January 23, 9529 BC

Styxx winced as he stood outside the cell where Acheron had been placed. Worse, he heard the fear and anguish in his brother's thoughts. The anger that justifiably cursed their entire family.

Most of all, he heard the unwarranted hatred and hostility Acheron bore for him personally when all he'd ever done was try to help him.

Fuck it....

Knowing his hands were tied where his brother was concerned and guilty over the fact that he treasured Bethany's safety more, Styxx opened the tiny hole at the base of the fortified door and slid in the basket he'd brought. Bread, wine, cheese, and the sugared figs Acheron had loved when they were boys. He didn't try to speak to him. There was no need. Rather he let Acheron think it was Ryssa who brought the food.

After all, what could he say to his twin?

Sorry, brother. I can't help you?

While I love you, I love someone else more?

That wouldn't go over well, and he understood. If he were Acheron, he'd hate him, too.

Heartsick, he placed his hand on the door and ground his teeth in impotent frustration. But what hurt the most was the knowledge that it could have just as easily been him in that room as Acheron.

And maybe it should be.

The only thing that had saved him from Acheron's fate was his eyes. It was so ridiculous, he'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much.

One day, Acheron, when I'm king, I will set you free. Then no one will hurt you ever again. I swear it with every part of me. I will make this up to you.

Unfortunately for his brother, today wasn't that day.

October 22, 9529 BC

Styxx woke up to an awful queasy feeling. Again. He hadn't felt well in days and he knew why. Acheron had stopped eating. Even though he'd been making drops of food to the cell, his brother had chosen a slow suicide.

Over the last week as the symptoms had worsened, Styxx had considered telling his father then reconsidered it.

He wouldn't take this from Acheron. His brother wanted an end to his suffering. The least he could do was allow it. Even if it hurt like hell.

So he hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone. Not even Bethany. Instead, he'd spent most of yesterday with her, knowing it wouldn't be long before Acheron killed them.

He shook his head, trying to clear the hazy fog. It was useless.

Styxx reached for his wine, ignoring the food. It wouldn't matter how much he ate, he'd still be hungry and his stomach would continue to gnaw viciously ... As it always did whenever Acheron starved.

"Styxx? Are you listening?"

Blinking, he met his father's cold stare. "Majesty?"

Ryssa twisted her lips into an ugly face. "He didn't hear a word, Father. He's ignoring us as always."

"I asked what you thought of putting your sister in yellow and gold to offer her to Apollo."

"Sure." The wine slipped from his hand.

"Styxx?"

He heard his father, but he couldn't respond. His knees buckled. He hit the ground hard.

His father and the priest ran to him. They were speaking to him, but he couldn't understand them or respond. He was too weak to even move his own hand.

All the color drained from his father's face as he lifted him up and carried him to his bed. For a moment, Styxx could almost pretend his father loved him. But he knew better. No one could do the things his father had done and care about their child. It wasn't possible.

The bastard never even called him "son," not unless he was speaking to someone else about him. His father had never once used any kind of endearment for him at all. Unlike Ryssa, his precious kitten ...

Styxx blinked slowly as bitter memories churned inside his head.

Ryssa came forward to sit on his bed and hold his hand. With the exception of slapping him, she hadn't deigned to touch him since ...

Ever.

I am definitely dying.

Thoughts and voices mingled in his head, but he shoved them aside so that he could conjure an image of Bethany yesterday when he'd given her a gold necklace he'd bought for her. Her face had lit up his world like the sun after a long rain.

And then, singing with her beautiful voice and playing her drum, she'd danced for him with her bells jingling lightly with every graceful movement of her hips and arms. There truly was nothing more beautiful.

How he wished he were in her arms right now, listening to her hum in that sweet, dulcet contralto. But he would never see her face again, never feel her gentle touch on his skin.

Aching at the thought that she was lost to him, he closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the gods he hated.

October 29, 9529 BC

Styxx came awake with a start. Grimacing, he struggled to breathe as he glanced around his room to find himself alone except for Galen who dozed in a nearby chair.

Gods, he was so thirsty.

He reached for the clay cup on the table beside his bed, but accidentally knocked it over.

Galen woke up instantly. "Highness?"

Styxx sucked his breath in sharply as more pain racked him.

Galen shot to the bed to make sure he was all right. "Don't move. You've been extremely ill."

Styxx tried to understand what was going on. "W-why are you here?"

"Why do you think? I heard you were dying."

And Galen had left his daughter to be with him....

Styxx coughed before he spoke through his dry, hoarse throat. "I'm sorry I interrupted your time with Antigone."

"Sorry? I'm rather sure you didn't do this on purpose." Galen helped him sit up then poured him some wine. He held the cup to Styxx's lips so that he could sip at it.

"How do you feel?"

Styxx swallowed before he answered. "Like you ran over me in your chariot."

His gray eyes irritated, the old man sighed. "You are never going to let me forget that, are you?"

Styxx smiled then grimaced. "How long have I been ill?"

"A week."

A week? He frowned at Galen's unkempt state. "When did you get here?"

"Five days ago."

That explained the way Galen appeared. He'd come immediately and had ridden hard.

Styxx took Galen's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you."

Galen inclined his head respectfully. "Your men have all gathered as well and are awaiting news of your health. I think the sight of their loyalty and love of you has frightened your father."

Beautiful. Just what he wanted to deal with.

"May I ask a favor, Galen?"

"Anything."

Styxx cringed as more pain hit him. "There's a small cottage on the edge of town ... part of a small farm."

"Your woman?"

He nodded. "Her name is Bethany. Please let her know that I'm ill, but thinking of her. And that I'll see her as soon as I'm able to travel."

"Do you want me to bring her to you?"

"No!" He licked his chapped lips then lowered his voice so that no one could overhear him. "She doesn't know, Galen."

"Know what?"

"That I'm prince. I ... um ... I kind of lied to her. She thinks me a merchant's son and that I'm your foot soldier. Please, don't tell her otherwise."

Galen gaped at his words. "How can she not know?"

"She's blind."

"And you've never told her the truth?"

He shook his head. "She thinks my name is Hector."

Galen laughed and clapped him gently on his shoulder. "You're the only prince I know who wouldn't have forced her to your palace to be your slave or mistress."

"She's happy where she is."

Galen glanced around Styxx's ornate chambers. "Don't you think she'd be happier in a palace, draped in jewels?"

Styxx scoffed. "You know better than that. Money means nothing to her, and honestly, I'd rather be in her cottage with her than here."

Galen smiled at him. "We pig farmers must stick together, eh?"

"Indeed."

"You rest, Highness, and I will see the matter done for you."

* * *

Bethany stood as she heard the approach of a horse. By the sound of it, she knew it wasn't Hector's. Dynatos came to his feet to growl and bark.

Her hand on her knife, she cocked her head, waiting to see if her visitor was friend or foe. Until she knew for certain, she held on to Dynatos's collar.

Someone with a very heavy footfall approached her hesitantly. "Are you Bethany?"

"You are?"

"Galen. I'm the top strategos to Prince Styxx."

Why would the leader of the Didymosian army be here?

Unless ...

"Hector?" She stumbled from the pain of his death. Dynatos circled her, trying to calm her down.

"Shh, my lady." Ignoring her dog, Galen pulled her up against his hard, muscled body. "Your Hector lives, but he's very ill. He asked me to get word to you."

Closing her eyes, she breathed in relief, and patted his hand. "Thank you, Master Galen."

"You're trembling," he said as he released her.

"You scared me. I thought I'd lost my Hector."

"So you do love him?"

Her breathing ragged, she nodded. "More than my own life."

"Good, because he is completely devoted to you, my lady. In all our travels and battles, I saw him turn away countless women by saying he had a lady at home whose trust and heart he would never willingly break."

Those words brought a smile to her lips. "Really?"

"Aye. While other men, married and betrothed, wenched and drank, he kept himself sober and loyal. And I can see why. He spoke of your great beauty, but even his eloquent words failed to do you justice."

She smiled. "Again, thank you."

"He also wanted me to let you know that he'd come to you as soon as he was able."

Tears filled her eyes at Hector's consideration. Even sick, he thought of her. "Please send him my best and tell him that I won't breathe again until I see him...." She swallowed then used Hector's words he spoke whenever they were parted for very long. "That I will be counting down the beats of my heart until his return."

"I will do so. Before I go, do I need to get you someone or-"

"Now that I know he's all right, I'll be fine, Master Galen. Thank you."

He patted her hand. "Should you need anything in the meantime, please don't hesitate to come to me. I live in the palace barracks."

"I appreciate it, but I'll be fine."

"Very well. I bid you good day, my lady."

Bethany didn't move until he was gone. But as he rode away, she frowned. Why would such a high-ranking member of the prince's army run an errand for a lowly foot soldier?

October 31, 9529 BC

Still weak and in pain, Styxx paused in the doorway of Ryssa's room. His father and sister were downstairs with the priests and advisors making plans for her coming union with Apollo.

Except for Galen and the occasional servant who brought food and drink, Styxx had been left alone to recover. Though during the first days of his return to consciousness his men had formed a steady line of well-wishers through his room, finally, both he and Galen had convinced them to go home to their families. Their time was much better spent there than in the barracks.

Today was the first time he'd been strong enough to leave his bed unassisted. And he'd come straight to see his brother.

Ryssa had ordered Acheron brought to her rooms and placed in her bed so that she could personally oversee his care and tend him. While Styxx was grateful for her concern for his brother, a part of him was extremely jealous. She'd see him whipped and burned as dead before she ever cared for him like this. In fact, once it was determined Acheron was in danger and not Styxx, Styxx hadn't seen her since. She'd spent every waking second she could with Acheron, and not so much as a single inquiry had been made about Styxx's recovery.

Of course, she'd been like that when Styxx had come home from war, too. She hadn't once asked about his health or wounds. Not even when they'd openly bled in front of her.

It is what it is.

His sister would never love him. He'd long ago accepted that reality.

Styxx cursed silently as he saw his brother. Under their father's "kind" orders, Acheron was tied spread-eagle to Ryssa's bed. Styxx hated to see anyone treated like that ... tied the way Estes had once done him.

He could only imagine the nightmares it gave his brother.

And Acheron looked every bit as wan and weak as Styxx felt.

Breathing slow and easy so as not to pass out, Styxx made his way across the floor until he stood next to his brother's side.

Acheron cut a sullen glance to him, but said nothing.

Styxx couldn't blame him. Words failed him, too. What did brothers say to each other after all that had happened to divide them? After all the nightmares they'd experienced together and apart?

But the one thing that struck him was how unscarred Acheron's skin was. Except for the slave brand on his palm, his body, unlike Styxx's, was pristine. There was no trace of the abuse he knew his brother had been through. And he'd felt every lash himself.

"Why are you staring at me?" Acheron finally growled. "You want to fuck me, too?"

He winced as Estes's cruelty tore through him. "You have no memory of my going to Atlantis, do you?"

"You led your conquering army to their shores. Bully for you, hero."

Styxx ignored the venomous snarl. "No ... before that."

"You mean when you came, beat the shit out of me, and threw me into the street to whore again? Yes, brother, I recall it vividly."

No, Acheron remembered none of Styxx's six weeks with him. Good, and yet ...

He wanted Acheron to know what he'd tried to do for him. To know that Styxx had loved him enough to put his own life and freedom at risk to save his brother. But why bother? His brother wanted to hate him and perhaps Acheron needed that focus. Perhaps his ignorance was kinder than knowing Styxx had tried to save him and failed. It kept Acheron's mind off his own pain.

Hatred was a lot easier to deal with than guilt or remorse. And memories that couldn't be changed. Styxx knew that better than anyone.

Acheron's swirling silver gaze burned into him. "I hate you, you fucking brat."

"I know," Styxx breathed, glancing away.

"Why didn't you let me die?"

Styxx laughed bitterly at his accusation. "I tried. Believe me, I did nothing to save either of us."

"Liar!"

It's not fair that you get to live in comfort while I live in Tartarus! Why you? What makes you better than me? A pair of eyes I want to rip out.

Acheron's thoughts flogged his conscience and his heart.

"My life hasn't been easy, either, you know."

"Oh forgive me, Highness. Did the cook burn your toast this morning? Or was your bathwater too cold? Did your valet forget to leave out the right garment?"

Styxx stiffened as his own hatred ignited while his brother trivialized his life and what he thought Styxx's problems were. Acheron was just like everyone else. Making assumptions based on nothing but stupidity. "How dare you mock my pain. But for you, my father-" He caught himself right before he admitted a truth that cut him to the depth of his soul.

"Your father what?"

Would have loved me.

Instead, because of Acheron, the king had always been suspicious and cold. Never quite certain Styxx was his. While their father doted entirely on Ryssa, there had always been a hint of reservation in his eyes when he looked at Styxx.

And always reservation in his heart whenever they were alone. It was why his father never called him son.

"You're the one who betrayed us, Acheron. Not me."

"And I think I've paid well for it. After all, I'm the one tied naked to a bed and you're the one wrapped in a gold-trimmed chlamys. You're the one everyone bows before and seeks to please your every whim."

Yes, that was so his life....

Never.

Styxx sighed wearily. No, they'd both paid for it. Dearly. But Acheron would never believe the truth, any more than Ryssa did, and Ryssa had borne witness to some of it. Still, she had it in her mind that he was the one their father favored.

People make their own reality. That was what Praxis had taught him years ago. A hundred people can witness the same exact event, and give two hundred and three different accountings of it.

"Everything is filtered through our emotions that change over time, young prince. As king, your job will be to listen to both sides of every matter and try to find the truth that lies somewhere between the opposing accounts."

He'd seen the veracity of that time and again as he sat with his father and listened to testimony from the nobles and citizens as they brought trial against each other. The subtlest gesture that was misread ...

Tone of voice.

All of it could lead to war.

Even between brothers.

No, especially between brothers.

Styxx looked away as tears choked him. He wanted his twin brother again. The one who'd held his hand and stood with him against the horrors and hatred of their world. The brother who would sneak into his room and lie at his back with his feet pressed against his. The Acheron who'd rolled apples to him through the small hole in the wall that divided their rooms ...

But that brother was gone forever. There was no trace of the Acheron he'd once known. And maybe there was no young Styxx left in him either. War and life had changed him completely. Perhaps Acheron was right to forget how they'd once been. There's no grief over its loss if you don't remember it.

Acheron raked him with a sneer. "So when am I to be dragged back to my shit-hole, Highness?"

"How would I know? I never leave mine."

Styxx was amazed the scathing glare Acheron gave him didn't raise a blister on his skin.

"Now who mocks whose pain?"

"I have never mocked your pain, Acheron. Only your self-pity."

"And what of yours?"

"I suppose we're both selfish bastards. Two pieces of one whole."

"I'm not a part of you. I have no brother and I have no family."

A tic started in Styxx's jaw as those words shredded him worse than any others. "Think well, Acheron, before you draw that battle line."

"I'm not the one who drew it. You did when you allowed me to go back to Atlantis."

You bastard! Acheron would dare throw that in his face?

"I tried to save you," Styxx snarled. "I offered you an escape and you refused to leave with me."

"No. You wanted to play hero. Rescue me like I was some bitch who would be forever grateful to the noble prince for his good deed. Had you really wanted to help me, you would have stood up to your father and not allowed them to take me back to Estes."

Of course. Because his father listened to him so well. Acheron was as bad as Ryssa with his delusions. "Had I stood up for you then, I assure you, I'd have met the same fate you did."

"You should have, you coward."

That ignited his fury as Styxx looked at his brother's pristine, unscarred body. A body that hadn't been ravaged for months by priests trying to drive out demons he didn't have, while his father carried on as if he'd never been born. One that didn't have "whore" branded into it in two languages and hadn't been marked by a god who coveted it and hated him for it ...

A body that had never seen the horrors of heads, brains, guts, and limbs flying past it as he fought for his life. Or held the hands of boys who should have been at home with their mothers as they died from dysentery and ferocious battle wounds.

From starvation.

Yes, it sucked to be whored....

Styxx knew that as well as Acheron did. But the atrocities Styxx had suffered went far beyond Acheron's. His brother had never seen the horrors that lived inside his mind and heart. The nightmares that never failed to haunt him ... even with his eyes wide open.

He seized Acheron's jaw and ignored the pain he caused himself. "I know your nightmares, brother. You should be grateful to the gods that you don't know mine."

Acheron's scornful gaze turned icy. "I would pay anything, just once, to see you held down and get fucked in your sanctimonious throat."

Those words and the brutal memories they conjured from where Styxx tried to keep them buried tore him apart. He wanted to kill Acheron. If he'd had a weapon on him, he probably would have sliced him open. Instead, he lashed out with what he did have.

His words.

"And I would pay to see you butt-fucked until blood runs down your legs and you can't walk."

Acheron laughed at him. "Too bad you weren't there when it happened."

Styxx punched him in the ribs with everything he had and cursed as the blow stole the breath from his own lungs. "I wish to the gods they'd have let you die."

Acheron spat on him.

Wiping the spittle from his cheek, Styxx lifted his head and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, Acheron's last act of cruelty slapped him harder than any blow. "And as they butt-fucked me, Styxx, it was your ass they pretended to pound on until it bled.... Your name they called out and insulted the entire time they were inside me or whenever I sucked their cocks until they came in my mouth.... Including Estes. If you think I hate you, Styxx, you have no idea how much others begrudge your every breath!"

November 9, 9529 BC

Exhausted and weak, Styxx lay down on the cottage bed. I just need a moment to rest before I head back.... He'd come to find Bethany, but she wasn't here today. Disappointment stabbed his heart and filled him with pain. All he'd wanted was to feel the warm hand on his skin of someone who cared about him.

Funny how all these years he'd stupidly thought having his brother at home with him would make everything better. Instead, it was so much worse.

Ryssa used it to fuel her hatred of him. As did the servants and nobles.

And his father ...

The king could barely meet his gaze, and when he did, the disdain there scorched his soul. His father no longer saw Styxx as anything other than the bastard of some god who'd tricked him.

I should have kept Galen with me. But he'd sent the old man home to his daughter.

Utterly alone, Styxx had been drinking for days, trying to forget them all and their sneers and condemnation. Trying to forget Acheron's words and his brother's "good" wishes for him. But it was no use. He had no escape whatsoever.

The cottage door opened.

Styxx grabbed his dagger and started to rise when he heard a beautiful voice that brought tears to his eyes.

"Hector?"

"In here, akribos."

Dynatos came running and barking into the bedroom. Styxx grunted as the dog launched itself onto him and jumped around the bed then to the floor and back again. Patting the huge dog's head, he fell against the mattress.

Bethany pushed open the bedroom door more. Dressed in a gray peplos that made her skin glow in spite of its drabness, she stole his breath. "Where are you?"

"In bed."

She arched a censoring brow as Dynatos returned to her side. "Rather presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

It felt so good to smile again. To be around someone who didn't hate him. "Indeed, but I was hoping some stray maid would happen by and ravish me."

She sat down next to him and gave ... the wall an arch look. "Some stray maid?"

"Mmm." He took her hand and kissed her palm. "Would you happen to know one who's available?"

Her playfulness gone, she scowled at him and quickly lifted her hand from his lips to his brow. Then she gasped. "You're burning with fever."

"No wonder I feel so awful."

She cupped his cheeks in her hands. "Hector ... it's very high. Why aren't you in bed?"

"I am in bed."

"No ... your bed. You shouldn't have come here while you were still so ill."

"I wanted to see you."

Even so, she was livid.

Styxx ground his teeth as her reaction slapped him like a blow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't please anyone. "I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"Yes, were you healthy. But damn, Hector. Damn!"

A part of him shriveled with every expletive. He shouldn't have come here and bothered her when it was obvious she'd rather do something else. If he knew anything in life, it was that people didn't like to tend others when they were sick.

He'd been wrong to burden her. "Sorry. I'll leave." He rolled to get up.

She shoved him back onto the bed. "Don't you dare move." She growled at him. "How could you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Risk my life!"

Maybe it was the fever, but he was completely confused now. "I'm not risking your life, Beth. I'm not contagious."

"Yes, you are killing me. Do you not understand that every breath you draw is tied to mine? Now take your clothes off."

He bit back a smile. "That's my girl."

"No. Not for that. I need to get your skin cooled down."

"Fine ... but would you please stop yelling at me. I've rather had my fill of it for a while." He pulled his chiton off, and started shivering immediately.

Bethany covered him with the blanket then coaxed the dog to lie down by his side and keep him warm. "Who's been yelling at you?"

"Everyone. It's to the point I'm beginning to think my name has been changed to 'Damn It' or 'Asshole.'"

Tears glistened in her eyes. "I'm not yelling at you, Hector. I'm scared for you. There's a big difference."

"All right. But from inside my head, it's hard to hear that difference."

Bethany kissed his brow then went to fetch water and a cloth so that she could bathe him to lower his body temperature.

His head throbbing, Styxx shivered even more while he idly stroked the dog's head.

Returning, she placed her bowl on the small table by the bed and wet her cloth. As she sponged his cheek, she fingered the whiskers there and along his jaw and chin. "You haven't shaved in a while."

His gut clenched at the unintended insult he'd given her. "I didn't mean to offend you with it. I-"

"I'm not offended, sweet. Just surprised and concerned. It's not like you, and it tells me exactly how sick you really are. I can't believe you came here when you're so ill. Someone should have kept you at home and tended you better than this. I could beat them senseless over your lack of care."

Styxx held her hand against his lips and savored the softness of her skin and the precious scent of it. Then he kissed her palm. Gods, it felt so good to be with someone who wasn't hating him.

"By the way, I was surprised by your messenger."

"Galen?"

She nodded.

"How so?"

Bethany ran the cloth over his chest, raising chills in her wake. "It struck me as odd that such a high-ranking officer would bother running an errand for a foot soldier."

Styxx cringed as he realized Galen would have given rank out of habit. Damn ...

"It is odd," he admitted. "For reasons that mystify me, too, the old buzzard took a liking to me. When I became ill, he actually returned from leave to check on me, and he was the only one I trusted to get word to you. I'm very lucky he agreed." There, all of it was honest truth.

She wrung out the cloth. "I don't find it odd that other people see the greatness in you that I do."

"You and Galen are rare. Most people have little use for me."

"That's their loss." She paused in bathing him as her wrist brushed against his hard cock. Her right brow shot north.

"I know your intent was to cool me down, akribos, but your tender touch has the opposite effect on my body."