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Geralt slowly turned his yellow eyes to look down at Caira. He was taken aback. He didn't know what to say—but he certainly knew how he felt. He felt betrayed, like he didn't know who Caira truly was. Caira quickly curtsied, her eyes wide in fear, then excused herself as she rushed out of the now silent ballroom to step outside for some fresh air. As soon as the cold air of the night hit her face, she took a deep breath. She was trying to avoid having a panic attack from the sudden confrontation and exposure she had.
Geralt followed her outside, his brows knitted in distrust and anger. "When were you planning to tell me that you're a princess?" Geralt looked her up and down, his nostrils flaring.
"It wasn't any of your business." Her top lip pulled upwards to reveal her teeth.
"A rogue princess! I thought it was a joke, all along. I should've known." Geralt shook his head in disappointment.
"What does that mean?"
"I can smell the stench of wealth on you. The way you talk, walk, and your mannerisms. I should've known you weren't just some bounty hunter. I thought I knew you." Geralt was speaking more than he ever had to anyone before. Small droplets of rain began dripping down from the night sky, slowly setting Geralt's silver and Caira's raven hair.
Caira was hurt by his words. "And you think you're better than me? Because you didn't come from privilege? You're not, Witcher! I know nothing of you, either. Nothing of your past, hell, nothing even of your present! I know as much about you as you did me!" She hissed at him, the rain began pouring now, smudging Caira's makeup and matting her hair down. Her dressed was now soaked and clinging to her body, but she was too angry to care about being in the cold, wet rain.
She spun on her heel to leave, to be alone and get away from him once and for all—but, as Geralt tended to do, he stopped her. He grabbed her and pulled her back toward him. "You want to know something?" He clenched his jaw, his brows still furrowed displeasingly. "Witchers do have feelings. You know how I know? Because I felt something for you, C. And now, I feel betrayed. I feel lied to. Now, you know as much about me as I do you." He let go of her, allowing her to be free to leave if she wished.
Caira ran her hands through her hair, frustratedly. Confused as to whether to continue to feel ashamed, angry or flattered by him. She wanted to hug him, but also punch him for not understanding. "I—I just can't do this. You're driving me mad, Geralt." She, too, was feeling conflicted about Geralt. She cared for him, but she could never be with a Witcher—they were too cold and violent, not to mention they were also sterile and couldn't give her what she wanted most, a child. But, at the same time, she just wanted to be in Geralt's arms. Feeling safe. Feeling protected. Feeling loved until the day she took her last breath. Just being with him could've been enough, but, realistically, it wasn't.
