Bit of a longer one today, sorry for the wait! Thankyou so much for all the follows and favourites this story has received, you guys are awesome.

It was true that Heptarian was not a bad man. He was generous, intelligent, good with kids. But he simply could not understand the reluctance of the witless royals to utilise their army.

They had the men, the wealth, and who could blame them for using all of that? The lands surrounding Atlantis were weak. Colchis, Thessaly, the smaller city-states; all would fall easily before the onslaught. Minimal loss of life, the treasury gets topped up, the people of the weaker states get a strong new protector against the raiders from the sea. It was logic, pure and simple, that had spurred him on to make preparations for the invasion of Colchis.

Now all he needed was a pretext. He had thought of rather a fine one.

…

The commander had called one of his underlings, an eager young mercenary recently arrived from the barbarian lands. Few would recognise him, and fewer would link him to the illustrious personage of the General Heptarian, Commander of the Forces of Atlantis, fiancée of the prince Pythagoras and future king. He spoke without turning to face the man, leaning on the rail of the veranda surrounding the palace. Darkness had settled in, making the city murky and dangerous, illuminated only by bursts of light cast by street torches.

'The people of Atlantis love their prince, would you not say?'

The man bobbed his head with enthusiasm.
'Yes sir, I would say that most emphatically.'

'And how do you think they would react at the news of his tragic loss at the hands of an assassin, from, say, Colchis?'

'I would imagine that they would not be satisfied until the city was at war with Colchis, sir. They are most attached to their prince.'

'How terrible it would be for them to lose him in such a way. Tell me, does the citadel still possess any of the ornamental banners of Colchis?'

'I believe there remain some in storage in readiness to welcome a diplomatic envoy in the near future, sir.'

'I would imagine that we won't be receiving anyone from Colchis for quite a while. They have, after all, just murdered our prince in cold blood.'

The man looked confused. 'Sir?'

Heptarian placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I misspoke, I apologise. I meant to say that an assassin from Colchis will have murdered our prince in cold blood in the space of- oh, an hour? If you go now.'

The man looked up as Heptarian placed the banner over his shoulder. The distinctive green pattern winked in the torchlight. Comprehension dawned in his eyes.

'If I go now, then we will be at war by sunrise, sir?'

Heptarian merely nodded.

Pythagoras was late for dinner. Moreover, he was late for the state banquet, held once a week, at which the city officials were able to declare any grievances and beg resources for their areas of jurisdiction. To miss it would be the height of impropriety.

He burst through the heavy doors to his chamber, Castor, his manservant, springing up at the precise moment of his entry. He had clearly been counting the minutes by which the prince was behind schedule, and immediately began thrusting garments at him.

Clean tunic, soft blue warmth pulled over his head. No time for a wash, or the modesty of his dressing screen. Cream leggings. Another tunic, silk, darker blue than the first, hurriedly fastened slightly too tightly. A comb dragged through the soft gold curls that had been coated in the dust of the roads, kicked up by traders' carts.

He barely noticed the man in green enter, quietly closing the door behind him. Assumed he was there to chivvy them along.

Castor was combing out the last tangle, examining the prince's reflection in the mirror as he stood behind him, when he saw the flash of silver in the man's hand.

Time slowed.

He heard himself cry out. What he said he never knew. He turned, blocking Pythagoras from view. Still seated, he had yet to realise what was happening.

'Step aside, boy.'

'No. You'll have to kill me first.' His own voice sounded surprisingly calm, considering he had only a hairbrush against a sword. He remembered that the prince had a knife in his bedside dresser, but that was too far away.

The man shrugged. 'Makes no odds to me.'

The steel felt oddly cold as it passed through him. The tearing sound of muscle and gut was loud in the quietness of the evening. He didn't even scream as blood blossomed across his front.

He felt, rather than heard the movement behind him as Pythagoras pulled out a knife from his discarded cloak. He watched as the prince thrust it into the chest of the intruder, whose sword was still embedded in his stomach.

He seemed to be on the floor. How strange. The other man was writhing, groaning, then still. His eyes rolled up to the silken, billowing ceiling.

Castor had never thought of it before, but the silks looked just like the sails of a ship. A beautiful ship. He wondered where it was taking him as his eyes closed.

Pythagoras was numb. It had all happened so quickly, from Castor's yell to pushing a knife into yielding flesh. To holding his manservant as he died.

He looked so lost, standing in the doorway to his bloodstained bedroom. Minos held out his arms and his son went into them without question.

'I couldn't save him, father.' Burning tears squeezed from under Pythagoras' eyelids. All he could see was Castor's sweetly peaceful face, pale as the blood drained from his stomach on to Pythagoras' hands. There was so much blood.

'He saved your life, my son, and for that I am eternally grateful.'

Pythagoras couldn't say anything for a moment, as the silent tears rolled over his face. He made no effort to stop them.

His father rubbed his back soothingly.

'Now we make sure that you're safe.'

Minos was furious. He had left his son and heir almost catatonic with grief and shock. The rage boiled in his blood, filling his veins with heat and his body with purpose as he swept into the quarters of his general.

'How did this happen?!' he bellowed. Heptarian thought he looked utterly deranged. 'How is it that my son, my son, had to fight off an assassin with his own two hands?'

Heptarian simply blinked at him. Minos' eyes narrowed dangerously.

'That was not a rhetorical question.'

'My lord, it would seem that the king of Colchis has sent an assassin after the prince. It is probable that he meant to demoralise the city, and to strike a personal blow to yourself before commencing an invasion.'

'I am fully aware of the situation at hand, disturbing as it is. But I ask you, Heptarian, how it is possible, nay, even conceivable, that such a person could enter this palace undetected, make his way through your legions of guards, past the personally selected squad placed you had placed outside Pythagoras' chambers and manage to kill his manservant before being dispatched by the prince himself? Hmm? Does it surprise you that my confidence in you is somewhat shaken after tonight?'

'I assure you, my lord, that my men…'

'Your men, Heptarian? Your men, who were powerless to protect this palace? Do you expect me to trust to the brains of ignorant brutes who do not even notice that my son is danger?'

Heptarian bowed his head. 'I assure you that such a thing will never happen again, my lord.'

'You are right there. I am relieving your men of the duty of guarding my son.' The king nodded to the servant at the door, waiting patiently and utterly unperturbed by his rage. 'Send for the man I spoke of earlier.'

It was mid-morning of the next day, which looked set to be a scorcher. Jason could already feel sweat beginning to itch on the back of his neck.

Hercules barrelled into the apartment at great speed, looking around frantically before waving an arm in Jason's general direction.

The boy was sitting around sunning himself, not even bothering to put on a shirt! He was damned lucky to have thrown himself upon Medusa's mercy and not his, or he'd have been out on his ear, guards or no guards. Still, he would make all of their fortunes after today.

He'd been running so hard that he had to stop and pant, holding his knees to regain enough breath to deliver his message before he toppled over.

Jason leaned down in front of the hyperventilating Hercules to check that his face hadn't gone a dangerous shade of purple.

'What is it?'

'Prince… assassin.. you..' Hercules prodded him weakly in the chest. 'You…palace…go…'

'What?! The prince was assassinated?' Jason was dismayed; he'd heard nothing but good things about Pythagoras. It was certainly a surprise to hear of a royal who spent his time running around the lower town curing plagues and stitching up drunks after fistfights. Not to mention the whole triangle thing.

'No, you fool! There was an attempt, some idiot broke in with a sword and tried to… Well, you get the picture. The king's all riled up, he wants extra protection for the boy in case they try again.' He prodded Jason's chest again, though with affection this time.

'He's asked for you! Apparently you were very highly recommended.'

Yay! Jason's going to the palace (finally)! Please do review and keep reading, it means the absolute world, you bunch of lovelies!