If I Were A Blackbird - Darkmagyk, lammermoorian - Percy Jackson and the Olympians (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“She keeps looking over here,” Luke remarked after the woman glanced towards their table for the seventh time in ten minutes.

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, “probably because you keep flashing that Rolex.” She wouldn’t be the first one. She wouldn’t even be the first one that night.

Percy came out with Luke a lot, because Luke loved showing him a good time when he was in New York. At clubs like this, though, people were often looking for something very specific. And Luke Castellan was just what people were looking for. He had the custom suit of a Wall Street type and the detached smile of a Connecticut blue blood, of which he was both. Plus he was tall, white, blond and blue-eyed, roguishly charming, and only thirty-one to boot.

“I offered to get you a Rolex,” Luke reminded him, “but you wanted a new boat instead.”

“It's weird your watch cost more than my boat. You know that, right?” Percy shot back, twisting his own watch around his wrist. He’d gotten it to share on Instagram, waterproof and rated for up to 200 meters of deep-sea diving, which was why the brand had wanted him to promote it. It wasn’t Rolex-nice, but it was still nice. But four hundred dollars wouldn’t buy him a boat.

Then he glanced back over at the woman.

She was beautiful. Her blonde curls tumbled over her shoulder, like a princess. Her dress was shimmery and blue, not like the ocean around New York, but the crystal blue water Percy had come across in some of his travels. Her red lips were sipping on a martini glass, she tipped it up just as she moved her head and caught him looking. Their eyes met for just a second.

And then Percy looked away.

“This is getting embarrassing.” Luke said.

“Shut up and order more whisky.”

“If I get you drunk, will you talk to her?”

Percy leveled a glare at him, and then tossed back the rest of his drink.

Then ordered another drink on Luke’s tab.

When it arrived, Luke took it right out of Percy’s hand and stood up.

The smirk he gave Percy was the same one he’d given back when he'd been sixteen, and hotwired Johnny Smythe’s new car, totaled it, and then left it to be found in a parking lot. He’d done that because Johnny Smythe, also sixteen, had thought it would be funny to pick on nine year old Percy.

Luke had had Percy’s back since Percy got lost at the Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk, and Luke found him and got him back to his mom.

So even though Percy said to himself that Luke was going over to chat up the hot girl because she was drop dead gorgeous and Luke was interested, he had a pretty good guess for what was about to happen.

The woman offered a hand to Luke, who pulled her up in a fluid motion. Standing, Percy could see just how tall she was. In her shiny gray heels, she was taller than Luke, her arms and legs corded with lean muscle. There was a tattoo on her left ankle, but Percy couldn’t tell what it was from this distance.

He watched Luke chat with her, their words ground to dust beneath the thumping of the music. Austin Lake’s songs weren’t meant to be blasted this loud.

But the woman laughed, because Luke was a smooth operator.

“And this,” Luke said, when they got back to his table, “is Percy.”

The woman looked at him for a moment. Probably taking him in. The truth was, Percy actually did clean up nicely. He didn’t wear his preferred orange t-shirts and crocs out with Luke. He could play the part of clubhopper–not quite as effortlessly as Luke, maybe, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t the kind of asshole who had gone to Yale, owned multiple boats, and had seven hundred thousand Instagram followers.

So he smiled and held out a hand and the woman shook it. She had a firm grip.

Then Percy moved aside and motioned for her to join the table. She looked at him for one more moment and then slid in.

Luke clapped Percy on the back. “Have fun, don’t open with anything dumb, like admitting that you drool in your sleep.” The woman snorted, which would have been adorable, except it meant she’d definitely heard him. Luke lowered his voice, leaning in. “Tab’s open, and you have a key if you need to get back into the apartment for,” he glanced at the woman again, “any reason. Don’t have sex on my couch, but have fun.”

And then he sauntered off into the crowd.

Percy felt like he’d been thrown to the lions.

Or, no, he’d probably do better with lions.

But he smiled as he turned back to his new companion, and he tried not to curse out Luke too badly.

“Hi,” he tried, “as you clearly already know, I’m Percy.”

The woman smiled. She had a nice smile. “Yes,” she nodded, “I’m Annabeth.”

***

Did princesses ever have one-night stands in the movies? Annabeth considered it as she woke up in a stranger’s bed. Said stranger was curled up next to her, snoring softly. Reflected in the early morning light, she could see the muscles in his thighs, rippling under his brown skin even as he slept. Last night, she’d become acquainted with them via touch and taste, but in the sunlight, she could actually see them. What a view.

Most of the rest of him was wrapped in the comfortable blue duvet. She could only see the dark hair poking up from it. His hair was a mess. She took a lot of credit for that.

It had been a very long, very excellent night. According to the alarm clock on the nightstand, it was just after nine AM, which was later than she normally gets up, even on weekends, but seemed earlier than it should have been. Her flight wasn’t until the evening, and so she had time, but she hadn’t packed yet. And time blindness was forever her enemy.

She didn’t want to move. It was warm in this bed, with this man.

Percy, she recalled. His name was Percy. He had a nice laugh, his green eyes had lit up when she’d started talking about the Hoover Dam, he knew the entirety of the opening of the Iliad in ancient Greek. And he’d given the best damn head she’d ever had in her life.

Roman Holiday, she decided. The princess in Roman Holiday had definitely had a one-night stand with Gregory Peck.

If this happened to make the news, that’s what she’d tell her dad. He liked Roman Holiday so much, it might even work.

Also, it wouldn’t make the news. One of the things Annabeth liked most about living in New York City was how much no one paid attention to a minor Swedish princess who happened to live in their midst. It wasn’t that Americans didn’t love royalty, but if it weren’t about the Brits, then they might as well not exist. Annabeth had always found that strange. She’d lived in Boston for years during school. She’d seen Hamilton twice. She knew Americans were obsessed with their independence, too.

Very occasionally, someone would catch wind of her and an American tabloid would want to make something of it. Or some photographer would remember she was around, and seek to make an extra buck or euro.

But the chances of anything about her one-night stand becoming widely known were pretty small.

And… it didn’t need to be a one-night stand.

She looked at Percy’s hair again, rubbing her thighs together at the sense memory of his hands on her skin. He’d sounded so excited when he’d explained his boats. He had a small fleet of them, and he seemed to love them like some people loved their dogs. Or their children.

She could use more of that in her life. But, alas, they were both leaving New York today. He didn’t even live in the city permanently.

She needed to get up.

She sat up in bed, and beside her, Percy finally stirred.

“Leaving already?” He said in a rough sleepy voice that reminded him of his lips between her legs.

“Not if you’re up for another round,” she offered. She had time for that. She could make time for that.

He pushed himself up after her, the duvet and sheets blessedly covering nothing of his chest or abs. “I mean, I totally am.” He leaned over and kissed her. It wasn’t without heat, but it didn’t beg to be followed up with another roll in the sheets, “But I more meant, breakfast.”

“You want to take me out to breakfast?” She asked. That wasn’t a one-night stand move at all.

He grinned and shook his head. “No, no,” he said, “I’m going to make you breakfast.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “You don’t believe me,” he accused. “Luckily for you, however, I live for converting the non-believers.”

Last night, he had so thoughtfully offered her a hanger for her dress. Rather than having her re-dress up, this morning he offered her some sweatpants and a Yale swimming t-shirt. She refused the shirt and he offered her a cheesy, “I Heart NY” one instead with a chuckle, which she accepted. He went bare-chested for the moment, the tattoo on his left bicep and chest crisp in the sunlight. It was a crashing wave rendered in blues and greens and whites, but it almost seemed to move and swirl with his movements. She could see the colors, but she could also picture Homer’s words: wine dark. Throwing on a pair of shorts and the refused Yale shirt, he headed out into the kitchen, arms raised in a mighty, spine-cracking stretch.

It was a great loss for him to cover it. But it was probably for the best. It would have been too distracting otherwise.

“Water?” he asked, downing two glasses himself. She accepted, ignoring the proffered aspirin. The truth was, after she’d met him last night, she’d given up drinking.

She sat at the island while he moved around the kitchen like he owned the place.

“You really do know how to cook,” she mused, and then a second later realized that it was an incredibly rude thing to say. She’d grown out of many of her worst ADHD habits as a kid, mostly through discomfort and enforced silence. But sitting here with Percy was so nice, with so little pressure, it just slipped out.

He didn’t respond to her comment, looking up from the batter he was whisking. “You have a nice voice,” he said, “not at all the accent I associate with Massholes.”

Right. Last night she had said she was from Boston. For the briefest second she wanted to correct him. Her dad had been living in Boston when she’d first arrived on the scene, but most of her early years had been in Sweden, in royal residences and with royal nannies. It would be so easy to tell him all that.

It would also be profoundly stupid.

Instead she said, “I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.” Then got distracted when she started putting blue food coloring in his batter. “What are you doing?”

“Making it blue,” he said matter of factly. “All food is better when it's blue.”

“Is that so?”

“You’ll see.”

He made up her plate like a chef back home. It was simple fare. Pancakes, eggs, French scrambled at her request, and some sausage. He slid it in front of her and told her to dig in while he made more.

She did.

It was delicious.

Once, when her family had been living in San Francisco, Annabeth had gotten fed up and ran away. She’d done that a lot when she was younger. Every time her dad had called up his security detail to collect her, but that night, she’d made it to a 24-hour diner in Oakland. It had been raining, and she’d slid into the red plastic booth soaking wet, ordering the house special from the concerned, but accommodating waitress. The eggs and pancakes had soaked up the bacon grease, and the syrup had covered the whole plate.

It had been the best meal she’d ever had.

She could still remember the dark SUV that pulled up outside in the neon lights, and Erik Olssen getting out. She’d watched him through the window, so angry as she chewed on her bacon. Then he’d rounded the car and pulled the passenger door open.

Out stepped His Royal Highness Prince Frederick Charles Hans Albert of the House Ynglingar. He’d slid into the booth across from her while Erik had taken a table on the other side of the dinner. He’d ordered the same plate as her, and then they’d eaten together, and talked all night.

It was the last time she’d tried to run away.

She hadn’t had a meal that brought her such warmth in many many years. But she got that feeling from Percy’s blue pancakes.

The next set he made went into a plastic container. “I have no idea where Luke is,” he explained, “but he’d kill me if I didn’t save any.”

Oh yeah, Luke. Annabeth remembered him. He’d been at the club with Percy last night, and had approached her first, but only to play wingman for his… Percy had called Luke both his brother and his cousin last night. She hadn’t gotten a clear answer. But this was technically his apartment, where Percy stayed in the city.

With the last of the batter, Percy made himself some smaller-sized pancakes. And gave Annabeth a few more, for good measure.

He made up his plate meticulously. And then took out his phone, checking light and angles before finally snapping the picture.

“Really?”

“Hey, The ‘Gram wants what it wants,” he said. “And I always give my followers what they want.”

“Are you an influencer?” She teased.

He didn’t answer with a smile. “Guilty as charged.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said. “I have over seven hundred thousand followers.”

She could feel the color drain from her face. “I’m not in that picture, am I?” She reached for his phone before she could think better of it.

“What? No.” He turned it around and handed it to her.

The picture, thankfully, only contained food. Delicious-looking food. His poor followers.

“I promise, no you on my Instagram.” She took a deep breath and nodded and tried to pass his phone back. “But,” he said, with a face full of trouble, “if you wanted to add your phone number. I wouldn’t say no. Since you already have my phone.”

She looked at him. She should say no. Or she should smirk and give him a fake number.

She was no tabloid trash or society darling. But things got out. Her Royal Highness Princess Annabeth Frederica Sophia Ingrid of Sweden hid out in New York City, and kept her head down as an architect. She tended to avoid dating for a reason.

She punched in her phone number and handed back the phone.

Then she finished her pancakes.

“I have to get going,” she said when she was done digesting–and done ogling the chef, twenty minutes or so later.

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, he glanced at his watch and frowned. “I really need to pack for my flight. Do you want me to call you a cab?”

Annabeth shook her head. “I have a car service.” She called them, and then went into the bathroom to change back into her dress from the night before, even though Percy said she could keep the breakfast clothes she’d been given.

“They should be here in thirty minutes,” she said when she rejoined him in the living room. He was still dressed for comfort. She didn’t like it. He looked so comfy and domestic, and she felt suddenly like she didn’t belong.

“Oh, no,” Percy said, stepping into her space. “Whatever shall we do with the time.”

It was much less awkward when he wasn’t wearing anything.

The rest of the day was a mad dash. She had to do her personal packing, and then make sure she didn’t miss her flight. And someone always gawked a little bit at her passport. And this was an official trip, so she had to make sure everything was ready for her in that capacity.

She was sitting in the first-class lounge, listening to a podcast Piper had been on, speaking about the Missing and Murdered Indigenous women in North America, when a text came through.

It was a link to his IG, with the picture from earlier. Those perfect blue pancakes.

It was accompanied by a short message.

Something to remember me by.

Something in Annabeth’s heart thumped.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

It was an old tradition from his earliest competitions, back in Connecticut, when he’d dived into overly chlorinated water and beaten all the kids with special coaches and backyard pools: a big, chaotic family dinner.

Though, Percy supposed, as he let himself into his mom’s apartment, big is relative.

It was four people growing up, and today it will be five.

No one greeted him as he came into the door, though he could smell tomatoes and cheese, the signature scent of pastichio baking away in the oven. The best possible send off before he left for the games.

“I’m home,” he called. The apartment wasn’t actually that big–reasonable for New York City, maybe, but nothing compared to where he’d grown up. He could hear voices and someone’s Spotify playlist faintly in the background. But the fact that Percy was not currently being attacked by a seven year old right now meant that he was beaten here.

“Hi, baby,” his mom said, rounding out of the kitchen. She had some flour on her nose and some gray in her hair, but the smile on her face was the one she’d always given him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He tried to stay in New York whenever he wasn’t working, but he ended up working most of the time, and she just always didn’t have the space for him even when he was in town, so she’d only seen him six or so times on this two week trip, mostly for meals. “I’m glad, too.” he agreed. “Where’s Paul?”

“His parent-teacher thing ran late,” said his mom. “He said to start without him.”

“And where’s the little monster?” he asked, though he could guess. “Playing in his room with her favorite brother?”

His mom laughed as she nodded and shooed him towards the little hallway, where he could hear the laughter coming from Estelle’s room. Knocking on the door, he didn’t wait for an answer, barging right in.

It was just like he thought: inside the tie dye blue room was his little sister, Estelle Blofis, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her eyes fixed on her brand new Switch. And next to her, showing off all the advantages of what had to be his gift, sat her favorite brother, Luke Castellan.

“Hey guys.” Percy said.

Estelle looked up at him, but Luke kept tinkering, despite very clearly having already heard him.

“Percy,” she said, “Look what Luke brought me!”

“I see that,” Percy said. “He’s very good at throwing his money around.”

That caused Luke to look up, a smile on his face. It was not a secret that Luke had the most charming smile. Even with the scar running down his cheek. It was nice it was out today. Percy remembered being ten, and watching his mom carefully instruct Luke in covering it with putty and make up after he refused to go back to school for a week after he got it. “Wait until you see what I got for you for winning gold,” he said.

“I haven’t won gold yet.” Percy pointed out.

“But you will.” Estelle said it with finality. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, guppy,” he said, ruffling her hair. That at least earned her ire. He’d messed up her braid.

And so that was how he found himself sitting on her very pink bed, brushing out her dark hair, preparing for a fishtail braid while Luke picked her brain about how jealous the rest of her friends were that in just a couple of weeks she would get to go to Mexico and watch the Olympics.

She’d only been three the last Olympics, and Percy had only gone as an alternate, anyway, but now, with school out and a Jackson favored to win, his family was eager to take part. Estelle in particular was obsessed with her upcoming international travel and her brother’s upcoming victory.

Percy was saved having to answer her rather awkward question about whether or not his father would be there (she was seven now, and finally had a firm idea that she and Percy share a mom but not a dad) by them all being called into dinner.

His mom’s pastichio was on point. It always was, but Percy didn’t get any much home cooking he didn’t make for himself these days. And when he was training, he had to be more careful about his weight. But this was a night of family and celebration, a time to eat, drink, and be merry.

And so eat and eat he would.

Everyone was on their second helping, still discussing the impending trip, and Luke trying to sell everyone on the first class upgrades he’d booked them, when Estelle asked, with her mouth full of food, “Is Auntie May coming?”

His mom smiled, a touch of sadness on her face. “I don’t think Auntie May will be able to make it, sweetie.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t do good with travel, squirt,” Luke cut in. “You know how grumpy you got when we drove to Montauk last year?” Estelle scrunched her nose. “Mama’s like that. It's better that she stays at home.”

“Won’t she be sad?”

May Castellan was a lot of things, but sad wasn’t normally one of them. She wasn’t always great at remembering things, or times or places or people. When Percy and Luke had visited her two days before, she’d seemed to think they were both in college, even though there was a seven years age difference and Percy had graduated three years before. She couldn’t remember to clean, and only remembered to cook food some of the time. From the time Percy was two until he’d gone to college, he and his mom had lived with her in the big house in Westport. His mom had been hired to take care of May, but in reality she’d taken care of all of them, making sure everything was clean, there was good food to eat, and there was someone to pick Luke up from the bus stop. Sometimes, to mess with him, Percy would say his mom took care of May, but Percy had taken care of Luke. If he followed it up quick enough with a comment about Luke thriving under the responsibility of being a big brother, he wouldn’t even get a half bad punch in the arm.

It had been a nice life. May had been… a lot, on occasion, prone to strange, almost scary outbursts. But she was also one of the sweetest people Percy had ever met. She would listen to him talk for hours about fish when he was younger, and had a wide knowledge of Greek mythology that she’d share at the drop of a hat. Some of it had been harder on Luke, Percy knew. Sally didn't start working there until he was nine, and Percy sometimes wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t gotten that job. But he also knew that Luke loved his mother fiercely, was extremely protective of her, and was happy he’d gotten the Jackson’s as family.

Now May lived in a nursing home in New Haven, after Luke and Percy and Sally had spent weeks and weeks researching options when it was determined that Sally couldn’t be her home carer anymore, and Percy and Luke had both left the Connecticut house. No one had wanted to leave her alone with a stranger, but her new house had a bunch of people like her, and doctors and nurses on site to make sure she was taken care of and shepherd her to casino nights where she always won the dice games. Estelle had never lived with May, but she knew her and loved her because Sally took her to visit almost once a week. May was as important a member of their family as anyone sitting around the table.

Luke shook his head. “I’m going to go visit before we go,” he promised. “And we gave the nurses Percy’s schedule, they’ll make sure she can watch the race on TV. She told all of her friends in the dining room about Percy’s prowess last time we went.”

Percy smiled. She had indeed, and then insisted that Luke pull out his phone to show a couple of YouTube videos about last year’s world championship. It had been a particular impressive display, if he did say so himself. The winds had been nasty, but those were some of his favorite days. Him and his boat, wrestling with the elements. Man vs. nature, as his stepdad might say.

And the thing was, when Percy fought nature, Percy always won.

You know, mostly.

“And if she misses anything,” his mom promised, “we’ll tell her all about it when we get back. Sound good?”

Estelle nodded, serious. “I’ll make sure to take lots and lots of pictures!”

No one, least of all Percy, had the heart to tell her that she’d be competing with some of the best sports photographers in the world. But he found he was looking forward to her pictures most of all, anyway.

Later that night, after his mom and Paul’s little “parent-teacher” ruse had run its course and his stepdad reappeared part way through dinner with dessert, a big, blue velvet, custom-printed sheet cake with the Olympic rings printed on it, after Percy had made the executive decision to chuck his diet out the window and pack it away, after Luke had put him in the ceremonial headlock and Estelle had been put to bed, sleepily kissing her big brother good night and good luck, Percy found that he just couldn’t sleep after such an exciting day. It wasn’t unusual–he was always nervous before flights–but, as he lay there, he could just tell that it wasn’t happening tonight.

Percy was anxious. Yes, about the flight, but also about the games. He was going to the Olympics. Tomorrow, he was flying to Mexico, to train and practice and get acclimated to the weather, and then, in a few short weeks, he’d be competing for Team USA.

Sucking in a breath, he blew it out, the air shuddering through his lungs.

He could really use a freaking drink right now.

Another sleepless half hour passed, and Percy found himself swinging his legs out of bed, hitting the old wooden floor, before he padded out to the kitchen. Hopefully his mom wouldn’t mind if he had some of her tea at this hour. Or maybe her wine.

But when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, there was his mom, and Luke, and an open bottle of red wine between them. As one, they turned to look at him. “Hi, sweetheart,” his mom said, as soft and warm as usual, though even in the dim light, he could tell her cheeks were a little warm. “Did we wake you?”

Percy shook his head. “No, I was already awake. Um, is there something happening between you guys I should know about?”

Luke snorted, topping off his glass. He might have, once upon a time, drunkenly confessed to his cousin-cum-brother about his childhood, totally inappropriate crush on Percy’s mom, but that they were long past the point of awkwardness about it. “Dude, come on. We’re just having some wine. Want to join?”

He hesitated. His flight was in just a few hours. Wine hangover plus a nine-hour flight to Mexico did not a good combination make. But…

“Sure,” he said, sliding into the seat next to his mother. “Hit me.”

Grinning, Luke poured him a glass. “Drink up, champ.”

His mom raised her glass. “To your win.”

The three of them gently clinked their glasses together, and they drank.

Putting her arm around his shoulder, she pulled Percy into a one-sided hug. “I can’t believe it. My baby’s going to the Olympics!”

He blushed, turning his head into her. “Ma…”

“I know how hard you’ve worked for this,” she said, resting her head on his. “And I want you to know, no matter what happens, we are all so proud of you. Me, Estelle, Luke, Paul, May–everyone.”

From the corner of his eye, Luke nodded, but didn’t add anything. Sentimentality was never his strong suit.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“And I know your father would be proud of you, too.”

That made him pull back, looking his mother in the eye. Her eyes were glistening, tears just ready to fall. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she said.

Between the three of them, they polished off the bottle of wine. In the morning, Luke woke him up with a rough shake to his shoulder, hauling him out of bed and into Paul’s dented up Prius. The four of them saw him off, Estelle barely managing to keep her eyes open, and as his mother gave him one final hug, he could feel her slipping something into his backpack. “For luck,” she murmured into his ear. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.”

In the airport lounge (thank you, Luke) curiosity got the better of him, and he opened his pack, peeking inside. Resting on top of his tangle of cords and his plastic bag of toiletries was a single, small, pristine sand dollar. Rubbing his fingers against the surface, he smiled, tipping his head back against the airport chair.

He had a feeling he wouldn’t need it. But it was always nice to have.

***

When Annabeth had been very young, being a princess had been mostly incidental. She had grown up in a palace, and her grandfather had been a king, sure, but it hadn’t seemed that extraordinary. It was the only life she knew. Her closest companion in all of that had been her cousin Magnus, who was living the same life. Comparing notes, their upbringings shared a lot of obvious similarities.

But when she was six a lot of things happened, and none of them good. The most important on the princess front was that her grandfather had died, and she had learned that her uncle, the new king, was in fact a widower who had lost two cousins before Annabeth was even born–sending the line of succession straight to her. And just to shore up everything, her father had gotten married and pumped out a couple of spares in quick succession.

She had spent the next decade being horribly resentful: of her cousins for dying, of her uncle for not having more, of her mother for leaving her to these people, of the Swedish government for getting rid of male preferred primogenitor, of her father for not thinking she was good enough to shoulder that burden and having himself two sons, of her stepmother for not having the good since of the rest of them and sort of hating royal life, of a great line of semi-mythic kings for making a monarchy in Sweden, and so on.

It wasn’t fair to say she was exactly happy about any of it now. But she’d accepted it. Some of it was because of duty and honor and all that viking stuff. Some of it was because of many very honest late night conversations with her father, and some of it was because she’d been granted a little reprieve. College in Boston, at Havard, some time away from the relentless attention. And then she had had a few years, at least, to make her way in the world as a single young person in New York, with a job and an apartment and all those things. When it was commented on, it was called modern, or else a fragile attempt for a fading institution to endear itself to its people. But for Annabeth, it represented a certain freedom she hadn’t had before and wouldn’t have again.

But that freedom was not exactly absolute, and nothing made that more clear then when her red-eye flight touched down in Stockholm.

“Ma’am,” her bodyguard, Hans, greeted her, minutes after she had exited her gate. Hans lived in New York, and had technically been on the flight with her. He was mostly not her shadow though, which was good, because it meant she didn’t have someone to report on her goings-on, or any Instagram models whose thirst traps she may or may not have spent a lot of her trip looking at.

The door to the nondescript black car was already open, where her PA, Helen, awaited her, perched delicately on the warm leather interior. Annabeth sighed, sliding in. “Hello, Helen.”

Helen, on the other hand, was a very special kind of hell, one that she only had to interact with when she was in Sweden.

“Princess,” she said, dipping her head, her fingers already flying on her iPad. “Did you have a good flight?”

She grunted, noncommittally.

“Did you read the schedule I sent you?”

“No,” Annabeth said. Because she had not. What was the point, when Helen would follow her around for the next three weeks, snapping at her about timelines and to-dos and reminding her to be nice?

“Well,” she began, pushing up her glasses, “you have a phone interview at 11 with…”

Annabeth tuned her out, letting her voice become just another level of white noise, watching the city of Stockholm whip by. In her pocket, her phone burned, heavy with pictures of pancakes and sailors.

Her mind was still wandering a little by lunch. She curtsied a bit to her uncle, the king, as she went into the little dining room he often had meals in.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted, before sliding into a chair.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Hello.” He didn’t even look up from his book. It was not written in Swedish or English.

She rolled her eyes internally. All Chase men were the same, apparently. She hadn’t requested lunch with her uncle, but apparently her first time seeing him in three months barely even warranted the slightest acknowledgment.

Fortunately for her, Magnus came wandering in only a few minutes later. “Hey, cuz!” He went up and hugged her, squeezing her tight. “Good to see you! When did you get back?”

“Just this morning,” she said, allowing herself to melt into it. “Do you know if dad is in?”

“Uncle Fred? I think so.” Magnus helped himself to a slice of bread and some jam. “Last I saw him he was in the library.”

Typical.

Still, she and Magnus were able to have a lovely lunch, all by themselves, the two of them crowded around the corner of the idiotically long dining table. And this wasn’t even the fancy one. “So,” she said, after pleasantries were out of the way, “how’s Alex?”

He blushed. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Great. Good. Better than fine.”

“All of the above?”

Still red, he shoved her a little.

Annabeth just laughed. “When are you going to ask her out?”

“Soon! Soon, I will, I just…” He stuffed a grape in his mouth, chewing slowly to buy himself some time. Annabeth rested her head on her hands, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “Look, there was that stuff with her mom. And that stuff with her dad, and then that other stuff with her mom. You know how it is.” Magnus gave her a significant look, and well, yes, Annabeth could understand. Alex’s mother was kind of a monster, and her dad was somehow worse.

Although… “That was four months ago. Thought you said you’d ask her out by solstice?”

Tomato-faced, he looked away. “I didn’t say which solstice, now did I?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, sipping her wine.

“Anyway, I think what we really need to talk about is your love life.”

And then she nearly spat it out.

“Not the response I was expecting,” Magnus said. “So, Her Royal Highness does have a love life. I know for a fact the PR department has a Google alert for you, so it hasn’t made the papers yet.”

“I do not have a love life!” She hissed, quickly glancing over at Randolph. She considered the room around her. The large, stuffy, informal dining room. Unbidden, the thought of Percy (Jackson, according to his Instagram account. They hadn't gotten to last names. Which was good. Wow, had it really been less than twenty-four hours since she had had Percy’s head between her thighs?) eating with her mess of a family came to her. She shook her head, legs tensing under the table. A holdover from her days of wanting to run away.

Magnus raised a brow at her. It was like looking in a mirror sometimes with this kid. “Mmhmm.”

“I don’t have a love life,” she said again. “I… very occasionally and very responsibly have fun. That is not the same thing.”

“Well, next time you have some responsible fun, you should consider what he might look like in a coronet.”

“Presumptuous, much?” Magnus sighed, and she narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I’m going to remind you of a couple of harsh truths,” he said, “so don’t get too mad at me.”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

He lowered his voice. “Like that you’re the heir apparent. And that as future queen, you’ll need to get married, and pop out a few kids. Or else your brothers…”

Annabeth groaned, and slumped into her chair in a very unprincess-y manner. It wasn’t that she had a lot against her half-brothers in general. But if one of them got to be king, and if their descendants got the throne, well, then her step-mother won, didn’t she?

Smiling cheerfully, Magnus clapped her on the shoulder. “But don’t sweat it, cuz,” he said. “I’m sure you can find someone who wants to sign up for the madness.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Be careful, or else I’m going to go old school and marry you , just so people will shut up.”

“How Hapsburg of you.”

“Everyone wishes you could be the heir, anyway,” she said, taking another sip of wine.

Magnus was everything a king of Sweden was supposed to be: brave, noble, wicked with a sword. He had the looks, the lineage, and an even temperament to boot–not like Annabeth, a girl of unsuitable parentage who tended to lose her cool when she couldn’t find her most comfortable pair of shoes.

“Now that,” he said, with a knowing smile, “is a bald-faced lie.”

“Randolph wants it, the people of Sweden want it, your dad desperately wants it.”

“Well, if my dad wanted me to be king that badly, then he should have set up the primogeniture laws himself.”

“Alex would make for a pretty kickass queen,” she mused.

Magnus nodded, conceding that point. “She would, but so would any decent beefcake you found to have responsible fun with at the Olympics.”

She snorted. “What, are you going to pick them out for me?”

“Nope! You’re going to have to vet them by yourself.”

Annabeth started. “Wait–you’re not coming with me?”

“Well, someone said I needed to take Alex on a date,” Magnus replied, piling cheeses and rolls on his plate, “so I guess I’ll just have to take her to the opening of the museum of modern art in Malmö in August, won’t I?” And then he sauntered away with his loot, a pep in his step. “Have fun in Mexico!”

“You’re not serious.” But he didn’t respond, almost humming as he left the lunch room. “Come on!” She called after him. “You can’t let me go by myself!”

The day went on, but Magnus’ comments followed her, too.

She settled into the little apartment she’d been given in the palace when she’d turned eighteen. There was a formal dinner that evening, and before long, Helen would come back, along with someone to help her dress and someone else to do her hair and makeup.

But for now she laid back on the old couch, already stained with charcoal despite the handful days she’d spent here.

It wasn't that she didn’t know that she was expected to get married and have children. It was how things were done here. Everywhere. Lineages, and all that. It was a thing that people in her family had spent thousands of years worrying over. And even if she were popular enough to pull an Elizabeth circa the year 1600 and just refuse to play the game altogether, then it would fall to her half-brothers, and her step-mother would win. And Annabeth had to have some pride.

Almost like a magnet, her eyes drifted to her bookshelf, where there lay her old childhood book of Greek mythology, creased and worn and wrinkled from water damage and coffee spills and everything that a book might go through. Her father had offered to replace it, once, but she had refused. Magnus had wanted one about the Norse gods, obviously. And Uncle Randolph, back before he’d been His Majesty The King, had shared those stories with both of them. But Annabeth had preferred the one about the Greeks.

That book, and her old Yankees’ cap, had been the sole gifts she had ever received from her mother. Her motives were often inscrutable, but to throw away a gift from her would be idiotic.

Get married, have children. That was the fate of all princesses, going back to ancient Greece. It had been the fate of Andromeda and Helen and all the rest. She had known it was hers since she was six years old.

Which really led to the question, why she hadn’t done anything about it yet? She was only twenty-five, with plenty of child-rearing days in front of her. Plus, it was the twenty-freaking-first century, for crying out loud. Her marriage did not need to be a political tool to solidify alliances. She could marry pretty much anyone she wanted. As long as they were willing to deal with her family, anyway. Someone who would look good next to her at state dinners, who could hold a halfway interesting conversation, and someone she could stand to raise a couple of children with.

She groaned, dragging her hands over her face. Just a few stipulations to consider.

That settled it. She wasn’t going to let someone else pick this out for her, as though it were Helen selecting her prim, stuffy wardrobe for the day. No way.

She would use this trip as a sort of… familiarizing situation. Really dip her toes into the water. One last little break, at the Olympics. And then, the hunt would begin for real.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

[ID: Picture of an attractive man with brown skin and black hair in front of a blue ocean. Only his face and hand are visible. His hand holds up his index and middle fingers in a peace sign, his face is hidden behind a pair of navy sunglasses with the letters USA printed across the bridge

Instagram caption: per_sea_jackson : Officially in Mérida. Let the games begin.]

Percy had been all over the world: for sailing, for Instagram, for the fact that Luke loved to travel and didn’t have many friends to travel with. Percy hated flying every single time, and was known to spend extra time on a boat to avoid it if he could, but he loved getting there. Being new places and exploring them.

Growing up in Westport had in many ways been a dream. The big white house with the perfect backyard, Luke and his mom and May. His mom used to talk about good schools and safe neighborhoods, and all the other things people moved to Connecticut for.

But being the only kid in class who wasn’t white, there had been a lot of nasty, mean comments about his mom being a maid (which wasn’t true). And then, in middle school, he started excelling in all the WASP sports: sailing and crew and fencing and horseback riding of all things, all while Luke had gone off to college, after a decade of Luke having his back. It had given him a rather hom*ogeneous view of the world, and not a pleasant one, one that Yale, despite its best efforts, did not really do much to dispel. But the world was vast and strange and amazing, as wide and weird as his own insane family tree. Percy was reminded of that every time he stepped off a plane, or his preferred boat.

It was a crazy, comforting thought.

“Percy! Hey!”

And speaking of family…

“Hazel!” Percy wrapped his cousin up in a big hug, twirling her around, blocking traffic in the middle of the Mérida airport. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“There was an announcement and everything,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “I guess dressage isn’t sexy enough to make the news.”

His dear cousin Hazel was one of the youngest equestrian athletes to ever be on Team USA. The two of them had bonded near-instantly over their shared affinity for horses and gently bullying Nico to eat more, and no one had been happier than Percy when she had been accepted onto the Olympic team. She had originally only been an alternate, and wasn’t sure if she would be coming, but already her presence was combating some of his nerves. It was going to be so amazing to have someone here in his corner from the beginning.

“Do you need help with your suitcase?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s all taken care of.”

Percy whistled. “The di Angelo express, huh?”

“You know it!” She took his hand. “Come on, let’s go get a cab to the village.”

They cruised through the city, Percy pressing his face to the window to better see the white buildings, the heat rising off of the tarmac, and the international flags fluttering against the clear blue sky.

Mérida. Was. Amazing.

And hot. Goddamn.

Even just taking a quick stroll through the center of town, he was absolutely drenched in sweat. Ducking into a local shop down the road from the Monumento A La Patria (and holy crap, they were going to have to come back and see that at night!) for a bite to eat, Percy collapsed into his seat, fanning himself furiously with one of the tourist pamphlets Hazel had swiped for them. He was even seriously considering taking his shirt off.

“We should definitely check out the cenotes ,” Hazel said, reading her own brochure, turning the page to him. “Just look at this water!”

“How the hell are you not a puddle right now?” Percy asked, panting.

She made a face at him. “I’m from New Orleans. Not my fault you can’t handle a little humidity.”

“This is not humidity! This is–this is torture!”

She snorted, looking out at the passers-by through a line of brightly colored shrubbery. “Damn yankee,” she muttered.

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “You take that back right now.”

“I’ll consider it if you buy me lunch.”

He grumbled goodnaturedly, already pulling out his phone. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute.”

“That’s me,” she said. “The cutest cousin.”

“Undoubtedly. How is Nico, by the way?”

She smiled, taking a drink from her water bottle. “You’re the one who bullied him into going to your alma mater for school. Shouldn’t you know?”

“That was Luke,” Percy pointed out. “And it's summer. Didn’t you guys just get back from that sibling trip to the homeland? And I have to be honest, I have no idea what he did when you guys got back from Italy.”

Hazel’s nod meant he did actually know what Percy was talking about. “He’s well. Dad has him running ragged with work, but he was able to take some time to get me here.”

“And that was the first time he saw sunlight in months, I’m sure.”

Gently, she laughed. “You’re not wrong. But you know I have almost as much trouble with flying as you do. And I don’t even have a boat as an out. So I have to rely on fatherly and fraternal support.”

“You could have ridden your horse here.”

“Ha ha.”

After Luke, Percy was sure he had had his fill of cousins. But after they had discovered Nico and his sister in Las Vegas during a truly insane road trip when Percy was a kid, Percy had found he quite liked the little nerd, weird and broody and emo as he may be. And then, a few years later, when Nico had called them up in a panic, awkwardly explaining over the phone how he had accidentally unearthed his half-sister, Percy and Luke were honorbound to welcome her into the family.

Well, Percy was. Luke, preoccupied with grad school, had blown him off a little–but not before Percy had guilted him into sending enough money for food and transportation. Stingy bastard.

He hadn’t seen her since November, when she and Nico had come for Thanksgiving. She was a junior at Tulane (a choice Luke took pretty personally because getting family members into Yale was his second favorite hobby after crypto) and she and Nico had gone on some backpacking trip through California during Christmas break, and then to Italy at the start of the summer. An ironic juxtaposition, as Luke had taken the Jackson-Blofis-Castellan family to Paris for Christmas, and Percy had spent early summer training in California. It was so good to see her now.

Hazel wiped her mouth, gently setting down her napkin. “So. Percy.”

Percy swallowed. “Come on.”

“You’re not getting out of this conversation.”

“What, is my mom paying you to talk to me?”

She raised her hands, a placating gesture. “She just wants to make sure you’re doing okay. We all do.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly had time for dating,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Training and such.”

“You can’t tell me you spend that much time training.”

He huffed. “I spend the perfect amount of time training!”

She gave him a long, thoughtful look, then bites into a plantain chip. “What you do spend is too much time with Luke.”

“I don’t think that’s the dig you want it to be.”

Hazel sighed, a deep, long, drawn out thing. It reminded him of his mother. That was both a compliment and a pretty harsh take down. “Percy, I love Luke. He’s the douchey, white, older cousin I never wanted but will still send me money any time I ask. And you could certainly do worse for friends.”

Percy frowned. “A hell of a lot worse,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot.” Luke had saved his life, on more than one occasion. He bore the scar to prove it. Letting go of that loyalty was hard.

“I know,” she said, placating. “I’m not saying ditch him. He’s always going to be your cousin and your big brother. But I think I have a much stronger reason to hang out with just Nico than you have to hang out with just Luke. Even I managed to put myself out there a little bit. You could stand to expand your social circle a little. Include some other boys, maybe. Or girls.”

“I’ve met girls!” He was not pouting, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Hazel snorted at him.

“Uh huh.”

“I have! I even have girl friends!”

“Such as?” She rested her head on her hand, eyes glinting at him.

Mentally, he flipped through his rolodex. “There’s you. Obviously.”

“I’m touched.”

“Thalia. Um, Rachel. Uh…” Oh, come on. He has to have more female friends than that!

“So,” said Hazel, not even trying to hide her grin, “your three closest female friends are your two cousins and your high school almost girlfriend?”

Percy groaned, tilting his head back. “Okay, okay. Point taken.”

“Just think about it, okay?” She touched his hand, squeezing his fingers. “You’re such a wonderful guy. And you know I love Luke. I really do, but come on. There's a reason that he’s always begging me and Nico and you to come and hang out. It’s because otherwise his only social activity is hanging out with Estelle–a seven year old–pining after your mom,” that earned her a light punch in the shoulder, “or going clubbing with his co-workers. And he only hangs out with his co-workers to run crypto schemes.”

He squeezed back. “You know he knows those are cons, and just does it because he thinks the people he works with are assholes, right?” Luke and Hazel’s speculation arguments were legendary. “He doesn’t actually keep any of his money in crypto. Or any of ours. You keep way more money in gold.”

“You know that’s not the point,” Hazel said, “and gold is an old fashioned, stable speculation.”

“For the record, I do meet girls.” Automatically his hand went to his pocket, slipping out his phone to see if he had a new text message. He didn’t, but there was no harm in checking. “There was this girl I met just before I left New York.”

She leant in. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” A quick flash of golden hair and silver eyes crossed his memory, accompanied by a bright, sparkling laugh, like champagne.

“Any details you want to share?”

“She was an architect,” he said, “and she was beautiful.” There were plenty more details than that, but the gulf between ‘want to share’ and ‘going to share’ was wider than the distance from here to New Orleans. It had only been once, anyway: one night and one text. Hardly met the criteria for an ongoing relationship.

But still. There was something about that girl that he couldn’t shake, even a few days later.

“You’re smiling,” Hazel said.

“Hm?”

“You’re full-on grinning.”

He was, to his shock. He could feel it in his cheeks. “So? I like smiling.”

“You? Mr. Resting Bitch Face?”

“Me,” he replied, lightly kicking her ankle under the table. “I’m only smiling because you’re here, anyway.”

Hazel beamed at him, and he couldn’t help but match it, tooth for tooth. “Then you better start practicing when I’m not around. You’re going to need that smile for the podium.”

Lifting his water, he saluted her, and they knocked their plastic bottles together. “I’ll drink to that.”

***

The only thing worse than a fancy state dinner was a fancy state dinner that was ostensibly for her but wasn’t actually about her at all.

It was supposedly her birthday dinner, but you wouldn’t know it by the food. Or the company. The last thing she ever wanted on a day meant to celebrate her was to be stuck between her stepmother and her brothers, disinterestedly twirling pasta around in their forks while her uncle stood at the head of the idiotically long table, speaking boring platitudes about history and pride and the future of the family.

The food was fine, but nothing that counted as a particular favorite. The salad course didn’t even have olives. But she ate it gratefully, as she was meant to.

There were two hundred people here, and she knew about twelve, and liked and was liked in turn by maybe two of them. And Magnus was on the other side of the room, so unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough to claim her for the first dance.

At least it was just a waltz. The dancing was vestigial anyway, a holdover from a more formal time. Now Annabeth was light on her feet when she needed to be, but dancing was not one of those times she needed to be. Her partner, some higher-ranking member of parliament, politely pursed his lips as she stepped on his foot, and she could feel the back of her neck heat up, exposed to the room by her updo.

Just focus, she thought to herself, biting the back of her tongue. One, two, three, one, two three…

Every eye was on her as she moved about the ballroom, passed around between dignitary and celebrity and back again. With as much brain power as she could spare, she occupied her time by cataloging any stray details about her partners. Height, eye color, hair color… any male pattern baldness. You know, for reasons. “Princess,” her next partner greeted her, dipping his head. “How are you enjoying this day?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, automatically. An older man, his grip on her waist was just a little bit too tight, and his breath stank of onions. “And you?”

He had a number of medals pinned to his sash. What the hell was his name again? “A wonderful dinner,” he said.

There was not much more conversation after that.

Her next partner was shorter, but younger, with floppy brown hair and blue eyes. In her heels she was taller than him by a few inches. “Princess,” he said, his smile mischievous, eyes glinting. Annabeth was not sure she liked it one bit.

She smiled tightly back at him.

And then he looked down at her cleavage.

She sighed.

After the pig, she was whisked around to other dignitaries and members of state, before Magnus grabbed her, skillfully pulling her out of the sweaty hands of a rather infamous junior minister who enjoyed copping feels, and waltzing her away. “Oh thank all the gods,” she said. “I was getting real sick of being felt up by random government workers.”

“No problem,” he said, “but I’m actually here on reconnaissance.”

“What?”

“I have orders to transport you to someone else.”

“Huh? Oh–!”

And then he spun her into the waiting arms of her father. He stumbled a little bit as he caught her, nearly bowling over an elderly lady with white hair, dressed in a salmon taffeta storm who gave them the stink-eye before realizing who, exactly, she was stink-eyeing.

“Hello, dear,” her father grinned at her, bashful.

“Dad,” she said, her eyes still swimming a bit.

“I apologize for the ambush,” he said, “but I haven’t gotten to speak to you all day. How are you?”

She’d been in the country for two days already. If he wanted to get her alone, he had had ample time to do so beforehand. “Fine.”

“You look lovely tonight.”

Helen had picked out a light blue gown for her, with a sweetheart neckline that did absolutely nothing for her cleavage and sleeves that itched around the armpit. “Thank you.”

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, good. Had a good flight back?”

“I did, yeah.”

Out of questions, he fell silent. They danced in awkwardness for a minute or two.

“When are you heading to Mexico?” he asked.

“In about a week.” And not a minute too soon.

He frowned a little. “I see.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“I didn’t agree that you were the best person from the family to send.”

That… stung. “Sorry you were overruled,” she said.

“What? Oh, no, I don’t–I didn’t mean it like that.” The music, some generic classical string quartet, came to an end, the dancers politely applauding the musicians. Annabeth joined in, her soft white gloves making almost no noise.

“Well, I already got tickets to the games. You can cancel my hotel if you want; I can find my own way.”

“That’s not–” He cut himself off, taking her in his arms as the music started again, leading her off to the side of the ballroom. “What I meant was,” he said, softly, “was that you’ve been working so hard lately. I thought you might want to take the summer to relax a little. Here.” Almost bashful, he turned away to grab a couple glasses of wine from a nearby waiter. Annabeth almost missed his last few words. “With us.”

“Oh.” Hard pass. “I… I can’t just take the summer off anymore, dad. I got a few weeks for the Olympics, but I have a few projects in the works back in New York that I need to get back to as soon as I’m done.”

His brow furrowed, he nodded. “I understand. Do you need any–?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t even know what he was going to ask. “I’ve got everything I need.”

He nodded again. “Good. That’s good.”

They stood together, watching the dancers for a while. It reminded Annabeth of a movie, almost, some kind of pretentious costume drama where all the men spoke of war and all the women connived to get their daughters on the throne, where everyone was having sex with everyone else and alliances were decided on the flip of a coin. She always used to hate those. There was never any strategy to them, just whatever shock value the writers could come up with.

“After the Olympics,” her father said, after some time, “will you come back?”

He didn’t say home , she thought. “For a few days, maybe. But it might be easier to go straight back to New York.”

“I’d… I’d like it if you came back.” He shuffled his feet, shoulders hunched.

What for , she almost said, unthinkingly. But really, what for? So she could spend three days recovering from jetlag in her apartments while he forgot about her?

“Would it be alright if I stopped by later?” he asked. “I can–I can bring some snacks. Popcorn. And we can watch something together, for your birthday. For old time’s sake.”

She should say no. She should say he didn't need his performative bullsh*t. She should say he wasn't going to show up, so why bother. But deep down, she was still seven years old and just wanted her dad to love her, despite him making it clear he didn't, never had, and didn't plan to.

"Okay."

And then he smiled at her, like he had over that plate of diner food all those years ago, and she felt warm inside, like she had just taken that perfect first sip of hot cocoa. “Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

“It’ll probably be late,” she said, giving him a chance to back out. “I don’t know how much longer this is going to go on.”

“Ah, just leave it to me, dear,” he grinned, placing his empty wine glass on the tray of a passing server. “You go ahead and get comfortable, and I’ll go ahead and make your apologies to your uncle.” And then he wandered off, in search of the king.

Well. At least it got her out of her own party, if nothing else. She slipped out through the special side exit, nodding at Hans, who valiantly suppressed a smile as he closed the door behind her.

She wasn’t expecting much. Best case scenario, her dad showed up and they very awkwardly sat on opposite sides of the couch for two hours; worse case scenario, her dad didn’t show up and she got to go to sleep early. Honestly, it was a win-win either way.

Slipping out of her dress, she threw it across her bed, vowing to pick it up before she went to bed, before going in for a shower–a long shower. She was still exhausted and sore from her workout that morning, and sitting all evening, perched on those decorative chairs, her feet crammed into a pair of heels, had done her absolutely no favors. Afterwards, she pulled on her old Harvard t-shirt and sweats, furiously scrubbing her makeup off in her bathroom. They always used too much of it, and it made her forehead itch.

She had just finished her curl treatment and was debating the merits of a face mask when she heard a knock at her door.

Swallowing, she paused, her hand on the spigot.

“Annabeth?” she heard her father say, muffled. “It’s me, dear.”

He… he was here.

To say he couldn’t make it?

But if he couldn’t make it, then he would have just texted her. Or not shown up at all.

Slowly, like in a dream, she went over to her door, and opened it. On the other side was her father, his nice suit and official sash exchanged for a pair of silk pajama pants and his own Harvard t-shirt. When he saw her shirt, he beamed, almost childlike in his joy. “We match!”

She smiled back, in spite of herself. “Come on in,” she said, standing aside.

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” he mused, eyes wide as he took the apartment in. It was pretty clean, thankfully. The cleaning staff here were amazing, but Annabeth didn’t really spend that much time in it anyway. Her place in New York was much, much more of a home. And had the floordrobe and dirty dishes to prove it. “Did you change the furniture recently?”

Annabeth shrugged. “Dunno. Not like anyone asked me my opinion on interior design.” Despite, you know, her graduate level qualification in architecture and design.

“Oh.” Her father frowned. “Well, I’ll remind someone to remind anyone doing remodels or decorations that they should talk to you. I know you don’t live here anywhere close to full time, but I want you to feel like it's home. Because it is your home.”

That would be… nice. “Thanks.” His arms were full of things, she just realized. “Do you need me to take something?”

“Can I just put it on the table?”

She nodded, looking over what he'd brought as he spread it out. A couple of bags of popcorn, a jar of olives, a stack of DVDs and… “Did you send someone to get Dunkin?” she asked, picking up the familiar orange and pink box.

“Not all the way to Boston,” her father assured her, chuckling. “There's one in Copenhagen.”

She smiled despite herself. She remembered being very small, and being in Boston with her dad. Maybe before they moved back to Sweden, or maybe on one of the trips he liked to take her on, before he got married. He’d shared a donut with her, and told her it was the one and only thing that America did better than Europe. She took a donut hole and bit into the sugary, fried goodness. It was not as good as the one she’d had in JFK, waiting for her plane, but this one had also traveled from Denmark, so it wasn’t fair to compare. “What are we watching?”

“I have an old collection of classics,” her dad said. “ Roman Holiday for me, Legally Blonde for you.” He smiled, grabbing the Roman Holiday first. “It's late, so it's alright if, when we’re done, you want to go to sleep. But I brought a few others, too.” Sune’s Summer , Lotta , and…

“ Clash of the Titans ?” She asked. They used to watch it on his old VHS tape, straight out of the 80s.

“We haven’t watched that one together in forever,” he said. “I had to at least bring it.”

She smiled. “Let’s get started, then. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

She hoped she didn’t look too guilty during Roman Holiday , praying that memories of Percy Jackson and his stupid chest would fade soon (even if, hopefully, the memories of his tongue would stick around), but then Audrey went on about duty and rules and Annabeth was reminded of hers, though she didn’t not think she was making quite the same sacrifice as Ann. Gregory Peck wasn’t throwing away his career for her .

She waited until Legally Blonde though, because Elle made her brave. Her father and his siblings might have gone to Harvard, and Annabeth might have spent several years living in America, but taking that leap, leaving the sheltered worlds she had known, and moving to Boston for school had seemed momentous in a way other, arguably more stressful things never had. Royalty, bravery, and battle were in her blood. But Harvard University, being a single girl in the big city, that all seemed harder, in its own way.

Elle Woods was brave, so Princess Annabeth would be too.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started, as Elle stood in line to buy a laptop in her Playboy bunny suit, “About my future.”

Her father paused, then sighed, and she felt her stomach turn in a way that had nothing to do with the day old donuts or popcorn. “I see.”

“I… Do you have any thoughts?”

“About your future?”

“Yeah.” He had gone through the royal marriage process. Maybe he could give her some tips.

He leaned back, his mouth twisting. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think I can really speak to it without knowing what you’re looking for.”

Was he really going to make her say it? “Any tips for finding a spouse? You managed yourself a wife who loves being a royal. I’d love some suggestions on how to replicate that success.”

Brow furrowed, he didn’t look at her. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“For what?” For marriage? Probably not. But for the crown… Did he think she couldn’t do it?

“For–”

And then she decided, she didn’t really want to know. Rushing forward, she interrupted him. “Besides, it’s not really a question of readiness, isn’t it? I mean, it’s going to happen anyway.”

“You’re still young,” he said. “You don’t have to rush anything.”

“Not that young.” Twenty-five? It might not be the Middle Ages anymore, when sixteen year old girls were married off to prevent war. But still, every day she waited, possibilities slipped away. “I’m not planning on getting married next month,” she offered, “or even next year. But soon twenty-five will be thirty, and thirty will be thirty-five. If I start now, I can be selective, I can find someone Uncle Randolph and the court of public opinion will approve of.” She wondered if he even registered that she didn’t include him in the list of approving parties.

“Still, there is no rush.”

“That’s why now is a good time,” she told him. “It has to happen someday. Putting it off will only delay the inevitable, and possibly make the stakes that much higher.”

“What stakes could be higher than who you marry?”

Was he for real? “The succession of the monarchy of Sweden,” Annabeth said, with as much ‘duh doi ’ as she could muster without actually saying it. “Heirs are supposed to have kids. That’s how hereditary monarchies work.” He should know this. They’d both minored in poli sci.

But he shook his head. “That doesn’t have to be your concern. Not about this, not about finding a partner.”

“Uncle Randolph is the king,” Annabeth pointed out, as patiently as she could. “You’re his heir. And I’m your heir.” Unless he decided to go with one of the twins, which–no. “Finding a husband is inextricably linked to the succession of the throne.” She refused to believe that he’d married his wife, the dear Princess Frederick, without at least considering how she’d react to royal life. Even if, on the whole, it was true love, or whatever.

“You still don’t need to make it your concern.”

“You have a way for me not to take the future of Sweden, the future of our very ancient bloodline, into account for all of my decisions going forward?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “you can abdicate your position.”

Well, that was…not exactly unexpected, but also, not exactly expected, either. Again, it was the brazenness of it all. “Interesting proposition,” she said, popping a donut hole in her mouth. Her mind ran through the possible responses. “What exactly would I get out of that?”

The real question was what he might offer her to do so: a new title? Money? Finally loving her?

Her father took her hand. When she turned to look at him, she nearly jumped–he was facing her, his eyes deadly serious in a way that she had rarely seen before. “My dear,” he said, his tone grave, “you could have someone who loves all of you.”

Stunned, she said nothing.

But he went on. “Your mother was extraordinary, and I loved her very much. I believe she loved me, too–but only one part of me. And then when I married, it was to someone who only knew the other part of me.”

Annabeth didn’t mean to scoff aloud. But her father looked up at her, a question in his sad frown.

“I mean…” she hedged, awkwardly, “what doesn't she like about you? Other than the fact that you had the gall to have me before she got her hooks…” He frowned, and she coughed. “I mean, before she met you.”

Her father sighed, a deep, world-weary thing. And she was sure she was going to get some platitude about what a good woman her step-mother was, how she was a very important and valued member of the family, the sentiment of ‘more than you are’ going unvoiced deep below the surface.

“She enjoys being married to a prince, and she enjoys being a mother to princes,” her father said instead. “She loves being a princess, and she loves that I made her one. But… for all the issues between your mother and I, I never doubted that she loved me for the man I was, not titles or family. If anything, I think bloodline proved a discouragement, but she chose me, anyway. Your stepmother loves the prince she’s married to. But I think the fact that I am that prince doesn’t really matter. As you said, she resents that I had you, before I met her. Which is ridiculous on any level, of course, but with you… with what you mean to me…” he trailed off, and shook his head. “There is very little I regret in this life, Annabeth, except for how I hurt you, but I will admit… sometimes, the loneliness can be grating.” He squeezed her hand. “You are too wonderful to bear that loneliness.”

Predictably, she blinked back tears. She had borne that loneliness all her life. What would be any different about marriage? “You don’t think I can handle it on my own? Being queen?”

“Of course you can,” he said, without hesitation. Like it was unthinkable. “With grace and poise. But you shouldn’t have to.”

Pulling on her hand, her father gathered her into a hug, placing his head on top of hers. With a start, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had actually hugged her father. It was an awkward fit, on the couch, their bodies too far away for them to really hug it out, her arms resting almost limply at her sides.

“Don’t keep punishing yourself because of my mistakes,” he said, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. “Please, dear. You deserve so much more than you’ve been given.”

She froze, for a second, before slowly snaking her arm up around him. Her body relaxed into his hold, muscle by muscle, and she shut her eyes, blocking out the light and the noise of the TV and the voice in her head which whispered to her warnings of trickery or subterfuge.

No. This wasn’t a ruse. She wouldn’t let herself believe it. Instead, she would simply breathe in his scent, old books and motor oil, and appreciate the moment for what she wanted it to be.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Jason was cool. They weren’t in the same sport, which was probably for the best–even a week out from the opening ceremony, tensions were really starting to rise around the village. The blond was a sprinter, but he wasn’t a dick about it like most of the rest of the track and field team.

There was a kind of long history of Percy being told he just sat on his ass and let the boat do all the work. That was demonstrably untrue, but the insult had always sat with him in a weird way. But Jason hadn’t said anything like that. So Jason was cool.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, approaching his table, awkwardly holding his food tray like he was the new student on the first day of boarding school, and picking the right table would make or break his social status for the next four years.

Jason swallowed, nodding.

Percy slid into his side of the table. See? Cool. A dude of few words, but cool.

He was trying to take Hazel’s words to heart–really. Expand his social circle. And since he couldn’t find his cousin, Jason would do in a pinch.

They sat in silence for several minutes, eating. The Olympic mess was a big buffet, with many different cuisines competing for his sense of smell. And also a McDonalds, because some forms of imperialism were universal.

Hazel was doing some sort of outing with the rest of the equestrians. Percy loved horse people, and still felt kind of awkward around the rest of the sailing team, so he kind of wished he had tagged along. But instead he ate his food mostly in silence across from Jason, whose glasses were pushed up on his nose, and was reading on his phone while he ate. Did he wear those glasses while running?

Percy picked at his food, not wanting to be rude, and interrupt, but almost bursting to say something.

So it was a relief when he put his phone down and looked up at Percy, “Sorry, had to follow up with some stuff at home. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Percy said. He’d spent the day training, getting used to the rhythms of the ocean here. He loved doing that, being in the water, feeling how all the bodies of oceans of the world, all those bodies of water, were distinct but interconnected. It helped, too, that though the weather on land was kind of killing him, all that vanished when he got out to sea.

Just Percy, the water, and his boat. A holy trinity of sorts.

The workout in the village gym hadn’t been nearly as effortless, but it had been necessary. And now Percy had showered and recharged, and was tucking in for a slightly late dinner with a potential new friend.

He asked Jason about his day’s practice, and then made some small talk pleasantries after that. Luke was the king of small talk with strangers. Percy did not have his gifts, obviously, but he tried to mimic what he saw.

“Yeah, I’m from California,” Jason was explaining.

“So, the weather isn’t so bad to you?”

Jason wrinkled his nose, and there was something about his expression, and blue eyes, that reminded Percy of something. He just wasn’t sure what. “No,” he said, “I live in San Francisco. I was technically born in LA, and did a couple of stints there over the years. But So Cal is not normally this humid. Is it bad for a yankee?”

Percy felt his own face sour. “I’m going to assume, because you're a west coast bro, that that was an honest mistake, and not meant as a deadly insult. But I’m from New York. I am not a Yankee .” He spat out the last word.

“Is this a baseball thing?”

Percy frowned. “Yes,” he said, “yes it is.”

“That’s…” Whatever Jason was going to say was cut off, apparently by something beyond Percy’s head. “Frank? Hey, Frank!” He called, waving an arm, flagging someone down.

The someone turned out to be a tall, heavy set Chinese guy with a black buzz cut, and a Team Canada hoodie. At least, that’s who Percy assumed Frank was. But he supposed it could have been the significantly shorter white woman by his side, decked out in similar Canadian swag.

“Jason,” presumably Frank said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“It's good to see you, man,” Jason responded. “You guys want to join us?”

Frank glanced at his companion, who nodded, and they set their trays down next to Percy and Jason. Percy smiled, politely.

“Frank Zhang, Percy Jackson. He’s a sailor for Team USA and my roommate here. Percy, this is my buddy Frank. He does archery for Team Canada.”

Curious. “A Californian and a Canadian?”

Frank laughed. “They let us leave the country, sometimes. We went to undergrad together.”

That made more sense. Berkeley, maybe? Or Stanford. Those schools might pull a Canadian in. Even if they did go to California. “Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands. “And this,” Frank indicated to his companion, “Is Kayla Knowles, fellow archer for team Canada, and the person who puts all of my 10,000 hours of practice to shame.”

“What can I say? Archery is in my blood,” she said, shaking Percy’s hand, too.

“Her dad is Darren Knowles,” Frank explained. “He won gold in Athens.”

Percy nodded as though he actually knew anything about archers from the early 2000s. “Cool,” he said, as neutrally as possible. “The family business.” Some people enjoyed being a part of the family business, and others felt trapped by circ*mstances and family ties to participate in certain things. Normally he saw it in sports, but he knew Luke’s career choices had been heavily influenced by his father.

“I’ve always been a big fan,” Kayla promised. “I don’t try to hide my family connections, or anything.”

More small talk revealed that Frank was from Vancouver, but Kayla was from Toronto and had spent some time in New York. She was even able to name a handful of her favorite pizza joints that Percy had been to, and together, they swiftly formed a united front against Jason and Frank’s evil, west coast tastes.

“East coast chowder is best,” Percy said. “End of discussion.”

“You’ve never even had west coast chowder,” Jason pointed out.

“Look, I made that mistake with pizza… and burgers… and hotdogs.” Percy said. “I’m not about to make that mistake with chowder, too. What exactly am I supposed to think California can do better?”

“Poke?” Jason suggested.

“Some white guy’s imitation of Hawaiian food is never going to be better than my mama’s,” Percy said. “Try again.”

The metaphorical culinary gauntlet thrown, Jason pulled himself up to his full height while still sitting down. “Fine. Coffee.”

“Dunkin over Starbucks any day.”

“This is Tim Horton’s slander,” Frank muttered.

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Tacos.”

“We’re literally in Mexico right now, and you’re going to tell me that some taco bowl from the Stanford food court is better.”

Kayla giggle-snorted. “Burn.”

Frank frowned. “Whose side are you on?”

“Canada’s, in general,” she said. “But at the moment, Percy’s. East coast, all the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, if you two are done flirting for now,” Kayla said, “I heard from a buddy of mine on the cycling team that a bunch of us are going to go out to some bar after dinner. You in?”

Percy wasn’t really one for nights out. He mostly did it because it was Luke’s third favorite form of conspicuous consumption. “Ah–it’s getting a bit late, isn’t it?”

“When’s your first event?” she asked.

He opened his mouth, then paused. Not for another couple of weeks.

“That’s what I thought,” Kayla said, without him even saying anything. “I’ll see you guys in 45, out front.”

Percy sighed, but he didn’t fight it. He was going to try and do as Hazel asked, and go out to a club with someone who wasn’t Luke.

So he followed Jason back to their room, and they both changed into slightly less embarrassing displays–no sweatband or obnoxious, red-white-and-blue “USA” in sight. Or, at least, Percy went for something less embarrassing. Jason put on khakis and an actual polo shirt. To go to a club. What a f*cking square. If he kept this up, Percy might actually become fond of him.

They met Kayla, resplendent in a little gold number which showed off her arms and back (and good grief was she ripped). Frank had only removed his team Canada hoodie, and was probably the most sensibly dressed one of them all. There were a few other people with them, a motley mix of swimmers and sprinters and skeeballers and whatnot, but Percy kept close to Frank and Jason as they headed out.

Even though night had fallen, and the sun was well beneath the horizon, it was somehow still so f*cking hot outside. Percy kept pulling at his collar, occasionally mopping at his face with his sleeve. Not the best look for a night on the town.

The bar they ended up at was a cool, hip, indoor-outdoor thing, where at least the circulating night air made the humidity a little more bearable. Hopefully no one noticed that he snagged the table closest to the little, struggling, but still defiant rotating fan in the corner.

Thank goodness then that the margaritas in Mexico were nice and cold. Percy drank up, liking the ice almost as much as the tequila. He learned, to his eternal amusem*nt, that no one put limes in beer south of the (American) border. Though apparently, they did that north of the border, too, if Frank’s disappointment was anything to go by.

And so, while Kayla and a couple friends went for the dance floor, Jason, to help ease Frank’s pain like the true bro that he was, went for the shots.

Percy lost count after the… fourth one, he thought. The tequila wasn’t necessarily the strongest, but damn did it go down easy, easy enough for him to get that kind of floaty, buzzy feel from being well and truly drunk. Time to switch to water.

With whatever sober consciousness he possessed, he ordered the biggest tray of quesadillas the place offered, and Jason and Frank actually cheered when it arrived. “Holy sh*t,” Frank moaned, his mouth full of beans and cheese. “Oh my god. What the f*ck.”

“Good?”

He nodded, eyes closed against the sublimity of it all. “I don’t even care that I’m lactose intolerant.”

Jason didn’t answer, wolfing down his quesadilla like a man possessed. Then he ordered another shot, and started eyeing Percy’s quesadilla, too, bloodlust behind his glasses. Percy was afraid he was going to have to resort to physical violence to protect his food, and wouldn’t that be bad for morale. Thankfully, for a given value of thankfulness, that was when someone turned on the karaoke machine. And like the runner he was, Jason bolted to be first in line.

“Oh no,” Frank said.

“That bad?”

Frank sighed. “Jason tries to turn his drunk karaoke into an art form. He hasn’t succeeded yet.”

“He do this a lot?”

Frank shook his head. “Normally he’s wine drunk, and that’s bad enough. Who knows what tequila is going to do to him.”

The synth beats started to reverberate through the club, vaguely familiar, but Percy couldn’t place them yet.

Frank did not have that problem, putting his head in his hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

It took about fifteen seconds for Percy to realize Jason was singing “Hungry Like The Wolf.”

“I hate when he does this one,” Frank complained. “He loves Duran Duran. We got banned for life from a bar in Stanford after he and his sister did… I’ll charitably call it a duet.”

“That’s…”

“I still have nightmares, Jackson. I still have nightmares.”

Percy very quickly decided he was also going to have nightmares. Jason, bless him, gave it his all. Possibly, too much. He was loud, he held out the notes too long, he did not stay in tune, let alone on key.

Also, he howled. A lot. Percy was pretty sure in the original song, the howling was more implied.

He ordered water after that. He was plenty confident about plenty of things, But he never wanted to have enough confidence to do what Jason was doing now.

He ordered one for Jason, too. Though when he returned, he took one sip, and then ordered another round of shots, drinking Percy’s when he declined it. “Maybe you should slow down a bit, dude.”

“East Coast Bitch afraid he can’t keep up?” he said with a savage smile: aggressive, sure, but never without an underlying friendship in its drunkenness.

But something in the back of Percy’s brain, beyond just the alcohol still coursing through his system, made him want to rise to the challenge–and beat Jason’s ass. “Not with your embarrassing display that passes for singing.”

“It's your only chance,” Jason said, and in one fluid move propelled himself onto the table. Percy barely even saw him put weight on his arms. It was kind of crazy. “You sit on your ass all day out on the water; there’s no way you can beat me at dancing.”

He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he could not let that insult stand.

It was not nearly as fluid as Jason, but in just a moment he’d climbed on the table next to him.

“Uh, guys?” Frank said. “I don’t think these tables are really built for this sort of thing.”

But they paid him no heed. They were off, dancing to the new beat.

He wasn’t much of a dancer, really, though judging by his moves, Jason wasn’t either. And yet they found themselves both gyrating and spinning atop the small round tables. At least it seemed to be a common practice.

He tried to roll his hips and move his arms to the music, some Mexican pop song that a German golfer was attempting to sing, to the general merriment of his Mexican counterpart, trying to keep the beat as best he could, and keeping an eye on Jason out of the corner of his eye.

Everything was going alright, until Jason decided to do a back flip.

On the table.

Without falling off.

What the f*ck? Was he secretly a gymnast?

Based on the way he stuck the landing, and then stood up, arms raised, the small crowd chanting his name, possibly.

That could not stand.

Percy could do a back flip. He was 100% sure of it.

The real issue was doing a back flip and managing to land on the table, perfectly balanced.

He could not do that, apparently.

Even so, lying flat on his back on the ground, his ears ringing, his fellow Olympians still gave him a resounding cheer for trying. That was nice of them.

Eyes swimming, he opened them, blinking back into focus. The lights from the disco ball raced across the ceiling, like stars across the night sky.

When his vision finally cleared, he saw a pair of gray eyes peering at him, full of barely hidden mirth. A very familiar pair of gray eyes. He had only had the opportunity to view them up close for less than twelve hours, but they had made quite the impression. “Hey!” he said, grinning. “It’s you!”

“Oh really?” she said, raising an eyebrow at a familiar arch. “So who am I?”

Of course he remembered her name. It was seared into his phone and his memory. But he was still feeling kind of buzzy, and he felt like trolling a little. “You’re an angel, obviously.”

Snorting, she rolled her eyes, holding out a hand. “The Phantom Menace? Really?”

“And she even knows Star Wars references,” Percy said, spreading his arms across the stone floor, then hoisting himself up, leaping to his feet via the power of abdominals. Oh boy. That might have been a bit of a mistake. “You might actually be my dream girl,” he grinned through the pain.

Those beautiful gray eyes glowed in the dim light of the bar, warm like a firelight reflecting off metal. In her heels, she was just barely shorter than him, but she stood as though she towered over everyone. “Are you gatekeeping me, Percy Jackson?”

She even remembered his name! His heart gave a little flutter. Or maybe that was his stomach. “Never, Annabeth, uh...”

“Chase.”

“Annabeth Chase.”

Then she smiled at him. That one was definitely his heart.

“What brings you to Mexico?”

“Vacation,” she answered, smoothly. “And you’re here on Olympic duty, I presume?”

“What gave it away?”

Elegantly, she gestured with one hand. “Your posse of multilingual athletes. Plus, you posted about it on your Instagram.”

He smirked. “You’ve been checking me out on the ‘Gram?” he asked, extremely gratified to see her turn pink under the light of the disco ball.

They wandered away from Jason’s continued acrobatics (damn, dude. Motherf*cker was way more built than he let on) towards the bar.

“Can I get you something?” She asked. She had her own glass in hand. About a third of her margarita was gone.

“Lemonade,” Percy said.

Her lips curled at the edges. “Cutting yourself off?”

“Yeah.” He chanced a lean-in, straightening himself up a little bit, and getting a front-row seat to the pupils of her eyes as they expanded. “I want to be clear-headed for this.”

“And what, dare I ask, is this?”

“Not sure yet,” he said. “Something good, though, I hope.”

Smiling, she bit one red lip, her lipstick shockingly bright in the dim lights of the bar. When his lemonade arrived, they clinked their glasses together, and drank up.

“So, you travel a lot?” he said, after a lull in the music. “New York, Mérida… Where else have you been?”

She hummed, considering. “All over the place. I traveled a lot when I was younger, mostly in Europe. Now I’m kind of splitting my time between New York and Stockholm.”

Percy whistled. “Stockholm, huh? Exotic! What do you do there?”

Almost imperceptibly, she froze, before going to take a sip of her drink. “My dad works for the government,” she said. “But my job is based in the states.”

“You’re an architect, right?”

She nodded. “Been with my firm for about a year and a half.”

“Have you built anything I’ve ever seen?”

Chuckling, she shook her head. Her hair, already curly, was frizzing out in the humid night, like a great, golden cloud, gently undulating with her movements. “I’m not that high up.”

“Yet,” he pointed out.

Annabeth smirked. “Yet. Soon, though, I hope. I have some contracts for after the Olympics that I think might pan out.”

It was not lost on him that she wasn’t exactly giving him any details, but he didn’t mind a little caginess. He understood the feeling. “What are you most looking forward to, here?”

One eyebrow co*cked, her eyes meeting his head-on, she took another drink, treating him to the long line of her throat as it swallowed. She smacked her lips together, obnoxiously enough to be utterly endearing. “Any suggestions?”

He tapped his finger against his chin, pursing his lips. “Not sure. I might recommend swimming, or diving, or maybe something involving the ocean.”

“You a big fan of water sports, then?”

“Oh, yeah. Huge fan. Wait–” He could feel himself flushing, deep red, and she was laughing, her head thrown back. Her laughter was musical, rising and falling like a melody of a song Percy desperately wanted to know.

So, sailing, then?” she eventually said, after her laughter subsided.

Still red, he nodded. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“Is it a family thing?”

He scratched his head. “Kinda… My mom always said she met my dad in a fishing boat. Guess it just runs in my veins.” His dad was… a subject, and not one he wanted to think about right now.

Sensing his reticence, maybe, she pivoted the conversation. “Is this your first Olympics?”

“Technically my second. I was an alternate last time, but this is my first time on the team officially.” She was leaning in, her feet turned towards him, her arms open and at her sides. “I have a feeling I’m going to get lucky.”

“Do you, now?”

“Mmhmm.” He craned his head down, stopping just a few inches of her lips. “I’ve got gold in my sights,” he said, bringing up his hand to tuck a curl behind her ear.

She didn’t stop him.

In some part of his mind, he registered that he was acting way more confident than he had that first night, in the club with Luke. But hey, it seemed to be working. “So,” he said.

“So.” Not necessarily an invitation, he thought. But not exactly a deterrent.

Well. Nothing ventured. “It’s a little loud in here,” he said, over the music which was certainly simmering down. “You wanna find somewhere quieter?”

She reached out and grabbed his hand. It wasn’t the most intimate, but he felt his whole body buzz in anticipation. With a gentle tug, she made her way out of the crush of people, Percy following right on her heels.

They rounded a corner, and she pushed him up against the dark, shadowed wall, and then her lips were on his. He gingerly placed his hand on her waist, gratified by the way she pushed into him further, her hands going to his hair.

He’d kissed her before. Of course he’d kissed her before. He’d kissed her everywhere before. And yet, the taste of citrus and salt were not the same as in New York. And this wasn’t some one time, accidental thing.

It was a two time accidental thing. Which meant it was fate.

And Percy would have to be a mighty fool to not believe in fate.

There was no line outside the outdoor bathrooms, but he could still feel her looking furtively around as he kissed her neck, running his tongue up and down the pulse point of the neck which had so captivated him before. “C’mon,” he felt her murmur. “Coast is clear.” He offered no resistance as she maneuvered them closer to the door.

Unfortunately, when she opened it, they were hit with the sad, familiar smell of a bar bathroom. “Balders balle, that’s foul,” Annabeth choked, coughing. Percy had to agree.

He kicked it closed with his foot, then lacing their fingers together, took off back into the crowd, towards the indoor part of the bar. He had seen something earlier, something which could still salvage their mood.

It was his turn to look furtively, and make sure no one was watching. But luck was certainly on their side tonight, and no one but Annabeth was there to watch as he dropped to one knee, fished an old gift card out from his wallet, and started fiddling with the doorknob of the locked office.

“Seriously?” Annabeth asked, though he couldn’t detect any real concern in her voice. Which was good.

Tongue between his teeth, he slipped the card in between the crack in the door, putting as much pressure as he dared on the lock, and…

The door swung open, easy as anything. “Luke taught me,” he said. “Besides, it’s classier than a bathroom anyway.”

Standing up, he pulled her inside, and she went, almost giggling.

The office was dark, small, and most importantly, empty, the cool, neon glow of the orange street lamps streaming in through the blinds, casting her like some sort of ethereal goddess. He backed her up against the desk, giving a satisfied groan as her hands went directly to his ass. He wished he could do the same, but instead he had to use both his hands to get the condom out of his wallet. He was thankful Kayla had shoved one into his, Jason’s, and Frank’s hand before they went out. It was lucky; he had some in his toiletry kit, but he’d used his last condom, ironically enough, with Annabeth in New York (before breaking into the toiletry stash as well for round two.)

He broke the kiss, holding it up between them. “You still wanna?” By the way her pupils were dilated and the way she looked like she wanted to eat him alive, she probably did. Never hurt to check though.

Annabeth ripped the package from his hand. “‘Stop STIs’?” she read.

“Courtesy of the International Olympics Committee,” he explained. “They hand condoms out by the thousands.”

“You all are a randy bunch, aren’t you?”

“I think we’re all just going for the gold.”

She rolled her eyes. “You made that joke already.” But she also ripped the condom open.

“What can I say?” He smiled, because there was nothing else to do. “I just want to get you on my podium.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“I can’t.” he said. “You are so f*cking beautiful, I can’t think about anything else but you. And bad pick-up lines.”

She smiled at him, radiant, her steel-gray eyes full of laughter. Then pulling him closer once more, Annabeth shut him up properly.

***

Hans was waiting for her as they exited the bar, just two more people in the crush of athletes pouring out into the street. “You good to get back to your hotel?” Percy asked. “I can wait until you get a cab.”

“I’ve got a friend waiting for me,” she promised. “Text me when you get back to the village.”

“Will do.” His smile was infectious, sweet and easy with just the hint of the best kind of trouble behind his teeth. She knew everything about that smile–she had just spent the last forty minutes attempting to eat it right off his face, after all.

And oh, she wanted to kiss him again right now, a kiss full of heat and passion and all those other good things. But it wasn’t a great idea, not with all these people around.

Still. She couldn’t resist giving him one final peck on the cheek, squeezing his hand.

As she bundled into Hans’ car, she was treated to his shocked face, pink dusting his cheekbones and his nose, his dark hair almost blue in the bright light of the street lamps.

“I’m used to you vanishing on me,” Hans grumbled, goodnaturedly, from the front seat, “but this is a new one.”

“I told you where I was.”

“And next time, I would appreciate you letting me know beforehand. Your highness.”

She snorted, resting her head against the window. “I’ll try to remember.”

Maybe she should give him less of a hard time. Hans Gunderson had been more or less a permanent fixture in her life since as far back as she could remember, and a far more accommodating one than most. He had gently tolerated her disappearing acts for years, and he wasn’t one to comment on her various adventures and escapades unless there really was cause for concern. In a world full of people who took every decision they could out of her hands, it was nice to have someone who trusted her… even when they probably shouldn’t.

“Who is he?” he asked.

“An athlete.”

“American?”

“Yeah…”

“And do I get a name?”

She didn’t want to give it, but… he was her bodyguard. It was kind of his job. “Jackson. Percy.”

In the rear view mirror, she saw him nod to himself.

“Don’t hurt him.”

“Do I have a reason to hurt him?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Then I won’t hurt him.”

“Much appreciated.” From behind him, she saw his shoulders tense, his jaw working as he considered something. “What?” He shook his head, but Annabeth was not going to let it slide. “No, really, what?”

“I forget, sometimes, because you are so quintessentially your father’s daughter, our great princess of Sweden, that you are also your mother’s daughter.”

“I can assure you,” Annabeth said, pushing her voice to be as droll as possible, so as not to let the hurt shine through, “Clubs are not really her thing.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Hans said. “Your mother was… you shouldn’t be ashamed of who she was.”

“I’m not,” Annabeth insisted. And she wasn’t. She never had been. Angry and resentful, sure, but never ashamed. It was everyone else who hadn’t approved of her parents’ relationship, one that flew in the face of things like tradition and good sense.

“I know I won’t have to hurt him, because I know you’re strong, and I know that for every punch and swing and kick I might have helped you learn, your mother was the base of so much of that,” Hans said. “And so you’ll follow your own path, just as your father did. And just like your mother did.”

She was not crying. She wasn’t. She just had to dab at the sweat under her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he said, the picture of professionalism. She very much appreciated it–it made it easier to pretend she was fine. “Now,” he cleared his throat. “About this man…”

“Oh no.”

“Prince Magnus told me you were consort shopping.”

Annabeth buried her face in her hands. “Please stop talking.”

Through her fingers, she could see the glow of his phone held up, and could make out the screen. It showed a picture of Percy.

“He’s a handsome man,” he offered, “though I do not know know what His Majesty will think of you having sex with the prince consort in a club bathroom.”

“It was an office,” she said, blushing so hard it almost hurt. “I’m a princess, Hans. I’m too classy for a bathroom f*ck.”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said. “But–”

“But, I have an early morning tomorrow, so perhaps we should head back to the hotel? You can search Percy’s social media while I take a shower and actually get some sleep. Please.”

Distinctly not chuckling, he turned the ignition, and pulled out into traffic.

As promised, Percy did text her when he returned to the village. By then, she was curled up in her hotel bed, AC turned all the way up and the comforter pulled all the way up to her chin. Checking her phone, she saw that he had sent a selfie, eyes scrunched up and tongue poking out, posing in front of the prone figure of a young blond man dressed in a polo shirt, lying face down on the bed, mouth open and nose pressed against the mattress. Back, he texted. You?

Same

Good

Who’s your friend?

Jason, he’s my roommate for the games
Sprinter

He’s kinda cute😜

🙁

She laughed, out loud.

Damn
And here I was going to ask you out

She felt herself blush as she read the words, for reasons she couldn’t really explain. She was twenty-five years old–way too old to be feeling flustered by the words “ask” and “out.”

Didn’t you do that already?

I invited you to my place
Which was, fyi, one of the best decisions I ever made
But I’d like to follow that up, and actually ask you out
On a date
With me

Annabeth bit her lip.

Hm idk… will Jason be there?

A pause, then three dots.

I was thinking just you, me, and a boat
What do you say?

Your boat? Like the one you’re going to race?

No, like, one I’d rent at the marina. It would actually be big enough for two
I’d bring lunch

Are you a good enough cook without your blue food dye?

I don’t know if I can find a kitchen to make it myself
But I’ll make sure its good

Annabeth clicked away from the text chat, finally taking a look at the weekly schedule Helen had sent her for the first time.

It was packed: there were official meetings and meals with other country representatives, talks with some Swedish athletes, an interview about the game with a magazine, and then approve some last minute whatever for the night of the actual opening ceremony itself.

I can’t tomorrow

Me either, I need time to find a kitchen/food worthy of you
And practice

Annabeth hmmed, scrolling through her schedule. She had an early breakfast meeting morning on Friday, but none of the games that day featured Swedish athletes, so she should be able to disappear fairly easily.

Helen would understand. And if not, Hans wouldn’t rat her out anyway.

Friday?

Works for me
It's a date

Yes it is

She could not suppress her smile, even as she pulled the plush blanket around her and tried to sleep, wiggling further down into the bed, restless energy zipping between the muscles in her face to the very tips of her toes.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

“I need your help,” he asked Hazel at breakfast.

Hazel frowned at him, and then started glancing around, her shoulders tense. “What’s wrong? I didn’t bring anything with me but I can–”

“No, not that kind of help.” He tapped his fingers on the table, an energized staccato. “I need help with… a girl.”

The sound Hazel made was probably heard in Monterrey, if not Tijauna. The few athletes who were lingering over breakfast ignored them, too deep in focus or too tired to care.

“You met a girl! You met a real girl! And now you need my help!” Hands fluttering, she took a deep breath, centering herself. “Okay, we definitely want to make sure we lean into the ‘hot shot athlete’ thing and away from the ‘Instagram model’ thing. There are women who would be into that, but I don’t like them for you. Also, you cannot tell her that your cousin is making you talk to women, or that your only friends are your cousins. Let me get my coffee, and we can talk about how you’re going to approach her.”

He let her go, jostling his leg beneath the table, grinning to himself.

The village was emptier than usual this morning, as the games were really starting to pick up. There were medal events in baseball, golf, track and field, and plenty more today, but Percy and Hazel both had a little more downtime.

“Okay,” Hazel said, sitting down across from him. “Wait–what about the girl from New York?”

Percy smirked. “It’s her.”

“ What !”

“She’s here for the Olympics.”

She screamed again. “Are you kidding me!”

At this rate he might pull a muscle in his face from smiling.

“Who is she! What’s her sport!”

“She’s not here as an athlete,” Percy said. “She’s here on vacation.”

“People actually do that?” She squinted, suspicious. “They just… go wherever the Olympics are being held for vacation?”

“Yes,” Percy said, “they do. But also, this is a major resort destination. There's a lot to do.”

“I guess.” Hazel shrugged. “So, what’s our plan with…?”

“Annabeth.”

“What’s our plan with Annabeth?”

“That’s where I need your help,” Percy said. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

“Okay,” Hazel considered him. “What’s happened so far? I need a more detailed recap.”

Percy nodded, and then launched into the story: the club in New York, and the club in Mérida, and the most perfect girl in the world who was funny and beautiful and smart, and also an exceptional lay.

That last part resulted in Hazel fanning herself, her embarrassment clear on her face. “You’ve already…”

“Slept with her? Yep.” He wouldn’t go into details for Hazel–she was his little cousin first and foremost–but he wasn’t ashamed or anything. He always found it interesting, the way her old fashioned Catholic upbringing sometimes still reared its head in surprising ways. She didn’t want much to do with a church of any time, and she’d curse like a sailor when the situation arose (and Percy knew sailors). But sex outside of marriage always seemed to shock her. Even though it wasn’t like she wasn’t born via sex out of wedlock.

Nico had, if anything, been raised more Catholic than Hazel, and he didn’t have this issue.

“So…” Hazel looked caught between embarrassed and interested. “Our goal isn’t to… get her into your bed.”

“No,” Percy agreed. “It's to make her like me. And for us to have a good time.” The goal was for him to see that little half smile she made and her sparkling gray eyes outside of the mood lighting of a club. They sure were a sight to behold that morning at Luke’s place.

“What do you have planned?”

“I’m taking her out to the marina,” he said. “I’m going to rent a boat, and we’re going to have a picnic out on the water.”

It was quick, almost invisible. Percy only noticed because he had known her for so long. “That sounds great!” she said.

He frowned. “You don’t think so.”

“Of course I do.”

“You hesitated!”

“No, I–” She huffed. “I didn’t hesitate. I just…”

“Just what?”

To stall for time, Hazel took a sip of her coffee: black, with no sweeteners, because she believed in the power of bitterness to balance out her day. “I think… I think the ocean is definitely your comfort zone.”

Um… yeah. That was sort of why he was here. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“So what is it?”

“I just wonder if you’re trying to make up for something.”

Percy’s frown didn’t let up. “What does that mean?”

Hazel chewed her lip, considering her words. “You’re not a different person on the water,” she said, slowly, “just… more intense. Like all your qualities are exaggerated. Does that make sense?”

All his qualities. His best… and maybe his worst? Sure, he could get competitive during a race–but that was just the nature of the game. The ocean was his favorite place, one of the few places in the world he felt really settled in himself. “I mean, I’ve met her at two clubs so far,” he pointed out. “I probably should show her my comfort zone, right? Like, isn’t that how relationships work?”

“Do you want a relationship with her?”

Her words caught him off guard. He had only spent a handful of hours with her at this point–probably less than twelve overall. All he really knew about her was that she wanted to build things, and that she had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Was that enough to want a relationship?

Percy thought of her sharp gray eyes, laughter dancing in them even after he made a fool of himself. He thought of the way she bit her lip when she was trying not to smirk, keeping her snarky side at bay. He thought of the way she flushed, everything from her pale cheeks to her taut abs turning the most flattering shade of pink.

And he thought of the way her whole face lit up when she had described the Hoover Dam to him (and what a wonderfully meandering conversation that had been). He thought of the way she avoided talking about any pertinent details about her life, like her father, and her work. He realized that he wanted to know those details. And not just out of simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I want to try, anyway.”

“Then I think the boat sounds perfect,” Hazel replied with a smile. “Just don’t lose your head out there, okay?”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. Hazel having his back was a great relief. “Can do.”

“So when are you meeting?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Hazel nodded, steepling her fingers. “Any dietary restrictions?”

“Not that I know of.”

She tapped her fingers together, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Reyna found us this little shop towards the equestrian track which does some amazing tortas.”

Well, you could never go wrong with a sandwich. “Do you remember what it was called?”

“I’ll have to ask her, but I’ll send it over as soon as I can.”

“You,” Percy took her hands in his, squeezing, “are the greatest cousin ever.”

She smirked. “Sorry, didn’t catch that?”

Percy stood up, leaning over the table, and took her head in his hands, kissing her forehead. “You,” kiss, “are,” kiss, “the greatest cousin ever,” kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.

Hazel squirmed out of his grip, rubbing her forehead. “Alright, alright, already.”

True to her word, Hazel sent over the name and info later that night. Scrolling through their menu pictures on Google, Percy’s stomach was already grumbling, especially when he saw…

Oh. Oh, that was perfect. This date was coming together like it was destiny.

Only one final step.

Strictly speaking, he didn’t have to do this. Everything was already arranged. But it would make him feel a lot better about his plan.

New York was only one hour ahead of Mérida, so Percy wasn’t entirely sure why Luke’s phone was going to voicemail. It was way too early for him to be sleeping. He should be over at their parents’ place for dinner, like they did every Thursday. And even if he weren’t, he always answered his phone. It was very important to them to be contactable.

Frowning but undeterred, Percy tried his stepfather next.

He picked up after the second ring. “ Hey, kiddo! ”

“Hey, Paul.”

“ It’s so great to hear from you! How’s it going down there? Practice going well? ”

Paul’s dogged enthusiasm never failed to make him smile. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“ We’re so excited for your event! How are you feeling? ”

He nodded, even though Paul couldn’t see him. “I’m feeling good! The wind isn’t too bad, and the waves have been super agreeable.” In the list of things which were giving Percy anxiety, his upcoming race ranked pretty low. “I actually wanted to talk to Luke, is he over? He didn’t answer his phone.”

“ Luke? No, he said he couldn’t make it today. Something about working late, I think. ”

Working late? Luke had never worked more than he had to a day in his life. A suspicion began forming in his head. Either Luke had gotten wrapped up in a video game, or… He didn’t even want to think about the other thing. “Well, I’ll try him again. Sorry to bother you.”

“ Percy, please, you know we always love hearing from you. Seen any celebrities, yet? I heard the princess of Sweden is there !”

Percy chuckled. His stepfather, probably as a consequence of teaching too much Shakespeare, had a minor obsession with royal lineages. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he said. “I’m gonna give Luke another try. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“ Sure thing. Love you! ”

“Love you, too, dad.”

Waiting a few minutes, Percy tried Luke again. If he knew his cousin–and he did–’working late’ was absolutely a euphemism for something else entirely. At least he hoped it was that, and not… something else, else.

When Luke answered this time, Percy heard the telltale noises of monstrous grunts and slashing swords in the background, then the blood-curdling shriek of some otherworldly creature. Luke swore, viciously.

Sure enough, Percy had interrupted him in the middle of an Elden Ring session. “ Hey, cuz ,” said Luke, even-tempered. “ What’s up ?”

Luke’s voice eased in him something he didn’t know was clenched inside of him. “Paul said you weren’t at dinner.”

“ Yeah, I’ve been trying to beat this–stupid boss all day– ”

“I tried calling you earlier.”

“ You did ?” A pause as Luke checked his phone. “ Oh sh*t, I didn’t even hear you. My bad. ”

He sighed, relieved, but still a little annoyed. They had the contactable rules for a reason. “I should have guessed you were fighting monsters.”

Luke’s grin was audible. “ Guilty. So what do you need? ”

Percy drew circles on his pajamas with his finger, a slow, meditative motion. “I need your advice on something.”

He could hear Luke settling back into his couch, falling into their familiar rhythm, even separated by space like this. “ Yeah? ”

Best to come right out with it. “I have a date.”

Luke paused. “ I’m sorry–what? You have a date? ”

“Why is everyone so surprised?”

“ You have a date? A legit, actual date? ”

“Yeah.”

“ That’s awesome! What are you going to do? ”

Percy detailed his whole plan: the marina, the picnic, even the topics he was planning to discuss with her. “You know, it’s actually with that girl from the club.”

“ No sh*t. ”

“Yeah, she’s here for the Olympics.”

Over the phone, Luke whistled. “ Nice catch, bro. She was seriously hot. ”

“You have no idea,” Percy said, because he couldn’t help it. And then, “I kind of can’t believe she wants to see me again.”

Luke scoffed. “ Are you kidding me? You’re hot sh*t! You’re an Olympian hero! ”

Percy blushed, but he couldn’t dwell too much on the compliment. “So… what do you think?”

At this hour, there wasn’t much Percy could do to change his plans. He could cancel the boat, but he’d be out the rental deposit (though it was on Luke’s credit card) and they could always pick up the food and go somewhere else. But he was rather attached to his plan. Like Hazel said, the ocean was his comfort zone, and he was in dire need of some stable ground after he had fallen off that table in front of her.

He valued Luke’s opinion, too. A lot.

“ I think it’s good ,” Luke said after a little while. Percy pumped his fist. “ Just don’t tell her that your last date was your freshman year of college, and you should be fine. ”

“That wasn’t that long ago,” he said. “Besides, I think her bigger issue is that I’m a Yalie.”

Luke groaned. “ Don’t tell me she went to Harvard .”

“Unfortunately.”

“ Well, nobody’s perfect. ”

Maybe not, Percy thought, but he was willing to bet that she came pretty damn close.

***

“Do you have sunscreen?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Phone?”

She held it up, dutifully.

“Knife?”

“What are you, my mother?”

Hans didn’t laugh, deadly serious. “I don’t like this.”

“It’s just a date.”

“On a boat, in the middle of the ocean, where I can’t get to you.”

“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “This is what you trained me for, right?”

“I trained you to fight your enemies, not some pretty boy who tries to get fresh with you.”

Oh, she would have paid good money to be recording the moment her big, beefy, stoic bodyguard said the words “pretty boy.” If nothing else, Magnus and Alex would have found it as hilarious as she did. “Well, if the pretty boy tries to get fresh with me in a way I don’t like, then he’ll become my enemy, and I’ll take care of him. Just like I was taught.”

That seemed to placate him, enough that he finally unlocked the car door so she could leave. She gave him a jaunty little wave, then headed off towards the pier, slinging her big bag onto her shoulder. She could feel the knife at the bottom, safely wrapped in its sheath, buried beneath a towel, emergency granola bars, a few condoms, and a small bottle of extra strength sunscreen.

Always be prepared–that was her motto.

For a second, she realized that Percy hadn’t told her the name of the ship they were going to go on. Had he texted it to her?

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him, a little ways down the dock. Percy was leaning against a boat, his smile flashing in the morning sun, a pair of nondescript sunglasses splashed across his face. He wore a white shirt, which was somehow still dry, despite the fact that she could see the surf lapping at the bottom of the vessel, splashing onto his sandals. Very casual for a date.

Hopefully she wasn’t too overdressed in her blue sundress and floppy hat.

“Hey!” He waved her over, grinning. “Glad you made it.”

“Glad I saw you,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.”

He gave her a quick, respectable onceover. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replied, wishing he had been a little less decent about it. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

She was rewarded with a light blush, peach dusting his cheekbones.

They stood there for a few seconds, equally awkward.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry,” Percy chuckled, a little uneasy. “It’s, um, been a while since I’ve gone on a date.”

“Me, too.” In fact, she wouldn’t count any of her previous encounters as real dates. Come to think of it, her last date was probably in her freshman year of college, with that anti-monarchist. That had been an interesting experience. “So, shall we?”

Like a nineteenth century gentleman, he supported her as she stepped onto the boat, his arm flexed (yum) and his hand steady for her to cling onto.

It was a nice boat, she thought, maybe a bit small as far as boats go, and a bright, gleaming white, though she probably wouldn’t really be able to grasp the subtle differences between good and bad boats anyway. She stepped onto the back–the prow? Was that the word?–and he was up behind her in an instant. “Get comfy,” he said. “We’ll be off in just a moment.”

She settled herself down on one of the seats, next to a set of stairs which led down into the cabin. Peeking in, Annabeth could see a table, a sink, and the edge of some kind of couch. On the table, she spotted a bottle of white wine. She flushed, and not from the heat, which was already beginning to crank up.

Suddenly, they were off. Annabeth had missed the whole thing. Turning to look at Percy, he had a pair of ropes wrapped around his fist, angling the wide sail which snapped above her. He looked confident, in control of every last movement of the ship. Again, yum.

They made their way out from the dock in relative silence, Annabeth twisting over her shoulder to watch as the shoreline got smaller and smaller. No doubt Hans was out there, tracking their progress with his binoculars. “How far are we going?” she asked.

“As far as you want.”

As far as she wanted, huh? “I’ll tell you when.” He grinned, and pulled the sail tighter.

After a few minutes, Percy eased up on the sail, and they drifted to a relative stop. The ocean glittered beneath them, sunlight like diamonds on the surface of the water, the white shoreline of Mérida thin and small in the distance.

Perfect.

“So,” Percy said, going down into the cabin. “Lunch?”

The inside was paneled with a light-colored wood, reflecting the natural light which came in from the windows, making the whole place seem a lot bigger than it really was. Annabeth could appreciate the efficiency of design, the well-organized and multi-functional space. Tucked away towards the other end of the cabin, she saw a bed nestled into some kind of nook.

Way too early, Annabeth. “How about we eat up top?” she asked.

“Sounds good.” He grabbed the wine and the plastic bag full of food.

“Is there a bathroom in here?”

He pointed behind her, “Take all the time you need, no rush,” and walked back up to the deck.

Now, Annabeth had already done her business prior to coming to the dock (again, preparedness) but she had a few more things she needed to do. She unbuttoned her dress, letting it hang off her shoulders like a robe, and revealing the powder blue one piece which lay underneath. She may not have been altogether blessed in the bust department, but she was hopeful that the cut outs would still make a statement. She set her bag down on the couch, fishing out her sunblock, as there wasn’t much shade on deck, and another layer would definitely be required. Curse her viking ancestry.

Five minutes later, her sunscreen absorbed into her skin and one hand on her hat, she ascended the steps to the deck, trying to pretend like she wasn’t gripping the rail for dear life. The gentle rocking motion of the boat was much easier to handle without her shoes, but a princess did not trip or fall. It was unheard of.

Percy was seated on one of the benches, his arm slung over the side of the boat, their food placed on a table which had apparently appeared out of nowhere. His face was turned out into the sun, eyes closed, the wind whipping his hair into a perfect disarray. He could be a painting. “So what’s for lunch?” she asked.

His eyes snapped to her. In the sunlight, they perfectly reflected the color of the water around them for just a moment, before she saw them visibly darken, his mouth actually dropping open. He started from her ankles, dragging his gaze up her legs, settling for a moment around the cut outs at her waist, before finishing with her plunging neckline, up to her throat and face. Entirely indecent.

That was more like it.

“I… brought us sandwiches,” he said, after a moment, his voice nice and deep.

Pity. Maybe she should have suggested herself for lunch instead.

Confidence bolstered, she slid down next to him, crossing her legs, her foot almost brushing against his calf.

He swallowed. “Some wine?”

“Sure.” From the depths of the plastic bag, Percy pulled out a pair of cups, cheap and easily discardable. “No fancy glasses?”

“Glass is a hazard out here,” he said, pouring them each a healthy portion. “Don’t want anything falling over and breaking.”

They clinked their plastic cups together, and drank. Mm. Annabeth was no stranger to wine, but this was a good one, fresh and fruity, with a hint of minerality.

Percy handed her a warm takeout box, scribbled on in a black marker. “Here you are,” he said. His fingers drummed on top of his own box, but he made no move to open it.

Her eyes narrowed. “What is this?”

He grinned. “Lunch.”

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing.”

Gingerly, like she was defusing a bomb, she lifted the lid, peeked inside, and saw…

She stared at her sandwich. Then she stared at him. “How.”

“How what?” He smirked.

Annabeth held up her sandwich–a normal, delicious looking torta, with pork and lettuce and tomato and all the good stuff, except for the fact that the bread was, somehow, dyed a bright, neon blue. “How is this possible?”

His sh*t-eating grin was almost too bright to look at. She wanted to kiss it off his face. “I’m just that good.”

She held his gaze, unimpressed, until he broke down into laughter. “I cannot believe that you just happened to find a blue sandwich in the middle of Mexico,” she said.

“Me either,” he chuckled. “I got them at this shop near the Village. You know Cruz Azul, the soccer team? Apparently they just won their ninth league championship.”

“So they made their sandwiches blue?” Annabeth held it with two fingers, as if he were radioactive.

Percy laughed again. “Here, you can have mine.”

Thankfully, he had gotten a normal-colored sandwich, and Annabeth dug in, eagerly. What a gift it was to be able to eat without worrying about making a scene! “What’s with the blue food, anyway?” She asked.

With relish, he swallowed his blue mouthful. “It’s something my mom used to do when I was a kid,” he said. “I wasn’t the easiest kid growing up: trouble in school, being the only brown kid in white bread Connecticut, that kind of thing. And Luke… his mom was sick for a long time, and he went about as feral as you can go, growing up among the colonial houses and seven figure salaries of Westport, if that makes any sense.”

To Annabeth, the perpetual princess runaway, it made perfect sense.

“It was about little miracles, you know? With blue food, my mom was saying that magic existed, even in suburban Connecticut. If food can be blue, Percy can pass fifth grade, and Luke can not get pulled over for speeding again. Things like that.”

Parts of this were really hitting home. “I had something similar with my dad,” she said. “But instead of blue food, it was Dunkin Donuts.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of her wine. “My dad is from Sweden, but he moved to Boston for his undergrad. That’s where I was born.” And hadn’t her grandfather just loved that. Being born abroad might have been a bigger shock than the affair with her mother. “We didn’t stay long, but when I was little, whenever there was a Dunkin Donuts, he made a big deal of stopping and getting me a donut. They don’t have any in Sweden, and he used to joke he didn’t want me to forget my heritage.” She sighed, more sad than wistful. “He stopped when he got married–remarried,” she corrected quickly, though she knew that particular party line was not one she needed to spout to Percy. “We were in the US a lot more then, and there are Dunkins everywhere.” For a long time she wondered if he thought Dunkin had lost its novelty. Or if he thought she had instead. “When I moved to Boston for college, knowing that we both drank the same coffee to pull all nighters… that was something we could both relate to.” It had made her feel a little better–not great, but a little better–to know that he had had the same mixed feelings during college that she had.

Percy’s eyes were intent on her. Years of official engagements, meet and greets, speeches and stare dinners had taught her the difference between looking at someone and not just paying them attention, but listening. Percy was listening.

She had given speeches to hundreds of people. Important speeches about things she was passionate about. And she wasn’t sure that she had been listened to as well as she was now.

“And has Dunkin made things better?”

She thought of her Dad having someone go to Denmark to get some for their movie night, with all of their favorites: Roman Holiday , Clash of the Titans , Legally Blonde . Touchstones from her childhood. “Yeah. It has.”

Then he had to go and ruin it. “What about your mom?” he asked.

Annabeth tried not to clam up too visibly. “I’d… rather not talk about my mom, if you don’t mind.” She had been getting too free with her information just now. She really didn’t want her mind to wander to the memory of sitting with her dad in the original Dunkin Donuts’ location during her orientation week, learning all about how he had sat in this very restaurant with her mother as she helped him with his dissertation.

Percy nodded. “Of course. Tell me more about college?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s your turn to disclose personal information, don’t you?”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. “I majored in classics.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So that party trick with the Iliad wasn’t just to pick up chicks, then?”

He grinned. “Oh, I have way more impressive party tricks. I only reserve ancient Greek for the nerds.”

“Are you calling me a nerd?”

“Yep.” He popped his ‘p,’ insufferably attractive. “Like calls to like, after all.”

She kicked him, lightly, her foot nudging up against his bare calf. Her skin tingled where they touched. “I don’t know if I want to be lost at sea with a nerd.”

“How about a nerd who wrote his thesis on the history of the Athenian navy?”

Oh, dear lord, he was even a historian. Her dad would love that. “So,” she coughed, to clear her head of any unsavory thoughts, almost wishing he would say that he wanted to abolish the monarchy so she didn’t have to imagine him in… specific situations, “how does one get from classics to the Olympics?”

“Excuse you, the Olympics are classics,” he proclaimed. “Besides the Olympics, the ancient Greeks had a bunch of different athletic festivals: there were the Panathenaic Games, the Heraean Games, the Pythian Games at Delphi–”

“Do the other jocks in the Village make fun of you for being such a nerd?”

He pouted. On impulse, Annabeth kissed his cheek. When she pulled back, it was delightfully pink.

“But for real, why sports?” she asked. “Do you ever think about going back to graduate school, or something?” Internally, she cringed. She would love it if she could stop channeling her father for five minutes.

“Sometimes,” Percy said, rubbing the back of his head. His cheeks were still flushed. “Maybe after… all this. But, I don’t know. School was always hard for me, even though I really liked the stuff I was studying by the time I got to college. Sports came a lot more naturally.”

“You do other sports?”

“Not professionally, not so much any more. But in high school and college? Sure. I did polo, fencing, sailing,” he ticked off on his fingers. What was this, a tailored list of European royal pastimes? He winked at her. “Other water sports.”

She could not resist the giggle that burst from her. Or the heat that curled in her belly. Feigning innocence, she stretched her legs, gratified in how quickly his eyes snapped to them.

Then they lit up. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look at this!” Without asking, he grasped her left leg, pulling it onto his lap. He ran his fingers over her tattoo, his touch light enough to send shivers down her spine. “I didn’t get to get a good look at this before–that’s an Athenian drachma, isn’t it?”

“It might be.” It was, in fact. She had copied the design from an actual drachma that her dad had: a stylized owl, with three letters surrounding it. “My mom was from Athens.”

“My dad is Greek, too!” he said, his face lit up. “And so’s my mom! Well, she’s Greek and Hawaiian. Which basically just means that we have really good food all the time.” Then he smirked, his bravado suddenly increasing. ”Once you try my mom’s stuffed tomatoes, you’ll want to marry me, just to lock that sh*t down.”

Butterflies erupted in her stomach. She threw herself at him to kiss him, just to get him to shut up.

Unfortunately, her sudden movement met the force of the wind, and her floppy hat was knocked off her head. She gasped, in spite of herself.

Percy made a gallant effort as the wind carried her hat away, reaching and leaping for it like the athlete he was. It made no difference. “Stupid wind,” Percy grumbled, leaning over the side.

“It's alright,” she promised. It had been a cute hat, but she didn’t have any emotional attachment to it beyond the fact that she had chosen it herself, instead of Helen just acquiring it for her. And that she’d worn it on her first date with Percy.

She felt herself blush at the very thought that this might feel significant down the line.

But she was jumping the gun. She kept doing that.

She looked back at Percy, in the here and now, just in time to see him dive over the side of the boat. “Oh–”

It was too late. He entered the water with barely a splash.

The day before, she’d talked to the one swimmer Sweden had sent, and spent a few minutes watching him at the pool, alongside a camera and some reporters. She didn’t know anything about swimming, really, but she couldn’t help but wonder at Percy’s form. It looked a lot like what she had seen yesterday.

Water sports indeed.

Though now, she felt like an idiot, sitting alone on the boat. She couldn’t see Percy, or her hat, which wasn’t worth getting all wet over, anyhow.

He was good in the water: both good at boats, and an accomplished swimmer. There was nothing to be concerned about. And yet, concerned she was. “Your phone still has a signal,” she muttered to herself. “Vikings crossed the Atlantic to get to North America. And Percy isn’t going to leave you out here.” She took a deep breath. “And he is going to have questions, when he comes back, about why you aren’t talking to yourself in English.”

“Huzzah!” Came a voice from the waves.

Carefully, she picked her way to the side, and leaned over the railing. There was Percy, his head poking up out of the water, her hat held aloft like a prize. His smile was more beautiful than the sun, or a cup of Dunkin Coffee after an all nighter.

Annabeth had learned a princess’ smile from her aunt, and had reluctantly started using it at sixteen or so. But now she and Percy grinned at each other like idiots. It almost hurt her face. But she didn’t stop as he climbed up the side ladder, and heaved himself on board, sloshing water onto the deck. “My lady,” he said, bowing, and laid the hat at her feet, sopping wet. She was so distracted by the drops of water that peppered her legs, so caught up in her own laughter, that she couldn’t even be properly worried about the form of address, or the bowing.

All the things she didn’t want to have involved with Percy.

“You’re all wet,” she complained as he leaned in towards her, though she leaned forward too, not quite close enough to steal a kiss.

“Well, this is an equal opportunity ship,” he said, “so we should take care of you, too.”

He rested a wet hand on her waist, and she did not miss the double meaning of his words. And she had no problem with it, even if he was covered in salt water.

She met his eyes, ready to tell him as much, when a shape caught her eye.

She blinked. Leaned back, and then blinked again.

And then she burst into another round of giggles, even while she reached her fingers up and ran them through his hair, coming away with a clump of green-black seaweed.

He wrinkled his nose, the moment clearly killed. But then he broke into a smile as well.

He was hot as hell, even all wet, and the moment could be gotten back. But there was something special about just giggling with him over something as silly as seaweed.

“This is so embarrassing,” He groaned. But his green eyes were still full of delight.

“I should have known you were full of it.”

“What–full of devilishly good looks?”

“Seaweed.”

He laughed. “Did you know the ancient Greeks had a word for that? Full of seaweed, I mean?”

“Spouting random trivia? You’re definitely a nerd.”

And then, he kissed her, to shut her up.

When they were done, she put her dress back on, the fear of the sun on her pale skin, even in the afternoon, too much to be risked.

Percy was slower about it. When they’d been undressing, he’d actually taken a moment to lay his shirt out on the other end of the boat in the bright sunshine with her hat in hopes that they would dry quicker.

He went to check on their clothes, even though she didn’t mind the view at all. She munched on their dessert, a very expertly fried churro, and closed her eyes, feeling the gentle movement of the ocean beneath them.

After what could have been hours or minutes of blissful peace, she heard the creak of the deck as he came up next to her. “Hey.”

She hummed.

“How are we doing?”

She shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

“What do you think about heading back?”

“What if we ran away instead?”

It was a testament to her good mood that she didn’t immediately throw herself in the ocean after saying something so egregiously stupid.

Percy laughed. “That would be nice, but I only have this boat for another hour.”

Annabeth sighed, melodramatic. “Fine.”

Her ears followed the sound of his chuckle as it faded away. Smoothly, almost imperceptibly, Percy turned the boat around, the new direction of the wind making her shiver.

Too soon, they docked at the marina. Annabeth had made herself presentable again, buttoning up her dress and putting her shoes back on. As before, he disembarked first, steadying her with his arm like she was descending from a carriage. At the end of the pier, she could see Hans’ nondescript black car, waiting for her. “My ride’s here,” she said. “But this was nice.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too.”

His smile was soft and gentle, not at all like the co*cky smirk he had worn earlier. She enjoyed both, to be sure, but, if she were being honest, she might have preferred this one.

But all too soon, the moment was broken. “Your hat,” he said, holding it out to her.

It was bone dry. She was glad; she had been worried that the water might have ruined it. “Thanks.”

He said nothing, just looking at her with those green eyes of his, like the ocean they had just made love upon.

It was entirely too much. She was not meant to be this sweet and sappy. She was not a fairy tale princess, she was a real one. But, damn, was he amazing. Annabeth swallowed, clearing her throat. “Well, phykios ,” she said, filling her voice with as much snark as she dared, “do you want to do this again sometime?”

Percy grinned, a little of the sauciness from earlier poking back out. “How can I say no to a girl who insults me in ancient Greek?”

She kissed him on the mouth, one last time. When she pulled back, there was that beautiful blush again. She wasn’t sure she would ever get tired of it. “I’ll text you.” He nodded, a little dumbstruck.

Annabeth almost had a skip in her step as she walked over to Hans’ car, slipping in without much fanfare. “Princess,” he said by way of greeting. “Did you have a good time?”

Absently, she nodded. “Yeah.”

He started the car, pulling out of the lot. “You’re lucky I scared the paparazzi off,” he said, after a moment. “Otherwise they would have had a field day with that kiss of yours.”

Shrugging, she leaned back against the door, her eyes closed. How could she worry about things like that, when her lips still tingled from the feeling of his mouth on hers, and the pinkness of his cheeks was burning itself into her memory?

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

She did end up texting him–she texted him a lot.

His phone buzzed against his thigh. Given that he shouldn’t have had it with him at all while he was practicing, waterproof case or not, he didn’t answer. Even though he was dying to.

Annabeth texted him at all hours of the day and night; random questions, silly memes, even the occasional bored selfie. Or flirty selfie.

He was maybe only a little ashamed of the couple of thirst traps he had sent her a few days ago, under the guise of having her pick them out for his Instagram. Then again, she was the one who had asked him for more. I need more options before I can pick the best one, she had said, and who was he to deny her? Really, though, he was only actually embarrassed because Jason had walked in on him during his mid-bathroom photoshoot. But, then Jason, like the true bro he was, had helped him with his setup, clearing his sh*t off the bathroom counter and crouching down behind him so he could pinch Percy’s thin shirt at the small of his back, tightening the fabric around his torso.

Annabeth had really liked that one. Percy had promised Jason that their next round was on him.

She had kept him up late last night, too, drawing him into a fascinating conversation about the history of Spartan black broth and viking blood bread, before hitting him with a surprise question about dogs. What about them? He had texted back.

How do you feel about them?

love a good dog!
I had a sorta stray when i was growing up, this huge monster named mrs. o leary

That’s so cute! What kind of dog was she?

Honestly? no idea
probably some kind of cross between a bear and a werewolf
we just called her the hellhound lol

We had a great dane when I was little

After the conversational whiplash had dissipated, he realized distantly that that was a distinctly date-y question, mixed in with all the flirting. And he found he did not have a problem with it.

“Jackson!” his coach shouted at him through the megaphone, yanking him back to reality–a hot, wet, Annabeth-less reality. “Keep it up!”

Shaking his head, he ducked under the jibe, readjusting to tack into the wind.

Afterwards, pulling into the docks, his coach waved at him from his little speedboat. “Nice work out there on the turns,” he said. “That was far and above your best time yet! Your head must have really been in the game.”

Percy chuckled, embarrassed. His head had most certainly not been in the game. “I guess it’s true what they say about most of the Olympics being mental.”

His coach laughed. “Well, if you race like that next week, that gold is as good as yours.”

He should have been pleased, but his mind was already elsewhere. With his coach’s back turned, he slipped out his phone, his heart picking up as he saw the little flashing light which indicated a new text.

There was indeed a new cluster of texts from Annabeth, shot off rapidfire.

So hypothetically
If you had a day off soon
Would you be interested in going to a movie
With me
King of Sparta 3 is coming out, I thought it might be fun
Unless you think those movies are lame
We totally don’t have to lol
Idk lol
Whatever you want
What do you think?

Grinning broadly, he didn’t even check his schedule before texting back.

What’s your tolerance for pointing out historical inaccuracies?

Mere seconds passed before her reply.

My dad is a WW2 historian
It’s very high

A historian? He had thought her dad was some kind of politician.

In any case, Percy found himself waiting in front of a Cinepolis theater two days later, on another scorchingly hot day, about to willingly subject himself to the latest and greatest of Hollywood’s awful attempts at reinterpreting Greek mythology. It was kind of unnerving, what he was willing to do for this girl.

The girl in question appeared in the corner of his eye like some ethereal goddess, strolling down the street in a little black dress and sandals, her gorgeous hair pulled back into a bun, with little escaped curls wound tightly due to the humidity. Percy, who had decided to go out in a Yale shirt and shorts, cringed internally. Hopefully he wasn’t too underdressed.

Annabeth wrinkled her nose at his shirt, but gave him a kiss all the same when she reached him. Percy was just proud that he had managed to keep his blush under control. “What’s with the outfit?” she said, running her finger over his shoulder.

Percy, unrepentant, dragged his eyes up and down her dress, and was rewarded with that beautiful smirk of hers he was starting to become dangerously attached to. “I was told we were going to a movie, not a co*cktail hour.”

“It’s not the level of dress, it’s the shirt. You couldn’t have picked anything else?”

“Well, excuse me, princess,” he quipped. “I would have gone with Team USA, but I thought that might be too obviously American for you.”

She blinked, face frozen in what Percy could only describe as blind panic, before her features smoothed out into a polite stare.

“Not a Zelda person, I take it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind.” Brazen, and with a mental reminder to show her the stupid Zelda cartoon later, Percy took her hand, leading her inside the blessedly air-conditioned theater.

He had offered to pay for VIP seats, where they could be served full meals and alcohol in a semi-private balcony for some privacy, but she declined. Not that it ended up mattering: the theater was already fairly empty, given that it was 1 PM on a Tuesday, and everyone else was probably watching the track and field events. Luckily for Percy, today was a shotput and javelin kind of day, not a sprinting kind of day, so he didn’t accidentally schedule their date during sprinting. It would be bad bro form to miss Jason’s race.

Percy and Annabeth were able to settle themselves in the very back row of the theater, sharing a couple of co*kes and a jumbo bag of Cheetos popcorn. “You know,” he said, speaking over the preview for some dumb superhero flick, “the first time I ever got drunk was watching the original King of Sparta.”

Annabeth made an inquisitive noise, sipping on her co*ke.

“It was Luke’s idea,” he went on. “I went to visit him at Yale, and he thought it would be funny to play a drinking game. We would drink for inaccuracies, well-oiled chests, gratuitous Islamophobia–that kind of stuff. By the end of it, I was a complete goner.”

“That movie came out when I was fifteen,” she said. “How old were you?”

He smiled, sheepishly. “Fifteen?”

Annabeth gasped, playfully kicking his ankle. “Percy Jackson!”

“Careful,” he warned, “you’re sounding dangerously close to my mother.”

“So irresponsible,” she tsked. “What kind of Olympic role model are you, promoting underage drinking with your… cousin?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And what about you?” he went on, rolling over what would certainly be her next question. Luke was a can of worms for a different day. “When was the first time you got drunk?”

She hummed, chewing a piece of popcorn. “Probably when I was twelve,” she said. “With my cousin, Magnus.”

Percy snorted.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault my aunt Natalie decided to ply us with mead. Besides, it was Yule!”

“Yule?”

“Kind of like Swedish Christmas,” she said. “We were celebrating!”

Percy was an ancient historian by training. He knew what Yule was, how it was decidedly not like Swedish Christmas, and how it was not exactly a common celebration in the modern period. But he decided not to go digging into why her family was celebrating it.

He never got the chance, anyway–the final preview finished, the lights dimmed, and the movie rolled.

Not two minutes in, they were treated to the sight of Tristan McClean’s glorious, well-oiled chest. Percy nudged her shoulder, waggling his eyebrows, and took a sip of his co*ke. She followed suit, nudging him right back.

Distantly, Percy wondered if they should have gotten the VIP tickets, even if just for the alcohol. But there was something really nice about the two of them knocking elbows and drinking their co*kes, like two teenagers skipping class to go check out a movie. About twenty minutes in, Annabeth entwined her hand with his, squeezing his fingers and rubbing her thumb against his palm. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair soft against his neck and chin–and nearly jumped out of his skin at the feel of her lips at the collar of his shirt.

Well, it wasn’t like the movie was very interesting anyway.

Percy couldn’t tell you how much time had passed. King of Sparta: Blood of Mars dragged on, interminable, and Percy was happy to direct his engagement elsewhere, otherwise he would have had to be seriously offended on behalf of himself, his dad, and the entirety of the Greek pantheon. Instead, he got to focus on the way that Annabeth had her fingers twisted in his shirt, her thumbs at the base of his neck, like she was one heavy moment away from wrapping herself around him completely. Her mouth tasted like co*ke and movie theater popcorn, and while it was hot, there also wasn’t the need for it to get hotter. Percy could have stayed here, watching some sh*tty Hollywood movie for hours, as long as he got to do it while making out with Annabeth Chase, her fingers in his shirt and her ankle hooked around his.

At some point, she pulled away. In the blue light of the moonlit scene, her gray eyes sparkled. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey, yourself.”

“This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.” And it was. “I’ve… really enjoyed spending time with you.”

She scrunched her nose. “Don’t talk like our time’s up,” she said. “We still have a few weeks of Olympics left to go.” His heart fluttered, both at her protest, and at the looming end of the timeline that she was implying.

Percy drew in a deep breath, the request bubbling out of him. It wasn’t actually a big ask, yet he found himself on pins and needles, almost scared of her response. “Would you… come to my event next week?”

She paused. She unhooked her ankle from his. “You want me to come cheer you on?”

“Yeah.” It was probably a bad idea to have her there. She could potentially throw off his focus, and sailing was almost too much when he wasn’t focused. But he wanted her there. He wanted her with his family, screaming his name, and he wanted to see her when he won gold.

“Oh.” Her fingers relaxed in his shirt. “Um… no.”

Percy… didn’t do much of anything in response. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” She trailed off, looking away. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “So, um… you’re going to be at table tennis, I take it?” Table tennis could be cool. It was scheduled at the same time as sailing, but he figured that the two groups of fans didn’t necessarily overlap. But if she liked table tennis, he could think it was cool.

“No, I’ll be at the race anyway,” she said.

Oh. “So… who are you cheering for?”

She still avoided his gaze, suddenly very intently paying attention to Tristan McLean making out with Scarlet Johanssen’s Cleopatra. “Ohlsson. Or Holmgren.”

He blinked. “Robert Ohlsson and Loke Holmgren?”

Annabeth tensed up again, almost imperceptible. Percy wouldn’t have felt it if he didn’t still have his hand on her arm. “Yep.”

Sailing at his level was a smallish community. He knew almost every sailor here to some extent. Ohlsson and Holmgren were both great guys, and good sailors. Easy in the water. Easy on the eyes. He didn’t know them super well, as they were on the Swedish team, but he knew them enough–they had been doing the circuit around the world together for years. There were another couple of Swedish sailors who hadn’t made the Olympics he knew better. But he texted with his friend Krister Drakenberg a little, and he had vouched for Loke especially. And he would actually call Adele Cederström and Marie-Sofie Söderlund, who competed in team events, his friends, and they’d talked about Robert when he’d had lunch with them the other day.

So, it made sense that they had fans. Maybe it even made sense that they had this fan. “But I thought you were American?” he said, going for a joke and maybe landing a little flat.

She shrugged. “I said I was from Boston. But it's… it’s more complicated than that.”

“You live in New York.”

“And sometimes I live in Stockholm.”

“Sometimes?”

Her jaw rounded out. “It’s very important to–to them, that I support Sweden.”

“Okay…” Them? He didn’t realize she and the sailors were so close. That was fine, of course. Like he said, Robert and Loke were good guys. “But you can still root for all three of us. You don’t have to support Team USA if you don’t want to. There’s more than two teams competing, anyway.”

Shoulders up to her ears, she flushed. “No, I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because–because it’d be weird!”

“Would it?” They didn’t really have much of a rivalry, not like the USA did with Great Britain or something like that.

She crossed her arms, staring at the screen.

Percy pulled his hands away. “I didn’t realize you were so into Swedish sports.”

“I’m not,” she said.

“Oh.” Then what was the issue? “So why is it so important for you to support Sweden if you’re not really into the teams?”

“Because I have to.”

“It's a race. Literally a single race for a sport most of the world doesn’t give a sh*t about. Including, apparently, you. Why can’t you cheer me on along with your friends?”

Annabeth glowered. “They aren’t my friends.”

Feeling like he had missed a couple of steps on the ladder, Percy gaped, flabbergasted. “Then why are you making such a big deal out of something so unimportant?”

“If it's so unimportant, why can’t you just let this go?” she almost snapped.

“Because you aren’t making any sense!”

She ground her teeth. “You–I–ugh!” Then she stood up, and stormed out, her hands clenched tightly around her co*ke.

Percy, left in the wake of a hurricane, could only blink, completely blindsided, until his common sense got the better of him, and he ran out to the lobby, hoping to catch up to her, to apologize. It didn’t matter which team she supported. It didn’t even matter if she showed up or not. Really, it didn’t.

But she was gone by the time he got outside.

***

“I watched your dad’s stupid movie,” was the first thing she said to Piper when her friend finally picked up the phone later that night.

She snorted over the speakerphone. “Why would you ever do that to yourself?”

Red-faced, lying on her hotel bed, she buried her head in her arms. “Because I took a guy on a date there.”

“ ...I don’t know if I should be offended that you used my father’s oiled and waxed chest to get in the mood,” Annabeth winced at the words because, ew. “Or if I should freak out that you went on a date? ”

“Don’t read into it too much,” Annabeth said. “It was the latest showing, and I wanted to beat the crowds, for obvious reasons.” She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow. “And a date isn’t that big a deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Piper shrieked. “Of course it's a big deal! You haven’t been on a date since Maxwell in college.”

“Well, you might remember how badly that one turned out.”

Piper hummed. “You know, I never got why. So he was an anti-monarchist–so am I, and we’re still friends.”

“You aren’t using me for points on weird political forums.”

“That you know of,” Piper said. “But really, it's been like five years. Normally you just hit it and quit it. Tell me tell me tell me!”

She sighed internally. “Don’t get too excited,” She advised. “Looks like it's going to be quit after all.”

She launched into the story, starting with the club in New York and the fortuitous meeting at the Olympics, glossing over his soft, dark hair and his rough-but-gentle hands and the way his sea-green eyes glittered when they were out on the water, and ending with her entirely unbecoming escape from the movie theater. Hans had said nothing as he pulled up alongside her, taking off before she had even fully closed the door, ignoring the frustrated tears which had already begun leaving tracks on her face.

“...Girl.”

“I know!” She groaned. “I just–when he said he knew Ohlsson I freaked out! Like, what if they’re gossiping in the locker rooms or whatever they have and Percy is talking about this total loser girl he went on two dates with, and Ohlsson will be like, ‘What was her name?’ and Percy will be like, ‘Anna something,’ and then Ohlsson will be like, ‘You mean the princess? The f*cking princess?’”

As the resident royal representative, she had had dinner with the entire Swedish athletic delegation just last week. She didn’t remember Holmgren, but she and Ohlsson had had a long conversation about a mutual favorite art gallery. Luckily for Annabeth, it was one of the few she had actually been to. Unluckily for Annabeth, she had spent a good forty percent of it subtly checking her phone for new texts from Percy, and she was pretty damn sure she hadn’t gotten away with it.

“Why would he ask for your name?” Piper mused.

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“It just seems kind of like a weird assumption.”

“Piper, please. I need your help with this.”

“I don’t know why you think I can fix your relationship issues, just because my mom is–”

“It’s not a relationship!” She blurted out.

She could almost feel Piper’s skepticism oozing through her speaker. “Well, did you want it to be?”

Dragging herself upright, Annabeth leaned against her headboard, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Maybe?” She had been tossing the idea around. Maybe she had even found herself occasionally daydreaming about what Percy Jackson might look like in royal finery (and boy, did he look good, even in her imagination). But the truth was, she hadn’t even been thinking about that with him. With Percy, she could tease, banter, laugh–forget. Was she selfish enough to drag him kicking and screaming into her world of nightmares?

“I mean you’ve only been on two dates with the guy.”

She sighed. “I know, I know, I just… there’s just something about him.” Because Piper was right–she had only been on two dates with him. She hadn’t spent much time with him at all, certainly not long enough for her to be considering him for something so serious. And yet, there was something about him, about his sharp, noble features, his effortless confidence, his soft, quiet smile which was very, very appealing to her. “I feel–I feel drawn to him, somehow. Like he gets it. Like he understands me.”

“Maybe he’s a secret prince,” Piper suggested, only half-jokingly.

Annabeth f*cking hoped not. “I don’t really know how to explain it,” she mumbled, playing with the hem of her shirt. “I just wanted to spend some time with him.”

“Spend time with him, as in a fling? Or a potential husband?”

She couldn’t answer that right now. She didn’t think she could answer that ever. “I should text him and apologize, right?”

“It’d be a good start,” Piper said, “particularly if you are considering him for a potential husband. And if you are, you should probably tell him that.”

Annabeth groaned.

“In lieu of an animal sacrifice, I will accept an offering of Tom Ford nail polish,” she chirped. “Now go forth and text your man.”

“He’s not–” Annabeth protested, but Piper had already hung up. And Annabeth couldn’t deny the flutter in her stomach at the idea. Percy Jackson. Her man.

It was an intoxicating idea.

Flipping her phone around in her hand, she began composing her text. “I’m sorry” seemed like a poor introduction, but “hey” was even worse. And “How was the rest of the movie” might have been her dumbest idea yet.

So she went with something simple, straightforward. Percy, she sent him, I’m sorry I walked out on you

A minute or so passed. His read receipt came up. There was no reply. I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay, she sent. To explain myself

That would be nice, came the reply. What would be nice, she wondered: to see her again, or whatever half-assed explanation she could come up with? When/where?

You pick, she said. Any time

You free tomorrow night?

Yes, she said without checking. Where?

He didn’t respond after that. Maybe he had done the responsible thing, and gone to sleep.

Annabeth had to turn off her phone, pulling her covers over her head, and tried to think about nothing.

In the morning, she turned on her phone to see a final message from Percy, from just after she had fallen asleep.

Hans didn’t question her when she asked to be taken to the Parque de Santa Ana later that night. He didn’t even try to give her his normal safety talk when he deposited her on the side of a busy street in the hot, sticky, Mérida evening.

Percy had beaten her there. She saw him leaning back against a metal park bench, his gaze focused on the fountain in the center of the park, watching the water shoot up in little spurts. Annabeth stood there for longer than she meant to, trying to figure out the pattern, but there was no pattern, it seemed. Every time she thought she could predict which water jet would go next, another one popped out from nowhere.

Metaphor for her life, she supposed.

“Percy,” she said, finally stepping up to him.

He turned his head, his back straightening. There was movement on his face which suggested that a smile had been quickly smothered into something more serious. “Hey,” he said, softly.

“Hey.”

Entirely too respectfully, he looked her up and down. “Nice dress.”

Glancing down, she flushed. She had totally not meant to wear a blue dress tonight. That was… concerning.

“Um,” she began, intelligently, her hand tightening around the strap of her purse. “I think I owe you an explanation.”

But he shook his head. “I totally overreacted,” he said, hands out in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. And you definitely don’t need my permission to support whatever team you want.” He paused. “Even the Red Sox.”

“How magnanimous of you,” she quipped. And then she wanted to hit herself. Because they weren’t supposed to be flirting. This was supposed to be her big, off-her-chest moment. “I prefer hockey anyway.”

“I can do hockey,” he said.

“No, I mean–” She sighed. “Percy, I want to talk about this with you. If you’ll let me.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insisted, without missing a beat. “I never want you to feel like you’re backed into a corner with me.”

“I don’t,” she said.

His whole being seemed to soften, a little smile poking out from the serious exterior. She hadn’t even meant to say something so embarrassing, if true, out loud, but to be rewarded with this? It was a perfectly acceptable trade-off. “Let’s go for a walk,” Percy said, standing up. “And maybe a cold drink?”

They ended up grabbing a couple of horchatas at a shop along the road. Annabeth paid for both, and Percy didn’t protest. Nor did he start the conversation, merely sipping at his drink, patiently waiting for her to speak her piece.

“I have a weird relationship with my family,” she said eventually, as they wandered down the main drag. It was a gorgeous street, with wonderfully intricate colonial architecture, their white and beige columns even brighter against the dark sky. The street was thronged with people weaving in and out of the green space which ringed it, chatter and laughter and drunken cheers mixed in with the occasional roar of a car or motorcycle. Even with their company, she couldn’t help but feel safely alone with Percy.

“I thought things with your dad were okay?” Percy asked.

Annabeth laughed, softly. She couldn’t believe he even remembered that. “They are,” she admitted. “But my weird relationship is so much more than just him. My mom… died.” She nearly choked on the strangeness of the word. “And my dad never really got over her. My uncle lost his wife and kids a few years before I was born, and it kind of destroyed him emotionally. So, my dad felt a lot of pressure to carry on the family line. And my stepmother was very eager to step into that place. And pretty upset that her eagerness didn’t really allow my dad to get over my mom. And my uncle… he doesn’t mean to be an asshole, but, you know. The whole emotionally destroyed thing.”

Percy nodded, listening to her with the same focus and intent he had shown her out on the water.

“And that’s to say nothing of the fact that he was kind of wary about my mom,” she went on. “And probably jealous that my dad was able to move on.” For a given value of moving on, anyway. She thought of his quiet tears when they watched Roman Holiday a couple of weeks ago, and sighed. “I do actually try not to rock the boat, so to speak. I don’t want to give them more reasons to be wary. To add my fuel to my stepmother’s resentment fire. Or to make my dad decide he likes my half siblings better than me. They’re very big on home team pride.”

“So you feel like you have to support Sweden?”

“Yes,” she said, because she did feel like she had to. But it wasn’t like the concept was abhorrent to her. “Have you ever been to Sweden?” she asked. It was so hot here. Sticky and humid and scorching. Not at all like the summers she had spent in the fjords.

He shook his head.

She tried to think about how to describe it. “I was born in Boston. And I’ve lived in upstate New York, Virginia, California. All over. But Sweden…” Annabeth turned her gaze upwards, watching the dark tree branches as they wove in and out of the inky black sky. Right now, in Stockholm, it was early morning, but the sun would have already been up for hours. She could see it clearly, in her mind’s eye, the golden light as it gently flowed over the water at Rosersberg Palace, rolling over the lush gardens, picture perfect, like something out of a fairy tale, or one of the sagas. “Like I said, my family dynamic was weird. And where my dad lived was always up in the air. But Sweden is home. Even if I was living in West Point and stuff was weird at home and at school.” Nothing like being the smartest kid in the room, and having it constantly questioned because you couldn’t sit still, or could barely read English. “I always knew I would be able to go back over the summer. My uncle had horses and boats, and sometimes one of his staff would take me out on the ocean, and tell me stories about viking warriors. My cousin Magnus was there. And my Aunt Natalie, and she had just… figured out life. Done things her own way. And gotten away with it.”

He smiled, his face softening. “That sounds nice.”

“It was everything.” She said, because it had been. The royalty thing had been a semi-secret her whole childhood, when they were in the states. In Sweden, there was no pretense. “I love it. I live in New York because I need the space sometime. But it isn’t a permanent solution. I don’t want it to be.” If she had to, she could live without a Dunkin Donut ever again, hard as it would be. But the idea of never again getting to eat one of Lisette’s semla from the palace kitchen was so unbelievably sad. “So, I want to cheer on Sweden. I want them to win.” She looked at him, his eyes were trained on her, his smile soft, understanding. And so she offered a joke. “There are only two Swedish sailors in your race, though. You can have the bronze.”

He cracked a grin. “Well, I thank you for your consideration.”

She grinned in response, sort of slumping against his side, feeling like she just completed a marathon.

“I do get it,” he said. “Family is weird, and home is special.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Percy nodded, and she could feel it at her side more than see it. “I’m a New Yorker.”

“For real?”

“Ha ha.” He swatted at her. “But, for me, home is always going to be this house in Connecticut, where we moved in with Luke and his mom.”

“He’s your cousin, right?”

Percy nodded, and then shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s on our dad’s side. His mom’s sick, and his dad hired my mom to take care of her.”

“Are you close to your dad?”

She could see it in his eyes, that sudden moment of frozen hesitation. The look of a nerve that had been hit. A secret on the cusp of being uncovered. Piper’s words suddenly came back to her: Maybe he’s a secret prince . But she shook them away. It was a silly fantasy.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said. He had given her grace; it was only fair she gave it to him in return.

He shrugged, swallowing. “I… don’t really know my dad,” Percy admitted. By now, they had reached the Monumento a la Patria, a semi-circular art structure decorated with Mayan-inspired reliefs. Tonight, it was all lit up in bright colors, a rainbow neon pinks and greens and blues and yellows, forming the shape of the Olympic rings. Percy took a seat on the steps, away from the couple taking a selfie in front of the central statue, and Annabeth sat down next to him. “I’ve met him a few times over the years.” He played with the straw of his drink, squeezing it between his fingers. “But he’s never really been there, and he didn’t give my mom sh*t. You know, other than a baby she couldn’t afford when she was eighteen.”

He looked up at the sky, like he was asking the gods why his father was such a deadbeat.

“But I don’t care,” he said. His voice had a touch of darkness she had never heard from him before. “I don’t need him. I never did. I had my mom and Luke and May growing up, and that was more than enough.”

Seized with a spirit of boldness she didn’t know she had, she took his hand. It was warm, even in the hot, sticky night, but she found she didn’t mind one bit. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “That’s terrible, what he did to her.”

He looked at her, then huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. It all worked out in the end. I’m glad I exist. Even if he isn’t.”

“I’m glad, too.” Somehow, without her noticing, they had been moving closer together. His face was now inches from hers, his high cheekbones thrown into sharp relief by the dark night and the glow of the streetlights. In the darkness, his eyes were almost glowing. “I’m so glad you’re here.” For so, so many reasons.

His lips turned up, like he knew that there was more than one. “Annabeth,” he breathed, reverent. And then he kissed her, his free hand resting against her neck.

His lips were soft, his mouth tasted of vanilla and sea salt, and for maybe twenty seconds, all was right with the world.

Which was, of course, when it all went to sh*t.

Not that she didn’t believe Percy’s kisses could cause her to see stars, but the flashes of light in her face were something else entirely. As were the deafening shouts and questions of the photographers. “Princess!” Someone yelled at her. “Your highness, over here!”

She pulled away, opening her eyes to the blinding flash of photography. Out of the sea of cold lights, Hans appeared in his black suit, already hauling Annabeth up and shielding her from view as he led her to the car, parked just a little ways away. It took her a moment to realize she still had a death-grip on Percy’s hand, dragging him with them.

“Annabeth,” he said, bewildered, “what–”

“Keep your head down,” she said, not knowing if she could be heard over the aggressive roar of a hungry mob. “Don’t look at them.”

Hans didn’t question Percy’s presence, giving him equal cover as Annabeth pulled him into the car, and shutting the door behind them both. In a flash, they were off, speeding out of the square.

Percy pulled his hand away. Annabeth buried her head in hers.

Oh gods above she was screwed .

Hans, bless him, knew to drop Percy off first at the Olympic Village without even being asked. When Annabeth risked a glance, Percy was staring into his hands, his brow furrowed. He looked at her as the car slowed to a stop, confusion written clearly across his face, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them. A question she just couldn’t bring herself to answer.

Without a word, he opened the door and slid out, lightly jogging up the stairs to the Village. Annabeth watched him as he ducked inside, disappearing without so much as a backwards glance.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

He had barely even made it into the building before Paul called him. “Hello?”

“Hey kiddo,” he said.

“Hey, Paul. You’re up kinda late.” It was eleven PM here in Mexico, midnight in New York. Paul was an early riser, even by early riser standards, and he was usually asleep by eight or nine.

“Yes, well,” he hedged. “You know. Um, Percy, can I… can I ask you something?”

“Sure! What’s up?” The halls of the Village were bare and quiet, all the good little boys and girls of the Olympics already asleep in their beds.

Save, apparently, Hazel, who was waiting for him outside his door, who perked up when she saw him. “Percy!” she said, a frown on her face which usually meant something bad was up. “I’ve been waiting for you all night! You’re–”

“–eeing anybody lately?” Paul asked. Percy waved at Hazel, the universal symbol for “sorry, on a phone call,” even as he fumbled with his dorm key.

“Sorry, what was that? I missed the first part of your question.”

The lights were out in his room. From the light of the hallway, he could see Jason, curled up in his bed, sound asleep. Ah, right–the sprinting semi-finals were tomorrow. Turning back to Hazel, Percy put his fingers up to his lips, jerking his head at his roommate.

But Hazel wasn’t deterred. “Did you know?” she whisper-hissed.

“Know what?”

“What was that?”

sh*t, his stepdad. “Sorry, sorry, Hazel is here, and she was asking me a question. Um, what are you saying?”

“Percy,” said Paul. “Did you know you’re trending on my part of Twitter?”

Percy set down his wallet and keys on the counter. “What for? My race isn’t until next week.”

And then he paused.

Paul was not an avid Twitter user. But when he did go on Twitter, it was for one of a few specific reasons: a birth, a marriage, a death, big life updates and gossip, that kind of thing.

But only for a very few specific families.

“Paul,” he said, calmly. “Why am I trending on your part of Twitter?”

“It’s not just my part,” he replied. “It’s all over.”

“You’re trending?” asked Hazel.

“Who’s trending?”

Percy turned. Frank Zhang, Canadian archer, was, for some reason, at his door. “Percy is,” Hazel said to him, her frown never wavering.

“Oh, cool. Nice one.” He paused. “Wait. You haven’t raced yet. Did you test positive or something?”

“Of course not!” It was Hazel, his sweet little Hazel, who sounded scandalized at the idea, like a good cousin and fellow sportsperson should be. “He’d never do that! He doesn’t need to.”

Paul was still talking in his ear, and Percy was still not absorbing a word about it. “I had a number of my mutuals messaging me–” while Hazel was still very vigorously coming to his defense.

He was thankful when Jason let out a particularly loud snore, because it caused everyone to pause. Even Paul. His snore was that f*cking loud.

Taking advantage of the silence, Percy pounced. “Back up. Start over. What are we talking about?”

“I just wish you had told me first,” said his stepdad, sounding genuinely crushed. “Though I do understand why if you wanted to keep it quiet–”

“Told you what?” asked Percy, louder than he meant to. Jason just rolled over, blissfully unaware. “Keep what quiet?”

Hazel shoved her phone under his nose. He caught a flash of blonde hair before the full picture came into focus: Annabeth, her eyes wide in panic, Percy, looking like a dumbfounded oaf, the two of them surrounded by a sea of cameras. The picture’s caption blurred before his eyes, dyslexia sending the letters floating all across the screen.

His phone beeped–he was getting a text message. Maybe it was…?

But no. When he pulled his phone away, he saw that the text was from Luke. Dude read the text bubble. You bagged a–

Paul’s voice was faint over the phone. “That your girlfriend was the–”

“Percy,” Hazel was saying, “did you know that girl was a–”

Jason snored again.

He almost said a small prayer of thanks, because the sound shut everyone up, giving him time to breathe. Time to think. To read the words on Hazel’s phone, and think about Paul’s side of Twitter.

And remember what had been called out to them as the cameras had blinded them both.

“A princess,” he said. Annabeth Chase. The architect from New York, with a pretty laugh and a killer smile. Who was gorgeous, funny, smart, and… flexible.

Annabeth Chase.

Hazel, bless her, had some sort of dyslexia app on her phone. And so with a couple more breaths he was able to concentrate on the words in the article just a little bit more.

Her Royal Highness Princess Annabeth, duch*ess of Södermanland .

That’s what the article Hazel shoved at him said.

He scanned through it. Not really able to process everything, but picking up on the major bits.

Swedish Princess. At the Olympics. Seen with a man in Mexico. Percy Jackson.

The Princess of Sweden was seen kissing Percy Jackson.

“Oh f*ck,” Percy said.

“I’m going to guess that means you didn’t know,” Hazel said at the same time as Paul said, “Did you not see the paparazzi?”

Percy took another deep breath. And ignored Frank’s “Know what? What happened?”

Hazel removed her phone from his face, presumably to show Frank.

“I’m going to put you on speaker,” Percy said to Paul, “And then I’m going to puke.”

Frank let out a low whistle. Presumably because he’d read the article about Percy’s little misadventure.

Another snore from Jason.

If only Percy could be that resistant to the outside world.

“Who else is there?” Paul asked.

“Hi Paul.” Hazel chimed in.

“Oh, Hazel, hi.” Paul was really great about not being weird about Percy’s paternal family. Which showed a healthy constitution, if you asked Percy. “Did you see Twitter?”

“No, I have a Google alert for Percy on my phone. TMZ already posted an article.”

“Wow,” Paul said, “That was fast.”

Percy groaned. It was really really fast. Why would TMZ care? He wasn’t sure he even knew there were princesses of Sweden until about ten minutes ago.

“Who are you talking to?” Frank whispered to Hazel, but it wasn’t that quiet.

“Who’s that?” Paul asked.

“Oh, um, that’s Frank, he’s an archer for team Canada,” Percy said. Then the man’s presence finally stuck in his brain. “Wait–what are you even doing here? No offense.”

“Oh, I was looking for…” And then he looked at Hazel, and quickly stopped talking.

Despite himself, Percy huffed a quiet laugh. Frank was like 6’5, with the kind of arm and back muscles you expected from an Olympic archer. Hazel would eat him alive. Or dead. As the case might be.

They always underestimated her. It was often fun to watch.

And he would much much much rather think about Hazel’s budding relationship with a Canadian than his own situation.

“Guys,” Percy said, sitting down on his bed, hard. “It’s late, and I… I don’t even know what to say about all of this.”

“I’m sorry.” Hazel said, and Frank looked appropriately abashed.

“Sorry, Perce,” came Paul’s voice over the speaker. “We’ll let you get to sleep. We need some, too.”

“Thanks,” was all he said.

“Of course,” Paul said. “I love you.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Percy said. And he meant it. Paul’s love hadn’t always been a given from Percy’s perspective. But Paul had never hesitated with it. “I love you too. All of you at home.”

“Hazel,” Paul then said. She perked up at the address. “Please give Percy the biggest hug possible before you leave him.”

“I will,” she promised.

And then he hung up with one more good night.

Hazel was true to her word, and gave him a hug that, according to the clock on the nightstand, lasted two and a half minutes. It probably wasn’t long enough.

When she was done, Frank looked like maybe he wanted to hug him too. But he held himself back. Which was a shame. They didn’t really know each other, but Frank looked like he gave great hugs.

They left after that, closing the door behind them. And Percy deliberately left his phone on the bed while he got ready.

Then he curled up into the sheets, and closed his eyes.

The camera flashed in his vision.

Princess.

Annabeth.

Princess. Annabeth.

Princess Annabeth.

f*ck.

He reached back to grab his phone. And pulled up Google.

Princess Annabeth pulled up several news reports that he was sure were about him, but the first link after that was her Wikipedia page. And so that was where he went, cheerfully avoiding any mention of himself.

Princess Annabeth of Sweden, duch*ess of Södermanland (Annabeth Sophia Frederica Ingrid; born 12 July 1993) is the eldest daughter of Prince Frederick of Sweden and his first wife Sophia Pallas. She is currently second in line for the Swedish throne.

He swallowed. Second in line. That made her really close, right? He considered calling Paul back, just so he could understand, but held off, scrolling through the rest of the page.

Her picture was one of her dressed in a dark orange suit, in front of a microphone, caught in the middle of some speech. Her hair was pulled back and her mouth set in a placid smile. He recognized her, but she looked so unlike the woman he had known.

But then he didn’t know her, did he. Four dates?

He shook his head, and decided he’d learn more.

Born in Boston, like she said, while her father was getting his PhD at Harvard. Her mother had been a woman he’d met in Boston: Sophia Pallas. Which did sound as Greek as she had said before, though that wasn’t mentioned in the article. And Sophia Pallas’s name wasn’t a clickable link. Her parents had been married before her birth, it said, in a small, private ceremony after a hasty approval from the king and council, before her mother had died from complications. He frowned, a twinge of sadness running through his gut.

Poor Annabeth. But then, could you ever feel that way about a princess? She grew up in Sweden, then her father had remarried, and they’d spent a lot of time in the US while he pursued scholarship. Boston, Virginia, New York and San Francisco. She’d gone to Harvard like her father and uncle, and majored in Architecture and International Relations. Currently, she was working for a private company based in New York.

It was all so like she’d told him. Except for everything else. Tours around Europe and Asia. Speaking before the EU and UN. Charity appearance after charity appearance after charity appearance.

And then, under the subheading “Succession:” King Randolph’s wife and two daughters, Princess Emma and Princess Aubrey, were all killed in a boating accident in 1992. Since King Randolph's ascension to the throne in 1999, his younger brother, Prince Frederick, has been his heir presumptive. If King Randolph were to marry again, and have children, those children would replace his brother in the order of succession. However, throughout his reign, King Randolph has repeatedly stated that he had no interest in doing so, and has acknowledged Frederick as his heir.

Sweden became the first European country to adopt absolute primogeniture in 1980; therefore Princess Annabeth precedes her half-brothers Prince Robert and Prince Matthew in the line of succession. Should her father become King of Sweden, she will be the heir apparent and Crown Princess. If she ascends to the throne, she will be Sweden’s fifth Queen Regnant.

Well, that answered that question well enough. He’d f*cked the future queen of Sweden. Not some minor princess, trading on a title for the old world glamor of it all, but a real life (almost) crown princess.

sh*t. He’d been playing, in the back of his head, with the idea of going to Sweden after the games were over, swept up in her descriptions, and maybe a little bit in the thought of seeing her again. But he wasn’t doing that now. The last thing he needed was to get charged with treason or whatever.

Getting drawn and quartered didn’t sound like any fun.

Well damn, he recognized the feeling then. He felt guilty. Guilty for sleeping with a princess, guilty for sleeping with a future queen.

Which was stupid. She’d never once given any indication she hadn’t wanted it.

He’d slept with plenty of people before, and never felt bad about it.

So why did he feel this way?

f*ck. He couldn’t just sit here and stew. Paul was probably asleep, and he didn’t want to call Hazel back. She should be asleep, but maybe she was doing something else that he didn’t want to think about.

So he sent a text.

You awake?

I am so happy you finally texted me back

Can we talk?
Please?
I know its late, and sh*t is weird

His phone rang. Jason did not wake up, so he didn’t feel bad about answering.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kid.” Luke said, his smirk clearly and annoyingly evident in his voice. “Anything interesting happen to you lately?”

Percy groaned. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“Me? You were the one seen making out with a princess.”

“You’re the one who introduced us.”

“Yeah, I saw that her Wikipedia page says she lives in New York. She the girl from the club?”

Percy sighed. “Yep.”

“Nice.” Luke said, “I need to remember; next time I bring a girl back to my place, I get to tell her all about the time my baby cousin had Princess Annabeth over.”

“I’m so glad my shame is going to help you score chicks.” He said with all the scathing judgment he could muster, laying in a twin bed in the dark.

“What shame?” Luke sounded genuinely surprised. “Dude, you bagged a princess. That’s some classic sh*t. Very Perseus of you.”

“I don’t think Perseus had to deal with paps. And I think Andromeda probably mentioned the whole princess thing to him beforehand.”

“You didn’t know she was a princess?”

“Paul’s the royal watcher,” he reminded Luke. As though Luke would forget something he passively held against Paul. “Not me.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t tell you?”

“She did not.” Percy said, “She even gave me a last name and it wasn’t…” He scrolled up to the Wikipedia page to see the house listed under her photo: Ynglingar. “It was in English, nothing to do with… how do you even pronounce this?”

“Ynglinar,” Luke said, like it was easy. Because the bastard was all good at languages, while Percy could barely read English.

“Well, that doesn’t sound anything like Chase,” Percy said, “which is the name she gave me.”

“I see.” Luke said. “I mean, is it that big of a deal?”

“That I f*cked the future queen of Sweden? More than once?”

“Oh, nice, I didn’t know if they interrupted the second time.”

“They didn’t.”

“Nicely done.”

“Luke,” he said, “please. I’m genuinely freaking out here.”

“Okay, okay.” He could almost see it happening in real time, Luke shifting from his douchebag persona to the decently brotherly figure he was underneath. “I’m sorry. How can I help?”

“I feel bad.” Percy said. “I feel bad about this, and I don’t know why.” He hadn’t done anything wrong. What was there to feel bad about?

Luke said after a pause, “Well, if I had to guess, it’s probably because you really liked her. Didn’t you.”

“Of course.” Percy said, and then, he really thought about it.

He had liked her–a lot. Not just in a ‘I like you way’ but in the old, middle school, summer camp ‘I like you like you’ way. It wasn’t just her beautiful hair and captivating eyes, or her long legs and small, perfect breasts, but the way she rolled her eyes at him and insulted him in ancient Greek, the feel of her mouth as it smiled against his, the sense memory of her hand as she slipped it into his in some poorly lit Mexican club, sending his heart racing.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

sh*t. “I do like her. I mean, I did. Or… maybe I still do…”

Except there wasn’t really any maybe about it.

He could hear Luke laughing on the other end. “Well, how do you feel about becoming Lutheran?”

“f*ck you,” Percy said.

“I’m just saying, according to Wikipedia, the family is Lutheran, and the heirs have to be, too.”

“That’s not–are you trying to make me get over her, then?”

“Okay, okay,” Luke said, “How about this. The royal family traced lineage back through recorded history, to the semi-legendary and legendary kings of Sweden,” He offered. “Like… folklore says they’re descended from Norse gods and vikings and stuff.”

“That’s cool,” Percy said. Though most of what he knew about vikings had to do with the Varangian Guard. He might have studied classics, but he stuck to the languages and the written down bits of mythology. He certainly wasn’t an archaeologist, a medievalist, or an early Christianity expert by any standard.

Still, any ancient history was good history.

“I still feel bad though, Lutherans and Norse gods or whatever, or not. I just–I feel like sh*t, and I don’t know why. I didn’t even do anything!” He’d been the perfect gentleman. She’d been a great lay, and an even better girl. It’d been fun and easy, like champagne on a warm summer evening.

So why did his stomach still feel like it was about to drop out of his body entirely?

“I’m sorry, kid.” He said. And normally Percy chafed at the term of endearment. Had been since Luke started using it when Percy was in second grade. But today it was almost welcome, and made him unbearably homesick. “I wish I could help more. Maybe you just need to sleep the night off?”

“Yeah,” Percy said, “maybe.”

“It’s all going to work out, I promise. This isn’t the Regency era or whatever, when Lady Catherine comes and tells you you aren’t good enough for her niece.”

“It looks like Annabeth’s Aunt was named Nathalie, not Catherine. And she’s dead.” Percy said.

“There's the impertinent literalism I know and love! You’re getting better already.” Luke’s confidence was almost enough for Percy to buy it. “But seriously, Percy. Get some sleep. You’ve been going ninety miles an hour these past few days. You need rest. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed.

“It will all be fine, Perce. I promise.”

“I sure as sh*t hope so.” He said, “Thanks.”

They signed off with their good nights, but Percy didn’t go to sleep. He kept on scrolling. Reading backwards and forwards through wikipedia, memorizing the lines of succession: Frederick, Annabeth, Robert, Matthew, Magnus. And her favorite causes: learning disabilities, artifact repatriation, historic preservations, girl’s education, domestic violence.

At some point, he fell asleep, phone in his hand.

But it wasn’t for long enough. In some horrible twist of fate, he was woken up by Jason’s alarm at 6 AM.

He wanted to scream. And throw a pillow. Or let an earthquake swallow up the room, and Jason’s phone with it.

But he only sat up, bleary eyed and not feeling any better.

He silenced his phone, because he knew when it hit 8 AM on the East Coast, he’d start hearing from people he really didn’t want to. And he watched Jason get ready, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a kind of unearned, inexplicable hatred.

“Want to come down to breakfast with me?” Jason asked, “I can wait for you.”

“Yeah,” Percy said, “Sure.”

He was much slower, and less bouncy getting ready. And he was, as a general rule, a morning person. But he’d had a bit of a stressful night.

He stumbled after Jason, down through the halls and through the village, ready to make a beeline for the coffee. As they stepped into the cafeteria, he could see the heads turning, and hear the slightly charged murmur.

He got his breakfast as usual, but it didn’t stop. And Jason had found a table in the middle of the room, so he couldn’t even hide in a corner, or around a beam.

Jason was already digging in. “Hey, man,” he said, as Percy was sitting down. “Why is everyone looking at you?”

Percy dropped his head on the table with a loud thunk.

***

Annabeth thought she had some idea of what the consequences would be for getting caught making out with a random guy. Helen would yell at her, her dad would be disappointed, Mary would leak a story about her to the press, the tabloids would rake her over the coals, and they would all have a great laugh at her expense for about a month or so before moving on to the next scandal, her ill-fated kiss relegated to an interesting anecdote on a BuzzFeed listicle about royal bad behavior. It probably wouldn’t even rate a mention on her Wikipedia page.

She was wrong. She was so wrong.

This was so much worse.

The Microsoft Teams call consisted of Helen, who was actually in Mexico with her but apparently couldn’t stand being in the same room with her right now, her father, looking politely concerned, King Randolph, not at all paying attention, and a handful of PR and Parliament representatives, all in various states of shock and disapproval, including one older minister who was clearly playing some kind of mobile game.

Oh, to be a career politician who had achieved the nirvana of not giving a single f*ck.

Annabeth had already had Minecraft opened while Helen introduced everyone on the call–all thirty-five people. She had something to build.

Helen had started the meeting in an absolute rage, only held in check by sheer professionalism and passive aggression. And Annabeth couldn’t even blame her ADHD for distracting her. Hans was sitting across the table from her, invisible to the camera, but hearing every word. He could catch her up if she missed something important.

“Well, your highness,” Helen finally said, “Would you like to explain yourself?”

“I don’t know what’s to explain: I went out for a walk with a friend of mine. I didn’t know there were photographers waiting for me. They took a picture when we kissed.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “These things happen.”

“Well, they should not,” said Helen, and then directed someone else to speak.

“We don’t know anything about this man, other than the fact that he likes to cause a spectacle of himself.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's getting him a great deal of press, and notoriety. He might have called the photographers himself.”

“He wouldn’t have had a need,” Annabeth argued, “He didn’t know who I was.”

“A likely story.”

It wasn’t any such thing, he didn’t even understand why she was supporting Sweden in his race.

But luckily someone else cut in, a security guy. One of Hans’ bosses, but the ones who did the logistics stuff, not the actual work of having to deal with Annabeth. Normally she didn’t like him for just that reason, but today he spoke in her favor. “We’ve determined that the leak, as it were, traced back to the hotel. Someone staying there called a paparazzi friend, who followed her car. We have no evidence to think Mr. Jackson had anything to do with this.”

“Yes yes,” Said someone else, “But what do we even know about this man?”

Annabeth felt like she could answer that question: he loved his mom, and the ocean, and ancient Greece. He had a sweet smile and beautiful eyes and a tongue that would not quit. He’d gone to Yale, but nobody was perfect.

Luckily, that wasn’t a question for her.

“The man in question,” Cut in Christiana, a PR person that Annabeth had always liked. Mostly because she was born in the 90s, had a rocking pixie cut, and didn’t act like there was a stick up her ass. “Is Perseus Jackson.”

Annabeth hadn’t known Percy was a nickname. Perseus. Like the hero. Well, he did say he was Greek.

“According to Mr. Gunderson’s team’s report, he’s the son of Sally Jackson, though the father’s name on the birth certificate is listed as unknown. Birthdate, August 18th, 1993. He’ll be 25 in just a few weeks.” Annabeth hadn’t known that either. And for a second wondered what she should get him for his birthday, before mentally shaking herself. “He’s on the USA Olympic Sailing team, a spot he won after placing first in the US trials. He also won the Hempel World Cup Series at the Princess Sofia regatta last year. He primarily lives in New York City. And his permanent address is in an apartment on the Upper East Side. though the apartment is rented under the name Luke Castellan.” Annabeth had been to that apartment. Had eaten eggs there and been eaten out there. “Mr. Castellan is an investment banker whose family has a long association with Mr. Jackson’s. His mother worked as a home aide to Mr. Castellan’s for many years. It appears the families are still close.” It was interesting that nothing had come up about Percy and Luke being related patrilineally.

“And Mr. Jackson’s family?”

“As I said, father is listed as unknown, and so we are still trying to find something. Mrs. Jackson is an author. I do believe her second book, Danaë, was a bestseller in several countries around the world, including the US, UK, and Sweden, in translation. She is currently married to a Mr. Paul Blofis, who is a teacher in New York City. And they have a seven year old daughter, Estelle Jackson Blofis. Maya?”

“He has a very positive presence on social media and no history of scandals,” chimed in one of Christiana’s assistants on the call. “He’s got over eight hundred thousand,” she paused, glancing at something off screen, “um… make that almost a million followers on Instagram alone. And he frequently uses his platform to talk about poverty and mental health issues.”

“He’s an influencer?” The scorn in the man’s, who had been introduced, but who Annabeth had no memory of, voice held no question about his profession.

“He’s an athlete,” Annabeth cut in, “a sailor. That’s why he’s here. He just happens to be popular.” The fact that he made himself popular on purpose… that was irrelevant. “He is, after all, in Mexico for the games.”

“I do not understand,” And she could see a little of Helen’s mask slipping, “how you managed to meet him here.”

“I didn’t meet him at the Olympics.” Annabeth said. “I met him right before I left New York. I didn’t even know he would be here until I saw it on his Instagram later. And he didn’t know I would be here until we ran into each other at…” she paused, not wanting to recount that particular event to everyone present, “...at a dinner a week ago.”

Hans smirked at her behind her computer.

“That is a very long time to be running around without approval.”

Annabeth blanched at Helen’s words. “I was unaware every single one of my friends needed to be approved by you, Ms. Persson. I would like to know your requirements. And also why you get to be the one making those calls.”

She could tell by the flare of the other woman’s nostrils that she knew she had spoken out of turn. But over her computer, Hans gave her a look.

“We are all concerned, Your Highness,” Helen said, “about your safety.”

“Well, as per our predetermined agreements,” she said, “I am not accompanied by Hans everywhere in New York. Because it was agreed he would cause a distraction and impact security negatively.” She took a deep breath, “After we met again in Mexico, Hans… Mr. Gunderson did a full background check. Which I believe we heard some of just now.”

She scanned the faces. Most of them looked bored. A few were frowning at her. Helen looked like she had swallowed a lemon. But Christiana was smiling and her father was suppressing one of his own.

The security specialist cleared his throat. “I assure you, Your Majesty, and Ms. Persson, we have done a full background check on Mr. Jackson. Even before last night’s event. Unless new information comes to light, this is a matter of public relationships, not safety.”

Well, score two for Hans’s boss then. She liked anyone who bested Helen.

She wished she had been able to help with that hiring process. But unfortunately, it had been made for her. Mostly by Mary, Princess Frederick. She often wondered if Helen was under orders from her stepmother to poke at her until she snapped and resorted to violence.

It was a brilliant plan.

“So, getting back to Mr. Jackson,” Another PR person, who Annabeth knew on sight, but did not know by name, said, “He seems fairly careful with sponsored content on social media.”

“And does he have any kind of career beyond social media?”

“He’s a trained classicist,” Annabeth said quickly. Her eyes went to her father and uncle, both of whom perked up immediately. “He graduated from Yale two years ago, but decided to take a break from academia for a few years to pursue his sailing career.” There was a long history of European royalty engaged in olympic sailing. No one could fault him for that. Except perhaps for her uncle, who seemed to be bored again.

“Well, that’s not so bad.” Said someone else. She was pretty sure she was a parliamentarian. Jonsson or Jansson. Annabeth could not remember. “Though, of course the expectation, before marriage, would be that he steps away from his social media career. And possibly his sailing also, though that might be discussed more in depth.”

That launched a round of several people speaking.

Annabeth only just barely managed to get her call out of, “I’ve only known him for a few weeks! I am not asking for permission to marry him right now!” It managed to silence most people, but not everyone.

Shame that the straggler had to be the worst one of them all.

“But what color would the children be?” Asked someone else who she didn’t know. Her jaw dropped open–as did her father’s, Helen’s, and several others–and everyone began speaking all at once, again.

“Please, ladies, gentlemen–please.” Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the flickering border around his video which caught everyone’s attention, but her father managed to cut through the digital crowd, calling their attention so he could speak. “I think it’s a little… early for that kind of discussion, minister, as Annabeth said,” he managed to get out, frowning even more firmly, and glossing over the word “early” like it was most definitely not the word he wanted to use.

The man in question harrumphed, but muted himself.

“Now, then.” Prince Frederick was doing his best to look comfortable with the topic, but the shifting of his suit jacket sleeves implied he was playing with his hands beneath the screen, twisting his fingers together. Annabeth could relate. She was doing something similar right now. “I understand that this situation is… less than ideal, shall we say, but I would hope, as the princess’ father, that you would trust my opinion on this matter.” He pulled in a breath, eyes unfocused as he searched for the right words. “My daughter has always been both highly intelligent and perceptive, not only in her diplomatic endeavors, but in her interpersonal relationships as well.” Nice of him to say, but Annabeth privately thought he might have been overselling her a little bit on that last one. “Not only that, we can hardly blame her for the sudden appearance of the press.”

“Her highness has had to deal with the press all her life,” Helen said, evenly. “She’s gone through multiple trainings–”

“Ms. Persson,” he said, shutting her up quickly. Annabeth bit back a smirk. “My point is, clearly she’s already met with Mr. Jackson on several occasions, and has judged him to be a person worth her time, without our intervention. Shouldn’t that ultimately be what matters?”

“All due respect, your highness,” said one of the ministers, “but we simply do not have enough information at this time to determine what kind of person this Mr. Jackson is.”

“I think,” her dad gently rebutted, “that Annabeth is not only smart enough, but mature enough to decide for herself what kind of person he is. Now, Annabeth.” She sat at attention. “Tell us: this Perseus–”

“Percy,” she said, quietly. “He goes by Percy.”

He smiled a bit, ducking his head. “Percy, then. Is he a nice boy?”

She nodded. “He is.”

“Then I am fully in favor of Annabeth continuing to see the nice boy if she wishes. Randolph, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hm?” Her uncle looked up from whatever book he was reading. Annabeth caught a glimpse of ancient Icelandic runes over the camera. “Yes, very good.”

“There we are.” Her father smiled. “Annabeth, dear, now you have the king’s permission.”

Not even Helen could argue with that.

Annabeth swallowed around the lump in her throat, looking directly into her webcam. “Thank you, your majesty,” she said to the one person on this call, maybe even in the world, who believed in her right now.

Through the fuzzy Teams call quality, her father smiled.

“I think that’s settled, then,” he said, with just the barest hint of satisfaction. “As long as Mr. Gunderson and his associates continue to keep us updated if they find any more information they feel is worth reporting, I have no objections to this relationship.”

If there was still a relationship on the table, anyway. Still, her heart felt very full. She wished he was here with her, just so she could give him a hug.

Verdict delivered, the meeting swiftly concluded. One by one, the virtual participants disappeared, until the only ones left were Annabeth and her father.

He smiled at her through the screen. “Well, dear,” he said, chuckling a bit. “You certainly like to keep things interesting.”

Looking away, her cheeks faintly flushed with embarrassment, she tried to laugh it off. “I guess. Sorry.”

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that.” When she looked back, he was still smiling gently at her. “You’re having fun in Mexico? Yes?”

Annabeth nodded, sensing the unspoken question. “I am. I promise.”

It was the oddest thing of all–he didn’t question her on it. He just accepted it at face value. “I’m glad. I meant what I said, you know. Just… just be careful.” With her heart. With the nice boy. With anything else that might cross her path.

“I will.”

“I love you very much, dear.” He leaned in closer to the camera, as if he could pull her into a hug halfway around the world. “We’ll talk soon.”

Then he hung up, leaving Annabeth staring into her own video feed.

“Well,” Hans said, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I think I’d rather go sack a small French Villiage.” The old viking princesses really had it made, she thought. They didn’t have to deal with Microsoft Teams, at least. They could have just chopped Helen in half with an ax, and not worry about what HR would say.

“Or take on a horde of draugar?” Hans offered.

“Exactly.”

“Well, perhaps, instead of that, next time you’d like to meet with Mr. Jackson, I’ll go pick him up?”

“I don’t know if there is going to be one next time, Hans,” she said, letting all her defeated weariness leak into her voice.

“Annabeth.” And he so rarely used her first name. “I know you are brave enough to take on a French village, a draugr, or even Helen and the entire Riksdag. I think you can call the one man who you just defended to a room full of people, and offer an explanation.”

He got up then, and patted her shoulder on the way out of the room. “I’ll keep Helen at bay. If you want to call him.”

“If I don’t, will you sic her on me?”

“I think not,” he said, “Because right now I’m afraid I’d come back to find an ax in her chest, and that sounds like it would be a terrible mess to clean up. If you need some time, I’ll give you some time.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“But I still think you should call him.”

And then he walked out of the room, leaving Annabeth alone with her thoughts. And the empty Teams room.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

It was a testament to how sh*tty he was feeling that not even being in the ocean could improve his mood. He’d gotten strange looks all morning, though no one had confronted him about it yet. He’d actually left his phone with his stuff, and not brought it out into the water with him.

But the separation did not clear his head. All he could think of was Annabeth’s soft lips on his. And the flash of the camera. All he could think about was the pictures he found of Annabeth, in full regalia. She’d been beautiful and regal and so out of every single one of his leagues.

He was so distracted that he wasn’t actually paying attention during his heat, he was going through the motions purely on instinct. He hated it. He could tell his times were faster than usual, but he wasn’t actually working on his technique. His least favorite kind of sailing.

It certainly didn’t help that he could feel Robert Ohlsson’s death glare at him from across the ocean. He imagined that the entire populace of Sweden was lending him their energy, like some kind of f*cked up spirit bomb.

Though maybe Ohlsson was just glaring at him because he had cut him off turning around the buoy on the last lap.

Reflecting his mood, the waves churned around him as he brought his boat back into the marina, tying it off at the dock. His coach was already there, a broad grin across his face. “I don’t know what kind of meditation regimen you have,” he said, “but whatever it is, it’s working like a charm!”

“Meditation?”

“With times like that, that gold is ours, no question!” He went on, ignoring Percy entirely. “And when you cut off Ohlsson–ha! Did you see the way he was glaring at you?”

It was hard to miss. “No, sir,” Percy mumbled.

His coach clapped him on the back, rough in his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m glad to see that whatever sh*t you’ve got going on with that girl isn’t bringing down your times.”

Classic Coach Peterson. Great sailor and a great coach. He was pretty understanding about things with women, but this late in the game, he only really cared about Percy’s times.

“Just keep your head in the game, Jackson,” he said again, “and we’ll sweep this thing.”

Keeping his head in the game was the exact opposite of what was going on, but he wasn’t about to let Peterson know that. “I’ll do my best.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” And then he went down the dock to the next American sailor, Rich, with an uncharacteristic pep in his step.

Percy was hoping to avoid every other athlete on his way back to his room, where he could hide under the covers and pretend he didn’t exist, but he could spot Wilson from Team UK at the end of the dock, his ears steaming and looking ready for a fight. Taking a page out of Luke’s book, he slowed his gait, keeping his eyes trained on Wilson until something distracted him, and lunged behind a boat, ducking out of view as soon as his gaze was turned.

With any luck, Wilson would get bored, and wander off, finding some new unfortunate soul who hadn’t yet been subjected to his story about his ill-fated romance with Princess Beatrice of York.

He waited there, couched behind a boat. As one minute slowly turned to two, hoping for something to get Wilson away from him.

“Jackson?” From behind him came a confused, lightly accented voice. He looked up to see Loke Holmgren squinting down at him from behind his sunglasses, a bemused smile on his face. “What are you doing there?”

“Uh…” Percy sincerely hoped that he could blame his flush on the bright sunlight. “I… dropped my pen.”

Loke blinked. “You mean the one sticking out of your pocket?”

Percy rose, said pen gripped triumphantly in his fist. “Never go anywhere without it.”

The other sailor chuckled. “You can relax,” he said, even as Percy craned his head around to look at the end of the dock. “Wilson’s gone off.”

Percy groaned. “He’s been trying to corner me with that stupid story of his all morning.”

“Well,” Loke offered, “he doesn’t have anyone to commiserate with. Who else here can say that he has slept with a princess?”

Who indeed. Percy just hung his head, patently miserable.

But Loke smiled. “Come, come. Lunch on me,” He said, clapping Percy's shoulder. “Let's go.”

Lunch was not at the Village, which Percy sincerely appreciated. It had been barely eight hours and already he was sick to death of all the gawking. Instead, they walked down the marina, stopping for a couple of fish tacos. One of the perks of a coastal city–the seafood was always great.

Loke seemed to agree, chewing down with gusto. The food was so good, Percy was thoroughly distracted when Loke finally started talking to him. “You know,” he said, conversationally, “you stole my girl.”

Percy sputtered around his mouthful of pico de gallo. “Excuse me?”

“When I was eight years old, I swore up and down to my grandmother that I was going to marry Princess Annabeth.” He was frowning, a kind of seriousness Percy only saw on Loke whenever the man was navigating a particularly difficult turn. “And then I met her a week ago, and she was beautiful and kind and I knew we were meant to be.”

“Sorry…” Percy said, not entirely sure of the cultural faux pas he had just performed. “We’re not…”

Loke shook his head, and let out a heartfelt, world weary sigh, his hand pressed to his chest. “It is alright. I just hope you can sleep at night, knowing that you have broken my poor grandmother’s heart.”

Percy looked at him, sure the distress he felt was clear on his face, while Loke stared back, solemn as the grave. And then he broke into a peal of laughter.

“Your face!” Loke guffawed. “Look at you!”

Shakily, Percy exhaled, his heart re-approaching something resembling a resting rate.

“Good for you, my friend!” said Loke as soon as he got his laughter under control. “Me and every other school boy in Sweden have long dreamed of marrying our princess royal. And here is the lucky bastard who gets to!”

Face red, Percy huffed a weak laugh of his own. “I’ve been on five dates with her, and given how the last one ended, I’m not sure she’ll want to see me again, let alone marry me.” Percy sighed, “And to say nothing of what people on Twitter think of it.”

Loke smiled in sympathy. “Don’t take it personally. People on Twitter are terrible. And we are very protective of our princess, too. She’s very beloved.” He turned serious again–sincerely, this time. “I don’t know how much you know about our royal family, but we lost King Randolph’s daughters far too early. And Princess Annabeth has been deeply beloved since then.”

“I suppose,” Percy said, “I knew the other Princesses died, and then Annabeth…Princess Annabeth’s,” he corrected himself, “Mother died shortly after she was born.”

Loke nodded, “Honestly, I think one of the reasons people are so excited about the prospect is the excitement of a proper royal wedding. Prince Frederick had very quiet marriages both times. The first was in the United States, and the second, it is widely speculated, was because the King made him, after he decided not to marry, so there might be more people in the line of succession.” He shrugged. “And then Princess Natalie never had a proper one either when she got married. So now it's down to Princess Annabeth or Prince Magnus. And Princess Annabeth will be queen, so she’s the one everyone wants. ”

“So no pressure?”

Loke clapped his shoulder. “None at all, my friend! Only the weight of my ancient country and their ancient royal family. I’m sure you can handle it.”

What a way to end lunch. Though Loke was friendly in parting. And asked for an invitation to the wedding. Asshole. Percy liked him.

Adele had made a similar ask earlier. And Percy was tempted to text back that she could come, only if she brought Loke as her date. Just to start some sh*t.

But the drama levels were already so high, he wasn’t really in the mood to raise the stakes. He was pretty sure they were going to climb regardless of what they did.

He was finally in a position to hide a little. To sit on his bed and pretend all this was not happening to him, before an interview scheduled for a few hours later.

Which meant it was just the right time for his manager, Alice Miyazawa, to give him a call.

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you were hooking up with the crown princess of Sweden.” Were the first words out of her mouth. But she was always blunt and to the point. It wasn’t at all something he liked about her. But it made her good at her job.

“She’s not the crown princess,” Percy said, and hated that now he knew what that meant, and what the difference between that and what Annabeth was, was. He wasn’t Paul, and it would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t horrifying.

“Whatever,” she said. “Point is, your relationship has opened up a whole new range of opportunities for us.”

“For the billionth time, we are not in a relationship.”

But she went on as if she didn’t hear him. “You’ve gotten tons of new sponsorship requests–and we’re talking six figures here!”

“I’ve gotten six figure offers before,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, for months-long deals. We’re talking six figures for a single post! So I’ve gone ahead and turned down the offer from Lelo for you, because it doesn’t really fit your brand–”

“Lelo? The sex toy company?!”

“–but I’m in talks right now with Hermès to get you to wear their new watch that’s coming out for their Fall/Winter collection, and maybe a couple of their gentlemen’s bags, if I can swing it–which will be a sure thing if this keeps going a little longer. Now, I know that the princess can’t be seen officially endorsing any particular brand, but if you can get her to be photographed with you while you’re wearing the watch–”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” he said. Stopping Alice’s flights of fancy in their path was an old skill. But he was not about to accept an offer from Hermès, of all things. “One, you know Luke would never let me hear the end of a brand deal with Hermès. I can’t believe you would even suggest it.”

“Luke needs to get over himself,” Alice said. “He should know better with the type of money on the line here.”

But there was a bigger issue here. “And two, Annabeth and I–”

“Annabeth? Who’s that?”

Who–“The–the princess, Alice. Her name is Annabeth.”

“Annabeth? Really?” Her skepticism was not well-hid.

Percy ignored it. “And we’re not dating. We were just hanging out.”

“Well, make sure you hang out with her again, and soon. People will pay good money if the paparazzi catches you wearing their things.”

“After last time, I doubt we’ll be hanging out again.”

Alice stopped, and he heard her take a deep breath, and then sigh. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

He rolled his eyes. She was most certainly not concerned for his emotional state. “Sorry this wasn’t the boon to my brand that you were hoping for.”

“Are you f*cking joking?” This might have been the most enthusiastic he had ever heard her in conversation before. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done for your brand. You could come in last in all your races, now–I’ve already permanently upped your rates. Whatever happens, this was a great financial move.”

As though kissing the most beautiful girl in the world was solely a matter of economics. “You know, at least when Luke gives me dispassionate financial advice, he actually cares about how it affects my mental health.”

“Then you should be happy you have me to shoot straight,” Alice said. “So, I’m going to start having legal look over some of the contracts and…”

Thankfully, Percy was saved by an incoming text from a friend. “Listen, Alice,” he said. “I’ve gotta go. And we agreed that I wouldn’t do any sponcon while I was at the games.”

“But if interest keeps up–”

He sincerely doubted it would. “Put a meeting on my calendar for September and we’ll talk about it then. Okay?”

She sighed, frustrated. He knew she hated it when he got all, in her words, “economically squeamish.” “Fine. But know you’re leaving money on the table.”

“And I am just fine with that.”

Alice hung up in a huff. Which saved Percy the trouble.

Even though he immediately had to make another call.

“Thank you so much for getting back to me,” Percy said as soon as she answered.

“I’ve never heard you so freaked out on the phone before,” Rachel said, “And I’ve heard you going through some sh*t.”

“Have you checked Twitter?”

“Some of us don’t make our living via social media.”

“Well, some of us don’t have rich dads.”

Rachel cleared her throat, skeptical. Which was not fair.

“Fine, some of us have dads who never paid child support.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m afraid to open it, honestly,” Percy said.

“Ooh, yeah, probably a good idea.”

“...You’re checking it right now, aren’t you.”

Her silence was more than enough of an answer.

Percy sighed. “What are they saying?”

“Some of it’s good,” she hedged. “Some of it…”

With a feeling of impending doom, like there was a sword hanging over his head, Percy opened the bird app. There, on the trending tab, was his name, in all of its hashtagged glory. Gingerly, like he was defusing a bomb, he clicked it.

The first tweet was an old video of one of his races. He remembered that day, a cold, blustery morning, the spray stinging against his face. The waves had been so choppy that one of the video crews had nearly capsized. Percy had been sailing for his life out there, his back tight as he leaned out over his boat, ropes wrapped his fist, his hips pumping. The last remaining stable videographer had caught it all. He had been so proud of his performance that day.

But the tweet read: #percyjackson training for his next date with the princess😩💦

Percy swallowed, flushing and vaguely nauseous, and closed the app. “Sorry, what was that, Rach?”

“Oh, I was just saying that I was glad you called me. What do you need?”

Sighing and flopping back onto his bed, he flung his arm over his eyes. “I need advice.”

“On?”

“How to talk about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” he shrugged, “proper forms of address and sh*t. You’re fancy–you know about this stuff, right?”

“I didn’t realize it was that serious. You planning on meeting the king sometime soon?”

Percy choked. “No! No, definitely not. I mean, like, talking about it in interviews and stuff.”

“Wait, you’re doing a press run about your relationship?” Rachel asked, sounding even more confused.

“We’re not in a relationship,” he answered, dully, “and if I had my way, I wouldn’t talk about it at all. But I have an interview later, and I’m pretty sure the questions are inevitable.”

“Just tell them you won’t answer any questions about her,” she offered. “It’s not like they’re going to hold you at gunpoint and make you talk.”

“Do you really think that’s going to hold them off?”

“For the next few months, probably. But they’ll get tired of it sooner or later.”

“I don’t want to have to think about this for months.”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly subdued. “I didn’t realize it ended so poorly.”

“You didn’t see the photos?”

“No, I know that, I mean–between you and the princess. Without the press. I’m sorry it ended poorly. Was she really mad at you?”

Percy almost snorted, “She better not be,” He said, “I didn’t do sh*t.” Except for defiling a princess. But she’d seemed really onboard with that.

“You haven’t talked to her… wait, what happened? Is she mad at you? Does she think you called the press?”

“She has to know I didn’t,” Percy said, “I had no reason to. I didn’t know she was the future queen of Sweden.”

“You didn’t know she was a princess?”

“I did not,” Percy said, “I met her at a club in New York, and then again, at a club here. I found out she was a princess when the paps called out to her.”

“Oh, damn.” Rachel said, “So, it isn’t that she’s pissed at you, you’re pissed at her.”

“No… or, yes… or… I don’t know! Kind of? It's weird.”

“You deal in weird.”

“Not this kind of weird.”

“Well, what I think is weird is that you haven’t talked to her before your interview.”

“Well, given that the interview is in,” he checked his watch, “forty-five minutes, I probably won’t get to. Besides, what would the point even be? So she can break my heart by telling me she never wants to see me again?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa–hold up. ‘Break your heart’?”

Percy swore. He was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to say that. Out loud, anyway. “Look, maybe… maybe there was a point, when I did feel like it could be something,” Serious was in the eye of the beholder, after all. “But that was before I found out she was a princess.”

“Does that really matter?”

“Um… yes.” A lot. He wasn’t exactly sure how, but he knew it mattered.

“So you’ve already decided you’re not worth her time, then.”

She sounded mad at him. “Well… yeah,” Percy said, trying not to rock the boat further. “She’s a princess. I’m just some guy.”

Rachel sighed, sharply. “You pulled this exact same sh*t with me, you know.”

“You cannot blame me for us not working out,” he said. “I was all ready to date you, and you pulled the plug before it even started.”

“I think your cousin pulled that plug, actually,” Rachel said. “But I mean before all that. You basically refused to even consider me seriously until it was too late. I had to kiss you, remember?”

That she had. Percy had been way too awkward to make the first move. Luke, to this day, had never let him hear the end of it. “No offense, but I thought Clarion Ladies didn’t slum it with townies–especially not sons of maids.”

“Home health care workers,” Rachel rehashed the old argument. “But you’re avoiding the point. I just think that if you think the only thing stopping you from being with her is her family’s vestigial social status, then you shouldn’t count yourself out just yet.”

Easy for her to say. She’d never dated anybody after him. And they didn’t even date in the first place. “And my family?”

“I mean, can you think of a better father’s day gift for Paul than an audience with the king of Sweden?”

Which was the best argument she’d made yet. “Alright,” he said, “so let's assume, in this fantasy world of yours, that my goal isn’t to avoid her existence for the rest of forever. In that case, I need to know: how do I talk about her, if it comes up?”

“You don’t really need to f*ck around with honorifics,” she said. “Just call her Princess Annabeth.”

“Okay.”

“And Percy?” Her voice was soft and fond, the way only years of friendship born from a childhood crush could be. “Don’t hide yourself from this. For what it’s worth, I have a really good feeling about her.”

Rachel’s feelings were always spot on. He could feel a glimmer of hope in his chest, buried deep, come back to life. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better.”

***

Annabeth was armed: with her laptop, Twitter at the ready to monitor public response, with a beer, something local and cold and hopefully appropriately sense-dulling, with a bucket, in case her nerves got the best of her. And a shot of tequila. For emergency use.

“You know, there are people who are paid to do this for you,” said her wonderful, supportive, exasperated best friend.

“I know.”

She could almost hear Piper rolling her eyes. “You know this was probably set up several months in advance. They’re just going to ask him dumb sports questions.”

“Sure,” she said, “but there isn’t a reporter worth their muckrake who would pass up this opportunity.”

Annabeth had had Percy’s general interview in the back of her mind for a while, now. At first, it was mostly passing curiosity, an opportunity to learn a little bit more about this guy who had somehow wormed his way into most of her waking thoughts. Usually she wouldn’t be interested in that kind of puff-piece journalism, but the brief, fifteen minute interview with Percy Jackson, sailor for Team USA was likely to provide information which she was… interested in. For reasons.

Of course, now she was way more invested. For other reasons.

“As your friend, and as someone who has plenty of experience with media scandals, I feel like I have to strongly recommend that you stop–”

“Shh!” Annabeth hissed. The commercial break had ended.

“Don’t shh me!”

“It’s starting!”

“You’re the one who wanted me to watch along!”

“SHH!”

The effect was instantaneous. Percy appeared on screen, trim and scrubbed in his dark wash jeans and blue button-up, and the tweets began rolling in, almost too fast for Annabeth to read them. But not fast enough for her to not see the thirst tweets. He’s sooooooooooo hot was a common refrain. Big daddy vibes😍 was another.

Something hot and angry curled in Annabeth’s stomach. He was, but it wasn’t like they had to say it!

“How about we cool it with the jealousy, babe.”

“Wh–I’m not jealous!” sh*t, had she really said that out loud?

“Yeah, and I have a bridge in New York to sell you.”

“Shut up!” she hissed, because Percy was talking, and she really needed to hear him.

“Thanks for having me on,” he said, the husky tenor of his voice immediately sending her heart into a little gold medal gymnastics routine. “It’s a real pleasure.”

“That’s him?” Piper said.

“Yeah,” Annabeth replied, hoping beyond hope that she didn’t actually sigh.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, he’s just kind of unimpressive.”

Unimpre–”Are you blind?”

“Look, he’s not ugly, but… eh.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure she'd ever been so insulted in her entire life, and just a few weeks ago, her father told her she should give up her succession to the throne of Sweden.

“I’ve been sailing pretty much my whole life,” Percy was saying on screen. “I grew up in Westport, Connecticut and everyone had their own fleets of sailboats.”

“Did you?” asked the interviewer.

He shook his head. “I was one of the only kids in the area without a boat. My mom was working as a home care health aide, and we just couldn’t afford it, but I still loved spending time at the marina and the beach anyway. So, one day,” he shifted, raising his hands, about to launch into a story, “there was this kid who used to bully me, right? And he was out with his friends on the water, just fooling around with his sunfish. And so my older cousin, Luke,” he paused, taking a breath, “uh, rented a boat for me, and we decided to show this kid how it was done.” The audience laughed. “I mean, we had this impromptu race, and we absolutely trounced him.”

The interviewer laughed, too, a broad smile on her face. “And when was this?”

“I was… oh, probably seven or eight years old at the time. And it just so happened that one of my classmate’s dad’s was a competitive sailor, and was there that day to visit his boat in the marina, too. I guess the guy saw me work, and he could tell I just loved it. And was really really quick to pick it up. And that’s when I started sailing.”

“But that isn’t the only Olympic sport you ended up excelling in, is it?”

“No,” Percy said. “I did crew and water polo. I set a state swim record in high school. Anything in the water, pretty much, and I was on the team. Never at the Olympic level, but, yeah.”

“Ha ha,” Piper chuckled over the phone. “He does water sports.”

“Shhhh,” Annabeth said. That joke was old news.

“I did some fencing, and some classic polo, on horseback, too.”

Annabeth already knew all that, of course. She wanted something else. Something new. Something more.

“How does it feel to be at your first Olympics?”

“It’s truly an honor,” Percy said, earnest as a schoolboy on his first day. “Coming here, representing the United States, it’s been a dream of mine ever since I was a kid…”

Annabeth didn’t feel that bad about letting her attention wander while he waxed poetic about what an honor and a privilege it was being on Team USA. All athletes said the same sh*t, anyway, only occasionally swapping out the name of their country. Turning back to Twitter, she aimlessly scrolled for a bit, counting numbers of reaction tweets, both positive and negative. One good, one good, one really horny, one bad, one good, one…

@darthbingus: do u think the princess is watching rn 👀

Annabeth closed the window. And her laptop.

“And will any of your family be joining you here in Mexico?”

“Yes!” Percy seemed to light up, sitting up straighter. “My whole family is coming next week: my mom, my stepdad, my little sister, and my cousins.”

Behind them, on the green screen which had been showing a gently fluttering Olympics logo, the scene changed, to a picture from Percy’s Instagram (she recognized his handle… and also the photo) of Percy, a boy she recognized as Luke, and a little girl, the three of them hard at work on a sand castle on a rocky, white beach. Luke was wearing a windbreaker, and the little girl had a full swimsuit on.

It was a picture perfect scene. A close, intimate family gathering, on a cold beach, immortalized forever. It was a monument to a world she could only dream of.

“That’s so great!”

“Yeah, my sister’s never been to Mexico. She’s the envy of second grade summer camp.”

“Is family very important to you?”

He nodded. “It is. I think it comes from not having a lot of it. My mom was a single mom, and I had zero contact with my dad’s side of my family until I met Luke when I got lost in an aquarium and he helped me get back to my mom when I was really little–but we didn’t even know we were paternal cousins until much later. His mom was a single mom, too, and she was sick. My mom ended up taking care of her. It was happy, for sure, but now that I have things like a sister and a stepdad, even extra cousins… I know they aren’t to be taken for granted.”

“One of your cousins is also on Team USA, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, Hazel Levesque.” He nodded enthusiastically. “She’s an equestrian and she’s amazing! It's incredible to be here with her!”

Annabetth frowned, he hadn’t said anything about a cousin at the games with him, had he. He’d talked a lot about Luke, not nothing about Hazel.

Her musing was interrupted by Piper chanting under her breath. “Come on, come on, come on… YES!” She cheered. “YES!”

Annabeth paused. “Wait–are you watching an event right now?”

“Duh. I’m watching the sprinting semifinals. Your boy’s interview is way boring.”

She flushed, even though Piper couldn’t see it. “No it’s not.”

“One, love that you didn’t deny he was your boy,” Piper said, “and two, yes it is. It's all boring platitudes. You should have heard this hot sprinter’s interview earlier. His mother was an alcoholic movie star and his sister ran away from home at ten, and he was talking all about how he grew up in foster care and military school. It was so moving,” she sighed, cripplingly romantic.

“Sounds like just your type.”

“And he’s winning, too!” She gave a big whoop. “Plus he’s American, so I don’t have to feel weird about supporting him.”

Annabeth just groaned, turning her attention back to Percy, who was now doing a lightning round of silly questions from the audience members:

“Favorite place you’ve ever been?”

He grinned, broadly. “Athens.”

“Favorite food?”

“My mom’s pastichio.”

“Favorite Song?”

“‘Thnks fr th mmrs,’ by Fall Out Boy.” Of course he had to have amazing music taste. Ass.

“Craziest thing that’s ever happened to you!”

He paused, looking all of the sudden like a deer caught in headlights. Very clearly nervous. “Um…”

And then the interviewer took pity on Percy. “Maybe… meeting a certain princess?”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, after a moment, red creeping up his cheeks.. “Yeah, that would probably be it.”

Annabeth went red too, in sympathy.

“Well,” the interviewer said, music playing them off, “thanks for speaking with us today, Percy.”

And just like that, it was over, cutting to another commercial break.

“Well?” Piper cut through the heavy rock of the Coca-Cola ad.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to call him or not?”

She wanted to. Oh, gods, she wanted to, but… “I think I’ve ruined the guy’s week enough.”

“Aw, come on, I bet you rocked his world before that.”

“Ha ha.” Annabeth tried to be as droll as possible, but the truth was, a world had been rocked, and it hadn’t been his. Though she did hope his world had been rocked as well, at least a little bit. “I lied to him, and now Twitter is being super gross.” She had seen the gif making the rounds online of one of his races, his hips thrusting as he cut through the waters on his boat, and yeah, while it was super gross, it was also… no, it was gross, it was gross and rude and he deserved better. From all of them.

“Well, if you’re not going to take my advice, I’m getting off the phone. I have an actual job.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Piper agreed, “but I do have stuff to do today. Let me know if you actually want my love goddess magic or if you’re just going to keep moping all day.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she mumbled. “Go have fun saving the world.”

“Will do. Good luck.” And then she clicked off.

In the back of her mind, Annabeth was aware that she was being frustrating. She didn’t blame Piper for not wanting to stick around and listen to her bitch.

But she still wanted to bitch.

Maybe she should summon Hans, he was paid to listen to her bitch. Well, he actually wasn’t, but she would totally buy him something nice off the room service menu if he would indulge her. Like this fantastic beer she had. They could drink and bitch together. She bet he had a lot to bitch about.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, shocking her so badly she nearly dropped it. Alex says he’s super hot and you should go for it, was the message from her dear cousin Magnus, in their seldom-used groupchat with Alex and Samirah.

It buzzed again. The follow up: you also think he’s super hot and that she should go for it, from Alex.

Even Samirah sent along her approval, a simple thumbs-up emoji.

Annabeth let out a breath, loud and shaky. She had her dad, Magnus, and Piper all in her corner. And even the king, who was supposed to be in charge of this sort of thing, had given his tacit approval. Or at least hadn’t given his disapproval.

She sighed, and thought about the fluttering feeling in her chest.

It felt a little bit like love. And a lot like hope.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

For three days, Percy had gone back to his room in the evening, taken out his phone, and stared at the name Annabeth Chase in his contacts. He’d toyed with the idea of changing it a few times to Princess Annabeth. Or maybe just adding a crown emoji or something. But he’d done nothing, save for closing his phone, and sighing with relief when Jason showed up and he no longer had the space for a long, quiet, private conversation with… no one.

But on that third day, he had nothing to do. It was a rest day, with no practice, press things, or even friend’s events to watch. Jason was right on the cusp of his big race, so he wasn’t even around to distract him.

And as the hours dragged on, the name in his phone could not be ignored.

He’d called his mom. He’d facetimed Estelle, managing to avoid Paul for royal watcher reasons. Luke was technically at work, but they’d spent an hour or so texting. He’d even IMed Nico about his travel plans.

All his attempts to reach out to Rachel had ended with her asking if he’d called his princess back yet.

He was basically down to messaging Thalia, who would be rightly pissed if he interrupted her in the middle of something important, or breaking down, and actually calling Annabeth. Just to talk to her. Just to hear her voice.

So he listened to half a podcast on the history of the Byzantine Empire. But he could not focus, barely making it through half an episode on the history of the Fourth Crusade. Not when Annabeth’s phone number waited for him.

He tried to imagine what she would even say to him, if he called to talk. In your dreams? Thanks for the memories?

For that matter, what would he even say to her?

The minutes ticked on. He watched his battery drain, ever so slowly, rubbing his thumb across the screen every time it threatened to go to sleep. It was just after 3 pm when, finally, he hit her name on his contact screen, and listened to it ring.

After two rings, he was ready to give it up. This was a stupid idea. She didn’t want to talk to him. She was screening his calls. She had something more important to do. She didn’t…

“Hello?”

And his heart jumped.

He’d almost expected her to sound different. More princess-y? What were princesses supposed to sound like? More European, at least. He still didn’t hear much of an accent from her.

“Percy?”

Oh, sh*t, he hadn’t meant to not say hi.

“Oh, did you not mean to call?”

Oh, sh*t, he hadn’t meant to swear! “No,” he said, quickly, “no, I just… I didn’t really expect you to pick up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, sounding… confused. Or sad. Maybe.

“Cause… I figured you had more important things to do than talk to me,” he said.

“I always want to talk to you,” she said, simply, and with a palpable conviction, even over the phone.

He blushed, even though she couldn’t see it. How do you even respond to something like that? “Me too,” he said, then immediately had to physically sit on his hand so he didn’t smack himself. f*cking idiot.

But she laughed, a tinkling, musical thing. Like stars strewn across a dark sky, pointing the way to shore.

He let out a laugh too, shaky, but firm. “So… am I going to be put on some government watchlist for calling you?”

She laughed again, a soft chuckle. Gods, her laugh was the same as he remembered it. And so damn pretty. “I don't really know how to tell you this, but they've already run like four background checks on you.”

That was… something. Not exactly surprising. But still not something he’d considered. “So… find anything good?” he asked, partly out of a sense of preservation, because boy, did he have some wacky stuff in his background.

“We have determined,” she said. Was that the Royal We he had heard so much about? “ That you, Percy Jackson, are a sailor, a historian, and an upstanding gentleman who loves his family and his sport.”

Oh. Well that was nice.

“My dad was very impressed by your academic background, too,” she added.

“Oh.” Her dad was impressed. He had impressed her dad, the future king of Sweden. If Paul were here, he would have had a coronary. “Anything else?” Hopefully he would impress the future queen, too.

“Yes. We determined that you were also devastatingly handsome.”

“Well… that’s nice.” He had expected flirting even less than the future king of Sweden being interested in his academics.

“Were you expecting them to find something?”

Talk about loaded questions. He was suddenly extremely thankful for all the times Luke had been there during a run in with the police. No one ever caught Luke up to anything. And some minor larceny had never been Percy’s modus operandi on his own, anyway. “Not really,” he said instead. “But, ah… got any weird holes I might be able to fill?” he offered up, thinking about a rather glaring one, and wondering what her people might have come up in the father-sized void in Percy’s life.

“Yeah, actually.” He thought he could sense a light layer of trepidation in her voice, hidden beneath her casual tone. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to listen to her voice for hours, mining for every hidden meaning and nuance. “Your father? His name’s not on your birth certificate.”

“So,” Percy said, “before I actually tell you,” sort of, “I want to state, for the record, that it is super weird that you know that.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” he said, sitting up as the tone of her voice dropped. “It’s okay, I totally get it. And I’m sure Swedish James Bond has a gun trained on me right now.”

She laughed again, maybe a little bit more subdued. “You aren’t that big a deal.”

“Ouch,” he grimaced. “That is just what my ego needed to hear.”

“Good. Girls like a little humility, especially from a sports star-turned-influencer.”

“Do they? I thought they were into bad Olympic puns and blue sandwiches.”

“Some of the weirder ones, maybe.”

“Nah,” he said, “only the ones worth knowing.”

She was silent, for a moment. He imagined her maybe sitting on her hotel bed, a mirror image to him, holding her phone, and smiling down at it. At his words. He imagined her lips as they curved upwards, highlighting her strong cheekbones, little crinkles at the corner of her gorgeous eyes.

He coughed, dry and useless. “Anyway, um… my dad.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said, extending him the same grace he had given her earlier.

“It’s okay,” he said. “If it helps, I don’t mind.”

And she didn’t push back against it.

Percy sighed, leaning back against his headboard. “My dad… He’s… I don’t even know how to describe him.”

“What does he do?”

He had a sudden image of Annabeth at a desk, pencil in hand, bent over and furiously scribbling away in her Percy dossier. It had hearts all over it, and a cartoon valkyrie on the front. The mental picture made him smile. “He’s kind of a bum. He fishes a lot, but other than that… I’ve gone fishing with him a few times, but,” he shrugged, “I’ve really had next to no contact with him.”

She hummed over the phone, sympathetic. “Does that bother you?”

“Not really,” he scoffed. “My dad’s the kind of asshole who had a fling with an eighteen year old girl who was completely alone in the world, and then didn’t even stick around long enough to put his name on the birth certificate.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. And I don’t need you to be sorry about him, either,” he said. “It’s just… you know when you spend your whole life swinging wildly between cursing someone’s name and wanting nothing more than their acknowledgement and approval?”

“Yeah,” she said, softly, and with more than a little bitterness. “Yeah, I do know that feeling.”

“Things are good with your dad, though, right?” He prodded, softly. Her dad. Prince Frederick. Future king of Sweden.

“He’s only about half of it.”

Ah. “Your mom?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Wikipedia said she died when you were a baby.” He cringed as soon as he’d said it, as absolutely nothing from that sentence worked on any level.

Annabeth actually snorted in response. “Want to talk about weird? Cite my Wikipedia page.”

“Well, you were probably breaking down my high school transcript with Maxwell Smart before I even knew you had a Wikipedia page. So there.”

“Oh, yes, I was very disappointed by that B+ you got in Latin.”

“That was my teacher’s fault for scheduling the midterm the day before my swim meet.”

She sobered. “Percy, I was kidding. I haven’t seen anything like that. I… doing checks on you wasn’t my idea, I swear,” she said. “It was more a… preventative measure once the pictures got out. I only knew about the thing with your dad because it was mentioned in the debrief.”

“You had a debrief on me, and my calls are still allowed to come through?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. So damn earnest. His heart skipped another beat. “And I didn’t mean to be weird about your father. I just… I do know what it's like to be missing a parent and to desperately want their approval, and also to hate that they aren’t there for you.”

“Did your dad ever look at you, and you knew he was seeing your mom, and it kind of crushed you?” Percy asked, quietly. It hadn’t happened a lot, not really. But every time he’d noticed it, he’d felt it in his chest. He’d felt guilty about it, too, which was why he’d never mentioned it to Luke. Luke had so much worse to deal with on the mom front than he did. It hadn’t seemed fair to bring it up.

She sighed, heavy, world weary, and tinny. “He did.”

“It sucks.”

“It does,” Annabeth agreed. “Is… I saw that you had a stepfather. What’s he like?”

In his mind’s eye, he was at his mother’s wedding again, walking her down the aisle, and trying not to cry at the naked love and adoration on his stepfather’s face. “Paul’s amazing,” he said. “He’s just what my mom always deserved.” She’d avoided relationships for so long, devoting so much of herself to taking care of Percy and May and Luke. He couldn’t even really remember her having a lot of friends. He’d been so happy when she’d seriously started working on her writing again, and then going back to school. And then when she’d met Paul, and they’d gotten serious, he’d been absolutely thrilled for them.

“Oh,” said Annabeth, taken aback. “I… I’m glad.”

Oh. “Um… I guess you and your stepmother… uh…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue his thought without accidentally insulting a member of the royals. Somehow, Paul would sense it, and then he’d probably have a stroke.

Annabeth sighed. “You don’t want to hear about my messy family politics.”

“I think family politics for royalty might just be normal politics.”

“That’s my point,” she said, tiredly. Percy figured maybe she had tread this ground before, maybe even hundreds of times–with her family, with her friends, with her country, even. She had no reason to rehash it, and especially not with him.

But. “I love my stepdad,” he said, “and he's awesome for my mom. But, also, when I was two, my mom started working for my Aunt May, who we later found out had a relationship with my paternal cousin. I am pretty familiar with weird, f*cked up families.” Even giant, old, European ones. Though he didn’t say that part. “So, if you want to vent, or something… I can listen. I don’t mind.”

She didn’t say anything, not for a long time. But he could still hear the gentle static of the ambient noise of her room. Sitting here, together, in silence, separated only by a phone signal, it was strangely, wonderfully intimate.

“I don’t really want to,” she said, after a few minutes.

“Of course. You don’t have to share anything with me.”

She sighed. “It's not that. It's more just like… I want to talk to you about happier things. Things I actually like. I may not like my stepmother, but I do like you.”

Percy smiled, slow and creeping, even though she couldn’t see him. “You… like me?”

“I do,” she said. “Do you like me?”

“I do.”

And if either of them noticed that those sounded like the responses at a wedding, they didn’t say it out loud.

“So,” Annabeth said, the noises over the phone making it sound like she was readjusting her position. Maybe she was snuggling into bed, pulling a blanket over her, her hair spread out over her pillow as she relaxed. “What are you up to, today?”

“It's a rest day,” he said. “With the big race coming up, I have to relax at least a little. I have one every two or three days, but my last rest day fell on the equestrian event, so I went and watched my cousin. And my other cousin Nico was there, so we had fun.” He was finally going to get to properly see Nico at dinner tonight, which was good. And Nico hadn’t given him any sh*t about the whole princess thing. Which was doubly nice. Though, Percy couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t because of the whole countess for a mother thing, or because he’d spend so much time in his father’s court.

“But not today?”

“Not today.” Nico and Hazel were celebrating her silver together. And he’d been invited, but with that kind of reluctant vibe that made it clear the siblings wanted some sibling time, at least until dinner. “What about you? Don’t you have some babies to kiss, or some war to avert, or some village to sack?”

***

She laughed, despite herself, her head back against her pillow. “I wish,” she said. “You could come with me. We’d sack up and down the coast.”

“You think I’d be good in a fight?” He asked, a smile in his voice.

And yeah, actually, she did. But she wasn’t sure why. “You did mention fencing in an interview, right?”

“You watched my interview?”

“Wikipedia,” she quickly responded. That was going to be a good get out of jail free card so she didn’t look like a total stalker. At least for a while.

“Well, I did do some fencing, both standard style and more of a–period style, for a time. People tell me I’m not half bad with a sword.”

“Neither am I,” she said, “We should have a go, sometime.”

“Oh, I’d like that very much,” he said, his voice tipping down an octave or so.

Color rising in her cheeks, she changed the topic. “I was–I was actually thinking about the boat thing. Vikings were seafarers, as much as anything. I bet you could get me to all the most well-stocked monasteries.”

“Well, I’ll admit I’m better in salt water, then fresh, and I know the vikings liked to go up river.” His voice was so bright, like he was talking to a normal girl, a regular old twenty-something who was chatting up the boy she liked, asking if he were down to do some pillaging. “But I bet I could handle a longboat. I’ve managed a lot of boats in my time. I could get you anywhere you want to go.”

“Guess you should have run away with me that day in the marina. We could be living large by now, viking down the coast of Florida.”

“I do hate Miami,” he said.

For a moment, she could picture it: him, her, a boat, and the open waters. No sh*tty family to hold them down. No reporters to trail their every step. No responsibilities beyond each other. “I’m sorry, Percy.” The words tripped out of her, like a runner out of the gate. “I’m so sorry that I dragged you into all this.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.”

He sighed. “I guess not. But I understand.”

“You do?” she asked, twisting the blanket around her finger. “You’re… not mad?”

A pause. “Maybe I am, a little bit.”

She swallowed. “Makes sense,” she mumbled. “I did lie to you. I’m really, really sorry. I should have told you the truth from the beginning.”

He actually let out a little laugh. But it wasn’t his normal, buoyant, grinning laugh. It was wry, instead. A little dark. A little guarded. “That’s not why I’m mad.”

“It’s not?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Look, I’m not, I don’t think, unreasonable. You had no reason to tell me at the beginning. Honestly, it would have sounded like a line. And as hard as it is for me to believe, we did only just meet a little while ago.” And that was the truth, wasn’t it. They’d only just met, not even more than a month ago. They’d known each other for so little time… but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. “And I’m not entitled to all your secrets. Just like you’re not entitled to all of mine.”

“You have secrets?”

“Of course I do, Annabeth. Gods, yes, I have secrets. And I like you–a lot. But I’m not–I don’t want to share them all with you right now. And I’ll always extend to you the same courtesy.”

“Oh,” She said, a wave of curiosity bubbling up in her. A desperation to know. To find out. He’d learned her secrets, after all. But then again, not all of them. Not even the juiciest of them. But, then… “So, why are you mad?”

She heard him blow his breath out, tinny and staticky. “Because… Look, I totally get not wanting to give me the whole story. I’m sure starting off with ‘Hey, I'm a princess and I have security and sometimes the press follows me around’ would have been intimidating. But we didn’t have to go somewhere so public as a movie theater. Or even just walking around the city. I would have happily kept up seeing you in private places.”

And then, a second fantasy, even more whimsical than the first. They were walking down the streets of Stockholm together on a bright, sunny afternoon, holding hands. She closed her eyes, willing it away.

“I’m not mad that you didn’t tell me you were a princess. I’m still scared the Swedish government is going to put out a hit on me, but I’m not mad about that. But I am mad that you put me in a really sh*tty situation with the paps and Twitter and the world, when you knew better, and I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say in response. It was not enough.

“Me too,” he agreed. “I… I can’t say it's okay. Or that it isn’t a big deal. But I know you didn’t mean to do it. So, that helps. I can take negligence over cruelty any day.”

“Still.”

“Yeah. But I’ll get over it.”

“Soon?” And it was such a dumb, childish thing to ask.

“Probably,” he said. “You’re pretty cute.”

“I thought I was beautiful?”

“That, too.”

“Well,” she said, biting her lip to keep herself from smiling too hard, “if… if you want something private… You said it was a rest day. I could send my driver to pick you up. I’ve got a princess suite and I can get you almost any kind of room service for dining.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I haven’t tried everything yet.” Or… “Or, if you wanted… Maybe I could give you something better to eat.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Sense memory reared its head, the tug of his lip between his teeth, the feel of his hair in her hands. “I think it could easily be arranged.”

He hummed across the phone, vibrating into her ear. “I like the sound of that. Tell me more.”

“This bed is awfully big,” she said, lowering her voice to match. “And I’ve been in it all by myself for days now.”

“No other Olympian gentlemen callers?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No one else would help me sack Palm Beach. What use would I have for them?”

“Is that all I am to you? Some muscle? A tongue and a pair of thighs?”

He didn’t sound too put out at the idea. “But what strong thighs they are, and what a talented tongue. I’ll give you a sword, if you want.”

“But I already have a sword.”

Boy did he. It reminded her of her favorite dagger, actually. It wasn’t the biggest or flashiest. But it could get into where it needed to go. And do all sorts of damage once inside.

If Percy had taught her anything, it was that the old saying was true: it wasn’t the size of the wave, it was the motion of the ocean.

“I mean, I do really have a sword, but… that’s not what you meant… uh…” And now he was all tongue tied and adorable and he was probably blushing and she was so blindly desperate to see him. And his sword. Metaphorical or not.

“Um,” she confidently began her offer, “I can call Hans, my driver from the other night, to go pick you up. Sound good?”

But she was not met by any more delicious flirting or awkward stammering. Just a long moment of silence that got longer and longer.

And his voice had returned to its normal, pleasant tenor when he said, “Maybe we should pump the brakes a bit.”

“Oh.” And she knew she couldn’t keep her deep deep disappointment out of it.

“Not–not for long,” he rushed, “just… maybe until after the Olympics are over.” Another three weeks. She felt her heart jump into her throat.

It was probably the smart thing to do. She was working. They were both working. But, then again, the idea of waiting on pins and needles for the rest of this pomp and circ*mstance was not exactly her idea of a good time. “Sure,” she said, eventually. “That sounds good.”

“Thanks.”

But, she supposed it was worth it, just to hear the relief in his voice. She could give him a little more time to think about it before dragging him down with her into her world.

“I should probably warn you, while you think about things,” and she hated to do this, but it was only fair. “Things might calm down a little, but speculation, attention, media stuff. It won’t go away. Even after the Olympics. So… you should probably consider that, while you’re deciding if this is a thing you want to get involved in.”

“I think you misunderstood,” he said. “I’m not deciding about anything. I’ve made up my mind. I am so down to date you.” The grin that broke out on her face could have left a permanent scar, her heart jumping in her chest. “I just… I need some time for my races. And maybe to warn my mom.”

“You’re really cool with this.” It was kind of unbelievable. It was kind of amazing.

“Should I not be?”

“No, I’m just… surprised, I guess. But, pleasantly.”

“Would you believe me if I said that the hot girl I was seeing turning out to be a princess isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me?”

She paused. Because not really, no. And then Piper’s words came wiggling into the back of her mind.

“So, I have to ask,” she finally said, hating every word that was about to come out of her mouth. “Are you a secret prince?”

“...Am I what?”

“Like, maybe of some dynasty that lost its power in the wake of one of the world wars?” she asked, getting the question out as quickly as possible. “Or maybe in the German Unification?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Is…” He didn’t seem sure how to respond. “Um… is that a thing that happens?”

“Not in my experience,” she admitted, “no.” But stranger things had happened.

“I mean… there’s a family legend that my mom’s mom’s family was descended from the Byzantine emperors,” he said. “But other than that… probably not.”

“Probably?”

“Anything’s possible, right? But really, no. I promise, I am just a Connecticut Yankee in Princess Annabeth’s Court.”

“That’s so f*cking cute,” she said. “I hate that.”

“Thank you. I try very hard.”

“I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Definitely, princess.”

She shuddered. “Annabeth.”

“What?”

“Please, just… call me Annabeth. All the time, but especially if you’re just talking to me.” Beneath her blanket, she curled her legs up, tensing her toes against the soft fabric.

“I can do that, Annabeth,” he promised, and she felt like she could breathe again. “I can do that.”

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

“Percy!” Across the cafeteria, he was not at all unhappy to spot one of his teammates, Rich Jenkins, sitting down to breakfast, and was more than happy to join him. Jason had declined to join him this morning, choosing instead to sleep in after his gold medal-winning sprint, but swearing up and down that he would be at the marina in time. He deserved it, though, so Percy didn’t begrudge him his rest. “How are you feeling about today?”

Kind of sick to his stomach. But he was sure that was nerves as much as anything else. It would be fine. He knew, more than anything else, that him, a boat, and the ocean would always work out. “Like I can’t wait to get on the water,” Percy said as he sat down, “How about you?”

“I would feel better if I had your times,” he said with a laugh, “but I’m good. Your family get in okay?”

“Oh yeah.” They’d flown in two days before, and Percy had been able to spend most of yesterday with them. They’d explored the city a little bit, and with a Mets hat pulled low, and a pair of giant sunglasses, no one had noticed him.

It had been a lot of fun. Estelle had been delighted by every color, sound, and smell, and was eager to practice her third grade Spanish. Which, honestly, wasn’t even half-bad, and clearly endeared her to many a shopkeeper about town, though nearly all of them also spoke English when it came time for an adult to pay. Hazel, having medaled and finished, was happy to relax the entire day, and Nico had even shown up with the new Mythomagic Switch game as a present for his youngest cousin.

No one asked him about Annabeth, though Percy was pretty sure Paul was dying to. He could see his stepdad physically swallowing down a cavalcade of questions every time he so much as looked his way, which was appreciated. The other day, he’d had a very short conversation with Nico and Hazel at dinner the night after the phone call, and an even shorter phone call with his mom, and between the three of them a general feeling of ‘don’t ask’ had been gently enforced over the last few days.

Instead they had talked a lot about his race. Which was much, much better.

Paul said he’d been praying to every god he could think of for Percy’s success, and his stepdad taught a world mythology unit to freshmen, so it was a lot of gods. Luke, who didn’t always have time for Paul’s supreme earnestness for reasons Percy liked to not think about, promised he was bypassing the bullsh*t, and sent all his requests straight to Nike.

All six of them planned to get front row seats for his race today, though front row on an open ocean sailing event was a bit of a misnomer.

And even with his nerves, he felt confident. Scared witless by his first Olympics, but confident that there was not one else on the water who had his skill with a boat.

How could they?

Still, he hoped Rich did well. He was a great guy, and they got on well. The other American was racing in the Men’s Finn medal event later today, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he knew what he was on about. “What about your family? They coming?”

“My brother, Ed, he’s taking a red eye from Chicago. Any luck, he should be here in an hour or so.”

They chatted aimlessly for a while after, about their families and the weather and even the food. They didn’t directly touch on the race, or anything else of substance. And then, with an unspoken agreement and a mutual nod of well-wishes and good luck, it was time for them to go out to the water.

And if on his way to the marina, Percy said his own little prayer to Nike and Poseidon, and maybe even Zeus, who the Olympics were supposed to be dedicated to, well, that was his own business.

***

Annabeth seriously considered pulling a Roman Holiday . Well, not a real Roman Holiday , but a fake one. She could tell everyone she was sick, so she couldn’t attend her events. She wouldn’t even go out and smash anyone’s head in with a guitar, even though she really, really kind of wanted to.

She could lay in bed, and do her best not to think about today's events. But then, that was why she had to go, wasn’t it.

Today was Percy’s medal race. But Sweden had their own people in it, so she had to be there anyway. She was expected, and if she didn’t put in an appearance, what might people say? What would they think of her? Probably that there was some problem with the two of them. Which there wasn’t. They’d made up.

They were going to be friends. More than that, they were going to date. Percy had promised her. After the Olympics was over, they would see each other again.

She very carefully did not think about the promise she’d made herself, about what else she’d do when the Olympics was over. And how well a new boyfriend might fit into such a plan.

How perfect Percy Jackson would look next to her at a state dinner.

She swallowed, and considered the outfit Helen had selected for her: a pale, almost colorless blue dress, long-sleeved (in this heat? How?) with a pair of delicate gold earrings, and Annabeth’s favorite charm bracelet, which luckily just so happened to match. Short, blocky, nude heels and a wide, chic, straw hat. Enough to evoke the idea of a flag, but not enough to confirm it outright.

Her blow out from the previous day would probably not withstand the seaside conditions, but it should be fine for at least the first few hours, which was more than enough time for the photographers to do their business. And her make-up needed only a little refreshing.

And then she was ready to go and see the sailing event.

Technically, there was more than one, a fact that she kept mentally repeating to herself as Hans drove them over to the harbor. Percy Jackson was just one man among the throng. She needed to remember that. There were other athletes at play, other people to consider.

She’d promised him until the end of the games, and she meant to fulfill that promise.

Mind racing a mile a minute, she only half-listened to Helen explain the day’s races and the relevant persons she had to greet as Hans drove them to the harbor. There were three medal events for sailing today, two men’s and one women’s, but she was only truly obligated to stay through the first two, Men’s Laser and Women’s 470, as Men’s Finn didn’t have a Swedish athlete participating this year. “You’ll have some time to speak to Mr. Holmgren, Ms. Cederström, and Ms. Söderlund before the start of Men’s Laser, as well as their coach. You are only obligated to wish them luck, on behalf of the royal family.”

Annabeth nodded, flexing her foot in her shoes. Was she getting a blister on her heel?

“Unless there is a massive upset, unfortunately, Ms. Cederström and Ms. Söderlund are unlikely to place in the Women’s 470. Mr. Holmgren, however, can earn at least bronze today, provided he finishes in the top five.”

“So can–” Percy , she nearly said, and then nearly smacked herself for it.

“The protocol is very simple,” Helen went on. “Should Mr. Holmgren medal, you are only obligated to shake his hand, and congratulate him on his victory. We will handle any and all details regarding the athletic reception later this week.” Then, she flicked her eyes to the front of the car, at the back of Hans’ head. “And… if you wished to congratulate any of the other winners as well…” she trailed off, meaningfully.

Annabeth frowned.

“For example… the American…” Helen shrugged, tapping away at her iPad. “Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be inappropriate.”

She could only stare, mouth open and speechless, as they pulled up to the marina. Helen never went back on her words. She never admitted she was wrong, or even partially incorrect. “I… thank you,” she said, stunned.

Her PA said nothing in reply, only slipping on her sunglasses and opening the car door into the bright sunshine.

***

The marina was a bustle of activity this morning, as a whole small city’s worth of athletes, spectators, and press descended on the little, curved harbor north of Mérida. Percy counted at least twenty different languages being shouted around him, all thirty-six participants in the Men’s Laser going through their good luck rituals or getting some last minute advice from their coaches, and it was only Percy’s quick reflexes that let him both hear, spot, and catch Estelle before she bowled him over. “Hey, squirt!” he laughed. “Good to see you!”

He picked her up and swung her around, Estelle squirming and giggling in his grip. “Percy!” she shrieked. “You’re racing today!”

“Sure am!” He set her down, holding onto her hands. “What do you think? Is it looking good for me out there?”

Twisting around to look over her shoulder, Estelle studied the calm, gentle waves, then squinted up at the clear, cornflower blue sky. “I dunno,” she said. “It looks like there’s a sea monster out there.”

He glanced back, scanning over the water, and then shot a look at Luke and Nico. Both of them shrugged.

So Percy turned back to his sister. “Monsters, huh? Are they gonna gobble up all the boats?” And then he poked her in the belly, watching as she fell into a pale of giggles. “And I suppose you’ll be there to save the day?”

“Yep!” she chirped. “With THIS!” And she waved her Switch case about.

“Hey, careful with that thing,” said Luke, ruffling her hair. “It cost good money, and you don’t want to break it.”

“You’d buy me a new one,” she said, and the look on Luke’s face made it clear he would.

“No he won’t.” Percy said. “We all know Luke would do it. But Mom already thinks he spoils you enough as it is. She’d tell you no, if you broke that one.” Though in truth, she wouldn’t if Estelle broke it doing something stupidly brave. Not that Estelle had much need for that kind of thing. And hopefully never would.

“Besides,” Nico said, “You only just unlocked Hestia in Mythomagic . And she’s one of the most important characters, if you can figure out how to play her right.” He shifted, lowering Estelle’s hand, and Percy noticed that there was some gauze wrapped around his left bicep that had not been there the night before. Percy caught his cousin’s eye, and nodded towards it. Asking a silent question.

He got an affirmative nod.

His follow up questions, just being formed in a way as to not freak out Estelle, were interrupted by his mother’s arrival.

She’d been pointing something out to Hazel, but now she wrapped him in a big hug of her own, squeezing him to her chest. “Hey, ma,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m feeling really good today.” He pulled back. “Where’s Paul?”

“Securing our seats,” said Hazel. “He’ll be over in a minute.”

“Big day, cuz!” Luke lightly punched him in the arm. Was he favoring his right side? “Feeling good?”

“Definitely.”

“You should,” Luke said. “You’re just a few hours away from your gold medal!”

He kicked at a stray pebble on the concrete. “You know, I might not even win gold.”

Luke raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Percy saw it reflected in Nico and even Hazel.

“I’m serious!” he said. “My head’s in the game today. I’m going to put my full body into it. And so I might not win gold.”

A beat, and then Hazel chuckled. “That’s the spirit,” she said, slapping him on the back.

“It's silly,” Nico grumbled. “You could win gold and set records without breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed. “But if I wanted to do that, I might as well have stuck with swimming.”

“Hey, swimming’s loss is sailing’s gain,” said Paul, appearing from his side. “Good to see you, kiddo!” he said, drawing Percy into another hug.

“You, too.” It had been so long since he’d been surrounded by whole family. Hazel’s presence had kept him grounded, daily texts with Luke and calls with his mom had just barely managed to stave off the worst of the loneliness, but to have them all here with him, a mere hour and a half before his first Olympic race… Well, he was just glad that he was good at stopping himself from crying.

Estelle grabbed her dad’s hand when he was done squeezing his stepson. “I’m gonna fight a sea monster!” she said, with all the same enthusiasm she had previously shown for her brother’s race.

“Uh huh?” But Paul wasn’t looking at her. He was looking past Percy, over his shoulder. “Sounds like fun.”

Luke scooped her up, then, easily transferring her into a piggy-back. He was just a little bit taller than Paul, and quite a bit stronger thanks to all those genetic advantages Paul lacked, and Estelle was maybe getting a little bit too big for her English-teacher father to carry without too much effort. “No monster-hunting without your favorite brother, though.”

“Nico?” she asked.

“Very funny,” he grumbled. “He’s only an in-law.”

Paul was no longer listening, staring slack-jawed at something behind Percy, who sighed. He was pretty sure he could guess what–or who–Paul was looking at. “Wow,” he managed. “She is so much more gorgeous in person… uh…” He glanced at Percy. “I mean… never mind.”

Her presence confirmed, he swore he could feel it, like he suddenly had a magic compass, pointing directly to the most beautiful girl in the world. “It’s okay,” he said. Because it wasn’t like she wasn’t.

Taking his shoulders, his mom filled his vision, drawing his attention back from somewhere behind him. “This is your moment,” she said, soft, serene, and spellbinding. “You don’t have to think about anything else but this moment. And no matter what, remember, we are all so proud of you.”

And then she drew him into one final hug, before being swiftly joined in by his siblings, cousins, and stepdad. Enveloped in the knot of his family, Percy let his shoulders relax, and for the first time in days, felt his thoughts slow down.

He was ready. He could do this. And do this the right way, not the easy way.

He was meant to be on the ocean, on a boat. He had known that since he was eight, and Luke had stolen that sail boat in the Westport Marina for them to take a joyride. And now he was meant to be an Olympian.

He gave a little snort to himself at the thought.

And then there was some organizer there, ushering people to the viewing area, and athletes to the staging area.

Percy got a round of back slaps and quick hugs, and then he and his family were separated. He looked out at the ocean, breathed in the scent, felt it in his veins.

And tried not to catch a glimpse of the princess of Sweden as he headed to his boat.

Paul was right. In her pale blue dress and with her golden hair, she was beautiful.

***

“It’s an honor to have you here, your highness,” Sweden’s sailing coach was saying, shaking her hand a touch too vigorously.

“The honor is all mine,” she responded, smoothly. “On behalf of my family, we wish you all the very best of luck today.”

The greetings went by quick enough, Annabeth shaking hands with the coach, the two assistants, the handful of support and admin staff whose jobs Annabeth was not quite sure she understood, or even knew, and then, finally, the athletes themselves: Adele, Marie-Sofie, and Loke. The women were perfectly gracious, and pretty obviously eager to get out of there and get organized, even though their race wasn’t until much later that day. She could appreciate the pre-event anxiety, though.

Loke’s grip was strong, yet gentle, and he dipped his head. “Your highness, it is very good to see you again.”

“And you,” she replied. “I understand you are likely to medal today?”

“Aiming to bring home at least a bronze,” he said, proudly.

“I look forward to it.” She shook his hand again. “Best of luck to you.”

But as she made to leave, he kept a hold of her. “My deepest pardons, princess,” he rushed out, “but… if you would like, I can pass on your well-wishes to Mr. Jackson.”

Sharply, she inhaled, momentarily speechless. And as he stared at her, and she continued to not graciously demure, his smirk only grew.

“Your highness?” He prompted.

She swallowed, turning off the part of her brain which told her what a colossal mistake she was making. “If… if you happen to see him,” she said, “please feel free to wish him luck. On my behalf.”

“Is that all?”

A million thoughts raced through her head, some highly inappropriate, and at least one about how she was always happy to see a Yalie loose, the context of which would probably go straight over Loke’s head.

She forced her most polite smile. “Of course,” she said. “I look forward to seeing you both race. But I am hopeful to see you on the podium.”

He stared at her just a little longer, clearly wanting her to say more. She didn’t. And then Helen and another facilitator were there, and she was being brushed away towards the viewing area where she could sit and sort of watch the race, even though sailing wasn’t exactly ideal for in-person spectators.

Aggressively, she kept her eyes forward, her field of vision narrow, her gaze straight ahead, as she martialed all of her faculties into not looking for anyone in particular. She was so distracted, she nearly jumped out of her skin when something bumped into her, and looked up at Hans in alarm. He was way too well trained for this. But then again, so was she.

Hans only winked at her, and then tilted his head at ten o'clock.

She turned, and there was Percy Jackson, in a sinfully skin tight wetsuit, speaking to the American coach, Larry Peterson, whose name she had looked up on wikipedia. Because she was not the only person who had a page. Though Percy’s was much shorter, and mostly just had his stats on it.

The two men wandered out of the staging area, and again Hans nodded, this time to a group of people walking about twenty meters in front of them. A little girl was sitting on a man’s shoulders.

“I can do that if you’d like, princess,” Hans offered. “Give you the best seat in the house.”

“I am armed, Hans, and I will not hesitate to use force if necessary.”

He chuckled as they kept walking to the dignitaries’ box. And she tried not to look back at Percy Jackson.

***

He was close to the water, now, close enough to really know what kind of day it was going to be. And the answer was a very good one for sailing.

It should have calmed him down. In some ways it did. But it also hyped him up, the anticipation of a coming race. Once weeks and months and days away, not mere minutes.

He kind of couldn’t believe it.

On the one hand, he knew without a doubt he was really, really good at sailing. He was meant to be in control of a boat. He was meant to sail across the ocean. And he’d been proving that since he was a kid.

But on the other hand, sailing, as a sort, still sometimes felt like an old boys’ club he couldn’t believe he’d been allowed to join. And the Olympics had felt so far off and distant. Like they might as well have been resigned to ancient Greece, not as accessible as modern Mexico.

He might have been shaking a little. He kind of wanted to jump in the ocean to chill himself out.

He figured Coach wouldn’t appreciate that much.

Percy was mostly listening to his last minute instructions and advice. Some of it, like the tactics of the other sailors, was helpful. But he knew the conditions of the ocean perfectly well.

“Just make sure you watch out for those accidental jibes,” Peterson reminded him, and then laughed at his own joke. That had never happened as long as Percy had been working with Peterson.

That had never happened to Percy, ever.

Even thinking that made him feel like the fates were laughing at him, suddenly. But he shook it off.

Nerves were normal, and once he got on his boat, in the water, it would be fine.

“Good luck,” Peterson said, clapping his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Percy replied, proud of how his voice didn’t shake.

And then it was time to really get ready.

He ran into Loke as they were towing their boats out to the water. “Good luck out there,” he told him.

“Thank you, my friend,” Loke responded. And then paused, and said, “You know, I just spoke to Princess Annabeth.”

“Oh? I mean,” he coughed, “cool. That makes sense.” For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought maybe she might… But, then he reminded himself that she likely would not mention him as part of her official duties as a representative of Sweden. Or would be allowed to see him. Besides, they had agreed to wait until after the Olympics.

Two weeks never seemed so long.

But then Loke turned his world upside down. “She asked me to give you a message.”

Percy nearly tripped over nothing. “She did?” He meant to keep the shocked awe out of his voice. And he failed.

“She did,” Loke said. He laid a hand on Percy’s shoulder, and leaned in. About three inches out, Percy realized he was puckering his lips.

“Dude,” he ducked, stepping back. “Come on. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“Hey, got to get my pranks in now before you end up as my Prince Consort!”

Percy rolled his eyes, and didn’t let the thought make its way fully from his brain to his heart.

Loke just laughed. “She said to tell you good luck. And though she said the same to me, I didn’t see her offering such wishes to Wilson, or anyone else. Interesting, no?”

It was interesting. But Percy could not let his thoughts go there right now. So instead he looked past Loke, towards Wilson, who had a pinched, constipated scowl on his face, and let that vague animosity clear his mind.

He wanted to win. He wanted to beat Wilson. He wanted to out-sail him, to control his boat with his body, to harness the winds and show he had all the skills needed.

And was going to do just that.

Percy Jackson was about to race in the Olympics. He was going for the gold.

And he was going to get it.

And then he’d worry about getting the girl, too.

***

She could spot Percy at a hundred paces. Or however far away they were. And however far a hundred paces were. In the box, Helen by her side but Hans waiting in the back, surrounded by people, she could see Percy Jackson.

Sadly, Annabeth wasn’t close enough to pick out details. She couldn’t make out the lines of his nose or the set of his brow or that jaw that could cut glass, and was delightful to suck on. But she could see his bronzed skin, and his black hair. And she could imagine his sea green eyes, not so dissimilar to the color of the water on which he was about to race.

The black wetsuit did not show off all the definition in his arms and chest and legs . It did not give a detailed look of all the ridges and veins that Annabeth had rubbed and scratched and licked and kissed up and down. But you could see the shape of him. Broad, strong shoulders. Trim waist. Powerful arms. And thighs she couldn’t wait to be between again.

Gods, those thighs. She’d watched some of his races online. And they were so, so strong in action. She’d seen them up close into a very different action, and could attest to their majesty.

But despite the muscle, and the strength, they were an absolutely wonderful place to sit. So soft and comfortable. So close and…

She swore under her breath, though not as quiet as she’d have liked. Helen didn’t know the word, but the minister from Greece, who was two empty seats away from her, did a double take when he realized it came from her.

She wondered what he’d look like if he knew what she was thinking about.

She wondered what Helen would think. She was pretty sure Helen was married. Though she spent so much time ruining Annabeth’s life, she couldn’t imagine she had time for her husband, as well, let alone vivid sex fantasies in broad daylight, brought on by the outline of a handsome man a very long ways away.

Oh, how she wished she could have pulled an Audrey Hepburn today.

She tried to look away, to watch Loke, or any of the roughly forty other sailors stepping out for this event. There were so many of them. A bunch of men of all roughly the same shape and size. She’d read an article about that once. Or maybe Piper had mentioned it? Swimmers didn’t get their body from swimming; they were good at swimming because of their body types. Sailors were cut from a similar cloth.

And yet even among them, Percy stood out. Annabeth couldn’t help but watch him as he climbed on his boat, pulling at ropes and settling in, before pulling out from the harbor.

It wasn’t even the race yet, but there was something gently enticing about watching him weave under his sail, pull and shift and sway. He was getting further and farther away from shore, but she could still imagine every inch of his body as he got out there.

There was a piercing horn blast from out on the water, which meant that there were five minutes left for the sailors to get in formation at the start line. Percy Jackson was shrinking from her sight. And yet, the heat in her cheeks, and beneath her skirt, was going nowhere.

It might have been getting worse.

From this far away, she could see that he was jockeying with the sailor from Australia. He was an old hat, apparently, and having almost as good an Olympics as Percy.

She glanced around for Loke, hoping for some national pride to distract her, thankful that the Swedish flag was so distinct from the Red, White, and Blue of both the Americans and the Australians, but alas, Loke was making his way to the starting line at a much lazier pace.

The anticipation was killing her.

Why couldn’t Percy have done something more mainstream, like swimming? She could be closer, then, and not have all this horrible anxiety building up in her chest. Waiting, waiting, waiting for it to start.

Maybe her mother was right, with the whole hating the ocean thing. This was so horribly stressful. A dozen folk songs about wives waiting on shore for sailors suddenly made a lot more sense.

And all the stress wasn’t doing a damn thing about her horniness.

f*ck.

***

His heart was thumping in his chest. His fingers would have been raw from the grip he had on the rope if he weren’t wearing gloves. He was sweating, not that you could see it beneath the sea spray.

It was here. It was time.

Oh gods.

Mentally, he ran down his list of people to watch out for, one final time. Xanthopoulos had a habit of stealing swells. Takeuchi had some of the tightest turns Percy had ever seen. Wilson was–well, he was Wilson. The guy already hated him.

If Percy placed second today, he would win gold. And he had every intention of placing first. He could feel it in his grasp, and he gripped his rope even tighter.

The boats floated together, bobbing gently in a line. Percy closed his eyes, and sent up a final prayer, breathing in the salty sea air.

He frowned. Something was off.

Beneath the smell of salt, of sunshine, of the remnants of his morning coffee and the damp wetsuit, there was… something very wrong. The stench of rotten fish, wet garbage, and old blood. A dull, but heavy scent, skimming just beneath the surface of normal. Nearly undetectable.

But still there.

His eyes snapped open, and he whipped his head around, attempting to locate the source of that awful smell. But the seas were just as calm as they had been all morning. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The fleet of boats bobbed calmly on the surface, each of Percy’s competitors completely, blissfully unaware that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

But then the start horn blasted, a short, sharp warning.

Cursing, Percy turned his sail. While he’d been distracted by that horrific smell, he had drifted out of position.

Whatever it was, it was probably nothing. Stress maybe. A random act of biology.

And if it was something, it could very well wait until after his race.

The horn blast sounded again, and they were off. Percy snapped his ropes, wind catching his sail instantly, drawing him quickly out of the crush of sailors, sending him into an early lead.

Yes. This was what he lived for. The wind in his face, salt spray in his hair, and the thrill of the competition: it was almost all he needed.

***

Annabeth had spent the last week reading up on the history of Olympic sailing. She had studied videos of games past, made glossaries of terminology, even tried her hand at calculating the statistics herself before giving up and letting the professionals run the numbers for her.

In the abstract, it had all been very exciting.

But now, she was f*cking bored. Her binoculars could only tell her so much. The small flags got lost in the sea of white sails.

And somehow, she was still horny.

“I need to run to the bathroom,” Annabeth muttered to Helen after fifteen minutes.

“Now?” she hissed.

“Yes, now.” She glanced around. The race was lightly attended by both press and dignitaries. She wouldn’t be missed. She was sure of it.

And if she was, well… that was a risk she was willing to take.

If Percy was bothered later, she’d just tell him the truth: that the mere thought of him out on the water made her too horny to concentrate.

And if anyone else asked, well, she was just a lady who needed to relieve herself.

She stood up, picking up her large bag with her, and slipped past the glaring Helen. Hans met her at the back. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Just need to run to the bathroom.” He stared at her, and she got the distinct impression he was taking in her extremely flushed cheeks. And maybe the beads of sweat that were starting to form at her hairline. But he just motioned for her to lead the way.

The dignitaries had their own bathroom: a nice, expensive one, large, with gleaming white sinks and stalls with doors that reached the floor. And no one else was around. Which was great. She could hear race commentary being piped down the halls, as someone in rapid Spanish and then someone in rapid English detailed all the thrilling action of Olympic sailing. Jackson wasn’t technically in the lead at the moment, but he’d caught a good wind, and was looking to be speeding up.

She took a deep breath, and sighed when she found the ladies’ room silent. And empty. Just her, white tiles, and the sound of the air conditioner kicking on.

Walking to one of the sinks, she rested her hands on either side, looking in the mirror, and tried to regulate her breathing. To make the redness in her cheeks dissipate. She took a deep breath, in and out, and then another. Half a dozen fighting masters over the years, and with the exception of the Berserker, all of them had preached a little something about meditation–not that she was any good at it. A curse of ADHD, the world was a constant stream of stimuli around her.

Here, though–here she could be alone. And she could be calm. She turned on the water and splashed some on her face. And only tensed up a little when she heard the door open. Other people could use a semi-public bathroom at a crowded Olympic event, of course.

She bent her head, hoping that whoever it was would be so preoccupied with doing their business wouldn’t notice her.

But then the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There was a smell like wet earth and old blood.

She grabbed her ax before she was fully conscious of it, a grounding presence in her hands, as she turned to face the intruder.

***

Nothing was wrong with the water. And the winds were easy as could be, and almost irrelevant.

But the antsy feeling hadn’t gone away. Which he did not like twenty minutes out and a couple laps into the race.

Selden from Australia was next to him, clearly trying to steal some wind. Joke was on him. No one could play dirtier than Percy, when he got down to it.

But he wasn’t going to do that. He was going to lean back, and get his boat under control.

Percy was leaning off the starboard side, his back an inch from the ocean’s water, pulling on his lines and spreading as fast as he could towards the first turn, the farthest part out into the sea. It smelled like salt, the wind blew through his hair. It was perfect.

It should have been perfect.

But something was still wrong.

He swung under the sail, adjusting his grip on his rope, and re-situated himself as he prepared for his turn.

And then he saw the tentacle.

***

For a split second, Annabeth was worried she made a mistake.

Then the blade of her ax hit the monster, and she had a whole new set of things to worry about.

She landed a hit on the monster's arm, and immediately realized her mistake from the way the woman hissed, her snake-hair wriggling in mild irritation, instead of crying out in pain. “What in Tartarus was that?” she growled, her ugly voice scratching against Annabeth’s eardrums.

Annabeth didn’t answer the question, eyeing the blood, and asking one of her own. “Who are you?”

The monster grinned, showing off her boar tusks. “ Stheno, of course!” Her long, painted claws clicked together, ready to rip her to shreds, like the world’s most demonic administrative assistant. “And you must be the one who killed my sister!”

Annabeth swore in ancient Greek. Which was fitting for the moment. She just wished she’d figured it out a few moments earlier. Her ax was made of bone steel–great against trolls, huldra, and all the other monsters that ran up and down Yggdrasill.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she said, knowing it would do nothing to deter her. “You’ve got the wrong woman.”

Stheno only laughed, her claws outstretched, and leapt.

***

Long, black, and graceful, the tentacle twisted out of the water, curling elegantly before it wrapped itself around the edge of his boat, and pulled, hard, toppling Percy’s perfect balance.

Letting out a curse, Percy and his boat went sideways, dropping him into the water. He let go of the boat as he splashed in, willing it not to move very far, and turned to face the monster.

He didn’t recognize it off hand, but the ocean was full of sea monsters, ever since his dad had sent those first few to eat Andromeda and Troy.

Stupid Poseidon. And stupid Greek mythology.

Right now? During his gold medal race? And how the hell did an ancient Greek monster even get this far south in the first place?

The tentacles numbered a dozen, and one of them whipped towards him, landing on his arm.

He hissed in pain, though luckily the ocean water began healing him as soon as the tentacle was gone, and vowed to worry about the issue later.

So it was a venomous monster. Which was probably the second worst thing. The worst was fire breathing. But luckily, there weren’t a lot of fire breathing sea monsters.

He took control of the currents, pushing himself back out of range while he felt against his clothes, aiming to grab Riptide. Damn these tight wetsuits.

From the dark water, a tentacle shot forth through an opposing current, just slow enough for Percy to dodge. He felt, rather than heard, it snarl, a low, menacing hum which vibrated around him.

He definitely saw it lunge towards him, though.

Percy ducked once more, finally managing to get the zipper on his wetsuit undone, and he had his sword out in a flash, the bronze blade gleaming in the gloomy water, turning to face the monster.

And… it was gone.

“The f*ck…?” He muttered, letting out a spray of bubbles.

He swam up towards the sun, sword in hand, breaking the surface next to his boat. The waves were just as calm as they had been earlier, enough that Percy thought for a split second he had hallucinated the whole thing after getting smacked in the head by his sail–until he saw a dark shape, spines breaking through the foamy crests, headed straight for the far-off knot of Percy’s competitors.

Towards Wilson, languishing at the back of the pack.

Percy groaned, and pulled himself up onto his boat, banishing the water from the deck. Before he had even grabbed the ropes, he was already tearing off in the direction of the monster.

It wasn’t sixty seconds before something burst forth from the waves beside him: a hippocampus and rider. “BROTHER!” the rider called. “Hello, brother!”

Percy nearly toppled over. “Tyson?”

The cyclops beamed, the skin around his single eye crinkling. “It is good to see you!”

“You, too, big guy, but–” he ducked under the jibe, tacking back into the wind, “I’m a little busy right now!”

“Need your help!” he went right on. “Monster!”

Percy figured. On cue, the creature surfaced for a moment, its swell nearly knocking over Egypt’s sailor Fadel. Percy gritted his teeth, willing just a few more knots out of his Laser. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Father sent me,” said Tyson. “I am here to help!”

How kind of him. If he really wanted to help, Poseidon could have reined in the damn thing himself. “Okay, big guy–help me lead it away from the course!”

“I will!” The hippocampus descended, taking Tyson with him.

Percy was never any good at throwing knives or spears, but as he hurled Riptide at the monster, it sang through the air, hitting its target and sinking through the skin. The monster groaned, writhing, sending little waves out, hitting the boats and causing them to wobble, their sailors shouting in confusion. There was a perfect gap between Holmgren and Armenia’s Hovakimian; if Percy stayed the course, he could slip between them both, and retake his lead.

Instead, cursing a certain ocean related deity under his breath, he took a hard turn right, following the dark shape which headed further out to sea.

So much for his gold.

***

Somehow, Stheno had managed to clock the fact that Annabeth was currently without her better weapon, and was able to keep her attention forward so she wasn’t able to turn back and grab her purse. Which would be impressive, and a rare stroke of intelligence on a monster’s part, if it weren’t so f*cking annoying right now.

Stheno was a Gorgon. Greek. Bone steel would hurt her, clearly, but it wouldn’t be able to manage a kill unless she got her in just the right spot. And maybe not even then.

Magic was weird, particularly across pantheons.

With celestial bronze, she’d have more leeway to kill. And she did have celestial bronze. She wasn’t stupid; she might spend half her time in Sweden, from where the vikings had set out to raid Europe, returning with spoils in Odin’s name, but she spent the other half in New York, where her mother and that side of the family dwelled these days. And even a drakon or god could make its way to Stockholm if it really tried hard enough.

Her ax made itself useful as a little charm that hung on her watch. Always in easy reach. Her bronze knife wasn’t that far behind, in general.

But it was in her purse. Which was sitting on the sink, a meter away.

“Stand still!” Stheno screeched, swiping at her.

Annabeth swiped back, hissing as a stray claw caught on her sleeve, tearing the fabric.

“Stop that!”

“Make me,” she shot back, running her mouth a little to give herself some time to think.

Stheno seemed to take that as a challenge, charging directly at Annabeth with a ragged roar. Dodging left, slashing out with her ax, Annabeth swallowed a frustrated growl as it bounced off again with barely a scratch. Without a bronze weapon, she was toast.

Okay. Time for a new strategy.

Gods, this would be so much easier if she had her hat. But Hans hated it when she disappeared on him. And she hadn’t thought she would be fighting a monster today.

She just needed a distraction.

Annabeth was just considering the merits of flinging her shoe at the monster, when there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Princess?” came Hans’ voice. “Are you alright?”

Stheno whipped her head around, a vicious snarl pouring from her lips.

Gods bless Hans Gunderson!

Quick as a flash, Annabeth turned behind her, snapping up her purse. “Hans!” she yelled, smacking Stheno upside the head with it, who fell to the floor in a heap. “Code kleos !”

Hans barreled through the bathroom door, cursing under his breath. Not in ancient Greek though, because he was a viking, and beyond that Byzantium thing, vikings weren’t really tied up with ancient Greece.

He drew his sword–bone steel, same as her ax. He couldn’t land a killing blow any better than Annabeth could. But he could engage the monster for her while she managed to dig the knife out of the bottomless pit of her purse.

Her uncle often lamented how small the inner circle had gotten, how few of the king’s court worshiped the old gods and respected the ancient ways. She, in many ways, was proof of that. Her father had a child out of wedlock. But it was with a goddess. And after many years of the nine worlds becoming seemingly further and further away, even a Hellenic demigod was enough to be celebrated.

Though, when Aunt Natalie had romanced Frey and then given him a son less than two years later, the whole family probably had some regrets. And she knew that there were those in the wider circle who hated her father for his re-marriage almost as much as she did.

Now three of Frederick’s little princelings stood in the way of Magnus. And another son of Frey on the throne.

She tried to concentrate on that when she brought out her bronze knife as Hans dodged. He really was wasted as a bodyguard. He should have been helping her pillage Palm Beach all along.

Anger and frustration were natural emotions for her. And so, she thought of it all. Of her place in succession, of her father’s marriage, of her mother making her and then abandoning her, of her overbearing boss’ snide comments about princesses, the racist minister from the Teams call from hell, Teams calls from hell in general, and of course, the fact that she was here, in this stupid bathroom, fighting a stupid Greek monster, and not lounging on a boat with Percy in the Florida sunshine, surrounded by their piles of loot.

And she drove the knife into Stheno’s back. Right here her heart was.

***

“Tyson!” Percy yelled across the waves, turning his Laser around. “You still with me, buddy?” They were a solid ways away from the course now, far enough that none of the mortals were in any real danger anymore. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the Mist was doing to the spectators. For all he knew, the crowds were still watching some kind of Percy-Jackson-specter as he raced for the gold.

He resurfaced, waving his favorite club, dotted with sharp-looking barnacles. “Here!”

“How’s it looking down there?”

“We’re ready!”

A quick, panicked consultation with a local school of fish had led them to the waterlogged remains of one of those big, industrial fishing nets, caught on the rocks. The fish confirmed that it was glued on good, one end of it stuck there after years of algae growth growing over the plastic. Horrible for the local environment, yeah, but with any luck, the monster wouldn’t like it either. “Good. I’ll lead it to the rocks and then we’ll–”

A roar cut him off.

“Time to move!” Sticking his pen between his teeth, Percy dived off his boat, plunging deep into the Gulf of Mexico. Tyson whooped, following right on his heels.

The waters were dark here, a deep, inky blue, like the night sky without any stars, only briefly punctuated with muted wafts of murky light. He could sense, though not really see, the line of ocean floor as it sloped up and down, the tall, sharp rocks, whittled down by centuries of currents into knifelike points, the gentle swaying of the plants, disturbed only by the movement of the odd fish. It was peaceful down here.

Well, Percy thought as he uncapped his sword. Emphasis on was .

The creature shot towards him, as unerringly and unswervingly as a torpedo, mouth open wide. With his heightened senses, Percy could see every single gleaming, serrated tooth.

Oh good. He didn’t need to get its attention.

“Hey, ugly!” he shouted anyway. “Come and get it!”

The monster screeched, the shockwave chasing Percy as he swam for his life towards the gap in the rocks. Tyson would be there, with the free end of the net, ready to catch the creature, and hold it. He just had to be fast enough.

But Percy hadn’t been a six-time swim team champion for nothing.

He shot through the gap in the rocks, helped along by a rerouted current, and grabbed one corner of the net. Seconds later, the creature slammed into it, and Percy nearly lost his grip–but it held. The monster screeched, extending the tentacles snagged in the plastic, trying its damndest to grab him.

Percy pulled back his sword arm, ready to strike.

The monster thrashed, and the other end of the net was ripped clean off the rock. It swam right through the opening–pulling Percy and Tyson along with it. Percy lost his grip on his sword, Riptide floating away into the deep as the monster hurtled towards a large, spiky-looking outcropping.

With a groan, Percy managed to pull hard enough that they avoided the rock altogether. They had it for now, but he could tell, he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. “Tyson!” he growled through gritted teeth. “Can you call Rainbow?”

Tyson brought his hand to his mouth, whistling as best he could. Percy couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it as the vibrations carried through the water.

He could feel his grip weakening with every passing second. “Can you–woah!” Bringing his feet up, he just barely missed smacking them against the dunes. “Can you and Rainbow bring this thing to the surface and hold it there?”

Whatever answer Tyson may have given, Percy didn’t get a chance to hear it. The monster shook him off, sending him careening into the depths.

But when he finally managed to right himself, he saw Tyson and the hippocampus, wrangling the creature in an upwards direction. And he had to be ready to meet them.

Summoning a current, he shot towards the surface, aiming for his Laser, bobbing calmly on top of the waves. He could feel Riptide reappear in his pocket as he climbed onto the boat. Percy took off, speeding towards the dark shape of the creature as it rose higher and higher.

Percy was about a hundred meters away when Tyson and Rainbow surfaced, the monster pulled tight between them.

Gods bless his brother.

Sword in hand, Percy leaned over the side of his boat, his hips pumping as he sped towards them. Like some kind of weird, aquatic knight in a weird, aquatic joust, Percy struck, using the wind and the speed and his frustration over being interrupted during his gold medal race to plunge Riptide deep into the creature’s… well, he didn’t know if it was a chest area or not. But it seemed to do the trick; the monster screeched, a high-pitched, agonizing sound, like nails directly against his eardrum, then went limp, its limbs dissolving into sea foam.

Percy slowed, turning around, and pulled up alongside the cyclops. “You okay, big guy?”

Tyson nodded, flashing him a grin and a thumbs-up. “We are all good!”

Rainbow made a noise, disagreeing much to the contrary.

Still, Percy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Glad to hear it. Make sure dad gives Rainbow here a big treat, okay?”

That made him perk up, giving a watery whinny.

But Tyson frowned. “You are not coming with me? I know Father would like to see you.”

Percy gripped the edge of the hull. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”

His brother pouted, single eye drooping.

Playfully, he sent a water jet into Tyson’s face. “I’ll stop by soon, I promise! I just gotta finish this race–”

“Yes! Your race!” Tyson interrupted, his eye shining. “Father told me to tell you: he has blessed the winds today in your honor!”

That… He…

Swallowing, Percy twisted the rope around his hand. “I’m sorry, big guy, but I really gotta go.”

Mounting Rainbow, Tyson waved at him. “Of course! And good luck, brother!”

Then they disappeared beneath the water. All was calm.

Including the wind.

Percy took a second to breathe. In, out, in, out, in–and on the third out, the wind picked up once more, filling his sail almost to bursting, and sending him speeding back to the course.

***

The world between her and Hans erupted into golden dust. And she had to duck again, to avoid Hans’s own swing with a blade.

She stood back up as he apologized profusely. “It’s fine, Hans.” It wouldn’t do for a viking warrior to kill his princess anymore than a normal bodyguard.

She shook it off, and then frowned down at the dust. Using glamor to hide monster messes wasn’t really either of their strong points. And though Helen would never guess they were covered in monster dust, she’d probably rip Annabeth a new one for getting dirt on herself. Like Annabeth was a four year old at the park, and Helen was her put-upon mother.

Not that Annabeth had ever had a mother care if she had dirt or monster dust on her.

Then she noticed the cut on her arm. “Helen is going to kill me,” Annabeth groaned. It was a small thing, barely even bleeding, but the slice in her sleeve was unmistakable.

“Allow me, your highness.” Hans reached into one of his secret spy pockets and pulled out a little plastic pack, opening it and pulling out a single-use disinfecting sheet and a band aid. He was careful as he cleaned out her wound. She knew gorgon blood could be poisonous, but the wound seemed to be just the physical mark. Which was good. She had a small bit of Greek nectar and ambrosia at her hotel, but she didn’t travel with it. And Magnus and his Frey healing magic was way too far away.

It stung as he wiped at the tiny bit of blood, but not anymore than a normal, human wound might sting. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her shoulders relaxing.

Hans chuckled. “A fair bit more exciting than the race, hm?”

“I’ll say.”

“Speaking of,” he said, “it looks like your Jackson had a bit of an accident out on the water.”

She gasped. “No!”

His face twitched. “Nothing so serious. The commentators said there was an… accidental jibe?”

“Is he okay?” An accidental jibe was serious. Last night, Annabeth had spent a good eighty minutes watching some of the most frightening videos she could imagine, of boats nearly capsizing and sails going haywire, but the scariest one might have been the boom swinging wildly and knocking its sailor clean off the boat.

“He’s fine,” he said. “He managed to right himself pretty quickly, but he lost a substantial lead.”

Something on her face must still be registering her concern, because he dug around in his secret pockets again, before pulling out a small, blue, plastic box, placing it in her hand. She opened it, automatically, not quite registering what she was seeing at first.

“For your sleeve, ma’am,” he murmured.

She blinked, then pulled out the little spool of white thread.

“There’s about fifteen or so minutes of race left,” said Hans as she sewed up her sleeve. “More than enough time for him to make up–”

“And Holmgren?” She cut him off, frowning at her stitches. Not some of her best work.

“Holding the line, last I heard.” Sleeve repaired, dust (mostly) brushed off, he went over to the bathroom door, and held it open for her. “Shall we?”

By some miracle–Greek or Norse or maybe some other hitherto unknown pantheon–Helen didn’t comment on how long Annabeth had been gone when she and Hans made it back to their seats. She was leaning forward, her hands folded in front of her face, focusing intently on the little figures on the water.

After a few minutes, Annabeth could see why.

It was exciting, far more than she had expected. Ironically, thanks to Percy’s misfortune, the race was much tighter than it would have been originally. But he was gaining ground, and quickly. Annabeth tracked him through her binoculars, quietly stunned at how quickly he was moving. Where other sailors struggled to change direction against the wind, he was fluid, practically soaring through the course. Even moving with the wind, it seemed to fill his sail more fully, seemed to push him along that much more efficiently.

But as the minutes ticked on, it was clear that the real race was somewhere else. Percy–and Loke, she reminded herself–only had to finish in the top five to medal. But the contest everyone was watching was between Australia’s Selden and Mexico’s Treviño.

If Selden finished first, he could take the silver. But if Treviño finished first, he could take the whole thing.

And Annabeth found herself on her feet for the final lap, swept up in the energy of the crowd as Treviño pulled ahead by mere meters, and Greece’s Xanthopoulos slipped in right behind him as they crossed the finish line.

Treviño, Xanthopoulos, then Selden, and then there was Percy, cruising through the end. She could see the broad grin on his face as he finished, winning the silver. She smiled when he let go of his ropes, pumping his fists in the air, and she allowed herself a little jump for joy. Though the excited squeal escaping her mouth without her permission was unintended.

Loke Holmgren finished fifth, winning the bronze. Annabeth applauded politely, but traded in her professional smile for a wide, happy one.

In short order, the podium was assembled, the medals were handed out, and the flags were raised. After a rousing rendition of the Mexican national anthem, the crowd singing along with Treviño, who had tears in his eyes, the winners descended, going off to mingle with their teams and families.

Annabeth managed to keep her footing as Hans led her down to where the Swedish team was congregating. She shook Loke’s hand, and his mother’s, who was weeping openly.

And then, as she stood back to let them celebrate properly, she saw him.

His hair was dripping wet, curling around his ears, and he had his arms full of a little girl, who was giving him a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Annabeth could sympathize.

It was only when she watched him put the little girl down that she realized, somehow, she had walked the forty feet which separated them over to him without her even knowing it. He was matching her, stride for stride, until they met in the middle.

“Annabeth,” he breathed. “Hi.”

“Hey.” From the corner of her eyes, she could see his family watching them from afar. She was sure they weren’t the only ones.

“You’re here,” he said.

Annabeth tried not to frown. “Should I not be?”

He started, shaking his head. “No, of course–I mean–of course you should be here. For, uh, Loke, right?”

She resisted the urge to look behind her. “Yeah. He did good.”

“He did.”

“You did, too.”

His mouth twitched. “Oh, yeah?”

“You were amazing,” she said. “The way you managed to make up that lead, it was–that was incredible.”

Percy went pink, looking down at his shoes. “You… saw that, huh.”

Gods, he was so cute. Literally what the hell. “It happens. And you got the silver.” Without thinking, she reached out to the medal around his neck, taking it in her hand. It was surprisingly cool to the touch against her skin. “You should be proud.”

He shrugged. “Well, there’s always next time.”

“So, I’ll see you in Athens in four years, then?”

“Gods willing,” he smiled at her, shyly.

She swallowed. Then she realized she was still holding his medal, and she dropped it. “Um, anyway,” she cleared her throat. “I–I just wanted to congratulate you.”

Percy moved forward, and Annabeth, in an unacknowledged panic, stuck out her hand. For a handshake. From Percy Jackson. The guy who was more intimately familiar with her privates than anyone else in the last five years. The man who had occupied a not insignificant percentage of her waking and unconscious thoughts. The guy that she had named her vib–

Bemused, he took her hand, shaking it.

That was probably a mistake.

His touch electrified her, sending licks of fire through her skin, which was a bad sign for her future. She couldn’t even shake his hand without feeling like he was kissing her neck.

It was horrible.

It was amazing.

And from the way his pupils dilated, the way his flush deepened, and the way his eyes couldn’t help but drop to her mouth… it seemed like he might have been thinking the same thing.

“Listen, Percy…”

His eyes snapped up to hers.

“I…” Maybe unconsciously, she rubbed her thumb against his. “I know I said I’d give you until the end of the Olympics, but…” But he was so handsome. And so close.

An Olympian. A real one. Not related to the old Olympians by birth, but a modern hero, made through grit and hard work.

“Yeah?” He asked, and he was so so close.

“I want to kiss you. I really, really want to kiss you right now,” she said.

She watched him take a breath, watched the rise and fall of his chest, and he… he squeezed her hand. “I’d like that.”

“Are you sure? It’s not exactly private out here.” She didn’t have to look around to confirm what she already knew, that everyone’s eyes were glued to them right now, the hottest source of gossip in a long, long time. She didn’t have to tell him that he was standing at the threshold of a whole new world of harassment, scrutiny, and hate. “This world I live in, it can be scary, and hard, and sometimes even dangerous.” And that was before you got the two different pantheons of gods that sometimes tried to kill her.

But he smiled that beautiful smile of his, wide and crooked with just a dash of trouble laced through it. “You know, I really don’t think I mind. I think you’re more than worth some danger.”

Later, she would discover that there were, in fact, cameras everywhere. And her fears of their wonderful moment ending up on some royal watcher blog somewhere were entirely founded. But when he pulled her to him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his, there wasn’t much else that she could think about–not the flash of cameras, not the reporters calling their names, not the fact that Helen had almost certainly fainted at this blatant, unapproved display of public affection. Nothing but Percy, his wet hair, his salty lips, and his arms around her.

Though she at least had the presence of mind to track down Treviño and congratulate him on his win before the start of the next race.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

1.

“She’s a literal princess,” Percy said. “Unless her uncle has a total change of heart and has more kids, she's going to be queen .”

Luke rolled his eyes. Percy had been talking about it over like twenty minutes at that point.

“A princess of Sweden is dating me!” He knew his own voice had been full of awe.

“I know. It’s been like a month.”

“A princess !”

“Dude,” Luke said, sitting up straighter and meeting his eyes, despite the booze threatening to dull his senses. “You are a freaking son of Poseidon.”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Luke said. “Not ‘yeah .’ Some mortal princess, sure, impressive for your average guy. And Annabeth’s beautiful and smart as a whip and keeps you in line and gets a goofy grin on her face when you talk about boats for too long. All good things. So, she’s not just some mortal princess. But you aren’t some average mortal guy, Perseus Jackson.”

Percy hid his smile. But it wasn’t not true.

“You are a son of Poseidon. You are the blood of Olympus itself. Any queen would have to consider herself very lucky to have you,” Luke grinned. “Also, you’re a great hero. Back in the day, getting a princess as a reward was practically du jour .”

“She’s not a reward.”

“I know,” Luke said, offering him the kind of head pat Percy had been enduring since the age of two. With Luke drunk, it was a little off his mark. “But you don’t get to pretend you aren’t worthy of her because your grandparents didn’t overthrow anyone or colonize anything.”

“They kind of did.” Percy took another drink of his whisky. Luke had expensive taste. It still went down hard.

“See,” Luke pronounced, he tried to slam his fist down, but on the plush leather arm of the couch, it only made a dull thud. “You two are like equals.” He drained his glass and then met Percy’s eyes again. “And if you ever want your literal princess to become a literal queen… I am very discreet and good at sneaking.”

Percy was never great at archery, but the pillow he flung hit his target, landing squarely in Luke’s face.

2.

When they came through the door, Annabeth looked up, and waved. “Good morning!”

Magnus stopped dead in his tracks. Alex bumped into him. “Oof.”

“You’re up,” said her cousin. “Before eleven.”

Annabeth smiled, buttering her toast. “It’s a beautiful day! It’s too nice to stay in bed.”

It was a beautiful day. Through the windows of the dining room, the pale blue sky was gorgeously contrasted with the wide, green expanse of the castle gardens bathed in the pale morning light. Maybe she’d go for a jog later through the labyrinth of hedges. Or sit by the pond and sketch! She hadn’t sat down and sketched out building designs in quite some time.

Magnus was still staring at her.

“What?”

“...Nothing.” Carefully, he slid into the seat next to her, while Alex went for the coffee. “So, uh. You sleep okay?”

She nodded. “Slept great!” The usually rock-hard mattress felt as soft as a bed of feathers, and the pillow-to-blanket ratio had been nothing short of perfection.

“When are you headed back to New York?”

Shrugging, she took a bite of toast. Mm. So good. You just didn’t get butter like this in the states. “Not sure yet. Helen scheduled me for that new exhibit at the museum up in Lofotr–the one about Islam in Norway. Should be fun!”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“After that,” she went on, “I might stick around for a little bit longer. Dad and I were talking about doing some hiking next week, when the weather cools off.”

“Are you f*cking possessed?”

Annabeth didn’t know if she should be mad at the implication that something was seriously wrong with her, or if she should laugh it off. But the sun was shining, the food was wonderful, her family was here, and in about half an hour, she had her scheduled daily Percy call. So she chuckled, leaning back into her chair. “No, but I feel like I should be offended.”

At least Magnus had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just… you usually hightail it out of here as quickly as possible.”

Her smile slipping a little, she tried not to visibly cringe. “Yeah, well. I guess I thought I’d give it another try this summer.”

Or rather, Percy had convinced her to give it another try. She wasn’t quite sure if she was comfortable with how quickly he had convinced her.

Then again, she was actually having a good time here. Might as well see how long it lasted.

“Chill, Magnus.” Alex wandered over, giant cup of coffee in hand. “She’s not possessed–she’s just in love.”

“Ahh.”

She blushed. “No, I’m not. I just met the guy.”

Alex just wagged his finger. “Ah, ah, ah. You can’t lie to me–you get the same dopey look on your face that your cousin does whenever he wakes up from a nap with his face planted in my crotch.”

It was Magnus’ turn to blush. “Alex!”

Alex laughed at them both. Annabeth tried to school her expression into something more neutral. But she just couldn’t get her face to cooperate. The smile stayed.

And it stayed all day.

3.

SAINT TROPEZ, FRANCE–After creating a splash at this year's Olympic Games in Mérida, Mexico, Princess Annabeth of Sweden and American sailor Percy Jackson have been keeping quiet on anything that might be going on between them, or not! First spotted on a romantic midnight walk during the games, the relationship seemed confirmed by the kiss Princess Annabeth gave Jackson after he won the silver at the games, beating out the Swedish sailor Loke Holmgren. Later, her PR representatives issued a short statement that confirmed that they had recently started a relationship.

But in the three months since then, it's been radio silence on the Princess and her cinderfella. Princess Annabeth has attended several state functions, and Jackson has been very active on social media, sharing photos of his post Olympic victory party and his 25th birthday party in New York City. But Princess Annabeth wasn’t spotted in any of the dozen photos and several videos, despite her part time stateside residence.

But that all changed this week, when Jackson was spotted leaving the Stockholm Arlanda Airport. Jackson is normally quick to post about his travels on Instagram, but he didn’t share anything about it, despite mentioning in an interview after the Olympics that he’d never been to Sweden, but really wanted to go and explore the country.

Three days later, Princess Annabeth and Jackson were spotted walking hand in hand into a Saint-Tropez restaurant frequented by other famous guests of the French Riviera town, such as Leonardo DiCaprio, Gisele Bündchen, and Jazmin Grimaldi.

Later that week, they were spotted heading into a new Night Club that Gigi Hadid was spotted entering just three weeks before.

Other than a couple of ocean shots, Jackson’s socials have not shared a lot. And there's no line on where they’re staying. But a new superyacht did roll into port just the day before they were spotted!

4.

Could a fish wolf whistle? Because if so, Conrad the stingray was doing just that. Annabeth leaned in for a better look at the creature, blissfully unaware. Percy glared at him, and Conrad flapped his fins, a distinctly unrepentant glint in his beady little eyes.

He wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable, either the thousands of eyes of fish who were desperate to know both who his friend was and what their little guppies would look like, or Hans Gunderson, who was armed, dangerous, and had definitely heard them last night on Percy’s new yacht, if the stony-faced stare he gave them that morning was anything to go by.

The answer to the question, “How do you follow up a two month anniversary trip to the French Riviera?” was not normally suburban Connecticut. But yesterday they had docked in Norwalk, and then spent most of the afternoon hanging out on his new boat, taking in the last few warm breezes of early autumn. And what a boat it was, his gold medal gift from Luke. He’d argued that he shouldn’t have gotten it, since he didn’t, you know, actually win the gold, but Luke had argued back that that was only because of a monster, which he’d successfully killed, prevented from killing anyone else, and then still came in second. And also he had already bought it, so, the point was kind of moot, anyway.

So, Percy was now the proud owner of four different boats. The first three were largely practical: two for competitive sailing, and one that counted almost as a house. It was small as far as living and traveling went, twenty-five feet, and had been a graduation present from Luke, who mostly showed his love with expensive gifts. When Percy was settled, he normally stayed in New York with Luke, but if he was traveling to a particular place for an extended period of time, mostly for training in Miami, he always preferred to go by boat. He lived in fear of the day Zeus would get fed up with him flying. If Percy couldn’t control boats with his mind, even while he slept, and double or triple the speed besides, it wouldn’t have worked. But as it was, he could get around the east coast pretty easily, and had managed one exciting trip to Europe that he vowed to try again in the thing.

But this new one? This new one was something different, and something spectacular. Percy had sailboats, but this was a yacht. No sail, but the galley was a working kitchen, with four bedrooms, crew quarters, and top of the line plumbing.

It was way too much, and amazing, and probably the kind of thing Percy could properly sail the world in without raising too many eyebrows. Though he’d taken regular old planes to Sweden and France last month.

He was not sure if it was fit for a princess, however.

And neither was Hans Gunderson, who seemed to regard Percy the same way Estelle regarded eels at Montauk–interesting, potentially exciting, but also kind of gross. He was less than impressed with the lack of any additional crew, and Percy was fairly certain that he didn’t buy Percy’s half-scrambled excuse over automation, because he couldn’t explain “I can control it with my mind or ask from naiads to help” to a mortal princess and her bodyguard, could he now?

Hans seemed particularly caught up on the lack of anyone to do cooking. And had been downright shocked when Percy had shown up yesterday evening to give him a plate of strawberries and saganaki.

Percy had hoped beyond hope that the breakfast this morning–some truly excellent crepes, and a french style omelet to cater to his European sensibilities–might have earned him some brownie points with the bodyguard. He still seemed pretty bemused by the fact that Percy cooked all the meals himself, and gave him his own, rather than relegating him to the crew quarters.

And the crew quarters were great–Hans had taken them of his own volition, and it meant he was a deck below and on the other side of the ship when Percy and Annabeth… got to know the master bedroom.

It was pretty great. Boat sex was not something Percy had had a lot of chances to experience. Most of his romantic experiences had been back in college. These days, he often felt like he was pulled in too many directions for more than a couple nights. And he didn’t like to take random people onto his boats.

But he had learned something important when he’d taken Annabeth out on that little boat in Mexico, one that he’d been reminded of over the past several days: the crazy boost he got to his senses when on a boat paid off in bed. Paid dividends .

Hopefully one day (soon) they’d be able to hang out on the water without Annabeth’s permanent shadow in tow.

But for now, her shadow hovered a few meters away, his glare cutting into the back of Percy’s head while they strolled through the Norwalk Aquarium. Years of experience had taught Percy that the best, least-crowded time was first thing in the morning, before the school trips and harried parents took over the building. “I pretty much grew up here,” he was saying as they made their way through the building. “Even after I started sailing, this was always my safe space.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. These guys are some of my best friends. My oldest friends.” In the case of Dorabella the turtle, who was following them at their leisurely pace, it was entirely literal.

She laughed, gently bumping him. “Don’t let your cousin hear you say that.”

“Oh, he knows. If I ever had to choose between Luke and Dorabella back there, he knows it’d be no contest.” Annabeth snorted. “Actually,” Percy went on, “it’s funny you should bring him up. This right here is actually where I met him for the first time.”

“Here in the aquarium?”

He nodded. “They were having some sort of ticket special, so my mom brought me up here for the day. She was twenty, and working a million hours to keep a sh*tty apartment over our heads, but she knew I loved the ocean and so we came up here on a day she could manage off. I was obsessed with it. So much so that we moved on to a different room, but I wanted to go back and talk to my other fishy friends.”

Annabeth giggled, like it was metaphorical. And not like he had asked Dorabella and Sonia and Karen and Billy a million and one questions about the ocean when he was little.

“I got lost from my mom.” Percy said, he doesn’t remember it. Not actually. He had been two years old. But he’d been told it from all sides: his mom, Luke, Dorabella. And it was not the last time he wandered away to make fish friends at an aquarium. Normally this one when they moved to Connecticut.

“Where does Luke come in?”

“He was here for a summer camp trip,” He’d signed himself up for it, stolen his mom’s credit card and forged her signature. A little conman in the making. He’d been nine years old, and desperate to be out of the house during those long summer days when he couldn’t escape to school. “And he saw me in this very room, two years old, looking at this tank and talking to Dorabella.” What had always struck Luke, when he recounted the story to Percy, whether at his fifth birthday party or drunkenly the first time he visited Percy at Yale, was that the fish almost seemed to be paying equal amounts of attention to Percy as Percy was paying to them. And with just a few minutes of conversation had decided Percy was like him. A demigod. “And he got worried.”

“Did he help you find your mom?” Asked Annabeth, a slightly dopey smile on her face.

Percy nodded. “He did.” This part of the story hasn’t made it to Percy’s ears until that drunken college trip.

Luke had meant to do no such thing. Luke had been thinking about running off from home for months, and seeing Percy, small and magic and alone, he’d wondered if maybe it went both ways. Sometimes demigod children wanted to run away from home, and sometimes mortal parents wanted to be rid of those issues.

He had been shocked, when he’d decided to take Percy to the gift shop, and steal him some stuffies to make it better before they took off together. And then he’d stumbled on a frantic Sally Jackson looking for the missing Percy.

“Luke missed the bus trying to get me to my mom, and so Mom had to take him home. And that’s how we met May. Within a few weeks Mom was her home health aide and we moved to Connecticut.”

The journey to them all being together in the big Westport house was a little more complicated than that. And there had been some godly intervention from Hermes. And Percy was too young to properly remember, but he knows that first year or so had been hard. Luke wasn’t used to being looked after, and Mom hadn’t yet gotten used to all of Aunt May’s needs. Plus, all those monsters. But they were family, and by the time Percy can really, properly remember everything, they’d settled into a pretty happy life. Though the monsters still came. And being the poorest kid in every grade, and every sport and every event hadn’t been fun. But he thought it had prepared him to deal with the incicial inadequacies he felt dating a princess.

Regardless of that though, it had all started here.

“So this place is important to you?”

“Really important,” Percy agreed, “I became an Olympian mostly so they’d want me to do press and give me a free yearly pass.”

Annabeth snorted. “Glad you’re doing it for the right reasons.” But she still grasped his hand as they stared at the tank together. “So it's full circle, huh.”

Percy looked at her, and considered circles. Considered meeting Luke here. Considered being the son of Poseidon.

He considered bringing a princess to an aquarium date, and her smile.

It was so very tied to his past, this place. He couldn’t help but wonder if it might be tied to his future, too.

“Yep,” He agreed, using her hands to guide them to the next room. “Full circle.”

5.

“It’s a little early for a Christmas present, don’t you think?”

Walking hand in hand to their hotel room, Percy shrugged, somehow simultaneously both co*cky and bashful. Annabeth had to resist the urge to kiss him. Again. He was far too kissable. And they didn’t have that much time before his flight back to New York. Certainly not enough for another makeout session. Also, this hotel definitely had security cameras in the hallways. That was not a video she wanted leaking.

“Call it an anniversary present, then,” he said.

“I don’t think they do anniversaries for four months.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes twitching in such a way that it made her think he was trying really hard not to roll his eyes at her, and she had to bite back a grin. Over the past four months, even though he still tended to hold back more often than not, Percy had gotten a lot more comfortable with gently poking fun at her. It was nice. “Just humor me, will you?”

“Alright.” Squeezing his hand, she fished out her room key from the depths of her secret pockets, waving it over the door. “Do I get a hint at least?”

“I just thought,” he said, reaching over to hold the door open for her. If it had been anyone else, she would have been annoyed. What on earth kind of sway did this man have over her? “That a princess such as yourself deserved a worthy companion.”

That was another thing–with everyone else, she had a gently, but firmly enforced “limited princess talk” rule. Some conversations were unavoidable, but Annabeth had been determined to build some sort of normal social life, despite the obstacles. And not just the royal ones. But in that sense, she was lucky. She had grown up with Magnus, who shared her unconventional heritage. She had run into Clarisse while they were fighting the same monster. And she had met Piper at their fancy private school which so desperately wanted to be a finishing school. Without these connections, she probably would have fallen apart. And with the latter two, she had taken great pains to convince them to treat her not as who she was in the public eye.

Percy was a different story. At first, he followed the rules perfectly. Then a “princess” would slip out every so often. He apologized, of course, but it kept… happening. And Annabeth, despite her initial reservations, found that she did not mind it from him. Not even a little bit.

“Ooh, a companion. What kind are we talking about?” She slipped in, Percy following and shutting the door behind him. “Did you get me a small army of surprisingly talented mice to help me with my sewing projects? A flounder with an anxiety disorder?”

“Okay, first of all, he wasn’t a flounder–based on his coloring, he was probably a tang or an angelfish.”

“Nerd.”

“And second of all,” he grinned, “see for yourself.”

It was then that she noticed the box on the bed. It was large, wrapped in a sparkly blue and silver paper, and probably would have looked very pretty, were it not for the fact that the top had come off entirely, its silver bow crushed beneath the small creature which had made itself at home upon it.

Annabeth, predictably, gasped. “Oh!” She cooed. “Look at you!”

“I, uh, I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries,” Percy said behind her, nervously. “It’s just–you were telling me about your childhood dog, and then I saw her and she was just so cute, so I thought–”

“She’s beautiful,” she squeed, taking the little puppy into her arms. “Oh my gosh, hi! Hello! Hi, baby!”

‘She’ was a teeny tiny little white shih tzu puppy. And Annabeth was immediately in love. The puppy blinked up at her with big, shining brown eyes, her little pink tongue hanging out in a broad, doggie smile, and her heart melted even further.

“So… you like her?”

“Like her? I’m in love with her! Look at this thing!” She turned, holding out the dog, and was subsequently treated to the sight of her little tail wagging back and forth. “Look at her!!”

Percy scratched at her head, a small smile on his face. “I thought she was pretty cute.”

“She’s the prettiest puppy I’ve ever seen. Maybe the prettiest thing ever.” She brought her back to her chest, cuddling the puppy in her arms. “Or, maybe second prettiest. After you.”

“Are you comparing me to your dog?”

“Maybe,” she said, “but I love this dog a lot, so you should probably take it as a compliment.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could fully register the implication. And it was early. Way way way too early for that. Even just as an implication.

But Percy was just laughing. “I guess I will take it as a compliment then.” He leaned in, taking Annabeth and the puppy into his arms. “What are you going to name her?”

Annabeth wasn’t actually sure, looking down. She really was the cutest thing. How could Annabeth capture that properly? Nothing saccharine or sweet like Snowball or Lady or Sugar.

And a normal name like Alice or Elsa would never do for a dog of this much majesty.

She could go for something mythological, maybe. She glanced at Percy, who was considering her, but there was nothing on his face that made her feel like she couldn’t consider him for a moment longer. Greek, she decided, looking at Percy. It wasn’t the same at all, but they did share that Greek heritage.

Greek mythology felt right.

Who were her Greek mythological heroes: Atalanta, Kyrene, Psyche?

Psyche became a goddess, and she really didn’t want to meet anything related to Eros or Aphrodite at this moment.

And Kyrene… something about naming her dog after a warrior princess felt too on the nose.

Atalanta wasn’t exactly not a princess, but it wasn’t the first thing people thought of her, either. But then, that story didn’t really end well, did it.

Greek mythology was messy that way. Not a lot of happy endings to go around.

She looked at Percy. Perseus had a happy ending at least. Maybe with him, a daughter of Athena could get herself one?

She looked at her puppy again, Andromeda, maybe? But that kind of felt like courting disaster. And she didn’t look like an Andromeda. Did she look like an Andi?

And then it hit her. “I’ve got it!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, “What’s her name?” Something about his ability to follow what she was doing was really just the best.

“Percie.”

“What?”

“That’s her name, Percie the Puppy.”

“Um…” He was frowning now. “That… seems confusing.”

“Not at all,” She said, “our first child should be named after her father, after all.”

He blinked, eyes popping out of his head.

f*ck. She did it again. Jumping so far ahead, so fast.

How did he keep doing this to her?

At least this time he turned bright red. They probably matched.

“She’s the first daughter, shouldn’t she be named Annabeth, after you.”

“We’ll save that for the next one.” Annabeth said, and then stuck out her tongue, to take some of the edge off.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Percy said. Then he sighed. “You don’t have to name her tonight.”

“Too late,” Annabeth said, grinning at him. “I’ve named her, and she’s Percie the puppy, the perfect person to cuddle with when Percy the human is not around.”

He gave her a good natured eye roll. “It’ll never catch on.”

That evening, when the Instagram account @percie.puppy racked up over six million followers in an hour, he had to admit defeat.

6.

“...And then, I swear, he was one bad pass away from climbing over the stands and getting down onto the field himself,” Luke was saying as the waiter topped off his glass. “He was telling everyone who would listen that he could toss a pigskin better than any of those uptight Harvard douches.”

“Come on, man,” Percy said, shoulders around his ears. “She doesn’t need to hear about that.”

“On the contrary.” Annabeth smirked at him. “I would very much like to hear about how you handled Yale’s loss.”

“I mean, it was an unfortunate day,” Luke said, “But the real meltdown came later that night.”

Percy groaned, his ears a delightful shade of pink.

“Oh?”

“Three beers,” Luke said. “That’s all it took.”

“For?”

“For Percy to make good on his threat.”

“ No .” She turned to him, grinning. “You didn’t.”

“They couldn’t leave the football behind for one stupid party?” Percy burst out, crossing his arms. “They had already won, no need to rub it in our faces.”

“I like to believe it was fate.” Luke took a sip, but she could see his eyes dancing. “Because Percy took that football, and lobbed it right into the quarterback’s face.”

She couldn’t help it–she actually burst out laughing. “I’m sorry–I’m sorry,” she wheezed, hand to her mouth. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It was pretty epic,” Luke agreed. “Of course, the real revenge came at the Harvard-Yale regatta later that semester.”

Ears still pink, arms still crossed, Percy’s face relaxed into a small, but still smug, smile.

“Oh, really?” Annabeth said.

“Oh, yes. Our boy here certainly paid them back and then some.”

“Well, then.” She carefully placed her hand on the table, close to his, leaning towards his chair. Body language may have been a chore to learn, but it had its advantages. “I suppose we can let the Yalie have this victory.”

The smile on his face grew wider, and he bit his lip to try and stop it. Gods, did he even know how cute he was?

“So!” Luke rubbed his hands together. “Dessert?”

7.

Ding!

Lying on his hotel bed, with no pants, Percy tapped his phone. His taxi would be arriving any minute, but he couldn’t get himself up.

Ding!

“ Vad heter du ?” He murmured. “ Jag heter Percy.” Tap.

Ding!

The little green owl waved up at him, and Percy sniffed. As though the attendees at the gods-damned Nobel awarding ceremony wouldn’t already know who he was. Loke had taken to texting him every time Percy’s name appeared in a Swedish publication, from state paper to gossip rag.

There were a lot of tabloid articles. Like, a lot.

Still. It never hurt to try and make a good impression.

“ Ja ,” he said. “ Nej. Snälla. Förlåt . God kväll. ”

The owl gave him a thumbs up. Percy was pretty sure it was mocking him.

8.

At the end of the night which would forever be known as “The Rome Incident,” Annabeth finally managed to reconnect with Percy in the courtyard of the Villa Aurelia, and when she saw him, she had to laugh. “What happened to you? Did you get into a fight with a tree and lose?”

It was a fair question. From head to toe he was covered in smears of dirt, leafy twigs stuck in his hair. Percy shrugged, and then bit his lip. It was the most endearing thing, his completely guileless response to her. “I was standing next to a kid when the fire eater f*cked up,” he said, and Annabeth nodded, though that was certainly not what she’d seen. “And I was by that big balcony window. And the, uh, the kid… he was probably nineteen or so, and freaked out, and flailed a little, and I… fell out the window.”

“Oh no,” Annabeth said, but it was hard to feel that bad, because outside, on the first floor was 100% a better place to be than inside, where the drakons were attacking. There had been two of them, but she was pretty sure the cry of pain of the one she’d killed had scared the other one off. Before they got separated, Annabeth honestly had been more concerned about how she was going to spin this whole sh*tfest to Percy–when apparently the Mist had kicked in, and he had expressed alarm about the rogue traveling circus which had somehow crashed their fancy event. So that was the story she was rolling with. Which was a relief. She wanted him safe, obviously, particularly from things he couldn’t see. Though a fall through the window… “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he promised, “my suit, though…” He held up an arm, brandishing the shredded navy wool, and the white shirt underneath with its own holes, covered in dirt. But his arm looked fine. He looked at her and frowned, stepping forward and fingering her neckline. It was not meant to be sexy, but his fingers so close to her breast was always going to get her going a little. But he was paying attention to the burned edge. “Oh my gods, are you okay? Did you get burnt?”

“I’m fine too,” she assured him. She’d only gotten a little singed, and the nectar Hans kept on hand had taken care of any and all minor third degree burns.

But it was a shame about this dress. It was royal blue, because she seemed to be wearing a lot of blue lately, with the silk organza gathered at her chest to give her the appearance of a bosom, before draping down towards the floor like a column, or a chiton. She’d gotten it for a different gala about a year ago. There had been some press about them a few years back, criticizing the wasteful fashion choices. Which was not an unfair critique, though there was probably no chance of salvaging this one. Not even for Blitzen.

Annabeth had been jittery since they flew into Rome yesterday. She always felt a little jittery in Rome. She thought it might have been a Minverva thing.

But now the shoe has dropped. A monster had attacked. A great destruction had been laid. And no one was going to blame her, or remember. And Percy was fine.

She couldn’t really care about much more.

“Hans is getting the car.” She told him, “We can head back to the hotel. Get cleaned up.” She raised a hand and brushed a bit of dirt off the side of his face, “take a shower.”

“Together?” And she smiled at the way he asked, almost giddy with excitement.

“I think that can be arranged.”

9.

“Aunt May,” Percy said, his voice hushed. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The nurse had, thankfully, left them alone, having taken his mom out into the hallway to discuss something with her. Luke was in the corner of the living room, slouched in the green loveseat, but anyone with eyes could see how tense he was, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed. He bounced his foot, balanced over his leg, and didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was watching Annabeth like a hawk.

Not that Percy didn’t get it. May was special. And twenty years hadn’t made Luke any less protective of her.

On cue, Annabeth put her hand on the table. Percy took it, and placed her hand in May’s. The woman stirred, blinking, at the unfamiliar touch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luke sit up.

“May,” he said. “This is my girlfriend, Annabeth.”

“Hello, Ms. Castellan.” Annabeth spoke so softly, so evenly, with all the quiet grace of the princess that she was. Or someone who worked with people with disabilities all the time. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

May raised her head, her gaze drifting towards Annabeth. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, even as her jaw worked, words caught on the back of her tongue. She leaned closer to Annabeth, shoulder shaking with the effort.

Annabeth darted her eyes to him. “Go on,” he said.

Swallowing, she leaned in as well, acquiescing without complaint as May put her mouth up to Annabeth’s ear.

She spoke so quietly, Percy couldn’t hear what she said. But whatever it was, it made Annabeth go pale, her eyes widening in shock.

May, her peace spoken, settled back into her chair with her usual vacant expression… but with her lips upturned in a small smile.

The visit didn’t last much longer after that. May seemed to have exhausted her social capabilities, and Luke, like the good son Percy knew he was deep inside, volunteered to get her settled back into bed, and to check in with the nurses. But there was a marked difference to him. Percy could tell. His shoulders weren’t so tight as he went to help his mom out of the chair. The slant of his mouth might even have been approaching a smile.

Later as they waited for Luke to wrap up with the nurses, his curiosity got the better of him. He leaned over to Annabeth, taking her hand over the armrest of the waiting room chair. “What did she say to you?”

Annabeth blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“May. She whispered something to you. What was it?”

“Oh.” Her other hand in her lap, Annabeth twisted the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. “Uh, she just–she told me she had seen the photo of us from your race.”

“What,” he nudged her. “Were you embarrassed?”

She laughed weakly. “Y-yeah. That’s it.”

Internally, he frowned. He knew Annabeth’s embarrassed face–knew well the pretty pink flush that spread over her nose and her cheekbones whenever he teased her about their blockbuster PDA moment. This was… not that.

“Alright, kids.” Luke sauntered out, his hands in his pockets. “Shall we?”

Annabeth rose quickly from her seat, smoothing down her skirt. The picture of nonchalance. To everyone but him. “Please. Let’s.”

She kept up her facade all the way to the car, until, as Luke was sliding into the driver’s seat, he turned around to face her. “Oh, by the way–mom wanted me to give you something.” Between his fingers, he held a piece of paper.

Annabeth, still pale, swallowed, “O-oh?” And reached out to take it.

“Yeah. I’m not sure what it means–I was asking the nurses, and they were saying that a class from one of the local schools came and did a poetry reading the other week. Maybe it’s a line from a poem?”

He hadn’t meant to look. Like, it wasn’t a conscious action. He had crazy ADHD, and sometimes his eyes acted without input from his brain.

But the look in his girlfriend’s eyes… It looked like one of fear.

So he sneaked a peek.

The note read, in May’s shaky hand: Wisdom’s daughter walks alone.

10.

Neck and neck! Fists clenched around her binoculars, Annabeth stood up out of her seat, practically vibrating. “Come on, Percy,” she muttered, “come on! Come on!”

Off in the distance, and with Percy with a sliver of the lead, the sailors rounded the buoy for the last lap. Annabeth’s binoculars followed him as steady as could be, fixed on the form of his black and blue wetsuit as he ducked beneath the jibe.

And once again, he was a miracle to watch. He was a force of nature, a shark, perfectly tacking into the wind like it was instinct. But South Africa’s Ndlovu was just as talented–and he was right in Percy’s slipstream.

“Come on, Percy!” She said, a little louder.

Ndlovu inched closer. And closer. And closer. The buoy was only meters away. The whole crowd was on their feet.

They rounded the buoy. From this distance, Percy looked barely inches ahead.

And then–his sail unfurled, bursting with wind, and he shot ahead, racing towards the finish.

“Yes!” Annabeth cheered, jumping. “Go, go!”

“Go go go go go go!” said a voice next to her.

Ndlovu fell behind. And Percy crossed the finish line, wind whipping through his hair. She imagined his smile, bright and wide, and felt a similar one stretch across her face. “Yes!”

“Yes!” said the voice next to her. “Yes! He won!” Which was when Annabeth turned and saw… Helen, her uppity PA, shoes off, jumping up and down like a child. “Did you see that!” She crowed, eyes wide. “The way he just picked up the wind like that! That was amazing!”

On another day, Annabeth would be perturbed. Today, veins rushing with adrenaline, she shocked herself by wrapping Helen up in a hug, as they cheered together, two voices in the swell of support for Percy Jackson, world f*cking champion!

11.

Annabeth was in the front row. Percy could see her from his vantage point at the back of the chapel. Selfishly, part of him was glad not to be up there with her.

Percy had sat next to her, earlier, during all the speeches. (And switching from Duolingo to that private tutor was really helping–he could pick up most of the words now!) He had walked with her as they paid their respects to the late King Randolph II, as he lay in state in Storkyrkan Cathedral. The beautiful building had been draped in black, curtains covering the rose window, and the pews removed to make room for the ornate coffin before the altar. The hall was dimly lit by rows of candelabras, and if Percy hadn’t been distracted by the way the candlelight reflected off of Annabeth’s perfectly done up hair, he probably would have had a better reaction to seeing the body of the king.

But it wasn’t the body that had bothered him. He’d been to funerals before. Even open casket ones.

No. What surprised him was the fact that there was a charred, gaping hole in the middle of the king’s chest. Actually, it might have still been smoking. And then he saw the king’s burned, disfigured face. It looked like he had gotten hit with the business end of a hydra head.

The official story–the one Percy had heard, had been informed by his girlfriend, at least–was that King Randolph passed peacefully in his sleep, but f*ck , that was not a peaceful looking wound! Was he killed by a monster? Did Percy’s presence attract a monster? Did Percy accidentally bring a monster with him, and did the king of Sweden get caught in the crossfire?!

He had squeezed his eyes shut, and sent up a quick prayer to Hazel and Hecate for the Mist to hold.

Annabeth had walked past, slow and steady, drawing her hand around the edge of the casket. He hadn’t been able to see her face, but her shoulders were drawn together, tense, her neck stiff and unmoving. He caught a flash of her face as she turned to look at the body, brow furrowed, somber and serious. Privately, he was amazed at how well she was holding herself together.

Then again, he never got the sense that Annabeth was particularly close to her uncle. She didn’t talk about him much.

Still, Percy was glad to be in the back. As far away from the body as possible.

12.

Charity galas were always boring, but Annabeth was glad to be back in New York. And it was always nice to see her friend in person, instead of over the phone, or through a magical message. Especially for conversations like these.

“How many more of us are out there, do you think?” Annabeth asked, as the two of them took refuge on the balcony, away from the crowds.

Piper shrugged, the strap of her orange, silk dress staying perfectly in place as she elegantly took a sip of champagne. The glass came away without even the barest hint of a lipstick stain. The wind gently ruffled her friend’s hair, the tips of her hand-painted leather earrings brushing her shoulder, and the muffled sounds of the party inside felt like a whole world away. “Dunno,” she said. “There’s me, you, Leo, Clarisse… so definitely at least four.”

“Five,” Annabeth said. “Remember that little girl I told you about? Thalia?”

“Oh yeah, the one who worked for Artemis, right? But she’s immortal, so she doesn’t count.”

Annabeth snorted, turning out to lean against the balcony. Hundreds of floors below, Central Park was already lit up for the holidays, twinkling lights like stars between the branches of trees. The blue chiffon of her dress shifted against her bare legs, and she shivered. She probably should have worn some tights under this thing.

“Aren’t you curious?” she pushed her friend, leaning the toe of her designer heel against the banister.

“I mean, I guess.” Piper stepped up beside her, leaning back against the railing, the silk falling gracefully over her knees. “But I don’t know. I feel like if there were any more of us out there, we would have met them by now.”

Fair point. “It’s just weird,” she said. “There’s so many of them on my dad’s side of the family. You’d think the Greeks would have more of them running around.” Obviously demigods were a thing with the Vikings, but they seemed to her to be such a bigger part of Greek myths… and yet there seemed to be so few of them today. Things just didn’t add up. And it bothered the sh*t out of each other. “Like, back in ye olden days, you couldn’t spit without hitting a demigod. They hung out together. They all teamed up and sailed on the Argo! Like it was the Avengers or some sh*t.”

Piper rolled her eyes. “And just like the Avengers, they didn’t take any girls with them.”

“You know,” said Annabeth, perking up, “Percy says, in some myths, Atalanta was actually part of the Argonauts.”

She rolled her eyes again, somehow harder. “Oh, I see now.”

“What?”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive for coming to this thing with me.”

Annabeth blinked, caught out. Piper inviting her had given her an excuse to come back sooner. Coming back to the city early meant that she could actually make a certain… engagement, after the gala, that had been floated to her a week or so ago. An engagement involving a certain New York apartment, some hot cocoa, and somebody to share it with. “No I didn’t.”

Piper grinned, unable to keep up the act for too long. “It’s fine. Really,” she said, knocking Annabeth’s shoulder. “I don’t mind being an accessory to true love. Besides, I gotta make my mom proud of me somehow.”

Maybe it was a consequence of being an actor’s daughter, but Piper was damn good at lying. Not to Annabeth, though. They had known each other far too long for that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, brightly. “Actually, she’s the reason I invited you tonight.”

Annabeth tilted her head, confused.

“I have it on… well, fairly solid authority that someone in there,” she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the gala, “has possession of a magical item that they are not supposed to have.”

“How do you figure?”

“I had a dream about it, like, three weeks ago. And… my mom was there.” Piper shrugged, an unidentifiable glint in her eyes. “She called me one of hers.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. “Woah.” That was… huge.

“I hope you don’t mind being my backup.” Piper extended her hand, offering Annabeth the rest of her champagne. “Shall we go relieve some poor lady of her property?”

In a single move, she downed the drink, setting the glass on the balcony rail. “Just tell me when to make a scene.”

It was less later that night, and more early the next morning, when she nuzzled into Percy’s side on her couch and sipped the hot chocolate he had made her. Her evening dress, a gorgeous Chanel number which now had a few unfortunate tears, was in a pile on the bedroom floor, and though this was her apartment, the Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk volunteer t-shirt she was wearing was his. As were the boxers underneath.

“Was the art any good?”

She blinked, belatedly realizing that she had been frowning. “Hm?”

Percy gently flicked her forehead. “I asked if the art was any good. You okay?”

She kicked him in return. “Just thinking. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he smiled, kissing her cheek. “A thrilling gala, I take it?”

“So thrilling,” she deadpanned. It might have been, but empousai just weren’t that interesting anymore. “Besides, the art was whatever. It was all that modern stuff you hate.”

“That is a very unfair assumption,” Percy pouted. “I don’t hate modern art. Blue Monochrome is like my fourth or fifth favorite painting!” He paused. “Which is something to remember, with Christmas coming up.”

“Ha ha.”

He laughed, and kissed her temple, and everything was right with the world.

“How was Piper? What did you talk about?”

“Atalanta.” Annabeth said, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. He’d put something else in here. Not just cinnamon, but… could you put cayenne pepper into hot chocolate? She knew Percy made his own mix, and had presented her with a mason jar full in late October. But when she turned her head to ask him, she found him staring at her with an almost befuddled look on his face. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” he choked out, his eyes glistening. “I just… I think you’re my dream girl.”

Annabeth… could not respond to that. Not yet.

So instead, she curled into him further, and pretended that the heat on her face came from the mug in her hands.

13.

Mr. Blofis–uh, Paul–couldn’t stop staring at her. Even after Mrs–f*ck, she said to call her Sally, come on–kicked him under the table. Twice. “Is… is your chair alright?” He asked, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” She smiled at him, easy and gentle, as though she weren’t amping up the graciousness to eleven. It didn’t seem to help.

“And have you, um, enjoyed your stay in New York?”

She nodded. “Always. New York has always been one of my favorite places.”

Paul nodded back so fast, she was worried his head might fly off.

“Paul, dear?” Sally Jackson poked her head around the wall. Despite having spent most of the day in the kitchen, she didn’t have a single stain on her simple, blue dress–unlike her son, who had had flour in his hair when he had met Annabeth at the door. “Would you mind finishing up the frosting for me?”

He scrambled out of his chair, practically running into the kitchen. Annabeth tried not to take it personally. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with, Sally?” she asked over the sudden roar of a Kitchenaid stand mixer.

“Don’t be silly,” Sally said, shaking her head, looking eerily just like her son. “You’re our guest!”

Annabeth had made Percy promise that his family wouldn’t wait on her, that they would treat her like a normal girlfriend over for a normal Christmas dinner. She supposed that guests were allowed to be waited on just a little, but still. It felt weird. “If you’re sure…”

“Positive. Besides, you’ll have your hands full in a minute. Estelle, sweetheart?”

From around the corner came Percy’s nine-year-old sister, carrying a large, plastic box. When Annabeth had first met her, her eyes, shining like her namesake, had been just as wide as her father’s, and her head had been twice as full of questions. But unlike her father, she seemed to have adjusted to Annabeth’s continued presence in her life a bit more easily. “Mm?”

Shooting Annabeth a sly grin, Sally put a hand on Estelle’s shoulder. “Can you make sure our guest knows about the cookie decorating protocols?”

Estelle straightened, almost standing to attention. If she weren’t holding the box, she probably would have saluted. “Yes I can!”

“Great,” Sally smiled, just like her son. It was so warm and homey, Annabeth kind of wanted to curl into a ball and rock back and forth a little bit.

The sound of a plastic box full of cookie cutters hitting the table broke her out of her reverie. In a corner of the room, Percie the dog twitched in her sleep on her fancy new dogbed, too tired from the day’s activities to give the noise her full attention. Estelle slammed her hands on the table, nearly vibrating. “Annabeth, have you ever decorated Christmas cookies before?”

No. “Of course,” she said.

“Forget what you know!” Estelle ripped the top off the box, tipping it over and dumping out the contents. “Christmas cookie decorating is an ancient, sacred art practiced by our people for generations–”

“By which she means five years,” said her brother, striding around the corner to ruffle her hair.

“Generations!” she insisted.

Percy slid into the chair across the table from Annabeth, and flashed her a grin. “Don’t listen to my sister, Annabeth,” he said. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Estelle glared, though there was no real heat behind it. “Cookie decorating is important,” she pouted. “There are rules .”

“Don’t listen to your brother, Estelle,” Annabeth shot back. “He’s just a dumb boy who doesn’t know any better.” Percy’s grin widened. “Please, tell me the rules for cookie decorating.”

“See?” Estelle began sorting the cookie cutters. “Finally, someone in this family with some sense .”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Percy’s shoulders, shaking with restrained laughter.

14.

“...I thought you said you wanted to do a shoot.”

“This is a shoot.”

“Not that kind of shoot.”

“...I’ll pay you double?”

“I’ll need way more than that to cover the amount of brain bleach I’ll need.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No.”

“Piiiiiipes.”

“No way!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is that bad. Remember the absolute bitch fest Helen threw when she found your lingerie?”

“Well, then we make sure she doesn’t find out about this.”

“How?”

“I’ve got Hans on interception.”

“And does he know what you’re up to?”

“...No?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Piper, please. It’ll be super quick. A couple hours, tops.”

“Plus editing and touch-ups.”

A sigh.

“Fine. I’ll help you.”

“Really?!”

“On one condition.”

“Hit me!”

“Get me his hot sprinter friend’s number.”

“Deal.”

***

“ Oh, one last thing .”

Percy yawned, stretching his arms over his head. The ten hour flight never got easier, no matter how many times he flew from Stockholm. Nor less terrifying. “Hm?”

“ Can you get me Jason’s number ?”

Percy squinted, though she couldn’t see him. “...Can I ask why?”

“ Uh… ” He could picture it so clearly in his head, Annabeth biting her lip as she screwed her face up, her eyes flicked over to the side. f*ck. She was so cute. Why did he have to leave Sweden again? “ Let’s just say that there’s an… interested party who wants to get to know him better .”

Suspicious. But if he had to guess, it might have to do something with a certain movie star’s daughter that kept leaving likes on his bro’s Instagram. And he was okay with that. Even if he was pretty sure Piper kind of hated him a little. “Sure, I can send it over.”

“ Thanks, Percy .” There was a beat, and a muffled, tinny, shuffling of fabric. Probably getting ready for another event. “ I miss you ,” she said, her voice low.

His heart clenched. “I miss you, too,” he murmured.

Thousands of miles apart, they breathed together.

“ I have to go ,” Annabeth said, breaking the spell. “ Talk tomorrow ?”

“Anytime.”

“ Looking forward to it .” Her smile was audible over the phone, and he had to smile back. “ Oh–before I forget! You should have been given an envelope ?”

Balancing his phone against his shoulder, he took a moment to rummage through his duffel bag. “Uh… Yeah! Envelope right here.” He brandished it to nobody in particular. It was one of those big, rectangular orange ones. He couldn’t remember anyone giving it to him, though. Someone must have slipped it into his bag before he left. “What’s it for?”

“ Just some docs and things ,” she said, airily. “ They’re a bit time sensitive, so don’t wait too long to take a look .”

Time sensitive? Were they contracts or something? “When do you need them back by?”

Unless his connection was f*cked up, he was pretty sure she giggled in response. “ Oh, you can hold onto them. ”

He frowned. “Why didn’t you just email them to me then?”

“ There’s some sensitive information in them. ”

“Huh?”

In the background, he could hear urgent voices, speaking equally urgent Swedish. “ Okay, gotta go! ”

“Wait, what’s–?”

“ Bye! ” And she clicked off.

Percy frowned at the envelope, idly wondering what was so time sensitive. And not at all sure what it meant. What did it mean to get an unmarked, legal sized envelope with sensitive information from a princess? Was it, like, secret codes in case of an assassination attempt? Did he get his own codename? If he did, could he pick his own?

He didn’t actually open the envelope slowly, but it sure as hell felt like time was frozen as he slipped out the first image.

It was a photo. A high quality print. Of his girlfriend–Annabeth, the soon-to-be Crown Princess of Sweden.

He had seen plenty of photos of his girlfriend before.

But not like this.

She gazed out at him, her eyes heavy and half-lidded, her perfect pink mouth twisted into that smirk he knew so well, and Percy–dear, sweet Percy, only just a man–could only follow the line of her cheek to her jaw to her neck to her… decolletage… which was delicately framed by… a lacy… blue…

Percy dropped heavily onto his bed, photo in hand and fist over his mouth. Di immortales! Sensitive information, indeed!

15.

[Image ID: A photo from the coronation of King Frederick III of Sweden. King Frederick stands on the balcony of the palace with Princess Consort Mary, Princes Robert and Matthew, and Crown Princess Annabeth, with her partner, Percy Jackson. King Frederick is speaking, while his family looks on.

In the background, Jackson can be seen leaning over to whisper something into Princess Annabeth’s ear. Their hands are entwined.]

@perceannabeth: HI I WANNA MCf*ckING DIE #percabeth

16.

Annabeth stood triumphant over the wyrm, ax clutched in her hand. Panting, adrenaline coursing through her veins, she wiped soot from her hand on the front of her torn, splattered dress–a lost cause, now. Shame. She really liked that dress.

Of course, all thoughts of her dress flew out the window as soon as she had returned her ax to her bracelet, and went to put up her hair in a ponytail.

At her shriek, Magnus came sprinting over, panic clear in his face. “Annabeth! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are–ooh.” He winced, before attempting to school his expression.

“‘Ooh?’” She yelled. “That’s all you can say?”

“Look, it’s–it’s not that bad!”

“ Not that bad? I have an interview with Vogue at the end of the week!”

“Listen, we’ll just get Alex or someone to even it out, and then–”

“And then what, I just make a post about how I had a sudden impulse to cut off a foot and a half of hair?”

His pained grimace he attempted to pass off as a smile told her all she needed to know.

She cursed.

***

[Image ID: An Instagram post from Princess Annabeth teasing her upcoming interview with @vogue. Caption reads: “One of the reasons I’m so passionate about mental health and disability advocacy is that ADHD and dyslexia have enormous impacts on my day-to-day life… like, for instance, having an overwhelming impulsive desire to cut off a foot and a half of hair!”

@per_sea_jackson commented: ADHD solidarity!]

***

“ I love your new hair, by the way .”

“...You do?”

Bashful, he scratched his ear over the video call. “ Yeah. It’s–you look really cute. ”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“ You don’t think so? ”

Considering that she still spooked herself every time she caught a glimpse of herself on any kind of reflective surface, no. It was, to put it mildly, very short. Possibly shorter than she ever would have asked for independently. Alex had done her best, but the only way to salvage what was left after being vaporized by wyrm-spit was to cut it down to a fluffy, curly pixie. She couldn’t even tuck the ends behind her ears anymore. “I… I guess I’m worried I don’t, uh.” Gods, this was so embarrassing. “That I don’t look enough like a princess.”

With all her myriad problems–being a demigod, fighting monsters from two separate pantheons, juggling princess-y duties, and keeping her boyfriend in the dark as much as possible–you’d think that media scrutiny would not be high on her list of things that bothered her. And yet. The dresses, the colors, the lengths of sleeves, the tasteful jewelry and carefully selected hats… they functioned as their own kind of armor, protecting her from the hammer of public opinion. As the child of a warrior goddess, she could appreciate that protection, even if it wasn’t made of bronze.

“ Is that a thing? Really? ”

Annabeth nodded, morose. “You would not believe the amount of discourse over my fashion choices. And the definition of ‘princess-appropriate’ fashion is narrower than you might think.”

“ Well, ” the screen shook as he jostled his phone, repositioning himself, “ I don’t know about princesses, but I think Annabeths look super hot with short hair. ” He grinned at her, sharp like a shark, and she rolled her eyes.

But her stomach fluttered nonetheless.

Okay. Maybe she could learn to like the hair.

17.

Percy tapped his fingers against the car door. He bounced his leg. He tried to count the trees as they whizzed by.

Precisely none of it helped.

For all the time he had spent getting Hans Gunderson to like him, he had not dedicated nearly the same effort to the bodyguards for the twins. Or to the twins themselves. They had been–not, uh, background characters, but just… Honestly, he had just never really talked to them. They were present at a couple of the functions Annabeth had brought him to, sure, and he certainly knew more than just the basics about them, but, well… In sum total, over a period of three and a half years, he had probably spent maybe just seven hours with Annabeth’s half-brothers. He could not say that he knew them well. Or at all, really.

And now he was stuck in a car with them. For four hours. And their bodyguards, who occupied the front seats, so Percy was squished in the back with the two princes.

He was supposed to have traveled with Annabeth and Hans, but his flight had been delayed, traffic leaving the airport was a bitch, and by the time he managed to reach Stockholm, she was already en route, apologizing profusely over the phone, but assuring him that she had arranged for him another ride. And apologizing for that, too.

Now he saw why.

“You excited for Athens, Percy?”

He whipped his head around. Matthew had fallen asleep against the other car door, and Bobby, who had gotten the short straw and the middle seat, was playing some game on his phone. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Coach has been working me pretty hard. But he let me have the holidays off, which was nice of him.”

Bobby nodded in response. Gods, even thinking of him as “Bobby” was weird. But he insisted–no “Robert.” Percy was allowed nickname privileges. It was touching, yes, that they were treating Percy like a member of the family. But still weird. “I know. It’s literally all Annabeth can talk about.”

“...Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He looked up from his game. Percy had a solid foot on him, even when they were both sitting down. “Usually, when we see her, all she wants to talk about is her annoying boss or her needy clients, so it’s nice to hear something she’s actually excited about.”

Funny. Annabeth talked about those with him, too, but he had heard far more about her monument plans or the history of neoclassical architecture in Scandinavia than he had about the dull, day-to-day office goings on. It was too bad. Percy got to see the wonderful sparkle in her eyes as she explained to him the mathematics of precise column spacing. They were seriously missing out.

The rest of the car ride proceeded without much difficulty. They chatted about Percy’s stats and Bobby’s recent trip to California where he was promoting some new computer science literacy program, until eventually, as they drew closer and closer to the little chateau where Percy would spend the next week, they circled around to discuss the forthcoming holiday traditions. “It’s a deliberately smaller celebration,” Bobby was saying as the car turned around the bend, and the manor at the top of the hill came into view. “Mother stays in Stockholm to mastermind the Christmas party, but Father has always insisted we take some time to honor our roots. So to speak.”

Percy nodded, only half-listening, too distracted by the figure at the top of the hill in the deep green dress who was waving at them. “So, what should I expect?”

“Well,” Bobby said, “I hope you like roast boar. And mead.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Old school, huh?”

Bobby grinned. “You have no idea.”

Rousing Matthew from his nap, they bundled out of the car, and Percy’s feet barely had time to touch the ground before he had his arms full of green dress and blonde hair. “Hi,” Annabeth said, stretching up for a kiss.

Percy obliged. “Hi, yourself.” And he obliged a second time. “You look beautiful.” He really really loved her hair. It had grown out a little bit from the impulse cut she’d done earlier in the year. And she’d adjusted the way she styled it now that it was shorter. Instead of the sleek waves she’d always favored, it was a halo of wild curls, the ends of her bob just brushing her chin.

“You look like crap,” she replied, keeping her arms looped about his neck. At their feet, Percie the dog happily circled their legs, gently pawing at his pants. “Rough flight?”

He shrugged. “No more than usual.” Of course, his version of “usual” was worrying that Zeus would blast him out of the sky at any second, so. “Just tired.”

“Well, I’ll get you some coffee, and then we’ll get you settled.” She kissed him again, and he found he couldn’t give much thought to the lord of the sky. “And a shower. You reek.”

One coffee, a hot shower, and a hundred emergency pushups to get his blood pumping to keep him awake later, Percy still was on the verge of passing out on the incredibly fancy sitting room couch, digging his nails into his palm as hard as he could. He had learned a lot about royal etiquette over the last few years, and while there was no rule that he had ever heard of about falling asleep in front of a king, he wasn’t about to test it.

There was a roaring fire in the sitting room, looking like a more perfect Yule Log than anything he’d ever seen on TV.

“Do we know who else is coming?” Annabeth was saying.

“Your cousin, of course,” said the king. “Along with Alex. Supposedly she is bringing her sister, as well. Then there’s Ms. Keen, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Halfborn–”

“The usual crowd, then?”

“Just so.” Percy’s head began to droop, and he jerked it back up. “Your cousin told me that we might even receive… erm, your uncle. And your aunt.”

“My–? Oh!” Annabeth chuckled. “ That aunt and uncle.”

She had another aunt and uncle? Percy thought they were both dead. Man, royal families were weird.

“Indeed.” Frederick laughed as well. “Perhaps they’ll convince Odin or Frigga to attend as well.”

Annabeth had an uncle named Odin? That might have been even worse than Perseus.

Said girlfriend leaned over, squeezing his hand. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Yeah.” There was no point in denying it. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” A tug, and she was pulling him up, slipping his arm around her torso. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Percy mumbled a protest. Maybe. He wasn’t quite sure if actual words came out of his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “there’s plenty more Solstice to come. You won’t be missing much by tapping out early tonight.”

He didn’t remember how, but at some point, he ended up in a big, soft bed, with perfectly silky sheets, the dog curled up against his shins. His sleep was long and deep, only interrupted once when Annabeth came and joined him. It could have been an hour later, or it could have been just before dawn–Percy couldn’t see any light through the blinds, and he was only roused from his slumber by the feeling of Annabeth slipping into his arms. She tucked her head against his shoulder, stray curls tickling his nose, and he gladly inhaled the warm, wonderful scent of her lemon shampoo.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Did I wake you?”

He hummed in the negative. “Missed you. Where were you?”

“Was doing Viking stuff,” she said, her grin pressed into his skin. “But I’m here now.”

“You smell like chamomile,” he mumbled.

“Oh yeah?”

Pulling her closer, he took another deep breath through his nose. “And fennel.” And… some other stuff. Smoke? Crab apple?

“Tasty.”

“You’d make a good tea.”

She huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

Well, he didn’t have to be told twice.

18.

The spear arched around her head, and Annabeth just barely rolled out of the way. Something was definitely up with Clarisse. And Annabeth couldn’t figure out what.

This was supposed to be a “You got engaged, let’s get celebratorily drunk and wrestle!” kind of day, because daughters of Ares and daughters of Athena who also occasionally moonlighted as shieldmaidens had similar ideas of fun. But they’d skipped the drinking, and they’d skipped the celebration. Clarisse had slammed the door to the cabin open and said she wanted to spar.

It had been almost an hour, and she hadn't said anything at all. But it had only taken Annabeth about seven minutes to realize Clarisse wasn’t wearing her engagement ring.

Three hours in, Annabeth was a sweaty, panting mess, but Clarisse’s frown had faded by about six percent, so Annabeth finally felt comfortable to ask: “What,” she gasped, sitting down hard on the bench against one of the gymnasium walls after sucking down the entire contents of her water bottle, “what’s going on?”

“With what?” Clarisse grunted, not even remotely out of breath. How. The f*ck.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

She shrugged, sitting down next to her. From a random pocket, she pulled out a cloth, and began polishing her spear. “Sure.”

Annabeth bit the inside of her lip. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

No answer. And that spear shaft was getting real shiny.

“Did… did something happen with Chris?”

Clarisse’s hands stilled. Her face was an impenetrable mask, without even a hint of anger–an impressive feat, for her.

Gods, Annabeth really wasn’t great with other people’s relationships. Her own was so effortless, and her father’s marriage was so weird, that her barometer for what was acceptable was completely out of whack. Still, she tried to summon her inner Piper, preparing a speech about how men weren’t sh*t anyway and that any guy would be lucky to have a gem like Clarisse, when the woman in question completely knocked her off guard.

“Chris is one of us.”

Annabeth stared. “Excuse me?”

“He’s a demigod.” Her hands tightened around the wood of her spear. “He’s a f*cking demigod.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I should have seen it,” she growled. “He’s a fast little sh*t, and he speaks Greek, and then some of the things he said about his dad–” With a cry of fury, she stamped the ground. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it!”

Her brain stuttered. “His dad is a god?”

Clarisse’s snarl wavered.

“I…” Annabeth didn’t really know what to say to that. Because, well, it had always been obvious for her. With Clarisse. With Piper and Leo. But Annabeth grew up steeped in a world of gods and magic, knowing she was more of a slightly different kind of set than everyone else. “Um… Who is he?”

Dragging her hands over her face, Clarisse slumped against the wall. “The messenger, if you can believe it.”

“The–?” It clicked: Hermes. “...Huh.”

From between her fingers, she glared. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Huh’?”

“I mean… um… I’m surprised, sure.” She had pegged Piper and Clarisse so quickly for who they were, it seemed hard to believe you could grow so close to someone, accept a marriage proposal from someone, without noticing a little thing like that they were also a demigod. Then again, she had known who she was–what she was–from a very young age. “But I guess I don’t see the big deal.”

Glaring even more intensely, Clarisse scoffed. “Of course you don’t.”

Her voice had a dangerous edge, but Annabeth soldiered on. “Yeah, I don’t. If Chris is–is one of us, wouldn’t that be good?”

She scowled.

“Like,” Annabeth chewed her lip, “it would mean that he gets it. That you don’t have to explain… well, anything to him. He would understand.”

But Clarisse’s scowl only grew deeper.

“You wouldn’t have to explain away weird scars,” she went on. “Or running off to fight monsters. Or that thing you do where sometimes you start glowing red and go on a rampage whenever someone cuts you off in traffic–”

“Look, princess,” and it was a testament to the high esteem in which Annabeth held Clarisse, because she was the only person who could get away with that, “just because some of us grew up with viking wizards cleaning her dirty diapers–”

“She wasn’t a wizard–”

“Doesn’t mean that I know how to deal with it when it happens to me!” Clarisse shouted.

Annabeth jerked back, stunned.

“I don’t–” She growled through her teeth, pounding the bench with her fist. “He doesn’t know what I’ve been through. And it’s like I don’t even know him anymore! Did I ever know him in the first place?” And she dropped her head into her hands, back bent by an unimaginable weight.

Annabeth has seen Clarisse glowing with rage after a driver cut her off. She’s seen her covered in sewage and charging a fire monster from outside of the Greek pantheon. She’s seen her break a very expensive coffee table when the DiamondBacks lost a game. But she’d never seen her like this. So lost, so full of despair.

It broke Annabeth’s heart.

This was supposed to be a fun afternoon. She had anticipated talking about venues and dresses and what flowers were appropriate for a daughter of Ares, not… not any of this. “Hey,” Annabeth offered, “that’s… you just said, he doesn’t know what you’ve been through, right?”

“No,” she spat. “How can I even begin to explain–any of this?”

“He didn’t know before though, right? You hadn’t told him.”

Multiple times over the past few months, they had talked about this, Annabeth and Clarisse. About Percy and Chris, and when… or if… to share. They had agreed–not yet.

“You said that was fine.”

“It was fine,” Annabeth assured her. “It is fine.”

She tried to imagine being in Clarisse’s shoes–tried to imagine what she might feel if Percy walked up to her one day, and upended her entire world. Her heart sunk down to her stomach, and she shuddered.

“My point is… You’re worried that he won’t understand, and that you don’t know him. But, nothing has changed, right? You’re still the same person, even though he didn’t know before. And you know that you were going to trust him to try and understand, before you found out…” Risking it all, she laid a hand on Clarisse’s shoulder. “Then, I think you can trust that it’s still going to be okay.”

She wasn’t always good with this kind of advice, but it was what she would want to hear if that ever happened to her. Hopefully it helped.

Almost imperceptibly, Clarisse relaxed, sinking deeper into herself. Her hands clenched in her short hair, fingertips pressing into her skull.

“Come on,” said Annabeth. “I’ve got some mead with your name on it. We can get drunk and go throw some axes! How does that sound?”

If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she would say that Clarisse was sniffling. But she did know better. And she would never even suggest anything like that. “That’d be nice,” said Clarisse, thickly. “That’d be really nice.”

19.

Percy slipped into the bathroom, and pressed his back against the door, taking a deep breath through his nose to calm his heartbeat. A lifetime of fighting monsters had taught him how to stay quiet and hide from threats, and while he was fairly sure that the pretty model–Kelli was her name–that he had been speaking to wasn’t a monster… the fact that she had popped up at four of the last five royal functions Percy had been to was kind of a red flag.

Breathing silently, he counted the seconds in his head, pen in his fingers, his ear up against the wood as he strained for the sound of footsteps, human or otherwise. Ten seconds passed… then thirty… And after three minutes or so, Percy relaxed, sighing with relief as he thunked his head against the door.

Monster or not, that girl was persistent. Either she wanted to kill and eat him, or she wanted to hook up with him. Neither of which were options Percy was particularly fond of. Besides, this was his last suit without claw marks, and he was getting real sick of having his clothes ruined halfway through a fancy event. Annabeth might be handy with a needle and thread, but she usually had more important things to do at these events than fuss over his appearance.

The sound of a toilet flushing ripped him from his thoughts, and he darted to one of the sinks, frantically waving a hand beneath the water sensor. When nothing came out, he narrowed his eyes, forcing a big enough stream for him to look like he was actually in the bathroom for a reason, and not just because he was hiding from a monster. Or a model. Whatever she was.

In the mirror, Percy froze as he saw one of the bathroom stalls swing open. The man inside adjusted his pants, pulling at his sash to make it lay flat. His medals and pins and whatnot glittered in the low, moody, environmentally conscious light. “Oh,” said King Frederick, finally taking notice of him. “Hello, Percy.”

He gulped. “...Hello. Sir.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, stepping up to the next sink over. “Not too boring I hope.”

“Not at all, sir.” The king frowned as he waved his hand beneath the water sensor, getting much the same result as Percy had a moment ago. With a quick clench of his gut, Percy summoned a gentle stream for him, too.

“Ah, there we go.” He gave himself a few pumps of soap, and set about washing his hands. “You know,” he said after a second, nearly giving Percy a heart attack when he realized that the king wanted to talk to him oh gods oh f*ck , “it was such a treat to have you over for the holidays.”

When the four of them hung out–him, Annabeth, Magnus, and Alex–Percy was able to carry on a passable conversation in Swedish. But he was really f*cking glad that king was speaking to him in English right now. “It was my pleasure, sir.”

“Oh, you can dispense with the ‘sir’ when it’s just us,” he said, rinsing off the soap. “I have a feeling you’ll be a fixture in our lives for quite some time.”

He blinked, a weird kind of panic rising in his chest. “Sir?”

King Frederick dried his hands on the sustainably-produced paper towels, perfectly at ease. “I’m not going to ask if you’ve discussed any of the potential next steps in your relationship–my daughter has so little privacy as it is, and the least I can do is respect those boundaries. Or enforce them, if need be. But, you two are coming up on, what, four years?” His business completed, he turned to Percy, a strange look in his eyes. “That’s quite the achievement, young man.”

Four years, gods. What a ride. “It’s been…” Percy hedged. What was the right word for this, anyway? Exhilarating? Unbelievable? The best four years of his life? How was he supposed to describe the experience of getting to be with Annabeth Chase, princess of Sweden? “...It’s been nothing less than an honor. Uh, sir.”

“And the effect you’ve had on Annabeth is palpable. I know she hasn’t been this happy in quite some time.”

Unsure of what to say to that, he opted for keeping his mouth shut this time.

“Please know,” said his girlfriend’s father, “that if you decide the… next step, so to speak, is the right one for the two of you, then you will have my full support.”

His peace spoken, King Frederick took his leave, slipping past Percy to re-enter the ballroom.

Percy watched him go. Mind racing.

20.

Usually the rocking of the boat would lull her to sleep. But not tonight. Tonight, she was wired.

Percy shifted next to her on the mattress he had brought up from his cabin, pressing even closer into her side. It was an unseasonably warm spring night off the coast of Crete, but she shivered all the same. “Pegasus,” he said.

“Where?”

He pointed up. “See the head?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Your turn.”

Annabeth hummed. “Let’s see here…” She looked up, not at all distracted by Percy’s thigh against her. Nope. No way. “Auriga,” she said, pointing straight up.

“Where?”

“Right next to the moon.”

“And straight on till morning?”

Laughing, she kissed his cheek, gratified by the heat radiating off of him.

“Remind me, what’s up with Auriga?”

“A lot of conflicting theories,” she said. “He’s usually either identified with Myrtilus, son of Hermes, or Erichthonius, son of Hephaestus.”

Percy frowned. “I thought ‘auriga’ was Latin for ‘charioteer.’”

“Myrtilus was a charioteer, I think.” Probably. These obscure demigods really weren’t her forte. But hey, if Percy, an actual classics major, couldn’t remember who he was, then she should get some points for the little stuff she could pull out at all. “But Erichthonius is supposed to be the grandfather of Erechtheus.”

“Ah, yes.” He turned on his side, facing her, resting his head on his hand. “He of the f*cked-up looking temple.”

She swatted at him. “Hey, that’s the temple of the mighty Poseidon you’re impugning. Show some respect.”

Percy shrugged a shoulder. “Meh. f*ck him.”

A thrill of taboo ran through her, zipping from her fingers to her toes, and she suppressed a giggle. If only he knew! “Careful,” she teased. “Poseidon is famous for his temper, you know. And we are in his domain right now.”

“I repeat, meh .” He grinned, all bravado. “Poseidon and I are on pretty good terms, anyway, what with all those sailing races I keep winning. He lets me get away with sh*t like you wouldn’t believe.”

And the damndest thing was, she actually believed him. That kind of bragging could get you blasted from the sky, or swallowed up by the waves, but she wholeheartedly believed it.

Dangerous, yet still enticing. An irresistible combination. It was like he was made for her.

“Oh, hey!” Percy leaned over her, pointing at a new quadrant of sky. “There’s my guy!”

She craned her neck, following the direction of his finger. “Perseus?”

“Mmhmm.”

“So, I have to know,” she said, “how does a millennial end up being named after a Greek hero?”

“My mom was really into Harry Hamlin when she was a teenager.”

They laughed, their mingled voices ringing out into the still night.

“No, but for real,” he chuckled, “my mom's mom’s family is Greek, so she grew up hearing the stories. And Perseus was the only hero who ever got a happy ending. She wanted that for me."

She could imagine he had probably been teased to hell and back about the name, but at the same time, it just… it just felt so right for him. For them. Percy Jackson, named after the actual Greek hero, with Princess Annabeth, daughter of Athena, legacy of Frey.

She’d not met Sally Jackson as many times as she’d like. Maybe fifteen times over the last four years. Which seemed like a lot, until you consider that Annabeth spent about half her time in New York, and was desperately in love with Sally’s only son. But Annabeth had been aware, since she caught this perfect boy, that he was a normal person with a normal family, and did not deserve Annabeth’s entanglements. And she tried to respect that, to shade them from her particular three-ring circus. But that was such a Sally thing to want, it nearly took Annabeth’s breath away.

“And have you gotten it?” She asked, hushed. “Your happy ending?”

His eyes crinkled, a gentle sea green like the waters below them, shimmering in moonlight. With a tenderness she wasn’t sure was possible, he brushed a curl out of her face, his fingertips skimming over her skin. “Not yet,” he said. “But I think I’m well on my way.”

Could he hear her heart thudding? It was certainly loud enough. It might jump out of her chest entirely. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “You just have to rescue a princess from a sea monster, first.”

For a fraction of a second, some strange co*cktail of emotion passed over his face, before his face smoothed over, and he grinned, the crooked slant of his mouth sending her heart racing even faster. “You got me there, Wise Girl.”

“I’ll let you know if I see any.”

“Any princesses who might want my sorry ass hanging around? Yes, please let me know. I’m available.”

“Are you?” She traced a line along his arm. “For any princess?”

“Any princess?” Screwing up his face, he pretended to think. “No, not any princess. But a princess who I know I could team up with against a sea monster. Or paparazzi, or PAs, oh yeah. Make sure she has my number.” He leaned over and kissed her, sweet and soft. “And maybe my sword size.”

She snorted into his mouth, which set off a chain reaction: he gagged, spitting, she threw her head back while laughing, striking the wood of the deck through the mattress, and Percy, the f*cker, took advantage of her distraction to roll her on top of him, bracketing her body between his legs, even as he raised himself up on his elbows to get a better look at her.

He wore a smile on his face. This was not, in and of itself, strange. Percy smiled a lot–despite the fact that he swore up and down he was a proper emo teenager at heart, broody and moody and exactly teenaged Annabeth’s type. He had happy smiles and cheeky smiles, horny grins and hungry smirks, sweet ones for his mother and stepfather and goofy ones for his siblings.

And this one.

Being enveloped in this smile was like taking a step into a warm bath. It was like sitting around a summer campfire, the lingering taste of sugar in her mouth.

Simply put, it felt like it did when he held her hand. She took his, then, entwining their fingers together.

Something occurred to her. “Olympics are coming up.”

He blew out a breath. “Don’t remind me.”

“Remember the last one?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned, and squeezed her hand. “Lost my race, got hounded by the press, met this super, normal, totally unremarkable girl. You know, super whatever.” Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed the palm of it, soft and sweet.

“So, no regrets?”

He laughed, bright and open, “Are you kidding? That was the best month of my life. Only beaten by the next month.” Another kiss. “And this one.” He kissed her wrist, and she shivered. “And hopefully the one after that.”

“How many months can be the best?”

“All of them,” he said. “As many as you’ll give me. As long as they’re with you. Every month gets better and better. I’ve got four years of proof.”

She closed the gap, and kissed him again, running her hands through black hair as dark and warm as the midnight sky above them, and she was certain that there was nothing, neither on Earth, on Olympus, nor in the whole of the Nine Realms, that could ruin this perfect, perfect thing they had. Nothing at all.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

His Majesty King Frederick III of Sweden, dispensing entirely with etiquette, noisily slurped up a noodle, and then picked out a bit of chicken with his fork, before grasping it between his fingers and popping it in his mouth. “Mm,” he hummed. “Delicious. Nothing like a classic American alfredo.”

Annabeth, Crown Princess and duch*ess of Södermanland, pushed her pasta around the plate, stomach too tight to eat.

Over the last few years, dinner with her father had become less and less of a frightening affair. Which was ironic, because in that time he’d gone from being a regular old prince, to the King. With all the divine power and magical rituals that went along with it.

It helped that the Princess Consort rarely joined them anymore, a decision Annabeth was pretty sure traced to the fact that she was the Princess Consort, and not the Queen. And dinners that had once felt like they took place between Princess Annabeth and Prince Frederick now feel more like they are just between Annabeth and her dad.

She liked that.

But it didn’t stop her from stress-knitting a sweater for Percie on her flight all morning and afternoon after being informed via calendar notification that she had been invited to dinner with the king upon her arrival back home.

The sweater was dark blue and had the Olympic rings, matching the one she had knitted for her dog’s namesake. And also the one she was making for herself.

“Guido really outdid himself with dinner tonight,” he said, dabbing at his face with a napkin, “but it still isn’t as good as the donut you brought me from New York.” He grinned at her. “We really do need to get them to build a Dunkin here.”

She couldn’t help but grin back. “Maybe that will be my first act as queen.”

He laughed. “A good use of your divine rights, but I am not sure I want to wait that long. Do you think I would be able to get a Dunkaccino in Fólkvangr?”

“Well you certainly seem sure of your future.”

“One must be prepared to dream big,” he said, “particularly when one is a king.”

“An iced coffee and a warrior's death,” she laughed. “What more could a king ask for?”

His smile dropped, face hardening, and the very air seemed to grow… uncomfortable. He considered her, and carefully put down his fork. “Perhaps nothing more a king could want. But… as a father…”

A chill went down her spine. Oh gods. Oh no. Anything but this.

And neither, apparently, was her dad, who was suddenly very interested in the embroidery on his napkin. “...Is Percy ready for Athens?”

f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck. This was what he was playing at? “Yeah, just a few more weeks. He’s excited.”

“Any chance he’s going to stop by here, on his way?”

“Um, no, he’s got his normal ritual at home, and then he’s heading over with team USA.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Well,” he said, with a significant look, “it will have been four years, at the Olympics, won’t it? And I was wondering when we were going to be seeing him on a more… permanent basis.”

That brought her up a little short. Percy was around for almost all major holidays now, unless it conflicted with a race. And even then, sometimes he skipped them. What could he possibly want Percy to come back to Sweden for? He’d been here a month for National Day and Midsummer, and the two of them seemed to be getting on fine.

And as for permanent… he’d more or less abandoned Luke’s apartment in New York City as anything more than a pretense. It was still on his driver's license, but she was pretty sure none of his stuff was there anymore. Two weeks ago, when he’d been in New York for a Good Morning America appearance, he’d stayed over at hers, despite her still being in Sweden at the time. And that wasn’t a rare occurrence. He’d been calling it their apartment for about a year now, and he didn’t even look sheepish about it anymore.

Percy was a permanent fixture in her life. She was determined to make it so. “It feels pretty permanent to me,” she said, quietly.

He looked at her, and she looked back, for several long, long seconds, before he sighed and looked away. “Are you really going to demand I say it, dear?”

She sucked in a breath. And here it was. The other shoe, come to drop in between her and Percy. And he had seemed so perfect on paper: he loved her, he was getting good enough at Swedish that he didn’t ask her to translate anything at official dinners anymore, he looked great in a suit by her side, he could smile and wave with the best of them, and he seemed okay with the prospect of that being the rest of his life. So, what problem had been dug up? What was going to prevent Princess Annabeth from being with her prince charming?

“Say what?” If he had a problem with her choice of partner, if he had spent years getting buddy buddy with her, only to crush her dreams worse than before, then he had damn well better spell it out to her face.

He had to know that Percy was it for her. He wasn’t that oblivious. So, it was all coming back around. He’d asked her, four of five years ago, if she intended to abdicate for true love. He was calling that marker in now.

He was going to make her choose between Percy and her crown.

No, worse, he was going to make her choose between Percy and letting her stepmother win.

“When are you and Percy getting married?”

And there it was. The ultimatum.

“Well…” Wait. “What?”

He shrugged again, a touch self-conscious. “Well, dear, you are almost thirty, and while you are certainly young, I know you’ve talked about your plans for your future. And your… desire to secure succession for your descendants.” She felt herself go red at that statement. Though it wasn’t untrue, clearly. “I was just wondering if… now might be the proper time.”

Well, that wasn’t the other shoe, that was a whole damn Louboutin store. “You want me to make Percy my consort?”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted to make Percy your consort.”

“I do,” she said, “I do.” By all the gods, Greek and Norse and whatever the hell else there might be out there, did she want to.

“Well then, of course I want you to marry him. I like Percy. You know that.” Which she did. It wasn’t like he had hidden it. “And more than that, I know you love him. And he loves you, and what’s more, accepts you. Accepts all the wonderful parts of you.”

Oh, so that was the other shoe. She couldn’t even properly appreciate her father’s explicit and enthusiastic support of Percy, of her choices, of what she wanted to happen more than anything in the world.

She groaned and put her head in her hands.

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

“He hasn’t,” she mumbled into her palms.

“What?”

“He hasn’t accepted all the parts of me.”

“Oh.” It was silent for a long moment, save for her father fiddling with his napkin. “That’s… Are you sure, dear?”

She looked up. “Huh?”

“Well, I only ask because he’s been such a good sport at dinners. And he was absolutely wonderful during the funeral and the coronation and with everything. I… is he really not on board with royal life?”

“No, no, he’s–we’ve talked about that. Quite a lot. He’s a better sport about,” she waved a hand, “all of that than I deserve.”

That part was fine. It was just everything else that was the problem.

“You deserve everything, dear,” her father said without a second's hesitation. “He is, as you say, a good sport, but I do not for a second think that he would be if it wasn’t for you. Trust me when I say, I know the difference between someone who loves the prince versus someone who loves the man. Percy loves you . I promise you dear. I promise you he does.” He took her hand across the table. “Nearly as much as I do.”

And wasn’t that something. She could stop the feel of tears pooling in her eyes. Her father was staring at her, earnestness plain on his face. She had thought, not two minutes ago, that he meant to separate her from Percy, and he was proclaiming Percy’s love for her.

Her father, her dad, the King of Sweden, wanted her to be happy and loved and the Queen. And he wanted her to marry Percy Jackson to make it happen. She blinked back the tears as best she could.

It was not a totally successful endeavor.

“I haven’t told Percy,” she said, finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. And, she realized a second later, not in Swedish. Or English. Nor her grade school French. She was speaking in ancient Greek. Wasn’t she lucky that Perseus’ name fit so well in this cursed language. “I haven’t told him about my mother, or about our ancestry, or any of it.”

“I see,” her father said, his Greek not as natural as her, but clear and precise from many years of practice. “Well, do you think that will be a problem?”

“Of course it will be a problem. I have to tell him the gods are real. Like, the Greek gods. And the Norse gods!”

He waved a hand. “He’s a classicist, I am sure he’s got passing familiarity with it. It isn’t as though you’ll need to worry about him not having paid attention to that lesson in school. I’m sure it will go fine.”

“You really think so?” she asked, and for a split second, it was like she was back in that diner in California. Trusting her father to soothe her fears, and make it all better.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, squeezing her hand. “I think… I think he loves you, and that, to be honest, a royal life is a much bigger burden for him to have to deal with than marrying a demigod. It isn’t as though hydras will be attacking him during his calc finals. I do believe your mother to be far more formidable than the Riksdag, and significantly more beautiful,” he couldn’t help but add, and Annabeth chuckled. “But she could have no objection to Percy, nor your marriage, compared to any other mortal man. But the Riksdag will always want to butt in. He has put up with much worse than your mother. Or our Frey ancestors. And I believe he has shown he will continue to do so. This, all of this, is just a matter of belief. Nothing Percy has said has suggested to me that he’s particularly religious, anyway.”

“No,” Annabeth conceded, “No, he’s not.”

“So, I am sure–I am positive–that all will be well.”

She swallowed a few times, just a little afraid to speak the hope in her chest. To give life to the little hearth in her heart. “I… I think he’ll be alright with it. If I can get him to believe. I think he’ll be able to accept it. To accept me.”

Her father beamed at her. “And when are you going to tell him?”

“Soon,” she said. “I was thinking maybe in Athens, since we’ll be there together.”

Her father let out a laugh. “Has this always been your plan?”

“Maybe not always,” she chuckled, “but… I have been thinking about it for a while. A couple of months, at least.” Or maybe a couple of years. “He really wants to get a gold in the Olympics. And this year, he’s the favorite.”

“There is a long history of royalty competing in the Olympics, all over Europe. I think he could continue, if he doesn’t manage it this time. Though I am told his odds are very good.”

She smiled at him. It was such a thoughtful thing to say. “He wants to win for team USA,” she said, “and I can’t really begrudge him that if he turns around and immediately devotes his life to Sweden, now can?”

Her father laughed again. “I suppose not.”

Her eyes still a little blurry, in her mind she conjured up the wonderful image of him and her in her–their–New York apartment, Percy smiling at her over their kitchen table, and her entire body was seized with a sudden, painful need . “I really, really want to marry him, Dad,” she whispered.

“I know, dear.”

“And after we get married, he’s going to be part of this–this machine. So I just have to be honest with him. And let him accomplish as many of his goals as I can.”

“So,” he said. “Athens, then.”

“Yes.”

“And you think he’ll propose after that?”

That would be nice. “I don’t know if he’ll think it's alright, though.”

“Well,” he grinned, a little sheepish, “I may have, ah… cornered him a few months ago and informed him that it would be, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

“Dad!” She felt the blush coat her cheeks.

“Honestly, you’ve given me some insight into what was taking him so long. But I do understand his desire to go for gold,” he said, stroking his chin. “If my father, or even Randolph, had prevented me from getting my PhD, or from pursuing some scholarship for a bit, well… I would be very cross indeed.”

“He deserves it.”

“He does,” he agreed. “Just as you deserve all those buildings in New York with your name on them.”

And that’s what did it. She felt the tears fall out of her eyes.

“I’m going to tell him,” she said, voice thick. “After he wins a gold medal, I’m going to tell him all about it.”

“Or perhaps,” her father replied, with a sparkle in his eye, “you should tell him before, go up to the Parthenon, tell him about it, and help him pray to Athena and Nike for victory.”

That… was not a bad idea. Perhaps the ritual nature of it would ease him into the idea. And he was, like her dad said, a classicist. He’d want to see the Parthenon. And she could get him VIP access. Maybe even private access, if she asked the right person. “And Poseidon, too, I think. He is sailing, after all.” Hopefully the lord of the ocean hadn’t heard all the shade Percy had been throwing his way recently. Of if he had, hopefully a sacrifice would soothe his ego.

“And then, we can finally get through all the paperwork.”

Annabeth blinked. “What paperwork?”

“All the paperwork I had drawn up to get your marriage approved,” he said.

“Oh,” she grimaced.

“Sadly, other people will want to hear of it, too. But I promise, it is all just a formality. Just tell me when, and I’ll turn the crown Princess into the Crown Princess couple.”

“You really think it will be alright?”

“I’m the king,” said her father, taking a sip of his beer. “Haven’t you heard? What I say, goes.”

***

Luke whistled. “Dang.”

“So, you approve?”

“Dude, I don’t think anyone wouldn’t approve.” Luke said, holding the ring up for a better look. The large diamond at the center, square cut and aquamarine blue, perfectly reflected the light, casting glittering refractions all over his fingers. It was surrounded by diamonds so old that they’d been cut before that technology existed. They were framed by pearls, all natural, all saltwater, all perfect, and the shining platinum band which held them all was fit for a princess. Percy hoped.

“Great,” Percy said, “because I need you to create a paper trail that makes it look like I got this ring legally.”

Luke raised an eyebrow, clearly suppressing a grin that Percy knew would only be one of approval. “Did you not?”

“The diamonds came from wrecks that I scavenged. I had to take Hazel with me to make sure I’d gotten the right ones. It's basically looting.” He’d spent the last three years collecting these pearls. It was grueling work, but it was worth it. It was so worth it.

“Hazel didn’t do the actual jewelry work, did she?” Luke asked, concerned.

Percy shook his head. She normally wasn’t super comfortable with that, what with her propensity for accidental curses, and Percy would never have made her do that if she didn’t want to. “No, she wouldn’t even call the stuff in the ocean, she'd point it out, and then I’d have to go through rotting wood and rusted metal to get them. Tyson made it for me. And sourced the platinum.” And also designed it for him, with a little help from his harpy girlfriend. Tyson had blushed when he told Percy about it. “But she’s a princess. Some magazine or newspaper–not to mention all of the Internet–is going to want details about where they came from, and I need to explain it without using words like ‘magic’ and ‘Poseidon.’”

Luke turned the ring over, inspecting the underside of the gems. “I thought you were going to tell Annabeth before your proposal.”

He nodded. “I am, in Athens. But I’m not planning on announcing it to the world.”

“I don’t know, that might be kind of funny.”

“I feel like they’d take away my medals if I tell them I can control my boat with my mind. And the ocean, too.” Percy said, “And I would always take you down with me in that situation.”

Luke let his grin out, savage and unrepentant. “Fair. So, you need a place for it to have come from. I can make it look above board. Any other requests?”

“Could you not make it a blood diamond thing? I would love not to imply that.”

“Just looting, then?” he asked, handing the ring back.

Percy made a face, even as he carefully placed it back inside the velvet box. “Look, looting from ships that sank centuries ago for a few gems that would otherwise be lost, so my princess girlfriend can have an engagement ring worthy of her, is reasonable, I think. Over a century of controlling diamond markets, and using it to exploit colonialist populations is not. Having said that, though… Please don’t say I looted anything.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, with relief. And more than a little excitement. After months–years–of planning, it was almost time. He knew he wanted to marry her one normal Tuesday afternoon, as they sat together at Annabeth’s–their–kitchen table, laughing over something silly. Whenever he got cold feet, or felt like the royal life might be too much to handle, he cast his mind back to that beautiful, quiet moment, and reminded himself: no matter how weird and f*cky it got, it was worth it. She was worth it all.

“Anything for you cuz. And that princess.” He smiled, crooked and pleased. “Have you decided how you’re going to do it yet?”

“Not sure yet,” Percy admitted. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Your race?”

“Oh, yeah, with that too.”

Luke frowned. “That’s not what’s been preoccupying you?”

“I mean… it hasn’t… not been preoccupying me,” he said. “But… I’ve been distracted.”

“With what?”

Percy sighed, sinking into the couch. “You said it. I have to tell her before I can propose to her.”

Frowning with sympathy, Luke settled down next to him, crossing his arms. “You really think it's going to be a big deal?”

“Of course it's going to be a big deal. You think it won’t be a big deal?”

“No, just go up to her and say ‘the gods are real, like the greek gods, like the ones you learned about but weren't paying attention to.”

“She likes mythology, she was probably paying attention.”

“Well, it will be like when I explained things to your mom.”

Percy snorted. “My mom was hired by Hermes. She knew about my dad. She knew all about everything. She didn’t need some nine year old loser giving her a Greek mythology tutorial.”

“Yeah, well this nine year old loser saved your life.”

“Tell that to the snakes I strangled at age two.”

Luke reached over and ruffled Percy’s hair. “Big three braggart.”

“And proud of it.”

It was weird being over here. He hadn’t stayed with Luke in New York for a year. Without meaning to, Annabeth’s apartment became home base. The doorman and housekeeper recognized him. He’d had to pack a bag to come over this weekend. But Luke had just short of begged him, saying that it was probably the last time they could do it.

And frankly, Percy kind of hoped he was right.

“I wasn’t talking about the snakes,” Luke said.

“No?”

“No, I was talking about our quest.”

Technically speaking, he and Luke had been on half a dozen little quests. But he could only be talking about one. “You did save me from Ladon,” said Percy, probably a little too nostalgic for a near-death experience.

“I did,” Luke agreed, “on a quest you weren’t even supposed to be on.”

“Come on, you know you wanted me there.”

“Oh yeah, a ten year old hanger on was exactly what I wanted on my deadly quest.”

‘Stowaway’ might have been a more appropriate term, since Percy had hidden in the back seat of Luke’s car and only revealed himself once they had gotten past the George Washington Bridge. Luke, surprised, angry, and having missed the turn to detour North to the Tappan Zee bridge to take Percy back, begrudgingly decided that Percy could stay. Though he did make Percy call his mom and explain where he had gone.

“What’s gotten you so nostalgic?” Percy asked.

Pursing his lips, Luke was silent for a little while, determinedly staring up at the ceiling. “Can I be honest?” he said, eventually.

“I don’t know, big ask for a son of Hermes.” He was expecting the throw pillow to the face, and he caught it.

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway. So for real, what’s up?”

“I think it’s the whole Athens thing,” said Luke, quietly.

“The Olympics?”

“No. It’s more the where than the what . We’re going to the motherland.”

Percy paused and considered him. “I think it’s more the fatherland, for us.”

“Be serious.”

“I can‘t. If I am serious, I have to think about it. And then I get freaked out.”

Luke frowned at him. “What are you freaked out about?”

“Take your pick: the ancient sea, deadly monsters, Zeus being upset at me on the way, not getting gold, Annabeth realizing that she’s too good for a crazy moron like me. I can go on.”

But Luke was undeterred. “Hey–you can kill a lousy monster and control the lousy ocean. Zeus knows the Olympics are for him, and we’re gonna burn a sacrifice and everything, I already have the AirBNB with the fire pit and grill booked.” He paused, took a deep breath, and clapped Percy in the shoulder, but he didn’t move his hand when he was done. “You could win this race with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your back. But that isn’t what you want. And so, you’re going to put your whole heart into it. And also your body. And it will probably go great, but–”

“It didn’t last time.”

Luke narrowed his eyes, and then used the hand resting on Percy’s shoulder, brought it up and cuffed the side of his head.

“Ow!”

“Dude, you know the world is full of Olympians who lost at the last second. And settled for silver. Or bronze. You also know that you have the power to make it so that doesn’t happen to you. You chose not to use that power last time.”

Rubbing his head, Percy pouted. “You think I should have cheated.”

“I think that, given that you only failed to win last time because of supernatural interference, it isn’t really cheating.”

“No?”

“No! Look,” he said, the fire in his eyes blazing with the same kind of righteous indignation he had at sixteen, but without the sickly poison of almost giving himself over to a Titan, “our parents f*ck us over. It’s like, their whole thing. They f*ck over our mothers, then they f*ck over us. But at the very least, they try to make up for it. It isn’t like some stupid fantasy movie where we aren’t allowed to use our powers for ourselves, or let mortals catch on. Mortals don’t notice, and we get to use our powers to balance the scales.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’s how it works?”

“Sure. What, do you think that a child of Athena is cheating on a test by being really smart?”

“...Probably not.”

“Well, it's basically the same thing.”

“So you want me to cheat.”

Luke shook his head. “No. I want you to forgive yourself if something goes wrong, if another monster attacks. And you choose to intervene, like I know you will, and you choose not to bring your full powers to bear. If you choose not to go for gold, know it is a choice you’re making. And it's okay.”

That… helped. Something in Percy’s chest unwound a little. “There's always next time, is that it?”

“Not at all,” Luke said with a grin, “because come Tartarus or high water, you’re marrying your princess when this is over.”

And that brought everything crashing back. “But what if she’s not okay about the demigod stuff?”

“The whole point of monarchy is ‘my bloodline is super special.’ Of course she’ll be cool about it.”

“And if she is cool with the demigod sh*t, but says no when I propose?”

Luke stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said in your life.”

“Hey!”

“She is obsessed with you. And in love with you. She has brought you to state dinners. You’ve waved at coronations. She named her dog after you! Of course she’ll say yes.”

“Only the one coronation.” Percy felt the need to point out.

Luke kicked him in the shin. He did not hold back.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

It had been two years, and still the words were burned in her mind:

Wisdom's daughter walks alone,

The Mark of Athena burns through Rome.

She had had the first part on a piece of paper, crumpled and worn for two years, as she held it in anxious hands and tried to figure out what it all meant.

May Castellan had said the second part to her, whispered it in her sing-songy voice the first time Percy had introduced her. "The mark of Athena burns through Rome." Then Luke had handed her the second part, a furtive message from a secret oracle disguised as a note from his mother.

To his credit, as a mortal, there was no way he could have foreseen how it would have made her lose her mind.

Before she had met May Castellan, all she had had to guide her in her quest had been an old, dusty legend, scattered across extant manuscripts all over the world. It had taken years to piece them together, carving out time between her classwork and her family duties to pop into some of the world’s biggest libraries to poke around their archives. Sure, obscure texts by Greek and Latin authors didn’t necessarily fit into her thesis on the perils of weaponized philanthropy, but was the Vatican Apostolic Library really going to turn down a request from a princess, even if said request wasn’t really related to theological history either?

No, they weren’t. And so, piece by piece, she reconstructed the story: long ago, as the Romans swept across the Greek world, something had been stolen from her mother. Something huge, and incredibly important. It was taken, and it was hidden away, somewhere in Rome.

Now, every few months, Annabeth found herself in Italy, trying desperately to find her mother's mark, and what it was supposed to be burning. And failing, each time.

She had combed every inch of this city that she was allowed to, several that she wasn't, and several more which would have gotten her into hot water, princess or no. But it wasn't in the Colosseum, and it wasn't in the Pantheon. It wasn't in any of the relatively newer places, like the Trevi Fountain (yuck, Poseidon) or the Vatican (yuck, Catholicism). She had walked up and down the Appian Way, descended into the buried tomb of Cestius, and even snuck into the Farnesina after dark (yuck, fascist architecture)–and still, nothing.

She was running out of places to check, even armed with her hat.

Rather than let her most recent failures get her down, however, she decided to take advantage of her surroundings, grab some gelato, and settle down at a cafe on the banks of the Tiber River.

She’d ditched Hans at her hotel. He probably knew she was gone by now, he wasn’t stupid. But she’d been crisscrossing the city so much, he probably wasn’t on the way to waylay her just yet.

She had on a Yankees hat and big sunglasses. And though her public profile had raised quite a bit in the last several years, between her father’s ascension and her very public romance, she wasn’t super worried. Without Percy being the hot one, or too many jewels on her person, or a sash or whatever, she wasn’t likely to be spotted.

The sun was bright, and would have blinded her, were it not for the shadow of the Fabrician Bridge blunting its intensity. As the only bridge in Rome built by a son of Athena, it was also the only bridge which had survived intact to the modern period. She always loved coming here after a long, unfruitful search–it felt like the single place she could be comfortable in Rome, a little Greek oasis in the middle of a harsh, Roman landscape.

There was a nice breeze off the river, gently fluttering the leaves on the trees of the Tiber Island, playing with the ends of her curls. She’d been tossing around the idea of cutting her hair again, Percy had really liked playing with the bob she’d had for several months last year. She hadn’t though, because–not to get ahead of herself–she was pretty sure she was going to be having a wedding in the next year, and so she should probably hold off until afterwards.

On most days, to her mind, it was just shy of an inevitability. She sometimes got worried, got bogged down by what ifs and that big scary secret. But she was pretty damn sure she was marrying Percy Jackson.

And she had ideas about what her hair would look like. And her dress. What tiara she’d wear. What flowers she’d choose.

Where they’d go on their honeymoon.

Gods, she wished he was here.

It was so easy, as she sat by the Tiber, to pretend that he was. That instead of combing the city looking for a monster, they could eat pizza and gelato, see the sights, and just bask in each other. They could explore the city like they were Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. But with a happier ending. And with no deception.

Soon. Soon she would lay all her cards on the table. And soon it would be alright.

So lost in her wonderful daydream, it took her a split second to notice the Vespa which had pulled up alongside her table. It was an old-fashioned model, baby blue, bright even against the perfect blue Italian sky. On the scooter was a couple: the driver, handsome, with a gray suit, and his partner, a petite woman with a sharp bob and thick, dark eyebrows.

“You’re here early,” said the man, in his deep voice.

Annabeth blinked, mouth hanging open.

Had she accidentally manifested her daydreams? Uh, again?

Sensing her thoughts, the woman laughed. “No, dear, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken us for someone else. My name is Rhea Silvia, mother of Rome.”

Oh gods. A god.

“And this is my husband–”

“Tiberinus,” said Gregory Peck, reaching out his hand.

“God of the Tiber?” she guessed, gingerly shaking it. Oh gods. Two gods.

“Indeed. And we know who you are. Yet another child of Athena, seeking the highest honor she can bestow.”

She stiffened. As carefully as she could, she slipped her hand closer to her knife, holstered beneath her shirt. “How do you know who I am?”

But Audrey–uh, Rhea–just smiled at her, that perfect, movie star mouth gracefully curving upwards, eyes sparkling. “Well,” she said, gesturing towards the view of the bridge. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Annabeth successfully pushed down her blush.

“Fear not, child, we mean you no harm today. We’re merely curious, is all.”

“...About what?”

“Well, like my husband said, you’re here early. Or possibly late. It’s hard to keep these things straight, sometimes.”

Annabeth frowned. “Early… for what?”

They tittered at her, not unkindly, but Annabeth still felt her face heat up. “If you have to ask,” said Tiberinus, “then you really are too early.”

“And alone,” Rhea added. “Where is your champion?”

“My champion?” She really hated being on the back foot.

“Yes, dear, your champion.” Rhea smiled again, and this time it was patronizing. “Perhaps you should come back later. Maybe… in a year or so?”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, centering herself before she flew off the handle and attacked the pair of gods for being deliberately obtuse. If she lost her cool every time a god annoyed her, she would have been vaporized a long time ago. “I’m sorry,” she said, as evenly as she could muster, “I’m not sure I understand. What am I supposed to be early for?”

“Or late for,” Tiberinus pointed out. Annabeth did her best to grind her teeth as quietly as possible.

“Late, early, whichever it is,” said Rhea, waving an elegant hand, “now is clearly not the right time. No champion, no documents–you’ll just have to come back.”

“Great,” she sighed. “I’ll just pencil in a bimonthly trip to Rome, then. Helen will love that.”

The two gods peered at her, unmovingly. Clearly sarcasm was not a useful tool with these guys.

Biting back another sigh, she plastered on her best princess smile–polite, accommodating, and just a little bit vacuous. “Okay. I promise that I will come back to Rome.”

“With your champion!” Rhea chirped.

Annabeth nodded, face straining. “With my champion. Which is, uh, who, again?”

“Why, your friend with the sea-blood!” she said, as though that cleared everything up. “He will be a great boon to you in the coming years. Keep him close, dear, and keep him ready.”

Sea-blood. Her friend with the sea-blood. Who could that be?

Wait–they had said–“You’ve met other children of Athena before?”

“Well, of course!” Tiberinus nodded, like it was no big deal. “Her chosen are all drawn to this place, naturally. But you,” he said, pointing a finger at her, “you have certainly come the closest to your prize. I can see what your mother sees in you.”

Her mouth dropped open, a fire brewing in her belly.

Tiberinus smiled at her, the same slanted grin, full of trouble, that had completely entranced her when she was thirteen. And again at twenty-five. “Well,” he said. “Until next time, wisdom’s daughter.”

He revved the engine of his scooter, and Rhea settled back into her seat, wrapping her arms about his waist. With a dainty laugh, she wiggled her fingers at Annabeth with all of Audrey’s perfect grace but none of her charm, and the two gods sped off, following the length of the river Tiber, until they passed the Fabrician Bridge and rounded the corner, out of Annabeth’s sight.

Now out of danger, she collapsed into her seat, running her hands over her face. Her heart suddenly started racing, delayed adrenaline coursing through her body.

You’d think after years of randomly running into gods, she’d be used to the feelings of terror by now.

At least they had been nice. Or, if not nice, then not overtly hostile.

And they had even been kind of helpful, in their own, annoying way.

She was supposed to be here, but there were a few things she needed first before she came back. Documents, whatever the hell that meant. And a champion. Her “friend with the sea-blood.”

Maybe they meant Hans? A bodyguard could sort of maybe be the modern version of a champion. And he was a legacy of Njord, so technically, he did have sea-blood. Kind of. A little bit. It wasn’t exact, but it did fit him, from a certain point of view, and maybe even well enough to satisfy Tiberinus and Rhea’s conditions.

Her hands slipped off her face, and her mind began to wander again.

“Sea-blood.” Honestly, she had no idea what that meant. But for whatever reason, it made her think of Percy. He spent so much time in the water, he might as well have ocean in his veins anyway.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Percy wasn’t her champion, she just missed him, and that was why she was thinking about him.

Gods, she hated Rome. The gods that were just different enough to make the sameness rendered alien. Dismissing of Athena as the warrior she was. And then the ancient empire got itself subsumed by Christianity.

She wondered whatever became of the statue they stole from her mother. She glanced around. She knew enough about archaeology to know that Rome, like most ancient cities, was built on top of itself. Could there really be a glowing gold statue of Athena, somewhere beneath the modern city?

From her pocket, her phone buzzed, bringing her back to the real world. To her scheduled appearances and her professional obligations. To the next problem she had to deal with.

But still, there was some light at the end of the tunnel. She now had more answers for her quest than she had before. And, in just over a month, she was going back to the Olympics.

***

Panting, Percy sat down on the stone stairs with a solid thud , dropping his head to his knees, just barely keeping himself from sitting on the plastic bag which contained his offering. Sweat poured from his forehead, his hair sticking to his ears and neck, and his chest heaved as he panted, his lungs sucking in as much air as his body could possibly handle.

Athens had everything–incredible views, delicious food, more ancient ruins than you could shake a stick at, and hills. So. Many. Damn. Hills. The entire city undulated, rippling beneath the weight of its history, and he felt it in every godsdamned step up to the top of this godsdamned hill. Which was on top of another godsdamned hill!

He was an Olympic athlete, for f*cks’ sake! He was in peak physical condition! He shouldn’t be getting his ass kicked by a stupid mountain!

Next to him, a Greek woman breezed past him up the steps as she chatted to someone on her phone, effortlessly ascending the mountain in her four-inch stilettos, a designer bag perched delicately on her arm, her white skirt flapping gracefully in the afternoon breeze.

With a groan, he shoved himself up from his seat, wiped his forehead with his shirt, and continued moving upwards.

He should have just cut his losses and taken the stupid cable car to the top of Lycabettus. But then Hera would probably be mad that he hadn’t done it the “traditional way” or some sh*t, and he wanted Hera on his side right now.

Eventually, finally, he crossed the final step, and he staggered towards the wall, bending over at the waist as he gripped the stone lip. Tourists milled around him, their voices drowned out by the roaring of blood in his ears as he struggled to regain his composure. Again–he was an Olympian. Twice over. Literally. This was pathetic.

Closing his eyes, he held his breath, suppressing the instant cough that tried to burst through. It was a trick that Chiron had taught him when he was a kid–he just had to slow his heartbeat, and his breathing would follow. His buddy Jason had told him he did a similar trick to calm down after a sprint. It was nice to know that the technique worked equally well for both mortals and demigods. And after a while, his breathing did slow, and his heart stopped trying to explode out of his chest. However, that just meant that he was ever more acutely aware of his stomach, tight with nerves.

And this wasn’t even the last stop on his little pre-games tour.

Slipping around the crowds of tourists, he made his way over to the little white church at the top of the hill, dodging selfie sticks and stuffed backpacks, until he reached a short, black-iron gate. Stopping quickly to scratch the ears of the tabby cat who lounged in front, he slipped through the gate, making his way through the slightly overgrown garden, until he reached the mouth of a cave, hidden from mortal eyes.

He was surprised neither Nico nor Hazel hadn’t known about the shrine. Underground was generally their area of expertise, especially Hazel, but Percy had only heard about this place from Luke, who had heard it from one of his half-siblings, who had wanted to marry his girl there. Presumably, said girl was also a demigod, because who else would want to get married at an ancient shrine to Hera?

Not Percy, anyway. Besides, he had a feeling that his wedding, whenever it was, would be held in a certain cathedral in a certain Nordic city.

Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt to put in an offering to the goddess of marriage.

Despite the size of the cave, the shrine was fairly small. Presumably it had been much bigger in ancient times. Encircled by columns in various states of decay, in the center of the chamber, an eternal flame still flickered, resting atop an unblemished table made of ivory and gold. Behind, the chryselephantine cult statue of Hera stood, as tall and imperious as always. (Percy had met her once, when he was tasked with rescuing a sacred bird. As the child of a broken marriage vow, Percy got the sense that he wasn’t her favorite person.)

From the plastic bag, he withdrew a red, paper box, honey already leaking out from the bottom. Resisting the urge to lick his fingers, he opened the lid, revealing twelve sticky dough balls from the best loukoumades place in Athens. And he would know. He’d eaten plenty of them.

There really was no script for this sort of thing, so Percy just decided to speak from the heart. “Lady Hera,” he said, presenting the box, “I come to ask for your blessing for my upcoming wedding.”

The fire seemed to respond to the food, the smoke almost grasping for it with blurry, spectral fingers.

Perhaps he was jumping the gun a little bit. He hadn’t even asked Annabeth yet. But he might not get another chance to hike back up the hill before training began, and he wouldn’t be able to rest until after his race. “I’m going to ask her to marry me after my race,” he said, making his oath before the shrine of the goddess, “and I would be most grateful for your blessing when the time comes.”

The statue said nothing, looking down her nose at him, but when he tossed in the box of sweets, the fire rose up, a cozy, burnt orange, the pops and hisses of melting sugar almost playful, filling the cave with the warm scent of cinnamon and honey.

Well, that was about as much answer as he could probably have expected.

Without another word, he bowed to the shrine, then took his leave, edging his way out through the overgrown garden, and the crowd of tourists surrounding the church. Picking his way down the mountain path, he checked his watch. It was later in the day than he would have liked, but not so late that he wouldn’t make it in time for dinner with the Americans who had already arrived for the games. The Greeks did prefer to eat late, after all, and jet lag was kicking all of their collective asses.

Two metro stations, a tram, and a ten minute walk later, Percy found himself at his final stop–the Hellenic Maritime Museum. The long, curved, building was nestled beneath a highway, facing one of the many harbors of Piraeus, its courtyard partly shadowed by the direction of the afternoon sun. Gratefully, Percy slipped off his sunglasses, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the new, less blinding light. Between each evenly-spaced column– intercolumniation , whispered the Annabeth who lived in his brain, and Percy smiled to himself–was a cannon or a gun or some other piece of modern ship equipment, pointed squarely at the smattering of tourists as they rambled along the edge of the marina.

Inside, the space was blessedly sparse, especially after the cramped, overcrowded Acropolis. The bored port officer at reception waved him past as he flashed his old student ID at him, never once looking up from his phone.

It was a nice little museum, although Percy couldn’t help but laugh as he rounded the corner and was immediately greeted by a replica of the Artemision Bronze. Two thousand years of wrongful identification, and his father still couldn’t let that one go. Maybe if Poseidon actually had the bronze trident, like he claimed, he should arrange for it to be discovered, and then they could clear this whole mess up, and settle the debate over the statue’s identity once and for all. Until then, however, the god of the sea would have to content himself with a sacrifice from a son who sought his favor.

Poseidon’s had been tricky. Zeus, to whom the Olympics were dedicated, got a sacrifice of the best souvlaki in Athens, burned behind some scaffolding in his unfinished temple. Hera, patroness of marriage, similarly got loukoumades from the best and oldest shop in Plaka, delivered to her at the top of the mountain. Athena, as goddess of the city and battle strategy, got a brand new Yale sweatshirt, which would hopefully flatter her wisdom-related sensibilities enough to grant him victory. Hopefully, too, she would be impressed at how he managed to dodge the security guards to sneak into the Parthenon to do the deed.

Ultimately, it was Estelle who came up with the perfect gift for his dad, because his little sister was a genius.

So there Percy was, a box of salt water taffy from the Montauk Salt Cave stuffed into his backpack, wandering through the deserted maritime museum, looking for his father’s shrine. It hadn’t been by the scaled down model of a trireme. It hadn’t been by the portrait of Percy’s two-centuries-older-half-sister, Laskarina Bouboulina. And it hadn’t been in the tiny, unmanned gift shop. Percy had even looked in the bathroom behind the check-out counter.

Frowning, he doubled back, peering behind every ship model, peeking around every corner, investigating every patch of exposed wall for some kind of sign, preferably one that said “Secret Shrine Here.” So engrossed was he in his quest, that he squarely bumped into another tourist who had wandered into the museum, who had been admiring the bronze statue. “ Signomi ,” Percy blurted, and then, hedging his bets that the man probably spoke English, based on his Hawaiian shirt, puka shell necklace, and sandals, said instead, “Sorry.”

“It is quite alright, Percy,” came a deep, stony voice.

He froze. “...Father,” he replied, carefully. Risking a glance behind him, he saw that the port officer was nowhere to be found. Hopefully the guy was taking a smoke break or something, and that his dad hadn’t vaporized him.

Poseidon never turned his gaze from the statue, his stare intense enough to burn a hole through it. “I trust your journey was uncomplicated?”

Percy shrugged. “More or less.” Zeus had let him live once more after trespassing through his domain, so that was nice.

His father nodded, slowly turning his head. “And you are prepared for the games, yes?”

Percy sighed. There it was. “Yeah, dad. I'm ready.”

He had met his godly father a few times over the years, which he understood to be very, very rare. According to Chiron, you could really only count on them showing up if they needed you to bring glory to their name. For Luke, it was retrieving a golden apple. For Nico, it was tracking down whoever had stolen the sword of Hades. And for Percy, it was winning gold at the Olympics.

His father hadn’t been upset at his display four years ago… but he certainly hadn’t been happy about it.

“Then why were you wasting your time with my sister, Akraie ?”

“Who is–?” Of the heights , his brain helpfully supplied, then added Hera, dumbass . Oh. “You… saw that?”

He frowned, lines etching his face like an ancient cliffside, carved by water. “You think I am not always watching you? That I have not watched your movements with great pride?”

A warm thrill went through him, and he slung off his backpack, rummaging through it for the box of taffy to try and hide just how pleased that made him feel. “Well, if you’re worried about feeling left out, I got you something, too–”

“Tell me why you made a sacrifice to her.”

It was Percy’s turn to frown as he looked back up at his father. “I mean, I also made offerings to Zeus and Athena–”

“You asked her for her blessing for marriage, no? To your companion, Annabeth?”

The warm feeling turned to ice in an instant. “How do you know about her?”

“It is as I said. I am always watching you.”

Suddenly that was a lot less comforting than it was a second ago.

“I do not like her.”

“Your sister?”

“Your princess.”

Percy straightened. “Excuse me?”

“She is a distraction,” said Poseidon, grimly. “A liability. Many a great hero has been led astray by a woman at his moment of triumph.”

“It’s just the Olympics,” Percy protested. “It’s not like the fate of the world hangs in the balance.”

“And then there’s her background. What are you doing, cavorting with our enemy, boy?”

He gripped the strap of his backpack, knuckles turning white. “Don’t talk about her like that.” She was nothing of the sort. She was kind, brilliant, beautiful, funny, and made him feel every inch the hero Poseidon wanted him to be. And what the hell did he mean by their “enemy”? The opposing team?

Swift as a tsunami, Poseidon stepped towards him. Percy was a tall guy, about as tall as his father normally when he decided to swing by, but now he was forced to look up slightly. Gone were the Hawaiian shirt, the puka shells, the worn leather sandals, and in their place was a richly decorated sea-green robe, a crown of celery, and a stern stare. “Theseus was led to kill his issue on the false words of Queen Phaedra. Bellerophon’s union with Philonoe stoked his ego so high, it could only be matched by his fall from the heavens. I will not,” he said slowly, like a crashing of rocks, “see the same fame for you, my favored son.”

Percy swallowed, an unidentifiable pit in the core of his being, gritty and irritating as an oyster.

Like the king that he was, Poseidon held out his hand. When Percy could only stare dumbly at it, the god said, “Your offering?”

“Oh,” he started, snapping back to movement. “Uh. Right.”

Suddenly, though, he didn’t exactly want to go through with it. But it would be rude not to. So, with a little reluctance, he handed over the box, and valiantly kept his smart mouth in check.

Their business concluded, Poseidon nodded, turning away. “Glory to you, my son,” he intoned, dissolving into the air like mist. “And heed my warnings.”

And then he was alone.

“Heed my warnings,” Percy snarked to himself, slinging his backpack on to his shoulder. “Bleh bleh bleh.”

Mood soured, he made his way to the bus stop, sunglasses and frown firmly on his face.

His father was wrong. Annabeth was not a distraction.

She was his inspiration. And he would win that gold, no matter what.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

The morning of her birthday, it wasn’t her alarm that woke her up, but her ringtone. Clumsily, she grasped for her phone, not even bothering with checking the caller ID, or rolling over so her face wasn’t smashed into the pillow, and mumbled a sleepy, “H’lo?” into the receiver.

Annabeth had two phones, a personal one and a professional one. The professional was mostly for show, as Helen commandeered most of her correspondence, and the personal was mostly for texting. Only a handful of people ever actually called her personal phone, and only one person did so with any regularity.

Sure enough, she could hear the smile in the voice of her favorite person in the world as he said, “God morgon, wise girl.”

“Mmm.” He’d been practicing his Swedish. Hot.

“Grattis på födelsedagen.”

“Hm.”

“Sleep okay?”

“Fine,” she yawned. “Would’ve been better if you were here.”

“If I could, I would.”

“Yeah, yeah.” With another yawn and a spine-cracking stretch, she shifted onto her side. “I’m issuing a royal decree that we’re not allowed to spend another birthday apart.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, because that’ll pass the Riksdag.”

“It will if I ask nicely.” She rubbed her eyes. “Video?”

“Probably not,” he said, disappointment palpable. “Lots of people here today. And I’m showing Estelle around in a bit.”

It was one of their little rituals they had developed over the years, a quick check-in before switching to a video call. More for her security than his, he had started asking if she were alone so he could see her, and as his star continued to rise and his calendar continued to fill up with meets and trainings, she had started to do the same. It wouldn’t do, he had said, for some rando to see a princess half-asleep when he called to wake her up from halfway around the world. She understood the subtext–they got so little privacy as it is. She wouldn’t want anyone muscling in on these few moments of true intimacy they had.

Didn’t mean she couldn’t be sad about it, though.

They had been together for about four years. Four years, more or less living together in New York, and yet they often couldn’t see each other for more than a couple of weeks together at a time. Those couple of weeks were always something close to perfect, though. The sweet, domestic days with Percy. He’d make her breakfast and lunch (but they would order out for dinner), they’d work out together, and he’d compliment her ability to keep up with an Olympic athlete while she stopped herself from making jokes about being a different sort of Olympian athlete. They’d watch Chopped or Xena Warrior Princess together. Have the kind of lazy afternoon sex on the couch she’d heard promises of but never dreamed could be so perfect. And they’d talk about life, and about each other. About what mattered and their hopes for the future.

A future that was probably going to be a little more stable soon. Once he won gold and retired.

Once she came clean, and they got married.

Then, no more mornings in opposite time zones.

Though it was not so opposite right now, at least. She’d gone back to Sweden after her little trip to Rome, and he was in Athens. The trip was just too long to New York to justify it, especially when she was going to turn back right away.

“I wish you were here.”

“I wish you were here,” he hit back. “How are the temporary digs?”

She was not staying in her usual apartment, because said apartment was being renovated. For things she might need soon. Like a bigger kitchen, and more bedrooms. That kind of thing.

She’d pored over it for about a year leading up to this. There was a built-in space for an aquarium in the living room. The perfect place for domestic life. One that would last more than a fortnight at a time.

And maybe a place to grow a family too.

Thought that at least, hadn’t been so directly talked about, other than it being something that had to happen, if she wanted to effectively cut Mary out of the bloodline by way of Percy’s princes and princesses. Which she did.

“Fine,” Annabeth said, “I’m only here for three days, anyway.” Her schedule was so tight, she only had enough time for a short stay in Stockholm between Rome and Athens. She’d been frontloading as many appearances and projects as she could, because after the Olympics, she and Percy had a big, celebratory vacation planned. A vacation she thought–hoped, anyway–might involve a ring, and an announcement.

And then the apartment in Sweden should be done. Though they would keep the New York apartment indefinitely.

“I can’t wait to explore Athens with you.”

“Me too,” Annabeth said. “The great seat of Pallas Athena.” Where she would tell him the truth.

“Hopefully she’ll be helpful to me in my races,” Percy said. “We’re going exploring today.”

“All the cousins?”

“Of course. Estelle is very excited.”

Annabeth could picture it. Last summer, the Jackson-Blofis family had come to visit her in Sweden, and Annabeth had happily utilized her position to take them on the ultimate VIP tour. She had been happy to do all the normal touristy things, but she had been over the moon at some of the more off the beaten path places Annabeth had taken them to, like the Disgusting Food Museum. That one had really tickled her ten-year-old sensibilities. She had a wonderful picture, too, of Estelle and her older brother, lounging on the rocky coast of Öland, sharing a broad, cheeky smile.

She wanted more. A whole album of Estelle and her brother, just for Annabeth. “Send me a picture.”

“Any requests? ”

“Depends on what you’re doing.”

“All the usual touristy stuff.”

She frowned, thinking. Not that he could see it. “Something Athena-y.”

“I’m literally in Athens.”

“Then it should be easy for you.” Annabeth said, “And make sure to get me something with you and Estelle.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Percy said. “What’s the plan for your birthday?”

“Brunch with my dad and Magnus and Alex, and a few of their friends,” she said, “and then a flight to Greece.”

“I like that bit,” Percy said, his grin audible. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow to celebrate?”

“Eight PM, full table and dinner service at the King George. Helen’s reserved the whole rooftop for us.”

“And I can give you your birthday present.”

“You’d better.” Though truthfully, she didn’t care. She just wanted to see him. She wanted to see him so badly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“How are you?”

He sighed, crackling over the phone. “I’m tired.”

Annabeth sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. “What’s wrong?”

She could picture him, clear as day: his head tipped forward, his fingers massaging his temples, the furrow in his brow she always thought was cute even deeper and more pronounced. “Nothing, it’s just…” He sighed again. “It’s hot, and training is a lot, and my roommate is kind of a dick, and my–I just really feel the pressure this time around.”

“From your coach?” she asked, kindly.

“...Yeah. Him, too.”

She frowned. “Who–”

“Is that Annabeth?” interrupted a voice over the phone, one she recognized just as well. “Can I talk to her? Hi Annabeth!”

“Estelle says ‘hi.’” Percy added.

“I say hi back,” Annabeth replied.

“Hi Annabeth! Percy misses you a lot!”

“Come on, squirt, don’t rat me out like that.”

Annabeth laughed, helpless to stop the broad grin which stretched across her face. “Sounds like you’re headed out.”

“Yeah,” he said, but he sounded sad about it. “I love you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised. “I love you, too.”

Her birthday proceeded from there as she was promptly swarmed by her hair and makeup people. She had managed to negotiate her team down from a full on fancy dinner to a light, cheerful, birthday brunch instead, in lieu of skipping the whole thing entirely. It was a compromise that paid off–a lighter budget played well in the headlines, and a smaller guest list meant that Annabeth could spend the day with people she actually liked. It still necessitated a nice dress and a proper hairstyle, but instead of inviting endless, vaguely disapproving ministers, it was strictly friends and family only: her brothers, Magnus and Alex, a handful of their friends and partners. The atmosphere was downright pleasant, and laughter filled the drawing room along with the gentle clink of mimosa glasses.

Annabeth was enjoying herself. Honestly. But still, she caught herself checking the time every twenty minutes or so. Hopefully unobtrusively, but as the brunch wore on, she began to care less and less how obvious she might have been. Seven hours to her flight. Six hours, forty minutes to her flight. Six hours, twenty minutes.

At the five hour mark, her father tapped her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go ahead and head out for your flight? I can take care of things for you here.”

She blinked, taking a second for her focus to snap into place. Then she processed what he said. “You’re… letting me leave?”

“Of course!”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’ll want to leave soon if you have any hope of beating the traffic.” He winked at her.

After all these years, she thought she would have gotten used to her father quietly going to bat for her, giving her outs to let her do what she wanted. But it still made her dangerously close to tearing up, every single time. She threw her arms around him, squeezing tight, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

And stayed for another half hour, for good measure.

Though maybe she should have slipped out, because as soon as she stood up from the couch, smoothing her skirt, and made for the door, somebody–Magnus, likely–wolf-whistled behind her. And as much as she would love to have made a rude gesture in response, she restrained herself to a simple eye roll and a mental note to text Alex so they could come up with a plan for revenge later.

She had packed the night before, full of enthusiasm and a rare bout of productivity, so after an entirely traffic-free drive to the airport, she was making herself comfortable in the first-class lounge, day-dreaming about the next time she and Percy would go on an unchaperoned cruise (soon, with any luck) when her thoughts began to wander. Which was a shame. She vastly preferred to think about Percy. But if she thought about Percy, then she couldn’t help but think of other things.

If she had to describe Percy, there were a million words she could use–kind, talented, strong, and yes, handsome–but one that deserved to be near the top of her list was brave. Because he was brave. He had entered her world of careful, agonizing scrutiny without so much as a second thought, and he had conducted himself just about perfectly. As much as she tried not to, Annabeth hadn’t been able to help herself from following the headlines over the course of their relationship.

There had always been the fear that he wouldn’t be accepted by her country. And as much as Annabeth wanted to pretend that the only opinion she valued was her own, it just wasn’t true. Having her father support her relationship had been a huge relief, and watching as Percy slowly won over the rest of the country had felt like surfacing for air after having nearly drowned. Because of course he would win them over. He was kind, talented, strong, handsome, brave, and a million other things, too.

But there was still one aspect of her life he had yet to face.

And she would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified of it.

The thought gnawed at her through boarding, taxi, and takeoff, leaving her feeling strangely unsettled. She felt jittery, erratic, bursts of unspent energy zipping up and down her limbs. She ended up going to the bathroom multiple times, just to stretch her legs, and work off whatever it was that was bothering her.

Sadly, though, the energy remained.

And, when she came back from the bathroom the third time, someone was in her seat.

This was strange for multiple reasons, the first being that this was the first-class cabin, they were mid-flight on the way to Greece, and the only other people in the cabin were Hans and Helen. Second, and this wasn’t something Annabeth liked to throw around without purpose, but she was, in fact, a princess. Princesses didn’t have to worry about strangers sitting in their seats, no matter where they were–plane, train, gala, game.

Third, and strangest of all, the person sitting in her seat wasn’t a stranger. It was her mother.

“Annabeth,” said the goddess, with a slight incline of her head.

She swallowed, throat dry. “Mother.”

“I trust you are well?”

“Yes.”

“Please.” She motioned to the seat next to her, with the kind of perfect poise that Annabeth still struggled to maintain, even after a decade of etiquette lessons. “Join me.”

Gingerly, Annabeth sat.

After a moment, Athena raised her eyebrow. “You seem unsettled, daughter. Are you frightened?”

Yes. “No, mother, just… It’s a surprise to see you, is all.”

She hummed. “Yes, I suppose it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

Fifteen years, six months, and twenty-four days, but who was counting? “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Athena crossed one leg over the other, the graceful motion perfectly preserving the crease of her designer pants suit. “I am here,” she said, “to check on your progress.”

“My… progress.”

“Yes.” She took a sip of a glass of… something… that had appeared in her hand.

Her brain stuttered, mind flipping through her current projects. Would Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, really want to hear about her preliminary designs for creating larger, quicker, and more energy-efficient elevators? Or her plans for creating a new sculpture garden in Rosendal?

“How goes your search?”

“My–” Oh, duh. In her mind’s eye, she saw Percy, grinning cheekily at her. Thought you were supposed to be a wise girl ? “My search, right. Well…”

Athena eyed her, her bright gaze unfathomable.

Annabeth shifted in her seat. There wasn’t much to report. She’d spent as much time in Rome as she could manage to carve out, but had very little to show for it. Her princess schedule seemed to get more and more stuffed by the day. “Well, I’ve–I think I’ve narrowed it down to the eastern bank of the Tiber.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Yes. That is consistent with the findings of your half-siblings. Is there nothing else?”

Trying not to bristle, Annabeth rolled the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. “Unfortunately, mother, I haven’t been able to devote much more time than I already have–”

Athena waved her off, a small, elegant motion that had all the force of a shield slamming into her. “I understand. I know that there are other things which require your attention.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m doing the best I can, mother.”

“I know.” Annabeth risked a glance up. Her mother’s eyes betrayed nothing–no hint of sympathy for her child’s plight. She wondered idly how many more children before her had gone on this same wild goose chase. How far they had gotten. Whether or not their mother had been proud of them.

Then Annabeth perked up as she remembered. She did have something new to report. “Actually, there is a new lead.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “I met the gods of the city: Rhea Silvia and Tiberinus.”

That got her attention. Athena’s gaze sharpened, her head tilted ever so slightly. “Really.”

“They said that I was close, and that I needed, um, some kind of document? And someone to be my champion.” She looked sideways at her mother. “Do you know what they meant?”

Athena frowned, her fine features not losing an ounce of their beauty. “Possibly,” she offered, after a moment. “What else did they say? About the champion?”

“Rhea said something about a ‘friend with the sea-blood.’ I don’t know–I mean, I thought maybe they were talking about Hans, because of his ancestry, but I’m not sure…”

“No,” she murmured. “I doubt the gods were referring to your guard.”

Well, great. Back to square one.

“Tell me,” said Athena, “about your companion. The sailor.”

Annabeth blinked. “You know about Percy?”

“Of course. You are my daughter, after all. I have taken a great interest in you.”

Something hot bubbled in her core. Annabeth couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But, if she knew about Percy… Well, lying about him probably wasn’t a good move. “He’s–he’s really great. He’s actually very smart. You know, there’s a lot more statistics in sailing than most people realize–”

“Do you trust him?”

That brought her up short. “Yes. Of course I trust him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Athena shifted, and if Annabeth didn’t know better, she would say her mother was… uncomfortable. “You know, he recently made a sacrifice to me.”

Maybe the altitude was messing with her ears, because, what? Percy did what ? “A sacrifice?”

“Yes. Solely for victory in his upcoming race. Very traditional.”

Hopefully she was referring to the tradition, and not the sacrifice itself.

But also–Percy made a sacrifice to a goddess? Since when was he into paganism and ritual sacrifice? Annabeth felt like she would have noticed that, even with the limited time they spent together!

Her mother’s voice pulled her attention back. “Be careful with that one, daughter.”

Annabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I sense that he will have a choice to make, and soon. He could be a great asset to your quest–or he could spell the end of the search, and any hope of recovering the prize will be lost to eternity.”

What did that mean? “Mother–”

“Be well, Annabeth. And,” she leaned in, gently pushing a stray curl out of Annabeth’s face. “Happy birthday. I do so hope you shall have great joy in the coming weeks.”

“Wait–”

The intercom crackled, the pilot’s voice coming in in spurts. “Ladies and gentlemen,” came the voice, “this is your captain speaking. We have just started our descent and we expect to land in Athens in just about twenty minutes. The weather in Athens is sunny, as you might expect, with a temperature of thirty degrees celsius…”

“Excuse me.”

Annabeth whipped around, staring at the flight attendant, who gave her a bright, winning smile.

“Our sincerest apologies, your highness, but we will be landing shortly, and we must ask you to return your chair to its upright position.”

“What? Oh.” Quickly, fumbling for the little button, she brought her seat back up, face heating. “Thank you.”

But when Annabeth turned back around, her mother had vanished.

***

“Percy? Hey, Earth to Percy?”

He blinked. “What?”

Luke was waving his hand in front of Percy’s face. “Anybody home?”

Percy swatted it away.

“There he is,” he laughed. “You good?”

“You don’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

It sounded again. “That.”

He looked around, bemused, at the massive crush of people swarming the street. “Kind of hard to hear anything, kiddo.”

Luke had a point. They were smack dab in the middle of Athens, at the bottom of the Acropolis, in the height of tourist season. The street was fairly teeming with people, thousands of voices filling the air in dozens of languages, playing merry hell with his ADHD.

Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for that weird sound.

“Sorry, I just… sorry,” Percy managed.

Luke paused, his mirth slipping off his face. “You okay?”

Percy gave him a look. “What kind of question is that?”

“A pertinent one.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Luke was frowning in that ‘concerned big brother’ way that Percy used to crave when he was a kid, because at least that look meant that the older boy considered him family, rather than an annoying hanger-on. Now, Percy kind of wanted to hit it off his face. “Because you seem a little… unsettled.”

The noise sounded again, rattling inside of his ears. “I’m fine.”

“Percy.”

“I’m fine!”

“Are we talking about Percy’s sh*tty emotional state?” came a new voice.

Percy whirled around. “Where did you even come from?”

Nico, as he often did, had emerged from nowhere, a small tourist shop bag in his grip. “You’re never fine.”

“You’re not part of this conversation.”

“Ooh, can I join in? I love talking about Percy’s sh*tty emotional state.”

He whirled around again. “Don’t swear in front of my sister.”

Hazel, also holding a plastic tourist shop bag, raised an eyebrow, completely unperturbed. “Like she hasn’t heard worse.”

Next to her, adorned in one of those silly gold laurel crowns, Estelle grinned. “sh*t!” she chirped in her bright, eleven-year-old voice.

Percy groaned, throwing up his hands. “Great. Now both parents are going to be pissed at me.”

“What,” Luke scoffed, “is Paul mad because he had to find out through the grapevine about William’s after-dark activities instead of getting them from the source?”

“No, it’s–” He sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I’m talking about my dad .”

The good mood evaporated between them in an instant, a silent chill descending on them in the heat of the day. Even Estelle was affected, her big eyes shining with sudden concern as they looked between her siblings and cousins.

“What do you mean your dad?” Luke asked, hushed but not in the least subdued.

Nico glanced around. “He’s here?”

“He’s everywhere,” Percy shrugged. “Just like your dad. And yours.” He nodded at Luke, who grimaced.

“It’s an annoying habit they have.”

“Where?”

“The maritime museum, in Piraeus.”

“Makes sense,” said Hazel, looking thoughtful. “What did he want?”

Rolling his eyes, Percy began to herd them towards a newly vacated bench in the shade. It was too godsdamned hot out here. “To bother me about my race, what else?”

Nico gingerly perched on the edge of the seat, tensed like he was about to run into the nearest shadow. “But what did he say?”

“I told you, he wanted–”

He shook his head. “Not what he wanted, what he said . Specifics.”

“Why?” asked Luke.

“Because when my dad popped in to check on my quest, he ended up giving me the final clue I needed to finish it.” He smiled at his sister, who took his hand, and squeezed it. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, words matter. Especially when they’re coming from a god.”

Percy scoffed. “Why would he even bother coming to see me? It’s just a race.”

“But it’s not just a race,” said Hazel. “Your dad came to see you. Personally.”

“So? There’s no–no non-mortal part of this. You,” he pointed at Nico, “you had to find a magic sword. And your dad told you to retrieve a golden apple.”

“Don’t remind me,” Luke grumbled.

“This is just the Olympics. There’s nothing magical about it.”

Luke gave him a slightly patronizing look. “Bro, it's literally named after the gods.”

“And you’re a part of it,” said Hazel. “I think that would qualify as something magical, even if it wasn’t an ancient Greek festival to Ju–to Zeus.”

The sound rang out in his head again, and Percy groaned, temple throbbing. “It’s just a stupid race. It's not even the Isthmian Games! Why should he care about some dumb modern secular game? It’s not like he cares about any other part of me!”

Luke’s mouth twisted in a sympathetic grimace. Nico and Hazel shared a look, uncomfortable. And Estelle slid over, giving her big brother a big hug, before releasing him, kicking her legs against the cobbled street.

“What did he say?” Nico asked again.

Percy sighed. “I don’t know, he asked if I was ready for my race, and then he talked about Theseus and Bellerophon or whatever. And then he asked why I made a sacrifice to Hera.” The conversation was coming back in bits and pieces, made sluggish from the heat of the day.

“Hera?”

“Yeah. He… he was talking about Annabeth,” he said, remembering. “He said that he didn’t like her.”

They stared at him, identical confused frowns on their faces. Save Estelle, who was distracted by one of the hundreds of stray cats, attempting to lure it closer with a wiggle of her fingers.

“What?” Luke’s voice cut through, incredulous. “Who wouldn’t like Annabeth? She’s awesome.”

“Why would he even bring her up in the first place?” asked Hazel. “She’s… you know, mortal.”

“Do you think he’s… interested? In her?” Nico looked vaguely queasy at his own question.

They all fell silent, contemplating such a possibility. It wasn’t impossible. Annabeth was beautiful, intelligent, powerful, in her own way. All things that the gods historically tended to be attracted to. And they all knew it was rarely a good thing when a god was interested in a mortal.

Percy shook his head, clearing his mind of some frankly disturbing thoughts. “No, I don’t think so. He just said that he didn’t like her. That she was the enemy.”

“The enemy?” Hazel asked.

“The hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know! It’s weird to me, too!” Percy stood up. He could no longer stand it. “And don’t you hear that ringing?”

“Percy,” Nico said quietly. “We don’t hear anything.”

Luke held out a comforting hand. “Where is it coming from?”

Screwing his eyes shut, he focused his thoughts. The sound rang out again, reverberating in his ears, down through his spine and his chest, sending tingles through his fingers. His body was a bell, a conduit, a lightning rod for something else. An unknown energy poured itself into him, filling him to his skin, nearly fit to bursting.

Which was all well and good, but he still didn’t know where it was coming from.

He threw his hands up.

“Here,” said Luke. “Let me try something.”

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he quickly scrolled through his apps. Nico leaned over, curious, then incredulous. “Dice? Really?”

“It’s a tried and true divination technique.”

“With real dice, maybe. But a phone app?”

“Well unless you have a D12 in your pocket, this is what we’ve got.”

Nico harrumphed, folding his arms. “For the millionth time, Mythomagic is a card game, not a dice game–”

“Just roll it, please,” Percy interrupted.

Flashing a grin at Percy, Luke raised his arms as if in supplication, phone in hand. He closed his eyes, and began to chant in their ancient tongue, “I call upon you, who are seated in the middle of a field, you who with power direct the universe, at whom the serpents tremble, whom the mountains dread, whom nymphs fall down to worship, whom the sun and moon fall down to worship.” A cool, soothing breeze wafted past, ruffling their hair, a faint scent of frankincense on the wind. “You who have heaven for your throne,” he went on, “either as a place for your dancing place, and earth as your footstool. Holy, boundless, boundless, star organizer, gold-sandaled god, reveal your wisdom to us.”

Then he brought his phone back down, and tapped the screen.

They crowded around for a look.

The little rolling animation stuttered, frames dropping, until the image landed on a number. “Four,” Luke said.

“Wow,” Nico deadpanned. “The revelation. It’s overwhelming.”

Luke huffed. “You have to roll it three times.” He tapped the screen again, revealing the next number: six. He went for a third roll–and then the app started playing an ad for the Acropolis.

In unison, they groaned.

Come visit the Byzantine Cistern on the Acropolis slope! It cheerfully proclaimed, in bright white letters. Acropolis and slopes tickets can be purchased online, or in-person.

“I told you,” said Nico. “Dice divination barely works with actual dice, let alone a phone app.”

“Well, what’s your idea, then? Summon some zombies in the middle of a crowded street? Autopsy one of the cats, maybe?”

“Wait,” said Percy. “Hold on.”

Percy had been in Athens for a while. He’d been surrounded by marketing for the Acropolis literally from dawn to dusk–it was on every billboard, every poster, every single inch of Olympics marketing. The Acropolis was the crown jewel of Athens tourism, and Percy had been blasted by enough ads for the archaeological site that he practically had them memorized.

But he had never seen this one before.

The little video ad was showing an aerial view of the south slope, a drone camera slowly circling around, showing off the various finds from the hill. He saw the Odeon, the temple of Asclepius, the theater of Dionysus… then again… then again… then again. The camera was circling one ruin in particular.

Come see the beautiful Byzantine Cistern! Proclaimed the ad again in big, white, obvious letters.

“Guys,” he breathed, “I think this is the revelation.”

“Ha!” Luke crowed. “Score one for the dice!”

Of course, Luke changed his tune after they had been waiting in line to get into the Acropolis site for over thirty minutes. In the blazing sun. During the hottest part of the day. In f*cking Athens.

“Stupid dice,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Apollo should have kept them.”

Nico glared at them, his dark hair plastered to his skin.

Hazel and Estelle had bowed out of this part of the quest–Estelle had already visited the site, and something about the whole thing was giving Hazel a bad feeling. “I’m not sure,” she had said, only half-apologetically. “It just feels… wrong, to me. Like I shouldn’t be there.”

“You just want to wait in the shade with some iced coffee.”

She had smiled at her brother. “That, too. Besides, three is the best number for a quest. So me and the mortal would just be in your way.”

“Hey!” Estelle had pouted, even though anyone with eyes could see she was more than happy with the promise of an air conditioned Starbucks and the illicit coffee Hazel would definitely give her.

“Why are we even waiting in this line?” Luke asked. “I can get you through, no problem.”

“I already snuck into the Parthenon to make a sacrifice, I don’t want to push my luck.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he pulled out his phone, flipping open the camera.

“What are you doing?”

“I promised Annabeth a tourist selfie.” He angled the camera towards the three of them, sweaty and unkempt and miserable. “Say cheese!”

Nico, somehow, glared even harder.

But eventually, they finally made their way in, Percy having paid for both of their tickets in exchange for their company. They followed the movement of the crowd, winding their way past tour groups and camera rigs, ducking the selfie-takers and the amateur videographers, until they had passed the theater of Dionysus, and had come to a fork in the path. “Here,” said Percy. “Look.”

A little stone plaque announced their location. ΒΥΖΑΝΤΙΝΗ ΔΕΞΑΜΕΝΗ, it said. Byzantine Cistern.

“This is it.”

“Really?” Nico asked. “It doesn’t look like much.”

He wasn’t wrong. The stone roof of the cistern barely came up to Percy’s chest, the bricks long since grown over with grass and wildflowers. Behind the rusting metal gate was a wooden platform, a dented bucket, and a piece of lighting equipment, shoved in an out of the way corner and forgotten. But beyond the wooden platform was a yawning darkness, a promise of greater space under the earth, of an answer to be found.

Percy breathed in, and smelled the salty air of the ocean. The bell in his head resounded, vibrating deep in his chest. “It’s here. Trust me.”

“Okay. How do we get in?”

“Hey,” said Luke. “Check this out.” He had cleared a patch of grass from the sloping side of the cistern. There, too clean to be an accident, was a triangle, scratched into the brick wall. A delta.

“The Labyrinth,” he said, stunned. “All the way over here?”

Nico hugged himself, frowning. “Do you think it’s the same one? Or…”

“It’s got to be,” Luke said, “or at least it used to be.” He stepped back, gesturing to the wall. “Percy?”

“Why can’t you open it?”

“It’s your quest,” he said. “You do it.”

Couldn’t argue with that logic. With only a little hesitation, then, Percy approached the wall, and laid his hand over the symbol. The delta glowed blue, then the wall split open, the earth pulling apart until it began to reveal a staircase, descending into the thick darkness. He looked around, half-expecting a burly Greek security guard to jump out of the bushes and arrest them all for tampering with an ancient monument, or a tourist snapping photos of the fissure which just appeared in the dirt, but no one was paying attention to them. The crowds mingled on, studiously avoiding the Byzantine ruin.

“Well?” he asked his cousins. “Shall we?”

They followed him without much complaint, though they both looked distinctly unhappy. Nico, Percy knew, had lived in the Labyrinth for a few months, trying to find information on his mother, while Luke just really didn’t like going underground. Like, really. Percy took a moment to bask in the love and affection he had for these two, following him down a magical, subterranean staircase on nothing more than a whim and a revelation in the form of a phone game ad. “I wish we’d brought Hazel,” Luke muttered. “She’s better underground than the squirt here.”

Percy looked back at Nico. “You just gonna take that?”

He shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”

Luke had offered up his phone flashlight, but as they descended further, they found they didn’t need it. A soft blue light emanated from the walls, as the harsh, thin lines of Roman brickwork and modern excavation gave way to soft, solid, gently-rippled stone walls, the bricks becoming taller, wider, smoother, and at the bottom of the staircase, they could see a muted, orange glow. Lower down, the steps widened, growing shallower, as the room opened up, revealing a large cavern, the high, domed ceiling held up by impossibly tall, thick, plain columns. They didn’t have the decoration on the sides–the fluting, Percy recalled Annabeth telling him–that basically every other column type had, which meant that they were old. Very old.

“What is this place?” Luke whispered, his voice echoing in the empty cavern.

“Don’t know, but it’s old,” Percy said.

“No kidding.” Nico reached out, placing a hand on the temple. “This stone is ancient. Even for us.”

“Do you hear that?” The ringing in Percy’s head had stopped, replaced instead by… a faint trickle of water?

The long rows of columns lead them to the end of the temple, for that’s what this place had to be. There was no altar, but there was a jagged crow’s-foot shape as long as a human body, lumpy and white, like stone scar tissue. Percy knelt, touching the rock, and his fingers came back wet. He sniffed them–saltwater–and sat back on his heels, his shoulders suddenly heavy.

Luke came up behind him. “What is it?”

“This is the place,” Percy said.

“What place?”

“Where the rivalry started. Look.” He gestured again to the rock. “That’s where my father struck the trident, creating the saltwater spring.”

“Woah.” Nico came over, bending for a better look. “So this is where he lost.”

He had to bite down the retort that threatened to rise up, pouring out of his throat that no, Poseidon didn’t lose, he still had a temple and a whole-ass port dedicated to him even if he wasn’t chosen for patron. It was almost instinctual to defend his father… in the godly realm, at least.

But Nico was right, after a fashion. His father had lost the contest, right here in this spot, a loss so profound that it was written into the very foundations of the city. An insult like that could be deadly to a god. Maybe that was why he was being so hard on Percy and his race. He needed a win, specifically in this city, in order to prop up his ego. Which, fine, Percy could understand, if not sympathize. But if all he was worried about was a gold medal, then what the hell did Annabeth have to do with anything? Why did his father call her the enemy?

From the corner of his eye, something glinted in the low, blue light. “Give me your flashlight,” he gestured to Luke, somewhere behind him.

His cousin obliged. There was something there, covered in a thick layer of dust, almost like it had been buried here. He pulled out a small, smooth disk of bronze the size of a tea saucer, and when he used his shirt to wipe it, he could see delicate letters and illustrations etched on the sides.

He squinted. The lines seemed to form some kind of shape–a bird? Maybe an eagle? But before he could look more closely, the illustrations vanished, melting into the metal.

“What is it?” Luke asked.

Percy shrugged. “No clue.” He stood up, and the boys crowded around him for a better look. “There were markings on it a second ago, and then they just… vanished.”

“Let me see.” Nico held it in his fingers, twisting it this way and that, scrutinizing every inch. “What kind of markings?”

“I didn’t get a close enough look, but I thought it might be a bird.”

“An eagle?” Luke suggested. “Could be Roman.”

Nico frowned. “Maybe. But this is definitely bronze, not gold.”

Well, Percy was stumped. “So what’s the verdict?”

“Old,” he said. “Very powerful.”

“I could have told you that,” Luke muttered.

“You probably shouldn’t lose it.”

Percy deliberated for a second, then passed it over to Luke. “You hang onto it.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because it would end up in your pocket by the end of the day anyway.”

“I resent that accusation.”

“You literally lifted my wallet this morning.”

He opened his mouth, as if to argue his case, but sighed instead, slipping the disk into his pocket, where Percy knew it would be very safe indeed. When Luke kept a hold of something, he kept it locked up tight. It would be secure in his cousin’s sticky fingers.

They trudged their way back up the staircase, squinting as the bright light of the Athens sunshine burned down on them. It didn’t look dramatically lower than when they had gone in, and Luke checked his watch to confirm that they hadn’t lost too much time. Down at the bottom of the hill, through the thinning crowd of tourists and past the metal fence, Percy could see Hazel and Estelle, sitting on a bench and sharing a couple of ice cream cones. His sister spotted them first, perking up, and waving her arms frantically, drops of melted vanilla flinging onto the street.

“C’mon, guys,” he said, fingers tingling with the phantom sensation of the bronze disk. “Let’s get out of this heat.”

Because surely, that was the source of the weight he suddenly felt on his shoulders, the stickiness on the back of his neck. The hot, powerful Athens heat. Nothing else.