As for the so-called "Queen of the Night Academy" in the Trade Quarter, Victor had never bothered to learn much about it and could only nod along to be polite. Still, being a man, he'd unconsciously filed away little bits and pieces—like the fact that the Queen of the Night, "Vanessa," and her Sisters of the Night were all beautiful as angels.
And for those who complained their coin purses were too heavy, the Queen of the Night offered the finest entertainment, the sweetest women, and an exquisite kind of pleasure that let her guests forget the grind of everyday life.
The conversation was dull. Yet just as that dull stretch of time was "obviously" about to end, Victor found himself wishing it would stay dull a little longer. People really were complicated creatures.
The Royal Huntsman and his friends' endless retelling of their nighttime escapades approached from behind with steady footsteps, the voices gradually dropping until they faded into silence.
"We really are fated, aren't we? Not even a full day apart, and we run into you again so soon, bard Victor."
The young man turned and answered politely. "Yes. It's an honor to see you again, Captain Vincent."
Tonight, the captain of the City Guard looked nothing like the disheveled mess from last night. His armor concealed any imperfections in his build, and paired with that stern gaze and confident presence, he radiated authority. Jean-Pierre and his friends immediately shrank off to the side like frightened quail.
"If possible, could you let me speak with Victor alone? We need a bit of space."
The awkward Royal Huntsman and his two companions backed away as if they'd been granted a pardon.
Victor knew his standing had been lifted again. From here on, he could step naturally into a higher circle of nobles, and no one would push him out—because he knew Captain Vincent and had spoken with him privately.
"About last night—sorry," the captain said. "After swimming, I got a bit of cramping in my legs. I wasn't in great shape. Did I scare you and Doctor Shani?"
"Not at all," Victor replied. "We were just surprised. In fact, after we got back and thought carefully about your warning, it made a lot of sense. We'll be going out less at night. And please, take better care of yourself."
The brief exchange ended. The captain gave Victor's shoulder a satisfied pat and left. The three nobles who'd backed off rushed back to Victor's side at once.
Now that they'd seen he had the status to speak with the captain alone, Jean-Pierre and his friends found Victor much more agreeable. His plain face suddenly seemed easier on the eyes, and even the knife-scar across it looked oddly heroic.
But after enjoying their upgraded warmth for a moment, Victor started to feel bored again. As he let his gaze wander around the hall, his eyes met those of Keira Metz, who stood alone in the center of the room.
The royal advisor's smile looked like the expression of someone who'd discovered something entertaining—interest sparked to life in an instant. Victor hurriedly lowered his eyes, hoping that smile hadn't been meant for him.
Unfortunately, his skin soon prickled with the pin-and-needle sensation of a magical ripple. When he looked again, Keira's crystal-clear toes had found their way back into his vision. She still wore leather flats tonight, though the embossed pattern had been changed to something trimmed in reddish marten fur.
The petite, slender sorceress wore her straw-blond hair long and straight. Today she had no blouse at all—only a white chiffon, spaghetti-strap gown with a deep V, bare back, and flowing length. A tiny mole beneath her collarbone and her neat, delicate navel were plainly visible.
A straight nose, pale rose lips, skin smooth and fine like a girl's—yet the disdainful pride in her eyes crushed the three fringe nobles completely. When her cold gaze swept over them, they could only respond with eager flattery.
"How curious," she said. "Our newly appointed Royal Huntsman—why is he keeping company with a witcher apprentice?"
At the word witcher, the two men beside Jean-Pierre instantly switched from friendly smiles to the kind of disgust reserved for plague victims, and their looks toward Jean-Pierre soured as well.
Victor lifted his chin slightly, focusing his eyes on the sorceress's jaw as he spoke. "My lady, you misunderstand. I'm Victor, a bard invited to perform tonight in the Pure White Hall—offering rich blessings for this beautiful autumn."
Thinking of the damage to his own reputation if Victor were branded a witcher, Jean-Pierre forced himself to rally and hurriedly added an explanation from the side. "Yes, my lady, you may have misunderstood. He's a poet introduced by Master Dandelion—he comes from Bell Town, beyond Zerrikania, and he's here to bring us greetings from distant lands and an exotic Zerrikanian flair."
Keira couldn't hold it in. She giggled, then laughed outright—laughing with an abandon that made it clear she considered this the funniest thing she'd heard all night at this tedious banquet. A person having many identities wasn't strange, but a witcher crossing over into a bard? The irony was on the level of a rock troll moonlighting as a restaurant chef.
Her laughter drew plenty of attention; people wanted to know what could have delighted her so much. Keira didn't care about their stares in the slightest.
When her laughter eased, her smile remained. She curled a finger in a beckoning gesture. "I see. In that case, perfect. Bard Victor, yes? Come with me."
The rosemary scent that drifted naturally from her every movement left Jean-Pierre and his two companions looking utterly bewitched. They envied Victor for being summoned by Lady Keira, wishing they could trade places with him.
As for Victor himself—he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. But in the end, he could only follow the royal advisor helplessly.
Keira walked ahead with a catlike sway. Victor allowed himself a few polite glances before fixing his eyes on the back of her head, refusing to look at her hips or the exposed curve of her back.
They returned to the middle-aged man Keira had been speaking with earlier. He was in conversation with Princess Adda.
"My dear Velerad," Keira said, "the bard Victor you mentioned—I found him for you."
"Oh—thank you, Lady Keira," said the balding, potbellied man. He paused his talk with the princess, set down his goblet, and looked Victor over. "Good evening, sir. Do you know who I am?"
Even if Victor hadn't known before, the name alone was enough. There was only one Velerad who could speak with the royal advisor and exchange words with Princess Adda.
"Vizima's mayor. The esteemed Velerad."
"Good. The reason I called you over is simple: I want to ask whether your song is ready. If it isn't, you can say so. There will be no punishment." His tone was gentle.
Victor found the question strange. If he'd dared to come here at all, then of course he was prepared. "Yes. I'm ready!"
Beside them, Princess Adda tipped her head back and drained her red wine, a flush rising across her cheeks. "I told you!"
Velerad gave the poet's shoulder an encouraging pat. "To be ready in such a short time is no easy thing. The reward will be richer than you can imagine. Don't be nervous—just perform well. Even if you don't, King Foltest is generous and merciful." With that, he lifted his goblet, signaling Victor could withdraw.
Victor bowed and stepped back. As he left, he felt something about that exchange hadn't quite added up—like he'd missed something important, yet he couldn't put his finger on what it was.
While he was still thinking, someone seized his arm. It was Lily Knight Roderick, speaking Common Speech with a Nilfgaardian accent:
"Come with me!"
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810