Praxis had only just moved out of the way before Xanthos’ sword came crashing down, upsetting the table and the wine that had just been on it. Praxis rolled to the right while grabbing Lysandra, pushing her out of harm’s way. His sword was still sheathed at his side but holding onto Lysandra had made it impossible for him to draw it just yet.

“The gods curse you and your miserable existence!” yelled Xanthos, charging again.

The first thing that Praxis could grab was a chair, holding it up to block the blow but it was hacked apart by two swift swings by Xanthos. The man might not be much for fighting but he was strong, forcing Praxis back again.

A few feet away, Theron had managed to grab his sword and block off a thrust from one of Xanthos’ minions. All around them, the scene in the watering hole was devolving into chaos as drunken patrons rushed to exit the establishment, not wanting to get caught up in the fight.

“You lied to my father!” roared Xanthos, gaining Praxis’ attention once more.

Praxis rolled one more time and managed to unsheathe his sword.

“I did no such thing!” he yelled in return, blocking a thrust from his stepbrother.

“I told my father that I didn’t need saving by you!” said Xanthos, bringing the full weight of his sword crashing down on Praxis. Praxis only managed to block it at the last second, absorbing the blow. Ordinarily, he would now attack but the last thing he wanted was to give Damian any more reason to exile him.

It wasn’t like he could exactly kill Xanthos, even if the bastard deserved it.

“My father thinks I’m a coward now,” roared Xanthos, taking another hack. “He thinks I can’t defend myself. He thinks I need my dearest stepbrother to save my skin!”

Praxis managed to get to his feet, easily blocking the thrusts as he maneuvered around the bar. For a brief moment, his eyes caught those of Lysandra. She was currently hiding behind one of the upturned tables and he gestured for her to get out to the street. She fled quickly, escaping the carnage of the fight.

Unfortunately, the turn of attention to Lysandra proved to be a mistake. Xanthos saw the opening he needed and whipped his arm across his front, catching Praxis with the tip across his chest.

Praxis winced as he felt the blade tear into the skin on his chest. It wasn’t deep, more of a scratch than anything else, but it was a reminder that he couldn’t afford to take his eyes from his stepbrother.

“So he’s human after all!” said Xanthos, satisfied at his temporary triumph.

“You don’t want to do this, Xanthos,” said Praxis, retreating toward the exit. “Your father is upset enough already. Don’t give him another reason to take his anger out on us!”

“I care not what my father does about this!” yelled Xanthos. “All I care about is the dishonor that you gave to me! The city will think I’m a coward!”

“You’re only alive because of me!” replied Praxis, taking his first offensive move of the night. He lunged at his stepbrother, catching him off guard. Xanthos dashed to the side, missing the blow. In the process of following his thrust, Praxis stumbled into one of his stepbrother’s men, locked in an engagement with Theron.

Praxis used the pommel of his sword to smash against the man’s face, ending the fight before it could get more serious.

“I owe you for that!” yelled Theron, grinning as he took on his next opponent.

“Don’t sweat it,” muttered Praxis as he turned his attention back on his stepbrother. Xanthos had moved closer to the door, lowering his sword briefly after another patron had stumbled into him.

Praxis saw his opening. Lowering his shoulder, he lunged at his stepbrother, catching him squarely in the chest.

The two men barreled through the door and out onto the street, rolling against the ground. Praxis got a mouthful of dirt as his face rolled against the ground but Xanthos looked to be in a similar position. His head smashed against a small rock in the process, opening a tiny gash on his head.

It made him no less ferocious. They continued to roll until Xanthos had Praxis pinned beneath him, using his fists to pummel the face of his stepbrother. Their swords laid helplessly on the ground next to them.

“I will end this once and for all!” roared Xanthos before striking Praxis one more time.

Praxis could barely block the blows but he had one more trick that his stepbrother hadn’t counted on. Using all the strength in his lower body, he managed to buck Xanthos off of him. His stepbrother was launched several feet away, getting a face full of dirt in the process.

It was the opening that Praxis needed. He rolled one more time, grabbing his sword and landing on top of Xanthos. Putting his sword against his stepbrother’s throat, he watched as the fight went out of Xanthos.

“Yield,” growled Praxis, keeping the blade tight against the skin.

Xanthos’ eyes blazed with anger. “Go on. Do it. Kill me. Either way, I win. My father will see what happened tonight and exile you for all time. You’ll never see Argos again!”

The threat of having to permanently leave his home stayed Praxis’ hand. Though he wanted to complete the thrust against his stepbrother, he knew the likely consequences.

Permanent exile.

And his mother would be forced out with him.

A cooler mind prevailed. Praxis pushed up to his feet, keeping his blade between him and Xanthos, who wasn’t quick to get off the ground.

“One of these days I’m going to kill you,” vowed Xanthos in a calmer tone. “And this city will be all mine.”

Seeing the fight go out of his stepbrother, Praxis sheathed his sword.

“You’ll try,” he replied. “But not tonight. You failed tonight.”

With those words, he turned his back on his stepbrother and began to walk away. The scuffle had attracted the attention of many people, most of whom now found more interesting things to look at now that the two men had stopped fighting. Praxis gave one look inside the watering hole, finding that the fight in there had ended as well, as Xanthos’ men helped their leader off the ground and returned his sword to him.

Praxis almost unsheathed his sword when he heard the sounds of heavy footsteps behind him but a quick glance showed him it was only Theron and Lysandra catching up to him. Theron looked no worse for wear and he was even wearing some blood on his chiton.

“You know, I don’t usually mind a little foreplay when I drink,” said Theron as he started to grin. “But that was a little excessive, no?”

Praxis shook his head. “My stepbrother is a fool, no doubt guided by Nemesis tonight. He’ll stop at nothing to get me out of my city.”

“Perhaps,” conceded Theron. “But you said yourself that Damian knows what kind of man Xanthos is. What are the chances that he overlooks this?”

“Not good,” replied Praxis. “He’ll be upset about this fight, nearly as upset as he was about leading the army out today. Two offenses in one day won’t bode well for my chances.”

“Then perhaps the fact that you’re a superior fighter will save your hide once more,” said Theron.

“Only time will tell,” said Praxis. “Listen, go back to your home tonight. I don’t want to give Xanthos and his goons any more reason to look for trouble. Go home and stay there, got it?”

“Trouble always seems to find us, doesn’t it?” asked Theron, shaking Praxis’ hand. “Stay well, my friend. May the gods set your path.”

Just like that, Theron was gone, disappearing into the night.

“And what of me?”

Praxis looked to his other side, finding Lysandra’s green eyes locked on him. He’d almost forgotten that she was with him, although that was a foolish notion.

Lysandra wasn’t the kind of woman that you simply forgot about.

“Are you going to send me to my home as well?” she continued. “Are you going to try to keep me safe?”

“Are you hurt?” asked Praxis, looking over her body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“I’d say you’d have been better prepared had you known in advance,” she teased, a smile growing on her lips. “But you held your own well. I’d say you’ve earned every bit of your reputation.”

“That reputation will be sorely tested once King Damian hears about this.”

He felt Lysandra’s arm touch his shoulder. She pushed closer to him, holding her body against his.

“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” she started, her eyes burning fiercely until they melted into a passionate stare. “But say that I’m . . . scared after what I just witnessed. Say that I’d want a protector to keep me safe tonight. Someone who knows how to fight but also how to comfort a woman. Would you know of any such men?”

Praxis turned his head to look at her. “Lysandra, you’re a lovely woman. And you make me think things that are far from appropriate. But I’m dangerous. The most powerful people in this city would like nothing more than to see me dead. If you stay with me, I don’t know what might happen to you.”

“If this is your way of attempting to excuse yourself from my bed, it’s not very good,” she said, teasingly.

Praxis shook his head. “Lysandra, I’m being serious. It’s not safe with me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away right now.”

Lysandra stayed rooted to his side. “I’ve always had a hard time determining what was good for me. It’s a curse I’ve had since I was a girl.”

“Lysandra,” he warned.

She brought her finger to his lips. “Stop protesting. I’m staying with you tonight. If you have a problem with that, you can curse your family god, Apollo.”

Before he could respond, she brought her lips to his ear. “Besides, tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you haven’t thought of undressing me since the moment we met.”

Praxis remained silent because it was the truth. He wanted Lysandra—desperately. Despite all the fighting, his lust for her hadn’t diminished.

Her eyes centered on his. “You will conquer me tonight, right? I don’t want loving and tender. I want to be conquered, Praxis. Will you give me that gift?”

His answer was swift and firm. “My place isn’t that far away.”

She beamed in response. “What are we waiting for then?”

The answer to that question turned out to be nothing. Even though his knuckles were torn up, his chest was cut, and he had another man’s blood on him, Lysandra was the one that was practically leading the way. Praxis suspected she was the type to enjoy a brutal display of masculinity, and his theory was confirmed when she jumped into his arms once they finally reached his personal quarters.

Lysandra leaned back far enough that Praxis had to push her against the wall to keep from falling. Her body hit with a soft thud as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her tongue sought his.

“I want you,” she moaned against his lips. “I want you now.”

At that moment, he was thankful his mother’s room was on the other end of the building. Lysandra’s moans only got louder as he deposited her on his bed.

Neither of them bothered with undressing. Lysandra was quick to hike up her dress while Praxis was soon poking out from under his chiton.

She gasped as soon as he entered her, throwing her head back and then biting her lip. Once she was used to the feeling, her green eyes centered on his.

“Take me,” she whispered, thrusting her hips back at him.

He was only too happy to oblige.