It was her. Every unattached male in camp - and a few who would have been slapped for drooling like that - sat up and paid attention. The ghosts Nico had summoned sat up and paid attention. Helen of Troy would have turned green as an emerald in pure jealousy. People would have said she was just that kind of girl, but, one, that would have implied there were others like her, and two, she'd have threatened to cut your tongue out.
Piper McLean was perhaps the only girl in the camp who wasn't covered in mud. She was definitely the only girl in camp who smelled like cinnamon instead of a slaughterhouse. And the only wounds she ever seemed to get were the kind that would make her look either pretty and helpless or pretty and deadly. She had armor that cleaned itself. Instantly. In the middle of fighting Giants.
She was also the only warrior, period, who, as a secondary weapon, carried a megaphone.
Or, rather, a Hephaestaus cabin enchanted necklace that had the properties of a megaphone. Because her carefully maintained beauty wasn't vanity.
It was a weapon.
And it was a very, very, dangerous one.
If Aphrodite and Ares had ever had a daughter, it would have been her. Her charmspeak had grown to the point where it no longer waited for her call; it rolled off her in droves, driving even the monsters on the battlefield to distraction.
It was said she'd once held a Giant off for two hours by talking. It was said she'd infiltrated the Romans camp and so ensnared one of their Praetors that she'd convinced him not only to spill all of his people's secrets, but to sit still while she slit his throat when he was done. There were rumors that she'd fallen in love with Leo because he was the only one who was immune to her charms.
What no one said, because no one knew, was that she cried herself to sleep. Because no one was immune, so how could she know if any of it was real?