Styxx Read online

Chapter Eleven

 

  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 familiarity 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.

  Swallowing the pain that never ceased, Styxx stepped back and fell into nothing.

  Winds rushed over his falling body, whipping his hair and clothes. It seemed to take forever before he hit the water. He slammed into it so hard, he swore every bone in his body shattered. The waves rushed over him, dragging him down to the frigid depths of the vibrant blue sea. He swallowed and choked on the water as it violently invaded his body then sputtered and coughed.

  Everything went black.

  But after a brief period of nothing, he was still alive.

  Even underwater . . .

  How? It couldn't be possible. It couldn't. Yet, the surf carried him to shore and threw him roughly against it.

  Battered and bruised, he lay on the sand, aching and freezing.

  And dismally alive.

  I can't even die right. How pathetic am I?

  As he lay there in more pain than he'd ever known, a raw, hateful truth slapped him in the face. The gods had no intention of sparing him even one heartbeat of the misery they'd damned him to. They wouldn't even allow him death as a way to escape it.

  You sick bastards!

  He would cry at the despair he felt, but there were no more tears in his eyes. Why bother? All tears had ever done was cause him to be beaten more.

  Disgusted, he dragged himself out of the water and staggered up the shoreline. One ankle felt badly sprained. Maybe his arm, too. Not that it mattered.

  Nothing mattered now that he knew his real place in the world. Not to be king or prince.

  Not even to be human . . .

  I am damned and cursed. Forever.

  With a ragged sigh, he crawled up to the road and paused as he saw how far he'd have to go to get home. Had he been whole, it would have been too damned far.

  As he was right now . . .

  "I'll never make it. " Not like this.

  Maybe some bandits will . . .

  What?

  Kill him?

  He laughed at their imagined stunned dismay when they learned he was immortal then winced as pain tore through his entire body. There was no use in lying here. It wouldn't do any good.

  Pushing himself up, he stumbled along the road as best he could.

  After a while, he saw a small break in the trees on his right that led to a peaceful, bubbling stream. Needing to rest for a few minutes, he headed for it.

  He was so focused on getting a simple drink of water, that he didn't notice the tiny girl with a fishing pole until she shot to her feet with a cry of alarm. She brandished a small knife in front of her with enough skill to say she was well proficient at its use.

  For a full minute, he couldn't breathe at the sight of her. She was beauty incarnate. Yet not the same as Ryssa's perfect fragile beauty. With bright tawny skin and thick black hair, she had eyes the color of light, precious greenish-gold. Her red and white gown draped over her lean body and highlighted the fact that she was very nicely proportioned. Lusciously so . . . She was also a lot taller than his sister. But she was still tiny in comparison to him.

  He'd never in his life seen anything more inviting . . . More beautiful or pure.

  "Who are you?" she demanded, gripping her knife even tighter. "You touch me and I'll stab you, I swear it. "

  Styxx frowned as he realized by the way she moved her head and arm that she was completely blind, and he felt like a total shit for terrifying her.

  "Please," he said, struggling to breathe through his pain. "Calm yourself. I'm sorry I scared you, and I mean you no harm. Even if I did, I'm in no shape to do anything more than bleed on you in my current condition. I promise you, girl, I have much more to fear from you than you do from me. "

  She straightened up and finally lowered the knife. "How old are you?"

  "Ten-and-six. Now please, I just need to sit for a moment to catch my breath and then I'll leave you to your . . . whatever it is you're doing. " He sank to his knees and groaned out loud.

  She returned her knife to the sheath on her wrist. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes. . . " He hissed as more pain lacerated his middle. "No. Not really. I. . . "

  What was he going to say? He jumped off a cliff, trying to die, only to find out he was immortal?

  Not a wise confession by any means.

  "My horse threw me. "

  She tsked in sympathy for him. "You poor thing. Do I need to get you help?"

  He caught himself before he laughed at her offer. Really, there was no help for him.

  Still, it was one of the kindest things anyone had ever offered where he was concerned. "Thanks, but that's all right. I just need a moment to sit and try to remember how to breathe. " Styxx leaned over the water to splash his face and wash some of the blood and sweat away. His hand shook as his stomach heaved from the agony of it all.

  In one heartbeat, against his best efforts, he collapsed into the water. It took several seconds before he was able to push himself back to the bank. Great . . . now I'm covered with mud, too. Leave it to him to look like a complete, incompetent ass in front of the most beautiful girl he'd ever met.

  One who wasn't trying to molest him.

  She crawled toward him, patting gently against the ground until she located his leg. Slowly, she made her way up his hip and back to his shoulder and then head. She pulled back the moment she touched his cheek. "You're bleeding. "

  "Sorry . . . here. . . " He ripped a part of his chiton off and used it to clean her hand for her.

  She frowned at his actions. "Why are you cleaning my hand when you're the one bleeding?"

  "I didn't want you to soil your gown. "

  "But you're bleeding. " She was incredulous.

  "It's all right. Really. I do that a lot. "

  She took his makeshift cloth from his hand to the water and dampened it then returned to gently bathe his injured cheek.

  Lying on his back, Styxx closed his eyes at the tenderness of her graceful hand on his skin. She smelled like lilies and eucalyptus. Of warmth and sunshine. And a part of him wondered if her glowing, flawless skin would taste as sweet as it appeared. "What's your name?"

  "Bethany. "

  He repeated it silently, savoring the beautiful syllables of a name he'd never heard before.

  "And you are?"

  He caught himself before he automatically answered. Like hers, his name was unusual, especially for a man. If she heard it, she'd know immediately who he was, and he didn't want her to hate him the way everyone else did. To her, he wasn't the spoiled, idiot prince. He was just . . .

  An incompetent, idiot commoner.

  "Hector. "

  She smiled at him. "Hector, do you know where your horse is?"

  "I fear he went in search of a more competent rider who wouldn't embarrass him in the future. "

  She laughed out loud. A light, sweet sound that made his heart skip a beat. She pressed her lips together. "How can you joke when you're in so much pain?"

  "To hear you laugh, my lady, I'd gladly throw myself off a hundred cliffs. "

  Cocking her head, she frowned. "Are you flirting with me, Hector?"

  Was he?

  "I . . . I don't know. "

  She widened her hazel-gold eyes. "You don't know?"

  "I'm not exactly experienced with women, my lady. I don't normally converse with them. So I'm not sure if this would be considered flirting or not. "

  She pulled back to rinse out the cloth. "What do you do that you're not around women?"

  Ah . . . damn. What did normal people do? Did men interact with women in a regular life? He had no way of knowing.

  "I . . . um . . . I work with my father. The only girl I'm around is my sister and we don't really talk. And I definitely don't flirt with her. "

  "I should hope not. " Smiling again, she moved her hand down his neck, feeling for more injuries. In spite of the excruciating pain he was in, her touch set fire to his blood. He couldn't explain it, but there was something familiar and comforting about her. As if he'd known her forever.

  "Why are you here alone, Bethany? Is there no one watching over you?"

  She pulled back.

  He caught her hand in his and held it gently. "I-I didn't mean it that way. I merely worry that you're here with no protector. "

  "I have my knife. "

  "And I admire that about you, but. . . "

  "I come here often to sit and fish. Usually no one disturbs me. "

  No doubt the last thing she wanted was a cursed, bleeding whore to ruin the rest of her morning. "Forgive me, my lady. " Styxx rolled to his side to leave.

  "Hector? What are you doing?"

  "I'll leave you to your peace. I know what it's like to need time alone and not have it. Forgive my intrusion on yours. "

  She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and nudged him back down. "You're not intruding. Now lie still and let me make sure nothing's broken. If it is, I shall go get help and be back. "

  "I'm really quite fine, my lady. I've already limped and crawled a good distance. I just need a moment to rest before I continue on my way. " Sucking his breath in, he placed his hand to his eye.

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing, my lady. I have headaches that plague me often, and as my luck would ever have it, I have one trying to cleave my skull in half right now. 'Cause I'm just not in enough pain to suit the gods. "

  She tsked. "Poor Hector. Here. . . " Ignoring the fact he was dripping wet, she lifted his head and placed it in her lap. "I've been told that I have a healing touch when it comes to such things. "

  He started to deny it, but the moment she sank her hands into his damp hair and began to rub his scalp, it lessened the agony immediately. The voices that ever tormented him grew so faint, he could barely hear them. Even her thoughts were hidden from him. It was so wonderful to hear nothing . . .

  Sighing in blissful peace, he closed his eyes and savored her sweet scent and her precious, soothing touch. For the first time in his life, even though he was wet, bleeding, and injured, he was warm and content.

  He took a deep breath of her sweet smell and smiled.

  Bethany paused as she realized Hector had fallen asleep in her lap while she played in his soft curls. Should I be offended? But then he was hurt badly. Even though he'd denied it, she had felt his numerous injuries and the blood that stained his clothes and skin. She could smell it.

  As a goddess, she had the power to heal him, but refrained. It would make him suspicious, and even though he was nothing more than a mere human, she'd enjoyed their peculiar brief exchange. No one had ever been so preciously sweet with her. So considerate. Not unless they wanted something, and she despised such false people.

  She preferred to be liked for herself, not for her powers or favors.

  But that was the way it worked. People groveled, gods bartered, and she never had a moment's peace from their machinations and schemes. It was why she came here whenever she could to be alone with her thoughts and pretend for a while that she was normal . . .

  Whatever normal was.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to picture what her mysterious Hector looked like. If she went into her goddess form, she'd be able to see him. But then she might be terribly disappointed. He was human after all, and she was used to the extraordinary beauty of the gods.

  No. Better to use her imagination than risk finding out he was a hideous toad. Besides, if she appeared as a god in Greece, the Olympians would throw down a tantrum. Gods didn't handle other gods invading their territories without an express invitation well. And they had enough trouble with Greece. They didn't need a war to break out over some peasant boy and her curiosity.

  She carefully brushed her hands over him. His face was finely boned and perfectly proportioned. He had a long aquiline nose and hair as soft as a bird's wing. It curled around her fingers and the manly stubble along his jaw teased her flesh. His lips were full and soft, unlike his body that was rock hard and toned. By the length of his arms and size of his hands, she could tell he was as tall as a god, or an Atlantean. But his accent had been decidedly Greek. His voice deep, husky, and pleasant.

  Given that he was Greek, she shouldn't even be talking to him. While they were no longer at war with the Greeks, their truce was a very fragile thing and she didn't trust the Greeks not to break it.

  Any day now, they could be back at war.

  But her Hector wasn't a politician and he wasn't a god. No god would ever be stranded in the poor shape he was in.

  He would need his horse to get home.

  Using as little of her powers as she could, she searched the ether until she found it and then she called it to her. It took a few minutes, but finally the horse came and nudged her shoulder.

  "You were wicked to throw your master," she said gently to the horse. "Try not to hurt him in the future. "

  The horse whinnied then went off to graze. Bethany hummed and sang while Hector slumbered peacefully in her lap. She didn't know why, but his presence soothed her even though he was unconscious. There had been something so sweetly sincere about him. So innocent and honest. Humble.

  Things she was not used to.

  While she'd taken a handful of lovers through the centuries, none had ever made her feel like this . . .

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