TWELVE | THE RAIN

Geralt slowly turned his yellow eyes to look down at Caira. He was taken aback. He didn't know what to say—but he certainly knew how he felt. He felt betrayed, like he didn't know who Caira truly was. Caira quickly curtsied, her eyes wide in fear, then excused herself as she rushed out of the now silent ballroom to step outside for some fresh air. As soon as the cold air of the night hit her face, she took a deep breath. She was trying to avoid having a panic attack from the sudden confrontation and exposure she had.

Geralt followed her outside, his brows knitted in distrust and anger. "When were you planning to tell me that you're a princess?" Geralt looked her up and down, his nostrils flaring.

"It wasn't any of your business." Her top lip pulled upwards to reveal her teeth.

"A rogue princess! I thought it was a joke, all along. I should've known." Geralt shook his head in disappointment.

"What does that mean?"

"I can smell the stench of wealth on you. The way you talk, walk, and your mannerisms. I should've known you weren't just some bounty hunter. I thought I knew you." Geralt was speaking more than he ever had to anyone before. Small droplets of rain began dripping down from the night sky, slowly setting Geralt's silver and Caira's raven hair.

Caira was hurt by his words. "And you think you're better than me? Because you didn't come from privilege? You're not, Witcher! I know nothing of you, either. Nothing of your past, hell, nothing even of your present! I know as much about you as you did me!" She hissed at him, the rain began pouring now, smudging Caira's makeup and matting her hair down. Her dressed was now soaked and clinging to her body, but she was too angry to care about being in the cold, wet rain.

She spun on her heel to leave, to be alone and get away from him once and for all—but, as Geralt tended to do, he stopped her. He grabbed her and pulled her back toward him. "You want to know something?" He clenched his jaw, his brows still furrowed displeasingly. "Witchers do have feelings. You know how I know? Because I felt something for you, C. And now, I feel betrayed. I feel lied to. Now, you know as much about me as I do you." He let go of her, allowing her to be free to leave if she wished.

Caira ran her hands through her hair, frustratedly. Confused as to whether to continue to feel ashamed, angry or flattered by him. She wanted to hug him, but also punch him for not understanding. "I—I just can't do this. You're driving me mad, Geralt." She, too, was feeling conflicted about Geralt. She cared for him, but she could never be with a Witcher—they were too cold and violent, not to mention they were also sterile and couldn't give her what she wanted most, a child. But, at the same time, she just wanted to be in Geralt's arms. Feeling safe. Feeling protected. Feeling loved until the day she took her last breath. Just being with him could've been enough, but, realistically, it wasn't.

Suddenly, Jaskier charged out of the palace to meet the two outside in the pouring rain. "The queen must be mad!" Jaskier chuckled, plopping a hand on Caira's shoulder. "You're no princess. You couldn't be. You're too..." He gestured over her slender body, causing Caira to raise an angry brow at him. "you're too manly—"

Jaskier didn't even seem to notice Geralt and Caira's seething moods as he spoke. "Jaskier, not now!" Caira hissed at him, shoving his hand off her shoulder.

He looked down at her short frame, then over at Geralt—confusedly. Then his innocent and wordiness visage dropped into a stupefied one. He, too, felt lied to and cheated. He gasped quietly. "Wait—" he began.

"Go away."

His mouth fell agape and he couldn't seem to find the words to say to the girl as he stammered over syllables. "You're a princess?! Of Astoria?! How could I not have known this?? I thought we were friends." He placed a hand over his breast, obviously hurt. Dramatically, he wiped away faux tears as he wrinkled his forehead, distraughtly.

"I can't take this." His voice croaked. "I need some time to process this. I don't think I can look at you the same, anymore." He was already quite flamboyant in nature, but the way he reacted was extraordinarily exaggerated. He—of all people—should've been excited that she was a princess. And they weren't close enough of friends—if Caira could even call themselves that—for him to feel so hurt. Jaskier left the two be and returned to the festivities to get a drink.

Caira couldn't take the conversation anymore, she needed to get away. She didn't want the title of princess haunting her, and didn't want to have to argue with Geralt anymore. So, Caira left. Specifically, to Brokilon. Leaving Geralt behind to stay with Jaskier, and end up claiming a law of surprise—which was instantly revealed to be a child. The night didn't seem to be going on so well for Geralt, he had inherited a responsibility of a child, and was distraught with how Caira just left him. Although he should've been more worried about his child surprise, all he could think about was how he needed to go after Caira and make sure she'd be okay on her own—it had been so long since she'd been on her own. Also, Geralt's affections disallowed him to simply allow her to leave without him keeping a watchful eye over her. So, he followed her to Brokilon—where she went to search for some work.

* * *

Caira found her usual work in the usual local pub from the usual stout, fat, greasy and desperate men. This one seemed as anxious as any other to have the man he was paying Caira to kill dead as quick as possible. "Be sure to catch him at nightfall, round the alley a ways. He's usually real drunken abouts there." The man suggested with a gleaming look. This should've been a red flag for Caira, but her mind was still stuck on Geralt. She had left so suddenly and her heart was still in his coarse palms, despite his unknowingness to it.

She dismissed the strangeness of the man and continued about her day as normal. She wasn't in the quite right head space to kill anybody that night, but she needed the coin to pay for her inn. Plus, she thought it would be an easily kill since the man had told her the victim would be intoxicated.

Caira went the location as the man told her, without much stealth as she usually had. She was sad and dragging her feet along the pavement until she spotted the lone man in the alleyway stumbling about. She approached him, her palm resting on the dagger on her belt, and creeped up from behind. Just as she thought she was the predator, she quickly became prey and three men jumped on top of her from behind, tackling her to the ground. The man she thought was drunken, seemed completely sober all of a sudden and spun around with a crooked smile spreading across his face. The three men that pinned her to the ground eagerly smiled, too. Caira's eyes widened in fear, taken aback by the sudden circumstance she was put in. She began to struggle against them, but they only pressed their meaty fingers deeper into her bare skin. She eyed one of the men holding her hostage, it was the man whom had requested her services for the kill.

Instantly, she realized the job was a sham. A setup to trap a young, beautiful and seemingly gullible girl. The men quickly began fiddling with their pants, eagerly tugging at their belts. Caira grew more desperate and began to scream for help, hoping somebody would hear her and come save her. She tried to kick or punch the men around her, but they all held their weight on each of her limbs. One of them even had his sweaty palm pressed against her forehead so she could not head butt them. It seemed like they weren't new at that game at all. Caira felt the levels of anxiety within her rise, her chest tightening.

Caira continued to shriek for help, but one of the men with a spare hand placed their palms over her mouth. Her brows turned upward and she began to cry, feeling hopeless in that situation. They tore off her clothes and ran their free dirty hands over her pristine, pale skin.

Fortunately, Geralt had followed her to Brokilon and saw her take up the job from the wretched man. He felt odd about the whole situation and even went as far as to follow her to the alley. Only at that very moment he spotted what was happening to her and rushed in, with his sword drawn, and cut the head of one of the men that stood over her. The other three men shot their heads around with wide, fearful eyes, and scattered upon seeing the seething mountainous man with the silver hair standing before them.

Caira gasped and quickly covered herself by wrapping her arms around herself, revealing the yellow developing bruises she received from the dirty men pinning her down. Geralt shedded his jacket and wrapped Caira with it. She was quiet. Her eyes glued to the ground. She shuddered once Geralt placed the jacket on her. Geralt cautiously slipped his arms under her and picked her up. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, hiding her tear stained cheeks. She had just been violated. Tarnished. And she felt disgusting. Like she needed to scrub herself until she felt herself bleed to feel pure again.