May 21st, 1649

Why did I do that?

Why did I do that?

This can—will only end in disaster. I should have known. I should have left. I shouldn't have approached her. I shouldn't have entertained my unnerving fascination.

But how could I resist when she was staring up at me like—like that.

No, I shouldn't have. I should have—I should have resisted. Or perhaps my mistake occurred far before last night. Perhaps, I shouldn't have come to this kingdom. I shouldn't have agreed to the mission. But this was the only way—well, no there were two options: violence or diplomacy, they said, choose wisely.

I was but a child when they began to tell me of our past, lulling me to sleep with our rather gruesome family history. It's a surprise, really, given the contents of the stories that I chose diplomacy.

Diplomacy. It is supposed to be peaceful. The pacifist route they told me, but I know better. There is violence in every interaction when so many lives are at stake.

How could I have been so foolish?

I should have thought. I should have stayed away. I am risking my position at court by conducting myself in such a way, by giving way to my baser desires.

But there was something delicate and utterly breakable about her when she called herself a monster. She spoke as if she believed herself. She spoke as if she doubted me. Not in the way she had before, no like she doubted I would see through her facade.

God. I have been eternally stupid. I have been overrun by spurs of emotions, my limbs moving of their own accord.

And then, she said my name. It shouldn't have affected me like it did. Dozens of girls have said my name. I don't understand.

And when we drew away, she just stared at me. Like she'd committed an atrocity worse than murder.

Murder.

She murdered a man. She admitted herself. Why then, am I utterly unbothered? I didn't lie to her. It was self-defense. The rebel would have likely murdered her if she hadn't attacked him, but still.

Murder.

I will be forced to do the same. Whether it's at my hand or not, her sister must die. The queen must die if our plans are to come to fruition. She will never forgive me. Will I ever forgive myself?

Yes—

No—

There are more important things at hand. Lives are on the line.

The rebels attacked—again. My mind is littered with a thousand questions. My council seems to be withholding information from me though I cannot begin to understand why. What do they have to gain by misleading me? I am the face of their cause.

Even more troubling, however, were the rebel's weapons. Again, they wore my family's insignia. I have been in constant contact with my mother, and she assures me there have been no rebel attacks in Atlantis. Why are these rebels carrying Atlantic made blades? Someone must be arming them, setting me up to take the fall.

It can't be a coincidence that these attacks have all occurred while the king and queen are traveling. They are attempting to prey on the princesses, though I cannot figure out why. What does anyone have to gain from their deaths—well, Annabeth would gain from Rachel's death—

No. She wouldn't do that. I know her well enough to determine it an impossibility. Despite a few missteps, she appears to protect her sister at all costs. She protects her family at all costs.

She wouldn't do that—would she? No. No.

There is little political motive to kill the princesses before either has even ascended to the throne. Could it be a warning? A sign? Perhaps they are attempting to incriminate me before I can marry Rachel?

I cannot make sense of it. I need more information. I should really go to the library.

Shouldn't I?

I—I cannot begin to describe how much I detest this. I have begun to lose faith in my own rational. Is it knowledge I seek in the library? Or another exhilarating interaction with her? She has rendered me incompetent in the simplest ways—and the worst of it, is that I think she is utterly oblivious of her effect.

She mentioned the book, said she didn't understand its purpose. What is more distasteful? The fact that I have recalled our interaction so many times in one night that I have memorized her lines, or that I felt such a horrible pang of disappointment when she suggested she didn't understand?

What did I expect? She is loyal to her family. I wanted to gain her trust but failed. It made me wonder, though, just how much she does not know. She speaks so reverently of her parents. She is either utterly clueless to their crimes or tragically accepting.

Neither is out of the question—though she does not appear to accept information unquestioningly.

She—I—we—see this is what I mean. She is such an enigma I can't even form coherent thoughts. It's pitiful. It—

It doesn't matter. This is a meaningless exercise anyway.

I haven't seen her all day. I reckon she is avoiding me. I should go to the library.

For knowledge.

P.J.

Annabeth spent the next morning in bed, just sitting there, staring at the blank wall opposite her.

She could hardly believe what she'd done. She'd betrayed her sister—not to mention the political implications of her actions. Oh god, what had she done? She'd allowed him to draw her in with words of kindness, with false understanding. She'd nearly let him take her virtue—if anyone knew she would be dishonored.

Worst of all though, she'd enjoyed it.

She'd listened as her name spilled from his lips and basked in it. She'd reveled in the feeling of his hands clutching at her as if his life depended on it. She'd savored the warmth of his mouth against her—hungry and desperate—indulging in his effervescence.

And then the dream shattered, fear and reality simultaneously collapsing in on them.

She'd been so scared. She'd been so confused.

So she ran, dashing down long corridors and cold hallways until she returned to her room. She nearly forgot about the dead man until she threw her doors open and found that her floor had been swept clean and the body was gone.

She blinked faintly at the empty space, ignoring the metallic scent that still permeated the air. If she squinted her eyes enough, she could still see the fuzzy outline of the dying figure.

"Where did he go?" she wondered out loud with a frown, her eyes glued to the floor. She had stopped moving.

Her guards behind her were silent, edging forward to make sure they hadn't heard her wrong.

"Where did the body go?" Annabeth repeated, louder and less dazed sounding this time.

"I believe it was taken to be burned, Your Highness," one of her guards explained carefully.

He was avoiding her eyes, his gaze trained at her feet. Annabeth ignored the pang in her chest at the realization.

"And his belongings?" she questioned, the crease between her brows growing deeper.

"With the body, Your Highness," the guard told her, though the waver of his voice suggested he was just guessing.

Annabeth nodded stiffly, the events of the night too already too much to grapple with.

As she lay in her bed the next morning, though, surrounded by the plush covers, she couldn't help but wonder why anyone would have burned her attacker's belongings. His body was one thing—whatever Rachel had ordered would have been fine, even if she might have dealt with it differently. His belongings on the other hand could have granted them a plethora of information.

Rebels. Was that even a fair title? Her attacker had been too skilled and well-fed to be a rebel. Besides, the threat he had uttered to her before dying was a great deal more ominous than a mere insurgence.

You will all face the wrath of the seven

What connection did her attacker have to the deadly seven? And more importantly, what connection did the deadly seven have to her family?

As much as she hated to admit, Percy was right. There appeared to be things happening behind the castle walls that she did not understand.

The decision to burn belongings was either enormously stupid or mildly genius. It had either come from a place of naiveté or an attempt to cover a traitor's tracks. Annabeth had a feeling it was a combination of both. There was undoubtedly a traitor in the castle, and Rachel was likely too kind to see past their deception.

Rachel, Annabeth recalled weakly with a muffled groan. Not only had she betrayed her sister, but after the attack, Rachel had looked upon her with such blatant mistrust she had felt her chest concave.

If she'd struggled to face her sister in the past, she would have to after this. Her sister was beginning to doubt her, and Annabeth had to remedy it.

"Rachel," Annabeth called, finding she didn't even have to force a smile as she caught the end of her sister's gleeful giggle.

"Oh," Rachel's lips quivered. "Hello," she greeted, halting her movements. She'd been playing a game of dice with one of her ladies.

"I've been looking for you," Annabeth told her, resisting the urge to clasp her hands at the tension.

"Have you?" Rachel repeated airily as the lady stood, bowing hastily and retreating. "I've been drawing all morning. It's hard to forget what happened," she added faintly.

"I know," Annabeth nodded, licking her lips. "I know I already apologized but I'm sorry for not being there for you—"

"Annabeth," her sister sighed.

"No," Annabeth denied with a frown. "I should have been there to protect you—"

"I wish you had been with me," Rachel agreed suddenly, silencing the blonde. "That way, Percy could have protected us both."

"Mhm," Annabeth allowed hastily, swallowing uncomfortably at his name.

Rachel was quiet, her delicate fingers skating across the edges of the dice before her.

"Is it true?" she asked finally without looking up.

Annabeth's heart stopped, her gut twisting itself into knots.

"What?" she rasped.

"Did you kill him?" Rachel clarified, raising her gaze to glimpse at her.

Annabeth blinked, hoping the relief hadn't registered across her features.

"Yes," she told her honestly. "He threatened the family and—and I was scared."

Before Annabeth could register what was going on, Rachel was up on her feet, barreling towards her and pulling her into her arms. Annabeth's pulse stuttered, folding awkwardly into the embrace.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered into her hair.

"I thought—" Annabeth cut herself off, vulnerability strumming her vocal cords. "I thought you were disappointed in me."

"No," Rachel assured her, drawing away to peer at her intently. "I thought—someone told me the rebel hadn't even attempted to hurt you. I thought—I don't know what I thought."

Annabeth frowned, her chest straining at her effort not to scream in frustration. She doubted anyone was attempting to alleviate her sister's worries by lying about the circumstances of the attack; that left just one motive, to discredit her.

"Who told you that?" Annabeth questioned.

"It hardly matters," Rachel dismissed. "I've already forgotten."

Annabeth parted her lips, an argument on the tip of her tongue when her gaze caught the dark shadows beneath Rachel's eyes. Concern swarmed her brain, obscuring her thoughts.

"Have you been sleeping?"

Rachel's body strummed with the wave of anxiety as she jumped away from her.

"Oh god," she groaned, hiding her face with her hands. "Is it that noticeable?"

"What's troubling you?" Annabeth ignored, closing the distance between them to grab her wrists and pull them away. Her eyes raked her marred complexion. "Is it still nightmares?"

"I didn't want you to worry," Rachel breathed, lips pursing. "I thought they would go away but, they've grown worse."

A pang of guilt echoed through Annabeth. Even she though knew there was much more for her to be guilty for, her sister's words were a stark reminder that she had essentially abandoned her. Ever since Percy, she had begun avoiding Rachel and in turn, inadvertently isolating her.

"What do you dream of?"

"It's hard to explain," Rachel attempted with a dismissive shake of her head. "I see a clash of steel and a throne, but it's covered in blood. And then I see you and I see Percy and—"

Shock pierced through Annabeth so quickly she could scarcely school her features. She jumped back, reeling.

"What?" Rachel questioned, eyes wide.

"I—nothing," Annabeth blinked furiously, trying to reject any worry. "I just… forgot something."

"Oh," Rachel frowned.

"Rachel," Annabeth thought quickly, mustering something. "Let's have dinner tonight," she took her sister's hands. "Just the two of us, like old times."

"I have—um—plans," Rachel supplied, pulling her lip between her teeth.

"Dessert then?" Annabeth offered. "Afterwards?"

"Of course."

Annabeth didn't visit the library that evening. She knew perfectly well what—or rather who—she would find there. And if he wasn't there, she didn't know if she could stomach that either.

Still, she needed something to read, and she used the necessity as a mildly convoluted excuse to go through her mother's study. Her mother had always had collected titillating novels, not that Annabeth had ever really cared for them.

She'd never enjoyed the twisted messages and internal monologues that said stories inspired. She found them much too confusing, especially for someone whose morals had been clearly drawn for her when she was six. No. She knew already right from wrong. She hardly needed someone blurring the line.

Where she really wanted that evening to go was the room of congress. It was the one room she'd never been allowed in. But alas, the council kept the room locked and guarded at all times. Her mother's study would have to do.

She thought she'd go after dinner, but as it turned out, spending only an hour or two with Luke left him feeling conned. He'd very nearly begged her to allow him to accompany him as she dug through her mother's belongings. She'd agreed in a fit of exasperation.

"As long as you promise not touch anything," she required. "And don't tell anyone, though that should be rather obvious."

And she was off, convincing the guards to let her through the doors.

"I forgot something," she supplied, the same lie she'd given Rachel. She doubted they believed her, but they let her enter anyway.

"Why did you want to come here?" Luke asked, following her in.

"Just told you," she muttered, stepping behind her mother's mahogany desk and trying the drawers. They were locked. "I forgot something."

"Hm," Luke hummed noncommittally, his gaze scanning the room with an innocent shine.

Annabeth examined the desk. Everything was immaculate. She'd have to be careful to leave everything as she found it.

She leaned forward, hovering over a stack of parchment aligned perfectly with the edge of the wooden surface. They were letters, she realized. Her eyes rushed through mother's perfect scrawl but as expected, she found nothing. Her mother never included any pertinent information in her letters, just vague messages and double entendre.

Annabeth looked around the room for somewhere else where her mother might have stored information. The room was otherwise empty except for two large bookcases that furnished either wall. As Annabeth's eyes ran over the titles, though, she found nothing of interest.

Annabeth huffed in frustration. She knew she should be grateful her mother was so intelligent, but it utterly frustrating when the intelligence was stacked against her.

Annabeth found her gaze drawn to the locked drawers again. There were six, three on either side. Surely there was a way to get past the locks. They didn't look very sturdy. If she could only find an adequate imitation of the key—

"Did you find it?" Luke asked from across the room, interrupting her train of thought.

Annabeth's eyes snapped up to meet his. He was lounging back against the doors, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Not yet," she told him with a slight frown. She dropped to her knees to better inspect the locks, her hair snagging on the edge of the desk. She bit her lip, trying to see into the drawers through the tiny holes, but it was too dark.

She sighed, slumping her shoulders forward as her head fell. This was no use. She had to find a key.

Annabeth saw a glimmer along the floor and turned, noticing a pin had fallen out of her hair. She picked it up half-heartedly. It wasn't as if her hair needed more pins, but she couldn't exactly let her mother find it either.

Then she remembered.

"Luke," she called, standing suddenly.

"Mh?" he replied sounding bored. He was picking at his cuticles.

"Remember that thing you used to do?" Annabeth questioned, balancing the pin between her fingers.

"That," he scoffed, "is eternally vague, darling."

"You told me you used to break into your father's trophy room," Annabeth pressed, recalling how easily they'd connected as children. They had both been overlooked since a young age. "You would pick the locks with copper wire, remember?"

"Y—yes," he stammered, straightening up and stepping towards her. "Why?"

"Can you still do it?" Annabeth implored, her heart stilling in her chest.

"Yes."

"With this?" Annabeth required, holding out the delicate pin for him to see.

He watched her for a moment too long, skepticism drew in his brow. "I suppose I could try," he said finally, his voice softening.

He took the pin from her and bent down. "Which one?" He gestured to the drawers.

"All of them," Annabeth said honestly.

He huffed out a chuckle. The sound was warm and comforting, sending a wave of nostalgia tumbling down her spine.

"I'll try," he offered, digging the pin into the hole and twisted strategically.

Annabeth stepped back, grateful he didn't ask any questions as she watched him from afar. She was momentarily taken back, remembering what it had been like before her sister's engagement, before Percy's arrival, before all this. Life was simpler then—or as simple as it got when you were royalty.

She couldn't help the easy smile that slipped across her lips as she remembered running around the gardens with him, practicing archery, hiding outside her parents' studies, their ears pressed to the doors as giggles escaped them.

Yes, times were much simpler then. She half wished she could go back.

"Done," Luke announced triumphantly, sliding open the first drawer of many.

"Thank you!" Annabeth exclaimed, jumping up to see its contents while he worked on the others.

The drawer was filled with quills, half-finished letters, and inkwells. The next drawer wasn't much better. Or the next. Or the next. By the time the last drawer fell open, Annabeth was more frustrated than ever. It wasn't as if she wanted to find something incriminating, she just wanted to make sense of the strange anomalies occurring around her.

"Could you—uh—lock them now?" Annabeth requested sweetly, gazing up at Luke with a dazzling smile.

He sighed but did as he was asked, starting back at the first.

The last drawer wasn't any more interesting than the others—in fact, it was arguably less so. It barely held anything, just a few copies of the royal seal and a rolled up map of the kingdom.

Annabeth picked it up and unfurled it. It was the same as any other map. She put it back, turning one of the royal seals in her hand. Had this all really been for nothing?

Annabeth exhaled heavily, tossing the seal back in exasperation. It thudded loudly against the drawer, but the sound made Annabeth pause. She frowned, picking up another seal and throwing it. The same sound echoed across the room.

"What are you doing?" Luke questioned, halting his movements to throw her a perplexed look.

"Nothing," Annabeth dismissed quickly. "Keep going."

He blinked a few times but returned to his work. She didn't have time to consider how appreciative she was for his attachment to her before she was wrenching another one of the drawers open and throwing a seal into it.

The sound was different this time. More solid, less airy. She threw it again, just to be sure she wasn't imagining it. She wasn't.

With frantic fingers, Annabeth returned to the last drawer, her finger tracing over the seams of the wood at the bottom. She knocked lightly, eliciting a lofty sound that excited her pulse.

Her heart surged. It was hollow.

She lined her fingertips perfectly with the far edge of the drawer. She pressed into splintering wood and pushed

Her heart stopped.

The bottom of the drawer tipped ever so slightly, clattering quietly. With trembling hands, she drew away the false bottom, revealing the rest of the drawer. It was a rather underwhelming sight. It was a pair of wax seals. Annabeth picked one up, toying with it. It looked oddly familiar. She frowned, running her fingertips over the design.

"Can I close it?" Luke asked, breaking her reverie.

She gulped, eyes wide as she realized he'd nearly finished every drawer, just the last one left.

"Yes," she nodded hastily, putting the seal back and placing the false bottom back in place.

She stepped back as he finished the final drawer.

To her surprise, he didn't ask her any questions even as they left her mother's study empty-handed, he didn't ask her any questions as they strode down the castle corridor together, he didn't ask any questions even as she gestured to him follow her into her dormitory.

"Annabeth," was all he said when she sat on the edge of her bed, her feet dangling off the edge. "You know you can trust me with anything, right?"

Annabeth blinked, surprise flickering over her features as she stared up at him. He wasn't looking at her, he was standing by the window, gazing out at the gardens.

"Of course," Annabeth assured him, uncertain whether or not she was lying.

She did trust Luke. She trusted him to protect her and protect Rachel. She trusted him to take her side against her parents. She trusted him to stand by her as she spied on the counsel's meetings. She trusted him enough to marry him.

But did she trust him with everything?

No.

No, she didn't.

Annabeth placed her hands on either side of her, putting her weight on them as he glanced back at her. Her fingers slid across the bed, underneath her pillow until they brushed parchment. She felt her heart jump at the unexpected abrasiveness, quickly remembering she'd hid her mother's letter there.

She swallowed heavily as Luke drew his gaze away from her again, pacing around the room in apparent thought.

Annabeth frowned, barely noticing his movements. The thought of her mother's letter had sparked something in her, a faint memory burning at the edges of her mind. She bit her cheek, trying to recall where the feeling originated.

Her stomached clenched.

She realized where she recognized the wax seal in her mother's drawer. It was the seal that belonged to her primarily correspondent, the one that sent her books upon request.

Why did her mother have his seal? Was she connected to him somehow? Did they communicate as well? From what Annabeth knew, he maintained little contact with other royal family members. Could he have been influenced by her mother?

The thought made her blood run cold.

And then it got worse.

"I wasn't lying you know," Luke declared, stopping in front of her.

"Lying about what?" Annabeth inquired, arching a brow. She tried not to show the panic creeping into her chest, wrapping around her lungs and strangling her sanity.

"When I said I loved you," Luke explained. His vulnerable gaze traveled over her, lingering on her mouth. "I wasn't lying."

"I know," Annabeth lied.

She didn't know. She didn't know if he loved her. She didn't know if he trusted her—didn't know if she trusted him.

She thought of the wax seal, of his imploring eyes, of the widespread conspiracy racking the castle, and felt an unfamiliar urge to tell him the truth. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to confide in him and believe he would do everything to fight for her.

But she didn't, so she swallowed back the urge, burying it deep inside her.

She thought of Percy. She didn't trust him either—arguably less than Luke. But at least he'd told her the truth. At least he hadn't sought to protect her from the lies that seemed to permeate the very air of this castle.

No, she didn't trust Percy. But she thought she could.

Annabeth was involuntarily transported back to last night. She could still feel the feverish heat of his touch. She could still hear the words falling from his lips—you will protect those you love at all costs—and then her name—Annabeth—frenzied and hectic. She could still taste him, like freedom and sin and fire.

Luke loved her. He trusted her. Could she give him the same?

"Luke," Annabeth turned towards him abruptly, determination boiling in her veins.

"Yes?" he replied, turning to catch her severe gaze. He frowned slightly, about to ask if something was wrong when she spoke again.

"Kiss me."

"Excuse me?" Luke questioned.

"Kiss me," Annabeth repeated, swallowing thickly. "Please."

"I don't understand," Luke prompted, stepping towards her, concern dancing in his eyes.

Annabeth had always found comfort in his icy blue irises. Even at six, she'd known that if everything went to plan, she would look into those eyes for the rest of her life.

Why then, was her mind betraying her? When her eyes fluttered shut at night, why was she plagued by a familiar set of bright green emeralds?

"Annabeth," Luke lamented, reaching forward to take her hand. She had been quiet for too long.

"You said you loved me," Annabeth recalled heavily, trying not to sound too grave when she spoke. "Were you lying?"

He blinked, furrowing his brow.

"I just told you I was not," he assured her with a soft shake of his head.

His finger intertwined with hers. His hands were soft and warm and—and for a second she almost convinced herself it was enough.

"Then kiss me," Annabeth pleaded.

Surprise then understanding flickered across his eyes. His hand slowly rose to cup her cheek as he leaned forward.

Annabeth shut her eyes, willing this dreadful feeling away. Luke would kiss her and it would be the same. Luke would kiss her it would be perfect. Luke would kiss her and she would feel fire—she had to feel fire—

His lips brushed hers, softly at first before pressing firmly. He smelled of cider and charcoal. His mouth was warm and pliant against hers.

He was kind and compassionate and trusting and—did it matter? He wasn't him.

She sighed, strangling a sob when he drew away, a soft smile painting his lips—because he was pleased, because he was content, because he loved her.

She wished she'd gone to the library.


a/n: eh, not my best chapter not my worse. sorry this took so long, the world is crazy rn. didn't edit, so probs lots of typos. will do l8r.

are things going to pick up real quick in this story? yes. But do I also keep saying that and then nothing happens? yes.

Love yall. Stay safe.

ciao