Geralt is not making a nest. Jaskier has noticed this. Geralt is in fact drinking a rather foul-smelling potion that sours the sweetness of his scent and muffles its otherwise obvious meaning. “Does that stop heat?” Jaskier asks curiously, absentmindedly tuning his lute as he speaks. He hadn’t thought anything could, but, well . . . witchers and their potions. “No,” Geralt says darkly.

“Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.” “Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!” “Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.” In which Jaskier suggests a chastity device to prove himself a worthy travel companion, and of course, gives Geralt the key.