Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

I hunch over the drawer, digging the blade of my dagger into the space between the wood lining and the frame.

I couldn't sleep, so at what I assume was the crack of dawn, I began to check the room for hidden compartments, hoping to find something I could use or at least a place to hide any magical scrolls or items I manage to swipe for my escape.

First, I checked the paintings, then the mattress and under the bed. All ordinary. Even the wardrobe was a bust, very nicely constructed but empty. It wasn't until I moved to inspect the desk that I found the top drawer was far too shallow for its height.

I adjust the drawer on my lap, giving the room another look before I continue to pick at the wood liner.

Usually the false bottoms have a tiny divot for you to slip your finger under, but this one is sealed far too tightly for me to wedge anything other than the blade of my dagger between it and the wooden walls.

Magic thrums and my hand slips, taking a large notch out of the wood lining and showing the real lining underneath.

I look at the door just as three knocks sound.

"Shit." I hiss to myself, pulling my skirts up and sheathing my dagger. I heft the drawer into my arms and slide off the bed. "One moment."

My hands shake as I replace the drawer on the runner and rush over towards the door. I wipe my hands and reach for the latch, opening the door. My blood runs cold.

"Good morning," Astarion says with a smile.

Astarion looks different than before. Not that I thought he was going to be perpetually covered in blood, but you never know with a vampire. I've heard stories.

He's dressed down in all black—a fancy, almost frilly shirt unlaced at the collar and pants tucked into shiny leather boots. It's a simple look, bordering on casual for a lord, but I can tell each piece is worth more gold pieces than I will ever see in my entire life.

I stand frozen; all responses flee my thoughts immediately, like rats from a sinking ship. I didn't expect him to be standing there, and now I feel my machinations with the desk are on full display behind me. My mind foolishly decides to focus my gaze on that patch of bare chest just for a beat too long before I find his red eyes. The look he gives me causes my cheeks to heat.

He stares and blinks back at me, his mouth open just enough for me to see his fangs. "Oh, my apologies. Where are my manners? A proper introduction is in order." He inclines his head and says, "I am Lord Astarion Ancunín."

"Amara." I say in response, "It's good to make your acquaintance, milord."

The pleasantries feel weird on my tongue.

"No, please." He waves his hand. "No formalities here. You are a guest in my home. Just call me Astarion."

"As you wish, Astarion." No, that feels so much worse.

Silence stretches between us, and I watch his face. I have to stop myself from smiling at our now awkward exchange. This is why I have stayed away from jobs that forced me to mingle among the polite society; I seem to stumble over their social cues like a baby, dear.

Rowan was always so much better at blending into the crowd than I was.

"Vesra told me you wished to see the library." He says, finally.

"Yes!" I say a little too brightly. "Yes, I hear it's quite large."

I chasten myself at the flurry of images my brain produces, still lingering on the sliver of collarbone I glimpsed just moments ago. I'm not entirely sure what has come over me.