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Their quiet afterglow is interrupted by the sound of many feet and voices outside the shed they’re laying in. Jaskier feels Radovid stiffen in his arms. “Shit.”
“Who is it?” Jaskier asks, rising to peer out the window.
“Perhaps I didn’t do as good a job slipping my guard as I thought I did.”
“These are your men?” Radovid nods. “Then surely you can send them away again.”
“No,” Radovid whispers. “If they’re here… I’m sorry Jaskier.”
Outside the shed, the men have surrounded the small cottage Ciri is sleeping in. Gods, Jaskier hopes she’s still sleeping. He hopes Yennefer’s wards hold.
“I led them right to you.” There’s a grimness in Radovid’s voice that Jaskier’s never heard before, but he understands. These men are honor bound to obey the orders of their king, even over their prince - their king who is currently desperate to get his hands on the princess sleeping (Gods, he hopes she’s sleeping) in that little cottage.
“She’s safe in Yennefer’s wards. No one can get passed except those she allows. She’s safe. She probably won’t even wake up.” Jaskier doesn’t know who he is trying to reassure more, but he doubts his words have worked on either of them.
They watch through the window as the small company of soldiers try and fail to get through the protective wards to the cottage. Each time, they fail. Jaskier is just starting to hope this night might not go to shit when their commander orders his men to find the prince. With nowhere to hide and no time to run, Jaskier and Radovid are helpless to do anything before the shed door slams open and soldiers pour in.
Two soldiers grab Jaskier’s arms and march him out to their commander.
The commander’s eyes light up when he sees Jaskier and Radovid. “Excellent work, my lord. Philippa mentioned you would be the perfect lure to coax the bard out.”
Jaskier whips his head to look at Radovid, who is starting to protest.
“I didn’t - Jaskier, I didn’t -”
“No need to be so humble, my lord. With the bard as bait, we’ll have the princess out in no time. We’ve all heard of her fondness for him.”
Jaskier hopes against hope that she’s still asleep.
“Princess!” The commander calls, “We have your bard.”
Be asleep, be asleep, Jaskier thinks, but he knows her better than that.
The door opens and Ciri stands, silhouetted by the light inside. She’s holding her sword and looks impossibly young compared to the soldiers around them. She’s too brave by half, just like her guardians, and Jaskier wishes she would for once be selfish. For once value herself over the life of a mere bard. But he knows her. And unless he does something, she’ll trade herself for him without a second thought.
“Don’t!” He yells. “Ciri, think it through!” He’s silenced by a punch to the gut and both Ciri and Radovid take a step towards him.
“We don’t want to hurt the bard,” the commander tells her. “In fact, we don’t want the bard at all. Come with us, and he will walk away unharmed. Come with us, princess, and you can be queen of Redania.”
As if she wants to be queen of Redania. As if she wouldn’t be just as happy, or more so walking the path as a witcher. As if she isn’t queen in her own right. As if she isn’t a child, just a child, can’t they see that?
“I’m okay.” Jaskier calls, interrupting the commander. “They won’t harm me as long as they still want you.”
“They won’t harm you at all, if I have anything to say about it,” Radovid mutters from behind him, but Jaskier ignores him, can’t think about him, can’t feel anything about him right now.
“Wait for Geralt. Wait for Yennefer. If they take me, they’ll lock me up until you come to bargain. If they take you, you’ll be married before we can even get there.”
She’s Geralt’s daughter and Melitele knows Geralt has never listened to Jaskier’s strategies. But she’s also Calanthe’s granddaughter: she’s seen strategies played out. And his critical thinking has gotten a lot better since becoming the Sandpiper. This is the best plan they have.
There’s a moment of silence before that thrice-cursed commander starts up his wheedling again. “Princess-”
“If I am to be your queen,” she cuts him off, sounding every inch the royal she is, “I won’t come into my crown like a captive, snatched in the dead of night. I will enter my future province in the light of day, with my family by my side. But know this.” She surveys the soldiers surrounding the cottage. “If he is harmed, if he is so much as bruised, my first act as queen will be to see you all beheaded.”
“You have my word, my lady.” The commander bows.
Ciri scoffs. “Your word means nothing to me. I want
your
word.” She points her sword at Radovid.
“Princess, I would see him safe and well. If any harm befalls him, you may have my head as well.”
Jaskier can’t think about how much he wants to believe it. He’s not thinking about how less than an hour (gods was it so soon ago?) he would have believed him without question.
But Ciri seems satisfied. She nods and turns away. When she closes the door behind her, the light goes with her.
(Is Jaskier imagining it, or can he hear her muttering in Elder? He doesn’t know. He daren’t hope.)
Left in the weak glow of the lights coming from the cottage windows, Jaskier, surrounded by men and a recent lover, suddenly feels very alone.
“Let’s go,” the commander says. All his men turn to follow.
Radovid catches Jaskier’s arm. “Jaskier, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier tells him. (It does matter.) “What’s done is done.” He is pulled away by a soldier, a captor, a bodyguard, who begins guiding him through the forest to the road to Redania.
As he marches, Jaskier tries not to think of the princess, the child, he left alone and defenseless in a moment of selfishness, who tried to save him anyways. He tries not to think of Geralt and Yennefer, who entrusted Ciri to his care and whose trust he betrayed. (He tries not to think of the pieces of his heart left shattered on the floor of that shed.)
With nothing else he can do, Jaskier marches forward to Redania.