Chapter Nine
"…Get on the horse Annabeth," He challenges. She eyes his outstretched hand warily: seemingly weighing the pros and cons as she glances between the prince and the stable hand beside her. He's tall, taller than his superior, with sandy blond hair, and broad shoulders. Unabashedly, Percy eye's the scar running down his face with trepidation, as he watches, the older boy places his hand on Annabeth's elbow and she glances up at him, surprised, but she doesn't seem repulsed or angry by his touch.
The prince clears his throat, attempting to regain her attention. He never usually has to fight so hard to be noticed. Being a prince tended to warrant unyielding attention. Her unwavering grey eyes study Blackjack beneath him, and he practically hears the gears turning in her head. Her eyes churn so much more intensely from up close. He's surprised, there's so much depth in her eyes, depth no one would expect from a common maid. Without a doubt, she's shown him she is much, much more than just a servant.
As if reading Percy's mind and he wouldn't be surprised if she had; something changes in her eyes, a sense of certainty that settles like cement. Her hand reaches out and clasps around his much larger one. A tiny part of him wishes that he hadn't pulled on his leather riding gloves, just so he wouldn't have to wonder what it would feel like to touch her. As Percy watches, she swings herself up beside him, and settles easily into her seat. Her small arms wrap around his middle, and he feels her twist a little to look at her companion.
"When I get back..." She assures, him, as the prince digs his heels into Blackjacks' sides, urging him on. He steps out of the stable, and with a surge of speed, Percy guides him into a canter, taking off across the fields. As the gate changes, he feels her slip for a second and he almost stops, for fear she has fallen off, but then she pulls herself closer to him. Her warm body pressing into his elicits an unexpectedly intense sensation. Chills travel down his arms and Percy feels the softest brush of her warm breath on the back of his neck. Blinking his eyes and taking a steady breath, he tries to focus.
He hears the tell-tale huff of Blackjack below and is tempted to raise an eyebrow at the horse's antics. Trained as a warhorse, with pounds and pounds of heavy armor on his back and he can't gather the energy to canter with only the extra weight of a lean teenage girl. Rolling his eyes, he digs the heels of his worn boots, which Amphitrite hates, in a little more and squeezes his thighs to show him he means business, he practically hears Blackjack grumble in protest, but he picks up from his lazy canter. Percy guides him into the woods, pattering through a trail, and lets him slip into a brisk walk due to the rocky path. Annabeth chooses that moment to relax her grip, and a tiny part of the prince wishes he had switched to a gallop instead.
She had ridden before, you'd be hard pressed to find a girl in the kingdom who hadn't ridden at least once in her life, but they almost always rode side-saddle, and Annabeth had never had come into contact with anything other than the small farm pony, one the kids had saved up for over the course of three years. She had learned a lot in the years at the palace, and had plenty of new experiences but war horses were not something maids were allowed to handle.
Luke on the other hand, did this for a living, while he often had to clean tack and muck stalls, the reason Luke is so favored by the queen is because of the way he handles horses. Only when it's absolutely necessary is he permitted to even contemplate riding any of the precious and strategically bred horses, but he works with one or another almost constantly. When the royal family chooses not to ride them, it's important that they still get some exercise; so of course, the help is obligated to take care of them. No one would even suggest that a noble partake in such plebian activities. Luke ranted about the topic more often than Annabeth cared to admit.
The Prince it seemed was not one of those nobles who kept a stable full of the finest horses solely for prestige. She peeks over his shoulder, watching his hands slip from the reins for a moment to gently smooth his hands over the dark as night coat of the horse beneath her. She wonders for a moment if the prince is even remotely aware that she's there, despite her arms around him. The wind whips through her loose hair, despite the shelter of the Prince's back.
She wasn't expecting to be so enraptured by just simple things like his mannerisms and posture. The royals she had noticed riding over the years sat straight-backed, making a big deliberate show of their actions, and rarely allowing them to relax or enjoy themselves whilst riding. Despite his high status, Percy slouched in the saddle, seeming comfortable, and every movement he did make was subtle and not pompous.
The pair arrived at a gap between the trees and the horse burst forward with unexpected speed, flying over the ground at a pace that was both energizing and terrifying at the same. She didn't want to cling to the prince like some silly little girl, and it certainly wouldn't be proper, but when it becomes clear that the loose hold she had around him and her leg muscles wouldn't be enough to keep her seated, she leans forward and tighten her grip on his middle, pressing into him in a way that is entirely improper and not something any lady should do, let alone a maid working for the royal court. That's the last thing on Annabeth's mind as Blackjack becomes a blur of black and easily clears a fallen tree in the stretch of clearing they're flying through. Gritting her teeth, she presses a little closer so she can speak to him, and murmurs softly into his ear.
"Do you have a goal in mind, or am I just chaperoning a trail ride?" The slight note of irritation in her tone is impossible to miss. The prince ignores her, which of course he has every right to do, but still, it's just a tad bit irksome, she leans back a little, until they go hurtling over a stream. For a moment, as she presses herself to him without reservation once again, she wonders if the prince is doing this on purpose. He wouldn't be so brazen, probably.
Blackjack continues his breakneck speed, tossing his mane in the wind. Percy laughs, a lighthearted, joyous sound, and his companion can't help the smile the sneaks onto her face. The wind tosses her blonde curls around, creating a horrifying mess, no doubt, but as her fear ebbs away, adrenaline, and exhilaration rapidly takes its place. There was a strange kind of freedom racing through the fields like this. None of the angst and anxiety about work, Luke, and what's happening back home seems to matter as much. It takes effort, but she shuts off her mind refuses to think, just letting herself feel for a while.
The prince's warmth feels good up against her and she allows herself to enjoy it for a moment. Breathing in his clean, fresh scent, she smiles again. Unlike lots of other nobles, Percy didn't reek of exotic spices shipped in from all over the world, thankfully. Snuggling into his back, and ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that's asking why she's clinging to him. The steady rhythm of the horse beneath her makes her wonder if they can just ride like this forever. Sometimes there were benefits to being a maid after all.
…
The rumble of water slowly makes its presence known over Blackjacks hooves coming into contact with the ground. The prince reluctantly drags his attention away from the blonde plastered to him, despite her hands spread across his abdomen. It wasn't as if he's inexperienced, just… there's something different about Annabeth, something painfully different and real, most of all real.
He slows Blackjack to a trot, and entered the tree line again. Annabeth leans back, and almost seems disappointed. Just before he knew the trees would break and he'd reach his destination, he dismounts smoothly. His feet hit the ground solidly, and just as he stretches out his hand to help her down, she mimics him, fluidly hopping off without a thought. It would've almost been irritating if it weren't so impressive.
"May I ask where we are, your highness?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, and narrowing her eyes. It's amazing how she can make such a normally modest and respectful statement sound so hostile. If it weren't for her windswept hair, he'd almost think they had gone back in time. He genuinely thought she seemed to get more comfortable as he rode, but the closed off expression on her face seem to tell him differently.
He doesn't respond, guessing no answer might be the best answer in this case, and gestures for her to follow him, slipping into the trees.
