[ A different sort of tension mounts between them, like a thread pulled as taut as their woven chain. It pulls Gale’s eyes downward as Astarion peers up, an angle that brings all his sharp features into relief. Not quite handsome. Almost pretty. Striking. The type that commands a second glance. He fooled you once, with that face, with his honeyed voice, but Gale hadn’t been on his guard then.

All the more reason that Astarion is right, in any case. Who would dare approach, if Gale were seen on his arm? His mouth quirks, either at the compliment or the blossoming potential. ]

I may perish if I have to hear of her talent for riding [ horses ] again; it’s true. [ Astarion’s latter point warrants greater scrutiny. Sanctuary signifies the depths of the protection required, though Gale’s overconfidence lessens his concern. ]

[ mildly, ] If you suspect your lord will give chase, my tower would afford you the utmost protection. [ between the right of invitation and his wards, little could reach him. ] There are plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from. [ One finger raises to preempt a response. ] Provided you keep your fangs out of the people in my city. [ A stern look. He loops the chain around his palm, shortening the leash and winding Astarion’s hand back into the slim space between them. ] I can’t have a trail of blood lead to my door.