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Radovid looked at the man in front of him, no words coming out of his mouth. What could he even say anyway?
“I'm sorry I didn't go after you because I was too busy becoming a king because my brother was brutally murdered.”
“I…um….I….” He stuttered instead.
Jaskier was looking down at his muddy boots. He raised his gaze, an unreadable look in his eyes.
“I'm Jaskier…” He whispered, sticking out his hand. He was giving him another opportunity. A fresh start.
“Radovid….comma king.” He said, taking the other man's hand in his own. Comma prince seemed like a lifetime ago at this point. Maybe it was.
“You're the king of Redania.” The bard whispered.
“And you're the most famous bard the continent has seen. You're The Dandelion.” The king spoke back.
“You're a fan. And someone who understands true artistry? How the instrument and the artist can elevate each other.”
“Yes, two things of beauty, made to be together.” Radovid felt tears form in the corners of his eyes. It was the first time since the coup at Thanedd that he had seen the bard and the facade of the stern king was already starting to slip. And he was still holding his hand for fucks sake.
“Have you found the princess yet?” He breathed out, changing the subject.
“No, and you know that times of war make finding someone all that much harder. At some point you stop looking for a living person and start looking for a corpse.” He felt Jaskier's grip on his fingers tighten, as if the king was the lifeline preventing him from sinking.
For a few moments the only sound was that of their breathing.
“You cut your hair.” Jaskier whispered, breaking the silence.
Radovid's free hand reached up to touch the short blond strands.
“I might have sent my hair to the Emperor of Nilfgaard. As is expected of Radovid the Stern. Redania couldn't be kept out of this war for long.”
“Perhaps in due time it'll grow back. I rather liked it long.” The corner of the bard's mouth ticked up in a bittersweet smile. He reached over, brushing back a golden lock and tucked it behind his ear.
He didn't move his hand away, ever so gently caressing his cheek.
Radovid suddenly didn't feel like the hardened king he was forced to become. He felt like that naive prince he had once been.
Jaskier leaned forward, gently pressing their lips together.
There was no urgency.
No frenzy.
Just an innocent kiss.
When they parted their breathing wasn't heavy and they weren't desperately clinging to one another. There was just the ever so soft nuzzle of Jaskier's nose against his cheek.
Radovid chuckled at the memory of their first kiss, when he had done the exact same thing.
He opened his eyes when the other man's warmth suddenly vanished. He threaded their fingers together, causing the bard to look up.
Those gorgeous cornflower blue eyes he had never stopped thinking about were shiny with unshed tears.
“So here's a thought.” Radovid spoke, his voice rough, “My kingdom's not a bad place. It's cold in winter and humid in summer. The cuisine, however, spectacular. Redania may not be perfect, but it's not a bad option. And if you came to Redania, you could be our royal troubadour. Otherwise we might have to listen to that reedy voice of Valdo Marx. Just think about it, would you?” He let a few tears slip from his own eyes.
Jaskier let out a breathy laugh, tears sliding down his own cheeks.
“Maybe when the princess is found and this war has ended….I will.”
After what felt like an eternity they finally let go of each other's hands.
The bard was led away and the king was left with the memory of yet another kiss.
He prayed to every god that he barely believed in anymore that the man he loved made it out of this war alive.
Just so this time he could go and be with him.
No matter where that may be.