“So simple?”

“It is not simple. First you have to survive the night. Then there are exceptions to the rule, for example, not one night but three. Consecutively. There are also cases which are… well… hopeless.”

“Yes,” Foltest bristled. “I keep hearing that from some people. Kill the monster because it’s an incurable case. Master witcher, I am sure they have already spoken to you. Am I right? Hack the man-eater to death without any more fuss, at the beginning, and tell the king nothing else could be done. I won’t pay, but they will. Very convenient. And cheap. Because the king will order the witcher beheaded or hanged and the gold will remain in their pockets.”

“The king unconditionally orders the witcher to be beheaded?” Geralt grimaced.

Foltest looked the Rivian in the eyes for a long while.

“The king does not know,” he finally said. “But the witcher should bear such an eventuality in mind.”

Geralt was silent for a moment. “I intend to do what is in my power,” he said. “But if it goes badly I will defend my life. Your Majesty, you must also be prepared for such an eventuality.”

Foltest got up. “You do not understand me. It’s obvious you’ll kill her if it becomes necessary, whether I like it or not. Because otherwise she’ll kill you, surely and inevitably. I won’t punish anyone who kills her in self-defense. But I will not allow her to be killed without trying to save her. There have already been attempts to set fire to the old palace. They shot at her with arrows, dug pits and set traps and snares, until I hung a few of her attackers. But that is not the point. Witcher, listen!”

“I’m listening.”

“After the third crowing of the cock, there will be no striga, if I understand correctly. What will there be?”

“If all goes well, a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“With red eyes? Crocodile’s teeth?”

“A normal fourteen-year-old. Except that…”

“Well?”

“Physically.”

“I see. And mentally? Every day, a bucket of blood for breakfast? A little girl’s thigh?”

“No. Mentally… There is no telling. On the level, I think, of a three- or four-year-old child. She’ll require loving care for a long while.”

“That’s obvious. Witcher?”

“I’m listening.”

“Can it happen to her again? Later on?”

Geralt was silent.

“Aha,” said the king. “It can. And what then?”

“Should she die after a long swoon lasting several days, her body will have to be burned. Quickly.”

Foltest grew gloomy.

“I do not think it will come to that,” added Geralt. “Just to be sure, I will give you some instructions, your Majesty, to lessen the danger.”

“Right now? Is it not too soon, master witcher? And if—”

“Right now,” interrupted the Rivian. “Many things may happen, your Majesty. It could be that you’ll find a princess in the morning, the spell already broken, and my corpse.”

“Even so? Despite my permission to defend yourself? Which, it seems, wasn’t that important to you.”