Today was definitely one of those days.
"Are we boring you, boy?"
Styxx shook his head quickly, resisting the urge to groan out loud as pain split his skull with absolute agony. He'd always hated his headaches and the one today was more excruciating than normal. It made it impossible to focus. Worse, he felt as if he would vomit at any moment. That his father would find unforgivable.
What? Are you a pregnant woman, boy? You vomit as such. Learn to control your stomach. You're to be a man, for the gods' sakes. Men don't throw up every other minute. They control themselves and their bodies at all times.
His stomach heaved violently, sending more pain throbbing through his head, which then sickened him all the more. The constant seesawing between his head and stomach was enough to make him want to scream in agony.
"Might I be excused, Father?"
His father turned to glare at him furiously. "To what purpose?"
"I don't feel well." That was a substantial understatement.
"Come here."
Styxx scooted off his small throne and resisted the urge to wince as a thousand needles stabbed at his sleeping legs. Knowing better than to let his father see the pain it caused him, he crossed the dais to his father's huge gilded throne. It was so massive that the top of his blond head barely reached the arm of it. Dressed in a white and purple stola and chlamys that matched Styxx's chiton, the king gave him a suspicious glower. His father's blond hair and beard gleamed in the light beneath the gold-leaf crown that would one day be Styxx's.
As they always did on this day of every week, they'd spent all morning dealing with the problems and concerns of the nobles and people who wanted an audience with their king. Since this was something Styxx would have to do once he ruled this kingdom, for the last year his father had made him stay and listen so that he could use his father's wisdom once he inherited the crown. While Styxx was here, he was never to move or speak. Only observe.
The "privilege" of attending these sessions and the "joy" of a drill instructor who lived to knock him around had been his sole birthday gifts last summer when he'd turned five.
With a fierce frown creasing his forehead, his father touched Styxx's brow. "You have no fever. What are your symptoms?"
"My head aches."
He rolled his eyes. "And?"
I want to vomit and I'm terribly dizzy. But he knew from experience that his father would only ridicule those complaints.
"That is all, Father. But the pain is ferocious."
His father glared at him. "You will one day be king, boy. Do you think they will stop a war or an uprising because you have a meager headache?"
"No, Sire."
"That is correct. The world does not stop for something so trivial. Now sit and listen. Observe your future duties. Your people are far more important than your boredom and they deserve your full attention."
But it wasn't boredom. Every shred of light or hint of sound pierced his head with a pain so foul that he wanted to bash his own brains in. Why could no one ever understand his headaches and how much they hurt?
Tears of pain and frustration formed, but he quickly blinked them away. He'd learned long ago that while his father would console Ryssa whenever she cried, he would never tolerate tears from his son. Styxx was to be a man, not some mollycoddled girl....
Trying not to jar his head while he moved, Styxx returned to his seat.
"Sit up!" his father barked instantly.
Styxx jerked upright then winced in pain. Don't show it....
But it was so hard not to. Swallowing in agony, he glanced out the window to see Ryssa in the garden with Acheron. They were laughing as they chased each other and played. What he wouldn't give to be outside with them in the beautiful sunshine.
Not that it would matter. Even if his head didn't hurt, Ryssa would never swing him around like that. She'd never laugh with him or tickle him. Her love was reserved solely for Acheron.
Turning his head, he tried not to think about it as another wave of misery pierced his brain.
Styxx leaned forward at the same time blood poured from his nose. No! Please, not now.... Please, gods. He pressed his hand to his nose, trying to stanch it before his father took note.
"Majesty? Is His Highness all right?"