To say King Amyclas is displeased with Arion's report is an understatement.
"What do you mean he sent you out?" the King asks, throwing his hands up in frustration.
"My presence seemed to displease the Prince, your Majesty," Arion says, disguising his amusement behind a polite cough.
Amyclas has a bad feeling about this.
The slave is objectively attractive, what is wrong with Hyacinth?
"That boy is up to something," Amyclas says, waving a finger in the air. "Maybe he already has a lover, a boy his age, and that's why he's adamantly against accepting a suitor."
It's not unheard of, some boys grow attached to the youthful romances of their military training. The agoge is one of the few places where one's birth isn't relevant, except for slaves, everyone is allowed to mingle freely.
Perhaps Hyacinth has convinced himself that whatever low-born boy he's infatuated with is his true love or whatever nonsense children like to fill their minds with.
Perhaps it's much worse than that.
"What if he has, somehow, gotten into a relationship with a girl?" Amyclas asks, clutching his chest. "What if he gets her pregnant? What a disgrace!"
Arion hides another chuckle behind a cough. Wouldn't that be something? The King's first bastard grandchild, from his unmarried youngest son, no less.
Are there bastards in Sparta? Countless.
Are any of them sired by men who have yet to establish their own households and still live with their parents? Officially none.
An unmarried young man getting an unmarried woman pregnant only has one possible outcome: a marriage between the two of them, in order not to bring the man's good standing into question.
Especially if he's the son of the King.
Amyclas will die twice over before any of his children enter into a politically disadvantageous marriage.
He turns towards Arion, a vicious scowl between his furrowed brows. His skin is paler than Hyacinth's and his hair and eyes much darker, almost black, his trim beard makes him look older than his years.
It strikes Arion as odd, how little his youngest son resembles him. "From today onward, you'll be Hyacinth's personal slave, and will accompany him everywhere."
What?
"Begging your Majesty's pardon...what?" Arion asks, blinking owlishly at the King.
Is he being turned into the prince's preceptor? Has he banged his head and woken up in Athens?
Does the King expect him to lead the Prince by the hand and take him to school (of which there are none in Sparta) and ensure he dutifully practices his lessons once back home?
Hyacinth is young man of twenty, he's not supposed to walk around with a slave following his every step.
Good thing being a Prince exempts him from continuing his military training in the agoge, otherwise the other youths would tease him mercilessly if they saw him shadowed at every turn by a slave like a pampered Athenian.
Amyclas has made his mind. He can't risk his youngest son getting involved with unmarried girls. The matter of the suitor must be solved at once.
If Hyacinth doesn't make a choice, a choice will be made for him. Tradition be damned.
Amyclas is his father, and Hyacinth will obey him.
He grips the slave by the front of his tunic, looking deeply into his blue eyes.
"Listen to me carefully, you're going to watch his every step. If he as much breathes in the direction of a woman I want you to tell me. If he has some lover of his own age, I want you to tell me. You're going to report to me his every step, on pain of being given a flogging you'll never forget."
He narrows his eyes at Arion, intent on imparting on him the importance of this task. "You're going to accompany him to meals, and sleep on the floor of his bedroom. Whatever he tries to hide from you, I expect you to find out. Is that clear?"
What choice does Arion have?
He nods slowly. "I understand, it will be done as His Majesty says."
Amyclas lets go of him with huff, wiping his hands on the red mantle wrapped about his shoulders.
"Good, you're dismissed."
Arion leaves the room, sighing over the loss of his quiet life as a stablehand, out of sight and out of mind of everyone in the royal household.
His quiet days are likely numbered.
---
Hyacinth isn't happy to see Arion again.
"His Majesty's orders, I'm afraid," Arion says, still not moving after Hyacinth tells him to leave his quarters for the umpteenth time.
Seeing that there really is no getting rid of him, Hyacinth returns to his seat by the window, ignoring Arion's presence. He looks out at the courtyard in seething indignation instead of quiet reflection as he was before Arion announced he'd been assigned as Hyacinth's personal slave.
Which is a roundabout way to say a spy for his father.
Hyacinth isn't stupid. He know his father is desperate for him to choose one of the men courting him, deliver their riches directly into the palace's coffers, and make use of their influence in whatever campaign his father sets his mind on next.
He resents being pressured like this, especially considering everything at stake!
His father looks at him and sees a spoiled princeling unable to do what is expected of his station, unable to put his city ahead of his own personal desires.
While nothing could be furthest from the truth.
Hyacinth has been ready to die for Sparta since he joined the agoge at the age of seven, and a military instructor first thrust a spear into his hands, bellowing:
"Dying for Sparta is the privilege of any Spartan citizen! Pray that the Gods one day grant you such honour."
Hyacinth did pray, from the height of his young innocence, he prayed feverishly that the Gods would allow him to become a hero for Sparta, to die gloriously in her name.
His prayers were answered when the tree Fates came to visit him in person one year later.
But it weren't tales of glory they told him.
And now his father is determined to set in motion the destiny Hyacinth has spent his life trying to avoid.
Scowling he chances another glance at the slave, sitting on the tiled floor and leaning back on his stretched arms, completely at ease.
Well, his father has sent him a spy, but maybe Arion can turn him into a double-crosser.
He just needs to move his troops right, corner the enemy and strike. His instructors back in the agoge always praised his quick-thinking.
"Arion, you said your name was?" he asks, the slave nods. "Since you're going to stay by my side for the foreseeable future, we might as well be civil with each other."
Arion tilts his head to the side, regarding Hyacinth with the beginning of a smirk playing at his lips.
"I'm happy to serve his Highness," he says.
Hyacinth rolls his eyes, and turns to look out the window again. "Of course you aren't, but you don't need to be honest with me. I said we should be civil, not friendly."
After all, how can a prince and a slave ever be friends?