Chapter Text
17th of February, 2014 – A minute past Midnight.
Superman JH
(12:01 a.m.): What did you do???
(12:02 a.m.): I’m doing my best so my father doesn’t find out
(12:02 a.m.): Or yours!!!!
(12:03 a.m.): GOD you have finally gone mental
(12:04 a.m.): IN FRONT OF MICHAEL OF ALL PEOPLE, ARE YOU SERIOUS??
CP Bianca
(12:32 a.m.): You have a minute to tell me my brother is not with you.
(12:32 a.m.): I swear to God Perseus
(12:32 a.m.): What the hell.
(12:33 a.m.): I can’t cover for him forever so hurry up and tell me something believable
Zoë Nightshade
(12:33 a.m.): Congratulations on outdoing yourself.
g-man
(12:33 a.m.): Bro, is what I’m hearing true? Pls say no bc it doesn’t sound good at all
Missed voice call.
(12:35 a.m.): Pick up the damn phone istg I’m sweating here
(12:35 a.m.): PERCY
Hazel (cousin)
(12:36 a.m.): Is Estelle with you?
Castor Hanover
(12:35 a.m.): Hey Perseus. Long time since we last talked.
(12:35 a.m.): I’ll be brief, that scene on the dance floor was stupid. You’re to blame but so is Pollux, as he can be very unobservant. My father, however, is beyond amused.
(12:37 a.m.): Let me know if you are available to talk tomorrow. I will be at Kensington if you are.
(12:38 a.m.): Or you can come to Buckingham. Whatever suits you best.
(12:39 a.m.): Have a nice night, cousin.
Pinecone Face
(01:03 a.m.): WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO
/*/*/
16th of February, 2014 – An hour to Midnight.
Over the past months, Annabeth had reluctantly come to terms with most of the things that she liked about Percy. She tried to understand, or at least identify, the parts of him that fascinated her to the point where reason was lost – the aspects of his personality that would drive her to a state in which she would embarrass herself by her own lack of control over her actions.
So, Annabeth made a list – if only to avoid those things, if needed, if she was ever to be in his presence again. It went something like this:
She liked the way his smile made those little dimples appear on his cheeks and faint laugh lines form around his eyes – like he was both younger and older than he looked. She liked the way he heard her – how he truly listened to her – and asked more about the things she enjoyed, even if he didn’t care for the subjects of the conversations or didn’t understand what she was saying at all. She loved how warm he felt under her touch, his skin often tanned and burning hot due to the prolonged hours he spent under the sun. She relished the way his laughter always sounded louder than it was proper, filling every room he was in, giving away his state of spirit.
Annabeth was also mesmerized by how strong he was and how gentle he still managed to be even when he was pressing against her, his body on top of hers and his touches surrounding her. How his fingers were, simultaneously, soft and marking, and how his kisses were firm, borderline aggressive in their strength, and demanding, but still tender and passionate in their care.
But, most of all, Annabeth loved the way he was real. How he was Percy, and not all the other names people insisted on calling him. How honest he was whenever he spoke, how faithful and respectful he was to those around him, and how he was loyal to a fault to that what they asked of him. Moreover, Annabeth admired how little he cared about what it cost him to stay that way — a person above his titles, a friend beyond self-interest. No price mattered if the outcome was to remain to be that person.
A perfect proportion, that was what he was. Half kind, half demanding. Half loud and half measured. Half prince, half man – and, to Annabeth’s playful and inebriated mind during their first meeting, half human and half Greek god.
But, at the end of the day, Percy was only human, and there were moments in which Annabeth saw that essence falter in him. Moments when one side overpowered the other, be it for hours – like it was in New York when Percy was so irate at his brother that he did not hold back his words, threatening the Crown Prince and those around him, abusing his knowledge, and speaking all of the hurtful truth – or for mere seconds, slips in his attitude in which chasms in his control were captured from afar (and that would have gone unnoticed if it wasn’t for the unrelented attention that was always focused on him). The last time Annabeth had bitterly identified one of those situations, it had been a national holiday in his country. Percy had been photographed and filmed standing on the Palace’s balcony, waving and smiling – but his smile did not reach his eyes, hardly even showing his dimples. Too forced to be true, too unnatural to be like him.
And, finally, there was that night in Buckingham.
Annabeth was still feeling drunk in his presence many moments after he had walked away after leaving her at the end of their dance. She ached to touch him again, to hear his voice for just a moment longer – knowing that indulging in that reckless rush was stupid and self-destructive and that it could possibly even mean the end of the little life she was building for herself – and relishing the thought that he was just as much unable to fight that same feeling.
Hum, so much for that list. So much for her efforts.
She walked across the ballroom in the direction of the hallway he had indicated before letting go of her, and the potential consequences of her actions sounded inside Annabeth’s brain in a voice no louder than a whisper, coming to matter less and less to her determination after each step she took. Her body had a will of its own, and her mind, as it always insisted on acting when it was around his presence, became blissfully reckless – only to be abruptly brought back to reason by the sight that began to unfold in front of her.
Annabeth’s first surprise was that, as she walked through the lateral doors, Nico and Michael were already there – the latter, who she knew as the son of the Prime Minister and an acquaintance of Thalia and the girls and who Annabeth, up until that point, didn’t have a clue was close to the other royals.
The two men seemed to have just arrived as well, being only a few steps in front of Annabeth and also faltering in their way as they took in the scene that took place. They, however, were quicker than her to realize what was happening, sprinting down the space only a few blinks after entering the hallway – while Annabeth took a few more seconds to distinguish the images before her – her mind still locked on the seductive image of the prince who had held her just minutes before, still entranced by that usual nonchalant look of his, which was clearly not the one he had picked to act on during that night.
When she was finally able to move past those expectations, the sight in front of her became clear, although not any less surprising. Percy was holding a man by his throat, closing his fingers around his neck, and the sound of shattering glass filled the hallway. Annabeth belatedly recognized who it was that now fought back against Percy’s hold – it was an easy guess, judging by his taller stature, taller than it had looked in the pictures, his blonde hair and soft lips, and his high cheekbones and defined jaw (which were often commented by some of the girls). And, of course, by the many, many medals that adorned his chest.
Theseus.
Percy’s brother. The Crown Prince of the Hellens. The man who had been a passive player in their game since its very beginning – and who was now pinned against a wall adorned with some of the world’s most valuable works of art, as Percy yelled some intelligible stuff in his direction, probably in Greek, but Annabeth couldn’t be sure as his words slurred together in the cadence of sheer anger. Theseus answered just as loudly, his tone even more cutting, a reaction that only made their holds tighten against each other.
So, Annabeth ran, just like the other men had. When she arrived at their sides, Nico was already holding Percy by his shoulders, trying to pull him back, and Michael did the same for Theseus, but the older prince was now provoking his brother more than he was actively fighting and proved to be easier to hold back. Over Nico’s shoulder, Annabeth saw that Estelle was also present among that mess – seeming small in the corner she stood at, the young princess was crying, with silent tears streaming down her cheek as she continuously dabbed them away while yelling for her brothers to stop.
And, it was after one of Estelle’s many attempts to pull Percy back that he finally turned slightly to the side, and, for a fraction of a second, Annabeth’s eyes met his – and there was nothing there that she remembered. Only anger and a large chunk of resentment. Larger than whatever he had been feeling in New York. He seemed completely detached from any of the morality she often saw in his decisions.
And it scared her, how little she seemed to know him at that moment – how little he looked like the man who had, quite literally, swept her off her feet just minutes before. This was not the ever-loyal Percy; there was no nice, laughing, charming prince in his stance. Just a powerful man fighting an even more powerful one, the two of them deciding in their physical strength what they could not solve with mere words.
A sour feeling twisted itself in Annabeth’s insides. All her instincts told her that something was not right, that everything about that place did not feel correct in the slightest. Before she knew it, she was mimicking Estelle, trying to pull them apart in a desperate, irrational attempt to stop that acrid sensation that spread through her body and now tugged on her chest.
“Percy!” Annabeth heard her own voice calling, although she seemed to have no control over it. “Stop! Percy, please…”
His green eyes turned in her direction for a fleeting moment, again for not more than a second – but there was something there. A flame of recognition, a slight frown on his brows that told her of his own confusion, as if Percy himself did not understand the situation.
A few more seconds passed as his eyes blinked away that strange acknowledgment, and suddenly, Nico gained power over him, pulling him back and away from his brother. Annabeth released the breath she did not know she had been holding.
And then, Annabeth was back to acting on pure adrenaline – her eyes catching the bruises and the scratches along Percy’s face and neck, and her hands reaching to touch him and batting away his opposing touches – tilting his chin to the side with a firm hold of her fingers, and analyzing his potential injuries.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He tried to argue, still attempting to wiggle out of her hold, but Annabeth was quicker to hold him with more force.
“Stand still!” She demanded back, making Percy buff. Nevertheless, after her command, the tension in his muscles relented, and he no longer tried to escape her grasp.
And, before she knew or was prepared for it, Nico was pushing them along, guiding their way to the exit. “We’re leaving,” he announced what was already evident, and Estelle broke the gaze she had focused on the older of her brothers to turn and nod to her cousin, turning on her heels to walk with them.
“At least I didn’t stoop that low –” Theseus' voice sounds when they are already midway through the long hall – and Annabeth is still shaking, still in shock at what happened and all that it will mean. A persistent voice inside her head tells her that it is over, that this whole thing, this whole illusion, is finally done, as she always knew It would eventually be.
“– I didn’t need to go humiliating myself to a dumb, uncultured, titleless, dirty American –”
As Theseus continues, Annabeth turns around, too caught off-guard to do anything other than gape at the image of the Crown Prince, who is still being held back by Michael and whose tie is askew, medals falling from their place on his chest to the floor, hitting the rug with a series of dull thuds. His hair is sweaty, falling in soft locks in front of his eyes, and bruises are pampering the extension of his exposed skin.
”– a loud outsider, who will never understand what it means to be one of us! I’d never degrade myself to your position, to being with someone as worthless –”
Percy passes by her like a blur, his fist connecting with his brother’s face before Annabeth is able to make out the entirety of his reaction. When he turns back in their direction, with Nico moving to restrain him again, Annabeth meets his eyes.
He’s still ruthless, still wild and unforgiving – still moved by anger. But there’s something else there, something protective – and when she lowers her eyes to watch Theseus as he coughs out a clot of blood, she realizes what it is.
Pride. Over her.
And she can’t help but see that balance again – now, a mix of physicality and mental character.
There is Percy, her brain – which is feeling surprisingly victorious and blissfully ignorant to all the rest – whispers. That one.
And Annabeth can’t help but feel foolish again.
/*/*/
16th of February, 2014 – A quarter to Midnight.
The first minutes of the aftermath are filled with the awkward silence that is traditional to tension and nerves.
The four of them, alongside the bodyguards and the equerries that meet the group when they pass the exit doors, walk quietly to the cars, their heavy steps filling the space that their voices would usually occupy.
They don’t fight, don’t even breathe too loud. They do, however, touch – Nico’s strong hand between Percy’s shoulder blades guides their journey; the tentative reassurance of Estelle's fingers on her brother’s pulse point makes the prince’s erratic mind quiet for a moment, and then a soft caress from Annabeth finds his palm, making Percy remember again all that they’re currently running from – and the Greek prince suddenly feels like crying, like a small child would, wanting to run to his mother for comfort.
He lets himself dwell on his actions for a moment and lets his thoughts trail down the dangerous path of what the consequences would be. Then, Percy lowers his head, his palms finding his eyes for a moment as he walks, and he contemplates how bad it would look if he really did cry at that moment.
Ultimately, he doesn’t let the insistent tears fall. Instead, he swallows the heavy lump that appears in his throat – his steps get heavier, their pace quickening with the need to leave immediately. As they cars and close the heavy, bulletproof doors of the black sedans, Percy realizes that he doesn’t know where Theseus went after they left him behind, coughing and laughing sarcastically while still being held by Michael in one of Buckingham’s many hallways, his broken nose dripping blood on the lavish rugs.
He would probably escape to an apartment in that same Palace, the prince reasons – he had always been closer to the Hanovers, close enough to trouble them and make the British Royal Family extend their hospitality – but, what turns out to be more worrying is that there’s still no sign of their father when they arrive at Kensington, and that is what makes Percy’s blood run cold.
There is a difference, you see, between the types of scandals that are acceptable and the ones that aren’t. It is somewhat tolerable to commune in the partying traditions of the youthful, as Percy’s father had once described his incidents – because it’s normal. It’s natural, he had said. And people tend to overlook it, or even find it amusing. They see themselves in that controlled chaos, glancing at the best of their memories, and the ones who never lived such happiness project in those images their biggest desires. It balances out the tradition, the decorum, and the detachment of the rest of their lives – the King had explained.
The list of incidents that are inexcusable, however, was longer – and Percy began learning that fact very early in his life. He remembers the solid disapproving look in his father’s eyes when he was about 7 years old – at church, during Easter Sunday, as the man stared down at him from his spot by the King’s side – the monarch who was, at the time, Percy’s grandfather. His eyes were loud and clear in their command, telling the young boy to stop fussing in his chair as the priest spoke. They had gone back to the Royal Palace of Athens later that day, and Percy’s father had followed him to his room, giving his son a long lecture on how he should act more respectably and how their people needed him to be more distinguished.
As the years passed, Percy hardly got more religious than he had been at that young age, but he never disrespected those traditional moments again. He came to understand that, like desire, the population also gathered around religion. They needed to see that relatable aspect in their royals and find in the sovereign family the same emotions they all shared – Percy’s duty was, as his father had also explained, to be convincing and proper enough to appeal to the commoners and all the Greek population to the point that they forgot the ‘of Denmark’ asterisk on the end of their titles and the Germanic phonetics of their House’s name.
Another thing the people should never see in them is disunity. The masses had enough of that already – the divorces, the fights, the sadness, the uncontrolled feelings... If they saw that in their Royalty, they would equally see themselves in that image – and they would hate it.
The rules were easy to understand when analyzed under such scrutiny. The Royals should be like their people, should be ‘one of them’ – but only when it came to the ideal pillars of what was to be Greek and what it was to be a family. From the moment they began being too relatable, too flawed… the magic was lost, and then they were just ‘one of them’, and what idea of sovereignty could survive that?
None, the answer sounded inside Percy’s mind as Annabeth’s fingers traced a careful line on his neck that burned with the harsh touch of friction – the place where Theseus had pressed Percy’s tie against his throat, which was now certainly red and bruised.
The prince’s hairs on his chest and arms rise at the feel of the woman’s digits against his skin, her presence still seeming surreal to his adrenaline-guided mind, and Percy smiles in spite of all the conflicting sensations that travel around his body and that make his stomach churn. He fights the impulse to dip his head in her direction, to capture her lips in a kiss without caring about the situation or the certain tantrum that Nico would throw at the sight of them – feeling surprisingly light at the thought that she is not repulsed by him, which was what he imagined she would feel after replaying the look she gave him during the fight. But no, she was there, still there…
Estelle interrupted his reckless line of thought, coming in their direction with a small pack of ice in her hands to place in the irritated region of his throat’s skin to try to contain the bruising, and, from the corner of his eyes, Percy could see their cousin on a nearby couch – the younger prince sinking in the cushions and burying his face on his hand while laughing or crying, Percy couldn’t tell which of the two it was.
They were in one of the historic palace’s many guest apartments. The servants had been dismissed as soon as they walked inside. Not even their private assistants were allowed into the rooms – Julius stays outside the building altogether, and the group is able to watch from the windows as Tyson excitedly tries to approach the Danish to talk to him while the older man scrunches his brows and tenses in fear and anticipation of what’s to come – being experienced enough to know that, whatever the outcome is, it will not be good to any of them.
The girls are also talking in low voices, but Percy can’t tell their words apart, just their tones – worried, irritated, caring. His left leg bounces up and down, and he itches for a cigarette, craving the immediate numbness of the nicotine.
“You should leave,” his voice sounds foreign to his ears when it finally leaves his mouth, cutting through the thick atmosphere like a knife.
His eyes find Annabeth, and Percy sees the exact moment she stops, blinking away surprise to make room for acknowledgment and a soft kind of disappointment.
Stupid! His internal voice sounds loudly in his mind, and at the same time, he leans forward, firmly taking her hands – which had been touching him still and so carefully – on his own. The memory of her questions in New York returns to him in a sharp wave of regret, like a slap across his face that he can almost feel on his skin, and Percy recalls her insecurity and his own mistakes in answer.
“You should leave before my father gets here,” he speaks again, explaining what he means – his tone more certain, followed by a reassuring nod for emphasis. “If you stay, he will question you too. And I think everyone here knows I’ve put you in enough trouble as it is.”
The slight realization that appears on her face is soft, somewhat unsure, and the emotion in her eyes catches Percy off-guard. The hold he has on her hands tightens as he watches Annabeth lower her gaze for a second, breaking their eye contact.
“You know,” she begins, her voice small and playful, to his surprise. “You are cuter when you’re not trying.”
By her tone, the words are a confession, and when Annabeth lifts her eyes to meet his again, a small smile spreads on her lips, and a blush briefly stains her cheeks before disappearing. Percy hears Estelle giggle from somewhere to his right, and he can’t help but scowl a little at the reaction, but Annabeth seems amused, mischievous even, at the sight of his ears also turning red.
“I’m not cute,” he argues, but there’s no real defiance in his tone – and his voice is low enough that the words don’t get to Estelle, much less to Nico. “I’m manly. Strong. All that.”
It’s Annabeth’s turn to laugh, and she lets go of his hand, lifting her fingers to return the ice pack to Percy’s neck when it begins to slide down to his chest. She takes a second look at him and sighs lowly. A moment passes, and they just stare at each other, both thinking of all the things they could say and inevitably won’t.
It’s easy for Percy, in those seconds that barely amount to any minutes, to overlook what they had lived during those months that had passed that last year. To forget his own embarrassing admission and how much hurt his carelessness had made her go through. It’s easy to forget the ignored messages, the unanswered gifts, and even the… thing… with fucking Pollux –
And, involuntarily, he’s leaning into her warmth, not caring about Nico’s curses that reverberate loudly through the room or with Estelle’s keen eyes and knowing smile. He reaches for Annabeth like he would lean on his more recent vices, finding in her renewed presence a feeling as intoxicating as the illicit substances and just as addicting.
“I’m tired of letting things – people go, Percy. Of running away. Getting closer to Thalia was my first attempt at doing just that, and it’s been turning out fine. I know I blew you off before, but I want us to talk now, to decide things once and for all,” Annabeth breaks the moment and the brief bout of silence – her left hand coming to rest on his chest so he doesn’t get any closer. She matches his private tone of whispers, her eyebrows furrowing as her eyes leave him in favor of gazing at where her fingers begin traveling down the cut of his collarbone to smoothen the wrinkles on his shirt, straightening his medals. “And, if that takes being lectured by your father, so let it be it.”
Percy exhales loudly, stifling a frustrated groan when swallowing saliva, which proves to hurt his throat slightly. He feels embarrassingly frustrated at being denied her closest proximity. Still, he smiles in spite of himself, feeling a genuine joy at her lack of refusal that makes him want to jump or do something else equally embarrassing. “It’ll be a bit more than a lecture, I can assure you of that –”
“He can be scary,” Estelle interjects, taking a few steps closer to them and breaking their illusion of privacy. “But he doesn’t mean it. Deep down, I know he doesn’t”
Annabeth turns her smile to Estelle, grateful for the slight support but clearly not believing her words of lukewarm reassurance. “Does he have jurisdiction to accuse me of treason here?” Her tone is more certain now, and louder.
“No,” the answer comes from Nico, who stands up to turn in their direction. His hair is a mess from all the nervous pulling it has been objected to, and his voice is stained with exasperation. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He’s still going to hate you for this, blacklist your name for Henry and you can bid goodbye to your friendship with Thalia! You should leave –”
“So, I will stay,” Annabeth defies the other prince with a tilt of her head, an attempt to seem composed and confident, although Percy can see the way the muscles of her hand spasms, and they begin shaking the slightest bit. In answer, Nico groans loudly, his fingers massaging his temples as his eyes come to scrunch shut.
“When it’s not him, it’s you. You senseless, brainless people will be the death of me,” he says, finally opening his eyelids to stare and point a finger between the American and his cousin. Estelle laughs quietly as the Danish prince turns around to pace the extensive room.
Percy opens a smirk, containing his own involuntary, nervous laughter at the situation. His hands seek out Annabeth again – almost unconsciously pulling her back to his personal space after she had leaned forward to talk to Nico. Annabeth, in turn, lets herself be led, and returns her hands to his body – one on his thigh, the other in his palm, where they still shake, but Percy does his best to keep them still, laying his own palms on top of her knuckles and holding them tight.
And that feels right, Percy thinks, that warmth that only she has and that burns him up at the same measure it calms his thoughts. Again, he feels as if nothing mattered, as if he wasn’t going to face the most significant and most defining moment of his adult life in a matter of hours. Minutes, perhaps.
“As much as it pains me to say,” the Greek princess breaks the spell, beginning speaking after a minute passe between the group, and punctuates her words with a dramatic sigh. “Theseus deserved that. What he said was completely out of line, and maybe a broken nose will put some reason back inside that thick skull of his. Sorry you had to hear all that, Annabeth.”
The girls’ eyes lock in the form of understanding and the American nods. Estelle betrays the emotion she feels when her eyes turn slightly glossy – opposite to the light tone her voice had adopted. Annabeth, in answer, lifts the hand that was lying on Percy’s thigh to hold Estelle’s own.
With a silver of amusement mixed with bitter sadness, Percy notices that it’s the first time he’s watching the two of them interact, and the scene makes another wave of genuine warmth bloom inside his body – again, completely opposite to the whole atmosphere and what he was supposed to be feeling. It shouldn’t have been like this, a voice in his mind argues, they should have met at Mon Repos, by the water, during a nice dinner… they should’ve talked and laughed together, not have to unite to clean up your messes –
“I appreciate your brother’s reaction,” Annabeth confesses, and her fingers that are not resting on Estelle’s hold gently come to caress the top of Percy’s swollen knuckles. “No one enjoys listening to words like those.”
“An understatement,” Estelle agrees with a nod. “My brother will apologize to you. I will make sure of that.”
Annabeth smiles, again somewhat disbelieving the princess’s words, and Percy can’t avoid the way his muscles tense as he hears their interaction play out. A sudden need to explain their actions fills his being, the words begging to escape his lips in spite of his own pride – his shame confusing itself with anger and sorrow, and Annabeth’s image mixing with his and his brother’s other personal impasses.
“He only said that because he can’t attack me,” the prince finally says, tone back to whispers that are now voiced closer to Annabeth’s ear. “I need you to know that. I doubt he meant any of what he said, and I hope it goes without saying that I have never uttered a bad word about you to him. I need you to be aware of what is happening. That he aims for you because he cannot aim for me, not if he wants to keep pretending that he has the higher ground.”
After he’s finished speaking, Percy feels vulnerable. Foolish, even – to defend his brother after having punched him in the face, after having taken his spot – voluntarily or not – in their family. To be loyal to that who harmed him – to understand Theseus, even when it’s not reciprocated.
Estelle must have sensed what he was feeling, hearing his silent plea for privacy as only a sister could. She nods in his direction – her eyes, twins to Theseus’ own, gaze at Percy from under the curls that now escape the styling of her hair. They’re sad, somewhere close to desolate in their intensity, and he can hear her words as clearly as they had sounded earlier that night.
I already feel like I lost him. Please, don’t do the same.
She forces out a smile before she turns away from them and heads to where Nico is furiously typing away on his phone, smoothing her hands on his back and trying to calm their cousin down. Percy swallows another lump, and the regretful tears that threaten to escape are suppressed, along with all the apologies he doesn’t voice to his sister.
Percy feels his phone insistently vibrate inside his pocket, and he reckons someone already knows to be texting him and Nico almost at the same time, but his hands are too preoccupied with fidgeting with his own fingers under Annabeth’s strong hold. He blinks fast to dry his pupils before she has the chance to see their shine, before she is able to gather enough pieces of evidence to understand how much he’s tearing himself apart – and before he inevitably, involuntarily pushes her away. Again.
“What do you mean by that?” Annabeth asks, turning fully in his direction and eyes scanning his face in a way Percy knows it means her brain is already working to decipher his every word. He shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat and blinking away any leftover signs of emotion.
“I think you know,” he finally answers, hoping that she remembers his impulsive words of truth – and that she kept an eye out for the recent news. “Hypocrisy.”
The realization writes itself in her eyes as she pieces it all together – and Percy, without really understanding why, feels pride fill his being. Of course she would remember, of course she would know. Oh, my wise girl…
“The rumors are true, then?” She finally asks, and Percy nods in answer.
“Not all, but most.”
“And he’s still marrying the Spanish woman?” The hurt in her eyes catches the prince off-guard.
“He must,” he answers simply, with a shrug betraying the anger that still courses through his blood.
And it’s too late when he notices the sadness in her expression. Of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
“I mean, he’s the Crown Prince!” Percy leans forward, catching Annabeth’s hands when her eyes drift away from him. “It’s different, he’s the heir. His… social relations hold a different weight.”
“And how different are you from him nowadays?” She bluntly asks when her eyes return to him, letting go of all subtlety and voicing what they all think – the sharpness in their grey irises is less gentle, less surreal than it had been before. Finally, they’re falling from the high. They’re back in the reality of what they did, of who they are.
Suddenly, they are back in the middle of Buckingham’s ballroom. They are causing a scene and there’s no longer adrenaline to silence out all the outraged whispers and the gossipy giggles. Then, they’re back in the adjacent halls, and Percy is fist-fighting the very existence of his power away – all for her, all for himself, and for his many selfish reasons.
“What are you now, Percy?” Annabeth asks further – and Percy’s pride for her twists inside his being, pulling at his chest with anguish, turning his emotion into something akin to fear. Too wise, too smart not to realize what’s happening.
“I don’t know,” he says with honesty, voice cracking as he goes. “I have no idea.”
Percy shakes his head, pulling the last of his words before they leave his lips. But I probably will, in a few minutes, after my father walks through those doors and disinherits me, or something like that, is what he thinks and never says.
“I need you to be honest with me, this time,” Annabeth insists. She holds his hand, firmly clinging to his pulse, silently demanding his truthfulness. “I understand you have problems with your brother, but I need you to tell me everything that is happening,” she said, shaking her own head. “I need to know that this can be worth… whatever it comes to.”
Then, her eyes travel between the two of them, and Percy opens his mouth to answer, suppressing the hope that threatens to make him smile when she plays with the idea of them having something. Of actually trying…
“I promise I will,” he begins answering, smiling small and as honestly as he can. It won’t matter, the more rational part of him states plainly inside his mind. Whatever hope you had of agency is gone. Now, your life will be as arranged, as controlled as Theseus’.
But Percy silences that voice, letting the warmth of hopefulness lull him to a beautiful illusion for those next few minutes or hours. He leans forward, letting his lips graze Annabeth’s cheek, resting his skin on her own, feverishly hanging onto her concreteness. “I promise I will tell everything…”
And Annabeth’s own breathing falters – her resolve physically weakening before his eyes and under his touch. Percy feels rather than sees when she lets go of her control, leaning into his space further and turning her head to the side, to finally capture his lips on her own –
But then, she stops. All at once, the warmth they feel evaporates, and a sudden chill fills the room – like ice-cold water being thrown over their heads, making them physically snap out of their trance and away from each other.
Without Annabeth’s intoxicating proximity, Percy stands up – his ears too familiar with the noises that sound around them to confuse what’s happening with anything else. The ice pack slides down his neck and falls on the ground with a resounding thud that is still no louder than the heavy, fast footsteps that echo from the other side of the apartment’s double doors, getting louder and louder as the seconds pass.
“Fuck,” is the last thing Percy hears – the single word that hastily leaves Nico’s mouth with the force of a full speech – before the servants, that had been previously dismissed, return to open the doors.
Then, the King of Greece enters the room, foregoing any formality or courtesy. His green eyes shine stronger than the dim, yellow lights of the Palace – and the force of his stare is similar to that of a tsunami. His fists are closed by the side of his body, and his teeth clench, making his jaw seem more defined than normal under the beard that he keeps.
This is not my father, the prince acknowledges quickly, sensing the freezing currents of energy that emanate from the monarch’s body – easily identifying the demanding attitude that stains his eyes and that makes him stand just a little straighter. That night, there are no words of reassurance, no comforting smiles, no easy-going comments.
No, no. This is King Poseidon, the First, the King of the Hellens, the most powerful man in the Mediterraneum – ‘the Unrestrained King’, ‘the Almirante King’, the most hot-headed and difficult to deal of all European sovereigns, and all the rest he had been called.
And, when he stops in the middle of the living room, his murderous gaze falls solely on Percy.
/*/*/
17th of February, 2014 – An hour past Midnight.
The first time Annabeth saw a monarch was probably on TV or at school in one of her history and geography books. She couldn’t be sure.
The first time she had seen a monarch in person had been during that very night, as King Henry walked inside the grand ballroom of Buckingham, with Annabeth standing behind, watching as his small steps led his old, concerningly fragile figure to the main table. And it had been a sight so underwhelming, so less magical than she had ever expected a king’s entrance to be like – especially after having gotten to know his descendants, who were so peculiar and distinguished in their own ways – that Annabeth had even fallen down a rabbit hole of reflexiveness.
If this was what monarchs looked like, how did ancient populations convince themselves they were the image of divinities? How did they ever control anyone through coercion, or manipulate their way to absolute power?
And all those questions were answered as Percy’s father walked into the living room of the apartment at Kensington.
She had seen photos of King Poseidon before, as she had seen of King Henry – but his presence caused the opposite effect in her perception of what the British sovereign had generated.
He was taller than everyone present – somehow looking as imposing as the walls themselves. His arms were strong and perceptively thick, even under his jacket. His eyes were the exact same color as Percy’s, and he gazed sharply, very firmly focused on his son – his hair, however, was identical to Theseus’ blonde shade of locks, and was carefully brushed back, and, like the beard he kept, it was peppered with grey strikes.
There was something different about his aura – the way his feet hit the ground and the way the room seemed to grow cold due to his mere presence. The effortless way he communicated a series of unspoken words, just by the subtlest tilts of his chin, a movement minimal enough to go unnoticed to unkeen eyes – but necessary for him to look down. Suddenly, without Annabeth even realizing her actions, she’s standing up, bowing her head in his direction – as are all the others there present.
“I trusted you,” the king finally speaks after what feels like an eternity passes between them. His voice arrives in Annabeth’s ears much like thunder sounds during a storm – expectedly loud, but still terrifying. His eyes don’t leave Percy for a second. “I trusted you with all that I could, and this is how you repay me?”
Annabeth watches as Percy’s eyes fall to his feet – the tears she had noticed him suppressing finally trailing down his cheeks. There’s no anger in his expression now, not even the imprudent thrill of before – only regret.
“I trust you with the most important of requests, and what do you do? Break your brother’s nose. Cause a scandal in the middle of the party. Acts out with our political allies while stinking of alcohol.”
Poseidon’s voice remains in a firm line, never lowering or turning louder. Somehow, the lack of change in his tone and the exhale he releases to punctuate his words are much more cutting than any screaming match could ever be.
“I’m sorry,” Percy’s voice, usually so confident, cracks when he tries to speak – and the sound of it tugs at Annabeth’s heart, and she fights the impulse to take a step in his direction, craving to be closer to him again.
“I know you are,” Poseidon speaks again. “I would be even more concerned if you weren’t. But what do I do now? I can’t count on you anymore, can I?”
Percy shudders, his shoulders visibly trembling. He shakes his head, and, from over his frame, Annabeth catches Nico’s eyes – and they are terrified.
“If I can’t count on Theseus to know better, and if I can’t count on you to be more controlled, then what else can I do?” Poseidon’s eyes finally leave Percy, and Annabeth stops breathing for a moment, fearing that she will be his next target.
But the King’s green irises focus on his daughter instead, and his son’s reaction is immediate.
“NO!” Percy finally cracks the cold exchange, his voice turning into a shout. He takes a step forward – again angry but, more than anything else, desperate. “DON’T!” He says as he comes to stand between Estelle and their father.
The engines inside Annabeth’s mind work quickly, and she wonders how she couldn’t have pieced it all together before.
The rumors about Theseus. Percy’s rebellion, followed by his serving. The protectiveness over Estelle…
The third in line, Annabeth’s internal voice tells her the answer at the same time Poseidon lifts a finger to point in Percy’s direction, demanding his silence. The prince gulps, but remains standing still.
“You will never lift your voice to me again. Are you hearing me, Perseus?” His tone gets even lower and colder – and even Annabeth shivers this time. “You will never defy me as your father, much less as your king. Am I making myself clear?”
The prince nods, but his eyes are still traveling frenetically over to his father’s gaze. “Please, father. Let us talk. Let us reconsider,” Percy’s tone returns to normal as he begs, and Annabeth watches as Estelle’s expression goes from sadness to fear, to apprehension and anticipation, then to sadness from the place where she stands behind her brother.
“We will not talk,” the monarch finally took a step forward, dodging Percy as he gestured for the doors to be opened again, and a line of men walked inside at his command – assistants. “Not tonight. Tonight, I will clean your messes.”
Then, Poseidon’s eyes turned to his nephew, who immediately lowered his head.
“You,” he began. “Always in the scene of the crime, aren’t you, Nikolaj? I’m beginning to doubt how much of a bystander you are in these situations.”
Even from a distance, Annabeth could clearly see the way Nico swallowed a shaky breath. Reflexively, she felt herself try to shrink into her spot – avoiding the impulse to close her eyes, as if the act would make her turn invisible, with the hopefulness and ingenuity of a child.
Bur Poseidon’s attention didn’t turn to her. Instead, his gaze returned to his daughter. “Sýnódévse me, Estelle,” he said in Greek – and Percy opened his mouth to protest, but his father shot him another cutting gaze that effectively shut him up.
And, as they walked the steps to another room, Annabeth was almost exhaling in disbelief and relief. Had she really been so insignificant that he didn’t even spare her a glance? Had she truly escaped? –
“Ah,” King Poseidon stopped on the threshold of the hallway, turning on his heels to stare at the three young adults who remained in the living room. Finally, his eyes focused on the outsider girl – making Annabeth’s whole body shiver and the hair on her skin stand up. Of course, that had been too much of a dream –
“You, Miss Chase, will not leave tonight,” he stated simply, to Annabeth’s confusion – making her mind twist to the point she lost her train of thought. “In fact, you were never here. I will make sure your departure tomorrow will go… unnoticed,” he continued, not noticing or not caring at the baffled look on the woman’s face.
His green eyes then traveled between her and his son. “And I expect the two of you in my quarters, tomorrow. Don’t even try to do anything else in the meantime.”
And, with that final and ultimate command, Poseidon turned on his heels – leaving them behind and making Annabeth wonder a final reflection.
Had she been finally pushed out of the European Royal affairs, or had she been irreversibly pulled into that mess?
One thing was certain – Annabeth thought as Percy’s eyes met hers in a desperate gaze – she would not be allowed to stand on the middle ground anymore, for better or for worse.