May 7th, 1649

I am utterly perplexed by my own response to her.

She threatens me, and I find it—captivating.

I have never felt such a strong yearning to understand someone.

There is something volatile, violent, and explosive inside of her craving to be set free.

Everyone around appears to afflicted with a thorough disregard for her abilities. They are fools. Though, I suppose they have been forced to endure her overbearing presence for years. She is exceptionally annoying, after all.

But last night, I watched her. I am always watching her. I have watched her friends, her family, her fiance overlook her, but I did not.

I watched as she struggled, as she grew more and more exasperated. It was a miracle no one else noticed. They did not notice as she blinked slowly—or when her jaw tensed—or when her fingers began twitching as she reached for her wine.

I shouldn't have followed her. I shouldn't have.

But there was something uniquely fascinating about the way she excused herself so demurely before slipping away, closing the doors gently behind her. And just like that, they all forgot about herconversation carried on, animations prevailed

I shouldn't have followed her. It was stupid. It was reckless. It was dangerous.

She barely reacted. She is so good at that. At hiding what she is thinking, at wearing a face of indifference. But I've spent the last week watching her, cataloging her little movements, her quirks engrained into the back of my mind.

I noticed what no one else did. I watched the skin between her eyes just barely crinkle, noted the pulse at the bottom of her throat, detected her ever-present regal facade just barely falter.

Then outside, I saw it too.

Outside

God, I have been so reckless. I should never have followed her

but if I hadn't, would I have noticed?

Would I have noticed the way her breath caught when I touched her, the way her eyes narrowed and stormed at the inkling of a challenge, the renewed confidence with which she carried herself at the mention of a threat

And then, she leaned in.

I saw it. I'm sure of it. It was a shifting of weight, barely a movement, but I saw it.

However—

I must write to my sponsors soon. They will wonder how far along I am. I must not become distracted—I will not allow myself to be distracted.

But her betrothed

or her fiance, or her suitor, or whatever she wants to call him—is an idiot.

He has no idea what he's dealing with, who he's dealing with. He is so naive, and yet she appears surprisingly unbothered by my connection with him.

I wonder if she knows how he speaks of her behind closed doors. Would she think differently of him if she knew he'd wanted to—what was it he said—fuck her into submission?

And he'd had the audacity to laugh. She

It doesn't matter, she's a distraction.

My work here has progressed brilliantly, everyone will be pleased. Soon, it will all be ours—everything that we were promised will be fulfilled—

I wonder if—no.

Enough.

Besides, after I'm done with Rachel. She will want nothing to do with me—that much is certain.

P.J.

...

"Is everything alright, Annabeth?" Luke questioned, staring intently at her face.

Annabeth said nothing, her mouth clamped shut as she considered the events that had unfolded just an evening ago.

Because no, she wasn't alright. It wasn't alright that her stomach was still turning from her conversation with her sister's fiance. It wasn't alright that he had practically threatened to murder her father, to commit treason. It wasn't alright that she could still feel where his fingers had brushed the inside of her wrist.

No, she wasn't alright. Nothing was alright.

"Annabeth," Luke repeated, furrowing his brow.

"I—I'm fine," she said quickly, putting on a smile. "I just need a bit of fresh air. I have been feeling a bit under the weather today."

"By all means," Luke nodded. "Would your highness like to join me for a walk?" he asked with a lopsided grin, holding out his arm.

Annabeth felt an odd retching sensation in her stomach at the sight of the expression. She stared at his outstretched arm, trying to determine the origin of the unpleasant feeling.

"Um," she swallowed. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

How was Annabeth to know that Luke led her around the corner, they would run into her least favorite couple—well, her least favorite Duke next to her favorite sister.

The blonde felt her heart drop into her stomach, an unfamiliar pressure in her chest at the sight of him. She wondered if she were still feeling sick from the excess of wine, or perhaps it was the—

"Annabeth!" Rachel exclaimed excitedly at the sight of her.

"Rachel—" Annabeth began before being cut off by her sister's animated ramblings.

"I have been searching for you all morning," she told breathlessly, "I went to the library and your dormitory and even the—it doesn't matter. Last night—"

Rachel paused, breathed.

Annabeth's heart dropped, her mouth opened to protest.

Rachel licked her lips before resuming, a smile still dancing on her face.

"—you mentioned that you wanted to help with—with our engagement," Rachel continued, wholly oblivious to the fear that had shot through the blonde. "And I have just the task for you. Could you come to my bedroom later this evening?"

Annabeth reprimanded herself for fearing the worst. What did she have to fear in the first place? Her interaction with Percy was indifferent at best, hostile at worst. Everything had been perfectly proper. He hadn't even touched her—well—no, everything had been proper. She had nothing to worry about—but then what why did she feel a rotten abyss of guilt eating away at her.

"Oh," Annabeth replied slowly. "Of course."

"Perfect," Rachel beamed, before glancing back and force between Annabeth and Luke. "Where are you two off to?" she asked.

"Taking a walk," Luke answered quickly, a slow languid smile spreading across his lips. "Its a splendid day out, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," Rachel hummed. "I could barely believe the sight when I awoke. I was sure I was still dreaming."

"Hm," Annabeth agreed softly, trying to no avail to subtly budge Luke.

"Shall we join them, dear?" Rachel questioned, her eyes full of innocence and wonder.

No, no, no

"I suppose I cannot decline," Percy replied.

Annabeth had been doing her very best to avoid all eye contact with him but thought it incredibly rude not to address at him as he spoke. She shifted her eyes in his direction only to find him staring at her. She felt her throat go dry, and she sensed a sudden lurch in her stomach.

"The day is splendid, after all."

She could barely find it in herself to breathe.

...

By the end of the day, Annabeth was exhausted. Despite discovering very little motivation to see her sister and discuss the pleasantries of her wedding to the devil in duke form, she supposed it would give her an excuse to get away from Luke who had insisted on spending every second of the day at her side. She had even tried to visit the library for some peace and quiet only to have him insist on accompanying her and criticizing her choice of titles so harshly she left without a single book to add to her collection.

With this in mind, Annabeth picked herself up with a sigh and trudged down the corridor towards her sister's dormitory.

She had been forced to spend the entire afternoon in the presence of men. It was utterly draining. Annabeth wondered how her mother had managed to do it her adult entire life. The entirety of their walk, Luke had insisted on flooding her with compliments and pleasantries, seemingly trying to outdo Percy as the tall Duke simply stared, raising a brow at the overwhelming display.

Percy. That was how she had begun to address him in her mind. Wasn't that just horrendous? Percy, like a mere commoner. As if he were on the same plane as her, as if they were even close to each other. Yes, Annabeth supposed she did have to concede that technically, they were not that far apart in rank. He was even marrying her sister, but—but—but royalty was in her blood, gold ran through her veins.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

And exhausting—especially exhausting.

"Annabeth!" Rachel squealed the second the blonde stepped through the doors.

Annabeth had never found her sister bothersome. She had always had the utmost respect for her. She had even looked up to her as a child, hoping to be as kind and good as Rachel one day. These days, however, Annabeth found herself wincing at the sound of her names spilling excitedly from her lips.

"You simply must look at the gown mother is having made," she said, jumping up and grabbing Annabeth by the wrist. "I have also decided that you should assist me in determining who to invite to the ceremony," Rachel continued, pulling her sister towards her bed. "Dignitaries will obviously be invited, but I believe you the most knowledgable and qualified to ascertain who among our familiars should be welcomed."

"I—I," Annabeth blinked, stunned. She had found herself stunned much more than she was comfortable with as of late. Perhaps she should get more sleep. "Thank you for your faith, but are you certain that mother and father will allow that. They have always been very clear that—"

"I know, I know," Rachel chuckled with a shake of her head. "All that stuff about the union being a political affair, not an affair of the heart, but I what of my wishes?" She peered up at Annabeth with watery eyes, her green irises gleaming in the candlelight.

"I will speak to mother and father," Annabeth assured her sister before any tears could fall. "I shall try my very hardest."

"Thank you," Rachel smiled softly. "I could not have asked for a better sister, Annabeth."

Annabeth's heart hurt at the look in her eyes.

"I know I do not say it nearly enough," Rachel continued, "but I am eternally grateful to you. Surely, I could not have survived this life without you."

"Don't say such things," Annabeth hushed her gently, pulling her sister in for a hug. "You are stronger than you know."

Rachel opened her mouth as if to protest, but one look at her sister and she shut it, smiling reverently at the blonde.

...

Despite the Annabeth's very very transparent attempts to dissuade him otherwise, Luke had held firm on walking her back to her dormitory. She should have known he would not relent when she'd exited her sister's room to find him leaning against a wall beside the door. Still, she had tried—really tried to maintain how very tired she was—to emphasize how he needed to rest for tomorrow—to stress that she needed a moment to think—but nothing. Nothing seemed to work.

So Annabeth found herself divulging from her typical path, taking any possible short cut and canceling her nightly trip to the library in order to avoid spending another second listening to her fiance lavish over her. Was this meant to be charming? She supposed some women might enjoy it—she might have welcomed it just a few days ago, but today was different—something was different, even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Annabeth almost sighed in relief when they finally reached her bedroom, but she promptly caught herself.

"Well," she sighed with a what was, surprisingly, a genuine smile, "thank you for a wonderful day, Luke." She pressed her palms to the doors, opening them. She could just barely see her bed. It looked heavenly.

"Every day I spend with you is wonderful, your highness," Luke replied, and Annabeth could help but feel a tick as she recalled her conversation with Percy.

Is that why he does not refer to you by your Christian name?

"Goodnight—" Annabeth sighed, going as far as to fake a yawn.

"May I come in?"

"What?" Annabeth asked, certain she had heard wrong. Surely, surely Luke wasn't asking what she thought he was.

"May I come in?" he repeated, not a single sign of remorse.

"Why?" Annabeth questioned, the curve of her lips quickly becoming strained.

"Annabeth," Luke frowned, a serious glint overtaking his icy blue irises. "I want to talk to you about something serious."

"I'm sorry," Annabeth conceded with a bow of her head, turning to enter her dormitory, Luke trailing behind her.

She heard the doors shut as she made her way across her room towards her bed. She fought the urge to slip off her shoes, knowing it wouldn't be proper.

"Something about you seems—different," he pondered as she took a seat at the edge of her bed, turning towards him, "since we last spoke."

"Nothing has changed," responded plainly, tucking her hands into her lap and staring up at him.

"Hasn't it?" he asked with a smile—but there was something crooked about the expression.

"What do you mean?" Annabeth sought, an unwelcome chill slinking down her spine.

"Well," he began pacing from slowly before her, "Rachel is engaged, soon to be a married woman—"

"She is not married yet," Annabeth cut in sharply—much more sharply than she should have, she realized as his narrowed eyes shot to meet hers.

"But very soon she will be," he continued with a sigh. "Annabeth, I know how loyal you are to your family. It is always a quality I have much admired. But there comes a time when one must detach from even their strongest familiar ties—not permanently, of course. But now that your sister is engaged, she will become queen and her husband can protect her; your duty here is done."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Annabeth inquired slowly, the words molasses on her tongue. Every passing day, she felt more useless, but to be told so by someone—someone she was meant to respect—was something else entirely.

"There is no longer anything tying you here, no reason for you to remain."

Annabeth could barely believe her ears. She stared forward, her eyes glazing over as she forced her mouth shut, waiting for him to finish.

"Come back to Andalucia. We could live happily, under your sister's rule we would have sway, would have riches, would have power—"

"Is that why you have returned so soon?" Annabeth interjected suddenly, her gray eyes hard as stone as she turned to face him.

"Among others," Luke replied, his jaw tensing and his fingers twitching at her interruption.

"You have known me for years," Annabeth reasoned. "Since we were just children I have confided in you." He stopped pacing to stand before her, peering down at her with a burning gaze. "You must know—you must—that there is nothing I want less than to relocate to Andalucia, to abandon my sister as such—"

"What exactly is it you want then, Annabeth?" Luke questioned harshly, stepping forward, caging her in where she sat. She raised her chin, determined not to be humbled. "Power?—Riches?—Happiness?—The Crown?—We could have it all if you would simply—"

But Annabeth had stopped listening, her nails digging into her palms at his words. A heat erupted in her chest at the mention of wanting—of wanting—that.

"Luke," she cut him off pointedly, rising to her feet. "You should go," she recommended, though it came out as more of a command. "We can talk tomorrow."

He blinked slowly, his eyes turning stormy as he stared down at her for a long second before nodded.

"Goodnight, Annabeth," he bid, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. She remained still as his lips brushed her, feeling nothing but the lingering dread of his words resting in the pit of her stomach.

"Goodnight, Luke," she responded politely. Her eyes never left him as he bowed slowly and left the room, his guards following in suit.

As she lay in bed, she couldn't help but consider his words. Yes, she wanted power, she wanted knowledge, she wanted so many things—but she had never mentioned the crown.

Though the thought was certainly appealing, having the world at her fingertips, she would never want anything at the expense of her sister. She thought Luke would have understood that, would have understood her.

Annabeth reached for her bedside table, for something to erase the interaction from her memory. Her fingers wrapped themselves around a thin book, feeling the peeling gold leaf that adorned the leather. She already knew what the title was before it had even fallen into her lap.

It was Rachel's romance novel. She flipped through the pages, letting the familiar aroma trickle from the pages to soothe her worries.

What had Rachel always said? Romance was the feeling of fire at the sight of someone, to be engulfed with just a gaze, a touch.

Annabeth recalled the feeling of Luke's lips against her skin. She'd felt—

Nothing.

How unfortunate.

—but it was alright, she supposed. She shouldn't play with love.

Annabeth shut the book resolutely, returning it to her bedside table.

It was only when she shut her eyes, surrounded by the dark expanse of her mand, that she admitted—however quietly—that she was beginning to play with fire—and worse, she was beginning to enjoy it.


a/n: you know the drill. sorry its short, but ill edit later, also will update fb soon, promise.