Bioluminescence

by StackofStories

Percy never intended to be reigning monarch next to his half-brother. He never dreamed of carving out his own luck in a world that was determined to see him fail. He just did, and that was all there was too it. Underage. Slash.

Title: Bioluminescence
Rating: M
Summary: Percy never intended to be reigning monarch next to his half-brother. He never dreamed of carving out his own luck in a world that was determined to see him fail. He just did, and that was all there was too it. Underage.
Pairing: Triton/Percy (main.) Percy and other people side.(dub-con)
Warnings: Underage, dub-con, violence, dark stuff, ummm… that's all besides the usual bad grammar from me.
Stuff needed to be said: This is for Takara Phoenix and I hope she enjoys it enough to give me what I want; Jasico. A trade for a trade. ;P Betas did an amazing job: see end notes.

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Bioluminescence

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'Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also in you,' – Friedrich Nietzsche

The truth was that Percy never aspired to be like he was today. He found himself chuckling mirthlessly when he heard the whispers that surrounded him—a king's whore at fourteen. His life snatched from under his feet at six, all to rule a country! They must be joking.

His life was shaped by a series of misfortunes, and he was only brave and strong enough to bear it and forge his way through all the muck and grime. He was the one who sought to be someone, and if playing through the court's intricacies, stepping on people, and becoming the very thing he hated was the way to go, then he proudly did it. No one stopped him.

As Percy walked down the aisle of the ancient church, throes of servants were stationed on each side, and his own personal train of servants followed him as he if were royalty; he acknowledged his enemies. He smiled, regardless of the hatred that burned in their eyes—it was a blinding white smile, one full of teeth and blood.

He stepped by his future husband, King Triton, and bowed once to the old high priest in front of him. Said high priest was smart to keep his face blank, and his eyes neutral. It wouldn't due to anger he, the future regent and Queen—he was second to only the king, and heir to the throne, if said king were to die. Nevertheless, the people showed their disgust and hate in place of their priest. Percy could feel a thousand and one boiling stares directed at him. A lesser person would be fazed, but not he. Never him.

The priest started to drone on about sanctity, peace, and all that good stuff regarding his future marriage. Percy tuned out while he reached and grabbed hold of his dearly beloved. He continued to smile, his pleasant smile, humming. His sea-green gaze moved about the structure, taking in the classical architecture and stained-glass mosaics depicting Gods and Men in their epic battles, sometimes against each other and other times in unity. They were beautiful, he noted absently. He caught sight of a small stained portrait in front of him, one he hadn't noticed before.

It was a simple one. He saw the boy or girl—too androgynous for him to tell—dressed in a simple white garb. Their facial expression was curiously blank, and their features were strikingly dreary. He knew he'd never remember the mosaic—it was dull, so very dull. But there was something interesting about it: the person held an oval-shaped mirror—he could see his reflecting image in the glass.

It stilled his heart—an icy chill ran up his spine.

His image was what frightened him, so much that he took a measured step back. His features were as youthful as ever with the added effect of makeup; he was all powdered up and prettied. His eyes were as green and bright as always with an added hint of darkness; a glint of sharpness that wasn't—couldn't—have been there before. What sent chills up spine, though, was his smile. He may not have intended to be a noble, someone of royalty that looked upon the destitute, but he became one.

The high priest declared their marriage to be forever prosperous and fruitful, blessed by the very Gods themselves. When his half-brother pulled him into a kiss—a promise which was to come—he let him go. He faced the people he ruled, their backs and hands, which he stepped on to cement his place in their world. The moment his people rose up, clapped, bellowing, "Long live the King and Queen," he had a startling epiphany as he smiled a dark, bloody, noble smile.

He took a plunge in the darkness and he came out the other side as a monster—but what made him shiver and his blood run cold was the knowledge that he didn't care! If he had been given the chance with a better, brighter past behind him he'd still take the plunge—he'd do it all over again.

'There has never been, nor ever will be, anything quite so special as love between a mother and son,' - Anonymous

Hunger gnawed at him, but Percy still smiled. He could not think about hunger now, not when he had this! He came to a skidding stop in front of his momma, dropping to his knees. He studied her for a mere nanosecond, taking in her haggard appearance. Oh, his beautiful momma, so very tired.

"Momma," he prodded gently, "Momma—look at what I got!"

He waited patiently for Momma to open a tired green eye at him. He stayed on his knees, silent, as he watched Momma exert a great effort in sitting up on their single mattress. She drew the holey, yellow blanket close and finally—finally did she offer him a smile. "What did you get, Baby?"

He offered her his newest treasures happily. A chipped die, an eyeless doll, a silver broken watch frozen at 2:02; all of the meaningless junk was his to adore and fawn over, and he did so with pleasure. To pass to the time he regaled a tale of how he acquired each treasure. They were heart-stopping epics, heroic deeds, all of which he assured Momma that he did so with great ease.

He watched Momma close, pleased when his momma gasped, clapped, and listened fervently. She was an avid listener—his favorite type—who didn't once stop him or even doubt his facts. Momma was the greatest momma in the world—he wouldn't trade her for all the crown jewels in the land! He loved her more than all the seas combined in the world. He hoped one day he would grow up big and strong with lots of money and he take his momma from this dirty, rotten place and build a castle for her and treat her like a princess.

A small tinkling chime broke through his thoughts, and stopped his story in the best part (he just gotten hold of the standstill watch, and the dolphin henchmen and their leader, Chrysaor, were on hot on his trail . . .). Momma pressed her lips into a fine line, reaching under her yellowed pillow. She pulled out a beaten old watch and flipped it open, sighing.

"Percy," she said. He slumped. He knew that voice. It was the Empty Voice. He'd have to go into the bathroom again and lock the door. He couldn't come out until Momma knocked twice.

He hated that.

"Smelly Gabe is coming over!" he accused. This was all his fault. He had caught sight of him one time—a mere glimpse—and it was enough to make him puke. He was fat like a baby whale and covered in billions of stains; he was really hairy like a bear, and smelled like the sewage on the hottest day in August. Percy couldn't possible fathom why Momma continued to tolerate his presence in their home.

He waited for the tired, "Yes, Percy," that followed after.

"But why?" he protested.

As usual, Momma gave him that same sad smile and her eyes filled with tears. Why, he could never understand. It always made him drop his newest treasures and run into Momma's arms. She wound her arms around him and peppered kisses to his black hair, and like usual Percy could feel her lips part on his head and whisper something—something which he never caught, and frustrated him to no end, because why would Momma do something so silly like that? What use was there to whisper on his head where there were no ears or eyes to catch it? Momma was so weird sometimes.

He soon forgot Momma's weirdness when she tugged him closer to her and ran soothing fingers through his hair. She smelled of old dust, ink, and the salty breeze of the sea. It was a comforting scent, one which he hoped stayed with him for all time. He inhaled, exhaled, and then let go. Momma stared down at him with her fingers still threaded in his hair; she tried to conjure up a bigger, happier smile but it failed. He smiled in return, though. That was all he could do because he knew what came next.

"I'm sorry, Perce," Momma said and he nodded. He was sorry too. He gathered up his newest playthings and walked into the grimy, old bathroom. He closed the door and locked it—he wasn't allowed to touch the bathroom light.

He climbed into the too-tiny bathtub; his feet hung on the glinting faucet. He held the eyeless doll close to his chest and closed his eyes, counting backward from 99. He counted and he counted, weird grunts and moans eventually joining in until he fell into a dreamless sleep. Another day gone and done.

Rarely, Percy had good days with Momma. He cherished those days the most. The days where faceless men and Smelly Gabe didn't come over to their apartment and force noises out of his momma. Days where Momma rolled off of the mattress full of spirit and energy. Days where he could explore the outside next to Momma.

Today was one of those days. As soon as Percy woke up, he only had to wait twenty minutes before he heard the familiar soft knocks from Momma. He opened the door and she met him at the doorway. Her hands were closed around a large wad of money and coins. She grinned at him, her teeth colored a brilliant white. She leaned in and kissed his nose. "Momma," he giggled.

"Yes, Love?" she asked, pecking again on his nose.

He tilted his head to the side, the corners of his lips quirking. "Is today a good day?" he inquired, even if he already knew the answer. He was bound by a childish curiosity—he just had to make sure.

Momma gained an unseen mischievous glint in her eye. "Mm, we'll see, Baby. How about we take a bath and we'll see how things go? Does that sound like a plan?"

He nodded furiously, squirming in delight. Today was gonna be a good day. He took his treasures out of the bathtub carefully and placed them precariously on the toilet. He took extra-special care to make sure the standstill watch and eyeless doll were placed just right. They were the special-est in the history of found treasures.

He stripped his clothes quickly after his treasures were safe and sound. He shuffled to the rim of the bathtub, watching with awe. Momma started to fill up the tub with steaming water; it always amazed him how water could come from the faucet. Where it came from, he had no clue, but he was glad it came! He fancied the thought that when it filled up the bathtub it was like he had his very own ocean: his fingers and toes were the mysterious fishies and creatures of the deep, and he was the king of such a mighty ocean kingdom.

He once told Momma about his fantasy and she laughed, a deep belly laugh. She blanketed him in kisses afterwards. Why? He hadn't a single clue, but he was glad when she did such a thing. He could count the number of times Momma ever laughed like that. He blew through his nose, his thoughts coming to a halting stop when he heard the deep rumble of the pipes and the squeaking of the faucet as his momma turned it off.

"You first, Percy," Momma encouraged. He nodded eagerly and slowly submerged himself into the hot water, unlike Momma who just sat right in. Momma never ceased to amaze him—the water was hot, hot, hot—how she could just sit in like it was nothing blew his mind.

Momma allowed him a few minutes to play in the bathtub, which he did so merrily before she dragged him close and grabbed their only washcloth and soap from the small white shelf. Oh! He scowled at the shelf like it was the worst thing in the world. He loved and hated the bathtub. He loved the water it produced and held, but he absolutely hated being washed and cleaned. Momma spared no sympathy: the washcloth was dreadfully coarse and the soap not that much better. She scrubbed every inch of him (including his hair) clean like he was some unpleasant stain. She did this process three times before she even deemed him clean. He was always so happy when the process was done.

"Out you go," Momma said. He happily slipped out and wrapped his body in their lone brown towel, which was folded neatly on sink's counter. He dried off at a lightning fast pace, setting the towel back in place. He raced into the other room, naked and all. His mother had picked out his favorite outfit: a soft, blue cotton shirt the very color of sea; some tawny capris; his shoes . . . and the jacket. Always the jacket, except during the hottest months.

He put on his clothes and sat on the springy mattress, waiting for Momma. Luckily, the wait for her was short. She too came out the bathroom a couple of minutes, naked like he was. He was used to such nakedness, though—he knew no different. Momma dressed in her best gown: a pale-colored dress with a sea-colored ribbon tied around the waist. He thought it made Momma's eyes especially noticeable and brought out her beauty more.

She peered into the cracked mirror that hung on a tiny screw on their wall, pushing back wet hairs here and there. Momma then turned on her heel and held out a hand for him to take. He did so happily, and they were off just like that, exploring the city. He found it hard to try and contain his energy—he hadn't been out like this in months.

Momma swept him away from their crumbly old apartment building and outside of their dark community into the light. She took him to the town, which he was never allowed set foot in without his Momma's permission.

The town, Asphodel, was such a treat. There were always people bustling about, and they weren't just normal people—they were different people, all of them in different shapes, lengths, colors, and sizes. He was always in awe of such a world. Why must his apartment and his neighborhood be so colorless and lifeless, when Asphodel was bursting with life and color? It saddened him greatly, but he later tried to rationalize it by using a quote Momma frequently said: "Too much of a good thing could turn bad."

If he constantly saw Asphodel, would he still be amazed by its wonder? He thought not. So, he just settled for his special visits with Momma. Momma always brought him to a street vendor where she bought the biggest confectionery, and wouldn't give him nary a nibble until they arrived at their destination. Their destination could only be reached by a beaten path hidden by bushes with white flowers.

He liked to visit their destination. The path—which was a windy one—led them straight to a rusting iron bench, which overlooked the azure waters of Asphodel. What was special about their destination was that—if you squinted—you could see the mainland: Atlantis, Momma called it, ruled by King Poseidon.

He hopped on the bench next to his momma. She set their large sweet, dripping with sugars, in the small space between them. The soft, salty breeze played with her white dress and hair. Percy was quiet because he knew what was coming: the far-off glint in Momma's eye, and the way she started to smile wearing that expression, one which he had yet to say if it was sad or happy.

He picked off the treat, popping it in his mouth, waiting for his momma to speak. It was a long time before Momma tore her stare from Atlantis. "Your father was King Poseidon, and I was a silly girl of sixteen," she started.

And he knew it. He heard the story lots of times. His father, King Poseidon, was visiting their island of Asphodel when he spotted Momma working as a mere scullery maid. His father was in a conference with the other lords of the land, and their meeting for that year was their island. Anyways, his father spent the whole year trying to woo Momma with expensive gifts like the dress she wore and the beat-up golden watch that she hid under the pillow. In the last remaining week of the meeting, Momma gave in to him. She was silly girl for that, Momma said, because he left her afterwards back to his own wife and child. She was left penniless and without a family.

It was a sad story, he knew, but Momma never failed to tack on to the ending that she was eternally grateful to his father because he gave her him. To be honest, it confused him a great deal; how did that work? He thought Momma had him in her tummy (he hadn't clue how he got in or out of Momma's tummy, but those were unimportant facts) so, how did his father give him to Momma if he was already there in the first place?

Questions, questions, questions. He settled for a, "It's almost winter time, Momma," completely deviating from the topic at hand. Momma turned to him and nodded sharply. Momma and he ate in silence, ripping off pieces of their sweet, gooey treats until there was nothing left but crumbs. When they were done, Momma simply set the remainder on the ground, muttering about how it was giving back to the earth, really. Personally, he thought it was because Momma was too lazy to dump it in the trash bin, but such thoughts were kept to himself.

"So, Momma—winter!" he brought up the topic once more. Winter was indeed fast approaching, and like all animals they needed to be prepared for oncoming coldness. He vaguely remembered last winter: it was very cold and unpleasant, aside from the white snow that covered their apartment. Snow was also cold, but it was pretty, so it was alright.

Momma scooped out her remaining bills and coins, her features pinching together. "I guess that means blankets, coats, and food—right, Love?" she said, glancing at him. He nodded eagerly, his black hair flopping in his eyes with every movement.

"Right, Momma!"

"Let's go then." She gripped his hand tight in hers, pulling him along as they got up from the bench. He and Momma journeyed back into the wondrous town, Momma pulling him along and keeping him close. They walked in brisk steps to the secondhand shop, Paul's, where everything was dirt cheap because the shop's owner was sweet on his momma.

Every time they'd visit Momma would wink at Paul before talking in a weird voice to him. Paul was a thin man with thinning brown hair; he wore round glasses that made his brown eyes look extra big. Paul acted so funny whenever Momma talked in her weird voice. He'd blush and stutter, trip over things, and say everything in jumbled up messes. Percy thought he was very funny.

By the time they got out of the shop, Momma had bought three extra thick and fluffy blankets, a really thick coat, socks, and underwear for both of them. Momma only spent two bills on that and a single bronze coin. So, they were set on clothes and stuff. It was getting dark by the time they left Paul's, though; Momma gripped his hand tighter in hers, quietly assuring him that she'd get food for them tomorrow.

Momma told him he was never allowed in Asphodel when it was dark. He wondered why. Momma never explained; she just told him in a deathly quiet voice that when it was dark he had to come home. He nodded obediently; Momma never steered him wrong before. They hurried to their apartment, and just before the sun set, they were in.

His tummy rumbled; Momma chuckled. She set their new things down in their corner and pointed to the bed. He withheld a sigh, rubbing his belly, shushing it. He was old enough to know when there was nothing to eat. He went into the bathroom and did his business; he grabbed the eyeless doll on his way out.

Momma was out of her dress, naked except for her underwear. He always had the choice to sleep in his clothes or not; tonight, he chose his clothes. He kicked off his shoes and settled onto the mattress, his doll held close to him. Momma followed after; she pulled him to her chest, right over her heart, and sighed. Lately, that was all his momma did. Sigh and look off in a place neither here nor there. It raised questions: like did she know something he didn't? But he kept the questions to himself. He only asked Momma his most important questions—the others he stored away for later.

One question he wanted to ask, though, was why her heart went ba-bump, ba-bump, silence, ba-bump. It was irregular, as opposed to his ba-bump heartbeat without any pauses. He listened to the rhythm, though; the sound never failed to make him sleepy. Another question: why he did he get so sleepy when listening to Momma's heartbeat?

Soon after, he felt his eyes start to grow heavy. He yawned once, again, and then his eyelids fell shut. He tried to keep them open. He really did, but his eyelids won against his will. He drifted off. Another day—a good day—gone and done.

Winter came abruptly one November morning, and it came hard. There was snow almost every day. At first it excited him, but after a while it lost its luster, especially since he was confined to the apartment. The snow was thick and stuck to the ground; Momma told him he had to stay in or he'd catch his death.

The apartment was boring and small, no matter how Momma tried to make it seem like it wasn't. There were only four walls; the living room/bedroom and kitchen area were only separated by a distinct floorboard, and if you crossed over the floorboard you were closer to the small fridge and oven. They had no cabinets, pantries, or dressers. Their clothes and his toys were sat in a corner and that was it. Oh—and the bathroom.

He was getting cabin fever.

Momma was getting sick.

Momma tried to hide it of course, but there was little one could hide when stuck in an apartment as small as theirs. He noticed that she hardly ever got up from her bed, not to pee or eat. Momma had no appetite either: when he begged her to eat she only managed a nibble and then assured him of her fullness. He was young, not stupid. Momma also wet the bed. She didn't pee, she sweat—a lot. It worried him.

Momma tried to tell him she was fine—only a passing cold or bug—but eventually she couldn't do that. In January, she began her coughing fits. They were violent, too. She hacked blood and phlegm every time she opened her mouth, she looked more than tired if she let even one out. It was scary seeing Momma like this.

He tried to make her better in all the ways he knew how. Mostly he kept her fevers down by patting her down with their washcloth and making her eat bread. His knowledge didn't expand further than that. As winter went on, he sat by Momma's side, watching her with sad, helpless eyes because he knew what was to come later. Death was not a stranger to him.

He curled up to Momma one night when her coughs weren't so bad and she was able to keep things down. He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as possible, shivering at her clammy skin. "Momma," he said in a too-quiet voice, afraid that if he were to talk any louder he'd break some sort of calm.

"Yes, Baby?" she asked, and he felt her smile through the darkness. Her closest arm instinctively curled around him. He shifted closer to her.

"Please don't die," he begged childishly. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. He felt his belly and heart lurch at his words; how Momma ceased all movement. Her smile stretched further.

"I won't—I promise," she said. He cried; the hot salty water rolled down his cheeks because he was young, not stupid. Momma was lying to him. But he was a still a small boy, not yet seven, and clung to his momma even if he knew the lies in her words. He wished beyond all belief that Momma wasn't dying before his eyes, and that tomorrow she'd get up, healthy and happy.

Tomorrow came and another day followed. He dared not move from Momma's side. Her breathing was slow—very slow—and it scared him.

Asphodel always followed a schedule. In November the winter came and on the last day of January, the last snow fell. He woke up to witness the final snowfall. Momma did not.

He sat by her still form, her skin icy, and he waited. He started to talk to Momma about what she and he would do once the snow melted away and she got up. He told her that the food supply was dwindling down and how he could see the golden sun from their window. He sat next to his Momma and lamented how lonely it was without her. She was being like those bears that she told him about, the ones that sleep for a really, really long time and didn't get up until spring.

The snow was gone. The sun was out. So, why wasn't Momma getting up? The more he talked the sadder he became. Did he do something wrong? Was Momma ignoring him on purpose for some slight? He apologized over and over again; sorry's rained down from his lips until his throat grew dry. He promised he'd be a good boy. The best boy possible that only told the best stories and took baths willingly. He guessed it wasn't good enough for Momma because she kept on with her eyes closed, her body never moving an inch.

Momma is a good pretender, he thought sadly. Sleeping all day when she really wasn't. Silly Momma—did she not think he'd notice?

He poked at her arm and laughed loudly. "Momma!" he giggled, "I know you aren't sleeping. I said I'm sorry and I promised I'd be good. So get up! Up! Up! Up!" he poked more, but Momma was stubborn. She stayed in place. Her eyelids never even cracked open in the slightest.

Days passed. Percy only bothered to get up to pee and to eat a slice of bread—Momma might move, and if he caught her in the act surely she'd have to get up and stop pretending. He waited patiently for such a thing to happen; the swirl of regret and guilt that bubbled in his stomach eventually transformed into anger. He was mad. Mad at Momma.

How could she leave him here like this? Why must she play these games? It was fun the first day or so, but it wasn't anymore. Now, she was just being mean, meaner than Nancy and Matt Bobofit who lived five doors down. He climbed on top of Momma and started to pound his little fists on her chest, kicking and screaming for her to wake up! But Momma refused to listen to him.

Why?

Did she enjoy seeing him in distress, with tears running down his face and his screams that pierced both here and the afterlife? Why was she doing this to him? he raged. What did he do to deserve such horrible treatment? Momma said she loved him, didn't she? This isolation wasn't a sign of her love—that he was sure of.

When his screams died down and his tears dried he gazed down at Momma. Her pretty brown hair arranged in a messy, messy way. Her pale skin marred by ugly dark-purple and brown bruises. Her eyes closed. Her chest static in motion. The sight renewed his anger, but this time he didn't act on it. He sat on her wearing an ugly frown.

"Momma, you said you weren't going to die. You promised. That means you're asleep, but you've been sleeping for a really, really, really long time. Momma, if you aren't up tomorrow, I'm going to Asphodel alone . . . and I won't come back. I promise I won't." He gave her his ultimatum with his fists curled. "So, wake up, Momma! Wake up if you want to stop me!"

He rolled off to the side and curled himself under the ball of covers. Despite Momma no longer being warm, he scooted up against her, falling asleep quickly with the fierce hope that the next time his eyes opened Momma would be up with kisses and all.

Expectedly, he woke up when the first rays of the sun slivered through their dirty windowpane. He yawned once and stretched, smacking his lips and scratching his hair. He almost didn't want to glance to the left of him, but did so anyway. He had to make sure, didn't he? He straightened back, taking a peek over his shoulder.

He wondered in that moment if it was possible to feel like nothing. He didn't have a name to describe the emotion he felt. It was just a vague emptiness that seemed to weigh down on him—Momma hadn't moved so much as an inch.

Okay.

Okay.

He crept from the mattress; the clothes he been wearing for a good week clung to him. He wasn't going to change. He moved about the apartment, filling his coat pockets with the little food they did have and the last remaining bills and coins. Out of all the treasures he collected over a number of years he decided on keeping his newest favorites: the silver standstill watch and the threadbare eyeless doll.

All the while, he kept his eyes away from the middle of the room. When he finished collecting all that which he held dear, he trudged toward the door. The briskness of his steps were deliberately slow; perhaps Momma would jump up and wrap him in a hug. Maybe she'll whisper a goodbye . . .

But all the maybes and woulds turned into jagged shards to the heart. His hand touched the rusty door handle and he turned the knob, the squeakiness filling the room. He got a foot out the door and then another—he was out of the apartment. He never twisted his head back. He heard no sound. He knew when he was waiting for something that wasn't going to happen.

His fingers let go of the handle before he knew he was ready; the door left a harsh slam behind him. He struggled not to immediately go back and yet again try to beg Momma awake. Instead, he righted his expression into a faceless mask. His sea-green eyes stared determinedly north down the darkened hall, and even more so out the apartment where Asphodel lay.

He began walking, and not once did he ever look back.

'If you are going through hell, keep going,' – Winston Churchill

Percy was cold and hungry. His food of mostly bread and cheese had run out weeks ago, and now he relied on strangers' pity to get by. He kept the money that strangers threw to him in his inner coat pockets, never daring to spend a cent. Spending would mean going into Asphodel, and despite him telling Momma that he would indeed go, he immediately decided against it, cowed by the many denizens of the town.

His current living quarters was a rather sturdy cardboard box, which sat just at the very opening of his community. He only ever left his cardboard home to do his business in a corner and occasionally take advantage of the spare hoses just lying around to get a quick and thorough rise down. His days all blurred, though. He lived a life of tiresome monotony.

He was six. He had no smart plans to get himself out of the box, into a new home, with maybe another family. He only ever knew his apartment, the crumbly, moldy old building which held his apartment and the community, which the building was located in. Said community wasn't the most welcoming place: the people were poor and nasty, and it seemed like the only color and life in the community was a musty old grey or sinister black. So, there were no other options left. He was stuck in the box.

His luck changed on a particularly dark and cloudy day. He sat in his box as usual, whispering nonsense to his eyeless doll. Continual hunger pangs shot through him as he talked to his doll, but he tried to ignore such things. He learned long ago that focusing on actual hunger and thirst made it about a billion times worst.

His talks spanned on for a good twenty minutes until a rather large shadow blocked the natural sunlight. He glanced up, letting out a small yelp when he saw the man before him. Immediately, he crawled back into his hole, his eyeless doll left at the entrance. Instinct told him to cower into a ball and hide his face, which he did. He hoped the man would go away.

"Ooh, child," the man clucked his tongue, "there's no need to be afraid. I won't hurt you."

Percy made a face in his knees. Who would believe that? What adult willingly chatted with a child that wasn't theirs, and wasn't going to hurt them? Bah.

"I promise," the strange man continued in a sickly sweet voice. The man bent down and peered into the box. "Look—I have something for you."

Even if all his instincts told him, No! his stare went from his face to the front of the box. In the man's hand was the biggest red lolly ever. He couldn't resist that. He shuffled forward and reached toward it, but the man pulled his treat back.

"You're mean!" Percy accused, poking his head out of the box.

The stranger laughed loudly; he gave him a large smile. He noticed that the man had very, very yellow teeth. "I'm not mean. I'll give you this pretty, little lollipop if you do something for me."

His brows knit together in confusion, yet he inched out of his box just a bit more. He found that the man had a sweet scent that reminded him a lot of candy. "What do you want me to do?"

The man's smile grew wider, his black stare trained on him. "It's nothing much, little one. I just want you to answer a question of mine: Where are your parents?"

Percy drew back. "My momma died," he stated sadly. The cold truth had sunk in weeks ago.

"And your father?" the stranger pressed; the lolly he held lowered just a bit more. It was within reach; perhaps, if he answered this question even if Momma explicitly told him to never, ever give out that particular piece of information, but the lolly . . .

"King Poseidon," he said with his head bowed. "My papa is King Poseidon."

At that the man laughed as if he told some particularly funny joke. He couldn't help his tentative smile—laughter was contagious, after all. He took the risk, finally coming out of his box. Perhaps the man wasn't so bad. He seemed nice and smelled better than nice. The man's loud and resounding laughter eventually died down. The man's fingers ran through his hair, his fingernails grazing his scalp.

"Of course he is, little one—of course he is!" He let another short burst of laughter. "I haven't heard something so funny in years. So, you're an orphan, boy? Your parents dead?"

Percy nodded slowly.

The man's arm lowered just a smidge more. The lolly was in reach.

"I'm Tantalus," the man newly named Tantalus said breezily. "Your momma sent me to get you."

He shook his head. That didn't sound right. Momma was dead. Momma never said anything about this man, Tantalus, but Momma never said anything about a lot of things; like why the sky was blue or why Smelly Gabe came over.

"She really did?" he ventured. "You aren't lying to me?"

Tantalus shook his head, his oily black hair falling into random disarray. He held one hand over his heart. "Scout's honor; I have no reason to lie, young one."

"Oh, okay—Momma told you to get me? Why?" he asked.

Tantalus' smile died down a tad. "Because she knew I would take care of you. She personally entrusted me with your safety; she wanted me to take you away from here and into a new home."

His breath hitched. "S-She did?"

Tantalus nodded. "She did, young one. So, what do you say—will you honor your mother's last wish?"

He nodded, of course—he honored and listened to whatever Momma had to say. "Okay," he said. "I'll go with you."

Tantalus beamed, finally handing him the lolly. He wasted not a moment; the treat was thrust into his awaiting mouth. He sucked on it for a good, long moment, the juices and sugars bursting in his mouth. He found it curious that Tantalus just stood there watching him, instead of taking it away.

Oh well. He thought no more of it—he was more than happy to just stand enjoying his treat. But something was happening. Something bad.

His world view was growing dimmer. His legs were starting to feel like jelly, like they couldn't support his weight. The feeling he had in his fingers and toes were going. What was happening?

He turned pleading eyes toward Tantalus; the man just smiled at him. He tried to reach out; he tried to focus, but . . . but . . . he registered falling to the ground with a loud thud. His lolly spit out, and then he knew nothing more.

Percy groaned as he opened his eyes. He sat up, rubbing his aching head. The first thing he registered was that the room was lit. There was a long row of metal beds in front of him, all with wooden trunks at the end. There were twenty kids altogether: each sat on a bed, their eyes trained on him.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little shifty with all this attention.

"Don't be afraid; they're just curious," a sweet voice soothed. He jumped at least a foot in the air, immediately twisting his head to the left to where the voice originated.

There was a girl on a bed like those in front of him.

He blushed. The girl was pretty, the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life. She had long black hair that fell down her back, curling near the ends, and big clear blue eyes that were kind. "I'm Percy," he introduced quietly.

The girl sent him a smile, which made his heart flutter and his face heat up even more so. "Nice to meet you, Percy. I'm Silena," she returned.

He couldn't help but wring his hands together. Silena was nice. The kids were creepy. He was on a single mattress, his clothes completely replaced, and he was in a room, the biggest room he had ever seen in his life. It was a wonder he wasn't freaking out at the moment. He guessed it was because he needed answers first, answers before he drew conclusions on things. All he knew was that Tantalus brought him here because of Momma.

"Silena, where am I?" he asked. Silena frowned, sighing.

"Elysium, Percy, in Aphrodite's Consort, Courtesan, and Concubine Home."

His head spun—those were a lot of C-words that he didn't know, and who was Aphrodite? This was a home? He recognized the fact that he was on Elysium, which was a small island, if he remembered correctly, located right next to Asphodel. He vaguely recalled Momma saying there were lots of games here and places specially suited for men. Mhm.

"Did your Mommas send you here too?" he inquired.

He must have said something terribly funny because the entire room burst out into a fit of giggles. Only they weren't happy giggles. They were quite sad and bitter.

"That's what he told you to get you to come, your mother sending you here . . ." Silena said to him, although it was more to herself than anything. "Not even the cruelest of mothers would sell their children into this hellhole."

". . . So, Momma didn't send me here." He connected the dots after a few moments, gaping when Silena sadly shook her head. Tears came unbidden; he started to sniff real loudly. Before he knew it he was crying big glops of tears. Tantalus had lied to him, stole him away from the only home he knew. And Momma—Momma was gone—she didn't even know . . .

He heard the squeaky box springs and then felt an added weight on his bed. He looked through his hazy vision to see Silena wrapping him in a tight hug, shushing him and rubbing his back. "It's okay, Percy. Everything will get better," she murmured.

He kept crying, though—he couldn't see how things could possibly get better.

"Percy, I thought—I couldn't believe—you're so youn—" Silena was distressed. That much was obvious. He sat in front of his adopted mother and sister in one, silent, watching her come undone from the mirror's viewpoint. Tears brimmed at the corner of her blue eyes, smudging her makeup. Her glossy pink lips were twisted into a watery smile/frown combination.

He simply stared at her, wondering what could possibly be the matter. He had been at the Aphrodite House for two years now; his life had fallen into a sort of schedule. Silena had graciously taken him under her wing and showed him the ropes—there were no secrets kept between them. He thought she had told him all of the goings-on of the Aphrodite Home. He guessed he thought wrong.

"Silena, what's wrong?" he inquired. Silena sniffled noisily, setting the bejeweled brush down on the vanity's counter. She grabbed the thin black brush next, and a palette of crushed pigments and dyes—makeup. She sniffed again, beginning to paint his lips an enticing red.

"N-N-Nothing, Percy," she stuttered. It didn't take a genius to tell that Silena was lying. He blew out a breath, grabbing her thin wrist as she began on his bottom lip.

"Tell me—I deserve to know," he told her quietly, his stare zeroing in on her. Silena dissolved into fit of tears, this time letting them fall freely. She fell to her knees dramatically and wrapped her thin arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. Percy was surprised. Silena hardly ever cried, and she never messed up her makeup. In the Aphrodite House, appearance was everything. Still . . . he allowed her to cry for a few moments before he gently grasped at her chin and bade her to look at him. "Silena."

"Percy, you have to listen to me carefully." She produced a white lacy napkin. "Tantalus scheduled you with a custome–"

"I thought we were all supposed to be virgins until a lord comes and takes us away," he interrupted. Silena spared no truth when it came to sex.

Silena nodded. She rubbed at the corners of her eyes. "That's what they tell the lords, Perce. The money that pays for all our food and clothes, jewelry, the essentials comes from this." At that he had to snort. Their food was scarce. Silena went along as if she didn't hear it. "They sell us out for a night or so to the highest bidder."

She trembled, "You're a virgin, Perce. A mere eight-years-old—whoever wanted you must have paid Tantalus a lot." She took a shuddering breath. "This buyer will destroy you."

He simply nodded at Silena, ignoring her foreboding words. He gently urged her to her feet and for her to start working on his makeup. Tantalus couldn't stand tardiness. Silena allowed a few more tears to fall, her mouth still set in an ugly frown, but she was quiet.

He didn't think too much of her words. After all, it could not be that bad. Silena explained all the ins-and-outs of sex—she was making a big deal out of nothing. His reflection gave him a smile with his scarlet lips. Everything would be alright.

It was a heart stopping fear, so primal. All he knew was that he had to get away from the monster. His black cage was limited. Tears mixed with sweat; it poured off of him in buckets, but he fought the agonizing weight on top of him. He fought with absolutely everything he had. His body was thrown into an unquenchable frenzy—he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't dare stop until the monster was gone.

The bed squeaked as he launched onto the monster. His manicured nails acted as deadly claws; his sparkly teeth transformed into knifelike incisors. His monster screeched in anger and panic; he yowled in tandem. The monster tried to pull him off, but he held firm. He bit all the pale skin he saw; he scratched until he spotted the glinting blood both from him and the monster. It was a sickening combination.

They rolled off the small bed with the monster underneath him; crazed screams still erupted from his mouth. He was pretty sure he'd torn off some of the monster-skin with his teeth, and he was also pretty sure the monster was feeling the same sort of panic he felt just minutes before.

Sympathy and pity never crossed his mind.

His mind never stopped repeating, "You can't stop until the monster is dead—" unless he choked; his efforts redoubled. His shredded soft blue dress and the sticky blood and viscous white liquid that clung to his thighs were the only evidence.

He felt the monster start to grow limp underneath him, when he finally did a light flicker on and illuminate his cage. He was pulled off in one sweep, kicking and biting all in one. He saw a too-skinny man with pale skin and oily hair rush past him and his holder; his eyes were like burning coals once he spotted his monster on the floor. Tantalus finally turned to him. "What did you do?" he screeched.

And he roared, it a maddening cry, "I KILLED THE MONSTER!"

His head whipped to the side with the blinding slap that came next. Tantalus furrowed his brows and pinched his lips together; blackened nails dug harshly into soft skin, and he winced. "I'll deal with you later."

His holder turned him loose from his cage and he was pushed outside into freedom. He was searching for someone, anyone, (his momma) to pick him up and whisper that it's okay. Instead he found Silena standing there, cast in the shadows, her big blue eyes welcomed him as did her arms. In the next moment, he was pressed into her warm body; the stinging he'd tried to so hard to keep at bay broke down just as he smelled Silena's scent—a mixture of jasmine and lily, perhaps, the salty breeze of the sea . . .

His tears were rosy and silent when they hit the wooden floors. Silena held him tighter. "He destroyed you," she murmured softly, "Brother."

His punishment came one summer noon just before his ninth birthday—he wasn't given a warning. He was thrown back into his cage; an IV was jabbed into his arm. Tantalus seemed to sprout from the shadows; he glided forward to his bedside wearing a horrible smirk.

He couldn't bring himself to talk. His mouth had curiously gone lax. Panic welled up within him as he struggled to make his body move and listen to his command but to no avail; he could only stare and blink at Tantalus, whose smirk grew bigger.

"I won't be so nice next time, Perseus, remember that," Tantalus hissed, and then he was gone. He was left in his cage for a few anxious minutes, and then the door creaked open. He was stiff, waiting, waiting, wa— 'AHH!' his mind yelled at him, his pupils dilating and his eyes growing wide.

The monster stood in his cage's doorway—thousands of long, thin scratches adorned his face, and deep teeth marks were scattered on his tattered skin. He yearned to move, to flinch, to do anything to show his fear. The door creaked to a close, and it shut behind the monster with a haunting echo.

There was no fighting his monster this time.

His original monster lasted for an hour, returning all bites and scratches tenfold. When he finished up, there were other monsters—they came in sinister waves. Some of his monsters whispered to him pretty, little words. Others caressed him. Some of them simply watched him. They were all the same, though, with their insidious glowing eyes and smiles and curl of their lips that seemed to stretch for miles. The monsters used him for their sick pleasure.

He loathed each and every one of them; his eyes burned the memory of those who dared to mark him. Those monsters he imprinted within him—he silently promised to kill each and all of them as soon as he was strong enough. And then he'd see if they still wore their thousand-mile smiles and if their eyes would glow as bright as they did then.

His punishments lasted for a week—sleep evaded him. The last monster rolled off of him, leaving him alone in his cage, until Tantalus of course. Tantalus leaned on the doorway across from him. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Perseus." He snapped his fingers; two people came from behind him, Lacy and Mitchell, and they hurried to unhook the IV and help him to his feet.

Tantalus sent him one last teasing smile and then left. He was sure he'd never forget the injury against him.

The inhabitants of the Aphrodite Home lived by a schedule, one he knew by heart at eleven: Sleep. Shower. Makeup. Lessons. Dance. Smile. Laugh. Sleep. Shower. Makeup. Lessons. Dance. Smile. Laugh. Sleep. Shower. Makeup. Lessons. Dance. Smile. Laugh. Sleep. Shower. Makeup. Lessons. Dance. Smile. Laugh. Sleep. Shower. Makeup. Lessons. Dance. Smile. Laugh. Sleep—one day a criminal thought crossed his mind: What if he slept, showered, lessons, smiled, but never laughed? Was it possible he could just smile and laugh? Did he dare try to escape the schedule of his life? Surely, there was more to life than sleeping, showering, makeup, lessons, dancing, smiling, and laughing. Right?

There once was a little girl, small and delicate, with porcelain skin, ruby red lips, and hair spun from gold. She dared to smile and laugh, dance whenever her foot got a tapping. She was genuinely happy, unlike them. And everybody watched her with bated breath, jealously running rampant through them as she smiled. Laughed. Danced. Slept. Showered. And maybe did makeup.

There once was a little girl, small and delicate, with porcelain skin, ruby red lips, and hair spun from gold. She dared to smile and laugh, and dance whenever her foot got a tapping. She lived without a care in the world; she made childish promises to everyone that listened that she was more than the Aphrodite's Home. One day, she'd be free to choose her own fate.

There once was a little girl, small and delicate, with porcelain skin, ruby red lips, and hair spun from gold. She dared to smile and laugh, and dance whenever her foot got a tapping. She got too bold. Late at night she whispered her plans about escaping back home to a faraway land where her family was waiting.

There once was a little girl, small and delicate, with porcelain skin, ruby red lips, and hair spun from gold. She dared to smile and laugh, and dance whenever her foot got a tapping. She was careless. Her fate was sealed when she slipped from her bed when she was supposed to be sleeping; when she didn't go to her showers; forgot about makeup and slacked off from her lessons; and faltered when dancing. She still smiled and laughed but only when she wished. They watched her with bated breath, jealously slowing twisting into nervousness and fear.

There once was a little girl, small and delicate, with porcelain skin, ruby red lips, and hair spun from gold. She dared to smile and laugh, and danced whenever her foot got a tapping.

Did you notice; there once was a little girl. He remembered her name was Julia. She got ahead of herself, and one day when she broke the schedule in front of Tantalus, he watched as her head was slammed into the wooden floor, her blood staining her golden hair.

He shut up his thoughts and reminded himself: there once was a little girl, small and delicate, with porcelain skin, ruby red lips, and hair spun from gold. She dared to smile and laugh, and danced whenever her foot got a tapping.

There was no room for love in the Aphrodite Home. When Silena was chosen for a prime consort for the King of Forges way down south, he was devastated, and if he had been a few years younger—perhaps a tiny bit more innocent—he would've cried. There was little time to say goodbye, and then she was gone like that. He was sure he'd never see her again.

A few weeks later, another possessed Silena's bed right next to his. He was instantly drawn to the entity—a boy, three years younger than he. At first, he merely watched him sleep, for once happy to be close to the only window in the room. A ray of silvery moonlight cast down on the boy and he was entranced by the sleeping beauty. It didn't take long to develop a desire for the boy—no, not long at all.

He waited for the nameless beauty after the dance lessons, effortlessly transcending into the smile period. The boy wasn't familiar with the schedule yet, which suited him just fine. He inched toward the boy garbed in his favorite outfit: soft blue shorts that hugged his thighs and a single white button-down shirt, high socks and all. Silena once told him it made him look younger, almost childlike.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Percy."

"Nico," the beauty returned, his fingers rushing to brush aside his curly locks.

"Mm, Nico, walk with me. We have free time," he said, beginning to walk at a casual speed. Nico hurried to catch up with him. He led him to the library—where hardly anybody ever went—and sat primly on a small chair. Nico was bemusing to watch as he fumbled to sit as gracefully as him—clearly more lessons would be needed. His stare was intense as he scrutinized Nico, absolutely adoring the red blush that settled on his pale cheeks.

He let a comfortable moment pass before cleared his throat. "Tell me, Nico: What brings you to Aphrodite's Consort, Courtesan, and Concubine Home?"

Nico squirmed in a way he was pretty sure that he had done when Silena had coaxed his whole life story. He patiently waited until Nico broke and mumbled, "The guy with yellow teeth and oily hair said that if I came with him he'd give me back my sister."

"Your sister?"

The presumed eight-year-old nodded furiously, his black eyes gaining a desperate glint. "Bianca! She was taken by some of Father's enemies and I've been trying to find her!" he spewed in a rush. "My father doesn't care, and neither does my stepmother, but I'll find her."

Naïveté and innocence were really attractive traits.

"I'm sure you'll find her," he simpered. "Tantalus—the man you met—always keeps his promises, and guess what?"

"What?" Nico exclaimed, face flushed at his news of Tantalus keeping his word.

He leaned and cupped his hand around his mouth, whispering like it was some great big secret; the poor beauty leaned with him too, blinking at him with large eyes. "I'm Tantalus' favorite. Stick with me and I'm sure he'll be quick to find your sister in no time. He likes to keep me happy, and you make me happy."

He waited for an unexpected person to call bologna, or perhaps Nico to suddenly jump up and call him on it. He never did. He simply nodded at him, agreeing with a chipper, "Okay!"

"Great!" He reached over and ran deft fingers through Nico's hair. "Great," he repeated. They just stayed like that until it was the laughing period—dinnertime, and then they were off.

Nico trailed after him like an adorable puppy that had the added benefits of being housebroken. Nico kept after him, asking him billions of questions a day and helping him whenever he could. Really, the child was endearing. Even more so when he thought that Tantalus was helping him.

Sweet, sweet child. He was one of a kind in the Aphrodite Home.

"Break him," a disembodied voice hissed in his ear. "Break him before he breaks you . . ."

Despite himself, he found that he was falling for the beauty. He was amazed by how fast he was falling, too. He never thought he could experience such a whirlwind of emotion. But falling for someone came with problems—problems he couldn't quite ignore. Nico was sweet—really, he was—but sometimes he let his imagination run wild.

His mind supplied sinfully sweet images of Nico lying down in the cage like he had done before. He stood in the corner of the cage and watched as the monsters had a go at him, each of them taking sadistic pleasure as they came about the nameless beauty and broke him over and over again until not a shred of his original self remained.

Did it make him sick that sometimes, most of the times when Nico was decidedly unaware of the happenings that went around in the Aphrodite Home, hate hopped in and replaced the supposed the love he felt? Such hate pulsed within him, begging him to throttle Nico and watch the life ebb out of his eyes.

Was he wrong to see Nico as worse than the monsters of his childhood? He who lived like Julia, without a supposed care in the world, believing in the wholesomeness and kindness of the human race. The very thought almost sent him hurling. To see Nico so effortlessly don a pair of rose-colored glasses, it was really no wonder why he both hated and loved him.

Poor sweet Nico, though—love could only outweigh his other emotions for a while. It was only a matter of time. His daydreams of Nico in gruesome displays were becoming more frequent, the sickening nausea he felt became more present, and the voices—the ones that reminded him to never forget glowing eyes and thousand-mile smiles—became more incessant.

He tried to remind the voices that Nico wasn't like the monsters; instead he was like pure sugar. He couldn't possibly do any harm, but the voices were stubborn. They kept repeating to him over and over again they'd grow up to be a threat; it was only a matter of time before Nico would catch. He was playing a dangerous game.

Mm, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't listened a little.

"Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you have a cootie shot," Nico whisper-giggled in his bed one night. He smiled at the eight-year-old beckoning him to his own bed. He thought the beauty would refuse him—one rule of the Aphrodite Home was that one couldn't share a bed with another. Yet Nico scurried to bed, diving into the covers next to him.

It was cute when Nico placed a hand over his chest, looking faint. Poor dear. Nico removed any space between them on the small mattress, wrapping his white arms around his midsection, nestling on his chest. "I'm glad I met you, Percy," he breathed. "Thank you for everything."

He found his throat dry—he couldn't possible answer to that. So, he settled for a stiff nod. He lay still as Nico slowly drifted off to sleep; the voices were quiet until he felt the warm dribble of Nico's drool on his chest. They were quiet until he was sure he was sleeping, and then they awoke, springing on him all at once.

"He must be eradicated."

"Monster. Monster-child."

Thousands of images flashed before him, all that showed his struggle, how he snapped. The blood, the tears, the fear.

"It'll be for the best!"

"He won't feel anything—do it now, while he's weak!"The cage was his prison, one which he could not escape. He lay there splayed open, facing those faceless, disgusting creatures with their rough tongues, sharp talons, bright glowing eyes, and those smiles. Could he ever escape the nightmare?

"He's the first one on your list, remember?"

Was he? He glanced down at Nico, stifling a scream. Doused in black. Smiling at him. He was gonna get him. He was gonna put him back in the cage.

"Do it!"

"Do it!"

It's Nico, he tried to remind himself. Nico, Nico, Nico—sweet, innocent Nico, who's looking for his sister. He blinked, trying to dispel the image, but it did not go away. Nico. Nico. Sweet Nico. Blink. Blink. Blink! Why wasn't it working? He yearned to wake up and see that it couldn't possibly be his monsters.

Blink.

"Do it!"

Blink.

"Do it!"

Blink.

"Do it!"

Blink.

"DO IT!"

Monster hiding in Nico's clothes. Monster that had always been there. A pillow in hand, he slipped carefully away from the monster's hold. The pillow rose and slammed down. He saw the monster kick and tried to throw him off, but he held him on. This was for the best. It took a few minutes until the monster grew still; he held for just a bit more, and then he let go.

Oh Gods.

He choked Nico. Nico. Sweet, sweet Nico. What had he done? He sank to his knees—there were no tears to fall or shed. He killed the faultless beauty. He killed him.

"He was a monster," the voice said, "you saved yourself. Good."

"Shut up," he growled, "just shut up." He fisted at his black hair, wishing he could cry, but there were no tears within him. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He looked up. It was Drew. She had been in the Aphrodite House longer than he. She swept her silky black hair from her brown eyes.

"He was too innocent—he never would've survived," she sniffed.

He glared. "Don't say that. Yes, he would've."

Drew shook her head. "No, he wouldn't." She didn't elaborate any further; instead she nodded toward Nico's body. "Put him back in his bed, Percy. All the others will vouch for you: he died in his sleep." She patted him once and then moved to go back to her bed, but he grabbed her thin wrist, staring.

"You're so nonchalant about this. Has it happened before?"

Drew smiled. He liked her smiles the best. They drew you in without preamble and never let the recipient of the smile go until her smile eventually faded away. She inclined her head just a bit. "Once upon a time there was boy named Harley—he shared your bed." That was all she said, leaving him alone with Nico.

That was that.

"King Poseidon has died! His son Triton is due to take over!" Tantalus crowed at breakfast. They all sat rigidly and just stared unblinkingly at the manager. What did it matter if Poseidon passed on and Triton took over; was it not the natural order of things? Tantalus, however, laughed like a maniac, ugly tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

"You fools!" boomed Tantalus. "All of Poseidon's most precious possessions—including his consorts and concubines—will be buried with him. It is the law of the land for Triton to have his own set of harems to carry on the bloodline." He cackled madly. The sound echoed around them.

"Breakfast is over; there will be extra training. Reassured Triton will be picking the best from Aphrodite."

A few months later, two squires, Aphros and Bythos, stopped by the Aphrodite Home. They inspected them all over closely—asking them questions, poking at them. Truth be told, Percy was tired of the squires and interviews. He felt like screaming, Pick one and move on! They sat at the Aphrodite House for a total of three months until they interrupted the lesson-part of his schedule.

He waited in a long line with the others; they all stood in front of the tall squires. Their eyes and faces revealed nothing. Bythos, the taller one with muscles galore, held a single scroll. A bored expression wormed its way onto Percy's face—a stark contrast to the others', which displayed nervousness, fear, and excitement.

The unfurling scroll ripped through the air. Bythos cleared his throat. "Perseus! You have been chosen," was all he said; the scroll rolled back up.

Instantly whispers surrounded him. Tantalus towered over him. "Congrats are in order," he simpered. He was ripped from the line and then shoved into the room, which had been his home since he was six years old. Now, he was twelve, in a few days turning thirteen. Tantalus barked an order for him pack all his belongings—there would be no goodbyes.

'A man's worth is no greater than the worth of his ambitions,' – Marcus Aurelius

Percy had no problem with the boat ride. He loved the water; it always held a certain appeal to him, always drawing him near. He was lucky in a sort of way when Tantalus had ordered everyone to learn how to swim once they arrived at Aphrodite's. So as he said, he had no problem with the boat ride. No seasickness of any kind—just a rather calm journey with occasional visits from sea creatures.

He did, however, have a huge problem when they got on land. In front of him was a rather large piece of metal with four black circular tires attached to it. It had two large blinkers in front, and a long extended roof held up by thin metal rods. To be honest, it sort of looked like a smaller weird-looking horse-drawn carriage (obviously without a horse). Bythos packaged his luggage in the back and he climbed in front. (His brother had stayed on Elysium to scope out more people to bring to King Triton.) He merely stayed there, aghast.

He tried and failed to suppress the horrible shudder that enveloped his body when the actual thing was turned on. Bythos gave him a curious look. "Get in," he said.

"No," Percy told him flatly. "I've never seen such a horrible contraption in all my years!"

Bythos muttered to himself. He turned the metal thing off, thankfully ceasing that terrible rumbling sound. Percy got out of it and walked over. The older man ran a hand through his bushy beard, blinking at him. Bythos opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it once more. Percy noted that the man made funny faces when deep in thought. It took him a total of five minutes until he settled on, "You've seen a train, right?"

Slightly offended by the question because he wasn't some sheltered idiot, Percy snapped, "I have."

"Well, it's built and powered in sort of the same way," Bythos explained.

"Don't lie to me. I see nowhere where you can put coal, wood, and oil to make it move, and anyway, it looks unsafe and makes a weird noise. Surely, it's dangerous." He folded his arms, daring for Bythos to make an argument against his logic.

Bythos sighed. He stepped closer to him and grabbed his arm. Percy struggled like any sane person, but really it was a useless effort. Bythos was strong and easily dragged him to the monstrosity, buckling him with a seat strap. Bythos settled into the seat next to him. He pulled on a lever and pressed a peddle down. "Hold on," was all the squire told him before he was off.

Worst trip ever. They drove down to the coastline for a couple hours (the few times his view wasn't clouded by large tropical trees and flowers he swore he saw a small island . . . Asphodel), and only by the grace of the gods did he manage to keep his breakfast and lunch down. By the time they arrived at their destination it was nightfall and he was amazed at the sight before him—the castle.

On the outside it was washed in white, sprawled over acres of land. There were blue and golden banners of the king's symbol, the golden conch, hanging at almost every window, and there were people everywhere. Really, he hoped he didn't resemble an uncultured idiot standing there gawking at the castle like it was the greatest gift to mankind.

Bythos chuckled; he snapped at previously unseen servants to grab their bags. Bythos gripped Percy by his arm, a lot more gentle this time. "This is the Heart of Atlantis: Athens. Come, it's time you meet your advisor." All Percy heard was advisor, as he was still rather bedazzled by Athens; Bythos pulled him inside where they were announced by silly people with golden conches.

The interior was something out of dreams. He entered another world. He couldn't really describe it outside of the word gleam. Everywhere and everything seemed to gleam—and the colors, oh my. Bythos tugged him along in the castle's dizzying halls where he met all sorts of people and saw all sorts of treasures and jewels. Bythos rattled off quite a few lessons as they went over in a corner where an ornate silvery vase was located that had been gifted to King Poseidon by the ethereal maiden, Artemis.

And the floors were carpeted very richly, and any type of thread or material you could find that was used by the royals was spun by the world famous Arachne herself. Her work was softer and stronger than spider silk—truly fit for only royalty.

Bythos was even kind enough to name every single artist that painted a painting on their way to his room. Percy may have tuned it out after the seventy-fifth artist that had a penchant for capturing the correct breathtaking moment.

He was dimly reminded of a fall many seasons ago where Momma and he visited the wondrous Asphodel.

His feet were dying by the time they reached the quarters where all consorts, courtesans, and concubines were located. Bythos assured him that he wouldn't always be in these quarters: if he moved up in the king's favor he may be granted an actual apartment (maybe household if he dared to wish), and if that didn't happen, eventually he would have his own private rooms anyway. As the king went on in reign undoubtedly he'd collect more people to add to his collections and because he was one of the originals, rank was pulled, and he was to be given special treatment. In layman's terms: Either way he'd live comfortably.

They entered his future quarters, which was actually a smaller wing in Athens. Thereupon, he met Chiron, the advisor of all those that resided there. Chiron was very tall, broad-shouldered and old. He had thinning wisps of white hair and large, kind brown eyes. Percy could've guessed in his heyday Chiron was built like a horse.

Ten girls of varying ages stood behind Chiron. They each wore smiles, but he could see right through all their little masks. He was a mere ant to them; each of them was set on gaining some notice from the king, and he was already deemed unworthy to gain such attention. He resisted the urge to smirk, hiding slightly behind Bythos' massive form, appearing to stare at them all timidly.

He noticed they were all females and he was the only boy. He could only guess Aphros was bringing another girl into the fold too, and what did that tell him? Already he was at a disadvantage: the king most likely was attracted to girls, girls who could give him all the children he wanted; there would be no one to ever disclaim his throne and bloodline. He was male—obviously, he couldn't do that.

He studied their baby soft skin and the way they moved and talked to each other. Most, thankfully not all, were of middle to high class. They pulled some weight in this court; it would be favorable for the king to give them little trinkets and titles to keep his lords and ladies sated and loyal; the girls had many connections. And what was he? A prettied up whore—the king owed him nothing. He was there in the off chance the king liked boys, and nothing more.

There was no life for a boy courtesan or concubine (a boy consort was so rare, it was unheard of). Often when the king got bored of his newest male plaything, they ordered them to be castrated. He held back a snort—a eunuch as a pitiful bastard. That wasn't the future he had in mind for himself—that wouldn't be his future.

So, he let all those bitches look down on him for now because one day he'd be the one grinning down at them. He figured they should let then have their fun now.

It was a process that took some getting used too. He's lived with a large amount of people—all mostly girls too—but this, this was different. There were twelve of them total: Him, Clarisse, Nyssa, Zoë, Katie, Miranda, Lou Ellen, Piper, Gwen, Kayla, Kinzie, and Ella.

Miranda and Katie were twin daughters of the kingdom's main agricultural supplier, Demeter. He liked them as much as someone could like competition. They both were very nice and it took him a while to tell them apart. Katie was taller with longer black hair always tied in a braid. Miranda was younger with brighter green eyes; both of them were seventeen.

Kayla's father was a famous archer, Apollo, up in the north, who was more like a Robin Hood with a whole army of people willing to die for him. King Triton would be stupid to make enemies with him. He generally stayed away from Kayla; she was practical, yes, but she was far too optimistic and sunny. She was sixteen with short blond hair and light blue eyes.

Kinzie and Clarisse were war children. They boasted about the various campaigns their parents allowed them to partake in, their many conquests, and what weapons were best for scalping, beheading, or even eviscerating. Clarisse hailed from the North, where her father, Ares, was the commander of huge militaristic power. Kinzie came from the South, where her mother ruled a militaristic society on her own. Both Clarisse and Kinzie were the fifth child of their families, aged seventeen, in their families, and therefore expendable. Clarisse was beefy and muscular; she looked like a man. Kinzie was leaner, but her body held a lot of muscle. He stayed away from them too.

Lou Ellen was a mysterious little imp aged twelve. He learned as soon as her monthly courses started she was sent here. Her mother, Hecate, was a bit of an oddity. In court she was a mixture of a shaman and oracle. She had multicolored hair and heavily lidded eyes; he was on speaking terms with the little girl.

Nyssa actually came from the Forges where Silena was sent. The dark-skinned girl was the little sister to the heir of the throne, Beckendorf. She wasn't exactly beautiful or pretty in any sense; she was just decent. He could admit that she was nice and could hold an okay conversation, but she was always tinkering with something.

Zoë was a princess. She looked like a princess, she talked like a princess, and she acted like a princess. She was royalty through and through. He figured she was his number one competition in every department; heck, she was already in consort status. All she needed was the king to fall in love with her to be queen, or Lady Amphitrite to push her son into marrying her. He wouldn't lie and say he tried to interact with her because he didn't; he hated her upon first sight.

Gwen, a redhead, was a nobody. He didn't pay much attention to the mouse of a girl. In a crowd she wouldn't be distinguishable by any means. Ella was a bit better: she was also a redhead with no family standing, but she had an amazing memory and said the funniest things whenever she was flustered.

Chiron ordered everyone to room by two: Ella and Gwen; Clarisse and Kinzie; Miranda and Katie; Lou Ellen and Zoë. Piper was his roommate.

Piper was Piper. She had soft caramel skin with choppy brown hair; she wasn't exactly ugly—quite the opposite—but it was like she tried to downplay her looks. Why? He couldn't understand; her family was the court's entertainment, with plays, circuses, and musicians abound. They had made a good name for themselves, and Piper had told him that her father was to be a small baron, maybe even a viscount if the king was feeling amiable.

Once they were gathered, the king began to choose girls. Every month, he'd choose one girl who he would spend time with. It aggravated Percy; he could not see the king or even go outside of his wing and see the actual court until the king had finished meeting every one of them. But there were perks to this supposed isolation; for one, it gave him more time to plot downfalls of the girls.

Finding little defaults in all of them was rather difficult, but he plowed on. Piper was by far his easiest opponent. She wasn't exactly ditzy, but she thought the best of people too quickly, and every time anyone ever made a subtle jab at her, she shrugged it off like it was nothing. Oh—she never stopped talking about Jason, the genius commander who had shown his worth multiple times on the battlefield.

He found it sickeningly sweet how Piper rambled on and on with utmost confidence about Jason, the boy with short honey-white hair, the bluest eyes, and a body of perfection—the boy that could do no wrong. Jason was going to save money and buy her from the king, and then they'd run away off into the sunset, have seventeen children, and live in honeymoon bliss forever, because as long as they had each other everything was okay.

Please.

He thought these types of starry-eyed girls would be banned from court, or at the very least disillusioned by such nonsense. He wondered what made this girl, Piper, think a man would do that for her—especially a girl that was already someone else's and whose virgin blood would stain another's sheets. No man wanted used goods.

He didn't tell her, though. He smiled and nodded along with whatever she said. He fed her pipe dreams and soothed all her nonsensical doubts and insecurities. Piper thought they were friends, and sometimes she would sing to him and talk to him about how she and Jason would save money to buy him out, too.

He laughed and shook his head. She couldn't know that he was bidding his time finding everything about her little sweetheart until he actually met him in person. Maybe he should sing her a little song too, one which he told her how Jason would lead to her downfall.

Piper was the tenth girl chosen to spend the month with the king before she left; Percy told her how all people had secret trysts in court, and the king wouldn't really mind if she slept with someone else. It was a matter of if she believed it or not. Expectedly, Piper came back with the biggest grin, glowing.

She confided in him: she told she slept with the king and then she met up with Jason for the rest of the month. She spilled how she managed to fall in love with him all over again, and being with him only reaffirmed the promises of Jason eventually spiriting her away from Atlantis.

It was a wondrous lie she immersed herself in. Mm, what he wouldn't give to see through her eyes for thirty seconds. To live a beautiful lie in an upside-down world where the sun was always shining and life only sought to elevate your person and keep you happy. He supposed for two months he did live a happy lie; Gwen went on to the meet the king as the eleventh girl and then Ella soon afterwards. It was only him left. He was beyond nervous—more than a little scared—but he would never let that show. Appearance was everything and he mustn't let anyone see any weaknesses.

He held himself upright as a nameless servant came to take him to the king's rooms. The trek was far too short for him to completely sedate the butterflies in his stomach. The servant drew him into the king's private waiting area, which was furnished richly in blues and golds. There were globes and books, maps and scales; clearly the King was a learned man, which was something he could work with. Tantalus did not train incompetent whores.

He glanced around a bit more until he picked a particularly heavy tome, the title simply reading, "Fairy Tales". He spared a look around, deciding to sit on the plushy couch to the left where the window and tapestry were located. He opened the book and began to read, sucked into the beginning storyline instantly.

Percy was just at the part where the cunning wolf began to feast on the little girl, Red Riding Hood, when a soft click was heard. He was tempted to doggy-ear his page, but thought against it, holding the page to memory. The book looked and read old, archaic even; it wouldn't do for the king to get angry at him because he creased such a treasure. He wished he could read more, but reality had stepped in. He stared up and straight where the click originated from, smiling when an identical set of sea-green eyes locked on to his.

He made a move to get up and properly greet his highness, but the king waved him off, taking a seat across from him. Percy took it as a time to study the king, a bit shocked to find familiar features in his face. His mother wasn't lying after all—he really was Poseidon's bastard son. King Triton had his inky black hair color (his was shorter and a great deal tamer as opposed to Percy's hair, which Tantalus required he grow out), the same green eyes, the same nose and mouth; he looked like him. If they were mere commoners on the street, he was sure someone would think they were related.

He wondered if the king noticed . . .

"So, you're the lone boy in my harem—what am I to do with a useless piece like you?" King Triton said bluntly.

Percy kept his smile. "I am sorry you are not pleased by my appearance."

The king rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, slouching. Percy struggled not to blow out at him—the king was a merely a boy, twenty-five-years-old at most. Percy had experiences with such people. Tantalus sold him to monsters of all kinds over the years; the monster child was bored with the newest toy set in front him. He'd have to play his game to get him interested or he'd be sent off without a parting glance.

"My Lord," Percy began, his gaze abruptly falling from pointed stare down to his hands, which he played with as he shifted nervously in his seat. He stole a peek at the king, blushing red and looking away again. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

Predictably, the king grunted, "Ask your question."

"A-Ah, w-well." His fingernails dug into the soft skin of his palm; his teeth drawing blood as he bit into his lips, "I-I was w-wondering"—he paused to blush and look at the king once more—"if you would tell me about your war campaigns!" he let out in a rush. He raised his eyes once more to the king and then turned his stare right back down. "The tales of your grandeur reached even Elysium, and I was hoping to hear about how the mightiest of princes managed to do such feats of wonder, b-but I understand if you decide not to indulge me. You aren't happy with me, correct? I should go and call—"

"No!" the king ordered. "Look up at me!"

He did so hesitantly, forcing down his sneer at how easily the king was swayed. So, he was the particular brand of monster who liked his ego stroked consistently.

"Do you honestly want to hear about my campaigns?" the king inquired.

He nodded. "Yes, My Lord, if you please."

It was simple curve of lips, the corner of his eyes crinkling—it told Percy everything he needed to know. He settled in his seat, leaning forward, thin eyebrow raised with a practiced blush and concubine smile. This might be easier than he thought.

Aroused.

He could read so easily in his king's eyes; the more the king's tales rolled of his tongue the darker his irises became until they settled into a single grass green. He sat there, though, his blush still present, and innocently unaware of the new way the king looked at him. He'd be stupid to give in so early—why, once the king had a taste with him what would bring him back. He was sure Zoë hadn't given in so early; even Clarisse and Kinzie had probably kept some decorum.

"My Lord," he interrupted, yawning, after the hearing his king once again describe how he led a fierce raid into Porphyrion's stronghold, "I am sorry, but I was wondering if I could be excused for the time being."

"Why?"

"My Lord, I couldn't—"

"Tell me why, and call me . . . Triton," Triton said.

"I don't want to impose, My Lord—Triton, I am feeling tired and a bit lightheaded. I didn't get any sleep last night." He fidgeted with his clothes. "I was nervous about meeting you."

"Nervous," Triton inquired. "Whatever for?"

Percy grew tired of blushing, but he summoned another, still keeping his stare firmly locked onto the rich carpet. "I was nervous of meeting you; I didn't know if you were to be kind or mean."

"And now, what is your opinion of me?" Triton urged him on.

He tilted his head, tossing Triton another shy glance. "I think you are the goodliest, kindest king in all of the kingdoms."

"You may go," Triton said after a moment, standing up just as Percy did. He made quick work moving to the door when Triton grabbed his wrist, swinging him back toward him. He stared up at his king, his mouth open in assumed surprise.

"My L-Lord," he stuttered.

"Triton," Triton corrected. "Don't I get a kiss goodbye?"

Percy lightly disentangled himself from Triton. The voices in his mind were stirring. His Lord was edging into the shadows, the corners of his lips quirking . . . "Until next time, Triton." He bowed once, leaving.

Percy met Annabeth when it was time for dinner. Another nameless servant came into his room, rousing him from his sleep. The servant was very helpful: he dressed his black and blue with a golden couch necklace, a present already from the king, but he gave it back to the servant with orders to return it. The king surely couldn't give him trinkets so freely.

The servant led him through the dizzying hallways, and then they were in the dining room. He should have been used to all the extravagancy seen at court, but sights like those always manage to leave him speechless.

It was bigger than anything he'd ever seen! Three houses could fit easily in there. Again, the servant took him by the arm and sort of tugged him down the gleaming marble floors until they arrived at the top of the elongated oval table. Triton sat at the head, and he was instructed to sit at his left. Another sat on his right.

King Triton gave him a charming smile; it lost a watt as his eyes came to stop at his bare neck. Percy said nothing, ignoring Triton's questioning glances in favor of the person in front of him. The happy twinkle in his eye was replaced; he stared coldly at her. She held his stare. She was pretty in conventional sense with a soft tan, a button nose, and long, fluffy golden hair—the exact shade he imagined when Silena once told him of the flowers of her country that had an impossible dream to reach the sky. But of all the beautiful features found in the girl, it was her eyes that drew people in.

It was as if he was looking at a reflection; although a mercury grey, Percy recognized the same hunger, the same fearsome desire to survive and to prove to the world that they were something. They deserved the best and only the best—anyone who stopped them would be crushed.

He imagined her to be some foreign princess, another rival for the king's affection, but Triton dismissed the thought. "Annabeth, your mother is busy?"

Annabeth shifted her stare to Triton; in a second her face transformed, radiating brightness and joy. "Yes, she and my brothers give you their regards. She hopes that I will prove to be a suitable adviser while she is away."

Triton nodded at her, glancing back over to Percy. "Annabeth, I'd like you to meet—" He stopped, chuckling. "I believe I haven't had the pleasure of hearing this fair maiden's name." Percy squirmed in his seat, stirring the chunky clam soup in his pewter bowl.

"Perseus Jackson," he said. A sharp intake was heard from further down the table. There a woman sat, richly dressed in furs and glimmering necklaces. The woman was Queen Amphitrite; her pale orbs narrowed on him. Percy kept neutral. So, the old bag recognized the name. Maybe King Poseidon had some respect and took care of his mother and him.

"Perseus, you say," Triton started. "His tale was my father's favorite. Why, my father always said he was his sole favorite hero because he was one of the few that had a—"

"Happy ending. Yes, I know—that's the reason why my mother named me after the hero." He continued the stir his clam soup; he was uncomfortable talking about his mother and his past before the Aphrodite Home. He preferred to bury all those memories of yesterday into a pit from which it could never be unearthed.

The Fates were fickle. Triton was practically bouncing with the new tidbit. He required his attention yet again. "Your mother, you say . . . I would love to meet this lovely lady who thought like my father. I could bring her to court if you wish." Percy squinted at him at the slightest, this boy-king already so eager please him; he wondered if he was like this with the other girls, or was the king genuinely smitten with him after only a meeting?

Sigh.

"My mother died when I was very young, My Lord," he said quietly. "I'm sure she would've been very happy to come here and meet you."

He moved his hand to overlap with Triton's. "There's no need to be sad, My Lord—you didn't know." He smiled thinly at him. "Enough of these depressing subjects. I've never seen such a feast before." He nodded to the overflowing tables where servants had been putting food down while they had been talking, and it was the truth. The dishes were mostly exotic, skillfully created to resemble the animals and plants from where they came.

Triton never let go of his hand, explaining what dish was what and how each tasted. Percy remained all reserved and shy as the king spoke, careful not to give into the king too much while showing him that he was partially interested. Few times throughout dinner, Annabeth and he met each other's side glances; she never said anything more than the usual small chatter the whole table partook in, and the usual chiming giggle swirled in whenever the king made a joke or jab.

Did anyone else see her calculating stare, he thought, or was it only him?

No matter, he'd watch her as he watched everyone that came under pass; eventually he'd know where she would stand or fall, and whether she was friend or foe.

He was in his dancing period when Annabeth grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into the expansive gardens. Unfortunately for him, he didn't get to enjoy the fresh air or the feel of sunshine when Annabeth abruptly let him go under a hidden alcove.

"What are you playing at?" she rounded on him.

His mouth dropped; his eyes lowered to the ground, his feet making little depressions underneath him. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Forgive me, Lady Annabeth, if I have done something to— AH!" Annabeth twisted his arm around his back, pushing him against the stone passing.

"Drop the act," she hissed. "I won't ask you again."

For his part, he was glad he stayed calm; Tantalus didn't skimp out on any lessons. He knew how to disable another in practically any position. "Let's sit down, and I'll answer any of your questions." Annabeth grunted behind him, pushing him roughly against the wall before she let go.

He tidied up and then turned to face her. She was seated on an ornate ivory bench; her grey eyes shimmered dangerously. He sat beside her, sweeping back a strand of hair. "Go on," he said smoothly. "You're ruining my schedule—I don't like interruptions." Annabeth flared at him; he wasn't intimidated.

"What are you doing with the king?" she ground out.

He raised an eyebrow. "What every girl did before me: gain his favor."

"You're a boy, a mere concubine—you shouldn't be playing these games, stringing him along at your leisure," she snapped, her brow furrowing.

"Why even bother using the word concubine? Use the formal term: whore," he said sharply, finding pleasure in the way Annabeth's cheeks colored a light pink. "I was brought to the king's harem to be his whore—his slut—if the king happened to harbor some perverse pleasure in boys. I am to be nothing, a nobody, while I watch every girl get land, a title—something, if they manage to create a squirming, squishy pink thing.

"And me," his voice dropped to a harsh whisper; his broken fragments of might-be-future flashed before him—"I am fated to have nothing. I cannot carry babies. I don't have a family to give value to the king, so I play with what I have. I will not be some pathetic, spiteful eunuch eclipsed by another male or female."

Annabeth glared at him, her fists clenched. "That is your role. Forget that and you forget yourself."

"My mother forgot herself," he said softly, the whispers of his past coming back to him. "She forgot herself and became a silly girl of sixteen. I refuse to end up in the same situation."

"I will not let you continue with your games," Annabeth said. "My mother entrusted me with the king's best interest. I will not fail her."

"So that's what this is about." He bobbed his head, his lips curving up into a smile. "Mommy doesn't pay enough attention to you. I see . . . I think Chiron mentioned something about Athena having three sons without a single break. Her pride and joy.

"Odysseus"—he flicked up one finger—"Daedalus, Icarus—the three golden suns. Their tales are renowned. No problem is too big for them. And you"—he giggled—"nobody ever mentions Athena's wittle Annie. Nothing you do will amount to anything in her eyes."

"Shut up!" Annabeth exploded. "You don't know anything!"

His response was a sharp cackle. "If you say so, Annie."

He rose from his seat and bowed to her. The encounter had taught him lots. He was no longer in the dancing period—it was time to smile the largest, happiest smile that expressed his utter joy. "Good day, Lady Annabeth." He bowed once more and then left.

He hurried back into to the ballroom where King Triton was there, waiting.

He should've known Annabeth wouldn't have let their little talk go.

It was two weeks into his month with Triton when Annabeth decided to interrupt a private dinner. She had been missing for the better part of the day when she had come bursting through the door. She didn't even bother to bow or curtsy; she tugged along a girl by the arm, a girl—Piper McLean, dressed in her nightgown. "My Lord," she said, referring to King Triton, but her flint eyes on Percy, "I believe congratulations are appropriate—one of your ladies has taken to your seed."

"Show me," demanded the king.

Annabeth snatched the nightgown off with barely a blink; the shimmery pink cloth lay pooled around its owner's humiliated naked form. Piper muffled a sob, and Percy held off on his smile when Triton drew away. She was a couple months pregnant, if her slightly rounded belly was anything to go by. Triton staggered onto his feet—the silly boy-king had no clue how to react to the news—but Percy spied Annabeth, whose eyebrows were raised.

"Should we get her a medic, My Lord, and tell the queen the good news?" she inquired.

Triton reeled. He nodded, his eyes bugged. "Y-Yes, Annabeth. Excellent idea—just what I was thinking!" He nodded once again; his sea-green gaze slid back to Percy and then to trembling Piper, and then back to Percy once again. "I have to go; I—She—"

Percy shouldered it like it was nothing, shrugging at him with a half-grin. "She obviously needs you more, My Lord. Go! I'll just finish dinner here." He shooed him off. The king righted himself, hurrying to get to Piper's side. Annabeth sent him one more triumphant glance, beginning to lead them out of the room.

It took a second until Percy was alone again. He supposed he should've felt a prickle or pinch of loneliness as he ate dinner without a partner, but it never came. Instead he preened. It was just how he liked it: him alone with his thoughts, and those irksome voices mumbling in his ear.

Another week passed in tranquil solitude when Athens was thrust into a gay mood. The soldiers had come back! After fighting a war over in the foreign lands, the enemy had been conquered and the king crowned as new ruler of their lands, and their precious resources were given as gifts to the king. It sent Athens into frenzy, all due to Jason Grace!

The king threw a ball in his honor and everyone was invited, even his harem. The nameless servant was there; Percy took notice of her. She was a mouse of girl, her name Juniper. She hadn't possessed any outstanding qualities besides being sweet as milk and honey, and having a good eye for design. The stable boy, Grover, doted on her.

Percy prepared for the ball with Juniper's help. She instructed him on his outfit. His clothes were dyed a dark blue with a golden trim, and it was tight and revealed much of his skin. His makeup was done by his own hand, subtle but outlined all his best features—simply flawless.

Juniper was dressed in her forest-green outfit, looking radiant as she led him down to yet another ballroom but no less extravagant and over-the-top. There was a flood of people all garbed into their prissiest, loudest clothes that oozed money. He almost felt ashamed by how little his clothes cost—almost.

He grabbed a small glass of bubbly champagne and hesitated to take a single burning sip before he sat the glass down, making his way onto the dance floor. It wasn't his dance period, but he had to make certain sacrifices. He could feel all eyes trained on him as he moved about, every step sensuous and confident. Gods, the man-monsters surrounded him and left their partners out in the cold. All he did in return was give them a breathy laugh and a simple wink.

Silly, silly man-monsters. Did they know that he was itching to crush all of them? How his stomach churned at the thought of any of their grubby claws marking his skin.

The girls had nothing to be jealous of. He wanted to see them all burn into smoldering ashes.

"Oomph!" he reeled back, clutching his pulsing nose. All thoughts of burning monsters disappeared. "I am so sorry—Jason?" he said, his eyebrows raised. "I can't believe it's actually you, in the flesh!"

Jason stared blankly. "Forgive me, but do I know you?"

Percy blushed, shaking his head. "I should be the one apologizing; it's just . . ." He broke out into another grin, practically beaming at him as if he were the sun god himself. "Wow. Piper talks so much about you."

Jason stood up straighter, clearing his throat. "She does?" he asked. His blue eyes flew from him and skimmed the crowd of people. So, he held some interest in the girl . . .

"Yes, she does," he trilled with a wink. "Oh, you should hear as she talks about you—it's poetic! Jason with the greasy blond hair and murky blue eyes; weak and boney. Jason who rivals the coward Paris—ah, no." His brow furrowed and worried his lips with his teeth. He glanced once more at Jason and then shook his head. "Never mind, no…?"

"She says those things about me?" Jason drew back, frowning heavily.

Percy played with his fingers. "No! Yes! Maybe—I don't know!" He threw his hands up in the air. "I'm afraid I may have been mistaken." He let out nervous titter. "Piper has many blondes she talks about. Maybe I'm confusing the names. Was it Octavian with dull, dishwater blue eyes; weak and cowardly as Paris, but skilled in working with his fingers? Ah, it's really hard to keep up with. And then there's Luke. Oh, Luke, the way she talks about him, you could swear he is the very personification of pleasure." He giggled.

He kept going, talking a mile-a-minute; playing the fool as he watched a dark expression roll in on Jason. Why, he started to resemble the feared commander persona he was so acclaimed for. Jason stayed, though, listening to every lie that fell from his mouth. He never moved to speak on his lady's behalf of her virtue and chastity. Maybe he wasn't that much in love with her. Only when he stopped to take a breath, breaking off the rather one-sided conversation, did Jason's silence break, as did the dark look.

Jason grabbed Percy's right hand, pressing a cool kiss to his knuckles. "Thank you for enlightening me." Jason raised an eyebrow, sending him a charming smile, making a previously hidden small scar at the top of his lip noticeable. "Forgive me again, but I don't know your name."

He waved him off. "Perseus Jackson, royal concubine. You can call me Percy if you wish."

Jason nodded. "Okay, Percy. If this isn't too sudden, could you indulge me in a dance?" He held out an empty palm; Percy grasped it within his own.

"Lead the way, Commander."

Jason placed his hands on Percy's waist and just started to sway into the group of people. It was kind of like when Silena described her earliest memories where she danced with her daddy on his shoes. He never understood the fluffy, warm feeling she talked about, though. Dancing with Jason, Percy thought maybe he felt a slice of what Silena once did. But then again, he giggled and burped—it might've been the alcohol talking.

"They're staring," Jason murmured, nodding to the left. Percy lifted himself to stand on his toes to stare over the tops of the guests' heads. Oh. So they were. He saw Triton, Piper, and Annabeth; they stood on a raised pavilion. Triton and Piper mirrored each other in jealousy while Annabeth's facial expression was blank.

His attention slid back to Jason. "Good," he said, moving closer to the blonde. "Let them."

It'd been three months in, and Piper was huge. She waddled everywhere and everyone treated her like a glass doll, fawning and guarding over her. Last Percy saw her, she was scolded by the king for trying to sneak out into the gardens in her condition. He snorted; he did not envy women and their ability to bear children. He would go bonkers. He wanted her to have her baby already.

He frowned into his many pillows—he hated being ignored, even by man-monsters.

The upside to Piper's pregnancy was the other girls were being ignored too, even if all the girls were allowed to be shown around in court. He was no longer confined to his own wing—plus, he had his own bedroom, which was nice too. He no longer had to blush and prattle like some sniveling girl. He was just him, and it sort of felt nice.

"Percy."

He lifted his head, twisting around, "Jason," he intoned. "You're early." He watched the tall blonde close the door behind him, coming to sit on his bed.

"I don't see you complaining," Jason said with smirk. He shucked off his purple shirt, starting on his pants. Percy sat there and waited for the commander to be naked, admiring that all he saw was tanned skin and battle scars. No clinging shadows leeched off his body on glowing eyes. He was just a normal man at least five years his senior.

For a brief second, a dangerous thought crossed his mind: What did Jason see when he looked at him? Well, his mind and mouth appeared to be connected because Jason stared at him, the lust previously seen in his eyes shifting into bemused curiosity. "You're a boy, thirteen—"

"Fourteen," he corrected.

"—fourteen. On the outside unblemished and happy as a child. You're hiding. You're like those soldiers I trained and brought to the war. They come back and they all carry that look in their eye: brokenness. They're all broken inside. Fragmented. And you're only held together by thin strings."

He was in awe. Jason moved forward and caressed his cheek. "You need someone to love you, hold your strings together, so you don't shatter into more pieces."

"Be that person." It tumbled out before he could catch it. He found that somewhere inside he meant it. He knew Jason for three-and-a-half months, and in those months he'd been allowed to let go and be that boy from so long ago that was the happiest when he told his momma his stories and shared his treasures. In Jason's presence, he was some forever-smiling Aphrodite piece, forever fighting.

Jason kissed him; it was simple press of the lips. "No," he murmured.

Percy smiled, regardless of the way his mouth ran dry and the way his chest tightened. He slid onto Jason's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, his head resting on his shoulder. "Make love to me," he pressed.

And there it was—that strange quietness that settled over them. He could only hear the rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat, and that made it more nerve-wracking. He dug his fingernails into Jason's soft skin. "It was a stupid question. Forget what I sa—AH!" He was pushed back onto bed. Jason loomed over him.

"I don't love you," Jason repeated.

He blinked.

"I know."

"Okay."

And that was that.

He bounced on the bed, finding a lingering joy in how jiggly it made him feel. He was trying and failing to ignore the person at the end of his bed. He thought of things like how Annabeth was shamed because of Piper's baby, the baby that was supposed to be the king's heir, and the baby that would have elevated both her and Piper into an almost untouchable status. She messed up. She moved too fast. Piper's baby, a meaningless girl, was born with a shock of blond hair and blue eyes that never shifted pigment.

Nobody in the king's family ever had blond hair or blue eyes, and from the whispers going around, there were very few in Piper's family. So, it was easy to figure how Piper had been rolling around in the sheets with another. She would've been banished from court, if it hadn't been for him. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

He told himself he was only angry because of his bleeding heart, not because he got back with her and was willing to accept the entire king's anger and get married. Dammit. His fists balled. Were his lies not believable enough; did Piper not seem to be unreliable? What would make him choose her over Percy? What did she have that he didn't?

"Answer me!" he shouted, his eyes slipping closed. "I demand an answer!"

"Answer for what?" Jason questioned. (There! He could no longer think of the blonde as just a him.)

He found that his ignorance only made his anger grow. "Why are you going back to her? Piper!" he spat. "She's nothing but a filthy whore that couldn't even keep her legs closed. I bet she's a terrible wife; she's only good for child-breeding, nothing more!"

"Are you done?"

He shook his head. He wasn't even close. "You're claiming someone else's child. You could have other legitimate children, be with faithful people. I don't unde—" he choked. "Idiotic bastard. She'll bring you nothing but trouble. You're already skating on thin ice—the only reason the king even allows you in court is because you're the greatest commander the kingdom has ever had!"

Jason ran hand through his blond hair. "You were right—you don't understand," he stated softly. His blue stare moved from the carpet onto Percy. He could read it in his face with way his lips were set and how tense his shoulders were—the mirror image of himself, reflecting in his eyes . . . He let out an earth-shaking scream.

Why couldn't Jason be a fucking monster like the rest of them? Where were those tell-tale features that hinted at him crawling from the depths of his nightmares? He was supposed to hate the stupid blonde, like everybody that ever held meaning his life taught him. There was no future, nothing, nada, zip in love. It was a stupid emotion that caused bone-deep pain.

It hurt when he looked at him with those eyes, unlike and like the monsters.

Pity.

Fucking pity.

"I hate you!" he yelled at Jason, pointing. "You should've been a fucking monster. Instead you're like him, ha-ha. So sweet. You drew me in! I wasn't supposed to let you in." He let out another peal of laughter. "I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you. I was supposed to destroy you like everything else I touch."

A sense of desperate despair wracked havoc on him, his pathetic heart(the cause of all this) hurt as it beated against his chest: "I wasn't supposed to love you!" he shrilled, "I wasn't— but I did— I do!"

"I still don't love you," Jason said resoundingly, getting up.

Percy buried his head into his hands. When he heard the door softly click close, he peeked through his fingers, seeing only a sea of darkness and two shadowy figures: one that smelled of the sea breeze, dust, and old ink, and another, too sweet and innocent for a place like this.

"I know," he said as he rocked. "I know."

He was back to being lonely. Solitude was welcomed back like an old friend. The court was in full swing preparing for the summer. New faces were constantly shifting in the hallways; he only bothered to remember the people that were important like the rest of the concubines.

Kinzie and Clarisse were busy being war-maidens, or just regular trainers for the yeomen of the castle. The king only brought them to bed once in a blue moon. The imp, Lou Ellen, trained with her mother. She was never brought to bed, and with good reason. Percy suspected the king was probably waiting until she filled out to breed with her. Gwen milled around, sitting and sewing. A boring girl, the king bothered with her maybe once a month. Miranda and Katie, cute and adventurous, both were constantly outside helping with one thing or another and the king bedded with either one, on a regular basis.

Ella . . . he couldn't really say. She was always in the library, and it appeared like the king treated her like a favorite guest or sibling. She had free reign to do just about anything, but he never touched her. Zoë was and still remained (kind of) his biggest concern. She was bred for royalty, and the king took to her like a fish did to water; but it was him who the king spent the nights with. It was he the king constantly sought for companionship with, and it was only him that had the sole right to call the king by his given name: Triton.

Triton was his eager boy, always doing everything his power to please Percy. It both amused and irritated him how he was so quick to please. It took no work to ensnare him once again after the pregnancy incident months ago, and it took no effort to keep it up. Why? He never had to speak up when Triton went off to do his business with other girls because he came back the next night and always wrapped him up close, pressing his lips to his, murmuring, "It's only you, my love. Only you."

There were no challenges to behold. No hurdles to jump. Gods, the only reason why Zoë even registered on his radar was because it was between him and her on who would be head consort versus queen. It sickened him, but he did what he had to do. The idea of being a eunuch continued to weigh heavily on him.

"You're thinking hard, Little Sea. I can see steam sprouting from your ears," chuckled Triton. Percy blushed and buried against Triton's chest, whining. "Tell me. What you were thinking so hard about?" Percy shook his head. Triton chuckled again. "Puh-lease, Little Sea."

He let out a breath. "I was thinking of us and our future." He refused to look directly at Triton. "Silly, right?"

Triton used a couple fingers to pull his chin up. He pecked him on the nose in such a saccharine way, he felt like he was in harlequin novel. "No, Little Sea. I was thinking the same thing. Close your eyes!"

Percy wished he would stop calling him that infernal nickname. Nevertheless, he wore a practiced smile and let out an excited squee as he closed his eyes. He heard some shuffling and low murmurs for a couple of minutes . . . he swore Triton left the bed for minute, but he kept with the silly game until Triton exclaimed, "Open!"

Percy zeroed in on the large velvet box thrust into face. He glanced up at Triton, who gave him a small smirk. "Open it up." Triton set the box down on his lap. "Go on."

He did so with some trepidation. Triton never was good with being subtle. He said what he wanted and kept no secrets. He was an open book, so this—he glanced down at the box again and gingerly took it—this was a big deal. He popped open the lid, letting out a real gasp. "W-What is this?"

He knew the answer. He wanted to hear it from Triton, though.

Triton lifted the necklace, his gift, out of the box and placed it on him. "This is a gift I hope you'll take. Every queen since the beginning of this kingdom has taken the necklace as a wedding proposal and dowry—the Heart of the Ocean," he said, clipping the heavy blue-jewel-encrusted chain into place. Percy played with the blue golf-sized, heart-shaped diamond, grinning at Triton.

"Are you asking what I think you're asking?" he inquired. He twisted around to face him. It was nauseatingly cute how flustered the king was getting for him.

"Perseus, will you marry me?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! A million times yes!" Percy launched himself at the king, all giggly and happy. His joy was real. Finally, there was something real in their relationship—this. This was what he happened been waiting for.

'I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end,' – Gilda Radner

Triton combed fingers through the boy's hair, humming all the while. Percy sat in-between his legs, silent and still, so far off until Triton pulled him back to reality with a request. He leaned down and kissed him deeply before pulling back. "Tell me a story," Triton said, restarting his combing. "I like stories."

Percy nodded. That was easy enough. He closed his eyes and drifted off, starting off with a question, "Did you know what happens when you stare into the abyss too long?" He felt the way Triton shook his head, and he answered in that moment, "You become the monster," he said as he slid his eyes open just a crack to reveal a sliver of his glowing irises and raised his one of his arms, watching with morbid interest as heavy black droplets fell from him.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
… and he felt the way his lips parted to stretch like elastic east and west. He shrieked out a laugh, falling into hysterics. The monster indeed.

---

Forgive me, I couldn't find proper places to put breaks - it would have had to put breaks like everywhere if I had my way, so yeah. Sorry if it read confusingly. I would like to make a huge-bigger than-big shoutout to my lovely betas: Pepper1622 - you were nicest beta like ever and always so encouraging, plus you were superfast and ohmygods, hugs times a billion-jillion- thank you for all your hardwork and effort. Bluewindranger - you may be younger, but your grammar and everything else is certainly better than mine. Ah, age really doesn't matter. Thanks a bunch. Spikeisdabeast - you were the bomb, yo. Completely awesome with everything!

I love you guys, you were all awesome and very prompt with like everything. Through and fantastic, and blunt. I recommend you to anyone. ;)

Thanks again!