Percy stopped, placing his hand on the door knob, not sure what would be waiting for him on the other side. He hoped to all the gods in existence that Annabeth was still there—that Luke hadn't done anything to her. He breathed in deeply, and kicked the door open, his cape billowing out before him, his sword gleaming in his hand. He half expected to see Luke on the other side, waiting, but the only surprise was the guard laying on the floor, slumped over—unconscious.
Percy went to shake him awake, pulling out his water, to pour on him if necessary, but as soon as Percy touched him, he sprung up, hand grappling for his lost sword, eyes wild like an animal. Percy grabbed him by his lapels and shook his gently. "What happened?"
The guard's eyes went far away and hazy. "Princess Annabeth . . . "
Percy gripped the guard tighter in desperation and frustration. "What about her? Did Luke – " Percy couldn't finish his sentence, he stood up abruptly and blinked, trying to adjust to the dark and dampness of the dungeons. Percy turned the corner, sucking in a breath—and released it. Luke was smiling smugly, his smirk as maddening as ever. Percy marched to his cell and reached his hand in. He gripped Luke by his shirt and yanked him into the cell door, his face making a satisfying smack as it hit the cold metal. Luke gasped, either in pain or in shock; Percy didn't care either way. He wanted answers.
"What did you do to her?" Percy growled, his nice guy demeanor and reputation completely wiped away. Luke grinned eerily, red blood dripping from his nose onto his lip. So he was human, not entirely demon. Luke went to pull away from Percy, but Percy, adrenaline pumping through his veins, Percy grappled with him and yanked him back into the bars, blood dripping onto his fingers from Luke's busted nose. Luke gasped, and grimaced, though his lips still were turned up in his ever present grin.
Luke gave up on struggling, leaning on the bars leisurely, as if he were in control; somehow, that made Percy more angry, he wanted to drive his sword through Luke's stomach for whatever he had done to Annabeth . . . For what he had done to Percy himself. But Percy was no murderer, nor was he ready to give up the valuable information that Luke possessed.
"I'm going to ask one more time, or I'm going to have to force it out of you. We don't want that though, do we?" Luke seemed particularly uninterested, picking at his cuticles with no expression whatsoever. "So tell me," Percy mused, "What did you do to Annabeth?"
Luke pursed his lips insufferably. "What did I do?" Luke laughed manically. "That's a funny question. It's funny - " Luke paused. "Actually, its not a question of what I did. I did nothing. Annabeth chose her fate."
Percy closed his eyes for a second, thinking that there was no way that there wasn't smoke coming out of his nose and ears. "What do you mean?" Percy hissed, becoming impatient.
"I gave her a choice." In Percy's state of confusion, Luke ripped himself out of Percy's grip and danced away from him, raising his eyebrows in delight. He ruled the conversation now—exactly as he had intended, and Percy had played right into his little game. "She could have what she wanted but with a small price, or," Luke waved his hand.
"Or what?" Percy ground out between his clenched teeth.
"Or she could get off free."
"Free from what?"
Luke grinned. "You'll find out soon enough."
"You don't think," Percy growled back, "that Annabeth will tell me what you did to her when I get back? This is your chance to save yourself; I strongly advise that you take it."
"Oh," Luke hiccuped a laugh, "I doubt Annabeth will be of much use. I'm afraid that her memory is spotty these days . . . "
Percy put his hands on the bars of the cell and yanked at them, ready to scream at Luke again, when it came to him. Memory loss. Anxiety. Unusual behavior. Addictiveness. "You didn't," Percy whispered, terrified.
"Hmm," Luke said unhelpfully. "I guess you'll find out, won't you?"
Percy, with one last burst of rage, managed to grab Luke and pull him as close as possible. "If you hurt her, so help me if she - " Percy shook his head. "You better pray to all your gods, Greek or Roman, that she is okay. Because if she isn't, I'm going to kill you myself!"
Luke said nothing, just watched Percy quietly, his scar glowing eerily in the dimness of the cells, his electric blue eyes as calm and unafraid as ever. Percy was sickened at the sight of him—he had a gnawing pit at the bottom of his stomach, a pit that was telling him to kill Luke right then, to not let him breathe another second because he had shown, even incapacitated and weak, he had resources. Luke was a puppeteer, and he was holding the strings of Percy's world in his iron fist, tighter than ever, grinning madly as he watched Percy and Annabeth dance for him—just as he wanted. He was a monster willing to take out all others, people he claimed to love, to get what he wanted.
He was Hell in living form. And he was there to drag Percy and Annabeth down with him when he returned to his pits. He would not go down without a fight.
But neither would Percy.
Percy pushed off of the cell door and spun furiously on his heel. He breezed past the guard by the door. "I want five guards minimum down here at a time. Rotate every hour on the hour. No one sees him unless I say so, is that clear?"
The guard nodded vigorously. "What about the King – "
Percy paused. "The King is well aware of the threat of this terrorist. I am to be King in a few months and he will surely understand my motives and authority. So, if he has a question, direct him to me. As of this moment, guards of your choice and I are the only ones on the list."
With those words, Percy swept away, his heart pounding in his throat to the rhythm of his hurried foot falls.
* * *
Percy launched himself into the hospital wing, waving Will down. Will scurried over to him, seeing his look of distress.
"Is there something I can do for you, Your Highness?" Will dipped his head politely. Percy grimaced at the formalities but decided to leave it be; he had more pressing issues at the moment.
"Yes, actually. I need to see the supply of narcotics in the wing's care. We seem to have a problem." Percy surveyed the room, hoping foolishly that Annabeth would peek out from around a corner and laugh, tell him he was a Seaweed Brain and that she was fine. It seemed he would not have such luck.
Instead, his father rounded the corner, all business and formality. Percy tried to duck around the corner but King Poseidon was not so easily fooled. Flinching, Percy paused and straightened. "Yes, Father?"
Poseidon stormed up to him. "What are you doing?"
"Right now, I'm just visiting my good friend, Will," Percy clapped a hand on Will's shoulder; Will flinched and paled visibly. Percy dropped his head—his cover was blown.
"Right," Will said shakily, and a bit late, "of course."
"Would it have anything to do with your betrothed?" King Poseidon raised a dark eyebrow, leaning to hear what the advisor on his left had to say. He nodded, but his jaw locked.
"What?" Percy asked worriedly, ignoring his father's question with ease. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing of your concern. I must be going."
He nodded to his advisor, gesturing with his right hand, straight ahead, all five fingers pointed, his hand turned so his palm was facing the left side of the room. The gesture was small and quick lived, but as dooming as any action could be. Percy's stomach plummeted.
The gesture alone was the beginning of a war. It meant to attack, to push forward—it meant that Rome was attacking Greece, and Crete was striking back.
"Father," Percy fumbled around, grappling, trying to stop his father. "You can't do this. We'll lose – "
"Losing is not in Crete's vocabulary. It is not an option, nor is staying out of it for any longer." King Poseidon waved his advisors off, setting his gaze sternly on Percy before he marched away, barking orders to the military general glued to his side.
Shaking his head, Percy pushed his worry away and thought back to his current pressing matter—Annabeth. He turned back to Will. "What can you you tell me about the drugs you have on hold?"
* * *
"Oh my gods," Percy breathed, releasing his breath in one drawn out sigh of relief. He kicked the door to his chambers open and rushed in, collapsing next to his bed.
Annabeth was sitting there, her eyes widened and glassy, red and wild. Her hair was a mess of tangles and her dress was ripped at the bottom. She clutched a note and to Percy's horror, an empty vial about the size of his index finger. Percy gripped Annabeth's hand, unraveling them and coaxing her to give up the note and vial. She did, a tear slipping from her glassy eye. She seemed unresponsive until Percy began to scan the note.
Dearest Annabeth - it was addressed.
"I woke up with this in my hand. I can't remember anything from yesterday. I don't know how I got this note—you got one too—and I feel like I'm dying. I can barely breathe, I feel like crying all the time and I feel this crippling guilt, but I have no idea why." A steady stream of tears were falling down her cheeks, leaking into her hair, onto her white dress and gathering above her collarbone. She turned to Percy, looking on the edge of breaking down like she had only a few days ago. "What's happening to me?"
Percy's heart broke. How could he tell her? How could he say that she was addicted to a deadly drug? A drug that not only is deadly, but fatal also from withdrawal? How could he possibly look her in the eye and tell her that she was doomed either way? That she was a puppet controlled by the man she hated most?
How could Percy tell the woman he was to marry that she may die before they even get to the alter?
"Annabeth," Percy started darkly.
"It's bad," Annabeth said with conviction. She most certainly was not asking, and Percy could do nothing but tell the truth.
Percy wrapped his fingers around Annabeth and pulled her into a tentative hug. Annabeth, despite what her feelings towards Percy once were, wrapped her arms around Percy's neck, clutching onto him, burying her face into his shoulder. She knew.
Or at least enough.
Nothing Percy could say would soften the blow; it would only make it worse. So he let her live for a moment in ignorance, ignorance Percy wished he still possessed. Annabeth sniffled, laughing bitterly. Her face still buried in Percy's shoulder, her words muffled, she said, "I'm not a crier. I do not cry. Ironically, all I've been doing since I've gotten here is cry."
"I don't think any less of you," Percy murmured into her hair. "But – "
Annabeth gasped as Percy drove a needle into the skin of her neck. She slumped against him, and Percy closed his eyes for a moment, feeling that this would be one of the hardest things he would have to do. But it was necessary.
He would do anything to save his people and in turn, Annabeth.
Pushing himself up, he hefted Annabeth into his arms, watching her breathe peacefully, her eyelids fluttering, but otherwise, still. She would wake in a few hours, but that would be the easy part. The only way to ensure a safe withdrawal was through supervision and no more doses. Percy knew how crazed Annabeth was when she went through the worst effects—she would do anything.
That could not happen.
Percy glanced at the note on his bed from Luke, shook his head, deciding already to never read it. Then, Percy carried Annabeth away. There was only one way to do this.
And it was going to hurt like Hell. For Annabeth and him.