The next few days were filled with regal arrivals and grand introductions as dignitaries from nearby lands tricked into the castle for the engagement banquet. Annabeth had been careful to greet each of them courteously, curtsying low with a warm smile. To her surprise, come the night of the engagement party, she found herself oddly excited. It wasn't that the event that they were celebrating brought her joy—quite the opposite in, fact. Whenever she pictured Rachel and Percy's union, she found herself strangely nauseous. No, Annabeth was excited for a change. She was eager to converse with the people of influence, to hear the variations in perspective, to understand more about the world around her.
Annabeth ran through talking points, reminding herself not to overstep, as her servants readied her for the banquet. The day had finally arrived. She was wearing a long-sleeved jade gown. Annabeth knew the color would have looked much better on Rachel, but was silenced by the tsking of her maids when she began to comment. The front of her hair was pulled back, leaving only a few ringlets to frame her face. Her tiara rested delicately atop her head, glinting softly in the candlelight.
She felt most like herself like this, wearing her tiara, her stature so clearly written in her dress and appearance. It allowed her to move effortlessly through conversation, to navigate the choppy waters of diplomacy with ease. She smiled as she stared at her self in the mirror—perhaps, the color didn't look so bad on her after all.
Annabeth had planned to meet Luke in the hallway leading to the grand ballroom, but she wasn't surprised when exited her room to find him waiting dutifully outside her door.
"You look amazing," he grinned, eyeing her up and down.
She met his eyes with a bemused look, a smile adorning her lips.
There was always something pleasing on the tip of his tongue these days. They had not revisited the subject of their departure to Andalucia since they had spoken of it a few days prior. Annabeth supposed she was grateful. She had no desire to turn him down and potentially upset him—she would have to turn him after all, despite his claims, she was still needed here. Rachel was kind and compassionate and good—but kindness did not make for a good ruler. Annabeth would always be needed as long as Rachel was around.
"Shall I escort you, your Highness?" Duke asked good-humouredly, offering her his arm.
"Of course," Annabeth replied, matching his tone as she took his arm.
The blonde felt her excitement grow as they neared the entrance hall. She could feel the lively music through overflowing through the halls, hear the boisterous conversation as they approached.
The second they stepped through the doors, there was a sweeping hush. Around the room, eyes turned towards Annabeth, the entirety of the company except her parents dipping their heads in respect. She found her smiling mother's eyes across the room and inhaled deeply, painting a sparkling smile across her features.
"Your Grace," Luke greeted enthusiastically as the archbishop of Clemence stepped forward.
...
This first half of the night consisted of exactly what Annabeth had expected. She circled around the room, enthralled in conversation, especially curious about the recent attacks in the North Province. She smiled, ignoring the way shoulder's stiffened when she contributed, overlooking the lavish praises were thrown her way instead of an intelligible argument. It didn't surprise, it was what she had been expecting, after all.
Luke accompanied her for the most part, placating any tense situation with a quick remark and well-placed compliment. They were a good team, she supposed—but she'd always known that hadn't she?
It was somewhere around that midpoint, somewhere between the Duke's roaring in an alcohol dazed force and the prim polite beginnings of the night, that the tenor of the night shifted.
She was dancing, twirling about the room as she always did.
Luke always wanted to dance. He would take her by the arm and tug her—just barely, imperceptibly even—toward the dance floor. His fingers tips would ghost over her waist, kissing at the seams of her gown before clamping down. He would take her opposite hand in his, enveloping his fingers around hers, smiling down at her, the bow of his lips exaggerated. Slowly, deliberately, Annabeth would turn about the ballroom, observing her surroundings, ignoring the biting nature of Luke's gaze. It didn't bother her. It never had.
Her eyes would flicker, catching shapes, colors, faces amidst the twists—when she saw it. It was a frown pressed into Rachel's delicate features.
Annabeth turned again, spun, kicked her feet, counted 1, 2, 3, 4, before glancing back towards her. The expression had passed, but the downward sweep was still imprinted into the curve of her sister's lips.
Had no one noticed? Had no one thought to ask?
Luke put both hands on her waist, his fingers tightening their grip. She met his gaze, placing her hands on his shoulders and straightening, allowing him to lift her. In the air, her eyes couldn't help but scan the room, seeking the person very person who was supposed to have noticed, who should have been taking care of Rachel.
And then she saw him, but his eyes weren't on Rachel, they were on her.
Her breath caught.
He smirked.
Her heart stopped.
Luke lowered her to the ground. She willed herself not to stumble—no, she would not stumble. She never stumbled. Luke drew away from her as other partners did the same. She revolved around him, praying her heart would contain itself.
When the song ended and she and Luke both stepped back to applaud politely, she flicked her eyes back in his direction but he was already gone.
"Excuse me," she muttered to Luke without looking at him, before taking off towards her sister. Swallowing heavily, Annabeth set her shoulders, careful not to let her posture fall as she made her way across the ballroom.
Just as she was about to reach her, she felt a tug on her arm. Annabeth couldn't help the annoyed breath that filled her lungs. "Luke—" she hissed, swiveling on her small heels only to meet an unexpected face.
"Mom?"
"Yes," the queen confirmed, her face a cool facade. "Walk with me," she instructed, drawing back her hands to hold them delicately at her waist.
"Okay," Annabeth inclined with a small nod of her head, mirroring her mother's gesture and following her. They walked to the corner of the ballroom where their words could not be overheard, stopping to warmly receive guests along the way.
Once they were out of earshot, Annabeth waited for her mother to speak but the queen said nothing, instead staring forward, her careful eyes watching the festivities. Her chest rose and fell in unison with Annabeth's, matching her slow deep breaths. It occurred to Annabeth that perhaps her mother had simply called her over in order to divert her, so that she wouldn't involve herself with Rachel—
"Your father and I are leaving."
Annabeth's heart stuttered. She turned towards her mother with wide eyes.
"What do you mean you're leaving?"
"Oh, Annabeth," her mother sighed—the sound was a mix of exasperation and resignation. "One day, you will be forced to dispatch those dramatic ideas from your mind." She still wasn't facing her, refusing to change her stance. "Your father and I are simply leaving for a few days to attend to some business in Atlantis."
"What sort of business?" Annabeth questioned, leaning in.
"Royal business," the queen waved her hand nonchalantly, "none of your concern."
"Well," Annabeth scoffed, fighting the urge to cross her arms across her chest. She did not wish to make her distress obvious to all their guests—nor, she supposed, did she aspire to resemble a petulant child. "Considering the fact that I am royalty, I beg to differ—"
"There has been another insurgence incident," the queen said sharply, cutting off the blonde. "Your father and I must travel to demonstrate to the dull population that they are at the forefront of the kingdom's thoughts. Without a firm show of solidarity, we have been advised that the resistance will grow."
Silence fell upon them. Annabeth tongue toyed with her cheek, considering the implications of her mother's words.
"How long will you be gone?" she inquired finally, her voice soft. She had more questions but did not wish to upset her mother—besides, Annabeth was sure she would not receive an answer even if she did prompt them.
"As I said," the queen responded, her lips pressed into a thin colorless line. "It should only be a few days."
Annabeth blinked, noting the way her mother's knuckles whitened at her words.
"Meaning?" she pressed.
"A week," her mother caved. "Perhaps two."
Annabeth nodded, taking a deep breath. "What do you need from me?"
"I am imploring you, Annabeth," her mother ground out, her hands clasping tightly before her, "keep out of trouble and protect your sister. There is nothing more you should find yourself focusing on. And if your mind does wander, consider what occurred the last time you were—distracted."
Annabeth stiffened.
"Of course, mother," she agreed, ignoring the metallic tang overcoming her taste buds.
The queen glanced at her daughter just once before stepping away and returning to her husband, leaving Annabeth to consider the consequences of the new information.
Annabeth slowly shuffled towards the long table spread across the far side of the ballroom, careful not to accidentally meet anyone's eyes. She was feeling far from sociable at the moment. Reaching the table, she received a goblet of wine, her fingers grasping the cold metal.
Her parents hadn't left her and Rachel along for years, not since the incident. Her father would travel of course, but her mother always remained, overseeing the nation in his absence. Was Rachel ready for this responsibility? No—it wasn't a question of if she was ready—she would have to be ready. They both knew this would come one day.
Still, Annabeth couldn't help but worry. Was this the best time for her parents to vacate the castle? With a disloyal Duke in their midst. They didn't think him traitorous of court but—
"Would you care to dance, your Highness?"
Annabeth spun around, her eyes meeting his. He had the most uncanny ability to catch while she was distracted.
God, she loathed him. She was sure of it. And yet—
"I couldn't deny my beloved sister's fiance, could I?" she responded primly, pressing her drink to her lips one last time before depositing it behind her.
He appeared unbothered when she stepped forward, leading them both to the center of the room as the musicians prepared for their next piece. She positioned herself opposite of him on the dancefloor, ladies flanking either side of her. She wondered if they too had been coerced into dancing the night away or if she alone found the activity entirely tedious.
He dipped his head as the music began, hiding his expression as he offered her his hand. She stared blankly at it for a second, remembering when he'd touched her on the balcony.
He glanced up at her pause, an inkling of confusion flicking over his irises before disappearing.
The music rose and movement surged around them, breaking Annabeth from her thoughts. She took his hand abruptly, pressing her fingers roughly into his palm.
She wasn't looking, but she was sure she'd seen him grin.
"How have you enjoyed your evening?" Percy questioned as they began to turn around each other.
"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Annabeth returned, her eyes lingering on the lining of his jacket, intent on avoiding his gaze. He seemed to notice. "We are celebrating your engagement, after all?"
The musician's chords softened, languid strokes of violin spilling into the room. They stepped back, joining opposite lines of dancers, mirroring each other movements as they rocked back and forth on their toes. The music mounted, they advanced, their hands lined up, palm to palm, just barely brushing.
"Finally accepted that your sister and I will be united, have you?" Percy challenged, raising a brow.
She shouldn't have looked. She shouldn't have met his eyes. But she did.
He smirked wickedly. His eyes sparkled with mirth.
"I suppose one could say so," Annabeth responded, tight-lipped, struggling to swallow.
His fingers gripped the curve of her waist. She counted—one, two—placing her hands on his shoulders—three, four.
"Should they?" Percy remarked, lifting her into the air.
It was just a few inches but Annabeth was suddenly peculiarly lightheaded and flustered.
"Excuse me?"
She was never flustered—
She nearly forgot to flutter her heels before he lowered her to the ground, suddenly eternally grateful to her seamstress for the exaggerated length of her gown.
"One certainly could say so," Percy repeated as she turned in his arms, her back to his front, a precise inch of space separating them. "But should they."
It was her turn to grin now, her eyes just barely crinkling at the corners to match the everpresent smile that adorned her lips.
"No," she shook her head, her feet carefully obeying the step, "they shouldn't." The movement was so minuscule, so imperceptible that anyone else would have missed it—but he didn't.
Annabeth stepped forward, away from his as his hands fell from her sides to clasp behind his back. She shifted, facing him again as the music crescendoed.
"I thought so." The words just barely tugging at the corner of his mouth as something flashed in his eyes and—Annabeth thought it might have been pride but—
And then there it was again—that annoying, unfamiliar, dangerous feeling pooling in the pit of Annabeth's stomach—no, just below it—
"What's troubling Rachel?" she asked suddenly, eager to change the pace of the conversation.
He slid to her right, his feet moving deftly across the floor. His fingers grasped gently at her elbow. She waited an obligatory beat before mirroring his action.
"Who is to say anything is troubling her?" he returned lazily, the music quieting as they revolved around each other.
"You may think me foolish, Duke," Annabeth couldn't help but scoff at his insinuation. His eyes widened marginally, amusement washing over his features. "But—at the very least—offer me some degree of faith, for I know my sister."
"She is anxious," he revealed, his head turned slightly so that he might watch her. "What with your parents' departure and all."
Annabeth stiffened, her posture tensing. She relaxed her muscles, injecting them with ease as soon as she registered her reaction, but it was already too late.
"Hadn't you heard," he drawled, his voice far away.
For a moment, something overcame her—something red and hot and fiercely protective inside her springing to life.
He had known. He had known before she had.
This was ridiculous—no this was worse, it was preposterous, outrageous, reprehensible—
"Of course, I had," she snapped sharply, her chest rising as they stilled, following other couples and coming together again. "I was simply surprised they confided in you," Annabeth attempted to cover her shock.
"Of course," he mimicked, his eyes narrowed nonchalantly. "They informed us over breakfast this morning. Pity you did not join us."
It was a challenge. It was always a challenge with him.
"Pity, indeed," Annabeth had barely finished when a voice emerged behind her.
"Duke," Luke greeted, a smile stretched across his face. It didn't meet his eyes. "Might I steal her Highness away?"
She glanced back at Percy, surprised to see something akin to puzzlement in his eyes, but as soon as she witnessed it, it was gone.
"Of course," he nodded, and Annabeth wondered if he were still mocking her. "I know how young lovers are," he gleamed, eyeing them knowingly.
There was silence as he drew away from her. Her blood roared in her ears. He bowed his head, wordlessly stepping away from them.
"And how is that?" Annabeth asked suddenly, ignoring Luke's confused attention.
"Pardon?" Percy questioned, amusement dancing in his eyes as his gaze met hers.
"Young lovers," she clarified, holding her chin high. "How are they?"
He grinned, teeth just barely peeking out from his lips.
"Reckless."
a/n: I know, I know. It's short again, but big things are coming. I promise.
