[ An unexpected advance, though not entirely unwelcome, if Gale had the time to parse his feelings on the matter. As it stands, having dodged these flirtations for weeks, it’s half-habit, half-instinctive caution that makes him step back. Distantly, he thinks of nights spent enwrapped in the gossamer veil of the Weave, so far from where he now resides.

His eyes flick downward, watching the pages turn under Astarion’s slim fingers. ]

If I didn’t fear I’d be dragged into another dance on the way down, I would consider indulging you. [ Gale lifts his chin to offer an apologetic smile, hands clasped behind his back. ]

Alas, neither Lord Reis’ eldest son nor daughter have been afforded their promised place on my dance card, and I only lost them by taking a rather circuitous hidden passage from the gallery into the laundry, so I must decline. [ There’s a glimmer in his eye that suggests he’s twigged something suspect in this exchange, as he adds brightly, ] Too great a risk to my virtue.

[ Not unlike whatever Astarion is proposing. ]