Acheron didn't speak as she took him to her private forest and dressed him in red as if he was her doll and not a flesh and blood man. Her face was bright as she handed him a bow and quiver. He slung the quiver over his back without comment and followed her as she headed off in search of deer.
She chattered away about nothing in particular while he did as she asked, and tried his damnedest not to feel anything at all.
"You're being awfully quiet," she said once she realized he wasn't participating in her conversation.
"Forgive me, akra. What would you like me to say?"
"Whatever's on your mind."
"There's nothing on my mind."
She huffed at him. "Nothing? You have no thoughts whatsoever?"
He shook his head.
"How can this be?" She stuck her bottom lip out petulantly. "You're trying to punish me, aren't you?"
He kept all emotion out of his voice, especially the anger he bore her. "I would never seek to punish you, Goddess. It's not my place."
She grabbed him by his hair, making him grimace before she forced him to meet her gaze. "What is wrong with you?"
Acheron took a deep breath as he braced himself for what was to come. One thing he'd learned while living with his uncle, lust overrode anger. She might still beat him later, but if he pleased her enough the punishment wouldn't be as severe.
Stepping closer, he kissed her.
Sure enough, she loosened the grip in his hair and melted in his arms. Strange, he felt more like a whore in this moment than he'd ever felt before and he didn't understand why.
Perhaps because he shouldn't have to use his body to bargain with someone he'd given his heart to. Yet here he was, using his touch to lighten her anger . . . as always.
Disgusted with himself, he offered her his neck and died the death of a coward as she took it.
But what else could he do? It was either fuck or be beaten. Though to be honest, he could no longer tell which of the two was the most painful for him. One left scars on his body.
The other scarred his soul.
September 14, 9528 BC
Acheron sat on the railing of his balcony, drinking. He was mystified at how Artemis had managed to make him feel so unclean and yet as the days passed by he felt more and more like what his uncle had made him.
"Brother?"
He leaned his head back to see Ryssa approaching him. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm in so much pain from the baby. Could you please do that thing you do that makes me feel better?"
He snorted at words that could so easily be misconstrued. Thank the gods his father hadn't heard it. "It's called a massage."
"Can you do it?"
"Sure." Like everything else, he'd been well schooled in every muscle of the human body and taught how to loosen and please it. Sliding off the railing, he had her sit down on the floor and lean forward so that he could ease the tension in her back.
"Mmm," she breathed. "That is the most magical thing you do."
Not really. He was just glad to be able to use it on someone who wasn't going to turn around and start humping him over it. "You're really tense."
"I can't get comfortable. I'm aching all over."
"Just breathe then. I'll get the knots out and you'll feel a lot better." He went down to the pressure point and dug his nail in.
Ryssa let out a satisfied moan. "How do you do that?"
"A lot of practice." And a lot of beatings anytime he'd messed up.
"I swear we should bronze your hands."
Most people felt that way, but for many other reasons.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Are you planning to stay hidden until your hair grows back?"
Acheron paused as pain cut through him at the reminder. The only time he had hair was whenever Artemis showed up-even though she was the cause of it she hated the sight of him like this. The moment she left him, his hair returned to its real state.
"I have no reason to leave. Period."
"I thought you enjoyed going to plays. Yet you haven't been in ever so long."
Not even they could ease the pain he felt inside. The betrayal. If anything, watching the plays made him even more morose. "I'd just rather stay in my room, Ryssa."
She opened her mouth to speak, but her words died underneath a sharp cry of pain.
"Ryssa?"
"It's the baby . . . he's coming!"
Acheron's heart pounded as he rose to his feet, then swept her up in his arms. He carried her to her room before he left to find her maids so that they could summon the midwives and his father.
"Acheron," she called as he started to withdraw. "Please, don't leave me. I'm scared. I know you can make the pain less. Please . . ."
"Father will beat me if I stay."
She screamed out as another contraction seized her.
Unable to leave her like that, he went to the bed and started massaging her again. "Breathe, Ryssa," he said in a calm tone, applying a counter pressure where she was tense.
"What is this?"
He cringed at his father's snarling voice. Ryssa turned to look at him. "Father, please. Acheron can help with the pain."
His father shoved him aside. "Get out."
Acheron didn't speak as he obeyed. He passed Styxx and a line of senators in the hallway who were coming in to witness the culmination of his sister's union with Apollo. Several of them sneered at him and made comments under their breath. A couple even made offers.
He ignored them and kept going to his room. Then he locked his doors to make sure no one followed him inside.
Wishing he could have helped his sister, he sat in his room and listened to her screams, sobs and cries that went on for hours. Gods, if this was childbirth it was a miracle any woman would endure it.
Why would they?
And yet having endured something so horrifically painful, how could a mother shun the very child she'd fought so hard, and suffered so long, to birth?
He struggled to recall his mother's face. All he could really remember was the look of hatred in her blue eyes. "You're disgusting." Every time he'd ever gone near her, she'd slapped him away.
But not all mothers were like that. He'd seen them in the market and in the stands during the plays. Mothers who held their children with love-like the one he'd stumbled into in Artemis's temple. Her baby had meant everything to her.
Acheron brushed the back of his fingers against his own cheek. Closing his eyes, he pretended it was a mother's gentle touch, that a woman was touching him so sweetly. Then he scoffed at his own stupidity. Who needed tenderness? All he had to do was walk near any human being and he'd have all the caresses he wanted.
But they were never loving and they never came without conditions and cost.
"It's a boy!" His father's shout was muffled through the walls and was followed by a massive shout that echoed.
Acheron smiled, happy for his sister. She'd given Apollo a son. Unlike their mother, she'd be honored for her labor.
Hours went by as he waited until he was sure everyone had left her.
Acheron headed to her room, but was stopped by the guards outside.
"We were told to keep you away. Under no circumstances are you allowed in to see the princess."
How stupid of him to think otherwise. Without a word, Acheron returned to his room. With nothing else to do, he took himself to bed.
Acheron?"
He jerked awake at the whispered call. Opening his eyes, he found Ryssa kneeling beside him. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard them turn you away, so I waited until I was free to come to you." She held a small bundle up for his inspection. "Meet my son, Apollodorus."
A smile curved his lips as he saw the tiny infant. He had a wealth of black hair and deep blue eyes. "He's beautiful."
Ryssa returned his smile before she set the baby in his hands.
"I can't, Ryssa. I might hurt him."
"You're not going to hurt him, Acheron." She showed him how to support his head.
Amazed, Acheron couldn't believe the love he felt inside him that swelled up.
Ryssa smiled. "He likes you. He's been fussing all night with me and the nurses, but look how quiet he is for you."
It was true. The babe gave one tiny sigh, then went to sleep. Acheron laughed as he examined the tiny fingers that didn't even seem real. "Are you all right?"
"Sore and very tired. But I couldn't sleep until I saw you. I love you, Acheron."
"I love you, too." Reluctantly, he held Apollodorus out to her. "You'd best go before you're caught. Father would be extremely angry at us both."
Nodding, she took the baby and left him.
Still the scent of the baby stayed with him, as did the image of innocence. It was hard to believe he'd ever been so small and even harder to believe he'd survived given the animosity his family bore him.
As he tried to return to sleep he wondered what it would be like to have a woman hold a child of his with such love and pride. Imagine a woman's face so joyful because she'd borne a part of him . . .
But it would never happen. His uncle's physicians had seen to that. His cock jerked at the memory of their surgery.
It's for the best.