TW: descriptions of blood/violence

"How could this happen?" Annabeth demanded, drawing her skirt up roughly to charge down the corridor, her guards at her side. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, overpowered only by the loud clatter of steel.

"One of the roaming guards heard a disturbance in the middle of the night," Jamison explained, jogging to keep up with her. "He called for Her Highness, but she didn't reply."

"And?" Annabeth snapped, desperation stealing her breath.

"And when he entered," Jamison expounded sadly, dipping his head in mourning, "the princess was nowhere to be seen."

"What about her guards?" Annabeth required sharply. "Why weren't they watching her? Why didn't they protect her—"

"They—" Jamison cut himself off, clearing his throat. "They were slaughtered. Each of them was found cut—cut open," he struggled.

"Cut open?" Annabeth repeated in question, her ever-present frown deepening at the revelation.

"Cut open," Jamison confirmed with a sorrowed nod. "The number seven was carved into each of their chests."

Annabeth gasped, so harshly she was unable to hide the movement. Pinpricks of light bled into the corners of her vision but she focused on the door at the end of the hallway—Rachel's door.

Annabeth stopped, her heart faltering at the sight. The pulse echoed through her like a terrifying shard of reality. The room tilted around her, the door growing larger and larger in her vision.

"Are they still in there?" Annabeth asked, her words escaping her quieter than she'd intended.

"Yes," Jamison granted, bowing his head though whether the action was in anguish or respect she couldn't know. "There's was also a message."

Annabeth's fingers twitched at her sides, fearing what she might find past those doors.

Move move move

"Annabeth," Luke's troubled voice cut in from behind her.

She turned, glancing back at him to find his eyes on hers. They were blue, so icy they could have been transparent.

"Don't," he warned, holding out a hand for her to take instead. "Let them take care of this. You—you shouldn't have to see this."

She had to move

"Shouldn't I?" Annabeth replied softly, ignoring his hand and motioning for Jamison to open the doors.

The room came into view but for a naive moment of clarity, her vision didn't clear. She heard a shaky exhale behind her, and thought of Percy. They hadn't spoken since he'd picked her up off the floor and shook sense back into her.

Luke was silent. She thought he'd probably seen it before—or perhaps he was just more worried about her than the dead men lying on the floor, because his hand immediately shot out to intertwine with hers.

Annabeth blinked, feeling Luke's heat seep into her skin as her mind attempted to process the sight before her.

It was red—there was so much red.

If she'd thought the scene in her own room a week back had been gruesome, Annabeth had no words for the slaughter that lay before her.

There were four guards—four bodies—flayed open, cut into with jagged precision that radiated of anger, of revenge. And there, a message written in blood across her sister's sheets.

We will not be forgotten.

Annabeth's stomach turned aggressively at the sight, twisting into tense knots.

If they were willing to do this to the guards, what would they do to Rachel?

But then, why take her at all? If killing her was the end goal, surely doing so within the confines of the castle would be the strongest message to the monarchy. Or perhaps it was a ransom plot. Perhaps the kidnappers just wanted gold in exchange for her safe return.

It made sense, but—

Annabeth glanced behind her. Luke was watching her, his face drained completely of blood. Percy's eyes were on the carnage before him, his mouth parted in shock.

Her heart ached.

She turned back towards the crime scene, forcing herself to look at their bodies, at the blood pooling across the tile. If she'd only been here to protect her sister this wouldn't have happened. If she'd pulled herself away from her endless family quandaries, she might have noticed Rachel's distress. If she hadn't been so distracted by the rapid beat of her heart, she might have ignored Percy and protected her sister.

Her only duty had been to protect her family at all costs and yet she'd failed—because she had ignored other's warnings, because she'd fallen prey to her own desires, because she hadn't accepted the life laid out for her, because she hadn't listened to her mother—

"My mother?" Annabeth asked suddenly, turning towards Jamison.

He frowned.

"My parents," she amended. "Have they been notified?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Jamison nodded. "They shall arrive shortly."

"Shortly?" Luke questioned somewhere behind her, stepping forward to press a hand to the small of her back.

"Tomorrow, Your Grace," Jamison informed.

"Thank you," Annabeth granted with a stiff nod, Luke's hand burning through her gown.

The guard bowed before turning and exiting to rejoin the ranks.

Annabeth stared forward, eyes glued to Rachel's bed. The sheets were mussed, the curtains of her canopy torn as if there'd been a struggle. Of course Rachel would have struggled, Annabeth wanted to laugh, she'd always been a fighter.

She swallowed thickly, the stiff movement getting stuck in her throat.

"What are we going to do?" Percy uttered softly, his eyes glazed over as well.

"I—"

I have no idea, she wanted to say but bit back the words, knowing she had to be strong for Rachel.

"We'll find her," Annabeth declared suddenly, shrugging off Luke's comforting gestures to face the two of them. She wasn't sure she believed her own words but convinced herself it was the truth, nonetheless. "We'll form a search party, put up fliers around the entire kingdom. We won't stop searching until we find her."

"Annabeth—" Luke lamented, his eyes sunken and tired as he tried to grab her forearm.

"No," she drew away. "I—I have to speak with the council. I have to prepare for—"

"Annabeth," Luke repeated, stepping into her line of sight. "I know Rachel's gone, but you have to rest. You'll go mad—"

"I—" Annabeth sighed, knowing he was right.

But then again, if she hadn't been out with her sister's fiancé all night, she wouldn't need to rest. And that terrible notion was enough to spur her on, adrenaline fighting through her veins.

"I can't," was all she said in the end, turning to leave without a second glance.

After frantically ordering different groups of guards around, giving them instructions as to where to search and sending them off, Annabeth found herself wandering the hallway back to Rachel's room.

She'd been informed shortly prior that the bodies of the murdered guards had been taken away. Their possessions would be returned to their families with a plaque of honor. Despite the council's assurances, honor didn't seem sufficient penance for a life lost.

Annabeth stopped when she reached Rachel's bedroom door, remembering the way their bodies had been strewn across the floor. Their limbs had been twisted and tangled, trapped in their agonizing final moments.

She wondered what their final words were? What they might have accomplished if they'd only been given the chance?—but that was their duty, wasn't it? Or was it hers?

Annabeth shook her head, clearing the confusing notions from her mind as she slowly opened the doors. As she entered the dormitory, she was surprised to find someone at the foot of Rachel's bed.

"Percy?" Annabeth sucked in a breath when she caught sight of him.

His shoulders stiffened at the sound other voice, turning slightly to look at her before facing the bed again. It was only a glance but it would have been impossible not to notice his bloodshot eyes or the darkened hollows hidden beneath his eyelashes.

Annabeth stepped forward to join him, quickly realizing that the soft whistle she'd previously believed to be just the wind was Percy. He was saying something, his lips barely moving, his speech mumbled and barely audible.

"How could this happen?" he was uttering softly, his fingers tracing over the mussed duvet that skated over the floor.

"She's not gone," Annabeth repeated in the same lifeless tone she'd been using all day. She didn't answer his question. She wasn't sure she could. "If they wanted her dead, she'd be dead. There must be another motive."

Percy nodded, capturing the edge of Rachel's sheet in his hands. They were still covered in the bloody message.

We will not be forgotten.

Who? Annabeth wanted to ask—wanted to scream—but knew it would get her no where. Her parents would be back tomorrow, and she would be forced explain her actions. She would have to tell them about her and Percy's search for the lost bookstore. There was no point in lying, nearly a dozen guards had seen them. She could neglect to mention their minuscule dalliance in the woods, however.

Percy rose to his feet, putting an end to her thoughts. He turned towards her, his eyes narrowed as if in thought. He took a tentative step towards her and she thought he might reach out to her.

"Please don't," she pleaded, wrapping her arms around herself.

His eyes shone desperately, his features drained of life. "What?" he frowned.

He looked confused. She wanted to laugh but couldn't manage the movement.

"Don't touch me," she stepped away from him, retreating toward her sister's desk that overlooked the gardens.

Percy was silent behind her, leaving only the sound of her own shallowed breath to entertain her troubled mind.

"You think I had something to do with this?" He asked.

No, she thought. No, she wanted to say—but her heart hurt, and her mouth refused to open.

"So this is your opinion of me then?" he laughed, but gone was the deep rich undertones that used to fill her chest at the gesture.

"You told me I couldn't trust you," Annabeth managed through gritted teeth. "Were you lying?"

"No, but—" Percy insisted, advancing towards her.

"That's why then," Annabeth cut him off. He stopped moving. "That's why," she repeated, softer this time.

She turned away from him, back towards the window to gaze out onto the misty castle grounds.

"Have you ever considered who has to gain from your sister's downfall?" Percy extended sharply.

Annabeth blinked. Her heart skipped a beat as every muscle in her body tensed, as if preparing for a deadly impact.

"You," he maintained when she turned. "Only you."

"Don't you dare—" she began but was interrupted.

"Haven't you ever noticed how the council looks upon you?" he demanded. She could feel the venom in his words but see the concern in his eyes. She didn't know which to trust. "Have you noticed how your subjects stare? How your parents treat you?"

"Shut up," Annabeth swallowed thickly, uncrossing her arms to form small fists at her sides.

"No," he shook his head angrily. "The only one who has to gain from Rachel's death is you—"

"Do you actually believe that?" Annabeth breathed.

"I'm not sure what to believe anymore," he told her sadly.

She longed to agree with him but couldn't find the words.

"Are we going to do this again then?" Percy questioned, lips drawn into a tight purse.

"Do what?" Annabeth scoffed, but the movement was delayed.

He threw her a disappointed stare, his eyes piercing as ever, even surrounded by darkness.

"Go around in circles like this," he muttered. "Pretend we don't feel what we feel."

Annabeth stopped breathing, an uncomfortable quiver darting across her ribs and into her throat, restricting her words. What was he talking about? What did he feel? What did she feel—

No.

No. No. No—

She couldn't do this. This was why Rachel was gone. This was why she'd failed her family.

She didn't feel anything. Nothing

"I don't—I don't feel anything," she told him, avoiding his gaze.

"So we are," he sighed, nodding as he bit his cheek.

"I—" Annabeth began, but he was already gone.

"Annabeth," Luke called, but there was something tense in his tone, her name leaving him as a warning.

"Yes?" she turned, lingering in front of her bedroom.

"Can we—we need to talk," he struggled to explain, his gaze flickered to her door.

"Luke," Annabeth lamented with a sigh, noticing the downturned curl of his lips. Her heart hurt—everything hurt. "I'm exhausted."

He'd normally agree, let her go to bed and forget about any conflict. There was always tomorrow. There were years ahead of them to talk. But not today, not tonight—his gaze hardened, shoulders stiffening.

"Why are you tired?" he asked—his tone bordering on accusatory.

Annabeth felt her lungs stop working.

"My sister is missing, Luke," Annabeth gawked, facing him completely now.

"There's no other reason?" He suggested, his eyes falling to her dirtied gown. She still hadn't changed, though that hadn't been her fault. There'd been no time.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Annabeth denied evenly, unsure how else to reply to his question.

Did he want her to tell him the truth? Did he want her to recount how she'd grown to distrust him and had sought the council of another? Did he want to hear how her skin burned at Percy's touch? Or how the world disappear for a single perfect second when she was in his arms?

"Really?" Luke pressed, taking a step towards her. Her guards shifted uncomfortably around them. "You don't? Because everyone else seems to know—everyone but me."

Annabeth swallowed, matching his gaze carefully. "If you have an accusation you'd like to levy against your fiancé," she warned, teetering delicately on the tips of her toes. "Then do it already."

But he didn't. He didn't do anything, he just stared at her, a saddened expression overtaking his regal features.

"Sometimes I wonder, you know?" he whispered finally, his words so soft they were heard by no one else. "If we could do it all over again. Would you choose me?"

Annabeth frowned, confusion flickering over her features. Her mind was already exhausted enough without working through Luke's riddles.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Luke's hand rose to meet the curve of her jaw, his fingers skating delicately over the column of her neck as if she were a piece of glass on the brink of shattering. She wondered if she was.

"I would choose you," Luke told her, eyes boring into hers. His breath danced across her lips. "Of all the girls, in all the kingdoms, I would choose you."

Annabeth felt her teeth grit involuntarily and forced her features to relax, knowing he could feel every minuscule movement beneath his calloused fingers.

"Not for political gain," he continued reverently, "not for elite connection, just for you."

Annabeth wanted to believe him—No, she did believe him. She believed him.

"Can you say the same?" he finished, and the final syllable of his question seemed to echo through the corridors around him.

Annabeth parted her lips but found them too dry to speak.

The pads of Luke's fingers swept over her jaw, just like Percy's had. She felt herself lean into his warmth, falling into the familiar palm of his hand.

She recalled when they were only children. There had been one summer when they'd all been together: Annabeth, Luke, Rachel, and William. They'd all pretended to be on great family. They'd even staged a fantastical military dispute only to find themselves laughing it off, utterly naive to the reality of bloodshed and violence.

She'd turned to him in the midst of it all, felt his warm fingers slip between hers, and thought it would always be like that. Perfect and content.

She thought of Rachel. Of how she'd always had a special affinity for Luke. It made her heartache in a way she'd never known possible—as if it were splintering into sharp jagged pieces. She wondered why it was always the happiest memories that hurt the most.

One of her guards moved, shifting weight from one foot to another, but the resulting clatter of metal was enough to break her from the moment.

"Does it matter?" Annabeth argued, drawing away from Luke. "There are no other worlds, no parallel dimensions to trouble ourselves with, and in this one, I choose you."

"I suppose," Luke agreed, though the motion was half-hearted, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Luke," Annabeth sighed, guilt shuddering through her, climbing up each of her ribs and entering her heart. She remembered his icy eyes—the same eyes. "I—"

He looked so hopeful, so innocent and prim—like Rachel, she realized—she couldn't bear to break the image.

"I love you," she told him.

"I know," he said, his lips finally breaking into a smile.

And certainty shone so brightly in his eyes that for a second, Annabeth thought she might not be lying—and that beautiful glimmer of belief seemed like enough for now.


a/n: helloo world, i'm back. thx for being so patient. i'm all moved in. didn't edit. more to come soon.

dedicated to Whoopdiwhoop and some place

love u, byeee