When the king tells him he has a task for him, Arion expects the worse.
Ever since he woke up in the middle of an empty field with no memories, not even a name to call his own, life has been turbulent.
Other than the vague notion of how the world worked, and some sort of 'common sense', Arion was no better than a newborn.
Which didn't help when the people who found him decided that since he didn't know where he came from, or who he was, they might as well make a few drachmas out of him, and sold him.
His youth and beauty made the auction price soar, and Arion was sold by an inordinate amount of money -- making his 'rescuers' very rich.
His first master wanted him to do housework and muck stables. Arion much preferred the company of animals than of the people in his master's household and tried to spend most of his time outside.
Until one day his master decided that there were other, better uses, he could put Arion to.
Arion broke his nose and ran away before his master's hand could lift another inch of his tunic.
He was invariably caught, given a beating, and sold again.
That pattern held, until Arion found himself in the service of the King of Sparta, who was apparently above bedding slaves, and much preferred his wife (a rarity), the company of the lover from his youth (another rarity), and his young beloved (exceedingly common).
One year passed and Arion mostly stayed outside, mucking stables, tending to the horses and readying them for the King's use -- unbothered and unnacosted.
Until now, apparently.
He's wondering if he can get away with just a beating for punching the king, when Amyclas speaks:
"I want you to go to my youngest son's room, and tell him he can do with you as he pleases."
That's not what Arion expected to hear.
The King gets up from his chair and paces the room, his hands clasped behind his back, holding the draping of his long mantle.
"You will of course, not force yourself on him, but will report to me whether the Prince accepts your offer, or rejects it," the King says.
In that case, Arion won't have to punch anyone. Every slave knows that the King's beautiful youngest son is as cold-blooded as a fish.
Definite proof that the Gods give as much as they take.
"Yes, your Majesty," Arion says, almost sighing in relief. "Will that be all?"
The King hums and turns away, but just as Arion is about to leave he adds, "Go take a bath, you reek of horses. Comb your air after. Make yourself presentable."
Arion closes the door behind him with a smirk. He's happy for the chance of a bath, but he could douse himself in oil and tell Prince Hyacinth he'll fulfill is every fantasy and that still wouldn't move him.
The poor king must be going insane trying to figure out what to do with his son, if this is what he has resorted to.
---
Freshly showered, his long golden hair washed and free from tangles, Arion makes his way to the Prince's rooms.
He has also changed into a fresh tunic, the only one he owns that isn't plain white, and instead has some red trim around the hem of the short skirt, falling to his mid-thigh.
He figures a beauty like Prince Hyacinth deserves the effort, even if it won't amount to anything.
He knocks on the Prince's room door, on the east wing of the Palace, overlooking the inner courtyard.
A muffled "Enter," comes from inside. Arion makes his way in.
The Prince is sitting by the window, one leg bent towards his chest, making the short skirt of his blue tunic ride up his smooth thigh, drawing Arion's eyes.
A golden lyre is balanced on his other leg.
Hyacinth puts the lyre to the side when Arion comes in, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. "Who are you?"
Arion closes the door behind him, and comes forward, bending slightly at the knee before saying, "His Majesty has ordered me to serve His Highness in any way he sees fit," his tone making the unspoken implications obvious.
He expects the prince to laugh, dismiss him outright, even get angry. Like most slaves in the palace, Arion doesn't know much about the prince's character, since he is a notoriously private person.
Instead, he watches in wonder as a deep crimson flush stains Hyacinth's high cheeks, making the smattering of freckles sprinkling them stand out sharply against his bronze skin.
"I'm sorry my father asked that of you," he says, averting his violet eyes, and surprising Arion even more.
In his one year of work in the palace, he doesn't think anyone has ever apologized to him.
"You can leave now," Hyacinth says, hugging his legs to his chest and looking out the window towards the outer courtyard.
Despite his complaints, it's clear that King Amyclas really loves his son. Otherwise he wouldn't have given Hyacinth one of the best rooms in the palace, with both easy access to the inner courtyard, and a privileged view of the outside gardens.
Arion makes his way closer to Hyacinth, his eyes still drawn to that bared expanse of thigh. "I can do whatever his Highness wants," he says. "His Highness only needs to say the words."
Hyacinth glances briefly at him, his eyebrows drawn in consternation. "Because my father told you to?"
Arion reaches towards that bit of thigh, his hand moving without the full input of his mind. He wants to see if Hyacinth's skin is as soft as it looks. "Because I want to."
He's lying, of course.
It's what he's meant to say -- what the King expects him to say.
Arion can't deny that the idea of having this proud, cold Prince, writhing underneath him -- his violet eyes filled with tears of pleasure as he begs Arion to fuck him harder -- has an undeniable appeal.
Half of Sparta is mad for the King's youngest son. Arion never understood the appeal, but seeing his thick curling lashes lowered in embarrassment over his stormy violet eyes, the crimson flush staining his freckled cheeks -- he's beginning to see why there's a line of men outside the Palace's walls, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Beautiful as he is, he's just another spoiled lordling, they're dime a dozen in the city. All thinking themselves mighty soldiers, fierce Spartan warriors, when the truth is that they rely on slaves to do everything for them.
Arion doubts, the "jewel of Sparta", as people outside the palace often call him, is any different.
Still, it wouldn't be a terrible chore to fuck him. Even if his father probably hopes it would happen the other way around.
Hyacinth glares at him from beneath the fan of his lashes and slaps Arion's hand away from his thigh. "Leave, now."
Arion doesn't insist, it's not his place.
He backs away with a polite nod, moving towards the door. "I apologize for disturbing his Highness, I'll tell his Majesty that my presence is not welcome."
Hyacinth's eyes are no less lovely even as they glare Arion out of the room.