Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Infuriated, Ryssa ran after the guards and Acheron.

Well aware of the fact that he didn't have long before Acheron's beating would render him screaming in pain, Styxx headed for his rooms.

The moment he entered them, Apollo appeared in front of him.

The Olympian screwed his face up at the sight of Styxx's damaged features. "You found a way to ruin my fun tonight, didn't you?"

"Sorry."

"No, you're not. But you will be." Apollo left as quickly as he'd come.

Before he could take more than three steps, Styxx cried out as his back exploded with pain. It was so fierce that it cut through the herbs and alcohol in his system and dropped him to the floor.

Writhing in absolute agony, he couldn't move as lash after lash tore through him. He shook all over from the cold of his wet clothes and the pain of Acheron's punishment.

By the time it stopped, Styxx was shaking uncontrollably. His breathing labored, he crawled to his bed, but hurt too much to even attempt to rise and get into it. Instead, he reached up from the floor and pulled the blanket off then wrapped himself in it.

Tears streamed down his face as he remembered being a boy and cocooning like this whenever he was hurt and aching. Only then, he used to pretend the blanket was his mother and that she was hugging and consoling him.

As he lay there, he heard Ryssa's muffled voice through the wall as she tended his brother. "Don't worry, Acheron. I'll take care of you."

Closing his eyes, Styxx pretended that he was Acheron and that Ryssa was in here with him. But just like when he'd pretended the blanket was hugging him and all the times he'd made up friends to play with, he knew the bitter truth.

Without Bethany, he was completely alone.

And no one cared about the prince.

Not even him.

January 29, 9528 BC

While his brother and sister laughed through the walls, Styxx stared at his gaunt and bruised features as he shaved in the mirror. He looked like utter Hades. For all his cowering, Acheron could hit. Styxx's right eye was completely red and his brow cut.

But what did it matter? There was no one to look at him. No Bethany to run her gentle hands over his face now and sympathize with his pain.

And as Styxx pulled the razor over his chin, he tried not to remember anything about her. Tried not to think at all.

But still those memories surged.... He could see her so clearly in his mind the day she'd fingered the center of his chin and scowled at what she found there.

"What is this?"

"A goatee."

She'd made an adorable face at him. "The goat part is right. Why would you intentionally do that to yourself?"

"I thought you'd think it manly and sexy."

She'd scoffed until he'd shown her what he could do to her with those whiskers. Then she'd been all behind his keeping it.

Tears filled his eyes, but he blinked them away. He missed so many things about her. Yet it was the loss of having someone to laugh with that burned most.

Unable to deal with it anymore, he lowered his hand and pulled the razor across his forearm, careful to pick an area he knew he could cover with his ornamental gold cuffs so no one would see it. He hissed in pain, allowing the physical to overshadow the mental anguish as he made several long cuts there. It'd been awhile since he'd done this.

Not since he met his Bethany. With her, he hadn't needed the painful distraction.

Styxx glanced at the scars on his thighs and arms where he'd cut himself repeatedly when he'd been younger ... anything to divert his emotions and thoughts from what really hurt. Most of the scars were so faint and fine, they were only visible whenever his skin darkened from the summer sun.

A sudden knock sounded. "Highness?"

He set the razor aside and went to answer his door. It was one of his father's scribes.

"Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness. His Majesty requests you join him downstairs in his study immediately."

"I'll be there in a moment." Styxx shut the door and finished dressing, making sure to cover the cuts he'd made in his forearm with the thick gold cuffs he wore for decoration then went to see what his father wanted.

The instant he entered the room, a feeling of dread consumed him.

This won't please you, boy. His father gestured toward the chair in front of him.

Shit.

Styxx sat down while everyone withdrew to leave them alone.

Double shit.

Worse than the haste with which the room was vacated was the expression on the king's face. One of controlled fury that had never boded well for Styxx in the past. "Father?"

"What is this I hear about your interference with the soldiers' pensions?"

Interference? He'd merely seen to it that they'd been paid properly. "They weren't getting what was owed them."

"Pensions are only awarded to those who are killed in battle."

"I know."

"Then why did you authorize payment to be given to those killed in a whorehouse?"

"They-"

"You do not speak!" his father roared. "You listen!"

I thought you wanted me to answer....