Styxx (DH #33) (6 page)

And now that the scold was granted immunity by the two of them, he would take a great deal of pleasure in hurting him. He always did. Even if Styxx didn’t cry or whimper, he would still receive the harshest punishment his father had called for. And all because the scold, like Ryssa, thought him to be a spoiled, undeserving brat who needed to be humbled.

You think you’re so much better than the rest of us. You’re not, dog. You’re just a rich man’s son. A drunken god-whore’s whelp.

Laughing in greedy expectation, the scold pulled him into the small room that was reserved solely for Styxx’s private punishments, and bent him over the caning bench. He shoved a piece of leather into Styxx’s mouth for him to bite down on and muffle his cries so that his pain wouldn’t disturb others or embarrass his father. He tied Styxx’s hands to the front of the bench to hold him in place and make sure he didn’t try to run then bared his buttocks for the beating.

Styxx placed his cheek against the cold stone and tried to be brave. He did. But when the scold lightly brushed the wood cane against his naked thighs to let him feel how thick and hard it was, he wet himself in fear of the coming pain.

“Some worthless king you’ll make,” he mocked then he lashed him with every ounce of his massive strength.

Horrified and in pain, Styxx held his screams in for as long as he could, but in the end, he was as worthless as they all thought. He couldn’t help it, especially since the scold didn’t hurry it along. Rather he dragged it out, waiting for the numbness to pass before he struck again.

At least it took Styxx’s attention away from the bruises on his arm and cheek. He should probably be grateful for that.

When it was finally over, the scold dragged him to his room and locked him inside. The servants had already come in and stripped his bed of its linens and pillows. Everything except his bed and chamber pot had been removed.

Tired and aching, Styxx limped toward his bed, but he hurt too much to climb into it. Rather he lay down on the stone floor and wished that he was the son of anyone else. He hated being a prince. Too much was expected of him and everyone despised him for it.

Even his own sister and mother.

Just once he wanted to be free to go outside and play like other children did. To have them welcome him as another playmate and not run away in fear or hatred. While they frolicked with carefree abandon, he had to learn how to speak, read, and write Atlantean, Greek, Akkadian, Egyptian, Sumerian, and a million other languages he didn’t care about. Other children got to participate in fun games and friendly competitions, while he had to master swordplay and military tactics taught to him by instructors who detested him even more than the others. Instructors who knocked him to the ground and delighted whenever he bled.

Get up, Highness. In battle, you’d be dead or taken already. You have to fight the hardest of all so that your men will respect you and be willing to lay their lives down at your command. No one follows a coward, no matter what crown he wears.…

Don’t laugh, boy, it isn’t kingly. Don’t smile or they’ll think you’re soft or stupid. You must be composed and dignified at all times. Never let your guard down. They are your subjects, not your friends, and you are their future king. You mustn’t ever forget that.

On and on it went until it rang in his head alongside the voices of the gods and horrible thoughts of other people.

He didn’t see a single perk to being king. Not if it meant you couldn’t enjoy laughter or … well … anything.

I wish Acheron was the heir.…

But as soon as he had that thought, shame filled him for it. He would never wish this sort of misery on his beloved brother. Acheron had enough to deal with.

“One day I
will
be king,” he sobbed, slamming his small fist against the floor. And when he was, things would be
very
different for both of them. No one would ever make either him or Acheron feel like this again.

Not even his sister.

February 3, 9541 BC

Long after midnight, Styxx lay abed, trying to sleep, yet it was impossible. If the pain in his skull wasn’t excruciating enough, Acheron had been beaten earlier for the high grand offense of meeting their father’s gaze as they passed in the hallway.

His back burned in sympathetic pain for his brother’s wounds. He still didn’t know how he’d made it through dinner without crying or screaming from the agony, but now that he was alone, he could writhe and moan in peace.

Why can’t I just die already?

Surely death would be better than living like this. How could one head hurt so much and not render the victim dead or brain damaged?

How?

Sucking his breath in sharply between his teeth, he heard someone at his door. He froze in panic. It couldn’t be Acheron. They were both in too much pain to leave their beds.

The door opened to show his father in the dim firelight. This couldn’t be a good thing. His father never disturbed him at night.

What have I done now?

That was a stupid thought. He’d done nothing.
Rather, what does he believe I’ve done?

Styxx squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep and praying that his father would leave him in peace. Instead, his father sat on the edge of his bed. Styxx held his breath, terrified of what this meant. Why was he here? What could he possibly want with him at this hour?

I didn’t do anything.…

He’d been on his best behavior for weeks now. Only Acheron had been acting out lately. Not that he blamed his brother. They were both tired of how they were treated.

His father sank his fingers into Styxx’s hair. His hand was so large that he was able to cradle the whole of Styxx’s head in his massive palm.

Styxx’s eyes flew open as he waited for the pain he was sure would follow.

Yet his father began running his hand through Styxx’s blond curls, toying with them, brushing them back from his face. Maybe he wasn’t angry with him, after all. Hoping for the best, he met his father’s gaze in the firelight, but didn’t dare speak a word. There was rare tenderness in his father’s gaze, mixed with concern.

“You remind me much of Estes when he was a boy. Things you say and do … It makes me think of our childhood together and how much I miss it. Even this was his room back then.…” His father brushed his thumb over Styxx’s brow and smiled at the memories. Suddenly, the smell of alcohol on the king’s breath hit him hard. His father was terribly drunk.

Biting his lip, Styxx prayed that his father wouldn’t fly into one of the legendary rages that his mother had whenever she fell too deeply into her cups.

“He was my only friend. He still is. You’ve no idea what it’s like to have a brother like him. One you can trust who would never do anything to betray you.”

His father was wrong about that. Acheron was the best friend anyone could ask for. Not even Estes could equal him.

Leaning closer, his father squinted at him while he held his chin in his hand. He turned Styxx’s head so that he could study his face from different angles. “You look like us … but are you really my son?”

“Father—”

“Don’t speak to me!”

Styxx clamped his jaw shut as another wave of terror washed over him. What would his father do?

His father pulled the blanket back so that he could rudely inspect every inch of Styxx’s entire body. “You look so human.…”

Styxx wanted to scream as pain racked him hard whenever his father touched the areas of his small body bruised by Acheron’s beating. But he didn’t dare let his father know he was hurting when there was no obvious reason for it.

His father rolled him onto his back. Styxx’s jaw quivered as tears filled his eyes. There’d been a good reason why he’d been lying on his stomach. His breathing labored, he watched as his father pulled the knife from his belt.

Is he going to kill me?

“But are you human? I have to know.” Before Styxx could move or react, his father seized his forearm in a merciless grip then he violently slashed it open. Unable to hold back, Styxx cried out as blood covered his arm and soaked his sheets.

“Sweet Hera,” his father breathed. “What have I done?” He clutched at Styxx’s wounded arm, trying to stanch the blood flow. “I’m so sorry, Styxx. Forgive me, child.”

His hands shaking, his father wrapped Styxx’s arm with cloth he tore from Styxx’s sheets then he pulled him into his arms and rocked him while Styxx silently sobbed. “Shh, little one. It’s all right. It’s all right.…”

But it wasn’t and Styxx knew it. From the moment of his birth, his father had questioned his parentage. If not in words, then by the unguarded glares Styxx would see whenever they were alone.

“It’s not your fault, child. It’s that demon bastard. He’s to blame for all of this. He’s the one who makes me doubt you. Every time I see his face … It fills me with such violence.”

Not just Acheron’s face. It was his face, too.

His father cupped his head in his large hand and kissed his brow then his cheek. “You are my baby boy. The heir I prayed and sacrificed to the gods for. I know you are. I know it.” Tears filled his eyes as he cast a suspicious glare at Styxx. “Aren’t you?”

How could he answer a question when he wasn’t sure either? His father sensed the very thing he knew for a fact. That he wasn’t right. He wasn’t normal. While Acheron had the eyes of a god, Styxx was the one who felt phantom pains from wounds given to his brother.
He
was the one who heard stray thoughts of random people. Heard the voices of gods much louder than Acheron did. He sensed other people’s emotions and intended actions, even when they tried to conceal them, and he knew the weather without fail.

But the worst were the merciless headaches that plagued him all the time.

Maybe I’m not human.…

In all honesty, Acheron seemed to be far more normal than he did.

“Answer me!” his father growled. “Are you my son?”

There was only one answer to give. Right or wrong. “Y-y-yes.”

His father placed Styxx’s head under his chin and wept while he continued to rock him. He didn’t let go again until well after dawn. Then, he laid Styxx down on his bed and tucked him into his bloodstained sheets as if nothing had happened. Kissing Styxx’s brow, he gave his shoulder a light squeeze then left him alone.

Scared and hurt, Styxx stared at the makeshift bandage his father had wrapped and knotted around his forearm. His hand shaking, he peeled it back to see what he’d suspected … he was already healing from the vicious wound. By the end of the day, it would be almost completely gone, with only a scar to mark its location.

I’m not human any more than Acheron is.

And his father would absolutely kill him if he ever learned the truth of it.

August 30, 9541 BC

Styxx opened his bedroom door to find Acheron on the other side of it. He let out a relieved breath. “Thank the gods it’s you.”

“Why is your door locked again?”

He shrugged, not wanting to tell Acheron or anyone else about the midnight visit from the king. Since February, he’d made sure to lock and block his door every night lest he receive another unwelcomed surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Styxx asked, trying to deflect his brother’s attention away from a question he had no intention of answering.

“I brought your present to you from Estes. You left it downstairs. After what happened last year, I wanted to make sure you got to keep this one.”

Styxx took the wooden horse from Acheron’s hand and offered a smile he didn’t feel.

You deserve nothing until you learn how to conduct yourself civilly and with honor.
His father’s cruel words still haunted him.

“Thank you, Acheron.” Styxx moved to place the horse on the chest by his window where he kept his collection of them. After last year’s nightmare, he hadn’t felt the same about his wooden horses. Instead of being a source of pride and pleasure, all they reminded him of was his father forcing him to burn the beautiful Atlantean horse Estes had brought him while his legs had ached from his beating and his ego from wetting himself. And all the while Ryssa had smirked in pleasure of his being forced to destroy his gift over his “insult” to her.

Sighing, he moved away from the chest. “A set of beads from us both.”

Acheron scowled. “What?”

Styxx met Acheron’s deep frown. “What what? You asked me what I got Mother for her birthday.”

“No, I didn’t. I only thought about asking you.”

Styxx ground his teeth as he realized that he’d read Acheron’s mind.
You better be more careful
. Such a slip around someone else could be fatal. “It must be our twin blood.” That was always a safe bet whenever he was with Acheron. His brother accepted that explanation without question or malice.

Grabbing the small wooden box from his table, he took it over to Acheron. “You want to give it to her?”

He shook his head. “You better do it. She’d prefer it from you, I think.”

And he’d prefer not to see her at all. Most of the times he was with their mother, she looked at him as if she could go through him. “Shall we get this over with?”

“I’m game if you are.”

Honestly, I’d rather have my eyes gouged out and fed to me.

But part of being a king was doing things you didn’t want to without complaint or hesitation. Head high. Back straight. Show no emotion.
Even if you were only seven years old
.

Styxx clutched the box to his chest, dreading it already. “Maybe she’ll still be passed out and we can leave it with her maids.”

Hoping for the best outcome, he took Acheron’s hand and led him through the back hallways of the palace to their mother’s rooms.

At the door, Styxx hesitated for so long that Acheron moved around him and knocked in his stead. A few seconds later, the oldest maid opened it to stare down her nose at them.

Styxx ignored her disdain. “We’ve come to wish the queen a happy birthday. Is she awake?”

Without a word, the maid stepped back, opening the door wide enough to allow them to enter the room. Their mother sat in a chair near the window, staring out it.