Styxx (DH #33) (46 page)

Bethany was the sole reason he wanted to go home and she was all he looked forward to. “Soon, my love. And this time, I will hold on to you forever.” Closing his eyes, he conjured the sight of her beautiful face. His body hardened instantly as he imagined her dancing for him again.

Of her holding him close while he made love to her with all the need he’d kept under fierce restraint for the last two years.

There was a sudden knock.

Wishing he could stay in his dreams with her for awhile longer, Styxx laid her necklace down and reached for his wine. “Enter.”

An Athenian soldier he’d never seen before came inside, leading a small group of similarly dressed men. “Prince Styxx?”

“Yes?”

“We heard you were arriving any day now, and wanted to welcome your army home.”

“Thank you.” Styxx cocked his head as he realized that the sounds outside had grown much quieter.

A bad feeling went through him as he glanced over to his weapons and armor on the other side of the tent, near his pallet. In that instant, it dawned on him that one of his
dekarmatoli
should have escorted these men into his tent and hadn’t.

Styxx narrowed his gaze on them. “So what can I do for you?”

“In short, Highness … you can die.” The leader leapt forward.

Styxx rolled from the chair. He punched the first soldier hard in the solar plexus, knocking him back. As he twisted past the second one, the third one slid a dagger into his side before he could outmaneuver him. Styxx hissed in pain then kicked him back. But it was too late. The first one had recovered and stabbed him in the back.

His ears buzzed from their hatred and his pain. Styxx sank to the ground while they rained stabs down on him. Warm blood rushed over his skin until it coated him.

Their leader kicked him over onto his back and raked his bloody body with a contemptuous sneer. “A homecoming present, prince, from the commanders who weren’t victorious in the war.” The soldier used his dagger to pin Styxx’s sword hand to the ground.

Laughing, they left him there to die.

His breathing labored, Styxx stared at the Thracian dagger buried in his palm and choked on his own blood. After everything he and his men had been through, after all the attacks and battles they’d survived against enemies, it was their own allies who annihilated them on their home shores.

And not for glory or for family.

For petty fucking jealousy.

September 3, 9530 BC

“Careful, Highness, drink slowly.”

Styxx groaned as someone lifted his head and gently poured water into his mouth. Then that person laid his head back so that he could see Galen’s concerned, grizzled face. Of course Galen was the one tending him. Who else would bother?

His old tutor had a deep cut down his left cheek, but otherwise appeared whole.

Styxx squinted against the pain and brightness of the light coming in through heavy drapes. “The men?”

“About half survived.”

Half?

Half …

He winced at the mental pain of their loss. That news cut him far worse than the daggers the cowards had used on him. “Did you get the ones responsible?”

“Not enough of them. I did manage to capture one of the men who attacked you. I bled him dry and got
some
information from his traitorous tongue.”

“And?”

“They were mercenaries. The coins used to pay them were from all the Greek city-states, including Didymos. You were their primary target. Our men were only a bonus.” Galen pressed something into his uninjured hand then withdrew.

“Continue,” Galen shouted.

Styxx’s bed was lifted and moved forward. Galen had placed him inside a litter to be carried home. Grimacing in pain, he opened his hand to find Bethany’s necklace in his palm. Thank the gods, Galen had saved it. Leave it to his mentor to know it would be important to him.

He held it to his heart and closed his eyes then thought of his men who’d been ambushed and killed. Anger consumed him that he’d let his guard lax. Why had he not been more vigilant? Armed? Why had he given them freedom to wench?

Because they’d finally made it home where they were supposed to be safe. These were the people they’d all fought and bled to protect.

Grief and agony shoved his anger aside. No one could be trusted. His uncle and father should have taught him that.

His own mother.

Would Bethany one day turn on him, too? The thought kicked him hard, but he refused to let these beasts destroy his faith in the only woman he’d ever loved.

Styxx rapped on the frame of his litter. After a few seconds, the men outside set it down.

In spite of the pain, he sat up. As he started to rise, Galen appeared by his side.

Galen scowled at him. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t deserve to be carried.”

“Highness—”

“I lapsed my guard and my men died for it. I will not lie here and be coddled when I should have died with them.”

“Styxx!” Galen snapped, but Styxx refused to listen as he pushed himself to his feet and did his best not to stumble as he left the litter.

“My horse!” Styxx shouted.

Galen pulled him into his arms and held him close. “I know the pain you carry,
αγαπημέ
vo
ς
μ
o
υ
γιός
,” he whispered in Styxx’s ear.
My beloved son …

That single endearment choked Styxx and brought tears to his eyes. It was the first time in his life anyone had referred to him as such.

“I’ve carried it myself,” Galen continued, “but dying now will not bring them back.”

I’m not going to die.
He knew that with bitter certainty. And he would not be carried on the backs of men who were injured and grieving themselves.

A young shield-bearer brought Troian to him and held the horse by his side.

Styxx embraced Galen like a father then withdrew. “My men deserve better.” After thanking the boy who’d brought him his horse, he ignored the shocked looks on the faces of his litter-bearers and soldiers as he slowly pulled himself up into the saddle unassisted.

Ignoring the pain, he kicked his horse and rode to the front of his troops then wheeled around to face them. One by one, he swept his gaze over the grim expressions of men who should have been returning in high spirits. And as he scanned them, he noted that Gaius wasn’t among the survivors.

His gut clenched tight.

He wanted to say something, but words failed him just as he’d failed to keep his people safe.

All of a sudden, his men began chanting his name and cheering for him then as a single unit, they went down on one knee.

Styxx couldn’t understand it. He definitely didn’t deserve this honor after they’d been slaughtered on home soil.

“Good men,” he said, his throat tight. “I vowed to all of you when we left Didymos that I would
never
forget the sacrifice I was asking each of you to make. That I would never be capricious or careless with your safety, and I failed all of you. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

Tersus, one of his advisors, kicked his horse forward. “Highness, you didn’t fail us. We were drunk on victory when we were attacked. You were the only sober man among us. It was our duty to protect our future king. Your father will have us whipped for our dereliction that almost got you killed.”

“No one will be punished for what happened,” Styxx assured him. “You have my word on that. All of you have suffered enough.” He bowed to his men. “Now let’s go home to our families and pray we never have to raise our swords again.”

September 3, 9530 BC

Exhausted and aching, Styxx lay on his pallet in his tent. The physician had just finished checking his bandages and left him to rest for the night. But he couldn’t relax or sleep. Over and over, images of being attacked, of battle, and a thousand other things he didn’t want to remember tortured him.

He couldn’t breathe. A part of him wanted to run like a madman, screaming out into the night. But how would that look to the men who’d trusted him with their lives?

Shaking and scrambled, he pushed himself up and stumbled toward his desk. He poured wine into his cup and downed it all in one gulp then reached for more.

Outside, he heard his men’s anger. They blamed the kings for this attack. Had they not been called back so soon, they would be celebrating a victory in Atlantis tonight, not suffering defeat at home.

From their own people.

And still none of them knew why they’d been summoned back.…

Unless it was to be slaughtered.

Surely not. But as Galen would say, wars were nothing more than old men bragging about their own withered prowess while sending their sons out to die in their stead. And while there were many political ideas worth killing for, none were worth dying over.

Although Styxx no longer agreed with the latter.

Pissed and disgusted, he glared at his injured sword hand as the images of the men he’d killed in battle tore through him.

No, he definitely didn’t agree with Galen. There were political causes he would die for, but never again would he kill for one. Nor would he ask anyone else to do so. Life was too precious for that.

He would only raise a sword to protect Bethany and Galen. No one else. And definitely nothing else.

“Why so sad, young prince? You’re heading home. You should be thrilled.”

Styxx went cold at the voice he hated most of all. His breathing intensified even more as he looked up to find Apollo on the other side of his desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to welcome home the victorious Didymosian prince. Is that not what I’m supposed to do?”

Styxx hissed as the mark on his back heated up and burned his skin. He shot to his feet only to have Apollo materialize right in front of him. The god reached to touch his face.

He stepped back, out of reach.

“Don’t be like that, prince.”

For a moment, Styxx considered calling out for his guards, but there was no telling what Apollo might do to them. Two of the ten had already been slaughtered on home soil. The rest had barely survived.

He wouldn’t sacrifice another of his men.

“I want you to leave me alone.”

Apollo laughed. “That’s not going to happen. See … you’re headed home now because your father and the other Greek kings intend to offer up your sister as a virgin sacrifice to me.”

Granted, his head was swimming from pain and drink, but surely he’d misunderstood what Apollo just said. “What?”

Smirking, the god nodded. “It’s true. They want the war with Atlantis to stop and to have their lands left alone. To keep me happy and to assure my continued benevolence for Greece over Atlantis, Ryssa is to be my sanctified mistress.”

Great. He’d laugh if it wasn’t so damned horrifying. He’d killed his uncle to save his sister from rape, only to have his father whore her to the one creature he hated most.

Why did I bother?

Apollo vanished then reappeared right behind Styxx. Wrapping his arms around his waist, he pulled Styxx back against him and leaned down to inhale the scent of Styxx’s hair.

Cringing with repugnance, Styxx tried to pull free, but Apollo held him fast. “Just so you know, Ryssa’s not the one I
really
want.” His teeth elongated as he nuzzled Styxx’s neck. “I hunger for someone much more robust and filling.”

“Release me!”

Apollo dragged his fangs over Styxx’s jugular and applied just enough pressure to hurt, but not break the skin. “You will give me what I want, prince,” he whispered. “I’ve seen how much your men mean to you, especially that old one who coddles you. So be honest with me and yourself. What do you value more? Your own precious ass or theirs?”

In spite of the horrendous pain it caused, Styxx struggled even harder against him. “I will not whore for you! I’ve heard too many tales about what happens to your cast-offs.”

Apollo laughed as he ran his hand over the place on Styxx’s back where he’d burned his mark into Styxx’s skin and to the wound where one of his attackers had buried a dagger in the center of that hated sun symbol. “That’s nothing compared to what happens to the ones who deny me. Remember what I told you when you were in the Dionysion? Sooner or later, all people will whore for something. If you don’t accept me, I will see the rest of your army destroyed by your enemies who still trail you, seeking to finish the job they started … your precious kingdom broken into dust, that old man you love slaughtered, and your sister trained and sold as a tsoulus at market.”

The Olympian dropped his hand down to where Styxx was branded as a tsoulus and pressed his fingers against the mark, letting Styxx know that he’d seen the brand the last time they were together.

“And once I have destroyed all their lives, I will take you to Olympus and make you serve us all alongside Prince Ganymede. So your basic choice is you whore for me alone, anytime and anyplace I desire you, and no one knows about us, or you bend over for every god on Olympus and spend eternity listening to Greek scribes regale your fate as a cautionary tale for others for thousands of years to come.”

Styxx clenched his teeth at his options. “What’s my third choice?”

“There’s not one, and if you try to kill yourself … let’s just say, don’t.” Apollo kissed the back of his head and cupped him. “So what’s your decision, little prince? And don’t forget, either way,
I
win.”

September 9, 9530 BC

Unlike his men, Styxx felt no joy whatsoever as he rode through the palace gates and neared the steps where his “family” waited to welcome him home. Honestly, he hadn’t missed anything about this place.

How sad, he’d rather be in battle than face his father, mother, and sister.

Reining his horse, he braced himself for the pain to come then dismounted slowly. While most of his wounds had healed, some of the deeper ones remained, and all caused him misery as he made his way up the stairs to greet his king.

His father embraced him. “Welcome home.”

Styxx inclined his head before he saw Ryssa standing behind their father.