Under the Water(Fem. Percy)

Chapter 9

As much as I would have liked to get out of the palace, I couldn't leave. Dad's attention had crashed down on me like a wave, maybe an hour after I'd left my room. It twisted around me until my anxiety made my hands shake, and I returned to my gilded cage.

Reading's never been my favorite thing; I can never sit still long enough to get through a book or even a short story. Nothing ever holds my attention. I always end up pausing audiobooks, so I can walk around. But with Dad milling in my room, the thick tome in my lap could be a five car pile up on the side of the road.

His steel-edged gaze cuts into me. It's crushing. It's angry. It's a warning. The book bends in my grip. Dad's sandals clap against the stone floor, before the runner in front of the bookshelves muffle the sound. He lingers there--in front of me, in my field of view, in a spot where I can't turn away without making it obvious that I'm refusing to give him the time of day---He runs his fingers over the spines like he's looking for something. Please don't sit. Don't stay. The fact that he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt doesn't give me hope. It's the first time I've seen him in one down here. I keep reading. Fifteen. Thirty. Forty. The chair beside me creaks. My teeth gnaw the inside of my lip.

Copper floods my tastebuds. I switch to chewing the side of my hand. As long as I don't say anything, I can't make things worse. My mouth's what got me in trouble so far. Every conversation turned into an argument on my end. If I can just keep quiet it'll be fine. I can't piss him off if I don't do anything. Even turning away is a risk, but if I can make it look like I'm trying to get comfortable. . . Twisting, my back ends up to him. My legs dangle over the arm of the chair, and I stretch them out like a pet waking from a nap. The hard edge of the arm rest digs into my neck.

He sighs. "Cyreus, have you had a chance to review her schedule? I think it'll be fine, but I'm wondering if you have any changes to suggest."

The corner of my mouth twitches. Ask me, why don't you? I resist the urge to glance at the door where my guard's been standing. Hour after hour, he waits like a statue. He's built like some of the ones around the palace, the ones I've seen on the occasions when he drags me to the kitchen for food, with a youthful face set with piercing eyes on a lean, muscular body. Though the statues get more rest than he does. Cyreus only sits when I disappear into my bedroom. He sleeps in front of the door, settled on a thin, seabear rug.

And he's an annoyingly light sleeper.

"Holding off on lessons for the moment may be beneficial, especially if we replace them with a smaller meal. She attempted to sneak off to the kitchens again last night." He taps his spear against the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. "I stopped her, of course, my lord, but it seems like she eats a great deal."

I reach into the box of Cheerios on the floor and shove a handful into my mouth. No shit, I eat a lot. The effects of the Curse of Achilles never fully went away. Though, it's still not enough for me to eat half the stuff put on my plate. Regardless, Dad should know that. How many times have I snuck extra food into my cabin and used a lighter to burn some as a sacrifice?

When my chewing dies off, Dad snaps his book closed. "It will take less time for her to adapt if she doesn't have access to food outside of regular meal times." I feel his eyes on me when I snatch up the box and wrap my arm around it. My chocolate's safe, wrapped up in my sock drawer. Despite how much my younger self would've screamed in delight at being able to eat it instead of a meal, I know I can't afford to do that. At least, Cheerios are kind of healthy.

"You need to eat actual food," he says.

"Stop treating me like a child."

"I'm not doing this today, little one."