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camphalforacle · 7 years

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Hi guys!!! So this is my story that I wrote for the pjobigbang! It’s not finished yet, but I’m posting what I have written so far!! Here is amazing art made by my good friend @glgrdsklechhh4 for this fic!! Also available on AO3

Word Count: 18k+

Trigger Warnings: Death, mentions of suicide, violence

Magic Mirror on the wall...

A poisoned apple, a vengeful princess, a wicked queen.

A runaway witch, a hidden merchant, a royal maid.

The kingdom of Olympia had deteriorated into a dilapidated state the moment Queen Hera married into the throne after the mysterious death of Queen Athena. Whispers circulated throughout the air about the new royalty. A murderer, they called the brown eyed beauty. An enchantress, they speculated.

She ruled in tyranny, invoking fear into all of her subjects. She banned all kinds of magic, persecuting anyone with the glimmer of treachery in a massive power grab. She was hated and most of all by Princess Annabeth. Annabeth calculated the death of her stepmother every day, leaving no margin for error in her vindictive plan.

Through a ragtag team of a handsome guard, an outlawed sorceress, a scam artist, and her personal maid Annabeth just might execute the queen, but could the force of Hera's occult beauty and power be too much?

In a world of gowns and jewels, murder and revenge Annabeth will need to use all of her gods given intelligence to restore the kingdom to its former glory, gain her rightful crown, and avenge her mother's death.

“Annabeth, you must listen to me.” There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in Athena’s voice. Her ordinarily cold, silver eyes held the warmth of molten mercury.

Annabeth looked to her mother where she knelt on the intricate rug to be eye-level with the youthful child.

The queen’s rouge gown billowed around her frame, blooming out like the most resplendent rose.

Annabeth mused about the rug beneath the pair, her mind already wandering off deep into unthought fantasies. She remembered it had been a gift from her father, King Frederick. He had bought it on an uncharted island off the coast of East Tangya from a furtive man, hidden beneath a dark cloak. The man had been living on the edges of a ferocious jungle in which a hidden treasure was supposed to lay.

The rug was woven from the fur of a mythological beast, the Lion of Hope, Frederick told Annabeth. That’s why it lusters with golden light despite the darkness around us, she recalled.

The Lion of Hope had been one of Annabeth’s favorite fables, read to her by Hestia, her personal maid that had always smiled so benevolently and tucked her in when the thunderous storms rattled the glass windows in rancour.

The elderly woman would be illuminated by the moon during twilight, glowing with the sheen of a goddess. Her melodic voice danced over the memorized words, reciting the tale of a beast existing only in spirit and granting the wishes of those pure of heart.

Annabeth adored the way Hestia’s eyes crackled with effulgence as she recanted the audacious story of the mischievous, but joyous lion and the happenings he stirred.

Athena laid a pacifying hand on Annabeth’s shoulder, her brown hair drifting in her eyes, awakening the princess from her mind.

“Please, darling, listen to me. I know it is hard for you, but you must.”

Annabeth was taken aback. Never before had her mother acknowledged the challenges Annabeth faced in focusing and learning; she had only ever told her to work harder, put in more effort, to stop being so weak. Annabeth had never witnessed so much as a hint of empathy from her mother. Yet, now her mother was being soft and caring.

Annabeth brought her eyes to her mother’s identical ones, skirmishing with the enticing dreams and thoughts that rambled in her head.

Athena sighed with relief.

“Thank you,” Athena said with a slight tremble wavering in her voice. The wobble made Annabeth quite curious as her mother was a composed woman, but she had no time to think on it more because just as soon Athena was taking a deep breath and directing a speech towards her daughter.

“Remember what I have taught you. Remember your strategy training, remember the ways to identify deceit. You may not have these classes anymore. Remember your upbringing and you will succeed in all that needs succeeding. And please, Annabeth, please remember me. You will be a great ruler one day.” She kissed the top of Annabeth’s head and exited the bedroom without a glimpse behind.

Annabeth was left with a million questions, all of which would be endlessly unanswered.

❈

The castle was hollow, devoid of all the mirth that once radiated in the halls and warmed the soulless stones. A spectral wind lingered in the sodden air, chilling anyone to the bone that dared cross its path.

Goosebumps began to rise across Annabeth’s covered arms, perking her awake from the droning afternoon. The throne room had always been the worst part of the castle. It wasn’t like the other parts that were merely cold, no the throne room was something more malicious; something more alive. Every crevice was its own black hole, mercilessly sucking the life and felicity from all that carried a glimmer of optimism and brightness.

Whenever she left the room Annabeth felt drained and weak, pale and sickly. The rosy glow in her cheeks would dim, a sway in her steps would appear.

The throne room was made to host those of lesser status, to hear out the words of strategy from fellow politicians or the pleas of fruitless peasants in critical need of nourishment. Every single detail of the disquieting space had meticulous purpose- to portray the most daunting interior possible so only the truth would be spoken and liars weeded out. Annabeth had to admit, the layout worked rather well.

Today, the Royals’ audience was requested by Jason Grace, the lord of Rome. Rome was a small land west of Olympia that had upheld a peace treaty with the large kingdom for several decades until Lord Jupiter, Jason’s father, had desired a gain of power.

Jupiter had been avaricious, seeking Olympia’s wealth, but not having the power to do so. The man had created unrest in both lands and caused battles that only shed innocent blood.

His so called ‘army’ was merely a hodgepodge of impoverished farmers with nothing to lose and brutish warriors with surplus amounts of doltish loyalty. The dozens of soldiers stood not a chance against the elite thousands Olympia trained pitilessly so only the most indurate of fighters ranked amongst the midst.

Jupiter had been too brash and impulsive to do much damage to Olympia or increase Rome’s power and jurisdiction, but the rebellion ultimately killed the aging man. The effects tainted the land, leaving it untrustworthy and causing Jupiter’s son to have to seek council with the Royals biannually.

Jason was a dashing young man and had been eligible as a suitor for Annabeth for many years until his father’s mutiny. It had been unofficially settled that the Grace bloodline would not emblaze the ominous castle for many generations.

Queen Hera lifted her chin augustly to conclude a conversation the princess had filtered out of her thoughts. She always seemed to be amiss in the remnants of the past. Her persistently restless mind could not succumb to such dry things as courtly communications.

“Thank you, Lord Jason, for your company here. I am glad you have sustained my wishes in our treaty thus far. Unlike your father, you show great loyalty and ethics.” She bedazzled him with a pearly smile.

Annabeth shivered. Hera’s voice contained a sinister message underneath the feigned politeness. Her silky words had been laced with a viciousness, threatening Jason that if he were to even put a toe out of line his head would be waiting on a silver platter.

Fortunately for the boy, he was not foolish and from the glint of intelligence in his electric blue eyes, Annabeth knew he’d be able to withstand her stepmother, at least for the time being.

Lord Jason graciously bowed, with an over exaggerated, sweeping hand motion. Hera grew pleased in the grand gesture.

“My deepest gratitude for your allowance of my presence, my queen.” His sturdy voice was docile, formal- the way one’s voice should be in front of a deadly weapon.

Hera gave a dismal wave of her gloved hand and the young man retreated out of the room.

Annabeth dared a glance at her stepmother, who now sat in somber silence, possibly ciphering her next political move. A slight pang of envy hit Annabeth in the gut. Despite Hera’s twisted, red lips and cruel, brown eyes she still looked to be the most regal thing to ever jewel the lands of Olympia. Every flicker of skin sparkled with elegance, every wisp of hair flowed handsomely down her back, every bat of her thick, thick eyelashes made someone swoon.

Annabeth despised Queen Hera, her insides churned with sickness every time she was forced to speak her name, look her in those too large eyes, remember the heinous act she had committed. Her ethereal beauty didn’t help to extinguish the burning ire streaming through Annabeth’s blood and yet, the princess couldn’t help admire the unnatural grace.

Annabeth sat in her own throne, though it was much smaller in size than the Queen’s golden one. Her’s was made of silver, matching the color of her always calculating eyes. She sat prim and proper, but it was not enough to project the entrancing fairness that the queen conjured. Her blonde curls swept over her shoulders smoothly enough, but did not cascade down like the chocolate locks of the queen.

Annabeth had always speculated sorcery was the truth behind Hera’s loveliness. No one that wretched could procure such a marvelous exterior naturally.

“Annabeth, dear, what did I tell you about staring? It’s horribly rude.” Hera turned her head towards her stepdaughter, a false motherly smile on her lips. She tried to put a sheath of kindness in her eyes, but Annabeth saw through the feeble mirage.

“My apologies, your highness.” Annabeth did nothing to conceal the steel in her voice as her teeth gritted together. Her emotions always wrangled to the surface when the particular ruler was involved.

“Tsk, tsk. I’d watch your tone, young princess. It’d be quite a shame if the Gods were to punish you for your reckless locution.”

Annabeth clenched her jaw. The phoney sympathy in the queen’s voice was enough for bile to rise in the princess’ throat.

“If I may say, I do not reckon it would be the Gods punishment. Such heavenly beings are never so vile or even respondent to the menial lines of us mortals. Now as for humans, especially those in positions of authority, they often turn to castigating ways.” Her smile dripped with spurious honey, a sickly sweet meant only for poisoning. Annabeth descended her seat and made her way to the skyscraping, arched oak doors, not wanting to risk Hera’s reaction to her insolent ways.

As the stoic guard began to open the passageway for the princess, Hera’s voice echoed through the chamber, much to Annabeth’s dread. An algid stone sank in her stomach.

“Oh, dear Annie, before you go I must reckon that I agree with you; it is often the majesties to be the executors.” Malevolence fluttered around the queen.

Annabeth remained silent in defiance and strode into the torch-lit hallway, not braving to turn around and look at her stepmother’s face. She suspected that the way Hera looked behind her was how she looked when she murdered Annabeth’s mother.

❈

“Annabeth you do understand I must remarry, don’t you? It is for the sake of our kingdom only, I can assure you. We need strong alliances and Skilana is an opulent one. Besides, Princess Hera is a divine woman.” King Frederick told his daughter in his gruff, burly voice from across the table.

The princess merely shrugged, pushing around the remnants of her supper on the porcelain plate. A jarring scratch sounded from the metal fork as roasted carrots and asparagus were shoved to the perimeters of the dish.

Annabeth focused on her scalp straining against the tightness of her bun, reminding herself to speak with her new maid that she’d need it much looser if she wanted to not pay attention to the agonizing tension her follicles felt.

Her heart mourned in longing for her beloved Hestia, the woman that had become as much as family as her parents were. Her passing on top of Annabeth’s mother created an elephantine weight that the juvenescent girl could not bear to lift.

The eight-year-old could not bolster anymore depressing matter or she would collapse under the stress of it all.

“Annabeth please, I am trying my best. You did not feel Helena suited this family with her twin boys, so I did not ask for her hand, but dare I say I am bewitched with Hera. Her kingdom can offer great things and create even more strength in ours. She will blend right into the family, a new piece to the puzzle.” His voice carried traces of desperation. Frederick needed approval from his daughter, he would not do anything involving their family without consulting the young girl.

The princess drew in a long breath, filling her lungs with sweetened summer air.

“If it is a gain to Olympia, it is a gain to me.” Annabeth’s voice sung in a lullaby. The innocence of it swelled in the prickly air.

Her father sighed. He had permission to advance the kingdom and be with a woman he loved.

Frederick knew he would not rue the decision, not until the day he died.

❈

Annabeth made her way down a sunlit corridor where vacant windows filtered bundles of light into the otherwise bleak castle. It was the only hallway that brought the sun’s aura into the palace in such splendorous ways, the only hallway that showed a nostalgic sliver of exuberance the palace once held.

It was only fitting that Annabeth’s rooms were located in the hall.

The corridor was near blank of any souls besides the princess and the guard that had been stationed at her door for years and years and years. The guard she had spent her life growing up with. He was the only one she could not best in sparring. They were equals in every way. For hours and hours and hours they would draw their preferred weapons, but never could either reign in victory of another. Once one tired enough, they’d declare a draw and set another match for another time.

It was a special feat reserved only for the duo.

“Percy.” Annabeth breathed almost in relief. The smell of the sea that always lingered on his skin infiltrated her being, washing a calm wave over her body.

In all honesty, Percy was only stationed at Annabeth’s door because she wanted him there. Because he was her friend. There was no actual need for a guard at the princess’ door, no one would be capable enough to break through the barriers surrounding the castle. No one would have the gall to do ill upon the girl.

No, everyone knew the unspoken truth that Annabeth’s was the queen’s to handle. If Hera did not kill her, no one would. No one would give Annabeth that kind of mercy when Hera was such a vindictive and ruthless spirit.

“Annabeth.” Percy dipped his head slightly in greeting. He was always so curt with his actions, never expressing too much. Spies, Annabeth supposed, even though the hall was always empty and private for the pair.

Oh, but how she ached for more of him than his short sentences and simple actions. Annabeth wanted more and more and more. She wanted him. She wanted to kiss him and love him without the slightest bit of fear that everything could come crashing down in shambles.

But that wasn’t how it worked in Hera’s kingdom. If Hera were to even see Annabeth lay a sultry eye on the man she loved so desperately and so ill fatedly, then there would be no time to stop the sword severing his head.

That’s why they were like this. Saying so little to each other, but meaning so much. They had expressed their feelings last year to each other in a fit of passion and years worth of longing. They had been reckless and stupid and thrilled and everything inbetween. To their surprising benefit no one knew of the secret romance between the pair, but that didn’t let either of them drop their guard.

Both Percy and Annabeth knew they could never do something like that ever again. Yet, Annabeth still knew everything about him and wanted it.

She knew the taste of his lips, how they rang with pastries from his mother’s bakery. She wanted them. She knew the groove of his back, how the freckles along aligned themselves in the greatest of constellations. She wanted them. She knew the feel of the scar running from his collar bone, how he got it that night he was almost arrested for murder of his stepfather. She wanted it.

Annabeth was the princess of the richest kingdom. She had everything she needed and more, but nothing she wanted. She wanted so much.

She knew she’d never have it.

Whether Percy knew it or not (and she suspected he did, he was much too clever to not know), he was a weapon in a war about to be waged. If Annabeth were to follow the plans she made so meticulously for so long, she would not bring Percy into it.

She walked to her door, hand resting on the brass doorknob and dared a glance behind her. Percy was looking too and pain flooded those swirling green eyes. Annabeth turned away, entering her chambers.

❈

Frederick laid on his bed, wheezing and coughing. Trickles of blood spewed onto the white bed sheets like drops of rain on the cobblestone roads outside of the castle. His breathing was labored, as though he had just run miles and miles rather than stayed immobilized in his bed the past five days.

Somewhere deep in her heart, Annabeth knew this was her father’s end, but still she naively held onto a whim of hope that he could make it through.

She was gripping his withered hand with all the strength and tenacity she held within her small body. His skin was so gray as though he were already a decaying corpse. He looked so drained of all the merriment and heftiness she loved and knew of him. He was now a thin, frail man. Annabeth couldn’t see anything that remained of the person once so strong.

It was amazing how someone could fall into such a threadbare state within only a matter of days.

Annabeth was glad it was only the two of them in the room when warm tears tumbled from her eyes. She lost her mother, she couldn’t lose her father. She didn’t want to be an orphan at eleven. She didn’t want another bout of pity that would be given by everyone to look her way. She didn’t want the reality she was living.

“Annabeth I must tell you something.” Frederick managed to say before having another fit of coughs. He was so sick, so irreversibly sick. Annabeth wept for him.

She pulled in closer, to lessen the strain on her father’s vocal cords.

He stroked his daughter’s hair, his fingers tangling in the curls.

Annabeth looked at him expectantly, waiting for the words he desired to tell.

“Poison did this to me and I think you are well aware of the administrator.” Another cough. “Your mother, she knew, I should have listened to her. She knew death awaited her and by what hands. She knew a person was after her and I did not listen. She faced her death so valiantly.” Two more coughs. “I wish to do the same. Things have been wrong here for a very long time and I am afraid. Afraid that horrible, vile actions have been performed under my rule without my acknowledgment.” Three coughs. “Please, Annabeth, for all that is touched by the sanguine rays of light on this earth, remember me. Please.”

Frederick drew in a final breath and shut his eyes.

He stopped. He stopped breathing. He stopped existing.

Annabeth’s father, the king, was gone, gone, gone.

Her hand still grasped his, but Frederick’s was limp, no longer filled with the stubbornness that kept him alive for just a little longer than possible.

Somber silence hugged Annabeth in meaningless comfort. Nothing could be right again. Not with all she lost.

She felt like stone. She felt so hardened by her hardships that she could not feel anymore.

And what her father had said before his passing…

It was so eerily similar to what her mother had said. Annabeth knew it was not a coincidence. She knew what she had to do, had possibly known it since her mother’s death.

She had to kill the queen.

❈

Annabeth’s maid, Rachel, was sitting in her wooden seat by the window mending a dress Annabeth had ripped while on a midnight trip to the gardens. She was exactly where she should be, a good and loyal servant.

Rachel had replaced Annabeth’s first maid after Hestia, she was an incredibly hard worker and an incredibly key pawn in her plan. A gift from the gods themselves, given right into Annabeth’s outstretched palm.

It was such a shame the other maid had to die first; not of Annabeth’s doing, but of common illness and a poor immune system. Regardless, it only helped to further Annabeth’s scheme that would very well be for the greater good (and personal pleasure). Yet… never had the princess’ heart wailed nor wept or showed any emotion towards the girl’s passing. Only a sadistic satisfaction remained and it scared Annabeth to the core.

She ignored the feeling.

Rachel was one of her truest friends, only a few years her senior. She was even more than that, something much more valuable and precious. Rachel was her spy.

No one ever suspected the girl to be as cunning as she was. Always she fabricated a meek demeanor, a girl too nervous to even speak with her superiors. At times she even had Annabeth fooled.

So much information had been gathered from the redhead. All the other maids loved their gossip, it was one of the few things they could control, and Rachel never failed to remember each and every detail that spilled from her coworkers’ mouths.

Rachel was one step in Annabeth’s plan. The plan to kill the queen.

Annabeth had never risked the chance of writing her plan down, but she could visualize it with pristine imagery. She knew every step, every outcome, everything about the plan had been made with perfection. Best of all, it was blissfully simple.

So, so impossibly simple. The strongest of armies could not take down the queen; her army was always stronger. She was something so untouchable, so powerful that no land could risk her wrath. Jupiter had only been an example.

Simple meant less mistakes could be made, less things could go wrong. Complex equaled failure and Annabeth never failed.

The first step was mostly upon Rachel. It was learning the queen’s schedule, every step of her despicable life.

That part was complete and one thing stood out to Annabeth as the easiest way to get to the queen. Every day, without fault, the queen ate an apple at breakfast. It was the only constant in her court life and the perfect way to end her reign.

Annabeth could bark out a laugh at how something so little and menial as a fruit could lead to the downfall of a ruler so puissant.

That was the starting point of everything. Annabeth knew exactly what she needed and how to obtain it.

“Milady.” Rachel stood up and curtsied, her emerald stare unwavering from Annabeth’s silver.

“Rachel, I have an errand for you to run today,” Annabeth said, a smug smirk bedecking her face, she already tasted sweet victory on her tongue.

“Yes, madam?” Rachel feigned innocence so well. It was a truly stunning work of art.

“The mysterious girl, the one you heard the maids whisper of, find her. Bring her to my quarters. Discreetly of course. I have an offer to make her.”

A dazzling sense of satisfaction coursed in Annabeth’s veins like the liquor of gods. She marveled in its beauty as Rachel nodded her head and made her way out the door. Annabeth thought she wouldn’t feel anything so satiating until the day she saw the queen’s motionless body.

❈

The front door creaked open and as if on command, Hazel’s heart started thundering with the instinct to run. She poised herself into a sprinter’s stance, positioned to haul ass out of the ramshackled house. A dagger was gripped in her dark hand so hard, it threatened to spill blood.

Hazel steadied herself, relaxing her shaky breath, quieting the restless motion that racked her body.

Every day was another in peril when she lived so close to the border of Olympia. She never understood her mother’s intentions of living in such proximity to a kingdom that banished magic and tortured its users as though they were the devil himself when they themselves were a family of witches.

Perhaps, Hazel mused, her mother enjoyed the thrill of toeing the line of death. Just as she was doing in that instance when the door creaked open.

The past three days had been bizarre, and that was on Hazel’s standards. Her mother had received a vision two days ago, not disclosing the information to Hazel on what it was about, but immediately set off to the kingdom of Inger after.

Rarely did her mother ever have enough power to use her gift of sight and even rarer did she act upon the prophecies she received.

It had done nothing to ease Hazel’s nerves as the past days she was left utterly alone.

The door swung fully open revealing two figures.

Hazel breathed a sigh of silent relief upon seeing her mother and sank onto the floor.

Her mother surveyed her daughter, allowing her face to contort into a look of repulsion.

“Get up, girl. You could never have taken an intruder, you have only made yourself a fool. Do not do that again.” Her mother spat, a fiery ire tracing the words.

Hazel stood, casting her eyes down to her bare feet, soiled from weeks without bathing. It was punishment for Hazel practicing magic outside of the house. That and a slap across the face. She could still feel the hateful, phantom sting.

Her mother kept her eyes on the girl, the same eyes Hazel herself bore.

After many moments of silence, her mother spoke.

She motioned towards the other figure, now standing behind her. She was a girl of fire hair, only some years older than Hazel.

“This is Princess Rachel of Inger. You will clean her and then we will leave to travel. You will stay here and keep quiet. Do not disappoint me.” Her mother commanded.

All Hazel could muster was a feeble nod before getting to work on the young princess who was ever so quiet.

❈

Piper moved through the bustling market furtively, concealed beneath a beaten, brown cloak. The hood darkened shadows on her tanned skin and hid the distinctive marks that labeled her birthplace of Melana. She damned that abhorrent island. Growing up on it made everything about her a source of taboo from her kaleidoscope eyes to the stark white tattoos crawling on her face.

Melana had once been a place of wonder and wanderlust, a myth out of the next story book. Adventurers came seeking its legendary treasures. It was filled with a secluded glory only few were fortunate enough to witness. But that had been the past. Queen Hera of Olympia had ruin all of Melana’s mysterious reputation.

Witches.

Whores.

Savages.

All things the wicked woman named the inhabitants of the small island off of East Tangya. Piper had once been of a noble family, high in respect among her fellow villagers. Her father had been famous for finding the Lion of Hope, the true treasure of the island, though no islander would ever reveal that to a foreigner. For all anyone knew, besides the Melanians, the Lion of Hope was a children’s tale drifting the youngsters into a deep cavern of nothingness during fitful nights.

Her father had bargained with the beast to bring Piper into the world. His biggest wish had been a family and he had received it, of course at a cost. That cost being her mother’s life.

One could not receive without first giving, the eldest of women on Melana forewarned all seeking the assistance of the magical.

Piper’s mother had been the belle of the land before passing in the horrible tragedy. Men and women fawned over her supernatural appeal. She had died in childbirth, but Piper’s father never failed to describe the woman’s charm and love.

“Her skin was deeper in color than the depths of the most abyssal cave. Her hair flowed down near to the ground, tickling her ankles with each step. The silver locks carried their own luminescence, bringing a bit of light wherever she went, as if she were the main beacon of man instead of the moon. But it was her eyes that were the most beautiful part about her. She had violet irises, more vibrant than even the flowers. You could not even envy her for them even though they rivaled everyone else as they never failed to gush over with love for every good thing in existence. No matter where she went, passion followed.”

Her father’s deep, cadenced voice ricocheted through her head. Piper could imagine his wishful, reminiscent smile that was unique to the memory of her mother. His broad shoulders and even broader smile filled the capacity of her mind in lustful, selfish want to go back to simpler times like those.

All of that had diminished rapidly once Piper turned ten.

Olympian soldiers had raided the land without ever stating an eloquent cause. They took the natives captive, burned their houses down, and conquered her homeland like the barbarians they were raised to be. Her own father had been taken as a slave. She was orphaned and heartbroken, irrevocably saddened by the lost of all that she cherished.

The horror of the invaders flooded the surviving natives veins. Unspeakable acts were done to her people in the weeks of the raid, but by some blessing or fluke Piper had been left untouched. She had not been decimated or enslaved or violated as others had. She had been left to wither in heart shatter, to grow up on her own and wonder why all the virtue had to be destroyed.

Once the nefarious men left, a cloud of hatred fell on the survivors as though a hex was cursed onto Melana. Corruption hit the once near sacred land hard. People became nasty and spiteful, denouncing the traditions that had been upheld for generations. The white tattoos that bedizened faces in hallowed meaning became a source of mockery and obloquy. One was expected to cover them up if they were to appear meritorious.

Everyone turned against each other, looking for the most vicious way to tear the next person apart.

By the time Piper turned thirteen she was labeled a temptress. She sought refuge in families that had once had boundless relations with her and her father. They turned their cheeks away from her in repugnance, insulted she would even speak to them.

Never in her life had she felt so alone and terrified. Not when her father was taken, not when she wandered forgotten pathways in the dead of night. Not even when the only sound that accompanied her was the faint chirp of cricket wings.

With an increasing chasm festering in her heart from years of solitude and negligence, she knew she had to escape the maritime prison that was once proudly her home.

By the time Piper was fifteen she had traveled to Olympia itself and found tarnished sanctum in its capital, Athenisia. She lived feral in darkened, putrid alleyways, scavenging for any morsel of food. Barely did she get by, everyday was another day focusing on persevering. Each minute that whizzed by brought her another inch closer to death.

On a particularly polar night during the dead of winter when Piper’s stomach howled in starvation and her bones weeped in fatigue from a day’s worth of hunting, but nothing to profit from she laid on the freezing cobblestone and broke down in tears for the first time in five years.

That was her breaking point, when she realized she had to do more, live her life better instead of scrounging for aliment like the flea bitten strays that trotted through the city.

She taught herself the mastery of swindling.

As the venders set up their stands, laid out trinkets from far off lands Piper would brush by, carefully cloaking her loot beneath her dark ball gown. Yes, she had to admit, the dress was a little lavish for her business, but a dramatic flair was always needed in the art of thievery and hers just happened to show in the form of attire. A trait, perhaps passed down from her mother, the beauty of her land.

Piper’s slender fingers were swift, her face neutral and congenial. She orchestrated pleasant conversations with her victims, none of them ever suspecting she had stolen goods from them.

It wasn’t honest business and she wasn’t entirely proud of it, but a larger part than Piper would admit to thrived off the thrill of the experience. The act of carrying out an illegal process sent exhilaration and adrenaline coursing through her blood.

After her ravished spirit was satiated she’d hide in a darkened alleyway, away from the revealing sunlight. A notorious figure she was, her reputation was whispered in baleful circles, in filthy pubs and draggled bars. Only the shiftiest of souls made appearance with the cloaked figure, seller of cursed objects and priceless gems.

Every piece she sold received a new identity of innumerable value. She fabricated stories with fluid words, detailing extravagant tales on how she acquired the product. Never had she failed to receive the payment she wanted, her voice had an enthralling effect on all her patrons. The slight rasp gave interest to their ears, her choice of words flowed delicately into the landscape.

Piper exited the market she had most recently looted and made her way to her favorite alley, the one with the unwonted chill; the one that caused the faint of heart to barrel away on legs faster than those of a cheetah. It was perfect for the clientele Piper attracted.

She bestowed the broken ground with dingy trinkets. She knelt in a way specifically to shield her face with carefully crafted shadows. If anyone were to lay eyes on her distinctive white markings her whole infamy would vaporize from the world far faster than she built it.

Her first customer came walking down only a few moments after setting up. Already Piper tingled with anticipation in hoodwinking the next client.

The person was a girl, her hair a flame in the opaque darkness. Her shoulders were pushed back in the air of purpose. Brilliance sparked from too large eyes.

A challenge.

Piper smirked, the best satisfaction was rewarded when she hoodwinked someone so vainglorious. Those type, with their head held high and thoughts warped around themselves, the ones that thought they’d never be fooled or tricked. Never dreamed something so low would become of them.

Those people had yet to meet Piper McLean.

The customer approached,the patter of her leather shoes echoing in the void space.

She stopped inches away from Piper, who was hiding under her cloak and in the billows of her skirt. The redhead studied the unorthodox merchant, eyeing her with the ferocity of a predator on its prey.

“Hello, Piper McLean.” The redhead grew a sinister, smug smile, knowing she had won an unfought battle.

Piper sat, frozen in terror.

❈

Rachel was silenced by shock, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs, wanting to destroy her insides as her home had been. Flames licked at the hem of her dress, but she could not feel their heat. Her body was too pathetic to even muster a cough.

Gone was any trepidation that once might have coated her head and set off a bout of lifesaving adrenaline.

Her whole being was devoid of any and all emotions.

She was paralyzed at the sight before her.

The castle she had grown up in was in ruins. The stones were crumbled around the courtyard, fire roared within, merciless to anyone inside. Her family had been in there.

Her family…

Her mother and father were dead.

Her cousins were dead.

Here aunts and uncles were dead.

Everyone she ever grew to love- dead.

Her whole life evanesced into the air as though it never existed.

She waited to feel a beast inside her, to let out a primitive howl in mourning. But it didn’t come. She stood there just staring. Staring at the dilapidating ruins of her life that could never be built again.

It was a miracle her life had not been taken too. A phenomenon that she had been spared, that she had decided to take a walk through the still standing garden at the hour the castle was demolished.

Rachel would have to thank fate later.

Time passed and night turned to dawn, Rachel remaining motionless. The bottom of her dress was in ashes around her, her skin was melted and burnt on her legs. Still she registered none of this.

She had heard of Queen Hera’s cruelty before, but never imagined that she’d face it firsthand. Never had she thought her own kingdom of Inger would be conquered or marred. It had always been a utopia in her mind.

Inger had never been overtly powerful and was not one to mindlessly conquer lands in the pursuit of some bestial lust for mastery, but it had been lavishly wealthy. Rachel herself never much cared for the riches and halls of gowns that accompanied her rooms, but she did love the stashes of paints her mother would bring her in apology for forcing a mannerism class upon the child. She loved the way she could fling out gold coins into streets of the homeless and helpless and feel as though she were making a difference.

She had loved her kingdom.

The kingdom that was now gone, lost to the wind and forever held in her memory.

She was not asinine enough to think that her attackers left the streets of Inger’s cities unharmed. If the castle was gone, Inger was gone.

Finally, her heart sang in pain- not for herself, but for all of the families butchered by the evil creature posing as a fair human. Tears rolled down her cheek, cleansing them of the soot that had piled upon her freckles.

Not even time could heal the remnants of Hera’s actions.

The earth would always cry out in lamentation for the inhumane death of its children.

The wind rustled through Rachel’s red curls. She felt a tendril wisp by her ear, tickling the skin there. It was the first physical feeling she felt since the castle was bombarded and her life vanished.

Her legs were in agony, her second and third degree burns crawling up to her knees. She’d need a doctor soon if she wanted to withstand infection or any other further complications.

For the second time that day a wave of shock washed through the girl. A hand had been laid on her shoulder.

A woman stood next to her, a fierce determination in molten gold eyes, contrasting her dark skin. Her brown hair swooshed breathtakingly in the morning breeze, the rising sunlight illuminating her skin. It glittered as though she were a creature of mythical being.

The woman wore an odd ensemble of patterned skirts and golden bangles. Rachel swore she could be a witch, with the intelligence and reclusiveness in her eyes and the whimsical ambiance surrounding her.

The woman spoke in a deep, husky voice, “Come with me child if you wish to live.”

Without anywhere or anyone to find solace with, Rachel followed the woman, walking towards a new life just as harrowing as the one she left.

❈

Piper, Rachel decided, was an enigma. The girl wore a cloak to disguise herself, to keep her true identity as a Melana native a deep, deep secret. And yet, she wore a florid ballgown of the deepest chestnuts and richest blacks that was sure to draw any eye to it. It was as though she wanted the attention, but knew she could not have it.

The girl still wore a look of horror and surprise on her face, evidently she was not accustomed to outsiders knowing of who she truly was.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow in challenge, enticing Piper to say something.

Piper cleared her mind of all the shock that had overcome it, surveying the woman in front of her. She took note of her dress, her posture, her everything. This was just another game of hunter and prey, a game Piper always won.

“Identify yourself right now, maid.” Piper snarled to Rachel.

Rachel did not immediately reply, but instead cocked her head, again analysing the dishonest merchant.

It was a battle of wits, who could figure out who first. Each girl was prodding the next, rooting out each other's strengths and weaknesses. Trying to find where to stab the knife for a fatal blow.

Rachel found just the weak spot, it was almost too obvious not to notice.

She cleared her throat with a dainty hand, creating a ladylike facade.

“I’m afraid that is not necessary. Your audience is requested with the royals of Olympia as soon as possible. If you deem yourself too worthy to bestow your presence within the palace, your identity will be posted for all the kingdom to see. I’m not sure how well that’ll settle within the stomachs of your clients. I know I wouldn’t want business with a whore.” Rachel gave a smarmy smile.

Piper growled, an animalistic sound with almost no trace of humanity within its vibrations. No one was allowed to show her disrespect, especially on her own turf.

“Firecracker, I see. Perhaps the red hair was gifted to the wrong person.” Rachel mused.

Piper sent a viper’s glare her way, before speaking.

“You do not deserve my words, my breath, my time, my anything. Yet, I will give it to you for now. Only to have a civilized discussion, to clarify. If I choose to go to the palace, what is in it for me? I will not be used or sought out for nothing. And how do I not know this is a scam? That I will not be thrown into the gallows the minute I lay a toe within the palace walls.” Piper challenged.

Rachel resisted rolling her eyes.

“Well for the latter, you are the queen of this wretched place filled with all sorts of tricks of the trade. I’ll let yourself answer the question. Now, as to a profit, I think you’ll find yourself benefitting greatly.” Rachel flicked a golden coin towards Piper, who caught it with ease.

She studied it, stifling a gasp.

It was a royal crest coin, alone worth more than triple the fortune she had accumulated over the years.

Rachel leaned in close, her breath mingling with Piper’s.

“A whole bag full of these for your audience and service.” Her tone not even hiding the fact she already reigned victorious.

Piper clutched the coin.

“Do not think you have won.” She said as she stood and followed the redhead.

❈

The air shifted into a deep chill as dusk fell onto the rolling, green hills now tinged with the slightest of burnt oranges. Rachel’s eyelids felt droopy, threatening to stay closed for hours upon hours with each blink.

Her muscles ached from the horse beneath her. Her and the woman had been riding nearly nonstop the past three days. Rachel wished desperately that her unknown destination would appear soon, if only to grant the young girl the sleep she yearned for.

The woman, Marie, sat tall and strong on her beautiful steed as though the relentless travel had not hindered her mentality or exhausted her to oblivion as it had done to Rachel. In fact, in the fading light Marie appeared almost regal.

A quiet blanket draped over the pair as they rode, Rachel always slightly behind. The silence became a burden in itself as minutes slowly passed, each longer and longer. Rachel had always had an affinity for speaking and telling story after story; a creative streak sparked inside her being and did not like to be caged within the quietness.

At the beginning Rachel had been subdued by the recent trauma and with it her voice had fled, lost in a world of decay, but as the time wore on she pined to feel the familiar vibrations in her throat. Unfortunately for the young girl, Marie had showed no initial inclination to Rachel’s talking and had even bristled at the girl’s voice. She wasn’t even shrill, the girl thought bitterly.

And Marie certainly would not bless Rachel with any information on where they were going or why. Marie was a secretive woman and Rachel was a nosy girl. The pair clashed, even within the plains of nothingness.

Rachel was starting to resent her offbeat savior.

As dusk was pushed away and night came into view, Rachel decided she had enough of the silence and tested her luck with a question.

“Miss Marie,” Rachel began, her voice dry and hoarse from disuse. “If it is not troublesome, may I please ask again where we are going? I do not mean to be bothersome, but would be very pleased if you gave me the knowledge.”

“You will see soon, child. I would keep practicing that laconicness if I were you, fore we are nearing our destination.” There was warning in her voice, alerting Rachel she was just a little too close to a line that was best not crossed.

Rachel shut her lips in a pout, but did not go against Marie’s words.

Another hour ticked by and the duo reached a hill. Marie’s posture seemed to straighten more and more as they elevated. It had to be nearing midnight, Rachel thought, they must be resting soon.

It wasn’t until they crested a hill did the pair finally stop. Marie stretched her long arm, her bracelets with strange pendants jangled with the movement. She pointed her finger out across the horizon to a city. Within the city a mighty palace stood tall and proud, twinkling beneath the moonlight.

Rachel instantly recognized the place from descriptions in her studies, it was the famed capital of Olympia, Athenisia.

“That,” Marie said gesturing to the grand palace, “Is your destination.”

Rachel’s stomach curled, she felt all the blood leak from her body. Her tongue dried into a desert.

“The- the queen butchered my family. I can’t go there.” Rachel voiced her concerns in a mere whimper.

Her face became wan as she gulped down air, trying to steady her anxious nerves with the sacred oxygen.

Marie snarled, something animalistic overtaking the woman in a fit of rage.

“You will go there and you will thank me for aiding you. You will work as a maid in the castle and you will be thankful for my service.” Marie hissed with such a viciousness that she nearly lunged from her horse to get in Rachel’s face.

Fear coated Rachel’s inside and the girl meekly nodded. She would not risk her safety over arguing with Marie, the woman was clearly unstable if she could snap so easily and without much warning.

Empathy pooled in the redhead’s heart for Marie’s daughter who had so kindly cleaned her up. Rachel prayed to the gods the girl would be kept safe from the woman that claimed to be her rescuer.

Marie launched herself from her mare and immediately began to set up her sleeping arrangements, wordlessly Rachel followed.

Perhaps the castle would have to serve as a haven for now, Rachel thought as she laid down on her blanket and awaited sleep to take her.

❈

Hera had always loved the throne room from the instant her foot touched the castle grounds of Athenisia. Her palace in Skilana had been much more demure compared to the grand expanse of the one she now called home. The dark corners of the room, the ominous drapings of light, the perturbing set of her own throne were all things she fell deeply and endlessly in love with. It was the only kind of affection that she allowed to grasp and tug at her heartstrings. She thrived off of the constant looming threat that radiated in the throne room; the fear it invoked was always such a pleasure. It made such good use in watching its occupants squirm.

She sat in that same throne that caused such anguish, feeling the chill of its gold through the layers of fabric that encapsulated her body. Her purple plumage did little to protect her body from the iciness that drew from the metal. Despite the slight discomfort it brought, Hera still reveled in the bitterness. It aroused her body, zapping it awake through the coldness that mirrored her own.

Shimmering light spotlighted her in a hazy halo just above her waterfalling locks. She was an angel of death incarnate, but the aureole did not bestow benevolence upon the cruel queen, it merely fed her image as a being with the dominion of a god.

A sense of tranquility washed over her as she sat, sending shivers up her arms- her skin began to dot with goosebumps. Her mind was always liberated in the presence of the throne room. It was as though a gust of wind blew through her head, sweeping up any confusion or distractions and left only the utmost clarity. In those moments she was open to the entire universe, awaiting a surge of information to rush in and fill an achingly empty gap that still lay within her.

Having such power as hers took great mentality. It had its costs and Hera was no fool to that. Her selfish gains could not revoke the fundamental principles that lied within creation. It would garner people upset, it would hurt, and it would murder, but Hera had done away with any guilt and worry a long, long time ago. All that remained was her eagerness and ambition. She would take whatever means to succeed in her goals and if that meant suffering or dislike against her, then so be it. She had established enough power to know that no one stood a chance in defeating her- and that did not just mean military force.

Hera would never be so featherheaded to rest all her power in only one space- to rule was all about strategy and that would be a horrible, self demising one.

However, there was one small, tiny, miniscule thing, or rather person, that could ever possess a thread of threat against the queen. It was a certain girl with curls of blonde hair (that frankly resembled noodles in Hera's personal opinion) and a mind that was much too curious and clever for her own good. Princess Annabeth.

Hera did not doubt that the princess had conspiracies against her. She did not doubt for even a moment that the girl was aware her parents' deaths were not mere whims of fate. Hera did not doubt that the girl knew of the core of Hera's powers. Most of all, Hera certainly did not doubt that Annabeth wished to end the life of her step-mother.

It'd inevitably prove harrowing if the princess was to ever construct an actual plan against the queen and Hera knew it would never take physical form. It'd be such a nasty thing to deal with, tangles and tangles and tangles of whatever ballyhoo Annabeth concocted in which Hera's spies would have to sort through. Even so, Annabeth did not possess the ability to raise an army against her even if it was a raging desire and she most definitely didn't have the magical ability to take the queen.

Still, Hera did not like that even a speck of threat remained in her kingdom. She knew it was best to cross your t's and dot your i's, especially when one was of such high standing and consequence. So, Hera formed her own plan. She knew just how to cleanly remove the dreadful princess from her heavenly empire and who she would hire to do so. Of course, she could always commit the murder herself, after all she did possess magic, but she did not have time for such trivial matters. Besides, Hera already used her magic as a constant in near everything- her military, her looks, that she did not have the energy to spare to make a killing through it. She was awfully weary from the draining usage.

Fortunately, she knew just how to squash the embers of rebellion that flickered behind those grey eyes every time the princess was in the queen's presence. She couldn't let those embers sweep into a full blown fire. Hera had an awful hatred to messes, and that would surely be one- still manageable, but still a mess.

After all, Hera wasn't merely cutting off the head of the hydra, no, she was stopping more from growing.

❈

Athena knew she would soon perish. She had always been praised for her wit ever since she had begun her studies as a tot and rivaled anyone of great intellect. While she may not have been the most loved queen to grace the lands of Olympia, she was certainly the quickest. Her role was to benefit the kingdom and she did just that with her intellect. The same intellect that assured her that her premature death was inevitable.

Though she would not grant her assassin the satisfaction of committing the deed; if Athena were to die it would be by her own hand and no one else's.

Perhaps the worst part of her death was that it would not be caused by a total stranger, but the heir to a throne that had close ties with Olympia. Athena understood now with a moment of clarity that should have come long ago why those ties were so close, especially as of late. She had always had her suspicions... but nothing like this. She had thought the kingdom simply wanted to leech off of Olympia's wealth; it was her own fault that she'd reach such an early demise.

Athena had known Princess Hera since they were young. Athena was four years her senior and had never taken a liking to the beast in silken dresses. When Athena's father had taken her on diplomacy missions to the kingdom of Skilana she was always charged with the task to entertain the young girl. Her father had promised her she would not want to stay in the dull and dreadfully dry meetings that only talked politics and would instead love to play with the young girl and heir to the Skilana throne. Athena would remark that they were just using her as a babysitter.

The girl always had something festering inside of her, even as a young child. There was something rotten and not quite right. The girl appeared without mercy or remorse, only in the rarest of moments would she hint at a glimmer of guilt when doing something immoral.

Athena should have never let that wrongness manifest into an adult, she should've stopped it when she had a chance. And now it was too late.

Hera possessed an ability that Athena could not match- magic. If Athena too were a magic wielder, than she would not have to bid life a farewell, but alas she was not so instead she had to greet death.

Ever since their last meeting with the Skilanian royals a month ago Athena knew Hera planned to kill her. She had ventured into the princess' room, not aimlessly, trying to seek information on how to best handle Skilana. She had excused herself to the gardens, a maze of hedges that would take anyone hours to find her, during a lull in their dinner claiming she needed fresh air. The royals had always appeared under a guise of loyalty, but pure instinct told Athena there were far more malicious intentions underlying that unwavering trust, motivating her to investigate into the matter. It wasn't often the Queen of Olympia acted on instinct instead of logic, so truly this case was one to marvel at.

Inside the chambers Athena had found absolutely nothing. There were no indicators that Hera or her father and mother had ulterior motives for their alliance with Olympia. There was purely nothing in existence to contribute to her instinct that something was dutifully off. The fact should have relaxed the queen; it should have put her into a state of tranquility knowing she did not have such a close enemy. Still, an unease had settled in the pit of Athena's stomach and she would not let it brew there for long. She knew just how clever people could be when they had strong ambitions.

She was leaving the room when she stumbled into Princess Hera, awaiting Athena just outside the door. The princess stood with an ethereal grace, her posture was appraisive, her face was wrought with a too amiable smile.

“Your highness, have you found what you need? I'm afraid I've been mistaken, but I thought you were off to the gardens for some fresh air? If you are lost I can have one of my servants assist you there. It will be no trouble at all,” Hera had said with a sweet inclination of her head. Her hands were folded passively in front of her.

Athena would not allow Hera to dumbfound her despite the flimsy facade. She merely mimicked the princess' position.

“No, you are entirely right, Princess. I was going out for a stroll when I passed by your room. My deepest condolences for intruding on your privacy. I saw your bookshelf as the door was ajar and only wished to glean what titles you had.” It was complete and utter bullshit and both of them knew it.

Princess Hera waved her hand dismissively, clearing the air.

“It's truly no worry. I have quite the curiosity myself, so understand where you are coming from. I take no offence.”

Athena smiled gratefully, though relief did not flood her; this was all a game, all an act of playing the violin. They both needed the right notes to stay in tune.

Hera opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then opened it again, “You have quite a reputation for your brilliance.” She said matter of fact.

Athena, unsure of what Hera's move was said, “Yes?”

“I am sure you have heard of Hereweald Everett then. He was quite the mastermind and author during his century.” Hera's voice bounced with interest, the rise and fall making it seem more genuine than it had before.

Athena nodded, analyzing the situation. It was such an odd and unexpected thing to say, with apparently little relevance to the matter that was previously discussed. Her mind whirred with the possibilities of Hera’s ulterior motives.

“He once remarked something that struck a chord within me. It'll be a line I will forever remember. He had once said, well, written, 'All peace is preparation for war; the one who believes it to be prevention is the one who parishes in battle.' Quite striking isn't it?” Hera's face was marked with a serpent's grin, as she flicked a bit of fire out of the palm of her hand. The glowing ball burned bright near her dress, illuminating the area around. As quick as she conjured it, Hera extinguished the flame. Her magic was a powerful thing.

It was in that moment that Athena's fears were validated. Hera was proud, as was Athena herself, but Hera was akin to a peacock. She wanted to flaunt and gloat. She wanted to show that she had the upperhand and in that case she did.

“Shall we get back to dinner then? Or do you still need that fresh air?” Hera had chirped, as if the past minutes vanished into oblivion.

Athena shuddered as she remembered that fateful day. She had had no doubt then that Hera had plans to kill her and with magic coursing through her blood there was little Athena could do to prevent it. Magic was a tricky thing to people who were not users- it was a raw power whose concept could not be fully grasped unless that person was a wielder. An unfair advantage, yes, but that was life. Athena and her kingdom had rose above it until Hera appeared. Finally, her intellect would have to bow to something.

Now, she looked upon her daughter, who was fast asleep in bed. Her blonde tendrils were strewn everywhere in a hurricane of a mess. Athena did not want to leave her Annabeth. She had not been the proper mother to her in a sense and now she did not have the time to make it up.

She strode over to her heir, who was folded into herself, snuggled in a pile of blankets. She gently shook the child's shoulder. Annabeth was not a heavy sleeper so awoke almost instantly.

“Mother?” Annabeth said confused, exhaustion burdening her voice.

“Come child, let's get you out of bed.” Athena said tenderly, carrying Annabeth to the carpet in the middle of her room.

Annabeth stood, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Athena's heart sank as she thought of how this would be the last time she saw her daughter. After she left that room she would be taking what was left of her life. She would die in her home at her own hand. Yes, she'd play into Hera's plan, only because she had no choice, but she would at least make her own rules. She only hoped she could prepare Annabeth to finalize Athena's own plan, to end the reign of terror Hera would soon instill.

Athena sighed slightly and looked to her daughter.

“Annabeth, you must listen to me.”

❈

Hera sat in her throne feeling absolutely divine as the young huntress knelt before her on the marble floors. The girl’s dark braid swept forward with the downward movement in a courtliness that the queen was sure the girl did not recognize she had.

Zoe Nightshade was a famed huntress, trained by Artemis herself. Artemis, the Queen of the Hunt, was what commonfolk called the skilled and near legendary woman. In reality, she was just a rogue princess, desperate to shine from her sister Athena’s shadow.

Artemis had abandoned her title and wealth in favor of a wild life questing after mythical beasts. She had a legion of archers behind her too, all young girls trained in the art. It had always baffled Hera a little bit as to why the ex-princess never enlisted men into her crew of warriors, but the queen did not ponder it much. Hera didn’t delve into people that were not a threat to her.

That was until now.

Hera rose her chin, a subtle action to show her imperium among all else.

“Rise.” She told Zoe with full intensity. The queen always established dominance in every way possible and as fast as possible. She didn’t leave even an inch for error.

Zoe rose, her posture as proper as that of royalty. Hera filed that information away for later.

The girl appeared unphased by the daunting quality of the room. A bored air washed over her as she stood in her rippling cloak that bounced light off of it as though it were made in another world.

“You summoned me, your majesty.” Zoe stated blandly, daring to look into Hera’s eyes, the same eyes that had watched countless execution and numerous torture. She held her gaze.

Oh, she would be perfect.

Hera suppressed a nasty smirk.

“Do not speak to me without my consent.” Hera rattled, icing her expression.

Zoe broke her stare, but the defiance held. She was not one to bow to anyone.

“I have a task for you,” Hera stated with underlying malignancy. She rolled her shoulders back, making her appear even more queenly if that was possible.

“As you know under my rule Olympia has flourished. We have expanded our borders, our military has grown immensely powerful, and there is more gold in the royal vaults than ever in history.” Hera let a real smile slip through her cruel mask, glowing with pride at her accomplishments. “I would like to keep it this way, but unfortunately I fear my step daughter, Annabeth may tarnish this,” Hera continued.

“She has a certain, ah, rebellious streak in her and with my deepest sorrows we don’t always see eye-to-eye. Now this would normally not be so troubling, but one ink splotch and the dress is unwearable, if you understand what I mean.” Hera plastered a phony smile on her deceivingly delicate face; she batted her lush lashes to keep up the innocent facade.

Zoe rose a bushy eyebrow in response, clearly not buying into the queen’s theatrics.

“I’m hiring you to kill her. I will be sending her on a diplomacy trip through the mountains, see to it she does not return. You will receive a generous payment. If you breathe any word of this agreement you will die in agony.” Hera said bluntly, daring Zoe to disagree with a serpentine stare.

Zoe waited moments to reply, relishing in the control over the silence.

“It’s a good thing I have gotten new arrows.” Zoe said in a way of agreement, slightly pleased with the brutal honesty Hera had laid before her.

“Then you are dismissed.” Hera told the girl pleasantly, relaxing into her cushioned throne.

Zoe turned to exit, but abruptly stopped the motion and said, “Oh, your majesty, next time cut it with the bullshit. It’s sickening.”

She strutted toward the massive doors before receiving one last order from the queen, payment for the huntress’ jab.

“Oh, Zoe. I also request her heart presented to me at the end of this ordeal I hope that won’t be of too much trouble for you, darling.” Another pearly smirk flashed her way with evil leaking in every direction.

Zoe didn’t waste a heartbeat to leave the throne room.

Hera allowed a small laugh to escape from her blood red lips, a devilishly wondrous noise. How foolish of Annabeth to believe she did not see through her paper thin veil the day Frederick had died. Hera knew from the beginning Annabeth wouldn’t waste anytime in assassinating her.

But the girl was just a minor pest in the scheme of things. A girl could not belittle a queen in such a fashion, no amount of fate or luck would allow such an uproarious event. In fact it took just the briefest of meetings to be enough to undo the woefully ignorant and naive child.

Hera was perfectly and effortlessly safe, as she’d always be.

❈

“We’re going to have a future together. We’ll be married and living in a mansion with crystal chandeliers in every hall.” Zoë smiled brightly up to Hercules, a youthful whimsy taking hold of her voice.

The fifteen year old could picture it all, the perfect life with the man she loved. She imagined her flowing gowns trailing down the marble stairs, her shoes echoing within that vast expanse of her fantastical home. She imagined Hercules, dapper in a lord’s uniform, showing the worth he was truly deserving of. She imagined her life as a wife, her life as mother to his children. She hoped they’d have his beautiful features, the ones that were so effortlessly flawless. The ones she drew in with her final breath before devoting herself to him in a lover’s kiss, ever so tender and ever so hungry.

It would all be perfect.

Hercules gave a smile to her- a small serene one, lacking all of the bravado he wore in the presence of his soldiers and fellow nobility. A smile saved for secret moments only with her, Zoe Nightshade.

He wrapped his muscled arms around her waist, drawing her into the same allure she first fell in love with. He was so close, and yet Zoe wanted him closer. She wished desperately for one of his kisses that made her heart sing in love, made her head woozy from the delight of it all. She wanted his kiss that made her feel loved.

“Yes, we’ll have it. We’ll have everything you can dream of and more. All we need for that life is one of your father’s golden apples.” Hercules’ breath was hot on her lips, teasing her.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will have it for you, and we can start our world together. I will not fail, I promise you.”

Hercules barely let the girl finish her oath to him before swooping her into a kiss of all her fantasies; she drank in the taste of possibility, burning bright and far for all to see.

❈

The secret passageway inside of the castle to Princess Annabeth’s chambers was not one for the feint of heart, Piper decided. Dead rats littered the area in various states of decay, spiders sat in their mass of webs waiting to catch their prey, and there was dust upon dust upon dust. It was dreadfully dark except for the small flicker of flame from Rachel’s guiding candle. A flame big enough to lead the way, but small enough to not ignite the debris practically suffocating the pair.

The princess was clearly not empty of cleverness as royalty so often was; quarantined in their illusion of a perfect, spoiled world often left such people desolate of the wit one obtained from hardship.

The maid, who had yet to properly introduce herself, was not dull either. Carefully, she covered their tracks through the thick layers of dust, a result of years worth of disuse. Or that was what it was supposed to convey. It was apparent Rachel was familiar in the task as she did it with a swiftness only an expert could carry.

Rachel turned around towards Piper, stopping dead in her tracks. Her face was haunting in the illumination from the candle, shadows smearing across the plane of freckles. A wall laid behind her- the end of their route.

“I will speak before you when we enter Princess Annabeth’s chambers. You will not speak of this encounter ever. No matter the amount of torture you go through if you are dumb enough to be revealed and captured, no matter how much money you are given- You. Will. Not. Speak. Of. This.” Rachel snarled, near feral in the prospect of being discovered.

Piper, of course, knew that what Rachel had offered was clandestine, something secret from the queen. And Piper had accepted. She was a greater fool than one could imagine and she scolded herself with every step she took.

Piper merely stared into Rachel’s green eyes, darkened in the black environment.

Rachel took it as acceptance and pushed on the wall, shedding blinding light onto the girls. Piper squinted her swirling eyes in response, stumbling a little into a room larger than most houses near her favorite selling spots.

Rachel tugged the merchant forwards as if unaffected by such a blaring light. Piper stumbled on her feet, lurching forwards. Her hands caught her body before making impact on the marble ground, pain shot up her bones. She barely had enough time to school a wince.

Rachel made no move to aid the fallen girl. Instead she strode over to another figure in the room- Princess Annabeth.

Piper’s mouth fell agape at the sight of Her Highness. She was much shorter than Piper expected, but despite the lack of bulk and height and presumed delicacy, the princess’ presence was domineering. Her posture was impeccable, demanding respect. Her beauty was indefinable, demanding admiration. Queen was a far more fitting title.

Piper heard the actual queen surpassed the princess in all these areas, but she could not imagine so. Only something preternatural could ever amount to that much.

Piper’s train of thought was broken as Rachel strode towards the princess and broke the silence piling in the room.

“This is the merchant I have heard so much about. She has agreed to listen to our bargain, and I believe she will comply with our requests.” Rachel said bluntly, never taking time to elaborate or fill her speech with useless, floral words.

Annabeth nodded towards her, turned to Piper, and bowed as though Piper was of a noble bloodline.

“Piper McLean, it is an honor to meet you. I am sorry it must be done with such furtiveness, but I can assure you it is only for the sake of our well being.” The princess did not sound fully sincere.

“I was told you were to offer me something. What may it be?” Piper rasped.

Annabeth nodded demurely, as if in compliance to Piper and not her own chess game.

“You are a native of Melana, an island my father once visited. I am aware of the grievances your home has suffered, the injustice in what the queen has made you partake in. I trust that as a result, you loathe her.” Annabeth paused, waiting for Piper to confirm her.

Silence followed.

“What I am offering you is a chance to take back your land and extract the revenge you deserve. What I am offering you is a chance to kill the queen.” A spark of something unreadable, flashed in Annabeth’s eyes.

The last sentence riveted through Piper, stroking a hatred buried deep within her bones, so achingly potent that it wanted to scream and rejoice at that sentence. The shock of the situation was immense. Piper had not assumed something so drastic and dangerous would be offered to her. At most she expected to be requested as a spy, but this…

This was an opportunity Piper would risk her sanity for.

“Continue on,” Piper finally spoke.

A champion’s grin painted Annabeth’s face.

❈

Hazel marveled at the wondrous sights bestowed before her, row after row after row of buildings flooded the streets in blazing colors. Floral shops spilled over in vibrant flowers of all kinds from all states far and wide; a piece of an exotic paradise among the artificial city.

She saw women walking together in bustling day dresses, heavy overcoats blooming their frames outwards, giggling as they continued on to their midday tea. The clomp of horse hooves danced its way to her ears as a carriage strolled past, carrying occupants unknown.

Everything was so new and exciting, so dazzling and sparkling for the girl’s five-year-old mind.

Athenisia was an overwhelming picture of what the land could truly hold. It seemed that not a single soul could be unhappy with their lives in the monumental city; certainly not with the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through her nose and the pristine presentation for all to see.

Hazel had never experienced something so delightful having grown up poor in a small village. Her mother proclaimed prophecy, but the residents of their home were wary to magic possessors and shunned the pair, leaving Hazel in isolation from all the good in the world.

Hazel had been trained from an even younger age to conceal her gifts. Her mother taught her control, how to use them and when to use them. Hazel would have been a harbinger of disaster had she not had her mother’s lessons; so much power often overwhelmed such a small thing, spiraling out of control.

The impromptu visit to the capital rejoiced Hazel’s spirits, reinforced the fantasies that grew and grew in her mind- of a day she’d be loved by all in a sterling city such as the one right below her feet. Athenisia gave her hope that her loneliness would vanish along with the nasty glares she couldn’t comprehend given to her by her fellow townspeople.

She imagined herself as a sophisticated princess, strolling a palace in a liquid gold gown and a skyscraping tiara on her head. The girl smiled, brighter than any star in all of the universe.

In the midst of her day dreaming, Hazel felt a sharp tug on her hand- the hand that was holding her mother’s.

Marie Levesque turned to her daughter and said, “Listen, Hazel. I am off to do very important business. You are to stay here. Do not move from this spot. This city is far larger than our village, do not stray or I may not find you when I return. See what is around us.” Marie pointed to a flower shop behind the pair, then a bookstore to the right, and finally a dress shop to the left.

“You are not to go beyond any of these places. Do you understand?” Marie’s voice was steel, all business. She stared into her young daughter’s eyes, thankful for the small mercy that she had inherited her own, and not her father’s.

Hazel gave a small nod, her mind already wandering to the scenery before her. Marie delivered a silent prayer her daughter would not wander like her mind, that would be a whole other fiasco if that were to happen. She released the girl’s hand and made way to her destination without any goodbyes.

Hazel stared at her mother’s back as she abandoned her for however long, Hazel did not know. She continued to watch her mother’s voluminous cloak sway in each step. The constellations embroidered on it were stark against the dark material, filling Hazel with even more whimsy than the architecture around her.

Once Marie was out of sight Hazel barely even bothered to think where her mother was headed as she reviewed her restrictions and waltzed into the stores within them.

Hazel followed her nose to the chocolate maker’s, eyeing a decadent truffle on display, naively wishing the confectioner would offer her a free one. She really, really hoped the confectioner did.

❈

The only word Piper could use to describe how she felt after Princess Annabeth revealed her plan was shocked. Shocked at the audacity of it. Shocked at the simplicity of it. Shocked at Piper’s role in it.

The princess stared at her, her eyes beating down on the thief like the hungriest of hawks.

“Would you like me to repeat myself? Or will you not understand that too?” Annabeth said, something snide and childish in her voice. It was so juxtaposed to the cunning, but always sinisterly polite princess, that once again Piper was taken aback.

Yes, Annabeth appeared a bit haughty, but she didn’t stray outside of the lines of composed. Piper evaluated the small scenario that could really mean much more.

Finally, Piper had seen the masks worn upon masks worn upon masks in just those simple sentences. The Annabeth of this story wasn’t the original. The girl that stood before her wasn’t the girl that was truly created. In some ways she was that girl- the one who made the childish comments, but distorted and twisted and bent. The masks seemed to slip on so easily for the princess. Piper wondered if the princess even knew what lay underneath anymore.

Lies so often morphed into truth.

As if knowing her masks had went astray, if only for a second, Annabeth quickly crafted herself back into the fauxly diplomatic princess.

“What I meant was, would you like me to put it more concisely for you so there are no margins for misunderstanding?” Annabeth said once more, with a silkier tone in her voice. It was still a dig at her, but with lessened mockery.

Piper, nodded, if only to allow the information to sink further into her skin. If only for her to relieve herself of the worry that she had turned insane and fallen down, down, down into an alternate reality.

“It’s really quite simple. Everyday Hera makes the same foolish mistake of eating an apple as her breakfast; it’s a constant among the royal court that is so often filled with changes. So, we’re going to replace it with a poisoned one.

“Now, as you’d imagine Hera does not tread about her life lightly so all food is tasted before she is able to eat it, in order to ensure her safety. But, what they can’t taste or drop dead at is magic. Specifically, magic that reacts only to one person. Rachel and I are proud to say we know a person who can perform such talents on the apple of our desires. It is your job to go under guise as a maid in the castle. I will hire you within this week and in the next two or three weeks you will switch her usual apple with our enchanted one while performing your duties. You are a thief so I expect this task of swindling will not be challenging.” Annabeth finished with a small intake of breath, awaiting Piper’s response once again at the plan.

Piper felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Hearing the plan a second time only reinforced the idea she was hallucinating everything that had happened in the past hour or so. She tried to ground herself with facts that were truer than true. She was Piper McLean. She was born in Melana. Her father was Tristan McLean. Her mother was Aphrodite McLean. She stole for a living and created an empire of false jewels.

“And my payment again?” Piper felt winded, she felt as though she had just sprinted miles and miles and miles.

“An astronomical wealth in royal crest coins. Security. Luxury. You name it.” Annabeth said, the trace of a challenge on the tip of her tongue.

Off to the side of the room Rachel jangled the bag of coins that had brought Piper here in the first place.

“And if I don’t accept?” Piper swallowed a lump in her throat as she asked the question, knowing with every fiber of her being what would happen if she refused.

“The loss of all of your achievements. You will fall into oblivion without any hope of returning. Any trying times you may have faced would have been for nothing. You would become nothing. Along with your race. You’d ruin the last shred of hope there was for something somewhat pure among the Melanians.” Piper hated how flat Annabeth’s voice was, how lazy her words were said. It was as though Annabeth was not playing with the lines of another’s life, but instead merely discussing the tales of a book or some fleeting gossip from the streets.

Piper wished her blood did not boil so much at the inconsideration.

Piper breathed, “I do not care of those people. They shunned me from my home and don't deserve my legacy in any sense.”

Annabeth tilted her head innocently, “How many times a day do you tell yourself that lie?,” she said.

Instead of pulling at her indignation and whipping out a lash of harsh words, Piper schooled herself and weighed her options. Praying to the gods above for a moment of clarity- just enough time to decide the path her life would turn, she took in a deep breath.

It was a suicide mission to kill the queen.

It was a massacre to refuse the task.

Piper bore her gaze into Annabeth’s wishing the princess would flinch, but was not granted even that satisfaction.

“Fine, I'll take the offer, but I am rearranging the terms. You’ll pay me the gold. You’ll offer me protection. And then, you’ll aid Melana. You will send resources to the island. You will correct the horrors that happened there. You will root out the corruption that plagues my home. I don’t care how long this takes or how much it drains the kingdom. You will do it. Or you will have to find another person to perform your job. If it comes to that, I wish you luck in finding someone like me. Someone with compassion and baggage to use for your advantage. Someone that is not succumbed by greed. Someone who will not betray you.” Piper found her own fierceness. She found her fuel to combat the princess.

Annabeth stood still for a moment. Piper’s words bounced in her skull; she analyzed them as she did everything else in her life.

“This can be met.” Her voice was the steel of a sword.

Piper shuddered a breath, believing the ordeal done. She wanted to retreat back to her flimsy home, lie in her lumpy bed, and sleep until the earth fell into a fiery apocalypse.

Annabeth had other ideas.

From her bosom she pulled out a rolled and crumpled piece of parchment. She smoothed the parchment on her nightstand beside the lavish bed. On it words were scrawled in a fine, loopy manuscript. There were two lines on the bottom of the sheet. One held Annabeth’s own shaky signature. The other was blank.

“Sign this and we will be done. It solidifies any verbal contract we have just made on the account that we had a witness present.” Annabeth inclined her chin towards the maid, verifying the deal is within it's correct restrictions.

Within seconds Rachel had made her way to Piper’s side with a quill and ink pot in her pale, freckled hands.

Piper reached for the pair, trying to steady the tremor rising in her nerves.

They could easily betray her. Rachel could put a knife in her back and change the story she witnessed. Princess Annabeth would probably feel no guilt or shame at it. She'd be just like Hera in that way; only Annabeth’s mercilessness came for the greater good supposedly.

She didn't want to put her trust in them. She didn't want the duo to have such control on the sacred thing, but… it was the only way to help Melana.

Her signature was rigid and methodic on the parchment.

When she lifted the quill from the final letter, leaving a streak of black along with it, Piper couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just sold her soul to the devil.

❈

“Hazel, you must follow these instructions precisely. I need you to listen carefully to me or else you will face dire consequences. Dabbling in the act of witchcraft is not done for forgiveness. We have had these gifts bestowed upon us, but not without risks. There will always remain a system of checks and balances within this cruel universe, so I warn you child- do not make mistakes within this potion.”

Hazel nodded in response, resisting to let a tremor run its course through her small body.

Marie sighed, knowing she needed to use another tactic in order to convey the significance of the magic about to be performed to the young girl. Gently, she kneeled on the dirt ground; the thin purple fabric of her skirt smudged with brown. In a rare moment of warmth, Marie rested her hand on Hazel’s shoulder and looked her daughter in the eye. For a wisp of a moment, Hazel believed she saw sincerity.

“Hazel,” Marie began softer, her voice filled with tepid honey. “You know the beauty in witchcraft? It grants meaning and power to words. So often people without our gifts take advantage of language, but not us. We honor it and grant each of our words the significance they need to perform their duties. So much more power is granted this way to names, too. Hazel, I named you for luck and wishes. Let this magic bring you this. Let your words bring you this. Your wishes will command your powers, but you must do it precisely or you may not get what you want.”

Hazel breathed in just for that moment. Her strained gaze still beheld her mother’s that did shine with genuine pride.

Again, Hazel nodded, but this time Marie did not continue her speech.

❈

Annabeth hardly waited a moment for Piper’s signature to dry when she snatched away the contract and once again stashed it into the bodice of her elegant dress.

“Expect to be beckoned here within the week. Rachel will escort you out.” Annabeth’s eyes quickly flitted towards the redhead, Rachel nodding in an understanding that Piper could not comprehend.

Just as Rachel began to take Piper’s elbow, a loud, thudding knock came from the princess’ door. Bursting in without awaiting an answer was Percy, his guard uniform slightly disheveled and his face flushed with red. His breath seemed to be coming in short spurts as his chest heaved over and over.

Piper was not oblivious to the way Annabeth’s back straightened and her eyes sparked with the iridescence of a burning star.

“Percy,” Annabeth brought her attention towards the guard. Her throat bobbed in and out- her original excitement dissipated into something far more pained and restrained.

“Queen Hera requests your presence immediately, milady.” Percy said through short gasps of breaths.

A flash of fear crossed Annabeth’s metallic eyes. Percy had ran to her. The situation was urgent and she knew it. A sickening weight settled into her gut, sitting there as a premonition to an unknown doom to come.

Annabeth didn’t waste time to compose the anxiety trilling in her ear.

“Well, we have a change of plans. Rachel bring Piper to the servants quarters instantly. She is now a scullery maid. Have her train under Anna.” Her voice was steelier than that of the sword hanging from the side of Percy’s hip. She turned herself away from the pair and towards him- her Percy.

“Off we go then. No time to waste with the Queen.” Her words were clipped and strained as she sauntered past Percy towards her doorway. The parchment crinkling against her skin seemed to weigh more than the mounds of gold and treasure residing in the palace vaults just below her feet. Annabeth did not let her mind dwell on that too much.

Within the second Percy was at her heel.

The pair walked down the long corridors towards the throne room, the sounds of their shoes the only noise echoing around them.

The door approached far quicker than either desired.

They soon stood outside the wooden monstrosity, unsaid words teetering on their tongues, ready to tip and spill over in a mess too big to clean.

Percy’s gaze flitted away from Annabeth’s.

“I’m not sure what she wants.” He confessed in an ashamed whisper.

“You wouldn’t have gone to the throne room and back in such a frenzy if it wasn’t jeopardizing.” Annabeth said, trying to keep her voice flat.

The notion that the queen sat only feet away was entirely oppressive, making any conversation all the more furtive.

Percy let out another shaky breath. Occasions like these were rare- when Annabeth was called with urgency by the queen. The last time this occurred was years ago and resulted in Hera nearly disowning Annabeth and revoking her rights as heir.

The gap between the pair filled with a leaden silence.

Finally, Percy broke through the fragile thing.

“Annabeth, you know I will cut the queen’s head off before she even has a chance to lay a hand on you. I will protect you. Even if that means sacrificing myself so Hera cannot use me against you.” Percy said with deadly calm, his voice as steady as an anchor in the ever thrashing sea. His eyes held strong, a warrior’s determination riveting form them.

The power of that voice awoke something inside of Annabeth, something that had been caged for far too long again. A surge of helpless emotion washed over the princess, enough to make her want to fall to the ground and weep. Weep for her mother who had been ruthlessly executed only for power. Weep for her father who fell ill from malice. Weep for herself who endured trial after trial among the court she had to call home. Weep for Percy, the guard with the most unwavering loyalty, so strong it was nearly a fault.

Most of all she wanted to weep for the universe. For the unfairness of everything, for the dark and evil. For the people that tried their hardest to no avail.

She held her head back, trying to retract the few tears that managed to escape in an act of rebellion.

“Percy,” Her voice was watery. “Please do not say such things. You will not die for me. You must not. And… and if you were ever to kill the queen. You know what would lie in front of you. I would become the next queen and I would have to execute you. Everyone knows I am weaker than Hera and if the people find me inept because I spared the life of the queen’s assassin… the whole country risks rebellion. Our world risks destruction. Please, Percy, do not make me do such things.” Her throat felt choked by an invisible hand, clogging her airways of anything life saving.

It was a rare moment for Annabeth to admit fear, to admit weakness. She played her role with pride, always having a plan for action, always showing that she could do anything she set her mind to. Always portraying herself without fault. She used wit and banter, only leaking the most minor of true emotion. But this conversation… it showed something more vulnerable, something that wasn’t cloaked by irrevocable flaws.

“Annabeth,” Percy leaned into the princess, her name a prayer on his lips. “I will go to the ends of the universe to make sure you sit on that throne and show the benevolence the people need. I will go to whatever means to protect you. But I will not go against your wishes. I would never want you in a position like that. I could never hurt you like that.” Percy’s own voice grew misty.

Percy wiped away the trailing tears on Annabeth’s rosy cheeks, preparing her for her audience with Queen Hera. She shuddered under his touch, still craving more.

“I love you,” was all Annabeth said, hardly audible, before striding into the foreboding room, a poker face now displayed.

The chill of the change in demeanor lingered in the hall even after the echoing of the doors ceased.

In the emptiness that followed, Percy wished he had had the time to say those words back.

❈

“What do you think Frederick will say when he finds his wife dangling from the ceiling with less dignity than a recently hunted rabbit?” A shrill voice washed over the thick, sodden air.

A long, sharp chill swept through the room. The moon’s vibrancy dimmed as the words rattled off the bearer’s tongue. A new darkness crept in, suffocating its victims without the savior of light. Trills of rain splattered on the window, the first signs of a storm to come. The droplets were too clear for the murky world around.

“You are not welcome here.” A hoarse voice replied. The words were strained as though it was taking the person all their strength to muster them together.

“I choose where I am welcomed, darling.”

Athena turned around to face Hera. Athena’s normally pristine, porcelain face was colored in with splotches of red. Her eyes were swollen and scarlet from salty tears still carving their path down the queen’s face. Yet, her gaze still stood stronger than any sword that could be foraged in the lands of Olympia. Her defiance still riveted throughout her body, even as the coarse ropes of a noose hung in her hand. She did not look weak in that moment. She looked like a martyr with the blaze of bravery haloing her body.

“No. You are not welcomed here.” Athena’s voice was not raised, she did not shout the words as so many would do to exert their power. Instead they were soft. Soft with a greater force than the typhoons that so often ravaged the seaside cities.

Hera merely rolled her eyes as if the situation at hand was nothing more than a silly tribulation. She gazed at her nails, distractedly, not even devoting her full attention to the shaken queen.

“Really, Athena. I thought you would have lasted longer than this. The subjects of the land so often rave about their queen. They talk of your strength and kindness- the way you can strategize the conquering of a land, but manage to leave the opposing soldiers unscaffed, if not a little rattled. A queen of war and mercy.

“But oh how wrong they truly are. For you are not a queen of mercy. You do not bow down to life’s limitations. You are not a queen of war. You are afraid of the fight. Where they see benevolence, I see weakness and cowardice. Look at you. Already surrendering to death before sacrificing to life.” Hera practically spat out the last words with a despicable cackle. Her odd anger at Athena ceding to her plans was only as crazed as the orator.

Athena set her jaw firmly in place, tightening her facial muscles. She did not entertain the blind hatred that seeped into her bones, nor did she let it go to waste.

“I know this fight would be a losing battle. I have no sorcerers nor do I possess the ability to control such magic. I am not special to the forces of Mother Nature. To die now is to die at my hand. To die now is to die with the dignity that I wish to be remembered in. To die now is to preserve the resources of a future war. I will not fight a losing battle for it would be only a fool’s wish. To die now is to let you lose your very first battle

“And do not say that I have not sacrificed to life. I am giving my kingdom a chance to thrive and live. I am giving my daughter a chance to rule even when I know you will find some way to turn this land into Hell. I am giving her the time to learn you and defeat you. I will die for my kingdom in this way. I will fall so it may rise.”

Hera slowly clapped her hands in mockery. A look of pure disgust graced her face in a slightly scrunched nose and disheartening eyes.

“How very noble of you. Unfortunately, your pretty speech doesn’t save you or your kingdom, no matter how much you wish it.”

“Your pride has blinded you, Hera. We both know that is our shared downfall, but whereas I have learned to nourish this flaw and keep it at bay, you let it become you. You are so absorbed in believing that there’s not a chance someone can win against you that you can’t even entertain the threat set before your eyes. I will pity you in my death.”

Hera’s eyes set ablaze in unchained rage; the sheer disrespect Athena held for her infuriated every inch of Hera’s being. The mightiness in Athena’s tone sent fiery pin pricks down Hera’s spine, making her itch to establish dominance. Her mind could not comprehend that Athena held no fear for her, no respect, and only pity despite the power coursing through Hera’s body that Athena was barren of. She would not stand for this. Hera was a force to be given attention to; she had built up her image and her magic for greater than a sniveling queen droning on about morals and character with the hopeless optimism of a child.

It only took a blink of an eye for Hera to ignite her internal flames, to bring them into reality. It took only a moment to burn the atmosphere surrounding the pair, and even less time to spring the burning ball onto the queen of Olympia. Though, it was much more than a wink for Athena to actually parish.

Athena clutched at her chest, startled by the smell of burning flesh and the impact of Hera’s magic. Desperate shock painted her face, the last look to ever do so.

Hera glided over to her foe, feeling giddy at the loss of such an unfavorable person. She clutched Athena’s smoking collar between her polished manicure, light enough to not chip away the paint, but strong enough that the queen could struggle little. She drew her face in close, grazing their noses over each other.

“You never deserved the death you wanted. Such vermin may only receive a death that reflects their vileness and corruption to this earth.” Hera snarled in Athena’s ear, concealing the slight lilt in her voice brought upon the demise in front of her.

Athena simply leaned in even closer, using all her strength to do so. She felt no fear under Hera’s growling figure; only those lacking in true power needed to hide under such foreboding masks. Instead she took the jab in stride, not allowing herself to fall with distasteful feelings clogging her mind. Finally, Athena brought her mouth to the other’s ear to utter out one last line of combat.

“Then I can’t wait to see what fate doles out for you.” Athena coughed out before succumbing to her injuries, releasing her spirit from Hera’s wretched grasp.

❈

Annabeth’s back was moist as beads of cold, clammy sweat crawled their way down her skin, leaving shivers in their wake. Her breath was shallower than before, as if preparing her body for a snap of oxygen loss- gradually weaning itself away from the necessity. Annabeth never quivered under the power of the queen. She always carried that childish willfulness within her heart that set her on a course of bravery to be outspoken. That lividity had now been whisked away into the wind.

She stood just before the queen, not even within her throne. She was no greater than the insignificant lords and barons that so often marked the very spot her feet laid. Finally, in that moment she truly understood just how foreboding the position was. She was inferior. Nothing more and nothing less. It was so painstakingly obvious as the gold of Hera’s throne glistened around her in heavenly light. The irony only brought a twist of morbid humor to the princess’ gut.

An immediate call by the queen was always a portentous thing.

Annabeth now just had to figure out precisely what the queen wanted.

In an act of feigned politeness, Annabeth curtsied. She drooped low to the floor, feeling the cool tang of the stone washing on her bare skin underneath the folds of fabric.

Her eyes never once left Hera’s. She would not surrender the bare of her neck to the execrable creature.

As she dipped lower and lower, asserting her own power in the overembellished and satirical nicety, the dark walls started to creep in on her. The longer she gazed at Hera, the closer they got. Two more seconds and they’d be upon her, leaving her to a long and painful death of asphyxiation.

Annabeth stood without request from the queen. Perhaps too bold, but Annabeth had to declare her power in any way she could and if that was a shortened, sarcastic curtsey, then so be it.

Hera’s dress of white and gold shimmered in shakiness as Annabeth grounded her feet firmer to the floor. A viper in bridal clothing. Hera made even the most basic foundations of purity into something vile and sinful.

“You have requested my presence, my queen.” Annabeth broke through the miles of meticulous stillness building between them. She pushed impatience into her vocals, trying to sound as though her heart was not thumping in her ears. She whispered a mantra to herself that her blood wasn’t pounding through her body and sparking with electricity.

The smile Hera wore was so tight, her lips nearly disappeared into the milky white of the perfectly smooth skin surrounding it.

“Yes, I have. How very observant of you.” Her words were much more refined, without the eloquence that so often accompanied her hellacious attitude.

Despite the excessively prominent fear coursing through her body, Annabeth still barely managed to suppress a snarl. Being belittled was not an act she took lightly, especially if it patronized Annabeth as a dumb, airy princess. She was so much more than that. Her court never even possessed the need for a vizier, if that was any indication of the brilliance passed down through her royal bloodline.

Her mother had always seen that great capacity in her and took every stride necessary to unlock all of it. Hera let her hubris puppet her. Athena had at least reigned her’s in, only letting it run wild in the rarest and weakest of moments.

Hera glanced idly at her manicure, her seamless face a slate of boredom and indifference. She drew in a long, theatrical sigh that nearly echoed within the cavernous space, as though each second in the throne room was one wasted to the worst kind of fate.

Hera began, “It seems as though troubles are arising in the northern region of Chancia. Normally, as you know, I would send one of my trained diplomats to mollify the situation, but it seems as though Lady Nike simply won’t comply. I thought maybe a visit from someone of higher ranking will do the trick. It’ll be a few weeks journey and I expect you to leave by tomorrow. Your travelling companions will fill you in on the details during your trek there. I unfortunately do not have the time to explain such matters in the lengthy detail needed to comprehend the situation.” Hera finished, clasping her hands together in her lap. Some of her prose and poetry had returned to her tongue.

Her brown stare bore into Annabeth, waiting for resistence.

Annabeth nodded her head. There was nothing soft in her iron scrutiny.

“I’ll set my maid to packing, then. I wish for the greatest welfare on both parties.” And just like that she was being escorted out of the perdition.

Annabeth’s mind was whirring, a non stop flutter of thoughts scurrying through her brain as she strode back to her room. Annabeth heard of no such disturbances within Chancia, and the gossip network of the commoners had never failed her before. If the maids did not have the scuttlebutt on Chancia, then there was simply no action to even speak of in the region. It was plainly a trap and Hera hadn’t even enough humility to hide the fact. It was almost as though she wished Annabeth to recognize this and crash under an overwhelming force of powerlessness.

Even if it wasn’t a trap, the entire situation would still be incredibly bizarre. Chancia had no real value and a ruler that was too wrapped up in her own victories in sporting contests than actually ruling the land. And the land itself- it lied just outside the Yeden Forest, away from the river that made the forest flourish with vibrant green lushness. Instead, Chancia was hardly more than a barren wasteland with sparse oases that served humanity.

Annabeth could not imagine the underlying threat Hera had put in the situation even though how crystal clear it was that this was most likely a death sentence for the princess. A diplomatic mission to a desert. Perhaps, Hera just wished to see Annabeth die of dehydration. Maybe she told her escorts to steer Annabeth off course and leave her to die, lost in the woods or drowned in the sand.

Or perhaps, maybe she didn’t mean to have Annabeth ever set foot in Chancia. If this truly was a spider’s web for Annabeth to fly into and Chancia was not in uprising or disarray, then it’d be awfully awkward for the princess and her royal party to show up and start conversing for a peace settlement. It would be far too peculiar on Chancia for Hera to allow. So that only meant…

Hera aimed to kill Annabeth during the journey.

Of course, it all made sense. Annabeth felt the pieces of the puzzle click together and saw the picture as it truly was. The Yeden Forest was a remote place, even for travel. There was hardly ever a soul within it as it could be rather hostile in the wrong conditions, so it was perfectly feasible for Annabeth to parish on a trip within it. No one would bat an eye or exclaim foul play, not even if they had the courage to do so.

Hera could easily chalk her death up to a wild beast or a slip and fall down one of the many hidden cliffsides. It was so utterly simple. Hera had given Annabeth the bait and she took it.

Now, only the question as to the how.

Annabeth suspected Hera would not enlist one of the escorts into assassinating her. That would cause too many liabilities, too many holes for destruction. The murder of her own stepdaughter could be enough to push the people of Olympia over the edge and rile against Hera, whether or not they had the chance of winning, and Hera did not currently need a martyr.

So it had to be an outsider. Someone aloof to society that put little risk in exposure of Hera’s plans.

And once again that day something inside Annabeth clicked with the audibility of a lion’s roar.

Annabeth’s eyes widened comically as she came to the rushed realization of the course of her soon to be death.

Of course. It was the Yeden Forest after all.

She was nearly at her room when this all dawned on her. She quickly turned on her heel and began to briskly walk toward a spiraling staircase, readying for the ominous voyage. Her body shook with the need to run, run, run. Her adrenaline was screaming in near pain for a drastic increase of speed. She needed to move.

But instead her mind kept her composure. She could not afford to make a scene in that instance. Not with the place she was set to go. Not when there were such high risks in what she was about to do. More risks than ever before. Truly, she had to thank the maids’ gossip, or the lack of, for the ability to draw her conclusions on Hera’s plan.

When Annabeth began to descend down the stairs and her shoes began to plop! plop! plop! with each step, it was then that she realized Percy had once again been stationed at her door. And once again he wore a face of etched anxioussness. His freckles had been hunched over each other in groups of fascinating constellations.

But it was too late to go back and offer her hand of comfort. Too late to show what love she could for the guard. Too late to really talk about her final statement. She was set on a strict path to the castles vaults and could not falter. She needed the myriad of wealth it offered. The gold it offered.

And the gods knew how much she needed that gold.

#pjo #hoo #pjobigbang #annabeth chase #percy jackson #hera #athena #piper mclean #zoe nightshade #rachel elizabeth dare #rachel dare #Hazel Levesque #percabeth #marie levesque #frederick chase

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