Styxx (Dark-Hunter 22)

Styxx slammed his helm down on his head then swung up on the back of his stallion, who was as black as his mood. He took his hoplon from his old trainer's hand and slid it to his back for the ride. "Fine, Galen. Thank you for asking."

Frowning, Galen glanced up at the royal family while Styxx spurred his horse forward without bothering to look back at them. He knew where all of them stood on his well-being.

Gods willing, they'd all get their wish to not see him again.

October 25, 9532 BC

Styxx let out an elongated breath. Tomorrow, they would be in battle. For the last few hours, he'd worked with Galen on the speech he was supposed to deliver to their men to rally, unite, and inspire them for war.

As he rode to the front to give it, the hostile thoughts of the Didymosian army assailed him like rapid-fire arrows.

We have to follow that worthless quim into battle? Seriously?

The king insults us to send a boy in when we need a man at our helm.

When did Didymos become such a joke? The other Greeks mock us, and why shouldn't they? We're led by a beardless child who should still be suckling at his mother's tit.

But what truly hurt was that their thoughts mirrored his own. At least the ones that weren't sexual in nature.

Damn, Estes could have made a fortune here selling him to all the soldiers who wanted to grudge-fuck him. It was extremely disconcerting to know they'd be at his back tomorrow....

Heavily armed.

Styxx reined Troian in so that he could address them with Galen on a horse by his side. His stomach shrank as he faced their outright and obvious contempt and disdain. Though he was used to it, for some reason it stung more today.

Because you're about to ask them to die for you and they hate you for it.

He looked down at the scroll in his shaking hands and the words they'd so carefully penned. I can't read this. To them, it would sound disingenuous. They were pissed enough. His luck, they'd think he was mocking them and attack.

Better to address their real concerns.

Look at the royal quim. He's too scared to speak. How's that frightened little girl supposed to lead us into battle?

That's to be our future king? Gods help us.

Is it too late to defect to the Thracian army?

Lifting his chin, Styxx forced himself to face them. He cleared his throat then wadded up the parchment in his hand. Please don't let my voice tremble.

"I know what all of you are thinking...."

What a pathetic quim leads us?

Those were bad, but Styxx ground his teeth at the one thought that rang in his head louder than the others-We come to fight for a king who sends his worthless child to hang back and watch us die.... Least you could do is share that sweet little ass of yours with us before you ask us to die for it.

The animosity and criticisms mounted until Styxx couldn't speak. They were right. He had no business being here. Maybe that was his father's plan. To have him killed by his own people.

"Enough!" Galen roared.

It was only then Styxx realized they'd not only been thinking their hostilities, many had been shouting them, too.

The old veteran they did respect glared at them. "All of you should be ashamed of yourselves. The prince, himself, came here to personally thank you for your service, even while the lot of you sneered and jeered at him. You humiliate a warrior who has more courage than the entire Greek cavalry. Any other strategos would have you beaten for this impudence. And I will not see him so debased and insulted when you know nothing of his fierce skills or true noble character. I swore after our war with Phthia that I would never again bleed in battle for any king or cause. Nor would I fight for any banner. Yet here I am this day. Why?"

Galen placed his hand on Styxx's shoulder. "Because I have seen, in spite of his young age, the wisdom and courage of our strategos. And it is an honor for me to fight under his banner. How many men who are the age of our prince would come to battle with his army without a single word of protest? Prince Styxx could be at home, right now, with a wench in his lap and wine in his hand. Instead, he has laid aside his own comforts and safety to be with all of you as you fight for his father. He does not deserve your scorn, but rather your respect."

"Doesn't matter. He'll be dead in battle tomorrow anyway."

"Or fucked in the ass by an Atlantean hero while he chokes on the testicles of another."

Their army burst into laughter as they started taking wagers on who'd be the first to screw their prince.

Galen started for the soldiers.

Styxx held him by his side. "We don't need to fight each other while we have enemies on our shores."

With a tic thumping furiously in his jaw, Galen saluted him and kneed his horse back.

Styxx looked at his men and started to speak then realized there was nothing he could say that they wouldn't twist into an insult or take offense to. They had set their minds to hating him, and as with his mother and sister, there was no way to win them over. The one thing he'd learned from his blessed family was when to let it go and not try for a lost cause.

Sighing, he clapped Galen on the shoulder then reined his horse about so that he could return to his tent.

"That's right ... go back to your cradle, boy, and let the men do their jobs!"

Holding his head high, Styxx ignored their laughter. At least it's not as bad as the strategi meeting.

While his soldiers were harsh, the noble-born commanders, who had been insulted by his mere presence and who had dared him to speak a single word, had flogged him harder with their tongues than all the scolds in his father's service. His hide was still raw and bleeding from their vicious insults yesterday. They'd all but run him out of the meeting on a rail.

So be it.

If he was lucky, they'd all be right and someone would cut his head off in battle tomorrow.

October 26, 9532 BC

"Look at the pathetic bastards," Misos, the Atlantean god of war, sneered to Bethany as they joined the Atlantean army that was preparing to attack the Greek colony of Halicarnassus, one of the richest Greek cities. The Atlanteans wanted to make a point and show their lesser human brethren why they needed to leave off Atlantean shores.

But more than that, they were here to slaughter every Greek prince dumb enough to fight.

Bethany reined her white winged horse beside her great-grandfather. Her mother, Symfora, the goddess of sorrow, was already walking the battlefield in expectation of the men who would die here today. "Have you chosen your champion, Tattas?" she asked Misos.

The god of war smiled down at her. "Zerilus." The leader of the Atlantean army. Almost eight feet tall, he was so massive that it was said one swing of his mighty axe could fell a stout tree. "What of you, precious? Who is your chosen?"

Hector. But she could never allow her family to know that her heart lay among the enemy camp and with a lowly foot soldier.

So she picked the Atlantean least likely to cause harm to him. "Xan."

"The Atlantean prince ... a fine choice, indeed."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Tattas, I shall go through the Greek ranks and do my job."

He laughed. "Make sure you call out to us should one of the Greek gods see you. The sooner we start this fight, the better."

Saluting him with her sword, Bethany swung her winged horse, Herita, away from them and flew into the Greek camp. Not really to stir up her usual misery and discontent in their hearts, but rather to find a merchant's son who bore her medallion around his wrist.

Where are you, Hector?

Honestly, she was impressed by their numbers. The Greeks had amassed a large army in a very short amount of time. She pulled her gold helm off so that she could better see the faces of the men who were preparing for the coming fight.

To her right was the Didymos banner. She headed straight for their encampment. As she started to the back of it to look through their foot soldiers, a flash of bright red distracted her.

Athena ...

She could feel that bitch's presence here. Theirs was a grudge match that was legendary throughout the Mediterranean. One that had started centuries ago when Bethany had speared Athena's chosen through the heart, during battle.

So who is your favorite I will kill today?

Bethany set her horse on the ground then slid from the saddle. She touched random Greek soldiers as she passed them, making them immediately clench with painful fear and mental anguish. They were not her Hector. They weren't tall enough. So she didn't care if they fell or not.

She came around a tent and froze as she caught sight of the infamous Didymosian prince, Styxx. While she'd heard his name countless times, she'd never seen him before.

Arrogant snot. That was her first thought as she saw him swathed in his expensive black armor with a bright red chlamys, and rigidly perched on the back of an exceptional black stallion. His regal pride bled from every pore of his body. Still, he cut a gorgeous picture as the light breeze ruffled his unruly blond curls that gave him an unorthodox, boyish appearance. Dark brown brows slashed above intelligent eyes so blue they matched the Aegean Sea for clarity and vibrance.

His stern expression made his cheekbones sharp and well sculpted. Too young for a full beard, he held the lightest bit of dark brown dusting around his chin and upper lip.

He was truly a thing of great beauty.