easton. Even if you did try to stop it, he would have had you killed just for interrupting.” I run my fingers through his hair, cupping his face. “You can’t stop him,” I whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs brokenly, silver lining his eyes.

My heart aches at the sound of his broken voice, for this beautiful caring man to be in such a horrible world where I’m the one contributing to his sadness.

I take a deep breath. “Fine but if I tell you to stop singing a horrible song you must concede,” I relent.

Easton’s entire face brightens as he smiles down at me. “Are you gracing me with the gift of joining you, Princess?” he teases.

Rolling my eyes, I giggle as we make our way to the stables.

I flit my eyes between Easton’s horse and Creseda as we ride through the forest. “I think Creseda and Henry are soulmates,” I say in awe.

We’re twenty minutes away from our destination when I notice Creseda and Henry, Easton’s horse, are playing together and, dare I say, flirting. But they’re horses, so you never know what’s going through their adorable minds.

Easton bursts out laughing. “Where is this coming from?”

“Look, they’re flirting,” I say, pointing. Their noses brush for a moment before separating.

Easton tilts his head, looking genuinely puzzled. He has the most adorable face when he’s confused. His forehead wrinkles as his lips purse together in deep concentration.

“Huh.” He pauses. “They never usually do that.”

“Maybe Creseda is finally a free lady and Henry is pouncing on the opportunity,” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows.

“Why can’t Henry be the free man and Creseda’s the one taking the shot?” he objects.

I scoff. “Because Creseda is the most beautiful horse there is.”

Easton gasps as he leans forward, patting Henry’s neck. He pretends to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry buddy, you’re the most handsome horse there is. Don’t listen to her horseshit.”

“You’re weird.” I chuckle.

“Switch weird with charming and you’re right.” He winks. “How far out are we?”

“Ten more minutes.” I glance at him sideways. “Why? Are you uncomfortable already?” I tease.

He huffs. “Please, I’m a better rider than you are.”

Gasping, I turn around so fast I nearly fall off my saddle. “Take that back!”

Easton lets out a low chuckle, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll race you for it.”

I scoff, turning back. “I don’t need to race you to prove my riding ability.”

“If you say so,” he sing-songs.

Narrowing my eyes, I slide my gaze to him. “I’m a fabulous rider.”

Easton shrugs. “Then you would have no qualms about racing me for it.”

“Fine.”

Easton’s eyes spark with amusement. “Whoever gets to the treehouse first is the best rider.”

Shaking my head, I lift my gaze to Easton as I smirk. “You’re on!” Squeezing my legs around Creseda, we take off before he can even register my words.

Easton’s voice follows me from behind as he shouts, “You play dirty, Princess!”

I giggle the entire ride to the sound of Easton swearing behind me. Henry’s hooves beat the grass, trying to catch up to Creseda and me.

The treehouse comes into view. It’s a little under an hour ride away from the palace, and because it’s still on the capital grounds my father has no reservations of me going here. I found it when I was a little girl and tried to run away. Back then, for a little girl’s imagination, it was heaven on earth. Now being twenty-two years old and five-nine it’s extremely small; nevertheless, it holds a dear part in my heart. Whenever I need to escape or have a bad day, I come here for solitude. Over the years I’ve stocked the one-level, wooden treehouse with knickknacks, books, pillows, and quilts for when it gets cold.

The treehouse doesn’t have a door; instead, it has an open arch leading into the four-by-four wooden room. Each wall has a window, showing off panoramic views of the forest. The only way up is the rope ladder, which I’ve had to replace twice from Easton’s large frame snapping it in half.

Dismounting Creseda, I lean against her, crossing my arms over my chest, a smug grin lining my face while I watch Easton trot up beside me.

“Who’s the best rider?” I sing-song.

“You are, Delilah,” he grumbles, dismounting Henry.

Laughing, I push off Creseda. Pulling out carrots from my bag to feed her. “You’re as bad of a loser as I am,” I mutter.

Rolling his eyes, Easton matches my movements, feeding Henry.

Once he’s done, Easton wraps an arm around my shoulder as he veers me toward the treehouse. “Come on, Princess, read me a story.”

Easton and I spend the rest of the afternoon lying amongst quilts and pillows, taking turns reading out loud to each other.

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