Annabeth had never found Luke's presence particularly offensive. She had never found herself bothered or aggravated by his company. Perhaps that was why she had never been troubled by the idea of marrying him—bored maybe, but never troubled.

They had been betrothed since before she could remember. They had met when she was only six and he twelve.

She remembered being struck by his height. She was forced to crane her head back just to meet his gaze. Then, she recalled catching his icy blue eyes, so similar to her own. She had stepped forward with a curtsy, feeling every pair of eyes boring into her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

She had felt her heart pound in of her chest and wondered if it was love at first sight. She questioned if she had always known it was just an illusion, anxiety wrapped with a pretty pink bow.

Annabeth calmed her tapping fingers, tucking them into one another and placing them delicately at the bow of her gown.

Not anxiety—not anymore—just impatience.

"How does one convince the guards to announce their arrival if they haven't even arrived?" Annabeth complained to her mother through gritted teeth.

"Quiet," her mother chided. "He'll be here any minute."

Annabeth rolled her eyes before narrowing them but as far as her eye could see, there was no one. No carriage, no horses, no—

"I see I'm not too late." She heard a familiar voice behind her, her clasped fingers tightening.

"No," she felt spill from her pursed lips.

He turned to her, an amused curve to his mouth. She struggled to match the expression with something akin to refinement.

In the cold silence, her eyes couldn't help but catch on the rosy warmth of his lips, his misty breath spilling into the chilly morning air. Careful to keep her eyes directed elsewhere, she observed him out of her peripheral. Watched as his tongue darted out, pulling his lower lip into his mouth to warm it. Saw his smile widen. Followed as his lips parted, something on the tip of his tongue.

"Duke," Annabeth's mother suddenly cut in, a polite smile painting her face. "So nice of you to join us for Duke Castellan's return, but you really needn't."

"Yes," Annabeth chimed, tilting her head just slightly so that her words wouldn't be lost in the morning wind. "You really needn't."

Her tone was polite enough, but her comment was nevertheless rewarded with a glare from the Queen.

Percy only smiled. "Please, your Majesty," he simpered, ignoring Annabeth altogether. "It would be unsuitably rude not to greet one of our wedding guests."

Annabeth exhaled sharply, but the movement was so minuscule she was sure no one noticed.

"Especially one who I hope to make my close acquaintance," he added.

"Of course," Annabeth's mother nodded, then she smiled softly, demurely—submissively. And Annabeth was sure she'd drawn blood given how tightly she was biting her tongue. "Excuse me," the queen then said after a moment of silence, stepping forward to approach a servant who called for her.

"Your Majesty," Percy bowed his head as the queen left.

Then it was just the two of them—surrounded by servants and guards, of course—and the crisp morningtide.

"You look tense," Percy remarked quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the castle gates.

"I find it difficult to relax in the presence of those who I—"

"Loathe?" he cut in, his voice oddly thoughtful.

"—do not trust," Annabeth finished. "Though I suppose loathe is not too far off."

"Hm," he hummed simply.

"Where's Rachel?" Annabeth inquired.

"Sleeping," Percy responded easily.

"Sleeping?" Annabeth repeated, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, concern slipping into her words. "So late? It's nearly eight in the morning."

"Yes," Percy responded. "She has found herself troubled with nightmares as of late."

Annabeth swallowed thickly, clicking her jaw and pushing back an urge to argue. She could just barely make out the shape of a carriage amongst the fog of the hills. She wondered if she was just imaging the sight.

"I hope she feels better soon," the blonde.

"Duke Castellan," Percy began as the booming carriage fully materialized, dark horses slowly approaching. "What is he like?"

"Blonde," Annabeth answered quickly, surprised by the sneer that erupted from Percy in response.

"Is that all?" he scoffed. "Not one to spout grand compliments in regard to your betrothed then?"

"I'm sure his character will become clear," Annabeth smiled charmingly. She could feel the ground shake beneath them as the horses neared. She pulled her shawl a tighter around her shoulders.

She heard the queen's voice call for the guards to prepare. She watched as Percy's hands twitched restlessly at his sides.

Annabeth closed her eyes, took a deep breath, listening to the whistling wind as the guards shifted around her, forming parallel lines. She opened her eyes, painting a lovely smile across the curve of her lips.

She remained silent as the bustling came to a stop, as the coachman stepped down, as the door slowly opened revealing Luke's face. Even as he grinned broadly at the sight of her, accepting his coachman's assistance as he stepped out of his ornate carriage, she remained quiet, wearing a simple, pleasant smile.

"Your Majesty," he greeted first, bowing before the queen.

"Duke," she replied with a smile. She had always liked him—but hadn't everyone.

"Your Highness," he bowed, turning to address Annabeth. "The morning air does your beauty wonders. I have never seen you more radiant."

"Luke," Annabeth replied, fighting to urge to roll her eyes at the compliment. She felt an unfamiliar heat brush her ears, spreading swiftly to her cheeks.

"And," he finished finally, turning to Percy. "You must be the Duke I have heard so much about."

"I look forward to making your acquaintance," Percy bowed. "It is my belief we will make excellent friends."

"I am sure we shall," Luke agreed with a grin.

...

Annabeth wasn't sure what she had expected when Percy had announced that Luke was returning, but it definitely hadn't been this.

"Are you feeling alright?" Annabeth asked her sister who stood beside her, smoothing her skirt.

Rachel looked up with wide emerald eyes. "Oh," she said, then took a moment to think. "Yes," she answered finally, tilting her head inquisitively. "Why do you ask?"

"Percy mentioned you haven't been sleeping well," Annabeth explained, her eyes trained on her sister with attention.

"Oh," Rachel repeated, a soft giggle bubbling out of her. "I had no idea he was so worried," she remarked with a distant gaze.

"Yes," Annabeth pressed, "as am I. Are you sure you're alright?"

She received no answer.

"Rachel?" Annabeth persisted, urgency washing over her expression.

"Yes," Rachel replied, turning to her sister. The blonde's tone having broken her from her seeming trance. "I assure you, I am perfectly fine. I have simply been plagued with nightmares as of late. It must be a symptom of the stress of the engagement."

"If the engagement is so stressful—" Annabeth began.

"No, no," Rachel insisted. "It's not Percy. The engagement itself has been so long and so entirely full of tedious tasks—"

"I was going to offer to help," Annabeth interjected with a lopsided smile. Surprise seemed to sweep over Rachel's features, making Annabeth feel ridiculously guilty. "If there's anything I can do to ease the burden, I would be happy to assist you." She continued. "Afterall, there are only so many books I can read before boring even myself."

"Oh, Annabeth," Rachel looked overjoyed, her eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners as she wrapped her arms warmly around her sister. "I cannot thank you enough."

"There's no need," Annabeth assured her sister, stunned by her overflowing reaction. "You're my sister. You can come to me with anything."

Rachel grinned, her teeth just barely peeking out from her stained lips, and the expression was so honest and natural and genuine and good that Annabeth felt a sudden urge to cry.

"Oh, here they come!" Rachel exclaimed abruptly, snapping Annabeth from her mood—something she was eternally grateful for when she saw who was approaching.

It was Luke, and he was laughing, his lips split into a wide, toothy grin. The image mixed with Rachel's contagious enthusiasm evoked a great wave of nostalgia. She couldn't help but beam in return. Then she saw who was entering next to him, eliciting the apparent delight—Percy.

He was walking—sauntering, really—with such an undeserved self-confidence that the smile immediately fell from Annabeth's face.

Glancing away from Luke, his green eyes seemed to search the room, finding hers. He smirked before turning back towards Luke.

"Indeed, Luke," he said. It was a seemingly innocent comment that ended their conversation, but Annabeth was sure he'd done simply to prove they were on a first-name basis.

He was being ridiculous.

Ridiculous.

Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she stepped forward, sliding the flat of her tongue across her teeth before fixing her features into a pleasant smile to greet Luke.

"Luke," she said sweetly. "Shall we go," she pressed, "I'm famished."

"Of course, your Highness," he agreed, offering his arm which she quickly took before escorting her down the hallway to dinner.

Whatever this was—friendship, manipulation—it didn't matter.

She hated it, Annabeth decided as she sat across the dining table from Percy who continued to amicably chat with Luke.

Their conversation had begun with general niceties regarding their respective estates, moving quickly to the struggles of governing over farmland, finishing where they were now: discussing the intricacies of learning to lead.

Surely, Luke knew he would never have anyone to lead—even if they did marry.

"Rachel," Annabeth called to her sister, sliding her remark in between the quick retort of the two Dukes. "How is... your veal?" she questioned, unable to think of anything else to say at the moment.

"Exquisite," Rachel replied with a broad smile. "And how is yours."

"Good," Annabeth retorted plainly.

She blinked dumbly. A silence fell between them.

"I found your book," Annabeth offered quickly, eager for something to focus on other than the nauseating friendship blossoming right before her.

Rachel's eyebrows rose. "Which book?" she asked, reaching for a sip of her wine.

"The romance one," Annabeth informed. A flash of recognition lit up across Rachel's jade eyes. "I have never seen you without it. I had always thought it attached to you," Annabeth chuckled softly. "When did you return it?"

"Quite recently," Rachel explained. "I have always loved it—I still do." She sighed. "But it seemed selfish of me to keep it to myself when I am living my own fairytale"

Annabeth blinked again, finding herself unusually stunned for the second time. She parted her lips finally but was beat to it.

"Oh Annabeth," her sister hummed. "You simply must read it. You are always going on and on about those books concerning battle and gore—it might serve as a break from all that bloodshed."

Again, Annabeth had barely formed her thoughts before she was cut off.

"Still reading the same titles," Luke grinned at her. He turned back towards Percy. "My betrothed has always had an unnatural fascination with blood and carnage."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Percy countered, his eyes flickering toward her. She ignored his comment, but she couldn't ignore the confused look that Luke shot her.

"Yes," Annabeth turned towards Luke, licking her lips and tasting wine. "I must be prepared. One never knows what they will encounter in this lifetime."

Luke opened his mouth to answer but Percy cut him off—"Indeed"—and she watched the blond Duke's fists tightened beneath the table, curling around the stiff fabric of his pants.

Annabeth felt her a tug at the corner of her lips but ignored the urge. He hated being interrupted.

...

Later that evening, having finally found a moment away from Luke, Annabeth found herself standing on the balcony attached to the ballroom. The doors were shut behind her but she could still hear Luke and her parents' boisterous laughter.

The fresh air flooded her lungs, washing over her with a strange stillness. She wondered if Percy and Luke's amicable relationship wasn't a good thing. If the Duke truly did become King alongside Rachel, a close friendship would certainly draw Luke in. Perhaps then, he would stay in the kingdom rather than venture back to his lands while she remained.

But—she pondered—was that what she wanted. She would marry him, of course. It was arranged, it was as it had always been—but did she want him to come back? To remain with her?

If the night was any indication of her future, she feared her restraint might fail her. It was beginning to dwindle—and perhaps it was the wine that Annabeth had downed in order to stomach the company, or perhaps she was simply at her wit's end—but Annabeth feared, she would do something rash—and she would do it soon.

After all, was it so much to ask for just a moment alone?

"You could make your distaste a bit less obvious."

Apparently it was.

Annabeth turned quickly on her heels, her skirt rustling against the stone railing. She hadn't heard the door, but before her stood the seeming bane of her existence. She fixed her posture, straightening up and meeting his eyes before addressing his comment.

"Oh," the blonde remarked plainly, feeling the cool air tickle her curls as she spoke. "I thought I was being rather subtle."

"Must you always be so clever, Annabeth?" Percy smirked because he knew—he knew that the second her Christian name left his mouth, it would erupt something inside of her, a fire, a flame, a blazing inferno.

"You," Annabeth hissed sharply, any consideration for her perfect posture having left her as she took a step forward, propelling towards him, "would be careful not to forget yourself, Duke." She glared at him, feeling her anger only grow at his lack of response. "You are but a guest in this kingdom—"

"And soon," Percy interrupted, leaving Annabeth breathless, her lips parted, her chest heaving against the frills of her bust, "you will be the guest," he countered.

He bore down on her with such intensity she could barely stand it. She tried to swallow but found it unusually difficult. It was probably the cold—it had to be the cold.

"You are always thinking, reading, planning," Percy mused, stepping away from her to lean against a pillar next to the door, looking out onto the gardens. "You're a smart girl, you must have considered the likely future."

She said nothing, didn't move a muscle, didn't dare even breathe.

"Rachel and I will marry and this," he gestured gracefully to the surrounding lands, "will all be mine."

Annabeth inhaled, deliberately, slowly—the tips of her fingers digging into the fabric at the waist of her dress, gripping onto something—anything to hold onto.

"Don't be naive," she managed finally, her voice soft but sure. "You will never be king until my father has relinquished right to rule."

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, pushing himself off the wall and taking another step towards her before ceasing, but Annabeth didn't move, she didn't bend, she didn't break. "That could be sooner than any of us think."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Annabeth demanded suddenly, feeling something toxic and vile pooling in her stomach. This wasn't exciting. Not anymore. No—no, it had never been. It was—dangerous.

Annabeth stared at him with frenzied eyes as silence descended upon them.

"I have warned you once," she cautioned, narrowing her eyes, "and I will warn you again."

Annabeth paused to take breathe. It was just a second, a moment, a single tick of the smallest hand on the clock, but she knew it was a mistake.

"Tread very carefully," she began as he crept towards her, his steps long and languid, his movements graceful and elegant. "If you are implying when I believe, then it—"

He was nearly a foot away from her now—no, less, he was just inches from her—

"Treason?" he uttered, softly—carelessly.

And suddenly Annabeth's breath caught in her throat—and her chest went rigid—and edges of her dress felt aggressively abrasive—and she could feel the railing digging into her back, trapping her, caging her in—and suddenly she couldn't breathe—and she couldn't breathe—why couldn't she breathe?—

"God, no," Percy smirked, lifting a hand up to brush away a curl that had fallen from her neat updo.

She resisted the urge to jerk away, silent and still as his hand neared. But he didn't touch her, of course, he didn't touch her. He knew better didn't he. He always knew when to stop.

"I would never be so rash."

"Then what, pray tell," she pressed venomously, "are you implying, Duke?"

"I am simply observing," he hummed, "as you did yourself, that one never knows what they will encounter during this lifetime."

His words were quiet, barely a whisper. Had he not been so close, they would have surely been lost in the wind.

She licked her lips.

He blinked.

"Luke is an exceptional man," he said suddenly, averting his eyes.

She was dizzy. She had had too much wine.

"You appear to have become fast friends," Annabeth allowed, pressing her backside into the railing. She knew it was dangerous. She knew she could fall, but she didn't care—she didn't care. She would have done anything to get away from him, to put some semblance of distance between them, to recover her customs—

He was still so close—too close.

"Such a trusting man," Percy continued. "I have learned so much—"

"As has he, I'm sure," Annabeth interjected.

Percy shifted, slanting his head to meet her eyes again, the blue-green stained with a guarded glint.

"Worried I'll speak ill of you to your betrothed?" he suggested lazily, the words leaving him withwith something she couldn't quite place.

"No," Annabeth scoffed. "Luke and I are very close. He tells me everything." She informed reasonably, each syllable slow and deliberate.

The breeze blew a ringlet of hers back into her eyes. His gaze caught on the golden curl. She was still, praying he wouldn't reach for it. Or perhaps—no, no, no, no

He didn't.

"Hm," Percy reflected. "Is that why he does not refer to you by your Christian name?"

"I—" Annabeth found herself caught off guard, her mouth slightly agape at the question. "He's respectful," she fired back.

"Respectful," he repeated rapidly, his expression unreadable. "How romantic."

"I think you find his company very refreshing," Annabeth defended impassively, "inspiring, even."

And then—silence, again.

And she was much too aware of the way her corset was digging into her ribs, and the feeling pooling at the bottom of her stomach, the heat pooling at the bottom of her stomach it was—it was unfamiliar, it was fascinating, it was intoxicating—no, no, no, no—

The wine. She would never drink wine again.

And then he moved.

It was just a step, a half step even, but it triggered something inside her, calling to some rational part of Annabeth's mind that was begging her to run, to sprint, to go back inside and forget the violent turning of her stomach.

It was not okay—this was not okay—she was not okay.

"Speaking of company," she managed to choke out, the sound of her own confident voice surprising even her. "I'm sure they are missing ours." She made to step around him and nearly succeeded but he caught her wrist—just barely.

She could help but gasp at the action, stopping in her tracks. Her eyes snapped back to him to catch him staring intently where his fingers wrapped cautiously around her delicate joint.

She watched him swallow, traced the jagged movement with her gaze. Before he turned to her with hardened eyes, dropping her arm.

"You have been so kind as to warn me, and so I will return the favor," he murmured, a deadly undertone to his words. "I am not one to play games with, Princess,"

Annabeth's breathed shallowly.

But something about the way he spoke was so—so planned, so orchestrated, so astonishingly, tragically normal to her, that she suddenly knew. She knew who she was, she knew what to do, what to say, how to say it—

"And I am not one to surrender to threats," Annabeth replied boldly, confidently, assuredly. "Especially yours."

"We'll see," he said simply, stepping around her and returning to the ballroom without another word.

Annabeth watched earnestly before stepping forward herself, her fingers lingering for a second at the door handle. She took a deep breath and returned to the festivities, to her friends, to her family—her skin still burning where he'd touched her.


a/n: haven't revised, so pls go easy on me. will edit later, just want to post post post

c ya soooon