Chapter Text
The soft glow of early evening light filtered through the windows of prince’s chambers, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The walls, thick and sturdy, stood silent as guardians of the prince's sanctuary. Frescoes depicting heroic battles and hunting scenes added color and life to the stone surfaces, their vibrant pigments gleaming in the dimming daylight.
Paris stood in the center of the room, his tall, athletic figure reflected in a polished bronze mirror held by a young servant. His dark hair, freshly washed and oiled, fell in smooth waves to his shoulders. Another servant adjusted the draping of his rich, crimson tunic, embroidered with intricate patterns of gold thread that caught the light with every movement.
A third servant approached with a finely woven woolen cloak, dyed a deep blue, the color of the Aegean Sea. Paris extended his arms, and the cloak was fastened at his shoulders with ornate bronze clasps shaped like lions' heads. The prince's expression was calm and composed, but his eyes betrayed a spark of anticipation.
On a low wooden table nearby, a collection of Paris's most prized possessions was laid out: a zither given to him by Apollo, a ring bestowed upon him as he arrived, symbol of his heritage. But none of these treasures held such significance as a finely wrought dagger with a hilt encrusted in jewels. He reached for the blade, the metal catching the firelight from a nearby oil lamp.
He stood there, lost in reverie, the firelight flickering in his eyes, casting long shadows upon the walls. The dagger's hilt, adorned with sea motifs, gleamed as if alive, the precious stones set within it capturing the light in a dance of colors. It mocked him with its beauty, a stark contrast to the pain it had caused.
Yet, it was most precious, because it was the only thing Einalian had left him. Paris's thoughts wandered back to days spent on Mount Ida.
Before Einalian arrived, he had felt alone and alienated, living on a lonely hill with nothing but sheep to watch. But then Einalian crossed his path, his presence a balm to his solitude. Paris became lost in those sea-green eyes, those mysteries he carried, and the lies he sowed only so Paris wouldn’t discard him.
They had spent many hours under the vast sky, sharing conversations, their laughter echoing through the hills. Einalian had woven a web of enchantment, binding Paris with threads of affection and trust. But it had all unraveled in an instant, the blade a stark revelation of the betrayal that had lain hidden beneath their bond.
A sudden knock on the door pulled Paris from his musings. "My lord, are you ready for the meeting?" The guard's voice was respectful but insistent, a reminder of the duties that awaited.
"Yes, we can go," Paris answered, his eyes never leaving the dagger, which he then tucked securely into his waist belt.
With a final glance in the mirror, Paris adjusted his cloak and strode from his chambers, the corridors of the palace echoing with the sounds of his sandals against the stone floor.
As Paris entered the hall, heads turned and voices hushed, all eyes drawn to the figure of the newly found prince. He moved with a grace that belied the turmoil within, his demeanor regal and composed. Yet, beneath the veneer of calm, his spirit shivered.
---
"Life? Which life?" Percy inquired, his heart a tumultuous rhythm within his chest.
"The life of one of my followers. A girl, sacrificed for her blood, which now flows within your veins.” Apollo responded, his tone tinged with an almost indifferent detachment.
"She’s dead?" Percy queried, though the grim reality already seeped into his consciousness, his eyes cast downward in disbelief. "What was her name?" he whispered, a fragile plea escaping his lips.
Apollo's eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his divine features. Why did the boy care? What did it matter to a mortal who danced on the edge of doom? "Does it matter? She dwells in Hades' realm now, her passage softened by Hermes’ guidance," he replied.
Percy's eyes, akin to the stormy expanse of a turbulent sea, brimmed with tears. These tears, borne of profound anguish, traced a sorrowful path down his face.
"You should have left me to die," Percy uttered, his despair echoed in the hallowed halls, filling the silence with the sound of his heartache.
Apollo was taken aback by the raw emotion that dripped from every syllable, his divine countenance momentarily marred by surprise.
"I wish it were as simple as you make it sound, but alas, it is not. Believe me, death is not the direst of fates," Apollo said, his gaze drifting around the opulent hall, as if he could not bear to witness the sight of demigod in such pathetic state.
"Why go to such lengths to keep me alive?” Percy questioned, the anguish in his tone resonated through the chamber, mingling with the heavy air.
Apollo’s gaze remained steady. "I would kill you, of course, were you a mere mortal. But you are not," he stated, his tone firm yet tinged with an undercurrent of intrigue and something almost like pity. "You are a demigod, a being caught between worlds, and therein lies your value and your curse."
Percy sensed that Apollo was telling him half-truths. The god's words, though seemingly candid, held an undercurrent of something more, something that eluded Percy's immediate grasp.
Percy's weeping ceased, replaced by a quiet sobbing that shook his frame. He lifted his gaze to meet Apollo's, his eyes swollen and red, like embers struggling against the darkness.
"Do not think," Apollo continued, his voice low and resonant, "that just because you are Poseidon's son, retribution is not yours to bear. Your lineage does not absolve you; it only entwines you further."
Percy was very much aware of that. He was a demigod, a hero, and in the tales of old, heroes sought glory through deeds of valor and, if need be, through the spilling of blood.
Hekate had warned him about Apollo, yet Apollo had saved him from the death his father had decreed. Not only that, he had allowed a life to be sacrificed to save him. This meant he was here for a reason, a reason known only to the capricious Fates.
This was his chance to start his mission anew.
He clenched his hands into fists, feeling the weight of these thoughts pressing down upon him.
"I am grateful for the life you have given me," Percy said, his voice ringing clear and strong against the stone walls of the hall.
In the celestial glow of the firmament, the figure of Apollo arched a questioning eyebrow, taken aback by the sudden shift in the youth's demeanor. The unpredictable and tumultuous emotional changes mirrored those of Hera herself, in all their capricious intensity.
“I did not conspire against Troy. I had my own reasons for wishing to end Paris' life,” Percy stated with firm resolve, drawing Apollo's entire focus onto him.
“And what possibly could those reasons—”
“The prophecy. He is destined to bring about the downfall of Troy,” Percy interjected.
Apollo, not quite believing the words being spoken, questioned, “How can you punish someone for sins not yet committed?”
Percy fell silent, enveloped in the truth of Apollo's words. He was right, and yet, Apollo remained unaware of Percy’s true origin – he came from the future with his knowledge on Trojan War.
Hekate placed him in these times with all the burden of the past.
Apollo moved closer again, fixing his penetrating gaze onto the latter's sea-green eyes.
“Who revealed this prophecy to you? Could it have been Hekate, perhaps?” Apollo asked, his curiosity piqued. “At first, I assumed it was my dear sister, Artemis, but then I saw the dagger with which you tried to murder Paris. It reeked of the underworld.” Apollo's words hung heavy in the air. “I wonder why she chose you for this mission, especially given your apparent failure.”
Percy wondered that too, but it did not cease his regrets. He turned his gaze upon Apollo, his anger rising like a tempest within him, a storm of righteous indignation that set his heart pounding in his chest.
"My task is not lost yet," Percy retorted, his voice a resonant echo that reverberated through the cavernous expanse.
Apollo's expression remained impassive, though his eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating light. "Weren’t you two friends? Mnemosyne told me how often Paris kneeled in prayer for no other than you. He cared about you, and you betrayed him," Apollo said, his words cutting like a knife, designed to pierce the very core of Percy's resolve.
Percy's visage contorted with agony, yet he did not falter. His voice, though heavy with grief, remained resolute. "Hekate said, it was either sacrificing him and preventing the fall of Troy or letting him live and watching the city burn together with him. I was compelled to choose the lesser of two evils."
"And you believed her, that it was the sole recourse," Apollo retorted, his voice a melodious blend of condescension and frustration.
"She unveiled to me a vision—Troy in flames, its people slaughtered by the consequences of Paris's decisions. I—" Percy hesitated, words escaping him. It was so unlike him to believe that death could be the only solution. Yet in that moment, he had. A wave of shame surged through him.
"The Fates weave the tapestry of destiny, their threads entwining the lives of mortals and gods in a dance of predestination and chance. The future remains ever-changing, a mutable expanse sculpted by whims and choices beyond even divine control. Thus, nothing is certain."
"But if you knew deep in your heart that it would happen, would you not try to stop it with all your might?" Percy asked, each word a plea for understanding.
"If you seek to persuade me to return you to Earth, to once more attempt Paris' life, you are grievously mistaken," Apollo replied, his voice imbued with an absolute finality, the tone of a deity accustomed to unquestioned obedience.
Percy’s gaze hardened, his mind a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. "What if I no longer intend to kill him? What if I wish to seek another way to avert this catastrophe?" His voice wavered slightly, the desperation behind his plea evident, yet underscored by a flicker of newfound determination.
Apollo regarded Percy with a mix of irritation and pity, his divine patience wearing thin under the relentless onslaught of Einalian desperation. "And what makes you think that any other path would succeed where this one failed?" The god's face, usually an impassive mask of celestial detachment, now bore the faintest traces of exasperation, as if the mortal's pleas were pebbles thrown against a mighty statue.
"I don't know," Percy admitted, his words bitter on his tongue. "There has to be another way. I want to search for it, and I can't do that if I'm here."
"I don't believe you," Apollo countered with a small, cynical smile. "Mortals are quick to proclaim their intentions but slow to act upon them. Even if your heart speaks truly now, the winds of your resolve could easily shift. This is not a risk I am willing to take."
A heavy silence descended between them, pregnant with unspoken words.
"Hold me to my word. I swear by the River Styx that I will not seek Paris' life again. Allow me the chance to find another way."
Apollo's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Percy with an intensity that seemed to pierce his very soul. "No," Apollo answered simply. "Your place now is within my domain, where you shall remain," he pronounced, the words heavy with finality.
"You are a fool if you think I will," Percy countered, his voice steady and resolute. This bold proclamation was met with a swift and violent slap to his cheek. Percy did not even flinch at the assault, allowing the sting to serve as a stark reminder of his resolve. His tongue darted out to gather the trace of blood that pooled at the corner of his lips, a bitter taste it had. Blood not wholly his own.
Apollo took Percy’s jaw in his hand, his touch firm, his gaze fixed intensely on the demigod’s now blood-stained lips.
"How cute to dare defy me," Apollo's voice resonated with a low, dangerous growl, his divine presence filling the room with a suffocating intensity that choked the very air.
Percy felt Apollo's ire searing into his skin, the heat of the god's proximity causing sweat to bead on his forehead. He resisted the urge to recoil, meeting Apollo's gaze.
"I dare to claim my freedom," Percy replied, each word carefully measured.
Apollo sneered at him, his golden eyes flashing with malicious delight. "You will attempt escape, and I will exact punishment for each and every effort," he declared, his voice echoing ominously in the vastness of their surroundings. His grip on Percy's jaw tightened, a silent threat of the consequences awaiting any defiance.
Releasing his grip on Percy's jaw, Apollo withdrew his hand and straightened to his full, imposing height. The sudden release was like a gust of wind after a tense storm, leaving Percy momentarily breathless and uncertain of the god's intentions.
Despite the impending menace of Apollo's ire, Percy’s countenance remained unchanged. For he has met gods before, each with their own dazzling array of divine powers, each cloaked in their own unique aura of self-importance. Each of them, he found, underestimated not only his powers but also his will, his determination.
Apollo, ever perceptive, appeared to discern the rising self-assurance within Percy. With an almost divine intuition, he saw fit to quell this sentiment, to stifle it before it could fully bloom. And he chose to do this with a swift, decisive action - one that took the form of a generous offering.
"Yet do not mistake me for a deity who lacks the virtue of hospitality," Apollo declared. His words, spoken with a certain eloquence and charm, carried an underlying promise. "Especially not towards one such as yourself, son of Poseidon," Apollo told him and with a cunning smile, that shone as bright as his celestial namesake, called Polymnia, beckoning her gently to step forward. In muse’s tender hands she held a small, unassuming box, the contents of which were mysteriously hidden from view.
As Polymnia drew closer, Apollo extended his hand, fingers dancing lightly on the surface of the box. The simple act of lifting the lid was imbued with a sense of ceremonial reverence, echoing the ancient traditions of his divine heritage. The silence was broken by the soft sigh of the box opening, revealing a sight of true beauty nestled within its depths.
It was a bracelet, but not of ordinary make. Forged from the purest silver, it was a testament to the skilled craftsmanship of Hephasteus. The silver was shaped into delicate vines, intertwining and looping around each other in an intricate dance. Each vine was detailed with painstaking precision, appearing alive as if ready to burst into growth at a moment's notice.
However, the true masterpiece was the citrine gemstone that lay at the center of the bracelet. Carved into the radiant shape of the sun, it was a fitting tribute to the god of light himself. The gemstone glowed with an ethereal light, its fiery hues reminiscent of the golden rays of dawn.
---
"I have a gift for you, Einalian. Come and claim it," Apollo said, his voice a blend of arrogance and authority.
Percy, jolted by the sudden command, found himself in the grips of a firm resolve. "I seek nothing from you," he declared, his words echoing the sentiments he had once expressed to Poseidon. He held no desire to further entangle himself in the webs woven by the gods; such debts were often repaid in sorrow.
Apollo's golden eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and irritation. He had expected defiance, perhaps, but not this cool, measured refusal. "You reject my gift?" he asked, his tone edged with disbelief. "You spurn the favor of a god?”
“I will not be bound by your whims,” Percy answered.
"To refuse me is to court disaster, that’s why you will accept this gift in good grace and gratitude," he proclaimed, his voice resounding with an undeniable force, his sunlit eyes shimmering with an unspoken threat of violence should Percy dare to struggle.
With the bracelet in his possession, Apollo advanced towards Percy, who had already risen from his resting place. His movements were unsteady, his legs threatening to tangle in the folds of the robe that hung too long, brushing against the cool marble floor. A sudden impulse for escape surged within him, propelling him towards the archway carved from white marble.
He found himself on the precipice of a skyward abyss; a leap from here would send him plunging into an unending fall. Yet, he could not shake the suspicion that some other form of arcane magic might be in play. Scarcely allowing himself time for contemplation, he took a leap of faith into the void. Yet, before he could succumb to the pull of gravity, Apollo's burning grip seized him, halting his descent.
"If I had known of your fervent desire for death, I might have spared myself the effort of saving you,” Apollo chided, his words laced with dry humor. "But this makes the bracelet all the more valuable." His voice hinted.
Despite Percy's desperate struggle to free himself from Apollo’s grasp, the god effortlessly slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. It nestled against his skin, its bright gleam fading to a soft glow, but its impact was immediate and potent. The bracelet, seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. He could feel its grip tightening, not physically but spiritually, like a relentless, smothering presence.
---
The bracelets which Hekate had gifted him had been a source of solace and protection, a steady anchor in the tempestuous seas of his journey. They sang to him in silent whispers of comfort, of a stability. Yet, the new bonds that now graced his wrists spoke a different tongue, their silent voices humming in ominous echoes of warning. They were not gentle in their message; they spoke of boundaries not to be crossed, of a harsh retribution waiting should he dare to disobey.
"What is this?" Percy gasped, his voice a strangled whisper dancing on the edge of panic. He tugged futilely at his wrist, his efforts to rid himself of the metal as fruitless as a mortal attempting to shift a mountain. The god merely offered him a smile, a dangerous glint in his eyes that spoke of possessive delight.
"Merely a precaution, Einalian," his voice rolled forth like silk, tinged with feigned concern and a hidden amusem*nt that danced beneath the surface. "To discourage you from... wandering.”
Wandering? Did this hellish trinket mean to bar his return to Earth? His mission—what of his mission? It echoed in his mind like a distant plea, a call to duty that burned brighter than the stars themselves.
“Your father told me to take care of you, so I am," Apollo added.
Percy suppressed a shudder of frustration and fear, his gaze flickering to his bound wrist with mounting desperation. Perhaps he could find a sharp enough tool to sever the offending metal. And if all else failed—he gulped at the horrific thought—he could even resort to severing his own flesh.
The surge of fear and anger that coursed through his veins was like a tempest, threatening to drown him in its swirling depths.
"This is not protection but imprisonment," his words echoed through the spacious chamber, reverberating against the marble columns and golden tapestries, each syllable dripping with defiance.
Why should he welcome this domination?
With a swift turn, Percy hastened towards the exit, driven by an urgency that Apollo chose not to pursue, his countenance a tableau of eerie calm, hands clasped behind his back in a gesture both poised and sinister.
The heavy folds of Percy's robe seemed to conspire against him, their weight unsettling his stride as if to impede his escape. He flung open the door, revealing a gathering of ethereal figures—Muses, no doubt—whose all-seeing eyes bore into his soul with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity, a gaze he hated for its implication of pity.
Stepping outside, Percy found himself enveloped in a corridor lined with towering marble pillars. The grandeur of the architecture dwarfed him, but he ventured onward.
Beyond the marble corridors lay a lush forest, its canopy stretching out before him. Dew-kissed moss cushioned his bare foot as he hesitated at the forest's edge. Fruits hung temptingly low from the branches, their vibrant colors and sweet scent beckoning to his senses.
Despite his hunger, Percy exercised caution. His survival instincts reminded him of the potential dangers lurking in these seemingly idyllic surroundings.
He ran forward between trees, trying to find a place to hide, or perhaps someone who could help him. But he knew it would be a fruitless act, since he should not trust anyone here. Suddenly, his bracelet emitted an ominous glow, heralding an unforeseen reckoning.
Instinctively, Percy's heart quickened, urging him to flee, to sprint without pause, desperate to find an escape route back to familiar grounds. Perhaps, he thought fleetingly, he could leap off the edge again. The memory of the fall, the rush of air, and the brief sensation of freedom tantalized his mind.
His feet pounded against the forest floor, each step echoing with his frantic heartbeat. The glow from the bracelet intensified, casting eerie shadows among the trees. Percy’s mind raced, calculating his options
But just as hope flickered in the depths of his mind, a surge of vitality coursed through the bracelet, transforming its benign appearance into a conduit of malevolent intent. Tendrils of vibrant green burst forth from its metallic confines like serpentine apparitions unleashed from ancient slumber.
With preternatural speed and precision, they coiled around Percy's wrist with a vengeful grip, swiftly ensnaring his limbs in an unyielding embrace. Every attempt to break free only tightened their hold, binding him ever more securely to the verdant floor of the forest sanctuary.
Exhausted and defeated, he ceased his resistance, allowing his forehead to sink heavily onto the cool, damp moss that carpeted the forest floor. The air around him thrummed with the subdued rhythm of nature, a stark contrast to the tumult raging within his heart.
It was then that he heard it—the delicate flutter of wings, a sound so incongruous amidst the verdant stillness that Percy's weary mind struggled to comprehend its origin. Slowly, he raised his head, eyes scanning the surrounding foliage until they fell upon a figure approaching with an air of nonchalant curiosity.
"Well, well," spoke a voice tinged with amused intrigue. "What do we have here? A demigod in distress?" The newcomer drew closer, revealing a handsome young man whose countenance bore a wry smile, lips curved in an expression that held equal parts mischief and sympathy. His eyes sparkled with an iridescent gleam, hinting at unfathomable depths of wisdom and whimsy.
Percy managed a weak response, “I’m fine,” he insisted, though his face, twisted in a grimace of pain, betrayed the lie.
"Are you now?" the newcomer sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You don't look fine to me, demigod," he remarked, his tone carrying a touch of jest.
Eros stood before Percy, clad in garments that shimmered with ephemeral hues. His fair hair seemed to catch the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above, lending an ethereal glow to his features. A faint scent of roses and ambrosia lingered in the air around him, a testament to his divine lineage as the son of Aphrodite.
“Then why are you standing there still? Help me,” Percy demanded, his frustration mounting, his voice a raw plea.
"But what am I going to get from this?" Eros replied, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I won't kill you," Percy answered, desperation tinging his voice.
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to do that, silly,” Eros chuckled, his laughter a delicate poison. “Threats won’t gain you anything, not from me.” Kneeling beside Percy, his eyes, dark and penetrating.
"Please," Percy almost whimpered, frustration releasing in a torrent of emotion. "I want—no, I need to go back to Earth."
"I like it when pretty things beg," Eros murmured, his eyes turning a vibrant pink. "I might grant your wish, but first, I will have to get my fill of your flesh." He reached out, brushing a finger against Percy’s chest, just above where his heart beat frantically.
“What in the Styx are you talking about?” Percy asked, his shock a palpable thing.
"Just touching, nothing more. I need to know if you're worth telling Aphrodite about," Eros explained, his tone nonchalant.
"Why would you—. No, no, I don't want her to know about anything," Percy said, raising his head to meet Eros's amused gaze.
“But it’s not like you are in any position to tell me what to do,” Eros said, his boredom tinged with malice. “So?”
“You are insane,” Percy muttered, his voice trembling. “Don’t touch me.”
"In a matter of minutes, you will beg for it, I swear," Eros said with a dark chuckle, hovering over the demigod. His hand cupped Percy's cheeks, making him pout angirly, his other hand sliding slowly down to his neck, chest, and finally ripping the fabric of his clothing in the process.
“H-hey!” Percy protested. “Get off!”
"How you’re so soft to the touch," Eros stated with awe, his fingers inspecting Percy's chest, making the demigod turn his head to the side in embarrassment. “Yet firm.”
"Are you done?" Percy asked when Eros suddenly withdrew.
"Oh, never," the god answered. In another instant, his lips descended on Percy's, claiming him possessively. His other hand slid lower, exploring Percy's body as if it were his own.
“This is going too far. Apol—” Percy tried to call between kisses, but Eros stopped and looked at him with an intensity that terrified him.
"Why call for that sun-blinded fool when we’re having so much fun?" Eros hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Apollo and I are not the same. He may seek to mold you, but I… I intend to break you."
With one swift motion forced open Percy’s mouth and produced thick spit that stretched from his lips to Percy’s. Demigod struggled to avoid the wet saliva reaching his mouth, but it soon touched his tongue. It tasted sickly sweet, making him instantly dizzy, his eyes rolling back like a man succumbing to a powerful opiate.
Eros closed his mouth over Percy’s in another wet kiss, letting his saliva slide down Percy’s throat, as he choked on it, its magic igniting sensations that spread through his groin, a dark enchantment that claimed his senses turning him helpless. As Eros's hands continued their explorations, Percy felt a strange mix of emotions. Anger, fear, and a flicker of something he refused to name.
"Do you hate this?" Eros asked, his voice a velvet purr. "Or do you hate that you might not entirely hate it?"
Percy's heart throbbed within him like a relentless war drum, each pulsation a resolute anthem of defiance against the intruding allure of Eros, the insidious god whose very essence sought to entwine itself around Percy’s will. His fists clenched in an act of elemental command. Drawing forth the water that coursed unseen through the foliage, within the moss, and carried upon the gentle breeze, Percy marshaled its liquid force against the god of love.
With a surge of concentration, he molded the water into a spectral hand that materialized from thin air, seizing Eros by the throat and hurling him against the ancient oak. Relief flooded Percy as the tendrils of the enchanted bracelet began to recede back into the form of mere adornment. Free once more, Percy stood firm on steady legs, eyes fixed upon Eros who, despite being thrown aside, regarded him with the predatory calm of a hunter eyeing its prey.
"Most impressive, demigod," Eros purred, his voice like honey laced with a hint of venom. "But my influence already courses through you," His smile was as smug as a cat who had just raided the cream, extending a hand in mock invitation. “Come to me.”
Percy hesitated, a fleeting numbness mingling with an intoxicating sense of happiness that whispered Eros might offer everything he had ever desired. Yet clarity pierced through the haze, and he recoiled, the dizzying vertigo of conflicting emotions swirling within him until he could no longer discern up from down. A knot of tension gripped his stomach, a primal ache that mingled with a dangerous arousal, his senses at war with themselves.
"What have you done?" Percy demanded, trying to summon anger for another assault of water, but Eros eluded his sight with infuriating ease. The faint flutter of wings, a soft but sinister laugh, mocked his attempts to locate the elusive god.
“Show yourself, bastard child of Ares,” Percy then spat, his words a challenge hurled into the shadows. In response, Eros materialized abruptly, a tempestuous figure with bow drawn and arrow aimed unwaveringly at Percy’s face.
The demigod smiled, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “Predictable.” With a swift motion, Percy conjured a hailstorm of sharp ice, launching it toward Eros before he could evade. The icy projectiles found their mark, slicing through Eros's radiant skin, causing ichor to seep through the almost translucent fabric of his chiton.
“Oh, you will pay for that,” Eros vowed through gritted teeth, his features contorted with pain and rage as he gathered himself, preparing to retaliate with deadly precision. But before he could release another arrow, it was intercepted by Apollo’s hand, stopping just inches from Percy’s stunned face.
“That’s enough,” Apollo growled, his eyes blazing with an angry golden fire that seemed to ignite the very air around them. “Run to your mother before I rip out your wings.” His voice carried a threat that made Eros pale with fear before he vanished into the ether, fleeing from Apollo’s wrath.
“I let you out of my sight for mere minutes, and you already find yourself in trouble,” Apollo remarked, his tone a mix of disappointment and amusem*nt as he turned his gaze upon Percy, who suddenly seemed strangely timid under his scrutiny.
“I would protect myself if not for this,” Percy retorted angrily, thrusting his hand with the bracelet before Apollo's eyes. The god seized his wrist, examining the offending object with a critical eye.
“It served its purpose. I felt your disobedience the second you decided not to heed my orders,” Apollo said, a hint of irritation lacing his words as he let go of Percy's wrist. “And you could die twice this week if not for my swift reaction.” He added. “Your debts are mounting, dear demigod.”
“I did not ask to be here in the first place,” Percy answered with anger. “This place—” He started looking around uncertainly. “Are we truly on Olympus?” he asked.
Apollo’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained keen and assessing. “Yes, we are. The only path down from here is guided by another god—me," Apollo explained, his initial anger dissipating into a calm resolve as he took Percy by the arm, leading him away. Percy’s face burned crimson, a flush creeping up his cheeks at the mere sensation of Apollo's touch on his arm. It seemed to lead his thoughts astray towards forbidden paths.
“I know the way. I can walk on my own,” Percy insisted, gently shrugging off Apollo's hand. The god raised an eyebrow but released his grip, watching as Percy took a few tentative steps forward. The further they walked, the more Percy’s mind struggled to focus. The grandiosity of Apollo's domain, with its towering pillars and flickering lamps, seemed to blur at the edges of his vision.
Despite his efforts to appear composed, his legs trembled with a mix of nerves and lingering adrenaline. Apollo, ever perceptive, noted the demigod’s unsteady gait and the darting glances he cast. Percy tried to mask his unease, but the intensity of Apollo's presence and the surreal nature of his surroundings made it a Herculean task.
They navigated the labyrinthine corridors, the silence between them punctuated only by the soft echo of their footsteps. Percy stole glances at Apollo, whose face remained an unreadable mask of serene authority. Yet, beneath that calm facade, an undeniable tension simmered.
Finally, Percy was ushered into one of the smaller bedroom chambers. The room, though modest compared to the opulence of the main hall, still exuded an air of divine splendor. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and a bed with soft, silken sheets invited him to rest. Percy felt a wave of relief wash over him at the prospect of being granted a moment alone.
“If you try to run again, I will know,” Apollo cautioned sternly and with a final glance, he closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar. The allure of escape was strong, but the memory of god’s warning tempered his resolve.
It was evident that Apollo trusted the bracelet on Percy's wrist to maintain order.
The taste of Eros's saliva still clung to his tongue, a sweet yet insidious sensation that Percy expelled into a pot filled with lavender. The flowers seemed to shimmer more radiantly, as if absorbing the god’s potent essence. He grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Seated on the edge of the bed, Percy struggled to gather his thoughts, attempting to distract himself from the persistent ache between his legs. He reflected on the significance of being on Olympus—a place where divine intrigues unfolded with incomprehensible complexity. The upcoming wedding of Thetis and Peleus loomed ahead, where Eris's golden apple would sow discord among the goddesses, setting the stage for Paris's fateful decision. Yet Percy dared not take action in the midst of so many gods; remaining invisible to their watchful eyes seemed the wisest course, though he had not had much luck with it.
As he contemplated his predicament, a whimper escaped his mouth, the weight of his desires pressing upon him. His hand rested on his groin, but to his dismay, Percy felt nothing—no response, no sensation. He was numb to his own touch, a disconcerting realization that left him hollow and unnerved.
He knew it would pass, but the potency of Eros's venom was beyond what Annabeth had once described. It wasn’t merely an aphrodisiac; it compelled physical touch with an irresistible force, leaving Percy unsatisfied by his own efforts. The lingering, provocative thoughts in his mind only exacerbated his struggle, making it difficult to redirect blood flow from his member back to his brain.
"Focus, Percy," he muttered to himself, his voice strained. He forced himself to think of Annabeth, of her clear, steady eyes and the way she could calm him with just a look. But even the memory of her wasn't enough to dispel the venom's effects entirely.
“Focus…”
His thoughts kept drifting back to Eros's touch, the god’s invasive presence lingering like a shadow.
---
Polymnia descended the steps of Apollo’s halls, her usually serene face now marred by deep lines of worry. Each step she took was heavy with the weight of her concerns, her delicate features drawn tight with anxiety. She stopped before the grand door, the monumental barrier seeming to pulse with the latent energy of the god within. He already knew she was there. With a single, fluid motion, the door swung open, revealing Apollo, his golden gaze meeting her troubled eyes with a stare that was far from surprised.
“What is it, dear one?” he asked, his voice a silken caress that belied the steely command beneath.
“It’s the boy, my lord. He’s been restless all night, whimpering and repeating words like a mantra to stay awake. I’m worried,” she explained, her voice trembling slightly, each word a fragile petition for understanding.
Apollo’s gaze was almost pitying, the faintest flicker of amusem*nt dancing in his eyes. Polymnia, one of the most sincere and sensitive among the Muses, was known for her compassionate heart. Often her worries were trifles, but this time, even Apollo had to concede she had reason to be nervous.
“Don’t be. I’m certain of what has got him,” Apollo said, a smirk playing on his lips, the expression at odds with the gravity of her concern.
“What is it?” Polymnia asked, her voice barely concealing the distaste she felt at his apparent pleasure.
“He’s under the influence of Eros,” Apollo said, the revelation making the Muse pale, her usually composed demeanor faltering.
“That’s awful,” she breathed, stepping closer to Apollo as if proximity could glean more information or somehow lessen the burden of her worry. “Something must be done.”
“For now, let him be. This is a lesson he must learn,” Apollo replied, his tone almost bored but laced with a hint of his own impatience, the god's mood mercurial as ever.
“A lesson?” Polymnia echoed, her voice rising with a mixture of disbelief and indignation. “What lesson could possibly justify this torment?”
“Disobedience,” Apollo replied simply, his gaze turning dark, the mirth evaporating like mist in the morning sun. “I wanted to show him what peril would await outside my walls.”
Polymnia’s eyes widened in shock and dismay. “But he is suffering,” she insisted, her voice breaking, the sincerity of her plea a testament to her deep empathy. “Surely there is another way to teach him.”
“I will come to his chambers soon. He won’t suffer for long,” Apollo reassured, his voice rich with divine certainty. Yet, his words offered no solace to Polymnia; if anything, they deepened her agitation.
“Maybe I should ease him myself, my lord. The boy has already gone through so much. If he’s strained further—” Polymnia began, her voice trembling with concern, but she was immediately silenced by Apollo's hand creeping up her cheek.
“I will be gentle with him,” Apollo said, his fingers stroking her cheek with a deceptive tenderness. “Just as I am always gentle with you,” he added, his tone laced with a subtle menace. Polymnia met his eyes with an empty stare. She knew her lord just like the rest of the Muses did; he was an insatiable and often terrifying lover. For the gods were beings of complex whims and insatiable appetites, and Apollo was no different.
“Gentle, my lord?” she whispered, her voice barely masking her skepticism, each word a fragile challenge to his promise.
Apollo’s smile was both charming and unsettling, a mix of divine allure and latent cruelty. “If he behaves,” he murmured, his words a veiled threat.
Polymnia found it hard to trust his assurances. Her eyes searched Apollo’s face for any sign of sincerity, but all she found was that same enigmatic smile.
Apollo’s fingers lingered on her cheek for a moment longer, their touch as cold as marble despite their warmth, before he let his hand fall. “Leave me. I will tend to the boy soon enough,” he commanded.
Polymnia bowed her head and stepped back, her mind troubled. She turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing in the grand hallway.
---
Percy's lips were red and bloodied from biting down, desperately trying to stifle the sounds of his torment as he rocked his hips in the bed, seeking any form of relief. Yet, the climax never came, and the friction only seemed to worsen his state, intensifying the ache rather than soothing it.
He was panting, wet gasps leaving his mouth, each breath accompanied by soft, involuntary whimpers. His clothes lay discarded somewhere on the floor, and his body glistened in the darkness, covered in a sheen of sweat. His member was painfully red and swollen, a testament to his relentless yet futile efforts to alleviate his suffering.
He had reached the breaking point, considering the unthinkable—calling out Eros's name. Yet, the memory of their last encounter held him back. He feared the god would only take pleasure in his suffering and make it even worse. Lost in his struggle to regain control, he failed to hear the door creak open.
Apollo stepped into the room, his presence a stark contrast to the darkness, radiating an unsettling blend of authority and allure. He was greeted by the sight of Percy’s perfect, naked body, curled in a half-moon position on the silk covers.
Already bare-chested, Apollo approached the bed with a predatory grace, each step deliberate, as if savoring the anticipation. He sat beside Percy, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. It was only then that Percy, sensing the shift, looked over his shoulder.
He was met with Apollo’s smug face, staring at him with a mixture of amusem*nt and desire. “Poor thing,” Apollo mocked, his voice a silken whisper of condescension. Percy, his heart pounding, turned his head towards the pillow, trying to escape the intensity of Apollo's gaze. But the mere sight of the god’s handsome features made his heart skip a beat, and his muscles tensed in anticipation of a touch he both dreaded and longed for. He hated how his body betrayed him, responding to Apollo's presence with a mixture of fear and reluctant desire.
Apollo's hand moved with a deceptive gentleness, brushing back a strand of hair from Percy's forehead. The demigod shivered at the contact, his body betraying his resolve. Apollo leaned in closer, his breath warm against Percy's ear.
"You should have known better than to defy me," Apollo murmured, his voice a blend of chastisem*nt and dark promise. "But now, you will learn."
