May 1st, 1649

She's crazy. The bitch tried to kill me.

Rachel swears she didn't but, for God's sake, I felt the arrow brush my hair, just barely missing me.

She's fucking insaneand arrogant.

—If I'd been aiming for your head you'd be dead—

Who does she think she is? Not only that, but she's wildly interfering with my mission. Everything I hear from Rachel is Annabeth this, Annabeth that. The girl has been the sole source of my dilemmas.

Nevertheless, there is something entirely intriguing about the idea of provoking her—it appears to have become my foremost passion these days.

Despite all the pain she has caused me, I find myself unable to report back to my advisors in regard to her character. She is troublesome—of course—but that is the most I have told them. I suppose I know they would recommend I dispose of her permanently—and while I certainly have no penchant for murder, it isn't something I normally oppose if necessary.

Still, there is something about the thought of murdering Annabeth Chase that leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

I don't deny the princess is mad and clearly too confident in her position, but—there is simply something holding me back.

It doesn't matter

It doesn't

It

She is nothing—just a distraction.

I will persevere regardless—besides I rather enjoy tormenting her, so where is the fun in getting rid of her so quickly.

Rachel, on the other hand, is much simpler—or perhaps more complex, it's hard to make a clear determination without fully knowing her sister's character. Rachel is kind and caring, but she extends it so innocently and honestly, letting it slip off the tip of her tongue. She gives me every piece of herself, reserving only the humblest of moments for her sister. She is so trusting—so soft—so naive that at times I feel guilty.

The future she envisions is not the future that is bound to come. I will betray her. It is inevitable.

P.J.

...

The second Annabeth stepped out of bed, she had only one thing on her mind, determining once and for all whether or not the Jackson family had an ulterior motive in marrying into hers. With the arduous help of her attendants, Annabeth quickly slipped into a periwinkle dress before setting foot for her father's study. As she turned the corner and approached the grand door, her father's booming voice came in earshot. Her steps slowed at the sound, slowly approaching the dark wood that had always intimidated and intrigued her as a child.

It was a quarter after eight, why wasn't her father meeting with the council? Something was off—something was wrong—

"Your Highness," one of the guards stationed outside the door greeted her, bowing his head slightly. "Shall I announce your presence to his Majesty?"

Annabeth was silent for a second, tapping her finger once, twice, three times against her waist, feeling the hardened corset beneath her dress.

"Yes," she said finally, knowing her father would hear of her presence if she left and that would surely raise more suspicion than whatever excuse she was going to have to conjure up.

The guard nodded obediently, and in tandem, he and his partner slowly swung open the enormous doors.

"Your Majesty," he announced as she crossed the threshold of the room with careful steps, painting an innocent expression across her features. "Her Highness, Annabeth Chase."

"Yes, yes," her father rolled his eyes at the formalities, looking up from his desk. "I happen to be well aware of my daughter's name and rank."

The corner of Annabeth's lips curled as warmth for her father stroked her chest. Her stare swept the room, taking it in. She was ashamed to admit relief at the confirmation that her mother was not in the room as well.

"Annabeth," the king addressed his daughter, a puzzled look on his face. "Did you need something?"

"I wished to borrow a book," Annabeth revealed, her eyes sparkling as she stared up at him. Even at her rather tall stature, her father towered over her.

"Leave us," he declared suddenly, his eyes averting to meet his guards.

"But—" one seemed to start, before catching himself and lowering his head. The blonde glanced behind her and watched as the two began rearranging themselves into proper formation before turning back towards her father.

"Is that all?" the King asked her, his brow arching.

Annabeth heard the loud clatter of the doors shutting behind her. The sound echoed across the spacious room.

"Of course," the princess simpered. The silence that filled the air between was charged with incredulity. Then "well—" she began.

Her father sighed, sitting back down at his desk and picking up his quill.

"Your mother says you've been getting into trouble," he interrupted her explanation. "And we both know what happened the last time."

"I—" a soft pang echoed across Annabeth's chest, her heart stuttering at the implication. "It's not the same," she replied in an unusually quiet voice.

"What do you really want, Annabeth?" he asked, and something about the sharp syllables hardened the blonde's demeanor, a defensive stiffness setting into her posture.

"A book," Annabeth maintained, "but I'm not sure what you have. I'll have to have a look through your personal library, I suppose."

"Annabeth," her father shook his head. Her lips tightened, tension creeping up her spine. "You are no longer a child. These foolish schemes must end."

"Are you suggesting it is wrong to protect my family?" Annabeth managed, her eyes tracing the hard lines of the walls before drifting to the dozens of rare volumes that decorated the study's shelves.

"You are lucky it is I you are speaking to and not your mother," he warned, the pity in his eyes quickly overtaken by anger. "She has little patience for your instability."

"And so I hear every day," Annabeth assured him, her stare returning to meet his. "Perhaps one day you shall be grateful I am so cautious."

"Perhaps," her father agreed with a sigh, "but, fortunately, today is not that day."

There was a pause as Annabeth continued to flick through the titles with her gaze, and her father watched her careful actions.

"I must leave for my assemblage," he stated finally, a frustrated lilt to his voice. "Don't—" he sighed, the strain in his jaw releasing as he shook his head in defeat.

She inhaled deeply, her eyes freezing on no particular title. She didn't think she could stomach the look in his eyes if she met them. It hurt to breathe. Why did it hurt so much?

"You have five minutes," her father told her sternly, picking himself up and brushing himself off. "At exactly five 'til, my guards will escort you out—forcibly if needed."

"Yes, father," Annabeth agreed primly, still fixed in place.

"Please don't get yourself into more trouble than you already have," he muttered on his way out.

Annabeth said nothing in reply, every muscle in her body suspended in place until silence filled the room once more, leaving her completely and utterly alone.

...

When Annabeth sat down at the dinner table that night her mind was spinning with all that the knowledge—or lack thereof—she had obtained. She considered her findings with pursed lips as she waited for Percy and Rachel to arrive. The rest of her family was already seated, making quiet conversation to pass the time but Annabeth found herself unusually quiet. After scouring her father's library for the limited time she was allotted, she had taken to the library to continue her investigative studies. Much her dismay, however, she found nothing but lucrative trades routes.

Logically, of course, she knew it was probably nothing more. As she had learned, the Jackson's did have an enormous financial incentive in joining their families as they would not only control the largest seaport in the land but also have major say in the quickly evolving trade routes on land. They would become major players in the world of commerce.

Still, something inside her itched for intrigue, wanting more. That couldn't be the end of it. It just couldn't.

To kill someone for the sake of a trade route seemed ridiculous. Or perhaps it wasn't ridiculous, simply ambitious.

"Are we the last to arrive?" Rachel's voice twinkled, breaking Annabeth from her train of thought. Her gray eyes involuntarily slid to the tall figure standing beside her sister. He was dressed nicely, but his complacent smile was abundantly annoying.

Annabeth had never killed anyone—hoped she never would. Sure, she may have given orders that resulted in a death or twoonly when necessary of coursebut she had never committed the crime herself.

She wondered if he had—if he'd killed with his bare hands.

"How was your day, Annabeth?" Rachel questioned as she took her seat, her innocent eyes flicking upwards to meet the blonde's.

"Very well," Annabeth answered diplomatically, painting a kind smile across her lips. Not that it was difficult, it never was around her. "And how was yours?"

"Amazing," Rachel sighed warmly, a familiarity in her eyes that made Annabeth reconsider her desire for intrigue. She should simply allow her sister to be happy. That was what she'd requested after all.

And for a second, Annabeth was content. She was able to smile at the thought of providing her sister peace of mind, harmony within her heart—

But then he opened his mouththe audacity.

"Indeed," Percy added. "Rachel and I took lunch in the gardens. The view of the lake is surely the most grand I shall ever witness in my lifetime."

Annabeth was forced to muffled a scoff at the honey-laced statement.

"You are too gracious, Duke," the Queen intercepted, sending Annabeth a pointed look. "I have heard the grounds in Atlantis are beautiful."

Annabeth watched the Duke as he sweet-talked her parents. She wondered if they were truly so dense that they believed him to be honest, or simply willingly ignorant to the truth. Her sister, of course, she could not blame. Her disposition was far too sweet and full of compassion to ever suspect such malice in another human being.

Again, the blonde found herself lingering on the nature of his crimes. His family had ordered another Duke killed in order to secure his position in this family. She was sure of it. It could not be a coincidence that Rachel's fiance was poisoned just days before their families initiated discussions of a treaty.

She wondered if she admired the ambition or simply feared it. She pondered, for a second, what she would have done given the same circumstances. She thought she could have—would have done the same thing had her family been on the line.

Annabeth suddenly felt the heat of a pair eyes on her. The world around her came into focus all at once as she realized she'd been staring. His gaze met hers, a daring, suspicious look dancing across them. Not wanting to be outdone, she shot him a sneer before looking down at her soup.

Perhaps they weren't as different as she had previously believed.

The thought gave Annabeth no peace. In fact, it only worried her more. She knew better than anyone the lengths she would go to in order to ensure her family's safety and success.

...

That night, as the cold air rushed into her room, she felt an odd rush of energy wash over her. She closed her book and stood up from her desk, peering out onto the royal gardens. It looked quite beautiful in the moonlight.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Annabeth announced to her guards, surprising them.

"Your highness," her maid reasoned, "it's too late for a lady of your caliber to be out on the grounds."

"Come with me if you wish," Annabeth told her, slipping on her shawl. "Or I shall be forced to attend alone."

Her maid nodded apprehensively, stepping forward to help the blonde.

In a matter of minutes, Annabeth was outside, wandering across the lightly trodden paths of grass. She felt the crisp breeze graze her bare collarbone, sending chills down her spine. As she paced slowly, her maid trailing behind her, she took advantage of the silence to think.

The castle was never silent—never really, anyway. Even when she found herself alone, her guards were still waiting dutifully outside her door. She could hear them through the rich mahogany sometimes. They spoke of simply nothings, of the weather and family quarrels, but every once in a while, Annabeth caught of a whisper.

Whispers were never good. Whispers were secrets, discussions behind closed doors, information she wasn't privy to. Whispers had always haunted her. She had learned not to trust them.

Annabeth passed a patch of perfectly pruned roses, reaching out her hand to brush her fingertips across the petals. They were soft as silk, delicate as—

She thought back to her conversation with her father. He didn't trust her. No one did it seemed. They trusted her values, her motives, her drive, but they doubted her ability.

Even Rachel, who had always supported her, who had always believed her, even when Annabeth had failed to protect her.

We both know what happened last time.

Her father must have known how those words would affect her. He couldn't think so little of her to believe she had forgotten, to believe she didn't think twice whenever she spoke to someone new. He had watched her struggle, had sat beside her and comforted her as she cried, had hugged her and told her it would all be okay. The man she spoke to—the king she had encountered today—was not the father she remembered, the father she had loved so dearly.

Annabeth remained outside for nearly half an hour longer before caving to her maid's plea for her to come indoors. She was sure to tread as slowly as possible, counting seconds between her elongated footsteps as she made her way back to the castle. Once inside, she quietly navigated the twists and turns of her familiar castle. Her maid seemed to have sensed her desire for silence, for she remained speechless as she followed. Nevertheless, the clash of the guards' steel plates placated her mind, coming together to aggravate her already tormented head.

As they reached the hallway to her dormitory, Annabeth's ears perked at the sound of consonants clashing, of whispers echoing through the corridors. She slowed before coming to a halt at the murmur of her name.

"Wait for me inside," Annabeth indicated softly to her party. They glanced at her with dubious eyes, opening their mouths to object but she cut them off. "I shall enter soon. I require a singular moment to myself."

Her maid was the first to nod and continue forward, having been Annabeth's caretaker for many years. Her guards shared a look between each other but slowly followed, shuffling into her room and closing the doors behind them.

Annabeth took a deep breath, reveling in the strange stillness, but when the whispers crept around the corner for a second time, she began to follow them. She moved down the hallway, her steps light and balanced, careful not to disturb the secrecy.

She was able to make out a few words: tell me...happened...Rachel...

Annabeth's heart leaped at her sister's name, pushing her forward. Whispers were never good. Whispers lead to rumors, to lies, to battle.

"Annabeth and I have always been different. Even when we were children, she liked to play soldier, and I liked to play princess." Annabeth heard her sister chuckled and found herself leaning forward. "And then as we grew older, the differences became more pronounced." She paused, longingly almost. "Then one day, she made a friend who would play with her the way I never wanted to, the way I never could.

"But mother did not approve. Of course, she didn't. He was the cook's son for god sake," she began to ramble, speaking more quickly, her voice growing louder. "And Annabeth had always been one to follow the rules, to respect them but—but that day she brought him into the castle despite them and—it's hard to remember," she heard Rachel's voice suddenly go quiet. "It was so long ago. And to this day, there are still things I do not know. Questions I never asked."

"What do you remember?" Annabeth recognized Percy's voice pushing her to continue.

"Screams," Rachel answered. "I remember playing one minute and then—and then everything was chaos. My maid was screaming and everything was red and the guards were shouting and running and—and my sister was silent."

There was a definite hush. Annabeth felt her chest contract around her heart, threatening to crush it, to kill her where she stood.

"I don't think I registered what had happened until days afterward. My parents pulled me aside and tried to explain it to me. They said—they said sometimes even those closest to us couldn't be trusted."

"Did they think—"

"I don't know," Rachel murmured. "But I know my sister, I know what she's capable of, but more importantly, I know that she loves me. I know she didn't know—she couldn't have known."

Annabeth's shallow breaths spilled into the cold air that surrounded her. She stood still, suspended in her sister's words as the whispers slowly disappeared down the corridors.


a/n: so, I can't begin to apologize for being absent for so long. to be completely honest with you guys, I went thru a really bad break up a few months ago and couldn't find it in myself to read much less write about love—but I'm better now, I promise. And more importantly, now that I'm on a Corona-cation and in self-quarantine, I'll have plenty of time to write so expect updates for my other stories as well.

ciao my peeps

p.s. sorry for being a broken record but thank u guys so much for sticking with me thru this. If yall weren't around I would have lost my passion for writing a long time ago :)