"Prince Ydorus," Acheron said to the angry man addressing my father. "Meet King Xerxes of Didymos."
That took some of the bluster out of the prince, but not much.
"Leave us," my father demanded.
Offended, the prince gathered his clothes and his companion and did as my father ordered.
Acheron wiped his mouth on the sheet. His skin once more had that sickly, gray cast to it. He was even thinner than he'd been the last time I'd seen him in this room, his features gaunt. He was again adorned with the gold bands on his neck, arms, wrists and ankles.
Worst of all, I saw the balls on his tongue flash in the light as he spoke. No longer did he clench his teeth as if embarrassed by what he was. Now it was as if he took pride in it.
"So what brings you here, Majesty?" Acheron asked, his tone mocking and cold. "Do you wish to spend time with me, too?"
It was then I realized the hurt boy I'd saved was gone. The man on the bed was bitter. Angry. Defiant.
This wasn't the youth who'd fearfully snuck out of his room so that he could feel the grass on his feet.
This was a man who had been used one time too many. And he wanted the world to know exactly how much he hated it and everyone who was part of it.
"Get up," my father snarled. "Cover yourself."
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a mocking expression. "Why? People pay five hundred gold pieces an hour to see me naked. You should be honored you get to look for free."
Father strode over, grabbed him roughly by his arm and pulled him from the bed.
Acheron covered Father's hand with his own and tsked at him. "It's a thousand gold pieces an hour if you want to bruise me."
Bile rose in my throat.
Father backhanded Acheron so hard he fell to the floor where he sprawled naked on his back.
Laughing, Acheron licked at the blood on his lips before he wiped it away on the back of his scarred hand. "It's fifteen hundred to make me bleed."
My father curled his lips. "You're disgusting."
With a wry grin, Acheron rolled to his side and gracefully pushed himself up from the floor. "Careful, Father, you might actually hurt my feelings." He walked around my father like a proud, stalking lion, looking him up and down. "Oh wait, I forgot. Whores don't have feelings. We have no dignity for you to offend."
"I am not your father."
"Yes, I know the story well. It was beaten into me years ago. You're not my father and Estes isn't my uncle. It saves his reputation if everyone thinks I'm some poor waif he found on the streets and gave shelter to. It's fine to sell a homeless beggar, a worthless bastard. But the aristocracy frowns on those who sell their blood relatives."
Father backhanded him again.
Acheron laughed, unfazed by the fact that his nose was now bleeding along with his lips. "If you really want to hurt me, I'll ring for the whips. But if you continue to strike my face, you'll make Estes unbelievably angry. He doesn't like anyone to mar my beauty."
"Estes is dead," my father roared.
Acheron froze in place, then blinked as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Estes is dead?" he repeated hollowly.
My father sneered at him. "Yes. Would that it were you in his place."
Acheron took a deep breath and the relief in his eyes was tangible.
I could almost hear his thoughts in my head.
It's over. It's finally over.
Acheron's obvious relief made my father furious. "How dare you have no tears for him! He sheltered and protected you."