My eternal thanks to Princess Shania for this prompt. She very kindly allowed me to use it, and I'd like to point you towards her story, 'The King and the Lionheart'. I hope you enjoy this; if you do, let me know; if you don't, let me know about that too. I promise not to cry! (too much!) :)

Pythagoras had everything. His father doted on him. His palace was beautiful, he was utterly beloved by his people; they rather enjoyed the novelty of a sweet, quietly bookish prince who tended the sick rather than whoring and frequenting taverns. They often boasted of him to visitors, telling them of all the wonderful things he had done for people. he was a gift from the gods, they said, their perfect prince.

When the plague hit the city, Pythagoras had been in the slums every day and night, tending the poor. King Minos had ordered him arrested and locked into his rooms under armed guard, he had been so afraid of his son catching the disease. It hadn't worked. It had taken Pythagoras less than an hour to fashion a makeshift pulley out of carefully plaited sheets and bits of his dressing screen frame that gently lowered him from his window, complete with a basket of medical supplies. He didn't return for four days, having to be carried like a child, sick with exhaustion. Only four people died of the infection that summer. Pythagoras still gives offerings for them every year.

When bread riots broke out in the lower town, the prince had thrown himself between the poor, starving men and the imperial guard. There was no need for violence, he had said. The palace simply had to share its own stores of food with the city. It was only right. And the king could not refuse in the face of such selflessness, as Pythagoras prostrated himself publicly before his father, begging him to save those who were starving. The people were wild with adoration.

So when the time came for the price to be betrothed, there was naturally rather a lot of interest. Even more so when it was announced that he would be marrying Heptarian, the general of the Atlantean army and the queen's nephew. A handsome, charming man. The people were ecstatic with joy at the prospect of such happiness for their prince.

The prince's chambers were utterly beautiful. Castor, the new manservant, had never been anywhere so lovely. He simply stared in awe. The room was a good size, but no impressively so, not compared to the rest of the palace. The floor was polished stone, a slight sandy colour that suggested sun and warmth. The walls and high ceiling were covered in rich blue cloths, embroidered with gold thread in tiny intricate patterns. When a slight breeze ran around the room, the cloths shifted slightly, the thread glinting. It gave the impression that the room was really not inside at all, but in some magical world where the sky was shot through with gold. And there were books everywhere; thick leather things in red and green leather, thin tomes of the latest scientific theories covered in cheap coloured papyrus, piles of scrolls of the prince's own work tied up in ribbons and bands.

Pythagoras walked through the door, shrugging out of his cloak and smiling warmly at his manservant. Castor nervously tried to flatten his messy chestnut hair.

'Good evening, sir! And may I offer my congratulations on tonight's announcement?' he murmured, taking the heavy cloth that Pythagoras had been so quick to remove and folding it neatly.

Pythagoras sighed. 'I suppose news travels fast.' He pulled himself together and ran his hands through his curls, messing them out of the careful style so that they stuck up on top of his head.

'It's quite alright, Castor, I'm sure I can get myself to bed.' He laughed. 'Weren't you supposed to be meeting Corinna tonight?'

'Yes, my lord.' The boy was obviously smitten. Corinna, one of the maidservants, was a sweet, pretty girl who would keep him from falling foul of the city's many crooks.

'Go on, then, don't keep her waiting!' he grinned. The boy smiled and bowed as he shut the door quietly behind him.

Pythagoras removed his soft cream tunic and hung it over his dressing screen, throwing on a cotton nightshirt. He carefully drew the curtains around his bed and made sure that the door was closed. Then he crawled into bed, curled into a ball, pulling the soft cotton sheets around his small frame and wept.

Tears ran over his face and he almost choked on his grief.

Sobs shook his whole frame and panicked whimpers escaped his throat, louder than he'd expected. He pulled the blankets tight over his head to muffle the sound then had to throw them off, choking, as he began to hyperventilate, lungs screaming but he was unable and unwilling to calm himself down.

Now was the time to weep and curse and throw things, and in the morning he would go down to breakfast, smile at Heptarian and begin to prepare for his wedding. But now he would be selfish and have his breakdown. He cried and shuddered until he exhausted himself enough to sleep, curled around a pillow wet with tears.