The dungeon beneath Cintra's Castle smelled of damp stone and rusted iron, torches hissed against the moisture in the air, casting long, shivering shadows across the walls as the guards shoved Geralt forward. Chains rattled somewhere deeper inside. The place felt older than the castle above, built not for justice, the prisoners here were forgotten.
The guards laughed quietly among themselves as they secured the cell door.
"Try not to gnaw through the bars, witcher," one muttered. And laughed.
Another spat near his boots. "Queen'll decide what to do with you at dawn."
The heavy lock snapped shut.
Geralt leaned against the wall, he waited.
Footsteps approached again.
Ermion entered the corridor, flanked by two guards who eyed him nervously but said nothing. The druid walked calmly, hands folded into his sleeves.
As he passed the guards, his gaze flicked briefly toward Geralt.
A signal.
Tiny. Almost nothing.
Then it happened.
Ermion's fingers twitched. A soft pulse of magic rippled through the air. One guard stiffened, eyes widening as his legs buckled. The second reached for his sword.
Geralt moved faster.
The cell door had barely opened before his fist slammed into the man's jaw. The guard collapsed with a grunt. Another swift attack, hilt strike to the head. Silence returned just as quickly as it had broken.
Geralt wiped his knuckles and glanced at Ermion. "Care to explain?"
Ermion bent down, checking the guards' breathing. "Alive," he muttered. "Good."
Then he looked up.
"The reason," he said calmly, "is that this gets us inside the castle without a large commotion."
Geralt frowned, glancing at the unconscious soldiers. "Except for the one we just caused."
Ermion gave a thin smile. "Hopefully nobody heard."
Geralt exhaled sharply. "You hope?"
"Yes."
Ermion straightened, his tone sharpening. "Now we go to the Queen."
Geralt blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"You're asking me to sneak into Queen Calanthe's chambers? At night?"
Ermion nodded as if discussing the weather. "Yes."
Geralt stared at him. "You're insane Ermion."
"Possibly."
"This is treason," Geralt hissed. "You know what they'll do to you if this goes wrong. Is there a reason why you would go this far for me?"
Ermion's calm faltered slightly. "Look, Geralt… you were right."
Geralt paused.
"About Nilfgaard," Ermion continued quietly. "About the attack. They are marching north. Climb any peak around this city and you'll see the black banners with the golden sun moving closer every day."
His voice dropped.
"And Calanthe… she's too proud to see it. Too stubborn to believe she can't hold them forever."
Geralt's eyes narrowed.
"I'll help you take Cirilla somewhere safe," Ermion said. "Somewhere the Emperor's reach won't find her. And I believe… she'd be safer with you than with any crowned head."
Geralt stared at him, stunned into silence.
Then he rubbed a hand across his face.
"Damn it…" he muttered. "Alright. Let's go."
****
They moved through the castle like shadows.
Ermion guided them through servant passages and forgotten corridors, avoiding patrols by instinct and memory. The castle above slept unaware.
Finally they reached the corridor outside the Queen's chambers.
Two guards stood watch.
They straightened when they saw Ermion approach.
"The royal advisor?" one asked suspiciously. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
Ermion lifted a hand in greeting, forcing a tired smile. "Evening, boys…"
Before the sentence finished, Geralt appeared behind him.
Two quick strikes, one to the throat, one to the neck.
Both guards collapsed silently.
Ermion winced. "Efficient as ever."
Inside, there was movement.
Metal scraping.
Calanthe had heard.
Geralt's jaw tightened. "No turning back now."
They pushed inside.
Queen Calanthe stood ready.
Not in a gown, but in trousers and a loose tunic, sword already drawn, hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes burned with fury.
She moved first.
Fast.
Her strike came for Ermion, knocking his staff clean from his grasp with a sharp crack. The druid stumbled back, swearing.
But when she turned toward Geralt, the witcher was already moving.
Steel flashed.
In three motions he stepped inside her guard, twisted her wrist, and sent her blade clattering across the floor.
Calanthe froze, breathing hard but smiling.
Geralt held her sword just out of reach.
"Nice reflexes, Queen Calanthe," he said dryly. "You almost had me."
Her smile sharpened into something fierce.
"Liar," she said, eyes blazing. "You were still holding back, otherwise I'd be dead."
Three figures stood breathing in the candlelight.
A queen ready to fight.
A druid and a royal advisor committing treason.
And a witcher standing between destiny and disaster.
Calanthe got bound to a heavy chair near her bed, wrists secured with strips torn from curtains and belts scavenged in haste. It was not cruelly done, just firmly enough to keep a queen who fought like a soldier from reaching another weapon.
Her chin was high despite the restraints. Fury burned in her eyes brighter than the candlelight. She glared first at Ermion.
"You know the consequences of this," she said, voice sharp. "Do you, Mousesack?"
Ermion stood a few paces away, staff reclaimed and held loosely in both hands. His expression carried no triumph.
"Please, Your Grace," he said softly. "Listen carefully. I have no wish to harm you or your blood. But tonight… you must hear me. And you must hear the witcher."
Geralt stood near the door, arms folded, uneasy in a place where politics outweighed monsters. He met her gaze without flinching.
"I'm here to take the child of surprise," he said plainly.
Calanthe's eyes flashed like steel.
"You will not touch a single hair on her head!" she hissed.
Geralt lifted a hand slightly. "Listen, I.."
Ermion stepped in quickly, cutting him off. His voice sharpened.
"Cintra is in danger. You already know this." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "I'll be direct, because we don't have much time. Would you rather see your granddaughter defiled… used.. or dead? if this city falls?"
The words hung like poison in the air.
Calanthe's expression twisted, hatred, grief, and fear fighting for dominance. She turned her face away, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled.
"What are you suggesting," she said quietly, "that I hand her to a witcher? Is that your grand idea, my advisor?"
Ermion sighed, old and tired.
"The Law of Surprise must be honored," he said. "Whether you like it or not. We have said it so often it became a sin to repeat… but fate does not care for pride."
Calanthe barked a bitter laugh that quickly died into a long, heavy breath.
"Is it truly that bad, Mousesack?" she asked softly, eyes unfocused now. "For my kingdom…"
Ermion didn't hesitate this time. He simply nodded.
"It doesn't look good, Your Grace. I have warned you for months. Nilfgaard grows stronger under its new emperor. We needed alliances, northern unity. We needed time." His voice faltered slightly. "And now we have none."
Silence.
The Queen's shoulders, so often rigid with strength, seemed to sag just slightly.
She looked at Geralt then.
For the first time, the Lioness of Cintra looked… not defeated, but burdened.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
"...Take her," she said quietly.
Geralt blinked, surprised by how heavy those two words felt.
Calanthe's voice hardened again, steel returning.
"And bring her back once I crush the Black Ones." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Otherwise I will come for you myself, Witcher… and I will see your little fortress at Kaer Morhen reduced to ash."
Geralt's mouth twitched into a smile.
"Very well," he said. "You have my word. I'll keep her safe."
Ermion bowed his head slightly. "Then it is settled."
They turned toward the door.
Behind them, Calanthe's voice stopped them once more.
"What about my…?" she began, glancing down at the ropes binding her.
Geralt paused, hand on the door.
"Sorry, Your Highness," he said dryly. "Your soldiers will find you in the morning."
He glanced back briefly.
"And if you're lucky… it won't take until morning."
Calanthe stared at him, somewhere between insulted and amused despite everything.
The door closed softly behind them.
Outside the chamber, the corridor felt colder.
Geralt exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair.
"That could've gone worse," he muttered.
Ermion gave him a long, tired look. "You call that better?"
Geralt shrugged. "No one died."
/-\
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