[ It takes little time for Alicent to realise she has misstepped in with her questioning. This man did her the courtesy of not digging into her vulnerable flesh, when their bondage exposed it. She ought to have done the same, but it’s too late, his frown already deepened. A confession (a flaying) is required.

She nods, mouth parting before she can think of the words to say. Another one? ]

I am.

[ The peak of Daniel’s fangs in his mouth, most visible when he kisses her. The new shine in his eyes. The brightness of his presence. He seems even more alive now than he had as a man. In contrast, Astarion appears almost dulled by the revelation. Perhaps age lessens the wonder of survival. ]

You are over two-hundred years old, truly? [ It seems a silly thing to fixate on, when blood-drinking and sun-searing have been invoked, but — ] I had thought my first husband’s decades on me the greatest possible gap.

[ Ha. ]