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Summary
Gortash lounges on a plush armchair, his arms casually slung over the armrests and his legs propped up on a footstool. He's wearing his silk robe over pajama pants, a glass of whiskey older and richer than his parents in his right hand. His head lies back, face towards the ceiling as he's got his eyes closed. He is a king in his castle, comfortable and secure.
He never thought he would want for anything more than this. So the fact that something in his blackened heart yearns has caught him off-guard.
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Gortash realizes he's fallen in love and thinks about it. The object of his affection comes to check on him.
