Ryssa had ordered Acheron brought to her rooms and placed in her bed so that she could personally oversee his care and tend him. While Styxx was grateful for her concern for his brother, a part of him was extremely jealous. She'd see him whipped and burned as dead before she ever cared for him like this. In fact, once it was determined Acheron was in danger and not Styxx, Styxx hadn't seen her since. She'd spent every waking second she could with Acheron, and not so much as a single inquiry had been made about Styxx's recovery.
Of course, she'd been like that when Styxx had come home from war, too. She hadn't once asked about his health or wounds. Not even when they'd openly bled in front of her.
It is what it is.
His sister would never love him. He'd long ago accepted that reality.
Styxx cursed silently as he saw his brother. Under their father's "kind" orders, Acheron was tied spread-eagle to Ryssa's bed. Styxx hated to see anyone treated like that ... tied the way Estes had once done him.
He could only imagine the nightmares it gave his brother.
And Acheron looked every bit as wan and weak as Styxx felt.
Breathing slow and easy so as not to pass out, Styxx made his way across the floor until he stood next to his brother's side.
Acheron cut a sullen glance to him, but said nothing.
Styxx couldn't blame him. Words failed him, too. What did brothers say to each other after all that had happened to divide them? After all the nightmares they'd experienced together and apart?
But the one thing that struck him was how unscarred Acheron's skin was. Except for the slave brand on his palm, his body, unlike Styxx's, was pristine. There was no trace of the abuse he knew his brother had been through. And he'd felt every lash himself.
"Why are you staring at me?" Acheron finally growled. "You want to fuck me, too?"
He winced as Estes's cruelty tore through him. "You have no memory of my going to Atlantis, do you?"
"You led your conquering army to their shores. Bully for you, hero."
Styxx ignored the venomous snarl. "No ... before that."
"You mean when you came, beat the shit out of me, and threw me into the street to whore again? Yes, brother, I recall it vividly."
No, Acheron remembered none of Styxx's six weeks with him. Good, and yet ...
He wanted Acheron to know what he'd tried to do for him. To know that Styxx had loved him enough to put his own life and freedom at risk to save his brother. But why bother? His brother wanted to hate him and perhaps Acheron needed that focus. Perhaps his ignorance was kinder than knowing Styxx had tried to save him and failed. It kept Acheron's mind off his own pain.
Hatred was a lot easier to deal with than guilt or remorse. And memories that couldn't be changed. Styxx knew that better than anyone.
Acheron's swirling silver gaze burned into him. "I hate you, you fucking brat."
"I know," Styxx breathed, glancing away.
"Why didn't you let me die?"
Styxx laughed bitterly at his accusation. "I tried. Believe me, I did nothing to save either of us."
"Liar!"
It's not fair that you get to live in comfort while I live in Tartarus! Why you? What makes you better than me? A pair of eyes I want to rip out.
Acheron's thoughts flogged his conscience and his heart.
"My life hasn't been easy, either, you know."
"Oh forgive me, Highness. Did the cook burn your toast this morning? Or was your bathwater too cold? Did your valet forget to leave out the right garment?"
Styxx stiffened as his own hatred ignited while his brother trivialized his life and what he thought Styxx's problems were. Acheron was just like everyone else. Making assumptions based on nothing but stupidity. "How dare you mock my pain. But for you, my father-" He caught himself right before he admitted a truth that cut him to the depth of his soul.
"Your father what?"
Would have loved me.
Instead, because of Acheron, the king had always been suspicious and cold. Never quite certain Styxx was his. While their father doted entirely on Ryssa, there had always been a hint of reservation in his eyes when he looked at Styxx.
And always reservation in his heart whenever they were alone. It was why his father never called him son.
"You're the one who betrayed us, Acheron. Not me."
"And I think I've paid well for it. After all, I'm the one tied naked to a bed and you're the one wrapped in a gold-trimmed chlamys. You're the one everyone bows before and seeks to please your every whim."
Yes, that was so his life....
Never.
Styxx sighed wearily. No, they'd both paid for it. Dearly. But Acheron would never believe the truth, any more than Ryssa did, and Ryssa had borne witness to some of it. Still, she had it in her mind that he was the one their father favored.
People make their own reality. That was what Praxis had taught him years ago. A hundred people can witness the same exact event, and give two hundred and three different accountings of it.
"Everything is filtered through our emotions that change over time, young prince. As king, your job will be to listen to both sides of every matter and try to find the truth that lies somewhere between the opposing accounts."
He'd seen the veracity of that time and again as he sat with his father and listened to testimony from the nobles and citizens as they brought trial against each other. The subtlest gesture that was misread ...
Tone of voice.
All of it could lead to war.
Even between brothers.
No, especially between brothers.
Styxx looked away as tears choked him. He wanted his twin brother again. The one who'd held his hand and stood with him against the horrors and hatred of their world. The brother who would sneak into his room and lie at his back with his feet pressed against his. The Acheron who'd rolled apples to him through the small hole in the wall that divided their rooms ...