Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Why is it whenever i find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?!”

“Well, that’s not fair...”

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

“Right. Uh… Right, then. 

I’ll… I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others. See you around, Geralt.”

***

Growing up, little prince Julian could spend hours on end listening to the songs of wayfaring minstrels entertaining the crowd on the main square of the Capital. The Great Queen Nera, raised in the militaristic tradition, thought her son was spending that time with no earthly use but mother’s heart still ached when she saw that silly ballads about heroes and monsters were the only thing that made her son’s eyes shine like that. At that point she would be happy with anything more that absolutely apathetic, but the boy looked positively joyous when yet another bard would come into the city to sing about witchers and whatever rot they’re fighting for a coin.

Julian never let anyone’s disdainful scoffing discourage him from pursuing music and poetry. He earned that right with his own sweat and tears. Crown prince’s life was an exhausting neverending carousel of combat training and political teachings, so if the only thing that made him feel alive in all of this wasn’t approved by the upper crust, he couldn't give less of a shit.

Right now however, sitting in a dingy tavern somewhere in Novigrad, Jaskier thought that Julian might have fucked himself over on this one. Thinking that life of heroics brings you purpose left him with a broken heart and empty pockets. A tragic combination really.

Jaskier would undoubtedly continue to sit there and pity himself, but that night destiny had other plans for him.

A group of very tired yet very agitated soldiers walked into the tavern. Wouldn’t be an unusual thing to see, except they were wearing Kovir’s crest. When you live your whole life around soldiers, even more so when you’re trained as one, you learn to see things hidden from the civilian's eye. Something was very wrong. These people were on full alert. And if trained professionals, used to living under a constant threat, are that alert, you know shit’s about to go down big time.

Military hierarchy in Kovir is one the things people know better than their own names (because when your kingdom has been at war for half a century and lived under its threat for another half, it kind of becomes an obvious priority). So it took no time for Jaskier to identify the most high-ranking one among the group. The man was wearing General's Insignia on his left arm, meaning he was just an acting general. That didn’t make much sense. Nothing about this group suggested that they’re coming back from combat, so it was probably a diplomatic mission. How the hell does a military general gets himself killed on a diplomatic mission?

The man was just heading outside for a smoke. Good timing. Like a shadow Julian slipped out of the tavern, following him.

Julian’s combat mentor, the one who also trained Shadowwalkers, always said that nightfall could be your best friend as it could be your worst enemy. Julian really hoped for that best friend bit right now.

The man was an inch or two shorter but wider in shoulders. Not that it particularly mattered to someone who was trained to fight men twice his size since he was ten years old. In one swift movement Julian knocked the general off his feet, took the dagger from the sheath on his left forearm where by protocol all high ranking officers had to keep a compact weapon of choice and put the tip of that dagger right to man’s sonar artery to avoid a counterstrike.

“I come with no ill intentions.” Retrospectively, that might’ve not been the best way to introduce himself but it was the fastest one to get what he wanted at that moment.

The General looked a bit startled, but regained his composure pretty quickly all things considered.

“That’s a helluva way to show it, boy.” The tone was threatening, but the man made no attempt to move. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, the crown prince of Kovir. I apologize for ambushing you. I will take the blade away from your throat and show you my patrimonial medallion but I warn you: if you try to attack me, you will not live to see another day.”

He reached under the tunic neckline to pull out a medallion, no bigger than a coin, with an engraving of knight’s glove above the slightly crooked italic lettering, as if a child wrote it. Przeznaczenie the inscription read.

The man studied the medallion for a couple of second before giving an affirmative grunt. He took the offered hand and rose to his feet, placed the right hand on his heart. “My name is Kamil Dabrowski, acting general of the 14th division in the service of her majesty Great Queen Nera of Kovir. I’m at your service, prince Julian.”

“On the service of her majesty... Does this mean…”

Kamil gave a respectful bow.

“I’m sorry, sire.”

Julian took a deep breath to compose himself. Since he was a child, he's been tought that a good leader has to stay imperturbable in the face of adversity. And being a good leader is more important than being a good son or a good brother. Julian hoped that by the time they get to Kovir he can convince himself he ever believed that.

He flipped the dagger and handed it back to Kamil. “Tell your men we’ll leave at dawn. The road is long, they should get some rest.”

Chapter Text

They managed to reach Kovir’s border in four days. It was another day and a half before the towers of the fortress surrounding the Capital were visible on the horizon. Kamil didn’t know what kind of situation they could be walking into, so as a precaution, he decided they will be taking breaks during the day and travel mostly during the night. 

The Capital was quiet. There’s probably a curfew, Julian thought. They walked past a patrol on the way to the main square, but the guards just saluted Kamil and carried on. Most likely they are not the only division coming back from missions at odd hours. 

Julian knew they'd been followed since they stepped into the capital, but knowing the people who followed them, he assumed the intention wasn’t to hurt anyone or they would’ve been dead already.

He parted ways with the 14th division in the Central Square. It was quiet there, this late at night. Kamil and his people were to head for the military district and Julian decided to go straight to the palace.

“Are you sure you don’t need escorting to the palace, sire?”

Julian mustered a tired smile, “No Kamil, it’s been a minute but I still remember my way around.” 

The General was skeptical. They both knew that wasn't the reason Kamil asked. Julian was taking a huge risk showing up like that.

“Take care, General.” He nodded to the soldiers as he gave the salute and was on his way.

***

Remembering his training, Julian stayed close to the walls. Jaskier’s snazzy red combo didn’t really allow him to merge seamlessly with the shadow but his steps were quiet, so he still had the benefit of surprise. Julian crept up until he was right in front of the two sleepy guards and finally stepped into the dim light from the torch on the gates.

“It’s a lovely night gentlemen, don’t you think?”

His voice startled them more than it should have, and as they pointed the spears at him, they looked almost terrified. They were pretty young too, he noticed.

Julian was just about to introduce himself, reaching for the medallion, when a spearhead almost went right through his hand. The instincts kicked in faster than the brain. He twisted his arm out of harm's way and grabbed the handle right under the spearhead, effectively blocking any further movement. 

"Well, that's just fucking rude." Julian promptly twisted the spear upside down to avoid actually harming the dumb schmuck and knocked him on the head with a handle. The guard slid down the gate. He was out cold.

Julian turned to the other one, showing him the medallion. The boy looked from him to the first guard in absolute panic. Julian was decidedly too sleep deprived to deal with this right now. 

“Your friend is fine. He’s just taking a little nap. Go find the Queen or Princess Stanislava. Say Julian’s home.” Seeing how the guard still stood there, just staring at him, Julian added, raising his voice just a little, “Now!”

That got the job done, the boy disappeared behind the gates.

It wasn't that Julian couldn't enter the palace in other ways or at least give the order to open the gates, but something about the atmosphere in the Capital really rubbed him the wrong way. These guards were practically kids, no older than the second year of the Academy. It wasn’t right to put them on this duty. Something was wrong here and before doing anything that could potentially compromise him, he wanted to see someone he could trust.

The gates opened full force some twenty minutes later. There stood a still very startled guard and Julian’s very exasperated sister, uniform overcoat over her pajamas. There was a Lieutenant General insignia on the coat. Gods, when he left she just got her Lieutenant Colonel. He hadn’t been home for so long...

“The Prodigal Son returns! Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” It was meant to sound harsh, Julian was sure, but the little smile she failed to hide gave her away.

“Glad to see you too, Slava.” He smiled. “I’m almost surprised you came down to get me. Thought you would enjoy making me sleep with dogs.”

“Oh, I would.” She was openly grinning at this point. “But I didn't want to be responsible for the Great Savior of Kovir getting pneumonia, it will tear at my public image, you know. Come on in, we’re technically on lockdown.” 

She turned to the guard. “Close the gate, do the rest of the shift as usual. When Dano comes to tell him, too: if anyone asks you anything about this night you tell them nothing eventful happened, just a drunk rowdy trying to start trouble. That's an order, understood?” Stanislava was probably the only person Julian knew who could still look imposing, despite being in her pajamas. 

The Guard straightened up and put the right hand on his heart in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” 

As they were walking through the courtyard he didn’t ask any questions. Julian knew that walls had ears and since he was completely out of his depth with what was considered safe ground in the palace these days, he trusted Slava to talk when she deemed safe.

As they reached the door to one of the guestrooms, she turned to face him. 

“I took your room. It’s bigger and I like the view so you’ll have to do with the guest room. For you,” she gave him a critical once over, “this will probably be an upgrade anyway. I’ll send someone to draw you a bath and bring a change of clothes. I don’t care how tired you are. By tomorrow morning the rumors will spread that you’re back and I can’t have you looking like you haven’t had a bath in a coon’s age. I literally see flecks of dirt in your hair. I’m not even gonna ask why are you dressed like a prostitute. Expensive one, I’ll give you that, but still.”

Not that she was wrong per se but taking offense was a matter of principle.

“I refuse to take fashion criticism from a person who’s worn military uniform to every social function since turning twelve years old.” Trying to mimic his mother’s tone as best as he could, he added, “Darling, but you’ll scare off all the potential marriage prospects.”

Slava’s stern facade cracked and she gave Julian a grin, wrapping him in a hug that positively made his ribs crack, and said in a very quiet voice, “Glad you’re finally home, asshole. We missed you.” 

When she let him go, her face was back to careful neutrality.

“Mom is taking her breakfast on the eastern terrace these days. You should tell her you’re home yourself. Get some rest.” And with that, she was gone.

***

The hot bath felt like heaven for his tired bones. Kovir was a northeastern kingdom so autumn gave way to winter early. While traveling with Geralt, he could annoy the man into sharing a warm cloak (and body heat) but he was traveling with a bunch of strangers so sleeping on the cold ground, alone, had taken a toll on him. 

The girl that brought hot water and a change of clothes had no real reason to stay, but she kept rearranging stuff on the shelves that were already perfectly organized and throwing furtive glances at him from under her blonde lashes. Julian was never dense about these kinds of things.

It was risky to lose vigilance, considering everything that’s been going on. Julian knew better than most that seemingly harmless people can turn out to be menacing opponents but he decided that if Slava had sent the girl to her poor, sleep-deprived brother, she trusted her enough not to kill him.

When he finally felt warm and clean and was sure there’s no more dirt in his hair, Julian got out of the tub.

The girl's skin was pretty tan, but he still noticed how her cheeks flushed a little. Standing near the door she said, “If you don’t need anything else I should probably…”

Her brown eyes looked almost amber in the dim lighting, and he thought: why not, really?

“You could stay.” She looked up at him smiling. The situation was clear as day but he just had to make sure. “If you want, that is. I know you have to wake up early and me showing up like this was already a hassle.”

“I’d love to.”

She really had the loveliest smile, Julian thought, as he led her to his room.

***

When he woke up, Božena, that was her name, was gone and a change of clothes was waiting for him on the dresser. Julian thought for a second to try and wear his old uniform, but those things were tight and if it didn’t fit he was afraid his pride might not survive it. Gods, he needed to go back to training. He did, however, take his old daggers out. He strapped the sheaths to his thighs over the casual black velvet pants and covered them with a long black coat over the white cotton shirt. 

It was time to face the music, after all.

Chapter Text

Just like his sister said, Julian found his mother on the terrace in the eastern wing of the palace. She was eating a bagel while reading a document of some sort and by the face she was making, Julian assumed the contents didn’t quite please her.

It was never a good idea to sneak up on highly trained military personnel so he made his presence known, stepping just a bit heavier than usual.

“I hope this seat is not taken.”

She looked up at him, confusion on her face quickly giving way to undisguised happiness. “Julian!” She got up to hug him and now he knew who Slava got her crushing hugs from. What was it about Pankratz women trying to literally kill him with affection. “You’re finally home.”

After the initial wave of surprise passed, she let him go and gave him a critical once-over, her face taking a grim expression.

“Julian, what the actual hell? Did you even train at all this whole time? You look like some weasely merchant, not a trained combat fighter. And straighten your back for the love of Gods!” Yup, that was as much motherly affection as one could get around here.

“I will get back to training right away, Grand Marshal Nera.” He gave her the official salute but still couldn’t hold back a warm smile.

“It’s The Great Queen Nera now” she said, her voice a little strained.

“I’m sorry, I headed home as soon as I heard.”

“We will grieve later, Julian.” She looked him in the eyes, determined. “When we find the culprit and put his head on a stake.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear first thing in the morning. Good morning, mother. Julian.” Slava walked into the room with the energy of a person who had actually gotten a full night's sleep. Too energetic for Julian’s taste. She was wearing a uniform this time (a lighter version even though the weather was getting chillier each day) and had two lightweight swords crossed behind her back. Julian remembered suddenly that when she was twelve she had chosen those as her primary weapon simply because she thought it’d make her look more intimidating. Slava didn’t get her growth spurt until her late teens, so the poor thing had taken any opportunity to establish herself. He cherished his life enough to not mention this to anyone ever though. She might have chosen them for the looks but she was one of the best sword fighters Julian knew. It occurred to him that seeing Stanislava and Geralt spar would be nothing less of spectacular.

She took a seat at the table, opposite Julian, and handed their mother a parchment.

“I need you to sign this. It's an appointment decree for the 14th division. They came in last night.” She gave Julian a side eye but said nothing to him. “Acting general, Dabrowski, gave the report this morning. He did well in that shitshow, got everyone out alive, so I don’t see any reason why he shouldn't take the place permanently.”

“Hm. You’re right. Wouldn’t hurt to have him on the council as well, he seems to have his head on straight.”

At this point, Julian was positively bursting with curiosity. Kamil’s people were visibly shaken when he met them in Novigrad but he had better things to worry about. Now, seeing his mother and sister in relative safety, his natural curiosity came back with vengeance.

“So what happened to the previous one? The general, I mean”

Their mother went back to her paperwork, so Stanislava’s full attention was now on her brother.

“14th was on a diplomatic mission to Niedamir. As soon as the news about dad broke, they were supposed to head back to Kovir immediately, all prior arrangements notwithstanding, but that idiot got into it with a witch. He not only delayed the departure for two days, but got himself killed when the girl didn’t believe he’d been called back and tried to burn down the inn in the fit of jealousy. Kamil and his people got out and helped evacuate the civilians. That guy didn’t make it. Can’t say I feel sorry for him.”

As Slava was retelling the story, while simultaneously trying to steal apple slices from Julian’s plate, their mother signed the decree, finished her breakfast and as she got to her feet, she turned to Julian.

“I’ve got to go now, I have an audience with the consul of Pont Vanis. But Julian, I wasn't joking when I said you need to get back to training.” She gave him an excruciatingly unimpressed look. Slava made a sound that was more like a cackle than laugh.

“Take him to the boys.” The Queen told her. “I will not have my son walk around looking like a dainty count.”

Trying to stifle the laughter that was about to burst out any second his sister saluted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

With that, their mother was gone.

‘The boys’ as Queen Nera fondly referred to them, were in fact an elite combat squad, that had probably no match on the continent if in the world - the Shadowwalkers. Good Gods, Julian was so dead.

Slava started to pile up the breakfast food on her plate, while Julian contemplatively chewed on a piece of smoked meat.

“So, before you lead me to my inevitable death, do you mind giving me a rundown on political climate around here.”

Not bothering to finish chewing before answering, she said, “Oh you won't die, you big baby. You might faint, and fall on your ass a lot, and generally embarrass yourself to the point of no redemption, but you won’t die.” She looked delighted just imagining it. “You’re right though, you need to get the basics, but you should rely mostly on situational awareness. These people can change their colours real fast. So, what do you want to know? ”

She kept shoveling food while Julian thought how to better formulate his questions. It was almost impressive how much she ate, considering Slava was at most 5’6 and wiry but not particularly muscular. They’d both always relied more on speed and agility in fights.

“What do we know about the King's murder so far?”

She pushed the plate away, her face serious.

“It was a mole in the court. The main suspects are the ones with any claim to the throne, but we can’t exclude the possibility of a coup in the works.” She chewed a slice of bread thoughtfully. “As for the military folk… I kind of hope your new buddy can provide some insight into the Generals' Counsel. For now, at least, their support is with the queen, but it might change if they feel we’re caving under the pressure. Everyone’s watching her every step, Jules, looking for signs she’s not fit to rule without dad reining her in.”

Fuck, Julian thought.

“Right. And what’s up with these glorified concierges at the gate?”

“Well, actually skilled people have better places to be right now, like at the border with Provis. The Shadowwalkers are watching the palace grounds but the lack of military personnel around can raise concerns among civilians, so I have to maintain the illusion that nothing is out of the ordinary. We can’t have public unrest on our hands on top of everything.”

Slava was talking about all of it so casually. This kind of equanimity is something Julian admired about her, but it also scared him sometimes. He realised it will take a lot of time for him to start thinking about things like betrayals and deaths so matter-of-factly. He was not sure that he would ever be able to.

Julian’s inner turmoil probably showed on his face, as his sister promptly changed the subject. She was a caring person after all, just had a peculiar way of showing it.

“Listen, I’m a busy woman, I don’t have all day to watch you mope around. Finish your breakfast, we’ve got places to be.”

***

“So, I was under the impression you’re supposed to take me to the training grounds. We’re literally walking in the opposite direction.” 

Slava didn’t slow down to answer him. “The royal court started getting curious why we still have this huge area of the training grounds restricted when you’re not here and I train mostly at the academy, so mother had to move certain squad to the mountainside. Close enough to keep an eye on, far enough that no one really has any questions. Plus they can improve valuable skills like rock climbing and disguise on deserted areas. You’ll need a horse to get there, though. So that’s what we’re doing. Getting you a horse.” 

The royal stables were a 10-minute walk from the palace to the southwest. It was a huge compound with both covered and open areas. A lot of very gifted people dedicated their time to make sure the animals were healthy and ready for the long road at a minute’s notice. Julian also noted, probably for the first time in his life, just how actually clean it was there. He had seen taverns dirtier than these stables. And those served food. For people. 

As they walked into one of the big covered pavilions, a young man with tousled red hair peered out from behind the partition of one of the stands. His face instantly lit up with a wide sincere smile. Julian suspected it wasn’t his presence that made the man so happy.

“Princess Stanislava! No one told me you would come in today. I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting you.” He bashfully rubbed the back of his neck while deliberately not looking her in the eyes. Next to him, a shaggy horse, that clearly didn’t like its caretaker getting distracted, gave a miffed neigh.

The funny thing was that Slava also couldn’t seem to look at the guy. And her cheeks got violently red. “Um...yeah. Umm, it was kind of the spur of the moment thing.” 

The two of them just stood there. Not looking at each other. 

The silence was stretching so Julian theatrically cleared his throat. Almost like just remembering he was there at all they both jerked.

“Right um… so that’s my brother Julian. He just came back from Oxenfurt. Like, he graduated a couple of years ago but he travelled so he just came home now.”

Julian didn’t know how any of this information was even relevant right now, but the sight of his sister stumbling on every word was so hilarious that he didn’t dare stop her.

Remembering why they were here in the first place, she blurted “So...horse. Um, Julian needs a horse. Yeah.”

The stable boy finally plucked up courage and looked at Slava, his smile shy but warm. “It would be my pleasure to help your brother, Princess Stanislava.”

Julian was positively ecstatic. His sister could command an army, but could not keep a straight face when a stable boy smiled at her. Oh my , Julian thought, their mother is going to be livid. After all the times Queen Nera tried to forge political and military alliances through Slava’s marriage, the princess goes and falls in love with a stable boy. As a crown prince, Julian was horrified, but as a hopeless romantic, he couldn’t be more excited.

Only then the young man finally looked at Julian. Julian absentmindedly noted that he was cute. Tan skin, freckles. And there was something about those sincere big green eyes, something that made you want to give him the whole world on a silver platter.

“I’m afraid you didn’t introduce yourself. I would like to know how to address you.” Julian felt his sister staring daggers at him, but Gods know he’s not going to pass up this magnificent opportunity to annoy her.

The boy gave him a smile. More subdued, polite.

“My name is Mateusz. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sire.”

Mateusz started talking a mile a minute about all sorts of breeds they had available and the specifics of caring for them, as the three of them walked along the stalls looking at beautiful horses that cost like a yearly income of a small town each. Julian was politely pretending to listen, while his sister, it seemed, really listened. He just wasn’t sure she actually heard anything.

They were about to move to the next row, when something caught Julian’s attention. Someone, actually.

In the big stall in the far end of the stables stood a very apathetic looking horse, but Julian could swear it looked right at him, followed his movement. 

“Who’s that?” Julian asked as he came closer.

“Oh...” Mateusz’s excited demeanor deflated a little “She doesn’t have a name. One of the patrolling divisions found her near the border. She was wounded. We’re not sure exactly what happened to her, but nothing good that's for sure.” His voice was lined with sadness and a little bit of anger. It was clear he cared for every animal here dearly. “I nursed her and she even lets me brush her mane sometimes, but other than that she won’t let anyone close. Even other caretakers. My best guess is that she’s a Friesian*. She’s very strong and she needs a lot of exercise, but she wouldn’t let anyone take her out. She’s not aggressive per se, but she might hurt you, so be careful.”

Julian thought to himself: it worked once, it might work again. He carefully moved to the end stall, making sure the horse saw him so not to spook her.

“I love the way you just…stand there in the corner and brood. Very impressive really. I’ve been told you have quite a temper. Yeah well, you see, I don’t believe you’re that bad. I know you’ve been hurt, but you seem like a tough lady and I desperately need a companion…of a horse kind.”

His sister was trying to look annoyed, but Julian was sure she was at least a little amused. Mateusz just looked utterly lost and maybe a little terrified. Well, he might as well start getting used to Julian’s shenanigans. 

The horse was wary and her eyes were incredibly judgemental but she still came closer, so Julian carried on. 

“I also happen to know you need a lot of exercise but you won’t let anyone near you. See, you might think I’m not your best option. Well yeah, I’ll admit I’m a bit out of shape, you’re right, but so are you. We can work on this together, I’m not the judgemental type, really, and I’m very patient as long as you don’t mind that I’m chatty. You don’t have to listen really, but I think you might want to, eh? No one really talks to you much, must be lonely, I reckon. Of course you’ll never admit that, you seem like the proud kind.” 

He knew he got her attention (or maybe he was just completely bonkers), so he went for the win.

“So, what do you say? You, me, fresh air, some delicious hаy, the whole shindig. And if you don’t like me, no problem! Just please don't throw me out of the saddle, that would hurt my feelings quite a bit and I’m sensitive like that.”

The horse just stood there, looking at him unblinking. 

“Give me the reins.” he said to Mateusz quietly. 

“Prince Julian…”

“Fucking hell Julian!”

His sister and the boy spoke at the same time. That seemed to embarrass them both enough to lose the heat to argue with him, and as they kept avoiding the eye contact, Julian took the leather reins from young man’s hands. He slowly came closer to the little gate. the horse took an irritated breath but came to him nevertheless. He pet her gently and then started carefully putting the reins on her.

She just stood there with a face of a martyr but didn’t try to escape or attack him.

“What a handsome gal you are, huh. I’m gonna call you Geraldine, what do you think?” he said as he fed her a little apple.

She looked supremely unimpressed.

“Wait, so you're serious, you’re gonna take her?” Mateusz asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Yup, she’s now my second favourite lady in the world, after my mother.” He looked at Slava with a shit eating grin.

A commotion outside put them on alert. Slava instinctively stepped in front of Mateusz, reaching up for her swords. Julian hitched up the coat to get to the daggers. 

A man walked into the stables a few seconds later, clad in black that left little doubt about who he was. Shadowwalkers didn’t have a strict hierarchy like the military, but that man was certainly a chieftain, Julian was sure.

He saluted Slava, then nodded to Mateusz. “We just got back from the border, the horses are tired and thirsty. If you could get on that right away.”

“Yes, of course sir.” He returned the respectful nod and with a last little smile to Slava he went outside.

Slava sobered up. The man was looking at her, waiting. 

“Zakhar, this is my brother Julian. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say to him. I trust him with my life.” 

The man turned to look at Julian. Noded. Then turned back to look at Slava.

“We followed the lead on the potential rendezvous points the traitor might’ve used. My people will compile testimonies from eyewitnesses in the report for your mother, but I wanted to tell you in person. Wouldn’t be right if you found out with the rest of the court.” 

Julian’s breath hitched. He knew what was coming. He just desperately didn’t want to face it.

“Almost everyone we spoke to gave us a similar description. Taking into consideration this person had the means to carry it out, the continuous contact with Provis’s officials just proves the motive.” He took a deep breath, almost like giving Slava and Julian a second to prepare themselves. “We believe that advisor Ryszard is the man responsible for your father’s murder.”

Chapter Text

Slava was frantically pacing in front of the throne room, where the queen’s audience with the consul of Pont Vanis was running longer than anticipated. Zakhar was leaning on the column, watching her calmly.

“You’re not doing yourself any favours, winding yourself up like that,” he said conversationally.

That made her miss a step and turn to face him. Her eyes were burning with what Julian recognized as a mix of anxiety and indignation.

“I’m fine.” Anyone could see how not fine she was at that moment. “I’m just... calculating possibilities in my head. I'm focused.”

Zakhar didn’t look convinced. “No, you’re obsessive. Trying to predict every little detail. You can’t effectively assess the situation when you’re like that, we talked about it Stanislava.”

Slava looked at him with all the stubbornness of a toddler for a couple of seconds, then she promptly flopped on the floor, her legs crossed, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then another one.

While Slava was getting her groove back, or whatever it was she was doing, Julian turned to look at Zakhar. Really look at him. Mid-forties, taller than Julian, but not so he would have to crane his neck to talk to the man. Dark blond hair, medium length if Julian had to guess, but it was in an updo. There was something about his eyes though, something that felt off. Julian couldn't tell what it was without outright staring, so he decided he should get a proper reason to look the man in the eyes.

“So, how long have you been in the queen’s service?”

Zakhar gave him a knowing smirk, but it wasn’t unkind. He was a very attractive man. Almost unnaturally so, Julian thought.

“About five years now.” His voice was low but oddly melodic. “I’m glad I got to finally meet you. I’m sorry about the circumstances, though. I heard a lot about you from your sister.”

Julian prided himself on his ability to clock liars, no matter how good they were. Right now, his gut told him the man was sincere. 

He chuckled. “I dread to imagine what my sister would tell people about me.” He looked at Slava expecting her to return the jab, but she didn’t seem to hear him at all. Her breathing was even and it was almost like like if she was in some kind of trance. “Is she, like... okay?”

Zakhar smiled. “Yeah, she’s fine. Since she started handling the upper echelon a couple of years ago, she wasn't very good at managing stress, so I’m trying to teach her this meditation technique of sorts. I wouldn’t disturb her though, she seems calm but her senses are alert so she might hurt you if you come near without warning.” Finally meeting Julian’s eyes, he added, “And mostly she was telling good things. She missed you a lot.”

It was then when Julian saw. Zakhar’s eyes were different colors. The right one was brown, and the left was blue. 

He didn’t get much time to stare though because a young man clad in recognizable black emerged from behind one of the columns down the hall. As he approached their little party, his eyes went straight past Slava sitting on the floor and zeroed on Julian. He didn’t say anything, just gave Julian an odd look, before he turned to face Zakhar.

“I compiled the rough version of the report. Anything more detailed will take at least until this evening. I also assigned people to keep track of Ryszard’s whereabouts until further notice,” he said as he handed a stack of papers to Zakhar.

Zakhar carefully flipped through them. “Alright, this will have to do for now. Thank you, Luca,” he said, giving a salute.

The young man mirrored the gesture, putting his right hand on his heart. He gave Julian another vaguely hostile look before disappearing back into the shadow behind the column. What was that all about? Julian was pretty sure he never even met this Luca before in his life.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, looking at the space where the young man disappeared, when the doors to the throne room opened. Zakhar was nowhere in sight and Slava was already up, standing a little to the side with an expression that clearly translated as “Do not interact.”

***

The throne room had changed a lot since the last time Julian had seen it. They'd made the windows bigger, so the room had more natural light. It looked nice but Julian would bet money Slava had had a major freakout when she saw what kind of security risk it was. From the open space with no place to take cover to large windows that gave a view of the room to literally anyone. Julian was sure it was his father’s idea. Very impressive and ultimately very useless. 

Zakhar started debriefing Queen Nera as Slava struggled to close the heavy velvet curtains over those large windows. In addition to being large, they were also very tall so it was a losing battle for Slava. Julian hurried to help her.

When they finally got settled around the big round table that had been brought for the audience, the queen was already brought up to speed. Years of leading people into battle made her able to take any news with calmness. It unfortunately also separated her from the political scene and Julian had a feeling his mother was out of her depth right now.

“How do you suggest we proceed from here, then?” She asked, her tone carefully neutral.

Although Slava had calmed down a little, she was still buzzing with energy. It just felt more directed now. She spoke quickly but didn’t seem frantic anymore.

“Well, treason is a crime against the kingdom, punished with execution. The problem is, we don’t have a law that specifies the jurisdiction.” It was clearly recited for Julian’s sake and he was infinitely grateful. “Before, I thought I would have to exercise my right as a crown princess. That would be tricky though, since I’m a military executive and therefore only technically hold the royal title.”

When Julian left, he knew his father had big plans to remake the legislative system. He just never cared for what exactly that entailed. He deeply regretted his carelessness now, mostly because he felt very stupid sitting here pretending he understood what his sister was on about. 

“This doesn’t make any sense if I’m honest,” Julian said, trying to sound concerned rather than confused. Not very convincingly, he reckoned. “Why separate the titles at all? Why can’t you be a military executive and a crown princess and hold both powers? Kovir makes living fighting other people’s battles, how come people who do it don’t even have a say in what happens to the kingdom?”

Slava was trying to look unperturbed but Julian could clearly see rage boiling in her eyes. Well, he thought, that answered his question whether her relationship with their father got any better over the years.

“The last couple years our dear father deemed himself the diplomatic genius and didn’t want to listen to anything we were saying,” she said venomously. “Concerns regarding his safety included. And look where it got him.”

“Stanislava!” Queen Nera probably tried for something resembling stern tone, but just ended up sounding exhausted. It was clearly not the first time they’ve had this argument.

“What, like you don’t agree with me. After you've separated, it’s almost like he was doing everything just to spite you.”

Not that Julian was surprised to hear that. Even before he left for Oxenfurt his parents fought constantly on every matter imaginable, political or personal. Still, it hurt to be reminded of those times. Times, when he sincerely believed he could fix everything if only he worked hard enough, if only he was a good enough son. If only he was enough.

“Slava,” Julian reached out and gently covered her clenched fist with his palm. Something he used to do a lot when they were kids, struggling through painfully uncomfortable family dinners. “This is not the time. We can’t lose focus if we want to deal with this efficiently.” He hoped he came across calming and not condescending, Gods know Slava has had enough of that from their father. 

She took a deep breath. “You’re right. I apologize for losing my temper.” She didn't look at Queen Nera, nor did she look particularly sorry but even saying something like this out loud would have been impossible for Slava a few of years ago. “Anyways," she continued, "Over the years he gave a lot of decision making powers to the civilian aristocracy. So now the royal court is not just an old stupid tradition, they can actually affect things around here,” Slava grimaced. “Not everyone there is an idiot.” At that, she gave their mother a pointed look, like the statement was some kind of goodwill gesture on her part. “But most are absolutely useless and before now I didn’t really see a way to get rid of them.”

“But you do now?” Zakhar asked. He looked like he knew the answer, but wanted to see Slava come to it on her own.

“Kind of.” She said, carefully looking at Zakhar. “Ryszard is their unspoken leader right?” Zakhar noded. “So when we execute him, the court will lose credibility in the eyes of the public because they were following his lead on every little thing. If we play this right, we can take all executive power from them and redistribute it between the Queen and the Generals' Counsel. They’re not my favourite bunch of people, but I’ll take them over the greedy spoiled shitheads in the court.”

“Alright, that makes sense. But that’s the future. What about right now? How are we going to execute him?” The Queen asked.

“You mean who is going to execute him?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You certainly can’t.” And before the queen could even open her mouth, Slava quickly continued “Not in the sense you can’t do it but in the sense that you can’t if you don’t want to give the court leverage against you.”

“I think Julian might need a little context here,” Zakhar suggested. Good lad, Julian thought.

Slava made a face like just saying what she was about to say made her sick. “The court made sure the second mother was coronated to start spreading rumors among the common people about how a war chieftain can’t possibly be a good leader for the kingdom, which is a load of bullshit if you ask me. It’s not like people would even trust a bunch of privileged assholes but I'm absolutely sure that if she executes that peace of shit herself, they will find a way to use it against her. No matter what she does they’ll call it something like unlawful or unnecessarily cruel or some shit.” 

“So... are you going to do it?” Julian asked.

“I suppose I would have to, a day ago. It would have been the best option in those circumstances.” Uh oh. Julian knew this tone and he didn’t like it one bit. “But now, I have this royal figure with a beautifully crafted public image, a degree in humanitarian studies from a well-known academy who, to top it off, doesn’t have any known military background in the eyes of the public. A perfect candidate really.”

Julian was alarmed by this development, but truth be told he wasn't all that surprised. In the corner of his eye, he saw his mother, who looked like she probably felt somewhat similarly. 

“I like this idea.” It was Zakhar who broke the silence. “Very multifaceted approach.” He gave her a little nod and a smile, amusement clear in his eyes. As Julian watched her return a full-blown grin, he remembered just how quick their father was to shut down her every idea, even very good ones, calling them “reckless" and "daft”. Essentially calling her these things.

Julian just didn’t have the heart to argue. “If you say it’s gonna work, I trust you. What do I need to do?”

Chapter Text

Over the years, Julian went along with various plots of Slava’s creation. Some of them, he would lovingly refer to as batshit crazy. Others, he would prefer to forget altogether. His sister was an ultimate daredevil and Julian could pretend that he’s a sensible person who goes along just to keep an eye on her, but honestly, who would even believe that. Queen Nera once said that whereas Julian was always looking for trouble, Slava was ready to start it. Teamwork at its finest.

In retrospect, inability to say no to his sister is exactly how he found himself standing in the Central Square in all his regal glory, about to execute a man. He was getting stared at by hundreds people and this was probably one of a very few times when Julian didn’t appreciate having an audience.

Ryzhard was furious with his arrest and prompt trial. However, his demeanor changed when he saw Julian and not Queen Nera standing before him to read out the verdict. Seeing how Julian isn’t militarized and very little people know he was trained as a child, Ryzard probably saw the opportunity to turn his dire situation around. He addressed the crowd, putting on his pathetic one-man show.

“My name has been slandered, my reputation of King’s loyal adviser dragged through dirt by a power hungry girl and a woman who wouldn’t know a first thing about ruling a kingdom,” his voice was loud and just emotional enough to get people’s attention. He turned back to Julian, faux anger rising in his voice. “And now I have to just accept the humiliation of having my life handed to some stranger. I will not stand for that! I demand to exercise my right to fight for my honor, granted by Maciej’s law”

Julian was already tired of this man’s bullshit.

In the corner of his eye he saw his mother completely freeze. He knew he couldn't turn to look at her or Slawa right now, as to seem like he actually knew what he was doing. Julian had a gut feeling that his sister had somehow foreseen this and she mindfully threw him in the middle of this shitshow. Well, Ryzhard wasn’t the only one who knew how to work a crowd.

As Julian spoke, his voice was even, unwavering. He presented the perfect picture of calmness and poise. For the first time in many years, he actually felt like a Royal.

“The Maciej’s law was passed to give the wrongly accused a chance to protect their honor. This man can't do that.”

Julian heard a few gasps among the crowd when he paused, but he never let the audience distract him from putting on his shows and this time wasn't exception. 

“He murdered my father, the person who trusted him over everyone else, in cold blood. He had no honor to begin with. This man is a coward and he will die like one!”

The silence that fell was deafening, and before Ryzhard could even so much as open his mouth, Julian went for the arresting last act of his speech.

“But I will execute him honestly. That is what we as a kingdom stand for. I grant you the trial by Maciej’s law. Choose your weapon wisely.” 

***

Ryzhard went with the sword. He’s not the first one to assume that because Julian favours daggers, he’s a shitty swordsman. It’s funny how people can become so focused on not letting their opponent have even one advantage, they forget to not fuck themselves over in the process. But the truth was, Julian hadn’t held a sword with intention for almost a decade now. It’s not that he was afraid he won’t be able to end the man, but how he did it mattered too much right now to be careless about it. What Julian needed right now was a technique as spectacular as it was effective. After a moment’s consideration he knew what he was going to do. 

Julian was naturally very observant and as he was watching people over the years, he would always break down their fighting styles in his head. For no particular reason, it’s just what he was always taught to do. Fighting is like dancing in a way, it has rhythm. People who train together for a long time get used to a certain rhythm, so when you fight a stranger, as Ryszard generously called him, you’re already at a disadvantage. Julian knew every fighting style taught in Kovir, but no man knew the sequences he was about to use because as far as Julian knew, Witchers had a unique fighting style.

Julian made sure not to end the fight too soon, it had to look at least somewhat fair. He used the moves that were imprinted in his mind after hours of watching them performed in training and in battle but he didn’t let himself dwell on the past. He knew better now. He had to protect his heart because he knew no one else would.

When Ryzhard finally fell to the ground, dropping his weapon, Julian looked him in the eyes. He wasn't sure what he expected to see there, but there was only disdain. For Julian, or maybe for his father. Either way, it made the next part easier for him, if only marginally. 

Julian wasn't in a perpetual state of war with his late father like Slava was. The best way to describe their relationship would probably be to say they had no relationship. Julian always did what he was told, he was polite and gracious at social functions his father cared so much about and never caused trouble. That’s how he earned the dubious gift of being ignored left alone. Julian didn’t love the man, but he didn’t hate him either. Whatever Julian’s opinion of him was, no one deserved to die like that: stabbed in the back by someone he considered his friend, disfigured in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence. It was vile and it deserved the retribution, Julian just happened to be the one to deliver it. He tried to force himself to not feel anything as he put the sword right through the man's heart. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

It was quiet, the crowd slowly dissipating, as the guards dragged Ryzhard’s breathless body from the square. Julian took a piece a cloth from the adjutant and wiped the blood from the sword’s blade. He couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

Chapter Text

The silence unnerved him. He tried to pretend it didn’t but it did. And that pissed him off. The universe was having fun at his expense and there was jack shit he could do about it. A more rational part of his mind tried to argue that maybe it all meant something, and the universe was trying to make a point, rather than just mock him. He aggressively squashed that line of thinking, before it could turn into a full-blown guilt trip. After all, Jaskier was the most annoying presence Geralt has ever encountered (or so he told himself). And now that this presence was gone, his life should go back to normal. As normal as it could get, at least. But it didn’t. He just felt like something was missing. Like there was a gaping hole in his heart life. And he didn’t know how to make things go back to the way they were before. And he didn’t know if he wanted to. And it was driving him mad.

Almost like she sensed his angsty musings, Roach gave an amused neigh.

“Are you judging me right now? Well, that's just fantastic. So, I feed you, I take care of you and you still defend him? I feel betrayed.”

Another neigh.

“Yeah, I’m not having this argument right now. He’s gone. Nothing to talk about.”

Roach sighed, indicating she also had no interest in continuing. Couldn’t even let him have the last word. Typical.

They’d just walked past a sign directing to Angren, so the chances were they won’t have to sleep on the ground tonight. At last some good news, he thought as he gave Roach a judgemental look. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t seem to care.

They entered the town around sundown, so Geralt was more than a little surprised there were still so many people in the main square. He got off Roach to get through the crowd and get a closer look. 

There was a woman standing on a bunch of wooden crates stacked on top of each other, telling the crowd how she’s so glad to be singing for them today and that any amount of money they’re willing to pay will be greatly appreciated. A man stood next to her little makeshift stage, tuning his lute. He wasn’t even looking at the crowd.

Oh Gods, Geralt thought. He got himself right in the middle of the strolling musicians’ performance. He was already turning to make his way out of the crowd when he apparently caught the woman’s eye.

“A special guest graced out humble performance today," she announced. "The Witcher himself!”

Geralt grunted as he turned to look at her. He hated attention, and that’s exactly what he was getting right now. 

“I hope everyone will find out what they're looking for tonight,” she said smugly as she looked right at Geralt. It took him a second too long to realize human eyes just can’t be that green. And then she started singing.

“You are the hole in my head

You are the space in my bed

You are the silence in between

What I thought and what I said”

The legend says siren’s song will uncover your deepest desires, your biggest fears, and your worst regrets. Geralt tried to think of something that could stop her, but he couldn’t. Such is the siren’s allure, you hear what you yearn to hear. No one can resist something this powerful. Not even a Witcher. 

“You are the night-time fear

You are the morning when it's clear

When it's over you'll start

You're my head, you're my heart”

The last couple of years start flashing before his eyes: Jaskier smiling at him in that grimy tavern where they met, Jaskier rhyming ‘Geralt’ and ‘yeller’ in a verse and laughing his guts out about it for ten minutes straight, Jaskier telling him someone will want him...

“No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day

You can't choose what stays and what fades away

And I'd do anything to make you stay

No light, no light

Tell me what you want me to say”

Jaskier telling him he’ll get the rest of the story from others, Jaskier leaving him alone on that cliff... 

“Through the crowd I was crying out and

In your place there were a thousand other faces

I was disappearing in plain sight

Heaven help me I need to make it right

You want a revelation

You want to get it right

And it's a conversation

I just can't have tonight

You want a revelation

Some kind of resolution

You want a revelation… 

But would you leave me

If I told you what I've done

And would you leave me

If I told you what I've become

'Cause it's so easy

To say it to a crowd

But it's so hard, my love

To say it to you out loud...”

There was a horrible overwhelming ringing in his ears, but he was pretty sure the music had stopped. The people around him were visibly more dazed, they probably won't even know why they were here in the first place when they come to. Geralt reached for his sword, pointing it directly at the siren.

“Give me one good reason to not kill you right now,” he snarled.

The woman smiled at him warmly. Evidently, neither the weapon nor the anger radiating off the Witcher bothered her.

“Well, I didn’t commit any wrongdoing, therefore, I deserve no punishment. Isn’t that what the Witcher’s code states?”

“You’re selling a starry-eyed fantasy, feeding on human weaknesses!” Geralt knew she wasn't wrong and he was grasping at straws here. He was just so angry . At her, at himself, at the world at large.

“I’m just showing people what their hearts desire. It’s not my fault if some are too afraid of what they really want.” 

She picked up her bag, now full of money and before she could disappear in the crowd she turned to look at him.

“I wish you the courage to find what you’re looking for, Geralt .” With that, she and her companion were gone.

***

Geralt ended up staying at a quaint little place called “At Marsha’s”. The food was decent and as he devoured his dinner, he kept telling himself that he felt like shit because he was tired and sleep-deprived. He didn’t even believe himself, that’s how pathetic he was.

The women at the table next to him were throwing suggestive glances his way and discussing the upcoming coronation in Kovir. Geralt didn’t care for their attention and he definitely didn’t care for politics, so he tried his best to ignore them. Unfortunately, they were very loud and Witchers have very acute hearing.

"Ugh, this is just so confusing. Don't they already have a Queen? That mean looking lady?"

“No, you stupid. It's just an honorary title. She's a warlord first. By Kovir's law she can't hold a diplomatic position of a Queen even if she is technically a queen because she's in military. Capisce?"

"Uhh...no?"

Neither did Geralt. As far as he knew, Kovir was a fundamentally militarised kingdom and made living as a combat power for hire. In their case, separating military from politics sounded like an absolutely moronic idea. Not that he cared, obviously.

"Just... forget about it. Point is, now their son is back from Oxenfurt and he’s taking the throne.”

“Oh I've heard he’s very handsome, I wonder if he’s gonna start looking for a wife. Do you think there will be matchmaking balls in Kovir?”

Geralt tuned out the conversation after that.

Jaskier also went to Oxenfurt, some treacherous part of his mind oh so helpfully reminded him. Could he possibly know this new king? Will he sing at the coronation banquet? With a great effort of will, Geralt decided that he didn't care. He finished his ale and, ignoring the looks the women kept sending his way, went to his room. 

Chapter Text

The weather was chilly but the sun was out, so it was considered a nice day to be outside. Geraldine, chewing on her haystack, enjoying the sunlight, would probably agree. Julian, on the other hand, was getting knocked on his ass for Gods only knew what time in the last hour so he didn’t quite share the sentiment.

Getting in shape was a grueling process that had only started to pay off the tiniest bit. Julian’s reaction time improved and he was only starting to feel out of breath after about an hour of intense fight now. The downside was that his muscles were constantly sore and he was sporting the multitude of bruises of different shades and sizes. Thankfully, no one could see them under the heavy winter uniform, but they still hurt like hell.

“You’re getting better,” Zakhar said as Julian landed on the ground face down with a painful thud. “You’re not anywhere near passable compared to my men, of course, but you’re definitely getting better.” 

“You’re a paragon of optimism, Zakhar,” Julian mumbled from his unenviable position. He was entirely too tired to get up (or even turn to look at the man for that matter).

“I have a lot of practice,” Zakhar smiled cheerfully. “I train children quite often, they too have fragile self-esteem.” Asshole, Julian thought.

Truth be told, Zakhar was a phenomenal teacher. Demanding, yet patient. Careful not to push his students over the limit before they’re ready to cross it themselves. Under his command, the new generation of shadowwalkers will be as extraordinary as it will be terrifying.

When Julian didn’t make a move to get up, Zakhar took it as his cue that they were done for the day. Julian might seem to be dainty and dramatic, but he’s passionate and he’s devoted, so by now, Zakhar knew that Julian only stopped when he was physically incapable to keep going. When he finally found a modicum of strength to roll over and sit up, Zakhar was storing away the practice weapons. They were all blunt but weighted like the real thing. It was good to get used to the weight early in the training, Julian almost forgot how heavy some of them could be. He wholeheartedly blamed Geralt for making it look so easy. 

“So what’s gonna happen to my training once you and my mother are gone tomorrow?”

Zakhar gave him a skeptical look, accessing Julian’s general state of disarray.

“Don’t even dream about slacking off. I want you here every morning at dawn, no excuses. You’re gonna train with my apprentice, Luca. I’m sure you’ve seen him around: kinda short, dark hair, permanent scowl.” Zakhar gestured vaguely with one hand.

Ah yes. The guy that’s been giving Julian a stink eye every single time he encountered him. Great. That’s just great.

“How long do you plan on being gone then?” 

Zakhar put away the last of the weapons as he sighed thoughtfully. “Hard to say. We still have no idea what’s causing these disruptions at the border. The reports are inconsistent and sometimes downright contradicting so we’ll have to figure out what’s going on and how to stop it. I’m hoping we can turn around in about five to six weeks, but you know, if you want to amuse the Gods tell them your plans and all that.”

Julian was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that they thought it was a good idea to leave him in charge when he had barely been home for a month and the palace was boiling with tension. Slava called it immersion therapy. Easy for her to say when she’s fucking off to do a string of diplomatic visits for the time being.

“Why are you asking? Eager to get coronated, are we?” Zakhar smiled as he offered a hand to help Julian get up.

Getting to his feet, Julian scoffed, "Oh yes, the crushing pressure of the responsibility for hundreds of thousands human lives. Can't wait to drop that on my shoulders."

After Ryzard's execution, public opinion of Julian has been pretty welcoming so his mother saw it as the opportunity to ditch the tedious bureaucracy and go back into combat. It was around the time that the disruptions at the border started, so the coronation and the whole solemn shindig that goes with it would have to wait until that's dealt with. 

"Funny,” Zakhar said, giving Julian an amused look “you don't realize it yet, but it's the fact that you think of it this way that will make you a good leader."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm quite amazing, I know.” 

He started moving towards the makeshift stable near the training ground where he left Geraldine. She was getting used to him, step by step, only threw him out of the saddle once this week. Tremendous progress compared to the first time he took her out for a walk and came back walking, reins in hand, disheveled and covered in ugly bruises from countless falls. Mateuzs begged him to reconsider his choice. Mostly, Julian suspected, because he thought Julian getting hurt would upset Slava. She didn’t look too upset if the hysterical laughter when she saw him was anything to go by. 

Saying goodbye was considered bad luck among military folks, so before leaving he turned to Zakhar and said, “I'll probably see you tomorrow before you guys leave.” Since I wake up at the ass o'clock anyway, he thought gloomily. “So I'll see you around, I guess.”

Zakhar, as if he read Julian's thoughts, gave him a wide impish grin. "Have fun, Julian!" 

He said it with his full chest, knowing damn well Julian had a bunch of mind-numbingly boring shit to sit through today. The absolute ass.

***

With the way Julian was nodding off during the reading of budgeting reports today, he kind of expected to be out as light as soon as his head hit the pillow. He wasn’t. He was wide awake and full of energy. And it was already well past midnight.

Jaskier was used to entertaining people well into the wee hours of the night and unfortunately for Julian the old habits were hard to kick. The ruckus outside didn’t help either. People were clearly anxious about two thirds of the royal family departing at the same time, but everyone who was working at the palace grounds did their best to make sure the departure would go off without a hitch. The Queen and a dozen battalions along with a few chosen shadowwalkers as her personal guards were to head northwest to change the watch on the border with Provis. Stanislava and her people would follow them for about a third of the way there, then separate and head west to Kaedwen, the first destination on her route. Her goal was to make diplomatic visits, secure the alliances in case the war with Provis breaks out for real and come back, all in less than two months.  If she didn’t make it before the snowstorms hit, she wouldn’t be able to come home until well into the spring. Julian didn’t want to even entertain that possibility.

And if all that wasn’t stress inducing enough, he could always circle back to thinking about how the fuck was he going to handle ruling the whole kingdom on his own. And then he’d freak the fuck out. 

Knowing he was never good at processing things on his own, Julian decided to go bother Slava. Only she wasn’t in her room and, seeing how she’s gonna be gone for over a month, Julian had a pretty good idea where she would prefer to spend her last hours in Kovir.

Well, if he couldn't have sibling compassion, he’d have to settle for a late-night snack. There was always a little open buffet left in the eastern wing near the kitchens for those who worked night shifts and anyone craving something to munch on at an ungodly hour. 

Julian was just trying to make sure the jello fit on the plate with smoked meat without touching it when he was spooked within the inch of his life by his own mother and if maybe, just maybe, he gave an undignified screech at that moment, no one needed to know about that ever.

“Gods! Maybe warn a person before you creep up like that!”

His mother just watched, amused to no end, how Julian was frantically gasping for air. “You have to be aware of your surroundings at all times, my dear,” she said unperturbed, as she stole a sugary bun from his plate. “What are you doing up so late anyway?”

He bit into a seasoned strip of meat, “Couldn’t sleep is all.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re worried about tomorrow.”

“And every day after that, yeah. Are you not? How are you so calm about it? I’ve only been back a couple of weeks. Aren't you afraid I’m gonna fuck everything up spectacularly?!” Maybe, he was spiraling into panic. Maybe, he didn’t know how to stop.

Queen Nera looked at him carefully, worry clear in her eyes. “Julian, you need to calm down. Take a breath. Put down your plate and let’s take a walk.”

He was clutching her elbow like he used to do when he was a kid as they walked to the garden on the opposite side of the palace. You could barely hear any noise there. Julian wasn’t sure if he liked the quiet or if it was unnerving him even more.

“Have you calmed down?” his mother asked as he let go of her arm.

“No,” he replied with all the poise of a stubborn toddler. Having his mom around actually kind of helped, not that he would ever admit it.

“Listen, Julian, I know you’re worried. And I know a big part of it is my fault.”

Wait, what?  “Mom, I don't…”

“Let me finish, darling.” She sighed. Deep. Weary. “Me and your father… we put an enormous amount of pressure on you since a young age. We genuinely believed the end justified the means. We were very young when we had you, and when we got that prophecy… we were terrified. So we decided to do everything in our power to make sure you would be ready when the destiny came knocking. But in the process we just… pushed you away.” The Queen took another deep breath. Julian wasn’t sure he has ever seen her so vulnerable. It just wasn't something she ever let anyone see. Even her children. “When you went away, I was sure you wouldn’t come back.”

Julian felt his eyes watering. “Mom…” He reached for her hand. “I was always planning to come home. Always.”

She smiled at him tentatively. “You know, I cried that first time you sent a postcard. I’m pretty sure Slava did too, but she’d never tell.”

“I missed you guys a lot. But you know I had to do it, right? Had to do something in life that was purely mine,” the words came out hoarsely.

“I do now.” Queen Nera looked at him with that soft look still in her eyes, but she she also seemed determined now. “What I’m trying to tell you, Julian, is that you have no reason to be worried. Being a ruler never felt right to you because you were trying to fit a mold me and your father created and you couldn't. But we were wrong. You’re perfectly fine as you are. You don’t need to change anything about yourself to be a good king. Just do what feels right in your heart, what you’re ready to stand for. You already have all the knowledge you need."

“I don’t really know what to say to that… thank you?"

“Sorry it took me such a long time to get it right,” she smiled but it looked a little sad.

Julian wrapped his mom in a tight hug, and if they stood there like that until he completely calmed down, well, it was nobody’s business anyway.

***

Slava almost ended up being late for the departure. Julian noticed her approaching from southwest when the final preparations were nearly done. Her hair was an absolute mess, belts on her uniform were fastened wrong and that's the ones that were fastened, which wasn't that many. And there was still a distinct pillow mark on her cheek.

After he fulfilled his brotherly duty and made fun of her relentlessly, Julian braided her hair into two practical braids and tactfully pretended not to notice the scattering of hickeys going down her throat as he properly refastened all the belts and turned up the collar of her greatcoat. Slava complained about being handled like a toddler only a little bit and overall endured Julian’s running commentary like a champ. He gave her a tight hug and she asked him to keep an eye on Mateusz and, surprisingly, Luca, who as it turned out, she was good friends with.

“Take care, potato head. I’ll be back before you start missing me too much,” she grinned before running away to join their mother and Zakhar in the front of the formation.

Watching them leave the palace grounds, Julian thought about the life he used to have. Despite all the hardships, it was a good life. He liked it well enough, but the absence of his family in it created a void in Julian's heart he could never fill. He’d thought he did once, thought he found his person, but he had been wrong and he paid the price for this mistake.

Knowing there were still people in this world who loved him unconditionally, with all his flaws and insecurities, gave Julian hope that one day this heartache that's been following him around is gonna go away for good. 

Chapter Text

Ever since Julian could remember, he never had to work hard for people to like him. Sure, being a prince had something to do with it, but Kovir’s hierarchy worked differently at the time. The culture around royal family demanded respect, not likeability. And yet, Julian always felt that people just wanted to be around him. 

When he was a child, all it took was a toothy grin to get whatever the hell he wanted.

In his teenage years, people started calling him charismatic. There was always someone ready to warm his bed or just simply be in his company, listen to his music. It helped that he was attractive too, but Julian knew better than to rely on it too much. People got bored with superficial things very quickly, in his experience.

When he left for Oxenfurt, Julian was afraid that people wouldn’t like him. That they’d see something people in Kovir couldn’t, clouded by his royal status. That he’s probably not that talented, or funny, or even attractive for that matter.

However, the name Jaskier became of interest for anyone who was someone at Oxenfurt. Everybody knew that wasn't his real name, but that only made the speculations about his persona juicier. Who was he? Where was he from? The theories varied from absolutely ridiculous to semi-close to the truth (runaway prince from a faraway kingdom). He had many friends there, had some foes too. Fucked most of both. He was always a wanted guest anywhere he went. Even without the Pankratz name, he had talent and he had soul. That was enough for people to be enraptured with him.

Making money after graduation was a bit of a challenge at first. Julian, growing up in wealth and spending his youth around academia, couldn’t relate well to common folks. That made writing for them hard and, subsequently, making living hard. But Julian was always a fatalist (how can you not be if your existence was kind of a gesture of fate in itself) so he waited for something to turn the tide for him. 

He was one of fortune’s favorites after all, as he met Geralt of Rivia and the rest was history. The one he sang about too many times to ever forget. Even with the sour ending to his travels, Julian still prided himself on befriending (or whatever the fuck it was) such a complicated person. If someone as grumpy and hostile as the Butcher of Blaviken himself enjoyed his company (at least for a while), he must've been a pleasure to be around. 

Well, as it turned out on that chilly morning, there were people that not only disliked Julian but, apparently hated his guts. That was new.

When Julian got to the mountainside, Luca was already there, waiting for him with a truly impressive scowl. If not for the perpetual murder face, one could call him handsome, Julian thought absentmindedly. High cheekbones, dark hair, and striking dark eyes that Julian would call beautiful if their owner wasn’t currently staring daggers at him.

“You’re late. All that fancy education and you still can’t read a clock?” Ouch. Gods, Julian sighed internally, why was this incredibly attractive man so very angry with him this early in the morning?

“I was seeing the departure through,” Julian replied easily, trying his best to ignore the hostility in the man’s tone.

“I’m sure your contribution was of the utmost importance,” Luca said, absolutely deadpan. “Are you ready?”

Before Julian even opened his mouth to reply, Luca knocked him off balance with a quick sequence. Julian didn’t have a chance to prepare for the fall, so he hit the ground as gracefully as a sack of potatoes. He heard a very menacing crack as he landed. He prayed it wasn’t his spine that made the sound.

“You’re clearly not,” Luca mused unkindly. “You know, people who want to kill you aren’t notorious for giving a heads up before they do.”

Julian still lay on the ground, with no visible intention of getting up anytime soon. “Yeah, that's why I train,” asshole — he added under his breath. Julian was quickly losing the last traces of the good mood he had.

Luca didn’t seem to be impressed with his answer. “Hadn’t you been training since you were, like, four? You can’t even block a simple attack sequence,” he scoffed.

That got Julian’s blood boiling. He sat up. 

“First of all, that was not a simple attack sequence! My body might not be in the best shape, but my head works perfectly, thank you very much. That was Kajetan’s triple sequence and it’s a pretty advanced fighting technique. Good for you for knowing that much, I guess,” he spat out venomously. Two can play this game if Luca was so set on being a complete douchebag for no reason.

“Well, are you getting up off that ground anytime this month?” The man was so pettily passive-aggressive, yet his face remained carefully impassive, like he put a lot of effort into keeping it that way.

Julian got a crazy idea. This was going to be so embarrassing if it didn't work out the way he planned, but he was nothing if not an optimist.

Julian started slowly getting up from the ground. “Depends, are you gonna stop acting like a little bitch and spar with me properly?”

Julian knew he still had places to go with his training but muscle memory was a great thing and it didn’t take much to trip Luca (with the same damn sequence, might he add) then straddle him and pin both his hands over his head, effectively blocking any movement.  

Luca’s eyes went wide. His cheeks went red right off and there was also blush slowly creeping up his neck. Not so straight-faced after all, Julian thought smugly.

“Now listen up, sweet cheeks. Since it was Zakhar’s decision to make us spar partners, we’re gonna get to know each other. Become friends. ” Julian didn't lean too low (so as to not get headbutted) as he spoke, his tone faux-sweet. Luca tried to struggle under him, but that’s where the height difference came in handy (thanks for those snazzy long limbs, mom!). “And friends know all sorts of things about each other, right? So here’s a little something about me, a fundamental flaw of my personality if you will.” Julian made sure to make a dramatic pause. “I have a very, very low tolerance for bullshit.” Luca looked at him defiantly, which was probably not easy in his current position. “I do not know what your problem is. I do not care. You have a job to do here so be a darling, get your shit together, and fucking do it like an adult.” Luca grimaced. Culturally, seniority was a big deal in Kovir and Luca looked pretty young, so Julian guessed he would hit a nerve with something like this. Good, he thought. He let go of Luca and made sure to get to his feet as gracefully as he could, “We’re done for today, love.”

Julian lied, of course. He cared a lot about why Luca felt that way about him. He was sure he’d never met Luca before leaving for Oxenfurt, hadn’t even talked to the guy after he saw him that first time. What was even weirder in all of this, Luca was apparently friends with Slava. Would she talk shit about Julian? Absolutely. But would it hold enough weight to actually make someone so hostile? Unlikely. Anyhow, he was too tired to ponder the mysteries of Luca’s soul and he also had a shit ton of reading to do. He was a responsible acting king, after all. Kind of.

***

Julian woke up at sundown. He fell asleep at his desk around noon, but at least he made progress in his research. It didn’t look good. His father had seemingly been dead set on separating the military from any legal decision-making power in Kovir. Julian suspected it was Ryszard’s influence that prompted this. He used the King’s resentment towards his wife to strengthen his agenda against the military. But then if everything was going according to plan, why kill the King? It didn’t make sense to Julian in the big picture. He was clearly missing something.

His body ached from sleeping at the table and when Julian tried to roll his shoulders, he realized the pain in the right arm was way more intense than any of his usual bruises from training. Fuck. He would probably need to see a doctor about it. 

And if all that was not enough to make him feel utterly shitty, Julian remembered he haven’t had anything to eat since that unsuccessful attempt at getting a midnight snack. That, in turn, led him to remember he hadn’t put any requests for the palace kitchen today so he decided he will make do with whatever was served in the military communal mess. Like all military food, it was probably an unidentifiable mush, but it should be nutritious at least.

He combed his bed head as best as he could (which wasn’t all that good, to be fair) and headed for the military district. 

The mush turned out to be fairly enjoyable, people didn’t stare too openly and the headache, prompted by his impromptu nap, was starting to subside. All things considered, Julian was doing as well as he could, given the circumstances.

The bench on the opposite side of the table creaked, as Kamil sat down with a plateful of whatever it was they were serving. Julian had eaten about a third of his own helping and he still wasn’t sure what it was exactly. 

In the days that Julian spent with Kamil on the road, he got to know the man a little, enough to make a general judgment of his character. Kamil cared a great deal for those who entrusted him to lead them in battle. He was a good-natured man, but his deceptive calmness could vanish in a moment if you tried to wrong his people. Julian admired that.

“Staying close to the people, your highness?” Kamil smiled at him sincerely.

“I missed dinner and didn’t want to bother kitchen people when there’s plenty of food to go around here,” Julian replied affably.

Kamil skeptically surveyed his mush. “What an odd egg you are, Prince Julian.” He took a bite, then looked at Julian and asked, "So, I take it the royal life isn’t treating you all that kind?”

Julian looked up at him, wary, “What makes you say that?” Are there any rumors going around, he thought anxiously? Do people question his leadership in the absence of his mother?

Kamil just shrugged. “I don’t know how to say it politely, so I won’t. You look like crap, son.”

Oh. Right.

“I was up all night before the departure and then had a training session with a new tutor that didn’t go too well.” As if to prove his words, at that exact moment his right shoulder shot through with a bout of sharp pain, making Julian twitch with a painful sigh.

Kamil couldn’t help but notice that the prince didn’t use his right hand at all. Didn’t even lean it on the table. Couldn’t, more like. “You oughta get that looked at, I reckon.” 

“I was going to go see a palace doctor after dinner.”

Kamil visibly cringed. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

Julian raised an eyebrow, expecting the man to elaborate.

“They got this new guy a few years ago after Klaudiusz kicked the bucket. May his soul rest in peace,” Kamil sighed. “Yeah, so the new guy, he’s… lousy. He heals,” Kamil couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the word, “with the power of crystals. So if you want actual help, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why the fuck do we keep him around then?” Julian asked.

“Well, the royal court insists. Between me and you, he just gives them tinctures that get them buzzed and listens to their whining so I guess they like him alright.”

“So… Where do you go when the military doctors are away on a campaign? They can be gone for months on end.”

“Oh, do you remember where the old Anatol’s tavern was?”

“Like, before it burned down? Yeah, me and Slava would sneak out and steal ale from the backroom when we were kids.” Julian smiled at the memory. The ale tasted like crap and he had to hold Slavas’ hair while she puked, but it was still fun. 

“There’s an apothecary there now. The owner is a physician. A decent guy, got a good head on his shoulders. Moved to Kovir about two years ago. He’s pretty young, but I’d trust him over that charlatan in the palace any day.”

“Is that so?” People from abroad didn’t often come to Kovir to live here. Traveling merchants, diplomatic delegations – sure, but full-on moving? That wasn’t common. Julian was rather intrigued. “Alright, thank you Kamil, I’ll make sure to stop by.”

Kamil nodded, satisfied and the conversation went on to other things. Apparently the Generals’ Council was wary of Julian, but they liked how he handled the whole Ryszard situation (to be fair he did very little handling aside from well... killing the guy, but he’ll take the praise, he’s not picky) and they had respect for his choice to wear a uniform like his mother and sister, instead of the flashy royal attire his father favoured. Other than that, Kamil was mostly retelling him rumors that were flowing around the Capital. Julian wasn’t particularly interested in those, but Kamil was good company so he didn’t mind indulging the man. 

***

As the late evening settled, the pain started to become positively unbearable, so Julian decided to trust Kamil’s advice and headed into the city. He decided to indulge himself and change into civilian clothes. Nothing flashy though, he didn’t want to attract any attention. He paused as the thought crossed his mind. In the years away from home, he forgot what it felt like, purposefully trying to make himself invisible. Didn’t feel all that great.

He settled on a pair of casual black velvet pants with a matching doublet over a white silk tunic that he didn’t bother lacing up (it was an aesthetic choice, okay? It had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn’t move his fucking arm).

The night air was crisp. Winter was right around the corner and Julian was not thinking about how his family was all somewhere in the boonies and how he’d end up all alone here for months if they didn’t make it back in time before the snowstorms.

It took a little wandering to find the right place. A lot had changed in the Capital since Julian was a teenager and he didn’t know his way around as well as he thought anymore.

The apothecary took up an old two-story building. Julian noted that the writing on a sign above the entrance was very neat. Kind of a rare sight for Kovir. The art of calligraphy wasn’t very popular among the practical military folk. 

The doorbell dinged softly, as he opened the door. There were tall wooden shelves with glass cabinets lining the sidewalls, semi-transparent cursive frosted on the glass in the same handwriting as on the sign outside. Magical protection from thievery. That kind of magic was very rare around here, as well as very expensive to get done.

An intricately carved counter was put against the back wall and behind it was a door that led upstairs, if Julian remembered the layout correctly. 

A young man emerged from the back room. Every coherent thought had left Julian's head the second he saw the man. He was absolutely gorgeous. Smooth brown skin, luscious dark curls framing his beautiful face. Julian was pretty sure he was looking at a demigod.

But then he met the man’s eyes. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. His eyes were purple.

Julian only knew one person with eyes like these and he was plenty traumatized from that acquaintance. He wanted to turn around and flee retreat strategically, he truly did. But then the man smiled at him, so warm and sincere and Julian decided that, frankly, if he got killed by someone so gorgeous, he wouldn’t even be mad. Attractive people truly never bode well for his self-preservation instincts.

“Good evening. How may I help you?” The devine being asked, his voice low and melodic.

“Um… hi, hello… um, my friend said you’re a doctor? I hit my shoulder pretty bad this morning. It hurts like hell warmed over and my hand started going numb so… that’s not great.” Well, that was at least somewhat coherent. Better that Julian expected from himself in this situation.

“It is indeed not great,” the sorcerer replied, amused little smile playing on his lips. “I’ll have to take a look at it first, before suggesting anything in terms of treatment.” He reached under the counter for a piece of parchment and a quill, “I will need your name for future reference and to keep track of your history.”

“It’s Julian.”

“I’m afraid I will need a full name, it’s a pretty popular one.”

“I bet I even know why,” Julian chuckled quietly. His tunic wasn't properly laced, but the patrimonial medallion slid all the way around to the back so it wasn't visible. Julian fixed it with an elegant move and smiled politely. “I’m sure you already know my full name, but I would really appreciate if you kept it out of your records.” 

The man didn’t seem in any way phased by this revelation. In the same neat cursive as Julian saw earlier, he wrote Ιουλιανός on top of the sheet, then looked up, giving Julian a curious once-over, “So, how did you hurt it?”

It took an incredible amount of brainpower for Julian to register the question. He was entirely too busy staring at what was undoubtedly a tattoo peeking out from the long sleeve of the sorcerer's tunic.

Julian didn’t really feel like retelling the story of how a twenty-year-old kid knocked him on his ass this morning, so he decided to deflect, because that's such a smart thing to do when it comes to one’s health. 

He propped his healthy hand on the counter and leaned in a little, “I can't tell a complete stranger such a thing, can I? Maybe you should tell me your name first so that we're not strangers anymore?” Julian used the best seductive smile from his arsenal and hoped for the best.

The beautiful physician didn’t seem too impressed with him dodging the question but, merciful to Julian’s dignity, he smiled and said, looking Julian right in the eyes “It’s Eridan.”

Something clicked in Julian’s head. “Like the constellation?”

“The constellation was originally named after a river, but yeah, that too.” Eridan seemed pleased Julian knew the meaning behind his name. Thank Gods Julian accidentally signed up for that astronomy course at Oxenfurt. “I still need to take a look at your shoulder, Julian. If you don’t mind, follow me."

He led Julian up on the second floor of the building, a living area that looked more like a study. All available surfaces were covered with books, parchments, bundles of dry herbs and colorful vials. 

Eridan went around a big wooden desk and started rummaging in one of the drawers. He paused and looked up at Julian, who was still in a doorway, looking around.

“Come in, please. Take off your doublet and your shirt.”

“Just like that?” Julian laughed as he started to slowly get out of his clothes. “I'll have you know I’m used to being wined and dined before I undress for someone.”

Eridan narrowed his eyes and smiled mischievously, “Something tells me that’s just not true, Julian.”

Julian gasped in mock indignation, but the overall effect was a little lost because he got tangled up in the sleeves of his shirt. Eridan finally found what he was looking for in that drawers and put a few vials on the table. 

Eridan smelled like herbal tea and raspberry, his hands were warm and Julian could swear that the pain drastically subsided the second Eridan laid his hands on Julian's shoulder. His eyes shone in the dim light of the room.

He looked at Julian’s old bruises thoughtfully but said nothing. He didn’t ask about shoulder again either, probably realizing he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“You have something called shoulder subluxation,” he finally said after what felt like only a moment and an eternity at the same time, “In simpler words it’s a partial dislocation. I need to put it back into place, it shouldn’t hurt that bad.”

He started to gently rotate Julian’s arm until the shoulder gave a pop. Julian let out a screech that could've easily made a banshee jealous.

“Ouch! Fuck! That did hurt bad!”

Eridan gave him a shit-eating grin. “I know. It’s just better if you don’t expect it.” Julian realised with sudden clarity just how utterly gone he was for this man he met half an hour ago. “The feeling in your arm should come back soon,” Eridan continued, unconcerned. “I’ll put on an ointment that should relieve the pain for the night and bandage your shoulder. I should probably just give you the whole vial, seeing how you’re...” Eridan gestured vaguely at the array of bruises on Julian “...prone to accidents. Although, I would strongly suggest you avoid being ‘clumsy’, at least for a few days until your shoulder heals properly, or it will pop out of the joint again.”

Julian noded absentmindedly when the realisation struck him. Was this it? He couldn't just go home now! He desperatly needed to do something to stay.

“So how come you ended up in Kovir of all places?” Julian asked, missing nonchalant by a mile.

Eridan sighed. “Did you even listen at all to what I was saying?”

“Yeah,” Julian smiled charmingly, “It was probably something along the lines of don’t be dumb Julian. So, where are you from?”

Eridan looked resigned but reluctantly charmed. Julian only cared about that last part.

“Do you want to stay for tea, Julian?”

***

Julian woke up a little before dawn, it wasn’t dark outside but the sun still hadn't risen. He couldn’t remember having slept that well in a really long time. It was nice to not be in a hurry to get up for once.

Eridan stirred in bed next to him and Julian turned to see a pair of amaranth eyes looking at him sleepily. He smiled at Julian. “Good morning.” 

Oh, in another life Julian could’ve fallen hopelessly in love with this man, his charm, his wit, and his beauty. But unfortunately in this life, he was an idiot and a glutton for punishment, apparently. 

“Do you need to be in the palace before dawn?” Eridan put his chin on Julian’s uninjured shoulder.

“Not in the palace, but yeah, I have to leave soon.”

“Okay,” Eridan climbed out of bed, “I don’t know where your clothes are though, so figure it out yourself,” he said as a beautiful silk robe wrapped itself around him on its own accord. Cheater , Julian thought grouchily as he got up to look for his pants.

***

All in all, Julian was in an excellent mood as he neared the training grounds. Eridan made him a wonderful cup of tea before he left, his shoulder was barely achy and even the weather seemed nice and refreshing instead of gloomy and freezing. Luca was already there, sitting on an old stump, grumpy as usual.

“How ya doing, buddy?” Julian asked, grinning ear to ear. He decided he didn’t want to be mean to Luca. He kind of already got his retribution and he wasn’t a vindictive person after all.

Luca seemed wary of such cheerfulness. He narrowed his eyes a little in suspicion but replied civilly. 

“Fine. Thank you.” 

Julian didn’t know the guy that well, but today he seemed to be just his usual grumpy self, no murderous tendencies.

“I owe you an apology for yesterday,” Luca said to the dirt under his boots.

“Oh, alright.” Julian didn’t expect an apology but then he didn’t get those all that often to just brush it off.

“I apologize, my behavior was undignified. It won’t happen again.” Luca was clenching his teeth so hard, Julian started to worry poor thing would get a migraine from all the jaw tension. 

“Wow, that looked like it brought you actual physical pain to get the words out. Just for that alone, I say we’re good. Just don’t do it again”

Of course, Julian was dying of curiosity as to why Luca was giving him a stink eye for a month in the first place but his impeccable sixth sense was telling him that if he started pushing for answers, Luca was just going to clam up. They needed to build trust first and Julian understood that like with all good things, it would take time.

“I thought we could maybe work on sequences today. This time properly,” Luca mumbled, still not looking up from the ground. “I don’t actually know that many and Slava mentioned in the past that it was your specialty,” he sounded almost timid. It was crazy how different his attitude was today.

“Yeah, about that. When you dropped me yesterday I dislocated my shoulder, sort of, so I'm out of commission for a couple of days, doctor’s orders.”

Luca squirmed uncomfortably.

“I’m sor-”

“No,” Julian cut him off, “It’s fine. I mean like it’s not fine to just drop people out of nowhere, but you were right, in a way. My enemies won’t give me a courtesy warning and with everything going on in the palace right now, I’m not even sure who my enemies are so... my reaction should be better.”

“Well,” Luca finally looked up to meet Julian’s eyes, “we can still do something today.” He seemed unsure of what he wanted to suggest, which only made Julian more curious. “It’s kind of an odd skill for a prince I guess, but like, you never know right? So... I could teach you how to pickpocket. If you want, I mean.”

He looked so… vulnerable, Julian thought. Offering up a part of his life he probably wasn't very fond of.  Even if Julian wanted for some reason to stay mad at Luca, at that moment he knew there was no way in hell he would actually be able to. 

He gave Luca his most sincere smile, up to this moment reserved only for Slava. “I would love to.”

And if Julian noticed the tips of Luca’s ears getting red, that was nobody’s business.

Chapter Text

Geralt was mad. Or at least he would be if he wasn't so damn tired. He had a feeling the hunt would go to shit before it even began, but the pay was too good to say no to. Late autumn on the northern borders was rough and if Geralt could survive sleeping in the open with no real consequences for his health, Roach definitely couldn’t. So he had to agree to do a shady job for an even shadier man. The man introduced himself as Boris - which, as far as fake names go, was kind of a lame choice in Geralt’s humble opinion - and he had some oddly specific demands as to how Geralt must execute the job. Boris knew a lot more about Bullvore than a common person had any business knowing and he emphasized many times the importance of keeping its body intact under any circumstances. Which was really fucking weird to say the least, but money was money and whatever that fucker wanted to do with a dead Bullvore was none of Geralt’s business. Although, when he put it like that, he felt kind of nauseous imagining the possibilities.

Anyways, that’s how Geralt ended up here, even though currently he had no fucking clue where exactly here was. Traces led him to the remote path which he wouldn’t even have suspected to be there in the first place because from afar it was obscured by an old dense forest. 

His hearing picked up the unmistakable swish of the blade along with human voices and whatever one called the sounds Bullvore made. Was someone really trying to fight the damn thing? The voices didn’t sound distressed though and as he got closer, for a second he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

A human girl was dodging full-force bullvore attacks like it was nothing, she’s been clearly doing it for a while now but she wasn’t even out of breath. There were lightweight swords in each of her hands but she seemed to be only using them for balance, like she knew the blades shouldn’t catch the beast. She was fast, at times Geralt could only make out her silhouette when she disappeared in the trees’ shadows and that was only thanks to his enhanced vision. The two guys that stood behind her looked kind of bored. Like watching their friend fight something like that was tedious or something.

Geralt decided it was time to put an end to this weird show he’s become an involuntary witness to. He stepped closer and as the dry leaves made a crunching sound under his boots, the two men immediately tensed up, alertness replacing the boredom on their faces as they reached for their weapons. 

The girl also turned to look at the newcomer, artfully dodging the bullvore in the process. Unlike her companions she didn’t tense up, but smiled, wide and a little roguish. There was something familiar about that smile, Geralt thought for a second, but he cast the thought away before it could even fully form in his head.

“I was wondering how long were you gonna just stand there like a shy debutante at the ball. Glad to see you’ve decided to join us after all.”

That threw him for a loop. Did she know he was there the whole time?

The bullvore, also noticing Geralt, made an angry gurgling sound and headed straight for him.

“You and your friends need to step away, it shouldn't blow up when I kill it but the acid might still hit you and it’s deadly for humans.” Geralt said mostly to the two other guys. The girl, he had a feeling, knew pretty well what she was up against. 

“No problem.” She put her swords in the sheaths behind her back and made a gesture to the other two with her hand that Geralt couldn't decipher. Just like that, her companions moved into the shadows of the forest like they were never here in the first place. She also stepped a little closer to the trees, languidly leaning on an old crusty oak, as she was watching Geralt work.

He soaked his sword in a neutralizing potion before going after bullvore and now it had a very distinct smell, kind of like a fancy soap. The creatures found it aggravating.

When Geralt pierced the bullvore with a sword, what he expected was basically for it to lay down and fucking die, but what actually happened was it started coughing it’s disgusting acidic guts out. And then it fell to the ground like a sad sack of mush and the acid started leaking from it’s skin right on the ground.

“What the everloving fuck?”

The acid burned through the skin very quickly and just in a few moments there was nothing more than an unidentifiable mush lying in front of him.

“I reckon it wasn’t supposed to do that, was it?” Geralt turned  to see the girl still there, eying the bullvore mush rather curiously. Most people would probably throw up at the sight (and would be right to do so), but she seemed pretty unperturbed. Which was suspicisious as fuck. Now that Geralt took a better look at her, he also realised she and her little entourage were all wearing a military uniform of some sort. 

“Who are you?” He asked, voice low.

Geralt took maybe two steps in her direction and just as he was about to make another one to stand at an arm’s length from her, the tree crowns started rustling and four people jumped on the ground seemingly out of nowhere, half-circling the girl. He understood logically that the only place they could have jumped from were the trees but he didn’t hear the leaves rustle or the branches straining under the weight of a human right until now. The two guys from before also reappeared, standing a little further behind. One of them had a pair of odd looking moon-shaped daggers, the other was holding…was that a fucking whip?! 

The lot of them clearly were ready to strike Geralt at a second's notice but they froze in place. Evidently, something was holding them back. 

The girl made another elaborate gesture and, in a voice that didn’t bare argument, gave a command: “Stand down.” In a matter of seconds all the weapons were put back in their sheaths and all six of them lined up behind the girl. Their commander, Geralt realised.   

“You’ll have to excuse them, they’re usually well-behaved but it’s their first time meeting a witcher, they’re a tad bit nervous.” The girl’s was completely relaxed and she was even smiling again. 

Geralt looked at the group behind her back. Yeah, nervous is not the word he would use.

The girl probably read his silence as a desire to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible (accurately so), so she went on: “My name is Stanislava Pankratz, I’m a Liutenant General of the Kovir Royal Military.” 

Pankratz… he heard that last name before, but where? 

“Me and my squad are staying not too far from here in the inn and heard the story of some ungodly beast roaming the forest. Got a little curious.”

“You got curious…” Geralt repeated, disbelieving. “You got curious and decided to fight a 10 foot acid-spewing monster?”

“Um…yeah,” she bashfully rubbed the back of her neck. “When me and my brother were little we had this Bestiary that he stole from the forbidden section of the library and we kind of have this running competition of who can encounter the most beasts from that book in real life and he came back home recently and he saw like a shit ton of them in his travels and I’m not gonna let him win, am I? So…”

Geralt felt a migraine coming on. “You could have died,” he said with exasperation he hadn't felt for a few months now.

Stanislava didn’t seem perturbed by this possibility though. “Eh, it’s whatever. Listen, it’s almost dark and we’re staying in the inn in like forty minutes of walking from here, so as a thank you we could buy you dinner and pay for your room tonight?

“I…” 

All Geralt wanted is to get from these people as far as possible because they seemed to be a bunch of absolute lunatics. Very well trained lunatics, but still. But he was hungry and Roach was tired and now he wasn’t even sure he was gonna get paid for the job, considering the body dissolved itself… or something like that.

Sensing that she’s not hearing a no there, Stanislava took Geralt’s hesitation as a yes and the matter was settled. “Great, let’s go!” She started marching forward and Geralt felt a sense of resignation as he took Roach’s reins and followed her and her little squad.

***

The warmth and the most delicious smells enveloped Geralt as he stepped into the inn. It was a nice inn too, the kind Geralt never had the money for. One of Slava’s people broke away from the group and went to talk to... someone. Apparently there were people here who managed the seating of the guests and the sort. Geralt already regretted his life choices. Cold ground and barely cooked meat from the fire never seemed more appealing to him than in that exact moment, surrounded by the opulence and the air of superiority. But then he remembered that Roach will spend the night in a warm shed with an abundance of food (Geralt saw honest to gods fruits in the feeder!) and decided it was worth it in the end. 

The patrons stared of course, shamelessly so. But to his surprise, Geralt wasn’t the center of attention this time around. A girl in a military uniform with the high ranking insignia was clearly a more outlandish sight than some boring old Witcher, apparently. The swords behind her back probably didn’t help either. The rest of her team had their weapons at least somewhat concealed. 

There were a fair amount of people in the inn but they got a table almost immediately. Geralt decided not to question the mysterious ways of rich people. As they followed the nicely dressed man to their table, Stanislava suddenly halted near the dimly lit corner, from where a bard was entertaining the crowd. That, in turn, made Geralt halt because he was walking right behind her, closing their little procession. The bard was a young man. Early twenties, if Geralt had to guess. Stanislava seemed to be looking at the bard, but Geralt got a distinct impression she wasn’t actually registering anything about the boy. She was looking past him, listening to the song. She had an odd expression on her face, like she was chasing a distant memory, but couldn't quite catch it. 

Geralt couldn’t say he heard the song before, nor had he any idea why was it of any interest to Stanislava.

The bard had a softer voice than Jaskier.  Not that Geralt thought about Jaskier. It was simply his only point of reference as far as voices went. That’s all. 

“... the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

Would things be easier if there was a right way?

Honey there is no right way”

“And so I fall in love just a little ol' little bit

Every day with someone new

I fall in love just a little ol' little bit every day with someone new... ”

One of Stanislava’s people who walked in front of them - was it Antosh? Andrzej? Fuck knows - turned to them, probably when he realised there was no movement behind him anymore.

“Slava?” He asked carefully.

His voice seemed to have shaken her out of the little weird trance. She looked at him, eyes still a little unfocused.

“Yeah, sorry. Coming”

***

Later, when the dinner was served (faster then to some people who got seated before them, Geralt noted) the bard took a break and headed for the bar. Just when he was about to pass their table, Stanislava tipped her chair backwards and smoothly caught his wrist. 

“Excuse me,” she smiled at the boy warmly. It started nagging at the back of Geralt’s mind again that there was something familiar about her but this time he consciously dismissed the thought. He would remember meeting someone like that, if only to avoid them for the rest of his life.

The bard looked a bit panicked but that was probably the swords behind Stanislava’s back.

“C-can I h-help you ma’am?” He asked, voice a little shaky.

“The song you were singing, are you the author?” Stanislava asked.

Bard visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. He chuckled awkwardly, “Oh, I wish. The author is rather famous bard around these lands, Jaskier.”

Geralt choked. He had never heard Jaskier perform this song in so many years. Not that Jaskier was obligated to play his every song to Geralt or anything. Not that it hurt his feeling or something stupid like that, it was just surprising. 

“Jaskier” Stanislava repeated slowly. She looked intrigued.

“Yeah,” the kid went on, “He’s very talented let me tell ya.” He paused, his face falling like he just saw someone kick a puppy or something. “The music scene is not the same after he vanished,” he sighed.

“Vanished?” Stanislava and Geralt asked in unison. Only Geralt decidedly more agitated.

Stanislava gave him an odd look then turned back to the bard.

“What do you mean vanished?”

“Well, the last someone heard of him was some months ago in Novigrad, I believe. And after that he just... vanished. Without a trace. No one saw him again.”

Geralt’s insides sank. The food didn’t seem all that appetizing anymore and he got a strong urge to get blackout drunk right this second.

“Interesting” Stanislava mused.

The bard, apparently having found the willing ears, went on, “Yeah it’s quite a mystery, that one… the last song he performed,” he sighed dramatically (overly so, in Geralt’s opinion), “it was so tragic. People speculate Jaskier got his heart broken and left the craft altogether. Some even say he gave himself up to Berstuk. It is truly a tragedy.”

The urge to get drunk was getting stronger. Irresistibly so.

Stanislava asked a few more questions, but Geralt tried to detach himself from the conversation as best as he could. When it finally started to feel like the conversation was over, she reached for her coin purse and without batting an eye produced three golden coins. The bard’s eyes went wide as saucers.

She gently put the coins into his free hand. “Would you be so kind as to play Jaskier’s songs for the rest of the evening? I believe myself to be quite fond of his material.”

The boy didn’t know what to do with himself. Nor with the amount of money he’s been presented. Before he could manage a coherent sentence, Stanislava continued.

“The drinks are on us, as well, love. Tell the bartender, Pankratz says to put it on her name.” She winked at the boy and in addition to the stutter he was rapidly developing, his cheeks now got tomato red. Stanislava wasn’t attractive in a classical sense, Geralt supposed, but she did have the kind of charm about her. Geralt was certain, when this girl wanted something she got it one way or the other. Dumbfounded, the bard slowly headed towards the bar.

***

When they were done with the food and Geralt was halfway to being blissfully drunk, the music started again. Geralt never heard this song either. And when the words finally started registering in his mind, oh how he’d wished he would never hear another song ever again in his life.

“A storm raging on the horizon

Of longing, and heartache, and lust

She’s always bad news

It’s always lose-lose

So, tell me, love, tell me, love

How is that just?”

Stanislava was nursing a glass of wine and once again seemed to be listening attentively. Geralt wouldn't have guessed her to be such an avid music fan. Her people were talking quietly between themselves, but sensing her mood, didn’t try to engage her in the conversation.

“ Her current is pulling you closer

A charge in the hot, humid night

The Red sky at dawn

Is giving a warning

You fool better stay out of sight”

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting

If this is the path I must trudge

I’ll welcome my sentence

Give to you my penance

Garroter, jury and judge”

“But the story is this

She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss

Her sweet kiss...”

It was probably the song the bard was talking about. 

Squashing one’s conscience is decidedly harder when inebriated, Geralt found out. He turned to look at Stanislava again and to his surprise she looked... angry? Like the song personally offended her or something. Well, a lot of Jaskier’s songs offended a lot of people, including Geralt, so it wasn’t too surprising. It’s just that she didn’t look like she was mad at the song itself... Just the story it told, perhaps? Geralt was decidedly too drunk to try and decipher her reaction. 

“Don’t like the song?” he asked.

She turned to him, her face calm and collected once again. “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s a good song. Just very sad. Someone definitely broke the guy’s heart. Someone I would like to have words with,” she added under her breath. 

That was an odd thing to say about some bard you’ve never met, but Geralt just chalked it up to her being more drunk than she appeared.

He didn’t sleep well that night. Which was all the more infuriating because he was sleeping in an actual bed for once, a nice one too. But he couldn’t shake the memories of blue eyes, and soft brown hair. For a second he even thought that Slava looked a bit like Jaskier. Geralt felt stupid and pathetic for seeing the man in every stranger he met. It was probably the alcohol, he decided.

He wanted to hate Jaskier for plaguing his thoughts even when he was Gods know where doing Gods know what. But the truth was, the only thing he truly hated was Jaskier not being there with him. And that was not Jaskier’s fault at all.

Geralt hurt him and he couldn't just expect the man to come back like nothing happened. Even if Jaskier always came back. In the years Geralt knew him he always came back. This time was different though. In the past, while they were apart from each other, Geralt had still heard about him, if not from him. Were it his new songs, sung by other people, or the ridiculous stories about his love affairs. Not this time. It was as if Jaskier truly just vanished. The thought he might never see Jaskier again scared Geralt more than he wanted to admit.

Chapter Text

“…and you have to create an impulse of some sort that will serve as a distraction. Like, shove them, for example. Ideally, against someone because commotion amplifies the effect, but a table or some furniture that can fall and make a startling sound will also do. If it’s something they wear on their neck, your timing has to be very precise, but if it’s something like bracelets, timing matters less and you have a bigger window of opportunity. The locks aren’t very complicated because people have to be able to manage them with only one hand…” Luca was gesturing enthusiastically, as he was bestowing new tidbits of pickpocketing wisdom on Julian.

They were walking leisurely from the training grounds towards the palace. Geraldine and Luca’s horse, Spunky, sountering behind them. They’ve been training together for a couple of weeks now, and it seems that once Luca got over his initial antipathy towards Julian, it didn’t take a lot of time for them to become friends. 

Julian liked training with him. It was every bit as gruelling as training with Zakhar, but it was also more fun. While Zakhar’s objective was to discipline Julian and perfect his technique, Luca challenged his stealth and ability to adapt in different circumstances. They even went up in the mountains a few times to practise disguise and terrain orientation. Julian did have to take a day off after such occasions, though, because climbing mountains all day turned out to be more taxing than he was willing to admit. 

Geralt would probably have no problem with something like that, Julian thought once, while soaking in a hot tub and trying to will his aching muscles to move so he could at least drag himself to bed. Then he got angry at himself for thinking about Geralt and decided that Geralt can go fuck himself. 

“Oi, Julian! Are you even listening to me?” Strictly speaking, Luca wasn’t allowed to call him by his first name, given all the proprieties regarding how you must address nobility. But Julian didn’t give much crap about that, and all he really wanted was to feel like a normal person for at least a few hours a day. If his mother ever hears about that though… ugh, it’s a problem for future Julian.

“Of course I’m listening to you. Who else would I be listening to? Geraldine is not a great interlocutor, let me tell you. Not even that good of a listener, if I’m completely honest.”

“Dumbass.” Luca bumped their shoulders with enough force for Julian to actually stumble, but a mirthful smile adorned his lips, so Julian took it as a win.

They were nearing the palace grounds now. Some people gave respectful nods as they passed them by, others stopped to wish them good morning. They returned the pleasantries absentmindedly, continuing their conversation. So it came as a bit of a surprise when someone directly addressed Julian, halting their little procession in its tracks. 

“Your highness, I hope I’m not intruding.”

Luca was annoyed at the interruption as it was, but when he actually saw who was standing in front of them, Julian could swear he heard Luca’s teeth grind.  

Oh boy.

“Counsellor Agnar, what a pleasure to see you,” Julian greeted politely.

“And what a pleasure would it be not to see you,” Luca hissed just loud enough for the man in question to catch it.

With that, Julian couldn’t agree, though. Counsellor Agnar was quite a sight to behold, if you asked him. Tall and sylphlike, well-spoken, handsome and polite to a fault. He possessed a wonderful gift of telling people to go screw themselves in such a manner, that they were left under the impression he was doing them a considerable favour. Julian understood how that might’ve put certain people on edge, especially the straightforward pragmatics in military ranks, but he couldn’t help admiring it.

“Lieutenant Vitela,” Agnar smiled brightly at Luca. “Now you’re a sight for sore eyes. You know, our encounters never fail to lift my spirits.”

Oh, now Julian definitely heard Luca’s teeth grinding. 

“I gotta say I’m impressed, it's not even noon and you’re already out of bed. Bothering people ,” Luca mumbled, irate.

“I wasn’t aware you have such a keen interest in the matters of my bed, Lieutenant.” Agnar smiled politely, but his eyes were  alight  with mirth. Julian couldn’t help giving a chortle. Luca choked. On indignation, Julian assumed. He had a fleeting thought that maybe he shouldn’t be indulging this, given he’s a responsible acting king and all that shabang, but it was just so much fun and Julian did love the drama of it all. 

It was the most peculiar thing, in Julian's opinion. As a general rule, Luca wasn’t particularly emotional. He could find certain situations uncomfortable and certain people annoying, but it never went much further than a socially acceptable eye roll. Except when it came to Counsellor Agnar. Luca took every chance he got to antagonise the man. But it seemed to amuse Agnar rather than anything else, Julian noted. Most people were carefully polite in their interactions with the counselor. Members of the court were even wary of him. But Luca was just always trying to rattle him one way or the other, and while the unwritten rules of royal self-importance dictated for Agnar to be condescending in return, instead he always acted a little impish, which in turn put Luca further on edge. And so the circle continued. 

“As I was saying, prince Julian,” the counsellor continued unperturbed. “I just got a letter from Queen Kasja of Verden. Given what I know from my correspondence with the Verden Royal Court, I suspect she would want to meet with you personally, but of course I wouldn’t dare open the letter myself.” 

Any amusement Julian might’ve felt vanished instantly. At that moment, Julian’s focus was as sharp as his daggers. “May I see it?”

“Of course, your highness.” Agnar passed him the letter. Julian broke the seal and opened the letter. Queen Kasja’s handwriting was as neat as he remembered it.

“You were correct,” Julian said finally, returning the letter to Agnar. "After what my father did, I wasn’t expecting her to want Verden have any relations with Kovir.”

“I was surprised too, your highness,” Agnar said, not sounding even a little bit surprised.

“So, what’s your plan?” Julian knew he had a plan. People like Agnar always had a plan.

Julian couldn’t yet form a conclusive opinion on Counsellor Agnar. He wasn’t even sure such a thing was possible when it came to a man so… fluid in his allegiances. Or, as Luca preferred to characterise him, a devious slithery reptile. Nevertheless, Julian had a gut feeling he shouldn't disregard Agnar’s advice, as the man had significant experience in playing the very nuanced game of politics. He took the title of the Head of the Royal Court a few weeks after Ryszard was executed. Initially, someone else was supposed to be appointed, but multiple accusations of collaboration with Ryszard came to light all at once, with correspondence to serve as proof. About a third of the members of the court fled the capital in a hurry. Julian didn’t much follow that story, but he remembered Kamil mentioning that the provost marshals caught a few of them trying to cross the border with Provis. After that, Queen Nera decided that the right course of action would be for the remaining members of the court to have a vote. Which Agnar won. 

He became the youngest head of the court at thirty-one years old, but the fanfare had to wait because Kovir was still in crisis and everyone had work to do. Julian suspected that Agnar was the one to make the correspondence public. It was a reasonable assumption. He was Ryszard’s right hand and handled all his correspondence, so anyone who had close ties with Ryszard had to go through Agnar one way or the other. But then it puzzled Julian how there wasn’t a thing suggesting Agnar was a collaborator himself, not to mention that most people Julian talked to about this matter didn’t have much to say about Agnar, and people generally had a lot to say about the court these days. Case in point, Julian once asked Kamil what his thoughts were on the new Counsellor and without a second thought Kamil simply said “he’s alright”, which to Julian’s ears sounded like a high praise, considering Kamil’s scathing opinions on most of the other members of the court. 

Agnar elegantly hid the letter in the sleeve of his robes. “Well, seeing as you’re the sole royal in Kovir for the time being, you can’t leave for Verden. Nor would I recommend doing it anyway. Verden’s social calendar is rather bleak this month, so you won’t have the excuse of participating in a social function. Therefore, your visit would attract all sorts of unnecessary attention from people interested in information they can potentially use against Kovir’s interests.” 

Julian smirked. Yeah, this guy was alright.

“So am I correct in my understanding of what you propose, Counsellor Agnar?”

“I believe you are, your highness.” Agnar smiled. He was watching Luca from the corner of his eye. Luca, as expected, was extremely confused. 

“Very well,” said Julian. “Do you have a particular date in mind?”

“Not yet. I need a few days to estimate the full extent of arrangements and to make sure the artisans will be able to complete my requests in a timely manner. But I expect to complete the preparations in under two weeks.”

“That’s very ambitious.” Julian didn’t bother to conceal the doubt in his voice.

Agnar just smiled indulgently. “I could say I’m simply good at what I do, your highness, but I'm not prone to false modesty.” 

He bowed his head politely and turned to leave, but after a few steps, purely on a whim, Julian suspected, he turned to look at them over his shoulder. 

“I hope you’ll save me a dance, Lieutenant Vitela. I’m particularly fond of Pavane.” And before Luca could even comprehend what was said to him, let alone come up with some sort of answer, the counsellor was off.

After a long moment Luca was finally able to get a hold of himself. He looked at Julian, his words perfectly mirroring his facial expression. “What the fuck was that?”

“We’re throwing a ball so that we have a reason to host Queen Kasja without drawing attention of Provis’ informants in case there are still any left. I’m also pretty sure you owe Counsellor Agnar a Pavane now,” Julian replied casually, vigorously trying to hold back laughter.

“I –  What? I – … Uggghhh!!!”  Luca emphasised the sentiment with a series of heartfelt throttling gestures. “I need a smoke.” With that, Luca took Spunky’s reins and they disappeared into the crowd. 

Julian sighed. He felt very lonely all of a sudden and he knew it wasn’t because Luca forgot their plans to have breakfast together this morning.

***

As the head of the royal stables – not a stable boy, as many people assumed upon meeting him for the first time due to his young age – Mateusz had a lot of responsibilities. Some of those he really should have delegated to the junior stable hands. But he didn’t. Because he’s insane and doesn’t trust people to do shit properly on their own, as Slava once kindly pointed out. Ditto was all he had to say to her. 

So here he was, wending to the stables in the dead of night to check on the horses his apprentices tended to this evening because he didn’t have the time to check their work back then and now it keeps him awake that he didn’t. Absolutely normal, not at all insane behavior. Usually Slava was the voice of reason that told him something like look, you’re at least half-decent mentour, they won’t fuck up that bad, so you can go to sleep and make it into a problem in the morning, okay?  Then she would hug him and fall asleep, effectively blocking any attempts to get out of bed. But Slava wasn’t here, and she doesn’t have to know about it anyway.

Mateusz had a big candle, specifically for those occasions since the moonlight rarely provided enough light to see clearly and he needed to make sure wounded animals were alright and recovering nicely. 

One could say this can very well wait until the sunrise, and one would be an idiot as far as Mateusz was concerned.

He checked on the injured horses in their special little paddock. They were a little restless but mostly fine. Local cats made it a habit to hang out in this paddock, and Mateusz noticed it improved the spirits of his hoofed patients, so he had a bowl of milk put there every few days and made sure whoever takes care of the horses in that paddock always feeds the cats too.  

He also decided to check on one of his newcomers, Prince Julian’s horse. He still couldn't really believe Sava’s brother decided on her. Geraldine was obviously a very capable animal, but she was as good as feral when she got here. Mateusz guessed she ran away from her previous owners when she was just a foal and it was hard for her to survive on her own. He watched her and Prince Julian come back to the stables many times. Most of those he was severely bruised and overall dishevelled from the falls and she looked aloof and mildly annoyed. But she still went with him every time. The familiar look of determination on Prince Julian’s face told Mateusz he’d be better off keeping his opinions on the matter to himself.

The gate to Geraldine’s paddock was unlocked and Mateusz was already remembering whose responsibility it was to lock up all the paddocks for the night so he could have words with them, but then… he saw the crown prince himself laying around in a stack of hay, drunk out of his wits. A mostly empty bottle of an unusually green liquor was laying beside him. Mateusz had no idea what it was, and looking at the state the price was in, he wasn’t sure he cared to find out. 

“Umm…good evening?” He tried carefully. “Do you perhaps need any help, your highness?”

“Sure, come hang out with me.”

“Oh.” Well, Mateusz sighed, his fault for not specifying what exactly he was offering there. 

He walked inside the stable carefully and sat down on one of the haystacks. Geraldine gave him a suspicious look. Maybe it was just her regular look, Mateusz wasn’t entirely sure.

“So… how was your evening?” Mateusz asked. He had no idea what to do in this situation, but he also knew happy people didn’t get shitfaced with only their horse for company so that’s why he didn’t leave.

“Shityyyyy. Sooooo very shityyy.”

Welp.

“Perhaps you should try and get some rest for the evening, Prince Julian?”

“Perhaps.”

“Umm…do you need some help getting up, sire?”

“I’m getting up.”

“You’re not moving,” Mateusz informed him. “Like, at all.”

“Oh.”

Mateusz sighed and blew out his candle. He put it next to the bottle and hauled Prince Julian to his feet.

“You're like very buff, it’s like realyy nice, you know…I um…like it…” the hope of Kovir was drunkenly mumbling as Mateusz dragged him to the palace grounds.

“It would be the manual work that does the trick, your highness.”

“Shit, did I say that outloud? Don’t tell Slava, she’s gonna kill me, she has like a huuge crush on you.”

Mateusz chuckled. “I sure would hope so.”

Prince Julian made little effort to actually move his feet so Mateusz had to walk very slowly and drag the prince along in his best efforts not to drop him, but it didn’t seem to bother the prince and he continued to pour the little energy he had left into the riveting conversation.

“Do you like her?” He asked, curious.

“I am in love with her.” Mateusz said, calm and sure.

“Ooooh, mom’s gonna be maaaaad…”

Understatement of the century, Mateusz thought,  decidedly refusing to acknowledge the panic that rose inside of him.

“I think she’ll have me killed when she finds out…” He bit his tongue in time and didn’t say me and your sister have been together for over a year.

“Probably not. Like. they’ll have to fight Slava first to get to you and I don’t think anyone wants to die because of you… No offence…”

“None taken, your highness.” Mateusz smiled.

They turned and went around the eastern wing.

“Where are we going?” 

Prince Julian was still mostly hanging on Mateusz like a sack of potatoes, but he was at least somewhat aware of his surroundings, which was good.

“To put you to bed.”

“My quarters are in a different wing.”

“Well, I assumed you wouldn't want the guards of the night shift to see you… in such a state. The rumours might be very unkind. So I’m taking you to Princess Stanislava’s quarters.”

“And it’s somehow better if the guards of the eastern wing see me instead of the ones in the southern wing?”

“I know how to get there bypassing the guards altogether.”

Prince Julian made a scandalised gasp. Then he started to actively resist Mateusz’s efforts to drag him along, and when they stopped, he took Mateusz’s face in his hands and looked him right in the eyes. At that moment, he didn’t seem drunk at all. Mateusz felt goosebumps run down his spine. 

“She’s like the best human being in this world, and I know that she can be stubborn and annoying, but she has a big heart and she cares so much and…” He took a ragged breath and continued, quieter now, softer. “Life hasn’t been kind to her, you know, with our dad being a massive dickwad and me being young and stupid and caught up in my own woes about destiny and shit, so you have to be, like, absolutely sure you know what you’re signing up for because she’s the kind of person who goes all in in every aspect of her life, and she doesn’t deserve to get hurt if you aren’t prepared for that, you know…" Mateusz's throat tightened. Prince Julian looked suddenly very young and vulnerable.

“I know. And I love her with all I have”

Julian looked at him very carefully for another moment, then nodded and slumped in his arms. 

Well, at least Mateusz was sure the prince was still very much drunk. Determined, but absolutely sloshed.

Mateusz sympathised with the sentiment though. Slava deserved people in her life who genuinely loved her and cared about her.

“It just… it scares me, you know” Julian mumbled quietly as Mateusz dragged him through darkened halls of the eastern wing, “She’s not like me, she takes everything so seriously and it gives people power to mess with her feelings and I hate it so fucking much…”

Mateusz knew. He knew how upset Slava was after every fight with her father, even though she tried to pretend it didn't affect her. He knew how cutting it was for her to work for days on tactical maps only for her mother to take it absolutely for granted, not even a little praise of Slava’s skill. It made his blood boil that this amazing girl had to jump through so many hoops just to be seen and heard. At those moments, he wanted to fight the whole world at once. Except he knew that’s not what she needed (nor would he be any good at it). She could fight her battles better than anyone he’d ever met. But he could give her love and care and affection, and it made him the happiest man in the world that she was willing to accept it. Hearing Prince Julian say in his drunken confidence that she would fight to be with Mateusz, that she would kill people who decided to stand in her way, made him feel all sorts of things he didn’t yet know how to unpack. But mostly, it just made him feel stupidly happy. Maybe even too happy for a person dragging 80 kilos of drunken crown prince on his back.

***

By the time they reached Slava’s room, the drunken haze had cleared a little, and Julian was determined to study his surroundings instead of going straight to bed.

“This used to be my room, you know?” He said, inspecting a collection of knives on one of the shelves.

“I do,” Mateusz said distractedly, as he placed a pitcher of water on the bedside table. “There are some of your things in that chest in the corner. I think Slava didn’t have the heart to put them in storage somewhere else.” He fluffed up the pillows and turned to look at Julian. “Will you be alright here? I have to be at the stables in a few hours and I really want to catch a nap before that.”

“No problems here, darling, off you go, get that beauty sleep,” Julian said, already on the floor, digging into his things.

Mateusz sighed. "Goodnight, Prince Julian.”

“Mateusz,” Julian called when the man was almost out the door.

“Is there anything else, sire?”

“No,no…it’s just… thank you.”

“Oh,” Mateusz smiled warmly, before softly closing the door. “It’s my pleasure.”

What he thanked Mateusz for Julian wasn’t really sure himself. For not embarrassing him in front of the night shift, or for being good to his sister, or just for being a genuinely nice person. It was too much introspection for Julian’s poor absinthe-ridden soul at the moment.

Going through his stuff, so carefully and lovingly preserved by his sister, made this aching feeling Julian spent the last months ignoring come back with vengeance. 

He broke down crying.

He’s never felt so alone in his life. 

Before he left, he was miserable, sure, but he didn’t know he was. Not really. He didn’t know there was a whole world out there, full of chances and possibilities. Full of life outside the stupid prophecy and being a fucking savior. Of course he missed his sister and his mother, but the freedom he felt waking up every day, it was a quintessence of life itself for him.

The contradicting feelings about two of his different lives were tearing him apart, as he was sobbing quietly, miserable, over a pile of old clothes and journals. 

He reached the bottom of the chest and his breath hitched for a second. He picked up his old lute. He couldn't take it with him to Oxenfurt at the time, because he was afraid it would give up more information about his background than he was comfortable with. It was a very expensive instrument. Slava had it custom made in one of the best ateliers in the whole northern region for his sixteenth birthday. Julian was a generally careless person when it came to material possessions, but this… he cared for it better than he cared for himself at times.

In the months back in Kovir, he hadn’t written a single new line. Hadn’t played any old ones either. That part of his heart that burned to make music seemed to freeze over. Tonight, though, it seemed the absinthe managed to warm it a bit. Julian carefully tuned his lute and the music started to flow, seemingly on its own accord.

“I saw the part of you

That only when you're older you will see too

You will see too”

Slava had a big full-length mirror on the floor, but when Julian looked in it, he couldn't really see himself. Maybe it was the absinthe, or maybe he just didn’t want to. A younger version of him looked back, smiling. It would break Julian’s heart how hopeful and full of dreams this kid was. It really would, if only his heart wasn’t already broken six ways to Sunday.

“I held the better cards

But every stroke of luck has got a bleed through

It's got a bleed through

You held the balance of the time

That only blindly I could read you

But I could read you

It's like you told me

Go forward slowly

It's not a race to the end”

His hands were strumming the strings almost absentmindedly. Like he wrote this song a long time ago. Like he already knew all the words and the chords and was just finally putting it all together. 

“Well you look like yourself

But you're somebody else

Only it ain't on the surface

Well you talk like yourself

No, I hear someone else though

Now you're making me nervous”

The song was turning out to be a very sad one. He didn’t write those very often. But surprisingly, it made him feel less sad. Relieved. Like finally acknowledging that he was sad and unhappy, unlocked something deep inside of him and eased this all-consuming ache in his soul.

He got up from the floor and flopped on the bed rather ungracefully. He was already half-asleep but the song needed another verse, he just knew it. Something was still buzzing insistently on the edge of his consciousness. 

Julian softly plucked at the strings.

“You were the better part

Of every bit of beating heart that I had

Whatever I had

I finally sat alone

Pitch black flesh and bone

Couldn't believe that you were gone”

***

Julian woke up with a smashing hangover but somehow feeling less terrible than he expected. The sun was violently beaming at him through the half-opened curtains. He probably slept through the training session with Luca - for which there will be hell to pay later - but for now his only concern in life was to muster enough energy to roll over and reach for the water. He chugged it straight from the pitcher, spilling a good amount on himself in the process.

He already wasted half the morning, it probably wouldn't make things worse at this point to go back to sleep. Julian went to close the curtains when the ruckus outside caught his attention. The space looked ready to receive guests, which was not unusual given they were hosting a ball in like two-

Fuck.

It’s not in two days. It’s tomorrow. And the servants prepare for the arrival of Queen Kasja. Who Julian is supposed to greet personally. Like right fucking now.

Shit.

He used the leftover water in the pitcher to freshen his face (not that after this amount of absinthe it was very helpful) and try fixing his hair a little, that went a little more successfully after he found Slava’s comb. His shirt was wet and looked horrendous after the night of rolling around in hay. He had to change, and it would really save him a ton of time if he didn’t have to go to his room for this. 

He looked at the pile of clothes he vaguely remembered digging through. There was a really nice shirt in there. Pearly grey, genuine silk. It would probably be a little tight on him, seeing the last time he wore it was about a decade ago, but it should fit. It will be odd wearing it again, Julian thought. He was well aware that before he left, many people in military ranks didn’t take him seriously. Both for his attitude and the way he dressed. And right now it was more important than ever that they see a proper future king in him, so his family didn’t lose their support. He simply couldn't afford their distrust in the current political situation. Julian went to great lengths to appease them, and it would suck to ruin it with a little heedless choice like that. 

Julian felt sick. He was just so fucking tired living his life constantly thinking if the way he fucking breathes looks apropriate and respectful to some old fucks. He just wanted to fucking lay down and die.

He wore the nice shirt.

When he was leaving the room, he took the lute with him too.