Cahir swallows hard, staring at the blonde sorceress - and her perfect, creamy-white tits - barely believing what is happening. Is he in some kind of very weird, fucked-up dream? Maybe the witch is stark raving mad? One moment she feels like a close friend, a confidante, and the very next she threatens to cut his throat while, at the same time, trying to seduce him? Or is this just her unique way of playing this interrogation game of hers, of toying with him? Does she want to thoroughly confound him with her contradictory behaviour? Befuddle his mind so much with her looks and this enticing scent of hers that he will surrender and spill all his secrets? This tantalising, exotic aroma underneath the vanilla and lemon does things to him Cahir would rather not think of, not with a keen blade so close to his carotid artery. It is a terrifying feeling to be so totally at the witch's mercy, to be utterly powerless - not so very different from when his head was on the chopping block and he was waiting for Yennefer to strike the fatal blow that would cut his head off. Yet, at the same time, it is strangely arousing. Cahir can feel his cock swell and harden, making it embarrassingly clear what his body wants. And it is definitely not pain, no. The amount of pain he has experienced by a sorceress's hand on this very island was far more than enough for a lifetime. So he better not anger the beautiful but capricious and possibly dangerously nutty witch more than he already has. Pleasure or pain? Sitting astride him like she is, there is no way Sabrina cannot feel his unvoiced answer through the fabric of his pants. And her underwear. What colour might it be? Torquoise like her dress and eyes? Frilly, semi-translucent lace perhaps? Shit, thinking of the bewitching witch's lingerie does not help, not at all. Cahir flushes bright red, or, at least, from the sudden hot feeling in his cheeks he assumes he does. This here is so very, very different from Tissaia de Vries' interrogation. And he still has no clue if he hates or loves it.
"Mmh, I'm pretty sure I feel somebody here prefers the pleasure," Sabrina purrs, moving her pelvis in small circles, lasciviously rubbing herself against her prisoner's crotch with a knowing smile. "So, Cahir, tell me, what do you know about Emhyr and his buddy Vilgefortz?"
"His what?" Cahir chokes out hoarsely. Distracted by Sabrina's extremely suggestive movements, he must have misheard.
"His buddy Vilgefortz. What is your holy emperor planning together with the traitorous snake?"
"You— you must be mistaken," Cahir objects, careful not to move while speaking as the blade of the dagger is develishly close to his Adam's apple. "Vilgefortz, he's our enemy, you know that. The White Flame would never plan anything together with him."
"He wouldn't?" Sabrina arches her eyebrow. "Don't you take me for a fool, Nilfgaardian!" she then hisses, her eyes darkening with sudden anger. She lets go of Cahir's hand and presses the flat blade of the dagger against his throat so hard it must hurt. A thin, red line appears on his pale skin and a warm trickle of blood runs down the side of his neck and into his tousled hair. Not daring to move, he holds his breath, his eyes wide with fear. Sabina slackens her grip on the sharp weapon just a tad. After all, she does not intend to seriously injure the man.
"It was none other than Vilgefortz who opened the secret door into Aretuza for you, and you know it!" she says angrily. "Don't pretend otherwise!"
"This— this is impossible. Vilgefortz led you mages against us at Sodden," Cahir pants, suddenly feeling faint. The sorceress with the funny voice who was working with Rience let them in, that was the plan, what he was told. She was Emhyr's secret contact at Aretuza. It could not possibly have been—, no, this does not make any sense, it simply cannot be true. Sabrina must be mixing something up. "We lost the war because of Vilgefortz! The bloody bastard wanted me executed!"
"You really didn't know?" Surprised, Sabrina gazes down at Cahir, her expression softening. He would have to be an exceptionally brilliant actor to feign ignorance like this, and she very much doubts that he is. She lifts the dagger and Cahir takes a shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry," Sabrina says, "but it looks like your precious White Flame never gave a shit about whether you live or die. Maybe he even wanted you dead as a punishment for your failure? Vilgefortz and Emhyr fucked us all. I bet their plan was for you to kill us northern mages at Sodden so Vilgefortz could take over the brotherhood, and Emhyr the continent. Only that Yennefer thwarted their plans. And you, as our death-condemned prisoner, became Vilgefortz's chance to parade himself around in front of the northern kings as the sorcerer who saved Sodden. What a joke!"
"Didn't feel like a joke to me," Cahir huffs, his thoughts reeling. Can what Sabrina says really be what actually happened? Or is she playing mind games with him? But she sounded genuine enough, and how would anybody even conceive of as absurd an idea as this if it was not the truth? If it is true, though, if Vilgefortz has been in cahoots with Emhyr all along, then he must have held back during their duel at Sodden Hill, must have faked his defeat so that he would not have to fight against his ally's army together with the other mages. Cahir knows that he is one of the best sword fighters in the Nilfgaardian army. Still, it was unexpectedly easy to beat the man considering that he is a sorcerer. Back then Cahir had attributed it to his arrogance that Vilgefortz did not use his magic against his opponent but stupidly wasted his chaos on conjuring up one new sword after the other until his magic was depleted. No, it makes much more sense that it was his plan all along to lose this fight. And Sabrina is right, Emhyr had several high-ranking officers executed after their fiasco at Sodden. Mercy and forgiveness are not exactly words the emperor is overly familiar with. Why would he not have wanted to severely punish his failed commander general? The White Flame has only ever used and never truly cared about him, Cahir knows this now, and the knowledge hurts a lot more than his injuries. How stupid he was not to see it much, much sooner.
"How very lucky Yennefer hates to be ordered around and let you keep your pretty head," Sabrina interrupts Cahir's tumultuous, dark thoughts. "Good she knows how to wield an axe, too. But enough now of executions and of Vilgefortz. I promised you some pleasure, didn't I? And I feel you're still eager, very eager." She flashes her prisoner a meaningful smile. Then she starts to slowly unlace the bodice of her turquoise dress with her free hand. The sash around her slim waist goes next, followed by the hooks and buttons on the side of the dress. Transfixed, Cahir stares at her as the beautiful sorceress slips out of the elegant garment to reveal the most translucent bra he has ever seen in his life. Is it there at all? It must be as it has an intriguing opalescent shimmer to it, but the delicate fabric is far too thin to not reveal Sabrina's pink and very erect nipples. Her a little less translucent yet equally opalescent and enticing panties are just so covering her most intimate parts, but not a single millimetre more than absolutely necessary. A most bewitching sight. Cahir swallows as she leans closer toward him and, with the tip of her finger, traces along the red line of blood on his throat. Fortunately the cut is only superficial and has almost stopped bleeding.
"Mmh, I knew you'd taste good," she sighs, licking his blood from her finger in a way that looks scary, yet sexy as hell.
"Touch me, Nilfgaardian," Sabrina then whispers, grabbing Cahir's hand and placing it on her midriff. Her naked skin feels smooth and soft and warm. The scent of vanilla, lemon and this spicy, exotic aroma intensify as he lets his palm glide down her hipbone toward the thin string of her panties.
A shiver of anticipation runs down Cahir's spine when he takes hold of the string and starts to pull.