The Winds Of Heaven (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

14. To Hit The Jackpot

It took three of them to hold back the satyr.

"Whoa, Coach!" Jason said. "Bring it down a few notches."

A younger man charged into the room. Ethan guessed he must be Lit, the old guy's son. He was dressed in pajama pants with a sleeveless T-shirt that said: CORNHUSKERS, and he held a sword that looked like it could husk a lot of things besides corn. His ripped arms were covered in scars, and his face, framed by curly dark hair, would've been handsome if it wasn't also sliced up.

Lit immediately zeroed in on them, and stalked toward them, swinging his sword overhead.

"Hold on!" Piper stepped forward, trying for her best calming voice. "This is just a misunderstanding! Everything's fine."

Lit stopped in his tracks, but he still looked wary. It didn't help that Hedge was screaming, "I'll get them! Don't worry!"

"Coach," Jason pleaded, "they may be friendly. Besides, we're trespassing in their house."

"Thank you!" the old man in the bathrobe said. "Now, who are you, and why are you here?"

"Let's all put our weapons down," Y/N said. "Hedge, you first."

Hedge clenched his jaw. "Just one thwack?"

"No," Y/N said.

"What about a compromise? I'll kill them first, and if it turns out they were friendly, I'll apologize."

"NO!" Y/N insisted.

"Meh." Coach Hedge lowered his club.

Piper gave Lit a friendly sorry-about-that smile.

Lit huffed and sheathed his sword. "I won't run you through—for now."

"Appreciate it," Ethan said. "I try not to get run through before lunchtime."

The old man in the bathrobe sighed, kicking the teapot that Coach Hedge had smashed. "Well, since you're here. Please, sit down."

Lit frowned. "Your Majesty—"

"No, no, it's fine, Lit," the old man said. "New land, new customs. They may sit in my presence. After all, they've seen me in my nightclothes. No sense observing formalities." He did his best to smile, though it looked a little forced. "Welcome to my humble home. I am King Midas."

"Midas? Impossible," Annabeth said. "He died thousands of years ago."

They were sitting on the sofas now, while the king reclined on his throne. Tricky to do that in a bathrobe, and Ethan kept worrying the old guy would forget and uncross his legs. Hopefully he was wearing golden boxers under there.

Lit stood behind the throne, both hands on his sword, glancing at Piper and flexing his muscular arms just to be annoying.

Piper sat forward. "What my friend means, Your Majesty, is that you're the second mortal we've met who should be—sorry—dead."

"Interesting." The king gazed out the windows at the brilliant blue skies and the winter sunlight. In the distance, downtown Omaha looked like a cluster of children's blocks—way too clean and small for a regular city.

"You know," the king said, "I think I was a bit dead for a while. It's strange. Seems like a dream, doesn't it, Lit?"

"A very long dream, Your Majesty."

"And yet, now we're here. I'm enjoying myself very much. I like being alive better."

"But how?" Annabeth asked. "Did you happen to have a . . . patron?"