Styxx

June 19, 9548 BC



"You missed, moron. My son still lives, and one day, we are going to bathe in your blood."



Dressed in Greek cavalry armor to hide his identity, Archon, the king of the Atlantean gods, froze in the middle of the dark hallway as he heard the taunting voice of his angry wife in his head. A sick feeling of dread clenched his stomach tight. "What say you?"



"Well," Apollymi projected mentally to him, drawing the word out. "Lord High King God Intelligent, ye who knows all, I am still imprisoned in Kalosis and that baby you hold in your arms is quite dead. What does that tell you?"



That he'd slaughtered the wrong infant.



Damn it! He'd been certain this was the right child....



Wincing in utter agony over what he'd done, Archon heard the screams of the Atlantean queen from where he'd left her in her bedroom as she cursed them all for the death of her newborn son. It was an unforgivable act, but Apollymi had given him no choice. She had refused to hand over her son and had hidden the infant here in the mortal world so that Apostolos would live in spite of Archon's order that the boy be killed.



If her infant son grew to manhood, all of them would die. The Atlantean pantheon and their people. But Apollymi didn't care. So long as Apostolos lived, the rest of them could burn.



Heartbroken over the innocent life he'd mistakenly taken, Archon handed the baby's body to a guard on his right so that it could be returned to its grieving mother.



"Where is your son, Apollymi?" he demanded in his head.



She laughed at his anger. "Where you will never find him. Go on, slaughter every pregnant queen and her brat in the mortal realm. I dare you!"



Archon glanced at the three gods with him, who were also disguised as he was-in cavalry armor. The Atlantean queen believed them to be vengeful Greeks sent to assassinate her child. Since they were the gods she and her people worshiped, they couldn't afford for her to hate them. Not when the worship of the Atlantean people fed their powers.



And if they searched through the mortal realm where other gods ruled to find Apollymi's son, they would have to do so very carefully. Especially if the mission was to slaughter princes. The humans would call out their own gods, who would then demand retribution for their followers, and it would be a divine bloodbath between feuding pantheons.



Been there. Done that.



And it hadn't been the least bit enjoyable.



No doubt that was what Apollymi craved as much, if not more, than the return of her child. Born of the darkest powers in the universe, the first goddess of destruction lived only for such warfare. It was the very air she breathed.



Disgusted and furious over his mistake, Archon flashed himself from the human world to the main temple hall on Katateros, where the Atlantean gods ruled their people. The three gods who'd gone with him to Atlantis followed.



The moment the four of them were corporeal in their ornate temple, the other Atlantean gods stared at them expectantly.



"Well?" Misos, their god of war, asked. "Did you get him?"



Archon shook his golden head and narrowed his gaze on Basi. Beautiful and seductive, the drunken goddess of excess was the one who had taken Apollymi's son and hidden him out of their reach. Unfortunately, the sot had no recollection of where she'd put the baby, other than in the stomach of an already pregnant human.... maybe. Maybe not.



Big help that, bitch. Thank you.



That was why Apollymi had chosen the drunkard and forced her to do this deplorable deed. When it came to giving up any kind of useful information, Basi was worthless.



Archon shed the hated Greek armor and skin in favor of his true form-that of a perfect blond male in his mid-twenties-and donned his dark blue Atlantean formesta robes. "Can you remember anything else?"



Fear darkened Basi's beautiful brow. "No, Archon. I just remember Polly telling me to hide it in a queen.... Yes. It was a queen. I think I was in Greece, but I can't remember. Maybe Sumer ... Akkadia or Egypt? I think the queen had dark hair ... but it might have been blond or red.... Maybe."



It took everything he had not to kill her for her stupidity.



His brother, Misos, sighed heavily. With black hair and a full beard, Misos was as different in appearance from Archon as he was in his divine warring powers. "So what do we do now?"



Archon growled at the only option they had. "We go out and we hunt that bastard down. Whatever it takes."



Chara, the plump redheaded goddess of joy and happiness, scowled at him. "If we venture into the domains of other pantheons to search, we'll have to hide our powers from their gods. How are we to find Apostolos without them?"



It wouldn't be as easy, but ... "I know my wife. There will be something about him different from other mortals. You won't mistake Apostolos when you see him, and I doubt our powers will help anyway since she has him shielded so carefully. In the meantime, those of us who remain in Katateros while the others search can call out to him and drive him insane. That, too, should help us find him. He'll be the mortal prince who hears the voices of the Atlantean gods even when he doesn't worship us."



Bet'anya Agriosa stood up from where she'd been sitting next to her mother, Symfora. With flowing black hair and perfect caramel skin, she stood out from the other Atlantean gods. "For the record, I want to state my displeasure over all this. I may be the goddess of wrath and misery, but I find it distasteful and wrong to hunt down an innocent child and kill him because of the accidental prophecy of three little girls."



Archon glared at her. "My daughters may be young, but they hold the power of two pantheons in them. You better than anyone know how powerful that makes them." While his daughters were born of him and the Greek goddess Themis, Bet'anya was Atlantean and her father the Egyptian god, Set-one of the most powerful beings in existence.



Some even claimed Set held more power than Apollymi, and that was something Archon never wanted to test.



Bet'anya arched a brow. "So? You don't fear me."



That wasn't true, but Archon wasn't dumb enough to let her know that. Bet'anya held a lot of dark power herself and he wasn't about to cross her. No one with a brain would. The last time a god had taken her on, the world had almost ended over it. "You don't draw the same powers Apollymi does. And we don't know what powers her son holds."



Misos nodded in agreement. "As the son of Apollymi and Archon, he could easily be the mightiest of any pantheon."



Archon inclined his head to his brother. "We have twenty-one years to find this boy and kill him. We cannot fail. The sooner he's destroyed, the better for us all."



Bet'anya clenched her teeth as they began to divide the world between them. Apollymi had always been one of her allies. And Bet hadn't been here when the other Atlantean gods had united their powers to trap her in Misos's hell realm, Kalosis. Personally, she couldn't blame Apollymi for her anger. Had they ganged up on her and locked her away while calling for the life of her child ...



She, too, would show them exactly how dark her powers ran.



But like it or not, Bet'anya was part of this pantheon and would be honor bound to hunt for the child.



She'd just do so leisurely.



Her great-grandfather, Misos, approached her. "What are you thinking, child?"



"That it's a sad day when a mere baby can threaten a pantheon so powerful."



"While I concur, I would remind you that pantheons have fallen for a lot less." He kissed her brow.



"Fine, Tattas." She used the Atlantean term for grandfather. "I'll take southern Greece and Egypt where I can use my powers to find him ... if he's there."



She looked back at the leader of this cursed quest and spoke to him. "I have one question, Archon ... you slaughtered an Atlantean citizen and prince by mistake. How is it that here at home, where you have full power, you couldn't tell the baby was mortal?"



"The queen's son stank of a god's powers. Not to mention, her husband died well before its conception and to our knowledge, she's had no other lovers. That smacked of Basi's interference." He growled low in his throat. "Obviously, I was wrong. I should have known Apollymi wouldn't make it that easy on us."



Bet'anya arched a brow at that. There was only one god from outside their pantheon it could possibly be. "It was Apollo's son?"



"Most likely."



She cringed inwardly. While she wasn't afraid of the Greek gods, she didn't want to be in another bloody war with them. Every time she went up against their rampant stupidity, she felt like it sucked a portion of her own intelligence out of her. "And you think the Greek god will be all right with your actions?"



Archon wasn't concerned in the least. "Why would he care? He has bastards aplenty he ignores. Besides, he doesn't dare rattle our cage since Atlantis is the only place his Apollites can live and thrive. No other pantheon will tolerate them among their people."



And the warring Apollites had been a constant source of grief in Atlantis, but Archon didn't see it that way. To him, they were another set of beings to honor the Atlantean gods and feed their powers.



To her, they were creatures who were as likely to turn on them as they were to continue to worship them. Anything Greek made her skin crawl. She hated them above all races.



Out of the corner of her eye, Bet'anya saw Epithymia slinking out a side door. Tall, beautiful and golden, she was the goddess of all desires.



Curious about what had her so skittish, Bet'anya followed after her. "Epi?"



Outside the hall, she froze instantly. "Yes, Bet? What I can do for you?"



"What have you not confessed?"



Epithymia stiffened. "That which I will not confess."



Unwilling to play this game, Bet'anya gestured toward the hall they'd just left. "Then perhaps I should tell Archon about this?"



"Don't you dare!" Epithymia grabbed her arm and hauled her to a corner so that they couldn't be overheard by anyone. "I have to do something I don't want to do."



"Kill a baby?"



Epithymia scoffed. "I wish. That would be easy." This from a goddess of light powers? If Epithymia was so quick to kill, it explained so much about Bet'anya's proclivity for violence.



"Apollymi has enlisted me in her scheme and I have to do it. If I don't ... I can't even tell you what she holds over me because I can't afford for anyone to learn it. That bitch!"



Bet'anya frowned. "What has she asked you to do?"



"Birth her child."



Bet'anya sucked her breath in sharply at that implication. "He's not born yet?"



She shook her head. "And if you tell a soul, I swear I'll join Apollymi against you."



Rage clouded her vision as Bet'anya glared at her. "Do not threaten me. God or not, I will feed on your entrails. But in this, you don't have to fear. I have no desire to kill a defenseless baby."



Epithymia released her. "Good. Because I have a plan. Apollymi wants me to oversee his birth to make sure nothing goes wrong with it, and I intend to deliver him myself."



Bet'anya's stomach clenched at what the goddess was telling her. "You intend to touch a babe who will be born without god powers?"



She nodded.



That was so cold....



"The humans will tear him apart in their desire to possess him. And they will hate him for it."



Epithymia winked at her. "I'm just following my orders from Apollymi. To the letter."



"Why not tell Archon-"



"She'll rip out my heart and devour it if I do. I wouldn't cross that bitch for anything. I cannot even hint at where that child is or anything else about his birth. She wrung an oath from me."



And Atlantean gods could never breach their oaths. As such, they tried their best to never make any.



"It would be kinder to kill him on delivery than to leave him with your touch and no protection."



Epithymia held up her hands. "Apollymi won't let me. So I'm doing this her way. And if you breathe a word..."



"My oath, I will never tell the ones hunting him where he is or what it is you do." No sooner had those words left her lips than she realized what she'd said. It was just such a slip that had cursed poor Apostolos.



Epithymia glared at her.



"I didn't mean..." There was no need in explaining. "Fine. I can still kill him if I find him."



Epithymia relaxed. "Good luck, Agriosa." She left to go to her own temple down the hill.



Bet'anya sighed at Epi's parting shot that referred to the fact that she was also a goddess of the hunt. She absolutely hated the thought of harming a child.



Any child.



And yet ...



What she'd said was true. Death would be the kindest act. Otherwise, that child would live a life of absolute agony. No one should be condemned to such a horrific fate.



"I'm sorry, Apostolos."



As in all battles, when a soldier's wound was mortal, no matter his age, and there was no doubt he would die from it, the kindest thing was to end his suffering with a single fatal blow.



She would commit this mercy killing and pray that one day Apollymi could understand and forgive her. It was for the good of all.



Especially the boy.



Her only hope was that she found the child first. The other gods would not be so merciful to him.



June 23, 9548 BC



King Xerxes stared down at the infant boy who peacefully slept in his arms. How could his joy have turned so bitter so fast? For a moment, he'd believed himself to be the most blessed of all kings. That the gods had granted him two sons to rule his vast empire.



Now ...



Did he even have one?



There was no doubt that the firstborn, Acheron, was born of the gods. That his wife-queen had whored herself to them and birthed it.



But Styxx ...



The king studied every inch of the perfect, sleeping child nestled against his body. "Are you mine?" He was desperate to know the truth.



The infant appeared to be a mere human babe. Unlike Acheron, whose eyes swirled a living silver color, Styxx's were vivid blue and perfect. But then the gods were ever treacherous.



Ever deceitful.



Could it be that Acheron was his son and this one was not? Or that neither child belonged to him?



He looked to the elder wise woman who'd proclaimed Acheron a god's son just after his birth. Decrepit and wizened, she wore heavy white robes that were richly embroidered in gold. Her gray hair was wrapped around an ornate gold crown. "Who is the father of this child?"



The woman paused in her cleaning. "Majesty, why do you ask me something you already know?"



Because he didn't know. Not for certain. And he hated the taste of fear that scalded his throat and left it bitter. Fear that made his heart pound in trepidation. "Answer me, woman!"



"Truth or lie, will you believe whatever answer I give?"



Damn her for her sagacity. How could the gods have done this to him? He'd sacrificed and prayed to them his whole life. Devoutly and without blasphemy. Why would they taint his heir in this manner?



Or worse, take his heir from him?



He tightened his grip, which caused the baby to wake and cry out. A part of him wanted to slam the child into the ground and watch it die. To stomp it into oblivion.



But what if this one was his son? His own flesh and blood ...



The wise woman had said it was.



However, she merely relayed what the gods told her, and what if they lied?



Angry and betrayed, he went to the woman and shoved the infant into her arms. Let someone else solace it for now. He couldn't bear the sight of either child.



Without another word, he stormed from the room.



The moment she was alone with the babe, the old crone transformed into a beautiful young woman with long black hair. Dressed in bloodred, she placed a kiss to the boy's head and he instantly calmed down.



"Poor, poor Styxx," the goddess Athena whispered as she rocked him in her arms to soothe him. "Like your brother's, yours will be an unpleasant future. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for either of you. But the human world needs its heroes. And one day, they will all need you."



March 10, 9543 BC



Five years later



"You wretched little thief!"



Styxx looked up at the shrill cry of his older sister. Ryssa towered above him and his twin brother Acheron as they played with their wooden horses and soldiers on the floor.



Why was she always so cross at him? No matter what he did to try and please her, it was never enough.



Ryssa hated him. She always had.



"I took nothing."



Curling her lip, she closed the distance between them and yanked him up from the floor by his arm. "Where did you put it, you worthless little worm?" she demanded, shaking him so hard it felt as if she'd rip his arm off.



Styxx tried to break free, but she was too strong for him. "Put what?"



"The toy horse Father gave me for my birthday. I know you collect them and I know you stole mine. Where is it?"



"I haven't touched it."



"You're such a liar!" She threw him toward the ground then went to search his things again. "Where have you hidden it?"



Styxx met Acheron's gaze. "Did you take it?" he whispered to his brother.



Acheron shook his head.



Then who?



"What are you doing in here?"



All of them froze at the sound of fury in their nurse's voice. Before Styxx could explain that he'd invited Acheron in to play with him, the nurse snatched his brother away.



Acheron cried out as the nurse's grip bit into his small arm. "How many times have you been told to stay in your own room?"



Styxx panicked as he realized Acheron still held one of the soldiers in his hand. Even though he'd given them to his brother, he knew what would happen if anyone saw it in Acheron's possession.



His brother would be punished. Again.



Wanting only to protect Acheron, Styxx launched himself from the floor and grabbed it out of Acheron's hand.



Acheron offered him a small smile of gratitude before he was taken away.



"You!" Ryssa sneered as she glared at the toy he held. "You're so selfish. You never think of anyone but yourself. What would it have hurt to let him keep one toy? Huh?" She gestured to the others scattered on the ground. "Nothing's ever enough for you, is it? You always want more and you don't care who you take it from."



She jerked the toy from his hand, cutting his palm in the process, and stormed from his room.



Heartbroken, Styxx stood alone. He hated being by himself with a passion that made no sense. Ofttimes, he wondered if it came from being born a twin. Surely the gods wouldn't have given him a brother if they meant for him to be forever by himself.



And yet, he spent very much of his life alone.



Sighing wistfully, Styxx glanced around the room that was littered with toys. He would gladly give them all away if he could only have one person to play with. Ryssa refused because she didn't like him and he was a smelly boy, and, according to her, he was too stupid to follow the games she played with Acheron. The other children ran away from him because their parents were afraid they might hurt him, either by accident or on purpose, and incur his father's wrath.



Acheron was the only one who welcomed him as a playmate. But their father demanded they stay separated.



Styxx looked down at his brother's toy and wished with everything he had that it was different for them both. Rather they'd been born poor farmers than have to endure the burden of this wretched family and its meanness.



He set the toy aside. Later, after everyone was asleep, he'd return it to his brother.



* * *



"Acheron?" Styxx whispered, nudging his sleeping brother awake.



Slowly, Acheron blinked his eyes open. Rubbing them with his fist, Acheron sat up in bed. Styxx shoved the loaf of sweet bread in his face, making Acheron smile the moment he saw it.



"I didn't bring the honey, sorry. But..." Styxx opened his small cloth bag to show the sugared figs he'd taken. "I managed to pilfer your favorite."



Acheron's silver eyes lit up. "Thank you! But you shouldn't have. You could have been caught."



Styxx shrugged. "I wouldn't have been hurt over this." At least not physically-those beatings were reserved for other offenses. Though there were times when he'd prefer being hit to listening to them call him worthless or other names.



Glad he'd helped his brother, Styxx watched as Acheron tore into the bread. Since they'd sent them both to bed with no supper, Acheron was starving. But as usual, Styxx had been unable to sleep and so once the palace quieted down, he'd snuck to the pantry.



"What did you eat?" Acheron asked.



"Bread ... with your honey." He grinned wide with his guilt.



Acheron laughed. "That was wrong of you."



Styxx indicated the small bag. "I thought you'd rather have the figs."



"You could have given me the choice."



"And I would have had my belly not been cramping. It smelled so good, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to eat some on my way here. Sorry."



"Then I shall forgive you." Acheron held the bread out. "Would you like more?"



He shook his head, declining it. Even though he was still hungry, he knew Acheron was even more so.



Frowning while he ate, Acheron cocked his head. "Can you not sleep again?"



"I tried." Morpheus held a grudge against him for reasons only the gods knew. No matter how hard Styxx tried, sleep forever eluded him.



Acheron scooted back on his pallet, making more room.



Grateful beyond measure, Styxx accepted his unspoken invitation and lay down by Acheron's side.



Within a few minutes, he was sound asleep. Acheron finished his food then tucked the bag into Styxx's chiton. Licking the last of the sugar from his fingers, he curled up behind Styxx, back to back, and placed the bottoms of his feet flush to his brother's. As far back as he could remember, they had slept like this whenever they could. Neither of them liked to be alone or apart, and yet their family seemed determined for them to be so. It was something neither of them understood.



How they both wished they could be left alone together.



And Styxx was the one he loved best.



His brother was the only one who treated him like he was normal. Styxx didn't hate him like their parents did, nor dote on him like he was a god incarnate as Ryssa was prone to do.



They were brothers. They played. They laughed. And they fought for everything they were worth. But whenever the fighting was done, they would dust off and be friends again.



Always and forever.



Closing his eyes, Acheron heard the voices that were continually in his head. Styxx heard them, too. But while Acheron only heard those of the gods, Styxx heard those and many, many more. It was one of the reasons his brother had such difficulty sleeping. Whenever they were together, the voices in Styxx's head stopped shouting at him and left him free to rest. Styxx could only hear Acheron's thoughts then, and Acheron was very careful of them.



But the moment they were apart, the voices returned to Styxx with a vengeance. The constant lack of sleep made his twin irritable most days and gave him terrible headaches. Headaches so ferocious that at times his nose bled from them, and he was often sick to his stomach.



No one else understood that. They accused Styxx of faking the pain. And both of them were terrified of telling others what they heard. Everyone but Styxx hated him enough already. Acheron had no desire to give them another cause.



When Styxx had tried to tell others about the voices, he'd been ridiculed and punished for lying. Even Ryssa had accused him of making it up for attention. So both of them had learned to keep the secret and tell no one. Ever.



There were many secrets the two of them shared.



And they had promised each other that one day, when they were grown and no one could stop them, they would leave this place and go somewhere else where people didn't treat them so badly.



Like his twin brother, Acheron couldn't wait for that day to come.



May 9, 9542 BC



"Sit up straight! You slouch like a fishmonger's son."



Styxx flinched at his father's angry tone and straightened himself immediately in his uncomfortable gold chair where his legs had gone numb from dangling over the edge of it. But if he folded them under him, it would anger his father even more than his slouching. While his father often doted on him, especially whenever they were in public, there were other times when his father would be so cross that nothing he did pleased him. Times when his father seemed to begrudge him every breath he took.



Today was definitely one of those days.



"Are we boring you, boy?"



Styxx shook his head quickly, resisting the urge to groan out loud as pain split his skull with absolute agony. He'd always hated his headaches and the one today was more excruciating than normal. It made it impossible to focus. Worse, he felt as if he would vomit at any moment. That his father would find unforgivable.



What? Are you a pregnant woman, boy? You vomit as such. Learn to control your stomach. You're to be a man, for the gods' sakes. Men don't throw up every other minute. They control themselves and their bodies at all times.



His stomach heaved violently, sending more pain throbbing through his head, which then sickened him all the more. The constant seesawing between his head and stomach was enough to make him want to scream in agony.



"Might I be excused, Father?"



His father turned to glare at him furiously. "To what purpose?"



"I don't feel well." That was a substantial understatement.



"Come here."



Styxx scooted off his small throne and resisted the urge to wince as a thousand needles stabbed at his sleeping legs. Knowing better than to let his father see the pain it caused him, he crossed the dais to his father's huge gilded throne. It was so massive that the top of his blond head barely reached the arm of it. Dressed in a white and purple stola and chlamys that matched Styxx's chiton, the king gave him a suspicious glower. His father's blond hair and beard gleamed in the light beneath the gold-leaf crown that would one day be Styxx's.



As they always did on this day of every week, they'd spent all morning dealing with the problems and concerns of the nobles and people who wanted an audience with their king. Since this was something Styxx would have to do once he ruled this kingdom, for the last year his father had made him stay and listen so that he could use his father's wisdom once he inherited the crown. While Styxx was here, he was never to move or speak. Only observe.



The "privilege" of attending these sessions and the "joy" of a drill instructor who lived to knock him around had been his sole birthday gifts last summer when he'd turned five.



With a fierce frown creasing his forehead, his father touched Styxx's brow. "You have no fever. What are your symptoms?"



"My head aches."



He rolled his eyes. "And?"



I want to vomit and I'm terribly dizzy. But he knew from experience that his father would only ridicule those complaints.



"That is all, Father. But the pain is ferocious."



His father glared at him. "You will one day be king, boy. Do you think they will stop a war or an uprising because you have a meager headache?"



"No, Sire."



"That is correct. The world does not stop for something so trivial. Now sit and listen. Observe your future duties. Your people are far more important than your boredom and they deserve your full attention."



But it wasn't boredom. Every shred of light or hint of sound pierced his head with a pain so foul that he wanted to bash his own brains in. Why could no one ever understand his headaches and how much they hurt?



Tears of pain and frustration formed, but he quickly blinked them away. He'd learned long ago that while his father would console Ryssa whenever she cried, he would never tolerate tears from his son. Styxx was to be a man, not some mollycoddled girl....



Trying not to jar his head while he moved, Styxx returned to his seat.



"Sit up!" his father barked instantly.



Styxx jerked upright then winced in pain. Don't show it....



But it was so hard not to. Swallowing in agony, he glanced out the window to see Ryssa in the garden with Acheron. They were laughing as they chased each other and played. What he wouldn't give to be outside with them in the beautiful sunshine.



Not that it would matter. Even if his head didn't hurt, Ryssa would never swing him around like that. She'd never laugh with him or tickle him. Her love was reserved solely for Acheron.



Turning his head, he tried not to think about it as another wave of misery pierced his brain.



Styxx leaned forward at the same time blood poured from his nose. No! Please, not now.... Please, gods. He pressed his hand to his nose, trying to stanch it before his father took note.



"Majesty? Is His Highness all right?"



Styxx panicked at the guard's question that brought his father's full attention back to him.



Rage darkened his father's brow. "Did you do that apurpose?"



Yes, I purposefully cut open my nose with no means whatsoever just to spite you, Father. I'm truly talented that way.



"No, Father. I shall be all right. It's just another nosebleed. It will stop in a few minutes."



The king curled his lip in disgust. "Look at you! You're filthy. You don't dishonor those around you or your divinely given station with such sanguinariness." The king jerked his chin at the guard who'd ratted him out and Styxx's valet who was charged with keeping him immaculate and presentable any time he was in public. "Take the prince to his room and see that he's cleaned and changed."



Great, I sound like an infant or puppy.



They bowed low before crossing the room to stand before Styxx.



Already dreading what this would mean for him later, Styxx kept his nostrils pinched together and slid off his seat then headed for his room upstairs. As he crossed the atrium from the throne room toward the main palace, he paused again to watch Acheron and Ryssa laughing and playing in the back garden. The bleeding in his nose worsened as did the voices that shouted even louder than before.



Tears filled his eyes. He wanted to scream from it all, and when Acheron fell and scraped their knees, Styxx couldn't take it anymore. He hit the ground, clutching his leg and crying out as his pain finally overwhelmed him completely.



Please, gods, please just let me die....



Acheron came running to his side. "Styxx? Are you all right?"



No. I live in a state of constant physical pain no one understands or has mercy for. And he was tired of it. Dear gods, could he not have one single hour where something didn't hurt?



"Styxx?"



He couldn't respond to his brother, not while he ached so badly and in so many ways. Instead, he stared at the blood on Acheron's ravaged skin. He felt the same exact injury on his own knee and yet he knew that if he looked at his leg, he'd have no wound to explain the throbbing ache he felt there.



"Don't get hurt again, Acheron," Styxx finally breathed. "Please."



Acheron frowned as Ryssa came forward. She knelt on the ground by Styxx's side. "Why are you lying here?"



Styxx pushed himself up before she could mock his pain, too. "I fell."



She glanced around the path. "There's nothing for you to trip over. What? You saw Acheron fall and couldn't stand him getting five seconds more of attention than you?"



Styxx glared at her as more agony split his skull. "Yes, that's exactly what happened."



"Have you another headache?" Acheron asked.



Styxx nodded then winced.



Ryssa scoffed. "Father says you only pretend to have them to get out of your responsibilities."



He gestured toward his soiled chiton. "What of the blood that covers me?"



"You probably injured yourself for sympathy. I know you. You're not above doing anything for attention."



That was so him ... never.



Unable to deal with her criticism, Styxx cradled his aching skull in the palm of his right hand and continued on to his room with his valet and guard trailing in his wake.



Acheron started to follow after him, but Ryssa held him back.



"Let him go, Acheron. He'll just get you into trouble like he always does. Come. Let us play more."