Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Aghast, Styxx stared at him. He wanted to laugh, but didn't dare.

"He was so angry that after battle, he had me given twenty lashes for it."

Styxx wasn't sure how to react to that. He was both amused and horrified. And the last thing he wanted to do was offend the man who routinely beat the crap out of him.

Galen handed Styxx his royal chlamys. "What I'm trying to tell you, Highness, is that all men, no matter how well trained or brave, have moments of profound fear. No man should ever be judged for the one and only time he throws his sword down to protect himself when he's facing a much larger and more ferocious opponent. Rather he should be seen for all the times he doesn't."

He inclined his head respectfully to Styxx. "Even though I have retired and swore I'd never war again, I would be honored to ride by your side into battle, young prince, and to fight beneath your banner. Even if we had to fight this day." His gray gaze intensified. "I no longer see the boy you are, but rather the man you will one day be.... And that man will be fierce indeed."

That was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. "Thank you, Master Galen."

Striking his fist to his shoulder, Galen saluted him. "Take heart, good prince. One day the king will see in you what I do."

He appreciated the words, but he knew better. His father would never see him as anything other than a horrendous mistake. "Again, thank you."

Galen offered him a tight-lipped smile. "Rest well tonight, Highness. Tomorrow I shall not take mercy on you."

"I look forward to it," he said sarcastically.

Galen's laughter followed him out of the building.

Sighing in sudden dread of his duties to come, Styxx headed up the hill to the palace with his guards trailing in his wake. Since they were such a permanent fixture of his life, most of the time he didn't even notice them.

Not until their thoughts overrode his, anyway. Gods, how he hated the voices that gave him no quarter.

Without stopping, he entered the palace and went to his room to retrieve his mother's birthday gift from his chest by the window. He paused as he accidentally uncovered Acheron's wooden horse. Pain hit him hard as unshed tears choked him.

How he missed his brother. There wasn't an hour in the day that he didn't wonder what was happening to Acheron. If he was well and happy.

Trying his best not to think about something he couldn't change, he wrapped the horse back in its cloth and retrieved the gold bracelet he'd bought for his mother. It'd taken him three months to save up the money for it.

Because his father wanted him to appreciate what it took for their citizens to make a living, Styxx wasn't given a stipend like other noblemen. Rather, he was required to donate labor to the temple priests and record keepers. And, if he really made his father angry, the stable master who hated him passionately. His father paid him an hourly wage for his work, provided the ones he worked for spoke highly of his labor. That was fine by him, except for when they lied to his father out of petty spite. Since they didn't know how his father was with him in private, they thought it funny to belittle his efforts with offhand comments such as, He is a pampered prince after all, Majesty. What can you really expect from one such as he? They had no idea that his father took any report of his "laziness" as a personal criticism and embarrassment. Nor did they know that Styxx, unlike Ryssa, who was given everything she desired, received no other coin from his father. So for every ten hours he worked, he was lucky to be paid for two.

Yes, his father clothed and fed him as befitted his station, but all the charitable funds a prince was expected to give, as well as all gifts for his family and servants, came out of what Styxx earned. Gifts that had to be on par with what a king would give or his father would also view that failure as a personal insult.

We are known by the gifts we give....

Styxx snorted as he thought of the presents his father had "bestowed" on him, such as the "honor" of attending boring senate meetings and court sessions.

Then I guess you're a cheap fucking bastard, Father.

But Styxx was never allowed to be so "thoughtful." Irritated, he touched the bracelet that had the face of Artemis, his mother's patron goddess from her homeland, stamped in the center. It was dainty and intricately cast. He'd never seen anything prettier.

Maybe this time she would smile at him.

Just don't throw it in my face like you did last year and have lashes added to what's already coming to me.

And after this most charming meeting with his maternal host, he had that beating to look forward to....

Khalash!

Pulling his chlamys down to hide his swollen arm, he headed for her chambers to get it over with.

He knocked on the door and waited for her maid to answer. Per her normal routine, the maid didn't speak to him-the bitch who'd been attending his mother since his mother was a girl held him responsible for his mother's ruination and she despised him passionately for it.

With a curled lip, Dristas opened the door wider and allowed him to enter while his guards remained outside.

His mother was pacing in front of the window that looked out onto the back courtyard. She was more agitated than usual.

Men! I hate them all. They're worthless, faithless pigs who should be slaughtered and gutted. Every one of them! May they all rot in Tartarus for eternity!

Styxx drew up short as her enraged thoughts rang in his head. This was definitely a bad time.

As he started to turn around and leave, his mother caught sight of him.

"What are you doing here? You're not my Ryssa."

That was a definite affirmative. Her grand powers of observation never ceased to stun him.

He lifted the small wooden box up so that she could see it. "I was bringing you your birthday gift, Matisera. But I can see it's a bad time."

She raked a sneer over him. "Another cheap trinket ... Meaningless tribute from a worthless ingrate."

Not really. The cost had been rather dear. I should have spent the money on the horse I wanted. At least he would have gotten some joy out of that.

And a little affection to boot.

"I'll leave it here on your table for you." He set it down, his heart aching for the hatred his mother bore him. "Happy birthday." Wishing he could make her smile, just once, he turned to leave.

The moment he did, she shrieked in outrage.

Before Styxx could see what was wrong with her, he felt a sharp bite in his right shoulder. All her maids began screaming. Their voices, both in his head and out, were so shrill that he couldn't understand any of them. As he twisted around, there was another vicious pain in his arm, followed by another and another. Unable to comprehend the source of the sensation, he looked at his tiny mother and saw the bloodied knife in her hand as she pulled it out of his body.

She moved to stab him again.

Styxx caught her wrist and held it with his injured arm. The tip of the knife hovered directly over his heart which was what she'd have stabbed had he not stopped the blow. "Matisera?"

"I'm not your mother, you whoreson!" She snatched her hand out of his weakened grip. Then, cradling the knife in both of her hands, she fell against him, using her full body weight to bury the knife deep in his chest.

Styxx sank to the floor as his guards finally rushed into the room to seize her. Stunned and in shock, he stared up at the ceiling in horror of what had happened.

His mother had stabbed him.

Repeatedly.

The knife was still buried in his flesh ... all the way to the hilt. Biting his lip, he reached for it and jerked it out. Warm blood soaked his clothes as he waited to finally die. A sharp buzzing in his ears drowned out the sound of all the voices in his head, filling him with an unexpected sense of peace.

"Styxx?"

He heard his uncle's voice from far away. But he had no desire to go back to the hell he lived in. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for Hermes to take him to Charon so that the ancient god could ferry him to his final resting place.