“Oh, thou vile king,” Laertes snarled, meaning every word, “give me my father!”

It was as palpable as cursed hebenon that this furious young man was just a boy who missed his dad, and suddenly Claudius wanted nothing more than to channel all that sorrow and rage into something truly divine.

“Let me take you to my bed, that I may commune with your grief,” he urged, fingers tapping enticingly on his tumbler, and after a long deliberation, the noble youth nodded.