"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?"