The ceremonial officer stood at Lann's side, walking carefully as they made their way together to the main doors of the palace.
A rush of fresh, vibrant air flooded in alongside the roar of cheers.
The crowd fell briefly quiet at the sight of Lann—then, like oil splashed onto fire, their excitement flared up even more fiercely.
"Duke Lannister!"
"Lion of Cintra!"
"We offer you our most sincere blessings! May you and Her Majesty Cirilla share everlasting love!"
Lann didn't return the townsfolk's greetings with his usual warm smile. His expression was solemn. Ahead of him, hundreds of soldiers had lined up in two rows, forming a ceremonial path.
The soldiers wore gleaming, freshly polished armor—ceremonial suits newly glazed just a month ago. Over their armor, they draped red silk shoulder capes. As Lann approached, they drew their swords—each blade tied with a silken ribbon—and raised them overhead in unison, crossing them with their counterparts on the opposite side.
Together, they formed an archway of steel more than 100 m long.
The crowd's cheers swelled even louder. Lann took a deep breath and stepped into the corridor. With each step forward, the soldiers behind him would swing down their blades, the ribbons fluttering to the ground like banners.
He walked the entire way until he reached the plaza before the royal palace. Underfoot, a red carpet now stretched forward. At its end stood Mousesack and Geralt, both smiling broadly. Behind each of them stood a ceremonial officer.
As Lann drew near, Geralt grinned—
"Today, I'm your elder," Geralt said, voice heavy with emotion.
"Shut up," Lann replied with a twitch of his lip. "Just for today."
"You two…" Mousesack shook his head, though the smile tugging at his mouth was impossible to hide. "Behave. They're coming."
The crowd's cheers surged again, as if they might pierce through the clouds above.
…
"I invited a few druid friends," Mousesack whispered as he noticed Lann glancing at the sky. "Don't worry—not a single cloud will dare show its face today."
…
Unlike Lann's solemn march through the arch of swords, Ciri's path was a cascade of blossoms. Dozens of flower children surrounded her, singing a simple, cheerful tune in unison.
Fresh petals blanketed the carpet until the very edge, where the children dispersed, revealing Ciri—led by the hand of Yennefer.
"She's stunning," Geralt murmured from behind Lann.
…
Lann's mind went blank for a moment.
Only when Ciri drew close did a single slow thought emerge: She's finally wearing a dress again.
He was entirely incapable of thinking. But others weren't.
Mousesack, who had waited for this day longer than anyone could guess, quietly admired Lann's dumbfounded expression and the growing blush creeping across Ciri's cheeks, ears, and neck.
Geralt was doing the same. After a long pause, he finally remembered his role and spoke slowly and ceremonially: "Who approaches?"
The one who answered was Yennefer. Rarely did she wear white, but today she stood in a lace-trimmed gown of precisely that. It was hard to say whether Geralt's earlier admiration had been meant for Ciri… or her.
"Cirilla of Cintra comes to wed. Daughter of Pavetta, heir to Cintra's royal line, and now Queen of Cintra. Who comes to take her hand?"
"I, Lann of Cintra, son of Lannister. I shall take her as my bride," Lann heard himself say.
His lips, dry and tight, moved without conscious effort. His throat vibrated on its own, giving voice to the next words: "Who gives her away?"
"Yennefer of Vengerberg, her destined foster mother," Yennefer replied, her voice suddenly dry for a moment.
Her heart was pounding. She took a deep breath and turned to face Ciri.
"Lady Cirilla, do you accept this man?"
"I do," Lann heard Ciri say softly.
The citizens of Cintra had already fallen completely silent, all eyes fixed on the scene before them. In that moment, even a fly would have been swatted away without a sound.
A ceremonial officer stepped forward. Geralt took a cloak from his hands and passed it to Lann; Yennefer received another and handed it to Ciri.
Ciri bowed her head slightly, allowing Lann to drape the cloak over her shoulders with a gesture both gentle and reverent.
"Did you rework the stitching? It looks much more refined now," Lann remarked suddenly, eyeing the griffin mane trim studded with red gemstones.
"Shut up. Don't say unnecessary things."
Ciri gently placed the Archgriffin cloak over Lann's shoulders in return, the red-brown feathers catching the wind and fluttering.
"Alright, sorry."
Mousesack cleared his throat. He cast a spell on himself, amplifying his voice so every citizen of Cintra and all the foreign guests could hear him clearly.
"Here, under the banner of Cintra's Three Lions, before the ancestors of Cintra and under the eyes of the world, the bride and groom are now bound in marriage."
He gave a subtle nod. Lann understood. He took Ciri's hand, their fingers interlacing. Her palm was cool to the touch, yet soft and warm like flowing spring water.
The druid took a ribbon from the ceremonial tray and wrapped it around their clasped hands.
"From this day forth, their bodies, hearts, and souls shall be as one—forever."
The ribbon was loosely tied, but Lann felt Ciri's grip tighten.
Mousesack stepped back. "Please face each other and recite your vows."
They had practiced these lines countless times. Lann lowered his gaze to the teary green eyes before him and began to speak.
At the same time, Ciri's voice rose to meet his.
"With this kiss, we offer our love; with this vow, we offer our hearts."
"I will be his (hers), and he (she) will be mine."
"From this day forth, until death do us part."
…
As the two young faces leaned in and touched, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers. Not even the grand restoration ceremony of Cintra had stirred such thunderous celebration—it felt as though the very sky might be torn open.
Geralt and Yennefer stepped aside, their expressions full of emotion.
He glanced down, meeting the violet hue of Yennefer's eyes.
Suddenly, words sprang to his lips.
"You smell amazing."
Yennefer frowned slightly. "Geralt, we're at Ciri and Lann's wedding."
"Right. You smell amazing… at the wedding."
The sorceress furrowed her brow—but her lips betrayed her, curling upward despite herself.
…
Even Mousesack's bearded face couldn't resist breaking into a grin—but he still had one last task to complete.
He took a crown from the ceremonial officer's hands, drawing the attention of all.
Even the boisterous crowd fell silent once more.
He raised the crown high, holding it aloft in midair, then gently placed it on Lann's head.
Turning around, he spread his arms wide, his voice carried again by magic to every ear present.
"Now—cheer with all your hearts!"
"For our Queen Cirilla, and for King Lann!"
...
The people of Cintra revered the Lion with unwavering devotion. To them, it was as natural and unquestionable as the sun rising in the east.
Because of this, everyone was intensely curious—what kind of life did the Lion and the Lioness share after marriage?
For those who knew the inside story—people like the witchers—they were eagerly anticipating a bloody mess.
But in reality, to their disappointment, they found that Lann had been living in peaceful serenity these past few days, even wearing a constant smile.
"Who would step into the grave of marriage so lightly without first cleaning up all their historical baggage?"—this was how Lann explained it to Mousesack and the others.
As he said this, however, his once-steady body trembled uncontrollably; and the stride that had always been firm in the eyes of Cintrans now showed signs of occasional distortion.
Fortunately for Lann, his days of suffering were about to end—he was about to throw himself once again into the brutal tides of war.
"Your Majesty, your visitor has arrived." Milva poked her head in through the door. "It's Mr. Regis."
Lann lit up with joy. "He's finally back! Let him in, quickly!"
…
Over all these years, everyone who had joined Lann's camp had undergone drastic changes.
The witchers had upgraded their gear time and again; the succubus had integrated with the dryads groups and begun participating in their operations; even the ice giant, with his steadily growing intelligence, had started behaving in more and more socially conscious ways.
But Regis—this high vampire—remained exactly the same as when he'd first joined Lann.
He dressed like an ordinary apothecary, or, as he called himself, a "barber-surgeon." He always wore the same rough yet clean linen garments, and slung across his back was the same satchel reeking of strong herbal scents.
Lann had considered helping him update his wardrobe. But with Regis's capabilities, if he had wanted to, he could have been basking in unimaginable luxury centuries ago. And yet, out of place among his fellow vampires, he preferred to live reclusively in the wilderness, occasionally offering aid to common folk.
His strength was more than enough to support that kind of freedom.
But this time, Lann wanted Regis to reach out to those high vampires who were, relatively speaking, less "free"—or, in a certain sense, even more "free."
"My apologies for missing your wedding, Lann," Regis said with a smile. "Or should I say… His Majesty Lann?"
As he spoke, Regis even gave Lann a formal courtly bow.
"You missed that celebration to help me—I was actually thinking of throwing you a belated party. Why would I let you apologize to me?" Lann shook his head.
Then, with anticipation written all over his face, Lann asked, "You've been gone a long time, Regis. Were you able to get in touch with the comrades I asked you about?"
At that, Regis showed a somewhat awkward expression.
"I'm sorry, Lann. I managed to contact some of them, but the others… I simply couldn't."
Lann looked slightly disappointed and pressed further, "Who did you reach? And who didn't you?"
"I wasn't able to reach our Unseen Elder," Regis replied with shame. "Strictly speaking… I didn't even attempt to contact him."
Regis lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Lann. I was afraid."
Hearing this, Lann put aside his disappointment and shifted to a more understanding tone, beginning to comfort Regis.
Yes—Lann had sent Regis out during this time with one goal: to contact his fellow kin and recruit as many high vampires as possible for Cintra.
And the most important of them all was the Unseen Elder.
Every race needs a leader. High vampires were no different.
Their leader, known as the Unseen Elder, had ruled them since before their kind crossed into this world during the Conjunction of the Spheres.
But the Elder's rule was extremely loose. His "subjects" might go hundreds, even thousands of years without ever seeking an audience—and with no reason to.
Only those who broke the unbreakable laws he had laid down were summoned before him. And such an audience meant certain death.
These were precisely the two traits that made Lann value the Elder so much:
First, the Elder possessed ancient wisdom. He understood deeply that even the strongest high vampire was no match for the world at large. That's why he had enacted iron laws like "never expose yourself openly to humans" and "never massacre humans"—to safeguard the survival of their kind.
Second, the Elder had the authority to command all high vampires—and the power to destroy them as well. He could paralyze someone like Regis with nothing but a single glance.
To have such a being under his command… Lann could hardly even picture it without getting overwhelmed.
And yet, precisely because of the Elder's overwhelming presence, Regis hadn't even dared to face him.
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