Maybe his father was in a good mood.…
Smiling even while his stomach knotted harder, Styxx took his father’s hand and allowed him to pull him up into his arms.
You better remember this. There’s no telling when he’ll embrace you again.
It was true. He’d taken to trying to hold on to any memory of his parents’ kindness toward him. It was what saw him through their vicious attacks and periods of hateful words.
Styxx laid his head on his father’s shoulder and closed his eyes. How he wished it could always be like this. Most of all, he wished Estes lived with them. His father was much kinder and happier whenever his brother was around. Like him and Acheron, Estes and their father had a special bond. One that was evident as his father rubbed Styxx’s back and held him close, like he treasured him.
His father didn’t release him until Estes’s procession stopped at the drive below. Gleaming with gold armor and bright red cloaks and banners, his uncle’s men were as impressive as his uncle himself. But what never failed to amaze Styxx was how much his uncle favored his father. At first glance, they, too, could pass as twins, even though Estes was three years younger. Identical in height, they had the same build, curly blond hair, and beards.
In full military regalia, Estes stepped down from his chariot and, laughing, rushed up the stairs to embrace his father. “Xerxes! How much I’ve missed you!”
“And I, you, little brother! How was your journey?”
“Any journey that brings me to my family is a good one, indeed.” Estes stooped then gaped at Styxx. “Is that my little squirrel all grown and looking like a short adult? What are you now, child? Ten-and-eight? A score?”
“I’m six, Uncle!” Styxx smiled in delight then launched himself at Estes, who caught him with a laugh and held him close to his chest. “I’m not as big as you are. But one day—”
“You shall tower above me, little squirrel. No doubt.” Estes kissed his cheek and squeezed him so hard that Styxx groaned from it. His uncle carried him up the stairs to where Ryssa and Acheron waited. His sister’s blond hair fell to her waist in bright golden curls. Dressed in purple, she was truly the most beautiful girl in all Greece—if only she had the personality to match. “Ah … my fairest Ryssa, you are a vision. More beautiful every time I see you.”
She blushed then moved to hug him. “It’s so good to see you, Uncle.”
Estes set Styxx down as he saw Acheron. “And little Acheron … look at how much you’ve grown, too. I barely recognize you and Styxx. Come and embrace me.”
Acheron jumped into his arms and hugged him tight. “Have you been fighting the Atlanteans again?”
Their uncle always regaled them with the stories of his glorious battles against their enemies. A legendary, undefeated strategos, Estes was one of the most respected soldiers in all the world.
“Not lately, dearest. Unfortunately, we are trying for peace with them.”
“Peace?” their father scoffed. “Such is not possible where they’re concerned.”
“So say you, brother, but the other Greek kings are trying, and I’ve been named as an ambassador to Atlantis while they negotiate the peace terms.”
That seemed to please their father a great deal. “Well, if anyone can make peace with those jackdaws, it is you. Now come and let us catch up for a while.”
Estes kissed Acheron’s cheek then set him down beside Styxx. “Remind me later, boys, I have special gifts for both of you.”
Their father curled his lip. “Why do you dote on that one when it’s obvious he’s not one of us?”
Estes caressed Acheron’s cheek. “He’s a fine, handsome boy, Xerxes. But for his freakish eyes, you’d never know he wasn’t Styxx’s brother.”
Acheron winced at words Styxx knew cut his brother to the bone. He started to comfort him, but Ryssa picked Acheron up and cradled him to her. Acheron laid his head down on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Before Styxx could move, she headed back inside with Acheron while his father and Estes withdrew to his father’s study.
Alone, Styxx watched as everyone dispersed. He’d been completely forgotten.
Again.
Sighing at the common occurrence, he headed inside so that he could return to his solitary studies. Other boys his age met together to learn, but his father didn’t want him held back by those who were slower. It was far more important that Styxx, as a future king, commit to memory as much as he could as fast as was possible. Therefore, he had the best, most learned tutors his father could procure and he was required to fully utilize them and not waste their time. Failure to advance at the rate his father set was met with the harshest of punishments for both the tutors and for Styxx. So his tutors, fearful of the king’s wrath, were brutal with their expectations, and Styxx had to keep up or be punished first by them and then by his father. The king had given all his tutors and trainers full rein to make his life miserable if he did anything they didn’t approve of.
You will be responsible for everyone in this kingdom, boy. You must learn to focus and think through every complicated matter and obstacle. I will not leave my throne to a senseless fool.
Because his father had inherited the throne so young, he didn’t care that Styxx was still a child. Should anything happen to the king, Styxx would advance to the throne immediately. It could happen twenty years from now, or tomorrow. In the event of the latter, it was crucial that he was trained and ready to accept his responsibilities as king.
There’s no place in the heir’s life for foolish childhood pastimes or pursuits. Every man, woman, and child of this kingdom is looking to you for their welfare and future. For thousands of years, Didymos has stood as the greatest of the Greek city-states. Undefeated. The House of Aricles is the oldest in the land and we have a glorious history of renowned heroes spanning untold generations. Gods willing, we will continue to be the greatest of them all. I will not allow you to taint our empire or tarnish the names of our esteemed Ariclean ancestors. When they look at you, they do not see Prince Styxx, they see the son of Xerxes of the House of Aricles. Every word you say or action you take reflects on me and I’ve worked too hard to achieve my stellar reputation to have it tainted by you or anyone else.
Acheron and Ryssa were lucky. Their father didn’t view them as an extension of himself. Whenever they did something wrong, the king didn’t consider it an affront to his good name. They were tutored together and at a much more leisurely pace by the women in Ryssa’s retinue. Sometimes Styxx could hear them laughing through the walls while his tutors mercilessly drilled him.
But at least Praxis wasn’t overly harsh. He was far more patient and understanding than the others.
You are still a young boy, Highness. I know it’s hard for you to sit for hours on end and focus. Let’s take a brief break and let your lessons sink in before we start the next session.
Sometimes he’d even bring sweets for Styxx to snack on while they worked.
As Styxx neared the stairs, he saw his mother waiting in the shadows. An older version of Ryssa, she had been a celebrated beauty in her youth. But too many years of overindulging alcohol had aged her beauty so that she now appeared older than their father.
For a moment, he thought she might be sober. But as he drew closer, the stench of excess stole his breath.
“Which bastard are you?” she sneered.
“Styxx, Mother.”
Angrily, she narrowed her gaze as if she didn’t quite believe him. “Where’s the other one?”
“With Ryssa.”
A smile finally curled her lips. “My precious Ryssa … she was supposed to come visit with me this morning.” She started for the staircase then stumbled. Styxx moved to help her. At first, she recoiled from his touch, but after a moment she relaxed and allowed him to give her his shoulder so that she could climb the stairs without falling and hurting herself.
“Who came just now?” she asked as they walked down the hall, toward her chambers.
“Uncle Estes.
”
“Good. That’ll make the old skatophage happy for a while.”
Styxx didn’t comment, but he was glad his father wasn’t around to hear his wife call him a dung-eater. No doubt it would upset him greatly.
He led her into her room and deposited her on her dressing stool. As he started away, she reached out and grabbed him by the hair then yanked him closer to her.
“Please, Mother. You’re hurting me.” He tried to pull her hand away, but she held him fast and with the strength of all the Furies.
She snorted derisively. “You don’t know what pain is. Try birthing an ungrateful bastard from your loins, followed by another of his kind. Then watch as your husband’s love turns to hatred for you because of them. That’s pain. But you … you’re the precious, beloved heir he adores. You’re all he loves now.”
Funny, it didn’t feel that way to him. Not while his father censored everything he did. For every bit of praise he received, his father made sure to give at least three criticisms to accompany it.
She gentled her grip in his hair, but didn’t let go. “You have hair like your father. I used to love to run my hands through it at night. Back then, he was mine alone and he loved me so. He would have done anything for me.… At night, he couldn’t wait to bed me.” Tears filled her eyes. “Why did you have to be born?” Sobbing, she pulled his hair then slapped him. “Get out of my sight! You disgust me!”
Styxx ran from the room as fast as he could. His cheek burned from her blow, but he knew better than to leave his mother alone like this. His father would be very angry should he learn that Styxx had abandoned her when it was obvious she needed someone to watch over her. Wiping at his tears, he went to the small antechamber where her maids were gathered to sew and gossip.
“What are you doing here?” the eldest maid snapped as soon as she saw him in the doorway. “I was told by Her Majesty that you were not allowed in this part of the palace. She has no desire to see you.”
He disregarded her venom. “The queen is in her room and summons you.”
She brushed rudely past him without a word. The others stared at him as if he were the filth that sullied their shoes. They were forever looking at him like that whenever he was without his father and he hated it. Most of all, he hated how it made him feel like he was the filth on their shoes.
Lifting his chin, he glared back at each one in turn. “I am your prince and heir. You are not to meet my gaze without my permission,” he reminded them. “Or I should have you whipped for it.” He slammed the door and turned to find Ryssa in the hall behind him.
She raked him with a look that made him feel even lower than the maids had. “You wretched little tyrant. You think you’re so much better than everyone else. You’re not, you know. You’re just a spoiled little pig who’s nothing without his father. I hope one day you get exactly what you deserve.”
The sincerity of her gaze and cruelty of words shredded his heart. Why could she not, just once, say something kind to him? What had he ever done to her? Nothing, and he was tired of her insults. “Shut up, kuna! I hate you! I wish you were dead and burned!”
Ryssa grabbed his arm and shook him. “How dare you talk to me like that and use such a filthy word!”
“Styxx!”
He cringed at his father’s furious tone. Knowing what would follow, he pried her harsh, bruising grip from his arm and walked past Ryssa to the top of the stairs so that he could see his father below, standing beside Estes.
Fabulous. Now his father would show off for his younger brother.
“Come here, boy!”
His heart pounding in fear he didn’t dare let show, Styxx descended the stairs. “Yes, Father?”
“What have I told you about respecting your sister?”
She is the sole princess of this realm. As such, she is to be treasured above all.…
It was so unfair. If he were Ryssa, he’d be able to whine and tell his father what had happened. But he knew from experience that it would only make this worse. Men did not complain, and most especially not kings. They took the repercussions for their actions and held their heads high no matter what.
Still, he wasn’t king. Not yet. And he definitely wasn’t a man. “She started it, Father.”
He grabbed his arm in the same place Ryssa had twisted it, causing Styxx to grimace. “How dare you! You do not disrespect your father and you damn sure do not disrespect your king,” he snarled. “Ever!”
His father yanked his arm and hauled him toward the guard room until they reached the Royal Scold’s station. The scold came to his feet immediately and bowed low.
His father flung him at the tall, beefy man Styxx hated with every part of himself.
“Twenty lashes, and ten more if he whimpers or cries.”
The scold nodded respectfully. “Am I to be given immunity, Majesty?”
“Aye, of course.”
The scold turned his dark eyes to Styxx. “Your Highness?”
It galled him so that he was forced to grant immunity to the person who was about to cane him. But since it was death for anyone to strike a member of the royal family, it had to be done before the scold could carry out the king’s orders against a prince. And if he didn’t grant it, his father would only make it worse on him.
“Aye. I grant it,” he whispered.
“When you’re finished, take him to his room and see to it that he’s kept there until morning with no comforts.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
His lips trembling from his pent-up tears, Styxx watched as his father left him alone with the giant mountain of a man. For lesser offenses, which he never seemed to commit, he had a whipping boy who would take his punishments for him. But for anything that was deemed a personal insult to his family, Styxx, unlike Ryssa, had to bear it all himself. The princess was never whipped for anything. She was too precious and dainty for such. Most of all, she wasn’t being groomed for manhood and kingship.
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 e
lse. 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.
Styxx (DH #33) Page 4