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“Were you not breastfed as a child?!”
“My lady, such breasts as these must be thoroughly worshipped, sipped like the finest tea in— “
“And yet they are such a short journey from other areas that must be thoroughly worshipped.” In case of any misunderstanding, Yennefer hooked a long, agile leg over Jaskier’s shoulder and clearly indicated the area to be worshipped.
“Madame, the appropriate rites cannot be hurried – *kiss* – the process must be respected – *lick* – these things take care, and time and – *nibble* – and your patience will be—”
“WOOOBLEWOOBLEWWOOOBBLLE”
This last sound was not, regretfully, a well-timed wail of unalloyed pleasure but an alert from Yennefer’s megascope, which helpfully flashed green light in case the sorceress had somehow missed its signal. The sorceress and the bard stared at each other in disgust.
“I… had better get that.” Jaskier huffed and rolled away as Yennefer quickly pulled a simple gown over her shoulders and waved a hand at the crystal.
The familiar snipe of Philippa Eilhart filled the room.
“We need to discuss Ciri.”
“Why? Has she robbed a caravan? Assassinated a voivode? Buggered the bursar of Ban Ard?”
For a witch without eyes, Philippa still gave an impressive death stare.
“Her veto is required for a vote on our approach to the new Queen of Maribor. The usual bleeding hearts wish to tip our hand, mewling platitudes about self-rule and informed consent, as if guiding an inexperienced monarch is not a necessary pre-condition to these lofty goals. Since you have recused yourself permanently, your daughter is required to make up the shortfall.”
Yennefer’s face carefully showed nothing. Jaskier’s hand, however, stopped its spidery creep to her portal of glory.
“I’m sure my daughter can speak entirely for herself on this issue. Furthermore, I would not presume to guarantee her support for any side.”
The hand resumed its slow, determined journey. Yennefer moved her leg into a half-lotus.
“Perhaps. Ciri seems somewhat more… practical than her parents.”
“Why are you bothering me?”
“Ciri is refusing our contact. We tracked her down to the stews of Oxenfurt, where she promptly disappeared.”
“Good girl” muttered the owner of the hand, which was now making little circles around Yennefer’s lower mouth, causing her to blink violently.
“Then she presumably abstains… If she should choose to reveal herself to me, I will inform her of your interessssst.” Yennefer thought she caught that gasp quite nicely.
“Yennefer, you have a responsibility to the Lodge, to the Queen and to the people of the Continent. You of all sorceresses should know by now that political neutrality is the very highest pretension. But since you have foolishly chosen to reject our union, a void needs to be filled and the vessel of the Elder Blood is the inevitable tompion. Hiding out in Aedirn as a dick wizard might be acceptable for you—”
Yennefer’s visage disappeared from Philippa’s view. It was covered by an anatomical view of an enormous pale arse, testicles aroused and separated, with the appendage of at the very least a pony hanging below them. Philippa involuntarily spat out an epithet.
“Farewell, Philippa,” said Yennefer, a smile in her voice, but not before waving a hand and ensuring the megascope zoomed sharply into the giggling bard’s arsehole.