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    Summary

    Here is what I imagine would have happened if Yen came to Blaviken instead of Geralt.

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    “Wait,” Renfri says, breaking the silence. She has just thought to ask something. “How did you know I was her? You’ve heard the stories. But how did you connect them to me?”

    Yennefer glances over and looks her up and down. “Only a Princess would be so utterly, comically shit at tailoring the clothes she stole off an oversized thug.”

    Renfri chuckles. Her shoulders have loosened now. She thinks they are on the same side now. That is dangerous. They are not on the same side.

    “You lie like a fox, Lady Yennefer. I look dashing.” She pulls down her vest and pats her hips as though to make sure everything is still there.

    Despite her best efforts, Yennefer’s eyes follow the movement of her hands, lingering just a precious beat too long on her waist. On the spot where it swells elegantly into her hips. Renfri’s lips curl into a smug smile.

    Language:
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