"Duke Halov," Annabeth greeted with a wide, welcoming smile.
"Your Highness," the nobleman replied with a bow. "You are beautiful as ever. Where is your sister? I was hoping to pay my respects."
"She will be arriving soon," Annabeth explained. "Duke Jackson is escorting her."
"Ah, I see. Of course," the Duke nodded before inclining his head a final time and stepping forward into the spacious ballroom.
Annabeth sighed as another nobleman approached her, clearly meaning to express his gratitude. It was more of the same. It was always more of the same. The meaningless introductions and empty platitudes had always seemed entirely tedious to the blonde. Of course, she understood why they were needed, without frequent reminders of one's political standing, people were likely to forget the natural order and rebel. Still though, after seventeen years of trivial introductions, useless small talk, and careful dances, Annabeth had grown quite bored with the social norms.
After having entertained half a dozen other guests, Annabeth finally spotted her sister out of the corner of her eye. Rachel's fiery hair had always distinguished her from others. At a glance, it caused Rachel to appear bold and feisty. The second she opened her mouth and her sweet, soft words left her, however, her true nature was revealed. Annabeth's hair, on the other hand, appeared rather meek—granted she managed to tame her curls, of course—whereas her demeanor was quite the opposite.
As children, they'd joked of exchanging hair, fantasies of cutting off their fine locks and trading places. Annabeth almost laughed out loud at the innocent memory.
"Rachel," Annabeth grinned when she saw her. "You'll have to excuse me, Sir Smith," the blonde said to the man before her. "I must greet my sister."
"Of course, your Highness," he agreed, a pleasant curve to his lips as he bowed his head to her. She acknowledged the gesture with a smile, trying not to appear too uninterested in the niceties.
Once he had stepped out of the way, Annabeth rushed forward, her feet gliding under her dress. She wrapped her arms around her sister when she reached her, very little care for the Duke who was standing by her side.
"You look wonderful," Annabeth whispered into her ear as she embraced her.
"As do you," Rachel smiled, her bright eyes sparkling in the light.
"Green is certainly your color," Annabeth remarked, gazing at her sister's beautiful gown. "It brings out your eyes."
"You're too kind," Rachel laughed, blushing at the comment. She had been doing that more than usual—blushing. She appeared so happy. Annabeth wondered if the Duke's arrival truly was for the best—perhaps she had misjudged him.
"Your Highness," Percy's voice interrupted her musings.
Annabeth's whipped to face him, her expression flickering momentarily before returning in full force. He met her eyes, bowing before her.
"Duke," Annabeth returned respectfully, watching as he rose.
Something in his chin twitched at the title. Annabeth felt herself prickle as he straightened to his full stature. She was being needlessly defensive—that's what Luke would have told her anyway. She felt her jaw tighten. She
"Did you have a pleasant day?" Percy asked her politely, his gaze washing over her easily. He didn't use her title, she noted. Not that he was necessarily required to—but she noted it nonetheless.
"Yes," Annabeth assured, forcing herself not to analyze the microscopic changes in his expression. It would be an endless fruitless process—probably.
"I'm pleased," he responded simply, his lopsided smile creeping into his words.
It occurred to Annabeth then, as an awkward silence came over the group, that she was utterly failing as a conversationalist at the moment. She pursed her lips, procuring some meaningless nicety when he beat her to it.
"Your sister and I spent a wonderful afternoon touring the castle," he told her, glancing over at Rachel as he recalled. "There are so few documents accounts of it that I had no idea how expansive it is."
Annabeth wavered, a tickle in her gut forcing a twitch in her fingers. So he'd sought out documentation of the castle, perhaps it had been required study. Or perhaps he was only attempting to learn more about her family. Was she not guilty of the same thing? Trying to learn more of his.
She swallowed back the feeling, hiding her hands behind her back as she twisted her ring, the cool scratch of the engraving calming her. She blinked, shaking off the momentary distraction only to find Percy's eyes had fallen down her gown—to her hips—to her wrists, barely tracing the echos of hidden movement.
No, she decided then, she was right. She was always right. Something was off.
"I showed him your library," Rachel added then, her airy voice stealing Annabeth's attention once again. She looked far too comfortable next to him. She observed with an impassive expression as Rachel wrapped her bare hand around the crook of Percy's elbow. Annabeth's gut clenched uncomfortably.
"Your library?" Percy repeated, raising a brow at her—a question.
Perhaps it was the sudden determination that her suspicions weren't without reason—perhaps it was the way Rachel was staring at the Duke—perhaps it was just familial love—whatever it was, Annabeth felt her heart jump. She saw it then, as she examined him a second time, allowing her gaze to travel over him with the utmost suspicion.
She saw it then, a rebellious glint in his eyes, a patronizing lilt to his words, as if he were mocking her, as if—
"Yes?" Annabeth clarified. A question rather than an answer. No, it was not technically her library, but who was he to doubt her if she claimed it as her own? It was perfectly within the realm of reason. She could have asked her parents, her fiance, she could have asked almost anyone for god sake, it wasn't within their rights to refuse her anyway.
"I did not know you owned the library," he remarked, a severe lack of political tact dripping from his words.
The words were harmless, verbalizing the question he had not audibly spoken before, but they carried such an air of condescending skepticism that Annabeth was left with her lips parted, struggling not to grit her teeth in response. Annabeth's eyes darted to Rachel's. She could not believe her carefree expression. Surely these were not the words of the future king.
Annabeth breathed in deeply, shallowly, tried to soothe her agitation, was only somewhat successful.
"No, no," Rachel answered for him in a laughing tone, as if he were only poking fun. Annabeth tried to force herself to exhibit a similar countenance. "I simply call it that because she is the only one who ever spends time there."
"Well," Annabeth tried to argue, blinking back exasperation. "That's not exactly true. Our governess still requires we read—"
"Voluntarily, I mean," Rachel smirked, peeking at Annabeth with a jovial crinkle of her nose. She seemed happy. Had the circumstances been different, Annabeth might have given her demeanor more weight. "Annabeth spends so much time we have to send a lady both there and her dormitory in the case of an announcement"
Percy just barely mouthed something—it was barely anything, just air passing between his lips—but the way they moved was familiar to her, micmicking the shape of close friends and family—it was—
It was Annabeth—the word he had silently uttered was her name—she was sure of it, but—but why?
She was angry. She was dizzy. She was—confused, really.
There were a million questions festering in her head, hissing ugly suspicions. Annabeth spared her sister another glance only to find Rachel staring back at her looking somewhat concerned. Annabeth crinkled her eyes, doing her best to recreate the smile she was sure had slipped off her face by now.
"You two better go enjoy the ball," Annabeth said quickly, breathlessly—unreasonably breathless, honestly. "They have just started a waltz, and, besides, there are many loyal subjects waiting to flatter their future queen." She desperately needed to put space between herself and Percy Jackson lest she say something entirely uncouth without intending to.
"Oh," Rachel laughed nervously, anxiety clearly setting into her eyes, dulling their gleam.
Annabeth felt a painful lurch in her stomach at the realization her sister's distress was her fault.
"We must be going then," Rachel remarked. "Join us?" she offered Annabeth, her eyes pleading.
Under any other conditions, Annabeth would have noted the anxiety in her sister's green eyes and volunteered herself without thinking twice, but today, Percy Jackson was here. And that was what Rachel had wanted, wasn't it? A different companion, one that wasn't her sister.
"I will meet you in a moment," Annabeth assured her. "Mother requested I speak to her."
"Ah," Rachel nodded. She took a deep breath, turning to her companion who had fallen oddly silent. "Ready, Percy?"
"Absolutely," he grinned. He looked at Annabeth, his eyes gleaming with a brass entirely inappropriate for someone of his status. "Your Highness," he bid her with a polite bow.
And though the bow had been perfect, his head dipping partially—not too much, just enough—Annabeth found herself holding her breath, unreasonably terrified he would utter her Christian name rather than her title, though she had no idea what she would do if he did.
But he didn't. He didn't, and she wasn't disappointed. She wasn't.
It was only as he swept her sister away and her soft giggles faded into the classical music and boisterous crowd that Annabeth realized it was the first time they'd ever spoken. The interaction was likely a whisper of a lifetime beside the happy couple.
This was absurd. This was—too much.
Annabeth shook her head.
Polite conversations, effortless niceties, watchful gazes, they were rules, practically requirements of interaction. And while her sister was easily swayed by whimsey and flattery, she would not be. She would protect her family and their bloodline from this—this easy disregard for station and civility. It was unnatural and foreign and exciting—
Too much.
...
Annabeth watched her sister and her suitor throughout the night, floating among the room, making meaningless conversation under the guise of surveillance. She wondered if it were fairly obvious—then considered that even if it were, there would be no wrong in admitting to it. That's why everyone was here, after all, to meet the new couple—to observe them.
So Annabeth did just that, observed them. Even as her fingers pressed against her dance partner's, her eyes soared across the room, seeking out Rachel's recognizable shade of red. Annabeth could not imagine her partner enjoyed the dance much, she wasn't very pleasant company. Even if her steps were effortless, she was quite obviously distracted.
Rachel and Percy danced almost the entire night. They were practically inseparable, the storybook image of a smitten couple, only parting when nobleman expressed their wishes to dance with the future queen. Then, when the dance was finishing, there was Percy, waiting for Rachel with a smile so wide it had to be fake—it had to be. It was only after a distant Duchess asked Percy to dance that Annabeth was finally able to speak to her sister in private, though she did have to drag her away from a surprising number of gushing Ladies.
"What is it?" Rachel asked Annabeth with a smile once they were alone—well, not really alone, but there were at least ten feet from any prying eyes and ears.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Annabeth questioned, momentarily masking her concern.
"Oh, Annabeth," Rachel started, her chest pushing against her bodice as she inhaled excitedly. "I'm having the time of my life. I have never met anyone like him. He's my best friend."
"That's—great," Annabeth muttered hastily, quickly concealing shock, quickly followed by hurt. Was she so easily replaced? And by tactless Duke at that?
"He is always on my mind," Rachel continued. "Even when I sleep, I think of him."
"Rachel," Annabeth began, licking her lips. "Remember what I said when we were walking in the gardens?"
"Which time?" Rachel laughed airly. "We've only spent years there."
"The last time," Annabeth said then, at her sister's confused expression, pressed. "It—it doesn't matter—I recommended you be careful, remember? I told you not to let him control you, not to let your feelings for him control you."
"I—I'm not," Rachel stuttered, her features forming a bemused frown.
"Yes," Annabeth tried to underscore. "I worry you are."
"No," Rachel denied firmly, hurt slipping into her words. "I'm not."
"Rachel—" Annabeth's voice turned soft.
"No, Annabeth," her sister returned sharply. "Don't Rachel me like I'm some child who cannot think for herself. I think I know myself better than you do—"
"I just want—" the blonde tried to interject again, but it was useless.
"I don't need you to protect me." Rachel glanced over her shoulder, glanced at him, at Percy. She took a deep breath before continuing, her tone far away. "I—I'll be queen soon, and you won't always be here. I need to know how to make decisions for myself."
Annabeth choked on a gasp at her sister's words but forced it back down. "What—what do you mean I won't always be here?" she questioned, suddenly quiet, the room going still around her.
"I mean you'll be in Andalucia with Luke," Rachel smiled, looking confused again. "You'll be the center of your own love story and—I don't know—traveling the world? Isn't that what you've always wanted to do?"
The redhead placed a delicate hand on her sister's shoulder, staring into her eyes. Annabeth forced herself to be silent, her face frozen. Rachel seemed to tower over her in that moment, an overwhelming presence.
"Knowing you," Rachel progressed, a playful curve to her lips. Her sister struggled to find her voice. "You'll want to study in every great library all over the world."
"I wouldn't—" Annabeth swallowed, desperation seeping into her pores. "I would never leave you—leave the family."
"Annabeth," Rachel sighed, once again glancing at the dance floor as the song ended.
Annabeth felt the room closing in on her, the music becoming white noise in her own personal nightmare.
"You could do so many great things." Rachel curled her free hand around Annabeth's cheek, cupping it with a familiar tenderness she had always thought was reserved only for her. "You have such a great mind. Behind these castle walls, you are constrained. I would never force you to stay—"
"You wouldn't be forcing me," Annabeth cut in quickly, her hand snatching Rachel's by the wrist, pulling it away from her face and towards her chest. "I would never leave. I have never considered leaving."
"Well," Rachel frowned, pulling her hand back from Annabeth's deathly grip. "Maybe you should. Once I'm married, I'll have Percy. I won't need you, Annabeth. You'll be free. It's not a death sentence as you are making it out to be. It's an opportunity."
No, Annabeth wanted desperately to scream, no no no, but her voice was lost somewhere deep inside her.
"You'll be able to do as you please—study what you please."
Rachel bit her lip, glancing at the floor. Her eyes were missing their usual light. Annabeth wondered if she had extinguished it.
"Can we talk about this tomorrow," Rachel inquired, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I promised Percy I'd find him after the song ended. He'll be wondering where I am."
Annabeth nodded. She couldn't speak—was afraid to, really. She was terrified of what she might say if she opened her mouth right now. Her mind was in the midst of a savage storm, unlike anything she'd ever felt before.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Rachel added before turning to leave, her words still burning into Annabeth's head.
The blonde tore through the crowd, away from the dance floor, fighting the tears blistering behind her eyes. She didn't stop until she had put sufficient space between herself and the festivities. She hid in a small, dark alcove, flattening herself against the cool stone wall and allowing the chill to flow through her.
It was too much.
She felt like she couldn't breathe, as if she were being suffocated by her own throat.
She didn't want to cry. She wouldn't cry, but—
But—her whole life, Annabeth had dedicated herself to her family. Every step she took, every word she wrote, every breath she took, she kept her family in mind, and considered how it might affect them in the future because—because her family was her future, it was her duty. And while her mother and her father and Rachel and Luke all had duties, to the church, to their men, to their people, she had only one.
Annabeth's heart stuttered. She could not picture a future without Rachel by her side nor did she want one. Perhaps she'd been wrong, perhaps she was underestimating Rachel. Luke had mentioned that before, had criticized her for assisting her at every turn. Perhaps she had miscalculated. It was certainly possible—even if unlikely—that her sister could be happy with Percy. It was obvious Annabeth's intervention was not welcomed but perhaps it was not necessary either.
Annabeth inhaled, feeling the cool stone behind her acclimate to her warmth.
After all, she reasoned, from what she had seen, Percy had been nothing but kind and charming with Rachel. Annabeth had been the one causing her sister stress.
And, Annabeth considered, swallowing harshly at the thought, perhaps she had overreacted during she and Percy's parlance earlier. For all she knew, it had been one-sided. Rachel had mentioned earlier that Percy was rather informal. Perhaps she had imagined the entire interaction. Perhaps she had exaggerated what she'd seen out of inexperience. Men were not normally so casual with her. But that what she'd wanted, wasn't it? A break from the norms.
Gods, she was so foolish. Annabeth ran her fingers through her hair, messing up the hairdo her ladies had slaved over only a few hours ago. She felt so foolish.
"Your Highness?" she thought she heard, but it was just the echo of a voice.
The blonde swallowed back a sob and tried to put her curls back in order.
The soft pitter-patter of far-off steps slowly came into range. Followed by a similar calling. "Your Highness," a familiar voice sounded. "Hello?"
With another deep breath, Annabeth stepped out of the shadows and began walking toward the voice.
"Your Highness," it called again. It was one of her ladies. She was certain now.
"Arielle," Annabeth said in response.
She heard the steps pause before picking up again, much quicker this time. It was no time at all before her lady was rounding the corner, striding towards her determinedly.
"Your Highness," the lady greeted with a quick bow of her head, clearly ignoring the obvious symptoms of distress littering Annabeth's features. "You asked me to alert you when any response of your letters arrived," she took a breath. "This one arrived only a few minutes ago."
"So soon?" Annabeth frowned, her previous troubles momentarily leaving her. "Was it returned?" she wondered out loud before reaching for the letter.
"No, your Highness," her Lady said. "The seal is not yours."
"Thank you, Arielle," Annabeth whispered, taking the letter from her and quickly tearing into it.
"Um," the Lady interjected, clearing her throat. "Your Highness?"
"Yes?" Annabeth glanced up, trying not to look annoyed.
"Do you plan on returning to the ball?" she questioned delicately, wringing her hands nervously.
"I'm—I'm not sure," Annabeth replied honestly. "Why?"
"I could help her Highness with her hair," she smiled, a playful lilt to her tone. "If she planned on returning."
"Oh," Annabeth blinked, remembering how she had just mussed it. "Of course," she nodded finally. "Go ahead."
"Thank you, your Highness," the girl smiled before stepping behind the blonde and beginning to fit the curls back into their desired positions.
Annabeth ignored the pinching and pulling at her scalp and turned her attention towards the letter in her hands.
Your Highness,
I have heard of the men you write of. They are of urban legend in the area. There are a few of us who know the truth, however. They are a group of military deserters who became assassins. From what I know they charge very much for their services. Someone with money and influence must have wanted William Dohlov. Nevertheless, this is not for the reason that I warn your Highness to be careful. One of my informants notified me that before their capture, the group of men was known to be staying in Atlantis. As you have just welcomed the Duke of that very land, I would recommend your Highness and her family be extremely careful in the coming weeks. It is for this reason I have sent this with such haste. I hope it has reached you before anything drastic has been done.
I have the honor to be your loyal subject,
Hannah Buehler
Annabeth should have felt fear and anger at the letter, at the possibility that Percy Jackson had been involved in the death of William Dohlov. Nevertheless, after her convoluted thoughts, she was engulfed in hot, burning triumph. It rushed through her, sending her heart into a frenzy. This was proof she was needed.
Perhaps she hadn't been wrong. No, she straightened, in fact, it was quite likely that she had been right. She should have known. She was always right. Rachel was naive, just as always, thinking the best of others.
It wasn't much, only a rumor, but it was enough for Annabeth to find purpose once more as she sped towards the ballroom.
...
When Annabeth returned to the celebration, wearing a frightful grin, she had fully intended to catch Percy between dances and press him for details—well, not press him exactly. No, she was not nearly so inept. She was simply going to mention William Dohlov's death offhandedly, then perhaps mention the level of sorrow her sister had suffered after said tragedy.
She was forced to alter her plans, however, when the very Duke she had planned to question suddenly appeared by her side, the curve of his lips entirely too smug for her liking.
She forced herself not to meet his eyes, instead training her eyes on the dancing couples before her. The music around her lulled, slowly coming to an end. She felt a terrifying, tantalizing desire to know what would come when silence fell over the room.
But then it did. Silence descended across the room—not really, she could still hear the quiet rustle of ungrateful steps on the dance floor, the woosh of turning skirts as ladies curtsied, the soft whisper of a discrete comment somewhere behind her—but there was no music, no sound from the man beside her.
She turned, then, facing him with determination only to find him staring at her. Her lips were ajar, a question on the tip of her tongue only for him to beat her to it.
"Would you like to dance, your Highness?" he asked with no flourish or flair, his eyes fixed on hers.
She found she didn't mind the lack of niceties in this case. It was a challenge, she figured, a maneuver in a long game of—of something she had yet to discover.
"Absolutely," she answered, never having been one to back down, especially when she had the upper hand.
He held out a hand, his eyes giving very little away. She placed hers in his. His skin was rough and abrasive—akin to his presence, she considered with a private smile.
The Duke led them to the center of the dance floor, weaving between couples preparing for the next dance. Annabeth carefully positioned herself with her hand flat against his, her other hand brushing the fine fabric of her dress as it fell to her side. He did the same, meeting her eyes impassively.
"Are you enjoying your stay in our kingdom?" Annabeth asked him, settling her features into a pleasant expression. It was all so much easier knowing she was in the right, knowing she really was protecting her sister.
"Yes," he nodded simply.
The music began, the violins echoing throughout the hall. Percy began to turn, she followed, allowing him to lead.
"I'm glad," Annabeth breathed, her eyes never leaving his as they both shifted, switching hands and changing directions and they continued turning around each other. "I worry I may have been a rather rude hostess," she revealed.
"I saw nothing of the sort," Percy replied, though she detected something akin to recognition light up in his eyes.
"Well," Annabeth proceeded. "I apologize, nonetheless. I tend to be a bit protective of my sister you see, it causes me to act impulsively."
"I have a hard time believing you are anything but deliberate," he countered, his lips curling at the corner into an irritating smirk, "your Highness."
Annabeth parted her lips to speak but closed them quickly as she had nothing to say. He raised his right hand above them—one half of a delicate arc—as the other male partners did the same around. She mirrored his motion and caught his fingers with hers, completing the bow.
"You, contrarily, I have heard are rather sloppy, Duke" Annabeth remarked with a pointed look, deciding to take a more aggressive stance.
She watched his lips quirk, threatening a smile as his gaze narrowed. She took a step back, he followed forward, his fingers never leaving hers.
"Have you now?" he mused with a hum, his feet moving slowly to the designated meter. "And however, did you hear that?"
"One of my Ladies mentioned it in passing," Annabeth explained simply, matching his movements.
They rocked back and forth, alternating their steps.
He rolled his eyes. She scoffed.
"Did she?" he prompted. "Are you sure you haven't been doing reconnaissance on me, Your Highness?"
They pulled their arms away smoothly, lowering them to their sides.
"And if I have?" Annabeth countered, skipping once as she was pulled under his arm. She spun on her toes, her index finger just kissing the lines of his palm. "It would have been foolish to allow you to enter our Kingdom knowing nothing of you."
"And what did you find out?" he questioned, his voice predatory as he pulled her close, both his hands fastening on her waist.
"Very little," she whispered, grasping his shoulders as he lifted her into the air, her feet just barely kicking. He lowered her to the ground gracefully.
His hand rose to the back of her neck, supporting her as he dipped her. She felt rather than saw the sneer on his face, his hot breath spilling down her lips, falling to her chest. Her hand between them scarcely faltered as he brought her back to her feet, depositing her back on the dancefloor with a grace she had not seen in a long time.
"Accounts of you seem to have very limited information," she recounted once on the stable ground, the heavy undercurrent of her words echoing across his features.
"Hardly seems sloppy then," he returned sharply before she could voice her accusation. "Accounts of you, on the other hand, seem to have a plethora of information," he said, drawing the vowels out softly.
She felt herself gasp, an unfamiliar fire yearning inside her as she turned away from him, turning in a small circle before returning to him and placing her hand delicately in his.
"You researched me, did you, Duke?" Annabeth confronted, careful to watch his expression, indexing his every motion.
Her words were sharp, her movements anything but.
"As you said," he dismissed stoically, "it would be foolish not to."
"And what, pray tell, did you find?" she inquired as they swayed, their shoulders pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling.
Annabeth counted her steps, careful not to lose track. One, two, three, four—
He spun her, once, twice, three times—his movements practiced, perfect.
"Nothing but contradictions," he said in a hushed voice, barely moving his lips as he did.
His hand clasped hers behind the curve of her waist, the other above them. She took it with purpose.
She stepped backward. He surged forward.
She was breathless, hot, dizzy—again. She briefly wondered if she'd been poisoned.
"Dutiful, but defiant," he continued his voice a distasteful, disgraceful, delicious hum in her ears. "Docile, but dangerous."
She felt her eyes cloud over, her blood rushing in her ears—keep dancing—she needed to speak—keep dancing—she needed to interject—keep dancing—she needed to open her fucking mouth—
"But you seem perfectly harmless to me." The words were what any noblewoman wanted to hear—theoretically speaking, of course—realistically, however, it was an insult, a purposeful blow to her pride. "You are a perfectly pleasant, pliant, young woman, your Highness."
His eyes glimmered with mirth. He was winding her up. He was making fun of her. He thought this was funny. He thought she was funny.
She had had enough.
"I am harmless," Annabeth snapped quickly before righting herself, swallowing back rage and replacing it with softness, "to those who do not threaten me or my family."
She watched his gaze narrow, his pupils dilating before her own eyes.
His hands found her waist again. She wrapped her left hand around his neck as he lifted her, her delicate hand gesture stretching between them.
"But," she added airly with a light sigh as he lowered her, her soles kissing the dance floor once again. "If one were to threaten me or my family—"
She raised her hand, curling her fingers around his cheek, her thumb skimming his raised cheekbone. Female counterparts around the room did the same.
"Then they would find themselves facing a very different princess—some might even say dangerous."
After the required beat, Percy mirrored her action, his rough fingers ghosting over her rosy skin.
"I'm sure I won't meet her," he murmured. "I am, after all, family."
"If you join my family," Annabeth resisted, pushing back the urge to dig her manicured nails into his skin. "You will be lucky enough to gain my protection and respect."
His eyes flashed to hers, and he smiled, the corners of his lips barely curling.
They drew away from each other, their hands sliding against each other as they turned around the dance floor, following the line of couples that did the same.
"And until then?" he breathed, careful to keep his eyes on the man in front of him.
"Why don't you ask William Dohlov?" Annabeth touched, deliberately hypersensitive to his every reaction.
He was quiet, but his fingers twitched. Nevertheless, the movement was so minuscule that she couldn't be sure. She needed more—
"A terrible accident what happened to him," she drove delicately, her tongue softly articulating each word as it left her. "Wasn't it?"
"Terrible," he confirmed. His eyes still didn't meet hers, but he didn't move either.
They paused their steps. She turned into him, his rough fingers catching her elbow.
"A devout Christian, a faithful follower of God—" she began, pausing when he spun her.
She slowly turned around him, light, steady steps so the toes of her shoes never showed beyond her skirt.
"A Duke in his own right struck down at his prime—" Annabeth said when she was face to face with him again, her piercing eyes tracing the lines of his impassive expression.
The music built around them, the harp drowned out completely by the violent violin.
Percy placed his hands on her waist one final time. She gripped his shoulders, her fragile touch and refined tone, a seeming contradiction with the harsh undercurrent of her words.
They waited for the beat.
"Poisoned on a sacred Sunday morning—"
The minuet crescendoed. He lifted her into the air. She straightened her arms, fluttering her ankles.
"By deserters, nonetheless."
His fingers tensed around her waist, tightening their grip, and his eyes flickered, a barely-there glint flashing for an infinitesimal instant. What most would have missed, she had seen. She had seen it.
He lowered her slowly, his eyes trained on hers, the line of his lips flat. Her heels made contact with the ground softly.
And she smiled—really, truly, fucking smiled because she knew—knew—she'd won.
a/n: ayy, how spicy was that? So it might take me a little bit to update because I literally just moved into my dorm two hours ago and in the midst of a very exhausting orientation session. But I couldn't resist posting this chapter because it's just the first solid percabeth we see. Also, didn't edit so have mercy.
Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to Fangirl Shrieks and the guest who reviewed for their kind words of encouragement.
p.s. I have a new poll up and y'all should check it out
p.p.s. sorry I do so many polls, I'm really into analytics so it's just fun for me. Also, I like seeing what yall think and hearing your input.
