Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 13: Blair

The next day, I can't shake thoughts of Sadie's plans. The pain tears at me, almost splitting me in two, and for the first time, I find myself wishing these Trials would last forever. Let the grueling training, the relentless tasks, the torturous thoughts continue; let my wrists burn with the anxiety-induced itch, as long as it means Sadie stays close by.

I'm fighting very poorly in the ring with one of the Imperials when I hear Brian's voice.

"Miss Archer," he calls, "your father wants to see you."

I growl in frustration, delivering a sharp kick to my opponent's knee. Of course, my father wants to see me—tomorrow is the ball. And after the ball, in the morning, the First Trial awaits me. He probably wants to offer some advice in advance.

But it can wait because right now, I'm venting my anger and frustration on an innocent guard who dared to challenge me.

"Miss Archer," Brian repeats, his tone serious and insistent, "this is urgent."

Reluctantly, I step back and try to catch my breath. Sweat drips down my temples, my hair is disheveled, and my legs tremble with exertion. My opponent looks no better—his lip is split from my precise punch, and a bruise is blooming on his bicep. It seems Brian's lessons are paying off, and he knows it too.

"Thank you for the fight," I mutter, turning away from the guy.

As Brian and I cross the training courtyard, and I finally manage to steady my breathing, I decide to ask:

"What's this about? Why the urgency?"

"I have no idea, Miss Archer," he replies with a smirk. "Unfortunately, your father doesn't trust me with important information."

"Instead, he trusts you with my life," I retort, catching a fleeting smile on his lips.

"All I heard," Brian says, stretching his neck as we walk, "is that important guests arrived at the castle today."

I press my lips together. This doesn't clarify much, considering many of the king's noble subjects will want to attend the ball. It could be anyone. Or maybe... No, I push away thoughts that could cause me more pain than yesterday's revelation from Sadie.

As we walk through the palace corridors, the atmosphere is thick with tension and activity. The servants, busy with preparations for the ball, move about with precision, like puppets in the hands of a skilled puppeteer. The sounds of footsteps, the rustling of dresses, and the hushed voices all blend into a background noise that should be soothing, but instead, it only adds weight to my shoulders.

The grand ballroom is probably already polished to the point where it hurts to look at it, like the midday sun on a clear day. Here, in these corridors, the essence of palace life seems to be hidden: luxury, ostentatious beauty, but behind it all—a constant struggle for power, for influence. I walk through this labyrinth, feeling the anxiety grow within me.

When we reach my father's study, Brian gives me a slight nod and steps aside. Two Guards, with cold indifference, open the heavy oak doors before me, and I step into the dimly lit room.

The room is filled with thick shadows, pierced only by the occasional flicker of light seeping through the heavy curtains, which are never open. My father always preferred the darkness—it's as severe and unforgiving as he is. He sits behind his desk, his figure outlined by the candlelight, imposing and powerful. If he weren't an Illusionist, he would undoubtedly be a Brawny.

As I approach, I catch the scent of tobacco that permeates the walls. He slowly raises his head, and our eyes meet. His gray, almost steely eyes bore into me, as if they can see every doubt within me.