xᴠ.

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ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ






ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ: xᴠ.






Morning washed over the campsite, drawing everyone out of their tents.

Thazina's face went red as she stepped out of her tent, eyes falling to Geralt, who was packing his things for the rest of the walk.

"Has anyone seen my escort?" Yennefer called to the group.

Thazina hesitated. She hadn't. Not since that night. His armor and his things were lying on the ground. His tent had never even been set.

"Ah!" Yarpen cried, some way in the brush. "Bloody ball sucks!"

Everyone hurried to investigate.

Sir Eyck lay in the dirt, blood draining from a gash in his neck. He was dead.

"Who slits a man's throat while he's relieving his bowels?" Jaskier questioned, shaking his head at the sight. "Is nothing sacred anymore?"

Yarpen groaned as he stepped away from the corpse.

"Fuck!" Yennefer stated.

There was no time to mourn Sir Eyck. And, really, no one wanted to. They returned to their walking.

"We're halfway to the dragon's lair, but it's getting dangerous," Véa noted. "We cannot continue like this."

"The warrior woman is right," Yarpen said. "Someone killed that self-righteous fud, and it wasn't any of us. Somebody's not playin' fair. Our people used to mine these mountains. We know a shortcut that will cut half a day off our journey. Let the Reavers take the long way around. We'll nab the treasure before they even set foot in the cave."

"Sounds like a good plan," Thazina said.

Faldrid's voice was low. "We ought to stick to the path. Queen Calanthe- -"

"Queen Calanthe isn't here. And she wants the riches of the hoard. We're taking the shortcut," Thazina stated.

Yarpen nodded along. "We'll watch each other's backs until we reach the next peak, then every man for himself. What say ye?" he asked Borch.

"Let's go," Borch agreed with a smile, and so they were off.

"Go on. I'll catch up," Geralt told Jaskier.

Thazina watched him hurry after Yennefer.

She bit hard at her lip, looking away, focusing on the path as a strange wave of what absolutely could not be jealousy washed over her.

ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ (Geralt of Rivia)Where stories live. Discover now