

I could hardly read that I pilfered my brothers’ books. I wanted to be Alexander, and conquer half the known world. Better, I would conquer the whole world. Until I realized I was a girl. We are born to a noble family yet we have to do as we’re told, just like peasants. My mother would have wanted me to write poems like her, but I was dying to fight and win. I hate words. You like books. My son, while he must learn, hates reading and writing. Thank God. I have no use for girls. He will have the best care, the best education in everything military, physical or astrological, he will have the best clothes and food. He will be king. By every possible means, flattery, alliances, betrayal, elimination, seduction if I must, I will hoist him where I crave to be. But you. You must serve your brother. Don’t you put yourself in my path, nor in his. Don’t you touch his toys, his books, his wooden swords. What can I hope from you? A good match, that’s all. You will leave once married, I will see you rarely or never, no point in getting soft. I tell you for you to fully understand. You have to obey me in everything.

Do not mention my plans to anyone, ever. In society, I display smiles full of grace and modesty. I know how, I practiced, for a woman must not want, oh no, a woman must not desire anything. She must be content with what is handed down to her. Not me. I have set my hopes on my young son, who is stronger and smarter than his brothers. My eyes follow him everywhere. I look at his little hands, I see weapons piercing enemies. The silk slippers in which I enfold his tiny feet turn into martial boots pounding the carpet of royal velvet. His pretty golden curls, when I brush them, mask a hard skull full of will and obstinacy that will be crowned one day. But you, no, there is nothing to expect from you. Expect nothing from me.