Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 17: Brian

We find ourselves in a narrow, dimly lit corridor. The air inside is thick with the scent of smoke and something burning. It's stifling, yet a shiver runs down my spine. The walls are stained with damp patches, and from somewhere up ahead, there's the muffled clatter of a kitchen still in operation. Despite the chaos that has engulfed the palace. The servants carry on with their duties, perhaps unaware of the turmoil outside.

Blair walks beside me, silent but visibly uneasy. I know what's on her mind, what's troubling her.

"Mrs. Hope," she breathes at last, her voice trembling with anxiety. "I need to know..."

I sigh and stop, turning to face her. There's fear in her eyes, a rare sight in someone usually so composed and calculating.

"Miss Archer," I begin, striving to keep my tone gentle, "I need to ensure your safety first. I'll go to Mrs. Hope myself as soon as I've returned you to your room."

She shakes her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. I gently, but firmly, grip her shoulders, trying to hold her attention.

"You can't go back into that chaos right now."

She looks like she's about to argue, but something in my voice—or perhaps the seriousness of the situation—makes her stop. Finally, she nods, though her face remains tense.

"All right," she says, her voice subdued. "But if something happens to her..."

"Nothing will happen," I promise, injecting a confidence into my voice that I don't entirely feel, but that she desperately needs to hear. "From the kitchen, we'll head straight to the residential wing, and you'll stay in your room with Miss Knox."

Sadie stands a few steps away, her face also etched with concern, but she remains silent, merely nodding in agreement with my words.

We continue down the corridor and soon reach a large wooden door leading into the kitchen. As soon as we step inside, a wave of heat and the smell of cooking food hits us. But with the warmth comes tension. The servants, busy with their tasks, freeze when they see us—disheveled, out of breath, with bloodstains on our clothes.

An awkward silence hangs in the air, and I can almost feel the fear creeping into the minds of these people. The cooks exchange uneasy glances, unsure of how to react until one of them lets out a frightened gasp.

"Stay in here, don't come out!" I shout, trying to be heard over the growing commotion. "The castle is under attack!"

My words shatter the silence, and panic sweeps through the room—someone drops a bowl, another screams, and some just stand frozen, staring at us in terror. But before the fear can spiral into chaos, much like what unfolded in the ballroom, a sharp voice cuts through the noise:

"Quiet! Calm down, now!"

The head cook, Gail, commands with such authority that the servants immediately comply. The panic subsides, giving way to a subdued but obedient silence. Sadie, observing the scene, smirks and nods toward two carving knives on one of the tables. One of the maids hesitantly picks them up and hands them to us. One knife goes to me, the other to Blair.

"Let's move," I say, and we head out of the kitchen into the garden. The cool night air envelops us immediately. Ahead lies the royal garden—usually serene, well-tended, and full of life, but now it feels eerie and deserted. Only the moonlight illuminates the paths and flowerbeds, like ghostly remnants of its former splendor.

We make our way toward the back entrance to the residential wing of the castle, where the participants' rooms are located. The tension is palpable, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind, and I think the battle must already be over. The Elite have dealt with the rebels, as expected.