Authors Note: This does involve rape and abuse, hate to tell you. Alexander may have forced sex with Roxane before but this is worse because he is drunk and enraged with the idea his closest companions want him dead.

Roxane was worried about her new husband. He had become distant and distrusting. She played with the ring on her finger as she waited for Alexander to return to her; and when he did she saw something that greatly upset her.

The ring that Hephaistion gave him was on his hand. Its gold encrusted casing around a perfect stone shone in her face as she glanced up at her husbands'. He was looking worse, and drinking, but not from the goblet from the bottle.

"Why does everybody hate me?" Alexander slurred, coming into the tent, almost falling over as he stumbled subconsciously through the curtains to his bed. Roxane was still looking at the ring, not paying any attention to Alexander at all. Alexander came over to the bed and rested his hand on the bed head.

"My King" she paused for a minute, "you should rest"

"I cannot" he protested, "I fear closing my eyes, I fear being in this encampment. They are all traitors, they are all liars" his blurry eyes rested on her chest, as she stood up, coming over towards him.

"Alexander, rest" she said firmly, "Come, you need to sleep"

"I don't need sleep, I said!" he said angrily, grabbing her forcefully. He possessed so much force, even though he was intoxicated. He smashed the bottle on the ground and as the remaining droplets of the bottle escaped around his feet, he pulled her forward and kissed her fiercely, mangling her hair with his hands.

"Alexander stop!" she begged, pulling away. "Not like this! Why is it always like this!" she was crying, but Alexander didn't care. She hit him, like the first time they had sex, but instead of taking it he hit her back – and it was hard.

Blood spilled from her mouth as Alexander's fist slapped the side of her face angrily. She coughed, trying to regain her stability as tears spurted from her eyes.

"No, Alexander" she said softly, as the blood from her mouth stuck to her lips and to the corners of her mouth as Alexander's eyes were fixed on her chest. In a more panic stricken and desperate manner, unlike the last time, he clawed the clothes off her until she was bare.

He was more vicious, as he pushed her down, pinning her arms under the weight of his upper body, as his thrusts were hard and fast as she her mouth was smothered by his. Hot kisses, deep throated kisses encased her cries for help as Alexander would conquer her and resume his total control after almost losing everything.

He would not lose. He would not give in. He would not fall victim to their games. As he climaxed he gripped Roxane's shoulders so tightly, he left deep bruises and scratches in her arms and on her thighs. He pulled back and fell like a slain man on the battle field, his exertions clearly showing on his face as a tortured, crying Roxane tried to pull herself together.

Alexander could hear his heart beating furiously. He could hear Roxane crying, he could hear noises of low chatter outside of his tent. He couldn't move he was paralysed as he tried to regain his consciousness.

Roxane clambered out of the bed quickly, as she went over to the basin. Alexander could hear her dampening a cloth in water, as his eyes slowly trailed to the damage he had done. All down her legs were dark marks, some with dried blood around the outside. And long deep scratches on the inside of her arms. His mouth dropped slightly as his eyes tried to focus on what he was seeing. He was a monster. He was a torturer. He was no better than his father.

His father.

Memories flashed through Alexander's mind of his abuse against his wives. His mother suffered little compared to the others. That woman who was put to death for losing his child. How he had solemnly sworn that he would never do that to a woman.

He gasped. He turned to look at Roxane again, and she glanced to look at him. Her eyes were puffy and red, and blood, dark blood was around her beautiful lips. He gave a deep gutted sigh, as tears sprang to his drunken eyes.

"Oh sweet Dionysius" he said softly, unable to move from where he was lying. He would remain in bed for the rest of the day, and would not emerge until the council meeting to convict Philotas of conspiracy to murder. He wanted to end it quickly; he cared little for its result.

He had become what he had never wanted to be, he was more than what his father was, and still, had the same dark heart. That heart that cost his father his life, and guaranteed the end of his own.