Laughing in greedy expectation, the scold pulled him into the small room that was reserved solely for Styxx's private punishments, and bent him over the caning bench. He shoved a piece of leather into Styxx's mouth for him to bite down on and muffle his cries so that his pain wouldn't disturb others or embarrass his father. He tied Styxx's hands to the front of the bench to hold him in place and make sure he didn't try to run then bared his buttocks for the beating.
Styxx placed his cheek against the cold stone and tried to be brave. He did. But when the scold lightly brushed the wood cane against his naked thighs to let him feel how thick and hard it was, he wet himself in fear of the coming pain.
"Some worthless king you'll make," he mocked then he lashed him with every ounce of his massive strength.
Horrified and in pain, Styxx held his screams in for as long as he could, but in the end, he was as worthless as they all thought. He couldn't help it, especially since the scold didn't hurry it along. Rather he dragged it out, waiting for the numbness to pass before he struck again.
At least it took Styxx's attention away from the bruises on his arm and cheek. He should probably be grateful for that.
When it was finally over, the scold dragged him to his room and locked him inside. The servants had already come in and stripped his bed of its linens and pillows. Everything except his bed and chamber pot had been removed.
Tired and aching, Styxx limped toward his bed, but he hurt too much to climb into it. Rather he lay down on the stone floor and wished that he was the son of anyone else. He hated being a prince. Too much was expected of him and everyone despised him for it.
Even his own sister and mother.
Just once he wanted to be free to go outside and play like other children did. To have them welcome him as another playmate and not run away in fear or hatred. While they frolicked with carefree abandon, he had to learn how to speak, read, and write Atlantean, Greek, Akkadian, Egyptian, Sumerian, and a million other languages he didn't care about. Other children got to participate in fun games and friendly competitions, while he had to master swordplay and military tactics taught to him by instructors who detested him even more than the others. Instructors who knocked him to the ground and delighted whenever he bled.
Get up, Highness. In battle, you'd be dead or taken already. You have to fight the hardest of all so that your men will respect you and be willing to lay their lives down at your command. No one follows a coward, no matter what crown he wears....
Don't laugh, boy, it isn't kingly. Don't smile or they'll think you're soft or stupid. You must be composed and dignified at all times. Never let your guard down. They are your subjects, not your friends, and you are their future king. You mustn't ever forget that.
On and on it went until it rang in his head alongside the voices of the gods and horrible thoughts of other people.
He didn't see a single perk to being king. Not if it meant you couldn't enjoy laughter or ... well ... anything.
I wish Acheron was the heir....
But as soon as he had that thought, shame filled him for it. He would never wish this sort of misery on his beloved brother. Acheron had enough to deal with.
"One day I will be king," he sobbed, slamming his small fist against the floor. And when he was, things would be very different for both of them. No one would ever make either him or Acheron feel like this again.
Not even his sister.
February 3, 9541 BC
Long after midnight, Styxx lay abed, trying to sleep, yet it was impossible. If the pain in his skull wasn't excruciating enough, Acheron had been beaten earlier for the high grand offense of meeting their father's gaze as they passed in the hallway.
His back burned in sympathetic pain for his brother's wounds. He still didn't know how he'd made it through dinner without crying or screaming from the agony, but now that he was alone, he could writhe and moan in peace.
Why can't I just die already?
Surely death would be better than living like this. How could one head hurt so much and not render the victim dead or brain damaged?
How?
Sucking his breath in sharply between his teeth, he heard someone at his door. He froze in panic. It couldn't be Acheron. They were both in too much pain to leave their beds.
The door opened to show his father in the dim firelight. This couldn't be a good thing. His father never disturbed him at night.
What have I done now?
That was a stupid thought. He'd done nothing. Rather, what does he believe I've done?
Styxx squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep and praying that his father would leave him in peace. Instead, his father sat on the edge of his bed. Styxx held his breath, terrified of what this meant. Why was he here? What could he possibly want with him at this hour?
I didn't do anything....
He'd been on his best behavior for weeks now. Only Acheron had been acting out lately. Not that he blamed his brother. They were both tired of how they were treated.