Since she was a kid, Annabeth Chase built castles inside her head.

It seemed perfectly logical, at the time. She had magical, invisible creatures attacking her at every corner. She had an evil stepmother who gave her lectures for daring to be so disruptive. It was a fairytale waiting to happen.

Then she was running out of town, tears blurring the path, and that boy showed up. Not even a crown could've made him more perfect. He gave her all she ever wanted to know about who she was. He gave her his jacket when the snow fell down. He gave her meals so small they barely counted as meals, but it didn't matter because they tasted of home—of not being talked down to, of being taught to use a knife, of sharing sob stories around a dim campfire.

This has to be it, Annabeth thought. Luke Castellan had to be the prince to complete her story. He had to be the hero who led her to the final battle (but let her fight it on her own, because she refused to be one of those wimpy princesses).

A few years later, her prince came back from his first quest with a scarred face and even deeper scars that he wouldn't let her see, so she tried to act like she didn't know. But what really hit her in the gut was the scorpion sting that was on Seaweed Brain yet had Luke's name written all over it.

The story changed tone, but, surely, it wasn't over? No fairytale ended because one of the heroes made a mistake. Everything that went bad once could be turned back again with a little faith. Luke may have become a beast, but Annabeth, of all people, could be the beauty who saw through that mask—couldn't she?

Only when he left her on that mountain to die did she realize one thing she'd overlooked. Belle was brilliant, magical, and full of heart… but she wasn't naïve enough to trust a beast that gave her no reason to.