The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Fifty

Cintra, 1249

Geralt stood at the entrance of the ball uncomfortably, waiting for Jaskier and Robin to appear. Without meaning to, he was doing exactly what Jaskier had told him to do before he left. Look mean and pretend he was a mute.

He was antsy for several reasons. One, he didn't see how this was going to go well for anyone. It just never seemed to when he got involved. And adding Jaskier into that equation wasn't going to help matters. Two, he didn't like being away from Robin, even for this long, especially when he knew she was out and potentially in danger. It was one thing if he'd left her in camp, or in the comfort of a warm room at the inn.

Three, he knew he'd upset her back in the room with his thoughtless comments. But if he took them back, he'd come dangerously close to exposing his true feelings, and he couldn't do that. So he was going to have to come up with some other way to make it up to her. He just didn't know what it was yet.

He turned his head as the herald called out, "Julian Alfred Pankratz, also known as the bard Jaskier, and his sister, Robin Euphemia Pankratz."

A flurry of whispers filled the room. She was supposed to be dead, after all. Jaskier had considered a false name for her, of course, but if the news made its way back to their parents and shocked them, he didn't really care, and he knew she didn't either.

Jaskier was a little more dressed up than usual, the fabric of his gold suit shimmering. Though Geralt didn't particularly care, he felt positively shabby next to him. Jaskier's excuse had been that clothes his size were hard to come by, which Geralt believed.

But what really drew his attention, of course, was Robin. He had no idea where Jaskier had found the dress she was wearing, but she was absolutely stunning. He swallowed thickly and stood up to his full height as he saw her.

Her bodice was gray velvet framed by gray silk, and her skirt was a bountiful mass of layer upon layer of gray and silver chiffon. Her sleeves, which matched the skirt, cupped her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare and trailing all the way down to the floor.

The chiffon was embroidered with sprigs of lavender on the waist and upper arms, the purple and green thread shot through with bursts of silver so the flowers shimmered in the light. She wore a scrollwork silver necklace decorated with two smoky teardrop gems, and her long, dark brown hair was loose, the waves held back by three thick braids that looped loosely around the back of her head.

Geralt was suddenly aware that every man in the room had turned to look at her. He bristled visibly until she caught sight of him and smiled, her silver slippers peeping out from under her skirt as she stepped toward him. He could tell they were flat, because she was still the same height.

"You're even more gorgeous than usual, Robin," Geralt complimented her sincerely, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it.

He wasn't under the impression that that would be enough to deter the suitors she would surely acquire tonight, but it was a start.

She blushed and beamed up at him. "Thank you, Geralt."

"You're welcome," Jaskier crooned at both of them. "Now stick close to me, please. And try not to let anyone find out who you actually are, Geralt."

At that moment, a jovial man not far from them called out, "Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher!"

Jaskier scrunched up his face in consternation as Robin burst out laughing, the sound echoing throughout the hall as she hung onto Geralt's arm. He couldn't help smiling. Her laugh was one of the sounds in the world that made him happiest.

"Well, shit," Jaskier muttered.

"I haven't seen you since the plague," the man continued as he approached them.