Under the Water(Fem. Percy)

Chapter 14

"I hate this." I pull at the clothes, trying to make them longer. There's too much exposed skin. Nothing for a blade or anything to get caught on. Even the cloth I do have covering me feels far too thin to do much aside from get stuck in a wound. Silk isn't a fabric I like--not that I can really afford silk on the surface---but I'm not sure how this is worse.

Two hours ago, I'd been yanked out of sleep and handmaidens descended on me like vultures. Five argued about what to shove me into. Three of them shoved me into it while the other two held me still, all while the remaining girls pulled out vials and containers and brushes. Dad lurked near the bookshelves, chatting with Cyreus, who was a blushing mess and kept his eyes fully on the scrolls, and cancelling my powers. As soon as they got me into the deep blue and purple outfit, he'd kissed my forehead and left.

My gaze drifts to the cracked table. He probably should've stayed. I have to hope I didn't hurt the girl too bad. Slamming her into something, admittedly, isn't the best reaction, but I don't let Mom near my hair with a curling iron. Having a lot of people surrounding me set off my anxiety. Something only made worse by Dad plucking up Riptide.

"You look beautiful in them," Cyreus says, leaning against the wall. He hadn't escaped the wardrobe flurry unscathed: tight fitting bracelets, fabric streamers on his spear, an ornamental hair pin that keeps his hair from flowing around his face, and a golden gauntlet that he's not wearing yet. The flutter of light over the bracelets keeps drawing my attention back to his sculpted arms. I can't help but wish to switch jewelry with him. His is thick, wide, and looks durable. Mine's the opposite.

"Which is the point of the outfit," he continues, "so I doubt you'll be able to get away with changing. Official visits to other city-states require a certain level of formality, and I'm not entirely sure any of your outfits meet that criteria. They wouldn't do a thing to reassure the nobles that you are, in fact, Lord Poseidon's daughter, and not 'a riff-raff commoner pulled off the streets of the surface.'"

"Why should that matter?"

"Quite honestly, I have no idea. If he says you're his child, it is not our place to debate that."

"The beautiful part?"

He crosses his arms. "I can go into a lecture on this until the bell rings and we're late, do you want to do that or would you like to finish getting ready?"

"I'm not putting that stuff on." Numerous necklaces lay out across the table, all picked by the handmaidens before leaving. Blue gemstones. Coral beads. A finely shaped gold and silver collar. I'm supposed to layer them. But anything more than the leather cord around my neck--which is easy enough to break--is too much. "I'm already uncomfortable in this as it is." I rub at my face and pace a few steps.

Cyreus scowls and pulls out the compact the handmaidens had thrust at him. The ornate silver lid, polished to a mirror sheen, pops off with a soft click. "You need to stop messing with that. It hasn't set yet." He has to get close to my face to fix it. The small brushes tickles my skin, making it hard to sit still. It glides over my cheekbone and down my jaw. Cyreus's tongue peeks out from between his painted lips. That was another thing he couldn't escape. However, I'd take the natural tones he has instead of the bright blues and greens.

As soon as he finishes he picks up the necklaces and fastens them around my neck. The metal's cold, and I shudder. Why do I have to be the one to wear all of this? I'm a demigod. Amphitrite's words come to mind. Goosebumps raise over my arms. This is far more along the lines of what I'd expect to happen for a princess or a noble woman, but there's no way she was telling the truth. No. If she was telling the truth and not exaggerating, then why now?

Why would Dad pretend to care now? After years and years of suffering. And pain. Can't forget the pain. I roll my wrist. Sure, Dad's not the one sending monsters after me. Sure, it's because of him I can heal myself. None of that changes that none of that would've happened or been needed if I was born to a mortal father and a mortal mother. I force myself to shake the anger and my thoughts.