The night Mikolaj jumped out the window he wasn't trying to run away, he was trying to buy drugs. He swung his bare legs over the intricate railing of the balcony, hissing as frostbitten iron kissed his skin. He slid down the lattice, touching the hard-packed dirt of a whimsical garden. All the plants were fake, of course. But Madame Kubas preferred the illusion of perfection to the real thing.

From there, he ducked under barricades of sharp-edged leaves until he found the back gates. The world lit only by distant streetlights and the obtorzys' lanterns. If he lived in the Highlands, like he used to as a child, perhaps he would still be scared of the things old women said lurked about at night. The type of things craving pale pink flesh and new blood. The Lowlands had their own breed of flesh-craving beasts. And the night was made for people like him.

Mikolaj climbed over the fence, leaving Madame Kubas' three-story mansion behind him. Only covered by a thin robe and fur-lined boots, the nightly chill made him gasp as he ran.

Summer came to Jelberok with the quickness of melting ice. Snow still dusted the pavement, even the sky was shadowed by cool grey instead of black. The stars peeked out from the wispy clouds floating by the moon. At least the Lowlands showed some subtle change in the seasons. What little trees the capital city had were green again, grass poked out from cracks in the gravel and cobblestone. The Highlands were all mountains of rock and snow. And the world seemed too large locked away in villages where he hadn't seen anyone he didn't already know for months. Years.

The world was smaller in Jelberok. Small enough he could pass common prostitutes dragging their marks into the alleyways and the ministers invite their paramours into carriages to take them home for the night. Mikolaj always sneered at common prostitutes. They infested the streets of the high-end like rats, trying to garner richer company. People like him existed for a reason. Courtesans and their abundance in Jelberok and the Lowland courts were a staple of Gegraen culture. Someone could sue or divorce their spouse for sleeping with someone else or a common prostitute, not with a courtesan.

No one paid attention to him even remarkably underdressed. The golden heart pin on his robe explained it all.

The shop he was looking for was only a block or so away from his madame's residence. A small shop locked between another madame's house, one with less notoriety than his, and a butchery. No lights lingered in the windows, but Mikolaj hopped up the stoop anyway as he ignored the whistles from passersby.

Three knocks.

He crossed his arms over his shivering chest as he waited.

When the door opened it was with a large squeal. He pushed his body over the threshold before it was even fully open. Mikolaj sighed in relief as the heat from the nearby fireplace hit him. A small girl jumped back as he forced himself into the single room.

She narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Stopa, back already?" He met her look of displeasure in equal measure. It was always children too young to drink hurda instead of sugared milk in the morning who met him with attitude.

"Where's Zyta?"

She didn't answer. Jingling bells alerted Zyta's presence. The round woman appeared from a doorway leading to a backroom. She wore bells on a sash that wrapped around her wide hips and more bobbles and jewelry than anyone he knew.

Zyta carried a crate in her hands, vials of powder clinking together. With a groan, her assistant excused herself.

Zyta set the crate down on the table before walking over to him, palming her heavy hands on both sides of his face before kissing his cheeks. "Mikolaj! I would never turn you away."

She gave him two more kisses. "But my pockets grow empty from all the times you've forgotten to pay me."

He slid past her. Mikolaj knew what he needed. Drugs were dangerously easy to come by in Jelberok. Mikolaj wasn't much of a user himself, but they came in handy for larger gatherings. Almost every week, Madame Kubas threw wild and lavish parties because she could afford to and because it was good for business.

And his Keeper.

He enjoyed them.

Wiggling his fingers, he hovered his hand over the crate as he eyed what he needed.

He heard Zyta huff over his shoulder as he picked up several vials and held them tightly in his fist.

"Shall I start sending the bill directly to Madame Kubas?"

"No." He turned to face her swiftly. Simply because drugs were easy to get did not mean they were legal. And while even the government officials who attended their parties used them, the last thing Mikolaj could allow was to leave evidence Madame Kubas let drugs into her halls.

No. He could buy them as long as she didn't know about it. If she knew it about she would have to reprimand him. No one wanted that.

"Send the bill to Lady Wiech." His Keeper's wife. He belonged in part both to Madame Kubas and Lady Wiech. Lady Wiech covered his expenses with a stiff upper lip. During the times he saw her, she had her nose stuck in an accounting book with a sneer curling her lips. Her husband was of a softer type. Their money truly all her's, but it fell into his pockets on their wedding day. And now into Mikolaj's.

Even Zyta flinched at the sound of her name. She made her way to the counter at the head of the room, pulling out a paper and a pen to prepare to make a write up of the sale.

Mikolaj wasn't always so cautious of Lady Wiech. Not always as cautious as he should be. Her tempers were easier to manage when he didn't have to live with her.

He held vials in both hands, counting them with his eyes. Twenty-five vials of precious powder. He hoped it was enough. He feared it wasn't.

Zyta eyed him with raised eyebrows. "Will that be all, Mikolaj?"

Mikolaj bowed, he edged towards the door and nudged it open with his butt. "See you in a week, Zyta."

The night almost seemed less comforting as he made his trek back. The impressive rooftops seemed to glower down at him. The plumage of fake flowers and greenery mocking him as he got closer and closer to the back gates.

And this time, the gates were met by the twinkling lights of a lantern. Shadows from the rolling moonlight spread across the frowning face that waited for him.

Mr. Kolasinski, one of the obtorskys. Did they always have to look so unhappy? So stoic and made of stone and standing perfectly still, waiting for the moment to bark at him.

It was a fate people like him were all doomed to. Courtesans got old, not all of them married old, rich nobles or found permanent Keepers. When they got too old or were forced to retire for some other reason, they became an obtorsky. Cursed to mentor and watch over the people who would replace them. Not even rich enough to petition for Madame-hood and set up their own house.

Was it his own fading beauty and lack of importance, fleeting riches, that made Mr. Kolasinski so unhappy?

As Mikolaj approached, he turned his pouty glare on the vials in his hands.

"Of course," he snapped. "And here I hoped you were being gutted on a street corner."

"Would anyone gut me, sir?" Mikolaj rolled back his shoulders, forcing his robe to fall away from his skin.

Mr. Kolasinski sneered. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the gate.

Courtesans got older. But Mr. Kolasinski was not old by any other standards. Perhaps in his early thirties. Only ten or so years older than Mikolaj himself. He heard the rumors, always spoken in low whispers with drunk friends when they hoped Mr. Kolasinski was fast asleep instead of haunting the halls. He retired early. Too disagreeable. A mark said he was as stiff as a board and he bit him out of spite.

"Get back to bed before I report you for attempted escape."

Mikolaj made a show of the vials as he ducked under his arms and through the open gate. "Clearly, I'm not escaping."

He wondered if Mr. Kolasinski could even hear him over the screech of the gate as he pulled it closed again. He shoved his key back into the lock and clicked it shut, his narrow eyes still peering down at him from between the curved bars.

"Smuggling illegal drugs, then. Go back to bed."

"Goodnight, Mr. Kolasinski." Mikolaj blew him a kiss before he turned his back.

He had no doubt Mr. Kolasinski did not return the gesture.

It was harder to climb back up a lattice and balcony with an arm full of drugs. So he didn't. He left them underneath a rock and shoved the frozen and crumbling dirt around it to further conceal it from view. He slipped off his boots, tied the strings together, and swung them over his shoulders.

Only then, did he start his climb.

His room was just as he left it. A single candle was left out on the bedside table, the flame flickering in the slight breeze to greet him back. Mikolaj fell face-first into his plush sheets and sighed as he sunk deeper into the soft decadence.

***

It seemed Mikolaj's eyes were only closed for a second before he heard the door to his bedroom open. He kept them closed. A heavy thud as servants placed the tub in the center of the room. The sound of water pouring and splashing against porcelain filled his ears. Someone opened the curtains, he felt the subtle warmth of sunlight on his back.

Shuffling footsteps skidded across his expensive rug. The bitter smell of hurda hit his nose. Mikolaj finally opened his eyes.

Mikolaj cleared his throat as he opened his eyes. "What time is it?"

A tray clattered against his bedside table. Cups clinked together. "A little after nine." Footsteps approached him slowly, almost timidly.

Mikolaj rolled onto his back before scooted to the edge of his large bed to sit up.

He saw the steaming cup first and then the small hand clasped around it. Tiny Teresa. Dressed in her usual tucked shirt and breeches. She handed him the cup, and he took it if only to wrap his hands around something warm as the chill blew up towards the balcony and the breeze lifted the lace curtains in the air.

"The Madame would like to see you after breakfast."

Mikolaj clicked his tongue. Perhaps Mr. Kolasinski tattled on him after all. He could hope she simply wanted his opinion on the planning for her next party or wanted to drag him around Jelberok as she went about her business. There were auctions to attend, favors to garner from ministers, members of the twelve ruling families to fluff. And Mikolaj was the only one in her employment who had a Keeper. It came with some benefits.

"Is she awake?" Madame Kubas could sleep until noon, sometimes even later. He hardly knew why. For the most part, she wasn't the one working nights.

Teresa nodded. Mikolaj grumbled as he held the steaming cup up to his face.

"Ah!" Teresa reached into her pocket. "But some good news! The page boy came around this morning. The monthly pamphlet is out."

Mikolaj took a sip of the hurda, grimacing as the bitter and chalky taste hit his tongue. At the very least the flush of warmth flooded his throat. "Give it here."

"Just in time for the auction as well," she continued. The chances of him being spared from Madame Kubas' wrath were looking good. Fortune was on his side.

"Saints, I forgot that was today."

Teresa nodded again, her short crop of blonde hair bouncing around her head. "They're having it at Lord Gurka's town residence this month. Everyone is excited." She took the slightly crumpled pamphlet from her pocket and handed it to him, gasping and snatching her hand back as her fingers brushed against him. He gave little reaction other than a raised eyebrow.

For someone raised surrounded by courtesans, she was wholly innocent. He couldn't imagine how as Madame Kubas' apprentice she was expected to take over one day if she couldn't even touch prostitutes without blushing. He supposed it was an affliction that came with youth.

Teresa bowed as she took steps back from his bed. "I'll make sure breakfast is ready."

Mikolaj regarded her with a nod. Teresa had left bread and cherry jam out on the tray for him. It wasn't so unusual for him to eat a smaller breakfast than the others, or to eat entirely alone.

He lived by different rules.

But today was an auction day, and today the monthly pamphlet crinkled in his hands. On such days, rules could be bent. He took only a single bite of bread, finished his drink, before tucking the pamphlet under his arm and leaving the solitude of his bedroom.

The halls were narrow, but the floors made from glimmering tiles. He supposed there were worse places to live. He could do without the busts of Madame Kubas that waited in every alcove and no home in Jelberok seemed to be without portraits of the heads of the twelve ruling families. Perhaps it was against the law not to. Even so, it was as glamorous as any three-story home in the capital city could be. Countless bedrooms, a large dining hall and front entrance, sitting rooms and parlors for entertaining, and yet when it came to breakfast Mikolaj had to take the back stairs to the servants' corridors.

The corner bedroom just before the stairwell was left with its door ajar. The echo of a whip hitting flesh reverberated throughout the hall. He poked his head in. People usually didn't have to work so early.

But most people weren't him.

In the middle of the large bedroom, stood a nobleman with a hood over his head as his hands were strapped down to a wooden beam that forced him to arch his exposed back. His pained groans were muffled. It was not him who was important, but Olaf who was the one whipping his back with several cords of leather.

Mikolaj cleared his throat. Olaf paused mid-swing. He pushed back the ridiculous mask he wore into his shoulder-length black hair and wiped sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. "Good morning."

Mikolaj flapped the pamphlet at him. "Will you be done soon?"

Olaf stood tall, a booted foot balanced on his mark's back. He made holding corded leather over his head seem majestic, almost heroic.

"Ah," Olaf sighed. He looked from the bleeding back to Mikolaj, then back to the hooded nobleman who trembled and seemed to be saying something underneath the hood. His words were ineligible, and Mikolaj could only assume he was gagged.

Olaf wrapped the cords of leather around his hand. He twirled around for a moment, his long coat flapping around him dramatically. He leaned over to read a ledger left out in the middle of his bed, seemingly untouched by the messy sheets and pillows ripped so viciously that feathers stuck out of them like guts.

"I should be coming down soon enough. His Grace has a meeting with the ministers this morning and wanted me to be quick about it."

"How kind of you."

"I aim to please." He gave Mikolaj a wink before flicking the mask back over his eyes. There was something theatrical about it as he tapped the man's back with the whip and silenced his muffled complaints. "Pathetic, can't even be left alone for a second, can you?"

Mikolaj closed the door behind him. He hopped down the stairs. Madame Kubas liked having the halls smell like lavender. Effortlessly fresh. Down below, so close to the kitchens and closer still to the outside as the walls for thinner, the mixture of aromas assaulted his nose. He coughed, the stench so thick it encompassed the air. It'd been so long since he bothered to go down there.

Courtesans with Keepers were almost always kept away from those without them. They all had the same job of catering to the nobility and high class, being available to look pretty at court gatherings, but they had their own status symbols. Their own ranks. It wasn't always by choice Mikolaj stuck to himself. Choices had little to do with many things that happened in Jelberok. They were Gegraen, and who would they be without their rigid structures? The Lowlands strived on them.

But the monthly pamphlets were a shared experience.

The others were already sat around the table by the time he entered the room. He heard them before he saw them, all of them crowded around the table as shelves of produce surrounded them. They squabbled and fought over bits of buttered bread, swatting hands as they tried to pour drinks, slapping meat and mushrooms on their plates.

Mikolaj waved the pamphlet in the air as if it was a flag or some sort of beacon as he took his seat at the head of the table. He held both hands over his head. "Silence, your king is speaking."

Someone threw a pear at him. He hardly ducked out of the way before it hit him square in the forehead.

"Come now," said Hugo. He licked butter and jam from his lips as he rubbed his hands together. "Get on with the reading."

Mikolaj leafed through the pamphlet, idly reading the titles and names of other high-end brothels until he found their page. Common prostitutes didn't get such local prestige. Perhaps another benefit as the only thing that really separated them was a matter of bloodlines. He cleared his throat dramatically before getting started. Everyone leaned around the table towards him.

"Madame Kubas continues to impress with her varied selections of–"

"–skip that part." Klaudia crossed her arms. She was never one for patience. Mikolaj shot her a glare, but he continued all the same.

"The newest addition, Justyna–"

Justyna propped herself up on her elbows. "I'm first?"

"I would thank you not to interrupt me," Mikolaj snapped. She simply rolled her eyes at him. "–has beauty beyond measure. A truly exotic wonder–"

"–I've always hated that word. Am I a woman or a bundle of foreign silks?" Justyna flipped the tight coils of her hair over her shoulder. Such was her lot in life, Mikolaj supposed. A hard thing to be the bastard daughter of a Lowland lord and a Sau. It granted her the pale brown skin and rumors of exoticism and misrepresentations of what Sau culture was like. Mikolaj hadn't been to Theassau himself, he'd never been out of Gegra, but rumors of their open bathhouses and nude temples were enough to paint a picture.

Mikolaj continued to give her a glare until she slouched in her chair and picked the stuffing out of her mushrooms. "A truly exotic wonder for those looking for a taste of the south but have no interest in traveling. However, her pretty face and body do not make up for the fact that the bedroom experience was..."

The room hung off every word that came out of his mouth. For once, Justyna kept her lips tightly pursed shut.

"Well, go on!" urged Hugo. He drummed the table with his large, wide hands. The very world shook underneath him. Hugo had to hunch uncomfortably in the chair. He was nearly seven feet tall, after all.

Mikolaj sighed. "Boring," he spat out. "If I wanted someone to just lay on their back and pretend to moan I would have slept with my wife."

Silence. Justyna continued to take the stuffing from her mushrooms, her nails just ripped at them more viciously. "Well," she said after a long moment. "Fuck him."

"Sounds like you have and he absolutely hated it." Stefan shook his head as if her review was personally offensive to him. He brushed his long hair behind his ears.

"Boring," Justyna scoffed.

"Keep reading."

Mikolaj turned back to the pamphlet. "Stefan never disappoints and continues to be a regular favorite, especially for outings with friends. Due to his reputation, the price for alone time is incredibly high. I would save the money and treat yourself to Stefan when you and several of your friends have little to do on an early night."

Stefan was beaming halfway through the reading. He smiled with his eyes closed, shaking his shoulders in a little dance. "That certainly doesn't sound boring."

"You're needlessly expensive and not worth a single fuck, you whore."

"Read what they have to say about Klaudia," Stefan snapped back.

"You know I hate skipping around."

"I also want to know what they have to say about dear Klaud."

Mikolaj grumbled to himself but still searched the page for her name. "Despite her cold demeanor, Klaudia can warm up any bedroom. Her uniquely accommodating taste is especially friendly for lady guests and she's also been known to lend a caring ear."

"Oh, good for you. You talk to them."

"Yes." Klaudia nodded. "I prefer using my mouth to speak."

"Klaud's not the favorite this month?" asked Hugo. "She was last time. Who took her space?" He folded his thick arms over his chest.

Mikolaj scanned the page. "You won't like it."

Hugo knitted his fuzzy eyebrows together. "I need to know."

"While most of Madame Kubas' selection will leave you completely satisfied, this month there is none so satisfying as a visit with 'The Duke'. Relentless in his pursuits of pleasure and pain he will help any visitor reach new heights and have them walk away with unforgettable experiences."

Hugo narrowed his eyes, a deep growl rumbled in his throat. "The Duke?"

"Did someone say my name?" Mikolaj heard Olaf open the doors behind him. No doubt he stood in the threshold, holding the doors apart and posing in a way that was as dramatic as it was alluring.

He stepped into the room and came to lean against the table beside Mikolaj. He'd taken off his coat and mask, leaving only his shirt, trousers, and high leather boots. He propped his boots up on the table for a moment to tighten the laces. His shirt, loose and white, still stuck to him as if slicked with sweat. Olaf jostled a hand through his hair, looking up as sighed loudly, extending his pale neck as if he wanted to show himself off and his necklaces in equal measure.

Hugo scoffed. "Those things are ridiculous."

"Why? Because you can't afford them?"

"You're not even a duke," Stefan cut in. "You just started calling yourself one!"

"I will not be talked down to by someone whose mother sold him for a pie."

Stefan slammed his fist down on the table. "I was not sold for a pie!"

"You were chosen as favorite this month." Mikolaj gave Olaf a congratulatory tap on the arm.

"Oh my, does that mean I get to come along with you and the madame to the auction today?"

"Favorites get all the perks." Justyna sank deeper into her chair.

"What's up with her?"

"She's a boring fuck," Klaudia said bluntly.

Olaf snorted laughter until Justyna's icy glare finally forced him to stop. "You know what your problem is?"

Hugo stood up from the table, cocking his head to the side so it wouldn't slam into the ceiling. His plate was clear. "Here we go," he said with a groan. Olaf was already beginning to talk with his hands, and that always meant a speech was coming.

"You don't have an act."

"An act?"

"No! Don't indulge him."

"Look at me." Olaf gestured to himself. "I wasn't always the wondrously successful man that stands before you. It wasn't until I accidentally knocked over a candle on a lady's back that I found my calling."

"How do you do that accidentally?" asked Stefan.

"Next thing I knew, she was gushing to all her friends about how I could give them the pain and the sort of controlling lover they wanted. You have no act, darling. Nothing to keep people interested in you. If people just wanted a fuck they'd go to a common whore. We're special for a reason."

Olaf had a way of being wrong and right at the same time. They were special because they were high born, but Mikolaj also wouldn't openly doubt Olaf's theatrics garnered some success.

Justyna propped her elbows on the table and leaned her head between her fists. "That right?"

Olaf nodded. "Just think of the seventeen Gawal sisters. Now, their rightful calling should have been the stage because they create dreams. Each one is different in looks and personality, all thanks to their mother who was a patron of prostitution before marrying." Olaf rounded the table towards her as he spoke. His voice took on a smooth richness that made everyone want to listen, no matter how hard they tried not to.

"It becomes sort of like a challenge, an adventure to sleep with all seventeen. Aniela is the oldest. I heard she walks and talks like royalty. So kind, polite, so beautiful. A night with her is something out of a storybook. A first night spent with the princess you just rescued from the tower." He massaged Justyna's shoulders as he spoke, leaning down closer to her ear with every word.

"And Irene? Oh, there's something darkly delightful about Irene. They say she's a goddess. Her famous line is 'I was damned to hell for daring to love. Now, who dares to love me?'" Olaf sank his teeth into Justyna's ear. She yelped, jumping out of whatever trance she was in and pushing him away.

"So," she said as she rubbed her ear. "I need an act?"

"We all do, darling." Olaf shrugged. "Now, about this auction."

"You know I can't tell you a thing." Such things were sworn to secrecy. Mikolaj never knew what to expect until he showed up. The name made it sound more inhumane than it was. No one bought people, and with Gegra's history, they had to be careful with anything of the sort. No, auctions were held to introduce new courtesans to the world and bid to claim them into their house. Glorified career fairs with the added measure of the Madame taking on both the courtesans troubles and some of their wealth.

"Oh just tell us," said Klaudia. "We won't get to go anyway."

"I will." Olaf plopped himself in Hugo's chair as Hugo rounded the table to take away other dirty dishes.

Mikolaj held up his hands in surrender. "I honestly don't know."

"Let's guess then." Stefan curled his hair around a finger. He scanned a look around the table. "What would Madame Kubas want to spend money on that she doesn't already have?"

"Virgins?" Olaf asked. He picked at the leftover fruit from the plate on the middle of the table.

"What does that matter?" asked Justyna.

"Virgins sell at a higher price," said Stefan. "I remembered those days. Madame Kubas set up a bid for my first time. I just stood there in a room of people trying to out-bid each other to take me to bed."

"What about siblings?" Even as Hugo spoke, he sounded reluctant. As if taking part in any discussion that involved Olaf deeply pained him.

"Siblings sell at a good price. They have so much potential."

"Double the price for twins," said Klaudia.

"Can you imagine virgin twins? Madame Kubas would have a nose bleed!"

Olaf rested his boots up on the table as he leaned back in his chair. "Did you ever read what the pamphlet has to say about you, Miko?"

"He didn't."

"I for one want to hear."

Mikolaj tightened his lips into a thin line. "I'm sure it's nothing special."

He met Olaf's gaze. As ridiculous as he could be, and as childish even if he was slightly older, his gaze made protests die in his throat.

"Read it."

Mikolaj cleared his throat. "Although the property of Lord Wiech and limited in terms of services, Mikolaj makes up for this with beauty and a hand gifted to him by the Saints themselves."

Olaf whistled. "That's praise if I ever heard of it."

"And yet, you're still the favorite."

"Of course I am."

"Your hand?" Justyna sputtered. "How did I end up being boring when you can't even have sex with anyone because of your Keeper!"

He shrugged. One of the few perks. He supposed the amount of benefits depended on who the Keeper was.

"Well, they can't penetrate him but I would be wary not to call it sex. I've seen the things he's done with his mouth. It's unholy." Olaf pretended to shudder.

Stefan pushed his chair back from the table. "I've had enough of you bunch, my skin routine can't wait." Even so, he had time to round the table and throw his arms around Mikolaj's shoulders before leaving.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against his ear and smelling of cheese. "Did you get...a bit of fun last night?" Stefan was not as sneaky as he often thought he was.

Mikolaj craned his neck to face him, giving him a quick peck on the nose. "Under my balcony. I'd be grateful if you hid it somewhere else before some rabbits get to it."

"Could you imagine?"

Fingers circled around his wrist playfully. "Of course he got his fun. This wouldn't be 'The Night Court', without it."

The Night Court. A place meant for frivolities and bad decisions. Drunken dances under the moon and naked entanglements in the garden. It was what they were famous for, and the least Mikolaj could do was supply them with substances to keep their fame going. Madame Kubas had at least picked a very fitting name for her establishment.

The doors opened again. A clearing throat cut through the friendly aura in the room. Smiles dropped from faces. Laughter died in throats. Olaf still sat with his feet up on the table, even if by all rights he should have straightened out.

"Mr. Stopa, Madame Kubas wants to see you now."

Mikolaj didn't turn around. Mr. Kolasinski's monotonous tone was hard to mistake.

Stefan jumped away from him and Mikolaj stood up. "Take me to her."

"That was the plan, Mr. Stopa."

Mikolaj hardly stepped towards the door before he watched Mr. Kolasinski turn his sharp glare on Olaf.

"Olaf–"

"–The Duke."

Justyna snorted. She had her head bowed, and quickly covered her mouth as if afraid Mr. Kolasinski would make her face his discomforting look next.

"I don't care what you call yourself. Get your feet off the table."

"I'm the favorite this month."

"Off the table."

Olaf rolled his eyes, but he did what he was told. He stood as well and headed towards the door. He was taller than Mr. Kolasinski, not by much. Just enough where the older man ducked out of the way to let him pass.

"You need to relax, Mr. Kolasinski," Olaf called as he disappeared down the hall. "I for one know you cannot be dominant all the time!"

Mr. Kolasinski's frown deepened, and Justyna had to cover up another snorted laugh.

He motioned towards Mikolaj. "Best not keep Madame Kubas waiting."

Truer words had never been spoken.