A king isn't born, Alexander. It's made, by steel, by suffering. Kings must know how to hurt those who he loves. It's lonely; ask Hercules, ask any of them; fate is cruel. No man or woman could be too powerful or too beautiful without disaster befalling. They laugh when you rise too high, and crush everything you've built with a whim. What glory they give they take it away; they, they make of us slaves.