Apollo, by all means, had never been attracted to other males. Not that he was opposed to the idea, but..none had ever caught his attention. He was a fickle god, young and distracted by pretty girls with their rosy lips and shiny hair and soft skin. It had never really crossed his mind to look at mortal men.
His travels took him many places, and it wasnât the first time he had visited Sparta, under the guise of a weary traveler. It wasnât uncommon for the gods to spontaneously show up to palaces of the city-states to test the hospitality of the kings. Apollo did this every now and then, too.
Now, he was under the guise âKassandros.â A traveling poet, he said he was, in need of a place to rest for a day or so. Unsurprisingly, the king had been rather accommodating, much to Apolloâs pleasure. He had been there for about a day now, and he was sitting in the courtyard, strumming at his lyre, when someone caught his eye.
That was the prince, wasnât it? It had to be. There just seemed to be sort of a princely air about him, but Apollo was struck with how..beautiful he was. His fingers stilled, and he swallowed as his heart skipped a beat.
â..You there,â he called out, sitting up slightly. âYou are the prince, arenât you? I have to wonder what the prince of Sparta might be doing, hovering about as you are.â The grin on his face was a playful one, and he tilted his head. â..I am Kassandros. Iâm sure your father has mentioned me. Maybe.â A pause. âAnd your name is..?â
There was surprisingly little to liven the days of a Spartan prince; by and large, Hyacinthus's duties as prince were largely ceremonial, and he was free to pass his days in hunting, in leisure, or in just about any other activity that caught his fancy. Visiting figures lodged in the palace were often the most entertainment the prince would findâthey were always full of stories, tales of the other city-states and of a world that the prince had never been exposed to.
Their newest guest was a man who had quite caught the prince's attention; he could only imagine at the sort of stories that the poet would have to share. Such guests were among the rarer of their visitors, although it was not unknown for one to stay in Sparta, often for some days at a time while they gathered together audiences to hear their stories and songs.
And if this particular poet happened to also be quite attractive, well, there was no particular shame in taking note of that fact either, not if all Hyacinthus intended to do was admire him in passing.
It was the sound of music, coupled with the promise of sunshine, that had lured the prince to the courtyard on this particular day; as often happened, while on his way to investigate the sound, he paused to admire the gardens that lined the courtyard itself, fingers brushing delicately over some of the flowers there. His ear still attuned to the sound of the music even as his gaze wandered over the blossoms, the sound of a voice interrupting the notes quite startled him, and it was with some surprise that he turned to find their visiting poet gazing back at him.
Goodness, he certainly was attractive.
âI beg your pardon; I had not meant to disturb you.â Sincere as the words were, the prince couldn't help the small smile that danced about his lips in response to the poet's own. Head nodded briefly in acknowledgement of the question before he replied. âIndeed, I am the prince, and my father has mentioned to me of our newest guest, a rather talented poet. I am Prince Hyacinthus.â
It was only then that the prince realised his presence was doubtless an unwelcome distraction to the poet, and a flush stained his cheeks as the thought occurred. âIt was simply such a beautiful day that I had to enjoy the sun and the fresh airâmy apologies if I have taken you away from your music. Please, continue; I am sure I can busy myself elsewhere, that you may continue your work in peace.â But still he remained, gaze lingering for several seconds too long before tearing away and returning to the flowers beside him.
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