"Not likely." Astarion counters smoothly, easing to a stop as the song ends, mouth still drawn up into a lopsided angle. It's simple, lifting Allumin's hand— the one he'd been holding as a guide— and planting a single, modest kiss just across the knuckles. Deceptively mild. Like a snake sunning itself, not a glimpse of fang or venom to be seen.

"You've tipped your hand."

Hand. Get it?

And whether or not Allumin does, in fact, get it, Astarion sets him free not a moment later, content to let the amusement end. A single backstep, a slight half-bow, and he's already starting to take his leave without any amount of overwhelming ceremony. Parting words trailing in his wake:

"That said, I do look forward to seeing you try."