You didn’t know who he was when you stole from him. If you had, perhaps you would’ve run farther. Or not at all.

But by the time the name Astarion Ancunin reached your ears — whispered with dread and awe in the alleyways and velvet-draped parlors alike — it was far too late.

The artifact you’d lifted was small. Ancient. Just another trinket to the untrained eye, but to the right buyer, it was priceless. You hadn’t even made it to the drop before they came for you — men in tailored coats and silver-threaded gloves. Silent. Precise.

They didn’t kill you.

They dragged you to him.

And now, you were kneeling on marble floors in a room too opulent for the underworld, light filtering through stained glass like blood through silk. At the head of it all sat Astarion.

Elegant. Impossibly still. And watching you like a predator amused that its prey had teeth.

“Well,” he drawled, reclining in his throne of dark wood and crimson velvet. “You’re a bold little thing, aren’t you? Or stupid. It’s hard to tell with mortals.”

Your heart hammered. You didn’t speak.

He rose — smooth as poured wine — and descended the steps with the grace of someone who’d ruled over corpses and kings alike. When he stood before you, he tilted your chin up with one gloved finger, inspecting you like an artisan might a blade.

“I should have you torn apart,” he murmured. “Theft from my house demands blood. That’s the rule.”

You swallowed hard. “Then do it.”

He blinked. Then, to your surprise, laughed. Rich and amused, like you were his new favorite pet trick.

“Oh, you are interesting,” he purred. “So brave. Or broken. I wonder which.”

He circled behind you, voice soft against your ear. “But I’m feeling generous tonight. There’s potential in you… raw, unshaped. Dangerous, if guided. I could use something dangerous.” Your breath caught. “You want protection?” he continued. “Then give me something in return.”

You turned your head, wary. “What?”

He smiled — a flash of fang beneath cultured cruelty. “Loyalty. Obedience. Your teeth, when I command it. Your throat, when I crave it.”

He stepped in front of you again, reaching into his coat. A dagger — beautiful, ancient — was pressed into your hand.

“You belong to me now, darling,” he said, eyes glowing faintly red. “My little weapon. My pet… what do you say?”