Chapter Text
It’s rare that Prince Perseus gets the enjoy the exhilarating freedom of exploring other kingdoms, even with what seems like millions of knights surrounding him and his siblings.
“Isn’t this just amazing?” Percy fawns over, taking in every inch of the unfamiliar kingdom of Olympia with wide eyes. It is much bigger than Atlantis, and so, so different. The people, the architecture (though, Percy knows the princess who manages most of the buildings, and he gets to say that he once beat Princess Annabeth of Athens, Architect of Olympia in a swordfight), the culture... everything.
“Perseus, compose yourself,” Crown Prince Triton warns, reaching up to fix his crown, which was threatening to fall off his head with how much he was excitably looking around. “I know it has been long since you left Atlantis, but you are still a prince out in the public. As royalty, we must always look our best.”
Percy sticks out his tongue at his older brother and Princess Kymopoloeia laughs loudly next to him, tapping him on the back in an un-ladylike way that their mother, Amphitrite would’ve definitely reprimanded her for. Queen Rhode, wife of King Helios, only hums at her sibling’s shenanigans and Queen Benthesikyme, married to King Enalus, snorts.
Since they were young, Triton had always been the pitch-perfect son and prince. As the oldest born, crown prince and heir to the throne of Atlantis, all of the pressure was placed upon his shoulders the moment he was born. His perfectionism only got worse when his only daughter, Pallas, died; accidentally murdered by the Queen of one of Olympia’s neighboring kingdoms.
After that, his disdain for Olympia and its surrounding nations along only grew with the rivalry between King Poseidon of Atlantis and King Zeus of Olympia.
The two kingdom were polar opposites after all. Where Atlantis was cold and chilly, Olympia was sunny and bright.
Where Atlantis was private to its own people, Olympia was arms-opened and welcoming at all days.
Where King Poseidon was gentle and caring, King Zeus was cruel and cold (much unlike their kingdoms).
“Brother,” Percy says, redirecting their conversation as Kymopoleia fetches them snacks along with three knights, much to her chagrin. “I want to see the poets, the bards. I have heard many whispers of Olympia’s arts and entertainment, and I have heard it is much better than what we have in Atlantis.”
“Who said that? Was it the nymphs working for Kymopoleia? No, do not answer that— it was definitely them, no point discussing it,” Triton scowls, crossing his arms over his chest momentarily before letting them fall to his sides. “No matter. Of course, Perseus. Did you have any place in mind?”
Music plays distantly near a tavern and Percy grins broadly and takes off, all but skipping, towards the melodies and cheering before his brother can voice his protests.
Entering the bar, the knights aren’t allowed in, since the bar seems to be a no violence tolerance zone, where royal knights and guards weren’t permitted to enter because of their armour and their weapons.
Percy reassures them with a smile that if anything were to happen, they would scream for help.
The four of them (even Benthesikyme, who found her way back to them after having scoured the streets for any sort of snacks) order their drinks and sit down at the vacant table nearest the stage, listening contently as a bard, who seems to be nearing his late thirties sings of King Zeus and of the Titanomachy and of the beautiful princes and princess of Olympia.
He was good, of course, but Percy was sure there were better poets than he.
The fates prove him right when the musicians bows off the stage, the crowd claps politely and the next singer comes on stage. The entire tavern erupts in cheers just by seeing the hooded-man, excited whispers rise around them. His older siblings share a concerned look, but Percy is focused solely on the poet in front of him.
The sounds in the bar shut up immediately when the man removes his hood, revealing the most beautiful man Percy has ever seen.
Atlantis is known for its beauty; Percy is used to seeing women who threaten Princess Aphrodite’s and the late Queen Helen’s beauties. Women with enough curves to choke, eyelashes and nails long enough to kill and to spear. Men, some gorgeous, some handsome, built like statues.
But, him.
Him, him, him, him. The man glows and the room brightens, his golden hair shines and folds to perfection and Percy wants to run his fingers through them and touch. His eyes shine just right, the blue a magnetic and perfect shade, much more appealing than the Atlantean prince’s ‘green-sea blending to royal blue’ pair.
(“You know,” Princess Annabeth had once whispered to him the night before her coronation. “Your eyes really reflect the sea.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Wherever we go, even if the water is muddy and ugly or clear and perfect, your eyes seem to mirror it.”)
His skin is tanned and freckled, as if the sun personally takes time out of its day to sculpt and paint the man’s color by hand, kissing, nuzzling and caressing it until it is completely and utterly flawless.
Poets would sing of him, artists would make him their muse, queens would shed tears, kings would bend to his will and Percy wasn’t any better. He deserves to be in a museum, Percy thinks. He deserves to have art made of him and songs written for him. He deserves to break as many hearts as he wishes and he deserves to be thanked for doing as such.
He was built in a way that he looked to be lithe yet muscular at the same time.
He was so focused on examining every inch of the man’s body that he didn’t notice his brother glaring at him at the other end of the table.
‘Compose yourself,’ Triton mouths to him, eyes deadly, snapping Percy out of his drool-sesh.
He was ogling the man so much that he hadn’t noticed those blue eyes staring at him as well.
The man opens his mouth and all that comes out is a short, “Hello,” before the crowd erupts in claps, cheers and whistles. He doesn’t seem at all overwhelmed by the attention, as if it’s completely normal to him. “Ah, thank you, thank you all. Much love, many kisses,” he blows one into his palm and sends it off, and a woman in the back of the building gasps out and faints. The man laughs, “Thank you for coming, people from close and... a couple gorgeous people from far, it seems.”
He’s looking directly at Percy with those words, and he feels himself become hot. He tugs nervously at his collar until Rhode raises an eyebrow at him.
“It has truly been a while since I last performed,” the bard admits. “So, please, be kind to me.”
Laughters sounds in the tavern. The man grins and his fingers rise up to strum his instrument and Percy notices the only imperfection in what seems like a sublime body; his fingers are cut up and scarred, from years of strumming and playing music. When he opens his mouth to sing, the flaw seems to fade as his voice mimics a siren’s and lulls him in.
It’s enchanting.
It’s magnetic.
It’s maddening.
He feels, for no reason at all, that he loves it too much for his own good.
“How did you like the music, Perseus?” Kymopoleia teases, a grin tugging her lips as they make their way back to King Zeus’ palace, where they were residing during their visit to Olympia. “Hear much of it? Because it seemed to all of us that you were using more your eyes than you were your ears.”
Percy scoffs, red-faced, but he doesn’t confirm or deny anything she says.
When he returns to him chambers, the sight of Princess Annabeth of Athens and Lord Grover of Faunus, descendant of King Pan, greets him. “Percy!” Grover exclaims, getting up from where he was splayed on the floor to embrace his longtime friend. “It has been too long, dude.”
Percy fells his royal mask slip and he grins, carefree and boyish despite his princely age of nineteen. “G-Man! Gods, how I’ve missed you.” Separating from their hug, Percy leans sideways, smiling at Annabeth, who’s laying down on the floor, an arm thrown over her eyes, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Annie. How’s the courting of Aphrodite’s spawn going?”
“Awful, just plain awful,” she dramatically cries out, but doesn’t hesitate to lean into Percy’s hug. “She just broke off her relationship with Prince Jason, who found out he had thing for Lord Leonidas of Vulcan, so she’s all sad and stuff...“
The prince raises an eyebrow at her and Annie grins, “We kissed. Once. Or, um. I guess it was more twice. But other than that, nothing.”
“You know Jason is technically your uncle?” Percy laughs and Annabeth scowls at him.
Grover laughs (it’s more of a bleat than anything) and Percy grins, throwing his arm over both of his best friends’ shoulders. “Oh, we are so back.” He turns his head towards Grover, “Anything new with you, bud?”
“Well, I’ve been spending a lot of time here in Olympia, since my court is dealing with some politics right now... so it’s been all blah-blah-blah nonsense,” the Lord says with a shrug. “Though, ever since Annabeth and her royal family came ‘round for the ball, I’ve had some more company.”
“Alright, alright. How’s Juniper?”
“Actually... I was going to mention this to you in a letter, but I figured it’d be best to say in person; I did it. Juniper and I got engaged not too long ago,” he replies sheepishly, cheeks tinting red. “I was wondering... if, ah, you’d like to be the best man- or, rather the ‘supporter’ in royalty terms.”
Percy gapes at him and literally sheds a tear, “Grov, I could kiss you right now. Yes, of-fucking-course I will.”
Grover sniffs and nods his head excitedly.
Annabeth snorts in amusement and in fondness. “Alright, you’re up next, Perce.”
“Well, other than the fact that I’m not stuck confined in Atlantis anymore,” Percy laughs. “I saw this really cute guy at the tavern not too long ago. A bard. Gods, he was so pretty.”
Annabeth and Grover share a look. Grover furrows his eyebrows at her and his lips thin but Annabeth only shakes his head. Percy sulks at their telepathy. He thought that was his and Grover’s thing. “Guys,” he whines. “Include me in your mind-talk.”
“No, it’s nothing Perce,” Annabeth laughs. “We’ve seen him around too. He’s good, huh?”
Percy sighs dreamily, “Yeah... he’s incredible. Man, you should’ve seen him, Annie. It’s like he was born for the stage.”
She snorts, “Something like that.”
The Atlantean prince squints his eyes suspiciously at his best friends, “You two knows something I don’t. You’re hiding it from me. Spill.”
“Seriously, we’re not hiding anything. Really,” Grover nods happily and smiles grandly, his expression easy and his eyes crinkled. “We... just know of him, that’s all. He is quite famous in Olympia, a very talented man he is.”
Percy frowns at his friends but shrugs. “Alright, then. If you say so.”
Annabeth and Grover share another look. Percy sighs before grinning. “Y’all hear of Princess Thalia’s freakout the other day? Shame I wasn’t here earlier to see it.”
“I know right? She’s usually so composed...“ the princess groans, and Grover pats her on the back. Percy can’t resist but laughing out.
Percy stifles a groan of pain behind the teeth he has latched onto his bottom lips. The old seamstress doesn’t seem to notice and continues her job peacefully, her eyes squinting as if she couldn’t see very well. She was leaned in close to his body, so that thought couldn’t be much of a stretch.
“Mother,” Percy whines, turning around when the seamstress grunted the command out. “How much longer must we do this? I feel as if my skin is being torn off by the pricks.” Then, glancing down at the worker; “I truly mean no offense, ma’am.”
“None taken, your Royal Highness,” the madam smiles, the most she’s said to him the entire two hours he’d been here, taking his measurements silently.
“Perseus, do not complain,” Amphitrite sighs. “Be grateful that it is I keeping watch of you and your not father. If it were he, your father would’ve definitely thought you were in some immense pain and would’ve rushed you out of here; effectively ruining our chances at getting you a nice suit before the ball. Or, if it were your older brother; he’d scold you into silence.”
He pouts, but he knows its true. He was sure his sisters would’ve spent the day laughing at his pain (except maybe Rhode, bless her).
Back he was a boy and not a prince, they’d constantly told him that he wasn’t related to Amphitrite in any way, and that he was a bastard child. Kymopoleia had even gone out of her way to invent his ‘real’ mother, a commoner by the name of Sally Jackson (back then, he’d heard Sally as salmon and had cried to his parents when Benthesikyme told him he was really half-fish and they would have to eat him for supper). His older sisters only stopped the jokes when Triton got sick of hearing his little brother cry at his sibling’s antics.
(Just the other day, Kymopoleia had leaned into his ear as they walked by the shore of Olympia’s ocean and whispered; “Do you think Sally Jackson lives by here? I heard she loves the sea as much as she loves Father.”
Percy had punched her hard in the arm and she’d left with a victorious grin on her face.)
“You will need to look your best,” the Queen says, something he’s heard a million times since they’d arrived at Olympia. “This ball is no joke— whatever happens tonight could determine the future of both Atlantis and Olympia. Your father needs everything to go perfectly, it is the only way for us to avoid provoking a war.”
He regards his mother for a moment, a solemn look on her face. Father had been away from home for so long, dealing with political problems with King Zeus, and when he had finally showed up to one of their nightly dinners, he had suddenly announced their trip to Olympia.
Even now, they saw little of him as he spent his days conversing with the King. Triton was lucky he wasn’t being sent everywhere like the messenger he was, since their father was letting his family treat this as a true family vacation.
“I understand,” he mumbles softly, allowing the woman to continue her work without having to pause whenever he flinched.
He’s accompanied by Annabeth and Grover at the ball.
King Zeus’ ballroom is gorgeous, and he sees Annabeth stare in awe at it. Columns and statues decorate the sides of it; there are tables with various foods of various cultures and kingdoms. Servants float around with drinks in hand, offering some to the highest of royalty.
Early on, Grover notices Lady Juniper somewhere in the crowd and practically trips over himself to reach his betrothed. The two share a sweet kiss before Juniper leads Grover into the middle of the ballroom, where they share a dance.
Percy smiles at them.
He sees Prince Dionysus, one of the youngest of King Zeus’ children, and his wife Princess Ariadne. The prince takes up several offers of wine and drinks and throws it down his throat as if the burning is nothing to him. His wife only smiles beautifully at him, all too used to his drunkard personality.
Annabeth’s mother, Queen Athena of Athens, oldest born, is speaking lowly to her father, King Zeus, as Queen Hera, wrapped around King Zeus’ arm, listens in mindlessly, opting to twirl her brown hair or take careful sips of her wine rather than indulge in talk of politics. Annabeth excuses herself momentarily to go greet her mother.
Prince Ares (also known as General Ares of the Olympian Army), second-born, flirts obscenely with his gorgeous wife, the Princess Aphrodite. Looking at her, her hair seems to change with the lightning; going from blonde to brown to red in a matter of seconds and her eyes glitter in different in a way that makes Percy’s head hurt.
There are rumours that she is nearly as old as King Zeus is, despite her young appearance.
He sees Prince Hephaestus, the outcast of the Olympian family because of his deformed face, sitting alone in a corner, looking at Ares and Aphrodite sadly. The prince had been married to Aphrodite once, after all, but she had been unfaithful and cheated on him several times with Ares, and it was only when he’d gotten sick of the lies that he requested a divorce. Of course, she happily accepted it and got married almost instantaneously to Ares.
Percy can’t see him, but he hears the fluttering voice of Prince Hermes somewhere; going too fast from person-to-person for Percy to even know where he’s going.
He’d seen Hermes the most out of the royal family, considering he and Triton worked together as the direct messenger for their fathers, often exchanging messages together and were close in age.
In fact, Percy had been there at Hermes’ coronation when they were younger.
He blinks and Hermes is in front of him and Triton, grinning. “Hey, hey, Perce. How d’ya do?” For a prince, Hermes is so carefree, it’s almost scary. The Olympian throws an arm around his shoulders and smiles at Triton politely.
“Hello, Prince Hermes,” Percy greets, and Triton does the same. “I have been doing very well; your father has been very hospitable.”
“Tots, tots, tots. Sorry the party is so lame, we’re still waiting on a couple of people,” Hermes admits with a shrug. Then, he groans loudly, throwing his head back. “It’s so like them to be last to arrive.”
“Them?” Triton asks, eyebrows furrow.
“Yep,” Hermes says, popping the ‘p’. “The flashiest of them all—”
The doors to the ball swing open, interrupting Hermes. All eyes look upon the intruders, and Percy feels his jaw fall open.
The man. The bard from the tavern stands there, in a shimmering suit; he glows so brightly Percy almost mistook him for the sun. His hair is neatly brushed and braided, golden shining neatly. His pearly smile is blinding and his skin shimmers in the light of the chandeliers hanging above them.
Next to him, a young woman, with green hair and the smallest of blonde streaks, stands proud and tall. She too wears her hair in a braid, yet hers is much longer than the bard’s. The two contrast each other perfectly. The woman with her light skin and the bard with the dark skin.
“There they are,” the young prince muses. “As late as always; Prince Apollo, golden child of Zeus, and Princess Artemis, protector of the maidens of Olympia, twins. Don’t they just stand out?”
“Certainly,” Triton agrees, and Percy thinks he does not realize that Prince Apollo is in fact the poet.
“Since I was young, I always thought the two of them looked much like the sun and the moon,” Hermes laughs. “Children of the sky, I guess.”
The herald presents the prince and the princess and Hermes disappears just as quickly as he appeared, making his way to his father’s side with the rest of his siblings.
King Zeus stands from his throne and the entire room falls into silence. His children all stand next to them, in order of age. Percy notices Jason and Thalia standing among them, both of them looking at each other anxiously. The two of them were the effect of an illicit affair while Zeus was married, and because of Hera’s rage and jealous, it was rare that the King allowed both of his bastard children to attend the same royal ball, often separating them.
(Despite that, Zeus still decided to name Thalia the heir to his throne, even if she was one of the youngest. Percy thinks it is because Athena is already queen of a country and Ares is unfit to rule.)
The King clears his throat. “People of Olympia,” he says, his voice an echo bouncing perfectly along the walls of the ballroom. “Atlanteans, Athenians, Fauns and many more. Today is a day of celebration, as we finally welcome the peaceful union of Olympia and Atlantis after centuries of war and death.”
“For far too long, we have fought, and killed and prayed. But today, all that ends, as King Poseidon and I have thought of the wellness of our countries,” he continues. “From now on, Atlantis and Olympia have entered in a permanent state of allyship.”
The crowd claps and cheers, and Percy can see from over here how Queen Athena’s jaw clenches angrily, obviously upset that King Zeus did not follow whatever she had advised him to follow.
Triton grabs his hand and leads him and his sisters to where his father stands. When Poseidon rises to the stage where Zeus’ throne is, they follow him, standing obediently next to him. As his father speaks about the union of their two countries and their everlasting peace, he makes direct eye contact with Prince Apollo, who seems to be staring at him across the stage.
Percy goes red and looks away, grateful to be the farthest away from his mother and father so that there was less attention on him and his reactions.
Apollo grins at him and the bastard winks before turning away to face the crowd.
When King Poseidon finishes his speech, the audience applauds them as they bow off the stage. As he rushes off, he hears King Zeus announce the beginning of the activities.
“Time for some ballroom dancing,” Kymopoleia grins, wiping away invisible dust from her gown. “So glad Briares isn’t here, this party would’ve been such a drag.”
Before she could run off to the dance floor, Amphitrite pulls her by her hair. Kymopoleia doesn’t even flinch at the rough gesture, only pouts and adjusts her hair. The queen squints at her daughter. “Behave Kymopoleia, I do not want to spend this evening making sure you are not embarrassing our country and making a ruckus. If I have to, I will send you on your way to have a lovely little chit-chat with Prince Hephaestus.”
She walks away and Kym sticks her tongue out at her mother. Percy only sighs fondly, “I don’t know how you have the balls to act that way with mother and father, Kym.”
“They hate me,” she shrugs. “Why shouldn’t I hate them as well? It’s only fair.”
Rhode laughs at them and Benthesikyme rolls her eyes.
“Well. A little birdie told me that Helios is around the corner somewhere,” Rhode says with a smile, looking around for her husband. “I will go find him, so if you need me for anything; wherever he is, I am.” And with that, she disappears into the crowd.
“Bummer,” Kymopoleia sighs, shaking her head as if thinking ‘imagine actually liking your husband ‘. “I’m gonna go specifically cause chaos, just to bother mother and father.”
“Have fun,” Benthesikyme sings, and when Percy turns around to face his sister, she’s gone too, leaving him all alone.
He frowns, and leans onto a wall, content to just people-watch. Somebody sneaks up to him, sliding in next to him. “Hey there, beautiful,” Prince Apollo greets, a charming smile present on his golden face, one that he’d been thinking about since he first saw him sitting on that stool in the tavern. “What’s someone like you doing here all alone?”
Percy looks at Apollo’s hands, but they’re hidden by white gloves and he ignores the disappointment churning in his gut by not having been able to see the single imperfection. When he looks up at the prince, Apollo is staring directly in his eyes. Politely, Percy takes a step to distance them.
“Prince Apollo,” he answers. “I do not think we formally met. My name is—“
“Prince Perseus of Atlantis, youngest child of Queen Amphitrite and King Poseidon,” Apollo finishes for him. “Yes, darling. I know who you are.”
His cheeks grew hot and red and he looks away from Apollo’s bright gaze. “Um, a couple nights ago... I saw you at the tavern near the ocean. You were the bard, weren’t you?” He bows formally to the prince, just so Apollo wouldn’t be able to see his face. “I apologize on the behalf of my siblings and I for not having realized who you were.”
Apollo laughs, loud enough to have a couple guests look their way curiously. “Don’t worry about it, pretty. Happens to the best of us, I just tend to be a little bit stalker-ish with the things I find most beautiful,” he smiles and Percy has to squint his eyes. “I guess it’s something I got from being around Princess Aphrodite too much as she went from husband to husband. That woman does fancy her jewels...”
“Are you trying to woo me with your charming words, Prince Apollo?” Percy asks, raising his eyebrow skeptically.
Apollo steps a little bit closer, “And what if I were, Prince Perseus?” The prince smiles, his mouth near Percy’s ear, provoking an unwanted shiver. “I saw you admiring me in the tavern, you were practically drooling, it was really cute. I resisted doing the same thing in favor of performing beautifully for you.”
Suddenly overwhelmed by the turn of events and strangely warm and sweaty, Percy grabs Apollo by the wrist and drags him to the ballroom. “Let’s dance, shall we?” He prays he doesn’t smell as bad as he thinks he does when Apollo’s fingers intertwine with his.
Apollo’s hand on Percy’s waist and his hand on the Olympian’s shoulder, the two sway to the rhythm of the music. Nearby, he sees Grover and Juniper dancing, looking into each other eyes romantically as they laugh and whisper to each other. Annabeth dances with her mother close to the middle, the two aren’t looking at each other, but are talking.
Gowns rustle around them as princes and princess dance, as lords and ladies mingle.
Nothing seems to matter other than Apollo’s hand with his own, and his warm touch on Percy’s otherwise cold body.
They twirl together, fluid and practiced. The prince hums, “So the Atlanteans do know the waltz.”
Percy laughs, “I only recently learned it, for this ball specifically, as a matter of fact. My brother practically drilled it into me. I find myself to be the best dancer out there.” Apollo’s cape floats perfectly around them, long enough to wrap Percy in it but trimmed in a way that the prince wouldn’t trip on it if he were to dance.
Apollo smiles, and he tilts his head to the side, reminding him of a dog. “Fascinating.”
“It really isn’t.”
“Everything is with you, it seems.”
Percy scoffs, and the prince dips him lowly. Couples around them kiss and Percy feels his cheeks grow hotter, if possible. He avoids looking directly in Apollo’s eyes, opting to stare at his left ear. “You do not know me.”
“Yes, but I wish to.”
He stays silent at that. They’d managed into a slow sway near a column. Apollo opens his mouth to speak when his twin sister, Artemis, interrupts their dancing. “Apollo, may we dance?”
The prince looks at Percy apologetically but he notices his father approaching them and gives him a short nod. Apollo goes off with Artemis, the twins whispering excitedly to one another (really, it was more Apollo yelling excitedly while Artemis whispered to him to lower his voice).
Poseidon grabs his hand and the two dance. Much like Athena and Annabeth, they do not look at eachother. “Are you enjoying the party, Perseus?”
“Yes, my lord,” Percy nods, his eyes falling shut as he listens to the sound of his father’s voice and the music playing. “And you?”
“It is most pleasurable. The Olympians are not used to seeing me in such peaceful of attires, and it has been quite humorous attempting to speak to them,” Poseidon laughs. “Especially General Ares and Queen Athena, who are used to seeing me on the battlefield.”
Percy laughs with him and Poseidon looks at him fondly. “This will be good for us, I know it.”
“Does this truce mean I will be able to visit other countries more often?”
“Ah...“ the Atlantean king hesitates before sighing. His face morphs into one of kindness, “Yes, that is probable.”
The prince grins broadly and hugs his father tightly, whispering a small ‘thank you’. They disband and Poseidon tells him he’s going to go find Amphitrite, for he wishes to have at least one dance with his wife before the night is over.
Percy watches him leave, walking away. He looks as if he is entering a war, chin held up high and proud... until he bumps into a servant, panics, apologizes, bows in a very un-kingly manner and rushes to fetch his wife to aid him. Idiot, Percy thinks to himself with a smile on his face.
He finds himself back where he was before, drinking wine despite his young age and leaning on a column. Apollo sees him from where he dances on the dance floor, having changed partners from Princess Artemis to Princess Aphrodite, who seems to be boasting about something.
Apollo grins boyishly at Percy and he wills his heart to stop trying to break out to chase after the other prince. He hides his embarrassingly red blushing face in the rim of his cup. When he looks back up, Apollo is still looking at him. Aphrodite spares a glance towards him and she grins, much like a proud mama-hen.
Percy spends the rest of his night a different shade of red.