[ Astarion looks back over his shoulder at Gale, aware of the figure he cuts in the nascent morning light: a spawn who can bask in the rising sun, deadly and alluring, stolen life thrumming beneath his skin.

Or not quite stolen, he supposes -- given, for once in his long undeath. Wholly unprecedented. But Tav's blood didn't taste any sweeter for it, and the more time passes after their tryst, the more she sours on his tongue.

Gale is blushing, rosy beneath his tan skin, and Astarion knows it's not just the wine. His gaze sharpens, lip curling even as Gale bites back. ]

More than a dalliance, wasn't it? [ Astarion stretches a hand out by his side, fluttering his fingers. ] Or you wouldn't be conjuring her godly visage by your tent in the evenings.

[ Gale's final barb nearly hits, Astarion's own wine-soaked reflexes just managing to parry him. He rolls his shoulders as he finds a suitable lie, voice pitched toward nonchalance. ]

Tav just had a little too much wine tonight. As have you, it seems. [ Astarion bends to cup water into his palms, his reflection absent from the golden ripples on the surface. He means to splash his face, but lets it trickle through his fingers instead, voice low and goading now. ] The richest red couldn't make up for the fact that I tasted her first, could it?