The walk to see King Damian was longer than it should have been. Praxis’ footsteps echoed along the halls of the palace as the guards trailed just behind him, their hands on their swords as a precaution. Praxis suspected they’d been ordered to take him unwillingly if he refused to cooperate but part of him wondered whether he could take both of them down before they knew what was happening.

“Wait here,” grunted one of the guards when they finally reached Damian’s study.

Praxis took a moment to look around. His eyes locked on a small statue just outside Damian’s study. It was a depiction of Damian in battle, his shield held against his body and his sword hoisted high. Praxis resisted the urge to smile.

Damian was no warrior. Like his son, he had more of a mind for politics. He typically let others do his fighting for him, which was why the tenuous truce between Damian and Praxis held.

It was a truce that would be sorely tested today.

“Enter!” called out a voice from inside the study.

Praxis dipped his head to go into the room, finding the King of Argos sitting before him. Damian was watching him upon entry, his tired and stressed eyes centering on Praxis. It was a stare that Praxis was used to. He knew that Damian merely tolerated him, mostly because of their shared link through Doris. Otherwise, he had no illusions at what might happen without having that shared connection.

King Damian was an older man, nearly fifty in age. His face was soft—not having the worn and wrinkled quality of someone who was used to hard labor or combat. His hair was thinning and graying, scarcely covering half of his head. His eyes—the same eyes that his son possessed—were cold and gray.

Praxis expected to be chastised right from the start but Damian managed to surprise him even now.

“I’ve heard that you saved my son’s life today,” said Damian with a reserved tone. “Xanthos tells me that you came to his aid when he was already on the ground. Is this true?”

Praxis nodded, wondering just how embellished the tale was coming from Xanthos’ own mouth. In his version, he probably told Damian that he had the attacking Cynurian right where he wanted him, just about to deliver his own killing blow.

If nothing else, Damian had the good sense to see through his son’s lies at least. He was remarkably good at sifting through Xanthos’ words to find the nuggets of truth underneath.

“That is true,” replied Praxis. “If I hadn’t been there, I don’t think he would have managed to return to the city.”

The statement was shocking in its own right but not to Damian. He knew his son took after him, lacking the martial qualities of a true fighter. Praxis suspected it was one of the reasons why he was so reluctant to use the army.

Damian was the kind of man that despised the things he couldn’t do for himself.

“Your actions today were rash and irresponsible,” said Damian, his tone stiffening and dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea how much work you’ve created for me? The Cynurians are nothing but pests. Best to be swatted at until they go away.”

“I believe I did enough swatting today to get the message across,” replied Praxis, struggling to contain a grin.

Damian’s nostrils flared. “Don’t get cute with me, boy. Your mother is the only reason I don’t exile you from the city right now. If not for her, I’d have you whipped in the public square so that all of Argos could see that no man is above the law.”

“And whose law is it that permits our enemies to run freely over our lands?” challenged Praxis. “Was it Zeus himself that empowered you to look the other way as our villages burned? As our people were killed and our women raped? You do nothing like a drunken fool. You are no better than Dionysus drinking as his city burned around him.”

“Enough!” yelled Damian, standing to his feet. “You will remember who you’re talking to, boy! I’m the rightful king of this city, and it’s within my prerogative to have you killed right now for your disobedience!”

Praxis opened his mouth to argue but he found the strength to close it instead. Egging him on was only going to make the situation worse. In the back of his mind, he could already hear the stern reproach from his mother.

Praxis started speaking again in a much more measured tone. “I did what I thought was right. The Cynurians haven’t respected our borders for long enough. They are an errant dog that nips at the heels of a wolf, never expecting the wolf to put him in his place. What I did today, I did for the integrity of Argos.”

“The integrity of Argos,” repeated Damian, shaking his head. “No, what you’ve done is push us further into a dangerous situation. Since you’re so knowledgeable of the political situation to make decisions on your own, I’ll ask you this. Who is the primary ally of the Cynurians?”

That was an easy question to answer.

“The Spartans,” replied Praxis.

“Ah, the Spartans,” spat Damian, rising to his feet. “The main force behind the Cynurians. It’s the Spartans that dictate what happens on the Peloponnese and no one else. Not us, not the Corinthians, and certainly not those catamite Achaeans. We might play at being a power in Greece but our power pales in comparison to theirs. And your actions today have only spit in their faces.”

“I did not spit in their face,” said Praxis quickly, only to be interrupted by Damian.

“You did,” insisted the king. “The Spartans have earned the right to throw their weight around. Their army is powerful—three thousand warriors that far outnumber any other army in Greece. And what you’ve done is show them they don’t have total control over the Peloponnese. You smacked their slaves like you had the right to discipline them but you don’t. That right is only reserved for the master. And this new alliance they have further complicates things.”

“Alliance,” scoffed Praxis, shaking his head. “You’ve already spoken of slaves? That alliance is true slavery—slavery to Sparta! Corinth and Achaea are now nothing more than satellite cities to Spartan hegemony, as will be the rest of the Peloponnese if we don’t stand up to them.”

“You know nothing about the way the world works, boy,” replied Damian. “Just because you’re good with a sword, you think you know a thing or two about politics. Let me tell you this. The Cynurians can raid wherever they want. They can come right up to Aspida hill and take turns shitting in the fertile soil and I’ll do nothing. Do you know why? Because the second we slap the Cynurians, we might as well be slapping the Spartans. And we won’t stand a chance against the Spartans.”

“So you say but we have a powerful army,” replied Praxis. “Our men can fight and they will fight for their freedom. They won’t be willingly enslaved by the Spartans.”

“Not willingly, no. It’s the unwilling part that I don’t doubt. And when it comes to unwilling subservience or a war that will see the total subjugation of Argos, I know which I would pick.”

Praxis found his blood close to boiling again. “You say such words as the king of this city and yet you would willingly give up our freedom to new masters. King Abas would be wailing in the afterlife if he saw what you were doing to our city. What kind of king are you?”

“I’m your king,” said Damian with a sneer. “And you will obey my commands, or you’ll be the second member of your family to be banned from the city.”

“My father was not banned!”

“Enough!” yelled Damian again, resuming his seat. “I will hear no more of this! You are not to bring up your coward of a father again. His time in this city is done. As yours will be too if you keep up this foolish path. In the future, you are to leave my army alone. I give the commands in Argos, not you. If you ever lead my army out of the city again without any kind of explicit orders, I will follow through on my threats to exile you. And I might include your precious mother with you.”

Praxis held his tongue at that last statement, something that Damian jumped on immediately.

“Oh, yes,” said the king, savoring each word. “Don’t think that I wouldn’t send her packing too. She was useful in the early part of my reign but her son keeps being a thorn in my side. I’m not above sending her out to teach you a lesson either. Maybe then you’ll learn to think about how your actions affect us all. Now get out of my sight.”

Praxis said nothing. He gave no goodbyes nor did he bow. He simply turned on his heel and marched out of the king’s study, making his way back to his mother’s quarters. He knew exactly what she was going to say when he arrived.

That he should have listened to her. That he should show Damian more respect. That the king knew what was best for the city.

But it was hard for him to keep a straight face. Damian would push Argos into submission to the Spartans. And they would lose their cherished independence, becoming just another faceless city of slaves ready to bark when their master called for it.

And Praxis swore he would never let his city come to that fate.

It was as he was walking back to his mother’s chambers that he crossed the central courtyard of the palace—the only place where the commoners of the city could pass through the palace on their own business. It was here that Praxis noticed that a girl was staring at him as she wheeled a small cart of pottery behind her.

Not just any girl. She was a mischievous-looking redhead, the kind with long and shiny hair blessed by Hera herself. She was tiny in stature but her flawless figure and coy smile seemed to indicate a strength of character that went beyond her small size.

What was even more telling was that she was looking directly at Praxis.

“You fought well today, foreigner,” she called out, giving him a smile with no teeth. “My brother tells me you fought off nearly the entire Cynurian army yourself.”

“Your brother likes to exaggerate,” replied Praxis, chuckling to himself. “I had a lot of help in the process.”

“He said you would say that,” she replied as she tugged on her cart once more. “Humble and a gifted warrior. The women will have to watch out for you.”

Praxis said nothing to that. He smiled and looked at the ground but when he looked up at her again, she was already moving away from him. She paused briefly to look back at him.

“See you around, foreigner,” she called out before she continued to walk, her lovely hips swaying from side to side.

“Yes, I will see you around too,” replied Praxis quietly.