Authors: Sherrilyn Kenyon
Drawing a ragged breath, he propped himself against the wall and stared up at his father. “I think I shall need help walking down for it.”
“You think this is funny?”
Hilarious, really
. In a pathetic horror story kind of way. Why not laugh at this point? Tears certainly had gotten him nothing but mockery. Why not try a different approach?
“What do you want me to say, Father? I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. Please, find the gentle benevolent mercy in your heart to forgive me for the dishonor and disservice I’ve done you with my neglect.”
“You dare mock me? No, you’re not sorry at all. But you will be.” He kicked at Styxx’s feet. “Guards!”
They entered immediately.
Styxx swept them with a hooded glance, wondering if one of them had fucked him, too.
His father stepped back so that they could seize him in rough grips that enjoyed giving him as much misery as possible. “Take His Highness to the scold.”
Styxx winced as they jerked him to his feet and all but dragged him down to it. Their unspoken insults rang in his head alongside the ones his father hurled at him.
As if I care anymore
.
They threw open the door to the guards’ room and hauled him inside. The scold’s eyes lit up with greedy, lust-filled delight when he saw him there.
Styxx gave him a cold smile. “Bad luck, old man. My father intends to watch.”
That took the joy out of him, but the look that replaced it promised Styxx dire retribution.
Oh yeah, this was going to hurt. Badly.
So be it.
“Seventy lashes.”
Even the scold sucked his breath in on the severity of his father’s order.
Styxx met his father’s gaze without flinching and laughed. “Why stop there, Father? Why not go for one hundred?”
“You continue this insolence and I will.”
Before he could say another thing, the scold shoved the leather into his mouth. “For the sake of the gods, Highness, shut up,” he breathed in Styxx’s ear.
The scold met his father’s gaze. “Am I pardoned, Majesty?”
“Yes.”
“Highness?”
Did it matter what he thought? Who was the bastard who came up with this twisted formality?
Glaring at his father, Styxx nodded curtly.
The scold took him into his “beautiful” room and tied him to the bench he knew so well. Styxx watched in silence as the scold selected the cane then went behind him to lift his chiton and expose his buttocks for the beating.
“Wait!” his father said before it began.
Styxx ground his teeth in fear as a new horror seized his heart. Had Estes branded “whore” there, too?
Gods, what does he see?
“Remove his gag.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The scold pulled the leather out then stepped back and averted his gaze.
“Where did the scars on your thighs and buttocks come from, boy?”
Styxx gaped at the stupidity of that single question. “They burned and bled the demons out of me, Father. Don’t you remember?”
“With hot brands?”
No … cold ones.
Was the old man senile? What did he think they’d use? Rose petals?
“You saw my wounds when Estes brought you in.”
His father tugged at Styxx’s chiton until he’d exposed Styxx’s left side and the vicious, puckered scars that marked him from armpit to thigh. For several seconds, his father said nothing as his gaze flitted over them, and then down to the scar on Styxx’s forearm where the bastard had cut him, and finally to the scars his mother’s tender loving hand had dealt him.
Thankfully, Styxx was bent so that the most horrifying scar that marked him as a whore was hidden from his father’s gaze.
“You’re excused,” the king finally said to the scold.
Bowing, he left them.
His father swallowed hard. “I never really saw your body when you were at the Dionysion. I barely looked at your face.”
Funny, it hadn’t seemed that way to him. He would have sworn his father glared at his wounds with sick satisfaction.
His father covered Styxx’s side with his chiton so he wouldn’t have to see the scars anymore. “How many months were you there again?”
That question slapped him hard. “You don’t remember?”
His father shook his head. “But you do, don’t you?”
How could he ever forget? “Every heartbeat I spent there under the priests’
tender
care is
branded
into my memory, Father.”
His father winced then untied his hands.
You’ve been through enough, boy
.
Styxx pushed himself up as his father left without another word.
His head pounding, Styxx made his way back to his room. He knew how bad the scars on the front of him were. How much worse were the ones on his back that his father had been so revolted by them?
I should ask the senators who’ve screwed me since they’ve seen them.
He pressed his hand to his skull, wishing he could squeeze his head until he drove it all out forever.
I can’t take this anymore
. He was too young to have this much horror. Too young to hurt like this when there was no end for it in sight. No way out …
Damn you, Acheron.
Ever since his brother had thrown it in his face, he’d noticed how true Acheron’s words were. The hungry stares from everyone who saw him. Looks and actions he’d assumed were from his being prince. But Acheron was right. People coveted his body even when they didn’t know he had a title. And they were a lot more aggressive when they didn’t know.
Even if he ran away, they would treat him just as his uncle had. Like a piece of savory meat on a banquet table. He’d become his brother.…
A well-paid, overused whore.
Not that he wasn’t already.
I just want one single moment of peace where my memories don’t shred my soul. One day without pain
.
With no better thought, he washed himself and changed his clothes then snuck past his guards to get his horse.
There was only one thought on his mind as he rode from the stable, toward the high shoreline.
To end this stygian nightmare once and for all.
* * *
Styxx cursed as
he reined his horse and slid from the saddle so that he was on solid, nonmoving ground. “Ah, gods…” Why today of all days did he have to have one of his more vicious headaches?
It hurt so badly he couldn’t even breathe. And then it started …
That damned nosebleed.
Unable to stand it, he sank to his knees and didn’t bother trying to stop his nose. Pressing his hand to his eye, he stared out at the sea far below. The waves crashed against jagged rocks. It looked so soothing and pleasant.
He remembered when he’d been a small child and his father would take him to the ships to meet with their captains and owners, and he’d watch fishermen’s children playing and laughing in the surf. He’d wanted to join them, but his father had refused.
It’s common entertainment for common people. You are a prince. It’s time you acted like one.
As the prince, according to his father, he wasn’t to mix with
them
. The familiarity would cause them to see him as a lesser being.
You must always hold yourself to a higher standard and conduct yourself with dignity. A king can only lead when others respect him.
And who could respect a king who’d been tied facedown over a punishment bench and violated? One who’d been bartered and sold, and …
Branded.
Styxx cried out in anger.
I’m done with this world. I’ve had enough.
That was what he’d come here to do. End it. He watched the surf below with a hungry gaze. One step. Then both he and Acheron would be free of this horror. Free to play in the waves and laugh like other people did …
You’re stronger than this!
Was he? He didn’t feel strong. Not today. Today, he felt like the incompetent wretch they accused him of being. He felt used and powerless.
Shamed to the core of his blackened and burned-out soul.
One step …
No more headaches or nosebleeds to suffer. No more gleeful humiliation shoved down his throat. No more hatred glaring at him from his mother’s and sister’s eyes. From the eyes of everyone who thought him a spoiled, beloved prince who had no care in the entire world.
I just want peace.
Determined to see it through, Styxx pushed himself to his feet. His horse, Troian, sniffed at his shoulder. Styxx sank his hand into the long, soft black mane then gently patted him. Troian had been his only real friend.
He hugged his horse tight. “It’s all right, boy.” He pulled the bridle off, knowing his horse would return to the stable without it, and this way he wouldn’t have to fear Troian snagging it on something and getting hurt or trapped.
After nuzzling the horse’s neck one last time, he stepped away. His heart pounded in a rhythm that matched his head as he watched the waves roll in. It would hurt when he hit the rocks, but hopefully it wouldn’t last long.
With luck, he’d be dead before he hit them.
He dropped the bridle to the ground and turned around so that he could see the countryside he’d been raised and groomed to rule. It would survive without him. His people would probably be better off. At least they’d have a king now who was worthy of his crown.
One who hadn’t been mocked and sold.
Swallowing the pain that never ceased, Styxx stepped back and fell into nothing.
Winds rushed over his falling body, whipping his hair and clothes. It seemed to take forever before he hit the water. He slammed into it so hard, he swore every bone in his body shattered. The waves rushed over him, dragging him down to the frigid depths of the vibrant blue sea. He swallowed and choked on the water as it violently invaded his body then sputtered and coughed.
Everything went black.
But after a brief period of nothing, he was still alive.
Even underwater …
How? It couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t. Yet, the surf carried him to shore and threw him roughly against it.
Battered and bruised, he lay on the sand, aching and freezing.
And dismally alive.
I can’t even die right. How pathetic am I?
As he lay there in more pain than he’d ever known, a raw, hateful truth slapped him in the face. The gods had no intention of sparing him even one heartbeat of the misery they’d damned him to. They wouldn’t even allow him death as a way to escape it.
You sick bastards!
He would cry at the despair he felt, but there were no more tears in his eyes. Why bother? All tears had ever done was cause him to be beaten more.
Disgusted, he dragged himself out of the water and staggered up the shoreline. One ankle felt badly sprained. Maybe his arm, too. Not that it mattered.
Nothing mattered now that he knew his real place in the world. Not to be king or prince.
Not even to be human …
I am damned and cursed. Forever.
With a ragged sigh, he crawled up to the road and paused as he saw how far he’d have to go to get home. Had he been whole, it would have been too damned far.
As he was right now …
“I’ll never make it.” Not like this.
Maybe some bandits will …
What?
Kill him?
He laughed at their imagined stunned dismay when they learned he was immortal then winced as pain tore through his entire body. There was no use in lying here. It wouldn’t do any good.
Pushing himself up, he stumbled along the road as best he could.
After a while, he saw a small break in the trees on his right that led to a peaceful, bubbling stream. Needing to rest for a few minutes, he headed for it.
He was so focused on getting a simple drink of water, that he didn’t notice the tiny girl with a fishing pole until she shot to her feet with a cry of alarm. She brandished a small knife in front of her with enough skill to say she was well proficient at its use.
For a full minute, he couldn’t breathe at the sight of her. She was beauty incarnate. Yet not the same as Ryssa’s perfect fragile beauty. With bright tawny skin and thick black hair, she had eyes the color of light, precious greenish-gold. Her red and white gown draped over her lean body and highlighted the fact that she was very nicely proportioned. Lusciously so … She was also a lot taller than his sister. But she was still tiny in comparison to him.
He’d never in his life seen anything more inviting … More beautiful or pure.
“Who are you?” she demanded, gripping her knife even tighter. “You touch me and I’ll stab you, I swear it.”
Styxx frowned as he realized by the way she moved her head and arm that she was completely blind, and he felt like a total shit for terrifying her.
“Please,” he said, struggling to breathe through his pain. “Calm yourself. I’m sorry I scared you, and I mean you no harm. Even if I did, I’m in no shape to do anything more than bleed on you in my current condition. I promise you, girl, I have much more to fear from you than you do from me.”
She straightened up and finally lowered the knife. “How old are you?”
“Ten-and-six. Now please, I just need to sit for a moment to catch my breath and then I’ll leave you to your … whatever it is you’re doing.” He sank to his knees and groaned out loud.
She returned her knife to the sheath on her wrist. “Are you all right?”
“Yes…” He hissed as more pain lacerated his middle. “No. Not really. I…”
What was he going to say? He jumped off a cliff, trying to die, only to find out he was immortal?
Not a wise confession by any means.
“My horse threw me.”
She tsked in sympathy for him. “You poor thing. Do I need to get you help?”
He caught himself before he laughed at her offer. Really, there was no help for him.
Still, it was one of the kindest things anyone had ever offered where he was concerned. “Thanks, but that’s all right. I just need a moment to sit and try to remember how to breathe.” Styxx leaned over the water to splash his face and wash some of the blood and sweat away. His hand shook as his stomach heaved from the agony of it all.