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‘I’m still a little… confused,’ Jaskier said from behind a wooden partition screen. ‘Why does it have to be me?’
Geralt crossed his arms and leant against the supporting beam of Yennefer’s physics-defying tent. He shot the sorceress a dark glare. ‘Good question.’
Yennefer, having long become immune to dark glares – from witchers or mortals – continued to pull out different outfits from inside a truck. She examined each of them under the light, before flinging them aside, apparently deeming all of them beneath her standards. What criteria she was using to reject these clothes was completely indecipherable to Geralt. She didn’t even bother to take her eyes off her work as she spoke.
‘The Marquess and Marchioness Polires are a renowned for exactly three things; their extensive vineyards, their annual masquerade ball that lasts a full week, and their disdain for anyone born without a title. If I attempted to attend the ball alone, I would be turfed out on my arse before I got through the door.’
‘Even as a sorceress? Ciri asked. Her mouth was half-full of grapes. She’d was sitting at a low table surrounded overstuffed floor-cushions. On the table was a food platter that had been enchanted to continuously replenishing itself, and Ciri had no qualms with taking full advantage. ‘Doesn’t Aratuza’s reputation extend you some respect?'
'Not as much as I would hope. If I accompanied a noble, I would be permitted entrance, but in terms of status I would still be considered on par with the servants. I need the ability to move freely within the Polires estate without being questioned.’
‘I understand all that,’ Jaskier called out from behind the screen, tossing his shirt over the top and he changed. ‘What I don’t understand why you don’t take Ciri with you. Being in the company of the Lion Cub of Cintra is going to give you far more sway, than you’ll have on the arm of some low-level Viscount who hasn’t appeared in court for over a decade.’
‘You’re not taking Ciri,’ said Geralt. ‘It’s too much of a risk.’
Yennefer inclined her head towards Geralt.
‘For once I agree with Geralt.’
‘You two agreeing. That’s a miracle.’ Ciri muttered. Geralt shot her a disapproving look. Ciri – as immune to his glares as Yennefer – simply smiled and popped a strawberry in her mouth.
Yennefer seemed to choose to ignore Ciri’s comment. She looked down at the outfit in her hands, smiled, and hung it over the lip of the partition, finally finding something that she deemed acceptable. ‘Put that one on.’
‘So, I’m more expendable than Ciri!’ Jaskier’s hand appeared over the top of the partition and disappeared with the clothes. ‘Good to know where my value lies.’
‘Suddenly appearing with the lost heir to the Cintrain throne, is going to draw too much unwanted attention,’ Yennefer explained. ‘I’ll be fending vultures away from Ciri all week instead of gathering the information we need. Cirilla of Cintra is unfortunately a target wherever we go.’ Yennefer ran a hand over Ciri’s ash-blonde hair. ‘I’m sorry, honey.’
‘Don’t be,’ Ciri scoffed. ‘I went to one of the Polires’ balls when I was ten. Most boring week of my life; I swear I could feel my brain curdling inside of my skull. I would rather have my fingernails removed with red-hot pilers then go back.’
‘Don’t make it sound too thrilling Ciri, or I’m going to simply burst with excitement.’ Jaskier said dryly. Yennefer went on.
‘Anyway, as I said before, I would still be deemed her servant as Ciri’s chaperone, making attending this ball pointless. No. The partner I need is someone who is part of the nobility, but no one who is going to bury us under a sea of gossip and suspicion. Also having someone who -oh I don’t know- worked for years as a spy may make my job tiny bit easier. Instead of just having someone as a convenient cover, I’ll have a co-conspirator.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous,’ grumbled Geralt.
‘When aren’t we in danger?’ Yennefer asked. ‘This is the perfect opportunity to mingle with a cavalcade of drunk, stupid nobles, all of who have more power and intel than brains. We won’t get a chance like this again.’
‘I still think I should go instead.’ Geralt took his weight off the support beam. ‘Pretend to be Jaskier.’
Everyone in the tent, besides Geralt, laughed.
‘Sorry Geralt,’ Ciri said, after nearly choking on a grape while giggling. ‘But you… do stand out in a crowd. Even more than me, which is saying something.’
‘Besides, these noble houses are incredibly insular,’ said Yennefer. ‘Everyone knows everyone.’
‘They haven’t seen Jaskier in a decade.’ Geralt objected.
‘He looks exactly the same now as he did back then. What he doesn’t look like is an entirely different man.’
‘Who has different colouring,’ Jaskier called. ‘And hair. And eyes. And scars from fighting various monstrosities.’
‘Yennefer could use a glamour.’
‘It’s not just about looks, Geralt.’ Yennefer said, coming up to him to meet his gaze. ‘If this were a mission that involved beheading a wyvern or breaking a curse, then yes, I would consider using a glamour. But this is about collecting gossip. Putting on airs. Personability. Tell me, Geralt,’ Yennefer crossed her arms, ‘has anyone ever described you as personable?’
Geralt grunted and dropped his gaze.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Ah, Yennefer?’ Jaskier’s voice was hesitant from behind the partition. ‘I think I may need something else to wear.’
‘No, you don’t. What I gave you was perfect.’
‘Don’t misunderstand me, the shirt is lovely, but I think… these pants may be too small.’
‘Did you get them on?’
‘Yes?’
‘Then there’s no problem. Come out and let us see.
‘It’s only…’ Jaskier stepped out from behind the partition. ‘They don't leave much to the imagination.’
Geralt knew fuck-all about fashion. Jaskier knew a bit. More than a bit. Too much. There had been many occasions on the road when Geralt had to block out Jaskier while he nattered on about clothes.
Sometimes Jaskier complained about how his new doublet had been ruined after was splattered with cockatrice blood, instead of saying “Thank you Geralt for saving me from that cockatrice. Your right, I should have stayed further back like you told me to, instead of getting so close the monster almost maimed me.”
Other times Jaskier would gossip about how Duchess Who-The-Fuck-Cares from the Duchy of Piss-Borington clearly was facing financial ruin because her ugly dress was the sort of ugly dress that was fashionable last year, and not the sort of ugly dress people were deliberately wearing this season. He could have said instead, “This lady isn’t as rich as she’s pretending to be and is going to welch on the contract given any excuse. Get the gold first before you promise to take care of her kikimore problem.” Now that would have been helpful.
The point was, Geralt didn’t care about clothes. If they kept you warm and didn’t rip to shreds after a week on The Path they were fine. Anything that sat in the realm of “fashion” was typically an exercise is pomposity.
What Yennefer had given Jaskier to wear was fashion.
Geralt didn’t know how to describe it, let alone feel about it. Jaskier probably knew the correct name for the type of sleeves the shirt had, or the exact fabric the collar was made out of, but these concepts were as foreign to Geralt as the breeding habits of dragons were to Jaskier.
What Geralt could see was this:
Jaskier’s shirt had big sleeves. They billowed out at the elbows before gathering back together at the wrists. These sleeves we embroidered with elaborate swirling patterns, filled with minute details that must have spent a team of tailors weeks to complete. The same swirling patterns were found on the shirt’s collar, which was wide and angular. The collar flared out, in, out and in again before finally meeting in the centre of his torso. This not only left Jaskier’s tuning fork on display but also a fair portion of his chest as well, in a way that would surely be scandalous for a high-society event such as this. It was a looser fit that billowed around the bottom. Jaskier’s boots were knee-high, with a slight heel, and made from a suede that wouldn’t last a day’s walking on a paved city street, let alone a country road.
And then there were pants.
Leather.
Form-fitting.
Pants.
‘Those are… tight,’ said Ciri, clearly on the precipices of devolving into giggles again.
‘You should change,’ Geralt agreed. His eyes were suddenly anywhere but Jaskier and his lower half.
‘Ignore them.’ Yennefer strode forward, gesturing for Jaskier to lift his arms. ‘You’re just not accustomed to having clothing fitted to your form. I used a quick spell so they’d be perfectly tailored them to your body. Skin-tight but won’t restrict movement.’
‘Does it need to be skin-tight? Can’t it be skin… adjacent?’
Yennefer began to tuck Jaskier’s shirt into his pants. Geralt could stop himself from noticing how Yennefer’s hands slipped below Jaskier’s waistband, pulling the shirts’ fabric down with it. The pants were so tight that any of bunching beneath would be obvious. So, Yennefer took her time smoothing and pulling the shirt to the correct place, so the tuck wasn’t noticeable. The outline of her fingers was obvious as it glided slowly down, caressing Jaskier’s thighs, his rear, and even his crotch, arranging the shirt beneath the pants to her satisfaction.
Geralt suddenly had the feeling of watching something he shouldn’t be privy to. Something far to intimate.
Not to mention that now with the shirt tucked in, nothing was obscuring the sight of Jaskier’s ass in the slightest.
Should he make Ciri leave the tent?
Should he leave the tent?
There was no fucking way he was going to leave Yennefer alone with Jaskier in this tent.
For a split-second Geralt thought he caught a glimpse of Yennefer looking in his direction, a smirk sitting idle at the corner of her mouth. But then her attention was back on Jaskier, and Geralt couldn’t be sure if it wasn’t just a trick of the light.
Jaskier, on the other hand, bore the expression of a bored ten-year-old being fussed over by his mother.
‘There!’ Yennefer said. ‘Much better. Tell me what you think.’
Jaskier looked at himself in Yennefer’s full-length mirror. (‘Really?’ thought Geralt, ‘why does a tent need a full-length mirror?’) Jaskier gave an approving little hum.
‘It’s not a bad look,’ he conceded. ‘Still feel like the pants could be looser.’
‘Tight is the current fashion,’ Yennefer said, brushing away non-existant dust from Jaskier’s sleeve. ‘I won’t be seen on the arm of a slovern. If we’re going to go to all this trouble, I want it done right.’
‘On my arm?’ Jaskier turned to her. ‘You intending to introduce yourself as my consort?’
‘Of course not. As I’ve said multiple times in this conversation, only the nobility will have right privileges I need to gather the information I want. That’s why I intend to introduce myself as your wife. The Viscountess de Lettenhove.’
Geralt stepped forward.
‘You can’t do that.’
Jaskier and Yennefer glanced at him, as though they had completely forgot his existence until that second.
‘Why not?’ Yennefer asked.
Geralt made a few aborted noises before eventually saying, ‘It’s a lie.’
Yennefer raised her brows. ‘Oh no,’ she said flatly. ‘How will I ever forgive myself?’
Jaskier rolled his eyes. ‘Geralt, it’s only for a week. There’s no need to be jealous of Yennefer pretending to be my wife. I promise to be the perfect gentleman.’
‘And it would be none of Geralt’s business if you weren’t.’ Yennefer’s smirk was clear this time, before Geralt could speak up, Jaskier cut in.
‘Anyway, it’s not like Yennefer and I haven’t pretended to be married before.’
Geralt’s brain hammered to a stop. ‘What? When?’
‘We didn’t mention it? In Oxenfort?’ Jaksier waved a hand, while Yennefer slipped a slim belt through the loops of his pants and fastened the belt buckle at the front. The buckle was large, weighty, and shaped like a blooming flower. ‘Oh well, we don’t have the time now, but believe me, it was an excellent tale of daring-do. There were rescues, and fire-breathing, and fleeing for our lives. Why haven’t I written a song about it?’
‘You should, dear husband.’ Yennefer said patting his arm. ‘You owe me a more flattering depiction after “Her Sweet Kiss.” Come on, we’re not finished.’
‘Oh… you worked out that one was about you?’
Yennefer picked up a leather waist-corset, which was elaborately embroidered along the sides with twisting, swirling flowers.
‘I’m well over it. Besides, I’ve heard the type of song you can write when you’re well and truly angry. All things considered; I got off lightly. Arms up again.’
Jaskier shot Yennefer what appeared to be a warning look, but followed her instructions. Yennefer manoeuvred the corset to the right place and began to thread a leather cord through its eyelets. Even though it was fiddley work, Yennefer’s gaze remained on Jaskier’s face, which was inches away from her own, and only then due to their differences in height. With each lace, Yennefer cinched the corset tighter, her smile widening when Jaskier gave a small grunt.
‘Is everything I wear to this ball going to be so restrictive?’ Jaskier asked. “I feel like a trussed-up pheasant.’
‘I’m saving that for after the ball,’ Yennefer looked at Jaskier from under her lashes, ‘and only if you’re a good boy.’
That gave Jaskier a chuckle and Geralt realised his jaw was aching from how hard her was clenching his teeth.
‘Jaskier, how come I’ve never noticed you’re so… big.’
‘What?’ Jaskier’s hands darted in front of his groin.
‘I mean how tall and broad you are,’ Ciri said, completely oblivious to the competing tensions in the room. ‘I’m only now realising that you’ve got to be the same height as Geralt.’
‘Oh.’ Jaskier relaxed again.
‘It’s those doublets he favours.’ Yennefer said, tying off Jaskier’s corset with a neat little bow. Jaskier put his hands on his hips.
‘What, my dear wife, is wrong with my doublets?’
‘Nothing at all, my dear husband. That is, if you want to cast yourself as the wandering mistral with sky-blue eyes, and a boyish, waif-like physique. Then they are the perfect choice. It’s all part of your bardish persona, and you play the part expertly.’
Geralt saw Jaskier preen under Yennefer’s compliments. ‘Why, thank you.’
Geralt snorted like Roach did when she was irritated.
‘However,’ Yennefer went on, ‘seeing as, you’re meant to be playing the part of a Viscount for the next week, instead of leaning away from your natural body-type, we’re going to play into it. It’ll make you seem more imposing and impressive; give everyone the impression you’re not a man to be trifled with. That’s the reasoning behind the tight pants and the corset.’
Yennefer turned Jaskier so that Ciri would have a clearer view of him, and began to tug up Jaskier’ shirt a little, until it billowed slightly overtop the corset. ‘The larger, looser shirt with the wider elaborate collar draws the eye to his naturally brawny shoulders and chest, which is further contrasted by the tight waist and legs. The boots also have a slight heel which lends him more height.’
As she spoke Yennefer rounded behind Jaskier and ran her hands down his ribs before resting on his hips. ‘All these give the impression of a V shape. It makes our normally unassuming, approachable bard look more top-heavy, intimidating, and powerful. You see, Ciri?’
The thing Gerald was seeing the most was that Yennefer’s hands were still sitting on Jaskier’s hips.
‘You’ve put a lot of thought into this,’ Jaskier looked at Yennefer over his shoulder, not hiding how impressed he was.
‘Yes, well. As Ciri said, there’s a good chance this ball is going to be as boring as being a eunuch at an orgy. I may as well make sure I have something nice to look at.’
And then Yennefer, damn her, gave Jaskier a quick slap on the ass.
‘Hey!’ Geralt moved forward, but Jaskier hand already span around, mouth agape.
‘I see how it is!’ Jaskier said in mock offense. ‘Is that all I am to you, good lady?! A piece of meat for you to salivate over? A pretty face and a firm ass? If I had known that sooner I never would have married you!’
‘Such is the curse of beauty, I’m sorry to say, husband mine.’
‘Really? How would you know?’
Yennefer gave Jaskier’s shoulder a playful push. ‘Sit down there, I’m not done with you yet. That stubble you’ve been sporting for the last three weeks may be the height of “Wilderness Chic” but if you were to try and enter the Polires’ estate in the condition you’re in now, you’re more likely to be seen as a vagabond than a Viscount.’
As she spoke, Jaskier sat down in front of Yennefer’s vanity (‘Honestly!’ thought Geralt, “why does a tent need a fucking vanity?’). Laid out on said vanity was a bowel of steaming water containing a hot wet towel, a bar of soap, a small brush with stubby bristles, various bottles and jars, and finally a long, sharp, razor. Jaksier it was the last item that Jaskier really took notice of.
‘Wait, you’re going to shave me? In what world do you think I would let you come anywhere near my jugular with a razor? Again.’
Yennefer flicked the shell of Jaskier’s ear. ‘Oh, don’t be such a milk-sop. If I wanted you dead it’d be far less work and far less mess to poison your food. Lean back.’
It came as a shock to Gerald that, without any further objection, Jaskier did lean back and tilt his chin up, seemingly fine to expose his throat to the witch like it was no big deal. Geralt stepped forward, reaching for the razor.
‘Jaskier, if you’d feel more comfortable I could—’
There was a sharp smack as Yennefer slapped Geralt’s hand away.
‘Geralt we’re shaving a man’s face, not gutting a drowner.’
‘That’s not how you kill a drowner.’ Geralt said, knowing that wasn’t the point, but unable to stop himself regardless. ‘Why should we trust you to do this?’
Yennefer tilted her head in a pantomime of pondering. ‘Let me see, out of the two of us which of us has a history of damaging the bard’s throat and who has a history of healing it?’
‘Which of us has a history of putting a knife against Jaskier’s neck and threatening his life when they want something?’
‘Geralt, Yennefer, stop!’ ordered Jaskier. ‘That was years ago. I think we’ve all grown a little since then. Besides there’s no reason to drag up ugly stories in present company.’
Jaskier inclined his head towards Ciri who was staring at the three of them eyes wide.
‘Oh, don’t stop on my account,’ she said, nibbling at a slice of cheese. ‘I never get to hear any interesting gossip.’
Yennefer and Geralt shot each other one last venomous scowl before stepping away from each other. Ciri slouched.
‘And it seems today’s no different,’ she muttered to herself.
‘This requires delicacy and preparation.’ Yennefer moved the razor out of Geralt’s reach like it was a dangerous toy. ‘Not a heavy hand. Go sit down with Ciri. Eat some cheese. I’ve got this.’
Geralt glared down at Yennefer, hummed, then grabbed a nearby seat before pulling it over to the side of Jaskier and the vanity. He made a very deliberate show of sitting down in it, leaning back, and crossing his legs in front of him. Yennefer gave him a sour smile and a slight, sarcastic bow.
‘Enjoy the show, then.’
Ciri picked up another chair and moved to Jaskier’s other side. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, in a show of genuine curiosity, as opposed to Geralt’s assessing glare.
‘Does the audience make it more or less likely you’re going to scar my beautiful face?’ Jaskier asked, his voice was a little higher than normal.
Yennefer rang out the excess water from the hot towel and walked around Ciri, standing behind Jaskier. ‘The audience does not matter to me one way or another. Close your eyes Jaskier.’
Jaskier did as Yennefer asked. Carefully, as to not drip water on Jaskier’s new clothes, Yennefer laid the hot towel over Jaskier’s mouth and chin, before folding the corners up to rest across his eyes. Only his nose peaked out from the centre of the towel.
‘This will help soften the hair and open your pours.’ Yennefer explained running her hands over Jaskier covered jaw, chin and lips. ‘It’ll make the shave easier.’
‘I know how a hot towel works, Yen.’ Jaskier’s muffled voice came out from somewhere underneath the towel.
‘I thought you might, but I wanted to say it out loud in case certain people thought I was attempting to smother you, or something equally ridiculous.’ Yennefer shot a pointed look in Geralt’s direction. Geralt glowered back in silence.
Yennefer took far too long, in Geralt’s opinion, letting the towel sit. She also didn’t need to be kneading his face the entire time. The steam probably would have done its work fine without using her thumbs to gently massage Jaskier’s cheeks and jawline, while cupping his face in a far-too-tender manner. It was only once Jaskier made the tiniest of contented sighs that Yennefer finally moved away and started using the bristle-brush and soap to form a lather.
‘Have you ever done this before?’ Geralt asked, his dubiousness thinly veiled.
‘Shaved a man’s face?’ Yennefer asked. ‘No. But I did once have to skin a goat before I cut it open and use its entrails for a ritual sacrifice. This is basically the same, right?’
Ciri laughed while Jaskier gave a lazily thumbs up, his face-towel still in position. Geralt leant forward on his knees.
‘Can you please take this seriously? Things are about to get dangerous.’
‘I’m not that bad at shaving.’
‘I meant this ball. If things go wrong Ciri and I won’t be able to save you.’
‘Who says we’re going to need you to swoop in?’ Yennefer rested her hand on her hip. ‘Or have you forgotten I’m the most powerful sorceress on the continent?’
‘And what if you get separated? Or what if you have to make a quick escape and one of you leaves the other behind?’
It was very clear who Geralt thought was going to leave who. Yennefer pursed her lips.
‘I would never leave Jaskier behind! You must be thinking of someone else. Now let’s think… who, in the past, has abandoned Jaskier?’
Geralt shot to his feet, but before the conversation could turn ugly, Jaskier whipped off the towel and pointed at both Yennefer and Geralt.
‘Enough! We’ve got enough on our plate without you two squabbling. Now either Yennefer finishes shaving me or I do it while you two go to separate corners of the tent until you can learn how to play nicely. Got it?’
Yennefer eyes flicked back to Geralt and then back to Jaskier. Her sour expression smoothed into something milder.
‘Of course, dear husband. I would never do something to deliberately upset my beloved.’
Geralt grunted in annoyance. Jaskier just laughed.
‘You lay it on that thick Yen, and people are definitely going to know somethings up. We’re meant to be married remember? All our affection for each other should have shrivelled up long ago, just like our hopes and dreams.’
‘You’re so cheerful.’ Ciri said, brow furrowed.
‘He’s got a point.’ Yennefer said, picking up the shaving brush again. ‘Come on. Let’s get you lathered up and shaved before your old skin becomes all tough and leathery again.’
Jaskier spread his arms. ‘See! Now you’re starting sound like we’re married.’
When Yennefer decided she had enough lather, she began to apply it Jaskier’s jaw in fluid circular movements. Geralt had to admit it was a little mesmerising to see the whole shaving process. Jaskier’s eyes slid shut in bliss.
‘Oh, how I missed this sort of pampering.’
‘Shh.’ Yennefer murmered. ‘No talking. If this goes well, I’ll consider doing this for you again as a treat. Like on your birthday, or when you can go a full week without having an audience throw fruit at you.’
Yennefer put down the brush and picked up the razor. Geralt immediately tensed but also noticed a slight hesitancy in Yennefer’s movements too.
‘You ready for me to start shaving?’ she asked Jaskier
‘You have my complete and utter confidence.’
Geralt blinked at that. Jaskier didn’t sound even slightly sarcastic.
‘But if you do decide to cut my throat, just try not to make a mess of it.’
Geralt chuckled.
Yennefer shot him a dirty look, but her attention was quickly back to Jaskier. She rested her thum on his cheek above the line of foam and pulled the skin taught. Then with delicate but steady strokes she began to draw the blade along Jaskier’s skin revealing the smooth skin beneath. Geralt found that he was barely breathing as she worked, as though this was a precise artform and not something he’d done to himself hundreds of times before. Yennefer occasionally asked Jaskier to pull a certain face, or for Ciri to hold out the towel so she could wipe the blade off, but her eyes were fully trained on Jaskier’s features, which she treated with a care that boarded on reverence. As she was nearing the end there was one section of the face that she had trouble reaching from her position. For all of Yennefer’s power and authority, she was still a small woman, and some angles just didn’t lend themselves to easy access.
‘You want me to finish?’ Geralt asked. He hadn’t meant to do it, but there was an edge of mocking in his voice. Yennefer caught it and pinned Geralt with a look. Then, without preamble, she swung a leg over Jaskier’s lap and sat down. Jaskier’s eyes flew open but Yennefer covered them with her free hand and gently tipped his head back.
‘No need. I’ve figured it out.’
Geralt’s mouth fell open, but what the fuck could he say to that? Ciri caught his eye by leaning around Yennefer’s back. She mouthed “What the fuck was that?” Geralt didn’t reply but he was sure he looked as baffled as Ciri.
Yennefer finished the shave, completely unperturbed, before plucking the towel from Ciri’s limp hands. She finished wiping off the last remnants of foam, before tilting Jaskier’s chin to inspect her handiwork. Jaskier did nothing but stare back at her, wide-eyed, fresh-faced and bewildered.
‘Perfect,’ Yennefer said. ‘Now you look like someone I’d be happy to bed.’
She got off Jaskier’s lap with the same nonchalance as she’d got on, returning to the vanity to put away the razor. Jaskier sat up and looked from Geralt, to Ciri, to Geralt again, as if to verify that there were witnesses to The Great Lap-Sitting Incident of 1266. He seemed shocked but he also didn’t seem appalled by what had just happened.
‘Are you finished now?’ Geralt barked, irritated at his own irritation. ‘Is he ball-ready yet?’
‘Just a few more touches,’ Yennefer said over her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to be here, Geralt. I’m not holding a knife to your throat.’
‘I’d be jealous if she did,’ Jaskier said. ‘That’s our “special thing.”’
It was clear this was mean as a joke, but Geralt glowered at Jaskier, forcing the bard to avert his eyes elsewhere. Yennefer’s laugh rang like a bell, as she returned to Jaskier, holding a blue, glass vial. She dabbed a couple of drops of oil into her hand, before handing the bottle to Ciri, and rubbing her palms together.
‘What’s that?’ Jaskier asked.
‘Hair oil. Lean forward.’
Jaskier once again followed Yennefer’s instruction. The witch began to run her hands through the bard’s hair. She threaded her fingers through Jaskier’s thick brown locks, her nail’s slightly scraping his scalp as she worked. She pulled Jaskier’s hair back into a ponytail before tying it off with black ribbon. A few locks of his fringe escaped, and Yennefer rearranged them so they appeared artfully dishevelled.
‘There. You look much more dashing with your hair pushed back, like this. Geralt, tell Jaskier he looks better with his hair pushed back.’
Geralt crossed his arms. ‘It looks… fine.’ Truthfully Geralt couldn’t concentrate of how Jaskier’s hair looked when the smell of the oil was flooding his senses. Geralt’s mind was inundated with memories of walking along a sandy beach, or watching Jaskier oil his lute by the campfire. Ciri sniffed the bottle.
‘What is that smell? Is that cologne?’
‘The oil has been infused with the scent of salt water and mahogany.’ Yennefer said wiping her hand on the towel, ‘I thought they were particularly “Jaskier” scents. Don’t you agree?’
‘You think it’s appealing to smell like driftwood?’ Geralt asked even though the smell was, frustratingly, quite pleasant.
Jaskier waved his hand.
‘Don’t mind Geralt, the poor man can’t stand most perfumes. Overloads that witcher nose of his.’
‘Oh, such a shame.’ Yennefer said without a shred of sympathy. She produced an atomiser from the vanity draw. ‘Well, he will have to tolerate a little more. Lift your chin.’
Jaskier barely had time to do what he was told before Yennefer misted him with a cloud of cologne. Geralt coughed and took a step back. It wasn’t a bad smell, but it was strong. Citrusy and floral, but with a slightly bitter edge to the scent. He scrunched up his face and sneezed.
‘What was that?’
‘Elderflower and bergamot. The compliment the scents the hair oil and – ’ Yennefer turned the atomiser on herself and sprayed her neck, ‘- Lilac and gooseberries.’
‘Wait. You’re making us smell the same?’ Jaskier asked.
‘Similar but different. By having a similar odour profile, people will subconsciously connect us as a unit. Not to mention it gives more credence to us sharing a bed if we smell of each other.’
‘Ridiculous,’ muttered Geralt, at the same time as Ciri said ‘Interesting,’ and Jaskier said ‘Smart.’
‘Alright, last thing.’ Yennefer reached into the never-ending vanity draw and pulled out a ring.
Ciri, Geralt and Jaskier’s eyes locked onto it.
It was clearly designed for a man to wear, but it was also intricate and ornate, the work of a master goldsmith. Inlayed at the centre was a large, clear amethyst, the same colour as Yennefer’s eyes.
‘Well, dear husband?’ Yennefer asked, surprisingly coy. ‘Do you accept this fake proposal.’
Jaskier stood up and took Yennefer’s hands in his.
‘Of course I do, my beautiful fake wife. But honestly you didn’t even get down on one knee—’
‘Just put the bloody thing on, will you?’ Yennefer said, slipping the ring onto Jaskier’s finger. It fit perfectly.
‘There. You look like the perfect Viscount.’ Yennefer said beaming up at him. Geralt cleared his throat and the beam disappeared.
‘So, are we going to come up with an escape plan or…?’ Geralt asked
‘You and my husband here can work something out,’ said Yennefer returning to her trunk and pulling out a heap of fabric. ‘I’ve got to get ready for the ball and my transformation into the Viscountess de Lettenhove will be more labour intensive. And unlike Jaskier, I would prefer a measure of privacy.’
Yennefer disappeared behind the wooden partition and began to undress. Geralt turned to Jaskier to find him taking-in his appearance in the vanity mirror.
‘Considering the minimal chaos you used Yennefer, this is outfit is pure magic.’ Jaskier said.
‘I appreciate your appreciation,’ Yennefer called. ‘Now fuck off for an hour.’
‘You sure you don’t need me to return the favour and help you get dressed. Or undressed—’
Geralt caught Jaskier by the fancy sleeve and dragged him out of the tent.
Ciri was lying in the grass just outside Yennefer’s tent, listening to Geralt grill a very bored Jaskier on the plan.
‘So, you know the quickest ways out of the estate?’
‘Yes, Geralt.’
‘And you will message us every day.’
‘Yes, Geralt.’
‘And what phrase do you use if the message is compromised.’
‘I ask about your father’s health, Geralt.’
‘And what day will you be returning on?’
‘We’ll be back in seven days, Geralt.’
‘Will you stay longer for any reason?’
‘No, Geralt.’
‘Even if Yennefer says there’s an opportunity you can’t pass up?’
‘No, Geralt.’
‘And what will happen if you’re not back in seven days.’
‘You’ll charge the Polires’ estate and probably try to murder everyone, Geralt.’
‘My exact words were “I’m coming to rescue you, no matter the cost.”’
‘Yes, mother.’
Geralt flicked Jaskier’s ear and the bard stumbled away.
‘Hey, watch it. Yennefer will murder us both if we mess up her hard work.’
‘I’m trying to stop you from being captured, tortured and murdered, Jaskier. Do you want to be rescued?’
‘Seems like the person Jaskier needs rescuing from, right now, is you.’ Yennefer said emerging from the tent. Ciri gasped at the sight.
Yennefer’s dress was sleek and refined but a clear paraelle to Jaskier. It was made from the same materials and had the same embroidered swirls cascading down from her shoulders, under the wide black sash at her waist and down her hip to the hem. Said hem pooled around her feet in a graceful drape that undoubtedly would be a nightmare to walk in, without the aid of magic. The wide, square neck of the dress was open to her waist, leaving Yennefer’s cleavage on full glorious display. On her left was a slip that opened all the way to her mid hip, leaving a black strip of garter exposed. Around her neck, instead of her signature obsidian star, she wore a simple, black chocker. Her make-up was done to sultry perfection and her loose hair was parted to the side, cascading down her shoulders in glossy black waves, slightly obscuring her left eye.
‘Am I presentable?’ Yennefer asked. Ciri nodded and Jaskier gave her a low whistle.
‘I thought you were trying to avoid detection?’ Geralt grunted.
‘We have to draw the right kind of attention,’ Yennefer said. ‘If we’re unremarkable no one will bother talking with us. And if we’re the subject on one type of gossip already, people will pay less attention to the things we do that they should be gossiping about.’
‘Sounds like bullshit to me.’
‘And that’s why you’re not coming. But what would I know about courtly intrigue. I only served as King Virfuril’s advisor for thirty years. Ready Jaskier?’ Yennefer held out her hand to the bard.’ That was when Ciri noticed the ring of Yennefer’s left hand. It matched Jaskier’s ring perfectly, but with two exceptions; it had a more feminine design, and the stone was a bright blue topaz. Ciri noticed Geralt’s eyes flick from the ring to Jaskier’s eyes, as if confirming they were the same shade. Jaskier took Yennefer’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.
‘Alright, children. Don’t wait up. We have some espionage to do. Come Yennefer.’
Yennefer created a portal and waved to Ciri with her free hand. ‘Bye Ciri. Stay safe and practise those sigils I’ve been teaching you. Geralt, I hope you manage to get the stick out of your arse by the time we return.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ Geralt yelled. ‘And don’t get Jaskier into trouble!’
Jaskier laughed. ‘Geralt, we both know that if anyone’s going to get us in trouble it’s me.’
The Jaskier and Yennefer stepped through the portal, which vanished behind them.
Ciri stood up and shuffled in Geralt’s direction. His shoulders were so tense they were almost up to his ears.
‘They’ll be fine Geralt. They’ve both done this before—’
‘I’m going to go hunt for dinner.’ Geralt grunted sweeping past her. ‘You stay here.’
As Geralt’s footsteps vanished into the forest Ciri sighed.
‘This is going to be a fun week.’
Jaskier’s stomach lurched as they stepped through the portal. He took a deep breath determined not to vomit on his new clothes.
‘You alright, bard. You look at little pale.’
‘I’ll be fine. Which way is the Polires estate?’
‘About an hour southwest. I’ll conjure a carriage and some horses, so we don’t arrive on foot.’
‘Good plan, but before you do that, I have a question.’
‘Yes?’
‘What the fuck was all that back at the tent?’
Yennefer tilted her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’ Hopefully she wouldn’t have to play innocent at the ball. She was terrible at it.
‘Yes, you do. Geralt seemed awfully cross when we left. You don’t happen to know anything about that do you?’
Yennefer smiled and waved her hand. Another portal appeared and from it charged a mahogany carriage pulled by four grey stallions. The driver’s seat was empty, as was the carriage itself. She approached the carriage door and pulled it open.
‘If Geralt doesn’t want to live a life full of frustration and regret, he is going to have to get his head out of his own arse and realise that he has to tell people what he wants,’ Yennefer said, climbing inside. ‘Not just get angry when people don’t wait around forever, while he struggles to form a single thought. There are plenty of other amazing, attractive people willing to swoop in and pick up the ball he dropped.’
‘I see. So, you practically throw yourself at me in the hopes that he gets jealous and comes crawling back to you.’ Jaskier said, climbing in after her. ‘I must say, I’m a little hurt that you’d use me as a pawn in your little tit-for-tat with Geralt. And here I was thinking that we were almost friends.’
Yennefer cocked her head as Jaskier sat next to her. ‘Is that what you think I was trying to do back there?’
Jaskier frowned. ‘Yes? What other way is there to look at it?’
Yennefer smiled and shook her head. ‘You really are peas in a fucking pod.’
‘What are you saying? Was Geralt—’
Yennefer put a finger on Jaskier’s lips. ‘This week we are not going to worry about Geralt. He can take this time to sit and have a long, hard think about who and what he wants. And maybe, if he acts like an adult who uses his words, he’ll get it. But the world doesn’t revolve around him. You and I have a ball to go to, and rich idiots to spy on. For this week it’s only us. Can you tolerate that?’
Jaskier blinked at her words. Then he took Yennefer’s wrist and pulled her hand down into his lap, curling their fingers together.
‘I think I’ll manage.’
‘Good.’ Yennefer flicked her other hand the carriage began to drive on its own towards the Polires’ estate.