Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Astarion

As the sun sets, the scavengers of Baldur's Gate descend onto the palace. Wealthy noblemen and women who believe they are better than the rest, though their fortunes were won by blood, sex, or just common thievery. The only difference is that I don't hide my intentions, nor do they hide their fear as they walk through the grand entrance to the palace, paying their respects. They recognize who is at the top of the food chain.

Cazador ruled with fear and cruelty, but I believe that leaning into one's baser instincts is more effective. Sex can be a weapon if wielded correctly. Feed into one's desires or vanity, and they will all but fall to their knees before you. True power lies in the ability to lure them back for another taste, again and again.

I sense her before I can smell the sweet vanilla scent of her soap. It has grown stronger every day to the point that I can nearly feel it in my chest when she is near, similar to the bond I share with my spawn, though it is lighter in a way that I cannot explain.

When I turn to see her walking down the stairs, my soul nearly leaves my body. She looks like a goddess, a being above me, but she always has. Even with a bloodied dress and fear in her eyes, she held her ground. True bravery isn't the absence of fear, but acting in spite of it. Tonight, she carries that power on full display.

I take her hand and realize that she is shaking. She is more than a goddess, then. If there isn't such a thing, I will create it.

"Astarion, I—" Her words come out in a rush, and I fear what she is about to say. Is she going to refuse me again? Pull away after she is so close.

"Please tell me that you are going to behave tonight." I say, trying to ease some of her anxiety. The look she gives me in response nearly cleaves me in two, until I see her eyes soften.

I smooth away the furrow in her brow with my thumb, my hand going to cup her cheek. A smile plays just at the edge of her features, evident by the way her eyes crinkle. It's the same expression she gives me when she thinks I am acting like a fool.

Perhaps I am as I lift her hand up to my lips and press a kiss against her knuckles.

"You look beautiful," I say, leaning towards her and inhaling her scent. I'm close enough that I can hear the second her breath hitches, "Though you always cut a handsome figure, even with dirt on your knees and blood splattered across those gorgeous breasts."

In this moment, I want to touch her and kiss her. I feel the impulse deepen for the first time in decades. The desire to steal her away to a quiet corner and lift that skirt, indulging until her juices coat my tongue. I long to feel my little thief breathing heavily, her skirts bunched up around her hips and writhing against me for more friction as I sink my teeth into her neck.

Even with my voracious appetites, I don't share my bed with just anyone, and truthfully, it has been a while since the last time I enjoyed a dalliance with someone other than my spawn. With her, I feel myself wanting something more.

The magic of the night is already running away with me. In an attempt to ground myself, I place her hand on my bicep and say, "Come, the guests are arriving, and I cannot wait to show you off."

We walk deeper into the palace, towards the grand entrance to the ballroom that has been transformed into something else, just as it has been time and time again.

Instead of lighting the chandeliers above, I had the servants add extra standing candelabras to the room. The result causes Amara's dress to shimmer under their constant flicker.

She doesn't take notice; instead, her attention is on the long table at the far end of the room, piled high with meats, cheeses, and sweets from the far end of Faerûn. To top it off, there are a few carafes of wine set up along with the glittering crystal goblets that Drystan mentioned she had been tending to over the last few days.