Oh! He remembered that, though he had a bit of trouble recalling Sperring's poetry as Yennefer reminisced. He did know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was not at all about flowers and nectar. No one in Oxenfurt wrote about plants.

Jaskier listens as she spins her story about summering in some court somewhere and finds, before it is through, that somewhere between the tale of the poet and the trysts, he'd leaned forward and propped his elbow on the table, then his head in his hand. He hums at the open derision in her tone and marvels, just briefly, that they had wasted so much time being tentative enemies.

Yennefer, as it was rapidly turning out, was something of a treat.

"Oh, you know it will be dreadful when they advertise the intrigue," Jaskier commiserates and pulls a face. In his free hand he swirls the liquor before taking an unprompted sip.

"Or rather, you know it will be boring when they're willing to cop to it. I can't imagine anything worse--boring court intrigue is practically sacrilege--and a King having trysts?" He snorts.

"Unless it was with his horse, or another monarch, who fucking cares? I mean, Foltest, yeah? Rumor says his niece is actually his daughter, as well, and her strange appearance is a lingering curse rather than some childhood ailment. That's proper intrigue."

It is lucky he is speaking quietly given that he is, at current, in Temeria at the behest of said king.