I sat down. Acheron moved around the table and knelt on the floor to my right, just behind me.

I scowled at him over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense to you." He scooted back on his knees several more inches.

Completely flabbergasted, I turned around to stare at him. "Why are you on the floor?"

He looked immediately disappointed. "I shall wait for you in the room."

He moved to leave.

"Wait," I said, taking his arm. "Aren't you hungry? I was told you hadn't eaten."

"I am hungry," he said simply from between his clenched teeth.

"Then sit."

Again he knelt on the floor.

What was he doing? "Acheron, why are you on the floor and not sitting at the table with me?"

His look was empty, unassuming. "Whores don't sit at tables with decent people."

His voice was steady as if he were merely repeating something that had been said so often it no longer had any meaning to him.

But the words cut through me.

"You're not a whore, Acheron."

He didn't argue verbally, but I could see the denial in his pale, swirling eyes.

I reached out to touch his face. He stiffened ever so slightly.

I dropped my hand. "Come," I said softly. "Sit at the table with me."

He did as I told him, but looked terribly uncomfortable, as if he feared someone would wrench him up by his hair at any moment. Over and over, he pulled at the cowl as if to protect himself.

It was then I realized the second way to punish someone when you didn't want any visible marks. The head. How many times had they wrenched his hair?

A servant came to take our orders.

"What would you like, Acheron?"

"My will is your will, Idika."

Idika. An Atlantean word that a slave used for his owner.

"Have you no preference?"

He shook his head.

I ordered our food and watched him. He kept his gaze on the floor, his arms locked around his body.

When he moved to cough, I caught sight of something strange in his mouth.

"What is that?" I asked.

He glanced up at me, then looked down. "What is what, Idika?" he asked, again with his jaw clenched.

"I'm your sister, Acheron, you may call me Ryssa."

He didn't respond.

Sighing, I returned to my original question. "What is in your mouth? Let me see your tongue."

He obligingly parted his lips. The entire line down the center of his tongue was pierced and studded with small gold balls that shimmered in the light. I'd never seen anything like it in my life.

"What is that?" I asked, frowning.

Acheron closed his mouth and by the way he moved his lips and jaw, I could tell he was rubbing the balls against the roof of his mouth. "Erotiki sfairi."

"I don't understand that term."

"Sex balls, Idika. It makes my licks more stimulating to those I service."

I couldn't have been more surprised had he slapped me. He was nonchalant about something that was taboo in the world I knew.

"Do they hurt?" I couldn't believe I was asking this question.

He shook his head. "I just have to be careful not to let them strike my teeth lest they break them."

So that was why he kept his jaw clenched when he spoke.

"It's a wonder you can speak at all."

"No one pays a whore to use his tongue to speak, Idika."

"You are not a whore!" Several heads turned, making me realize I had spoken louder than I meant to.

My cheeks burned, but there was no embarrassment on Acheron's face. He merely accepted it as if he were nothing more and deserved nothing better.

"You are a prince, Acheron. A prince."

"Then why did you throw me out?"

His question startled me. Not just the words themselves, but the heartfelt pain in his voice as he spoke them.

"What do you mean?"

"Idikos told me what was said by all of you."

Idikos. The masculine form of the word a slave used for his owner.

"Do you mean Estes?"

He nodded.

"He is your uncle, not your idikos."

"One doesn't argue with a whip or scold, my lady. At least not for long."

I swallowed at his words. No, I guess they didn't. "What did he tell you?"

"The king wanted me dead. I live only because the son he loves will die if I die."

"That's not true. Father said he sent you away because he was afraid someone would try to hurt you. You are his heir."

Acheron kept his gaze on the floor. "Idikos says that I am an embarrassment to my family. Unfit to be with any of you. That's why the king sent me away and told everyone I was dead. I'm only good for one thing."

I didn't need him to tell me what that one thing was. "He lied to you." My heart broke with the weight of the truth. "Just as he's been lying to me and to Father. He told us that you were healthy and happy. Well-schooled."

He laughed bitterly at that. "I am well-schooled, Idika. Believe me, I'm the best at what they trained me to do."

How could he find humor in that?

I looked away from him as the servant brought food to us. As I started to eat, I noticed Acheron hadn't moved. He stared at the food before him with hunger in his eyes.

"Eat," I told him.

"You haven't given me my portion, my lady."

"What do you mean?"

"You eat, and if I please you while you dine, you will determine how much food I'm to have."

"Please me how… no wait. Don't answer that. I'm not sure I want to know." I sighed, then gestured to his platter and cup. "All of that is yours. You may eat as much or as little as you like."

He looked at it hesitantly, then glanced to the floor behind me.

It was then I understood why he'd knelt there. "You normally eat on the floor, don't you?"

Like a dog or rodent.

He nodded. "If I'm particularly pleasing," he said softly. "Idikos will sometimes feed me from his hand."

My appetite left me at his words.

"Eat in peace, little brother," I said, my voice cracking from my unshed tears. "Eat as much as you want."

I sipped my wine, trying to settle my stomach and watched him eat his food. He had perfect manners and again it struck me how slowly he ate. How meticulously he moved.

Every gesture was beautiful. Precise.

And it was designed to seduce.

He moved like a whore.

Closing my eyes, I wanted to scream at the injustice of this. He was firstborn. He was the one who should be heir to the throne and here he was…

How could they have done this to him?

And why?

Because his eyes were different? Because those eyes made people uncomfortable?

There was nothing threatening about this boy. He wasn't like Styxx, who'd been known to have people locked up and beaten just because they offended him. One poor peasant had been beaten because he'd come to the palace without shoes on his feet. Shoes he couldn't afford.

Acheron didn't play pranks on me, or laugh at others. He didn't judge anyone or make them feel small.

Rather, he merely sat there silently eating.

A family came in and sat at the table beside us. Acheron paused as he noticed the boy and girl. The boy was a few years younger than he and the girl probably his age.

By the look on his face, I could tell he hadn't seen a family sit down together before. He studied them curiously.

"May I speak, my lady?"

"Of course."

"Do you and Styxx sit down and eat with your parents like that?"

"They are your parents too."

He returned to his food without commenting.

"Yes," I said. "We sometimes dine with them like that." But Acheron never had. Even when he'd been at home with us, he'd been banned from the family table.

After that, he didn't speak. Nor did he look at the family. He merely ate with those impeccable manners of his.

I choked down a few bites, but found I wasn't very hungry after all.

I took us back to our quarters to wait for the driver to finish his rest and feeding the horses. It was nearing dusk and I wasn't sure if we would continue to travel through the evening or not.