The garden was not meant for guests.

That much had become clear the moment you stepped past its gates. Hidden behind towering walls of black stone and wrought iron, it lay untouched by the noise of the palace—no laughter, no music, no wandering nobles with honeyed words and curious eyes. Only the quiet murmur of a fountain, the soft rustle of night-blooming roses, and the faint silver wash of moonlight spilling over everything like a secret. It was beautiful—too beautiful—and far too isolated.

You hadn’t meant to end up here. The corridors had twisted in unfamiliar ways, servants growing scarce the deeper you went, until the palace itself seemed to guide you somewhere quieter, somewhere removed. Somewhere he would notice.

A soft click echoed behind you as the garden gates closed.

You didn’t hear footsteps, but you felt him anyway.

“You’ve been wandering.”

His voice came from just behind you—low, smooth, unmistakable, closer than it should have been. Astarion stepped into view at your side as though he had always been there, his presence folding into the space with effortless dominance. Moonlight caught in his pale curls, traced the sharp lines of his face, illuminated the faint tension in his expression.

He wasn’t smiling. Not really.

“Oh, don’t look so startled,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that felt almost invasive. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

It was said lightly. Too lightly.

His gaze drifted over you, slow and deliberate, as if cataloguing every detail—every breath, every hesitation—before returning to your face, searching. Waiting.

“For someone who used to seek me out so eagerly,” he continued, softer now, almost thoughtful, “you’ve been…distant.”

The word lingered, sharp and unpleasant.

He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough to corner, to make the garden feel suddenly smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

“I’ve seen the way you look at them,” he added, his voice quiet but edged now, something colder slipping through. “The courtiers. The guests. All those people who suddenly find you so fascinating.”

A humorless smile curved his lips.

“As if they have any right.”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing a strand of your hair—not quite gentle, not quite rough. Possessive. Testing.

“You’re mine,” he said softly.

Not loudly. Not violently. Just certain.

But then his grip faltered—barely a flicker, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“…You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

And there it was. Not anger. Not yet. Something worse.

Uncertainty.

His eyes searched yours with a hunger that wasn’t just vampiric anymore—something deeper, more desperate, buried beneath layers of control and pride.

“I’ve given you everything,” he continued, quieter now, the words slipping out before he could fully mask them. “Power. Safety. A place where no one would ever dare touch you without my permission. And yet…you wander.”

The word lingered, quieter than the last, but far more dangerous.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the closed gates, then back to you, sharper now, more focused, as if the simple fact of your presence here—alone, unguarded, out of his sight—had settled into something he did not like at all.

“You disappear into corridors I did not send you to,” he said, voice low and controlled, tightening at the edges. “You let them speak to you. Look at you. Wonder about you.” His jaw tensed slightly. “And I am left to wonder whether you simply don’t notice…or whether you no longer care.”

He stepped closer again, closing what little distance remained, his presence overwhelming now, inescapable.

“So tell me,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his presence felt inescapable, his voice brushing against you like silk over a blade, “why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

Silence swallowed the garden. Even the fountain seemed quieter.

His hand hovered near your wrist now—not grabbing, not yet—but close enough to remind you that he could.

And that maybe…he was waiting to see if he needed to.