Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

No wonder Father backhands me.

It took everything he had not to applaud Acheron.

"Why would I have been in the square, Father?" Acheron asked boldly.

Styxx cringed at what he knew would follow such a comment. It was the same sentence he always received for his own verbal stupidity.

"Thirty-six lashes for his insolence then return him to his room."

Khalash! The king was nothing if not consistent.

Acheron closed his eyes as the guards grabbed him by the hair and hauled him through a set of double doors that opened out into a small courtyard.

Thanks, brother. Styxx almost gasped out loud as the first lash went down Acheron's back. More sweat beaded on his forehead and he forced himself to hold still and not react.

Think of Bethany. Think of ...

Another vicious lash tore through him.

Styxx gripped the arms of his throne until his knuckles protruded. His stomach heaved.

"Are you all right, Highness?"

He glared at the advisor who'd spoken. Damn you, Xoran, for noticing. He inclined his head to him. "It's a war wound acting up."

For once, his father actually looked concerned. "Do you need a moment?"

I need you to stop beating the hell out of my twin, you idiot.

Styxx's breathing came in short gasps as he struggled for composure. Last thing he needed was any more pain added to what he already had. "I would deeply appreciate one. But it's not necessary."

His father lifted his hand to signal for the next case then paused. "Let's continue this after lunch."

Thank the gods.

Wiping at his forehead, Styxx narrowed his gaze on his father. So the bastard could have mercy. That was a first.

"Thank you, Father." Styxx didn't move until the king and his advisors and guards had vacated the room.

Biting back another groan, he could hear them beating his brother from outside. He buried his head in his hands, wishing he knew something he could do to help them both.

Kill your father.

He winced as that unbidden thought cut him. How could he? The guilt of killing Estes, who had truly deserved his death and more, still plagued him. While his father was a complete and utter bastard, he mostly did what he thought was best. Right or wrong. And Styxx knew that for a fact since he could hear the moron's thoughts.

No, as angry as the man made him, he could never kill him.

There had to be some other way to stop this shit and he needed to find it.

Fast.

December 26, 9529 BC

"Beth?" Styxx called out as he searched the cottage property. She should have returned by now. But there was no sign of her.

The welcome back necklace he'd bought for her was still in its case on the table. Untouched. As was her pole and everything else.

Heartbroken, he wheeled Troian around and went to the stream, where they'd first started meeting.

She wasn't there either. There was nothing waiting for him in the tree. It was as if she'd never existed.

Where could she be?

"Bethany!" he shouted even louder as tears choked him. Why hadn't he insisted she name her father?

You wouldn't approve of him, Hector.

Because he'd been so reluctant to tell her more about his family, he had honored her privacy. And now ...

He had no way of finding her.

Where are you? Could something have happened? Was she ill? Did she need him?

Agonized grief overwhelmed him as tears flowed down his cheeks. She'd promised to meet him today and she never broke her word. Not to him. Not ever.

Maybe she was delayed. Maybe he was panicking for no reason. It was only early afternoon ...

She could still show.

Forcing himself to calm down, he went back to the cottage to make a fire and wait. She would be here. She would.

And yet as the hours passed and the sky darkened, more fear filled him. Even though he knew it was useless, he spent the night in their cottage, waiting for her. But by midday when there was still no sign of her, he knew something was wrong.

He just didn't know what.

December 28, 9529 BC

Sick to his stomach and heartbroken, Styxx entered the palace and ignored his father's look of disdain as the king saw his unkempt state. He hadn't eaten or shaved in two days. Not while he'd waited for Bethany to come to their cottage.

"Are you ill?"

Yes, but his father would never understand. "I'm fine, Father."

"You look shameful."