Like is too prosaic a word for it. What he felt—feels—deserves some of the poetic splendor that has been dedicated to his victories in battle. "I was given a glimpse into another world. Not like this place. It was another version of my own reality, where the other me was—in an intimate association with a man. They were..." Incandescent, and horrifying. "Very affectionate. That's what made me think... And after I returned to my own world, I tried everything to return to him—to steal him from the other version of myself." Distantly, he might be aware this aspect of the story doesn't reflect well on him, but it doesn't seem important. "But I couldn't. My wives and my closest advisors grew tired of my obsession. I grew tired of it myself. In time, I grew to think I would not see him again, and I tried to put it out of my mind. But he is here, in this mansion. Do you see why I would think this a test? He did not exist at all in my world—there was no counterpart to him. But he exists here."

He traces the rim of the glass with the tip of his finger, moody. "Being here, with him—it will ruin me. It makes a mockery of me, of my life, my accomplishments. All the time I spent building my empire—thrown away on one man? It reduces everything I have, all my glittering treasures, to fool's gold, and I the fool. I wanted to resist it, but I lack the strength. Janet, he is unmaking me."