-3-

Geralt and Kit reached the terraces of the palace gardens as the setting sun bathed everything in golden and red light. The first lanterns shone in between neatly trimmed bushes and hedges, and the smell of food wafted through the still warm air. This and knowing that Ciri was only a few steps away let Geralt breathe easy for the first time in a long time.

At least for a while, he thought, he would enjoy whatever this was. And what reason was there not to? His only mission that he could remember had come to an end. And for the rest? That could wait for another night. He felt like celebrating.

"I'm at your mercy." Geralt inclined his head in a mock bow.

"Don't worry, I am as merciful as they come."

Kit held out her hand and he took it without hesitation. There was something undeniably pleasant in this little act. Something tugged at the imaginary threat that was attached to his chest.

"When I came here you made sure that I would find my way. Now it's time to return the favor. But first…" She glanced at the labels of some wine bottles on a table, picked one and filled two cups. She swirled the cups and their contents in a circular motion on the table before handing one to him. "Drink."

He took the cup from her hand, letting their fingers touch a little longer than necessary, and obediently took a sip while she reached for the other cup.

The wine tasted exceptionally pleasant he thought and said so aloud.

"Well, it is reassuring that you at least seem to like your own wine."

Geralt raised his eyebrows.

"This?" When he had been told that he was a winemaker, he had assumed that his wine was about as tasty as the potions he brewed. But it appeared that for once he had produced a rather decent concoction.

An amused smile crossed Kit's lips as she turned the bottle and showed him the label. White Wolf, a 1289 vintage. Geralt took the bottle but even though he held it firmly in his hand, it felt surreal. He expected the bottle to disappear at any moment and with it, the world around him. Just how did he end up here?

Knowing very well that no explanation and no amount of proof would satisfy him at that moment, he placed the bottle back on the table.

"Are we early?" Geralt wondered when he looked around and there were hardly any people.

"No, we are just in time for the food. I need you to listen to me now," she said, her expression suddenly serious. "It is absolutely vital that we divide and conquer. While you were talking to Ciri, I asked around in the kitchens. Your favorite dish, roasted pork belly, will be served at stall number 12 tonight, which is down this path, halfway to the lake. You go and get those. I'll make sure to get the fried zucchini flowers and some of the cheese skewers. Let's meet again over there," she said and pointed at a bench. "From there we are in an optimal position to grab desert – that would be crêpes with chocolate."

Geralt had noticed that small stalls had been set up everywhere, offering a multitude of dishes, the smell of which made Geralt's mouth water.

"You have thought this all through," he noticed, quite impressed. His stomach was already rumbling. And roasted pork belly sounded delicious.

"Of course. There is nothing worse than having to talk to people while you are still trying to eat. You are in constant danger of spilling food on yourself or embarrassing yourself while talking with your mouth open. And then you get caught up in a conversation and when you finally manage to get away, there is a long line for whatever it is you want to eat next. Believe me, we have learned our lessons."

Geralt admired that she had her priorities straight and could not help but to agree with her. He remembered many occasions when he was hungry but came too late and there was no food left. That is, if the food had even been real to begin with and had not been a mere illusion.

As time passed, more and more people came. The wine was sweet and the food better than anything he had eaten in a long time. For the briefest moment he was convinced that he might actually have done it: Shed the witcher in him and created a stable life in this little paradise. Being here, surrounded by people who treated him with a great deal of respect and held polite conversation with him, gave a touch of reality to what mostly still felt like a fever dream.

After all, he had to admit that a more stable life had always been a dream of his – just not a realistic one, merely an idea that he could search refuge in when he slept outdoors, another cold and wet night holding him in its firm grip, the absence of any degree of comfort making him long for another life.

Maybe this was a dream, happy endings all around, while he died in a ditch somewhere, having his liver eaten by a griffin.

But if this was a dream, then why did he spend his last moments with a stranger?

"See that man over there? Crooked back, gray hair, walking stick?" Kit pointed to an old man. "Renard. Renard Fournier. He owns a small estate north of ours. His sons are dead, his only daughter estranged. You have made your intentions clear to take over his vineyard once he retires. He likes you and it's more or less a done deal. He cannot stand the vultures who swoop down the moment it looks like a vineyard is up for sale."

"He doesn't consider me a vulture?"

Kit shook her head.

"He's been in need of help for some time. He's old and tired, it's too much for him. You've been helping him out for years now. I think to him it's a blessing to know that everything will be in good hands once he decides to fully retire. But since he's approaching, be sure to ask about Fritz, he appreciates that very much."

"Who's Fritz?"

"His dog. Lovely puppy, but in dog years, he's even older than his owner. I'm trying my best to keep the good boy alive and healthy since it's the only thing Renard has left in terms of family. The dog is really important to him." Kit's observations were precise but not without empathy.

Geralt was about to ask what she had to do with the dog when he felt that strange pull again and suddenly had to think of his rejuvenated Roach. But before he could make the vital connection, Renard had reached them.

"Geralt, Kit, how nice it is to see you again." He inclined his head. The hand that held his walking stick trembled a little as did the man's knees. Renard Fournier, Geralt quickly concluded, was beyond just old and tired. He was barely holding on.

Kit squeezed Geralt's hand. He took the cue.

"Evening, Renard," he said and nodded in greeting, trying his best to convince himself that he was on friendly terms with this stranger.

"How's Fritz?" he continued without missing a beat.

Renard beamed and for a moment, the deep wrinkles in his face seemed to fade a little. Kit had been right again.

"I wish I was as agile as him," he laughed. "This morning he chased a stray cat around the house for several hours. Ha, he'll outlive me, I tell you!"

"Oh, Renard, don't talk like that!" Kit chided him gently and took his hand. "The world cannot yet do without you."

"Oh dear," he beamed and blushed and kissed the back of her hand.

Geralt examined her at that moment. There seemed to be nothing but genuine concern for the man with no hidden intentions towards his business. Even her smile could not hide the worry in her eyes. Was it really that simple or was she a much more proficient actress than he gave her credit for?

When Renard eventually left them, the tremors had subsided and his gait was a little more secure.

This was probably one of the most astounding things he had dealt with all evening, he thought later on. Everyone had been incredibly nice and respectful to him – as if he were a real person and not just a mutant. Kit had relentlessly whispered details about people and their lives into his ear, allowing him to appear as if he actually knew them all. He wondered if she realized that the hints she gave him about how to approach people told him equally as much about them as they did about her. She was a keen observer, always empathetic and never spiteful: Madame Dee was limping? That must mean her new horse had not been broken in as quickly as she had hoped and she had probably fallen off.

"Tell her she's brave for trying to ride it so early on."

The Alderman, who had no taste in fashion, was wearing a new, fitting ensemble? His wife must have once again come back to him after having left him in frustration over another of his affairs, so that he would not have to dress himself.

"Ask him if he and his wife plan to vacation in Nilfgaard this fall."

She urged him to engage with the other guests and it worked like a charm. After a few cups of wine and with his celebratory spirits still high, he thought he was getting used to it and found it all in all a very agreeable way to live one's life.

After several more encounters of a similar kind, Geralt remarked:

"You have these people figured out, don't you?"

"When I was still more involved with Anna Henrietta's wardrobe, I heard a lot of gossip. Old Renard is lonely. Madame Dujardin is trapped in an unhappy marriage – unhappy because she was led to believe that her husband was wealthier than he actually is. And Master Roux over there knows that none of his five children are his. But he loves his wife and the children so much, that you do him a kindness by telling him how much the boys look like him." Kit shrugged. "It's not up to me to solve all their problems, but a little compassion goes a long way when you know where it is needed most."

"And what kindness have I received from you?" he wondered with a little suspicion.

"All that you deserve." There was no smile on her face. She looked serious, even sad.

The threat around his chest tugged and tugged at something buried deeply within him.

"Would you do me a favor? You can say no though."

He hummed, wondering what she could possibly ask of him in his current state.

"Just a little dance. I know you're not my… not my… but I miss…" she stammered, all of her confidence suddenly gone.

She did not finish the sentence but the 'I miss you' hung in the air between them.

Geralt had always found it hard to resist women and their tears, and he genuinely felt sorry for Kit, who was longing for a version of him that no longer existed and that might never return. He did not want to dance but he could not bring himself to say no.

So he offered his hand instead. "I would be honored if the lady would grant me a dance."

Kit said nothing but her smile was thanks enough. Damn, she must really like him. The realization sunk in only now. And so did the guilt, because he was not sure if he could or even wanted to be to her what he had apparently been – although he realized in that moment that he had not thought of a certain sorceress for the entire evening.

Silently cursing his fate, Geralt mentally prepared himself for a silly dance where people would jump and clap and spin around.

But nothing like that happened. In fact, he was not even aware that they were dancing even when they did. Kit had pulled him aside to a less crowded area, had wrapped his arms around her waist so that his hands rested on her back while she had put her arms around his neck, her fingers intertwining.

With a complete disregard for the music that was playing, they began to sway in place. At first, she looked up at him, but soon she buried her face in his chest. He could smell her tears again and this time she did not hold them back.

Geralt let her hide her face, cupped the back of her head gently with one hand and caressed her soft hair.

Great, he thought. Now he was making people miserable just by existing. But for some reason, even that did not completely dampen his good mood. He liked that he was the thing that she took refuge in. Maybe he had not entirely outlived his purpose after all. And the way she molded herself to his body was just so infuriatingly charming and flattering. He wondered what he had done to make her trust him so completely.

Geralt gave her all the time she needed to cry silently, to dry her eyes and to regain her composure. Something about her, the strange juxtaposition of her as the person who read him like an open book, and her sadness on the other, made her absolutely enthralling to him. So much so that, for the moment, he cared little about his lack of direction and the cause of his amnesia. He felt a growing need to just hold her and be close to her – a strange feeling to have when you had no idea where it came from. One of his hands was still buried in her hair, the other running up and down her back. Whenever his fingers touched the bare skin between her shoulder blades, he lingered for a moment. Her skin felt so soft, he wanted to explore more of it, all of it.

"Can we talk?" he asked eventually, when he was certain that she had gotten over her silent outburst.

"Sure," she whispered. "But not here."

She led him down to the lake where she unceremoniously sat down on the end of a dock, took off her shoes, and let her feet dangle over the water. She tapped on the empty space next to her for Geralt to sit down. Their arms almost touched.

The water was still, the reflection of the crescent moon undisturbed.

"Don't know where to start," Geralt muttered.

Kit tilted her head and hummed. Nobody would have been able to tell that just a few minutes ago she had been crying.

"Name everything that bothers you – random order."

"Hmm." Precise instructions. He could work with that.

"Don't know what I'm doing here and how I got here. Where are my lost years? Why are you so odd?" The last question slipped out of Geralt's mouth before he had really thought it through.

When Kit snorted with laughter, it surprised him.

"That's a more philosophical wording than I expected. As for me: I think I've always been odd." There was no hurt or anger in her voice, which Geralt found reassuring but also unexpected. "But I come from another world. So that's why I must seem so strange to you."

"Another world?" Geralt interrupted before Kit could try to add anything else.

She nodded.

"It's a world that is set in the future – relative to this one. No monsters, no witchers, no magic. With indoor plumbing, fast food and a whole lot of weirdness."

"I don't follow." What did any of that even mean?

"Because I'm weird. The product of a strange world – at least by your standards." She sighed. "There is really no way for me to just summarize what, back in the day, you learned over many years. But whatever strikes you as odd when it comes to me, you can just assume it's because of that."

"Well then…" he tried to gather his thoughts. "How did you end up here? Are you like Ciri?"

Kit shook her head. "No, I cannot actively travel between worlds. I was brought here by higher powers after they realized that I had been born into the wrong world. I should never have grown up in my world, and about ten years ago they decided to correct their mistake and just took me and dumped me somewhere for you to find."

"Why me?" was only one of the many questions Geralt had, but it was also the only one he was able to put into words a bit more eloquently than the rest of them. All of the others started with a variation of 'What the fuck?' or him stammering – and neither seemed appropriate nor helpful. But at least now he understood why Kit had been so vague this morning when she had told him about their life together. Adding those vital pieces of information would surely have given him an even bigger headache.

"This is a bit of a weird one. Let's see…" Kit paused for a moment, frowning as she seemed to think hard about how to best answer his question. "I don't remember that part, I only know because they told me. That's… That's another story, for another time. But when they realized that they had screwed up, they gave me a choice: I could either forget my old life and be born into this world, live a comfortable life in relative prosperity, never knowing that there was anything else before. Or, and this is obviously what I decided on, I could keep my memories, not give up my entire being, and still be guaranteed the best possible outcome. It turned out that my life would be best with you in it. So they put me somewhere for you to find. You took the bait and brought me home. We fell in love and discovered some other benefits along the way."

"Benefits?" he wondered as he tried to digest the rest of what she had said. It sounded insane. And made up. Her life would be best with him in it. It had the bitter taste of something he had struggled with his whole life. Had it been his free choice to take her in or was this another case of fate that he had no say in?

Kit hesitated for a moment, then raised one hand and began to draw random shapes and swirls on the back of Geralt's hand.

"Do you feel this?" she asked.

"Yes?" The movements of her finger tickled his skin. He desperately wanted her to touch all of him.

"No, I mean, do you feel this?"

Geralt looked at her while she looked at his hand.

"I think so," he said hesitantly. Suddenly it seemed as if there was something in her touch, something more. Something that elevated something nice to something truly pleasant. "Are you a sorceress?"

Kit grunted.

"I swear, if I had a penny for every time someone asked me that… I'd have a lot of pennies by now." She breathed audibly, a hint of frustration in it. "It's just energy. It feels a little bit different to each person, depending on their preferences. I can channel this energy to heal."

"You're a healer then."

"No, I'm a designer. With a semi-controlled ability to heal anything mammalian." She smiled when she saw his confused face. "In all these years, I've never learned to fully control it. But I dare say you've benefited from it more than anyone else."

"Because you heal my injuries every time something happens while I hunt monsters?" he guessed.

She nodded.

"How does your leg feel?" She tapped on the leg that had been bothering him for years because of an old injury.

Geralt's eyes widened when he suddenly realized that in all the chaos he had not noticed that his leg caused him no pain whatsoever.

Kit smiled knowingly and added: "Shortly after I came here, I made one of your teeth grow back. Accidentally."

And Geralt remembered the odd feeling he had had this morning when it felt as if something in his mouth was not quite right. He felt the tooth in question with his tongue and wondered how he had not noticed that it was there.

Even though he remembered nothing and everything seemed so unreal, he had to admit that it all made sense.

Geralt felt Kit's hand on his again.

"It's going to be okay," she said.

Whether she had said it to him or to herself he did not know.

He looked at Kit, whose eyes followed the movements of her swinging feet. Something inside him seemed to tug again, but stronger this time, much stronger. It was as if she was holding the thread, slowly and steadily pulling him towards her. It took him a moment to realize that this was exactly what he wanted: He wanted to be close to her and to feel her affection.

A strand of hair had come loose from her braid. Geralt leaned in closer to her and tucked it behind her ear. Instead of withdrawing his hand, he hesitated and let it rest on her neck.

Kit slowly turned her head and blinked in surprise, perhaps not expecting to find him so close.

For a moment she sat still, mesmerized, lips parted, before she began to lean in as well, placing a hand on his arm. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He had no idea where this urge had come from so suddenly, he just knew he had to do it. It was as if he had been starving for a kiss and only now realized it. He felt her breath on his lips. It smelled sweet, like the wine they had been drinking. He felt a pull in his lower abdomen that rapidly turned into an all-consuming desire. He wanted to touch her, to hold her as close as possible, to press his body against hers, to feel her skin against his.

Their lips had barely even touched when a glass shattered on the ground next to them, causing them to jump. A few feet away two men were arguing and throwing things at each other. While Kit craned her neck to find out what was going on, Geralt sat there stunned, his lips burning from the split second of contact. He took no notice of the two drunk men who had started throwing punches while some guards tried to intervene.

"And that would be Roux and the real father of his children." Kit pulled away from him.

The moment had passed and the air was suddenly free of the tension that had been there just a moment ago.

Geralt, however, still felt her on his lips.

"So no more pretending that the kids are his?" he managed to say in a hoarse voice, cursing the timing of the arguing men.

"Oh, absolutely. It happens regularly. It's a cycle of outburst and denial, with everything eventually going back to normal. Sometimes people get very attached to their idea of what their life is like and not what it actually is…" She looked down and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly shivering.

Geralt spent the rest of the evening standing beside Ciri. As he watched over the crowd, his gaze seemed to fall on the same person over and over again.

"I was wondering if it would be a good idea for me to leave tomorrow. But it seems you are already on your way to figuring yourself out," she commented with a smile.

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked. But Ciri remained quiet.

Once Geralt had closed the doors behind him and Kit, and shut out the noise of the festivities, the world around him seemed to shrink. Their bedchamber was illuminated only by the light of the moon falling through the windows.

"How do you feel?" Kit asked.

He thought of Ciri, the relief of knowing that she was safe. Only now that it was gone did he realize how heavy the weight had been on his shoulders. He had tried to protect her for so long, because he loved her and because he had made her his child surprise and was therefore responsible for her. And now that was no longer necessary. He felt…

"Aimless." Restless, he added in his mind. Now that he was relieved of his duty, what was he supposed to do other than come to terms with the fact that the world had gone on without him for 20 years? He felt the urge to leave, to get on his horse and do what witchers do. It seemed far easier and more comfortable than trying to figure out how he had managed to integrate himself into this little world where people were shockingly nice and respectful to him. He almost wished someone would call him a mutant, to tell him he was scum, just to have some semblance of normalcy.

"Give it some time," Kit said. "Being thrown into another life is hard, believe me, I'm an authority on that. I'm sure it's only temporary. We will get your memories back." She smiled. Her tears had dried and she had put on her happy face again. "About that: Since I am still trying to recreate our first night in the palace to trigger your memory, would you mind helping me with my dress?" She turned her back to him and pulled the long braid that fell down her back to the side as she watched him over her shoulder.

Geralt, momentarily taken aback by her request, nodded and opened the knot that held the top of the dress in place. He smiled to himself. She was a pretty one – how could he have possibly forgotten what undressing her was like? It seemed like that should not even be possible. Even her bare shoulders looked so perfectly kissable.

Much to his disappointment, Kit stepped away and behind a partition. The fabric of her dress rustled as she took it off. Geralt, not quite sure what to do, started to undress himself. He caught his reflection in the large mirror on the wall opposite of him. It was the first time since all of this weirdness had started, that he could see himself clearly. And only then did he realize that he had expected his reflection to look much older than it did. Ciri was a grown woman now, not even a young woman anymore. He, by comparison, should have looked so much older in comparison. But to his utter confusion, he seemed to look younger than he should have. Younger even than when he had gone to bed in Novigrad – not counting the 20 years that he should have aged in between. He shook his head. He was tired. Perhaps the light was playing a trick on him?

He started to undress, confused again by what he saw in the mirror.

"How can this be?" he wondered aloud as he noticed that most of his scars had faded significantly.

"How can what be?" Kit asked from behind the partition.

Geralt searched his reflection for an explanation.

"The scars...," he hummed.

Kit poked her head out from behind the partition.

"Sorry, that's my fault. I really didn't mean to do it, it just happened."

Geralt took a moment to try and make sense of what she said. But he could not.

"Don't understand. You did this?" Then he realized: "Your powers."

"It's a bit complicated. A lot of it still happens subconsciously, but when we first met, I had so much less control over it than I do now. We weren't even aware of it, but whenever I touched you, I healed parts of you. Mostly when we were sleeping."

Geralt took a closer look at his reflection, running his fingers over strangely unfamiliar and diminished ridges.

"I didn't mean to," Kit continued. "I always saw them as part of you. I really have always loved you just as you were, scars and all. But in the end, I guess your health and well-being are more important to me, so when I slept, I healed them too. So… Sorry."

Suddenly, he had to think of broken pottery. Kintsugi. The term just popped into his head. Broken pottery that had been mended with gold. What an odd thought. Where had it come from?

Finally, Geralt took off all of the clothes, safe for his underwear, and tried to see as much of himself as possible in the mirror.

Did she really just apologize for healing him?

Then he remembered something.

"Eskel's face. Was that also you?"

"Yup."

"So you were with him before you were with me?" Surely, if her healing worked best when she was asleep, she must have spent many nights with Eskel. The thought irked Geralt for no reason that he could put into words.

"No, I only met Eskel when you brought me to Kaer Morhen. You wanted to show it to me. He happened to be there, badly injured and with nowhere else to go. What makes you think I was with him?"

She poked her head around the partition again, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"You said you healed my scars mostly at night when you slept. Since my scars are still there, but Eskel looks like he got a new face, I just assumed you must have spent many nights with him before you spent your nights with me."

"Save your jealousy for someone else, my beloved husband. We both spent a few nights with Eskel – him lying next to us and me holding his hand so I could do my thing. But I understand that you are confused. After all these years your scars should have completely faded away. Well, it took me exactly one night to fix Eskel's face. I had no intention to do that, but I think it's because I didn't know him. He was a stranger to me. I had no emotional connection to him, no idea of the history of his scars. I didn't care about them. Unlike you and your scars. I suppose with you it's a struggle between me loving you exactly as you are but also putting your well-being first, which means, in the long run, these scars will disappear. Because, health-wise, that is in your best interest. My theory is that when I'm asleep my consciousness is at war with itself over whether or not to heal them, which is why it takes so long. Didn't have that with Eskel, because it was clear from the beginning that, if given the choice, he'd rather not have his scars." She sighed. "Sorry, I know it's confusing."

Geralt nodded, even though he was not convinced that he had quite understood.

"Can't heal my…" he pointed at his head.

Kit shrugged.

"I tried but I can't seem to find anything wrong. Either it's above my level or there is no physical cause that needs healing. I'm not sure, I'm not privy to the workings of my power."

Geralt cocked his head.

"When exactly did you try?"

"This morning, when we first met. I took your hands and tried to find something that was off."

He wanted to ask more because her answers so far had not been very satisfying and had raised more question than answers, but then he heard the sound of her bare feet on the floor. He looked at her. She was wearing what was probably supposed to be a nightgown. It was very short and the fabric so thin that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. But it had its charms.

When he realized that he was staring, he looked back at the mirror. Under normal circumstances he would not have hesitated. They would likely have ended up in a quiet spot somewhere in the gardens where he would have devoured her, not patient enough to wait until later.

He had a weakness for beautiful women, and this one, he was certain, had a weakness for him as well which made it all the more difficult to resist her.

But he felt he had an obligation to be more careful with the woman who was so attached to him. He wondered what the consequences would be if he failed to ever remember her and was forced to leave her. Giving her hope seemed like an atrocious thing to do – even though he would have loved nothing more than to rip that sorry excuse of a nightgown from her body.

"Are you okay?" Kit asked as she appeared behind him in the mirror. She placed a hand on his arm, the gesture sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Mirror-Kit looked at mirror-Geralt with a sorrowful expression.

He shook his head.

"s alright."

"But no memories?"

"Afraid not."

"Too bad. Mind if I try something?" she asked.

"Depends," he replied.

Kit approached him and placed her palms on his bare chest. Geralt shivered under her touch yet again. For reasons he could not fathom, everything about it felt obscenely pleasant. She stepped closer, her heart beating a little faster, her hands wandering up and coming to rest behind his neck, her small body pressed against his. He wondered how it would feel if all of her skin touched his. He cursed the flimsy nightgown all over again and placed his hands on her hips, her warmth radiating through the fabric.

"We danced and then we kissed. And when it was all over, we came back here, to this very room, and you asked me to kiss you again. But this time properly." She stood on her toes.

"What was wrong with the first kiss?" he asked, though he did not care for the answer. The severed threats of his memories began to pull him toward her. He lowered his head. She touched the tip of her nose to his.

"Nothing," she whispered. "But we didn't know that back then."

He did not understand, not one bit. But the moment her lips touched his, he could no longer make sense of anything. The physical connection between them was light, barely a touch at all, and yet he felt like he was completely overwhelmed, as if a wave had shoved him into the ocean and under water – the warmest and most pleasant of all oceans if such a thing existed. Her lips were exquisitely soft and made his tingle. His knees suddenly felt so weak and he felt his grip on her tighten, as if to make sure he would not be swept away. She drew her arms closer around him as well. Geralt felt a certain need radiate from her as their bodies pressed against each other with hardly anything in between them.

It seemed strange that he could have forgotten something so wonderful. All evening this woman had made sure that he was feeling comfortable, had cared for him, had catered to his every need. And he had enjoyed it. For a fraction of a second, he wondered how he could have ever preferred cold rejection to this, but then Kit deepened their kiss and suddenly there was no room for other thoughts anymore.

He pressed her delicate body closer to his, fingers digging into her back, making her arch against him. He did not want to do any of this, he feared it would complicate what was to come. But he could not possibly resist, could not possibly stop.

So it was Kit who ended the kiss by pulling away from him.

"Did that help?" she asked softly, her big eyes studying his reaction carefully, hopefully, all the while he still held onto her.

He needed a moment before could speak again and regained enough control over himself to let go of her.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse. But when he noticed the sadness that overcame her, he added: "Believe me, no one is more frustrated than I am not remembering this when it is clearly something so remarkable that it should never be forgotten."

Her heart seemed to miss a beat at this small confession.

"You were always charming when you wanted to be." Kit sat down on the bed, facing the open terrace doors. She motioned him to join her. Slowly, the fog around Geralt lifted and he managed to move his feet.

"Back then, when the festival was over, it suddenly started pouring. We were completely soaked and then we sat here and watched the storm, huddled up in our blankets."

Geralt glanced up to the night sky, but found it rather unremarkable. He was far more concerned with finding an excuse to touch her again. He could practically feel the heat radiating from her skin, only a few small centimeters away from his. She wanted him too, he was certain. Why else did her heart beat so fast? Why else were her cheeks so beautifully flushed?

It took Geralt all he had to pull himself together when what he really wanted was to pin her to the bed and explore every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue.

A sudden urge to unravel her braid gripped of him, as if some very peculiar kind of muscle memory had taken over his hands. He hesitated for a moment before grabbing the braid and running his fingers over the silky hair. Kit neither moved nor protested.

Geralt removed the ribbon that had held the braid together and began to separate the silky strands until her hair fell in waves down her back. He ran his fingers through it again and again, marveling at its softness.

"It looks like you haven't forgotten everything then," Kit said suddenly.

Geralt cocked his head.

"You always do that, every night before we go to bed."

He hummed. So everything was still there, somewhere in his head. He just had to find it.

Running his fingers through her hair, he noticed a mark behind her ear.

"What's that?" he wondered as he traced the shape of a wolf's head with his finger.

"This? A promise."

"To whom?"

Kit moved a little closer so that their naked arms finally touched. Geralt held his breath for a second, felt goose bumps on his skin come and go.

"To you, of course. Why else would it be a wolf? This was my attempt to show you that you'll always be enough for me. More than enough." She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Guess you convinced me?" he asked, not quite understanding.

Kit shrugged.

"You asked me to marry you then, so I like to think it worked."

One of the elusive threats tugged at his heart.

Must be, he thought, looking at her as he kept playing with her hair.

The moment was peaceful, as peaceful as he could ever wish for a moment to be. For once everything seemed to be in his favor.

"Too easy." Too perfect, he added in his thoughts.

"For everything you have, you have worked hard. It is easy now, because you earned it. You just don't happen to remember it right now."

"It's strange. Doesn't seem like me."

"You once told me that you were never able to see yourself as anything but a witcher because you never had a choice. Corvo Bianco is what gave you the opportunity to choose to become someone else." She turned her head to face him. "I may not know very much about how or who you used to be. But I like who you've become."

Geralt would have felt strange, maybe even highly uncomfortable, to hear these words from a stranger. But the constant tugging in his chest told him otherwise. It was downright frustrating – a thin wall seemed to separate him from his peace of mind.

Eventually Kit fell asleep with her head still resting on Geralt's shoulder. He carefully tucked her into bed and lay down next to her. He turned on his side to watch her in the darkness and tried to imagine being married to her. Did she always take care of him like she had done tonight? Did she always know what he was thinking? Did she always occupy his thoughts? He recalled every time they had touched tonight, how they had almost kissed and how they had finally kissed. Just the memory left him dazed – how was he to get anything done ever if she was all he could think about? If a simple kiss was enough to leave him unable to think clearly, then what about the rest?

In the darkness of the night, with Kit asleep and unable to argue her case, his doubts quickly returned: Was she lying? Maybe she was a sorceress after all and her touch was magic, was binding him to her. There was hardly a woman out there who was not attractive to Geralt, but in all his time he had never felt so drawn to anyone as he did to Kit. Even now that damned kiss played over and over again in his mind.

Ciri and Eskel seemed to side with her though. Did that not mean something?

But back then, no one had questioned why he was with Triss either. Not a single one of his friends had thought it necessary to point out the existence of Yennefer and Ciri. Was history bound to repeat itself?

Despite it all, he wanted Kit so badly.

Frustrated, he turned away from her and tried to sleep.