She slapped him so hard his ears rang from the blow. “You’re a selfish, worthless coward! I burn for the day when I stand over your corpse. Better yet, I would gladly pay any cost to see you whored one day the way Acheron is.”
Styxx glared at her as those words pricked memories he tried to keep buried. “And you should be grateful I’m not king yet. I’d have you whipped for such treachery.” Wiping the blood from his lips, he left her and headed for his room.
“Styxx?”
He hesitated at his father’s call from downstairs. Given how badly his face burned, he knew his sister’s handprint would be plainly evident.
Shit …
“Yes, Father,” he said without moving.
“Could you come here, please?”
Double shit.
Sighing, Styxx turned and closed the distance between them.
His father’s eyes widened as he saw the mark. “What happened to you?”
Styxx rubbed his hand over his stinging cheek. “Said something to a woman I shouldn’t have.”
“What woman? Name her and I’ll have her whipped for the audacity.”
Sure you would.… But honestly, he didn’t want to chance it. “It’s fine, Father. Some might say I deserved it.”
That didn’t placate the king at all. “You are the prince and must be respected as such!”
Did that include his uncle molesting him, or his twin? He had to bite back that hostility before it got him a lot worse than a bitch-slap. “Did you need something, Father?”
“I wanted to go over the banquet tonight with you.”
Styxx glanced up to see Ryssa standing beside his mother on the stair ledge. Both were staring a hole through him. He was so tired of it all. The lies, the deceit.
The shame.
But worse was the knowledge that if the truth ever came out, Ryssa would gloat. His mother, too. The two of them would probably pay Estes for a front row seat to watch his uncle plow him open.
Unaware that Styxx was distracted, the king continued on. “Would you mind seeing Senator Nileas about the proposal he said he’d have to me yesterday? He should be in the forum this time of day.”
“I shall see it done, Father.” Ignoring his mother and sister, Styxx left the palace then headed for the forum in the center of town.
His face had finally stopped burning by the time he reached the building where many of the noblemen gathered to drink and philosophize away from their wives. Since he could hear their thoughts and knew the majority of them despised him with a venom that made Ryssa look like a devoted fan, he tended to avoid this place whenever he could.
Ironically, the thing they criticized and held against him most was the fact that he’d refused to pick one of them as his “mentor.” Rather he’d designated Galen instead of a nobleman because he knew Galen wouldn’t expect him to bend over when they were alone together. Nor would Galen expect political favors from him later.
And the old war dog held at least a modicum of regard for him. While his choice was extremely unconventional, it gave him one less nightmare to endure.
“Where’s Nileas?” Styxx asked the first senator he found in the complex.
“In the back, Highness. With Patrokles.”
Styxx paused to turn toward the two guards who trailed him. The nobles didn’t like “commoners” spying on them while they spoke freely. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Reluctantly, they obeyed.
Styxx made his way through the building until he heard two voices that locked his legs.
“I’m telling you right now, it’s true. I had both the prince and a boy who looks just like him, except for his eyes, in Atlantis, in my bed at the same time.”
“You’re lying!”
“Ask Melus if you doubt me. He was there, too, and took a turn with both of them.”
“When?”
“Last fall.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Liar, am I? Next time you’re around Styxx, drop something and look up his chiton. His entire left side and buttocks are horribly scarred. He even has a brand mark on his ass and left nipple.”
Styxx couldn’t breathe as those details racked him and verified the truth of the boast. When Estes had told him he’d sold him, Styxx had assumed all the men had been Atlantean.
Not …
“You’ve no idea how distracting it is to see him now when all I can think about is how much I’d love to have him on his knees in front of me again. You can’t tell it by looking at him, but he has the most amazing tongue. I don’t know who trained the prince, but kudos to a most apt pupil.”
Unable to deal with it or face the men who were talking about him like that, Styxx spun about and left. By the time he returned to the palace, it was all he could do not to scream in horror. Panic took full possession of him.
What do I do?
That bullshit would eventually reach his father. And there was no telling what he’d do to Styxx for it. The only thing he knew for certain was that his father would find some reason to blame him for the whole ordeal.
Everyone would know he was a whore. That he was a branded tsoulus …
How many other Greeks and Didymosians had bought him?
Had Estes lied about the number?
They know I’m a whore.…
My father will brutally execute me for this.
Terrified, he walked furious circles in his room as he tried to decide what to do.
And he had a banquet tonight where they’d all be in attendance … laughing and reminiscing. Possibly dropping things to verify his scars.
I’ll be able to hear their thoughts.
If he got around anyone who’d slept with him, he’d know it. Their thoughts would override his.
I can’t do this.
Even if his father beat him. He could not go to that banquet. How could he walk out there with his head held high while “whore” was branded on his body and there were men in the crowd who’d bought and screwed him?
His hands shaking, Styxx grabbed the wine from his table and drank it.
No, he needed his herbs.
He went to the chest and pulled out the last batch his uncle had brought him. After taking out three times the normal amount, he used his finger to stir it into the wine then he downed it in two gulps.
Please, gods, please let me die.…
He laid down on the floor and closed his eyes, hoping and praying he never opened them again.
June 24, 9532 BC
“You disgust me!”
Why am I not dead? Styxx groaned as his father continued to shout at him through the pounding agony of his head.
“I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life!”
Then you should try waking up naked, chained to a bed by your uncle who sold you to men you’re forced to see repeatedly.
“How could you do this to me?” his father continued to rail.
Oh yeah, I really screwed you, old man.… I’m not the one who sent you into the woods to be raped, and then laughed with your rapists for two days.
The one who left you to be tortured for your own good by your beloved priests.
He’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn pathetic. Licking his dry lips, Styxx cracked his eyes open to see his father standing over him. “What did I do?”
“You laid up here drunk while we held a banquet in your honor. Do you know how that looks?”
Like I’m the spoiled, happy prince everyone stupidly thinks I am?
“It was so disrespectful to me and to the senators and their families. Is this the kind of king you want to be? Is it?”
I don’t want to be king at all, especially not to senators who paid my uncle to screw me.
“Get up!” His father kicked him.
Styxx grimaced before he sat up. His eyes widened instantly as his stomach heaved. Scrambling, he barely made it to the chamber pot before his stomach lost all its contents.
“Look at you. You’re pathetic. I
have never in my life seen a sorrier sight.”
You should get out more. He vomited again.
His father raked him with a merciless glower. “As soon as you finish with your self-absorbed, self-inflicted illness, you’re to be caned for it.”
Styxx wiped at his mouth. “You said I was too old for that.”
“You’re too old to act like a petulant, out-of-control child. If you’re going to behave as one, I’m going to treat you as one.”
He started to protest then his stomach churned again.
“And I intend to watch every stroke you’re given.”
Styxx closed his eyes, grateful beyond measure for that mercy even if it meant more strokes for him. Thank the gods. He could almost smile at the relief he felt.
Drawing a ragged breath, he propped himself against the wall and stared up at his father. “I think I shall need help walking down for it.”
“You think this is funny?”
Hilarious, really. In a pathetic horror story kind of way. Why not laugh at this point? Tears certainly had gotten him nothing but mockery. Why not try a different approach?
“What do you want me to say, Father? I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. Please, find the gentle benevolent mercy in your heart to forgive me for the dishonor and disservice I’ve done you with my neglect.”
“You dare mock me? No, you’re not sorry at all. But you will be.” He kicked at Styxx’s feet. “Guards!”
They entered immediately.
Styxx swept them with a hooded glance, wondering if one of them had fucked him, too.
His father stepped back so that they could seize him in rough grips that enjoyed giving him as much misery as possible. “Take His Highness to the scold.”
Styxx winced as they jerked him to his feet and all but dragged him down to it. Their unspoken insults rang in his head alongside the ones his father hurled at him.
As if I care anymore.
They threw open the door to the guards’ room and hauled him inside. The scold’s eyes lit up with greedy, lust-filled delight when he saw him there.
Styxx gave him a cold smile. “Bad luck, old man. My father intends to watch.”
That took the joy out of him, but the look that replaced it promised Styxx dire retribution.
Oh yeah, this was going to hurt. Badly.
So be it.
“Seventy lashes.”
Even the scold sucked his breath in on the severity of his father’s order.
Styxx met his father’s gaze without flinching and laughed. “Why stop there, Father? Why not go for one hundred?”
“You continue this insolence and I will.”
Before he could say another thing, the scold shoved the leather into his mouth. “For the sake of the gods, Highness, shut up,” he breathed in Styxx’s ear.
The scold met his father’s gaze. “Am I pardoned, Majesty?”
“Yes.”
“Highness?”
Did it matter what he thought? Who was the bastard who came up with this twisted formality?
Glaring at his father, Styxx nodded curtly.
The scold took him into his “beautiful” room and tied him to the bench he knew so well. Styxx watched in silence as the scold selected the cane then went behind him to lift his chiton and expose his buttocks for the beating.
“Wait!” his father said before it began.
Styxx ground his teeth in fear as a new horror seized his heart. Had Estes branded “whore” there, too?
Gods, what does he see?
“Remove his gag.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The scold pulled the leather out then stepped back and averted his gaze.
“Where did the scars on your thighs and buttocks come from, boy?”
Styxx gaped at the stupidity of that single question. “They burned and bled the demons out of me, Father. Don’t you remember?”
“With hot brands?”
No … cold ones.
Was the old man senile? What did he think they’d use? Rose petals?
“You saw my wounds when Estes brought you in.”
His father tugged at Styxx’s chiton until he’d exposed Styxx’s left side and the vicious, puckered scars that marked him from armpit to thigh. For several seconds, his father said nothing as his gaze flitted over them, and then down to the scar on Styxx’s forearm where the bastard had cut him, and finally to the scars his mother’s tender loving hand had dealt him.
Thankfully, Styxx was bent so that the most horrifying scar that marked him as a whore was hidden from his father’s gaze.
“You’re excused,” the king finally said to the scold.
Bowing, he left them.
His father swallowed hard. “I never really saw your body when you were at the Dionysion. I barely looked at your face.”
Funny, it hadn’t seemed that way to him. He would have sworn his father glared at his wounds with sick satisfaction.
His father covered Styxx’s side with his chiton so he wouldn’t have to see the scars anymore. “How many months were you there again?”
That question slapped him hard. “You don’t remember?”
His father shook his head. “But you do, don’t you?”
How could he ever forget? “Every heartbeat I spent there under the priests’ tender care is branded into my memory, Father.”
His father winced then untied his hands. You’ve been through enough, boy.
Styxx pushed himself up as his father left without another word.
His head pounding, Styxx made his way back to his room. He knew how bad the scars on the front of him were. How much worse were the ones on his back that his father had been so revolted by them?
I should ask the senators who’ve screwed me since they’ve seen them.
He pressed his hand to his skull, wishing he could squeeze his head until he drove it all out forever.
I can’t take this anymore. He was too young to have this much horror. Too young to hurt like this when there was no end for it in sight. No way out …
Damn you, Acheron.
Ever since his brother had thrown it in his face, he’d noticed how true Acheron’s words were. The hungry stares from everyone who saw him. Looks and actions he’d assumed were from his being prince. But Acheron was right. People coveted his body even when they didn’t know he had a title. And they were a lot more aggressive when they didn’t know.
Even if he ran away, they would treat him just as his uncle had. Like a piece of savory meat on a banquet table. He’d become his brother.…
A well-paid, overused whore.
Not that he wasn’t already.
I just want one single moment of peace where my memories don’t shred my soul. One day without pain.
With no better thought, he washed himself and changed his clothes then snuck past his guards to get his horse.
There was only one thought on his mind as he rode from the stable, toward the high shoreline.
To end this stygian nightmare once and for all.
* * *
Styxx cursed as he reined his horse and slid from the saddle so that he was on solid, nonmoving ground. “Ah, gods…” Why today of all days did he have to have one of his more vicious headaches?
It hurt so badly he couldn’t even breathe. And then it started …
That damned nosebleed.
Unable to stand it, he sank to his knees and didn’t bother trying to stop his nose. Pressing his hand to his eye, he stared out at the sea far below. The waves crashed against jagged rocks. It looked so soothing and pleasant.
He remembered when he’d been a small child and his father would take him to the ships to meet with their captains and owners, and he’d watch fishermen’s children playing and laughing in the surf. He’d wanted to join them, but his father had refused.
It’s common entertainment for common people. You are a prince. It’s time you acted like one.
As the prince, according to his father, he wasn’t to mix with them. The fam
iliarity would cause them to see him as a lesser being. You must always hold yourself to a higher standard and conduct yourself with dignity. A king can only lead when others respect him.
And who could respect a king who’d been tied facedown over a punishment bench and violated? One who’d been bartered and sold, and …
Branded.
Styxx cried out in anger. I’m done with this world. I’ve had enough.
That was what he’d come here to do. End it. He watched the surf below with a hungry gaze. One step. Then both he and Acheron would be free of this horror. Free to play in the waves and laugh like other people did …
You’re stronger than this!
Was he? He didn’t feel strong. Not today. Today, he felt like the incompetent wretch they accused him of being. He felt used and powerless.
Shamed to the core of his blackened and burned-out soul.
One step …
No more headaches or nosebleeds to suffer. No more gleeful humiliation shoved down his throat. No more hatred glaring at him from his mother’s and sister’s eyes. From the eyes of everyone who thought him a spoiled, beloved prince who had no care in the entire world.
I just want peace.
Determined to see it through, Styxx pushed himself to his feet. His horse, Troian, sniffed at his shoulder. Styxx sank his hand into the long, soft black mane then gently patted him. Troian had been his only real friend.
He hugged his horse tight. “It’s all right, boy.” He pulled the bridle off, knowing his horse would return to the stable without it, and this way he wouldn’t have to fear Troian snagging it on something and getting hurt or trapped.
After nuzzling the horse’s neck one last time, he stepped away. His heart pounded in a rhythm that matched his head as he watched the waves roll in. It would hurt when he hit the rocks, but hopefully it wouldn’t last long.
With luck, he’d be dead before he hit them.
He dropped the bridle to the ground and turned around so that he could see the countryside he’d been raised and groomed to rule. It would survive without him. His people would probably be better off. At least they’d have a king now who was worthy of his crown.
One who hadn’t been mocked and sold.
Styxx (DH #33) Page 20