The Room wouldn’t form at all. There was only blackness and a hint of the grey walls somehow visible in the blackness. Felitïa kept trying. Kept trying to pull up the black walls. Kept trying to push out whatever was stopping her from doing it.

For she was sure now something was stopping her—and it wasn’t exhaustion.

Or rather, it was partially that, as she was also now certain someone or something was stopping her from sleeping.

It was an ingenious plan, really. It had completely disabled her, stripping her of the abilities she held most dear—her telepathy and magic—and she was completely unprepared to face the world without them. They were like air to her. Without them, she couldn’t breathe. She could only suffocate.

She opened her eyes and looked around the tiny cell again. There was only the stone platform along the wall that doubled as both bench and bed, a pan to relieve herself in, and nothing else but the door of iron bars. The cell was one of a few in a small outbuilding along the wall surrounding Lord Belone’s palace—Danel Belone’s palace now.

She took occasional looks around the cell, hoping each time she’d notice something about it which would give her some sort of idea. An idea for escape maybe? An idea for how to restore her abilities and let her sleep? She didn’t know what she was looking for. Just hoping something would present itself.

She closed her eyes again, tried again to form the Room. Again it refused.

Last night had been a trap, like she’d suspected. She’d arrived at the library to find Plavistalorik was not there, but others were.

Danel Belone sat at the table, flipping the pages of a book. A man with greying brown hair and a scarred face stood behind him, dressed in the armour of the Red Knights. Two Red Knights stood at attention in the corners of the room.

Danel closed the book as Felitïa entered. He motioned to the scarred man. “There you are. I told you the Isyar’s name would lure her here.” He looked at Felitïa. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you the past couple months, your Highness. I know you’ve made a couple requests to speak to Plavistalorik.”

Felitïa sighed and walked farther into the room. The trap was sprung. No point trying to get away now, but maybe she could still learn something. “Okay, Danel, you’ve got me here. What’s this about? And why are there Bloods here?”

“We prefer Red Knights,” the scarred man said. “Bloods is a slur.”

Felitïa took a seat at the table across from Danel. She didn’t look at the scarred man. She had a good idea who he was, and she wasn’t about to show him any sort of respect, not even eye contact. “When your organisation starts treating people with respect, I’ll consider treating you with respect, too. Not before. Danel, why are there Bloods here? Your father won’t approve.”

Danel smiled at her. “My father passed away an hour ago. May Nature guide him and All-Father embrace him. He was a good man, and I will miss him.”

Damn it. The moment she’d seen the Bloods, Felitïa had suspected this, but it was still disappointing to hear it confirmed. Worse, the fact the Bloods were already here meant Danel must have known his father was going to die. Possibly even knew when. Mitchal Plavin—assuming the scarred man was Mitchal Plavin—wouldn’t have come all the way here without certainty.

“You don’t look very upset,” Felitïa said. He wasn’t either. There was a slight sense of regret coming from him, but mostly there was excitement, some nervousness, and some anger. That anger grew as Felitïa spoke.

He slammed his fist on the table. “He disappointed me.” He glared at Felitïa. “I heard about his plan to disinherit me. I blame you for that. Since you first came here a year ago, and especially in the last couple months, you’ve spun a web of lies around him. He even believed you’re a wizard, yet I’ve never seen you perform a single magical trick at all.”

“That’s because they mostly are just tricks.” Mitchal Plavin walked up to the table. “Intelligent people like us see right through them, so they avoid using them around us. Some of my associates tell me, your Highness, that you are a fabled being they call the Will-Breaker. Your Lordship, as Will-Breaker, she is supposedly capable of bending men’s wills to her with a single glance. Supposedly, she could force us to our knees with just a thought. Care to demonstrate, your Highness?”

Felitïa wondered if she had the concentration for a spell. A simple sleep spell. A tilt of her head, a partial closing of her eyes, and a slight flexing of her finger, and Mitchal Plavin would topple to the floor. He’d likely wake up instantly again, but it might shut him up. But she hadn’t been able to manage a spell in weeks. Was Plavin responsible for that? Someone working for him? Had it been done for a moment just like this, to make her look a fraud?

“You see, your Lordship? She won’t even make eye contact with me.”

Danel laughed. “I can’t believe my father never so much as asked for a simple demonstration.”

“She has one power, lad: a way with words. Words can be powerful when employed effectively.”

Felitïa did it. She half closed her eyes, tilted her head, and flexed her finger just a little.

Nothing happened.

Gods damn it! What was wrong with her?

“So what happens now?” Felitïa asked.

“We throw you in jail for the time being,” Mitchal said. “Don’t worry, your Highness. You’ll be treated with the utmost respect. You are still royalty after all, albeit disgraced royalty. We will send word to Arnor City and wait for their directive for what to do with you.”

“And if they order you to let me go?”

Mitchal Plavin shrugged. “Then we’ll let you go. However, as there’s about to be a change of leadership there as well, I suspect they’ll order your execution. You will be given an execution befitting royalty, of course.”

Danel looked up at him. “A change in leadership in Arnor City, too?”

Mitchal Plavin held up his hand. “Nothing for you to worry about, your Lordship. Just know that we are looking to bring order everywhere, not just here.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Danel nodded. “Ah, of course. I understand.”

So Danel wasn’t in on everything. He was probably just a tool. Interesting. It could mean he wasn’t a Darker like Plavin.

“What about Nin-Akna?” Felitïa asked.

“She’ll be arrested first thing in the morning,” Danel said. “Then publicly executed in a day or two. She needs to be made an example of.”

Felitïa nodded. “I see. Well, you’d better show me to my cell, shouldn’t you?”

Mitchal Plavin motioned to the other two Bloods. “Escort her Highness to a cell. Remember, she is royalty, so treat her with respect.”

The two Bloods had walked to either side of her, but had otherwise not forced her in any way. They had led her through the palace and across the grounds to the cell where she was now.

The Room in her head collapsed as soon as she entered the cell. She could also no longer sense the feelings of the Bloods or the palace guards on duty in the jail.

That was how she finally knew for certain whatever was happening to her was external to her. It happened too suddenly to be anything else. Which meant whoever or whatever was responsible was nearby at that moment. Unfortunately, that last bit of knowledge didn’t help her locate it.

Hours passed. It had to be daylight outside by now. She’d made no progress with her head.

The sound of booted feet on the wooden floor came from outside her cell. A moment later, a Blood passed the door, pulling Anita along with him.

“Your Highness!” Anita called. “They’ve got Akna! They’re going to execute her!”

The Blood dragged her past, but she continued to call out.

“We have to help her! Please! We have to do something!”

Felitïa stood up, walked the couple of feet to the door, and peered out. The Blood was only a couple cells down. A jailer hurried past to unlock the door.

Felitïa tried again to put them to sleep, and again it didn’t work. She sighed. “Don’t worry, Anita. I’ll figure something out.”

They were hollow words. She had no idea if she could figure anything out. Despite Mitchal Plavin’s assurances, she had no doubt he intended to have her killed. Lidda Plavin’s actions last year were proof enough of that. She suspected locking her up like this was just a show for Danel Belone.

And unless she determined what was wrong with her and how to reverse it, she could do nothing to prevent her execution, or to stop the same from happening to Nin-Akna, Anita, or anyone else.

Felitïa stood by the cell door for a few minutes, listening to Anita crying in the other cell.

No, she couldn’t give up like that. There had to be something she could do. She went back tot he bench-bed, sat down, and tried again to bring up the room.

Just blackness greeted her.

So she tried again.

And again. And again. And again…

She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but eventually, voices interrupted her attempts.

“I demand to be allowed to see my daughter and her Highness!”

“Let her,” another voice said. “She has Lord Belone’s permission.”

“Very well,” a third voice said. “But make it quick, and we’ll be watching.”

A moment later, Siba appeared at the door to Felitïa’s cell. “Your Highness, I trust they’re treating you well.”

Her make-up was tear-streaked, and she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Felitïa rose and curtsied. “They are. My Lady, let me offer you my sincerest condolences on the passing of your husband.”

Siba forced a smile, but dabbed at her eyes again. “Thank you, your Highness.”

“Mother, is that you?” Anita called out from her cell.

Siba turned in Anita’s direction. “Yes, dear. I’m here. I’m just talking with her Highness briefly, and I’ll be right with you.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes again.

Felitïa approached the door, pressed up as close to it as she dared. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Siba turned back to her. “As do I, your Highness.”

“There might be,” Felitïa said quietly.

Siba lowered her voice similarly. “Anything. Danel’s out of control. I fear he poisoned Feodor.”

“Unfortunately, I think there’s a good chance of that,” Felitïa said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“This could be very dangerous for you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Then I need you to get word to a man in the city named Agernon. Tell him I need his help.”

“Of course. What’s his last name?”

“He doesn’t have one. It’s just Agernon. He’ll be easy to find.”

Siba nodded. “I’ll do it. You have my word. I’ll find a way.”

“What are you two talking about?” one of the jailers yelled. “Speak louder.”

“Of course,” Felitïa called back. “My apologies. We didn’t think you’d want to hear about...how should I put it?...a woman’s monthly issues. Lady Siba is helping me with them.”

“Good gods, move on to your daughter!”

Siba smirked. “Well, if you want to deal with the mess. Apologies, your Highness.”

“No worries, my Lady.” Felitïa returned to her seat. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to be at your husband’s funeral.”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Siba curtsied, then moved to Anita’s cell.

“Oh mother, they’re going to execute Akna!”

“I know, dear.”

Danel wasn’t planning to wait long before executing Nin-Akna. Could Siba get word to Agernon before then? It was unlikely, but it was unlikely she’d get word to Agernon at all. Felitïa couldn’t rely on that. She had to come up with something else.

She closed her eyes again. The Room would still not form.

So she tried again. And again…