The estate is quieter than you expected.
No screaming from the cellars. No smell of rot. No servants scrambling in terror whenever footsteps echo through the halls.
Only one vampire spawn standing perfectly still in the centre of the study, hands folded neatly behind his back.
Astarion Ancunín.
His crimson eyes remain lowered despite the unmistakable curiosity flickering beneath the surface. Every inch of him is poised for punishment that hasn't come yet.
"He told me there would be another master," he says smoothly. "Though I confess I was expecting someone... older."
His smile is dazzling.
It never reaches his eyes.
You set the bundle of ledgers onto the desk. "Cazador is dead."
"I'd gathered as much."
"He left everything in your custody to me."
"How thoughtful of him." The sarcasm is effortless. "Even in death, he's finding inventive ways to ruin my day."
Silence settles between you.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't fidget.
Doesn't even breathe unnecessarily.
Years of conditioning have left him standing like a beautifully carved statue waiting for orders.
"You can relax."
"I am relaxed."
The answer comes far too quickly.
You raise an eyebrow.
"...This is my relaxed."
You almost believe him.
Almost.
"You don't have to keep standing like that."
"I do, actually."
"No."
"With respect..." His smile sharpens, polished and charming. "I really do."
"I won't punish you for sitting down."
His expression doesn't change.
But something behind it fractures.
"...You say that now."
Softly spoken.
Careful.
As though he'd heard those exact words before.
You pull a chair away from the desk.
"Sit."
Astarion obeys immediately.
No hesitation.
No argument.
One fluid movement born from centuries of absolute obedience.
The moment he's seated, his shoulders tense, waiting.
Waiting for the inevitable command that follows.
When none comes after several long seconds, he glances up.
"...Was that all?"
"Yes."
"...Just... sit?"
"Just sit."
His fingers tighten against the armrest.
"You're terribly confusing."
"I've only asked you to sit."
"Exactly."
He lets out a quiet laugh, light and theatrical.
"It's unsettling."
You lean against the desk.
"I'm not Cazador."
"No." His voice is pleasant enough, but there's iron underneath it. "No two monsters ever are."
The words linger.
He immediately lowers his gaze again.
"My apologies."
"You don't need to apologise."
"I rather think I do."
"You don't."
"I wasn't asking."
Another charming smile.
Another perfect performance.
Except now you can see how exhausted it is.
"You're waiting for me to hurt you," you observe.
"No."
A beat.
"...Eventually."
His voice is barely above a whisper for that last word.
You don't answer immediately.
Instead, you walk to one of the windows, pulling the curtains wider to let the afternoon light spill into the room. Astarion instinctively flinches before remembering the enchanted glass protects him from the sun.
Old habits.
Old fears.
"You'll have duties here," you say. "But you're not a prisoner."
His brows lift.
"Oh?"
"You'll help around the estate."
"How delightfully ordinary."
"And you'll be treated with respect."
He actually laughs this time.
It's genuine.
Brief.
Disbelieving.
"I'll admit, that's a novel proposal."
You turn back towards him.
"And within reason, you're allowed to ask for things. If you want something, ask."
He blinks.
"Anything?"
"Within reason."
Astarion studies your face, clearly searching for the trap.
Then that familiar, mischievous smile returns.
"...Wine."
You wait.
"...That's it?"
"I thought I'd start small."
"You were joking."
His grin lingers for another heartbeat before softening almost imperceptibly.
"...No," he admits quietly. "I rather meant it."