The bard is an omega, young and pretty but poorly received by the tavern crowd. He smells like a stray, is barely older than a pup, and isn’t very good at his work. Geralt isn't interested in him besides that, but for some unfathomable reason the other is interested in him. He lets the bard follow him mostly just because getting rid of him would be more annoying, and maybe because he pities him a bit. But it's not going to be that interesting a job, he's already sure. There's no harm in letting a human hang around. Of course, then they get kidnapped by vengeful elves. So . . . fuck.

“You’re sharing a room?” Yennefer says, eyebrows raising. Hm. There’s a surprise. She’d have expected Geralt to want privacy and Jaskier to end up staying up all night and up some farmgirl’s skirt. “It’s cheaper,” Jaskier says. “Or it’s a habit. I don’t know. What do you care?” “I’m just surprised,” Yennefer says. “I thought you two weren’t having sex.” Geralt chokes on his ale.

“You wouldn’t say no to a woman with bread in her skirt, would you?” the bard says.

The wedding’s going to be tonight, presumably so no one involved has time to get cold feet, which gives Geralt just enough time to clean up and get the dirt off his armor and overthink every tiny little detail of this arrangement.