Wishful- a Powerless fanfic novella

Chapter 1: Blair

"Harder Blair, harder!"

Pfffft, the Imperial watching over me is clearly out of his mind if he thinks that I could punch this stupid mat any harder than I already am. I clench my fists, a silent pain coursing throughout me as I do so. My heart is pounding, cheeks streaked with dirt and sweat from the summer heat. 

I scoff, "How on earth could I fucking punch this any harder? I swear to the King himself, my palms hurt like hell right now."

He doesn't reply to this. Instead, a hand motions in my direction to keep going. "Talent doesn't manifest itself."

"And neither does your money, does it?" I smile sweetly. Of course, he is angered by this. The wage that the Imperials earn per week is not given for being lazy. "So, I would highly suggest that you move your bodily ass to somewhere else in the castle, where you would be of more use. Perhaps the maid's bedroom?" I snicker at the thought. 

"How on earth do you know about that?" He sounds shocked that I know this, shouldn't be with the stellar reputation that the Imperials have built for themselves.

"How on earth have you not removed yourself from my eyesight? Do I need remind you of who I am?" My voice turns cold. I shoot him a glare that makes him flinch so hard, I'm surprised he hasn't crapped his pants and sprinted down to the slums by now.

The Imperial huffs, turns around and stalks off, presumably to find someone else to annoy. That's fine by me, I don't give a crap about how he spends his time. At the moment, the main concern of mine is how I shall wash the blood off my knees- second thoughts, maybe I'll leave it on there anyways. I do know how the prince brothers love to fight. Kai, especially. Plagues, I'd love to run my hand through his mud-streaked hair and caress his arm with my fingertips. He'd be lucky honestly, considering I'm probably one of his top choices for a future wife. 

I shake my head, tucking all thoughts of Kai away. Walking away from the pitiful looking mat, I turn my boot-clad feet into a hallway that I know from memory leads to the King's study, where him and my father, the general, will most likely be poring over some sort of maps or paperwork regarding the upcoming Purging trials. I am almost sure that I will be in them, a privilege of some sort, being a notable upper-class figure. Or so I let myself believe.

Straightening my posture subtly and steeling my eyes not-so-subtly, I stalk down the hallway, striding past paintings upon paintings of the King, his past and former Queen, and his sons Kitt and Kai Azer. The gorgeous, fluffy carpet feels unnatural beneath my leathered boots, the bright red clashing against the dull brown as I arrive at the King's study. 

Suddenly, as my hand is positioned on the brass doorknob prepared to barge in like the ass I am, I hear faint murmurs inside. My ears strain to form words from the mumbles, and I quickly make to press myself against the door and push one pale ear against the smooth wood. Years of practice snooping on the maids gossiping and the game nights I was never invited to help me make out the following words:

"But sir, the Resistance-" My father's very own words. What the hell is the "Resistance"? Some sort of protest against training? It has crossed my mind before, thank you very much. 

A voice that is so cold it makes my very own sound weak cuts through. "Simon, I would very much keep that thought to yourself. No one need know of this silly organisation, and they never will, agreed?" 

A gasp wrestles it way out of me. I clap a hand to my mouth, then realise who I am. Why should I, Blair Archer, be scared of anything? Plagues, the fact that I may have discovered a secret that scarcely anyone else in Ilya knows of should make me giddy with excitement. But it doesn't. Instead, I feel a shiver run through me. What is this Resistance, and why are they so important that my father dare bring up the topic with the King?