Chapter 311: 311. Princess and Prince
That night, the group began their night rest.
Bryan suggested resting early while leading the way today, saying it was because the newly found human child was too troublesome and had drained her of much energy beyond her plans.
Lann listened and curled his lips, thinking to himself, it was Geralt who carried the child, I was the one talking to her, what effort are you even putting in?
But he also knew that Bryan wasn’t tired; she just wanted to hear more of these stories that couldn’t be heard in the forest.
Bryan was a girl transformed from a human into a dryad. Unlike the native dryads, she still retained some impression of the outside world.
And beyond that last bit of impression, until the day she died, this primordial forest would be her entire life.
Until the iron hooves of humans charged into the woods, flames devoured her body, swords pierced her heart and soul. Screaming, she fell among the ferns, dying for a war to seize the forest... It was only a matter of time.
"Ciri?"
Everyone tacitly lay down around the young girl, perhaps due to a sense of affinity or because she was saved by Lann. The girl was noticeably closer to Geralt and Lann.
"Hmm?"
She responded somewhat drowsily.
A small and skinny person, who had survived alone for several days in Brokilon after facing threats from swamps, sentinels, and beasts.
Without a doubt, she was a strong, healthy, brave, and lucky girl. But even so, once she was relieved, she felt an irresistible fatigue.
"Where do your parents live?"
Geralt continued to ask, wanting to know which princess she actually was.
"I don’t have parents," Ciri sniffed and said, "When I was very little, they met with a shipwreck. The entire ship was gone, not even a piece of plank remained."
After speaking, a tiny snoring sound came out. She was already exhausted.
Lann lay on the dry and soft ferns, staring at the dense canopy above. After the little snoring had been going for a while, he softly asked Geralt beside him.
"Geralt?"
"What?"
The young man seemed a bit distressed, frowning, "You all have come into contact with those nobles’ courts, right? At least you have more experience than me. Given her situation... I can hardly imagine what her future would be like."
"Who can tell?"
Geralt responded casually, after the girl had fallen asleep, their conversation naturally lost many constraints.
"A deceased princess’s daughter, perhaps she’s fourth or fifth in line at home? Quite a few children, each with noble titles, but in terms of importance, probably not even as significant as a clerk under the palace steward. She’s just a gray-haired, green-eyed little thing running around carefree in the court, so the court must find her a good husband as soon as possible."
"The sooner the better, before she becomes a mature, fertile female, before she becomes a threat of scandals, affairs, or infidelity... You know, Lann. Such things are not uncommon in the court."
Suddenly, two golden-haired handsome men and women flashed through Lann’s mind, a story of ’Empress Sister and Younger Brother Jinwei’ he personally investigated when sending Alia home.
The entanglement between the two ultimately turned into a war that embroiled seven kingdoms.
Before the water of that investigation cleared, he never thought in the direction of scandals; it was the cognitive limitation formed by cultural environment and life experience.
In Western-style courts, this situation indeed seemed not uncommon.
Lann glanced again in the direction of Geralt beside him.
In the illustrious career of the White Wolf, one quite prominent task was helping Veltrest’s daughter lift the curse of the vampire shrike.
The Princess Yada in that story was the daughter of Veltrest and his own sister.
Outside of Lann and Geralt’s conversation, Vesemir also became talkative.
"Kid, you just asked about this princess’s future situation? Hey, I’ve seen quite a few young princesses joining traveling troupes."
The old man, who had lived for hundreds of years, spoke in a plain tone.
Due to weakened and aging muscles, Vesemir’s voice would sound phlegmy from relaxed throat muscles when lying down and talking.
"Those young ladies were all glad to escape some old king, weak and aged yet eager for progeny and carnal pleasure. I’ve also seen many princes who preferred living precarious mercenary lives rather than marrying princesses chosen by their king fathers."
"Because most of those princesses are either flawed or notoriously indiscreet in their lives. These marriages are merely means for alliances, without any other meaning."
Outside of the faint snoring, the four adults fell into a brief silence after Vesemir’s words.
"Are your marriages for alliances? That’s terrifying."
Bryan wrapped the thick coat tighter around her, seemingly feeling colder from Vesemir’s narration than from the winter night’s chill.
"Not entirely," Lann mumbled, unconsciously smoothing the ash-grey hair of Ciri. "At least this little one and those princes and princesses escaping political marriages don’t think so."
"I think this little one is quite incredible, if I were her age, I’d probably already be scared to death. Perhaps... not letting her return to Videns wouldn’t be bad either?"
"Oh, not bad?" Geralt sneered. "You’ve only heard from Vesemir that runaway princesses often mingle in traveling troupes, but do you know the hardship and danger of troupe life?"
"Trust me, Lann. If those troupe princesses had the chance to become the queen of Videns, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second."
Lann’s hand still idly played with that unruly ash-grey hair, and he curled his lips.
"I don’t know about others, but I always feel... at least this little one, she definitely wouldn’t."
As he was saying this, Ciri, like a hamster, bundled herself in the thick blanket Lann covered her with, leaving only that ash-grey hair visible.
In her sleep, she softly muttered: "If you apologize to me... I won’t tell Grandma, then you won’t have to get beheaded... Otherwise... can’t even apologize? Maybe a bow would do... Kristin! You with the runny nose, roll far away from me!"
The adults couldn’t help but laugh as they listened to the little girl bargaining for ’sentence reduction’ in her dreams with the few demon hunters, and her clear likes and dislikes in muttering.
Fortunately, Ciri slept very deeply and wasn’t awakened.
Geralt gently patted the girl’s body, an unusual gesture for someone of his normal childless patience.
But today, perhaps it was the cozy scent on Ciri resembling a feather pillow that affected him.