April 17th, 1649

They've done it.

I've done it.

After plotting the inciting incident and the subsequent discussions for so long, it's difficult to believe it has finally come to fruition. Now the responsibility lies heavily with me. I know what I must do. It will not serve me to doubt myself now. This is all by design. Besides, my intel tells me, the princess, though already of age, is rather naive. I have also heard she's somewhat beautiful. Perhaps my mission will be a pleasure rather than a chore.

It all depends upon me now. Nothing shall stop me.

P.J.

...

"What do you think they're discussing?" Annabeth asked, her gaze trained on the locked doors before her. Her eyes traced the familiar design of the intricate woodworking. She had memorized it after so many years of the same sight.

"You needn't worry," Luke assured her, holding her hand in his. He slowly stroked a line down each of her digits in an attempt to relax her.

"They've been in there for days," she expounded, pulling her hand from his grasp to curl her fingers around her chin. "They've even had their meals brought to them—I cannot comprehend what could require so much discussion. The answer is logical, is it not?"

"Mh," he hummed, more an acknowledgment than an answer.

"You should be next in line," she continued despite his apparent lack of interest. "There are no other high-ranking nobles who are not already spoken for—unless someone else has already made them an offer."

"Annabeth," Luke sighed, his thumb brushing against her jaw, turning her head so that she was forced to meet his gaze. "I leave tonight for Andalucia."

"So you do," Annabeth confirmed, compelling herself to maintain eye contact and ignore the distracting clandestine conversations occurring behind closed doors only a few feet away.

"I will not return for nearly a year," Luke reminded her. "Is this really how you wish to spend our final hours together? Spying on your parents and your sister."

"Well—" Annabeth reasoned only to be cut off.

"Are they not equipped to handle the matter on their own?" he asked, clearly exasperated. "Your sister will be queen for god sake. How will she ever effectively govern a country if you are questioning her at every turn?"

"I suppose you are correct," Annabeth agreed begrudgingly, pouting. "Still," she mused, a playful smirk lifting her features. "You have to admit, the activity does inspire a strange sort of nostalgia."

"Yes," Luke nodded, a small smile finally gracing his lips as well. "I vividly remember eavesdropping on dozens of meaningless meetings, and they were always just that—meaningless."

"What shall we do then?" Annabeth questioned with a sigh, ignoring his rebuff. She felt a pang of guilt at his dutiful attention but ignored it. "With our final hours together."

"A walk, perhaps?" he suggested, then frowned. "But I suppose this isn't the best time to be outdoors—what with the memory of assassination so fresh in our minds."

"A turn about the castle then?" Annabeth countered. "Shall we end in the library? A new selection has just arrived."

"Of course," Luke bowed his head, hiding a tired expression—not well enough as the blonde noticed it with a purse of her lips. She accepted his hand as he stood and rose with him, taking no further steps to alleviate his seeming exhaustion with her. Why should she, after all? He was—well, he was Luke. He was a friend. He was her betrothed. He was business. Family business.

...

In the end, it was decided that Luke Castellon, Duke of Andalucia, would not marry Rachel Chase. Instead, there would be a new addition to the royal family: Percy Jackson, Duke of Atlantis.

It was in Annabeth's nature to be skeptical, but she found herself unreasonably hopeful at the news. Following the announcement, she regularly consulted the library, researching the Jacksons and their lands. She promptly realized the union with Atlantis would be a more advantageous connection than any Andalucia could have offered. By forming a bond with the family of Jackson, their kingdom would benefit from valuable trade routes and the safety of their shipments would be ensured. Luke, though worthy, would have only provided the family with vast farmlands.

Yes, Percy Jackson was certainly a better choice—politically speaking, of course. There was an inherent risk to the secrecy surrounding his name, however. Despite, his enticing business connections, her family's complete lack of familiarity with him was cause for concern. He would be entering their small kingdom with more knowledge of them than they had of him.

The idea was entirely unsettling. It had Annabeth pouring through relevant texts and examining archives. There was bound to be an ulterior motive to his family's sudden interest in hers. She wondered why it seemed no one else had considered the consequences of this risky union. She mused, momentarily, that her parents had likely discussed all this and she simply might not know—after all, she was barred from congress.

The mysterious duke was set to arrive in just over a fortnight. His family's political and economic ties seemed an urgent matter to the blonde, but when she voiced her concerns, they fell on deaf ears. She could not comprehend why her opinion meant so little. She was second in line for the throne. Her words should have been analyzed for weeks, examined for deeper meaning, inscribed in stone. Instead, she heard whispers of insolent child and headstrong female.

But Annabeth shook off the murmurs as she continued to tear through aged manuscripts, certain she would find something of significance. In the meantime, she would speak to the only one who had ever really listened.

"Haven't you considered the possibilities?" Annabeth inquired one late night, hidden beneath the shadow of her sister's canopy bed. A dim lantern lit up the area that encompassed them, highlighting the faint freckles that adorned the bridge of Rachel's nose.

"Yes," Rachel stated primly. "I simply choose to linger on the less... murderous ones."

"Seems dangerous," Annabeth sniffed.

"Perhaps," Rachel intoned, throwing her sister a playful grin before turning serious again. "But for years—years—I believed I would spend my life in a loveless marriage."

"Rachel," Annabeth tried to argue, reaching forward to take her hands. "You know—"

"Yes, yes," she rolled her eyes. "There was affection between Will and me, a blossoming friendship. But—" she sighed, dragging her fingers through her hair. "But remember those books we used to read as children."

Annabeth offered her a puzzled look.

"The storybooks filled with princesses and dragons and knights in shining armor." At Annabeth's look of recognition, Rachel continued, an airy elation slipping into her words. "Before the news of my engagement, I had scarcely allowed myself to dream I might find someone who would sweep me off my feet."

Rachel smiled—a visage of such mirth and decadence that Annabeth couldn't stomach spoiling with her ill-timed cynicism, so she kept her lips pressed into a simpering curve and listened.

"But—but maybe now," Rachel explained, "I might finally have a chance at that—at love. I don't need someone to slay dragons or fight armies for me, but—but—" she swallowed harshly, the lines of her neck tracing the rough movement. "I want someone who would." Rachel chuckled sheepishly at the sight of her sister's fabricated smile. "It's stupid, I know."

"No, no," Annabeth denied. "The thought is certainly enticing—"

"But it's unrealistic," Rachel finished for her.

The blonde felt a sudden rush of emotions as she watched her sister's head drop and the light drain from her eyes.

"It's just," she glanced back up at Annabeth, her eyes glossy. "Sometimes," she muttered so quietly Annabeth almost lost her words in the rustling of the sheets. "Sometimes I think I'm not cut out to be queen. Sometimes the pressure is too much and—and there is so much to remember and to consider, and I don't know who to trust or confide in—it's exhausting. And sometimes I just want to run—run away and never come back."

"Rachel," Annabeth struggled, her own throat stiff both with sorrow and fear. "You can't mean that. You have me. You can always trust me. You—you can always trust your family."

"I know," Rachel breathed, her hand coming up to wipe a tear threatening to fall down her cheek. "I just—I want a companion who can support me, who can help shoulder the weight of my throne."

"I understand," Annabeth assured her. She took Rachel in her arms and held her tight. "But try to remember," she comforted, "you are never alone. I can help. I am always here—I will always be here."

Rachel nodded but said nothing else. Annabeth held her through the night. She waited until Rachel's deep, steady breaths fell against her shoulder before she loosening her grip. In the darkness of the night, she considered her sister's words, the want of an equal, of a companion—someone to slay proverbial dragons. She hadn't lied when she'd said the thought was enticing. But she'd always considered herself her sister's companion, her equal.

Rachel had promised her the position of Royal Council when she succeeded the crown, had promised her a voice and a seat. Annabeth could ask for nothing else. In return, she had protected her sister—would always protect her sister. She was perfectly happy to slay dragons for Rachel. Annabeth had always considered her life perfectly complete with only their family to keep her company. To hear her sister sought something more, pricked at the blonde in a way she was unfamiliar with.

In theory, however, Annabeth had to agree. The thought of a companion, an equal partner, someone to study and spar with, would be an attractive concept to anyone. She wondered what it would be like to feel—to feel fire—that was how they had described in the storybooks, was it not?—to feel fire at the sight of someone, to be engulfed in heat with only a gaze, with the brush of a stolen kiss.

No—

The thought was ridiculous—but more than ridiculous it was intoxicating—far too intoxicating for Annabeth's liking.

As soon as the dangerous ideas began to fill her head, she cast them out. She could not support that type of thinking. She could not stand to lose control. She needed to keep her mind on more important subjects, on matters of the state rather than the heart.

It was pointless speculation anyway, she was betrothed to Luke who, while at times dreadfully boring and bothersome, was dependable and covert. Besides, their union would add to the reign of her family. It had been planned since their infancy. She knew nothing else—had expected nothing else. She desired nothing else—she could not desire anything else.

But that was beside the point, because she didn't—she didn't.

...

Despite her serious qualms, the day Percy Jackson arrived in court. Annabeth was the picture of cordiality and warmth. Her ladies had dressed her in a blood-red gown, and she wore her finest tiara. Her curls were half pinned up, allowing the rest to spill down her back. It wasn't too much—it was just enough.

Her family and their closest patrons gathered in the throne room as the Duke's arrival was announced. Annabeth watched with careful eyes as her sister nervously took her position at the right of her father who sat at his throne, tapping his fingers impatiently—or was it nerves?

"What do you know?" Annabeth's mother asked suddenly, averting the blonde's attention. "About the Duke," she clarified a second later.

"Why do you ask?" Annabeth prompted innocently, careful not to let her smile slip as she glanced at her mother.

"I'm not oblivious to the happenings of court," the Queen told evenly. "I know you have been seeking answers. What have you found?"

"Most accounts say he is handsome but devious," Annabeth answered honestly, keeping her eyes facing forward, in case the Duke arrived abruptly.

"You worry we have made the wrong decision in bringing him here," her mother inferred, raising a brow at her daughter.

"Yes," Annabeth confirmed quietly. "Rachel is much too fragile to receive a new fiancé, and we know far too little of him to accept him so soon into our family."

"Your concern is noted, now disregard it," her mother snapped suddenly. "Your sister is strong enough to handle a change. As for the latter, do not bother yourself. Your father and I have considered the consequences of the union and have determined him to be an acceptable addition."

"Mother," Annabeth hissed. "You can't seriously expect me to accept and protect the Duke as a brother when I am still unsure of his intentions."

"You will accept him." The Queen left no room for discussion. "And will be an utterly doting sister. Now smile. We have guests."

Annabeth took a deep breath, and fixed the welcoming expression on her face. Then there was a second of unending (almost) silence. Annabeth could hear the tap of her father's fingers against his armrest, the scrape of a guard's armor shifting, the ragged gasp of her sister, an eerie calm, then—

Footsteps—graceful and confident.

Whispers—quiet and careful

Finally—"Percy Jackson, Duke of Atlantis."

And just like that, the hurricane shifted and the eye moved along, allowing temporary peace to another family, to another land—but not Annabeth's, not anymore.


a/n: k, look. I know I'm not supposed to post until I'm done and that I've already broken the rule once, but I'm getting really antsy and I'm done with ten of my LoS chapters and only need to work on my remaining stories. Also I'm about to leave for college so I'm mad packing, and I just want to get at least one chapter out before I go. So I'm very sorry that I'm being this way, but here's another chapter bc I can't stand to just look at all these words in my doc manager. It's giving me anxiety.

Anyway, this is short anyway. So there's definitely more to come.

Reminder: Percy's perspective in the journal entry

p.s. dedicated to Sinful-logic, IAmHelenOfTroy, and Fangirl Shrieks bc y'all trusted me and just hopped the fuck on this new story train w me. So shout out to y'all and also all the people who have already favorited and followed. You guys are seriously too kind to be real.

p.p.s go do the poll on my profile to boost my ego por favorrrr

c u l8r

iciao!