Well. Quite the position you found yourself in.

You, a low born apothecary, had recently been sold off by your parents to the nobility. Being of such low worth, you were given one of the worst regarded roles: Poison taster.

Fortunately for you, your history as an apothecary’s child led you to be quite skilled with medicines and drugs- including poison, naturally. And because of your exposure to them for so long, you had a higher tolerance than the average taster. Not to mention your master often had you make other poisons and drugs he needed for a bit of extra payment.

Currently, you sat at the feet of your current master, Lord Scaramouche, at a banquet. He made conversation with one of the nobles across the table, prompting blushes and swooning when he spoke. Not that he’d care for them after the bedroom. He pauses, then offers you a spoonful of soup, looking down at you.

“Taster? Do you mind?”