Work Text:
"Hmmm...someone's got an eye for you" Yennefer elbows you.
You know it's him.
Everybody thinks that you hate each other. Until hate overflowed into something more beastly. Like, LIKE. Now Prince Aerion is staring so hard you can feel his eyeballs prod at your lower back.
"Yen, it's obvious he's staring at your beauty" You stand straight. Napkin in hand trying to rub the brittle mud off of your armour. Your ankle is swollen. Yen had offered to heal it before she goes. You don't know how many wars you have left to fight or how much faith the Queen has in you. But when Queen Calanthe admires your hair strokes your face and tells you "Well done" It all feels worth the pain.
After Yen has fixed your ankle, you go to the changing rooms to take your armour off. One cheeky picture for Instagram, because your viewers love that stuff. You and Triss huddle together smiling for pictures until Aerion bursts in. "Everyone out!" He yells.
Triss and a blonde run for their lives. You stare at him scornfully.
"It's the women's changing room!" You yell.
"I'm a Targaryen. I go where I please" He looks at the room in awkward distain. His expression for everything, well except you. "I thought you were to stop"
"Stop what? You know that we are aligned with Aretuza. We have to fight for them!" You curl your braids from the bun. God knows how your hair is dotted in, mud. But your extensions needed taking out anyway.
"You don't" Aerion shrugs one shoulder. "War is no place for a woman"
"Triss and Sabrina are doing exactly the same thing I am!" You protest
"I'm not fucking Sabrina or Triss!" He puts the emphasis on the "S" at the end. "You are a mage" He looks away as you take your chest plate off and put on a T-shirt. "You don't have to battle"
"I can do both. But I know mages can't heal me forever" You wriggle your right foot. "There's no harm in a break to Bali maybe?"
"Or Paris" Aerion walks over and sits next to you on the bench. His pale fingers sliding against your palm. He frowns at the bruising on your arms, the scratches on your elbow. Everything that your euphoric black skin can't hide anymore. He tugs at your T-shirt. Planting kisses on your bare shoulder. "You leave for weeks. Is it a crime to miss you?"
"No, but it's a crime to stare" You look at him coyly.
"What?" The short man plays with his trouser-chain.
"We're supposed to detest each other. You stare at me so much in the palace, that mages will talk, you know" You rub his arm.
"No-one listens to cheap gossip" Aerion takes his phone and snaps a picture of you before you can do any pose.
"Oh come on. People thrive on gossip! It's all most villagers have" Your phone buzzes in support of you.
"Y/N you're all I have" The Prince strokes your face with his index finger. "You cannot battle. I won't allow it anymore" He gets up. Bowing in your direction before quickly leaving.