In the days that follow, Arion sticks to the prince's side like a bad omen. Shadowing his every step, and accompanying him everywhere.
Hyacinth's routine is terribly dull.
He breaks his fast with some bread soaked in diluted wine, then spends the rest of the morning practicing his aim with the javelin, and some light target practice with the bow and arrow.
After running a few laps around the palace's outer courtyard he goes for a soak in the palace baths, where he can stay for up to an hour, just luxuriating in the shallow pool.
He dismisses the servants and attends to his own washing, preferring to do everything on his own.
He tries to dismiss Arion as well, with no success.
"I'm sorry, your Highness, but I'm following his Majesty's orders," Arion says, without moving from his position in the corner of the room.
Hyacinth grumbles something under his breath, but eventually goes back to his bath.
Arion stands at a distance from him, willing to give him some privacy.
But he can't help the way his eyes are drawn to the shift of Hyacinth's slender muscles as the sudsy water sluices over his smooth skin.
His body shows the years of constant training in the agoge, but his build remains slender, the muscles tightly compact rather than bulky. His wide shoulders taper down into a narrow waist, that Arion would wager a single one of his hands could span entirely.
That tight waist gives way to the generous, perky, swell of his ass, which drives Arion to distraction every time he catches sight of it.
It's a relief when Hyacinth is finally done with his bath and Arion can stop being tortured by the naked view of him.
Hyacinth has lunch with his second eldest brother, barely exchanging two words with him during the whole meal.
Argalus has none of Hyacinth's refined beauty, his features severe and sharp. His dark hair falls in a thick curtain to the middle of his back partially obscuring his face, a single one of his eyes ever visible at a time.
The most shocking part of Hyacinth's routine is that he spends the greatest part of his afternoon in the company of his mother and sister.
While the women weave Hyacinth sits by the window of their upper floor room, playing his lyre carelessly, providing some background music to their chatter.
Arion sticks to the darkened corners of the room, out of sight and out of mind, while the members of the royal family go about their daily activities.
"Have you given any consideration to your suitors?" Diomede, the queen, asks, non too subtly, as she adjust the threads on the loom. "Your father is growing impatient."
Facing her own loom, Laomedeia lets out a snort. "No sooner will pigs fly than my brother choose a suitor."
Hyacinth thumps his head against the wall behind him. "I wish father wouldn't be so persistent, I've said countless times I'm not interested in having a suitor."
"Your father worries about you," Diomede says, her agile fingers moving gracefully across the loom. "You know it's expected of boys of your station. To be honest, I don't see why you're so against it. Your older brother remains very close to his lover, even after getting married and being of an age where he could court his own beloved."
Hyacinth snorts, flipping his lyre between his fingers. "Since when do I and Cynortus have anything in common?"
Cynortus is the oldest of the King's sons, and the only one to have already left the palace to establish his own household. He's Amyclas heir and the future king of Sparta.
Hyacinth is right to say the two of them have nothing in common, while Cynortus is a hard-working, diligent man, Arion has seen no indication that Hyacinth is anything but a lazy layabout.
That he can dedicate such a large portion of his day to keeping his mother and sister company while they work is proof of that.
Queen Dioemede sighs. "My son, this stubbornness isn't going to get you anywhere."
Laomedeia nods, affecting a wisdom far beyond her short years. "Accept your fate, it's easier that way."
Her words rankle Hyacinth who gives her a sulking look. "Like you have? How is being a priestess of Artemis accepting your fate?"
Laomedeia smirks, running her thin fingers over the loom. "Simple, the goddess has come to me in a dream and told me so."
Hyacinth's scowl deepens. "How convenient."
Arion smirks to himself. Unfortunately for the prince, no one will believe him if he tells them a god has come to him in a dream and told him to preserve his chastity.
A woman's chastity might be a virtue, but a man's is an embarrassment, and clinging to it a source of shame.
It's almost enough to make Arion feel pity for the prince, but then he remembers Hyacinth is a prince, and he a slave, and the pity vanishes.
---
Dinner is usually a family meal in the palace and the entire royal family dines together, with several slaves in attendance to serve them. Arion stands off to the corner, observing Hyacinth's every move like the king instructed him to.
Almost a week has gone by, and he has yet to see Hyacinth deviate from his usual routine or do anything that would hint at a secret relationship with someone.
In fact, Hyacinth is terribly boring, and Arion is slowly going insane with the dullness of his days.
Hyacinth can stay silent for hours, just gazing out of his bedroom window or playing his lyre.
Whatever thoughts run through his mind, he doesn't feel the need to share them with Arion.
Other than his mother and sister, he doesn't seem to be close with anyone else.
Puzzling as it is, it's not Arion's place to worry about Hyacinth's social life.
"We'll be hosting a feast in two days," Amyclas says suddenly, lifting a silver goblet of wine up to his lips and cutting through the silent hum of dinner. "I've already instructed the kitchen slaves to begin preparations."
At his side Diomede's hand wavers on her own wine goblet. "Why such short notice, dear?"
Her smile never quite reaches her eyes, but the panicked look she darts towards Hyacinth doesn't go unnoticed.
There is no religious celebration happening in two days, so the reason for Amyclas sudden announcement is obvious.
Hyacinth stiffens on his bench, retreating his hands from the wooden table and dropping them to his lap.
"I won't be attending," he says, shooting his father a challenging glare.
"Whyever not?" Amyclas asks, taking a careless sip of his wine, vehemently ignoring Hyacinth's pinched expression.
"I have a terrible headache scheduled." The corner of his red lips tugs upwards. "Terribly sorry to miss the feast, though."
Amyclas doesn't find Hyacinth's answer as amusing as Arion does, and slams his closed fist down on the tabletop, toppling half the goblets on the table.
The slaves rush towards the table silently, with clean rags in hand, ready to mop up the spill before it can spillover the table and stain their master's clothes.
"You'll be attending the feast, and that's final. Disobey me again and I'll instruct your suitors to follow Theban courtship traditions!"
Hyacinth's hands tremble on the hem of his tunic, clutching the fabric between his fingers until his knuckles turn white.
The King has really lost his patience with him to threaten him with ritual kidnapping.
Arion watches this unfold from the shadows, curious to see how the Prince will play his hand next.