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Chapter Text

Eleven Summers and Falls

The warm, summer air clung to her like a second skin and tucked around her in all the right places like a perfectly woven shawl. She inhaled deeply as she peered listlessly at the twinkling constellations above.

The she-child had seen only eleven summers and falls, and already was as radiant as the stars. Her hair was said to be as soft as the setting sun, her skin as smooth as newly spun silk. Her eyes were said to hold all the secrets of the storm, and her mind could rival any one of her mother's royal advisors.

She who was the jewel of the royal family, the prize of the kingdom, the pride of the people... was currently hiding away on the balcony like a coward.

Her silver skirts were as light as feathers, her bodice as thin as paper, her slippers as soft as satin... and yet, she never felt more restricted.

The girl inhaled deeply as a light breeze sweetly soothed her skin, sending a flurry of curls and skirts into the air. Oh, what she would give to be as free as a fish or a dove or a serpent... to be rid of these stone walls and tight dresses and unyielding rules.

"Are you finding anything worthwhile up there?"

The she-child startled and turned around. The Prince Consort, a tall man with her same flaxen hair and intense brown eyes, came forth from the shadows. He joined her by the railing.

His clothes were slightly crooked and mussed as though he had donned them in haste and without a care. His silk tickled when they brushed her bare arms.

"I found the Huntress," she said softly.

The Prince Consort scanned the heavens with a relaxed eye. "Ahh. My favorite constellation. Do you remember how I taught you to find it?"

"Was Aunt Artemis not the one who taught me how to find it?" the girl said lightly.

He placed a hand on his chest, feigning indignation. "Yes, well, I helped a great deal, didn't I?"

The two smirked and fell into a comfortable silence.

In the young dusk of evening, noises from within the castle bustled and swelled. Instruments, laughter, and chatter all melded into one, trickling through the windows and doors that had been flung open to greet the summer air.

"I know you don't favor pretty parties or fancy feasts or beautiful balls," her father began.

"I don't not like those things," the girl said hurriedly. "I simply don't love them. Can you blame me, though? The balls go on far too long and the company at the parties are mind-numbingly dull."

His deep chuckle was like the rumble of a wheel. "I see that you've inherited my despise for entertaining."

"Sometimes I wish I'd inherited Mother's love for parties," she whispered. "Life would be much more bearable."

He whispered as well. "I couldn't agree more."

"Frederick!" came a woman's voice that was carried on the wind.

The Prince Consort squeezed his daughter's shoulder in what he intended as a comforting manner. "It seems your absence has been noticed by someone other than myself. You best return before your mother sends out the kingsguard to find you."

The girl sighed, knowing he was in the right, and slipped back inside.

On the far end of the ballroom, a fine ensemble of vocalists launched into song as ballgowns of a thousand colors stepped and clapped beneath a canopy of chandeliers. Toes tapped on smooth stones, throats hummed and chuckled, and laughter spilled from the painted lips of the lavishly dressed guests.

On the fringes of the dance floor was the woman the girl sought — or rather, it was the woman who sought the girl.

"Darling! There you are!" Princess Athena called.

She wore the finest materials their realm had to offer; a crimson gown of luscious silks and velvets that swirled like a sigh as she approached. In her hair, a circlet twinkled like a thousand little lights. Unlike her spouse, her attire had been meticulously selected, and not an inch of fabric was out of place.

Athena half turned so to present the trio of guests by her side.

"This is His Royal Majesty, King Poseidon, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Amphitrite Celaeno, and His Royal Highness, Prince Triton Celaeno. Your Majesties, Your Highness, you remember my daughter, Princess Annabeth Chase."

Old lessons in linages and snatches of court gossip came to Annabeth's mind. Poseidon, one of three, had been rather rakish in his youth, and to tame his wild ways his king father had chosen a beautiful yet banal bride for him to wed. Amphitrite had born Poseidon a healthy but boorish boy and their kingdom by the sea had flourished grandly under their care. Yet rumors of cheating scandals soon arose and clung to the unhappy couple like cobwebs that could not be banished, even with time and threats.

"Annabeth, how lovely it is to see you again," came the queen's measured words. They were followed with a refined dip and a strained smile.

The young princess inclined her head gracefully. "A thousand welcomes to you both, Your Majesties. And to you, Your Highness."

By the tension in his shoulders and the dullness in his eyes, Prince Triton, who had seen only a handful more years than Annabeth, was clearly uninterested in attending their ball.

But one never forgets their courtesies when greeting a royal, even when a royal themselves. The pinched boy obediently stepped forth and took Annabeth's hand in his.

"It is a pleasure to be here," he muttered, planting a sloppy kiss on her skin. "I thank you for opening your gates to us."

Annabeth hid her grimace as she untangled her hand from his. It was as though his lips had bestowed half a mouth of saliva upon her skin. "You and your family are most welcomed within our walls."

"She's grown so much, Athena," said a deep voice. Poseidon had finally spoken, startling them all. He had a strong voice and a kind face. "I remember when she was a wee babe, all pink and tiny..." Annabeth blushed furiously at this recollection. "...It seems like forever ago."

"Yes, they grow up so fast, don't they?" Athena replied thinly.

It was no secret that Athena and Poseidon weren't on the best of terms. Their rivalry, whilst having softened from years of ruling their respective lands and raising their respective families, had been fierce and unyielding in its youth. It had commenced over scoring the part of a city's patron ruler and it had ended almost in bloodshed and battle. Fortunately, these times have long since passed, and what now remained of their wild, raging feud was only a shadow of what it once was.

Athena turned to Amphitrite. "Young Triton is becoming very fine and regal. I hear he intends to follow in his father's footsteps."

The queen flushed with pride, one of the few emotions of any authenticity she actually displayed, Annabeth figured.

"You are correct as always, Your Majesty. He has indeed taken to the sea. But it is you who must swell with the most pride and joy when you look upon young Annabeth, for the songs of the princess's beauty simply don't do her justice."

Athena preened at these words. "They would make quite a pair, would they not?"

A pair of strangers, Annabeth thought.

The lady mothers shared a look as the children stared at each other awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Just then, a blonde boy appeared in the sea of guests like a beacon of light in the harshest of winter storms.

The girl sent a look of earnest longing to her mother who was in a surprisingly lenient mood, for Athena nodded her consent.

"Your Majesties, Your Highness, it was lovely seeing you again. My pardons." With a cutesy and a smile, Annabeth was slipping through the crowd without a backward glance and was gone.

"Thought you needed rescuing over there," the blonde boy said in greeting as she appeared at his side. He was garbed luxuriously in sky blue silks and satins, the same clothing as the rest of the royal family.

"Come and walk with me, sister. You can tell me the fairings of Prince Scale Tail."

Annabeth couldn't be happier to obey, so together the young prince and princess took a lazy lap around the edges of the room.

The Chase siblings, grandchildren of the great King Zeus and mistaken more often than not for twins, were revered by many throughout their realm and the realms of their neighbors and allies, which was proved tonight by the choruses of greetings that were offered every few steps.

"Was he still as pompous and posh as ever, I presume?" Malcolm said as he nodded politely to the Duchess Hecta, a kind woman with a giving heart, who stood silently by the foot of the dais.

Annabeth contained a snort behind her hand. "He's so serious! One would think he'd outgrow it by now."

"Dear sister, as someone who's been forced to socialize with him all my long, fifteen years, I know first hand that the prince has only grown into his seriousness. They don't say he was born with a frown on his face for no reason."

Annabeth could feel the weight of their mother's sharp stare berating them from a room away as she and Malcolm cackled like crows in their corner.

"And how fares our mother?" her brother asked after they had caught their breath. "I saw her conversing with you as well." He flagged down a servant and snagged champagne for her and wine for him.

Annabeth gracefully accepted the flute and raised it to her lips. "Don't look now, but she's eying us as if we'll somehow singlehandedly ruin her ball."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "As if her darling little cherubs would ever wish to ruin her night." He tossed back his drink with practiced ease. "But that is Mother for you. Ye of such little faith."

The young princess let out an unladylike snort. While she was perfectly behaved (a cherub indeed) she could understand why her mother might have suspicions when it came to her brother. It was he, after all, who had set fire to the drapes two autumns past, forcing their guests to flee into the gardens for safety. Their mother never quite forgave him. The accident part, being intentional or not, did not matter in the slightest.

The Black Alman struck up, a famous court dance. The enticing tune drew lads and maidens, ladies and lords, royals and nobles, and much more to the dance floor where they began a complicated sequence of tiptoeing and jumping steps.

Her brother gestured to the moving bodies with his glass. "Would you like to join them?"

The she-child winced as their old dancing lessons stumbled and tripped across her memory. "No thank you."

She sent an amused look at his half-filled tumbler. "But it appears for a good reason. You're consuming that rather swiftly."

Malcolm flashed her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "A royal must set himself after what little joy he stumbles upon before it disappears."

Now it was Annabeth who rolled her eyes. "You should consider a future in vaudeville. You have quite the dramatic flare."

"Me, a performer?" he chuckled lightly, although the tenseness in his shoulders did not recede. "Highly unlikely."

She sensed she had hit a nerve, although there being no clear indication of tone or speech. This left her feeling uncertain and quite queer.

The young prince raised the glass to his lips and finished the drink with a graceful tip. "How've you been enjoying the night thus far?"

Annabeth took another generous sip from her flute, wondering if she should pose a question about her suspicions (which could be follies, for all she knew) or play along with her brother's charade. She chose the latter.

"Oh, you know, I simply cannot contain myself from soaking in yet another one of Mother's fantastically engaging and stimulating balls."

"Come now, don't be cruel." Malcolm wiggled his eyebrows as if they were alive and adopted a mocking lilt. "She's only allowed to throw these every year. Let her have her fun."

"Twice every year," Annabeth muttered, "and she has plenty more occasions to celebrate when it isn't the solstice."

He flashed his teeth; a real smile this time. "Dear sister, when you step back and contemplate the reason behind our mother's insatiable needs for festivals and finery, you will be alarmed by the truth."

"And tell me, brother, what is the truth?"

"Why, the truth is—" he broke off.

"What? What is it?"

Something on the dance floor had captured Malcolm's eye.

Annabeth craned her neck to catch a glimpse of what exactly it was.

She saw the lights, the party, the ball gowns. She saw lords and ladies, queens and kings, servants and knights. And she saw a boy make his way through the crowd with hair as dark as wet ironbark and skin as warm as sun-kissed wood.

"Who is that?"

Malcolm was as bad as any one of their mother's noisy maids. He, without a doubt, knew everything about everyone's personal affairs.

"That is the son of the Baron and Baroness of the North," he said faithfully. "Rumor has it the Baroness had a smashing affair with King Poseidon. It was supposedly his wife who found them together one night, and it was his wife who arranged for the Baron to wed the Baroness after her little discovery."

Malcolm fell silent as the Baron's son suddenly appeared before them.

"Hello," the boy said in an oddly cheerful manner.

His eyes looked like coming home. The princess blinked at the sudden intrusion. Good gods! From where had that thought come?

Never before was she so relieved that a person's thoughts were entirely for their own. Blushing, Annabeth mentally shook herself.

The boy bent low at the waist. He wore leather in favor of silk, satin, or velvet; a tunic fitting of his lower station. "It is a pleasure to offer my sincerest regards, Your Royal Highnesses. Your home is very, ah, royal. May I ask, did you have your bushes trimmed to look like horses on purpose?"

The royal siblings shared a look of the utmost bewilderment. What was he doing? Swift and passing salutations from high ranking nobles and fellow royals were expected at these sort of functions, but for a lower noble, the lowest of the lowest, having the nerve to approach a royal (never mind two) with the intentions of conversation, was simply unheard of.

It was the young princess who finally returned the greeting, for Malcolm was still gawking at the boy like a fish out of water.

"Er, good evening Lord..."

And it was then she realized Malcolm hadn't given her a name.

The Baron's son offered a crooked smile. "Jackson. Perseus Jackson."

He didn't try to kiss her hand, which Annabeth noted and greatly appreciated.

"Good evening, Lord Jackson," she said smoothly. What inner fluster she might have experienced could not be detected by the levelness of her voice, she was pleased to find.

"How are you enjoying the ball?"

"I'm finding there's much fun and entertainment to be had here, thank you." His backward glance was so brief that the young princess almost did not see it, for his attention had returned to her as quickly as it had left. "And what of you?"

"Me?" she echoed.

"Aye. How are you enjoying the ball?"

"Oh, erm, I'm enjoying it just fine," she said. Malcolm snorted into his glass. For this he received an elbow to the ribs.

"Ow," he muttered sourly, glaring at sister, who kept her eyes pinned on Lord Jackson.

"Your family oversees our northern barony, yes?"

The Baron's son inclined his head. "Indeed, Your Highness."

"Harsh land, is it not?" Malcolm said, massaging his side. "Such cold winters you have."

Lord Jackson shrugged casually. "It is our pleasure to serve the royal family and the kingdom, no matter the weather or season."

He shot a look behind him once more, and as he did so, his body tensed and seemed to scream help.

That's it, she thought, knowing that look all too well.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked as Annabeth's champagne flute was pressed suddenly into his chest.

"Dear brother, what are balls for? Dancing, of course." She grabbed the hand of a flabbergasted Lord Jackson and pulled him to the floor.

"I fear I'm not the realm's most skillful dancer," Annabeth admitted as they maneuvered their way past swaying couples, trying to sound more confident than she actually was. In truth, she didn't know what possessed her to run to the floor, and especially when she spent so much time and energy avoiding said floor.

It must've been the champagne, she thought, keeping her eyes trained in front of her, acutely aware of the Baron's son's breath caressing her neck and the weight of his hand in hers. Only a drink would cause me to do such a thing. Champagne problems.

"You're in luck, then, for my dancing abilities can't be much better than yours," came his soft voice.

On the floor, they took their positions, faced one another with open faces. They were of equal height.

As if on cue, the notes of the previous song faded away into the restless air and the flutes immediately stepped in to whistle out a lazy folk song.

Lord Jackson shyly turned so that they were side by side. He smelled of saltwater and fresh hay and crushed mint leaves. Shivers tiptoed up and down the princess's spine as she clung to his hand.

"Tell me something about yourself," the young princess blurted. She curtseyed, he bowed, and together they stepped forward to commence the Saltarello. "I don't want to dance with a stranger."

Annabeth held her breath as the boy cocked his head. It would be dreadfully awkward if he did not speak.

He was as silent as a tomb for a few painstaking moments.

"I'll have seen twelve summers and falls in two months," he said finally.

A relieved breath escaped her lips. "I'll have seen twelve summers and fall in one month."

"Ha," the Baron's son barked. "What a coincidence."

They clasped hands, facing one another, and spun around.

"What else?" she asked, eager to distract herself from her body's strange reactions from being so close to him.

"Erm..." he glanced at the crowd again, but this time his gaze wasn't as disturbed when it returned. "I love the water. The sea is my favorite place in the whole wide world."

Annabeth smiled. That explained the salty scent. "My Mother's olive grove is my favorite place."

"In the whole wide world?" he grinned.

"In the whole wide world," she confirmed. "What else?"

A lock of dark hair fell across his brow as his face scrunched up in thought. "I'm an only child, but I've always wanted siblings."

They parted before she could reply. Lord Jackson circled the princess in a series of hopping steps, then she did the same, and they came back together.

"I have three brothers and they're all menaces. The twins, who are much much younger than me, and Malcolm, who is four more summers and falls than I," she said when they rejoined. "I could tell you all about him but I'm sure you've already heard of his telling adventures."

He offered her a crooked grin. "Who hasn't?"

The princess felt her lips curl up. Nothing was ever a secret at court. Nor was anything ever kept concealed for very long, especially when concerning the young heirs' and their mischievous adventures.

"Touché. Next."

"You're bossy," he said simply, surprising her greatly.

"I am the royal princess," she said after a few seconds of grappling for a reply. "It's what I do."

She expected him to stutter his apologies or politely excuse himself, overcome with embarrassment and bashfulness.

What she hadn't expected was for him to simply grin at her in an almost condescending way as if to say, sure you do, or, whatever you say.

This reaction irked her greatly, for she was a princess, the only granddaughter of a grand and powerful king. Not a soul had ever dared to treat her in any such way... and yet, for that very same reason, she found herself intrigued by him even more.

"I love blue food," he blurted out after a moment of thought.

Annabeth arched a brow, mirth dancing across her face. "Blue food?"

A blush stole across his cheeks. "To spite the Baron, who claimed there was no such thing as blue food, my mother dyed our flour with berry juice. I'll never forget his face when he saw all the blue loaves of bread and biscuits and cookies in our kitchens. The servants didn't quite know what to think or quite what to do... it was priceless," he smirked. "And since then, our tradition of blue food has continued, thus making it my favorite kind."

"Huh... How very interesting." Annabeth mused.

Her skirts unfurled like the petals of a flower as they spun again. This time she tripped and almost landed on him. He caught her at the last moment, their noses nearly touching.

Before she could help herself, she opened her mouth. "Who do you run from?"

Watching his face go blank was like watching someone snuff out a flame. "Who said I was running?"

"I may or may not have experience in the art," she confessed quietly, almost in defense, as they straightened. "I can also just... tell."

His face was as unreadable as a wet ink, an expression that haunted her as the steps pulled them away.

A feeling of dread filled her lungs as she curtseyed to her new partner, some third nephew of a duke or such.

What on earth was she thinking, being so bold and informal with her inquiries? She didn't know him! Had she forgotten herself?

The princess largely ignored her partner as they danced, too preoccupied with the regrets that whirled in her mind. When it was time for the steps to spin her away she absentmindedly sent the third nephew of the duke an apologetic smile.

"My sincerest apologies, Lord Jackson," she began as he approached. He circled, bowed, and took her hand once again. "I completely overstepped."

She expected him to brush her off with a polite yet distant reply, or perhaps just simply shut down the conversation altogether. But he surprised her yet again by saying: "My father."

Annabeth blinked rapidly, mind chasing words. "The Baron of the North?" she managed.

"The one and only." He nodded to the edge of the hall where a portly, bald man was standing with a small cluster of nobles. From even a room away and with dancers obstructing her view now and then, she could tell he was glaring at them.

The boy furrowed his brow and looked up to the high ceilings for guidance, before dropping his gaze back to her.

"The Baron isn't fond of me. If we're being honest, he despises me with all his heart. Why? Well, I couldn't give you an answer to save my life. I think he's just a soured man who hates joy and dreams and takes pleasure in crushing other people's hopes and happiness."

The glumness in his eyes spoke louder than any words could. His voice was far away and foreign as he spoke.

"My mother adored writing. It was her life's passion. She would write from sunup to sundown, spinning whole stories from her mind and weaving whole worlds onto paper. When evening came she would come to me and let me sit on her lap as she read me her words, and I would fall asleep to the tales of her heroes and creatures and quests.

"That all changed when she was forced to wed the Baron. Perhaps he was threatened by an educated woman, perhaps he simply didn't take to fantasy and fiction. Either way, he forced her to give up writing—among many of her other pleasures—and if he caught her he'd reign hell upon the house. I remember him thinking he saw her with a quill once... she shooed me from the room before I saw too much, but she couldn't hide the bruises forever."

Annabeth's throat closed up. She was no stranger to hearing about the mishandling of wives or seeing the visible proof on the wrists and necks of the ladies at court. She had no experience of this herself, though. Her own parents' relationship—while strained and distant—was never violent or physically harmful. The worst her parents ever did was engage in shouting matches and door slamming, but even that was extremely rare. They often chose the diplomatic approach, or the silent treatment, for the sake of maintaining appearances.

"Lord Jackson," the young princess began. Her heart ached for this woman, and the boy as well, for no person, no matter their rank, should ever have to endure such mistreatment.

"Percy," he said quietly, looking taxed and drained. "I've just told you things I've never told anyone for reasons beyond me, so it seems only fitting that you call me Percy."

The she-child studied him for a moment. "I'll allow it, but on one condition." She twirled and stepped. Curtseyed and hopped. "You must call me Annabeth."

His smile could rival the sun. "Deal."

And so, for the rest of the night, the two children danced and talked and laughed as if they had been fast friends all their lives. When the ball was finally coming to an end they swore that they would see each other again. No matter the cost, no matter the effort.

Chapter Text

Twelve Summers and Falls

For the most part, the young princess was undaunted by blood. She had, after all, seen too much of it in her life to be phased by it anymore.

She had bled when she roughhoused with her brothers and the other castle children (which was more often than not to the amusement of her father and the chagrin of her mother). She had bled in her's and Malcolm's weapons and training lessons (which was more often than not to the amusement of her parents and the chagrin of the people). And she had seen enough blood to fill a sea when she assisted the royal physician, Asclepius, in bringing the twins into the world (which was to the delight of her parents and all the court and herself, for not only was the royal family growing, but the line was more secure than ever before).

But this? This was far too much to handle, and it was much too early in the morning to be doing this.

"It happens to all ladies," her lady mother was saying, perched on the edge of Annabeth's bed like the owls she so cherished and adored. At this particular moment, Annabeth wished herself or Athena was an owl. It didn't matter which to her, as long as it meant that they weren't in the bedchamber, on her bed, trying to suffer through this uncomfortable discussion.

The young princess was silent, trembling with rage and the feeling of her body's betrayal from when she rose that morning to red-stained sheets.

"Some, of course," Athena self-corrected. "Not all women bleed. Monthly bleeding isn't exclusive to only women... I know of some men who have their courses as well... But for those who do have courses, they are a completely natural phenomenon. I had mine around your age, as do most young girls. It is completely normal and nothing to grow so overworked over."

Anyone who knew Athena knew that comforting and soothing were rarely ever used when describing her. But may the gods bless the woman for trying.

"Fantastic," Annabeth muttered sourly, picking at invisible threads on her blanket. She could practically hear her mother frowning.

"Don't go sounding too excited, now."

Annabeth threw her hands in the air in an abandoned frenzy, unbrushed curls flying everywhere. "Why ever would I be excited? Tell me one excitable thing about this curse that's worthwhile."

"You are officially of childbearing age," Athena said without skipping a beat. "To create life is one of the most beautiful things this world has to offer. You will be thankful for the capability when your turn arises."

This didn't soothe the young princess in the slightest bit, who honestly did not feel that a few hypothetical pregnancies were worth a lifetime of monthly courses. Not that she would ever dare to say this aloud, of course. She knew better than to voice such beliefs. Such opinions went against everything their world stood for, which was to create future heirs, royals, nobles, peasants, and servants at every opportunity.

No, Annabeth simply just wrung her hands, still not quite believing her grand misfortune. She knew all about the adaptations of a women's body and she had known her courses were due eventually, but she hadn't put much thought or planning into when they would arrive or what she would do when they finally came.

And so, just as what most folks did when something that they hadn't expected for some time suddenly showed up or presented itself, Annabeth began to freak out.

"This ceases when I'm, what, fifty summers and falls? Sixty summers and falls?" Annabeth said, voice becoming shrill. Just last night her life had been fine and suitable and normal, and now it was all a disastrous mess. Courses were always followed with marriage, and although marriage had always been her inevitable fate, it seemed closer than ever before.

And by the gods, she was not ready, she really was not ready.

Athena frowned at her lack of composure.

"That's years and years and years away!" Annabeth babbled. "I don't want to be cursed for decades upon end with such a wretched ailment! I'll bleed an ocean and die long before I can even think about children!"

Athena narrowed her gray eyes. "We'll commission you red petticoats and warm compresses and you will learn to live with this just as I did and all those before us and all those who will follow," she snapped, her patience having officially worn thin and evaporated.

Annabeth bit her tongue submissively, surprised that her mother's patience had lasted even this long.

But that still didn't mean she was happy about her body changing or her future that was now hurtling towards her at breakneck speed.

Who would she be matched with? And how soon? As much as her parents adored her, they were monarchs first and parents after. Annabeth could cry and plead and beg and still her parents, with tears in their eyes, would marry her off for the goodness of their kingdom.

Knock knock.

The two women frowned. They weren't expecting any visitors, as Athena had ordered all the servants from the room for privacy.

"Leave us!" Athena called. Her neck craned elegantly as she tried to peer out the window by Annabeth's bed. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eight," Annabeth said, calculating the shadows on the sundial below.

Knock knock.

Athena pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes in a rare form of emotion.

Annabeth wasn't accustomed to seeing Athena acting so... so mortal-like. Annabeth had scant memories of her mother displaying any sort of emotion. The princess was always so stern and cold and lived up to her nickname, the Lady of Stone, quite well.

Knock knock.

Seeing that Athena was making no move to answer her daughter or her daughter's door, Annabeth crawled off the bed and crossed the chamber herself.

On the other side of the threshold stood her father. His crown was askew, as always, and his clothes were rumpled and looked as if he had thrown them on and kept running. The court fondly called him caring to his face and cruelly called him careless behind his back. Looking at him now, Annabeth begrudgingly could see why.

Frederick blinked down at her for a moment and then squinted past her at Athena.

He cleared his throat and said, "The barons have arrived."

Athena stood up immediately and joined them at the door. "When?" she wanted to know, once more the composed princess Annabeth had known all her life.

"Late last night. They've been fed and watered and eagerly await your presence in the Great Hall." The Prince Consort smiled easily but his wife was not in the mood, and so no smiles were returned.

Athena adjusted her circlet as she inhaled sharply. "I cannot greet them now. My presence is required with the council in fifteen minutes."

Frederick's brow furrowed into a line that had been deepened by years of brow furrowing. "I told them they would be seen to shortly. I cannot march back down there and contradict what I just said. I'll look the fool."

"I know that," Athena said, fatigue lacing her voice.

"Why have the barons come?" Annabeth asked. She knew interrupting her mother was unwise, but she also knew that the solstice ball was twelve sleeps away and that guests tended to arrive closer to the event.

Athena sighed deeply. "I had wished to discuss inventory and progress. It's been a good while. A thorough report is long overdue."

"Is rescheduling not an option?" Frederick asked.

"Not this time. The matter they wish to discuss is sudden and time-sensitive..." Annabeth's stomach twisted as both her parents' eyes slid over her. Nothing was ever a secret at court or kept concealed for very long, especially when concerning the royal family's personal affairs.

Frederick grimaced and sent his daughter a sympathetic look, knowing just as well as she did that her union would be the main focus of that meeting.

Athena folded one arm, bringing the other up to tap a thoughtful tune on her chin. "Why don't you go in my stead while I see to the barons and their families?"

The prince consort immediately shook his head. "You know the council has little love for me. They shall not take my spontaneous attendance — and the absence of your's — at their gathering too well, especially one of such vitalness."

Athena sent him a scathing look. "And whose fault is that? In all the years of this union, you have never once attempted to win their favor."

Frederick opened his mouth, thought better of it, and snapped it shut again. "They're just a very aggressive lot," he muttered.

Annabeth found she had to agree with her father on that. Chiron, the royal Weapons Master, was kind enough, and besides her parents, he was the only adult who would not berate her for doing things or not doing things just because she was a girl. But the rest of them? They were all too dull and unimportant for Annabeth to remember, but she did know they were a ferocious lot.

Athena made a rather unladylike face that translated into 'seriously?' "Most of them can hardly stand without assistance, Frederick. One of them has been confined to a chair all his life."

Frederick narrowed his eyes. "Chairs or no chairs, they're a hostile bunch."

The young princess's parents had some sort of staring contest that her mother eventually won... as always. Her father sighed in defeat and closed his eyes. "Alright," he muttered.

Athena smiled without satisfaction. "Have Annabeth by your side. The presence of a true born will lessen the offense of my absence."

Annabeth's heart twinged for her father for the unintentional slight. The crown, while it was not exclusive, was most certainly favorable of unions between nobles and royals and cared very little for peasants marrying into the royal line at all. Athena had defied this unspoken (yet strongly implied) expectation by declaring her union to Frederick, the court scholar and inventor, nearly giving King Zeus and consort Hera a heart attack and a stroke.

Frederick, while an intelligent man with a handsome face and of respectable roots, was still a commoner. The court never really recovered from the marriage, nor did the nobles and royals. To them, Frederick was still a commoner who was simply just dressed prettier than before.

"I have a strong inkling that you wish to attend this meeting as much as I do," Frederick commented as they watched Athena's retreating figure.

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably, the cold stones stinging her bare feet. Even on the hottest day of the hottest summer, the stone castle was chilly. "Not particularly."

"As I thought," he sighed.

His hands went to adjust his sash, the symbolism of his royal status. Had he been king, not consort, he would wear a crown in favor of a sash, and had Athena been queen, not princess, she too would wear a crown in favor of a circlet. But while Athena would eventually inherit the crown of her father and be named Queen, Frederick would merely be given a circlet of his own and remain as Royal Consort.

Some lands had two rulers, a king, and a queen, but this land strongly kept the ideals of a sole ruler and their consort, whoever he or she might be. That tradition has never been challenged and so it has never been changed.

Frederick mustered a languished smile. He seemed to have aged three years in three minutes when talking to his wife.

"I believe the castle labyrinth should be empty right around now. The gardeners aren't due for watering for at least a few more hours. If you take the western passage you shouldn't run into your mother."

A fierce love and appreciation unfurled like fresh blossoms of a magnolia within Annabeth's chest. She stretched onto tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheeks in a silent show of gratitude.

The young princess knew her upbringing was rather unorthodox, considering she was both a girl and a royal. Girls did not play with weapons or study warfare or climb trees or wrestle with their brothers. Instead, they learned how to sew and weave and cook and keep a house. Royals girls did neither. They learned their letters and histories and how to coyly lure a man into their beds while their brothers and fathers and sons went off to hack each other into bloody bits on the battlefield.

It had been Annabeth's mother had been the first to change these norms, for it seemed that challenging the realm's expectations was a habit of hers. Princess Athena was the perfect heir to replace her brothers after they tactlessly abdicated the throne, and with her extensive knowledge in matters of the crown, military, diplomacy, and economy, she quickly became her father's Chief Advisor.

The people had been startled, bewildered, and unhappy, for allowing a woman such power had never been done before, and was certainly not being done anywhere else. Overtime, however, their discontent swiftly grew into adoration when their fiery princess only brought peace and prosperity and wealth to their land, and whoever said or thought that a woman's place wasn't on the throne, well, may the gods bless and keep them from the people's wrath.

But as much as the people loved Athena and her children, they disliked Frederick, the commoner among jewels, the peasant among royals, the mortal among gods, and they made this crystal clear in clever subtleties.

This is what inspired Annabeth, who had already started in search of something more suitable to wear, to pause over the bedchamber's threshold.

She turned to look at her father. "But what of you?"

Frederick waved his hand absentmindedly. "I am but a grown man, honey. I'll be fine. Let us just pray that their knees and hips and joints are in kinder conditions today, for perhaps then they will be kinder to me."

Father spoke true about the shade, Annabeth thought as a gentle wind played with her hair. She tilted her face upward, basking in the warmth of the sun that streamed through the trellis's leafy canopy. The sky was a great big expansion of blue with fluffy white splatterings of clouds. This is lovely. So quiet, so peaceful, with no one else around—

Thump.

Annabeth opened her eyes and dragged her gaze downward, wondering what had just bumped into her ankle. Rolling on the walkway a few paces away was the culprit: a small, wooden ball.

The young princess crouched, balancing on her toes, and gingerly scooped up the toy. Brushing off invisible dust and dirt, she turned it this way and that in her hand. Even to her untrained eye, she could see that it was remarkably made, perhaps even finer than her own toys and trinkets. This was something of a novelty, for who could afford and dare to gift their child with a toy that could rival that of a princess?

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to finding the master. Balls don't just roll into people's ankles — not without other people rolling them first. That was just the basics of physics. So from where (or whom) did this come?

"Pssst."

Annabeth's head shot up and she almost dropped the ball in shock.

"Hello?" she called, eyes darting around what she thought was an empty clearing in the labyrinth.

If she strained enough she could hear bustling from within the castle and on the other side of the wall, where the northern courtyard sat. But in here, all was silent and still, and not a soul was to be seen.

The she-child held the sphere high in the air and raised her voice. "Is this yours?" she called, figuring the owner of such a fine plaything would want it back.

For a few seconds, she waited with bated breath. And then, out of her peripheral vision, she saw the slightest of movements near one of the labyrinth's multiple reflecting pools.

With a concealed grin Annabeth stood up, walked over to the shallow, round pool, and sat down on its flat edge. Hiding behind the pool was a child she had never seen before. Knowing all the faces of the castle, the young princess assumed he was most likely the son of a visiting baron, judging by his well-made clothes. The boy was perhaps eight summers and falls with choppy hair the color of wet acorns, teeth that were adorably crooked, and a pair of the biggest eyes she's ever seen.

The young princess presented the toy for the third time. "I presume this belongs to you?" she said softly, not wanting to startle him. He didn't seem the sort to own such a well-made trinket, but there was no other candidate around.

The boy nodded shyly from behind the bench and stuck out his hands. She noticed his palms were nearly the size of her whole head as she passed the toy back.

"Thank you," he mumbled, taking the ball.

Annabeth waited for him to say more, but now that his prize had been returned safe and sound, he seemed perfectly content to sit in silence. Mentally shrugging, Annabeth let herself relax and stare up at the sky once more.

From here the clouds looked like stallions galloping across a field of blue and Annabeth was just about to comment on it when the child broke the silence.

"I sorry I scared you," he said in a hushed tone.

"It's alright," Annabeth said at once.

The boy was blinking up at her, seemingly infatuated with her hair. "You are pretty."

Annabeth grimaced. So I've been told, she wanted to say. That's all I ever hear. How good I look. But instead, she said: "Thank you..."

Awkward silence and staring.

"I'm Annabeth."

He flashed her a toothy grin. "I is—"

"TYSON!"

The child's face lit up when a second boy came rushing around the corner of the maze. When he was close enough, the child all but leaped out from behind the pool and flung himself into the newcomer's arms.

The boy automatically caught the child and scooped him up, anxiety and fear radiating off him in waves.

"Don't you ever run off on me like that again," he said sternly, back facing Annabeth. "We were searching all over for you, thinking you had wandered off and got yourself lost!"

"I not lost," Tyson said stubbornly. "And I happy to be gone."

The boy playfully poked the child in the cheek. "I shouldn't think you'd be so happy to've been gone if Smelly Gabe had received word of your disappearance. You know he doesn't want you wandering around alone."

"I is not alone." Tyson proudly jabbed a finger over the boy's shoulder. "I with her."

The boy turned around and suddenly a familiar pair of green eyes were falling upon the princess

"Annabeth?" he breathed, face lighting up.

Annabeth waved, grinning ear from ear. "Hello, stranger."

Lord Perseus Jackson beamed as bright as the sun and bounded over to her. "It really is you."

"It really is me," she laughed. "My gods, you haven't changed a bit since I last saw you... that was, what, almost a whole summer ago?"

"Aye," Perseus said. He whistled through his teeth. "Wow... but you look the same."

"You as well."

And it was true, save for a few scattering of freckles that speckled his face and a some more inches that had grown on her hair.

The children smiled at each other like fools until Tyson impatiently tugged on Perseus's ear. Chuckling, Perseus bent down and place the child on the ground. Tyson tottered off to the opposite side of the pool to occupy himself with dunking the ball into the water.

"He's my family's ward," Perseus explained almost shyly. If Annabeth didn't know better he seemed a little embarrassed, and she couldn't fathom why. "He was left on our doorstep so my mother decided to take him in."

"He's an adorable child," she said genuinely. She patted the pool's edge. "Sit with me."

"Right away, m'lady."

"Don't call me that," she said as he took a seat.

"Why not?"

"You sound like all the other people at court, vying for my favor."

"What shall I call you, then?"

"My name will suffice."

He snorted. "Everyone uses your name. I want something special. You call me Percy instead of Perseus. It seems only fair that I should be able to do the same... Princess."

Annabeth was taken by surprise, which seemed to be a common effect he had on her. "Everyone uses Princess as well," she managed.

He playfully nudged her arm. "Then I shall have to be creative and think of something else."

She sent him a sly smile. "Don't think too hard, now. We don't want you developing a headache."

Perseus opened his mouth, blinked a few times, let out a hearty laugh.

Annabeth hadn't realized how easy it was to banter and bicker and talk with him before, and she found she rather liked it.

"Will you be attending the Solstice Ball?" she asked.

"Not this year, I'm afraid. Smelly Gabe— I mean the Baron — wants me to start my swordcraft and weaponry training. I'm to start in two days' time, no exceptions, not even a ball."

She arched a brow. "Smelly Gabe?"

"Ah, yes... it's what Tyson and I call the Baron behind his back. The man reeks something nasty, so I should think it seems rather fitting."

The young princess remembered the Baron quite well. From even a mile away the man had oozed unpleasantness and Percy had been hellbent on keeping a distance that rivaled the sea between them during the Ball. Annabeth had noticed how the Baron watched them like a hawk all evening long, not at all liking their friendship, and she recalled quite clearly the stories of how he mistreated the Baroness, so it wasn't surprising the man would take measures to keep them apart.

That still didn't mean Percy's absence wasn't disappointing. Annabeth had been looking forward to spending time with him once again this summer.

"I didn't know sons of barons could refuse the invitation of the royal family," she said lightly.

The Baron's son smiled bitterly. "It appears that I'm special."

Annabeth frowned at this but did not press, opting instead to say, "You never answered my question."

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "I didn't? Goodness me. That must be high treason."

"At least ten lashings and a night in the stocks."

Their laughs mingled and soared.

He quieted. "What was the question?"

"How are you and how have you been."

The boy thought for a moment and sighed deeply.

"Please don't feel obligated to answer," she began.

"No, no," he said. "I just... I don't know where to start."

"Try at the very beginning. I hear it's a very good place to start."

He snorted. "As the Princess commands."

He opened his mouth.

"HELLO? HELLO?"

And for the second time that day, someone came charging into the clearing.

The young Princess and the Baron's son shot up like arrows loosed from a bow as Triton Celaeno came stumbling into the clearing, gasping for air like a fish out of water. His clothes were wrinkled, his flaxen hair was dripping with sweat, and his eyes, the same color as Percy's, were wild and frantic.

"Prince Triton," Annabeth said, not believing her eyes or her luck, which had turned from fortunate to unfortunate within a blink of an eye.

The prince, who looked greatly flustered and agitated, looked up and squinted at her. "Princess," he finally mustered between breaths. "Thank the gods—" pant "—I have found you. I was turned all around—" pant "—in that horrid maze. I was—" pant "—nearly about to give up."

Perseus coughed into his fist, not-so-subtlety concealing a laugh.

Triton, seeing this, straightened at once and scowled. "Jackson," he sniffed. He vainly attempted to smooth down his rumpled clothes.

Perseus stiffened, all traces of warmth and kindness vanishing in a flash. "Your Highness," he said, offering a shallow bow.

The prince humphed and turned to Annabeth. "You ought to have someone with you, Princess. Servants... attendants... chaperones..." his eyes slide back to the Baron's son, who bristled at the implication.

"I can handle being alone just fine," Annabeth said in a clipped tone, wondering why exactly the prince was here. "I know how to defend myself quite well with both a sword and a dagger. As for a chaperone, we wouldn't need one but if we did, Tyson has been with us the entire time."

"Tyson?" Triton scoffed. "That creature is the least suitable to serve as anything, never mind a chaperone. I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't read or write his own name. Oh, wait..."

Perseus tensed by her side, which Triton picked up on immediately. His grin reminded her of a bloodhound on a scent. "Did Jackson tell how we met, Princess?"

"No," said Annabeth, not liking where this conversation was going at all.

"Our families joined on the road a few sleeps back. Over the past few days we have traveled together, allowing me the opportunity to learn many things about Jackson and his little family. One of them being that little Tyson here is completely illiterate, and he's seen, what, nine summers and falls? How truly remarkable is that?"

Perseus curled his hands into fists and his face clouded with fury, but he couldn't do much else. Striking a royal was treasonous and could cost him his life.

Tyson, having heard his name, wandered over and was waving his ball around excitedly. Triton, much like Annabeth had a few moments before, honed in immediately on the skill and talent of the toy's craftsmanship.

Quick as a hare, he plucked the sphere from the child's grip. At sixteen summers and falls, he stood as tall as a mountain and easily held the ball out of Tyson's reach for examination.

"What on earth is this?"

"That belongs to him," Perseus said flatly.

Triton grinned, a dark look on his face. "You're telling me this belongs to him? Do you take me for a fool?"

Tyson stamped his foot. "Mine!" he screeched, waving his hands in the air.

Triton laughed and held the ball higher. "Princess, do you see? The little monster is riled!"

"Return the ball," Annabeth said gravely. Although they were of the same ranking, Annabeth lawfully had the higher authority. They were in her kingdom, after all. But she was also younger and shorter and a girl, and like most people, Triton did not take to receiving orders from younger, shorter girls very well.

The prince sneered and casually tossed the ball in one hand. "I don't think I shall. I rather like the way it looks, the way it feels... never in all my life have I seen such craftsmanship before. I think I want to keep it."

"Not yours!" Tyson shrieked.

"Tyson," said Perseus, watching the prince just as wearily as Annabeth. "It is but a toy. We can easily replace it."

"MINE!"

Triton pulled out a small, ivory dagger and tauntingly held the tip to the wooden surface. "Perhaps I should cut it open. See if the insides are as pretty as the outsides."

With a cry, Tyson rushed forward. He hurled his full weight at the prince, knocking them both to the ground, and began to throw punches in an abandoned frenzy.

"Tyson!" Perseus cried, although it sounded more like a cheer than a reprimand. The Baron's son stepped forward and half-heartedly tried to pull the little boy off.

Triton shrieked to the high heavens and threw up his arms in defense. One hand grappled with air, and one hand blindly arched. Before anybody had the chance to react, steel was meeting skin in a horrific crash.

Tyson wailed and fell backward, clutching his face in agony. Annabeth's heart nearly stopped as she rushed forward to gather Tyson in her arms.

"Shhh, shhh," she murmured as the little boy cried.

Perseus was shouting and hauling the shocked prince to his feet.

Blood poured from Tyson's eye and trickling in rivers down his cheek. It was painful to even look at and she fought the urge to glance away. It seemed that Annabeth just couldn't escape blood today.

"What is wrong with you?" Perseus was shouting, shoving the prince in the chest. "That is his eye!"

Annabeth swallowed as she began to rip the hem of the gown. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to stop trembling.

"Perseus," she said over Tyson's harsh sobs as she pressed the scrapes of cloth to his face.

"He is a child! A child!" Percy bellowed.

"Perseus."

"I go home!" Tyson sobbed. "I want Mama!"

"I know you do," Annabeth murmured in a controlled panic. So do I.

"He can't get another eye! What the hell are you thinking?"

"PERSEUS!" Annabeth hollered.

The two boys looked at her.

"He needs a physician," she said shakily. "Now."

Fear was evident in Percy's eyes but he didn't let it rule him as he scooped Tyson up. "Lead the way," he said hoarsely.

Annabeth rose on wobbly legs and sent a glare at Triton that was so ferocious, so fierce, the prince had no choice but to follow them out of the maze.

"What's happened?" Asclepius exclaimed as three children rushed up to him in a corridor, two of them royals and one of them carrying the limp, bloody body of a child.

"He fell upon a dagger while playing in the labyrinth," Triton said at once with all the confidence that had evaporated during Tyson's assault. "Poor child's screams could be heard a mile away."

The old man rolled up the sleeves of his billowy robes and tilted Tyson's head in his hands. A moan tore from the child's throat as Annabeth's makeshift bandages were pried away from his face.

"Fell, did you say?" Asclepius said disbelievingly.

Percy opened his mouth but the prince shot him a dark glare, and Annabeth silently shook her head as as well. It would look terrible if a lowly noble contradicted the word of the crowned prince.

"Can you help him?" Annabeth asked instead, ignoring the injured look Perseus was now sending her.

The physician clucked his tongue and shook his head. "This is a very complicated injury, Your Highness. The blade cut through all the way to the bone and there are pieces that seem to have broken off. I wouldn't be surprised if he loses his eye at best... but I shall do whatever I can."

Annabeth's breath hitched, the thought had not even occurred to her. "Do your best. Whatever it takes."

Asclepius waved his hand and said, "Come with me, quickly."

Percy hurried after him down the corridor with Annabeth right beside him. "Why are you going along?" he mumbled.

"Triton is a prince."

"And you are a princess."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. Challenging his word would be a grave insult to him and his family. The relationship between our kingdoms has always been turbulent. I cannot give our parents a reason to quarrel — not when they've just declared peace. And besides, Tyson is just a ward," she said, hating the truth of the fact. "If he was the son of a royal or a higher noble it would be an entirely different matter, but—"

"But no one cares about the children of peasants," Perseus seethed.

Annabeth sighed and felt her shoulders sag as if they were ladened down by a great weight. This day was not at all turning out how she would have thought.

"You'll be doing more harm than good by calling more attention to this. I hate to say it, but the best way to go about this is to keep your head down and get him away from Triton as soon as possible. Asclepius is the best physician in the kingdom. Tyson couldn't be in better hands."

The physician stopped in front of a door and unlocked it with a large set of keys. "In you go." He ushered Percy and Tyson into the room and swept in after them.

Annabeth paused when she saw that the prince was still at the end of the corridor. Frowning, she retraced her steps so that they stood face to face.

"If and when that boy wakes up you are going to give him the sincerest apology of your life," she told the prince.

Triton's eyes, identical to Percy's in color but darker in shade, narrowed into tiny slits. "One does not talk to a Celaeno in such a manner," he spat.

Annabeth fixed him with a stare that could rival her mother's. "One does not prey on innocents in my realm."

Had the young princess stayed seconds longer she would've seen Triton's attractive features twisting into something sinister, but she had already whirled around and was marching down the corridor, giving him no choice but to bite his tongue and follow.

Chapter Text

Thirteen Summers and Falls

A lone, still figure sat within a lone, stone chamber and watched as amber and auburn and crimson and copper streaked across the horizon and clawed the sun from the sky. This bedchamber had once been warm when it was flooded with light, but the harsh rays had dispersed hours ago; surrendering to the soft shafts of the moon; and now that the night’s shadows filled the chamber, a seeping chill had followed.

Somewhere beyond these windows and walls and rules, a wolf howled on a hill.

Such a forlorn sound, the girl thought, ears prickling at the noise. And such a pretty sound, too. A sound so full of longing and hope and loss. If there was ever the sound of heartbreak, a wolf’s howl would be it.

A sharp rap echoed throughout the silent bedchamber, startling the girl from her reverie.

“Enter,” the she-child called. She picked up a jeweled comb from the vanity’s surface, eager to appear busy.

The princess Athena swept across the threshold, eyeing the scene with a reproving eye.

“Mother,” Annabeth said softly, watching the woman’s regal reflection through her looking glass.

Inwardly, she steeled herself for a battle.

The bed was made, the floors were polished, the rugs were beaten and the drapes had been dusted, but as Athena spun a slow, critical circle, Annabeth readied herself for the magical findings of wrinkles in the sheets, dust bunnies under the bed, or some other spurious, trivial complaint that her mother could lament over.

Athena glided over to the olive and oak wardrobe, the fur hem of her winter gown kissing the cold floors as she stepped. With bejeweled hands, she opened the doors and began to riffle through Annabeth’s garments.

With methodical movements, the she-child combed her curls, quietly waiting for the inevitable interrogation.

“You have yet to make an appearance,” Athena said, voice slightly muffled by the wooden barrier.

And here it was.

“I have a headache,” Annabeth said simply, knowing nothing was ever simple with her mother.

“A headache?” was the reply.

The girl nodded and contorted her features into those of pain, despite Athena’s attention still belonging to her wardrobe’s contents.

“Yes. I believe the weather to be at fault. And stress. And perhaps my courses are due," she scowled, still sour over her body’s betrayal.

Athena hummed absentmindedly. “I’ll have Asclepius brew you some skullcap tea. It works wonders for the pains of the head.”

I don’t want tea, the girl wanted to protest. I don't want to go! Can’t you see that, Mother? Can’t you understand?

She knew it mattered little, what flew from her lips. Her lady mother, as wise and intelligent as she was, saw only what she wanted to see, discarding the rest like autumn leaves. And so it mattered little what the young princess felt or wanted to say, for princesses never let their emotions rule them.

Dress after dress was pulled from the wardrobe, mulled over and scrutinized, and inevitably returned to the oaken depths.

“Where is your purple gown?” Athena huffed.

“It ought to be in there,” Annabeth said offhandedly. “Why do you seek it?” she added, suddenly suspicious. Her purple dress was one of her best. It would surely be too formal for a Solstice Ball.

“It is vital you look your best,” Athena said.

Annabeth crinkled her brow and gestured to the garb that clothed her person — a lovely piece with gold stitching and silver fur trimming. “Is this not suitable?”

Athena whirled around to face her, taking the girl by surprise. “Your presence has been requested, Daughter.”

Green eyes and dark hair came to mind and Annabeth’s heart thumped a race in her chest. “By whom?”

Athena stared at her closely. “Prince Triton.”

Feeling like a fool, Annabeth did her best to mask her disappointment. “Oh.”

He couldn’t call on you! she scolded herself. He is but a low noble, and you a highborn. We would be dead if they knew.

Then why on earth did he come to your thoughts so swiftly? a cheeky little voice whispered back.

Quick as a whip, Athena saw through her daughter’s attempts of masking her inner turmoil. She said, “Oh?” and arched a brow.

“I... thought perhaps it was Malcolm or-or Father,” Annabeth muttered. She put down her comb and slumped in her seat.

Athena sighed exasperatedly and put a hand to her temple. “Your brother has been fruitlessly chasing Lady Julia Feingold’s skirts for the better part of the evening and your Father is no doubt carelessly stowed away in some dark corner of the castle in the same thoughtless manner he’s passed on to all of you.”

“Hiding away?” the princess said dully. “Me? Never.”

Athena sent her a look of displeasure. You fool no one, it said.

To atone, Annabeth rose from her seat and made her way to the wardrobe. Inside, she pushed several cloaks aside to reveal the purple dress hanging in the farthest corner.

Wordlessly, the girl slipped out of the garment she was wearing, leaving her in a sea of petticoats and underskirts, and donned the purple gown.

The child watched with an avid fascination as her mother deftly worked the dress’s laces in the looking glass. It was said Athena was the finest weaver in all the land, and only one in all her life ever came close to matching her skill. Songs were sung and poems were recited about the nimble fingers of Princess Athena, and watching her mother work the laces with such skill, Annabeth believed them all.

“Do you like it?” Athena asked once she was done. Together they gazed at themselves in the looking glass.

They were spitting images of each other. Everyone said so, and it was true. The years had been kind to Athena. Even after four births, she was still beautiful.

“What matters is that I am presentable for the Prince,” Annabeth said monotonously.

For a millisecond, her lady mother looked unsure of herself. “How do you like the prince?”

Annabeth thought for a moment. “He’s...” Boring. Snobbish. Cruel. The incident in the labyrinth would never leave her mind for as long as she lived. “Fine, I suppose... I don’t really know him."

Athena sagged in relief and it made Annabeth wonder why exactly Triton was asking for her, and what her mother would’ve done if she knew the truth.

Only the gods knew how dearly the young princess wanted to tell her parents about what had transpired that day. She had gotten so close to telling them that she had even stood outside her mother’s chancery, words ready and poised on her lips. But right before she entered she had heard the voice of her mother, and to her horror, the voice of Triton’s father.

“She is but a girl!” the king was bellowing. “Do not do this, Athena. She is innocent. Spare her your wrath!"

“She is the priestess of the temple that is standing on my land!” Athena had spat. “She is many things, aye, but innocent is not one of them. Not anymore, you made sure of that!"

Poseidon was silent. And then: “She did not want it. The fault is not hers.”

Athena had let out a laugh as sharp and piercing as the claws on her beloved owls. “You should’ve thought about the consequences before you defiled her in my temple."

"What happened to mercy?" he tried. "Compassion? Empathy?"

"Loosen one nail and the whole barn comes crashing down. Today it's one maiden. Tomorrow it's five. In a week the whole damn kingdom will be expecting their demands to be accommodated, and in a fortnight there won't be a kingdom left."

"All you care about is your precious reputation and your crown," he hissed.

"No," she fired back. "That is what you care about. Not I. My reputation can take a hit. It will with this decision, and it will recover. I care about my kingdom and the good of the people. I tend to today so I can look to tomorrow and know that I have a future to offer."

There was rustling, then silence.

"This will come back to haunt you," he said with a quiet fury. "Grand Athena, High Athena, protector of women and children and girls. How can you stand there and look me in the eye?"

"I ought to be asking you the same! Kind Poseidon, Generous Poseidon, provider of food and warmth and coin. How many were there? How many did you lure into your trap? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? How many penniless, nameless, worthless bastards run amuck with your blood? How many women freeze at a mere kiss or caress after being hurt by you in the dark?"

"People will talk. If word gets out..."

"If word gets out, you will be fine," she said bitterly. "Your name will take a good beating and your wife will sour some, but you will manage. You always have. The rumors and whispers will cease eventually and you'll be able to continue as if nothing happened."

For once, Poseidon had no response.

Athena's footsteps came closer as she crossed the room. "If you have trouble with how I rule this realm then I suggest that the next time you rape someone, it be on the other side of the border. Until then, stay out of my way and stop wasting my time.”

Annabeth couldn’t contain the gasp that flew from her lips; she threw her hands over her mouth when she heard how loud it was, yet it was too late.

The door was thrown open, the royals emerged, but the princess had long since fled the scene.

Shortly after Annabeth had heard whispers about a maiden who had been raped in one of Athena’s most sacred temples. Some said it was a good for nothing noble. Some said it was the maiden's own father. Only Annabeth, her mother, and a certain king knew the truth.

The maiden's beloved hair had been hacked off and with those same rusty sheers, her face had been shredded into something distorted and utterly unrecognizable. Then she and her two sisters had been banished from the kingdom for eternity... as was commanded by Athena.

"She broke an oath of chastity," some said. "The Princess was right to have banished her. Imagine the chaos if laws were allowed to be broken!"

"The oath wasn't broken willingly," others argued. "Princess Athena should have spared the girl and gone after the assaulter. Imagine her nerve to allow a whole life be ruined for the sake of the law."

The whispers and rumors clawed at the young princess, suffocating and choking her. She couldn’t sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't look her mother in the eye for the weeks that followed. Banishing the maiden hadn't been Annabeth's decision to make. She had had no part in it. No say, no weight.

Then why did she feel like there was blood on her hands?

Athena beamed radiantly, pulling Annabeth back to the bedchambers. “You look lovely, dear.”

Annabeth mustered a smile. That, she could not deny. Overnight it seemed she had sprung up even more and newly found dips and swells had seized her body in a way that now all her that were dresses had to be altered to accommodate the body of a woman.

“The decorations are exquisite this winter,” Athena said casually as she stepped away.

Annabeth did not doubt that the ballroom was grand and beautiful and teeming with life, just as it did every Solstice Ball. She was also certain that it was as loud as a lion’s roar, as crowded as a beehive, and as hot as sun-warmed stones, despite the cool December air lapping at the exterior of the castle.

“I know you do not enjoy these parties, but please try to appear in good spirits. If not for my sake then for your own.”

Your own? Annabeth made a face.

“Oh, my daughter, you are a high born. A royal. Do you think playing pretend for a few hours here and there is tedious? Try doing so all the time.”

Horror flashed across the girl’s face and Athena smiled mirthlessly at her perplexed expression. “Such a thing will be expected of you, as it was of me, and as it will of your children one day, so I suggest you get down there and practice now. You will find the prince at the foot of the dais.”

With that said she fixed her circlet in the looking glass and strode purposely from the room.

Annabeth stared after her, mind reeling. She never despised being a princess, but she never loved it (she was always being micromanaged, being told what to do, say, think and wear) and there were many moments when she disliked it. This was definitely one of them.

Annabeth scowled but mentally picked herself up. She knew her lady mother was right. As usual. So she might as well stop fighting and just join the party already. The sooner she joins the sooner she’ll be able to leave.

The girl checked her reflection one last time in the looking glass. She was a bit pale from the cold and her eyes were duller than usual, but she did have to admit that she was still beautiful.

Plunk. Plunk.

What the...

Annabeth turned around, scanning her chambers with narrowed eyes. She hadn’t bothered to light a fire or ask a servant for assistance before the sun had set. Other than a few meager candles, her bedroom was basked in darkness.

Plunk.

She thought of Poseidon. She thought of the maiden. But mostly, she thought of Athena, and wondered what her verdict would be if her own daughter was defiled.

Plunk.

The worst part wasn't the possibility of something happening in the dark. It was the uncertainty of her mother's support.

Plunk.

Straining her ears, Annabeth closed her eyes. Forced her heart to stop pounding.

Plunk.

Plunk.

There, on the far end of the room, by her bed, it came. Perhaps the balcony, perhaps the windows.

She crossed the chamber, went to the balcony doors, pushed open the glass panes, and glanced down.

She gasped.

There, standing below her in the moonlit courtyard with a fistful of pebbles, was Perseus Jackson.

“You cannot possibly know how long I’ve been throwing pebbles like a peasant down here,” he called up.

“You practically are a peasant,” she said without thinking, relief washing over her like a cool waterfall.

Percy laughed out loud. Her own mouth curved slightly in response.

The boy let his last pebble fly. It missed the window by a mile.

“And I can see why you've been down there so long,” she added dryly.

He coughed sheepishly and rubbed his neck.

She couldn’t make out anything other than his simple silhouette in the vibrant moonlight and she found herself longing to see more of him. A year had passed since the two last spoke in the labyrinth. Surely he had changed a bit, for she knew she certainly had.

“Well?” he was saying. “Are you coming?”

Annabeth cocked her head like a curious little cat. “Where am I going?”

“Down, I should think,” he retorted. "Where else is there for you to go?"

“Touché.” She pretended to think for a moment. “And where exactly am I going down, to?”

His response was to point to the elaborate royal gardens that sprawled vastly behind the castle. The party was being held in the front left ballroom so they would be safe from prying eyes.

“I shall meet you there,” Annabeth said.

He bowed playfully. “I look forward to it.”

“Perseus?” Annabeth whispered, parting hawthorn hedges with her fingers.

Her feet had seemed to gain wings when she flew from her chambers, down the corridors, and into the royal gardens, and in her haste she had completely forgotten her cape.

She shivered as a lazy breeze brushed the nape of her neck. While her dress was thick and finely made, it wouldn’t keep her warm for very long in the winter cold.

“Perseus?”

She stepped onto the stone floor of a trellis walkway and lifted her eyes to the stars that peaked through the leafy trellis canopy. She inhaled the crisp December air and rubbed her bare hands together.

A rustling came from behind her.

She turned slightly and whispered, “Perseus?”

Nothing.

And then, the warmth of a second body flared against her back, and words were spoken lowly rang in her ear. “I told you to call me Percy.”

Annabeth slowly turned to face the stranger. “Percy,” she said softly.

“Hi,” Percy breathed, drinking her in.

Annabeth grinned. “Hi yourself.”

“You’re taller,” he noted in mock horror.

“So are you.”

“Not as tall as you. You could rival a mountain.”

She rolled her eyes and then she really looked at him. It was as if someone had taken the boy she had known, short and still soft with baby fat, and sharpened and stretched him into the beginnings of manhood. He was all budding angles, gangly limbs and additional height.

Annabeth blinked. “What the heavens happened to your head?” His hair stretched to nearly his shoulders and laid in a tangled mess. Percy winced and self consciously swept it up with a ribbon. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I lost a bet.”

“A bet? I didn’t know Percy Jackson betted.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Percy Jackson.” His smile was a little sad and a little hopeful. “But oh, I have so much to tell you — you wouldn’t believe it!”

Annabeth held out her hand, which he took and squeezed. “And I you.”

She led him to a reflecting pool that miraculously hadn’t frozen over. Together they perched on the edge, just as they did two summers and falls before.

“How fares Tyson?” She almost regretted asking when she saw the thunderous look on his face.

“He wears an eyepatch now. He stays mostly to himself because the other children tease him for it. Every time I see him I am reminded of my urge to strangle the prince with my bare hands.”

Annabeth was silent.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he noted.

“I sent a messenger to the Baron’s manor. I wanted to...” to make sure he didn’t die. “I felt terrible about everything that happened. He came to the castle at the invite of my family and left with a wound that will last forever.”

Percy fell quiet for a good long while and she wondered if she had overstepped the boundaries that seemed to shift and evaporate and materialize between them.

“Are you displeased?”

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No. Uh, why do you ask such a thing?”

“Well, you’ve gone silent and I don't know what you’re thinking.”

“I was just... taken aback by your thoughtfulness.”

She crossed her arms. “You think I didn’t care?”

“No, oh gods no.” He looked horrified. “I know you cared, I just... I’m not used to people looking out for me.. me or Tyson. Almost everyone finds him odd and weird and steers clear of him as much they can, and the Baron has never been shy about his disdain for me, which encourages everyone to imitate his behavior. But I know you care. I knew just from how treated Tyson, which was incredibly kind of you. Saying that was daft of me, which isn’t that surprising because I do a lot of daft stuff and say a lot of daft things but I apologize even so and I hope—“

“Percy.” Annabeth put her hand over his. “I understand. Breathe, for gods sake."

He grinned sheepishly and turned his palm over so that he could lace their fingers together. Annabeth couldn’t help but shiver at how warm and fuzzy that simple action made her feel.

The water lapped gently at the sides of the pool and absentmindedly Percy dipped his fingers in.

"Tyson didn’t steal the ball. He made it. Aye, he can’t spell or write or read, but he’s a genius with stone and steel. You should see him in a forge. I bet he could rival a god.”

“I would love to his work someday,” she said sincerely.

“He would love to show you someday.”

A gust of wind kicked up and the she-child shivered as the cold air-kissed her cheeks.

Noticing, Percy asked, “Are you cold?”

She rolled her eyes and said, “No, I shiver like this when I’m warm and comfortable.”

He surprised her by sliding off his cloak and slinging it over her shoulders, awkwardly patting her on the back as a finishing touch. As if on instinct, Annabeth inhaled softly. It smelled salty and sweet and just like him.

And then he surprised her once more. He put his arm around her. The young princess cackled when he lost his balance and almost toppled into the fountain.

"Better?" he huffed, embarrassment hot on his cheeks.

She smiled gleefully. “Oh, much."

He snorted but made no motion to move his arm. She found she didn't mind at all.

"Enough about me and my depressing life. Tell me about you, oh friend of mine.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” she teased.

Annabeth could practically hear him blushing like a fire. “Oh, just answer the question.”

And so she spoke of the challenges she faced when trying to read that seemed to worsen by the day (she hadn’t spoken to a soul about this — even her bother, who knew almost everything) and the lineages she was studying which never seemed to end, and the new fighting techniques she was perfecting by using Malcolm as her dummy.

He told her about his own struggles with reading (a battle they seemed to share) and his training in warfare which turned out to be more bearable than he thought, and his first-ever hunt that went better than anyone had expected, and the ebony horse he had found in a thicket that he adopted and named Blackjack.

“Do you know how to read the stars?” she asked when they had exhausted themselves of topics. He shook his head so she leaned forward and pointed to a spot in the western sky. “That cluster of stars over there is the Huntress. She runs across the sky, shooting arrows out of stars. My aunt taught me how to find her when I was a little girl. First, you look for the bow, then the tips of the arrows, then the Huntress’s circlet, and finally the ends of her hair.

“My aunt used to say the Huntress was once a true girl; a nymph of the sunset; a warrior goddess. She tragically died at the hand of her father and has been cursed ever since to hunt the heavens for eternity.”

“It sounds like your aunt knew her story quite well,” he commented.

A chuckle spilled from Annabeth’s throat. “Sometimes I think my aunt knew her personally.”

She waited for Percy to respond, but he didn’t reply. She snuck a look at him and found him staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“What is it?” she asked. She was uncomfortable with how the way he looked at her. It was making her feel all sorts of peculiar, uncharted things, and she became painfully aware that his arm that was wrapped around her was burning a hole right through her skin.

Percy blinked as if he was coming out of a trance. He gave her the softest of soft smiles. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

"Of course not."

He rolled his eyes and poked her. "Honestly."

Annabeth looked down at her lap. “Everything, it sometimes feels.”

“I might disagree with that.”

“Disagree all you want, it doesn’t change a thing.”

They chuckled.

“Hey,” he said after a while. “I’m really happy to see you.”

Annabeth gave him a playful nudge, much like the one he had given her the last time they sat by the water. “As am I.”

As they sat there a shooting star streaked a fiery path across the sky.

And if one looked in the correct place at the correct time, they would have to swear it looked as if the Huntress had shot the star from her bow herself.

Chapter Text

Fourteen Summers and Falls

The princess Athena stood in the Great Hall, flocked on all sides by several members of King Zeus's council and court, and nobility and royalty from neighboring lands. The castle was brimming to the very top of the tower turrets with visitors and guests and travelers for tomorrow eve's Winter Solstice Ball, and they all scrambled like hogs to the slop for the ear of the lady who was currently staring straight into Annabeth's soul.

Adorning a brilliant smile, the young princess picked up her winter skirts and waded her way through the milling visitors. Princess Athena stood ramrod straight, a beacon of silver and lavender in a sea of muted reds, golds, and browns. Upon her head sat her faithful polished circlet and upon her lips lay her faithful polite smile, but in her eyes was the promise of death.

When Annabeth finally stood before her lady mother, Athena ended her conversation with King Hades, her uncle and neighboring monarch, before turning to her daughter with a reproachful stare.

"You're late."

The young princess forced her feet to remain rooted where they were as she gathered her words in what she hoped was a dignified manner. "I fear I overslept. My sincerest apologies, Mother."

While Athena kept her features well-controlled, Annabeth could tell her lady mother was displeased. It was evident in the oh-so-slightest pinching of her lips.

"I suppose I should be thankful I'm even blessed by your fleeting presence at all. More and more often I find the day has nearly passed and gone and it'll be coming upon shadows and prayers before I am granted a glimpse of you."

Annabeth felt the sting of her nails piercing her palms as she bit the inside of her lip. It was true that she has grown more rebellious, adventurous, and independent over the past summer and fall. Never once did she shirk her lessons or training or the truly important things, but she found herself caring less and less about the concerns of Athena, who is a parent who is more stranger than mother, who is a monarch who is blinded by duty and ambition, who is a woman who unleashes hell upon a fellow woman after everything had already been lost.

But Annabeth could not say this in a room brimming with guests, nor could she say this to the emptiest, sparest chamber that this castle had. And so, she bit her tongue and apologized once more.

Athena sighed. "At least you're presentable." She turned on her heel and said, "Come with me. I want you to speak with some people."

"Who?" Annabeth trailed her mother through the crowd of mingling bodies.

Athena twisted ever so slightly and declared behind her: "King Poseidon and his son."

King Poseidon and his son.

Annabeth came to a startling halt and just scarcely avoided barreling into the back of a noble lady. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly, preparing for a storm.

But the noble lady only gave her a sweet smile. Her eyes looked as warm as a quilt and seemed to sparkle in the sun. "No harm was done, my dear," she said kindly, and graciously stepped aside.

The young princess caught up to her mother. Without fully thinking, she placed a hand on her mother's arm. "Triton? I am to speak with Triton?"

Princess Athena stared at her hand as if it was some foreign concept.

Annabeth realized with an abrupt shock that between them, between mother and daughter, between women, family, and blood, touch was a foreign concept. "Indeed," Athena said crisply. "Triton Celaeno wishes to speak with you — even in the wake of that little stunt you pulled last winter. I suppose we have the gods to thank for his continuous interest."

Annabeth was too distressed to bristle or blush at the quip. She took back her hand and used it to smooth her skirt. "It wasn't my intention to jilt him last winter. I truly and honestly forgot. It was late, I was fatigued, I fell asleep, the end."

Now, this was true. Not the falling asleep part (she had been stargazing with Percy in the labyrinth when she should have been attempting at painful conversations with Triton in the ballroom) but she was being entirely honest about the forgetting-all-about-him bit.

Athena craned her head, gray eyes scanning faces in the crowd. "Intentional or not, you made us all look the fool. Yourself, your father, your brothers, me. Your actions not only reflect who you are but the crown and our kingdom, as well."

"I understand," the young princess muttered, for when was anything ever just about her?

Athena arched her brow. "Do you?"

And she wonders why she sees so little of me. Annabeth frowned and went to speak.

Athena gave her a mirthless smile. "Careful, darling, people are staring."

Annabeth snapped her mouth shut and stewed in silence, as she so often did when speaking with her mother. Speaking with Athena often felt as though one was talking to a god herself. Athena was always in the right and it was always Annabeth who needed an explanation and change of heart, mind, attitude, or all three combined.

Princess Athena's eyes lit up. "Here they come. Behave yourself."

And then, just like a nightmare, the Celaenos appeared.

"Athena, we warmly thank you for your gracious invitation," King Poseidon said without much warmth.

"Poseidon, it was our utmost pleasure," Athena said without much pleasure.

The king, who seemed grayer and sterner since she last set eyes upon him, shifted his stormy gaze towards Annabeth. He took in her new height and smiled almost wistfully; almost as if he was recalling his fondest memory. "You've grown so tall, my dear."

Annabeth gave him a pained smile. Why must adults always comment on her height? "It is good to see you again," she said. "It's been some time since we last spoke."

"Aye, that it has. Too long, if you'll forgive me." Poseidon glanced over his shoulder and beckoned impatiently.

Those hands are wet with the blood of innocents, Annabeth thought. A chill stole through her and it took all she had to not back away. Those hands have hurt beyond imagination. Those are hands of a king, hands of a rapist.

A handsome young man stepped forward. He was smartly dressed, cleanly shaven, and had flaxen hair that was tied neatly in the back.

"Princess," Triton greeted in a new voice, deep voice, a man's voice. He extended his hand so that he could kiss her's.

Annabeth gave the stiffest nod in all of history and kept her hands planted firmly at her sides. "Your Highness. A delight."

The terrible flash of his eyes did not escape her notice.

To her left, Athena laughed abashedly. "I must ask how you fared the journey," she said, attempting to save what her daughter was words away from destroying.

Poseidon grunted. "There's not much to report."

"I've heard the roads have been horrendous in all these storms."

"There's nothing a few strong steeds can pull through, snow and ice included."

Athena's eyes could turn a man into stone and Annabeth almost felt sorry for the king. Almost.

"I am gladdened to see you again," the young girl heard the youngest Celaeno say.

Reluctantly, she turned her attention upon him. He was clothed in heavy winter furs and boots and draped across his chest was a sash with the Celaeno crest—a golden conch shell—embroidered into the fancy fabric. Around his shoulders flowed a crimson cloak and at his hip was a sword in a sheath.

"And I you," Annabeth replied automatically, unable to draw herself away from the sword.

Boys wearing swords wasn't an uncommon sight to behold. Malcolm himself was granted a sword on his fifteenth nameday, as most wealthy young men were. But just because it was common it didn't mean she liked the sight of Triton with one. Everybody knows that a sword can do far more damage than a simple dagger, and that thought unnerved her greatly.

Triton followed her gaze and immediately swelled with pride. He laid a heavy hand on the hilt of the weapon. "Beautiful, isn't she? I had her commissioned last month. I call her Mortal's Bane."

Beautiful it was, as well as unsettling.

"Tell me about your home," she said instead, forcing herself to peel her eyes away from the blade.

He blinked at the non sequitur. "As you wish. What would like to know?"

Annabeth desperately searched for a thought. "I can only imagine the trials your fishermen must endure with the snow and the frost and the ice. How do they navigate the frozen waters and the recession in netted catches? How do they compensate for the damage to their ships and supplies? How can they tell when a storm is coming and when it's safest to sail out into deeper waters?"

Triton swallowed and opened and closed his mouth much like the fish his people so famously provided. His face was a comical combination of bafflement and shock. She would bet her life and all her brothers' lives that he had not a single reply to any of her simple inquires.

Annabeth smiled smugly into the silence and she could practically feel her mother's seething glare burning her to ash. But then, Poseidon threw his head back and a seismic laugh erupted from his throat.

Athena shifted uneasily as several conversations halted and faltered. The king was not known for his jolliness.

"Why don't you further enlighten me about this new weapon of yours—a trident, you called it?—and let us leave the children to converse among themselves."

Please do not say yes, Annabeth thought as the king mulled this offer over. But luck apparently was nowhere to be found this morning, or if it was it certainly wasn't on her side. With a weary nod, Poseidon and Athena went trotting off, and then it was just she and Triton.

The young man began to step without waiting and Annabeth had no choice but to follow.

"You've become quite beautiful," he said offhandedly.

They walked through the doors of the Great Hall and turned left down a drafty passageway. Annabeth did her best to appear fascinated with the cracks in the walls.

"Aren't you going to return the compliment?"

To her horror, Annabeth heard herself saying, "You're rather beautiful as well."

One would have thought she just confessed having a child out of wedlock or described her underclothes in great lengths, or some other horrendous, inappropriate scandal, going by the expression on the young man's face.

The young princess had to look away. Of course, he wouldn't have found that amusing. He probably didn't have a humorous bone in his body.

Who would? that little voice whispered.

She knew who would. And who has.

They rounded a corner and went through a second set of doors that led them to a courtyard. Annabeth's eyes immediately stung as a frigid wind lashed out. Their breaths could be seen curling in the air by their noses.

She heard Triton shuffle closer and she stiffened, keeping her eyes firmly pinned on the horizon ahead.

"Last winter I called upon you. It was to my utter surprise and great offense to being greeted with absence and air all night. Whatever did keep your attention that entire evening, Princess?"

Great clouds rolled over the hills as displeased words washed over the girl. The air swirled with promises of snow and danger.

"You must excuse me," the princess said between her teeth, "I fell asleep."

A bark of harsh laughter escaped him. "You see, I don't believe that. One of the many servants that were sent to your chambers would've mentioned a slumbering princess I should think, and yet, not a single report was made on such a matter whenever you were asked after."

Shit.

She had no answer to this and he knew this. She stole a look at him out of the corner of her eye. When she found him staring at her she quickly glanced away.

"I am willing to forgive your insolence," he continued haughtily, sticking his nose in the air. "I must remember that you have seen fewer summers and falls than I and that you are still quite young. I must remember my patience."

Insolence? Patience? She wanted to punch him in his infuriating, patronizing, insolent face.

"How old are you again?"

"Fourteen summers and falls," she told him in a clipped manner.

"Mmm." He nodded. "My seventeenth name day was last autumn."

"Good for you," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" she snapped.

His eyes darkened and he stepped far too close for her liking. He was invading her personal space. He put an arm on both sides of her body, caging her between him and the castle wall. But unlike a caged animal, the she-child refused to show fear.

"I won't have a wife with an impertinent tongue." He clicked impatiently. "We'll have to do something about that."

Wife? Now it was Annabeth who was gaping like a fish.

Triton Celaeno took pleasure in this. He was the kind of boy who reveled in fear and pain and wicked things.

The children stood so close that the prince had to tilt his head down to grin at her in a stomach-lurching fashion. "They haven't told you yet? Oh, how odd... how very odd indeed..."

"Told me what?" Annabeth demanded.

She pressed a palm against his chest to push him away. She took comfort in knowing that she could do him some serious harm if need be, but she was reluctant to turn towards violence if the situation did not call for it. He was an ass, but a royal ass. Even if her own royal title offered the protection that no peasant girl could dream of, men always fared better than women when it came to a he-said-she-said scenario. If Annabeth initiated a scene, chances are that he would walk away free and she would be left as the one facing the consequences.

Triton's hands shot out, catching her by surprise. He grabbed her wrist in a bruising manner and offered her a cold, triumphant grin.

"We are to be wed, you and I."

Annabeth did not hear much after that. Her mind was still stuck on the word. Wed. She and Triton? Together? She wanted to double over and shriek with laughter. Hell would sooner freeze over before Athena consented to the union of her daughter and the spawn of Poseidon, her long-time component, rival, and rapist. Triton jested, surely.

"The affairs have all been settled," Triton said. His breath was uncomfortably hot on her face. "The handfasting would've already been done by now if not for your father's insistence on waiting for your seventeenth name day. An unnecessary inconvenience, but my father agreed. We are already promised, so he supposed there'd be no harm in a small delay. Still, the suspense and your little slight have made me terribly unhappy. I believe you owe me an apology, Princess."

Anger folded the she-child's lips in a scowl. Triton's claims made no sense and she didn't trust his word for a second. Her parents would have come to her and consulted her on a matter of such importance. She knew this because they had sworn to do so when the marriage offers and proposals began to flood in after her twelfth name day.

"I apologize for the miscommunication, Triton Celaeno." Annabeth slammed her heel onto his foot and pushed him with as much force she could muster. He released her and went stumbling back on his butt.

"There has never been an arranged union between you and me. I would have been informed if there was, and I would refuse to the day I die."

His eyes blazed with fury as he hopped on one foot in an undignified manner. "You little bitch!" he hissed. "We are to be wed! And when we are you will regret what you have—"

She put up a hand, silently seething. She didn't know who was angrier at that moment. "Is that a threat?" she whispered, almost wishing that it was.

Triton paused. They both knew threatening a royal was never taken lightly, and threatening her, on her lands, was no trivial matter.

"Of course not," he finally spat, "T'was a mere response to an insult on my honor."

She wanted to scoff and say what honor?

The prince stood and straightened his clothes. He took a moment to gather his composure. "I speak the truth, Princess. You may not like my words very much, but they are spoken with clarity and honesty."

Annabeth scoffed and turned.

"Just ask your parents!" Triton shouted, but she was already hurrying away.

"Is something troubling you?" Malcolm inquired carefully, watching the young princess set her fifth dummy into place. The other four were scattered across the training field in small clumps of hay and straw.

"Sister?"

Annabeth settled into a lunge and shifted her feet upon the icy ground. "No."

"Are you certain?"

She raised her sword. "Quite."

Malcolm looked skeptical. "Really?"

"I've fine," she growled.

She charged at the dummy with all her might. Straw and hay rained down on her, crystal evidence of her not being as fine as she claimed.

He waited for her to finish before saying again, "Really?"

"Will you leave me be?!" she exclaimed, waving around her sword.

He held up his hands in surrender. "You asked me here. Forgive me if I wish to know why."

The young princess sucked in a guilty breath and pushed a sweaty tendril of hair from her brow. She was exhausted, hungry, and her mood was foul, but the fault of that did not rest with her brother. We're training she had told him in a voice that left no room for argument and had dragged him from the library with no room for objections. Malcolm hadn't said a word of protest until now, and he didn't deserve her fury.

"Triton Celaeno is an asshole," she grumbled. "That is all."

"You said a bad word!"

Annabeth glared at the little boy who was sitting on the fringes of the field.

"I'll tell Mother!" the boy said gleefully. At seven summers and falls the little devil was practically a living, breathing portrait of their father when he was a young lad. The boy was all dark, floppy hair and dark, mischievous eyes, and was identical in appearance and spirit to his twin brother.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and ruffled Matthew's hair in the way she knew he despised. She could only wonder where his other half was, or what he was doing. "Your words hold no weight, little brother."

Malcolm touched her forearm, alarm etched all over his face. At seventeen summers and falls he was no longer a boy and the distress that rolled off him was that of a young man's. "You saw Scale Tail?"

Annabeth sighed and rubbed her wrist, grateful to have the winter season as an excuse to wear gloves. Otherwise, she would be forced to make an excuse for the bruises. "Woefully, yes. Mother practically forced him upon me this morning."

His eyebrows vanished into his hairline. "Mother?"

"Aye." She rolled her eyes. "You know how she adores her parties and her small talk. Unfortunately for me, she succeeded in trapping me in said small talk with King Poseidon and his as—" Mathew giggled, "—slime ball of a son."

Annabeth stuck her tongue out at Matthew, who made the face right back at her.

"The King was here as well?" Malcolm said, face gone pale.

"Are you having trouble hearing?" she snapped. "Both father and son were—are—currently on our grounds as we speak. I had to chat with both of them this morning."

Malcolm shook his head in disbelief. "I thought they declined," he murmured under his breath. "I was certain... they said..."

Annabeth stared at him. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

Mathew giggled manically. "Mal's gone mad."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, he already was. It's just showing now."

"ANNIEBETH!"

Malcolm's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. A stocky figure lumbered over the hill and rushed down to their lonesome little training field. Annabeth's hand flew up to halt her brother as the newcomer barreled into her at full force, nearly knocking all the wind from her body.

"Hey there Tyson," she panted as she returned the hug with slightly less enthusiasm. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it?"

"Been so long since last bye bye!" Tyson beamed up at her with one eye. The other was concealed by a fabric patch.

The she-child turned, arms full of boy. "Tyson, I want you to meet my brothers. Malcolm, Matthew, this is Tyson, a ward of the Northern Baron."

Malcolm took his hand off his sword and gave the boy a friendly wave. Matthew stared and said, "What's wrong with your eye?"

"Matthew!" Annabeth hissed, wishing her brother didn't have such a knack for making first impressions.

"Lost it," Tyson said simply.

"Why?"

"Wouldn't let him take my ball."

Tyson smiled and tugged on Annabeth's wrist, unaware of Annabeth's wincing. "I have present for you!" He produced a slender object from the depths of his cloak and pressed it into her hands. "Open!"

It took her a few attempts to unwrap the cloth. It would've been easier without gloved fingers, but she wasn't about to expose her wrists. When she wrangled the package free of the cloth she found a beautiful dagger sparkling up at her under the winter sun. Much like the ball that had cost him his eye, this piece of craftsmanship was unparalleled to any other blade she had ever seen.

Annabeth swallowed as she tested the weight of the weapon in her hand. It fit perfectly.

"You like?" Tyson said hopefully.

She forced herself to speak, tearing her eyes away from the blade. "No," she forced out.

His face fell.

She grinned wildly. "I love it!"

He giggled loudly and she pulled him in to a one-armed hug.

"TYYYYYYSOOOOON."

Malcolm's hand flew back on his hilt as Matthew said, "What was that?"

Annabeth sighed. "The question isn't what," she said without looking. "It's who. Who was that?"

"We really need to stop meeting like this," Percy panted, hand on his heaving chest. He was breathing heavier than a bull after a twenty mile chase.

"Why so tired?" Annabeth said innocently.

He looked at her incredulously. "That was a very steep hill I just ran down!"

"That little thing? 'Tis barely a slope!" she scoffed. It was so good to stand in his presence again, to barter and banter without a thought. "Look at me! The breath hasn't even left me, and I've been training for the better part of the morning."

And look at her he did. Her cheeks warmed as his eyes, sea green as ever, flicked over her. His stare made her uncomfortable but it was a different kind of uncomfortable—a whole other unknown and uncharted sensation in it itself—then the feeling she normally acquired when men and boys looked at her.

His own cheeks were tinged as well, she noticed, but she couldn't decipher if it was from physical exertion or something else.

He opened his mouth several times. "You look—"

"Do not say beautiful."

"—like hell," he finished.

Annabeth blinked. "I—"

Her hair was falling out of her braid, her face was most likely red and sweaty, and the tunic and breeches she wore for training had pieces of hay and straw stocking to them. There was no doubt in her mind that the ladies at court would surly faint if they saw her in such a state.

"Indeed," she said.

"I like him," Malcolm commented.

Percy jumped and bent courteously at the waist, cheeks aflame. It wasn't every day a lowborn addressed a highborn so casually. Annabeth knew he was replaying their warmer-than-stranger exchange with regret, and she wished it wasn't so. She didn't want their friendship to be thought of with shame or regret. This was one of the truest and dearest things she had that she could call her very own.

"My warmest greetings, Your Highness."

Malcolm stuck out a hand. "You're taller than I remember you to be."

And he was. All of them seemed to have shot up since they last saw each other, and with their additional height came an even greater loss of childhood youth and the gaining of budding curves and sharpening angles.

"And you're shorter than I remember you to be," Percy said, accepting the hand in a shake.

"That I am," Malcolm grinned, who stood only a mere inches taller.

Unsatisfied with the lack of introductions, Matthew stamped his foot and put his hands on his hips. "He-llo. Who are you?" he demanded.

Percy was bowing once more. "Perseus Jackson, Your Highness. My sword is yours to command."

Matthew eyed him suspiciously.

"What do you say?" Annabeth prompted. He rolled his eyes at her. She wanted to smack him for his insolence.

"My sister called Triton Celaeno an asshole."

Annabeth's brows shot up. She was not expecting that.

She glanced at Percy, wondering how he would react. Percy only snorted and said, "Like that's news."

Malcolm clapped him heartily on the back. He let out a booming laugh that he must've gotten from their grandfather because Frederick never laughed boomingly and Athena hardly laughed at all. "I'm liking this fellow more and more by the minute."

Matthew cocked his head and spoke with the honesty of a child. "Your hair is ugly."

By the gods. Annabeth bit her lip. Was nothing in this world simple? Did her brothers exist only to torment her? If so, they were all doing a spectacular job.

Percy laughed and ran a hand through his hair. It was much shorter than last year and evident that he had hacked it all off. She wasn't going to comment about it but she did have to agree that it was not his best look.

"My mother thinks the same, but she's kind enough not to say so."

"And how fares your mother?" Annabeth asked quickly, eager to chance the subject. The last time they spoke, Percy had told her about the Baron's fondness of the gambling rings and his tendency to make Percy and his mother pay when things didn't end well (which they never did).

"She walks these very grounds as we speak," he answered. "Perhaps you'll cross paths sometime between today and tomorrow's eve."

"And the Baron?" Malcolm said, oblivious to the family troubles. "I presume he is here as well?"

Percy concealed his scowl well. "Aye."

Bells chimed in the distance, signaling the noontime meal and prayers.

"Food!" Tyson exclaimed. He tugged impatiently on Percy's cloak and pointed in the direction of the castle. "Food!"

Percy gasped in feigned surprise, as if he hadn't heard the bells himself, as if he hadn't known it was mealtime. "You must excuse us, Your Highnesses. It seems food is of greater value than your esteemed company. You are invited to join us, of course, unless your time is otherwise occupied by your training..."

Malcolm shook his head ruefully, and Annabeth reluctantly followed, and the two slowly began to walk to the castle.

"Go with them," Malcolm urged. "Dinner should be soon and you have a skipped breakfast to account for. I'll fend off Mother should she come searching for you."

Annabeth sent him a grateful look. "You'd do that for me?"

Malcolm smirked. "Dear sister, what else am I good for?"

Matthew stomped his foot. "What about me?"

"Haven't you got some poor manservant to torture?" Malcolm asked.

"You're entirely welcomed to join us, Your Highness," Percy called, glancing at Annabeth for approval. He only smiled his infuriating, brilliant, stupidly enduring smile when she glared at him for eavesdropping.

Reluctantly, she nodded. While she didn't want her little brother trailing after them like an annoying, incessant shadow, she greater feared him running off to tell their mother about her friendship with the Baron's son before she could convince him to keep his silence.

"Why are we friends?" Annabeth asked, blinking into the sky.

After thinking for a moment, Percy shrugged beside her. "I haven't anyone better to share my time with."

She threw a snowball at him and he fell over, laughing. Tyson chortled next to her while Matthew simply continued to stuff his face with the bread Percy had snatched from the kitchens.

Rather than run into potential parents and princes in the Great Hall, the four of them decided to take their meal in the garden where they would be safe from prying eyes. This is where they were now, perched on the rim of a frozen reflecting pool that seemed to have become their spot.

Initially, it had been a good idea to eat outside, but now they were all a little damp and very cold. That didn't stop them from having a good time, however.

"In truth, though," she said.

His face screwed up in thought. "Near or far, you're the best company I keep."

Heat blossomed through her core. "Care to elaborate?"

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You're really fishing for compliments today, aren't you?"

"You'd do the same in a heartbeat and you know it," she shot back.

Percy laughed. "Touché."

The rolling clouds finally opened and gifted them with the long-promised snowfall. Tyson stuck out his hand and caught a snowflake. "Cold!" he happily exclaimed. He ran up and tugged on Percy's cloak. "Look! It's so cold!"

Matthew paused long enough from his food to look at Tyson and say, "Every snowflake is different. Did you know that?"

Annabeth stared at her little brother. She had told him that last night but she didn't think he was listening, partially because he was making shadow puppets on the wall and partially because he said, "I'm not listening."

Tyson's eyes grew wide. "Woah. That's a lotta differences."

Matthew shrugged almost sheepishly and went back to the white bread.

Annabeth nudged Percy's shoulder. "How many relationships have you seen that are solely built on honesty and affection, that are without any other gravitating force or motivation? I've seen two like that in my whole life. I used to think my parents placed in that category, and perhaps they once did, but that age has long since passed and died."

"I've seen three, perhaps," he said. "My mother claims she once tasted true love. It was fleeting and over all too soon, as it always is with these things, but the mere fact of it must count for something, surely?"

Annabeth recalled the tale Malcolm had told her all those nights ago, the tale about the Baroness and King Poseidon's scandalous affair, and she remembered the maiden he had ravaged, the maiden he had ruined, and she hoped with all her heart that mother and son didn't speak of the same man.

"Do you think we'll ever have the chance at that? True love, I mean?"

Percy looked uncomfortable. "I dunno."

She sighed and shook some snowflakes from her hair. "The time draws near for my handfasting. I don't want to, but marriage is as inevitable as the shifting of the seasons." She didn't know why she was talking about this or what she hoped to gain. She just knew that she had to get what was bothering her off her chest.

"I'm surprised you haven't been betrothed already," he said quietly. She couldn't understand the cadence of his voice.

She snorted. Screaming, crying, perfect storms... her parents knew their punishment would be such if they ever subjected her to such cruelty. It might be selfish and childish of her, but was it not her life they wanted to auction away? Should she not have a say in her own future?

"If I had the choice, I wouldn't wed for a good long while. There's too much to do and see and be that cannot be done and seen and accomplished when shackled in marriage."

Percy was silent and it made her stomach turn. Perhaps he was more of a traditionalist than she thought. Just because he cared little for chaperones and harmless party rules did not mean he wasn't a stickler for abandoning all tradition.

"There you go again," she said lightly. "Making me feel as if I've offended you somehow."

He rolled his eyes and threw some snow at her. "You need to grow a thicker skin, Wise Girl."

"Wise Girl?" she challenged. "Is that the name you promised me oh so long ago?"

He blushed. "It took a long time but I'm proud of it, alright?"

"Hey!" Matthew said, pointing. "Who's that?"

A hooded lady had entered the garden and was waiting in the snow. Percy stood immediately and hurried to her side. They shared an inaudible exchange of words, seemingly familiar by the way they leaned into each other when they spoke. She said something that Percy shook his head at and seemed to reply with a protest, but then he made a show of sighing in agreement.

Finally, Percy began to make his way back, the woman in tow. Annabeth quickly rose and brushed off her breeches, wishing she didn't look like a stablehand.

"This is the Baroness of the North," Percy announced when they were close enough, and the hooded figure curtseyed graciously. "This is Lady Sally Jackson... my mother."

"Your Highness," a gentle voice said, and slender hands pushed back the hood.

The kind woman with the warm eyes who Annabeth had nearly plowed down this morning in the Great Hall was staring at her in the snow.

"Lady Jackson," Annabeth said with surprise. "How nice it is to see you again."

"Wait, you've already met?" Percy said.

"It was but a brief encounter," Lady Jackson explained. She smiled at Annabeth. "I take delight in meeting you officially, Your Highness, and without having to collide to do so."

"Percy! He took my snowball!" Tyson wailed.

"I didn't take it!" Matthew retorted. "You gave!"

"One moment," Percy mumbled. Then he was running off to do damage control, leaving the young princess alone with his mother.

"I've heard much about you, Lady Jackson," Annabeth said as Percy planted himself between the two young boys. She hoped she didn't sound as awkward as she felt. But what did one say to the mother of a friend, a friend whom one probably shouldn't have? "Your writing is simply unparalleled to all other pieces, Percy says."

"That's very kind of you," Lady Jackson said. "And please, do call me Sally. From all the things my son has said about you, it would seem silly to be addressed by such a formality."

Annabeth couldn't help the surprised and happy, "Really?"

Sally's eyes twinkled in a way that made Annabeth instantly like her more. "Aye. I've heard many stories of you. I've heard how you helped young Tyson, how you rushed him to a physician, how you advocated for his treatment, how you covered his medical fees."

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably. "It was the very least I could do, Lady J—Sally. I couldn't give him another eye or change what happened for all the wealth in the world, so I was left with being able to do only that."

"A kind act can sometimes be as powerful as a sword."

Percy's mother had her son's smile, or the latter had the formal, and her eyes were a striking, beautiful blue: the color of a still sky on warm, summer days.

"Alright, I'm back," Percy said as he returned. "Tyson forget he'd let Matthew play with his stock of snowballs but it's all been smoothed over."

"I'm impressed you managed to talk Matthew off a ledge," Annabeth said. "There's usually no retreat from a tantrum once it's begun."

"That's one of my many talents," he grinned.

"One of his only," Sally put in, causing Annabeth to laugh "My dear, it was lovely meeting you. I must return before they find me gone, but I do hope we'll get to know each other more."

"I would love that," Annabeth confessed.

Sally smiled and turned to Percy. "I'll see you around, I presume. Stay out of trouble."

Percy rolled his eyes good naturally but let his mother kiss his brow.

"Come along, little one," she said, beckoning for Tyson, and together they left the snow-blanketed garden.

"How did you fancy my mother?" Percy asked when it was just the two of them. Matthew had run off out of boredom a while ago.

"We only met for a scant couple of minutes," the young princess began. And yet, within that brief meeting Sally had emanated an air about her; an air of maternity and love and security and comfort, an air that Athena never in Annabeth's whole life possessed.

"But I took a liking to her. She was kind and we got along well."

His face flooded with relief. "Good, I'm really glad, I feared you—" he broke off.

"Feared?" she repeated. "What did you fear?"

"Nothing!" he exclaimed in a tone that said it clearly wasn't nothing. "It's only... my mother is a lady but she was born a peasant. Highborn's don't always look kindly upon her and—"

"And you feared I would do the same," she finished, everything clicking into place. She found that she wasn't insulted by this confession, she was saddened. Saddened he lived in a world where he expected the worse of people.

"No! I mean, yes, it did cross my mind, but only for the briefest of moments," he rushed. "But I know you're not like that. You don't even blink around Tyson and you put up with me, so I know you're not like that at all. It was simply an irrational fear that I loathed to bring up because, as I said, it was totally irrational."

"Percy," she said, and he looked at her nervously. "I understand. Truly."

He sighed in relief and she was reminded of the last time they sat by this pool. It had been during the winter evening and they had sat under the stars, nearly freezing their noses off for a few precious hours.

"Annabeth," he said after a moment. He was staring at his lap. "I just wanted to say that this, uh, whatever this is, is really important to me, and uh..." He stuttered on for a bit, searching for the right words until she decided to give him a hard time.

"Pardon?" she said coyly. "Are you saying our friendship is important to you?"

"Er, yes," he blushed.

She scooted closer, enjoying the torture. "Are you saying my company is important to you?"

"Um, maybe?"

"Are you saying that I am the smartest, prettiest, grooviest person you've ever met?"

"Grooviest? Is that even a word?"

"So what if it's not? Am I?"

"Oh, you know what you are," he huffed and he leaned in to bump her playfully as they so often did.

But she, seized with sudden courage, a sudden frenzy, a sudden passion she couldn't explain (or perhaps it was sudden cowardice — she didn't know, didn't care), surged forward and met his mouth with hers.

It wasn't at all what was described in the ballads and the poems and the stories. It wasn't a world-stopping, earth-shattering, life-changing experience, and there weren't any epiphanies or euphoric bursts of love or light.

But her stomach tingled pleasantly as he cautiously kissed her back, her toes curled happily as they clumsily mimicked the other's movements, and they both laughed breathlessly when their lips fumbled for purchase. That was good enough for her.

She pulled away first, breathless, heart pounding.

His cheeks were flushed and his lips were red. Annabeth could only imagine what she looked like.

"That was..."

"Wow," he breathed.

A silence stretched between them, but it was a comfortable silence that spoke of promises and laughter and sweet things to come.

"Again?" he suggested.

They both laughed and let their lips touch again. But then there were footsteps and the sharp intakes of breath, and the prince consort who was shaking partially from fear, partially from fury, and partially from something she didn't understand, was standing over them.

He said, "What the hell?" and then everything shattered.

Chapter Text

Fifteen Summers and Falls

The crowd hummed and pulsed with eager anticipation as their princess gracefully climbed the steps to the dais that sat at the far end of the Great Hall.

“Friends,” Athena called, spreading her arms wide. “I welcome you warmly on the behalf of your king and my father, King Zeus.”

“We accept your welcome,” the crowd chorused.

With poise and perfection, Princess Athena looked out upon her people, a trace of a curl to her lips. Tonight she wore a gray summer gown that was embedded with rubies and sapphires and jade. Her fingers were adorned with rings of all colors, and her dark curls were crowned in a thick circlet of gold. She never looked so radiant.

“Many of you have traveled far and wide to be here tonight, and it fills my heart to see your joyous faces. Why, I see Countess Aphrodite, who has generously journeyed all the way from the West...” A dark-skinned woman with shimmering eyes and an entourage of men raised her glass in graceful acknowledgment.

“King Hades and Queen Persephone from our neighboring kingdom are here as well. What an honor to have you both...” The two monarchs stood on the outskirts of the crowd with their son, Prince Nicholas. Like night and day, a pale King Hades nodded stiffly while his bronze-skinned, rosy-cheeked wife gave the room a cheery wave.

“Even our esteemed Generals have generously graced us with their presence.”

Two figures in the back, both tall and pale and imposing, stepped forward obediently. General Artemis wore a simple gown with several weapons strapped to her back, while General Aries donned a costumed military uniform. He laughed loudly and called, “Wouldn’t miss this for the world, sister!”

Athena pressed her lips together and looked very much like she wished that he had. Zeus had many children with many different women, but it was Aries who ruffled Athena’s feathers the most. And everybody knew it.

Frederick Chase stepped forth next, greeting the crowd. His clothes were slightly rumpled and several indistinguishable sneers and insulting whispers could be heard from the court.

Ignoring them all, the prince consort said, “We have welcomed you all to our gates to celebrate the nameday of our daughter and princess, Annabeth Chase. Her royal highness turns fifteen summers and falls today, and we couldn’t be happier...”

The young princess grunted as she readjusted the little boy in her arms as he pressed closer to the crack in the door. Only the gods truly knew how much Athena had pleaded and bargained and begged her husband to speak at their daughter’s nameday ball, but her daughter had a good idea, considering that was all she heard for two weeks straight.

“This is boring,” Bobby announced as their parents droned on and on.

Annabeth snorted. “I warned you so, but you insisted on listening.”

“I thought it was gonna be interesting!”

“Well, now you know it isn’t.”

Scowling, Bobby twisted in her arms until she set him down. The moment his feet touched the floor he was running to Mathew and his army of tin soldiers.

“Are you awfully nervous?”

Malcolm stood at the end of the corridor, half in shadow and half in light. He wore a light-colored tunic with knee-high boots, a sword on his hip, and a simple circlet of gold on his brow. He’d been gifted that circlet when he turned fifteen but was just beginning to wear it now after Athena practically had to wrest it onto his head.

Annabeth frowned as he strode to meet her. “What for?”

Malcolm was looking at her seriously, but everything he did was done seriously now. The past year had been a year of change for the eldest Chase child. The time for childhood was over, and Malcolm wore its effects like a noose.

The prince shrugged and fiddled with his cuffs. He was all height and broadness and muscles and man, and Annabeth was still adjusting to having to tilt to meet his gaze. “All sights will be pinned on you.”

The young princess was dressed in a light summer gown, and while had it had many silk skirts, the material was cool for her to wear on a fine summer evening, such as tonight. Those skirts fluttered like silver wisps of candle smoke as Annabeth chuckled. “Aren’t they always?”

She would’ve missed the slight furrowing of his brow if she hadn’t been looking for it. “Yes, but more so tonight. They’ll be waiting for you to slip up and mess up and stumble and fall...“

She crossed her arms as he trailed off. “We have always been blunt with each other, brother. Just say what you want to say.”

The prince looked highly uncomfortable as he shot the twins a look. He shuffled closer and softened his voice to a whisper. “Father told me about your… dalliance last year.”

Annabeth winced at the choice of words but did not falter. “And what of it?” she said lowly. “Boys can kiss whoever they want, wherever they want, whenever they want.”

“Sister—”

“Do you think less of me?”

“What?” he sputtered. “No! Of course not.”

“I thought you rather liked him,” she said defensively.

“I do,” the prince protested. “Very much. But my love for you is far greater than any friendship I could ever have.”

“He didn’t force himself, brother, if that’s what you wish to know or was led to believe.” Annabeth stared at him, hard, and was surprised when he actually flinched. Perhaps she did have something in common with her mother, after all. “He didn’t pressure me, he didn’t start anything at all. It was I who initiated everything.”

Malcolm grimaced, most likely not wanting to picture his little sister partaking in anything of that sort.

“I trust you,” he said quietly. “And I swear when I say I don’t think anything different of you. I just want—”

Trumpets blew, shattering the silence, and the heavy doors to the great hall were thrown open, basking them both in light and laughter.

“I just want you to be careful,” Malcolm said as he ushered the twins inside.

“Aren’t I always?” she whispered over the cheering crowd.

The young princess watched in silence as the crowd greeted their princes with joy. She knew she and her siblings were perfect in the people’s eyes. They were intelligent, handsome, healthy, and from a good family. But she also knew those thoughts would shift quicker than sand if the people knew what exactly the Chase siblings hid behind that perfected mask.

The Chase brothers reached the dais and took their places at the bass. Now it was her turn.

A rich round of applause erupted from the crowd as the she-child walked down the aisle. She nodded and smiled at the faces she passed—the faces she’d known since childhood. The lords and ladies, nobles and royals, servants and courtiers and members of the court bowed and curtsied and parted for her like the sea, compliments and praise and love on their lips.

When Annabeth reached the dais she hoisted her skirts and gracefully ascended to stand before her parents.

“Daughter.” In Athena’s hands was a thin ring of gold, identical to the one Malcolm bore. Annabeth knelt on the hard stone and felt her mother’s cold fingers place the circlet on her head.

“May you have the strength to protect yourself, your people, and your land.

“May you have the love to guide you through trials, hardships, and strife.

“May you have the courage to stand for what is right and good and true.

“And may you have the wisdom to lead with power, honor, and mercy.”

Annabeth’s breath caught on mercy, and she was thankful for the curtain of hair that hid her sour expression.

The crowd cheered and clapped as the young princess stood and faced her people. Crowned in light and gold, she looked ethereal, and she basked in the thundering applause.

Athena swept forward and said, "Happy nameday,” above the roar.

Annabeth smiled tightly and turned to her father, who came forth and kissed her on both cheeks. “We might not always agree,” he murmured, “But I will always love you.”

The twins were next. Mathew jumped into her arms (to the delight of the audience and the chagrin of their mother) and Bobby grinned wickedly at her and said, “You’re reaaaaally old now.”

Malcolm was last. He hugged her and tapped her circlet and said, “You wear it better than I ever could.” He caught her hands as he let go and gave them a good squeeze that she returned, grateful, before the six of them turned back to their audience.

“Now!” Princess Athena clapped her hands and the sound echoed throughout the hall. “Let the celebrations begin!”

The young princess wove her way through tipsy guests and twirling skirts, letting herself sway to the playful melody of lutes. The doors were thrown open to the terrace, letting in a weak summer breeze, and the sconces on the walls flickered with life, casting wild shadows and estranged light upon the heads below.

The weight of the circlet was a strange feeling on her head. In truth, it didn’t mean much. It was but a pretty decoration. But it greatly pleased the people to see that little gold band upon their prince and princess’s head, and its symbolism was not lost on the daughter of Athena.

“Princess Anniebell!”

The lord Dionysus, one of Athena’s many siblings and Annabeth's many uncles, stumbled out of the crowd, goblet over flowering. Dionysus was… well, Annabeth wasn’t sure what to make of him half the time. He was an enthusiast of pleasure, a drunk like no other, and was often absent or tardy. She truly didn’t know what he did during most days or what purpose his presence served at court.

“I must say, a thousand congratulations to you,” he said slurred as he dipped into a sloppy bow.

“I… thank you?” A nameday was an odd thing to be congratulated on, but she summed it up to the drink in his hand.

“Of course, my dear, of course! And when will the big day be?”

“The… what?”

“The…”

Annabeth blinked at Dionysus and Dionysus blinked back, panic filling his face.

“I, uh, never mind,” he said sheepishly. “Pay me no heed.” He tossed back the rest of his drink in one fell swoop.

“Wait,” she said, but was interrupted by another cry.

“Your Highness!” Two guests stepped aside, revealing Sir Lukas in his shining armor. “My sincerest congratulations,” the knight said as he bowed. Sir Lukas was the eldest son of Hermes (a mysterious duke with an expansive merchant fleet), the youngest ever to be the head of Zeus’s kingsguard, and was revered throughout the land for his talents with a sword.

“Thank you, Luke,” the she-child said distractedly, “but can I ask—“

“Princess!” cried Sir Lukas’s younger brothers, Lord Connor and Travis Stoll. Lords and ladies leaped out of their path as they rushed to join her. Mischievous and troublesome, the brothers were infamous for parting many a noble from their coin during cards or checkers or chess, and if one was wise, he knew to keep his jewels close when the brothers were about.

“We have come to rescue you from the clutches of our terribly boring brother,” Lord Conner said, sweeping low to the ground and gleefully ignoring the look of sheer pain on Sir Lukas’s face.

“How kind—”

“And to wish you a many good wishes!” Lord Travis added, tipping off his hat. “How excited you must be!”

“Yes, I’m simply dizzy with it.”

“Well, another congratulations then!” exclaimed Lord Connor.

“Yes, and I thank you both, but what is it for?” Annabeth said, a little desperately.

“What is it for?”

The brothers shared a bemused look. “Why, your en—”

“Sister. A word?” Malcolm appeared like an apparition at her side. He tucked her hand under his arm and he nodded briskly to each man in turn. “Gentlemen, good evening. Would you pardon us for a moment?”

He pulled her to the fringes of the great hall where the crowd was a bit thinner and it was easier to breathe and clutched her arm urgently. “There’s someone who wants to see you,” he said under his breath.

She rolled her eyes and pulled herself free. “Tell Mother I have been socializing.”

“I think you’ll find your caller is someone far more likable than Mother.”

Annabeth scoffed. An I hardly doubt that was ready on her lips. But then she saw the look in her brother’s eye. And she understood.

“They wait by the window,” he said. “Be swift, sister, and be smart.”

She caught his arm before he could slip away. “Why are you doing this?”

He smiled sadly at her. “Because I trust you. And I want you to be happy.” He chuckled dryly. “Happier than me, at least.”

Annabeth watched as he walked away. Never before did their circlets seem so heavy.

“Happy nameday,” the princess heard as she tucked herself behind a heavy drape. She was still visible but concealed cleverly in the shadows. One had to be searching with a fierce intent on finding her to spot her.

The she-child paused. “Percy?”

One of the shadows moved. “Don’t you recognize my voice?”

Annabeth shook her head, then felt a bit foolish and stopped. “It’s much deeper now. You sound like Malcolm.”

The shadow chuckled. “And how is he?”

“Somber.” The prince had lost something when he gained the crown.

“And your brothers?”

“Energetic as ever.”

“And yourself?”

“Tired.” In truth, she was exhausted. Exhausted of pleasing her parents, of playing a part, of masquerading around for the court like a pretty little bird to be stared and prodded at.

“Is that all?“

“Isn’t that enough?”

She could feel him looking at her, really looking at her, and even in the dark, she could sense the heat of his stare. She glanced away.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?”

“Don’t tell me things you think I want to hear. You do that for everybody. I thought we knew each other better than that.”

“But you forget. We aren’t alone.” Annabeth tilted her chin to the room full of people who had turned their ears to Lord Apollo, who could be heard singing loudly from some corner of the hall.

"Ah. A shame."

They stood there in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's presence. A solemn tune struck up, drawing couples of all shapes, sizes, and shades to the dance floor, and the children took this as an opportunity to comment on all the different costumes they thought funny or fine.

"Percy," the she-child said softly, mind racing a thousand miles per minute. "Will you meet me in the gardens in ten minutes?"

"But your father—"

"I know what my father said."

She knew what her father thought. And she knew what he wanted. But she knew what she thought. And she knew what she wanted. She didn't want her brother's fortune. She didn't want to become someone unrecognizable—to become a stranger to herself for the sake of others. She knew couldn't do it. She couldn't walk through life in the shoes someone else carved for her. This secret might be wrong, but it was hers, and she needed it. She needed this small happiness to call her own and keep close to her chest, to warm her when the air was too cold and soothe her when the night was to silent.

"I know what I ask is not small thing. And I know I have no right to ask it of you. We'll be dead if they knew. But I can't bear it if—"

"Annabeth," he said firmly. "I'll be there."

"Where are you going?”

“I need some fresh air.”

“Will this fresh air keep you long?"

Annabeth smiled. “I won’t be but a few spare moments. Will you keep Mother and Father at bay while I'm away?”

Her brother nodded, but he looked unhappy. “Sister,” he said as she took her leave.

She paused and glanced back.

Malcolm grinned, and for a moment, she could see a hint of his old mischief in his eyes. “Say hi to Jackson for me.”

“Annabeth?” she heard, words barely above a whisper. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” she said. She stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, and into the sights of Percy Jackson. He wordlessly swooped her into a hug and they stood there for a moment, listening to each other’s soft breaths and beating hearts.

A year had passed since the princess and the Baron’s son last laid eyes on each other. A whole year, a single year, a busy year, a lonesome year. Summer and fall and winter and spring, all passed in impression-less blurs.

It was she who pulled slightly away at first. “You’re taller!” she noted, playing the game they played every year.

His shoulders had stretched and grown into broadness, his hair had returned to a normal appearance, his jaw had sharpened into a fine cutting line, and newly acquired muscles were now protruding from his upper half.

Percy, still holding her in his arms, looked her up and down. “So are you.”

Yes. More height. That’s exactly what she needed.

The young princess cocked her head at the familiar sense of déjà vu. “I should think we’ve had this sort of exchange before.”

The Baron‘s son thought for a moment, and then he grinned. “I should think you are right.”

“I’m always right.”

“How could I forget?” She felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled, and she found herself liking that neither of them was making any efforts to break apart. “You can’t imagine all I have to tell you,” he said.

She listened as he began to talk about Tyson and Blackjack and the wellness of his mother, but it was with a growing sense of melancholy. The deepening of his voice and the curving of her hips and the broadening of his shoulders and the budding of her chest meant they were officially shedding their youth, their childhood, their freedom, their fun. They were being thrust into adulthood, and it was happening all too fast and all too soon. She wished time would stop so she could catch her breath and just think, but she knew there wasn’t enough time in the world that could make her feel safe.

“...But enough about me. How are you?” he said seriously, drawing her back, and she was reminded of the day of their kiss. Their winter kiss, their unwise kiss, their spontaneous kiss, their forbidden kiss. How could one day hold such happiness and rage and confusion and fear?

“What the hell,” her father had said upon his discovery of their persons. 

“Father!” Annabeth exclaimed as they jumped apart. Percy immediately fell into a bow. “How did you find us?” 

“I ran into Matthew.” Frederick’s voice was cold and brittle. “Imagine hearing from your seven-year-old son that your fourteen-year-old daughter is alone and unchaperoned in the gardens with a boy.” 

“Father, please,” the young princess said. Frederick was always the diplomatic parent. He was the one she could talk to and confide in and conspire with. 

Frederick held up his hand. He was staring at her in a way he’d never done before, as if she was some stranger he didn’t know. "Be silent.” 

He turned to Percy, who was still in a bow, and his face hardened into stone. “I don’t know if you have ill intentions towards my daughter and my family, or if you're simply an idiot who is ruled by his emotions," he said with a quiet and contained fury. 

"I would never harm your daughter," Percy said quickly. 

"Then you are a fool who already has." 

“Your Majesty—"

Frederick gave the boy a withering look that shot him down quicker than a bird out of the sky. “How dare you enter my house upon my invitation and engage in matters that could sully my daughter’s virtue! You have not only insulted my daughter and my family, but the crown itself and by extension, Athens at large!"

Frederick turned on Annabeth, and she could see the war of emotions in his eyes. Anger, fury, sadness… and above all: fear. “And you!" he barked. "Have we taught you nothing? Are you not wiser than this?” 

Annabeth remembered burning with humiliation and frustration. 

Frederick whirled back to Percy who, to his credit, did not shrink away or shrivel or wilt beneath the man’s heavy glare. “You will leave at once, and think twice before you return.” 

“Father, please—”

“If I should ever again catch you with my daughter in a position that could compromise her, the consequences will be far greater than what has been dealt tonight. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Percy said with a measured voice. He did not argue, he did not fight, he did not correct the man and tell him that it was she who insinuated the kiss, not he.

“Be gone, and never let me lay my sights upon you again.”

But instead of fleeing into the night, the Baron’s son simply looked at the princess. Despite the very angry father who was glaring a hole in his head, the boy hesitated, silently asking if she was alright. She was not alright, but she nodded nevertheless, and then he was gone. 

“What the hell were you doing?” Frederick snapped as Percy grew smaller and smaller with every step. His voice broke when he said, “What were you thinking?”

“We were kissing!” Annabeth snapped back. “Kissing, not rutting! It was all in innocence!” 

Her father sent her a look filled with such pity and sorrow it made her want to cry. 

Prince Frederick, the royal consort and husband of Athena, was very progressive in much of his thinking. He and his wife both agreed that their children would have lessons in weaponry, state, literature, arithmetic, spinning, battle strategy, history, housekeeping, music, and more, no matter their genders. He urged Malcolm from the moment he was born to master his music, work a needle, and learn how to see a patch as much as he encouraged Annabeth to pick up a sword, perfect her military strategies, and practice her feints and lunges. 

But as lenient and liberal Frederick was with his children, he knew the world looked at them through a different lens, one that separated them by anatomy. The ugly truth was that the world raised men up and tore women down. A boy could bed a thousand maidens before he was wed and no one would bat a single eye. A girl, however, could have her entire life ruined by a single kiss in a garden, or by a rumor or a whisper of there being something where there wasn’t anything at all. 

As a parent, it was Frederick’s job to soften the blows the world would deal his children. But he could only prevent so much of the stumble before the inevitable fall. 

If word escaped that the princess Annabeth was kissing a boy in the hedges after dark, every marriage proposal would be withdrawn, and that would jeopardize alliances, security and peace throughout the land. 

The prince consort inhaled sharply. “You will not see that boy or any other alone. I don’t care if he promised you the sun and the stars. It’s too much of a liability.”

“What if it was a girl?” Annabeth shot back. “Would you warn me away from her too?” 

“If she was a threat to your future, then yes.”

“And if it was Triton?” Frederick froze. “Mother seems rather eager to throw him my way, and he himself believes I am destined for his hand."

Her father whirled around, horror sprawled plain on his face. “When did you hear this?" 

"Do you deny it?" 

"I — we —"

There was fire in her eyes and steel in her blood as she stalked forward. “Are we or are we not promised to each other?”

Annabeth had never heard silence quite so loud. 

“It was a thought,” her father admitted finally, not meeting her eye. “But a fleeting one at that. We wouldn’t make such a decision without your knowledge.”

Annabeth exhaled slowly. She could've cried with relief. 

Frederick moved closer. All the anger seemed to have drained from him, leaving him with only weariness and caution. 

“You know just as well as I do that I say this for your own protection.”

“Your protection is appreciated, but not needed,” she said. “Father, this is my life to jeopardize, mine to endanger or throw away as I see fit. I and I alone did this. I. Kissed. Him.”

Frederick wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. “My girl, in an ideal world, in a land of perfection, we could all love whoever we wished, without inhibition or judgment, or care. And I wish I could give that world to you—as a father, as a parent, as someone who’s seen so much of life. But for all the power your mother and I possess, we cannot give you such a world. We can only arm you for the one you were born into.” 

“Annabeth?” Percy said gently when she didn’t respond, bringing her back to the present.

Shaking herself from her reverie, the young princess mustered a mirthless smile, one Athena would be undoubtedly proud of. “My father refrained from telling my mother what happened, so I suppose we have him to thank for that.“

“I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

Annabeth stared unseeingly over his shoulder. “I feel very lost, lately,” she said in a small voice. “Which is absurd, because my life has been charted from the moment I was born. I’ve always known what I was expected to wear, to eat, to do, to be.”

“Both those were other people’s ideas,” Percy said quietly. “What would you like?”

The young princess blinked at him, and slowly, she smiled. “You know, I don’t believe I’ve been ever asked that before.”

“Well, it’s about time,” he retorted. And then: “May I kiss you?”

A slight hitch in her breath was the only trace of a reaction. “Only if I can kiss you too.”

His lips against her lips and her lips on his was a strange feeling, a feeling she’d all but forgotten. The kiss was a bit clumsy and awkward and more than a little uncoordinated, due to their inexperience, but it was sweet and gentle and him.

“They’ll be missing us,” he murmured when they finally pulled away. “Shall I return first?”

“Depends. How do I look?”

“Like you’ve just been ravished in a garden.”

“Ha ha.” Her hands flew to her hair, her circlet, her dress, to pat down stray curls and smooth invisible creases.

He took her hand and laced their fingers together. “You look fine, Wise Girl. More than fine.”

“You’re biased, but thank you,” Annabeth sighed. “Alright. I’m ready. After you.”

Perspiration immediately started to prickle down the young princess’s skin as she rejoined the party. She told herself it was merely from the heat of so many bodies pressed together, but she knew she was fooling herself.

“Annabeth.” Malcolm appeared, two glasses in hand. “I was just about to come for you. Another soldier’s fallen. We lost him thirty minutes ago. He’s no doubt hiding away somewhere, waiting for Mother to give up on getting him to socialize so he can go back to his machines.”

Annabeth shook her head. “That lucky bastard.”

Malcolm passed her a glass and looked her up and down. “How was our fresh air?”

Annabeth smiled. In her peripheral view, she could see him mingling with King Hades’ son, Prince Nico, Lord Apollo’s son, Lord William, and the Stoll brothers by the room’s edge. “Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?”

“I do hope you’re not conning these poor, honest men of their good coin,” Annabeth said as the two of them joined the boys.

“We wouldn’t dream of it, Your Highness,” Lord Travis said cheerfully as he folded into a bow. His brother and Apollo’s son followed suit, while Prince Nico, a silent, gaunt-looking boy, gave the prince and princess a deep incline of the head.

Malcolm put them at ease with a flick of his wrist as Annabeth shot a pointed look at the Stolls. “And yet, your fingers betray you.”

Lord Connor froze guiltily, his curled fist hanging suspiciously in the air.

“Oh curses,” Lord Travis sighed, a twinkle in his eye. “Foiled again. That makes twice tonight, brother. Perhaps we’re losing our touch.”

Lord Conner feigned outrage at being caught but quickly gave Lord Willam back his coin, who grinned sheepishly as he accepted the leather pouch.

“I ought to have that someplace better,” he said as he retied the pouch to his hip.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Lord Conner said with a friendly pat on the arm. “We just happen to have slippery good fingers.”

Prince Nico and Percy snorted in unison.

Conversation halted down around them as all eyes turned to the end of the Great Hall. Princess Athena was climbing the steps to the dais, the prince consort at her side. Apparently, Frederick hadn’t been forgotten after all. Three other figures mounted the steps as well. King Poseidon, Queen Amphitrite, and Prince Triton. The king and queen didn’t seem to have aged since last year, and the prince was just as handsome and tall and repulsive as Annabeth remembered.

She could feel Percy tensing beside her as the royal family took their positions, and she knew they shared the same thought.

What did the Celaenos have to do with the night?

The princess Athena searched the crowd until her eyes met Annabeth’s, silently beckoning her to come. Mutely, Annabeth gave her glass to Percy and went to the dais, putting as much space as she could between the Celaenos and her person.

“My people,” Athena began. “Today is a day of many blessings. We have gathered here today to celebrate not one birth, but two.”

Annabeth truly did try to listen, but she was also preoccupied with ignoring the weight of Triton’s gaze, which was currently pinned on her.

“It is no unknown thing, the tension between myself and King Poseidon. Long has Atlantis and Athens quarreled and squabbled and warred. But that ends now. Today, a new era is born, one filled with peace, partnership, and prosperity.”

The crowd broke into perplexed whispers as Poseidon stepped forward. He raised a hand, commanding silence with a single action. “As of this moment, the Chases and Celaenos will join houses.” He turned to Athena, eyes unreadable. “What is mine is now yours, and what is yours is now mine. Let us put our contempt aside and let our children be the heralds of a new world.”

All eyes fell on the she-child, whose mouth had gone dry. She saw her lady mother, whose face was impassive as she pressed Zeus’s ring, the one with his royal seal, into the puddle of wet wax, next to hers and Poseidon’s signature. She saw her father, who clasped his hands and looked guilty beyond belief and wouldn’t look her or anybody in the eye. She saw Percy, who stood in the crowd, rooted to his spot, fist clenched around her glass and shock plastered across his face. And she saw Malcolm, fury rolling off him in waves, and watched as he stormed out of the hall.

The young princess’s mind was afire with a hundred thousand thoughts — how could her parents do this? why hadn’t she they warned beforehand? how could they betray her like this? — but the one that stood out the most came as Triton smirked at her with that terrible smile. Those horrible words he spoke last winter were true.

He took a step forward and reached out his hand as if to touch her, perhaps, but she stepped backward, making him pause. She was trembling and shaking and blinking back tears. Why did everyone seem to know about this arrangement but her? This was all wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Then the crowd was swarming the dais offering their joyous congratulations to the pair, and Annabeth was breaking free and walking swiftly for the exit. She heard her name being called by her parents and uncertain cries from the crowd and the dreaded sound of Triton following her—and with her heart in her chest, threatening to break, Annabeth broke into a run.

“Sister!” Malcolm said as she nearly ran past him.

Annabeth skidded to halt, panting heavily. She hadn’t seen him sulking in the alcove and startled at his voice.

She marched up to him, glaring. She was so angry she had trouble forming words. “Did you know?”

Her brother shook his head. He was pale and wide-eyed and looked as distraught as she felt, which is what ought to be, for he had been matched himself, and would know better than any of them, the trials she was going through.

"I swear upon the old gods and the new, I had no idea. There was talk, yes, but there’s been talk for years, and they told me they wouldn’t agree to something without your consent.”

“Then they have fooled us both.”

“Wait—where are you going?” he said as she picked up her skirts. “Sister!”

But she was already gone. She dashed past a suit of armor, a decorated sword, a portrait of her grandmother, turned a corner… and slammed straight into the chest of her betrothed.

Triton grunted as she barreled into him, and caught her with a vice-like grip before she could tumble to the ground. “Princess,” he said almost pleasantly. “It’s been a long time, has it not?”

Annabeth tried to tear herself out of his grasp, but her struggle was in vain. His fingers only curled tighter around her wrists and dug into her skin.

"I must ask you something that has been troubling me. You see, I so enjoyed tonight's festivities, but I couldn't help but notice the king's absence. And so I asked myself, how on earth could he miss such an occasion? The solstice balls are one thing, but his very own granddaughter's nameday ball is quite another. He must be terribly preoccupied with other matters, no?"

"It seems I have nothing to say," she said emotionlessly. "For you've already have it all figured out." Her light tone hid the dark truth that the king was currently bed ridden with a bad fever.

Irritation flashed across Triton's face, but it was quickly soothed by a dark grin. "Still as feisty and beautiful as ever, I see.” He leaned in and leered. “Do you believe me now when I said we were to be wed?”

“Release me,” she snapped, for she was too angry to feel frightened or anything else.

The cruel prince tutted as he traced a finger down the side of the princess’s cheek, eyes flashing hungrily. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

Annabeth turned her head away, stomach coiling from his touch. She hated that no matter how hard she trained, no matter how skillful she became, her male opponents would always have the upper she turned back and glared with the heat of a hundred fires. “If you fail to release me this instant, I swear I’ll show you how handy I am with a blade.”

Triton shrugged nonchalantly, but stepped back, releasing her from his suffocating grip. As she grew, so had her war skills, and it was known throughout the land that she was one of the best fighters in Athens and could match any knight in her grandfather’s guard.

"No matter. I like it when girls struggle. Makes the hunt more... interesting.”

The young princess pushed him hard and got a strong sense of déjà vu as he went tumbling to the floor.

“A hunt this is not,” she said, standing over him. “But if it was, I wouldn’t be the prey.”

Left, right, left, left. Annabeth wasn’t breathing well and she needed to stop and rest but she couldn’t stop because if she gave herself a moment to rest and think, she knew she would find the strength or courage to stand again.

Right, right, left, right.

Another twist.

Another turn.

She passed corridor after corridor, made turn after turn. Why were there so many godsdamn hallways in this forsaken castle? And why was the room spinning? She really ought to take a break, just for a moment, so that’s what she did, at the top of a spiraling staircase. She slipped off her shoes and began to ascend, and it was to her great surprise when she found the baron’s son slumped halfway down on the stairs.

His head snapped up as she took a seat beside him. “Did you know?”

She whirled on him. “Do I look like I knew?”

Her hair, formally combed to perfection, was now unruly and hanging in a tangled gold curtain all around her face. Her dress was rumpled and wrinkled and sweaty, and her eyes were strained and pinched and looked nearly black.

Percy held up his hands. “My apologies.”

She could see his hands trembling in the firelight, and she knew she didn’t fare any better.

They sat on the steps together, knees touching and elbows smushed between them, and let the somber sound of their breathing fill the air.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” she said finally.

“I know.” His voice was dejected and defeated. “We were supposed to get to know each other more. Talk more, learn more, have some more years. I would’ve asked you to consider marrying me.”

Annabeth stared at him. “You want to marry me?” They were only fifteen summers, but others were married even younger.

“Well—not right now,” Percy sputtered. “Obviously.”

Despite the tension, she couldn’t help but laugh at his panicked expression. Her laughter was infectious, and he couldn’t help but let go of his mortification and chuckle along. But the lightheartedness was dispelled as quickly as it came.

“Annabeth,” he said seriously. “You are… brilliant, and witty, and incredibly smart and humorous and kind and talented and scary and great with—”

“Percy, get to the point.”

“Right, yes.” He cleared his throat and she realized he was blushing. “Whatifwewentawayfromhere?”

She blinked. “What?” She hadn’t caught one word.

Percy briefly closed his eyes, muttered a prayer of strength, and looked very much like he wanted an arrow to shoot out of the sky and hit him in the head. He opened them and stared at her. “What if we went away from here?”

Annabeth rested her chin in her hand. “Where would we go?”

“I don’t know. Someplace by the sea, perhaps a small meadow with a forest flanking one side. We would be alone and no one would know where we are. We’d have a cottage with a garden and a farm, and during the winter when the ground is too cold to produce, you could hunt and I could fish.”

Annabeth smiled sadly. A house of her own, land to roam wild, a paradise where she could shed her titles and crowns and jewels and just be her. It was a wonderful dream, a beautiful dream, and she could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye. “Would we have many horses?”

“At least three,” he said at once, and he grinned his crooked grin at her. “And a few cows and goats, for milk and butter and cheese.”

“And a barn of chickens for eggs. And a hog or two, for bacon.”

“Chickens and hogs, of course. And ro—” He cut off, his green eyes narrowed, and she felt a chill steal through her as his face hardened. One moment he was Percy, the boy she knew, and the next he was almost a complete stranger. “What is this?”

She followed his gaze to her wrists, where bruises were beginning to form.

“Training. I let Malcolm get a couple of hits in with his staff.” Annabeth moved to hide them in her skirts (which, in retrospect, was not an act of someone who didn’t have something to hide) but Percy was quicker. He caught her hands and gently held them in his own, inspecting the bruises in the firelight.

“These are man-made.”

“Just leave it be.” She stood abruptly, and so did he, gently but firmly holding her wrists held between them like some sort of lifeline or raft.

“Who did this?” he asked again, voice rough and heavy.

She shook her head. “I don’t—”

His eyes flashed dangerously, but unlike with Triton, she didn’t fear their heated glint. “Annabeth, I know this isn’t—”

She snatched her wrists out of his grasp and exclaimed loudly, to the surprise of them both, “They’re just bruises!” Both child paused, listening for the fall of coming feet. When they were greeted with silence, Annabeth turned back to him. “For gods sake,” she hissed. “I’m not bleeding out over my gown. Will you take your meddling paranoia and put it somewhere else?”

The Baron’s gave her a look that had more than a hint of knowing sadness. “It’s never just bruises. They always lead to something else. Something more.”

She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. She wished he wouldn’t ever look away.

The young princess cleared her throat and tried to force down her emotions. “I know. But I’m fine.”

His eyes, which were still filled with so much anger, crinkled with concern when he saw her face. “Are you really?”

She laughed bitterly. “No, I don’t believe I am.”

And then she began to cry.

He guided her to the base of the steps and gently sat her down. Her dress pooled around her, encasing her in a cloud of silk and velvet.

“Please.” Her breath hitched and her stomach hurt and she was weak and weepy and she didn’t want to be alone. “Please don’t go.”

He took a seat beside her and rested her head on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t leave for the world.”

Chapter Text

Sixteen Summers and Falls

“And in the west there are still matters of the cattle getting loose..." 

The young princess sighed as Chancellor Apollo droned on and on about the upcoming harvest. On her sixteenth nameday her lady mother forced upon her the honor of becoming a member of the king’s Privy Council, even while it felt like a gift at the time, now it felt like a curse.

The matters of which the council discussed wasn’t actually the issue. Annabeth enjoyed hearing them politicking and seeing what happened behind the scenes. She’d puzzle over their presented problems and decide in her head what she would do differently or the same. But that was the problem. The only thing she could do was imagine and dream. She had no power. 

Annabeth drummed her fingers on her knees as Chancellor Apollo finished and stepped aside to let her belligerent uncle, Ares, take the stand. They were assembled in a large stone chamber with high windows and thick walls. It served as the council chamber during peace and the war room during war. A massive oak table sat in the center of this chamber and carved into the wood was a great map of the most current kingdoms and realms. Small figures donning flags and house colors rested obediently on the surface. One such figure was Annabeth. 

“There are reports of uprisings among the baronies,” General Ares said, and everyone’s ears perked with interest. 

Athena leaned forward, circlet snaring the weak evening light and making it sparkle. “The barons are rebelling?” 

“Nay.” Ares looked grim. “Their serfs are. Claiming displeasure over their working terms and demanding better wages.” 

“Didn’t know a man could do that,” Chancellor Apollo quipped, “just go about demanding better working conditions.”

Athena’s mouth tightened. “Of which province?” 

“The north and the east.” 

All eyes snapped to where the north and the east were depicted on the table. 

Annabeth’s brow furrowed. Percy’s father was the Baron of the North. It didn’t surprise her that his people were unhappy with his rule. She never met the man personally, but she heard enough from Percy to know he wasn’t a pleasant master. 

“The Barons have written – asking for our aid in crushing these rebellions,” General Ares continued with a note of disdain in his voice.

Apollo snorted. “Can no man guard his own back anymore?”   

Athena shot him a cross look before turning back to the table. “Send missionaries to the north and the south on Zeus’s behalf,” she said after a long while. “Let them speak with the serfs and report back to us. Then, given what is relayed, we will act.”

“You would not crush them now, before they grow too large?” the General said in surprise and anger. 

“Dear brother, if I crushed them now I’d risk causing an even grander skirmish.” Ares huffed and Athena’s expression morphed into that of placating, an expression she often used when reprimanding the twins. “I know we have differentiating views on settling disputes. I’d rather achieve peace without bloodshed and violence, if possible. But if peace is proven to be unachievable, then I will not hesitate to turn to the sword.”

The doors to the council room flew open, ruffling papers and sending the small figurines tumbling over. 

“Your Highness,” the servant gasped. “It’s the King.”

The air smelled like blood and urine and feces. Chiron, one of the kingdom's most trusted advisors, sat vigil at the king’s bedside as servants rushed in and out with damp cloths, bowls of water, fresh leeches, clean clothes, knives for blood letting, elixirs for coughing, herbs for the stench, salves for the pain, and tonics for everything else. Amidst the pandemonium was the princess Athena with her daughter quick on her heels. 

Athena strode into the king’s chambers and immediately went to Chiron’s side, leaving the young princess to slip off and take up a position by the window. She stared down at her grandfather and tried to sort through her feelings. 

Annabeth didn’t know her grandfather very well. He was always distant and removed—a trait passed on to Athena, for certain. But she did remember him as a giant among men. He had an imposing presence that could command a room without a single word, so it was jarring to see him, once the mightiest of rulers, reduced to a mere lump of flesh on a soiled bed. 

Two servants came forth with damp cloths and began patting the king’s sweat soaked brow. Their expressions were cold and insouciant, their actions rote and without emotion. They could’ve been watering the flowers or pouring their morning tea. Annabeth wondered if this was her terrible fate. Would she someday lie in this bed, surrounded by strangers who didn’t give a wit if she lived or died? 

Even Athena, who stood dutifully at the king’s side, was more concerned for the state of the kingdom than the state of the man. 

Athena waited for the servants to finish with their task before dismissing the entire chamber. 

“I thought he was recovering,” she said as the last servant retreated and the door slammed shut. 

Zeus had taken ill the previous summer and had been plagued with coughs and chills and fevers all autumn and winter long. Some days were better than others but he never seemed to fully recover, forcing Athena to cover his duties and prepare for the worst. But then winter died and summer came and Zeus started to fare better. It seemed to be the warm air and everyone had released the breaths they had been holding.  

“He was, my child,” Chiron said gently. Only Chiron called Athena child and it was strange hearing it fall from his lips. Try as she might, Annabeth couldn’t imagine her mother as a girl. Athena seemed as if one day she simply sprung forth and greeted this world in full armor. “But it seems the gods have chosen another course.” 

A course that ends with my mother on the throne, Annabeth thought grimly. 

Athena stared at the king as if he was an equation she couldn’t solve. “How much longer do you presume?” she finally asked. 

Chiron’s eyes flicked to the young princess. “I would say my farewells now.” 

Athena didn’t look particularly distraught by this, nor did she seem all too surprised. But that wasn’t in her nature, nor was it the nature of her relationship with Zeus. When in health, when Zeus wasn’t preoccupied with ruling a kingdom, he was busy defending it, and when he wasn’t busy defending his kingdom, he was off spreading his seed in every other kingdom on earth. Athena hardly knew her father, just as Annabeth hardly knew her.

Athena exhaled harshly. “Does the queen know?“ 

“Yes. I told her the same as I have told you.” 

“And how did she take it?” 

Chiron looked awkward. “Her exact words were, and pardon the crassness, 'Give me a pillow, I’ll gladly end the old sod myself.’”

Such words would be treason if the king wasn’t already on his deathbed and Annabeth couldn’t help but snort. Queen Hera, soon to be Dowager, was a bitter soul who wedded Zeus after his first wife (Athena’s mother) Queen Metis died during childbirth. 

Athena’s lips puckered. “A charmer as always, that hag.”

A snake charmer, Annabeth thought. 

Athena stood, the moment for grieving seemingly finished. “Gather the servants and have them swear a vow of silence. News of the king’s health does not leave this room.”

Zeus was as good as dead, but if there was any sense of weakness in their ruler the people would worry, the kingdom would be vulnerable, and enemies might attack. And Athena couldn’t have that. 

“My lady.” Chiron bowed as Athena exited the room. 

The young princess was ambushed by her lady mother mere seconds after leaving her grandfather’s chamber. “I see you’re still not speaking to me.”  

Annabeth turned away, skirts rustling with irritation. Her mother lost that privilege when she broke her trust. 

“Darling—”

“Don’t,” Annabeth spat. “Don’t treat me like some situation that needs to be handled. I am a person, not your pawn!”

Athena’s eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment Annabeth wondered if she finally went too far. Would it be the rack or the stocks or the whip? 

“You think you’ll ride off into the sunset with the peasant boy?” Athena said dangerously, her voice like ice on Annabeth’s skin. “You think he’ll sweep you off your feet and take you away to some faraway paradise?”  

“This isn’t about him!” Annabeth could hear the anguish and hurt echoing her own voice and she was ashamed to feel a prickling of tears in her eyes. She wasn’t some lovesick fool, and Percy had nothing to do about her tactical silence. This was about trust. The loss of trust between a daughter and her mother.

Athena sighed. “I know you’re angry with me, and I can accept that. But don’t you think the time for dramatics has passed?” 

“This has nothing to do with Percy, or the kiss, or the engagement,” Annabeth said furiously. “This has everything to do with you. Us. This is about you and Father betraying my trust. Mother, Father lied to my face. He said to me that I would be included in all the arrangements regarding my marriage. And I believed him! I believed you both!” 

Athena scoffed. “And you—”

“You taught me that a fine ruler was as good as their word. And now...” Annabeth trailed off as servants began filling the corridor. Now I can’t even look at you without wondering what sort of lies you’re spinning. 

Annabeth did not wait to be dismissed. She turned her back on her lady mother and fled. Where would they be now if Athena had only trusted her with the truth?

She found Malcolm in his chambers, too flushed from her interaction with their mother to notice he was packing.

“She doesn’t understand me!” she cried as she burst through the door. “She thinks I’m angered by the arranged marriage.” 

Malcolm paused. “You aren’t upset about wedding Scale Tail?” 

“I am!” 

“Oh good.” Malcolm looked relieved. “Thought you were going mad.” 

“That isn’t the point!” She stomped her foot petulantly. “I’m angered about the breach in trust. And she doesn’t get that. She thinks I’m upset about one thing but I’m really upset about another.”

Malcolm snorted as he gathered a set of folded tunics and stuffed them unceremoniously into bags. “Dearest sister, don’t you know our mother by now? That’s what she does. She decides what’s truly bothering you and casts all else aside.” 

Annabeth shook her head furiously and sighed. Taking a moment to breathe, she finally noticed the pack. “Pray tell. What are you doing?” 

“Packing. Apparently there's an uprising in the northern and eastern baronies. I’ve been ordered to ride out and serve as the crown’s missionary.”  

The north? Of course, the serf uprisings. Percy . Her heart did a little flip in her chest. “I’m going as well.” 

Malcolm looked at her, concern flickering in his gray eyes. “Do you think that’s wise?” 

Annabeth scoffed. “Mother may know about our kiss, but she doesn’t know where Percy resides. Besides, she’s always nagging me about getting involved in stately affairs.”

The ride to the baronies was brisk, harsh and unforgiving, despite the pleasantness of the summer season. The royal siblings were accustomed to the comforts of the roads used by the noble families. Those roadways had luxuries such as fine inns dotting the way so that nobles could stop and refresh themselves as well as their horses. The roads the royal siblings took to the baronies were the commonly traveled routes used by messengers, peasants, servants and the like. These roads were for pure business, not pleasure, and they could feel the difference with every bump in the road. 

Annabeth suggested that they first go to the north. Should their lady mother ever find herself troubled by their absence and feel the urge to send men after them, she hoped that their business in the north would be long finished. 

“So it's the wisest course of action for us to visit the north first,” Annabeth said. “You see? Preventative measures.”

“Preventative measures,” Malcolm repeated, who didn’t look at all convinced. 

The closer they got to the north the wetter the land became underfoot and the hotter the air felt on their cheeks. It was said that the land responded to the quality of its care, but most importantly, the quality of the caregiver tasked with its care. The young princess didn’t doubt this theory as they slowly entered the swampish land, recalling the hostile Baron from that summer ball all those years ago. Soon they found themselves on a muddy dirt road that stretched on for miles before feeding into a wood overgrown with thorns and weeds. 

“What will you do when you see him?” Malcolm asked as they entered the wood. Almost immediately they were attacked by a cloud of insects. 

“I don’t know,” the young princess said. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought much about the Baron’s son. Well, no, that was a falsehood if there ever was one. She thought of him plenty, but not in the way that made maidens swoon and fellows swear their love. Her thoughts of him consisted mostly of anger, hurt and doubt, for she couldn’t think of him without thinking of her parents, and herself, and the future that was galloping towards her at breakneck speed. 

“He might not even be here today,” she added. “He could be anywhere.”

“Oh, I would say that he’s here.” 

“We don’t know that.” 

“We do.” 

“Malco-”

“Is that not his cloak?” 

Annabeth jerked her horse to stop. Following Malcolm’s gaze, her eyes landed on a piece of (color) fabric draped carelessly over a tree. It was his cloak. And a few feet away was a boot, presumably also his. 

“Well,” Malcolm said as he picked up the cloak with the tip of his sword. “We best find Jackson. He’ll be wanting his wardrobe back.” 

As they followed the trail of clothing, Annabeth grew increasingly worried. What could have possibly happened that would cause Percy to strip off his garments? Was he attacked? Ambushed? Kidnapped? Even though there was no love between father and son, Percy was still a Baron’s son, and the son of a Baron was worth something around here. Petty crooks could score a pretty coin for him. 

“We’ll find him,” Malcolm reassured her as the clothing led them deeper into the wood. 

Annabeth wasn’t so certain. She was just about to suggest they pause to regroup when a sound caught her attention. It sounded like someone… laughing. Annabeth gestured for Malcolm to keep quiet and urged her horse onwards, following the sound. 

As they drew nearer the laughter grew louder, until they came upon a stone wall covered in ivy and were forced to stop their pursuit. “I don’t understand,” Malcolm murmured, glancing back at the way they came.

“Wait.” Annabeth slipped off her horse and approached the stone wall. Tentatively, she lifted her palm to the ivy… and it passed right through. 

Malcolm gasped. 

The young princess scoffed to herself. “This is but an illusion.” It was a clever trick, making the wall seem like stone, but what really intrigued her was what resided beyond. Annabeth gathered her horse’s reins and beckoned for Malcolm to dismount.  “Come, brother. Let us see what this illusion hides.”

The sweet aroma of fresh flowers filled Annabeth’s senses as she passed through the ivy curtain and she couldn’t believe what she saw. A beautiful lake with the clearest of waters lay amidst a field dotted with flowers of every shade. The sun shone sweetly through the clouds, dancing on the water and warming the mossy carpet underfoot. It was as if a slice of heaven fell down and planted itself here on earth.

And there at the edge of the lake was the familiar figure of a young man. He turned, and his face lit up like the sun when their eyes locked. 

Perseus Jackson stood at once and she had to remind herself how to breathe as she took in his devilishly disheveled hair, wet and wild, and his troublemaker smile, crooked and sarcastic, and his charming green eyes, alluring and hypnotic, and his perfectly sculpted jaw, sharp and fine.

“Hi,” he said as he approached, and the young princess blinked at their height difference. They used to stand eye to eye, and now she had to lift her chin to meet his eye. “You look well.” 

Annabeth blushed prettily. Her hair had grown lusher and more curly, if possible. Her build was slim, both graceful and confident. Her eyes were a striking and intense shade of gray, mirroring the fierceness inherited from her mother.

“What brings you to this corner of the world?”

The king’s imminent death. The princess Athena’s inevitable rise to the throne. My impending marriage. 

“The uprisings of the serfs,” said Malcolm, choosing this moment to step forth, arms full of garments. 

“Your Highness,” Percy exclaimed, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the two in surprise.

“Just Malcolm,” Malcolm corrected as the two shook hands - well, as best as they could with Malcolm’s arms full of clothing. 

“Yes, about those,” Annabeth said. “We thought you might be in need of these.”

Percy touched his cape. “This is mine, but I wasn’t the one to wear it last.” 

Annabeth arched her brow. “No?” She took pleasure in how often his gaze shifted her way. 

Percy cleared his throat and blushed. “Aye, I lent my clothes to-” 

“ANNABETH!!!!” A small shape came barreling down the hill, arms opened wide, mouth stretched in a toothy grin, and Annabeth caught him as he collided with her skirts. The horses spooked and broke away, galloping further into the glen.

“Woah there!” she laughed as she steadied the boy. She knelt down on the soft moss and smiled. “Miss me?”

Tyson touched her hair with an awestruck expression and nodded fervently. “Much.” 

Tyson was a sight for sore eyes. He was taller, older, yet somehow kept his baby face. His single eye glistened with warmth and adoration, while his other eye remained concealed with a patch. His hair was tangled and wet, and he was almost entirely naked, save for a pair of cotton pants.

“I let you borrow my clothes, and this is how you repay my generosity?” Percy said with false indignation. Tyson shrieked as Percy mussed up his hair.  

“So you’re the clothing thief,” Malcolm said dryly. 

“Too hot,” Tyson explained happily. “Swim time yay!”

“It is very hot,” Annabeth agreed, glancing enviously at the lake.

“Indeed,” Percy said, glancing at Annabeth. 

“Oh my,” Malcolm said faintly.

“Miss you a lot,” Tyson said. “Rachel’s okay, but I like you a lot more.” 

“Rachel?” Annabeth said, feeling her happiness quickly evaporate. Percy’s smile dropped when he saw her expression and understanding flash across his face. 

Malcolm coughed and passed the bundle of clothes to Percy. “I, uh, should go check on the horses.” He took off, leaving the three of them alone.

“Annabeth,” Percy began. 

Annabeth, heart pounding, pointedly looked at Tyson. “Who’s Rachel?”

Tyson shrugged, oblivious. “Fortune teller. Red hair like hot fire. She and Percy were kissing and then she was crying really wet.” 

“Tyson,” Percy said quietly, eyes pinned on Annabeth, who was staring intensely at a shrub. “Why don’t you help Malcolm with the horses?” 

“Okay,” Tyson said happily. He gave Annabeth a big hug, who returned it numbly, and ran off. 

“She kissed me,” the young man said at once. “I didn’t want it. I pushed her off and told her so. She was… confused. She mistook my tolerance for interest.” 

Annabeth remained silent. She wasn’t sure what to say. She was fluent in several languages but was speechless in the language of them. 

She wanted to say Why didn’t you tell me? She wanted to say Do you love her now? She wanted to say Was she a good kisser? Was she better than me? An ugly, twisted voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother whispered in her head, “What if he’s like all the rest? All they ever want is either your body or your power and if they can’t have yours, they’ll take the next girl’s.”  

“I wrote to you at once,” he added miserably. “The letter is due to arrive at the palace tomorrow morn.”

Silence chewed her up. 

“Please, say something,” he said.

“I know you’re upset,” he said. 

“I don’t like her,” he said. 

“I didn’t say that I cared if you did,” she finally managed. Of all the people, she never would’ve thought Percy would be one to betray her trust. She silently cursed the air headed girl who shared her dreams of love and passion with a boy in a snow filled garden all those years ago. Was she simply unlovable and worthy of trust? She was no good at this and she hated it. Oh, why did she ever open herself up to being burned? 

“I know,” he said quietly. He looked slightly relieved that she had finally spoken. “But I want you to care.”

“Why?” she said, suddenly furious. How dare he stand there and ask for her heart.

“Because I care,” he said simply. “I would be saddened if you were kissing other boys, and I selfishly want you to feel the same. Wise Girl, I love you. I know I have no ring nor land nor pretty token of my love. All I have to offer is my word.” 

Was it enough? His word? Kingdoms had been built and crushed by words alone. Women have been killed and ruined by such vows.

They had rushed headlong into this undefined territory that existed between them. Although she harbored no regrets about her choices, for she wasn’t one to entertain such sentiment, she had a subtle inkling that this was a message from the gods. Choose, they seemed to be saying. Heart or head? Is he the one? 

Love can be a beautiful gift, her lady mother once said. It can also be a terrible curse. Be brave, sweet girl, for it so often becomes both.

Could she place her trust in him when so many had already betrayed her? In her bones, she believed that his claims about the kiss echoed the truth. However, a simple kiss was merely a minor obstacle in the grand tapestry of their relationship, should they choose to pursue one. Did she want this? Did she wish to brave a future with him? She knew she didn’t wish to share her life with Triton, but was she doing the right thing by turning to Percy?

“I believe you,” Annabeth said at last, and the relief in his eyes was so great that it nearly swept all her fears away. “But,” she held up her hand. “I need to think. I do not deny I have feelings for you, but I need some time to collect my thoughts.

“Of course,” he said at once. “However long you need. I’ll wait.” 

Deeming it safe enough to approach, Tyson and Malcolm returned, horses in toe. 

“Annabeth?” Percy said as they began to walk away. 

The young princess paused and looked back. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said.  

She nodded, expression solemn. “Provide me with no reason to doubt you,” she told him, and together they made their way out of the woods.

The following week kept the royal children preoccupied with royal duties. They went their ways with Malcolm riding to the East and Annabeth remaining in the North. She resided at the Baron’s hall, much to his displeasure, and worked on sorting out the matter of the uprisings. She convened a series of meetings where the serfs were invited to speak their concerns, one by one. It was a long and laborious task, but the expressions of gratitude that left on their faces made it worthwhile. The Baron of the North was not pleased with this strategy, nor was he pleased when he was asked to raise the pay, per Annabeth’s request. But he could not deny that the presence of the royal princess was an effective one, and soon heeded to her commands. Soon after, the grumblings began to quell. 

As for the princess Athena, she did in fact send messengers inquiring about her daughter’s whereabouts. However, if she expected to receive sour news, she was proven wrong, for the reports that returned spoke of nothing but the highest praises of the young lady.

When Annabeth wasn’t spending her days hearing out the serfs or bargaining with the Baron, the young princess was riding in the woods, training in the yard, and scourging the Baron’s libraries with Lady Sally. It was a complete accident on Annabeth’s part when she stumbled upon Sally. Tyson had told her about their library and she had sought it out by herself, curious about its contents. She was in the midst of browsing the architecture section when she overheard a woman softly crying in the stacks. 

“Hello?” the young princess called, uncertain if she was overstepping. Some people preferred to be alone in times of hardship, while others preferred to be comforted.

A soft rustling of skirts, then a woman with perhaps the kindest face she’d ever seen appeared. Sally Jackson. She looked exactly the same as the day they first met, except for the redness rimming her eyes.

“Annabeth, dear,” she said, and Annabeth liked that she didn’t address her formally. 

“Are you alright?”

The woman mustered a smile that reminded the young princess of her mother’s war face. Athena could be laughing one moment and the next her features would be a mask of stone and steel. It was a mask all mothers taught their daughters to wear. 

“Ah, how embarrassing. You heard that.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Through the unbuttoning of her dress, Annabeth could see fingerprint shaped bruises on throat. The sight caused her stomach to churn. Sally followed her gaze and silently tied a handkerchief around her neck. 

“It’s nothing,” she said. Her voice, though soft, carried a determined undertone. Despite her husband’s authority over the barony, Annabeth knew there was just as much fierceness to be found in Sally as well.

Sally's eyes silently imported her, urging them to keep the bruises from the boys, Percy most of all.

A look was exchanged between the two women. One of understanding, and one of relief. 

Sally cleared her throat and gestured for Annabeth to sit with her. “How are you?” Annabeth found it a bit ironic that Sally was inquiring about her wellbeing, but the young princess opened her mouth and let all her concerns spill out. 

“I can assure you,” Sally said at the end of Annabeth’s woes, “That my son has a good and noble heart. I have seen how he waits for you, how he lights up at your letters and blushes at your name.” 

Annabeth could feel her own cheeks heating, and she couldn’t deny that the thought warmed her heart.

“As his mother,” Sally continued, “I must ask you this: do you love my son?” 

“Yes,” Annabeth said simply, and Sally didn’t look surprised in the slightest. “But is love enough?” 

“That’s for your consideration,” the Baroness remarked. “Now. Enough of our troubles. My boys have shared with me your passions for books, and I would be honored if you could share your literary interests with me. Our humble library is no match for the royal library, but we do take pride in what we keep on our shelves.”

The next morning a letter appeared on Annabeth’s bed along with the morning tea. 

I acknowledge your request for space, the note began, but I wanted you to be the first I told. Please, if you’re willing, meet me by the lake tonight. Let’s escape this town for a little while.

That evening, Annabeth slipped from her bed, hair cascading loosely around her, clad only in her nightgown. and silently retraced her steps to the wood.

“This better be worth my while,” she muttered as she passed through the curtain of ivy. 

Percy was there, ready and waiting. “You came.”

“Ay,” she said, wondering if it was proper.

Her gaze fixed on him, waiting for an explanation. He responded with a wide smile and said, “I'm to be legitimized.”

“Truly?” she gasped, all reservations forgotten. Her soul began to sing and she asked, “Who's claimed you?” 

The name that slipped from his lips brought her whole world to a shuddering stop. Poseidon .

How could she have possibly forgotten? Hadn’t Malcolm warned her all those years ago? Rumor has it the Baroness had a smashing affair with King Poseidon. It was supposedly his wife who found them together one night, and it was his wife who arranged for the Baron to wed the Baroness after her little discovery.

And if Poseidon was claiming Percy, that meant Triton and Percy were half brothers, and if they were half brothers and Triton wed Annabeth… 

“You’re not pleased,” Percy noted, observing her carefully. Oh, Percy… Her heart wept, for she realized that he didn’t know.

“Percy,” she whispered hoarsely, and, with a heavy heart, she began to speak.

Chapter Text

Seventeen Summers and Falls

Chiron always said that power is a crown heavier than gold. Annabeth never understood what he meant until the day she witnessed her mother wear one herself.

When the news of King Zeus’s death spread across the kingdom, the world itself seemed to grieve. Thick clouds rolled in, gray and thunderous, as if heavy with the weight of a fallen god. The bells tolled long and slow, their somber song echoing across the land. Although the moments leading to and away from his passing blurred like a dream, Annabeth remembered one thing so clearly it hurt—the moment her mother took the throne.

The great hall had fallen silent, a silence so profound it felt alive, as though the marble walls and vaulted ceiling were holding their breath. Outside, thunder rumbled softly, the final whispers of a king who had seemed eternal. Inside, a thousand candles filled the room, burning brightly to pierce the gloom.

Annabeth stood by the towering marble pillars, hair braided and pinned down beneath a black veil. Her eyes never left her mother. Athena—the warrior, the strategist, the unshakable—moved forward with slow, deliberate steps.

The princess’ armor shone brilliantly, polished to the point of blinding. For the first time Annabeth could remember, her mother’s brow was bare, the circlet absent. Instead, a black cloak swept behind her, its edge whispering against the cold stone floor. The cloak, usually as bright as red blood, had been dyed black in mourning. In that dim light, Athena looked otherworldly, as though she were something more than mortal, more than royalty. But as she reached the gilded throne, her hand hovering just above its arm, Annabeth saw it.

Hesitation.

It was fleeting—so brief it might have escaped anyone’s notice. Her fingers trembled—just barely—and the sharp edge of her jawline softened for the briefest moment. Her gray eyes, usually so clear and unyielding, flickered with something perilously close to doubt.

Annabeth’s chest tightened. This was Athena, her lady mother—who taught her to read the minds of men and wield a blade, who stood tall when the world crumbled. Athena never faltered. She was stone, she was steel. She was bred and trained for this moment her whole life, just as Zeus had been, and as Malcolm was being now. Yet there it was—a hesitation that made her seem, just for a second, entirely human.

And then, like a storm regathering strength, the flicker passed. Athena’s gaze hardened in a flash of gray, her fingers steadied, and she gripped the arm of the throne. Slowly, she lowered herself into the seat that had once belonged to the king.

The golden throne seemed impossibly large, its cold surface swallowing her at first. But as Athena straightened her shoulders, her armor catching the dim light like fire, the throne seemed to reshape itself around her, to meld to her bones, to pulse and flicker and sigh . 

A servant hurried up the dais, Zeus’s gold crown resting atop a velvet pillow. Annabeth couldn’t help but wonder if they’d had time to clean it first, or if it had been plucked straight from the dead king’s head, which still cooled on its pillow in the chamber above. He’d been dead all but thirty minutes, after all. 

She banished the thought as the Prince Consort—soon to be King Consort—dressed in black from head to toe, plucked the crown from its perch and carefully rested it atop Athena’s high brow. Frederick stepped away and knelt on one knee. 

“My queen.” 

One by one, the children followed suit. The twins first, in matching black cloaks. Then Malcolm, in a handsomely made tunic, gold circlet glinting on his brow. And finally, the rest of the court. A sea of black shadows, rippling and shivering below. 

“My queen,” they chorused, glancing up at their new sovereign. 

Finally, Annabeth stepped forward, her black skirts whispering against the ground as her veil dipped, partially obscuring her view. In one hand, she carried a sleek, elongated spear—designed as much for precision as for spectacle. In the other, she bore the Aegis, Zeus’s legendary shield, a relic that had rarely left his side.

Annabeth climbed the steps of the dais, aware of the eyes that clung to her figure. Men did that now, more than ever. Men and women both. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t deny the rush of power that came with the knowledge of their stares. A glance, a look, a touch, and they were hers. But the touch she truly desired was far away, training with sword and spear.

When Annabeth reached the top, she stood before her mother and offered shield and spear. Athena took them gracefully, as if she had prepared for this moment since birth, and nodded once. Annabeth knelt upon the cold stone floor, head bowed in perfect obedience.

“My queen,” she said, loud and true. 

The words echoed off the walls, each syllable weighted with power. Annabeth exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Outside, the storm continued to rage. The clouds churned, and thunder growled, as if Zeus himself protested what had come to pass. He was a greedy beast, afterall. Insatiable and power hungry. Everyone knew that.

Annabeth stared at her mother, and for the first time, she wondered if even the Lady of Stone could carry this alone. Athena had been born for this moment—a warrior, a scholar, a daughter of kings. Now, she was a queen. But stepping into her father’s shadow meant facing gods, men, and something far worse: the weight of legacy. 

Athena’s voice rang out, steady and resolute.

“My reign begins today.”

And though Athena sat tall and unyielding, Annabeth saw the truth lingering in the queen’s eyes. The love, the pain, and the impossible choices. Power was a crown heavier than gold, and now, it was hers to bear.

“I’m sorry to hear of your grandfather’s passing.”

The stone halls of the palace seemed colder now. Outside the tall windows, the sky was a dull gray, clouds hanging low as though unwilling to let the sun through.

Annabeth stood near the window, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She was laced into yet another tight black dress—indistinguishable from all the others she had worn every day for the past two weeks. The monotony was stifling, and the veil, forever slipping into her line of sight, was beginning to test her patience. She stared out at the courtyard below, watching as the servants moved like small puppeted shadows, preparing for another day like any other. 

Her jaw tightened.

“Annabeth?”

Annabeth turned at the sound of her name and found the Royal Mistress standing in the doorway. She wore black attire far more lavish than anything she had worn as the Baroness, yet restrained enough not to overstep the bounds of her station. Her expression was gentle, her eyes lined with a fatigue that Annabeth recognized all too well. Sally was older now, though her grace had not faded, her movements careful and deliberate as she approached.

“My lady,” Annabeth greeted, her voice steadier than she felt. She dipped her head respectfully.

She wasn’t surprised to find Sally here. Nobles, royals, figureheads, and representatives from neighboring kingdoms were all making the journey to swear their fealty and pay their respects to the new monarch. What did surprise her, however, was the sudden twist in her gut when she found the familiar features of Percy’s face resting on Sally’s. There was his nose, his eyes, the slope of his lips, and another twist in her gut for oh , how she missed him. 

I loved you , he had told her that day by the lake. I know I have no ring nor land nor pretty token of my love. All I have to offer is my word.

And despite the princess’ better judgement, she had chosen to believe him, and she had gladly offered him her heart. Seasons had passed since then. They were both a little older, a little wiser, a little wearier, yet still they wrote to each other as often as they could. He had been the first to hear of Zeus’s passing, and she had been the first to know of Sally’s new station. In each letter, she shared her fears, hopes, and dreams, and he reciprocated with his own. He was still hers and she was still his in everything but name.

Sally inclined her head in return before stopping a few paces away, close enough to speak intimately but far enough to respect Annabeth’s space. 

“I wanted to offer my deepest condolences, my dear. Your grandfather was… a great man. He was a force upon this world, and his absence is felt by us all.”

Annabeth swallowed. “Great, he was. Good? Well, that’s a matter of debate.”

Sally hesitated, and Annabeth couldn’t blame her. To speak ill of a king, dead or not, was treason, and guilt pricked at the young woman for placing the Royal Mistress in such a precarious position.

Sally chose her next words with care. 

“When my own parents passed, I remember feeling as though the earth itself had shifted beneath my feet. As though nothing would ever stand quite as steady again.”

Annabeth’s gaze dropped to her hands, which had begun to tremble. She willed them still, curling her fingers tightly. 

“It does feel like that,” she admitted softly. “Like the world has tipped somehow. He was… eternal. Or at least I thought he was.”

Sally’s lips curved into something bitter. “We all did. It is the curse of kings and queens, you know—to seem larger than life until they are gone.” She paused, and her tone softened. “Your mother wears the crown well, but I know that must bring its own weight for you.”

Annabeth looked up sharply. She had grown used to the careful gazes of courtiers and nobles, to their empty platitudes and sly, veiled comments. But Sally’s words were neither sharp nor probing. They were simply true.

“It does,” Annabeth admitted after a long pause. “Everything feels heavier now. Not just the kingdom. It’s as though my own name carries more weight than it did a week ago. The expectations, the… eyes on me.”

Sally stepped closer, her expression kind. “Grief and duty are cruel companions. They leave little space for the person beneath the title. But, Annabeth, you are not alone in this.”

Annabeth blinked, surprised at the sudden sting behind her eyes. She turned back toward the window, unwilling to let the Royal Mistress see her falter. “Sometimes it feels as though I am.”

Sally was silent for a moment, then said gently, “You carry his legacy, Annabeth, but you are not made of stone. Do not let anyone—not even yourself—demand that you be.”

Annabeth took a slow breath, letting the Royal Mistress’ words settle. Outside, a lone ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, spilling onto the courtyard stones. She watched it for a moment before speaking again.

“I don’t know if I should be celebrating or mourning. Isn’t that terrible?” Annabeth let a laugh spill from her lips. “You can understand, surely, loving and hating a terrible man?” 

Sally shifted uneasily by her side. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until Annabeth couldn’t bear it any longer.

She whirled around, heart pounding in her ears. 

“Why did you do it? Say yes?”

Annabeth’s gaze fell to the shiny new ring on Sally’s finger. It wasn’t a wedding band. It was the kind of ring powerful men gave to women who weren’t their wives but wished they had been; the kind of ring that let the whole world know what its wearer did in the shadows. 

Annabeth wondered if she’d be met with fury, or denial, or silence. The Royal Mistress could do that now, if she so wished, for her newly found position was a funny one where, though she could never claim the throne herself, she could still reject a princess’ desperate pleas without losing her head. 

Instead, Annabeth was met with pity, sorrow, regret. For whom, she did not know. 

“Oh, child,” Sally whispered, her voice carrying the weight of years. “There is so much you don’t understand.”

“Then help me,” Annabeth said furiously, voice trembling with fury. “My world is comprised of men with wicked hearts and wandering hands wielding and power beyond measure. I have no power to stop them, and those who do—those who should—do nothing.”

Sally stepped forward and joined her at the window, gaze fixed on the ashen horizon.  

Annabeth waited a beat. Two. Three. Five. Nine. A hot wave of anger and frustration swelled and crested and crashed. 

“Did Poseidon not force himself upon that girl?”

Sally’s shoulders raised, breath staggering. “He did.” 

Quiet and forced and a little sharp, but true, for truth could be as sharp as hate. 

“And…”

“And did he do the same to me?” Sally tilted her head so that she looked down at Annabeth. They nearly stood eye to eye. “Do not ask me, child, for even I do not have the answer.”  

Annabeth wondered if she was lying. She couldn’t tell, and she wondered if Sally even knew the answer herself. 

Annabeth inhaled sharply.  

“My mother shouldn’t have banished her. She was wrong in that, I know. But Poseidon shouldn’t have forced himself on her, either.”

“People can be wrong and people can be right,” Sally said. “And sometimes, they can be both at the same time.”

“Can they?” Annabeth countered. “Can they truly?”

Sally remained silent. Her throat worked to swallow. And then: “My life is better with him in it. I no longer share a bed with a man who delights in beating me raw and striking my children. In all the letters my son has sent, he’s never told you that, has he? No, of course not. It’s not in his nature to burden others. 

“I cannot defend the King. I won’t. And my heart aches for that poor girl, and for anyone else ensnared in his web. But I would choose him—he who raised my status, gave me a safe bed, and never once lifted a hand to me or my boys—over the Baron anyday. And perhaps that isn’t right, or fair, or just of me. But we walk this earth for a fleeting moment, and if the gods damned every soul who sought a better situation, there’d be no one left to damn.” 

Annabeth had no words. She extended her hand, silently, which Sally took, silently. 

”I don’t understand,” she whispered, for how could she? How fortunate she was to be spared such knowledge. “But I am sorry for your troubles. I can’t imagine living with a man so cruel.”

“Oh, but I think you can,” Sally said, not unkindly. “Or, you soon will.” 

Sally clasped Annabeth’s hands to her chest, searching her eyes

“I don’t pretend to know the full extent of your... connection with my son. All I know is this: you love him, and he loves you with a depth I’ve never seen in a man. His devotion is clear, and I’ve never witnessed anything like it. But I also know that political oaths aren’t so easily undone. I do not blame you for seeking the love you deserve. But, you’re still promised to another, and that promise looms heavily upon us all.”

She paused, her eyes hardening as she met Annabeth’s gaze. “And I know this too: your betrothed is a wicked man. I’ve come to know him far too well these past months, and my fears for you and my son grow with each passing day. The thought of what that man might do if he uncovered... what exists between you makes me shudder.”

Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “But my greater fear, Annabeth, is for you. What he will do to you once you’re wed. What he’ll make you become. Women are resilient, pliable, malleable creatures who’ve endured hardships men cannot begin to fathom. That isn’t always a good thing.”

Annabeth’s grip tightened, part desperation, part irritation. 

Didn’t Sally realize already knew? Didn’t she understand the entire kingdom was well aware of Triton’s vileness? Didn’t she see that the Princess had no choice in the matter?

“I have no choice,” she said helplessly. “The deal was struck years ago. It’s only a matter of time.”

They were meant to wed earlier this year, but the late king’s death had forced the nuptials to be postponed. A blessing if there ever was one.

Sally pulled her close, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You do, my dear. You always do. Even the broken can choose to fight or surrender to despair. Don’t repeat my mistakes. Protect yourself. Protect your children.”

Annabeth clutched her tightly, pleading. “How?” 

“Learn his ways. Learn his dance.”

Annabeth sputtered. “You want me to simper and obey and fall at his feet?” 

“I want you to survive! You’ve got a quick mind and an even quicker mouth. You think I didn’t either, when I was your age?”

“Daughter?” 

The two women turned to see the King Consort approaching. His gaze flicked to Sally and his eyes narrowing slightly, no doubt recalling the time he had stumbled upon Percy and Annabeth in the garden all those years ago.

Sally squeezed Annabeth’s hand before dropping into a deep curtsy. 

The King Consort nodded to her in greeting before turning to Annabeth.

“We are about to begin.”

The grand hall was draped in the same somber black that had marked Athena’s crowning ceremony just two weeks prior. The curtains and carpets were an unrelenting expanse of shadowy blackness that threatened to swallow Annabeth whole. Above, banners from every kingdom and noble house hung from the vaulted ceiling, catching and refracting the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows.

The air was thick as nobles, lords, and visiting royals from neighboring realms gathered in hushed anticipation, their gazes fixed on Queen Athena. She moved through the grand hall with deliberate poise, the crowd parting before her as though compelled by an unspoken command. When she reached the dias, she ascended the steps with measured grace, her black cloak flowing behind her.

Annabeth stood to the side of the throne with her father and brothers, her rank marked by the golden circlet upon her brow. She held her head high, neck aching. The air was heavy with ceremony, the weight of oaths yet to be spoken.

Malcolm leaned in, breath tickling her ear. “Are you alright?”

Annabeth carefully smoothed her skirt. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Because you look like someone spat in your milk,” Bobby said helpfully. 

Annabeth forced her face into a neutral expression. 

Matthew, always quick to add fuel to the fire, said, “I think it just got worse.”

Annabeth scowled as the twins chortled on. She could feel Malcolm’s eyes still lingering on her, but she refused to acknowledge him, her focus fixed firmly on her mother.

One by one, the lords came forward, each kneeling before Athena, their voices ringing with declarations of fealty. “By my sword and by my honor, I pledge my loyalty to you, my queen.” Athena acknowledged each with a slight nod, her piercing gaze steady, her hand lightly resting on the gilded armrest of her throne.

“How much longer?” Bobby whined as yet another noble approached the dais.

“Shhh,” Annabeth said.

“It feels like forever,” Matthew muttered.

“It’s been two hours,” Malcolm said dryly. “Which, I assure you, isn’t nearly as long as forever.”

When the foreign royals approached, their steps carried less solemnity but equal deference. They bowed deeply, their voices smooth as honey as they offered friendships and alliances. Lavish gifts were laid at the queen’s feet—gold wrought into intricate shapes, rare spices in jewel-toned jars, and even exotic beasts that growled or chirped in their cages. It was dazzling, all of it, and yet utterly hollow. A performance, a carefully orchestrated ploy. Their vows carried some weight; when the time came, they would honor the oaths of fealty sworn today. But true friendship? True loyalty—of heart, mind, and mouth? That was a currency far rarer than any precious jewel.

I don’t need them to love me, Athena had once told her children, echoing the wisdom passed down from her father and from his and from his. I need them to obey me.

But Annabeth, ever foolish, ever yearning, wanted both. She craved love and loyalty and obedience and power. She knew her own brilliance, the sharpness of her mind, the fire of her ambition. To leave her gifts unused would be a betrayal of herself, a waste the world could ill afford. There had to be a place where women could be both revered and feared, where strength did not dim softness, where power did not preclude love. Yet, in the stillness of her heart, she understood this world was not made for her kind, and so she could not exist. Not yet.

The Princess scanned the crowd, her expression calm, though her heart fluttered with relentless boredom. The twins were right—this ceremony did feel like forever. How many hours until the night was through? Seven? Ten? The very thought made her want to weep. Instead, she stifled a sigh, her eyes wandering aimlessly, until they snagged on a face that shouldn’t be here.

He had changed. Gone were the carefree boy she remembered, replaced by a young man whose every movement spoke of battles fought and burdens borne. He cut an impressive figure, a perfect blend of strength and grace. His dark hair, a perfect mess, brushed against the collar of the finely embroidered tunic that marked him as the newly legitimized son of Poseidon. Broad shoulders and a powerful build betrayed hours of discipline and training, yet there was an effortless ease in the way he carried himself, as though his new body was one he lived in all his life. But his eyes—the same sea-green she’d never forgotten—still held the same tenderness and mischief she remembered.

Percy’s gaze locked on hers, and the air seemed to shift. He stepped forward as if drawn by an invisible thread, but paused, stiffening under the watchful eyes of his father. Poseidon stood with Amphitrite by his side, his expression unreadable, though his presence alone was enough to command silence. Percy’s jaw tightened as he glanced at the king, his hands curling into fists. Sally was noticeably missing. She could share his bed, sup at his table, and dine among his guests, but kingdom affairs? That was where the line was drawn, it seemed.

He doesn’t trust him , Annabeth thought with relief. Percy might wear Poseidon’s colors now, but there was no loyalty in his stance, only a reluctant submission.

Oh, how Annabeth longed to go to him, to feel his arms wrap around her. The hall swirled with laughter and music, but her thoughts drowned it all out, her heart aching with a mix of yearning and confusion. A thousand questions clawed at her throat, unspoken but insistent. Why wasn’t he training far away with all the other second sons who’d been born to kings, as he’d written last? Hadn’t Poseidon planned to keep his legitimacy a secret until they were farther away from Zeus’ death and Athena’s coronation? Why was he here, now, in this room, under so many watchful eyes?

And then there was the question that haunted her most: if Poseidon was here, the rest of his household would be, too. And if that was true, where was Triton?

As if summoned by the devil himself, Triton strode into the hall next, his arrival announced by the clink of gilded armor so bright it nearly blinded anyone who dared to look. Poseidon’s eldest son and heir moved with the arrogance of one who had never been denied anything. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Annabeth, and a predatory grin spread across his face.

The years had been kind to him. Too kind , she thought bitterly. His jaw was strong, his golden hair gleaming like sunlight, his shoulders were broad, and his posture effortlessly regal, as if he knew exactly how commanding he looked. No one could deny that they would make a beautiful pair. Annabeth forced her eyes away, her fingers curling into her skirts to keep them steady. That thought infuriated Annabeth even more. 

Triton knelt before Athena, his head bowed in the gesture of fealty, but his eyes never wavered from Annabeth. Even as he spoke the solemn words of allegiance, his gaze burned with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably under its weight. 

When he rose, Athena clapped her hands, and the hall transformed. Somewhere, musicians struck up a lively tune, and servants flowed in bearing trays of food and drink. The somber air dissolved in an instant, replaced by the hum of conversation. Athena turned to Annabeth and said, “Go to him,” before accepting Frederick’s offered hand and allowed herself to be swept into the crowd. 

“Do you need me to intervene?” Malcolm asked as Triton made his way to her, his steps deliberate and his expression smug. 

“No,” Annabeth said. “Take the twins and mingle. I’ll join you shortly.”

Sally’s words rang in her ears. Don’t repeat my mistakes. Learn his ways. Learn his dance.

If she hoped to survive a marriage to a demon like Triton, she couldn’t rely on others to defend her. In the end, it would be only her and him, and she would have to learn the steps on her own.

“This is a battle I need to fight for myself.”

She knew Malcolm didn’t like the thought of leaving her, but she also knew he understood that soon, he wouldn’t be able to protect her any longer. Soon, she would be in another land, another house, fending for herself.

“I won’t be far,” he acquiesced, and he ushered the twins away.

“Annabeth,” came the smooth voice, low enough for only her to hear. “You look... radiant today.”

“Triton,” the Princess replied curtly, keeping her expression neutral as she turned to face him.

Triton made a show of kissing her hand and making his pleasantries. “Soon, all this,” he gestured to the hall, “will be ours. Imagine the power we’ll wield together.”

She stiffened but held her ground. “Power isn’t a toy, Triton.”

He chuckled, the sound grating. “No, it’s a weapon. One you’ll learn to wield well... as my queen.”

Before Annabeth could respond, a quiet voice spoke behind her.

“Triton.”

They both turned to see Percy, his jaw set and his eyes cold. There was none of the teasing warmth she remembered; this was a man who had learned to steel himself against the world.

“Little brother,” Triton said, the mockery in his voice unmistakable. “Shouldn’t you be fetching something for our father?”

He spat the word as if it scorched his tongue, and Annabeth didn’t doubt that it did. She remembered Percy’s letters all too well—how he’d described the hellish days in the palace, where Triton took every opportunity to make his and Sally’s life miserable. It had gotten so unbearable that Poseidon eventually decided the best solution for everyone was to send Percy away with the other second sons.

Percy ignored the jab, his gaze shifting briefly to Annabeth before returning to Triton. “You should mind your tongue,” he said evenly. “It might get you into trouble.”

Standing side by side, the similarities between the brothers were impossible to miss. Poseidon was etched into their broad shoulders, their strong jaws, their sharp, commanding profiles. They were like sun and moon, sea and sky. But where Triton radiated power and arrogance, Percy carried a quiet strength. Sally’s warmth shone through in Percy’s kind eyes and good natured smile.

Triton laughed darkly, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby lords. “Careful, Perseus. I’d hate for you to forget your place.”

The tension between them was palpable, the air around them thick with unspoken challenges. Annabeth stepped back, unwilling to be caught in the crossfire of their rivalry, but Percy’s hand brushed hers—just for a moment. It was a fleeting touch, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

Triton noticed this too and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He extended a gloved hand and bowed deeply. 

“Dance with me,” he commanded, his voice low and edged with steel. He leaned in closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “I won't accept anything but a yes.”

Percy opened his mouth to object, but Annabeth was quicker. She silenced him with a sharp, warning glance as she placed her hand in Triton’s. She felt Percy’s worried eyes searing into her back as Triton led her to the center of the room with a bruising grip.

The lively tune begged for celebration, but their dance felt more like a funeral march—each step heavy, joyless, and strained. As more couples joined the floor, skirts swirling and laughter echoing around them, the growing crowd only seemed to intensify Triton’s suffocating presence.

“Will you answer one question,” Annabeth said at last. 

“Why would I?” Triton shot back. He swore as he stumbled over his feet and Annabeth quickly realized he was an awful dancer and seemed to loathe the activity altogether. Why ask her, then? The answer came as a chilling revelation—he wanted to pull her away from Percy—and for a panicked moment, she wondered if he somehow knew of their affection.

“Because I am to be your wife, am I not?” she pressed, her tone deliberately calm. There was nothing an emotional man despised more than a calm and composed woman.

Triton’s expression darkened, and his grip on her waist tightened—too firm, too possessive. “Wives do not demand things of their husbands,” he sneered. “They bear children, tend the home, and fulfill their husband’s needs.”

“That is why I am asking, not demanding,” Annabeth replied evenly, forcing herself not to flinch under his hold. 

She wondered if he might strike her, but instead his lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Clever little bitch. Very well, I’ll allow one question—not because you are owed anything, but because your beauty pleases me. Nothing more.”

“Very well.” 

As the song reached its end, the dance floor swirled to a halt.

“Well?” Triton demanded, his voice dripping with impatience as the dancers began to disperse.

“I shall ask my question when I know it,” Annabeth responded, her voice steady.

His face turned nearly purple with fury, and she walked away, leaving him in the middle of the floor like a giant, purple grape.

Sally had urged her to shrink, to make herself small, to fold in and protect herself, but that was not Annabeth’s way. She was playing with fire, and she knew it—Triton could easily be driven to kill her if he chose. He did not tolerate wit or intelligence in his women. That much was painfully clear. But Annabeth couldn’t help herself. If she ever brought children into the world, what would she be teaching them? Would she raise her sons to believe that a woman’s worth was measured in curses and violence, that their wives and daughters were mere objects to be struck, insulted, and used? And what about her daughters? Would she teach them that love from a man meant tears and bruises, that their worth was defined by the cruelty they were forced to endure?

No. She refused to cower. It wasn’t in her nature, and it never would be. If she were to die for refusing to bend to a man’s demands, so be it. She would rather die true to herself than live as a fraud, begging for her husband’s favor and shrinking from his violence. She would raise her children to be kind and gentle and brave and true. Her sons would learn to treat their wives with respect, and her daughters would grow up knowing their worth, never questioning the love they deserved.

Annabeth felt a prickling sensation, the weight of someone’s gaze on her. She turned instinctively, expecting to meet Percy’s familiar eyes.

Instead, she froze.

Percy and Triton were both staring at her from the side of the room. 

Percy’s gaze burned with gentle love and fierce longing—a raw, aching hunger that seemed to unravel her. It spoke of need, of something starved and desperate, yearning to be fulfilled, and made her stomach tingle in the most delicious way.

But Triton’s eyes held a different kind of hunger. Dark. Malicious. They gleamed with cruel promises, whispers of pain and dominance lurking beneath his polished exterior. A shiver ran through her, not from cold, but from the foreboding that tightened around her chest like a vice.

The fear tightened around her like an iron vice, holding her captive for the rest of the night and long after the guests had departed for their chambers. 

Annabeth couldn’t sleep. Her eyes were heavy, her mind was clogged, her feet were sore, and yet, sleep remained just beyond her reach. She resorted to wandering the corridors like a phantom, her white nightgown whispering behind her, blonde hair flowing in loose waves down her back. As she drifted through the vacant halls she heard the faint echoes of midnight conversations, fragments of passionate love making, fleeting moments of merriment, and the distant murmurs of drunken quarrels. The castle seemed to pulse with its own secrets.

Somehow, she found herself standing before the giant oak doors of the war room. When she was young, she would sneak inside and imagine herself as a great general, adorned in medals for her countless victories. She’d climb onto the red plush chairs, and gazed at the map etched into the wood. For hours, her mind would race, weaving intricate plans and strategies, each one more daring than the last, as she dreamed of triumphs yet to come. 

It had been years since her last midnight visit, yet the memories lingered, as vivid as ever, muffling the hushed conversation within. Annabeth paused, shaking off the remnants of her thoughts, trying to steady herself. It wasn’t the usual chatter of servants or the idle gossip of the court. No, this was something else.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she recognized the voices. 

Without a second thought, she pressed herself against the heavy oak doors, her breath hitching in her throat. 

“The handfasting will be a grand affair,” Athena said, her voice cool and calculated. “This union will solidify our power—something we need now more than ever, especially with my father’s passing and your lords growing bolder by the day.”

“Indeed,” Poseidon agreed. “Do you have enough time to finalize everything?”

“I’ve already ordered for the preparations to begin,” Athena replied. 

Annabeth’s stomach dropped. How long had she been planning this?

“Does the girl know?” Poseidon asked.

Perhaps if Athena was another woman she might’ve paused, a prickle of guilt tugging at her consciousness. But Athena was not another woman and she didn’t know how to be. 

“Does it matter?” Athena shot back. “She will soon enough.”

Poseidon let out a heavy sigh. “Triton will learn to care for her in time, as she will for him. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s their turn to take up the mantle and do their duty, just as we did, and our parents before us.”

Annabeth’s hands trembled against the oak, her nails digging into the rough surface. She wanted to scream, to storm in and demand answers, but something held her back. Fear? Or was it the helplessness, the knowledge that there was nothing she could say that would change what had already been decided for her? This had been years in the making and she’d known, she’d known .

“They will make their first royal appearance in the spring,” Athena continued, her voice steady as if discussing the weather.

“Do you think she can handle it? Women are often prone to fussing under stress.”

“Don’t underestimate her," Athena replied firmly. “Annabeth is far more capable than you realize. Triton will eventually assume the throne in time, with Annabeth by his side,” she continued, her voice steady with conviction. “Our thrones will pass to our children’s heirs, and their heirs after them. But it will be Malcolm's descendants who will have first claim to my throne.”

They’ve planned our entire lives, Annabeth thought numbly. It wouldn’t surprise her if Athena already had her funeral arrangements drafted, tucked away somewhere for safekeeping until the day they were needed.

Her heart thundered in her chest, the sound filling her ears and drowning out reason. She couldn’t stay to hear more. She had to leave before they discovered her presence, before her ragged breathing or the shock written on her face betrayed her.

As she turned to slip away, her foot scraped against the cold stone floor, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a warning bell. Panic jolted through her body, and she froze, every nerve braced for what might come next.

“What was that?”

Annabeth froze. Her breath stilled, her heart hammering in her throat. She held her breath, praying they would dismiss it as a clumsy servant or the wind.

For what felt like an eternity, silence hung heavy in the air. Then came the sound of footsteps, drawing closer with every heartbeat. The door creaked open, spilling light into the room, and there they stood—Poseidon and her mother, their faces grim and unyielding.

Every fiber of her being screamed to react—to shout, to cry, to rail against the heavens. She wanted to hurl her rage at them, to break through the weight of their expectations. But no. She would not give them that satisfaction.

Instead, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and met their eyes with steely resolve. “When is the handfasting to be?” she asked.

“Annabeth?” Perseus Jackson stood in the shadowed doorway of his chambers, his hair tousled from sleep and his voice thick with concern.

Annabeth knew she must look mad with her chest heaving, nightgown wrinkled, eyes wild with desperation.

The journey to his chambers was a blur. She scarcely remembered turning on her heel and fleeing the moment she was out of sight of the two monarchs. Only one thing reverberated in her mind: Athena’s curt and devastating reply.

“Three days,” she said, her voice raw. “I’m to be wed in three days’ time.”

Percy’s breath caught. He pulled back slightly to look at her, as if searching for any sign that she was jesting, but there was nothing but truth in her eyes.

“Everything is slipping right out of our hands,” she whispered, her voice breaking like a fragile thread stretched too thin.

“That may be so,” he said solemnly. He reached for her, gently tilting her chin up so their eyes met. “But I swear to you, no matter what comes next, I will never leave you to face it alone.”

His grip softened, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek as he continued. “I remember how we felt sitting by the water and every time I look at you it's like the first time. I fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter,”  he said, voice catching with emotion. “She is the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

Oh, how her heart burst with love for this boy.

Annabeth drew in a quivering breath, trying to steady the storm within her. “I thought… Perhaps I could figure something out. I was arrogant, I know, to believe I could somehow outmaneuver a political vow. But now it’s upon us, and there’s no escaping it.”

Percy’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening with fierce protectiveness. “I thought we’d have more time. That I could train and make something of myself, that one day I might go to your parents and offer my hand, like a man should.” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “But I’m only seventeen. I don’t know...”

Her eyes softened with sadness. “It was always my seventeenth nameday,” she said gently. “It has been for years.”

For a moment, anger flickered in his eyes. “So you’ve decided to just surrender? To admit defeat?”

“No,” Annabeth snapped, sharp and unyielding. “Never.”

“Then what are you saying?” he asked, his tone a desperate whisper.

She lifted her gaze to his, her gray eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t want my first time to be with him,” she said, her voice steady but heavy with emotion. “I will not beg, and I will not plead. I know what I’m asking of you, and I understand if you refuse.” She paused, her breath catching. “But I need this to be my decision before it’s too late.”

She’s heard too many tales of women being defiled against their will, their first times wasted on fools and drunkards, or stolen by empty promises and charming lies. She’s spent too many years being haunted by nightmares of that poor maiden violated in her mother’s temple, her innocence torn away. And she knew, with unshakable certainty, that she didn’t want to become another one of those women, another one of those girls. If it had to happen, she wanted it to be on her terms, in her way.

“No one has to know what we do,” she murmured. 

Percy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a trout gasping for air, and for a moment, she wondered if she had truly rendered him speechless. Her cheeks burned with the heat of her words, but she felt no shame. She would seize whatever shred of control remained to her, no matter how small. This part of her—this choice—would never belong to Triton.

His eyes unmistakably brimmed with desire and longing, but beneath the surface lingered a flicker of caution and worry.

“Not here,” he said at last, voice thick with want.

Her heart fluttered at his words and a spark ignited within her.

“I know a place,” he continued. “It’s not far, but it’s hidden. We’ll be safe there, just the two of us. We can make it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the warmth of his presence. The thought of running away, of leaving everything behind—even for a single night—felt reckless, impossible, yet it was the only thing that felt right.

“Come with me,” Percy urged, his fingers curling gently around hers as he pulled.

Annabeth hesitated for only a moment before nodding. She didn’t need to think any longer. This was it. Her chance. If she didn’t take it now, she would never have another.

The summer sky was young and black and stitched with stars and light. It trafficked best in secrets—concealing lovers, hiding kings, aiding criminals in their crimes. Tonight was no different. The princess Annabeth was nearly invisible as she dashed into the night, her secret prince on her heels. For the first time in what seemed like forever she felt true unbridled freedom. 

The journey was swift yet fraught with tension, their feet pounding the ground as they fled the castle and plunged into the darkened woods. The wind howled through the trees, bending them into twisted, animated shapes, as if they were monstrous creatures, waiting to devour disobedient girls.

At last, they emerged from the woods and arrived at a meadow, perched precariously on the edge of a cliff that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon. Before them, the ocean yawned in all its vast, infinite darkness, a mysterious expanse that whispered of limitless possibilities. Fragments of old geography and history lessons  stumbled and tripped across her memory, and she knew that if they continued following the sea, they would eventually reach Poseidon’s realm.

Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress, Annabeth let out a whoop. The vast, open meadow stretched before them, lit by starlight, all theirs to enjoy, sheltered by the woods.

Grinning, Percy swept her off her feet and spun her around in delight.

“Percy... stop,” she laughed, breathless from the whirlwind of motion, her feet leaving the ground as he spun her higher. 

But Percy only smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “This is our place. We make the rules.” He set her down gently, his hands lingering at her waist as if to keep the moment suspended in time. For a brief, perfect second, it was just the two of them, surrounded by nothing but the wild freedom of the night. 

Annabeth met his gaze, her laughter still dancing in the air. “Then let’s make the most of it,” she whispered, the world falling away as she took his hand.

Tucked away on the edge of the woods a small, one-room cottage sat quietly. Its weathered, yet sturdy thatched roof curled gently at the edges, while the stone walls were dotted with patches of spongy green moss. Inside, starlight filtered softly through the small, diamond-paned windows, and the curtains fluttered lightly in the ocean breeze. A bed piled high with furs and silks was pushed against the far wall while woven rugs from distant lands laid in front of a large fireplace, empty of fire.

They were silent as they kicked off their shoes and hung up their cloaks. She turned and he smiled gently. Then his gaze drifted downwards, noticing her nipples straining against the thin fabric of her nightgown, and it darkened in a delicious way. He reached for her, his touch light at first—almost tentative—as if testing the air for any hesitation. But there was none. Her gaze met his, a quiet understanding passing between them, and she took a step closer, her hand resting gently on his chest.

He led her to the bed and then she was kissing him with such passion, such love, such desperation and need it made her dizzy.

He pulled away once and smiled down at her. Gods he was so tall and handsome as hell. The exhaustion in his eyes had faded into something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. Desire, longing, hunger, need… all were true.

His breath caught as she ran her fingers over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath. She let her hands move to his shoulders, their touch slow and deliberate, memorizing every inch of him.

“Are you sure?” His voice was low and vulnerable, eyes searching hers, looking for any sign of uncertainty.

She felt her heart swell with affection for him, falling a little deeper in love with him in that moment.  Remember this moment she said in the back of her mind. She smiled softly, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’ve never been more certain.”

And with that, the distance between them vanished. He cupped her face gently, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was tender. She responded, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.

Their kisses deepened slowly, a delicate exploration that spoke volumes more than words ever could. His hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer as she let out a soft sigh against his lips. She could feel the heat of his body, the way he seemed to draw her in with every movement as he guided her down upon the mattress.

His lips descended upon her breasts, still clad in the flimsy nightgown, and they both moaned when he took her in his mouth. He nipped and pulled, licked and suckled. He seemed to love making the noises that came from her and was considerate, giving, and attentive. She writhed beneath him in pleasure, and he watched her intently, ever the apt pupil.

When she was almost too sensitive he turned his attention to her other breast. She mewled as he enveloped her in the warm heat of his mouth.

Before she could process, he gently pulled away, his gaze lingering on hers for a moment before he lowered his head, his hands lifting the hem of her gown with slow, deliberate care.

She held her breath when she felt his fingers skirt her ankles, her calves, her knees, until he reached the apex of her thighs. Gently, as if handling a treasure made of glass, he parted her legs. 

“I’ve, uh, heard it’s better to prepare, to make it less painful,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Oh?” she replied, a pang of frustration coursing through her. She cursed her mother, who had shared all the duties of a wife and the burdens of motherhood, but never once spoke of the pleasures of womanhood.

“It might hurt,” he warned.

“I know,” she said, for that part she’d known, and little else.

He nodded and went back to his task. She closed her eyes and nearly jumped when she felt the first finger probe her entrance. It stung and she inhaled sharply at the foreign intrusion. 

He let out a low, gutted groan and buried his face in her hair. “You’re so wet.”

Her cheeks flushed like the sun, hoping that was a good thing.

He worked another finger into her, then another, sometimes waiting long stretches if she winced, whispering sweet nothing into her hair.

Finally he slipped a fourth and final finger into her and said, “Open your eyes.”

She opened her eyes to find the sight of his hand pumping within her, stretching and shaping her to his liking. He was the only one who had ever touched this part of her.

“Oh,” she breathed. 

Percy’s thumb brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and in an instant, a surge of electrifying sensation overtook her, leaving her breathless and trembling with its intensity.

He worked her gently through her release, until it became too unbearable and a second release began to crest. 

“I’ve heard women finish more than once,” he said with a mischievous grin, all traces of previous hesitation apparently forgotten. She moaned but didn’t push his hand away. Instead, she moved her hips with his thrusts, seeking release, until she finally came again.

When he removed his fingers they glistened with her blood. On her wedding night she would be expected to present this blood on her bedsheets to the court as a symbol of her marriage's consummation, but that was a matter for another time.

She caught her breath as he undid his pants and positioned himself on top of her.

“Ready?” he said.

“Ready,” she confirmed. 

When he finally entered her, it felt like coming home. He waited patiently as she adjusted to his size and then he was thrusting gently. He moved with deliberate care, and as he did, he peppered her face with tender kisses.

“I love you,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

“I love you too,” she gasped. She bucked her hips, causing him to groan. “Please, move.” 

They moved in unison, unhurried and unbound by time, as if the world outside had ceased to exist. His movements were like the tide—deep, deliberate, and steady—filling her completely with each thrust. The night unfolded endlessly around them, and in that fleeting eternity, nothing else mattered but the intimacy they shared—the seamless way their bodies intertwined, echoing passion, trust, and an unspoken promise.

Annabeth never knew that lovemaking could be this exquisite, a harmony of passion and tenderness that left her utterly breathless. 

She reached her peak first, her body arching as waves of pleasure crashed over her, eyes squeezing shut in pure ecstasy. Percy groaned deeply as she clenched around him, his restraint faltering. With a shuddering breath, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his arms trembling as he held himself back. A moment later, he withdrew with a sharp cry, spilling his release across her stomach, his body taut.

They lay together afterward, breathless and tangled in the softness of the sheets. Neither spoke as their eyes met, and in the quiet of their gaze, everything unsaid found its voice.

“Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere,” he whispered against her skin before drifting off to sleep.

She awoke a few hours later to the gentle glow of sunrise spilling across her face, bathing the papers on the table in a soft, golden light. Her neck screamed in protest as she straightened from where she nodded off at the table. Sleep had barely claimed her for more than an hour, her restless mind held captive by a thought that refused to release her. Turning her head, her gaze fell on Percy, sprawled across the bed. His hair was endearingly tousled, and a faint trail of drool escaped the corner of his mouth, a sight so unguarded it made her chest tighten with quiet affection.

“I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you,” she murmured. 

For a moment, she simply lay there, watching him. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression on his face. It was a rare moment of quiet in a world that never seemed to let them rest.

Eventually, he stirred, blinking blearily as he turned toward her. “What is it?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

“You drool when you sleep.”

He extended a palm and she took it, warm and rough, and he drew her to his chest, their bodies tangled in each other as they watched the sun crest over the sea. The shadows of the forest melted away and the monsters turned out to be just trees. When the first rays of dawn bathed her face, he turned to her, his gaze piercing, as if he were seeing her for the first time—or perhaps as if he’d always seen her, truly and completely. 

It was as if the very fabric of their world had shifted, and all she knew was that since yesterday, everything has changed.

“You’re plotting something,” he said. 

Annabeth nodded tightly. She was almost afraid to speak her thoughts aloud, to release them into a space she could not control. 

“My marriage contract,” she began. “It states that I am to wed the Celaeno’s eldest son.” She swallowed harshly, wondering if what she said next might make him hate her forever. “If something were to happen to Triton…”

“Then you’d be obligated to marry me,” Percy finished, his eyes sharper now, fully awake.

Annabeth nodded, searching his face for any trace of hatred or contempt. Triton was a terror, a demon in human form, but he was still Percy’s brother, still his blood. She wasn’t just proposing to usurp the throne; she was suggesting fratricide. Yet, as she looked at him, all she saw in his gaze was something she hadn't expected—hope.

“Could you go through with it?” she whispered. “Or would you hate me forever if I made that choice?”

“Do you remember that time when I saw those bruises on your wrists?”

They had been fifteen summers and falls, so vibrant and full of youth. They had dreamt of owning cows and chickens, of churning their own butter and marrying when the time felt right. It had all seemed so distant, so far off all those years ago—yet now, here they were, just two days before her wedding.

Percy’s voice was steady, but there was an intensity beneath it that carried weight. “The look on your face that night... it was the same one I saw on her every morning. And if I could go back, I would’ve told my mother to run. No hesitation.”

The Princess’s heart fluttered, a sweet, sharp ache rising in her chest.

“Why did your father legitimize you?” she asked, forcing herself to push past the fluttering in her heart. “Why now?”

The words lingered between them, heavy with unspoken truths, as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.

Percy’s gaze turned distant. “I don’t know.”

“He must’ve known you’d be a threat to Triton.”

“Yes, but... my father doesn’t think that deeply. He’s not much for strategy.”

“Then someone must’ve suggested it to him.” Someone who cared deeply for both of them, who understood the intricacies of the contract, who could sway the king’s decision.

They locked eyes, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Sally.

Somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove called out, its cry shattering the fragile peace, and Annabeth wanted to lay a thousand and one flowers at Sally’s feet for her foresight and cunning.

“Are we truly going through with this?” Annabeth asked. The weight of the question hung in the air—if they were caught, the consequences would be unimaginable.

“Aye,” Percy said. He held his head like a hero on a history book page. “We're going to make it. I can see it now.”

Chapter Text

Seventeen Summers and Falls

Annabeth’s heart pounded furiously in her chest as she sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her boots with methodical precision. The harsh glare of the midmorning sun cast a warm light across her bedchamber, highlighting the tension in her shoulders. They had slipped back into the castle under the cover of dawn, the faint light just starting to creep over the horizon.

Now, with the sun fully risen and the shadows of the night receding, the weight of what was to come settled heavily on her, pressing down like a thousand-pound stone. She pulled the leather tight around her ankle, fingers working swiftly but her mind elsewhere. 

Across the room, Percy stood by the window, silent and unmoving, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the rolling fields could offer him answers. Or perhaps he was simply trying to calm the storm within himself. She couldn’t tell.

A thousand worries fluttered across her mind, threatening to suffocate her and eat her whole. What if Triton didn't take the bait? What if her mother intervened? What if someone caught on? What if what if what if. 

Warm hands found her shoulders, grounding her in the present. Percy’s touch was reassuring as he gently braided her unkempt hair, his lips trailing soft, affectionate kisses along the marks he left on her neck last night. His calm presence was a balm to her turbulent thoughts, anchoring her to the moment.

“I know there’s no use in asking you to remain here,” Percy said softly, breaking the quiet.

Annabeth looked over her shoulder, eyes sharp but weary. “This is as much my fight as it is yours.” 

Percy’s gaze softened, but he didn’t argue. He knew better than to try and sway her when her mind was set.

As he adjusted his sword belt, Annabeth approached, helping him secure the final straps. Their movements were efficient, steady, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in their touch. 

“Do you think Triton should agree?” Percy asked nervously. 

Annabeth nodded, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. “He’s too proud not to. Publicly rejecting you would tarnish his honor, and he values that above all else.”

Percy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Good. That gives us the advantage.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the coming hours pressing down on them. Annabeth adjusted the clasps of Percy’s armor, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“If... if something goes wrong—” she began, but Percy cut her off with a firm shake of his head.

“Nothing will go wrong,” he said, his voice resolute. “We’ve planned for this. I’ve watched him train. I know his weaknesses. Triton won’t stand a chance.”

Annabeth searched his face, finding a flicker of reassurance in his eyes. She nodded, swallowing the knot of fear that had settled in her throat.

“We’ll see this through,”  she said, more to herself than to him. “Together.”

Percy reached out, his hand finding hers. Their fingers intertwined, a silent promise exchanged between them.

“Together,” he echoed.

He leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching, but a sharp knock at the door cut through the moment. Percy jerked back, his hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his sword.

“Wait.” Annabeth’s hand shot up, halting him. Her eyes narrowed as she listened intently.

The knocking came again, this time more deliberate. A familiar rhythm, precise and intentional. Annabeth exhaled, recognizing the coded signal. Without a second thought, she rushed to the door and flung it open. 

“I received your letter,” Malcolm said, stepping inside and shutting the door with a bang. His eyes scanned the room, ensuring their privacy before producing a satchel from his shoulder. “And I have what you asked for.”

He moved with purpose, crossing the room to lay several parchments on the table. Among them, a familiar document—her wedding contract. Malcolm’s finger traced a line of text.

“You were right,” he said. “Look at this clause. Let it be known that the Royal Princess Annabeth Chase of House Chase, daughter of Her Highness Princess Athena of House Chase, is solemnly betrothed to the eldest male heir of the noble House of Celeanos. By this sacred union, the houses are bound in alliance, sealed by the oaths of their forebears and witnessed by the grace of the realm. The wording is precise, and it leaves just enough ambiguity. If played correctly, you might actually pull this off.”

Annabeth scanned the parchment with a critical eye. The loophole gleamed like a beacon of hope, its implications rushing over her like a tide. Percy stepped closer, his hand resting on her shoulder as he too studied the document.

“My gratitude is with you, Malcolm,” Annabeth finally said. “I know it was no easy feat to retrieve this, but I needed to be certain of what it said.”

Malcolm shrugged, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve pilfered far more guarded treasures from our mother’s collection. Truthfully, I was surprised by how simple it was.”

Annabeth snorted. “I’m sure she’s all but forgotten about this little piece of parchment, being so consumed with preparations for the actual handfasting. She’s only waited my entire life for this moment.”

Percy leaned in, eyes flickering with concern. “And my mother?”

Malcolm nodded, his expression steady. “I delivered the map to her, along with a few days’ worth of provisions. If things go south, she’ll be safe at the cottage. She’s already on her way.”

A weight lifted from Annabeth's chest. At least Sally would be out of harm’s reaches, far from the chaos that was about to unfold.

Malcolm’s attention shifted to another parchment, its edges frayed with age. “Look what else I found,” he said, his tone grave as he unfolded the document. “This is the law that governs trials by combat—an ancient decree. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from. Anyone can challenge anyone, regardless of rank or bloodline. The gods alone decide who is guilty, and they alone determine the outcome.”

He met Percy’s gaze, the gravity of the words sinking in. “If you challenge him, it’s beyond the court’s control. The gods will settle it, and no one else.”

Annabeth’s mind raced as she read the scrawling handwriting. “Not only that,” she murmured. “It says here that trials are always held in the labyrinth. The gods chose it as the arena because it represents the complexity of fate itself—no one can predict the outcome. It's a test of strategy, wit, and will. Whoever emerges from the labyrinth is the one the gods deem worthy.”

“The labyrinth?” Percy echoed.

“A charming bit of architecture crafted by one of Mother's old friends,” Malcolm said, unfolding another scroll and presenting it to Percy. The map revealed a jagged sketch of the underground tunnels. “There are only two entrances—one to enter, one to exit. It runs beneath the entire castle, and some say it’s cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“It’s riddled with all sorts of traps and lethal devices, you see. Trap doors, hidden rooms, tripwires, spikes that spring from the walls… and some say even worse. Monsters and ghosts, things best left unnamed. Prisoners and criminals used to be tossed in there, but that stopped with our great grandfather. Now the maze stands vacant, unless a trial by combat is required.”

“And why can’t these trials take place elsewhere?”

Annabeth looked at Percy, her pulse quickening. “To invoke the will of the gods, of course. It’s not just a battle of strength; it’s a battle of fate.”

Percy paled. “Is there, perhaps, another labyrinth I might fight in? No? Well, that’s a real shame.” 

“I will not ask you to do this for me—” Annabeth began.

“But I will,” Malcolm interrupted gently, squeezing her hand, his grip firm and assuring. “You deserve this small bit of happiness, sister.”

He turned to Percy. “Fight for her.”

“With all my breath,” Percy swore. “With all that I am.”

Malcolm gave a quick nod. “Then I shall see that everyone’s gathered in the Great Hall. We’ll be waiting for you.”

He missed Annabeth on the cheek and slipped away, leaving the door to close behind him with a quiet click. The room felt emptier in his absence, but the weight of the situation had not lifted. The tension in the air seemed to cling to them both as they stood there, their shoulders heavy with the gravity of what lay ahead.

Annabeth’s gaze swept across the chamber, a place that held all the echoes of her childhood, where she'd taken her first steps, spoken her first words, and made decisions that had shaped her path—some good, some dark. Her thoughts were a tangled knot, each memory a reminder of how far she'd come, and how far she still had to go.

The great hall was teeming with powerful people, their voices a low murmur of anticipation. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing these kings and queens, gods on earth, legends in the making, confined like sheep in a pen. Their furrowed brows and crossed arms betrayed a shared irritation, casting a tense, simmering energy over the room.

At the far end, at the base of the dais stood the Celaenos. Triton’s demeanor was cool and unyielding, untouched by the palpable anxiety that rippled through the room. Beside him, Amphitrite held an air of regal composure, though her furrowed brow betrayed a flicker of confusion. Poseidon stood with a commanding presence, his broad shoulders tense, his expression a blend of curiosity and silent authority. 

On the dais sat the queen with the royal family fanned out around her. Annabeth kept her gaze steady and unwavering, her hands clenched in her skirts. She knew she had to appear just as perplexed as everyone else, to play the part, to blend seamlessly into the crowd. No one could suspect her involvement in what was about to unfold.

“What’s happening?” Frederick murmured. His tunic was slightly wrinkled, and his circlet was conspicuously absent. The twins clung to his arms, their eyes wide. Athena, however, merely surveyed the room, undoubtedly calculating the quickest escape should this escalate into bloodshed. “Has someone been hurt? Killed?” 

“I know not,” Athena responded through gritted teeth.

“Who called this convention to order?” Frederick pressed. 

“I. Know. Not,” Athena snapped. Annabeth was impressed she was able to keep a pleasant, calm expression on her face. 

From the depths of the crowd, a single figure moved. Percy, ever the embodiment of resolve, stepped forward. The murmur of the crowd quieted as he moved, all eyes trained on him now. His gaze locked onto Triton and his voice rang clear across the hall, the silence amplifying each word.

“Triton of the House of Celeano.” Percy’s voice echoed, commanding the attention of every single person present. “I challenge you to a trial by combat.” The words were simple but carried with them the weight of centuries of tradition.

The words hung in the air, as if the room itself was holding its breath. A ripple of whispers spread like wildfire among the courtiers. Some exchanged wary glances, others looked on with open curiosity, but all knew the consequences of this challenge.

The crowd hushed as Poseidon surged forward, the sea of onlookers parting in his wake. His stormy eyes burned with fury, and his hands clenched at his sides, as if itching to seize Percy by the tunic. “What is the meaning of this?” he thundered. “After everything I've done for you—after all I've given?”

“Apologies, my lord,” Percy said dutifully. “I am grateful for the honors and gifts you’ve bestowed upon my mother and I.”

Before Poseidon could respond, Amphitrite appeared, face contorted in rage. Without warning, her jeweled hand struck Percy across the face, the sharp crack reverberating through the tense air. Percy’s head snapped to the side. 

Before she could strike again, Poseidon's hand shot out, catching Amphitrite’s wrist mid-air. “That’s enough,” he growled, seeming to remember the gathered crowd watching intently. His gaze shifted back to Percy. ”What are you doing?”

Percy straightened. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” he said, a bright patch of red blooming on his cheek. “I’m righting a long ago wrong.”

All eyes fell on Triton, and Annabeth half expected him to turn red with rage, to draw his sword and strike at Percy right then and there. 

“What wrong?” Triton asked, as if the very thought of the kingdom’s golden boy could do no wrong.

From his cloak pocket, Percy retrieved a small, wooden ball, its surface worn smooth from countless hands. Triton’s face went white as Percy held it high. “Five summers and falls past, you took a boy’s eye. It is for him that I fight. For his honor, his pride, and his innocence.”

Triton’s laughter echoed, sharp and shrill. 

He needs to care, Annabeth thought as the crowd tittered anxiously. 

Triton’s smirk widened. “Ah, now I remember. The idiot fell upon a dagger while playing in the labyrinth  Or was it a sword? I can’t remember. It was dreadful, it really was. So much mess. I recall personally delivering him to the court physician.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed, his jaw setting into a hard line. 

Malcolm stepped forward. “Is there any soul who can vouch for this claim?”

“You’d accept such an outrageous allegation over the word of a Prince?” Amphitrite spat. 

“The law binds everyone,” Malcolm reminded her coldly. “From the humble and to the high.” He turned his attention to Triton.

“The court physician,” Triton snapped.

Malcolm's brow knitted in confusion. “Chiron?”

“He’s away.” All eyes turned sharply toward the queen, who sat poised on her throne, an air of indifference about her. 

“Away,” Poseidon echoed suspiciously.

“For the next fortnight,” Athena clarified smoothly.

A muscle twitched in Poseidon’s jaw, mirrored by the tick in Triton’s left eye.

“You cannot allow this!” Amphitrite’s wail pierced the great hall, causing the crowd to jump in fright. She turned to her lord husband, her fury palpable. “I warned you!” she hissed, spittle frothing at the corners of her mouth. “I told you he was nothing but trouble! Yet you brought him into our house, defying all counsel. You had to sow your seed recklessly, let that common whore bear your bastard, and now look where we stand! He is here, and he will—”

“Can any soul on this earth vouch for this claim?” Poseidon thundered, his voice a resounding boom that echoed through the vaulted hall. 

Triton’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “The Princess!” 

The word rippled through the room, every gaze shifting to her in unison. But Annabeth was ready.

She cast a practiced look of bewilderment, the act so flawless that even the most discerning eye could not detect the deception. “I was present... but the sight of the blood overcame me, and I remember nothing beyond that.” Her gaze found Triton’s, calm and unwavering, though a subtle glint of steel lay hidden beneath the surface. She knew well that with those words, she had sealed her own fate.

Triton’s hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing the familiar grip. But he didn’t draw it. He understood the weight of tradition—the unspoken laws that tethered him, the invisible chains that would bind him should he break them. He couldn’t afford to back down, not without sacrificing everything—his reputation, his claim to the throne, the hard-earned power he had spent a lifetime consolidating. His only choice now was to accept.

“You dare challenge me?” Triton’s voice was low, a dangerous growl that seemed to vibrate in the air. ”You would question my birthright? You, who have but barely set foot in my father’s court?”

Percy’s gaze was unflinching, his voice just as steady. “You were given your position untried, untested. A station that filth such as yourself does not deserve.”

A murmur spread throughout the room, but Triton’s gaze didn’t shift. “You think you can best me?” he said, his voice rising with a chilling edge. “You’re nothing more than an impetuous boy. I will not be dragged into your games.”

“I’m not playing,” Percy said firmly. “I’ve come to settle a score that’s long overdue.” 

Triton’s nostrils flared. “I will not tolerate such insolence. I will not—”

“The challenge has been offered,” Athena said flatly, her words carrying the weight of centuries. “And it must be accepted. To refuse is to forfeit life.” She paused, her steely gaze cutting through the hall as Amphitrite’s anguished wails echoed around her. Raising her voice to command the room, she continued, “If a trial is to commence, the terms must be established. The gods demand it.”

“No!” Amphitrite shrieked. Poseidon’s gaze darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes, yet he remained silent. He knew the ancient laws as well as anyone—tradition was unyielding, and it could not be bent, not even for him.

“Fine,” Triton spat. “If you want a trial, you’ll have one. But understand this, brother: I will break you.”

Athena rose from her seat with the grace of a goddess, cutting through the heavy tension that hung in the air. “The trial shall take place in the Labyrinth,” she declared. “Whoever emerges from its depths victorious shall be declared the gods’ chosen victor.”

The scant hours before the trial were ones of chaos. Servants dashed through the halls, polishing armor and sharpening blades, their movements frantic yet purposeful. Maids whispered hurriedly, the news of the duel spreading like wildfire through the kingdom. Royals and nobles retreated to their rooms, their murmurs laced with outrage, though their eyes betrayed the spark of intrigue. It had been years since the last trial by combat, and the Labyrinth, infamous for its dangers and darkness, was an ever-present shadow in their minds. As the bells rang, signaling the suspension of all work, the air thickened with anticipation. Workers, their faces tight with expectation, made their way toward the Labyrinth’s entrance, where one would emerge victorious.

Annabeth and Percy stood in her chamber, the weight of the day pressing in. Somehow, they'd managed to slip back unnoticed, barricading the door, and Malcolm had agreed to distract their parents. How had everything changed so quickly, so completely, since that morning? She felt unanchored, adrift, as if the ground beneath her had vanished. 

Her gaze lingered on Percy, watching the way his muscles flexed with each movement as he undressed, the light casting shadows across his tan back. When he finally shed his tunic, his hands found her face, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that contrasted the storm swirling in her chest. His fingers drifted to her hip, carefully unbuckling Tyson’s dagger, and with a quiet motion, he placed it on the table, where papers from their morning plans still lay in disarray.

“What are you doing?” she whispered as he gently guided her backward, the backs of her knees brushing the edge of the bed. With a soft touch, he turned her gently and slowly slid her sleeve off her shoulder, his fingers delicate but sure against her skin.

“If I’m going to die, then let me leave with one final, good memory.” His lips traced the curve of her neck, a kiss so gentle it stole the very breath from her chest. “May I?”

She pressed her hips back against him, her own breath hitching as she felt him moan. “How much time do we have?”

“Enough,” he replied, his hands threading through her hair. His lips brushed against her forehead, his touch more intimate than any words they could speak. Every second was precious, and in those shared moments, she felt as though they were suspended outside time itself.

Then he was pushing her down onto the mattress, hands firm but kind as he hiked up her skirt, his movements hurried but tender. She felt the weight of their shared fear, their shared longing, and the quiet realization that this might be the last time they could make this memory together.

He slid his finger inside her, moving quicker, more urgently than the night before, his breath ragged against her skin.

“Okay?” he murmured in her hair. 

She pulled him in for a bruising kiss, one of love and fear, of longing and loss. The taste of him, the touch of him—it was all she wanted to hold onto.

When he lined himself up and slid in, she winced, the pain sharp and raw, but she didn’t pull away. She wasn’t nearly as wet as last night, but she found that she didn’t mind as he began to thrust into her. Every inch of him was a reminder of what she might lose, and she wanted to carry that memory with her, no matter what came next.

They finished swiftly, him buried deep within her, his body pressed close to hers, his breath hot against her skin. His face nestled into the curve of her neck as the world outside seemed to pause. She lay still, her eyes unfocused, gazing at the ceiling as he withdrew, the quiet aftermath of their union settling in the air.

In silence, they dressed. He secured his armor with practiced ease, the leather straps and metal pieces clicking into place. She fastened the final buckles, her fingers steady as she fitted his sword into its sheath. 

“Wait,” she said as he turned to go. From a pouch at her hip she produced a small ball of red string. “There’s no use trying to remember your way down there. It’s dark and ever shifting. Take this, and it will guide you through the maze. Let it be your compass in the shadows.”

Gingerly, he accepted it, eyeing it with suspicion. “What happened to letting the gods decide? Isn’t that the whole part of your blasted labyrinth?”

“I'm merely offering them a nudge,” she said lightly, “To ensure you find your way.”

A horn blew, its mournful sound cutting through the air. Such a forlorn sound, she thought, ears prickling at the noise. And such a pretty sound, too. A sound so full of longing and hope and loss. 

For a moment, her mind wandered back to a time long past, to this very room, when she had heard the howling of a wolf.  She had been so certain that if there was ever the sound of heartbreak, a wolf’s howl would be it.

But now, as she stood there, she wasn’t so sure. 

“It’s time.”

With a calm precision, she smoothed the silver fabric of her dress, her hands gliding over it as if to steady herself. Her fingers instinctively reached for her dagger, only to remember it already placed carefully on the table by Percy. She grasped it, surprised at the steadiness of her own hand. As she moved, a few scattered papers slid off the table, drifting gently to the floor.

Cursing softly under her breath, she bent to retrieve them. As she gathered the papers, her attention was caught by one sheet, backlit by the afternoon sun filtering through the window. The light revealed something unusual—faint lines, almost imperceptible, traced across the page. They were lines that should have remained hidden.

Noticing her pause, Percy stilled. “What is it?”

Annabeth straightened, the paper held delicately between her fingers, and stepped closer to the window. She lifted it to the light, the faint lines becoming slightly more distinct. Her eyes scanned the markings, her pulse quickening.

“Look,” she murmured. “A map within a map.” 

She had been so certain there were only two entrances to the Labyrinth. Yet here, etched in lines so faint they were almost lost to the parchment, was proof of another way. Her heart quickened, a flutter of realization and dread. She had been mistaken—there was a third entrance. It was cleverly concealed, as if someone had attempted to erase it by layering fresh markings over the original, but to the discerning eye, the hidden way remained visible.

“What does it mean?” 

“It means,” she said, her fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger, “that the gods have spoken.” She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “And their favor rests upon our shoulders.”

The third entrance lay in the shadows of the west wing, concealed behind weathered stone, leading to a passage that fed into the heart of the maze. The air was thick with dampness, the darkened tunnel cold and musty with age, yet she dared not bring forth a torch. The flickering flame would betray her presence, and the shadows in the Labyrinth were far more dangerous than the darkness itself.

Annabeth’s hand brushed against the cold stone wall, feeling its rough surface, as if the very earth beneath her was alive, watching her every move. The air felt heavy, as though the stones themselves held their breath, waiting for her next step. She tightened her grip on the dagger at her side and silently trailed her oblivious prey.

Her boots made no sound as they met the damp ground, swallowed by the silence that clung to the tunnel like a shroud. Carefully, she made sure that each foot fell in previously made prints, concealing her presence. The world of light and life seemed distant, locked in the safety of daylight. She had no way of knowing how long she would be below, or what threats would arise from the darkness. But her objective was clear, and she couldn’t afford to hesitate. 

At last, they reached the base of the tunnel. The air shifted, a subtle change, like the very stones of the earth were breathing. Her prey paused, his breath ragged, before he turned sharply to the right. 

She trailed him for what felt like eons, walking deeper and deeper beneath the earth. There were many traps, filled with rotting flesh or simply bones of their victims. Animal, monster, and man alike. 

They turned a bend and she almost screamed.

The creature hung in the air before her, a grotesque hybrid of man and bull, its massive form nailed to the dirt wall. It was suspended like some twisted trophy of war, iron spikes driven deep into its flesh. One horn jutted from its head, gleaming like a shard of the sun even in the darkness, so bright that Annabeth was forced to press herself deeper into the shadows to avoid being seen. The other horn was gone, torn from its place, replaced by a gaping, blood-blackened wound, its skull exposed.

Numbly, Annabeth stared at its vacant, amber eyes, and wondered how long it had taken the creature to die and who had been the one to render it this fate.

Triton regarded the creature with suspicion, eyes narrowing. There was dirt on his chin and cobwebs in his hair, but he still looked like the sun. 

For a fleeting moment, Annabeth thought Triton might retreat, but instead, he unsheathed his sword and approached. He stood on tiptoe, the creature so tall, to reach its mangled head. With grim deliberation, he began sawing away at the remaining horn. 

The minotaur screamed.

Annabeth recoiled in horror. It’s still alive, she thought as the creature’s agonized howls echoed through the tunnels. It twisted and writhed, futilely straining against its spikes. Triton pressed on, unyielding, until with a swift strike, his sword pierced the beast’s eye. The minotaur recoiled, shrieking in a final burst of pain before it fell still.

Triton stepped back, holding the severed horn, its light stretching long and bright. He raised his sword, positioning it above the creature's heart, as if to end its suffering for good. But he paused, a twisted smile curling upon his lips, before he turned away and strode off. 

Annabeth stood frozen for a moment, her eyes locked on the monstrous creature. The silence in the wake of Triton's departure was suffocating, broken only by the creature's faint, labored breathing. The minotaur’s form hung lifeless yet trapped, its hollow amber eyes flickering with pain and resentment.

She stepped closer, the creature’s agonized cries still echoing in her mind, twisted and raw. Triton’s fleeting smile haunted—mocking, cruel. He had simply left it there, broken, as if its suffering were some game, something to be savored. He was the same bully from when they were children, who stole Tyson’s ball and took his eye. Now, though, he had donned the mantle of a prince, soon to be king, and his slaps and shoves had only evolved into this.

The air felt heavier with each step she took. She could hear the minotaur's ragged breaths growing weaker. It could not die with dignity, could not even hope for a swift end. It was a prisoner, a sacrifice to something darker. 

She reached the creature’s side, her heart heavy. Her hand gripped the dagger tightly, her knuckles white. It should not have to suffer like this. 

Without a word, she raised the blade high. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into the creature’s amber eyes, still holding that strange, almost human resentment in their depths. 

In one swift motion, she thrust the dagger into the beast’s heart, the metal sinking deep into its chest with a sickening finality. The minotaur's body jerked once, then fell still. 

Annabeth staggered backward, breath labored, fingers clawing for purchase on the dirt walls for support, palms slick with sweat. The labyrinth felt colder now, its shadows pressing in from all sides, as if it was watching her, judging her. She had seen the monster’s agony, heard its scream, and her hand, guided by some cold, detached instinct, had delivered the final blow. The death had been swift, disturbingly easy.

She closed her eyes, fighting against the rising tide of panic. Had she spared the creature from a lingering death, or had she merely sealed her own fate in darkness? The final breath of the beast, the fading light in its eyes, clung to her memory like a shroud. Had she freed it, or had she merely condemned herself?

Her chest constricted, and a laugh—brittle and hollow—spilled from her lips, an eerie sound that echoed throughout the maze. She despised it, despised the empty, foreign thing it had become.

Get ahold of yourself, she thought desperately. Focus. 

She granted herself five fleeting, fragile minutes to unravel, to breathe through the tempest of emotions threatening to consume her. Then, with a shuddering breath, she steeled herself, drawing upon a composure that even Athena might have deemed worthy.

With considerable effort, she resumed her path, following the direction Triton had taken. The desire to bury the creature gnawed at her, but she couldn’t risk lingering, not with Triton ahead.

It was harder to track him now. Before, they had both moved blindly through the darkness, her silent steps trailing him. But now, he carried the minotaur’s horn, its light illuminating his way. He moved swiftly, the light guiding him, while she stumbled through the encroaching black.

She pressed on for what felt like miles, longing for a thread of her own to mark her path and prevent her from becoming hopelessly lost. The sketch lay crumpled in her pocket, a useless guide without any light to read it. 

At last, she came upon another bend, a fork in the path. Her instincts urged caution, whispering for her to pause, to calculate and deliberate. Yet, driven by a surge of urgency, she cast aside her better judgment and plunged headlong into the passage on the right.

The passage widened as she moved forward, and a faint flicker of light grew steadily brighter, forcing her to shield her eyes from its sudden glare. It led into an expansive cavern, a vast chamber that defied reason, too immense to belong to a maze buried beneath the earth. 

The heart of the labyrinth. 

And in the center stood Triton, sword in hand, face twisted with fury. His cloak, once a proud banner of his house, now hung in tattered shreds, fluttering like a war-torn banner in the wind. Before him was Percy, half in shadow, battered and bruised. His face streaked with grime and blood, yet his eyes burned with an unyielding fire. 

They circled each other, lions ready to pounce. 

Triton lunged forward, his blade a blur of silver. Percy parried deftly, their swords sparking as they met. Percy spun away, heels brushing the dusty ground as he evaded Triton’s powerful swings.

“You’re too slow,” Percy taunted. “You fight first with anger, not skill.” 

Triton roared in response, his muscles straining as he drove forward, his strikes heavier, more desperate. Each blow was meant to end it, to put Percy down for good. But Percy was a shadow, slipping through the cracks in Triton’s defense, his movements precise and controlled.

The ground beneath them shook, the labyrinth itself seeming to awaken to the ferocity of their battle. Stalactites hung perilously above, their sharp points glistening with moisture, threatening to fall at any moment.

Percy seized the momentary distraction, darting in close. His sword found its mark, grazing Triton’s side and drawing blood. Triton stumbled back, clutching his wound, but his eyes burned with renewed hatred.

“You will not take my crown,” Triton spat, his voice laced with venom.

Percy’s expression hardened. “You can keep your wretched crown.”

With a burst of speed, Triton charged again, their swords meeting in a violent clash. They grappled, sweat and blood mingling on the dirt floor, the minotaur’s horn flickering anxiously. 

Percy twisted Triton’s wrist, sending his sword clattering into the dark. He drove his knee into Triton’s chest, forcing a grunt from his lips as he fell to his knees, gasping for air. Seizing the moment, Percy grabbed a fistful of Triton’s blonde hair, yanking his head back with a swift, unrelenting force. His blade hovered just above Triton’s throat, the sharp edge glinting in the dim light.

The brothers stood frozen, breaths ragged.

“It’s over,” Percy said. “Yield.”

For a heartbeat, Triton wavered, reaching for a knife at his hip. Percy’s grip on his sword, however, did not falter. With a growl of frustration, Triton let his knife slip from his grasp, the clang of metal against stone echoing in the cavern.

“Would you truly strike down your own family?” Triton sneered. In the flickering light, his face was hauntingly beautiful, a cruel angel cast in shadow.

Percy’s fist tightened in Triton’s hair. “You’re no family of mine,” he spat.

Triton’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “What are you waiting for, then, dear brother? Aren’t you going to kill me?”

“You’ll die," Percy said, voice as hard as the blade he wielded. His gaze lifted, meeting Annabeth’s steady stare across the gloom. “But not by my hand.”

From the shadows, Annabeth emerged, her dagger gleaming. Sweat gathered on her brow, and the minotaur’s blood streaked her arms, yet she moved with the grace of a queen, looking like a goddess.

Triton’s face contorted in a flash of fear, his body tensing as if to rise, but the cold steel at his throat stilled him.

She approached with deliberate steps, her eyes never leaving his. She could see her reflection in his eyes, and with despair, she found that she couldn’t recognize herself. 

“I once asked you to answer a single question,” she said, stopping before him. “I have it now.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, in loathing, in fear as she unsheathed her dagger. With the tip of the blade, she lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“How do you want to die?” she whispered. “The dagger or the sword?”

Triton’s lips curled into a snarl. “You little bitch,” he hissed, fury and frustration radiating from him. He made a move to lunge at her, but Percy’s blade stopped him cold. “If I am to die, it’ll be by the hand of a man.”

With the speed of a serpent and a flash of gold, a gaping red void replaced where his eye once sat. His scream tore through the cavern, sharp and shrill, echoing in her ears like the cry of a minotaur. She remained unmoved, her gaze unwavering. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

She felt hollow. She felt full. Percy was staring at her, but she couldn’t read his expression.

Triton clutched his face, his face contorted in agony. The flicker of defiance was waning, replaced by the grim realization of his fate. 

“None shall come to our aid,” she told him. “And my patience wanes.”

“The sword,” he snarled, his lone eye darting desperately to the blade in Percy’s hand. It was the particle choice. A sword would grant him a swift, honorable death, while the dagger would prolong his suffering—slower, bloodier, far more agonizing, messy.

Annabeth’s lips curled into a red smile. “Fuck what you want.”

With a swift, unyielding motion, she plunged the dagger into Triton’s chest over and over, each strike steady and cold.

His breath became a tortured rasp, a gurgling gasp, as he crumpled to the ground, the light in his eye dimming with every agonizing breath. 

Annabeth stood over him, breath shallow, heart numb, as the silence of the cavern pressed in, broken only by the sickening drip of blood dripping from her blade onto the cold dirt floor.

She left before the blood had time to dry. The stillness in the labyrinth was almost as suffocating as the weight of what had transpired settled over them.

Percy’s hand shook slightly as he thrust the minotaur’s horn toward her, the light from it casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Take this,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’ll guide your journey back.”

She accepted it wordlessly, her blood coated fingers brushing his in the briefest of contacts.

He stepped forward, gently cupping her chin with a tenderness that seemed out of place in the aftermath of a slaughter. His gaze was soft, searching.

“Speak to me.”

Even as she shook her head, tears threatened to spill. “I’m fine.”

A rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A lie, if ever I heard one.”

Her lips parted to say something more, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. “It’s just… a lot to bear.”

“I know,” he murmured, stepping closer as if the space between them was too vast, too unbearable. She let him draw her into his arms, surrendering to the quiet comfort of his embrace. For a moment, despair hung between them, thick and heavy, as they both took in the cost of their victory. One dead prince, two damned souls, four hands bathed in red.

In the distance, faint but unmistakable, the sound of a horn echoed, signaling the end of the trial. Percy had to reach the exit before the final call, or both and Triton would be branded as failures.

“I must go,” Annabeth said.

“But are we well?” he asked, his voice full of unspoken questions, his hands hesitant on her hips.

She placed her hand on his cheek, her touch a whisper against his skin. “Yes. Always.”

Percy’s breath caught in his throat as she turned away, the finality of her words cutting through the chaos. “Then go,” he urged. “I’ll come for you once this is all through.”

With a lingering look, she stepped into the shadows, leaving Percy to make his way to the exit, to the light, to their future.

Annabeth hurried back through the Labyrinth, heart pounding, and flung herself through the hidden entrance. The castle halls were thick with the sounds of celebration, the clinking of goblets and the song of instruments. She took measures to hide herself from the servants, darting behind curtains, the blood staining her hands a cruel reminder of what she had just done. She knew the sight of them would raise alarm, but the castle, for once, seemed too consumed by Percy's victory to take notice of her haste. It seemed Triton had many enemies and all had been too eager to see him fall. 

She made her way to her chamber, her steps silent but swift. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and she wasted no time in stripping off her soiled clothes, throwing them aside as though they were another life entirely. She pulled on the first thing she could find—a simple white dress—and let its softness settle around her like a fragile shield. She knew she ought to join the revelry below, but she couldn’t face a crowd. Not yet. Not after everything that transpired beneath their feet. 

Instead, she sank onto the edge of her bed, her hands resting in her lap. The minutes, then hours, passed in an agonizing crawl. The world outside grew dimmer as the sun gave way to twilight, a bruised, purple hue settling over the horizon.

Her thoughts, once a rush of clarity and purpose, had now turned to a gnawing anxiety. Where is he?  Her fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap as worry turned to dread. Had something gone wrong? Had he been delayed? Or worse, had something happened to him? After everything they’d fought for, after everything they’d done? They were so close.

The hours dragged on like an eternity. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and with each passing moment, she grew tired of waiting and wondering if he was ever coming around. Her faith in him was fading. 

As the last light of day disappeared behind the horizon, she could no longer hold the weight of her doubt. She had hoped—no, she had believed he would return to her. But now, in the silence of her room, alone with only the sound of her own breathing, she wondered if he would ever come at all.

Suddenly, everything felt too suffocating. Each inhale felt too shallow, too forced. The weight of everything—the blood, the violence, the victory—pressed down on her with the force of a mountain. Her hands trembled, a cold sweat slicking the back of her neck, her vision narrowing as the walls of the castle seemed to close in on her.

I need air. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, driven by a desperation she couldn’t name, a need to escape, to flee from the walls that seemed to close in tighter with every passing second.

She ran.

Through the winding corridors, down the grand halls adorned with ancient tapestries, she ran, her footsteps echoing like a drumbeat in her ears. The air felt too thick, too suffocating, each breath a struggle, each step heavy, like lead pulling her down.

The cool evening air hit her like a shock when she finally burst through the door and into the open, the vast grounds of the castle sprawling out before her. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her feet carried her across the grass, the crunch of earth beneath her boots grounding her, but only just. 

She veered into the woods, the trees standing as silent sentinels, and emerged into that familiar empty field by the sea. Her breaths came faster now, shallow and frantic, each one scraping her lungs like flint. She clutched at her ribs, as though she could hold herself together, but it wasn’t enough. The world spun around her, the clouds above blurring into streaks of light.

Suddenly, she collided with something solid. Someone. She stumbled back, heart pounding as she looked up.

“Percy,” she breathed, his name escaping her lips like a prayer. “What are you doing?”

His face was of pure joy and relief as he steadied her, his hands firm on her shoulders. “Annabeth—”

“Where were you?” Frustration surged within her chest, and in that moment, they were no longer the adults they had become, but the eleven-year-olds who met so many summers and falls ago. “I was feeling so alone and I kept waiting for you but you never came. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think...” 

The words died in her throat as Percy knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring. 

“Marry me,” he said, eyes shining. “You'll never have to be alone. I love you, and that's all I really know.” 

The princess gasped at him, at her best friend, her true love, her soul mate, her family, silently screaming for answers. 

“I know the contract bound us to wed eventually, but I want us to begin with love, not law,” he said, his smile broadening. “I spoke with your parents. That’s what kept me, and for that I am sorry. I just couldn’t wait another second.”

“And?” she whispered, imagining her parents’ unhappy faces as Percy asked for her hand.

His smile was triumphant, like a thousand blazing suns. “Go pick out a white dress.” His gaze rose to meet hers as if she was his sun, his moon and all his stars. “It's a love story,” he said softly, knowing just how much the weight of those words meant for both of them. “Darling, just say—”

“Yes!” Annabeth cried, She choked on a sob, joy and disbelief intertwining as she threw her arms around him. “Yes, yes, yes!”

The final traces of the sun smiled down as the happy couple embraced beneath the summer sky, bathed in golden light as they twirled, for it was the end of a decade and the start of an age. 

The waves lapped gently against the cliff below as Annabeth approached the cottage, where Sally waited in the doorway, brown hair dancing on the wind. The air smelled of salt and jasmine, a peaceful respite from the storm that had consumed their lives just days before. Percy had gone to the harbor to oversee preparations for their journey to his father’s kingdom, where he would be named heir apparent. There would be no burial for Triton, as those who fell in trial by combat were forsaken by the gods, their names erased and their deeds forgotten. Once the mourning period passed, Annabeth and Percy would be wed. 

With Percy away, Annabeth seized the opportunity she had been waiting for.

She approached hesitantly, clutching a small bouquet of blue wildflowers she’d picked along the way. Sally turned and smiled, her warmth as familiar as the sun.

“Annabeth,” she said, eyes twinkling at the ring on her finger. “I didn’t expect to see you so early.”

“I couldn’t wait another moment without thanking you,” Annabeth said, stepping forward and holding out the flowers. “For everything you’ve done. For Percy, for me. If it weren’t for your foresight…” Her voice faltered, emotion thickening her words. “We wouldn't be free.”

Sally accepted the bouquet with a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling.“I only did what any mother would do for their child,” she said, her fingers lightly grazing the delicate petals. 

Anyone but mine, Annabeth thought bitterly.

“And much of it you achieved through your own courage,” Sally continued. “Percy spoke of the Labyrinth, of the perils you faced. You both fought with bravery and unwavering resolve.”

Annabeth's thoughts strayed to the restless nights since her return from that cursed hell, to nights filled with visions of gleaming horns and tormented cries. Each dawn found her drenched in sweat, her hand clutching at her throat, as if to claw the mangled heart from her chest.

“But you must understand,” Sally said. “I played a modest part. It was neither my foresight nor my orchestration that set you free.”

Gratitude collided with confusion in a dizzying clash. “Pray tell?”

A figure emerged from the depths of the cottage, draped in robes of silver with a cloak as red as blood. Her posture was regal, back straight and hands clasped behind her. The early morning sun painted the world in soft gold, yet her steel-gray eyes, sharp and calculating, stayed locked on the distant horizon, untouched by the warmth around her.

Annabeth’s breath caught in her throat.

“Mother,” she whispered.

Sally slipped quietly into the cottage as the Queen stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over Annabeth like a general assessing her troops.

“Sally Jackson is a formidable woman,” Athena said with a voice as smooth and unyielding as polished steel. “Braver than a thousand of my finest soldiers. It was no small thing to plead for her son’s legitimacy before the king of salt and sea.”

“But she did,” Annabeth said, the truth finally dawning. “At your command.” 

Athena gave the slightest of nods.  

Blood rushed hot and thick in Annabeth’s ears. “You planted the sketch of the Labyrinth with the contract and let Malcolm steal both from your chamber. You whispered in Sally’s ear to ensure Percy’s legitimization. The delayed handfasting..." 

Zeus' passing had delayed it. Zeus, whose health never seemed to truly recover from that illness, despite being on the mend.

Perhaps they were more alike than Annabeth cared to admit. Perhaps they both had blood on their hands.

"Every move, every step, was part of your plan.”

There was no trace of pride, no boast or sense of triumph, as if her mother’s actions were mere whispers, carrying no weight or significance.

“Why?” The word came out low and fierce, heavy with something raw. Annabeth knew she ought to fall to her knees and kiss her lady mother’s skirt, to let praise and gratitude fall from her lips, but instead, her blood boiled, a mix of fire and ice.

Athena’s expression remained inscrutable, her voice measured and precise. “I saw an opportunity to shift the balance of power. Your marriage contract was ironclad on the surface, but every arrangement has its vulnerabilities.”

“Why now?” She had years to change this story, to rewrite the contract, to revoke the vow.

“I had to be certain Perseus was his true born son,” Athena said crisply. “Countless bastards are running around, claiming royal blood to anyone who’ll listen. I needed time to know Sally, to trust her.”

Annabeth’s jaw tightened. “Then we’re all just pieces on your board, to be moved as you wish”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Athena snapped. “You’re not a piece, Annabeth. You’re a player. And a damn good one at that.”

The unexpected compliment struck like an arrow, but Annabeth refused to let it show. “And what would’ve happened if it all fell apart? If they found a way to out maneuver us, if Triton emerged as champion? Then what?”

Athena’s eyes narrowed. “You would’ve adapted.”

“And if I couldn’t?” Annabeth pressed, aware she was treading dangerous ground, daring to question Athena in this way. But she had to know— needed to know—whether her mother would have truly condemned her to such a fate. Would she have pawned her off, tossed her aside, discarded her like she did with that girl from her temple? 

She is but a girl! 

“Would you have turned away? 

Do not do this, Athena. 

“Would you have abandoned me?”

She is innocent. 

Athena scoffed, as if the very idea was beneath her. “I would never have let that happen to you.”

Spare her your wrath!

“But you did!” Annabeth’s shout was sharp and unforgiving, making them both flinch, but she didn’t retreat. She didn’t cower. Her mother had always seen her as a wild, untamed thing. Fine. Let her mother believe that. Let her be the creature Athena thought her to be. “You’ve done it before! You’ve let it happen, to a maiden just like me. An innocent. ”

Athena blinked slowly, her brow furrowing as Annabeth watched the realization spread across her face. “That… priestess wasn’t you,” she finally said. 

“No?” Annabeth’s voice cracked with emotion. “Then who is? Am I not just like every other girl? What makes me different? I have a heart and a mind, courage and fear, just like them. I have dreams to lose, love to gain—just like them. What makes me so different?”

Athena’s hands clenched at her sides. “How did you learn of her?”

Loosen one nail and the whole barn comes crashing down. Today it's one maiden. Tomorrow it's five. 

“I overheard you and the king.” 

In a week the whole damn kingdom will be expecting their demands to be accommodated, and in a fortnight there won't be a kingdom left.

Athena shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and confusion clouding her expression, as if the very idea that Annabeth remembered something from so long ago was impossible. “That girl…”

She did not want it. The fault is not hers.

“That girl had a name,” Annabeth cut in, her voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. “She had a life. She had dreams and aspirations. Just like me. Just like all the other women and girls who suffer at the hands of those in power.”

“And what was her name?” Athena lashed, words cracking like a whip.  “Pray tell, daughter, what was her name?”

Annabeth parted her lips, willing the name to come. “I… I…” Her heart twisted in frustration as her memory betrayed her. What was her name? Why couldn’t it come? All these years, the memory of her was so vivid, so close. She should’ve known it, she had to know it.

“You think you understand all there is to statecraft, to ruling a realm,” Athena snapped. “But there are forces at play that you cannot grasp—and I pray you never will—that I must navigate. Sometimes, all you can do is choose the lesser of two evils, no matter how bitter the cost. I did what I had to do. I did the best I could. I will not apologize for that, nor will I stand by while my own daughter paints me as the villain for doing so.”

Annabeth pressed a palm to her brow. She was so tired. Tired of it all. Tired of shrinking herself to avoid intimidating others. Tired of being told what to do by those with greater power but lesser minds. Tired of fearing a future that was supposed to be hers to shape. Tired of having a queen for a parent, instead of a mother.

How did it come to this? This constant warring between them? Even in their happiest moments, they could never just be, never just coexist. One always had to challenge the other. It was as though they didn’t know how to be just mother and daughter without turning everything into a battle of wits and wars.

When did this stop? When did it end? When one of them was gone from this earth? She didn’t want that, but she didn’t know how to love her mother and be her mother’s daughter in a world that was not made for both of them.

“I know you're not without fault, not without blame,” Annabeth finally said. “But you're not the villain in this story.”

Athena didn’t respond immediately. The air between them felt thickened and charged, curdled but not spoiled, heavy but not suffocating. 

Athena inhaled sharply. “I never knew you knew of this. That you’ve carried this for so long.” It was the closest she would come to an apology.

“I never told you.”

The silence settled between them like a heavy, suffocating cloak.

Finally, Annabeth spoke. “I’ll remember this.” It was the closest she would come to a thank you.

Athena nodded curtly and brushed past her, the sea breeze tugging at her cloak. Annabeth’s throat tightened. She wanted to call out, to beg her to stay. This would be the last time they would speak like this. No more intimate moments, no more truths shared. The next time their paths crossed, it would be at formal affairs—weddings, funerals, coronations, births. 

Annabeth's hand instinctively went to her belly, the weight of the silence pressing down on her. She wanted to say thank you. She wanted to scream. She wanted her mother to wrap her in her arms and tell her this world was finally their’s, and that she would help steer them both. 

Athena paused, as if hearing her daughter’s unspoken wants. She glanced back, face unreadable, wind whipping through her long, brown hair. “Her name was Medusa. She died alone.”

With that, she vanished into the mist, leaving Annabeth feeling heavier than before.

The princess stood on the windswept cliff, her cloak billowing as the sun dipped lower and the heavens shifted above. Time passed, marked only by the rhythmic crash of the waves against the rocky shore below. It was not until the faint rustle of footsteps that she realized Percy had joined her, his presence as steady as the tides.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked gently.

Annabeth shook her head. “I don’t know.”

And maybe I never will.

She reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining as if to anchor each other against the weight of the world. Below, the fleet of ships swayed gently on the restless waters, their banners catching the dying light like whispers of a forgotten age.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

Together, they turned toward the sea, the horizon stretching before them like an uncharted map of their future. This was the golden age of something good and right and real, and it was theirs for the taking. Side by side, they began their descent along the ancient stone path, their footsteps a soft cadence against the whispering wind. As the twilight deepened, the fading light cast a golden glow over the waters, guiding them forward into the unknown. 

Chapter Text

Twenty-Four Summers and Falls

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, honey golden hue across the yellow field. Wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant blues and purples and pinks dotting the landscape like a painter’s masterpiece. On a soft blanket beneath a weeping willow, Annabeth woke silently, traces of her nightmare clinging to her like cobwebs.

She sat up slowly, trembling hands stretching out before her. They were clean, as she knew they would be, but the vivid memory of blood and horns and daggers lingered in her mind. 

In the distance, laughter rang out—bright and carefree and so, so light. Percy ran through the field, two children at his heels. The boy, with his mess of blonde curls and stormy gray eyes, chased after a butterfly, while their daughter, with her raven tresses and sea-green eyes, twirled in circles, her giggles carried by the wind.

Annabeth took a deep breath, the peaceful scene easing the tension in her chest. Percy caught sight of her and smiled, his expression softening with love and concern. He made his way over.

“Hey, you,” Percy said as he knelt beside her, brushing a stray curl from her face. “You okay?”

She had seen how he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he didn’t speak of it. She had seen him in moments of strength, moments of fury, but today, there was only joy.

Annabeth nodded, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Just a dream,” she murmured, her eyes lingering on his. 

Percy’s expression shifted, the lightness in his eyes fading into understanding. He knew all too well the weight of her nightmares. They both bore the burden silently, shielding their children from the darkest corners of their minds. 

He opened his mouth as if to ask, but she shook her head softly, the moment broken by the children rushing over. One day, they would sit them down and unravel the story of their lives; how their father claimed a title never intended to be his, and how their mother fought for a freedom she was never supposed to attain. And when the time was right, they would tell them why their mother sometimes cried for no reason and why their father woke with a haunted look in his eyes. One day they would know all about the labyrinth and the blood that stained their parents’ hands. But for now, those dark tales would remain hidden, tucked safely away in the depths of their memory.

“Can we go?” the girl asked, petulant and stubborn. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her hair had escaped the long braid that trailed down her back.

Annabeth sighed. Not this again. The children had been pestering her all afternoon, and though she had half-heartedly hoped they'd forgotten, she knew better—especially the girl, who had an uncanny ability to remember everything her parents wished she would forget.

“Don’t you wish to spend your time doing something else?” Annabeth tried, though she knew it was a futile attempt.

“No,” the girl insisted.

“And you?” Annabeth turned to the boy, who simply shrugged, his gaze following his sister with unquestioning loyalty. He would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked it.

Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose and silently prayed to the gods for strength.

“Why don’t you gather some flowers for the supper table,” Percy suggested helpfully. Annabeth chose to ignore the wink that followed. Traitor . The girl shot her a pointed look before darting off, brother in tow. 

“I don’t understand them, and I don’t believe they understand me,” Annabeth said as she watched their little hands pluck the flowers from the dirt. “I used to loathe those horrid solstice balls.”

“As did I,” Percy replied. “Until I met you. Then suddenly, all I could do was look forward to them, just for a few fleeting moments with you.” Percy smiled softly, his voice taking on a more serious note. “We are not our parents, and our children are not us,” he said gently. “Besides, I have a feeling this isn’t truly about the ball, is it?”

She had only been back to her birth land twice since the day she left with Percy. The first time had been for her father’s funeral. It was a small, private event, far removed from the grandiose ceremony one might expect for a ruler. He was the King Consort, after all, and a commoner before that. He was never the crown, and the realm made sure he knew that, even in death. 

Annabeth and Percy had made the sea journey with their son, born just the year before. Annabeth couldn’t bear to be parted from him, even for a fortnight. Her brothers had been there, and their reunion had been bittersweet. Malcolm and his wife, a delicate beauty, and their son, a striking replica of Malcolm. Bobby and Matthew, on leave from their knighthood training. 

Athena hadn’t shed a single tear during the entire ceremony, her face a mask of stoic resolve. Cold-hearted, some said. When it came time to burn his shroud, she and her children stood solemnly before the funeral pyre. The royal family lifted their torches in unison, letting them fall into the kindling, the flames consuming Frederick’s body in a final farewell.

Annabeth kept waiting, half-expecting her father to rise from the pyre, whole and unscathed, as if it had all been some cruel trick. But he did not rise, and as the fire dwindled, the mourners slowly drifted away, leaving the queen and her only daughter behind. 

“All this over a stray candle,” Athena muttered angrily, shaking her head. “He was always a careless fool.”

The wind had whipped through their hair, snatching the words from Annabeth’s lips before she could speak. 

A moment later, she had finally turned, perhaps to offer a greeting or a word of comfort, but her mother was already gone, vanished into the mist.

It was the last time Annabeth would see her. 

By the following winter, a single arrow found its mark in the queen’s heart when she was walking the castle gardens. The archer? A young woman who claimed her sister was called by the name of Medusa. She’d been cut down on the spot. 

Annabeth had wanted to cry when she received news, but her heart was too full of regrets to allow her to weep.

Historians would call it a careless death, one any bumbling fool could have avoided. Yet, it was the warrior queen, renowned above all for her unparalleled combat prowess, her swift reflexes, and her unmatched cunning, who had fallen. 

Percy squeezed her hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her palm. 

She wanted to say, “It should’ve been him.”

She wanted to say, “It should’ve been us.”

Instead, she swallowed. “No,” she said simply. “It’s not.”

Athena’s funeral brought Annabeth back to her birth land for the second time in less than a year, both visits steeped in sorrow. It had been an elaborate, bustling event, with royals and nobles pilgriming from across the world to offer their condolences. A far cry from Frederick’s humble affair, if there ever was one. 

Poseidon had shown, with Amphitrite at his side. The queen refused to look at them, let alone speak to them. It was just as well, considering they had slain her son and stolen his crown.

Sally had come too. No longer bound to Poseidon, she had built a life of her own, dwelling in her own homestead and taking her own lovers. Annabeth was taken aback by her presence. Poseidon’s attendance was expected, a matter of protocol. But Sally? Her presence broke all convention, and Annabeth’s heart swelled with gratitude.

“She loved you,” Sally told her the morning of the burning. Ananbeth had cried then, in the arms of her second mother.

Annabeth didn’t doubt that Athena had loved her in her own way. But love took many forms, and even after all these years, she couldn't help but wish Athena had loved her differently.

The kingdom anticipated Malcolm’s collapse, expecting him to retreat into grief and shut himself away from the world. Instead, he defied all expectations. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ascended the throne, leading the realm with a resolute strength that made it seem as though Athena’s death had barely grazed him.

Annabeth wasn’t surprised. It was their way—rise to the challenge first, and crumble later in solitude. It could have been the motto of their House, an unspoken creed passed down through generations.

Yet, Malcolm had surprised even her by continuing their mother’s solstice balls. An ode to her memory, he claimed, a tribute to her legacy. Annabeth couldn’t help but wonder if it was merely a way to keep loneliness at bay.

Come home , Malcolm had written. Come back . My son wishes to know his aunt, and I wish to know my sister.

She had stared at the letter for hours, tracing that singular word as if it were something foreign. Home . Had it ever truly been home for her? And what, in truth, was she returning to? A pile of stones beneath which she had killed for love and freedom? A long ago memory that still haunted her every night? Deep down, she knew she was terrified to return. Terrified that the moment she set foot upon the shore, someone would look upon her and somehow see her for what she truly was—a monster, a murderer.

She had intended to burn the letter, to sever any chance of returning to that place. And yet, she had kept it, tied tightly and hidden beneath her pillow, a faint whisper of a past she couldn’t entirely erase.

But as fate would have it, her daughter, ever the curious little creature, had found it.

“A ball!” the girl had cried with wide eyes, and Annabeth instantly regretted not destroying it. “Oh, we’ve never gone to grandmother’s balls. Please, can we go?”

And so, she stood at a crossroads, torn between two worlds. Should she return, face her past, stand once more with her brothers? Or did she remain in this fairytale, safely tucked across the seas, where the people didn’t know her, didn’t know what they had done? She knew she owed it to her children to return eventually. They deserved to know that part of them. 

“You certainly spoke highly of your mother’s balls,” Percy said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“A thing I deeply regret,” Annabeth sighed.

“It might do them good to visit, to see where you came from, to understand what shaped you. Perhaps it would be good for you, too, to return.”

“Perhaps,” she said. 

The little boy came over, fists full of dirt and daisies. 

“Is that for me?” She took the flowers and brought them to her nose. He had always been her sweet, thoughtful, and studious little boy, offering small gifts to brighten her spirits when she was sad. His sister, on the other hand, was loud, untamable, and as sharp as a blade, always quick with a biting retort and a wise joke. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

Her son watched her with a gaze that was too solemn for a child his age. Sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder if all her darkest parts had somehow poured into him. A child had no business being that serious. 

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he said softly, as if he could see straight through her, sensing her deepest fears.

She smiled gently, kissing his soft cheek. “I know, sweetheart. But…” She glanced at Percy, who gave an encouraging nod. A wave of fear swelled within her, but she forced it down. “I think I want to.”

The little boy cocked his head, gold curls glinting in the setting sun. “Truly?”

She nodded, her voice firm with a quiet resolve. “Aye. I want to see my brothers, and I want you to know your uncles. And who knows? Maybe something magical will happen, just as it did all those years ago.”

At the mention of magic, the little girl returned, her excitement barely contained. “Magic? What magic?”

Annabeth’s eyes softened as she looked at Percy. “Why, I met your father when I was but a few years older than your brother.”

Percy chuckled. “She was the most intimidating girl I’d ever met. All fierce intelligence and confidence.”

Annabeth leaned her head against his shoulder, the weight of the years between then and now heavy with meaning. “We’ve come a long way,” she whispered.

Percy kissed the top of her head, his voice soft. “We have. And I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it.”

Their daughter tugged on Percy’s sleeve, eyes wide with curiosity. “Tell us more!”

Percy grinned, scooping the girl onto his lap as their son climbed onto Annabeth’s. “It was an evening much like this,” he began, his voice filled with warmth. “But I knew, even then, that she was the one who’d change my life forever.” He looked at her. “But your mother remembers far better than I.”

The children looked at her expectantly and she cleared her throat.

“Well,” the princess said, the memories of that sweet summer air washing over her. She could almost smell the sweet summer air and see the twinkling lights from that fateful evening all those years ago. “Where to start?”

“At the beginning,” Percy said, eyes bright.

Annabeth’s heart swelled, her nightmare forgotten in the light of her family’s love. The past was a story they cherished, but the present—this golden afternoon, their children’s laughter, and the unbreakable bond between them—was the happily ever after they had built together.

She gazed at Percy, her heart swelling with love as she looked at the man who had fought by her side, wept in her arms, and loved her unconditionally, with a devotion that had only grown stronger over time.

“We were both young when I first saw you,” she began. She closed her eyes, and the flashback started.