"Want no longer, dearheart." It's her turn to laugh. Not so long, loud or jovial as he. Undoubtedly merry. Their first meeting was so spectacularly awful. No regrets. The past is finished. Yennefer was so certain that her efforts would make her whole again. She would have castrated him and a dozen other men if it would have been true. Praise to the gods indeed, she had done herself a favor. Jaskier's cock is best on himself.

She uses the sides of the tub for balance as she turns. There is enough room for her to tilt her head back and submerge most of her hair. Her legs curl under her, sitting lower to help the process. The steam coils in the air.

"After this festival," or whenever his majesty has had enough of song of a traveling bard, "where will you wander to? Is there a pattern or order you follow?" Yennefer was invited. She's invited many places. Kingdoms want to show power and influence with their guests as much as appeal to sorceresses, mages and druids. This was absolutely a whim.