April 29th, 1649
The girl is just as I expected. Descriptions of her proved exceedingly accurate. She is certainly beautiful, with bouncy auburn curls and fair skin. She is unquestioningly naive, blushing fiercely when I brushed my lips over her knuckles. Worse, she is kind and gentle—entirely undeserving of her fate. Alas, however, it is the design.
The one detail accounts of the princess seem to have overlooked is her family, though I suppose I never asked. I have never believed in the occult, but they have an almost supernatural energy to them. It is unlike anything I have ever faced. Though the princess and I are effectively engaged, the King chortles encouragingly, urging me on. The Queen acts similarly, though her niceties carry an uncharacteristic stiffness.
Perhaps, however, the most peculiar of the group is the princess's sister. Before today, I had only heard hushed accounts of her, but I heard it all—wise, ruthless, daft, kind, loyal, deceitful, dangerous—every report a contradiction.
It was impossible to fully understand her character, all I was able to surmise from the information was that she wears many faces. After my interactions—or lack thereof—with her today, I finally understand.
She is an enigma in every sense of the word.
When I first entered the throne room, I felt her gaze the strongest. I could feel the force behind it, the blatant distrust. Had I not known Rachel had auburn hair, I would have mistaken the girl for my bride to be. Yet, despite her marked presence, she said nothing. The King and Queen introduced her hastily, no recognition henceforth. I was—still am—confused by how little attention was paid to her.
Though her simpering smile was very convincing, I saw the suspicion lingering behind her light irises, the flicker of disdain.
How is it she trusts me less than the woman I am attempting to seduce? How is it she has already formed an opinion of me when I have worked so hard to keep all mentions of me at a minimum?
Then at dinner, she was positively annoying. She speaks far too proudly for a princess who will never even be Queen. First, she sat far too close to me, then she engaged the men before her as if they were her subjects, and finally, she inserted her political and intellectual opinion into those of nobles.
It was positively unnerving, alarming, unnatural for a lady to speak of such things.
How does her fiance stand her? No wonder he left for Andalucia.
She was eavesdropping on me the entire time I spoke, I am sure of it. Near the end of the banquet, I leaned close to Rachel, whispering something. It was nothing important, just a little comment, a phrase that was just barely suggestive. It was a test, a trap. I was careful to watch her and sure enough, her body shifted, her knuckles turning white.
There is no question, she will be an obstacle to my campaign.
She is an unknown variable. She is dangerous.
And not particularly beautiful either. While her sister manages to tame her curls, it appears the blonde cannot for they spring about of their own volition. Moreover, her skin is golden, as though she spends her days in the fields. Her mouth is strangely small, especially considering the confidence with which she speaks, and her chin is slightly too round, causing her face to appear much broader than it is. I must admit, however, there is a strange rather regal quality to her eyes. It gives her a uniquely piercing gaze.
But no matter, I am perfectly capable of handling an insolent female.
P.J.
...
"I'm glad you're happy," Annabeth told her sister as they walked arm and arm through the gardens.
"But..." Rachel trailed off, directing a pointed look towards her sister.
"But nothing," Annabeth assured her with a delicate shake of her head. "If he is truly a good match for you, I have no reason not to be pleased."
"Oh, he is," Rachel burst out, her eyes shining at her sister's approval. "He is all I imagined and more. He is charming and kind and beautiful. I even become warm and unusually giddy under his gaze. I feel special and wanted and—"
"Would he be a good King?" Annabeth asked, cautiously focusing her sister on more important subjects.
"Oh," Rachel paused. "I suppose I hadn't considered that—but he would be. He will be."
"Hm," Annabeth hummed, urging her sister to continue.
"He's extremely clever and deftly avoids conflict," Rachel explained. "And isn't that what this kingdom needs? A ruler who does not actively seek out war?"
"Is he clever or intelligent?" Annabeth questioned, trying to decipher his aptitude herself.
"Is there really a difference?" Rachel giggled, casting her sister a dubious grin.
"Yes," Annabeth answered firmly, meeting her sister's eyes resolutely.
"He must be both then," Rachel glowed. "Gods, Annabeth. He is so intelligent. I swear, he knows something about everything. And as for his wit, he is quick and skillful when he speaks."
"I'm happy then," Annabeth curved her lips into a smile for her sister's sake.
"Annabeth, you have no idea how he makes me feel. When I'm around him, something within me flutters, it twists and turns my gut. It feels like—well, an illness—but in the best way, I assure you. I finally understand why some call love a disease. That is how it feels, that's all I feel." The redhead giggled wildly. "I realize it's incredibly uncouth for a future queen to speak of such things but," she cast a nervous glance at her sister, swallowing loudly before speaking. "I can picture us—together, I mean. He would be gentle and kind and romantic."
"You certainly feel strongly," Annabeth observed, a coil of dread curling at the bottom of her gut. She didn't let it show. "Are you sure he shares your sentiments?"
"Yes," Rachel nodded vigorously. "He must. He told me as much, and he said it with such alacrity, described the feelings in such detail that there is no way he could have lied. I can't wait until the ball tonight. Whenever he—he just barely touches me, I feel light headed. And he does—touch me, I mean. Is that not evidence enough of his affections?" Rachel licked her lips, clearly dazed even as she spoke of the feeling. "He makes me feel like a little girl again—makes me believe anything is possible again."
As Annabeth pondered her sister's description of the Duke, she watched her. She noted Rachel's jade eyes, gleaming with a pure, untapped innocence so strong it must have come from an angel itself. She wondered if anyone could be more pure, more deserving than her sister. Despite all that Rachel had learned of people's true natures, all that they had lived through, she faced every day with a cheerful optimism. She was so unlike anyone ever met. So positively pure, a childlike wonder imprinted into her features, that Annabeth felt a need to protect her. It went beyond her duty to her family and to the crown. There was something precious about her sister, something that could easily be corrupted. A light that Annabeth was determined to preserve at all costs.
"I wonder if I'll ever be as happy as you," Annabeth revealed in a moment of rare honesty.
"Of course, you will," Rachel laughed, her words dripping with care and concern. Her brows furrowed into a skeptical frown. "When you marry Luke, you will feel as I do. You will be so overcome by affection and love that all else around you will melt away."
"Of course," Annabeth responded, forcing her lips into a tight smile. "How could I have forgotten."
It was at that moment that Rachel noticed the despondent glimmer in her sister's eyes.
"Annabeth," she curled a comforting hand around the blonde's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Annabeth grinned suddenly. "I simply realized I forgot to ask Luke to bring me a book upon his return."
"Oh, Annabeth," her sister laughed, throwing her head back and her arm around her sister. "You spend far too much time with your nose stuck in books. You must have exhausted our entire collection. So much information will make your head explode."
Annabeth made a vague noise of disagreement to which her sister responded.
"You simply must socialize more."
Rachel giggled again at her sister's disgruntled expression and steered them back towards the castle.
...
After returning to the castle and ensuring her sister had the necessary security, Annabeth returned to her room. Once there, she sat down at her desk, wet her quill with her tongue, and began to draft a letter.
Sir Nicolas,
Please have all texts that write of the history of Atlantis or ancestry of the Jackson family sent to the castle. I will return the books I already own, though I am sure you are already aware of the royal collection's contents.
You will receive payment for the texts I find valuable at the end of the month.
Your discretion is expected.
Annabeth was just about to sign her name when there was a knock at her door and an announcement.
"Your royal majesty, the Queen."
Annabeth raised her head, indicating for her soldier allow her mother entrance, before wetting her quill again and finishing her letter.
Your Royal Highness,
Annabeth Chase
"That's a disgusting habit, you know?" her mother remarked as she glided in, eyeing Annabeth's quill distastefully. "Not to mention dangerous, if someone wished to poison you, they could simply use your quill."
"Mother," Annabeth greeted, folding her letter into three before slipping it into an envelope. "I'm sure you didn't come to your least favorite room in the castle simply to advise me about my safety. Why are you here?"
"I have a request to make," the Queen declared. "There is a rumor, one I need investigated."
"And you believe I am the person to do it?" Annabeth countered, setting aside her letter and standing to meet her mother by the window overlooking the gardens. Her sister was outside, several guards surrounding her as she sketched upon the grassy lawn.
"I know you well, Annabeth," her mother commented, turning to gaze at the blonde. "I know your letter must concern your sister's new suitor, just as I know you are willing to protect your sister with your life."
"It's what you taught me," Annabeth remarked, biting her cheek and avoiding her mother's eyes. "Does this rumor have to do with Rachel?"
"Indirectly, yes."
"Well, what is it?" Annabeth asked, exasperated. "I certainly can't do anything unless you tell me."
"The men who assassinated William Dohlov have been caught," her mother revealed.
"And?" the blonde urged, impatiently.
"Your father and I had previously believed William's murder was over the religious conflict that is raging in his kingdom. We figured a group of angry Catholics had conspired to murder him. However, it seems these men are contract killers—"
"Meaning someone wanted Willaim dead," Annabeth finished for her, her stomach contracting painfully. "Someone with money and influence."
"Indeed," the Queen confirmed. "I need to know who wanted him dead. I worry they may turn their eyes on your sister next."
"Okay," Annabeth nodded, bit her lip in thought as she considered the suspicious circumstances of the young Duke's death and the subsequent entrance of another Duke in their kingdom. "I will speak to my informants and relay my findings."
"Thank you," her mother nodded her head, sparing her a faint smile.
"No need," Annabeth sighed, striding back to her desk to draft a dozen more letters. "It's family."
Silence followed her words, and the blonde was sure her mother had already left her room when her voice sounded once again.
"I know you believe I hate you, Annabeth," her mother uttered, catching the blonde's attention and holding her raised gaze. "I don't. I truly don't. But I cannot see your room without remembering what happened here. I cannot look at you without seeing her."
"I know," Annabeth muttered, so quietly her words were sensed rather than heard.
With that, her mother exited the room, and the blonde was once again left to her own thoughts, the horrible event flashing behind her eyelids whenever she shut her eyes.
What have you done? her mother had shrieked, striking her harshly across the cheek. What have you done?
Annabeth could still feel the pain like it was yesterday, the dark dread quickly consuming her. She would protect her sister this time around. She would not be so careless. She would not forget her purpose.
Annabeth reached into her desk drawer and took out half a dozen sheets of parchment. Slowly, meticulously, she wrote every letter, detailing the rumor and carefully explaining her circumstances. When she was done, she reached into her drawer again and reached for her wax and stamp. Slowly, Annabeth used a candle to melt the blood-red wax into the spoon and watched with detached fascination as she dripped it onto one of the envelopes, delicately creating a perfect circle.
Annabeth sighed when she was finished, setting aside the spoon and reaching for her seal. She pressed it into the half-hardened wax, watching the wax curl around the royal family shield.
...
Annabeth was ready long before the ball began, sitting on her bed in wait. As she had no escort, she was on no man's time.
As she waited, Annabeth tore through a book that detailed the economic history of Atlantis. She was already aware that the majority of their profits came from their lucrative seaports. Using assessments provided to her by the royal teller, she estimated the Port of Atlantis accepted at least five shipments every week. It was virtually unheard of for a single strip of land to see so much activity.
Still, these numbers did not afford Annabeth with the information she was searching for. They offered an additional reason her family would be eager to unite themselves with his, rather than why his would choose hers on such short notice. It wasn't that her family had nothing to offer, they had riches, fertile land, a dynamic military, and most of all, a crown.
Still, however. It seemed illogical for the Duke of Atlantis, a man who had been, until recently, betrothed to neighboring Duchess, to so quickly break off the engagement for a chance at the crown.
Or perhaps it wasn't as illogical as she previously conceived, Annabeth considered. Perhaps she was underestimating the sway of a crown, a chance for power and glory.
"Your Highness," one of her ladies spoke, breaking her train of thought.
"Yes," Annabeth addressed, lowering her book.
"The time has come," the lady explained. "You asked me to alert you."
"Yes," Annabeth nodded. "Of course, thank you." She slid her bookmark into place before shutting the book in her hands and placing it under her pillow. She would be careful to observe the Duke's behavior tonight. She would see if he was truly as enamored with his sister as Rachel had claimed.
With a deep breath, Annabeth rose from her bed. She slipped on her small heels, careful not to tear her tights. She turned to another of her ladies and nodded. The woman stepped forward, carefully placing her tiara atop her head.
"Let us go," Annabeth breathed.
a/n: ay, third chapter coming at u fast. anyway, sorry about the sexism, its a symptom of the times but gross nonetheless
Also, I realize Annabeth's protective attitude is gonna seem a little obsessive but 1. that's kind of how I perceive her, like willing to sacrifice anything for her chosen family (like Luke and Thalia), 2. there will be events revealed that show why she is so crazy about protecting her sister, other than the obvious.
Dedicated to the guest who I think signed as Thisisawesomeness1825 and also to everyone who voted that this was their fav of my stories in my poll bc that's a lot of faith when we're only on the second chapter (well, third chapter now). Your confidence in me is v much appreciated.
Love yall
iciao!
p.s. the next chapter will probably come relatively quick because it's the first direct Percabeth interaction, and I'm ridiculously excited about!
