The Time My Consort Hunted Me Like Prey (Vol. 1)
The Setup (When He Realizes He’s Being Hunted)
Astarion had made many mistakes in his life.
Hiring Kalen Vaelith? Possibly one of them.
Letting her stay at the castle? Definitely one of them.
And now?
Now, she was pressed dramatically against a pillar—
whispering to herself, narrating her "hunt"—
in what could only be described as the worst attempt at stealth he had ever seen.
Another mistake, clearly.
Because Kalen had declared him her prey.
And he was, apparently, meant to just accept this.
A Not At All Quiet Whisper from the Shadows:
“The huntress prowls the halls… her target?
—The silver-haired vampire.”
Astarion sighs.
Because of course this is happening again.
“She’s spotted him… she blends into the background seamlessly.”
(She does not. There is no ‘seamless’ happening here.)
He considers walking the other way.
Knows it won’t matter.
“Darling. I can see you.” he tries.
(Dryly. Without turning around.)
She ignores him completely.
There’s a soft shuffle of movement—
She’s getting closer.
The Moment He Realized This Was Happening Whether He Wanted It or Not
Another whisper.
Low. Dramatic. Unhinged.
“The prey has no idea its days are numbered…
The huntress takes her time…
lets him think he is safe.”
Astarion’s Thought Process:
• Why is she like this.
• Why am I like this.
• I could have been with someone normal—no, wait, that’s a lie, I would be bored in seconds.
• But gods help me, we are in public.
He exhales.
Resists the urge to sigh himself into another plane of existence.
“My love, we are in public.”
(Dryly. Clearly. A warning.)
She, of course, ignores him.
Doesn’t falter.
Just whispers—
“He begs for mercy! But she knows no mercy. Only the pleasure of the kill.”
This.
This is what I chose.
She is now crouched behind a decorative vase.
Poorly concealed. Clearly delighted.
The passing nobles are pretending not to watch.
He watches her.
Smug. Feral. Vibrating with anticipation.
Astarion is not concerned. (Not really)
Because surely—
Surely she would not actually—
Astarion’s Final Thought Before Impact:
Ah. So this is how I die.
He is attacked. Ambushed. Overwhelmed.
Her full weight crashes into him—arms locking around his shoulders.
He staggers—entirely too aware of the way she’s laughing into his ear—
And then—oh, oh gods help him.
She bites his neck.
In public.
With witnesses.
Like some ridiculous little feral thing.
A servant drops what they’re carrying.
A noble gasps—then looks deeply uncomfortable.
Someone mutters, “Oh, not again.”
The Vampire Lord Abandons His Dignity
Astarion does not react immediately.
Because if he acknowledges this, he loses.
But gods help him—
she is cackling against his throat.
He exhales. Slowly.
Lifts a single hand.
Pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Kalen, love.” (He is so tired.)
“What. Are you doing?”
A muffled, smug little hum against his skin.
"Eating my prey, obviously.”
Astarion’s Thought Process:
• I cannot believe this is my life.
• I am the Lord of this castle.
• I command power, respect, fear—
• And yet, here I am.
• With a half-elf thief chewing on my throat like a victorious cat.
He refuses to entertain this any further in the middle of the hall.
Adjusts his grip. Carries her away effortlessly.
Does not put her down—no matter how much she laughs and kicks her feet.
Her Immediate Thought:
Oh. Oh, I am being removed.
He is not engaging with my nonsense.
How tragic.
“Aha! The prey flees with its captor!”
“Where will he take her?
What dark fate awaits the noble huntress?”
Astarion’s Thought Process (As He Walks Towards Their Chambers):
• I love her.
• I regret everything.
• I need a drink immediately.
Final Words Before He Tosses Her Onto Their Bed and Shuts the Door Behind Them:
“Oh, my love.”
“You are so much work.”
Her Response (Smug. Grinning. The worst.):
She stretches out on the bed, all limbs and attitude.
“Hmmm, no. I’m just the right amount of work.”
His Reaction:
He follows. Slowly. Intentionally.
Braces himself over her, gaze dark, voice low:
“You’re insufferable.”
She hums. Innocent. Deadly.
And then—she growls.
Low. Ridiculous. Predictable.
He pauses.
Raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t you dare.”
She grins.
Leans in—
And bites his shoulder.
His Final Thought Before Ruin:
Oh, that’s it.
He flips her.
Pins her hands.
Smirks.
“Fine. My turn.”
Her delighted shriek echoes down the hall.
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