A/N: I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I wrote this entire chapter while blasting old pop music. I mean, how fucked up is it that I'm over here plotting people's deaths while Selena Gomez's Naturally plays in the background? I think I've reached peak sociopathic tendencies XD It comes naturally, indeed.

ALSO, I'M SORRY FOR TAKING FOREVER TO UPLOAD. I've been so stressed and busy that I can't even begin to explain. I just took a huge exam yesterday for a competition though, so let's all pray that I did well, mkay? Unfortunately, that means this chapter is pretty short. I wanted to get a Malcolm POV in, or at least Piper (because of Jason's demise, I figured it was time we checked in with her), but I just really want to update, regardless of length. Please don't be mad. I'd hoped there was enough action towards the end to drive the plot forward and keep y'all tided over till next time, but what do I know? :P

In other news, Thanksgiving passed. Um… I'm thankful for my laptop, I guess? And Black Friday? Food? The presidential elections are coming soon? Books? Idk man. (The correct answer is family, Fangirl, you absolute wet sock, you wobbly table, you foolish easy bake oven.)

Disclaimer: All rights remain. Also, I do not condone the use of easy bake oven as either an insult or an actual oven. Roasts should be figurative only, please and thank you.

Drew

"Octavian!" she exclaimed, failing to hide her surprise. Drew cursed under her breath. Stupid, creepy boy, always sneaking up on her.

"So surprised." He raised an eyebrow. "Who were you expecting?"

"No one." She drew away from her vanity, discreetly shoving something back in the drawer.

He glanced at her vanity. "A vanity is for the vain."

Drew rolled her eyes. "Or for those who wish to see their faces instead of sloppily applying lipstick like a clown."

He blinked.

"May I help you?" she tried again, exasperated.

It wasn't as if she'd been applying makeup anyways—Rayas used vanities to conceal secrets, not flaws. Cecily's letter felt like it had burned her hand before being stuffed into that drawer.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might help you."

"Me?" She warily glanced at him. "I don't need any help," she added stiffly, and stood up.

"You might, if you let me explain."

"Go on," she reluctantly muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. She couldn't have possibly prepared herself for what came next.

"I know about you and Cecily."

Drew's mouth went dry. How? "Excuse me?" It was but a foolish mistake to confirm a statement without understanding the full meaning of it.

"And not as friends, though you both certainly put on a show. I know you spend your nights with her, and I know your mother grieves your father, and I also know that when we marry, my cousin goes back to Kreoca to marry another."

Drew's anger simmered. How dare he make accusations of her, however true, how dare he encroach onto their secret haven, protected and apart from all the chaos of their lives, how dare he come into her room and tell her a situation of her own she knew all too well?

"Are you spying on me?" she demanded.

Sensing her fury, Octavian took a step back. "Of course not, Ms. Tanaka. I'm merely stating some observations that anyone who isn't blind will have noticed. Making a deduction afterwards was only sp simple. You aren't exactly subtle at the dinner table, and you both go for an awful lot of walks."

"What's your point?" Drew snapped, fed up with his mind games. "Why bring this up now? To twist the knife? To rub salt in a wound? To show me that your presence controls mine, even in my own castle?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you seek? If you seek power, I have none of my own to lend you," she added bitterly.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. You have the power of brain, Ms. Tanaka. Kingdoms turned to the Ashingtons for strategy, but they should've looked to you instead, for you have quietly created your own power."

Drew scoffed. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Explain your angle or leave. I have no time to waste on your amateur tactics."

"I bring this up," he began delicately, "because I have an offer to make you. You're a smart girl, and you know every royal seeks power. Help me help you."

"I don't make deals with the devil," she snarled.

"You do if I tell your entire family what you've been up to." Octavian's eyes glittered.

"Your blackmail won't work for you, idiot."

Octavian froze, and Drew relished the feeling of being one of the rare people to call him an 'idiot' to his face. The satisfaction was unbelievable.

"In your effort to twist my arm, you pin your cousin too. Come after me, and you stain the Langen name as well. Cecily falls to pieces with me, Sir. It's a double-edged sword." Drew's heart was eerily calm.

"I don't care for Cecily's reputation. Yes, it affects all Langens, but I can always rise alone."

Drew gritted her teeth, disgusted by the child standing in front of her.

"If I get what I want, I help those who helped me to the top. I'll free you to Canada, or wherever else you'd like, alongside Cecily. You can be free together," he promised.

"Tempting, but why should I trust you? You're possessive, creepy, and an all-around prick," she hissed. "How do I know you're not full of empty promises if, up until this point, you've been full of nothing but bullshit?" Drew smiled sweetly, pleased to see his armor crack.

Octavian's cool demeanor faltered for a moment. "You'll just have to trust my word. Besides, what I ask for is not particularly demanding. I'm not asking to be King, I will not marry you because I'll call off the engagement, or I'll keep it there just so Cecily has a reason to stay, and all I want is one person, one trading chip. And with the bargaining chip, I can get you whatever you want."

Drew knew deep down exactly who he was asking for. "Let me guess? You want blondey?" She put on hand on her hip and shifted her weight against the dresser.

Octavian's ice cold hands slithered behind his back into a tight grip. He grinned. "You know me so well."

"I wish I didn't," she snarkily replied.

"Don't be that way," Octavian crooned, delighted to see her considering his offer.

Trade the Princess? Who knows what Octavian would do with her? But she was indeed a bargaining chip, good against Luke, good against Malcolm and Athena, good against the Pevanshires. She was everyone's favorite, reckless, charming sweetheart, and she'd charmed her way to the top with that sharp tongue, but that didn't mean Drew had a personal vendetta against her.

"What'll you do with her?" Drew inquired.

Octavian sneered. "Does it matter? My family teamed up with Rayas for a reason, my dear. You, like me, like my family, know everything has a price. You know that at the end of the day, alliances are only strong enough to get you far, not all the way. You know that anyone can betray anyone, and you know that in this world, you must always look out for yourself first. And yet, you have put your faith in me and my offer. You and I already know what decision you're going to make too, so why bother contemplating?"

"She'll murder you," Drew bit out. "I can't help you anyways. I don't know where she is or what she's doing."

"Yes, but I know you can find out. You're like a magnet, my dear—all knowledge comes to you if you want it to. You attract secrets at whim and you hear every whisper. It's a talent; use it."

Drew hesitated. "What do I have to find out?"

"If I know the Ashingtons, I know Annabeth will be planning to attack my hospital soon."

She drew back in surprise. "Why would you tell me that?" His hospital—he'd admitted it so openly now. Sure, she still didn't know why he did what he did, but she had a fairly good idea of the sick torture that went on in there. Twisted bastard.

"Because I know you," he breathed, excited. "And if I'm right, you already knew it was mine, though few do."

Drew felt like her mind had been ripped open and displayed for all to see. Of course she'd known. He'd said it himself—she was the queen of secrets, like a detective, only much more calculated, more manipulative.

"Do you deny it?" he asked.

"I do not," she acquiesced. She could only linger on something she'd found out a few days. "You know she'll come," Drew began, "because you killed that bodyguard of hers." She maintained a perfect poker face, a spitting image of poise and grace.

"Another thing you've discovered! You're only proving my point," Octavian exclaimed. "But precisely. I know she'll attack to avenge her friend, but I don't know when. I'm not worried about my prisoners. Most of them won't remember anything; the torture is so effective." He smirked. "But I want her for my own, and I can't capture her if I don't know when she's arriving. Find out when, and I'll uphold my part of our deal."

Drew's palms began to perspire. Could she throw away the ex-Princess to the dogs that easily? Drew squeezed her eyes shut, praying she was making the right choice, and then locked eye contact with the pale man in front of her.

Cecily's ginger haired burned like flames in her mind. To be selfish was to survive, and she hadn't made it this far off pure luck.

"I'll agree on one condition," she cautioned.

Octavian straightened his spine. "Yes?"

She jerked him forward by the collar, surprising even herself with her own strength. Octavian's pale eyes widened in shock and perhaps something resembling fear. She was not as merciful as him, and like her mother, Drew never forgot anything.

He tried to shove her off, but her fist was like iron. She could snap his neck if she wanted to, but she didn't.

"If you even think about going back on our deal in the end, I promise you, you'll be praying for the fate you plan for Annabeth Chase."

…

"Excuse me if I'm speaking out of turn, but—"

"You are," she assured the reporter. The lights flashing in her face were obnoxious and white lights had never been rather flattering for her skin tone. Her mouth pulled into a tight frown.

The man tilted his head to one side. "My Lady, I haven't even said anything ye—"

"Irrelevant. You reporters always speak out of turn," she dismissed his attempt to explain himself. It would be nothing more than a waste of time. "Continue," she permitted, her eyes glittering. She relished his expression of astonishment. The reporters clamored among themselves, fighting to get more questions out and catch the attention of the Princess, but her attention was reserved for the big-mouth in front of her.

Stunned, he carried on. "You seem unchanging to your father's passing," he revealed.

"Is that all? That's hardly a question."

He blinked. "Careful, Miss. People may get the wrong idea," he warned, but she swiftly waved her hand, ignoring him altogether.

"Then people should really base their information off facts, not children's rumors, shouldn't they?" she posed. The corner of her mouth twitched up.

"Forgive me for asking, but why so indifferent?"

"People die," Drew said, and she didn't move, only stared the person down. She was sure she was making the crowd uncomfortable, but she didn't dare stop. It was about time she established her place on her throne.

He quivered at her icy silence, eager for her to continue and ease the tension.

"People have always died, and they will always continue to die, but this life is for the living, not for the dead. It does not do one well to dwell on past remorse and forget to live, or we are eternally damned to be as alive as the ghosts we miss."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the peace shattered into pure chaos. "Ms. Tanaka!" a brunette in the back shouted.

"Your Highness! Do you care to expand on such wisdom?" This reporter had scrappy black hair and large glasses. Eventually the overlapping voices were too much for her to even pick out who'd said what, fading into a mere blur of voices and lights.

"Does this mean you don't care about your younger sister either?"

"Yes, what of Piper?!"

"Miss, over here! How would you describe your relationship with your mother?"

"Is she grieving?"

"Why is the Queen hiding in her castle?"

Drew's features pinched downwards. "That will be all for now, thank you."

The reporters scrambled to get a few more inquiries in, but she ignored them all, not bothering to offer even a pitiful smile and stepping down from the podium before disappearing behind the velvet balcony curtains.

Nico

In all fairness, it wasn't like Nico had been particularly invested in the Amazonian activities. He was here to sit by Annabeth's side as she spoke some nonsense and watch the news almost religiously, like he was afraid something bad was going to happen, which he was only too sure would.

So when he heard that they were going on a quest to the hospital, he decided to sit that one out. The life of a hero wasn't one for him: "I'm not a hero. A hero is foolish enough to pick a side," he'd spat in Reyna's face only two weeks before. "Now let me be."

Will kept him company sometimes, but it seemed like the healer had found a home here, one he had never had at the castle. In sharp contrast to the Pevanshire's homesickness, Will Solace had became one with the Canadians and Amazons. Even the Amazons, many of whom despised men, had taken a liking to the blond.

He told stories to the children before bedtime with Hazel, a girl who embodied a calm constant even Nico found pleasant, he fished in the daytime even though he was really quite terrible at it, making the Amazons laugh and adopt him like a younger brother, he enjoyed collecting herbs and plants with the Canadians, an expert in all things botanical, and he spent his free time bandaging up the bloodiest of questers and the smallest scrapes of kids.

Nico, on the other hand, had developed a wandering mind. He tried not to smoke, he really did for Will's sake, but sometimes it was impossible to resist. When he passed the graveyard, he was reminded of the sister he'd abandoned in a cold grave, and when he stayed in the simple cabins and barracks built by hand, he was reminded of the cool, smooth stone he ran through when he was younger. When he passed rows of purple petunias, he remembered Queen Persephone—though they didn't always see eye to eye, she was his mother figure, and they had understood each other in their own special way. And perhaps most of all, surprisingly, he missed his father.

Hades and him rarely had spoken the past two years. When his father said anything, it was directed towards their people, his wife, or sometimes Bianca. The last time they had conversed was Bianca's funeral. Like him, his father preferred to stay in the shadows, out of the spotlight—a dreaded area he reserved for his shining wife. Until he'd been dragged up to the front to deliver a speech, he, too, had lingered in the back next to his only son. They had sat in silence for the majority of the ceremony, and only moments before he'd been summoned to publicly grieve, Hades had said something. It hadn't been particularly memorable—Hades wasn't the type of man to indulge in flowery words and double meanings—but it had been enough for Nico.

"The sky is bluer today, is it not?"

Nico blinked. "Is it not always blue?"

"It's bluer, now, I think."

Nico entertained him with silence.

Hades gazed up at the fluffy white clouds, his impassive expression shifting so miniscule only Nico could have noticed. "It's a spectacular cerulean," he whispered. "Perhaps it only seems more blue because we have nothing better to look at. No one wishes to watch one's own daughter be lowered into the ground, so one will look to the sky, or the muddy ground, or anywhere else."

Nico didn't flinch. His father had always been rather honest. "I don't like the blue," was all he said.

Hades shrugged. "Then look elsewhere. Heaven knows it's what the rest of us do."

There was something so profound about the way his father spoke. A man of few words, but a brain of many thoughts.

"I never knew grief felt so much like fear," Hades murmured, and he glanced at Nico's cigarette impassively. "Son."

"Father," Nico acknowledged.

Hades nodded, stood, and walked to the front podium without another word.

Now, Nico glanced up at the blue sky. It was duller than the day Bianca had been buried, and he suspected it would be raining soon. Mindlessly, he wondered if, far away across many lands and wars, Hades was looking to the sky too.

…

"Nico." It was an irritating whisper in his ear, tickling his cheek. Nico turned over, fanning away the bother, and frowning in his interrupted sleep. "Nico." It was more urgent this time. The dark-haired boy's eyes shot open in both annoyance and exasperation.

"What?" he demanded through gritted teeth, staring up at Will through slitted eyes. Will was waving a small slip of paper in his hand.

"This was slipped under our door. I'm assuming an Amazon down at the letters section found it. It's addressed for you."

"It's still sealed?" Nico feigned surprise. No one would dare touch his things. No one would even dare come within four feet of him besides Annabeth, Will, and Percy. Even Piper mindlessly avoided him, though he blamed that more on the loss of that boy that had trailed behind Annabeth forever more than anything else. That and the long-standing rivalry between Rayas and Pevanshires. Piper was probably wary.

Will rolled his eyes. "Just open it, stupid. I wonder who sent you mail." The camp base was in a secure location with an address known to few. Nico, who spent his days actively avoiding social situations, receiving mail? It seemed laugh-worthy. Suspicious, Nico turned his back to Will and sat on the edge of their bed, unfolding the paper carefully in his hands. Will, much to Nico's relief, didn't try to look over his shoulder, trusting that it was probably personal matters.

What Nico discovered was much different. It was vaguer, it was wary, it was… strange, and, yet, it was intriguing:

If you want a solution, Prince, meet me just around the bend of the buried after the bonfire tomorrow night.

The note wasn't signed or anything, and he didn't recognize the handwriting. If Nico felt like being rational, he would dispose of the note, shut his eyes, perhaps smack Will with a pillow for interrupting him, and go the fuck back to sleep. Unfortunately for his screwed up sleep schedule, his curiosity got the best of him. No one in the camp would dare speak to him, so who would send this?

Nico had never been particularly risk-oriented. He didn't throw himself into fires like the pesky blonde Princess, he didn't jump off the sides of buildings like he was in a dramatic James Bond movie; no, he preferred his doses of danger in small, pointless, mind-numbing, slow torture methods, like smoking cigarettes in a tree where, if fate was on his side, the ash would strike lumber and set his body aflame, like putting shiny stones in his pockets and standing at the end of water reefs and contemplating what would happen if he 'fell' forward, like not sleeping for twelve days in a row and living off Persephone's precious pomegranate seeds. He liked to watch himself burn slowly, not slip and fall into a dark ditch. He was methodical that way, even in his own demise.

But this note, this changed everything. With the secrecy of the Amazons standing around him, and this secret temptation, Nico found himself longing to take the risk. Worst case scenario (or best, depending on how you look at it), he never came back. Will would be okay, and he would fulfill the fate he had been destined from the day he was born.

From the moment we are born, we begin our journey of a slow death. Some make seventy years, others accomplish the great experience of one hundred, but Nico had his money on eighteen, if even that. And he fully intended to live his short life to the fullest. He had many issues and though he wasn't sure who his secret note-writer intended to fix, he was enthralled by the sheer audacity that someone else believed they could, alone, fix the hell life had become.

"Nico?" Will's broke him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?" He neatly folded the note again, only to toss it into the fireplace across the room.

Will hesitated. "Who was it?"

"Some practical joke," Nico lied. "Don't worry about it, and don't interrupt me again."

He could feel Will frowning behind him. He'd always been a terrible liar, a strong believer in the truth, no matter how brutally honest, so when Will said nothing and crawled back under the bed, a pang of guilt hit him.

"Goodnight, Nico," was all Will whispered into the dark before turning the other way.

Nico fell back into the bed and contemplated the words even as Will's uneasy shifting under the covers settled and the blond's breathing became even. The crickets outside had quieted, only feeding Nico's unease.

"Goodnight," he whispered to the empty walls around him.

Annabeth

She shivered in the cool hospital, bumps raising on her skin. There were shouts in the corridors as prisoners were set free. Amazons ran through the hallways, systematically breaking chains free and busting out the captures. The Canadians had formed a makeshift assembly line as they ushered the people into the jet. Sirens wailed all around her, bathing her in red lights. Octavian surely knew she was here that they were here and ready to fight. He had not yet showed his face. Coward. She would find himself instead.

If she could capture him… she would go down as one of the greatest Amazons to ever live, and the prospect, however small, was much too tempting. She could avenge Jason by making him fall to his knees, and she could interrogate him for information, setting the Amazons ahead in the wars once again. Annabeth took a deep breath. She mustn't get ahead of herself. One step at a time, Chase.

She nodded towards Reyna before running to the fire escapes, scaling the stairs. When she reached the top platform, her lungs were on fire, but so was her soul. Nothing could stop her now, but therein laid the issue: when you're on top of the world, all you can do is look for ways not to fall.

…

Behind her, footsteps ascended the fire escape she'd came up. The hairs on the back of her neck stood and all at once, she knew she was close. Annabeth whirled around and came to face with none other than the very man she'd been looking for.

"Ah, Princess. I'd been wondering when you'd be coming."

His eyes glittered, the same glassy blue she wanted to shatter, and his skin was nearly translucent, a reminder that he was nothing more than her ghost, her irritating, hair-ripping ghost.

"Octavian," she growled, narrowing her eyes at him. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her knife.

He glanced down at the weapon, clicking his tongue with distaste, and then he looked around in an almost exaggerated movement. "No backup?" he asked, feigning sympathy,

She gritted her teeth. She could not lose her head to the way in which he pressed all her buttons. "I need no backup."

"That's certainly optimistic." He grinned.

Annabeth pursed her lips. "It's just you and me, Langen. I have no doubts."

"But you will," he decided, smiling to himself. "They always doubt when they're standing on the edge."

"The edge?" she inquired, and obliged, circling him like he circled her. It was a dance, and she'd never been a graceful waltzer, but the battlefield was her playground, and she'd teethed on a knife.

"The edge," he repeated, spreading his arms. "The divide between good and evil, light and dark, teamwork and the temptation of solitary glory." When he smiled, his sharp canines glittered under the white lights.

"I'm on no such edge, and neither are you," she sniffed, stiffening. "You're far past."

"Sure," he agreed, shrugging. "But you certainly live on the edge now, Ms. Chase. I hope you do not think me so foolish that I have not been watching you. I have, and I must say, I'm most enthralled. You argue with everyone, did you know? And what's more—the most interesting part in my opinion—you win. Astounding. You think you've lured me up here, but it's quite the opposite." He was thoughtful, his eyes glazing over for a moment. "I've lured you up here with sheer curiosity. You seeked me out, and now you're here alone. You could scream and no one will hear you."

She dared not roll her eyes; even a millisecond off him, and he'd try some cruel trick. "I won't scream, I assure you."

"Won't give me the pleasure?" he mocked.

"Never," she muttered, twirling her lethal knife. "I'd rather die."

"Shame. I like a little fight in my friends." His smile was unsettling, and she really wished he would stop.

"That's disgusting. You can kill without cruelty."

"You take all the fun out of it," Octavian complained, waving away her concerns. "That's my favorite part—watching that light die in their eyes, that moment when they realize there's no room for hope in my hell."

With the reflexes of a lioness, Annabeth dodged his sudden strike, and instead sliced open his chest. He flinched back in pain.

"And you're next," he promised, his eyes rimmed red with anger.

"You'll never have me, not truly," she vowed. "Chain me, leave me in a room with my own thoughts, blind me with your white lights, but I won't bow to half a man."

"I'll make you bow."

"Try me," she challenged. "I've been told I'm a hard one to crack."

"Those are the most fun, though, when they finally break," he replied, and they were silent for a moment, locked in a staring contest. Octavian broke away, continuing on. "Imagine the look on Luke's face, or Aphrodite's if I brought you to them, beat up, but alive." He couldn't quite contain his excitement. "Bloodied up and worth so much more."

"They wouldn't pay a dime for me," she lied through her teeth.

He laughed. "Oh, they'd do much worse than that, Ms. Chase. They'd pay for you in blood. You, my dear, are the key to the downfall of anyone. I take you and the Ashingtons will do anything to have you back, Luke would drop all his forces to have you as his little pet, Aphrodite would murder a fleet of men to use you as her own bargaining chip, and the Pevanshires would look after you as your own. Only the Amazons wouldn't care about their little pawn. Foolish people."

She scowled. "We cleared your entire hospital." The noise downstairs had certainly decreased, and she could only assume that they were nearly ready to escape. She had to kill Octavian at least, not leave him wandering, and quickly. "We're better than you give us credit for, and we'll kill you too."

"You're only doing this to save your little blond friend. He's dead, isn't he?" Octavian knew just how to twist the knife. Annabeth said nothing, her blood boiling at the mention of Jason. Octavian smirked, like he knew how he'd stirred her emotions. "Pity."

Annabeth swiped at him again, but this time she missed. His strike landed instead, cutting her forearm deeply. "Why would you create this hellhole?" she pondered out loud as they fought in full force now. "I just don't get it. What are you hiding?"

"Feisty," he teased. "I like you," Octavian decided, as he stabbed her in the abdomen. She doubled over for a moment, wheezing, and then quickly rolled to the side, avoiding another stab. "What a shame that you'd never landed the throne; you'd have made one hell of a Queen, My Lady."

He was dodging her questions, the bastard. She hadn't expected much, but not this, not these showers of compliments as he tried to kill her. Crazy man. She bitterly stabbed him in the shoulder, pleased when his eye twitched. And then she pulled it out, letting him bleed for all to see.

"How's the Calbourne boy?" Octavian changed topics, aiming for her knees. She jumped over his sword, using his body weight to catapult to the side out of harm's way.

"Which one?" She blew a strand of her hair out of her face.

At that, Octavian threw his head back and laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "The dopey, naive one," he snarled. "He still in love with you? What a fool."

"Love has no place in war," Annabeth breathed.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. Men start and end wars over love. All for a pretty face." The tip of his weapon grazed her cheek, and she felt the warm liquid dripped down her face. "Well… as pretty as it gets."

She snorted. "As if you're Prince Charming. You're practically invisible." She goaded him, and this time, it actually worked. "Casper the not so friendly ghost," she mocked.

"I'm engaged," he fired back.

"Good for you." She beamed. "And unlucky for her."

He scowled. "Foolish child," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Always the same and they never learn. They always want to fall for the one that saved them, don't they? And yet, time and time again, the hero often comes with the greatest inner turmoil, often hurts them so badly, yet they always go running back." He sneered. "What a waste. Perseus is almost as fucked up as the rest of his blood."

Annabeth flared up with anger. "I am not a fool," she spat indignantly. However, her cheeks still burned red: she had not denied any other part of his claim. "And you are no less messed up than the rest of them."

"Perhaps," said Octavian impassively.

Annabeth seethed, forcing herself to keep from shouting that she was not, indeed, a fool of any sort. Only screaming that childishly at him would merely prove his point. Bastard.

"I would heed my warning carefully," Octavian murmured, yanking her hair down before cutting her. A dirty move. She grabbed a box on her left and shoved it into his face, satisfied with the yowl that left his mouth. She could play dirty too.

"You're playing with fire, my Lady," Octavian seethed, a cruel smile curling at the edges of his lips, "and you might get burned."

Feeling brave, Annabeth raised her chin in defiance, shooting him a steady, calm stare.

"You can't get burned, my Lord, if you're the flame."

"Bold words," he panted. "For a daughter of second-best. I'll tear Malcolm to the ground, you know. Him and your mother, both, wretched creatures. Let us hope your brother's sword is sharper than his pen," his watered-down blue eyes glittered maliciously, looking black and beady, and dark like a void. "And Luke, too. He's a twisted bastard, but there's only room for one."

"Luke?" Annabeth laughed incredulously. "Don't get me wrong; I hate him with every piece of me, but Luke will rip you to shreds with a mere look, forget anything else. Do not be so arrogant that you believe you can win every war, Octavian. Heed your own warning: you're playing with fire. It would not be wise to play on stakes you're not familiar with."

A blue vein popped out on his forehead. "Are you saying I'm not smart enough? Not powerful enough?"

"Both," she suggested, smiling smugly as she pierced his chest with her dagger. Her face was mere centimeters from his, her blade dug to the hilt in skin.

"You're a fool." His red mouth parted in surprise, and then she pulled the blade out as he fell to the ground. "That's for Jason. But I won't give you the mercy of immediate death." She stepped on the crook of his elbow, the chink in his armor, and it twisted unnaturally. The blonde smiled when he cried out in pain, a guttural noise escaping his throat. "And that's for good measure." Octavian let a string of incoherent curses.

"You should've fled back to Kreoca for your mother when you had the chance."

Percy

"Octavian will tear you to pieces!" a guard seethed. "Let him show you his mercy! Let you suffer! Let Satan take hold of you!"

His big exclamations were beginning to piss him off, so Percy chopped his head off, as you do. What he saw next he didn't expect.

"Is everyone cleared?" Annabeth came up behind him, and his jaw nearly fell to the ground. She was bloodied up, bad, and her cheek was swollen. He stood, silent and staring, stunned.

"What happened?" he exclaimed, unable to control his volume.

"You should see the other guy." Even as she winced, she offered the smallest of smug smiles. "I'll explain later. Let's just get out of here before he comes after me." She nervously glanced behind her.

"Octavian?" he hissed, angry beyond disbelief, but for once not at her. That bastard. "You didn't kill him? And you went after him yourself after Reyna specifically instructed you not to?!"

"I needed to interrogate him." She shook her head. "But I can't. He's engaged, Percy. So, I just injured him pretty well."

"Are you crazy?"

She glared at him. "I don't know who he's engaged to. We'd best not make some serious enemies. C'mon, let's go. I don't trust him to stay down."

As if on cue, Octavian appeared at the other end of the hall. The door was at the opposite end of the hospital. Percy swallowed. Annabeth hadn't been lying: for every cut on her body, she'd left bruises and a stab on his. Annabeth's face drained of color. He could only assume Octavian had said something to her, threatened to kill somebody she loved, disclosed something absolutely horrible, but he couldn't quite come to a conclusion.

"Percy," she hissed, and then the dagger came flying. He ducked, pulling Annabeth down to the ground as the throwing knife embedded itself in the wall behind them. Octavian tilted his head at the both of them, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth, and then he smiled, bloody teeth and all. Percy shuddered. He'd always known the Langens were creepy, but this man looked like the girl from 7 Rings, except all fucked up.

Annabeth's mouth parted in surprise.

"Thought you'd seen the last of me, little Annie?" Octavian sweetly inquired, using Medusa's nickname for her. And then Octavian charged them. Percy stumbled to the other side, just as Annabeth fell from the opposite end. He cursed; Octavian was a clever little shit, splitting them up like that. And then the Langen chased after the Princess, forcing her to fight for her life.

Annabeth ran like the devil was chasing her, through the twisted corners and turns of the hospital ground floor, and he watched in horror as guards began to surround them both. He slowly picked them off one by one, killing them with his sword, and earning as many injuries as Annabeth had in her solo battle. Hopefully, if she could hold her own against Octavian and he could sweep out Octavian's reinforcements, they'd make out of there alive.

He knew he'd yelled at her, but that didn't mean he wasn't hopelessly in love with her. And even if he wasn't, well, he wouldn't wish this upon the worst of his enemies, not even Luke. But that was irrelevant because he would've done anything to trade places with her if he could. Bring a city to its knees, blow up a castle, kill a man, none of it mattered if she was in danger, and it was dangerous because she couldn't have been as serious as he was, and he knew it was dangerous to be this invested, but he was rendered weak when it came to her. And here she was in trouble and he couldn't even save her, which killed him. He was supposed to be there for her even when nobody else was, he was supposed to save everyone, he was supposed to look out for her, the stupid, reckless, terrible Princess. It felt like he was slowly choking.

"Annabeth!" Panic seized him, and it wouldn't let go. He skidded down the hallway, glancing to his right as he ran. Through the cracks between walls and rooms he could see her running too, her blonde hair wildly flowing behind her. Hot on her trail, Octavian swiftly reached forward and grabbed a handful of her golden locks, and she let out a yelp of pain. He came to a halt at the end of the corridor, his lungs begging for air, his eyes blown wide with pure fear.

"Percy—" she gasped, as she battled Octavian for her freedom. He was paralyzed, watching in horror. Annabeth kneed him hard and the Langen doubled over in pain. As he did, he hit a large button on the side of the wall. Just when Percy had thought they had won, they lost everything. Fate was so cruel. The doors between them, the divide between the prison and the outside world, began to slide closed.

"Annabeth!" he cried again, making a mad dash for her. She was just too far. "Work with me. You've got to get around that barrier!" The layout of the damn hospital was too damn confusing and there was a glass wall around her, and because it was blasted glass he couldn't figure out how to help her escape this… this maze. His throat constricted.

The doors were closer now, almost gone. He could barely squeeze his torso in if he tried. She maneuvered around some glass, and he allowed himself a few drops of hope. She was close, she was coming, she was almost out, he could see it now, it would all be okay—

"I'm sorry," she said over the chaos, and he frowned. About what? Their stupid argument? How could she be thinking about that now? Because she thought that this was the end, and she was making her final amends. It was a lump he couldn't quite swallow, a pill caught in his esophagus.

Percy reached his hand out, the other hand reaching back for the jet starting up behind him. He slipped it through the crack, his heart pounding out of his chest. But then he saw her face. She wasn't going to make it in time, but no that couldn't be, she was so fucking close, don't let her—

"Hurry!" But he knew it was useless. He knew that face; how many times had he worn it himself? Annabeth shook her head in resignation, and he sort of felt like crying, like falling to his knees and weeping pathetically. He couldn't lose her now. He hadn't even made up with her yet, he hadn't held her for so long, and now he never would again.

"Do you—do you forgive me?" she gasped. She tensed, and for a moment he wondered if she really had more anxiety over his forgiveness than over her own life. Of course she would.

He hesitated. "Of course." And he did. She would be better; she would be okay; they would be okay.

She slumped in defeat and only then did he spot the blood oozing from her side. Octavian must have got her a few more times during her fleeing, and rage manifested itself inside of him.

"Thank you," she sighed, leaning against the wall. The doors were almost closed now. There was pressure on his wrist and if he didn't pull his hand out soon, it would probably crush him.

Annabeth stepped back, just out of his reach, and he got this twisted feeling in his stomach. She offered the saddest of smiles, a farewell bid he couldn't accept. Octavian had come up behind her now and he had a knife in his hand, pricking at his heart, but she was all he could concentrate on.

"Annabeth," he breathed, engraving the name in his mind, and her face, and her voice. He would come back for her even if it was the last thing he ever did. "I won't leave you here. I can't," his voice cracked.

Her fingers just barely brushed against his fingertips before she pulled her hand back, and the silver doors softly shut between them. Her whisper lingered in the air and only once her face faded from his view did he realize that she'd said, "Percy." Just his name and that was all.

It was beautiful outside, and he felt an irrational anger with the sun for shining on him when she was locked away in a land barren of hope and full of Octavian's cruelty

Percy stood, stunned for a moment, and then he crumpled to the ground, staring at the doors until Piper hauled him away and onto the jet. Nearby guards were closing in, sure to capture him and Piper both if he didn't work with her, if he didn't run with her. His weight alone was too much for her, and if it weren't for Piper, he would've let the guards take him in. But he would not let them imprison Piper too; that was far too many bargaining chips, even for the chance to see the Princess again.

His mind still couldn't fathom it. She was imprisoned in Octavian's cells, and where did that leave him?

He had found his personal hell, and it was colder than Octavian's fortress, lonelier than the whitest of his rooms, and darker than the chains around Annabeth's wrists.

A/N: If y'all thought Drew was about to sit around and mope over her dead dad, you were dead wrong. Our girl ain't got time to dwell in her remorse. And if y'all thought Annabeth didn't like to lose, you sorely underestimated how carefully Rayas tread to win. The devil works hard, but Drew Tanaka works harder~

Okay, ik everyone literally hates Frozen, but my friends and I went to watch the second one and it's actually good so don't come at me. :O (Psst I think the first one was good too, but Disney just overplayed it, making it irritating…)

(Also, let's just pretend Elsa and Queen Iduno's Show Yourself song hasn't been on repeat for me the last couple days; I have a reputation to uphold ;) It's a secret, shush, but I actually have an Anna and Elsa hand-carved wooden statue my parents bought my sister and I in 2013 and I like it a lot more than I'll ever admit to anyone. XD)

Until next time~

Fangirl xx

Guest: I one hundred percent agree! Percy's loyal to a fault, and I don't think he'd ever get over Annabeth, but he's not one to take shit from anyone, even those he loves, so I thought it was about time our man stood up for himself. You're absolutely correct; royals values pride over all else, and reputation. Even Percy has a breaking point~

AnnabethChase-Wisdom'sDaughter: Thank you! After the last couple of weeks, that's really nice to hear, especially since I was so disappointed in myself with the last chapter. Imagine my surprise when I opened FF the morning after posting, only to find 5 heartwarming reviews like yours.

AnnaUnicorn: I'm glad you like her, still! I know so many people who enjoy more fluffy, Mary-Sue (imo) portrayals of her, which is all good and fine, but just based on the description of this story, I'm hoping that y'all can see I'm aiming for something very different. The best characters are deeply flawed, and the fact that you're not immediately turned off by this darker side of her makes me feel a bit more confident in my decision to give her this new layer of characterization!

Mitsuha Miyamizi: Thank you! I'll have to still disagree with you—the quality of the last chapter makes me cringe—but I appreciate the vote of confidence nonetheless. "Oh no" to all of the above, indeed. I'm mad with power ;) Welp, Annabeth's tempted by the dark side. She's as good as she is bad, but I just hope I can maintain her good side too. Wouldn't want y'all to hate her lmao. There's a fine balance, and treading it carefully is certainly going to be one hell of a challenge for me.

Reader: Well, I would hope she horrifies you equal parts as she makes you proud, seeing as that's what I'm aiming for lol. Our girl is cunning af, and as admirable as it is when she uses it for the right reasons, it's definitely terrifying when she uses it for personal gain and this unrelenting temptation she has of the dark side and unrestrained power. It literally makes me so happy that you're so conflicted about her though, you don't even know. XD Like I said to one of my other reviews, I'm mad w power lol ;) Athena and Malcolm both seriously needed a dose of reality. Frederick, in this OOC version, was a pathetic excuse for a human being. Indeed; Percy keeps her in the light, and she probably needs him a lot more than she'll ever admit.

Ig I do worry too much lol. Idk, I'm still not happy with that chapter, and I doubt I ever will be, but I'm seriously so flattered by your vote of confidence. I was so upset after posting that shitty excuse for writing, and when I checked FF the next morning, y'all literally made me feel so much better. Obvi, you guys can't fix the main causes of my shitty, rare emotions lol (what are… feelings?), but talking to you guys is a nice break from reality, and I can't even begin to express how much I love you—and the rest of my readers—for reading. When I please you guys, it feels nice to do something right, and ease y'all's anxieties/stress/worries. I'm sorry I disrupted your hw, but thank you for reading XP

Guest: Welp, here it is. Hope it doesn't disappoint (like me lol). :P