[Set aside the fireworks thing for the moment -- he's seen far worse things than loud noises, but he hadn't expected the cannon, thank you -- he's far more interested in what she has to say about love.

She may be young, but in their sphere, she's well beyond the years of real youth.

He listens without interrupting, only raising his brows as she goes on. Of course Julie has always come off as someone with edges, and yet with a bit of too much heart on her sleeve, but here it becomes all the more blatant.]

You're right. I have never, in fact, been a woman. [There is only so much artistic empathy can give him. He has written from the viewpoint of women, has known many women who he loved and hated, and writes of them. But he is not one.

That's just how it is.]

You'd be surprised. [He means it mildly, going back to his wine because he feels this conversation needs it.] When I was younger, I had a certain reputation. A rake, in some circles. All right, in all circles. During my rounds around the Continent, I met many discontented women. Married ones, especially. Ones who had many reasons to want a young bard in their beds when their husbands were away.

[He shrugs, taking the offering -- he can recognize the thing she'd smoked at the party, and Jaskier has experience with pipes, at least. It's an amusing anecdote now, and he doesn't mean it as a brag. But courtiers and baker's wives alike loved having a young man who wanted to hear their stories, their complaints. As well as a roll in the hay.] But you're right. There are so many who told me nothing, and I never thought to ask.

[He coughs. Oh. Fuck. Well.] So, how does your story end? Have you renounced love entirely now?