“What is your real name?” Geralt asked the one who had remained at the table. Véa flashed her white teeth. Her blouse was very loosely laced, almost to the limits of possibility. The Witcher had no doubt it was intentionally provocative. “Alvéaenerle.” “Pretty.” The Witcher was sure the Zerrikanian would purse her lips and wink at him. He was not mistaken. “Véa?” “Mm?” “Why do you ride with Borch? You, free warriors? Would you mind telling me?” “Mm.” “Mm, what?” “He is…” the Zerrikanian, frowning, searched for the words. “He is… the most… beautiful.”
