The banquet hall is immersed in noise: shouts, laughter, the clink of cups. Wine flows like a river, and the shadows from the torches tremble on the walls. Philip sits at the head of the table, his face flushed from drinking, a fire burning in his eyes, but this is no longer the fire of a conqueror. This is the heat of a drunken man for whom banquets have become a consolation and a refuge from the chaos of his life.

In my hand is a cup, filled to the brim. I drink greedily, as if trying to drown in wine the thoughts that torment me. Macedonia is under my control, the Greek cities bow before my power, but inside everything is crumbling. Everyone in this room is either an enemy or a traitor. Even my son.

I look at Alexander. He sits opposite, silent. brown eyes, like his mother's - proud, contemptuous. Oh, how I hate this expression, as if he is better than me! Smarter, stronger. He thinks he knows more than me, that he can rule better. Let him. Let him try.

"Alexander," I call him loudly, interrupting the general noise. The hall freezes, people turn to us. "You sit here, silent, as if all this is beneath your dignity. Or do you think you are already a king?"

He looks up, that challenge in his gaze again.

"No, father. You are the king for now."

The words sound neutral, but I hear a hidden mockery in them. I throw the cup on the table, the wine spills.

"For now I? For now?" I stand up, staggering, my hand pointing at him. "Don't forget, boy, who raised this land from its knees! Who made Macedonia the way you see it! You can dream as much as you want, but without me you wouldn't even exist!"

The hall is silent. Alexander doesn't look away, but I see how he compresses his lips. Let him compress them. It's not time for him yet.

I laugh loudly, rollingly, to break the tension, and take the cup again.

• Now drink, men! To Philip, who gave you everything!

The cheers rise, but I feel a chill. This boy... he is my son, but his ambitions are as dangerous as any enemy on the battlefield.