Chapter Text
The gardens of Sparta bloomed eternal under summer's gentle touch. Prince Hyacinthus sat beneath an olive tree, absently plucking at his lyre's strings. The instrument, a gift from his father King Pierus, had seen better days. Its wooden frame bore scratches from years of frustrated practice, and several strings hung loose, producing discordant notes that made the young prince wince.
"Brother, you're scaring away all the birds again," Princess Polyboea called from where she lounged on a marble bench. Her peplos was dyed the deep purple of royalty, though she'd hitched it up carelessly to let her feet dangle in the fountain. Dark curls escaped her golden diadem as she turned to grin at her brother. "Perhaps we should sacrifice to Apollo for musical talent."
Hyacinthus lowered the lyre, his cheeks flushing. "The god has better things to do than teach me music." He ran a hand through his copper-colored hair, which gleamed like burnished metal in the afternoon light. His own chiton was simple white linen, though finely woven, with a border of geometric patterns in blue that matched his eyes.
"Oh? And what exactly do the gods do all day?" came a new voice, rich with amusement.
Hyacinthus spun around so quickly he nearly dropped the lyre. There, leaning against his olive tree as if he'd always been there, stood the most beautiful man—no, not a man—the young prince had ever seen. Golden curls crowned his head like rays of sunshine, and his skin seemed to glow with an inner light. He wore a chiton of material so fine it seemed woven from sunlight itself, its deep gold color shifting like captured flames with each movement. A purple cloak was draped artfully over one shoulder, pinned with a golden brooch shaped like a lyre. A laurel wreath rested atop his golden curls, and golden sandals adorned his feet, their straps wrapping halfway up his calves.
"Lord Apollo!" Polyboea scrambled to her feet, nearly falling into the fountain in her haste to bow.
Hyacinthus remained frozen, his mouth slightly open, before remembering himself and dropping into a deep bow. "My lord, I... I apologize for my poor playing. I didn't mean to offend—"
"Offend?" Apollo laughed, the sound like music itself. "My dear prince, how could honest practice offend? Though perhaps..." He stepped forward, and Hyacinthus caught the scent of sun-warmed herbs and honey. "I could offer a few suggestions?"
"You want to teach me?" Hyacinthus squeaked, then immediately wanted to sink into the earth from embarrassment.
"If you'll permit me." Apollo's smile was gentle, almost shy. "I've been watching you practice for days. Your dedication is admirable, even if your technique needs... refinement."
"Days?" Hyacinthus felt his face grow even hotter. "You've been watching me?"
In the background, Polyboea made a strangled sound that might have been either shock or laughter.
"Perhaps I should go inform Father we have a divine guest," she said diplomatically, gathering her skirts. As she passed Hyacinthus, she whispered, "Try not to faint, brother dear."
The prince shot her a glare, but she was already hurrying away, leaving him alone with Apollo. The god had moved closer, the sunlight catching on his laurel wreath and making it shimmer. Hyacinthus could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes.
"May I?" Apollo gestured to the lyre.
Wordlessly, Hyacinthus handed it over, trying not to shiver when their fingers brushed. Apollo settled beside him, somehow making sitting on the ground look as regal as any throne. His chiton arranged itself perfectly without any apparent effort on his part, a small reminder of his divinity.
"First, these strings need proper tension." As Apollo began adjusting the lyre, he glanced sideways at Hyacinthus. "Tell me, do you always practice alone?"
"Usually. My siblings prefer more... martial pursuits." Hyacinthus managed a small smile. "Except for Polyboea. She just likes to criticize."
"Ah, siblings." Apollo's fingers danced across the strings, drawing forth a perfect chord. "I understand completely. My sister Artemis never misses a chance to remind me of my... what did she call it? My 'excessive dramatic flair.'"
"Is that why you're dressed so..." Hyacinthus gestured vaguely at Apollo's resplendent outfit, then immediately regretted speaking.
But Apollo just laughed. "Oh, you should see what I wear on Olympus. Or rather, don't wear. We're much less formal up there." His eyes twinkled. "But I thought arriving in full divine regalia might be more appropriate for a first meeting."
Hyacinthus found himself laughing despite his nervousness. "Does that mean gods aren't meant to be perfect after all?"
"Perfect?" Apollo's eyes twinkled. "Oh no, we're quite capable of being ridiculous. You should see Zeus when Hera hides his thunderbolts. Though perhaps don't mention I told you that."
As Apollo continued tuning the lyre, they traded stories about their siblings' antics. Hyacinthus gradually relaxed, though his heart still fluttered whenever Apollo's shoulder brushed his, the god's warmth seeping through the ethereal fabric of his chiton.
The afternoon passed in a haze of music lessons and conversation. Apollo proved to be a patient teacher, never showing frustration when Hyacinthus fumbled a note. As the sun began to set—which Hyacinthus realized must be happening without Apollo's direct oversight—the god finally stood, his clothing rippling like liquid gold in the fading light.
"I should return to Olympus," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "Your father's envoys will be arriving soon with a formal invitation for me to stay as a guest, and it would be terribly rude to be here before they arrive."
"Will you come back?" Hyacinthus asked, then bit his lip, wondering if he'd been too forward.
Apollo's smile was as warm as daybreak. "Would you like me to?"
"Yes," Hyacinthus said quickly. "For the music lessons, I mean. If you're not too busy with... god things."
"God things?" Apollo laughed. "I suppose I do have those. But I think I can make time for a friend."
Friend. The word made Hyacinthus's heart soar, even as part of him ached for... something more? He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on Apollo's promise to return.
"Tomorrow then?" the god asked.
Hyacinthus nodded, not trusting himself to speak without sounding overeager.
"Tomorrow," Apollo confirmed. Then he was gone in a flash of golden light, leaving only the scent of summer herbs and the memory of his smile.
Hyacinthus sat there for a long moment, clutching his newly-tuned lyre and trying to slow his racing heart. I cannot believe, he whispered to himself, "I'm friends with the god of the sun."
From somewhere behind him, Polyboea's voice drifted out: "Just friends? Really, brother?"
"How long have you been there?" Hyacinthus demanded, whirling around.
His sister emerged from behind a column, grinning. "Long enough to see you making moon-eyes at Lord Apollo. Though I suppose sun-eyes would be more appropriate?"
"I was not making eyes!" Hyacinthus protested, though his blush betrayed him. "We were just... having a music lesson."
"Mmhmm." Polyboea linked her arm through his. "Come on, lover-boy. Father will want to hear all about your new... friend."
As they walked back to the palace, Hyacinthus couldn't help glancing over his shoulder at the olive tree where he'd spent the afternoon with Apollo. The setting sun painted the garden in shades of gold, reminding him of divine curls and gentle smiles.
Friends, he told himself firmly. They were just friends.
But even he didn't quite believe it.