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“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “Go to sleep, little orphan.”
“Oh, yes?” she muttered. “I am a princess, and not an orphan. I have a grandmother. She is queen, what do you think? When I tell her that you wanted to hit me with a belt, my grandmother will order your head chopped off, you'll see.”
“But that's monstrous, Ciri! Have mercy.”
“You'll see!”
“You are such a nice little girl. Chopping off heads, this is terribly wrong. You won't say anything, will you?”
“I'll tell her everything.”
“Ciri...”
“I'll tell everything, everything, everything. You're afraid, huh?”
“Yes, very. You know, Ciri, that when you cut off someone's head, he can die?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“How could I dare?”
“You will see for yourself, then! My grandmother does not joke. When she puts her foot down, the greatest warriors and knights kneel before her. I saw it myself. And if one of them disobeys, squeak, he's beheaded.”
“That's awful, Ciri.”
“How?”
“It's surely your head that they'll take off.”
“My head?”
“Of course. It's your grandmother, the queen, who arranged your marriage with Kistrin and sent you to Verden, to the castle of Nastrog. You have disobeyed. When you come back... Squeak! No more head.”

Geralt chuckled.
“Weren't there any trees in the grounds of Castle Nastrog, Ciri? Instead of coming to Brokilon, you could have climbed to the top and waited for Kistrin to lose interest in the wedding.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I can't stand you.”
“That's awful, Ciri, you've touched me right in the heart.”
“I know,” she nodded, sniffing, and then pressed close against him.
“Sleep well, Ciri,” he murmured, breathing in the pleasant smell of feathers. “Sleep well. Good night, Braenn.”
“Deárme, Gwynbleidd.”

Excerpt from "The Sword of Destiny" written by Andrzej Sapkowski

Description
“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “Go to sleep, little orphan.”
“Oh, yes?” she muttered. “I am a princess, and not an orphan. I have a grandmother. She is queen, what do you think? When I tell her that you wanted to hit me with a belt, my grandmother will order your head chopped off, you'll see.”
“But that's monstrous, Ciri! Have mercy.”
“You'll see!”
“You are such a nice little girl. Chopping off heads, this is terribly wrong. You won't say anything, will you?”
“I'll tell her everything.”
“Ciri...”
“I'll tell everything, everything, everything. You're afraid, huh?”
“Yes, very. You know, Ciri, that when you cut off someone's head, he can die?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“How could I dare?”
“You will see for yourself, then! My grandmother does not joke. When she puts her foot down, the greatest warriors and knights kneel before her. I saw it myself. And if one of them disobeys, squeak, he's beheaded.”
“That's awful, Ciri.”
“How?”
“It's surely your head that they'll take off.”
“My head?”
“Of course. It's your grandmother, the queen, who arranged your marriage with Kistrin and sent you to Verden, to the castle of Nastrog. You have disobeyed. When you come back... Squeak! No more head.”

Geralt chuckled.
“Weren't there any trees in the grounds of Castle Nastrog, Ciri? Instead of coming to Brokilon, you could have climbed to the top and waited for Kistrin to lose interest in the wedding.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I can't stand you.”
“That's awful, Ciri, you've touched me right in the heart.”
“I know,” she nodded, sniffing, and then pressed close against him.
“Sleep well, Ciri,” he murmured, breathing in the pleasant smell of feathers. “Sleep well. Good night, Braenn.”
“Deárme, Gwynbleidd.”

Excerpt from "The Sword of Destiny" written by Andrzej Sapkowski