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ficletvember 2024 - day 24

yennefer/sabrina

Sabrina Glevissig arrives at Aedirn's court apparently simply to affectionately antagonize a disillusioned Yennefer.

Stares and whispers follow the sorceress as she strides across the opulent banquet hall. How beautiful she is, the crowd thinks, how poised and delicate. How long the trail of her gown, how generous the cut of her decolletage. Oh, hopefully she has come to replace our moody and miserable court sorceress.

Yennefer fights the urge to roll her eyes and draws away from the minds of the masses. Aedirn's court in Vengerberg has proven to be full of dim-witted fools, the king included. Of course, they'd look at Sabrina Glevissig and mistake her for a woman of substance.

“Oh Yenna, you haven't changed in all these years,” says Sabrina as she slips close enough to kiss one of Yennefer's cheeks and the other. Her smile is brilliant white, her cheeks rosy. “You're still as unpleasant as you ever were.”

“A pity,” Yennefer says as she clasps Sabrina's arms, “I had hoped to become even more unpleasant as I aged.”

“Like a moldy cheese. Or a fine wine that ages to vinegar.”

“Have you come to my court simply to exchange unimaginative insults?” Yennefer asks as they begin to walk a circuit of the room, their elbows linked.

“Your court?” Sabrina laughs. “They'd leap at the chance to exchange you for the first pretty face that comes along.”

“They'll be waiting a while longer then,” says Yennefer.

Court decorum states that she is meant to introduce the visiting sorceress to the necessary parties gathered here and there throughout the banquet hall, but Yennefer steers them away from the most chatty and convivial, not interested in being forced to watch Sabrina shamelessly flirt back with geriatric nobleman.

“It's not flirtation, Yenna. It's called being a generous conversation partner.”

“Is that why your neckline falls so low? Generosity?”

“No, that's flirtation.” Sabrina winks. Her eyes are drawn with smoky cosmetics, her lashes lengthened with magic. As a girl, Yennefer remembers being desperately jealous of Sabrina's effortless beauty. Besides being flat as board through the chest, she hadn't needed to change a single thing with her enchantments.

Sabrina hears the memory in Yennefer’s thoughts, and her smile grows smug and her gaze heavy.

“Aren't you here for some reason besides monopolizing my precious time?” Yennefer asks, interrupting her lewd thoughts.

“Please, your King Virfuril’s already drunk himself to sleep, and your court would rather you did as well. You've got nothing more important to do and no one more important to do it with.”

“I haven't missed you,” says Yennefer.

“No, I should hope not.”

They make another round of the room, passing a particularly rowdy corner, where Yennefer recognizes the young Prince Henselt of Kaedwen, uproariously drunk and seemingly involved in a drinking contest with Virfuril’s eldest son. It's Sabrina's turn to steer them away from unwanted conversation.

“So your court isn't perfectly appreciative of you either,” says Yennefer. “Is your prince that awful?”

“He’s a hot-headed, boorish imbecile,” says Sabrina even while still smiling courteously. “It's fortunate his elder brother will take the throne. Kaedwen would likely meet its end under his rule.”

“No great loss there. Unfortunately, Aedirn will likely continue existing in miserable drudgery for centuries, whether or not I stick around to see it.”

Sabrina looks at her, a faint glimpse of alarm showing through her polite expression.

“You're thinking of abandoning court? Yenna, if the Brotherhood hears of this–”

“And where would they hear of it?” It's only a passing fantasy, the thought of leaving Aedirn to rot. “Don’t tell me you enjoy being a glorified babysitter. A mage of your power, and you've been sent along to cure your prince’s hangovers. I warm their castles and protect their borders and Aedirn's court still sees me as a joyless witch they'd love to trade for a prettier model.”

“You are a joyless witch,” says Sabrina with a sniff, even as she guides them out of the banquet hall, pointedly turning her back on Henselt's drunken crowd.

In the darkened corridor beyond the hall, she wastes little time in crowding Yennefer against a marble pillar, a thigh between her legs, her lips at her throat. Yennefer’s hands sink into Sabrina's blonde curls.

They hadn't been friends as girls, but they'd done this often, sneaking out of Aretuza's dormitory at night, giggling and smug over never being caught.

“Tell me more about how powerful a mage I am,” says Sabrina as she kisses down her neck.

“You'll have to work harder than that to have me singing your praises.”

Sabrina leans back, her hands fitting easily to Yennefer's corsetted waist, and her courtly polite smile has vanished, replaced by something wicked.

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