“My son, there you are! Come sit by your dearest mother!”

Praxis was one of the last to arrive at the dinner table that evening, sitting at the table with his mother and the rest of his stepfamily. His late arrival wasn’t by accident. Apart from his mother, he disliked these little meetings where they all pretended to be one happy family.

He was also wary of the way that Damian was watching him, like he was a wild boar that had gotten too close for comfort.

About the only one at the table that Praxis liked besides his mother was Ariston. Ariston was Xanthos’ younger brother, only being thirteen in age. He showed a lot of promise so far, having none of the cruelty of his brother nor the callowness of his father.

The others, Praxis could do without. The first wife of Damian and the mother of Xanthos and Ariston was named Eulalia, and she was entirely unlike her pretty-sounding name. She was so passive that Praxis was of half a mind to check for her pulse on most occasions. And it was clear that she had a firm disliking of her husband’s second family as well.

By far the worst of all of them was Melitta, who was Xanthos’ wife. Only married less than a year, Praxis found it remarkable that his stepbrother was able to find a mate as vile as he was. She was an uncouth kind of girl, having grown up with a father who owned several contracts at the docks. Her mouth could rival that of any sailor both in words and in the ragged nature of her teeth.

Yet, Praxis knew why Xanthos married her. It wasn’t for love as much as it was for the contacts that she brought him. It was little wonder that Xanthos had his eye on Astara.

Now that would be a proper wife for any man.

As Praxis took his seat, his mother turned to face him. She was already eating her dinner but she was just about the only person at this table that was always happy to see him.

“How did training go today, my son?” she asked. “Are you whipping the army into shape?”

Praxis found himself smiling. “We get a little better every day. Of course, having some recent fighting experience helped most of the men immensely.”

There was a cough at the table, and many of the family members stopped to look at Damian, who was once more glaring at Praxis.

“But they show remarkable progress,” he continued. “Especially some of the younger men. They don’t want for enthusiasm and they just need to be shown the proper way of fighting.”

“If only they had a proper example by which to guide them,” said Melitta, spitting venom as per usual. She turned to look at her husband. “It’s too bad Xanthos can’t be out there training them. We’d have the most feared warriors in all of Greece!”

That statement was too much for many of them. Some snickering broke out around the table, most notably from Ariston.

“I think most of the men can figure out how to fall on their backs without any help,” joked the youngster.

“You little shit,” growled Xanthos, pushing up from his chair. “I’m going to send the wrath of Hades on your head, so help me—”

“Sit down, Xanthos,” said Damian firmly, turning his glare to his firstborn son. He then whipped around to look at Ariston. “And you, show more respect to your brother. One day he will be your king. You should stay on his good side.”

Ariston rolled his eyes playfully, earning a smack from his mother. That at least caused the younger man to look at Praxis.

“Perhaps I can join the army soon as well?” he asked, looking at his parents. “With Praxis here to teach me, I’ll become a formidable warrior for sure!”

Doris smiled as she looked at the young man. “And I’m sure with a little training, you’ll be an exceptional warrior too.”

“Perhaps he can arrange to have some private lessons with Xanthos,” said Melitta as she stared daggers at Praxis. “Then Ariston can learn how to fight from a real man.”

“I’d rather have Praxis,” said Ariston, causing another round of bickering.

“Enough!” yelled Damian. “Stop these disruptions at my table. If you two boys cannot get along, then excuse yourselves so we can be rid of you!”

That seemed to keep the peace for the time being, even if the table became awfully quiet. It was a void that was soon filled by Doris though, hating the silence.

“We should start making plans for our Feast of Hera celebrations,” she said brightly, looking at the king. “The Feast begins in two weeks and the whole city will be looking to us to lead the way for the celebration. I have a number of ideas of what we can do to make this year unforgettable.”

“I don’t want you to spend too much coin in preparation for the Feast,” grumbled Damian. “Trade revenues have been down so far this month and I’ve already sent the tribute to Sparta. We’ll have to keep things lean for this year’s Feast.”

Praxis held his tongue at that statement, even though it disgusted him. He knew that Damian paid the Spartans a certain amount of tribute for the year, mostly as a way to keep the peace but it was an unnecessary gesture.

Did free countries have to pay tribute just to maintain their independence?

Or was that something that subjugated countries did?

“I was already thinking of what to do and I don’t think it will be too costly,” replied Doris. “And it’s going to be lovely to see the city decorated for the Feast! I even have some recommendations for the menu!”

“Like I said, keep it frugal,” said Damian, giving a sharp look to his second wife before turning his attention to Praxis and Xanthos. “Now, onto the real reason for this dinner tonight. What possessed you two to act the way you did last night? I’ve heard from half the city that you were brawling outside some seedy watering hole like a pair of drunken fools. What gives you the right to tarnish the family in my city?”

Xanthos’ mouth dropped open, almost like he wasn’t expecting to be chastised in the same sentence as Praxis. “We were not drunken fools. We just had a very public . . . argument if anything.”

Though Xanthos tried to downplay, his wife didn’t have the same grace.

“Argument?” she said, looking at her husband. “You told me that he attacked you like the wild beast he is!”

“I did no such thing,” shot Praxis. “I was the one having a drink with two friends when Xanthos attacked me from behind.”

“My husband would never do such a dishonorable thing,” said Melitta, wrinkling her nose like she’d just smelled fresh manure. “If my husband had a quarrel with you, he would address it to your face.”

“Enough of this,” said Damian, smacking his hands on the table. “I don’t care who started what. The fact that both of you were fighting each other reflects poorly on me. I can’t have my sons starting back alley brawls in front of the people! The city will think I’ve gone soft, and that’s always the first step toward a change in leadership. Now, I’ve warned you both of the consequences should you disobey me again, haven't I? Well, it’s time to doll out your punishment!”

Doris gave an apprehensive look to Damian. “What kind of punishment did you have in mind?”

Damian scoffed. “For one, your son is exiled from the city for a period of two weeks,” he said before looking directly at Praxis. “You will leave Argos tomorrow morning and not come back under the pain of death.”

“Exile?” asked Praxis and Doris at the same time, coming to their feet.

“Both of you sit down!” roared Damian, forcing Doris quickly back in her seat. Praxis wasn’t as quick to react, keeping his glare trained on his stepfather.

“I told you I would exile you with one more stupid move,” growled Damian to Praxis. “And the longer you keep standing, the longer I can make this exile. If you don’t sit down in the next five seconds, I’ll make it for two years instead of two weeks.”

Two years was a very long time to be away from his city. Though he didn’t want to be seen submitting to Damian of all people, it was the pleading look in his mother’s eyes that finally forced Praxis back into his seat.

For now, Damian’s ire turned to his other son. “And you,” he barked at Xanthos. “You’re going to my farm in the countryside for the next week. Some hard labor in the olive groves will do you some good.

Xanthos’ reaction was almost as bad as Praxis’. “Picking olives? That is the task you’ll give to a future king? I’m no farmer, father!”

“Perhaps it will give you time to think about proper behavior for a future king,” retorted Damian. “Your actions of late leave much to be desired, my son.”

“Isn’t a harsher punishment required?” asked Doris. “My son is being exiled for the love of Demeter! Xanthos is getting off quite easily by comparison.”

To everyone’s surprise, Damian actually broke into a grin. “Then you have no idea how much my son hates the idea of manual labor. The punishments fit the crime, for both of them. They will leave tomorrow.”

“But he might not be back in time for the start of the Feast of Hera!” continued Doris. “I may need Praxis to help me with my preparations. Surely, there can be some other kind of punishment that’s not so hard on him?”

“Find someone else to help you then,” replied Damian. “What’s done is done. I will tolerate this foolishness no more. At the end of the day, Damian rules in Argos, not Praxis or Xanthos. Does everyone at this table understand that?”

There was utter silence at the table. Too many members of the family were upset. Praxis, Doris, Xanthos, Melitta, and Eulalia were all glaring at the king. Only young Ariston seemed to be untroubled by the turn of events.

“Good,” said Damian as he downed the last of his wine. “Then this dinner is over. Praxis and Xanthos, I expect both of you out of the city before the sun comes up. If you’re still here when that happens, your punishments will become much worse.”

With those words, the King of Argos left the room. He was quickly followed by Xanthos and Eulalia, no doubt to try their hands at a plea for a better deal.

Melitta looked like she was ready to tear through the table with her garish teeth and make a meal out of Praxis.

“I hope you’re happy with this!” she yelled, standing up and pointing her finger at him. “You stay away from my husband! He might be banned from hurting you but I’m under no such command. Athena as my witness, I’ll make you pay!”

The woman stormed out of the room, leaving only Doris and Praxis still at the table. Praxis turned to look at his mother, only finding fear etched into the wrinkles on her face.

“It’s going to be okay, mother,” he whispered, grabbing her hand.

Doris shook her head. “I wish I believed that, Praxis. Now comes the pain.”