Styxx (DH #33)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Until she tied one end of her scarf to his wrist and lightly tugged on it.

  Reacting on pure instinct, Styxx shot to his feet, leaving the drum to roll away. He tore the frail scarf off him until it was shredded.

  Bethany froze as she heard Hector’s ragged breathing and felt his panicked anger. “Hector?” It took her a moment to find him. He was pacing near a tree and shaking uncontrollably. “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t speak. He walked about in a feral panic as if waiting to be attacked.

  “Hector? Precious … Speak to me. Tell me what’s happening?”

  Styxx tried to calm down, he did. But it was so hard as horrifying memories assailed him. “I don’t like to be tied to anything. Honestly, I don’t even like to have walls or doors around me.” He laughed bitterly. “I even keep a window open on the coldest nights just so that I know I have a way out should I need it.”

  Bethany felt the tears prick her eyes as she realized the true terror of his past. They would have tied him down to torture him, and probably when they raped him, too. “I’m so sorry, Hector. I didn’t think.”

  He pulled her against him and held her close. “Don’t apologize, Beth. You went to a lot of effort for me … to make this day special, and I ruined it. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  She sank her hand into his soft hair and pressed her cheek against his. “Never apologize to me for your pain. What was done to you was wrong and it wasn’t your fault. You have the most amazing heart of anyone I’ve ever met. In spite of what the world has done to you, you still carry on with quiet dignity and humor. It’s what I love about you. You are a true warrior, brave to the core of your soul.”

  Styxx swallowed the lump of pain in his throat that choked him. Funny, he didn’t feel brave. He felt more like a frightened mouse, cowering in the corner. He would never understand how a woman as wonderful as Bethany could stand to be with him.

  His hand trembling, he picked the torn veil up from the ground and returned it to her. He would buy her a new one the next time he was at the market. “I will try not to overreact.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “I respect your pain, my lord. I won’t do it again. I promise. There are plenty of other things we can do.”

  He arched a brow at that. “Such as?”

  She loosened her belt and sent her skirt straight to her feet. Completely bare from the waist down, she smiled as she knelt in front of him and lifted the hem of his chiton until he was as exposed to her as she was to him. To his complete shock and utter pleasure, she slowly drew him into her mouth.

  A single tear slid down his cheek as he truly felt her love for him. Only Bethany had never judged him or caused him harm. In all the world, she alone made him feel human and manly. Normal. She didn’t see a prince to be hated or a boy to be scorned. She didn’t insert ideas and words into his actions that he never intended.

  Bethany accepted him as he was. Scars and all. She didn’t use his past against him. She didn’t throw his words in his face. All she did was love him with her heart and rare goodness.

  “I love you, Beth,” he whispered.

  She pulled back to lick him then smiled up at his face. “I love you, too.”

  In that moment, he almost told her the truth of who he was. But the fear in his heart locked his lips together. Being a prince had never served him well. The only happiness and acceptance he had in his miserable existence was found in these afternoons with her. If he were to ever lose them …

  He’d rather be confined in the Dionysion again.

  Don’t ever leave me, Beth.

  Because if she did, he feared what he’d become. But in his heart, he knew this couldn’t last. Nothing ever did.

  Not the bad …

  And especially not the good.

  October 14, 9532 BC

  “I know something’s on your mind, sweetest. What is it?”

  Styxx sighed as he held Bethany’s naked body against his. He was so grateful for these preciously few moments with her. She lay facedown with her head resting on his chest while he leaned against an ancient tree where they sometimes left things for each other. The bark bit into his back, but he was so content with her on top of him that he didn’t care or protest.

  His thoughts sought a way to break his news to her as he toyed with the tiny shell-shaped bells on the silver armbands she wore whenever she danced for him. Just thinking about the sensual Egyptian dances she performed made him hard again.

  Closing his eyes, he decided there was no easy way to break it to her. “I have to leave tomorrow, my lady. And I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  Gasping, she shot up instantly and almost kneed his groin as she tried to feel his facial expression.

  He placed her palm against his cheek and mouth so that she would know how serious it was.

  “Why?”

  “Atlantis has attacked a kingdom in the south. King Xerxes is assembling a contingency to render aid and march against them.”

  “But you’re a merchant’s son!”

  “He’s demanding any free man my age and above to go.” A partial lie he hoped she didn’t call him on. The law stipulated that their army consist of any free man above the age of eight-and-ten, and single noblemen over the age of one-and-twenty. It was unheard of for someone his age to be sent. But, in spite of Galen’s defiant protests, his father had insisted Styxx go to fight.

  “Not another word, Galen, or I’ll have you whipped … He is going. Perhaps this will finally make a man of him!” Styxx ground his teeth in memory of his father’s hate-filled words from the night before.

  She shook her head. “No. I won’t let you.”

  “I have no choice.”

  “Have you any training whatsoever, Hector?”

  “Some.” Actually, he had a great deal more than many of their men. Most only trained two weeks out of the year. The rest alternated days in the public barracks, and trained with Galen’s hand picked instructors a few days each month.

  Tears filled her eyes. “War is brutal. It’s … you can’t go. You can’t! I quite forbid it.”

  Those words lightened his heart and made it ache simultaneously. “I don’t want to leave you, akribos. Believe me. But it’s treason for any man to refuse a hoplon and xiphos when he’s called. I’d be locked away if I didn’t go.”

  And he hated that. Bethany knew from their time together there was nothing he despised more. He didn’t even like for her to playfully tie his hands. Her Hector couldn’t stand any kind of bondage game. Not even a frail scarf around his wrist.

  To be confined for real would kill him.

  Terrified for her human, she reached up and removed the necklace that had never been off her since the day her father had placed it there. She closed her eyes and imbued it with protective power. Taking his hand, she wound the leather cord around his wrist and secured it, knowing his vambrace would cover it and it wouldn’t accidentally fall off in battle. “Then you take this and don’t remove it for anything.”

  “Why?”

  “It will protect you as it has always protected me.”

  “Beth—”

  “I promise you, Hector. So long as you wear it, no blade or arrow will be able to cut you. Not even one forged by the gods. Please, don’t take it off for anything.”

  He kissed her cheek. “All right. I will keep it where you put it until I return to you.”

  Her bells jingling, she laid herself back over him.

  Styxx felt her hot tears on his skin. For a full minute, he couldn’t breathe. No one had ever shed a single tear for him before. Not even his own twin. He touched the moisture, amazed by it.

  “Don’t cry, Beth. I’m not worth this.”

  “You are to me, and I will make sure the gods end this quickly so that you return to me. You are taking my heart with you … Please, please be careful.”

  “I will, and I will be counting down the heartbeats until my return.”

  And for the first time in his life,
he wanted to live to come home. He finally had a reason to.

  October 15, 9532 BC

  Dressed in his black and bronze armor, Styxx walked down the stairs toward the front door with his helm cradled beneath his arm. Concealed by his vambrace, Bethany’s necklace was still wrapped around his left wrist where she’d placed it.

  His father, mother, and sister were gathered to see him off … In theory anyway.

  Drunk, his mother raked a glare over him. “May the Atlanteans gut you on your first day so fast you feel no pain from it.”

  The servants close enough to hear her sucked their breaths in sharply.

  Styxx didn’t react at all. “Thank you, Matisera. From you, I could wish no sweeter parting words.”

  Ryssa’s expression was just as cold. “I know you won’t die. I’m sure you’ll cower behind the others as you always do, or stack them in front of you so you can use them for a shield.”

  “May the gods continue to bless you with your kind disposition in my absence, sweet sister.”

  She sneered at him. “I hope your horse throws you in the midst of battle right into the heart of our enemies.”

  “Ignore them.” His father drew him into a light embrace. “Return with honor, boy.”

  Styxx had to fight not to roll his eyes. His father had drilled that into him the night before. “Whatever you do, boy, don’t you dare embarrass me with the other kings and generals. I will not stand for it.”

  ˊH Τάv ˊH Επί Τάς—either with your shield or upon it.

  And with that in mind, Styxx slid his signet ring from his finger and handed it to his father, who scowled at his actions.

  “They can’t ransom me if they don’t know who I am and if they have no proof they hold me.”

  “Styxx—”

  He held his hand up to silence his king. “Keep it, Father. I don’t want it.” The house of Aricles was cursed and he didn’t desire anything with him that reminded him of people who begrudged him every breath he took. If he was riding to his death then he only wanted Bethany’s token with him. Let him die with her face and memory in his heart, not theirs.

  Without looking back, Styxx left his “family” and headed down the steps to where Galen waited with Troian. By Galen’s grim expression, Styxx could tell his mentor was as thrilled by their generous farewells as he was.

  “Are you all right, Highness?”

  Styxx slammed his helm down on his head then swung up on the back of his stallion, who was as black as his mood. He took his hoplon from his old trainer’s hand and slid it to his back for the ride. “Fine, Galen. Thank you for asking.”

  Frowning, Galen glanced up at the royal family while Styxx spurred his horse forward without bothering to look back at them. He knew where all of them stood on his well-being.

  Gods willing, they’d all get their wish to not see him again.

  October 25, 9532 BC

  Styxx let out an elongated breath. Tomorrow, they would be in battle. For the last few hours, he’d worked with Galen on the speech he was supposed to deliver to their men to rally, unite, and inspire them for war.

  As he rode to the front to give it, the hostile thoughts of the Didymosian army assailed him like rapid-fire arrows.

  We have to follow that worthless quim into battle? Seriously?

  The king insults us to send a boy in when we need a man at our helm.

  When did Didymos become such a joke? The other Greeks mock us, and why shouldn’t they? We’re led by a beardless child who should still be suckling at his mother’s tit.

  But what truly hurt was that their thoughts mirrored his own. At least the ones that weren’t sexual in nature.

  Damn, Estes could have made a fortune here selling him to all the soldiers who wanted to grudge-fuck him. It was extremely disconcerting to know they’d be at his back tomorrow.…

  Heavily armed.

  Styxx reined Troian in so that he could address them with Galen on a horse by his side. His stomach shrank as he faced their outright and obvious contempt and disdain. Though he was used to it, for some reason it stung more today.

  Because you’re about to ask them to die for you and they hate you for it.

  He looked down at the scroll in his shaking hands and the words they’d so carefully penned. I can’t read this. To them, it would sound disingenuous. They were pissed enough. His luck, they’d think he was mocking them and attack.

  Better to address their real concerns.

  Look at the royal quim. He’s too scared to speak. How’s that frightened little girl supposed to lead us into battle?

  That’s to be our future king? Gods help us.

  Is it too late to defect to the Thracian army?

  Lifting his chin, Styxx forced himself to face them. He cleared his throat then wadded up the parchment in his hand. Please don’t let my voice tremble.

  “I know what all of you are thinking.…”

  What a pathetic quim leads us?

  Those were bad, but Styxx ground his teeth at the one thought that rang in his head louder than the others—We come to fight for a king who sends his worthless child to hang back and watch us die.… Least you could do is share that sweet little ass of yours with us before you ask us to die for it.

  The animosity and criticisms mounted until Styxx couldn’t speak. They were right. He had no business being here. Maybe that was his father’s plan. To have him killed by his own people.

  “Enough!” Galen roared.

  It was only then Styxx realized they’d not only been thinking their hostilities, many had been shouting them, too.

  The old veteran they did respect glared at them. “All of you should be ashamed of yourselves. The prince, himself, came here to personally thank you for your service, even while the lot of you sneered and jeered at him. You humiliate a warrior who has more courage than the entire Greek cavalry. Any other strategos would have you beaten for this impudence. And I will not see him so debased and insulted when you know nothing of his fierce skills or true noble character. I swore after our war with Phthia that I would never again bleed in battle for any king or cause. Nor would I fight for any banner. Yet here I am this day. Why?”

  Galen placed his hand on Styxx’s shoulder. “Because I have seen, in spite of his young age, the wisdom and courage of our strategos. And it is an honor for me to fight under his banner. How many men who are the age of our prince would come to battle with his army without a single word of protest? Prince Styxx could be at home, right now, with a wench in his lap and wine in his hand. Instead, he has laid aside his own comforts and safety to be with all of you as you fight for his father. He does not deserve your scorn, but rather your respect.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead in battle tomorrow anyway.”

  “Or fucked in the ass by an Atlantean hero while he chokes on the testicles of another.”

  Their army burst into laughter as they started taking wagers on who’d be the first to screw their prince.

  Galen started for the soldiers.

  Styxx held him by his side. “We don’t need to fight each other while we have enemies on our shores.”

  With a tic thumping furiously in his jaw, Galen saluted him and kneed his horse back.

  Styxx looked at his men and started to speak then realized there was nothing he could say that they wouldn’t twist into an insult or take offense to. They had set their minds to hating him, and as with his mother and sister, there was no way to win them over. The one thing he’d learned from his blessed family was when to let it go and not try for a lost cause.

  Sighing, he clapped Galen on the shoulder then reined his horse about so that he could return to his tent.

  “That’s right … go back to your cradle, boy, and let the men do their jobs!”

  Holding his head high, Styxx ignored their laughter. At least it’s not as bad as the strategi meeting.

  While his soldiers were harsh, the noble-born commanders, who had been insulted by his mere presence and who
had dared him to speak a single word, had flogged him harder with their tongues than all the scolds in his father’s service. His hide was still raw and bleeding from their vicious insults yesterday. They’d all but run him out of the meeting on a rail.

  So be it.

  If he was lucky, they’d all be right and someone would cut his head off in battle tomorrow.

  October 26, 9532 BC

  “Look at the pathetic bastards,” Misos, the Atlantean god of war, sneered to Bethany as they joined the Atlantean army that was preparing to attack the Greek colony of Halicarnassus, one of the richest Greek cities. The Atlanteans wanted to make a point and show their lesser human brethren why they needed to leave off Atlantean shores.

  But more than that, they were here to slaughter every Greek prince dumb enough to fight.

  Bethany reined her white winged horse beside her great-grandfather. Her mother, Symfora, the goddess of sorrow, was already walking the battlefield in expectation of the men who would die here today. “Have you chosen your champion, Tattas?” she asked Misos.

  The god of war smiled down at her. “Zerilus.” The leader of the Atlantean army. Almost eight feet tall, he was so massive that it was said one swing of his mighty axe could fell a stout tree. “What of you, precious? Who is your chosen?”

  Hector. But she could never allow her family to know that her heart lay among the enemy camp and with a lowly foot soldier.

  So she picked the Atlantean least likely to cause harm to him. “Xan.”

  “The Atlantean prince … a fine choice, indeed.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Tattas, I shall go through the Greek ranks and do my job.”

  He laughed. “Make sure you call out to us should one of the Greek gods see you. The sooner we start this fight, the better.”

  Saluting him with her sword, Bethany swung her winged horse, Herita, away from them and flew into the Greek camp. Not really to stir up her usual misery and discontent in their hearts, but rather to find a merchant’s son who bore her medallion around his wrist.

  Where are you, Hector?