A/N: Movies have forever ruined Vivaldi's Spring w their stupid high class meal scenes lmao. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, pls consider yourself lucky af).

Also, in case you didn't see, I edited last chapter later that day to add review responses at the bottom.

Disclaimer: All rights remain.

Percy

"Any preferences on where you want to be buried?" Thalia mocked, her grin splitting her face in two.

Percy rolled her eyes. Of course the street rat liked to trash talk. Believing himself to be more of a man than that (even though he was one of the most sarcastic, sassy people in the entire fucking universe), he kept his lips sealed. Well… for about two seconds.

"Creative," he drawled, thoroughly unimpressed.

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. Thalia twirled her spear in her hand. "No shields; barrier battle only."

Percy shrugged. "Fine by me. I don't even need barriers," he added, cockily.

"We'll see." Thalia's blue eyes sparkled in equal parts amusement and a sour attitude. Percy scoured the arena, quick on his feet. Outside of the walls, some people had gathered, presumably eager to watch him lose. He'd prove them wrong, and now that his pride was at stake, he was even more invested in winning. If they wanted a show, he would give them one.

Thalia swung first. And with that, the fight began. She was fast, faster than he'd expected, but at the last second, Percy slid to the side. He missed the large blow, but the tip of her spear managed to graze his forearm. A drop of blood fell to the ground, and the crowd— one that just seemed to grow steadily in size— roared in appreciation. An Amazon girl raised her shield in excitement and a Canadian boy laughed at the red on the ground. Let them see who would laugh at the end.

Percy fought defensively at first, allowing Thalia to work herself tired, to analyze how she fought. Thalia was very slashy, a very traditional Greek fighting technique in comparison to Reyna's stabbing technique, a more Roman approach. That was fine by him; he'd mastered Greek technique, often choosing it over Roman fighting just because it was smarter. Romans were built to fight as a large unit, not solo.

He countered her strikes, still not targeting her just yet. Thalia struck at his bottom half, trying to throw him off balance, but Percy smoothly jumped over the jab, causing someone to angrily scream some nonsense in the crowd.

"Are you done now?" he queried, raising an eyebrow, a lilt in his voice.

Thalia glared. He wasn't even out of breath; perhaps this would be easier than he thought.

"You are? Excellent," he answered his own question, and then he swung. The first blow hit her spear like a bus, a loud clang echoing in the arena. It rattled quietly. Then he slashed once more, and this time he struck gold. Or red.

Thalia gritted her teeth, a large gash tearing open across her stomach. Cutting a forearm meant nothing. An abdomen? The damage was much more powerful. She scraped her spear against him, cutting around his collarbone, and then he sliced her to ribbons, putting in maximum effort. The crowd was riled up, it was time to seal the deal.

He struck quick, nimble on his feet. He cut her stomach once more, making the existing wound deeper, and Thalia cried out in pain. He slashed at her leg, turning her into a limping mess. Then he slammed the flat of his sword into her shoulder, sure to leave a large, painful bruise, and knocking her off her balance. Thalia got in a few good strikes also, slamming the long end of the spear into his chest and effectively winding him. She crunched on his hand with her pointy boots when he reached out to steady himself, crushing the bones in his right hand. Lucky for him, he was close to ambidextrous, if not entirely. He switched his sword hand to his left, but even he had to admit that it had been an extremely tactful play on Thalia's part.

He deflected another blow, swinging when she was recovering, and a sickening crack came from Thalia's body. He winced, feeling her pain. That was probably a rib. There was some blood coming out of the corner of his mouth, and honestly he wasn't sure how much longer he would last with a swollen right hand. He had to end this, and quick.

Thalia went to slam his head into the rock behind him, but he rolled up on the ground, kicking her legs out from under her. The Lieutenant fell to the ground with a thud. Blood was roaring in his ears and the screaming of people was deafening. He clumsily swiped her spear off the ground, standing to his feet, albeit limping and slowly.

He pointed both his sword and her spear towards her chest and her neck, restraining himself from pinning her down at her torso with his boot. He knew he'd already cracked her ribs, no need to cause her more pain. He would not fight a person who was already beat.

"Do you surrender?" He panted, sweat coating his forehead in a thin layer of sheen.

"To you?" Thalia turned her head and spit. It came out red. "I'd rather die."

Percy's shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "Seriously?"

"Would you not do the same?" she inquired. Her gaze hardened.

"Of course I would," said Percy without hesitation. "We are taught pride before all else," he echoed Annabeth's sentiments in that courtroom.

"That's what I thought, little Prince. Now do as I say and finish me."

He paused. "I will not." And however stupid, he sheathed his sword, and threw her spear to the ground. "I will not finish one who is already defeated, no matter how egotistical they may be."

Thalia squinted at him. "Why do you have to be so…" She spread her hands, gesturing vaguely. Her ankle looked strange, sprawled at an odd angle. "...so Princely all the time? You don't have to be honorable. I gave you permission to kill me."

"I'm a man of values," he murmured, still sure of that statement despite all he'd been through. "You're a good fighter and you gave me one hell of a battle, but you deserve your life. You had many opportunities to kill me and yet, you did not. When I was caged up, when I first arrived…" he trailed off. "You're more honorable than I give you credit for," he admitted, reluctantly.

Thalia struggled to sit up, and she gritted her teeth. Those ribs were probably killing her. He didn't help her up, knowing full well that she'd probably bite his hand off.

"I suppose you're not as bad or as useless as I make you out to be," she conceded, though she still looked angry. Percy suspected she just had a resting bitch face, not unlike himself. "Don't get me wrong though, I still don't like you."

He raised his hands in surrender. "I would expect nothing less. So what do you say? Let's go to the infirmary? You beat me up pretty good, too."

Something in Thalia's expression shifted something so miniscule, but Percy caught it, and it was some semblance of understanding and acceptance that his pain momentarily disappeared. She sized him up with her eyes, and her face changed. It became something softer, someone who cared more than she let on. "Okay," she acquiesced, and people were still rioting outside of the arena, and throwing shit, and throwing fits, but Percy didn't really care about that.

"I need help walking. You fucked up my knee." He tried to scowl, but his eyes shimmered with amusement.

"You fucked up my bones," Thalia shot back, snorting. She smiled faintly even though her lip was busted real bad, and Percy found himself smiling in return. Thalia was really very pretty, even though she tried to hide it with dark scowls and rude commentary and bulky armor. She would make a good soldier, and in many ways, she did remind him of his own men. Something inside of Percy softened at the connection, and he extended his hand for her. As expected, she smacked it away and stood on her own, though she stumbled.

"You broke my fucking hand," Percy pointed out, holding up the purple, morphed limb. Thalia laughed.

"You ruined my abs," Thalia teased in return. He liked her when she was like this, and he imagined she felt the same about him. Perhaps she wasn't as bad as he'd thought. "Slicing them up enough that I bled through these clothes."

"You probably bruised my lungs with that whack, goddamn."

"You turned me into a limping pirate dumbass."

"You were a dumbass before me," he teased, though now it was good-natured.

Thalia shoved him, and he winced because she hit his bad shoulder. "Let's just say we're even."

"I totally won," Percy accused, but he grinned.

"Lies." She smirked. "Even or nothing."

"Fine." He shook his head, and his face hurt from smiling. "The healers are going to have a field day with us."

"I like to scare them by waking up in pools of blood occasionally," said Thalia, and he threw back his head and laughed.

"That's fucking hardcore."

"Don't I know it, little Prince."

"I'm taller than you," Percy pointed out.

"No one asked you."

"Maybe you're angry because your anger has to be confined in such a small space," Percy suggested, continuing with his theories.

"I'm going to poison you. You won't know when, but it'll happen," she threatened. He snorted.

"Poison apple this shit?"

"You'll make a pretty little Snow White," she promised. Percy rolled his eyes, smiling to himself.

"As long as you're not the one kissing me awake. I'd rather stay dead, thanks." He wrinkled his nose, and Thalia shoved his face away, though it was much more playful now, and thankfully unlike her usually painful versions of 'playful.'

"How much do you think the healers will scream if I pretend you're dead and then you come back from the dead?" he inquired.

Thalia shared a devious smile with him. That was another thing they shared, their stupid sense of humor. "I've heard one of the healers screams like a banshee."

"Which one?" Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Not sure. Guess we'll just have to try them all. Besides, I've heard resurrection is nice this time of year."

Thalia leaned against his side, and after sharing looks of pure mischief, she 'collapsed' into his arms as he walked into the infirmary, ready to cause pure chaos and raise hell.

Annabeth

"And to think, I made you."

A light flicked on beside the bed and Annabeth froze in horror. She had never liked looking at Medusa. She was a reminder of her son just as much as he was an echo of her. The blonde resisted the urge to shrink under her gaze.

"Excuse me?" Annabeth breathed.

Piper was frozen too, a dagger in her hand pointed towards the Queen. Hazel and Rachel were standing guard outside, keeping watch. They had knocked out the Queen's usual bodyguards, taking their place, now well disguised in Thasite armor.

"I made you," Medusa repeated. "Without my son's arm to lean on, you had no chance."

Annabeth's lips pressed tight together in quiet anger. "I was a Princess of my own right before him."

"Sure," Medusa agreed. She tilted her head to one side, a sharp glint in her eyes. She smiled, her pointy teeth becoming clearer. The Queen was draped in expensive silks, reminding Annabeth of all the wealth she'd left behind. It made her nauseous. "But I covered up your tracks, silly girl. Without me, you're nothing."

It was silent for a moment.

"Luke didn't walk early on when he was a child," Medusa began. Annabeth blinked, dimly aware that Piper was staring at her in confusion and unease.

"He didn't talk much, he didn't crawl as he was supposed to. He was already going to live in the shadows of Perseus, I could not allow him to be inferior."

Something inside of Annabeth twisted, not liking where this was going.

"So I talked to the castle healers, tried to find out how to make him work. No son of mine would be worthless. No one could help me, said he would figure it out eventually." She adjusted the silk around her waist. "So I found my way to the black market, found myself someone who could sell me a potion."

Fuck.

"I put it in his milk so he'd never know. And with it, he was able to do all. I could dig into his mind, and I found that all of a sudden, he could walk and run rather well." She grinned, and Annabeth's heart dropped.

She practically had mind-control over her son. Annabeth had always known healers were practically magical, but this was too much. She'd dug into her son's mind, when he was barely a year or two old, and forced him to walk, to talk, to be excellent. Luke… a twang of unwanted sympathy tugged at her heartstrings. Medusa had indeed twisted him into this monster, just like she'd suspected. He was probably traumatized and…

"And the potion still works," Medusa added.

Annabeth took a step back, Hazel's crossbow heavy in her arms. Suddenly, she understood.

"Who do you think covered up that dagger, the one you'd cut with yourself to free your Amazonian friends that night?"

That night… Annabeth jolted with realization. The night of the bomb, the night Bianca died, the night of the ball, the night she'd betrayed Percy, the night Reyna, Thalia, Hylla, and Zoe had been captured, only for Zoe to die, the night Percy tortured them beyond belief and she began to think she didn't know him anymore. She and Luke had helped them escape, feigning an attack, but foolishly leaving her fingerprints behind.

"You knew," she wheezed. It was a blow to the gut.

"I locked down the cameras, I made that blade disappear, I alone made some of the guards disappear as well. You became afraid, like the little girl you are, you ran to my son, and I saved you. Countless times."

Annabeth felt queasy, like she could throw up at any moment. Medusa paced slowly around the room and the Princess found her crossbow trembling in her hands. How confused poor Piper must've been.

"But why—" as soon as it left her mouth, she understood all it once. "Because you wanted it to happen," she found herself talking. "Because I had to trust Luke. Because I couldn't be caught yet by anyone else. Because later on, you needed me so you could kill Poseidon. Because you needed someone to frame. Because you needed Perseus to trust me so that I could lure him in. Because you told Luke exactly what to say, and what to do, and how to do it! Because you knew how to hurt me and you knew I would do anything for him and it landed me in his cage with the other Calbourne brother!" Annabeth's voice rose with each accusation, all of them sickeningly true.

She thought back to all the times she'd confessed to Luke, all those times they'd spoke of private matters, of Amazon business, of Perseus, of that time he'd kissed her. Medusa knew her better than Luke, even, she knew her better than anyone else in the world. And so she knew exactly how to make her feel like she was dying. She knew how to twist the knife. She knew all of her hopes, dreams, pain, and fears.

She thought back to the bomb a bit more.

"And you made Luke set up the bomb that killed so many at that ball." Medusa's victorious smile looked like the devil. Annabeth's fists curled into a tight ball. She'd cost Nico of his older sister, and so many more of their families. "You told Luke exactly who to pick to shoot for the Amazons." They had had to pick targets, and Luke had picked three so easily.

"Actually, no," Medusa cut in. "He picked those all by himself."

That only made it worse. Annabeth felt like she was burning, her head throbbing painfully. Luke had picked those people, not because they were threats to the Amazons like he'd claimed, but because they were his own enemies, people he'd needed to get rid of.

"Fuck!" she growled with reckless abandon. She dug the heels of her hands into the back of her eyes until she saw black spots dancing in the corners of her vision.

"You ruined him." She pointed the arrow to the Queen. "You turned him into a monster, a twisted, evil creature like you. He's a fucking psychopath now and it's all your fault!" she accused, thinking back to the few moments Luke had bled shreds of kindness and humanity. "And you don't even care that you broke him to pieces!"

Medusa's smile dropped, her face turning colder than usual.

"He hated you and you didn't even see it—"

This time, Medusa cut her off. "No. Unlike you, you naive traitor, our blood sticks with blood."

"You killed Poseidon," Annabeth interrupted.

"He's not our blood," Medusa clarified, and Annabeth felt a coil of dread in the pit of her stomach. "And besides, if you're so sure Luke is only a product of me, kill me and you'll see. You'll see you cannot change him back, you'll see he has bred into a monster of his own, you'll see that not everything is a result of my demands," she challenged.

Annabeth's faith wavered. "I will."

Medusa's lips curled up in a sneer. "Wonderful. Oh, and little Annie?"

The blonde grit her teeth at the wretched nickname.

"Without me to save you, they already know you're here." The Queen spread her arms, shrugging helplessly. As if on cue, alarms blared through the castle, and she could hear the sickening screeching of the gates closing. Piper dropped her dagger in panic. Heavy footsteps and fleets of guards stormed around the castle, the palace erupting in sheer chaos.

In the eye of the hurricane, there was always peace, if only for a moment. Annabeth stilled. Rachel crashed through the door, her eyes widening when she saw that Medusa was painfully awake, and not killed in her sleep like the original plan. A flash of cinnamon curls blurred just out of the door, what Annabeth could only assume was Hazel. She was mildly aware of Piper screaming at her to shoot.

Annabeth stared out the window, then glanced at the Queen. She didn't know what to believe anymore. She had been lying to herself, no doubt, under the false pretense that maybe there was something inside of Luke that had room to grow. It was thought that left her disgusted with herself, one that left her sitting in front of her window back at the base in mismatched socks until Jason found her, or sometimes even Percy.

Her expression hardened. She would murder her, the woman who had ruined her son, and murdered her husband, and traumatized a nation with her all-too-clever ideas. And then she would parade around with her for all to see, to see just how beautiful their Queen really was once she was gone. Let them see her traitorous face, white with death, and empty as she'd left Poseidon.

Vengeance had its scuffed army boots on and it was ready with its machete.

Annabeth gingerly slid the arrow into place, and lifted it up. Medusa arched a thinly plucked eyebrow, and hesitation manifested inside her. Before she could decide to shoot or not, a dagger flew past her ear, buried to the hilt in the Queen's chest. Annabeth's lips parted in surprise. She slowly looked at Piper. Bless that girl, seriously.

"We're running out of time, and I didn't know if you'd do it." Piper's lips were pressed in a grim line.

Rachel screamed, making Annabeth's head pound. Blood roared in her eyes, and blood pooled under the Queen. Piper's bravery inspired a spark inside of the blonde. Plucking another knife out of Piper's hand, Annabeth stabbed the already deceased woman for good measure. It felt like someone had entered her body and was murdering someone with collected calm. Piper pulled her back, her hands ice cold on Annabeth's forearms.

"She's dead, Annabeth, she's dead, I promise."

Dead women told no lies, but only if they were truly dead. Around here, no one was really dead. Sally Jackson was… well, living proof of that.

The dagger clattered to the ground. The sirens wailing around them only seemed to grow louder. Piper was saying something about guards and Hazel, and the familiar redhead that had once been in the doorway had dissipated to god knows where.

"Help me," Annabeth croaked out, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.

The corners of Piper's eyes crinkled. "What?"

"Help me move her."

Piper's eyes widened to saucers. "Why?" She looked terrified. Perhaps she wasn't used to dead people. Having been nearly crushed by a dead Pevanshire, Annabeth was growing disturbingly familiar to blood on her hands.

"She's dead. She won't strangle you," Annabeth snapped. "Now help me, Piper." She was pleading now, not quite sure what she was even asking for anymore.

Swallowing her disgust and irrational fear, Piper opened the door for Annabeth, the sirens nothing more than dull background music to the symphony in Annabeth's heart. The Ashington Princess curled her fingers into Medusa's strawberry blonde hair, not bothering to close the Queen's glassy eyes. Let them see her for what she was: a hideous monster.

And dragging the Queen by her head through the door, a trail of blood following her went as she moved, a crown around her wrist, and a bloodstained crossbow by her side, Annabeth strolled out of the bedroom.

Vengeance had found a way into her heart and she wasn't sure it was leaving anytime soon. She knelt to vengeance, worshipped revenge, praised its beauty, its grace.

They said that a man who desires revenge should dig two graves, but Annabeth had found that as much as a grave kept her locked in, it kept others out.

…

The image flickered over the screen. Of course the Calbournes would broadcast their cameras, trying effortlessly to prove that Amazons were a disgrace, disgusting killers. Little did they know she was counting on it.

Medusa's cold was on display for all to see. Annabeth hoped Luke would like her present.

…

Somewhere along the lines, Annabeth had realized the severity of her actions. And Piper's too, she supposed, seeing as the brunette was actually the one to kill the Queen. But now, outnumbered with her fear returning, much of her courage was disappearing. Plus, the Queen was heavy.

"Annabeth, hurry!" Piper screamed from the doors, as Hazel and Rachel ran out the doors. She was holding one open for the Ashington. A fleet of guards were storming down the hall and if she didn't hurry up, she was as good as dead. Paralyzed, Annabeth forced her feet to move, unsticking herself from this fear, and thudded across the cold marble as she followed Piper's lead. The brunette was right outside the gates, so close, and yet so far.

Some servant screamed in the background at the sight of the Queen. Annabeth wasn't planning of carrying her everywhere, especially since she was trying to escape, but if she could just drag her through the castle to send a message, that would be enough. It was already flashing across the screens of multiple countries; her work was already complete. Mission successful. She wondered if Malcolm thought she'd finally lost it for good.

Annabeth fled out the door, and as she stumbled out of the tall white doors, something inside her prickled with electricity. She turned back, just for a second, and her mouth fell open.

Blue eyes, the hue of ice.

He was furious, she could tell by the way his jaw was tensed, but he seemed emotionless as he always did. His icy blue eyes haunted her nights and her days and everything in between. He didn't say a word, knowing she was just barely out of his reach. This time. But his message was clear: when he finally got his hands on her, he would do worse to her than what she did to Medusa. Shivers ran down her spine and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His gaze dropped to Medusa's, and when his face didn't change, Annabeth's fear shot through the roof.

Luke was so much more dangerous than Medusa, she supposed she'd never given it much thought, but she really did fear her son much more than the Queen. The Queen was smarter, more careful, more manipulative, but Luke was a carbon copy and he had an iron grip on her heart, no matter what she liked to tell herself.

Images of him flashed before her eyes in a millisecond. His lips against hers, inviting and comforting, his promises of not letting her die, him joining the Amazons, the way his features had softened even when betraying her to join his mother at the very last moment. There was no way none of it was real. Medusa had encroached into his mind, had twisted his every move, had turned him into this monster, but there was a part of him who had cared for her, and she had loved him with every fiber of her being, no matter how short the duration of their time together. Medusa played with his mind, and now he played with hers.

Maybe once she had loved him, but now all she felt was hurt, and pity for him. He was alone, like her, and in some ways, she felt he understood her more than anyone else. If Percy's touch was fire, then his would be electricity, ten times stronger, and ten times more painful. Electricity could start a flame.

She locked eyes with him, chills dancing across her arms, and goosebumps popping up. Once again she was escaping his clutches, but to see him before she left, it was a hit to everything she'd ever known. She pinched her features downward, casting a dark shadow across her face.

She lifted Medusa higher, showing off her glory. With ease, the blonde snapped Medusa's crown and let the shattered pieces fall to the expensive blue, long carpet. She pulled the arrow out of Medusa's chest and let the Queen fall too, twirling the arrow in her hand. It would be her souvenir. Luke's eyes burned in a thinly concealed fury only she would see.

The corner of his lips lifted up, and as if in slow motion, she mustered all the strength inside of her. Annabeth turned and left him behind, letting the heavy gates rock the Earth behind her in the wake of her presence, leaving her ghosts behind and her heart, too.

Even once she was far, far away from Thasite, she could still feel his eyes on her, unwavering and piercing.

Even far, far away from Thasite, he owned her every thought, and she could hate it all she wanted, but Luke's grip was one of nature, something she couldn't ever change.

Ever far, far away from Thasite, he choked her, and a delusional side of her wanted to throw her arms around him and give in, but the sane side remembered that for every bit of the boy that she loved inside him, there was that psychopathic side who carved letters in corpses he'd killed, all for an obsession of a Boy King.

She wondered if he thought about her as much as she thought about him.

"Piper!" she gasped, spotting the brunette hidden skillfully in a nearby tree. And then she saw Rachel, perched carefully in the tree as well. Her lungs were on fire, desperately working overtime for oxygen. "The plane! Get the motherfucking plane!"

"Already ahead of you, A." Piper tipped her head, and almost as the perfect time, the plane rose in the sky, driven by none other than Hazel.

She ushered Piper into the plane and Rachel, too, refusing to board until her comrades were safe. She could see men on powerful stallions in the distance. Another few minutes and she would've been as good as dead. But luck was hard to come by, she knew, and she'd take anything she could get.

She slammed the exit closed after leaping on board, and Hazel took them away from enemy fire. Next time she saw him— and she would, she was positive— she would be ready. No more mind games, not from him, not from her. Playing games with Luke never ended well. Luke was a mastermind, and she was a chess piece if he wanted her to be. He'd silently promised her end at his hand, and like he'd said himself before, was he not a man of his word?

Annabeth collapsed on a seat in exhaustion and stared out the window. It would be a relief to return to the base, back to Reyna, and Percy, and the Queen, and Jason, more than anyone else.

Luke was a man of his word, but she'd learned her lesson, and well, when he'd stabbed her in the heart the first time. He may have won a few battles, but she would be damned to let him win the war. She would come back, and she would be stronger than ever. And that time she wouldn't leave until she left behind his corpse—or her own.

Drew

"You look lovely."

Drew turned to see Cecily. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, despite herself. "Thank you."

"Especially when you threaten his ass."

Drew froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

Cecily burst out laughing, much to her surprise.

"You saw that?" Drew asked carefully, caught off guard. She'd yelled at Octavian, and well, about half an hour ago. He was being an overbearing ass, as usual. Unfortunately for him, she didn't put up with that type of shit for very long.

"Twas a joy to behold," Cecily confirmed, teasing. She pushed her bracelet back on her skinny, pale wrist.

"Really?"

"Oh, please. Octavian's a complete idiot. And a douche," Cecily added.

"He's related to you," Drew pointed out.

"Don't remind me," Cecily muttered, smirking, and then Drew did the most unexpected thing. She laughed. Even Cecily seemed surprised, but Tanaka just couldn't help it. Here she was loathing that blond buffoon, but it turned out even his own cousin hated his guts.

"He's such a bloodthirsty pig," Drew agreed, and Cecily smiled shyly in return. Perhaps she was embarrassed to be caught bashing her own family. Blood before all and all that.

"Sucks that you have to get married to him."

Drew frowned. "Indeed. Let's just say I'm not looking forward to it."

…

Cecily smiled, the sort of lazy-cat smile that a girl who didn't care about anything wielded. She was very clever. It used to fool Drew (it didn't anymore). Drew hid a smile, trying her best, really, to pay attention as Octavian said some nonsense at the dinner table. Aphrodite was fully invested but Drew was more distracted than not.

Cecily touched Drew's forearm gently, and the Princess found herself shuddering reflexively at the sensation. When her mother touched her, it was to scare her into submission, to control her. This… was different. A sign of sympathy, or perhaps something else, Drew wasn't quite sure. This was uncharted territory for her, unlike anything she'd ever known before, but it was so exhilarating.

…

Drew's stomach churned. This was the story in which she was drunk beyond reason, and she wasn't drinking with her new betrothed, but a newfound friend, except Cecily wasn't even really a friend, and it was all too much. She couldn't think straight. And here, in the moonlight of the Raya's infamous, luxurious garden, Cecily's pale skin was translucent like a ghost slipping away, white like a bowl of milk, or the glowing moon in the sky. Cecily's gold eyeshadow was glittering dangerously, gold sparkles in her ginger eyelashes.

Maybe that's why she found herself attached, hip to hip, and purple lips against the red ones of Langen two minutes later, regret already digging its way into Drew's chest, but it was too late and she had committed.

Octavian was stupid and the Langens were bloodthirsty beasts, but at least one good thing had come out of this. Or bad, depending on how you looked at it. Drew was so dead if anyone ever found out, but her head was floating somewhere on cloud nine, and that was honestly the least of her worries at the moment.

"Help me with my dress?" It was more of an invitation rather than a question, but Drew obliged anyways, unfastening Cecily's corset with drunken difficulty, and easing the shimmery gold off Cecily's figure.

Surrounded by blooming flowers and vivid green leaves, bathed in the light of the moon, Cecily looked like a goddess.

"You're…" Drew trailed off, speechless, her mind unequivocally hazy. Cecily took her by the waist, and kissed her soundly.

"I'm yours," Cecily promised gently, because everyone in a royal world needed to be owned, needed to be controlled. It happened to the best of them. Drew blinked.

"No, you're your own person, Cecily," she refused.

Cecily snorted. "I'll never be my own."

"When I'm in power, when I'm Queen, when I'm bigger than I am right now, I'll make it so." Drew's voice wavered.

"That's a reckless promise," the Langen Duchess pointed out.

"It's what I'm best at."

Nico

He'd known, deep down, that it would come, but he didn't expect it to come so soon.

Regret was one hell of a depressant.

And then he regretted his regret too, which was just so confusing, every time he passed Will Solace, and his face fell, and Nico felt like a bulldozer plowing right over a sunflower. But then Persephone found another girl for him to meet, and she was nice, and she smelled like lavender, but Nico hadn't really realized he preferred sunshine, mint, and lemon until his legs had been tangled with the tan legs of a healer.

Cigarettes didn't smell like either, so he liked those the most.

He didn't struggle with the sin as much as the responsibility. He had never been a firm believer in faith, and it wasn't that anyone was particularly religious. It was frowned upon as a sin in their culture, not because some asshole in the sky wouldn't accept them. Royals had ditched religion centuries ago, but it was the societal pressure that really got to him.

Bianca would've been ashamed of him. He bit the inside of his cheek, drowning in self-loathing. Cupping the flame on the tip of the cigar, he protected the fire from the biting wind, and then lifted it to his lips for the fourth time that day.

…

"Are you sick?" Persephone inquired, looking at her son suspiciously.

He scowled. Sick of this bullshit, maybe. "No," said Nico instead.

Persephone felt his forehead and he felt like he was five years old again. He roughly pulled away. "I'm not sick, mother."

"You look pale," she commented, her dark eyebrows scrunched together. She looked like Bianca when she did that. Nico wondered if she knew.

"I am pale," Nico pointed out, rolling his eyes.

She sniffed. "No need to get snippy, young man." She tilted her head and inspected him some more. Nico let out a sigh of exasperation. "What was wrong with the last one?"

"Nothing." Nico ran his hands through his hair, anxious.

"So why aren't you picking her to be your Queen?"

Nico half-heartedly shrugged.

Persephone pursed her lips, glaring at her son. "Stop sulking, Nico. Own your title." He stood a bit taller, trying to please her. "You have to choose soon. You only have two more years until you're crowned, so no more of this nonsense, you understand? I want one chosen by the end of the year."

"Mother!" he snapped. "Why can't you just let it go?"

"It looks shameful!" she countered. "You have so many choices, and you're breaking so many hearts," she reasoned. He snorted.

"As if they want anything more than the title."

"Nico!" she chastised.

"Oh, and the money," he added.

Persephone shot him a look of disgust as she momentarily set down her coffee cup. "You're impossible. Go to your bed; I'll call for a healer."

"A healer? For god's sake, woman, I told you: I'm fine," he stressed.

Persephone waved her hand in front of him. "I don't want to hear it. Out. Now."

His blood boiling, he stalked up to his chambers, angry with himself for feeling this way, angry with his mother for being so good, yet ignorant, angry with his father for being busy fighting these wars, angry with Bianca for being dead and unhelpful, angry with Perseus for starting all this bullshit with his existence, and finally, angry with Will for proving what he'd always hoped would never be true.

Muttering curses under his breath, he defiantly sat on top of his bed. She'd said go to bed, not get in it.

…

The door creaked open behind him.

"I'm not fucking sick, so you can leave." Nico stared at the droplets of rain racing down his windowsill. Silently, he rooted for the small one on the right. It got caught in a bigger raindrop and reached the bottom first.

"Well, she's not wrong that you don't look so great, though I suspect that's more from the fact that you took a lot of coffee today, and the majority of those concoctions were whiskey, not freaking coffee."

Okay, but if the gods were real, they certainly hated him. Nico turned around and peered at the wonder body. Fuck his life.

"Will," he said tersely. Saying his name now when he'd only said his name a few nights back took something from him.

"Sir."

Nico's face darkened. He supposed he deserved to go back to formalities, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"How I take my coffee is really none of your business," he bit out, bitter like the whiskey.

"It is if I have to babysit you, per the Queen's orders because of it," Will shot back, his voice even. It was so devoid of emotion that Nico's heart ached.

"She's delusional. You can go," Nico assured him.

"She asked for me to take your temperature since she suspects a fever."

"Make one up."

"I will not," Will flared, but it wasn't truly angry. Nico's chest was getting that tragic concaving feeling again.

"Fine!" Nico conceded, slamming his drawer shut extra angrily. It was irrational, but he couldn't resist the urge to make some noise. Let his inanimate objects be as angry as he was. "Get on with it then."

Will stiffened. "Whatever you say, Crown Prince."

Nico cringed at the reminder. He tried not to flinch in close proximity of the healer.

When Will's delicate fingers plucked the thermometer out of his white coat, he could remember the same lithe fingers curling in his hair; when Will's blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he read the temperature, he could remember the older boy's eyes rolling into the back of his head, fluttering shut with long, blond eyelashes in complete bliss; when Will's lips pressed tightly together in a thin, stern line, he could only remember the enticing soft gasps between smothering, stolen kisses and wildly abandoned murmurings of a seemingly-mad man in the middle of the night, his breath tickling Nico's ears and stirring the baby hairs around his face.

"No fever," Will declared, interrupting the Pevanshore's reverie as he dropped the disposable thermometer into a nearby trash can.

"Wonderful." It sounded more sarcastic than Nico had intended. "You can tell my mother she's crazy and let me sulk in silence then."

Will stared at him. "I'm not telling the Queen she's off her rocker."

"Shame. I'll write a note, then," said Nico.

"Because you're such a big fan of those," Will agreed, rolling his eyes this time.

Nico froze. It was a punch to the gut. He had slipped out of bed in the middle of the night and not returned, only to come back and find his bed empty in the afternoon. No note, no nothing.

He supposed they couldn't dance around the subject any longer.

"You knew it had to be this way," Nico whispered, shaking his head.

"Yes, but you could've told me yourself," Will challenged. "You're a coward. I would've done my best to understand, but you didn't give me a chance."

Nico's heart pounded, making his head pound equally. "It's wrong" he argued, albeit weakly. "Persephone would castrate me. The kingdom would never love a King with a blackened name."

Will shook his head, his short burst of anger seemingly dying down. He was just… disappointed, only Nico found that much, much worse. "I'm not your whore, Nico. I'm not your glass of whiskey to down when you're feeling sick, I'm not your cigar to nurse late at night, and I'm not a preacher to tell you what's right and what's wrong. I won't tell you how to feel or what to do. All I'm going to say is that people are hateful. It's just what they do. They get high off the pain of others and they're intoxicated with jealousy."

Nico sucked in a sharp breath. "I never said you were a whore," he whispered, feeling very small. Did Will really feel that way? Used? Abandoned? He hated himself all the more.

"Homosexuality isn't a curse, Nico. And heartbreak? It heals with time." Will's voice was gentle, as always, but that only enraged him, and all those questions he'd been bottling up bubbled to the surface, like word vomit.

"Why do you care so much? Why do you look out for me? Why don't you treat me like an outcast? Why don't you shrink away from my touch, and speed walk past me, and whisper behind my back that there's something weird about me or that I'm going to die young like everyone else?" he demanded. "I'm not even nice to you!" Nico's face was flushed now.

Will opened his mouth to answer, but Nico couldn't seem to stop himself from going on.

"What is it? Do you pity me? Are you like them, with their sympathetic sad smiles that I don't ask for, and their pats on the shoulders that I don't want?"

Will's lips parted in surprise.

"Are you still trying to fucking fix me? Because let's face it, Solace, I'm just a pathetic little kid with family issues," he rasped, smiling humorlessly.

Will was horrified, and maybe it was because he was never sober anymore, but Nico couldn't even find the strength to be mortified by his careless words.

"And now that I've got a dead sister, everybody wants to comfort me even if I'm an asshole to them. So sure, let's just turn this into a Shakespearean tragedy. Because now I fall for fucking healers instead of girls."

The blond's eyes widened at Nico's harsh tone and brutal honesty. Will reeled back, staggering slightly as if he'd hit him and Nico knew he'd crossed the line a long time back, but there was no way, nor incentive, to take back the awful things he'd said.

"Oh, Nico," he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry I made you feel worthless," the younger Italian boy admitted, his throat constricted and uncomfortable. Will blinked. "I'm sorry I avoided you and didn't tell you why, and left you in the dark."

"It's okay, I—"

"And I'm sorry I kissed you," Nico breathed. His hand was trembling on its own accord and it didn't seem to be able to stop."

"Nico, no…" Will trailed off, his voice thick with emotions.

"I'm sorry I kissed you because I don't think anyone else will ever taste like you do, or talk like you do, or tease me like you do, or smile like you do, or tell stories, or heal, or listen." The word vomit was an endless string of regret.

How could he stay angry at a ray of sunshine? It didn't matter what he said; Will never seemed to get too mad, and as frustrating as it was, it was also simultaneously relieving. He'd wanted to hurt him so badly. If he hurt Will, he couldn't hurt him in return, and he couldn't like him anymore, and everyone would feel so much better.

"I don't want to die." It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Will's eyes were rimmed red, and Nico couldn't shake the feeling that he was the cause of all of Will's sadness. Please don't cry, not for me. "I don't want to die, but I wish waking up every morning didn't feel like a giant fuck-you from the universe every single time. And those who die aren't better than those who stay alive. They just have the luxury of not fucking up any more shit."

Will was definitely upset now. Call it overly-sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

Nico shook his head. Don't be. Will kept crying.

"Shit, boy. Look at me. Do they have me right now? Have my parents found out and executed me, disowned me? Has my entire country turned against me and banished me? Are you tying me up and hitting me? Did you trap me?"

"I…" He shook his head.

"And do I look free?"

Will hesitated.

Nico threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "I am. I'm only locked up when I want to be."

Will sniffled again.

"Do you hear me?" Nico shook him, momentarily jolting when he first touched Will. He'd forgotten how soothing his touch was. "I'm fine if I want to be."

"It's not up to you how you feel," Will whispered to him. "It's not something you can change; it's something you're born with. So you'll never really be free."

Nico shook his head again. "That's up to me to decide. You don't have to worry about that shit."

"But," Will continued, "you don't get to decide if they hate you, which we both know they will. You don't get to decide how your parents will react, you don't get to decide your future, and all because of a part of you."

It pricked at his heart. It was true in every sense, but Will did not need to worry his pretty little head about him. If he died, he died. And if he lived, he'd lived as he pleased.

"We'll see," Nico decided instead.

He was dimly aware of Will pushing the cup of 'coffee' out of his hand. Maybe he had drank too much of it. Will eased him gently into bed, helping him take off his shoes and socks. Will helped him slip off his uncomfortable uniform, too.

"You should get some rest. You're flushed and you look like you're burning up," Will murmured, sticking a thermometer in his mouth. Nico's eyelids felt heavy, and his bones felt so weighed down. The healer's face was still blotchy.

"No, I'm fine," Nico argued weakly, sinking into the cushions. Will pursed his lips at the temperature once he took the thermometer back.

"No, Nico. Let me take care of you."

"But I hurt you," the Prince opposed, rasping quietly and sort of delusionally. "I still hurt you now. My mind hasn't changed," he reminded the healer.

"Shh— I know," Will assured him. His voice was going fuzzy in Nico's ears. "You're tired, and easily irritable from exhaustion," Will babbled. Nico tried to listen, he really did, but his concentration was cutting out.

"But I forgive you," was the last thing the Pevanshire heard before conking out entirely, a fluttering impression of a kiss on his forehead left behind, leaving Nico to wonder if he was just dreaming of heaven, or if Will had really kissed him.

Despite himself, Nico really hoped it was the latter as he drifted off for the first time in fucking days.

Unnamed

"She killed Queen Medusa?" he hissed into the phone.

"She did. She's a wild card, sir."

He tapped his finger uneasily against the side of the cabinet. "And she's all the more dangerous because of it, because she has no filter, because she's suspicious of the monsters she sees."

"Yes, sir."

"And the Prince?"

"No information on him, sir. He's sought refuge with the Amazons and they're a very tight-knit society. What happens in the base stays in the base."

"I see," he drawled, mildly irritated.

"What will we do, sir?"

His lips curled up as a plan formed in his brain. Yes… it would be perfect. Of course, it would require some thinking. "I think I know how to please everyone," he decided.

"Yes, sir?"

"Except her, of course." He laughed coolly at his own joke. "But she's got a big mouth and it's better this way," he assured himself, smirking. He loved it when things went his way. "I don't need her spilling the family business. Speaking of, what test are you on right now?"

"112."

"Still failing?" he queried.

"They keep going rogue, sir. But at least they've stopped dying. Such a waste of resources."

"Indeed," he agreed. "And how many in the hospital?"

"About sixty, sir. Business is booming, and secrets are still secrets."

"Excellent." He paused. "And Julius? I'd like to settle this now."

"Yes, sir, right away. What can I do for you?"

"Get me the Queen on the phone. We have some… business to discuss."

A/N: Trolls are interesting specimens. I'm touched that some of you jumped to my defense immediately, but really, you don't have to do that lol. I've always openly invited criticism and the fact that I'm getting my first hate means I'm just reaching more people w my story. XP Still, thank you to Reader who called them out on their BS. You didn't have to, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

Besides, what the Guest doesn't know is that I have a list of dumbass chapter titles for all my chapters that I made a long time before I even released the first chapter of this story. I'm a fucking professional at wasting time XD Love y'all.

I'm laughing because like, Chocolate fucking nailed my plot, and I had to deny it back then too. Voila, Drew's bisexual! I remember when Chocolate predicted that idea, I screenshotted it and sent it to my friend like "damn they guessed already." XD Y'all should've known I can't just have one gay ship. And besides, I've always felt like canon Drew was very bi. She's just a temptress, regardless of gender, imho. Unfortunately, like Nico, it looks like she's going to be in a sticky situation.

Until next time~

Fangirl xx

AnnabethChase-Wisdom's Daughter: Thank you so much! That was probably one of the scenes I was most disappointed in because I couldn't get it to match the painting in my head, so to hear that you thought it was impactful is wonderful.

Butterflies765: I always get unreasonably excited over other FF fanfics and knowing that other people feel that way towards my crappy writing is flattering lol. Ofc; I love it when authors reply to me so I want to do the same for others. Solangelo is freaking too cute for my life (so obviously I'm going to torture them.) Yes, more Drew! I can't fucking wait for her arc, and I managed to include her in this chapter. Well, I have a sister, and we don't normally hold knives to each other's throats, but I do hope to portray realistic sibling relationships in this story. In the media I feel like the only love we see is romantic, but imho, sibling love is one of the best of them all. Oh, and sibling hate. Love and hate always go hand in hand~

Reader: Aww *blushies* Thank you lol. Their sibling relationship is honestly goals. I lowkey can't wait for them to be in an awk situation where they've gotta fight or something. Yes! Piper for the supporting bff role. Jason's her real bff, but Piper's shooting up in ranks, and they're going to bond hardcore. YES. I totally wanted to make them fight BECAUSE of the Titan's Curse scene. That ish was so intense and good, and I really needed them to love-hate each other in this story too, or I wouldn't be doing their dynamic justice. Lmao, yes, they def needed to give in. Too bad Nico's a guilty little guy now. Thanks for reading! (And defending my name, like I said in my A/N XP)

Ethan Flanagan: t's set in a dystopian version of the early 1800s. It's a version where technology and everything is very advanced, but social standards are still the same, which is why they all wear corsets, and women are frowned upon (though that's still true today, but that's the real tea lol) and stuff.

Guest: I actually have a list of titles ahead of time, but you do you, hunny XP

FluffyEeyore24: I hope it's a fedora, and thank you!