The breeze was much warmer against Geralt's face than he was used to for this time of year. The start of spring was upon the continent, but Geralt was used to thawing ice and still chilly nights in the North, not the blooming flowers and humid air that was currently overtaking the South.

Geralt never found himself so far south this early in the year. The trek down the mountain or abundance of beasts rising from their winter's sleep kept him plenty occupied in the North. It wouldn't be until the end of summer that he searched for work anywhere below Cintra, if he bothered at all. The heat was never worth the coin, in his opinion.

A rooster crowed as the first of the palace's servants flowed into the courtyard. Some were stable hands, others butchers or cooks. Their silhouettes turned from a pale blue outline to a softly lit person as the sun rose higher from its spot below the city's horizon.

The night's fading blue hues mixed beautifully with the yellows and oranges that rose with the sun. He was nearly lost in them until the sound of heels clacked against the foyer's floor behind him. The smell of lilac and gooseberries kept his hands on the windowsill instead of reaching for his knife.

"You're up early," he said without looking back at the approaching figure. Yennefer scoffed and stopped in the spot beside him.

"I haven't slept well since Sodden. Staying in the capital of Nilfgaard hasn't done much to help, prisoner or not."

Geralt hummed. It was easy for him to agree.

"And Ciri?" Yennefer asked, looking up at him.

He had insisted on staying outside her room once she went to bed the night before, after Leon assured him that they would be safe despite the Emperor's ashes still piled neatly on the ballroom floor. He had been standing outside the door only a short time before rustling blankets and fearful whimpers made him rush into the room, and he returned to room's threshold only once he sensed Lambert moving toward them about half an hour ago.

The witcher demanded to take his post so that Geralt could get some rest ("You're the one that got fucking stabbed," the other witcher had reasoned). Only Geralt didn't bother heading to the room that had been readied for him not far from Ciri's. If his mind was going to race over everything that had happened, and everything that still could, he might as well have something nicer than a ceiling to look at while it did.

"She was asleep last I checked, fitful as it might be," he grunted.

The mage nodded. Her violet eyes grew more bright as the morning sunlight pooled inside of them.

"That wonderful girl. What I wouldn't give to take all of this horror away from her," she breathed.

Geralt felt his own breath grow heavy in his lungs. He decided he much preferred the cool relief that came from the air in the North than the warm, humid burden he kept having to suck into his chest in Nilfgaard.

"Yet we can't take it away," Yennefer continued. "No matter how much we try, this hell will always be with her."

Geralt swallowed. "That doesn't mean I won't try," he briefly glanced over at the mage. Her expression wasn't hard like he expected.

"I know," she said softly.

It fell quiet between them. Neither looked away from the waking city before them. They just stood there shoulder to shoulder, the warm light bringing back a bit of the color to their cheeks that hadn't been seen in weeks.

Yennefer shifted after a while, yet her stare stayed on two sleepy children who were carrying water pails across the courtyard. Her voice was smooth when it left her body.

"We never were meant to be, were we?"

Geralt's heart bumped against his ribs. Every muscle grew tense at the sudden shift in her words.

"What do you mean?" he asked, not sure what else to say.

"When I'm with Ciri, there's a sense of purpose I've never felt before. It's like I'm a part of something more than just myself, yet I don't think it's the motherhood or power that I've been searching for," Yennefer continued softly. "It's all so clear now. Destiny brought you and I together because of Ciri. The djinn, the mountain - all of it was just leading us here. To her."

A weight plummeted through his gut. Borch's words came rushing back to him.

"Though you didn't want to lose her, Geralt, you will."

"Might there ever be another chance?" he tried, despite the eerie sense that he already knew the answer.

Yennefer turned to face him. The intoxicating spark that once glowed fiercely inside of her eyes looked more like a simmer the longer he stared.

"Perhaps someday. But for now, Ciri needs as much of ourselves as we can give," she said. One of her hands wrapped around his and gave it a small squeeze. "That doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Geralt felt the hint of a smile on his lips before he registered the scoff that escaped from between them. "Friends. A rare thing for both of us to find."

Yennefer let out a small chuckle of her own. "We'd better cling to it then."

Her hand was warm against his. The thought of never feeling it again had haunted Geralt for far too long, as had the fear that he would never be hers again. But he found their newfound truce fair enough. As long as he was one of the few who were allowed a glimpse of Yennefer's rare smile every now and again, he couldn't complain.


Ciri didn't move as she stared into the ballroom from its doorway. Servants swept up debris and pushed crumbled stone into piles that looked haphazard on top of the cracked marble floors. She tried to stop herself from looking to the front of the room, where a splintered table kept snatching her attention - the blackened spot on the floor in front of it especially.

She startled when a hand pressed down on her shoulder. A quick glance to the side helped settle her nerves.

"There you are," Lambert said. "Haven't seen you all day."

Jaskier hummed beside him. "Geralt thought you were with Yennefer still."

The witcher's hand guided her forward, its weight heavy against her shoulder as the ballroom left her line of sight.

"I was just heading back to my room after our meeting with Leon," she shrugged. "He hasn't shut up about the coronation. It's only been a day since what happened. You would think they would all be mourning their emperor, or something. Like any other kingdom would."

Lambert and Jaskier shared a look. The bard cleared his throat. "Nilfgaard isn't much like the other kingdoms, though you already know that," he started. "And I know you are more than capable of defending yourself, but you shouldn't be wandering the halls alone, dove. Who knows who to trust within these walls."

An annoyed huff built up inside her throat. She pushed it down and shoved off Lambert's hand. "I wasn't wandering," she grunted.

Jaskier sucked in a cautious breath. "Either way, just be careful. I know you already are, but I have to say it," he brushed back a piece of hair that had fallen in her face.

Ciri darted her eyes toward the bard then back at the hallway in front of her. The affection felt strange after being locked away for so long.

"Where's Geralt?" she questioned. The last she'd seen of him had been at breakfast.

"Eyeing the soldiers out front, last I saw. The bastard's been on their tail all morning," Lambert said.

"Listening for whispers of a coup, I suspect," Ciri said. A deep breath filled her lungs.

"That, and probably criticizing how they fight. One look at the few men sparring in the courtyard this morning was all I needed to tell they're shit fighters here," the witcher smirked.

"No wonder they failed at Sodden," Jaskier shrugged.

"Yet they still took Cintra," Ciri reminded him, her fingers tensing at the thought. Jaskier sobered.

"Right," he grimaced. "They did do that. But you're their leader now. What they do next is up to you."

She turned at the sound of footsteps nearing them. Several men dressed in fancy robes and tunics walked past them, each sending a critical glance in her direction as they did.

Lambert stepped forward and shot them a menacing glare. They quickly dropped their gazes and hurried by.

"You'd think they would be more scared of the girl who turned their emperor to dust with a scream than just another grouchy witcher," Jaskier said to Lambert, his head bopped to the side.

"Humans stay stuck in their ways. And stay stupid," Lambert grunted. He looked over at Ciri. "I can't think of one witcher who wouldn't be impressed with what you did."

She darted her eyes away from them again. "Impressed" wasn't the quite the word she would use.

"I'll see you both later," she turned away.

Jaskier was by her side again after taking only a few quick steps forward. "We'll escort you," he insisted.

Ciri stopped and sighed. "I'm just heading to my room. If anyone bad crosses my path, I'll just turn them to dust or something."

"But-"

"I'll be fine, Jaskier," she said firmly. "I'll see you both later."

She continued forward yet didn't hear the men move to follow. It was for the best, she knew. They wouldn't be happy to see where she was really going.

The few nobles and guards who did cross her path quickly scurried by or tried to ignore her entirely, even if some drastically failed to hide their apprehension or curiosity at the sight of their ruler's killer. She was their conqueror, and a strange one at that. Even her warrior of a grandmother hadn't taken entire kingdoms when she was as young as Ciri. Nor did she have powers wild enough to reduce a grown man to dust.

The door she searched for was exactly where Leon said it would be. The guards at its front moved aside without question when she went to go inside, with one opening it for her as she did.

The staircase was the same as she remembered. Dark, narrow, and uneven under each step. She grabbed a lit torch from the wall as she treaded lower into the dungeon. Only one prisoner came into view under its hollow light.

Cahir was dressed in just a grey tunic and trousers. The armor he had stood tall in the night before was stripped of him as she had ordered, and a bandage wrapped around his head instead of the feathered helmet that had haunted her dreams for far too many nights. His eyes widened when they met her own. Neither seemed to dare move while the other watched.

"I suppose you didn't come here just to stare at me," he croaked.

Ciri straightened. The hold on her throat was loosening enough for her to speak.

"No. I didn't."

Chains rattled against the floor. "My execution then?"

Ashes blew across her vision. How easy it would be...

"You don't deserve a quick death," she ground through her teeth. He didn't say anything else. Of all the responses she had prepared for, Ciri hadn't been expecting the silence that ran wayward against her skin. She took a step closer. "You and your precious emperor destroyed my home. Not to mention half of the countryside and more lives than you could count."

More silence hung in the air. "Your cause is dead. Just like the innocent people you slaughtered," she spat.

He shook his head. The motion didn't hold doubt or denial, nor even disbelief.

"The prophecy may not be exactly what we thought, but the White Frost is still upon us," Cahir said with unfailing certainty. "As long as you live, your father's purpose survives."

"He was not my father. Only a brutal killer."

Cahir didn't look away from her like before. "Aren't we all?"

Her breath contorted against the back of her throat, yet her voice trailed without a flinch. "You're right. We both have a trail of blood behind us. But which one runs farther? Which one's more dark?"

"Destiny demanded it," he huffed.

Ciri stepped close enough to the cell for her face to nearly touch the bars that separated them. Her towering shadow washed over his body.

"Real strength is determining your own destiny. Not following someone else's blindly."

"I was following orders from my savior," he glared at her.

"You were," Ciri inhaled. "And here you are now."

She didn't wait for his reaction before she turned away, and she didn't look back when a strained grunt bounced off the walls behind her. Ciri's eyes were locked onto the stairs as she stepped up them, focused only on what was ahead.


"Should we serve pheasant or partridge at the feast? And would a hint of lemon or parsley be the more sufficient seasoning to use?"

Ciri regarded Leon with a raised brow. The man had been obsessing over the details of her coronation for a nearly an hour now, as he had the past three days; which flower displays would look best at the feast, which noble should be seated next to which dignitary. It was the tedious court trifle she hadn't missed since leaving Cintra.

"Whichever you prefer. I don't particularly care," she replied honestly.

"But you must, Your Majesty!" Leon sputtered. "The ceremony has to be perfect. It only takes a single flaw for one to question the strength of your reign, no matter where one detects it."

Geralt shook his head. "I doubt her choice in food will make her look weak."

Leon huffed. Ciri noticed his temper was a bit more short with the witcher.

"This is more than just another dinner. We are setting the tone for Empress Cirilla's entire reign. It must be apparent to the people from the moment she takes the throne what she values and what she will fight for."

Yennefer scoffed. "And that includes the seasoning on the meat?"

Leon was red from exasperation. Ciri decided it best to spare the poor man before he fainted.

"A simple ceremony is all I need. The people must know that I'm more concerned with their wellbeing than frivolities," she started. Leon looked like he wanted to interject, though she knew custom would keep him from interrupting a ruler. "But I agree with your points," she conceded. "Perhaps we can find a compromise. Especially since I don't intend to be here long enough to particularly care what it is."

Leon's eyes bulged from his head. Yennefer and Geralt were a bit better at hiding their surprise, even if their faces still showed a hint of it.

"Leave? What do you mean leave? The Empire needs a ruler!" Leon exclaimed.

Ciri put a hand up in an attempt to calm him. The decision was an easy one to make, even if she had been thinking it over during almost every moment of her day since she had vowed to be Nilfgaard's new ruler.

"The best way to help the continent heal is to go where Nilfgaard's war has ravaged it most," Ciri started. "The refugees of the Emperor's war need a safe place to live now that their fields and villages are ash, and Cintra is the perfect spot to rebuild. Its land can hold thousands and its port is a central point for trade between the North and South. If we don't use that position to our advantage, another ruler will. That's why I plan to oversee the reconstruction directly."

"But straying from the city leaves you vulnerable, Your Majesty. You are most protected here," Leon tried.

"The Northern kings were friends of my grandmother's. I don't trust them to extend that curtesy to me, but I don't expect direct hostility right away, either. I'll also have a fair chunk of our forces with me," her eyes wandered over to the witcher beside her. "And Geralt."

Leon's lips pulled tight. "There are plenty of people who are vying for your seat now that Emperor Emhyr is gone. The moment your throne is empty, they will move in to capture it."

"Not if someone holds it in my stead. If she doesn't object, Yennefer is more than capable of overseeing my day-to-day duties while I'm away."

The mage's eyes grew wide. For the first time since Ciri had met her, she almost seemed speechless.

"I'd be honored," Yennefer said, a surprised sense of awe drifting onto her face.

Ciri smiled back. "Then it's settled. We'll prepare to leave after the coronation. Tell the generals to meet with me tomorrow at noon," she stood from her seat. "I want to start planning for Cintra."

Leon looked exhausted at the thought, but he didn't object. Ciri didn't think Yennefer or Geralt's hard stares in his direction would let him, either.

"At once, Your Majesty," he said and hurried from the room as the mage and witcher stood.

"I wasn't expecting us to leave so soon," Geralt said.

Ciri's fingers brushed over a part of the table that was carved to show a map of the continent. Her ringer hovered near the coast of Skellige.

"Nilfgaard is my responsibility now, but so is Cintra," she replied.

"It is. And Nilfgaard will be in good hands while you're away," Geralt stole a pleasant glance at Yennefer. The mage returned it, then stepped closer to Ciri. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her.

"I promise to do right by you. Your vision for the empire will be my own, and I'll do whatever it takes to see it through."

The hint of adoration in Yennefer's voice was firm and fierce. It hadn't been the first time Ciri heard such a tone in a mage from her court.

"I know," she smiled.

Yennefer stepped back and turned her head toward the door. "I suppose I should finally go introduce myself the other mages. Gods know what kind of shit they were forced to do under Fringilla," she sighed. "I'll see you both at dinner."

Ciri's smile faded as she watched Yennefer leave. The room became quiet in a way she'd only ever known with Geralt.

The witcher had been by her side during each of her meetings and kept a close watch on her whenever they ate or were around other nobles. He'd glued himself to her door at night and was at her side the moment she woke from another nightmare, running a comforting hand through her hair that helped her more than he knew, even if it only scared her demons away for a moment.

Ciri couldn't bring herself to tell him about her dreams of frozen wastelands or hooded warriors charging at her on horseback, the hooves of their stallions barely brushing the ground. But Geralt didn't pry. He would just sit with her in silence if that was what she wished, and that alone was enough - mostly. She couldn't quite ignore the guilt that rolled around inside her chest each time she looked upon his face.

Geralt grabbed a piece of blank parchment that had been laying on the table and picked up a quill. "I'll write Eskel about the news. Let him know we'll be in Cintra after the coronation," the paper crumpled crisply. "I expect him and Vesemir will want to join."

Ciri rubbed her wrist. "Is Kaer Morhen really gone?" she swallowed. Geralt's eyes softened.

"Most of it. I don't think there's much left to salvage," he sighed. A welt expanded in the back of her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," she said, fighting the wobble in her lower lip. Geralt moved closer.

"You are not responsible for Emhyr's actions, Ciri-"

"I'm the reason they came," she took a step back. "If I hadn't been there, Vesemir would still have his sight, Roach and Tissaia wouldn't be dead- you'd all have normal lives instead of having to worry about me or deal with the shit that follows me," he went to cut her off, but the tremors in her chest wouldn't let her stop. "I was so stupid to think I could outrun this, or that all I needed was a sword to protect myself," a tear trickled down her cheek. "I'm so sorry about Kaer Morhen, and Roach, and taking your sword and - and all of it."

A gentle sadness filled Geralt's eyes. He tucked her into his arms as more tears ran down her face.

"I don't need to tell you that the world is a cruel place," his voice rumbled inside his chest. "Or that bad things happen to good people. But after decades of witnessing the worst humans can do to each other, there's no doubt in my mind that you are a good person."

Her throat was almost too tight to breath through. "I don't feel like one."

His hands moved to her shoulders and gently pulled her away from his chest. "It will take time," he sighed. "You may never even feel it yourself, but that doesn't mean it's not true."

Ciri wiped away the moisture on her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. She still wasn't sure she quite believed him.

"You knew my... Emhyr," she changed the subject as she composed herself. "Everyone said he loved me and my mother, yet he left us for power and destroyed our home," a deep breath filled her strained lungs. "I need you to promise me something."

Geralt's brows pressed together in a mix of curiosity and concern. She read his silence as permission for her to continue.

"If I ever show any sign of being like him, stop me."

The expression that crossed Geralt's face was serious and incredibly somber. It almost made Ciri wish she hadn't said anything at all.

"He might have been your... father. But I don't see one ounce of him in you," he said, placing a hand on the tabletop.
"What I do see is your grandmother's strength and your mother's kind heart. I didn't know Pavetta well, but reputations travel quickly around the continent. I never heard a harsh word spoken of her, not even by those who hated Cintra."

The compliment struck Ciri. It made her mother's soft smile drift through her mind.

"I saw her in a vision during the feast. She was in Cintra, looking even more lovely than I remember," she recalled.

"Did you speak of anything?" Geralt prodded gently. Ciri nodded.

"Mostly just about my destiny," she glanced down to the floor. "It seems that it's all I'm good for these days."

She felt Geralt's hand gently grasp her chin and tilt her face up toward him as another hand squeezed her shoulder. His golden eyes glimmered down at her own glowing pools of green.

"No, Ciri," he said without a trace of uncertainty in his voice. "You are so much more."

The conviction in Geralt's words shined through every corner of his face. He had never misled her, never lied to her. After everything she had been through, she knew the witcher's words should be a comfort. But Ciri could only hope that someday, she might be able to believe them, too.


I debated on one more chapter, but once this was all written out it felt right to end things here. I thank each and every one of you who read this story from the bottom of my heart. I've used this as my escape during the pandemic and all of the shitty things that has come with it, along with some other tough spots in my life, and the fact that so many of you have enjoyed my little story makes me happier than you know. I'm not quite ready to step away from these characters so I'm happy to say that there will be a sequel! I'm not sure when the first chapter will be up, but keep an eye out for it. Thank you all again! This has been a really great/crazy ride, and I'm really excited to show you what comes next!