Yennefer

“You should be grateful to her, she’s quite skilled” his hand retreats to hang at his side once more. “Apology well accepted, you can’t possibly be blamed” all the same he’s glad to escape the conversation. He gets the feeling he would be pretty hard pressed to keep up a good impression with someone like that.

His own eyes seem to roll, but it’s partially a ‘crisis averted’ motion of agreement.

“Of course–is there anything I should know or say?”

“Hm..well, when the King first addresses you, be sure to bow your head. Even those not from these lands must show respect for royalty. You should address him as ‘your majesty’ or his title. Anything less will mark suspicion on your part and I will not be able to help you if you get caught with a slip of the tongue.

“Rude,” Jaskier muttered into his cup with a huff, taking another ill advised sip of wine. He didn’t voice, though, that it was preferable to watch from the sidelines than to miss out completely.

The defensiveness that had mounted in his shoulders melted away with a laugh at her barb towards Geralt, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of something other than hurt, even though it was lingering just below the surface. “What, does Geralt not know how to use his mouth, or are you simply insatiable?” he teased, noting that his (third) cup was nearly empty, but unwilling to remove his head from the comfort of Yennefer’s warmth. She could decide to shove him off at any moment; he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Truthfully, Jaskier wasn’t sure if he wanted Geralt to know. What would be worse? Geralt knowing all this time, and simply ignoring it because he didn’t feel the same? Or, if he had no idea, if Jaskier told him… The bard couldn’t continue that train of thought. He hadn’t wanted to risk losing the man, but here he was all the same.

She snorted a bit at his comment, “Oh he knows how to use his mouth alright..just has a problem putting it to proper use most times.”

Yennefer sighed for a moment, glancing at the bard that was several cups in his wine. The poor sod looked so dead to the world. Honestly, she was surprised that he even dared to remain near her, especially since the last time they were anywhere close, he practically jumped out of bed and ran away from her. 

The warmth of his company was nice, even if his commentary was a bit taxing on the nerves, even when he was drunk. Though the more she thought on his question, Yennefer pondered how he would respond.

“Is that what it’s like?” Jaskier asked, avoiding the question by posing another of his own. “Loving a man?”

He’d broken plenty of hearts, himself; leaving people angry in his wake. He’d thought, though, that he’d never played to harshly with their hearts. Unlike some, he thought bitterly, I try not to leave disaster wherever I go. Guilt panged in his stomach for the words spoken only in his mind, regardless of whether Yennefer bothered to hear them. It wasn’t her fault that Geralt was an idiot and an ass. It wasn’t her fault that she captured his attention so wholly and completely in minutes where Jaskier had tried and failed for decades.

He’d fallen into bed with men on occasion, yes, and there was even a young man at Oxenfurt he’d had a fling with that lasted more than a night, but his couplings with the same sex were usually fleeting, chasing hidden pleasure just for a night, to return to their wives in the morning. So, yes, he truly did wonder; was loving a man always bound to end in heartbreak?

Yennefer sighed as she leaned back in her seat, thinking for a little on his inquiry. She has tasted various ends of the forbidden pool of what the clergy would consider as ‘sin’. However, those that made it to her bedroll meant nothing to her. None gave her any emotional attachment -- save for two. Try as she might, denying that they changed her in some way was like lying to herself. Though technically; there could be three to that list, if she added her step father.

Her eyes shifted to her wrists for a moment, gazing at the scared flesh, as she remembers how her step father, without blinking an eye, sold her off at half the price as a pig would be in the market. There wasn’t a single day she lived that she didn’t hate that man. She thought that family was supposed to look after one another. But instead, he turned his back on her and disowned her -- right in front of her and her mother.

It broke her heart, knowing that she wasn’t wanted..not even by her own family. Those scars were a constant reminder to her that she was sold for four marks. A reminder of the cruelty of men. After all, this was a man’s world. What they said, went. Anything else, to the gods be damned.