Nobility. Geralt hated taking jobs from them. They always had a ploy or an alternative reason for needing his services. Sometimes they even just wanted him around for bragging rights. Those clients usually found themselves with a black eye or shattered jaw.
So, when he received a letter that asked for his services with generous pay, he was obliged to accept. Though when he also took the time to notice the quality of the parchment and the elegant handwriting, the misgivings immediately began. Nobles.
The nobleman in question, a Lord Timothy, had requested that Geralt arrive at his summer castle posthaste. There had been some mention of wearing something appropriate for an evening ball. He’d chosen to forego that particular hint. If the man wanted to hire a Witcher, then he’d dress as one. Lord Timothy could purchase the services of a costumed fool somewhere else.
Upon arriving at the castle, he did, however, surrender his two swords. Though not the dagger in his boot. The servant at the castle led him into a study. It was a busy castle. Geralt could feel the life bouncing against the stones. A party. The sooner Lord Timothy told him about the job, the sooner he could leave and miss drunken idiots.
Yet when he arrived at the study, he found that he wasn’t the only one waiting for Lord Timothy’s arrival. The scent hit him first. Familiar in a way that Roach’s scent is familiar. Lilac and gooseberries.
Walking into the room, shoulders squared, he didn’t even look for her. “Yennefer,” he murmured all the same. Their last encounter had ended . . . pleasantly, he supposed. If one could call an abrupt departure after a rather intense bout of sex pleasant. He’d awoken from his well-earned and well-needed nap to find her gone. All trace of her, in fact. Yennefer of Vengberg knew how to hide her steps.
Not that he was looking for her.
It appeared that he didn’t need to, anyway. Geralt crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his back against a shelf. The musty scent of the tomes tickled his nose. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he stated, amber-colored eyes finally finding her purple.
“Though I guess I should have suspected. If there’s a party, you won’t be far behind.” A small twist of his lips conjured up a half-smile.
@serphynts
