"I won't give on this, Beth. Don't even try to argue."
Styxx tightened his arms around her. There was something evil coming. He could feel it with every instinct he possessed. But he didn't know what it was.
For himself, he couldn't care less about it. Fear for his own safety had abandoned him a long time ago. His fears now consisted of one woman only.
Too many people had made threats against her lately. If she wouldn't leave then he had no choice. He had to protect her.
No matter what it took.
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."