note: this chapter contains recognizable phrases from Game of Thrones (tv show). i don't claim credit for it in any way, shape or form :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.

VI

"i love how"

ANNABETH

SHE laid awake for hours thereafter, unable to shake the images of a family she loved dearly blissful and happy once upon a time. But Annabeth managed to slip into the clutches of slumber once more, and when she awoke a few hours later, her desire to mourn properly was adequately quelled by her need to be a faceless conquest in the leviathan's pit.

The following day began without fanfare, but rather with the increasingly familiar Baroness's entrance. Again, the doors were thrown open without warning, and the prisoners curled around themselves in fear and anxiety. The pattern was beginning to rear its ugly head, and Annabeth had an inkling that Lady Drew chose not to have her presence announced, as was befitting a lady (by Northern standards at least), for the sole reason being the alarm her sudden entrances always drew. Like a black hole that astronomers theorized over, her entire existence seemed to be centered on feeding off the fears of others, dragging in all positives and crushing them to dust.

It made Annabeth wonder why she was that way.

The prisoners were given half-loaves of bread and cups of water for breakfast, a far cry from the dining room and pewter plates and boiled seaweed of the day before, but Annabeth found that she could not complain. Not really. Chained and nestled between Valeria and Piper, she nibbled on the hard bread to make it last as long as possible. The water was tinged green, freckled with algae.

No one drank.

She ignored the way Hazel's eyes always crawled to her before darting away, peering and staring and reaching into her soul, pulling out all her secrets by the thread.

After breakfast, while Valeria and Piper dove into a conversation regarding Southron topics that Annabeth couldn't even feign to understand despite the fact that she'd hidden in the south for years before coming to Triton's Hold, the escaped princess nudged Hazel and dropped her voice to a hush. She whispered, "What's the problem with you?" and whispered nothing more. Annabeth kept her attention focused on her chains.

Through her peripherals, she saw the younger girl give her a startled, unsettled glance, her golden eyes burning into the side of her face. Annabeth wasn't surprised at the reaction; she couldn't be. After all, it was only the day prior that she had outwardly admitted that she didn't consider her companions as her friends. However, there was something in the looks that Hazel had been tossing in her direction that urged her to uncover the reasons behind them.

The girl was silent for a moment. She looked away, subtly stared at the soldiers that lined the walls, and exhaled softly. The weight of the breath was calculated; Annabeth could tell. Hazel was suppressing a sigh, but her shoulders still drooped some and her fingertips had fallen to perch upon the shackles that dressed her ankle.

"If you don't wish to tell me, you don't have to," Annabeth whispered again. "I was just curious."

"No, no, Asteria, it's alright," Hazel murmured back. She turned to look at her again, this time her stare biting into the side of Annabeth's face that would've made her squirm had she not been raised around the members of House Greywind and Blacksoar, gryphons and eagles. "You just-" she paused, leaning forward to meet Annabeth's gaze. "It's your eyes."

The rhythm of Annabeth's heartbeat stuttered. "What-" she coughed to cover up her influx of apprehension. "What do you mean?" The princess of Eplonia turned to regard the dark-skinned girl, unable to feign disinterest any longer. "What about my eyes?"

Hazel stared at her, longer than what was comfortable for Annabeth to endure. The ichor of her pupils glowed like the rusting dawn, on the cusp of daybreak without any streaks of blue or red or pink—only oranges and golds. "They just…" she trailed off. Her coiled black hair glistened with natural oil, gleaming beneath the sunrays that filtered in through the narrow windows of Prisoner's Hall. "You remind me of someone I once knew." Her tone grew somber and she looked away once more.

"Who?" Annabeth found herself breathing the question before she could stop herself. Her mind raced alongside her pulse, both of which doing so to the tune of fear; fear tinged with suspicion and distrust. There were few who recognized Eplonian eyes, Northern eyes. It was why Luke had chosen to flee to Algren rather than the Gale or the Valley. The desertfolk of Algren were notorious for their strange collection of varying features, and her silver irises had blended in seamlessly. But silver eyes were still rare south of the Eplon Mt. Range. So rare that Annabeth hadn't seen any others during her period of wandering.

She knew she was being paranoid, but what were the chances that Hazel was speaking of an Algreni rather than a mountainer? And how long would it be until Annabeth's hair dye faded and she would no longer be able to hide her telltale locks?

Calm down, she told herself. Nothing has been set in stone. Schooling her expression and inhaling deeply, Annabeth waited for her acquaintance to respond.

Hazel didn't look at her this time. "It doesn't matter," she said lowly. She flicked her knuckles against the edge of her water cup. She trailed her fingers along the compressed oval of its rim. "She's gone now. Long gone."

Annabeth wanted to question her more, wanted to get to the bottom of it. But she didn't dare. She couldn't risk getting too close, couldn't risk appearing to be more interested in matters that didn't concern herself. She was Asteria, an orphaned daughter to two humble parents who worked in Burilese servantry. She was faceless, she was a prisoner, and nothing more.

As if in direct opposition to her thoughts, a voice scandalized by a wounded throat and left to be raspy in air called attention to Annabeth. "What are you two talking about?" It asked. No, it demanded. It made a lot of demands, it seemed.

Annabeth lifted her chin at the question, recognizing the tone of voice as Piper's. Their gazes met, held, and she found herself staring at the bruise that forced the Algreni girl's eye shut. Piper's lids had glossed over sometime in the night, her skin darkening to a shade of purple so deep it resembled the fat grapes that grew along the thick vines of Vynneyard. Annabeth's pulse quickened, her blood roaring in her veins and her temples. She thought back to the countless times she had sported wounds so similar to Piper's, the days on end she had spent hidden in the corners of hot, dusty alleys because both of her eyes had been punched shut.

Torn skin caked beneath her fingernails. Blood, so much blood that did not belong to her, crusted over her knuckles and draped across her wrists like forsaken bracelets. Necklaces of sweat and anguish. Fighting, fighting, fighting for her life-

-Hazel response in her stead forced her out of her thoughts. "Nothing important," she shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

Annabeth cut her a sideways glance, recognizing the untruth for what it was but not having the means or the right to address it. There was more to Hazel than she was clearly letting on. Annabeth made a mental note to keep an eye on her, if not for her own peace of mind and assurance that her secret was far from being discovered.

The small group of prisoners talked aimlessly for the next quarter hour, but Annabeth could not focus on the objects of attention at hand. In the back of Annabeth's mind, she heard the echoes of Jorah's voice as he tugged her through the halls. She felt the screams of her bruises as her feet were dragged harshly across the stones, the wind sifting through her hair when he had pulled her into the darkened room and ordered for her to duck.

She was so consumed in her thoughts, had submerged herself so deeply into wonderings of recent events, that she did not notice when the Baroness re-entered Prisoner's Hall. Annabeth did not notice the prognostic sound of sandals striking against stone as the soldiers shot to attention, stoic and portent as the rumors whispered. She did not notice when prisoners huddled amongst themselves in familiar clumps, ineffectively shielding themselves from the cruelty of Triesstine authority. It was only when Valeria reached over and gently pressed her head down until her chin touched her sternum that Annabeth realized that she had been caught unawares.

Her tongue sank into her lip and she steeled herself, feeling her spine harden to metal and her bones to ice. Always be aware of your surroundings, she had been taught in the fighting shacks. Always be aware, and you can never be in danger. Not truly, anyway. Straining her ears to listen for the bitter woman's voice, Annabeth swallowed down a scoff. Where were those teachings now?

"Remove their shackles." The Baroness spoke tersely into the silence.

All parties froze.

Annabeth eyes widened but she didn't dare look up. Through her peripherals, she saw Piper tense up, shoulders aligning and limbs locking tightly, and Hazel reached over to comfort her. The younger girl whispered something that Annabeth's ears couldn't grasp, but it appeared to have a miniscule effect on Piper.

There was a long stretch of reticence, threaded by the strains of tensity and apprehension, before the Baroness continued, voice chilled and sharp. "Do not make me repeat myself, Dathan," Lady Drew the Baroness said. "Remove their shackles. All of them."

The guards that provided a second boundary along the walls began to close in, encircling them all like starved vultures finding purchase in a meal left behind by chased-off predators. Annabeth forced her eyes shut when she felt calloused fingers trailing over her body, dragging across the planes of her arms and legs before dropping to the metal circlet that tethered her and nearly branded her as leviathan property.

The intonation of iron shackles and rusted chain lengths falling to the stones was music to her ears, a sweet melody that lifted the weight in her chest. Annabeth lowered her gaze to the bruises on her ankles, to the bruises that fermented in the soles of her feet. How long had she been chained? A month? She could not remember. The journey from the desert to the Further South had been a long one, and the days had blurred together like smudged ink on parchment. The Triesstine had been in no rush to transport their conquests. The pace had been slow. The hot sands of Algren had scorched her feet, and her meager sandals had long since fallen apart by the time they were shoved into prison carts like criminalized cattle.

Piper released an exhalation that was tainted with restiveness as the solider who was unchaining her began to fiddle with the ropes around her wrist. Although Annabeth could not see her face, she could guess that the girl was grimacing as the rough length dug into her skin again and again. The heir to House Karstagne swallowed thickly.

They found her first, she reminded herself. They found her first and they would've killed you otherwise.

Once the prisoners had all been freed, Lady Drew spoke again. "Guard the doors at your own discretion," she said offhandedly to a soldier. "If anyone runs, slay them where they stand." Silence drowned the room, broken only by the sound of the Triesstine salute and the soldier leaving to obey the command.

Lady Drew addressed the prisoners. "The First Councilwoman believes that it is in the best interest of Triesso and the House of Neptune that we integrate all Algreni hostages into our servantry, as was done when the Archadians, Eurissians, and the Vynnish were added to the growing Triesstine Empire. The High Lord agreed with her proposal, and as such, you can no longer be chained, nor will you longer reside here in Prisoner's Hall."

There was a pause before she continued. "Starting today, you will be given your posts and your rooms. You sand eaters have but Aegeon's Chosen to thank for this show of mercy. But make no mistake, if any slight is done against Triesso by your hand, you have my word in Aegeon's honor and Idylla's grace that retribution will be met at whatever cost is deemed fitting.

"You are to remain within the servant's quarters unless your post leads you elsewhere. Any disagreements will be handled privately, and if any of you have the mind to disgrace these halls with physical violence—"

Annabeth's stomach turned over and she glanced at Piper through the corner of her eye, already knowing what was to come next.

Lady Drew approached them, stopping in front of her target. Her hand came to rest on top of Piper's head. "Let this one be an example to you all. Was it not for Lady Vene's kind nature, she would be imprisoned with a bleeding back. You have been warned, and I will not repeat myself again."

There was a long silence as the Baroness finally moved away, and Piper exhaled heavily, her breath shaking. It was then that Annabeth wondered if her gumption was anything more than a farce.

"You have been chosen to serve the greatest nation in the realm—Aegeon's Kingdom Come—and as such, it is not in your best interest to take it lightly," Lady Drew pressed on as she returned to her usual station at the doors. Pride seeped into her words, every beating syllable that rhythmically fell from her lips positioned and propped up with the evident belief of Triesstine superiority.

Annabeth forced herself not to scowl. Barbarians, she wanted to scream. You are all nothing but civilized barbarians; hardly any better than the Thanysh of the Further North, forth-bringers of the Yza Tribesmen of the Iced South.

The Baroness was ignorant to the acerbity of Annabeth's thoughts. "Lift your heads, servants of Neptune, and embrace this second chance at life," she said. "What is dead may never die. You have been given a purpose. You will be assigned your posts, and you will fulfill them to your last breath, no matter the cost."

Ω

They were separated by age, similar to how it was done on the first day, and shoved into lines. Once again severed from the rest of her friends, Hazel had whispered to them a small goodbye as she was tugged towards the far end of the room. The youngest group of conquests had been given assignments first, the majority of them sentenced to the kitchens while the eldest of them were selected to become handmaids to members of the noble court. Hazel was one of those chosen few, told that she was to serve a woman named Lady Rovea of Kyseltis until otherwise.

Valeria and Piper were taken away next. As Lady Drew stalked between the lanes, she addressed the roll of parchment in her hands, scanning over the available posts. Piper had been assigned Lady Vene, an action that Annabeth assumed was a form of small revenge. The Baroness appeared to be bitter at the show of mercy that the Algreni girl had received, and shoving her off to serve the woman responsible seemed fitting. Valeria was told she was to serve in the kitchens as well, washing dishes and scrubbing kettles.

Finally, Annabeth and the rest of the older girls were the only ones left in the holding chamber. They were mostly told that they were to be aids—servants who cleaned the chambers and kept tidy the rooms of specific members of noble court. Despite the fact that the Baroness had given them permission to lift their heads, already she had grown accustomed to the need to press her chin into her chest. Already the Triesstine were leaving their mark on her, hardly two days following her arrival.

Poison, she surmised, remembering her father's words. They work like poison.

The chilling sound of Lady Drew's hum brought her back into the realm of focus. Annabeth stiffened when she caught notice of the black-haired woman coming to rest beside her. "I was wondering when I would finally catch sight of you," she said. "Tell me, Cold One, how was your night?"

Annabeth Karstagne, Little Silver, alone in the world. Daughter and sister and niece and cousin to corpses and ghosts.

She balanced her expression and her words as well as she could. "It was fine, milady," Annabeth said softly. She twisted her syllables, adopting a lowborn desert accent, and hoped for the best.

The Baroness laughed, a saccharine sound that curled like venom around her senses. "You are a well-tempered one, aren't you?" The way that she spoke those words elicited goosebumps to rise along Annabeth's skin. She said nothing, unable to bring herself to respond. Instead, she kept her eyes trained forward. Nevertheless, the noblewoman who stood beside her continued. "I believe, in the matters regarding the best interest of our nation, only the most well-tempered can handle the Heir Apparent."

No.

Annabeth's heart plunged to the depths of her gut and she stiffened, but still, she did not respond. Around her, she could feel the probing eyes of the other conquests. Curses swirled in her mind, anger rising within her, but she refused to allow it to become evident. Thanysh purge your beliefs, she wanted to spit.

"You are to be the Young Leviathan's aid," Lady Drew said, scratching off the assignment title on the parchment and scribbling something down on it. "The aid to his chambers. You will be responsible for cleaning up the messes he leaves in the wake of his fits of temper. You will see to it that his chambers are spotless at all times. Any assistance he requires of you is to be completed at the time of request. Is that understood?" Her dark eyes lifted to scorch the side of Annabeth's face.

No, Annabeth wanted to scream. No, don't do this to me. But she nodded without a second thought anyway, her senses numbed and chilled and detached. "Yes, milady. I understand."

The Baroness clicked her tongue and drew away, her deep blue robes billowing in her wake as she left an impassioned Eplonian behind her. Annabeth could feel the weight of pity that pressed against her skin, that fueled the fire in her chest. She grit her teeth, clenched her jaw, said nothing. But fear, fear and anger and apprehension and fear, churned in her gut. She was supposed to keep her head down, was supposed to linger in the shadows and be faceless in the sea of desertfolk. How was she to do that now? When she was to come face to face with the bane of her closely guarded confidence on the daily? The Heir Apparent—the Darksnake—was who she had wordlessly agreed with herself to stay away from.

Annabeth clenched her fists and shut her eyes. Now, more than ever, it was imperative that her secret would never be revealed. She could trust no one. She would trust no one. Not here, in the leviathan's pit, where sea snakes lingered in the dark corners and oppressive heat tore at her back. She was a mountain wolf, a wolf hidden in the Further South. She was not made for this environment, but she would have to endure. The Seat of Stone in the Torch—the throne of Eplonia—was currently being defiled by the Traitor, by the leader of the Orszag, by the monster responsible for the slaughter of her family. There would be a reckoning, brought by her hand and her hand alone.

Yes, her mind chanted with newfound assurance. A reckoning is coming.

She simply had to stay alive long enough to make sure of it.

After all the conquests had been given their assignments, the Baroness led them through the halls of the palace. "You must be given a tour of Triton's Hold," she said without so much as an inch of emotion. Bitterness was implied in her words, hinting that it wasn't her choice to pursue such an endeavor. "We cannot have you desertfolk wandering around aimlessly, sullying the halls with your presence. Be mindful of the directions I speak of today," she promised. "I will not repeat them."

Annabeth heeded the woman's words and was mindful of the directions she spoke of. She had no interest in drawing further attention to herself, not after the woman had deigned her a nickname and the Heir Apparent himself would come to acquaint himself with her face soon enough. One high-ruling official who recognized her was more than enough, two was a curse; three would be a death sentence.

Lady Drew led them down to the servant's quarters. She said that there were 40 rooms left available and nothing more, implying that they were to divide themselves on their own time—although mostly everyone knew the soldiers would gladly aid in separating them. The barbarians.

They were then shown the kitchens, servant's dining, and the bathhouses. On their way past, Annabeth made sure the count the turns that they took, made sure to take note of the directions. A right, then a left, and two more rights, followed by a last left to get to the servant's dining. The kitchens were at the end of that same hallway. The bathhouses were on the other side of the servant's wing, in the opposite direction of the kitchens, and adjacent to the furthest sleeproom.

She first saw him on their way towards the servant's exits to the palace gardens. It was a quick glance, truly, a fleeting one that wasn't thrown with any significance. Annabeth caught a glimpse of broad shoulders and a flash of long, black hair, and assumed it was the son of a nobleman or military officer escorting another lady. In all manners of honesty, she didn't care. No, she was more concerned with the directions that the Baroness was spouting off left and right.

It wasn't until she heard the hiss from behind her—"Is that him?"—that she dared sneak a second look.

Lady Drew turned left, forcing them to dwell in the same hallway as the man. Annabeth swallowed thickly, letting the rising whispers that clouded the air around her to affect her focus. She paid no mind to the Baroness's words, instead choosing to peer through her lashes at the pair making their way through the corridor. And then she caught sight of the furs and cloaks, of the splintered spears with jagged, crooked blades, and she knew.

Her blood chilled, and Annabeth couldn't draw her gaze away. Her eyes widened; the rhythm of her heart quickened. The Darksnake himself, the man she was doomed to aid for the rest of her foreseeable future, was less than ten lengths away.

The glow of the abalone walls complimented his brown skin, casting flickering shadows across the planes and edges of his rigid frame. The Darksnake had shed his fur-lined navy cloak and his pair of swords. In its stead, he donned the typical skin-baring Triesstine garb, swathed in black fabric that folded over his shoulder—a silver clasp holding it in place—and flowed to mid-thigh, not unlike how the soldiers wore it. His hair had been pulled away into a neat bun and the lower half of his face was still covered in Tribesmen fashion, all of which drew attention to the bright greens of his eyes.

On his arm was a beautiful woman, with gleaming black hair that fell to her hips, loose and free and unbraided in style. Her voice was melodic and familiar as she spoke to him, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. Every so often the Darksnake would aim a glance at her, and that seemed to embolden her to continue. They were flanked by a quartet of warriors from the Southern Tribes of Yza, all of whom still wore their cloaks and furs and carried their weapons with pride. With the chilling presence that they offered, their clothing was more than appropriate, it seemed.

Annabeth cast her eyes away then, tucking her chin into her chest when they passed. All the servants were silent. A shiver rolled down her spine when he drew near, and she swore that the air around him had dropped in temperature. Her heart leapt, reminding her of the cold, biting winds of the Mount and she swallowed.

He is your enemy, she told herself again and again even when he was long gone, the woman and warriors in tow. He is your enemy; never forget it. Karstagnes and Neptunes do not mix.

Ω

"I love how the sunlight just…hits this spot so perfectly!" Valeria squealed as she stretched out on her sleeping mat, her arms craned over her head and her back arched.

Annabeth stared at her for a moment, wondering how she had weaseled her way into their group so quickly, but said nothing. Piper was curled by Valeria's side, her head laid across the black-haired servant's stomach as her feet tucked themselves in Hazel's lap. Hazel leaned against the wall, her expression dazed as she was clearly lost in thought.

She herself found that she had succumbed to her own thoughts, still reeling from the events of the past several days—how quickly her surroundings had changed. In a peculiar show of good nature, Lady Drew had sent them off to the servant's rooms after the tour, explaining they had the entire day to rest. She had claimed that they would need to put their best efforts into their work the following day, but Annabeth wasn't so sure.

She had found Hazel waiting outside a room nearer to the kitchens. The young Algreni was guarding the door, keeping servants from entering. "This room is taken," Annabeth heard her explaining softly. "I'm sorry."

Her words had earned her more than enough curses and biting jabs, but they all stalked off to lay claim to their own rooms anyway. Annabeth had then approached her, and for a reason unknown, decided to make a play at humor.

"Are you going to send me away too?" The words brushed passed her lips, and the tone of her voice reminded her of the days when Aunt Natalie would tease her and Magnus on end. A lump then entered her throat, but she ignored it as best as she could.

Hazel had looked up at her, eyes wide and startled, before relief flooded into her expression. "Oh!" She grinned then, reaching for her hand. "Asteria! It's so good to see you."

Annabeth had given her a tiny smile and stood guard at the door alongside her. "Did you take a tour as well?"

She nodded, scanning the hallway assumedly for Piper and Valeria. "Yes, the soldier gave us directions to the kitchens, the washrooms, and then told us to come back here. I've been waiting ever since, but I didn't know if you or Valeria and Piper would even come back." Hazel's fingers squeezed around Annabeth's palm before dropping away.

It wasn't long until the two girls stumbled into view, arms linked as Valeria gently tugged Piper along. Hazel soon caught sight of them and waved slightly, gaining their attention. The four of them pushed into the room, chose their sleeping mats, and had curled up together ever since.

That was hours ago.

Annabeth turned to glance at the setting sun, feeling the urge to sleep settling in her bones, and laid down. Her thoughts travelled to her days in the fighting shacks, to her time spent on the mainland of Castrad—where she and Luke had first sought refuge—to their midnight sail across the Mountain's Kiss after their location was discovered. The tiny canoe wasn't supposed to have made it across those turbulent ice waters, but by the blessings of the Nine Mothers, it did anyway. She thought of her time in Algren, of the plans to travel to Vynneyard with Luke that never came to fruition.

She thought and she thought until the bleeding sky revealed the stars. They were ensconced in ribbons of murky blue, in streaks of grey. Annabeth stared at them, imagining that each one was a face of a family member, and she closed her eyes. The escaped princess felt the liquid grief slip from her lashes, slide past her nose, and in the best way she knew to relieve herself from the ache in her chest, she went to sleep.

Ω

Her heart thumped in her ears, the oscillations of the beats thrumming her pulse and heating her blood. Every nerve was set aflame with apprehension, and Annabeth could feel it pouring through her veins. Her lungs carried weight in her chest, as if they had clogged and turned to solid rock. The servant's entrance was dark and damp, a low-ceilinged chute that sprouted off from the corridors paved in abalone and ironstone. The sun had yet to rise, the sight of the predawn sky doing nothing to soothe her disconcertment. Her fist was raised, poised, but the ground swayed beneath her.

There was a shuffling noise from the other side of the door and her breath caught in her throat. A fleeting thought scattered across the forefront of her mind, and Annabeth wondered what penalty and punishment she would receive for failing to aid the Heir Apparent as she was told. Moisture coalesced on the heated surface of her palms and she swallowed thickly. Murmuring quiet prayers to the Third and Fifth Muses—Mother Idara of Hope and Mother Erdione of Mercy—Annabeth steeled herself as an owl of Athyns would, as a mountain wolf of the Torch would.

She raised her fist, pressed the meat of the side of her palm and littlest finger against the stone, and pounded out a triple-beat rhythm. Annabeth stepped away then, cradling her chin against her sternum, and hefted the basket she carried further up against her hip. It was made of dried reeds and insisted upon prickling the exposed skin that curved over her waistline and the bones of her hip.

Right when she began to wonder if she should dare knock again, the sound of stone dragging against stone halted her from moving any further. Annabeth stilled, and the door slowly swung open. She saw a dark, vaguely masculine form loom into view.

There was a long silence.

Annabeth didn't move a muscle. She waited for permission to enter, wanted to slide into the shadows, wanted to keep his gaze away from her. A cold wind brushed against her skin, an action that forced her to withhold her shiver from rolling through her body no matter the chill that crept up her spine.

Finally, the Darksnake spoke. "Don't knock again." His voice was gruff, words slurred with fatigue. His Triesstine accent was evident—a thick Southron cadence that reminded her of swords clashing and cries of war. "You don't have to," he continued after a slight pause. Then, without another word, the prince moved away from the servant's entry and vanished into his chambers.

Annabeth lifted her head to watch him walk away. She caught but a glimpse of a scarred back, muscles flexing beneath the brown skin, and a dense mass of wavy black hair that appeared to be more mussed from stress rather than sleep. Pausing, she hefted the reed basket higher against her hip and took a tentative step forward. The scent of saltwater and iron stung her nostrils as she journeyed further into the Darksnake's chambers. Heart pounding in her chest, veins throbbing with the inherent urge to run, she couldn't help but wonder that with every step she took, she drew nearer to the end of her life.

"Mother Totlena," she whispered to herself. "Guard my body. Mother Tharlene, guide my feet. Mother Zuhena, guide my hand. And Mother Khione," Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, the murmurs flowing through her lips until they became truth. "Guide me strong." But a small, rebellious part of her knew that it was too late. Annabeth had been waltzed into the heart of the den of her enemies.

Her time was already running out.

note: thanysh is pronounced like danish but with a "th"

i start college on monday (!?), so my updates might be a little slower in these upcoming weeks. i'll try my best to keep updating on saturdays, but don't be surprised if it takes me a week and a half to update (after ch 8). school is my priority right now, hopefully you guys will understand?

you don't have to worry for the next two weeks, as i have those chapters written up already, but after that updates might very well be slower.

ANYWAYS, next chapter: annabeth settles into her routine as percy's aid, an argument erupts between two of our group of conquests, and a high-profile woman meets our favorite princess. ty for reading!