May 30th, 1649.

She's—horrible, irritating, tortuous.

She's—

Captivating.

This feeling—whatever this feeling is—is utterly disconcerting.

When she is away, I yearn to see her; and yet, when she nears, I want her far far away. She has somehow managed to infect my every being, and now I am tied to her, waiting on her every word. It—she—is a disease, eating away at my mind, at my sensibilities, at my mission.

I never knew I was so weak.

And in those moments that are far and few between, when I have to strength to pull myself away, she calls me back. She opens her mouth, and I am undone.

How utterly pathetic.

This cannot be happening.

There is something dangerous about her. I fear it—fear her. I long to reach out to her, but I worry I am inching closer to an all-consuming abyss—she is all-consuming.

She's—

Torturing me—surely. I'm convinced of it. She knew—she must have known that when she told me about the note, about her idiotic plan, I would have no choice but to follow her.

She's—asinine, which is difficult to believe given that she is really quite clever. She is walking into a trap—surely, she must have figured as much, and yet, when I told her so, she laughed—she threw her head back and laughed.

I wanted to strangle her. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted—so desperately—to freeze her at that moment, so she might wear that expression for the rest of her life, so she would never leave, so she wouldn't act with reckless abandon tomorrow morning.

I know, she told me, but it's the only way.

She spoke confidently, a soft curve to her lips that again, made me want to strangle her, or kiss her—see, entirely disconcerting—but that is beside the point. What matters is that she spoke confidently, staring off into the distance as if her destiny were prewritten, a matter of stars and planets. What matters is that she has shown a horrendous disregard for her own life. What matters is that she could injure herself. What matters is that she could die.

I argued with her, of course. I am constantly arguing these days. Arguing with her, with my advisors, with my better judgment.

She's the most irritating human being I have ever laid eyes on—or perhaps it's the feeling that I find irritating—the way my chest swells, the way my heart beats, the way my head rushes.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how I feel or—nothing. It doesn't matter.

What matters is that I argued. I argued until the words scratched at my throat, until the air had gone dry, until the I scarcely had breath left—but my efforts were useless.

She refused to be convinced, claimed her mind had been made the moment she'd read the note. I think it was made far before that.

She's baffling like that.

Baffling and—

and—

Captivating.

How dreadfully trite.

I ought to burn this journal. The thought of someone reading its contents—death seems a merrier fate.

Why do you care? she asked me.

As if it were a crime to care. To worry that she might—quite literally—die if she does not tread with caution.

She has no idea who or what she is dealing with. Hate has brewed beneath the surface for so long. It will be nearly impossible for her to overturn it. I shouldn't want to overturn it. That is not my job—my prerogative in coming here.

Diplomacy or war, they asked me. But it was simpler than that. Diplomacy or death, they asked me.

I believed this would be easier, safer, less deadly. One death to trade for the life of thousands.

Why do you care? She asked me.

I seem to have memorized her idiosyncrasies. The way she clenches her jaw, the way her posture straightens, the way her eyes narrow imperceptibly.

Why do you care? She asked me.

I didn't answer. I could not answer.

I didn't know—still don't. I wish I did—perhaps it would make this all less confusing.

She's going to get herself killed. She has learned all she knows of the kingdom through altered history books. She knows only the world her parents built for her. There is so much she does not know. Could she truly be so foolish? Doesn't she understand? She must understand—

Unless—she does understand. What if she understands?

I assume she is just an innocent victim of her sister's kidnapping. I forget that she had the most to gain from Rachel's disappearance. I forget the first time I danced with her, the careful precision of her footsteps, the practiced venom in her questions, the warm smile that adorned her features throughout it all.

And if she isn't innocent. If she does understand. Then she said what she said with the intention of manipulating me.

Why didn't she show the note to anyone else? If family is truly as important as she claims, why didn't she confide in her parents? In her fiancé?

She wants me to come. She is manipulating me. My patrons warned me. They warned me not to fall too deep.

But—no, she loved Rachel. I am sure of it. She loved Rachel—didn't she?

If she is telling the truth and she plans to go alone, she will die. She knows nothing of the real world. She will die. If she is telling the truth then her plan is ill-advised, naive, foolish—

But I have never known her to be foolish.

And if she is manipulating me then—

Then—I am weak.

And she—

She's—

She's—is a never-ending conundrum.

I must cease writing. I must prepare. I must be ready.

- P.J.

Annabeth had nearly made it out of the castle's extensive property when she heard the patter of hoofbeats behind her.

With a nervous inhale, she kicked her horse into a gallop. It appeared her plan of moving slowly but quietly hadn't been successful. The cold air nipped at her skin, but she ignored the sharp feeling, keeping a careful eye on her luggage as it beat against the saddle.

"Faster," she hissed under her breath, the sounds behind her growing closer. As if comprehending her plea, her horse sped up, dashing through thin wood towards the hills.

To her relief, Annabeth heard the hoofbeats fade behind her. A weight lifted from her chest, blood rushing through her gloved fingers as she loosened her hands on the reins. She sighed, the stress rolling off of her in waves and shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her.

It was just then, as her head dipped down slightly, her eyes shut, her fingers loose, that her horse spooked. Its weight shifted, tensing, restless. She might have noticed it had she not been distracted by the sudden relief. Her horse reared its head, neighing forcefully as it bucked.

Annabeth's hastily grabbed for the reins, but it was too late. The worn leather slipped between her slender fingers, falling out of her grasp. She felt herself sliding, her dress bunching and pulling. Before she could regain her balance, she was on the ground, dust pooling from the fall.

Annabeth laid for a second, eyes wide open, staring up at the dark sky. Her heart beat heavily against her chest as she gasped in the midnight air. She could hardly believe what had happened.

Then, suddenly remembering that she'd been followed, Annabeth's heart picked back up. She swallowed a groan, feeling a bruise already forming on her backside as she lifted herself onto her elbows. She desperately looked around, searching for her steed. It had raced away after she'd fallen and was now hiding among the trees, barely in eyesight.

Annabeth felt the ground tremble beneath her and heard the gallops she had nearly escaped finally catch up to her. There was no escape. She knew it. Resigned, she sighed, shutting her eyes as she waited for the guards to catch her.

The hoofbeats came to a halt some distance away from her. She gritted her teeth. What would her mother say? Surely she would have Annabeth locked up the minute she returned to the castle.

She faintly heard a low chuckle but convinced herself she must have been imagining it. No soldier would ever dare to laugh at her.

"Did you need some help?" A familiar voice asked.

Annabeth's eyes shot open. Blood rushed into her cheeks at the sight of Percy standing above her, brows raised.

Annabeth's eyes shot open but her mouth remained shut. Blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to contextualize the sight before her. Percy was standing over her, a laughing smile on his lips.

She was dreaming—surely.

"Annabeth?" he questioned, raising a brow.

Oh god. This was a nightmare.

"No," she snapped, jaw tight. "I don't need your help."

He scoffed incredulously, rolling his eyes before stretching out a hand. Annabeth stared at the offending limb for a second, half hoping it would fall off. Then, having had enough embarrassment for so early in the morning, she slapped it away, pulling herself up, even as her muscles ached.

"What are you doing here, Duke?" Annabeth questioned sharply, attempting to brush the dust of her coat only for the dirt to cling to the fabric of her gloves.

"You know, Annabeth," Percy sighed, a smirk adorning his face. She thought she might have punched him had she not been so shocked to see him. His eyes slid over the hem of her dress which was now caked in mud. "If we're going to spend this journey together, I'd really rather you called me Percy."

Annabeth blinked.

His expression shifted slightly at her surprise, a wrinkle of darkness appearing between his brows. "Surely you didn't think I was going to let you walk into a trap all by yourself," he mused lazily.

Annabeth felt a familiar pressure claw at the insides of her windpipe, shattering something akin to trust. She took a deep breath, taking an angry step towards him. Her joints were frozen solid, seconds from breaking.

"I showed you the note because—"

"Why?" Percy cut her off, meeting her step with one of his own. There was something hard hidden behind his words. They hadn't been like that before, and yet, she wasn't sure what before even was.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"Because you trusted me?" Percy pressed. "I thought that we were past that," he remarked, sounding bored.

She couldn't believe it. How could he act with such egregious nonchalance when her sister's life was at stake—Rachel's life was at stake. He was acting as if this were just another strongly-worded fight in the library or a couple of thinly veiled insults on the balcony.

"The note clearly read 'come alone'," Annabeth hissed, her words ripe with animosity.

"Yes," Percy agreed with a nod of his head. "And the note also clearly came from someone trying to kill you, so I think Your Highness will find I'm quite right in my reasoning."

"Don't call me that," Annabeth exclaimed suddenly, but was hardly able to dwell on the flitter of confusion that rippled across Percy's features. "Don't you care?" She demanded harshly, advancing towards him until they were nearly chest to chest, just inches between them. "Don't you care that they might kill her?—that they might kill Rachel?" Annabeth pressed.

"Of course, I do," Percy returned with equal vigor, staring down at her. His features sharp, his stance combative. "But I also fear what will happen to this kingdom without an heir," he asserted.

Annabeth couldn't consider his reasoning, her mind already accelerating past that.

"You cannot come with me," she insisted, her fingers curling into fists by her sides.

"You can hardly stop me," Percy scoffed, his jaw clicking in irritation.

"I—I forbid it," Annabeth declared, bursting at the seams with frustration.

Percy stared at her for a second. She felt an inkling of victory flush through her chest, the hint of a triumphant smile tug at the corner of her lip.

Then he laughed. Her expression vanished.

"Your title is worth very little in the middle of the woods, Annabeth," he mocked.

"You—you cannot accompany me," Annabeth refused angrily, heat spreading across her chest. "I refuse. I won't move—"

"Then you'll never reach the Stone of Ultio," Percy cut her off swiftly. His expression was unreadable.

Annabeth's heart stuttered. Her gaze sharpened, doubt poisoning her determination. His eyes seem to flash with icy blue at that moment. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

"It's a day's journey," Percy remarked carefully, evenly. "You don't have much time to spare."

"You know of the stone?" Annabeth demanded, deadly quietly. Her breath was shallow, the whisper of an accusation.

"Yes," Percy replied simply.

"I—" Annabeth couldn't think straight, losing herself in the mess. He couldn't be trusted. She knew he couldn't be trusted. He'd told her not to trust him—but, he'd passed her test. She thought he'd passed her test. He hadn't lied When she asked he hadn't lied. He'd helped. He'd help. He'd—

Rachel—

She couldn't forget Rachel. She recalled the way the blade had swung through the air. The way Rachel's scream had pierced the air. The way she'd stood. The way she'd done nothing.

She had to act. She had to snap out of it.

"I must go alone," Annabeth begged, staring into his eyes, her gaze a plea. "Please Percy, I must go alone."

He seemed to falter, tilting his head, confusion dancing in his eyes. "Then I will follow you," he asserted. "And you'll find I'm a very fast rider, though I'm sure you have already realized it. "

"But—" she began weakly, her reasoning turning to dust in the wake of his.

"You owe me one. remember," Percy reminded her.

She frowned.

"You owe me a favor," he recalled, his lips twisting into a cruel grin. "And what kind of princess would you be if you were not true to your word?"

"An intelligent one," Annabeth shot back without thinking.

His eyes were steeled, shining with distrust. She wondered if it had always existed, or if she were just seeing it for the first time.

She supposed she didn't blame him. She couldn't trust him either.

"Allow me to see you to the stone and we're even," Percy insisted, his tone significantly less combative. Softer. Intimate. "One journey and we're even."

She couldn't trust him. She couldn't trust anyone, anymore. But he clearly knew more than he had let on. Yes, she could use him. He knew about the stone. He knew about the rebels. He knew about the deadly seven. There was so much she didn't know. He could help. He—she would make him help. He would help. He loved her—Rachel. He loved Rachel.

The air shifted around her, a hefty weight stolen by her inhale. It was easier this way.

He loved Rachel. He had used her. She would use him.

"Fine," she agreed, turning swiftly to find her horse. "But we ride until we reach Valentina."


a/n: hi guys, pls don't kill me I know this is like super short and not my best, but I wanted to get something out before the christmas craziness begins. didn't edit, obvi. next chap of entropy will probs be done in a few days.

anyway, merry christmas everyone! hope everyone's having a happy holiday season and staying safe.

dedicated to oof and valdezzzzz and plsyes543

love ya, c ya soon

ciao