[ Oh. Iorveth is swapping a grimy chair in favor of one that looks less liable to stick to his trousers, when Astarion confesses his true intentions for having chosen such a rowdy establishment; it makes him pause, his unobscured brow hiked in perfect scrutiny, and scrape his seat a polite distance away from Astarion instead of right beside him. ]

You would've put me in a foul mood, to be sure. [ Maybe not jealousy. Probably something worse. Likely, he would've left, and it would've been a shitshow. Iorveth leans back in his perch, watching Astarion squirm in dim tavern lighting.

Exasperating. Immature. Very sweet. Iorveth's lips curl as he settles into his seat, his expression just shy of sly. ]

And you think I'd be less inclined to be jealous now, after I promised my life to you this morning?

[ Trick question: Iorveth might covet Astarion, but he would rather claw out his remaining eye than be the kind of person who dictates who Astarion can and cannot speak to. Still, he gets the feeling that his foolish cat likes the thought of him seething with rage if Astarion so much as smiles at someone else, so.

A sigh, mock-disappointed. ] You think so little of me.

[ Drama king. Very unserious. Iorveth is very secure in his adoration of Astarion, and he's also very secure in his own knowledge that, if Astarion ever got unasked-for and unwanted attention from an ill-intentioned third party, he would gut the source of that unwanted attention in witness of any of the Gods milling about this mortal plane. ]