𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

129

Hadrian loved attention, but not when he was put up for it like a bull being sold.

"Almost there," Annabeth grumbled. "You're doing great. Come on you geezer"

She turned to their other companion— the old man— Jason. He'd gone from sixteen to seventy right in front of their eyes, courtesy of Hazel's powers controlling the mist. Hadrian had no idea how it all worked exactly or why Hazel could do it, but he was just glad to be himself— not an old man like Jason.

Jason looked like he could get a heart attack at any second and die. Hadrian wondered if that's what he'd look like when he was old and gray— if he ever made it to that age. He looked tired mostly, like every breath hurt and according to his complaints, everything was wrong— hips, knees, bones. You name it.

This is exactly why Hadrian never wanted to grow old. He'd lose everything that made him him. His pretty face for one.

Percy would probably disagree. He had this whole thing about aging gracefully, living life with a partner, and growing old. He had talked to Hadrian the night before, encouraging him but also... it was just nice to spend time with him away from monsters and Tartarus.

Hadrian glanced uphill. The summit was still a hundred yards above.

"Worst idea ever." Jason leaned against a cedar tree and wiped his forehead. "Hazel's magic is too good. If I have to fight, I'll be useless."

"It won't come to that," Annabeth promised.

"We infiltrate the palace," she said. "We get the information we need, and we get out."

She looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. She kept hunching her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping. She was disguised as a lovely Greek serving maiden. Her pinned-up blonde bun had come undone in the back and her hair dangled like long spider legs. Hadrian decided not to mention that.

He was dressed himself in a similar white outfit, a more masculine version of course, but it looked pretty much the same— just a bunch of white fabric. It barely covered his chest and almost his entire back was exposed to the cool breeze.

He didn't mind the disguise that much. Hazel and Annabeth had even done his makeup, just enough to make his features pop. The eyeliner was probably his favorite part, he didn't even care if Ancient Greeks hated that. They had even made his cheeks pink and dusted him with glitter so his face shone like a disco ball if the light hit him right.

He was no stranger to makeup, but the part he hated was that he and Annabeth would have to act as servers— as cupbearers. And in Ancient Greece, that had been a very sexualized job. If someone so much as looked at Annabeth the wrong way, he was ready to pull out his weapon.

Hadrian set down his amphora, the tall ceramic wine jar in which his bow was magically hidden. "We can rest for a second. Catch your breath, Jason."

Annabeth slung her own amphora off her shoulder. She, too, had a concealed sword, but even without a visible weapon, she looked deadly. Her stormy grey eyes scanned the surroundings, alert for any threat. If any dude asked Annabeth for a drink, Hadrian figured she was more likely to kick the guy in the bifurcum.

He watched Jason wheeze with every breath.

They still hadn't really talked and Hadrian wasn't sure how long they could go like this. Jason and Annabeth had practically choked on air when they saw him with eyeliner, and even Percy had stopped in his tracks.

Below them, Afales Bay glittered, the water so blue it might've been dyed with food coloring. A few hundred yards offshore, the Argo II rested at anchor. Its white sails looked no bigger than postage stamps, its ninety oars like toothpicks.