Page 71 of Astarion

“Far be it from me to lecture a paladin on theology, but any god who forces you to choose between your soul and your bladder cannot possibly call Themself good.”

That wrung a rueful chuckle from den Suriel. “You make a distressingly valid point.”

Astarion made shooing motions. “Go, go. I promise that if I’m not here when you get back, it’s only because I’ve gone down to the kitchen to demand they send up hot water for a bath.”

“A bath sounds marvelous.”

“I thought it might.”

The Rat’s Run did not have a dedicated bathing area, but the kitchen was willing to send up a tin bath and heated water to fill it. It was not precisely luxurious, but it was hot, and since Astarion was covered in dried sweat, bone dust, rock dust, and bits of mummy wax, he was not inclined to be choosy. He did insist on his own soap, though, as the chunk the inn provided had the color and odor of earwax.

Den Suriel returned while the bath was still being filled. A servant brought in a folding screen, and another arrived with a pile of coarse towels. Astarion tipped them both generously, then slid the screen into place and stepped behind it.

“Oath still intact?”

“Seems to be. Apparently, I’m allowed to leave so long as I still plan to kill you in the end.” A pause. “Err…sorry, that wasn’t very tactful, was it?”

“It’s fine.” Astarion stepped into the hot water with a hiss of pleasure.

An orchestra of clunks and clinks from the other side of the screen indicated that the aasimar was removing his armor. “I’ll tell you, though, I’m very glad paladins are immune to disease. That privy looked like a shrine to the Mother of Plagues.”

“Yes, they’re certainly an experience.” Astarion splashed water over his skin, wondering if the paladin was picturing him naked behind the screen. He rather hoped so. He let out a long sigh of pleasure to gauge the effect and was pleased to hear the sounds stop for a moment before starting again.

Seducing him would certainly give me an edge when it comes time to fulfill his oath. And I rather think I’d enjoy dragging him down to my level…

The thought made Astarion want to purr like a cat, though not as much as the hot water did. His life at Szarr Palace was slow and almost languorous, in between bouts of horror. The madcap pace of the last twenty-four hours had been an exciting change, but there was definitely something to be said for a little languor.

The water cooled all too soon. Astarion emerged from behind the screen wearing a towel around his hips and not much else, and he was pleased to see the aasimar’s pale white eyes go wide. Oh, very good. Now, what else can I do, hmm?

Den Suriel was sitting on the edge of the bed, having removed the plate on the upper half of his body, as well as the padding that went under it. His loose linen shirt was open at the throat, revealing more metallic gold freckles trailing down his chest.

“Boots giving you trouble?” Astarion asked pleasantly.

“Boots?”

“On your feet.”

“Oh, those boots.” Den Suriel dragged his eyes away from Astarion’s bare skin and stared at his feet. “Yes. Look at that. I am definitely wearing boots.”

“Sadly, there aren’t any bootjacks in this place,” Astarion said. “There used to be, but the patrons kept breaking them over each other’s heads. Allow me.” He knelt with practiced ease and began unlacing the boots in question, which were heavy leather with steel-capped toes.

“Um. Yes. Thank you.”

Astarion stole a glance from beneath his eyelashes and was amused to see that the aasimar’s face was a study in contrast. A very sexy man is taking off my boots seemed to be at war with A very sexy vampire is taking off my boots, and it was hard to say which one had the upper hand.

Dear me. If this keeps up, he may suffer permanent brain damage, and paladins have so little brain to begin with…

“I suppose you usually have someone to help with this? Some eager young acolyte of the Shiny Raccoon?”

“Argent Badger,” den Suriel said, “and they’re called squires. And you would be terrible at it.”

“I will have you know that I am excellent at getting people out of their clothes.”

“I do not doubt that in the least. I simply doubt your willingness to spend hours polishing armor afterward.”

“No, my mother always said that would make me go blind.”

Den Suriel snorted. “I still have no idea what to make of you,” he said as Astarion tackled the other boot.