Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Chapter Twenty-Two

January 23, 9529 BC

Styxx winced as he stood outside the cell where Acheron had been placed. Worse, he heard the fear and anguish in his brother's thoughts. The anger that justifiably cursed their entire family.

Most of all, he heard the unwarranted hatred and hostility Acheron bore for him personally when all he'd ever done was try to help him.

Fuck it....

Knowing his hands were tied where his brother was concerned and guilty over the fact that he treasured Bethany's safety more, Styxx opened the tiny hole at the base of the fortified door and slid in the basket he'd brought. Bread, wine, cheese, and the sugared figs Acheron had loved when they were boys. He didn't try to speak to him. There was no need. Rather he let Acheron think it was Ryssa who brought the food.

After all, what could he say to his twin?

Sorry, brother. I can't help you?

While I love you, I love someone else more?

That wouldn't go over well, and he understood. If he were Acheron, he'd hate him, too.

Heartsick, he placed his hand on the door and ground his teeth in impotent frustration. But what hurt the most was the knowledge that it could have just as easily been him in that room as Acheron.

And maybe it should be.

The only thing that had saved him from Acheron's fate was his eyes. It was so ridiculous, he'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much.

One day, Acheron, when I'm king, I will set you free. Then no one will hurt you ever again. I swear it with every part of me. I will make this up to you.

Unfortunately for his brother, today wasn't that day.

October 22, 9529 BC

Styxx woke up to an awful queasy feeling. Again. He hadn't felt well in days and he knew why. Acheron had stopped eating. Even though he'd been making drops of food to the cell, his brother had chosen a slow suicide.

Over the last week as the symptoms had worsened, Styxx had considered telling his father then reconsidered it.

He wouldn't take this from Acheron. His brother wanted an end to his suffering. The least he could do was allow it. Even if it hurt like hell.

So he hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone. Not even Bethany. Instead, he'd spent most of yesterday with her, knowing it wouldn't be long before Acheron killed them.

He shook his head, trying to clear the hazy fog. It was useless.

Styxx reached for his wine, ignoring the food. It wouldn't matter how much he ate, he'd still be hungry and his stomach would continue to gnaw viciously ... As it always did whenever Acheron starved.

"Styxx? Are you listening?"

Blinking, he met his father's cold stare. "Majesty?"

Ryssa twisted her lips into an ugly face. "He didn't hear a word, Father. He's ignoring us as always."

"I asked what you thought of putting your sister in yellow and gold to offer her to Apollo."

"Sure." The wine slipped from his hand.

"Styxx?"

He heard his father, but he couldn't respond. His knees buckled. He hit the ground hard.

His father and the priest ran to him. They were speaking to him, but he couldn't understand them or respond. He was too weak to even move his own hand.

All the color drained from his father's face as he lifted him up and carried him to his bed. For a moment, Styxx could almost pretend his father loved him. But he knew better. No one could do the things his father had done and care about their child. It wasn't possible.

The bastard never even called him "son," not unless he was speaking to someone else about him. His father had never once used any kind of endearment for him at all. Unlike Ryssa, his precious kitten ...

Styxx blinked slowly as bitter memories churned inside his head.

Ryssa came forward to sit on his bed and hold his hand. With the exception of slapping him, she hadn't deigned to touch him since ...

Ever.

I am definitely dying.

Thoughts and voices mingled in his head, but he shoved them aside so that he could conjure an image of Bethany yesterday when he'd given her a gold necklace he'd bought for her. Her face had lit up his world like the sun after a long rain.

And then, singing with her beautiful voice and playing her drum, she'd danced for him with her bells jingling lightly with every graceful movement of her hips and arms. There truly was nothing more beautiful.

How he wished he were in her arms right now, listening to her hum in that sweet, dulcet contralto. But he would never see her face again, never feel her gentle touch on his skin.

Aching at the thought that she was lost to him, he closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the gods he hated.

October 29, 9529 BC

Styxx came awake with a start. Grimacing, he struggled to breathe as he glanced around his room to find himself alone except for Galen who dozed in a nearby chair.

Gods, he was so thirsty.

He reached for the clay cup on the table beside his bed, but accidentally knocked it over.

Galen woke up instantly. "Highness?"