Gortash hated the part deep inside himself that saw dark beauty in that look, that hearkened to several such looks like this in quieter meetings that in the moment he saved any reaction to until he was alone again. The arrangement had been too delicate and too important to let slip any potential weakness. Once or twice it had been something like flirting and he had been more than tempted to answer in kind. Even if it was just banter that left him feeling warm and conflicted.

That part still locked far within, regrets that he didn't. Perhaps one thing might have led to another and he very well would have been dead that much sooner. But at least it would have been something before the end. And those are thoughts he cannot have right now when it is so unmistakeably here.

His breaths are shallow and ragged with pain, but forcibly controlled, even if the hand on his throat can easily feel his heart hammering in his chest, perhaps not even solely out of fear. The hand white-knuckling the handle of that dagger like a lifeline cannot move under the one holding his wrist.

"I will not," he grinds out. He's going to die, he will keep fighting until he cannot anymore. He has too much dignity to do anything but. "I lay down my life for no one, least of all your ilk."