Vaes Drakarys - Morning
Third Person
The transformation happened without warning.
One moment, Angelus was resting in her dragon form on the raised platform in her courtyard, her massive crimson body taking up most of the available space. The next, golden light erupted around her, and the colossal shape began to shift and condense.
Ciri had seen magic before—portal spells, chaos manipulation, the impossible things that Yennefer could do with enough power and focus. But this was different. This was a fundamental reshaping of physical reality, a creature that could crush buildings compressing into something that might walk through doors.
When the light faded, a figure stood where the dragon had been.
She was tall—over six feet, with a warrior's build that radiated predatory power. Her form was fully draconic: a scaled snout filled with sharp teeth, golden eyes with slitted pupils set in a face that was unmistakably dragon rather than human. Crimson scales covered her entire body like natural armor, with a cream-gold underbelly that ran from her throat down her chest. A mane of dark crimson, almost maroon, flowed back from her head like frozen flames, framing multiple horns that swept backward in an impressive crown—the largest pair curving elegantly while smaller spikes added to the fearsome silhouette.
Her hands ended in dark claws capable of rending steel, and her muscular arms showed the same red-and-gold scale pattern that marked her as a fire dragon even in this reduced form. A tail extended behind her, its tip glinting with molten gold that pulsed with inner light.
"Better," Angelus said, stretching her Dragonborn form with obvious satisfaction, her jaws parting to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. "I forget how convenient it is to have hands."
"That's..." Ciri found herself at a loss for words. She'd seen plenty of Dragonborn since arriving—guards, soldiers, countless warriors with their draconic snouts and scaled bodies patrolling the streets of Vaes Drakarys. But watching the massive dragon she'd come to know compress into this form was something else entirely. "I've never actually seen you transform before. Watching something that size become... this."
"The mass conversion is fascinating," Triss added, her slitted golden-brown eyes wide with scholarly interest. "I've studied the Dragonborn transformations, but this is different—you're not converting matter, you're compressing it. Where does the excess go? Is it stored dimensionally, or—"
"Magic doesn't follow physics," Angelus replied, amused. "That's rather the point." She rolled her shoulders, the crimson mane flowing with the movement. "Though I will say this form feels more... natural than it does for the converted Dragonborn. They reshape themselves into something new. I'm simply returning to a shape I've held before."
Yennefer had gone very still.
The black-haired sorceress stood several feet away, her violet eyes fixed on Angelus's transformed body with such an intensity that it looked like she'd forgotten how to blink. Her lips were slightly parted, and a faint flush had crept across her pale cheeks.
Angelus noticed. Of course she noticed.
She crossed the distance between them in three smooth strides, her movement liquid and predatory, and before Yennefer could react, leaned in and ran her tongue along the sorceress's cheek.
Yennefer jerked back with an undignified yelp. "What the—did you just lick me?"
"You were spacing out." Angelus's jaws parted in what might have been a grin, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "It seemed like the most efficient way to get your attention."
"Most efficient—I am not a cat!"
"No, you're a powerful sorceress who was staring at me like I was an interesting magical phenomenon. Which, to be fair, I am." Angelus's tail swayed behind her with obvious amusement. "If you're going to ogle, you might as well be conscious while doing it."
"I was not ogling."
"Yennefer," Triss said, her voice carrying barely suppressed laughter, "you absolutely were."
"Traitor." But Yennefer's lips were twitching despite her attempts to look offended. "Fine. I was... appreciating the aesthetic. It's been a long time since I saw magic that sophisticated."
"Mmm." Angelus stepped back, giving Yennefer space to compose herself. "Speaking of appreciation—I believe we had plans. You mentioned wanting 'proper courtship' before anything became official. I intend to deliver."
Yennefer's expression shifted from flustered to intrigued. "You have something in mind?"
"I do. Have you ever been to a restaurant?"
"A what?"
The First Date
The establishment was called the Crimson Table, and it was unlike anything Yennefer had seen in her decades of travel across two continents.
The interior was warm and welcoming—wooden tables arranged throughout a spacious room, soft lighting from enchanted crystals, and the smell of cooking food that made her mouth water before she even saw the menu. Servers moved between the tables with practiced efficiency, delivering plates and taking orders with professionalism.
"Explain this to me," Yennefer said as they were led to a private table near the back. "On the Continent, if you want food, you go to a tavern. You eat whatever they're serving that day. This is..."
"A restaurant." Angelus settled into her chair. "A dedicated establishment whose primary purpose is preparing and serving food of consistent quality. You choose what you want from a menu, they prepare it specifically for you, and you pay for the service."
"That seems... inefficient."
"It's a luxury. Luxuries don't need to be efficient—they need to be enjoyable." Angelus accepted the menu from their server with a nod. "I introduced the concept to the Wyrmborne about a year ago, along with the recipes. There are three restaurants in Vaes Drakarys now, two in Vaes Meereen, and plans for more as the economy develops."
Yennefer examined the menu—a printed sheet listing various dishes with descriptions and prices. The prices were listed in unfamiliar denominations: "crowns" and "scales" that bore no resemblance to the currencies she knew.
"What are these?"
"Wyrmborne currency. The conversion pools generate unique materials as a byproduct of the transformation process—materials that can't be counterfeited because they require my magic to create. We use them as the basis for our monetary system." Angelus's golden eyes met hers. "The old currencies still work for external trade, but within our territories, Wyrmborne crowns are preferred."
"You've built an entire economic system from scratch."
"Among other things. When you conquer cities, you inherit their problems. Currency instability was one of them." Angelus shrugged, the motion rippling the scales along her shoulders. "I spent most of my existence fighting wars. Building infrastructure is a more interesting change of pace."
The food arrived—dishes that combined familiar ingredients in unfamiliar ways, spiced with flavors that Yennefer had never encountered. She found herself genuinely enjoying the meal, the conversation flowing naturally between topics that ranged from magical theory to political philosophy to shared observations about the people around them.
"You're different than I expected," she admitted halfway through. "The legends we heard on the Continent painted the Wyrmborne's dragon as a force of destruction. A conqueror obsessed with power."
"Legends usually simplify things. I am a conqueror—I've killed more people than I can count and I intend to continue expanding until my empire spans the known world. But destruction isn't the goal. It's just a tool." Angelus set down her fork, her expression becoming more serious. "I've watched many civilizations rise and fall for millennia, Yennefer. Most of them collapse from within—corruption, inequality, the powerful exploiting the weak until the system can't sustain itself anymore. I'm trying to build something that lasts and is worth protecting."
"And if people don't want to be part of your 'vision'?"
"Then they can leave. The conversion ritual creates loyalty, but it doesn't override free will. Anyone who refuses can go somewhere else." Angelus's golden eyes held hers. "I'm not asking for worship, Yennefer. I'm asking for partnership—they're not the same thing."
The evening ended with Angelus walking Yennefer back to her accommodations, the streets of Vaes Drakarys quieter now that night had fallen. Torches and enchanted lights illuminated their path, and the occasional Wyrmborne citizen nodded respectfully as they passed.
At the door, Angelus paused.
"I enjoyed tonight," she said simply. "More than I expected to. You're... challenging. In the best possible way."
"I've been called many things. 'Challenging' is one of the nicer ones." Yennefer smiled despite herself—a genuine expression that reached her eyes. "I enjoyed it too. Though I'm still not sure what to make of you."
"That's fair. I'm complicated." Angelus reached out, her clawed hand touching Yennefer's cheek with surprising gentleness. "You're beautiful, you know. Not just physically—though you are that. It's the way you carry yourself, the sharpness of your mind, the fire that burns behind your eyes. I noticed it the first time we spoke."
Yennefer felt heat rise in her cheeks—an unfamiliar sensation for someone who prided herself on emotional control. "You're very direct."
"I spent too long playing games with people who didn't deserve honesty." Angelus's voice softened. "Political maneuvering, careful language, saying one thing and meaning another—I understand why people do it, but I've found that I prefer just... saying what I mean. Especially with people I respect." She leaned closer. "May I?"
Instead of answering, Yennefer closed the distance herself.
The kiss started tender—not at all what she'd expected from a dragon-queen. Angelus's lips were warm, slightly rough, and she tasted like the wine they'd shared with dinner. She didn't demand or command. She simply... waited, letting Yennefer set the pace.
It was disarming in a way that caught Yennefer off guard.
When they separated, Yennefer found herself wanting more. "That was..." She paused, searching for words. "Nice."
"Just nice?" There was humor in Angelus's voice, though her golden eyes burned with something deeper.
"Don't fish for compliments. It was better than nice. But your ego doesn't need the encouragement."
Angelus laughed—a genuine sound that made the scales along her throat ripple. "You're not like anyone else I've met. Most people are afraid."
"I'm not most people."
"No." Angelus's hand came up to cradle Yennefer's face, her clawed fingers surprisingly careful. "You're not."
She kissed her again, and this time there was no holding back. The kiss deepened with intent, heat radiating from Angelus in waves. Yennefer found herself pressing forward, her hands gripping the smooth scales at Angelus's shoulders, pulling her closer.
The dragon responded by wrapping her tail around Yennefer's waist—a possessive move that should have felt controlling. Instead it felt like an anchor, grounding her as sensation threatened to overwhelm her senses.
Yennefer tasted cinnamon and smoke when Angelus opened her mouth deeper against hers. The contrast between the soft intimacy of the kiss and the raw power she could feel coiled in Angelus's muscles was intoxicating. This was a being who could level cities, who commanded armies, and yet she kissed Yennefer like she was something precious.
When they finally separated, both of them were breathing harder.
"Impressive," Yennefer managed, her violet eyes still locked on Angelus's face.
"Merely professional courtesy." But Angelus's voice was rougher than before, and the scales along her neck flushed a deeper crimson. "Tomorrow, Triss has requested a library date. Apparently books are romantic in the right context."
"They can be." Yennefer stepped back, though she kept one hand on Angelus's scaled shoulder for a moment longer. Her lips were tingling, and she couldn't quite find it in herself to care. "I'll see you at the council meeting, then."
"Count on it," Angelus replied, her tail unwrapping reluctantly from around Yennefer's waist.
The Second Date
The Great Library of Vaes Drakarys had been one of Qarth's most treasured institutions before the Wyrmborne conquest. Now, expanded and reorganized, it served as a repository for knowledge gathered from across the empire—Qartheen histories, Valyrian magical texts recovered from ruins, technical manuals produced by the Wyrmborne academies, and countless other works.
Triss had been spending considerable time here since her conversion. The crimson scales that now adorned her shoulders and arms caught the lamplight as she moved between the shelves, her eyes—slitted now, golden-brown with draconic intensity—scanning spine after spine with obvious delight.
"You really do love books," Angelus observed, following her through the stacks.
"Knowledge is power." Triss pulled a tome from the shelf and examined its cover. "I've spent my entire life studying magic, and every time I think I understand it, something new appears that makes me realize how little I actually know. This library has texts on magical theory that the Lodge never dreamed existed."
"Some of those texts are mine. Or based on principles I shared with the mages here."
"I noticed." Triss shelved the book and turned to face Angelus. "Your approach to magic is fascinating—you treat it like engineering rather than art. Precise formulas, predictable outcomes, including systems that can be taught rather than intuited."
"That's actually a criticism I used to get from other dragons." Angelus moved closer, her tail swaying behind her. "They thought magic should be instinctive, something you felt rather than calculated. But I've always wanted to know why things work the way they do. Understanding the mechanisms means you can modify them." She gestured at the shelves around them. "Most mages cast spells the way they were taught. I redesign them from first principles. It takes longer to learn, but the results are more reliable—and you can teach reliability in ways you can't teach intuition."
"About that." Triss's expression became more serious. "You mentioned to Yennefer that you're trying to build something lasting. That implies you expect to be around for a very long time."
"Millennia, at minimum. Longer if nothing kills me first."
"And your harem? Daenerys and Mikhail and... potentially us?" Triss's voice was careful, probing. "Do we have the same lifespan?"
"Not naturally. But one of the benefits of the Pact is that those bonded to me share my longevity to a significant degree. Daenerys will live as long as I do, and anyone else who joins that bond..." Angelus's golden eyes held hers. "You could have centuries, Triss. Not the brief mortal span that sorceresses normally enjoy, but true immortality—or as close to it as anything living can achieve."
Triss absorbed that information. "That's... an extraordinary offer."
"It's not an offer. It's a consequence of the bond. If you join my harem, the longevity comes with it whether you want it or not." Angelus reached out, her clawed hand touching Triss's shoulder where her new scales met her skin. "Does that bother you?"
"I don't know yet." Triss covered Angelus's hand with her own. "It's a lot to process. A few weeks ago, I was a Lodge sorceress with a finite lifespan and complicated relationships. Now I'm a dragon-rider with scales and a potential immortality and feelings for someone who literally breathes fire."
"Life comes at you fast when dragons are involved."
Triss laughed—a surprised, genuine sound. "You really do have a sense of humor. I wasn't sure at first."
"I cultivate an air of ancient wisdom and terrible power. It's good for maintaining respect." Angelus's jaws parted in amusement, revealing her formidable teeth. "But I wasn't always a dragon. I remember being young and stupid and making jokes to cope with impossible situations."
They found a quiet corner of the library—a nook between towering shelves where the lamplight was soft and the sounds of other patrons were muffled. Triss had brought several books on the synthesis between Chaos magic and Wyrmborne pyromancy, but somehow neither of them was reading anymore.
"Our research on combining the systems," Triss said, her voice lower now. "The preliminary results have been promising."
"Very promising." Angelus moved closer, crowding Triss against the bookshelf. "Your fire affinity meshed with Enoch's power source creates a feedback loop that amplifies both. In combat situations, that could make you considerably more dangerous."
"I noticed." Triss's breathing had quickened. "The flames I produce now are... hotter. More focused."
"Show me."
A small flame flickered to life in Triss's palm—crimson-orange that shifted toward white at its core, burning with an intensity that made the air around it shimmer. Angelus watched with obvious appreciation.
"Beautiful." She caught Triss's wrist, bringing the flame closer to study it. "The temperature gradient is excellent. With practice, you could probably melt steel."
"That's not what I was hoping you'd comment on."
Angelus's golden eyes rose to meet Triss's. "What were you hoping I'd comment on?"
"I was hoping," Triss said slowly, extinguishing the flame and stepping closer, "that you'd stop analyzing my magic and start kissing me instead."
Angelus didn't hesitate. She closed the distance and kissed her—deep and intense, all heat and barely restrained power. Triss gasped into it, finding warmth where she'd expected coldness, her hands gripping Angelus's shoulders.
The dragon made a low sound and pulled her closer, one clawed hand cradling her face with surprising gentleness. Her tail wrapped around Triss's waist, drawing her in until there was no space between them.
When Angelus pulled back slightly, it was only to trace her jaw, mapping her face like she was committing it to memory. "Tell me if anything feels wrong," she murmured, her voice rough.
"Nothing feels wrong," Triss breathed.
They kissed again, and Triss tasted cinnamon and smoke and something wild and ancient. She opened her mouth wider, inviting more, and Angelus answered with what felt like a satisfied rumble that vibrated through both their bodies.
Angelus's hands became bolder—one still cradling her face, the other tracing down her spine. When those clawed fingers found the sensitive ridge where her new scales transitioned to human skin, Triss gasped.
"Did that hurt?" Angelus pulled back slightly.
"No," Triss said. "Don't stop."
She didn't. Her hands continued their exploration with practiced confidence, discovering which touches made Triss's breath hitch, which caresses made her press closer. Triss discovered in turn that Angelus's neck was sensitive, that kissing the junction of jaw and throat made the dragon's eyes flutter closed.
They stayed in that quiet corner longer than either intended, pulling apart only when absolutely necessary, kissing with increasing desperation until they were both flushed and disheveled.
By the time they finally emerged, Triss's carefully styled hair was destroyed and Angelus was wearing an expression of satisfaction that made every passing librarian suddenly very interested in the shelves.
"That was educational," Triss said, leaning against Angelus's shoulder.
"Wasn't it?" Angelus's arm wrapped around her waist. "Shall I escort you back before I lose all pretense of civility?"
"Maybe you should."
But Angelus's hand never left her waist, and she leaned down to kiss her once more—softer, almost tender—before leading her toward the exit.
"I'm not sure I remember how to walk straight," Triss admitted.
"Then it's a good thing I'm here to steady you," Angelus replied.
The Third Date
Ciri had expected many things from a date with an ancient dragon. A romantic dinner, perhaps. A tour of the city. Maybe some kind of elaborate magical display designed to impress.
She had not expected a monster hunt.
"An Alpha Griffin," Angelus explained as they left the city behind, moving into the hills to the north. "The scouts spotted it establishing a territory three days ago. It's already killed two farmers who wandered too close to its nest."
"And we're going to kill it?"
"We're going to hunt it." Angelus's Dragonborn form moved through the underbrush with predatory grace, her clawed feet barely disturbing the ground. "The killing is optional—Alpha Griffins are valuable for study if they can be captured alive. But given their temperament, I expect combat will be necessary."
"You've fought them before." It wasn't a question. Ciri had learned to read Angelus's body language over the past few days, and there was a familiarity in the way she approached this hunt that spoke of experience.
"Once. Long ago, when I was much weaker." Angelus paused at a rocky outcropping, scanning the terrain ahead. "I was still in my Level 1 form—a hatchling barely larger than a war horse, with none of the powers I have now. The Alpha Griffin was the first truly dangerous creature I faced in this world, and killing it gave me enough energy to fuel my first evolution after forming the Pact with Daenerys."
"Your Level 2 form?"
"Yes. The wyvern shape I wore for years afterward." Angelus's eyes held distant memory. "It was a brutal fight. The griffin nearly killed me twice—once when it caught me off-guard, once when I miscalculated a dive. I won through desperation and luck more than skill."
"And now?"
"Now?" Angelus's smile was predatory. "Now an Alpha Griffin is barely an inconvenience."
They found the nest an hour later—a massive construction of branches and bones perched on a cliff face overlooking a steep valley. The griffin itself was visible at the entrance, its brawny, brown feathered eagle head scanning for threats while its lion body sprawled across the rock.
It was huge. Ciri had seen and hunted griffins alongside Geralt on some occasions in the past, but this was something else. The wingspan had to be thirty feet at least, and its talons looked capable of shearing through armor like paper.
"I want you to engage it first," Angelus said quietly. "Test its reactions, get a feel for its combat patterns. I'll intervene if you're in danger, but I want to see what you can do."
Ciri nodded, drawing her sword. She'd trained for this—months of practice against griffins and lesser monsters. This was just another test.
She stepped out of cover, and the Alpha Griffin noticed her immediately.
The creature's scream echoed off the cliff walls as it launched itself into the air, its massive arm wings generating a downdraft that nearly knocked Ciri off her feet. She dodged the first diving attack by throwing herself sideways, feeling talons rake the air where she'd been standing.
The griffin circled, preparing for another pass.
Ciri didn't give it the chance. She tapped into her power—the Elder Blood that ran through her veins—and moved.
The world blurred around her as she closed the distance in a blink, appearing on the cliff face near the nest and slashing at the griffin's flank as it turned to track her. The blade bit deep, drawing blood, and the creature screamed with rage.
It spun faster than something that size should have been able to move, its beak snapping at her head. Ciri ducked under the strike and drove her sword into its wing joint, trying to disable its flight.
The griffin's tail caught her across the ribs.
She flew backward, hitting the rock hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs. The griffin pressed its advantage, diving toward her with talons extended—
FWOOOOOSH!
A blast of cold so intense that the air itself seemed to crystallize intercepted the griffin's attack. The creature shrieked as ice coated its wings, disrupting its flight and sending it tumbling to the ground in a cascade of frozen feathers.
Angelus stepped out of the shadows, her Dragonborn form wreathed in pale mist.
"Frost breath," she said calmly. "I don't use it often—fire is more versatile—but it seemed appropriate."
The griffin struggled to rise, its ice-encrusted wings refusing to function properly. Ciri got to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ribs, and advanced alongside Angelus.
Together, they finished it.
The fire crackled as griffin meat roasted on improvised spits, the fat rendering down and dripping into the flames with satisfying sizzles. Ciri sat on a fallen log, her ribs wrapped in bandages and her body aching in places she hadn't known could ache.
"You did well," Angelus said, tending to the fire. "The Elder Blood gives you mobility advantages that most fighters can't match. With proper training, you could become genuinely formidable."
"Geralt always said I had potential." Ciri accepted a portion of cooked meat—surprisingly tender, with a gamey flavor that wasn't unpleasant. "He taught me the basics, but... there's still so much I don't know."
"There always is. I'm still learning new things." Angelus settled beside her, closer than necessary. "Tell me about Geralt. The man who raised you."
Ciri found herself talking. About the winters at Kaer Morhen, about the Witchers who had trained her, about the complicated relationship with a man who never quite knew how to be a father but tried anyway. About Yennefer and Triss and the tangled web of relationships that defined her adolescence.
Angelus listened without interrupting, her golden eyes reflecting the firelight.
"You've had a difficult life," she said when Ciri finally fell silent. "Loss and violence and running from things that wanted to consume you. I understand that better than you might think."
"Because of the Watchers? The war in your first world?"
"Because I've lived this pattern before—finding something worth protecting, building something worth having, watching it all burn and having to start over." Angelus's tail wrapped around Ciri's waist, drawing her closer. "But I've also learned that you don't stop caring just because caring is dangerous. You protect what matters and you fight for what you want and you don't let the fear of loss stop you from living."
Ciri leaned into the contact, surprised by how natural it felt. "Is this... part of the date?"
"This is whatever you want it to be." Angelus's voice was soft, intimate. "I've been clear about my interest. What you do with that information is entirely up to you."
Ciri turned to face her—this ancient being in a warrior's body, predator's eyes and scaled skin and a warmth that seemed impossible from someone so inhuman. "No one's ever wanted me like you seem to. The Wild Hunt wanted my power. Various kingdoms wanted my bloodline. Even the people who loved me... they wanted to protect me, not possess me."
"I want all of it." Angelus's hand came up to cup Ciri's face, claws gentle against her cheek. "I'm a dragon—possessiveness is in my nature. But I want you to choose it. To come to me not because I conquered or coerced, but because you decided that being mine sounded better than being alone."
"That's..."
"Selfish? Demanding? Probably both." Angelus leaned closer, her breath warm against Ciri's skin. "I've never claimed to be noble. But I can promise that what's mine is protected absolutely. Anyone who threatens you would have to go through me first, and nothing in this world can do that and survive."
Ciri's breath caught. She reached up, her fingers finding the smooth scales at Angelus's shoulders, and pulled her down.
The kiss that followed was nothing like the careful, curious touches they'd shared before. This was claiming—all teeth and heat and barely restrained power. Angelus's lips found Ciri's and pressed in with intent, her clawed hand tangling in silver-white hair with possessive insistence.
Ciri gasped and opened for her, tasting cinnamon and char on Angelus's tongue. The dragon made a low rumble of approval and deepened the kiss, pulling her closer until Ciri was practically in her lap.
Fire danced along Ciri's nerves. She'd been kissed before in the past but this was different. Angelus kissed like she was trying to prove a point, like Ciri belonged to her and she was making sure Ciri knew it.
When Angelus broke away, it was to press her mouth against Ciri's neck, and Ciri realized what was happening just as teeth found the junction of shoulder and throat.
The bite was deliberate, sharp enough to sting, hard enough to mark. Ciri gasped as Angelus's teeth sank in, feeling the press of scales against her skin, the warmth of the dragon's breath. It should have felt dangerous. Instead it felt like a brand.
When Angelus released her, Ciri could feel the tender, stinging ache of the mark she'd left. The dragon's golden eyes glowed in the firelight as she pulled back to admire her work.
"Mine," Angelus said simply, her voice rough and satisfied.
Ciri touched the bite mark, feeling the heat radiating from the bruised skin. She should have felt claimed, owned in a way that would have bothered her before. Instead she felt safe—branded and protected and wanted in a way that went beyond the political or the magical.
"Yes," she said, leaning forward to kiss Angelus again. "Yours."
They stayed by the fire long into the night, kissing and talking and touching until Ciri's body gave out from exhaustion and pain. When she finally fell asleep, her head on Angelus's scaled shoulder, the dragon's tail remained wrapped around her waist—protective, possessive, absolutely unmovable.
By morning, the bite mark had darkened into a visible bruise across Ciri's neck, a claim visible to anyone who looked. She wore it like armor.
The Discussion
Triss - First Person
The three of us gathered in our shared accommodations that evening, each carrying the lingering evidence of our respective dates.
Yennefer had a satisfied look that she was trying very hard to pretend wasn't there. Ciri had a visible mark on her neck that she kept touching absently. And I was still trying to process the fact that I'd spent two hours making out with a dragon in a library corner and didn't regret a single moment of it.
"So," Yennefer said, settling onto the couch with deliberate casualness. "How were your dates?"
"Mine involved kissing in a library," I admitted. "Quite a lot of kissing, actually. And some touching that probably violated several rules about appropriate behavior in academic institutions."
"Mine involved hunting an Alpha Griffin." Ciri's voice was slightly dazed. "And then... more than hunting."
"She marked you." Yennefer's eyes had fixed on the spot on Ciri's neck. "That's dragon behavior—claiming territory."
"I know." Ciri touched the mark again. "I liked it."
The silence that followed was charged with unspoken questions.
"Are we actually doing this?" I asked finally. "All three of us, joining a dragon's harem? A month ago, we were tracking Geralt across Westeros. Now we're..."
"Now we're considering spending the rest of our lives—which might be considerably longer than expected—with an ancient being who literally eats gods." Yennefer's tone was dry, but there was something underneath it. "Yes, I've noticed the absurdity."
"It doesn't feel absurd when I'm with her." Ciri's voice was quiet but certain. "It feels... right. Like I've spent my whole life running from things, and she's offering me a place to stop."
"The pact bond," I said, thinking out loud. "Whatever magic connects her to her partners—it must create some kind of emotional resonance. A feedback loop that amplifies mutual attraction."
"Or maybe," Yennefer countered, "we're all just attracted to powerful, intelligent, beautiful women who happen to transform into dragons. The world doesn't need magic to explain chemistry."
"Says the sorceress."
Yennefer wrinkled her nose. "Fair point."
We sat with the implications for a while, each of us processing in our own way.
"I want to accept fully," Ciri said finally. "The trial period was useful, but... I know what I want now."
I nodded slowly. "Me too. The bond with Enoch already changed me in ways I can't undo. Accepting Angelus fully feels like the natural next step."
Yennefer was silent for a longer moment. Then: "I already accepted. This was just about getting to know each other before making it official." Her violet eyes met ours. "Tomorrow, we tell her."
The Revelation
The next day, we approached Angelus together.
She received us in her courtyard, still in her Dragonborn form, and something in her expression suggested she already knew what we'd come to say.
"Your answer?" she asked simply.
"Yes," I said. "All three of us."
Angelus's smile was genuine warmth. "I'm glad. But before we formalize anything, there's something I need to explain. Something I should have told you earlier, but wanted to wait until you'd made your decision without it influencing you."
"That sounds ominous," Yennefer observed.
"It's not. Or at least, I don't think it is." Angelus closed her eyes for a moment, and I felt something shift in the air around us—a mental presence expanding, reaching out.
Can you hear me?
The voice came directly into my mind—Angelus's voice, but speaking through a connection that bypassed physical speech entirely.
This is a mental link, she continued. One of the abilities that comes with the Pact. I'm including Daenerys and Mikhail in this communication as well.
Hello! A new voice—young, eager. Mikhail.
What's happening? Daenerys's mental presence was sharper, more focused. Angelus, is something wrong?
Nothing wrong. Just explaining something to our new partners. Angelus opened her eyes. The Pact I form with my harem isn't a simple bond. I've learned to manipulate the underlying magic—to weave something stronger than the standard connection.
She explained the Soul Link first—the shared experience and stamina and magical durability that flowed between all members of the bond. The resistance to mental control and physical diseases. The way each partner strengthened the others simply by existing.
Then she explained the Blood-Oath Resurrection.
If a pact member dies, she said, her mental voice carrying weight, I can bring them back. It costs me significantly—a substantial portion of my own energy and whatever magical energy I can gather from the environment—but death is not permanent for those who share my bond.
The silence that followed was profound.
"You can resurrect us?" Ciri's voice was barely a whisper.
Within limits. The death can't be too long ago, and I need to be aware it's happened. But yes. Those who bond with me are not easily lost.
"The mental resistance," Yennefer said slowly, her analytical mind already working. "That's what protected Daenerys from the Three-Eyed Raven that we heard about among the Wyrmbornes."
Yes. Daenerys's voice joined the conversation. There was something you should know—about that creature and what he tried to do to me.
The story that followed was chilling.
The Three-Eyed Raven—a being of immense psychic power who had existed for centuries in the far North of Westeros—had attempted to manipulate Daenerys's mind. To guide her toward the fate that "destiny" demanded: the madness, the destruction of King's Landing, the death at the hands of someone she loved.
He was trying to force me onto that path, Daenerys explained. Subtly rewriting my thoughts to make me obsessed with the Iron Throne, to make me cruel and unstable. If Angelus hadn't intervened...
"If Angelus hadn't intervened, you wouldn't have known it was happening," I finished, horror dawning. "The mental resistance from the Pact—that's what let you hold on long enough for her to help."
Exactly. Without the bond's protection, I would have been controlled without ever realizing I'd been compromised.
"That's..." Yennefer's voice was hard with anger. "That's beyond manipulation. That's the destruction of free will on a fundamental level."
He's done it before, Angelus said grimly. Guided events, shaped destinies, ensured that 'prophecies' came true not because they were fated but because he made them happen. The entire history of Westeros may have been influenced by his interference.
"And no one can stop him?"
I can. I damaged him when I drove him from Daenerys's mind—badly. He'll recover eventually, but it will take time, and he knows now that I'm watching for his influence. Angelus's mental voice carried cold certainty. When our empire is strong enough, we will find him. And we will end his games permanently.
The conversation continued—questions about the Pact's mechanics, discussions about what the bond would mean for each of them, practical arrangements for the formal bonding ceremony. But underneath it all was a shared understanding that they were joining something larger than a simple romantic arrangement.
They were becoming part of a family that could not be easily broken.
One Week Later
The alert came while Angelus was in the middle of a council session.
"Ship approaching from the west," the messenger reported. "Flying no banner we recognize, but the passengers include at least one individual matching descriptions we've received from intelligence networks."
"Descriptions of who?"
"White hair, cat-like eyes, two swords on his back." The messenger hesitated. "The soldiers are calling him a 'Witcher.'"
Ciri went very still.
Geralt, she breathed through the mental link. It's Geralt.
The Arrival
Ciri - First Person
I was at the docks before the ship finished mooring, my heart pounding in ways that made my Elder Blood abilities seem irrelevant.
It was him.
Geralt stood at the ship's railing, his white hair catching the sunlight, his cat's eyes scanning the assembled Wyrmborne guards with professional assessment. He was wearing the layered leather and chainmail armor I remembered—dark with red accents, the Witcher medallion visible at his throat, both swords strapped across his back.
Behind him stood others I didn't immediately recognize: a tall blonde woman in armor, an old man with the bearing of a knight, and—
"Arya?" The name came out before I could stop it.
The girl on the deck—young, sharp-featured, dressed in practical traveling clothes—looked up at my voice. Her eyes widened.
"Who—" She stopped, staring at me with obvious confusion. "Your eyes. They're glowing. What are you?"
"Ciri." Geralt's voice cut through the moment, carrying the familiar roughness I'd missed more than I'd realized. "I was told you might be here."
"Geralt." I wanted to run to him, to embrace him the way I had when I was younger, but something held me back. "You came."
"Been looking for you for months. You, Yennefer, Triss—everyone scattered when the portals went wrong." His eyes moved over me, cataloging something different in how I carried myself, a new confidence in my stance. "Seems like you found something interesting while I was searching."
"You could say that."
Yennefer and Triss appeared beside me—Yennefer in her black dress with the feather accents she'd worn to her date with Angelus, Triss in a teal gown that set off her red hair and new crimson scales.
Geralt's expression flickered with something complicated as he took them in.
"Triss." His voice was carefully neutral. "You've changed."
"More than you know." Triss's tone was guarded but not hostile. "It's good to see you, Geralt."
"And you, Yen." His cat-like eyes met Yennefer's violet ones. "Still beautiful."
"Still stating the obvious." But there was a warmth in Yennefer's voice that surprised me. "You look well. For someone who's apparently been wandering war-torn kingdoms for over a year."
"Had company." Geralt gestured to his traveling companions. "Lady Brienne of Tarth, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Arya Stark. We've been making our way east following rumors about the Wyrmborne."
"And now you're here." I gestured toward the city behind us. "A lot has happened, Geralt. I have so much to tell you."
"I can see that." His cat's eyes studied me carefully. "Your choice?"
"Yes." I met his gaze steadily. "It was my choice. And I don't regret it."
Something in his expression softened—acceptance, maybe, or simply the resignation of a man who had long since learned that the people he cared about would make their own decisions regardless of his opinions.
"Then we should talk somewhere private." He stepped onto the dock, his companions following. "I have questions, and I suspect the answers are going to be complicated."
"They usually are." I turned to lead the way. "Follow me. Angelus will want to meet you—and trust me, you're going to want to meet her too."
---
End of Chapter Twenty-Five