“You are speaking about a child created in a moment of passion. Perhaps the pharaoh would like to describe what was accidental about that.”

“I do not regret the act of making love, only the result of our lovemaking. He will not reign as co-regent. I couldn’t bear it. He is a sniveling whelp.”

Tiye sneered. “We both know that he will succeed you one day.”

“You hope so, don’t you? Does my queen not admit that she has selfish reasons for wanting that boy elevated to co-regent?”

“The queen admits nothing of the kind. The queen wants what’s best for Egypt. Surely you wish your son to step into power-armed with your many years of hard-earned wisdom?”

You will lose everything if someone else succeeds me, thought the cynical Amenhotep. So don’t tell me what’s best for Egypt. Have you braved thirst and burning deserts to wage war on the Hittites? Have you smelled the cedar forests of Byblos? You wear the gold and lapis lazuli that come as tribute from lands I conquered, but you know nothing of the world outside Thebes.

“His arms hang to his knees, and his face is as long as a horse’s,” Amenhotep declared. “He hasn’t enough muscle to wield a sword. His only muscles are in his head. To be pharaoh is to be god in the flesh. That boy is a freak.”

“He was born to lead our people. He can drive a chariot as well as any man,” said Tiye. “He is well-read and smart.”

The pharaoh snorted. The mere sight of his son-also named Amenhotep-at the reins of a chariot was hilarious. It was a wonder the imbecile hadn’t been trampled to death already. “Steering through a grain field is one thing. Charging into battle is quite another,” he said.

Suddenly, Amenhotep felt woozy. The opium had gone to work, but the pain was still unbearable. What he needed was more wine. And Resi’s bosom to suck on.