Annabeth was sick—or that was what she told everyone who inquired as to why she spent the next few days locked in her room. She refused to see anyone—except Luke of course, who managed to finagle his way into her room every morning with a clever excuse.
They still had not addressed the way he had treated her post-rebel attack. Well, she supposed she hadn't addressed it. He, on the other hand, had stood before her, wringing his hands as he explained how terribly worried about her he had been.
She had also failed to bring up the comments he had made to her sister. And honestly, how dare he speak to her about their relationship. And though Annabeth wanted nothing more than to yell at him, to take out all of her frustrations, she knew an outburst would resolve nothing. So instead, she ignored it, storing the information in the back of her mind. She forgave, but she never forgot.
Despite their issues, Luke's company was a surprisingly pleasant distraction over the next few days. His stifling presence helped dull the memories of Percy's overwhelming aura. But at night, when Luke would leave her and her quarters would fall silent, she found herself with nothing else to think of but the way her heart had staccatod and her pulse had raced.
Rachel had tried to visit, lingering at the doors as the guards announced her arrival before quickly dismissing her, telling her that Annabeth was not well.
And truth be told, Annabeth wasn't well. She could barely stomach to see her sister. She didn't think she could look her in the eyes—those wide, innocent jade eyes—without admitting to the corrupt dreams that had plagued her for nights.
No, Annabeth would much rather avoid her. It was a form of protection, she mused. By staying away from Rachel, she was protecting her sister from the harsh truth.
It seemed Percy was also intent on avoiding her. Not that Annabeth had expected anything else, especially after her harsh dismissal. She was happy that he was staying away. It gave her time to reflect clearly, without his problematic energy to cloud her thoughts
Annabeth was quite set on keeping to herself until her parents returned from their journey. She imagined that after their return, she would simply spend more time with them. They would think it a little odd, yes, but she would simply tell them she wanted to learn, hiding her escape behind a facade of curiosity.
Still, Annabeth couldn't help but feel horrible for abandoning Rachel. She could already see her hurt and confused eyes, staring at the blonde in question. But maybe it was better this way. This was what Rachel had wanted, wasn't it? Hadn't she wanted a companion? Hadn't she wanted Percy?
Then Annabeth remembered the attack. Rachel had questioned every one of the castle's staff and gained nothing. The council had been impassive, giving away very little but loudly proclaiming their loyalty to the crown. Ultimately, Rachel had concluded that it was an act of terrorism, the goal of the attack to spread word of the rebellion.
Annabeth could not help but feel there was still a piece missing. She had even gone as far as to examine the evidence the rebels had left behind but had found nothing. The survivors had taken nearly everything with them, leaving only bodies.
Nonetheless, Annabeth's mind instantly drew parallels to Percy's letter. Perhaps it was as Rachel had said and he was just retelling the incident, but her mind formed more sinister stories. But then again, what did Percy have to gain from a dead fianceé? A dead queen was one thing, then he would possess the crown in its entirety, but a dead fianceé? He could only lose.
Annabeth's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of one of her servants.
"Your Highness," they greeted with a bow.
"Yes?" she replied from where she was seated at her desk. She glanced at her bed, wondering if she should have dug herself into it to squash any doubts of her illness.
"A letter has arrived," they explained, stepping forward and placing it in Annabeth's hands. The blonde watched her servant flinch as their fingers brushed. Perhaps her ailment wasn't as unbelievable as she'd thought after all.
"Thank you," Annabeth dismissed, flipping the envelope over in her hands and noticing the royal seal. She frowned, wondering if Rachel had thought her so sick that she'd written her a letter.
Annabeth,
Your father and I have been delayed on our journey. It will likely lengthen our absence for a few more days. We heard of the attack. I hope you are keeping your sister and you safe. Remember what I have taught you.
Mom
Annabeth stared down at her mother's elegant script with a frown. Well, that would certainly interfere with her plans. She would be forced to choose whether to leave her room and be socialize again or remain a hermit for an indeterminate amount of time. She sighed loudly, taking the letter to her bed and sprawling out over the puffy duvet.
The letter had spanned all of five sentences, but there was much to unpack. She wished her mother had said more, but she had always been overly cautious, afraid her correspondence would be intercepted.
What had delayed them? The reason they had traveled to Atlantis was to calm a recent rebellion, yet Percy had told her that there had been no incidents. Why would her mother lie to her? Why would Percy lie to her?—actually, she could think of a hundred reasons why he would deceive her.
Annabeth pushed the questions from her mind, knowing she would find no answers. She moved onto the next line. Her parents had heard about the attack, and still, they had chosen to remain abroad. It wasn't as if the attack had been secret. She herself had written to them, recalling the wretched day with an abundance of detail and describing the subsequent steps that were taken regarding security. Had her letter not reached them? She could not imagine why they might have dismissed her recollection of the event. Moreover, the sentence phrasing was odd—we heard of the attack—it led Annabeth to believe her parents had heard it from another source.
And finally, remember what I have taught you. Stand by your sister at all costs, that was what she had always said, wasn't it? Annabeth wondered what her mother would say if she could see her now, huddled in her room, afraid to face Rachel. Everyone else will betray you, she had always said, but blood is loyal. She felt a familiar stab of guilt as she thought of Rachel.
It was with this thought in the forefront of her mind that Annabeth made her decision. It was nonsensical to hide in her room feigning an illness waiting for her parents to rescue her. They had never been much help anyway. No, Annabeth would put the heated curling of her stomach behind her and carry on. She would have to, for her sister's sake, for her family's sake.
"Darling," Luke's voice suddenly carried through her doors.
Annabeth gestured for her guards to let him in.
"You would not believe what I have planned for us—oh," he frowned, distracted by the letter in her hands. "Did someone write?"
"My parents," Annabeth revealed, folding the letter and tucking it neatly beneath her pillows.
"Have they been delayed?" Luke questioned, observing her distraught expression.
"Yes, just for a few more days," Annabeth informed, quickly fixing her features into a smile. "What were you saying?"
"I prepared a meal of us," he said after a pause, his eyes flicking back to hers.
"You prepared the meal?" Annabeth chuckled incredulously, standing from her bed to face him.
"Well the servants prepared the meal," he reasoned with an uneven grin, "but I oversaw the process."
"Ah," Annabeth hummed. See, she told herself, Luke wasn't so bad. No, in fact, he was pleasant. Yes, pleasant was the word for it. Pleasant, nothing more, nothing less.
"But I thought we could have lunch together," he expounded, taking her hand in his. He had never seemed especially worried about her illness. She wondered if he were truly madly in love with her or simply knew she was lying. Either way, he seemed to like her better this way. "In here," Luke clarified with a gesture. "Since you weren't feeling well."
"Actually," Annabeth inhaled, making an attempt to brighten just in case he did believe her. "I'm feeling much better."
"Shall we take the meal in the dining room then?" he suggested, arching his brow elegantly.
"Certainly," she granted, then remembered why she had decided to miraculously get better in the first place. "But first," she added, "I must find my sister. I have been meaning to speak to her."
"She's—uh—in the gardens I believe," Luke told, his icy eyes flickering to her window that overlooked the gardens.
"Grand," Annabeth sighed, forcefully stifling any anxiety. "Shall I meet you in the dining room in half an hour?" she asked, hoping he would not offer to walk her to the gardens. She figured she would need the time to prepare herself for her conversation.
"Perfect," he declared to her relief.
Annabeth beamed at him.
"Well," she said when he didn't make an effort to leave. "I'm going to find Rachel."
"Annabeth," he called after her. She turned, her loose curls whispering through the air. "I love you."
Annabeth blinked, swallowed, inhaled, exhaled, then blinked again, desperately trying to make sense of his words.
"I—thank you," she responded finally, cringing inwardly.
He looked bemused but said nothing.
Annabeth turned towards the doors of her bedroom and strode forward before he could get another word in, hoping her steps didn't look as desperate as they felt. She had scarcely allowed herself to breathe as the guards shut the doors behind her when she ran into a solid figure.
She jerked back, whipping her head up to see the very person plaguing her mind.
"Duke," Annabeth greeted with a heavy swallow.
"Your Highness," he returned with a bow of his head, his lips pressed into a flat line.
Annabeth paused, waiting for something—anything. But he said nothing, simply inclined his head, and continued forward, passing her bedroom in the direction of Rachel's room. Annabeth barely had time to linger on the thought when she heard the scraping of steel on steel. Knowing Luke would be exiting at any second, Annabeth rushed forward, down the corridor and towards the gardens.
Why had he said—that? Why would he say that?
Annabeth liked to pretend she only cared about her family. It was one of those funny little lies people tell themselves, like that they don't care what others think or that they're inherently different from others. It helps makes life a little simpler.
But even Annabeth had to come to terms with the truth as she rushed through the castle, the deafening sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.
Why would he say that?
She must have cared for Luke or this wouldn't be so difficult, this would feel like it was tearing her up inside. But then, she'd always known that hadn't she? She had just lied and told herself she didn't care, but she did. He had stood by her side for so many years, it was remarkably difficult to picture her life without him. And yet, picturing her life with him had always been equally difficult. There was something about him that didn't quite—fit.
Did he love her?
No, no, no, this wasn't what Rachel's books had said, this wasn't what they had described. Fire, they said it would be like fire. She didn't feel fire, she felt like she was suffocating, her lungs slowly collapsing in on themselves.
Annabeth felt her anxiety in her bones, weighing down her every movement as she reached the gardens. Then she saw Rachel—she was wandering through the greenery, her bright curls wild and untamed in the wind. She looked strangely out of place among the careful lines of tulips and perfectly preened trees—and something about the sight calmed her, reminded her that Rachel was already stressed enough, she didn't need Annabeth's pointless internal dilemmas to add to her troubles.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," Annabeth called to her once she was close enough, having schooled her features into something pleasant—having determined not to worsen her sister's burden.
Rachel turned, surprise flickering across her features before facing the flowers again. "I have my guards," she replied tightly. "Besides, I wouldn't be alone if you hadn't been avoiding me for the last few days."
"I know," Annabeth nodded, stepping closer. "I'm sorry."
"No," Rachel admitted with a sigh, her fingers tracing a rose petal. "I'm the one who should be sorry."
"Rachel—" Annabeth tried to interrupt.
"No," Rachel snapped determinedly, her features softening even as her words were harsh. "Let me finish," she directed, her voice relaxing. She still wasn't looking at her. "I know how much you care about me," she began slowly, drawing out her sentences. "It's just—difficult. These are chaotic times and I don't know who to trust. At times, it feels as though everyone is against me."
Annabeth felt a sudden urge to interject at the sadness blossoming in her sister's eyes but bit her tongue, wanting to respect her wishes.
"But I know you are only doing what you think is best, and I trust you. The way I spoke to you was unfair and rude, but I was frustrated and confused," Rachel finished with a sniff. She turned towards Annabeth, surprised by her silence. "Oh," she laughed at her sister's obvious restraint, "you may speak now."
"I'm sorry too," Annabeth struggled, not wanting to expose herself, "for—for giving you a reason to doubt me. I have to learn to respect your authority—"
"My authority," Rachel mocked laughingly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "C'mon," she urged, wrapping her arm around her sister and pulling her along the path. "Let us be finished with this argument."
Annabeth said nothing, just smiled. At least this was clear.
Lunch with Luke wasn't as clear. It was uneventful as usual, conversation inter-spliced with charming platitudes and fantastical anecdotes. He seemed happier than usual, even if he hadn't brought up his declaration of love.
Annabeth sat anticly, her fingers twitching in her lap as she wondered what could have prompted him to make such a proclamation. He did smile more these days. Maybe he was just confusing love with happiness, or routine. She supposed she should feel grateful for the normalcy—she had been grateful for the normalcy, until—until he said that.
God, Annabeth had never expected a couple of words to affect her so strongly. It was disturbing really. It reeked of weakness and adequacy to be so powerfully affected by love. But wasn't that one of the other little lies she told herself, that she was different? that she was stronger than others?
No, Annabeth couldn't stomach the thought. And she certainly did not possess the mental capacities to delve into the intricacies of her denial while sitting in front of her betrothed who was apparently in love with her.
"This is lovely," Annabeth lied with a smile.
"I'm glad you think so," Luke replied smoothly, reaching forward to slide his hand over hers.
Annabeth shivered.
...
Annabeth remained determined to avoid all thoughts of emotional complexities for the rest of the afternoon. Luke seemed to oblige, taking her on a walk through the gardens and accompanying her as she practiced archery. She did not encounter any difficulties until she laid to rest. With her head tucked into her pillow, her letter neatly placed beneath it, her mind couldn't help but wander, asking questions—asking too many questions.
So Annabeth decided to make her habitual trip to the library, hoping to find something—anything—to take her mind off of her internal inquiries. Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—for her, the second she stepped foot in the library, she was met with the very person who could clear her mind of all other conflict.
"Duke," she greeted coldly.
"Your Highness," he returned.
a/n: sorry it's short, actually became a crazy longer chapter that I had to split it into two so expect the next sooooon. Anyway, you already know I didn't edit. Promise things are about to start moving fast. This chapter is dedicated to Celestial Element for catching my typo that I have yet to fix ;) andxTayTayx for being great.
