Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

My lids are heavy and my eyes struggle to adjust to the warm glow of the room.

I remember coming to only to drift back to sleep from the warm rocking motion of being carried. Succumbing to exhaustion after the months of hypervigilance. I was only able to grab a couple hours of sleep here or there when the guards weren't on duty.

Thankfully, I gained the reputation of being a biter, which meant they hadn't pushed my boundaries, at least not yet.

I take in my lavish surroundings. The room is easily larger than most taverns and common spaces that I frequent. There's a grouping of sofas surrounding the soft one that I'm laying on, ample room to entertain, along with a few dark wooden tables lining the walls stacked with fine glassware.

I'm not sure how I missed his blood-splattered face at first; perhaps it's from how he is crouching beside me like a wolf hiding low in the brush. Everything about him screams predator from the ruby-red eyes, constantly appraising every movement I make and the smile that is a bit too warm and familiar, exposing his sharp fangs.

However, I don't miss the fact that he is without a doubt one of the most beautiful elves I have ever seen. Possibly a full-blooded high elf with short silver hair pushed back in elegant waves to show off his features. The creases that frame his mouth and the slight wrinkles around his eyes fit his face perfectly and don't detract from it.

I quickly hike up my skirt and unsheathe the dagger strapped to my thigh. I notice the way his eyes snag on the flash of bare skin, distracting him enough for me to fully arm myself.

In a blur, pale hands wrap around my wrists, and his face shifts into something more sinister, though the same warmth is there underneath. It's almost like he knows me.

"What did you do to me?" I croak.

"Do to you? Darling, I saved you." It's surreal to place his face to the voice of my savior.

I narrow my eyes. "You saved me only to kill me?"

"Do you want me to kill you?" His smile is bright, teasing.

I struggle against his grip and wince as he tightens his hold on my wrists, sending a jolt of pain up my arm.

He pulls away from me like he's been burned. Anger—no, concern—flashes across his features before he looks over his shoulder.

"Vesra!" He growls, standing to his full height.

Moments later, a thin, red tiefling woman rushes into the room, her yellow eyes dancing between the both of us. Her clothing is modest, just a plain white linen chemise with a green corset and paler green overskirt. There's signs of dirt and dust at the hips from where she might absently clean her hands.

"Yes, my lord?" Vesra bows.

"Take our guest to her chambers."

"Her chambers, my lord?" Vesra hesitates.

"A bedroom on the second floor."

Vesra blinks. "Which—"

"Pick one." He says through gritted teeth and leaves the room before Vesra can ask any more questions.

"Can you stand, miss?" Vesra asks, emphasizing the miss.

I catch myself staring off in the direction.

"Amara." I blink and look to Vesra, "Yes, I think I can at least."

I realize my hands are shaking as I lift my skirt to put away my weapon; it takes a moment for me to secure it in place. Vesra lets out a giggle and reaches out a clawed hand.