Chapter 29: THE LION'S COURT — Part 1
The great hall of Cintra blazed with candlelight and barely concealed violence.
A thousand candles illuminated tapestries depicting Cintran victories—battles won, enemies crushed, the lion triumphant. Nobles in their finest moved through patterns that looked like dancing but felt like warfare. Every smile hid assessment. Every compliment carried weight.
Geralt was miserable within seconds.
"I hate courts," he muttered, positioning himself near a wall where he could watch all the entrances.
"I know." I adjusted my lute strap and scanned the crowd. "Try not to growl at anyone. We're honored guests, remember?"
Queen Calanthe presided from a raised dais, watching her domain with the focused attention of a general surveying battle. She was beautiful in the way weapons were beautiful—elegant lines serving lethal purpose. Her hair was silver-blonde, her eyes sharp as new steel.
Princess Pavetta sat beside her, younger and softer, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. Suitors approached in ordered sequence, presenting gifts and declaring their worthiness. Pavetta responded with minimal politeness, her gaze flickering constantly toward—
There.
A knight in full armor, helm covering his face. He stood at the edge of the gathering, watching Pavetta with an intensity that cut through the courtly noise. Duny. The cursed man who'd saved King Roegner and claimed the princess by the Law of Surprise before she was born.
My heart hammered. The fuse was lit.
"The bard Jackier!" A herald announced my introduction before I could compose myself. "Companion to the Witcher Geralt of Rivia!"
I stepped forward, bowing to the queen with practiced grace. "Your Majesty. It's an honor to perform for Cintra's court."
Calanthe's eyes swept over me—calculating, weighing, filing information. "The famous bard. Your songs have reached even my halls. They say you travel with a monster hunter."
"Geralt has graciously allowed me to witness his adventures. The truth of his work makes for compelling music."
"Truth." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "A rare commodity in courts. Let's see if your songs live up to their reputation."
I took my position near the hearth, where the acoustics were favorable, and began to play.
I chose my set carefully. "The Burning South" to establish emotional credibility—the Kowalczyk family's tragedy still resonated with audiences who'd heard rumors of Nilfgaardian expansion. A traditional Cintran ballad to flatter my hosts. And woven throughout, songs celebrating love and destiny. Preparing the ground for what was coming.
My Stage 3 power hummed beneath the surface, but I kept it restrained. No supernatural effects here—just skill, just craft. The court needed to see a talented bard, nothing more.
Calanthe watched me with predatory assessment throughout. She'd heard of my reputation, my connection to the Witcher. She was calculating what I represented, what threats or opportunities I might embody.
Let her calculate. She'll have bigger concerns soon.
I finished my set to generous applause and retreated to a corner where Geralt waited with two cups of wine.
"You're watching the helmeted knight," he said quietly.
"So are you."
"His heartbeat is elevated. So is the princess's. They know each other."
I snagged a stuffed fig from a passing servant's tray—court food really was better than road rations—and chewed while thinking. "What do you think he's hiding under that helm?"
"Something he's ashamed of. A curse, maybe." Geralt's eyes tracked the knight's movements. "He's preparing himself for something."
"Preparing for what?"
"I don't know. But it's going to happen tonight."
The suitors continued their parade. A lord from Skellige presented jewels. A prince from Temeria offered political alliance. Each was received with gracious disinterest.
Then the helmeted knight stepped forward.
"Your Majesty." His voice was rough but determined. "I too would claim the princess's hand."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. A mystery knight, helm covering his face, with no visible wealth or rank—the presumption was comical.
"Remove your helm," Calanthe commanded. "Let us see who dares approach my granddaughter."
Duny's hands went to his helm.
Here it comes.
He lifted the metal, revealing features that made the crowd gasp and recoil. His face was human in structure but covered in spines—hedgehog-like, a curse that had twisted him into something between man and beast.
"I am Duny," he said into the horrified silence. "And I claim the princess by right of the Law of Surprise. Fifteen years ago, I saved King Roegner's life, and he promised me that which he had but did not know. His daughter, Princess Pavetta, is that which was promised."
The great hall exploded into chaos.
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