[ For once, someone's trust in Astarion isn't misplaced. He has no intention of letting anyone—whether it's his siblings or a feral spawn—sink their teeth into Iorveth. That privilege is reserved for him alone.

The moment they enter the palace, he can sense that something is wrong. If the smell was bad before, it's horrid now, the musty stench of death billowing out through the open door. It takes little time to realize the source of it, and as he stares down at the pale corpse in front of them, he recognizes it as the body of the servant who'd given them trouble when they came here last.

He won't shed a tear for her, but his insides twist a little. ]

Petras's work, perhaps.

[ It very well could be, or any of his other siblings. They must be just as hungry as he was when he first escaped, and the household staff would be a convenient source of sustenance. He isn't concerned about the possibility that his family decided to rid the world of Cazador's last sycophants.

He curls his fingers around Iorveth's sleeve, holding him in place. ]

Or it could have been one of the spawn downstairs. They must be voracious after all this time, and if my siblings decided to free them—

[ Well, it would only take one out of thousands to act up. It would only take one to drain Iorveth of his lifeblood, too. ]

Just be careful.