Mikolaj woke with a start. Unexplained panic coiled tight in his chest as he lurched upward at a dizzying speed. His ears were clogged, his throat felt sick, and the world around him spun and flopped until things finally settled. It likely lasted seconds, but it felt like ages. An eternity before he heard the rumble of Lord Wiech's snoring in the bed beside him, and the darkness paled in his sight to reveal a room that didn't feel like his own. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly, heart beating at his ribcage, he gripped the flimsy fabric of his nightshirt and urged his body to calm down. 

His body felt warm underneath his touch. Too warm. Mikolaj tried to such a shaky breath. He was with the Wiechs in one of their estates. In the room Lord Wiech gifted him. Not wherever the darkness carried his body when his eyes were closed. 

Mikolaj wasn't sure what woke him in the first place. What frightened him. 

Lord Wiech rolled over in bed, thin lips murmuring as his hands clawed at the damp sheets. "Where are you, Little Bird?" he cooed. 

Mikolaj eased towards the edge of the mattress. "I need water." 

He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and shoved his feet into the plush slippers waiting for him. A nightmare? Mikolaj couldn't recall the last time he had one. Not since he was a child. He usually slept soundly. Money was a damn good comforter. So was wine. His head didn't throb. He couldn't have drank so much his entire being decided to torture him in revenge. 

Mikolaj usually knew how to control himself. 

Lord Wiech murmured again, the words illegible as he rolled over onto his stomach, snuggling contentedly back into the grip of the bed. Mikolaj tucked the blanket into the folds of his body, hoping to keep him fast asleep so he could at least have one moment to himself. 

Truly, his head hurt. The world around him had a slight curve to it, every step a little dizzy as he tiptoed into the hall. Knowing Lord Wiech, he likely designed this sprawling home himself. Which meant it was much newer than any building in Jelberok, certainly Madame Kubas' ancient manor. Which meant they had to have running water. 

His arms stretched out blindly ahead of him as Mikolaj squinted his eyes to try and force them to adjust to the dark. He used to have much better eyesight at night. But back then there was moonlight peeking between the intermingled leaves in the treetops. Now he was guided by blinking gaslights and burnt out candles that left trails of smoke in the air. 

It wasn't hard to find the kitchen. All Mikolaj had to do was follow his nose to the room that still smelled like sausages and stumbling until his hands landed on a faucet. His elbow banged against the nob, the squeal of water rushing out of the pipes sounded almost thunderous against the quiet backdrop of the house. So icy and frigid one brush against his skin made him shiver and yelp as if it stabbed him.  Mikolaj needed to find a glass. He searched for the outline of a cupboard.

The lights blinked on. They burned at his eyes, caused the throbbing in his head to worsen, and a groan left his lips as he turned around to see who'd done it.

Aleksja.

She sat, curled up on a counter by the switch, one finger still idly on the handle while her other hand cupped a steaming mug close to her chin. Her hair hung loose and wiry around her shoulders. The rims around her eyes looked red, her skin yellow in the hazy glow of the lighting. She frowned, but then he'd never seen her with a different expression.

Mikolaj tried to bow but his stomach churned. "My lady."

Aleksja pointed with her sharp chin. "They keep the glasses above your head."

"Thank you." He hadn't thought to look up. When he tilted his neck, he saw the cabinets he'd been looking for. Nice wooden handles and doors made from foggy stained glass. Just the sort of gaudy decoration Lord Wiech would choose, even for a servant's kitchen. 

A long slurp sounded behind him as he reached into the cabinet. "Are you done fucking my dad, then?" 

He couldn't read her tone. Saints willing, Mikolaj didn't think he'd be able to discern much of anything at the moment. It took all his dignity not to dip his head beneath the faucet instead of patiently waiting for the glass to be full and then gulping water down like he'd never have a drop in his life. 

Still, his throat felt miserably dry. 

Mikolaj turned off the faucet. The absence of the stream banging against the metal made his ears ring. He sighed before looking over his shoulder, watching Aleksja twirl a spoon in her mug.

"For now." What was the point in lying to her? Stay for the weekend, and then he could go home. He'd be right back to work when Lord Wiech was awake. Whether it required a bed or something mundane didn't matter. It was all the same.  

She of all people shouldn't be exempt from this part of Gegraen society just because her mother didn't like it. There was no avoiding it. 

Aleksja took another sip of her drink. He felt like asking.

"Do you hate me?"

"Not personally."

"I understand."

"They're both such hypocrites."

He nodded. "Yeah." Gegra was full of it. Hypocrisy. Twelve nations turned into one. No kings but there was an elite class. Superstitions and dark tales, but the truth of it all far worse. Mountain people. The Lowlands. Prudish and uptight yet moralless and vulgar. It could all be so much sometimes.

The world was so simple when he was a child. When it was all mountains and snow. Hide tents and long trails. Wolves and long nights. Days without seeing the sun.

When he was Mircea instead of Mikolaj. 

He cleared his throat, drinking what was left in the glass. 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

Mikolaj leaned against the counter. Everything in the kitchen was either made of wood or metal. It dug into his back and the smell of the polish and cookware made his head spin. But he felt grounded to his spot. His eyes sucked in by watching the drops of water puddle at the murky bottom of the curved glass. His throat clenched, the momentary relief it got already ebbing away.  He nodded again and hoped Aleksja was looking at him.

"How did you become a whore?" 

Caught off guard, he scoffed. Out of all the questions, why was that the one he never expected?

Perhaps because he spent so much of his time with other courtesans or patrons of their industry. The how or why never mattered to any of them. Why should it? They were all already there. 

Mikolaj swallowed his own spit and rolled back his shoulders, ignoring how sour his mouth tasted. He tried to catch Aleksja's eye. "You want to know?" 

He sauntered towards her. She scooted further against the wall, eyes widening a bit as if she expected him to keep his distance from her. Her legs folded underneath her wrinkled nightgown and he placed his hands on the tiled surface beside where they would be. 

Whenever he thought of the past, it came to him in flashes. He didn't want to think about it. And it would be easier to push it down if Marian Zych hadn't stared into his soul and forced it all back up. 

Gunpowder. Smoke. Burning trees. The woman who raised him. An ultimatum.  

"I chose it."

A squeak came from her nose. "You did?" 

The kitchen was backed against large, latticed windows. A fog had settled outside and he could see nothing but the world swirling beyond the glass. The house so silent all the noise of the nearby woods bore down on them. A howl. A hooting owl. The crunch and snap of twigs. 

Mikolaj knitted his hands together. "My father is like yours. He married a rich woman. He didn't have any money himself and he lost it all when she died."

He didn't have to look at Aleksja to know what kind of expression she was making. Her face likely scrunched in confusion, eyebrows folding together as her lips twisted. Spouses usually inherited wealth. 

"How?"

"She was smart. They hadn't lived together for ages. She left it all to me and I gave it...away." 

Another howl. Mikolaj closed his eyes. If he ignored the smell of cooked sausages, Aleksja's steaming mug of hurda, ironworks and polish, he could envision himself out among the trees. How he'd gasp when the cold wind snapped against his skin, the silver glow of the moonlight guiding his way, the comfort of nature. 

Mircea was different. Mircea didn't think in visech like Mikolaj did. Mircea didn't spend money on finely crafted clothing and perfumes. He had no need for money. His mother hadn't wanted it either, after all. It just sat and collected in a Highland bank until she passed. For emergencies. For him. And he never thought of a day when he'd need it, so he gave it to the Ulra. 

"My father remarried. He didn't think about the money or me. But...I have a younger brother." Mikolaj tried to squeeze his eyes shut tighter. He liked his lips. The skin felt cracked. "I had a choice to make. This is the one I made." 

Silence stretched between them. Mikolaj opened his eyes. He shouldn't be shocked to find the brown tile of the counter staring back at him, but a part of him hoped to be transported elsewhere. 

Finally, Aleksja opened her mouth. He heard the pop of her lips prying apart. "You must really love your brother."

He only met him once. Mikolaj shook his head. "I love my mother." 

"Do you...like it?"

Mikolaj rested his cheek against his intertwined hands. His legs all but hung off the edge of the counter as he turned his neck to look at Aleksja. A smirk curled its way onto his face. 

"It?"

"What you do." 

"Why? Are you thinking of whisking me away?" 

She pursed her lips, looking as stern as her mother. Mikolaj allowed for a short chuckle to escape him. But her expression didn't relent and the look in her eyes only spurred him on more. As if she wanted him to break down in tears, talk about horrid truths or waking nightmares. 

And perhaps there were some. Not all patrons were lovely. Some made him queasy, uncomfortable, were too loud, or made him angry. The monthly pamphlets were both bragging points and a little insulting. Madame Kubas could be unpredictable. His life and earnings depended on his looks and ability to please. 

"It's not for everyone but I don't hate it," he said because it was the truth. If he hated it he would never have been able to stomach it. Mikolaj made this choice because it was easier to leave and he knew he could do it. 

"Well, I don't think I could ever do something like that."

Mikolaj scoffed again. "Then keep your legs closed, my lady." 

Her face soured, and Mikolaj left her in the kitchen to fume to herself. 

***

When the weekend came to an end, Lord Wiech took it upon himself to escort him home. The carriage was small, but comfortable, and undoubtedly was picked purely so Mikolaj could spend half the journey sitting in his lap and fluffing his ego. But for once in two days the glee in his voice wasn't forced. 

Home.

Jelberok sped past them. Other carriages rumbled past, buildings rose and fell from view, people crowded the street corners or raced across the road. Each neighborhood brought them closer and closer to the Night Court. 

Lord Wiech dipped his hand into the loose collar of Mikolaj's borrowed shirt, tracing a finger along the flushing skin at the top of his chest. "Little Bird, you'll be good and give more thought about moving won't you?" 

It took all his willpower to keep his forehead from twitching. He threw his arms around Lord Wiech's shoulders and snuggled close. "My visits aren't enough for you?"

He snickered. "I will not have enough until you can be mine at every hour of the day." 

What was a good excuse? A negative response without being too forceful. Mikolaj could say he needed his space, preferred his privacy, liked living in a home packed with other people and no plumbing?

Mikolaj decided on a pout instead and shoved his head between Lord Wiech's chin and shoulder. If he said anything at all it was just as likely that Lord Wiech would push the issue with Madame Kubas and she'd convince him to move. She would want this. Everyone wanted this. To be a kept paramour instead of just another courtesan. He'd get a steady income, wouldn't have to worry about parties or competing, but that damned house was vicious. 

"Let me think about it, please. It's such a big commitment." It was either way. Leaving the Night Court didn't mean he could just flounce back if he changed his mind. Tides changed easily in Jelberok. It would damper Madame Kubas' reputation to take him back, people would spread rumors and speculate about his reasonings and half of them would make him look bad, and he wouldn't have the prestige to be in such a house anymore in the first place.

The second time in so many years he would make a decision that could change his life, and this time the stakes weren't even as threatening but it still weighed heavily on him. 

Lord Wiech mirrored his pout as he kept rubbing his skin. "Very well, but I'll be back soon."

Of that, Mikolaj had no doubt. 

He tangled himself away from Lord Wiech when the carriage finally stopped outside of the Night Court. He kissed both sides of his face, whispered something sweet he could muster, and slid out the doors quickly as he could. Mr. Kolasinski waited at the front gates for him, wrapped in furs up to the neck in the early morning chill and looking grim as ever. 

Mikolaj made a show of tugging at his clothes as he approached. "No one thought to send me anything to wear?"

Mr. Kolasinski sneered down from his hawkish perch. "I didn't think you needed any." He pulled a key to the front gate from his inner pocket and inserted it into the lock before swinging it open with a lazy flourish. 

Mikolaj blew him a kiss as he passed. "Thank you for the warm welcome." 

He had a plan.

He had a list.

He would bathe in his own tub, wrap one of his silk robes around his shoulders, spend the day in his own room, listen to Tiny Teresa prattle on about whatever mindless dribble came to her mind, do what he pleased until it was time to work again. 

But he stopped short on the white stone path to the front door. 

Someone sat out on the front steps. Waiting for him. 

Marian drummed his fingers against his cheeks. When their eyes met, he lifted one hand and waved while his lips twisted into a cruel smile.

Mikolaj's blood ran cold. Was it just him? Would he be the only one to see a sinister gleam in his eyes? 

No. It had to be because of what he said. The disgust he showed him. The way his hands burned when they touched. 

It stinks. 

Mikolaj couldn't simply turn around and go another way. The main path leading up to the door was bordered by Madame Kubas' razor-sharp fake plants. The leaves were so dutifully artificial, they reflected the little sunlight peeking out from behind the clouds. They'd rip him to shreds. 

Did Marian see his hesitation? His smile widened. It looked so impish. He began to stand. Mikolaj felt his throat bob, his hands slicken with sweat. The doors opened behind him. 

"You're back!" Justyna flew past Marian, her arms stretched open. She was a fury of colorful skirts and puffy sleeves. She wasn't fully dressed. Her corset not tied and only buttoned at the front. It sagged at her hips and he felt the bones not yet molded to her form poke him when she collided into his chest. "I owe you a hundred visech. You were right about Lord Paw." 

She beamed up at him. The chills in his blood dissipated. She didn't use to be like this. What had he done to deserve such an extra length of warmth from her? But he was thankful for her for the time being. He glanced past her. Marian slithered his hands into his pockets, watching from a distance but not coming any closer. 

"Of course. Lord Paw is reliable."

"He outbid everyone. I wish you would have been there to see it! He got so loud and spent a fortune, Hugo says he was probably too drunk. I tried to find you but Olaf said you weren't feeling well and then in the morning you were gone."

Mikolaj tapped her nose. "I had work to do."

She released him, but only for a moment. Justyna stepped away for a matter of seconds before linking their arms together. He patted her knuckles when her hands curled into the crook of his arm. If he focused on her, his skin didn't buzz from the weight of Marian's gaze. 

"How's your shadowing going?"

Her smile dropped immediately. "Olaf is so sweet but...very intense with his work." 

Saints, did Mikolaj ever agree. 

"He keeps trying to talk to me." 

They passed Marian. He turned his head to follow them with his eyes. Justyna pushed open the door with a nudge of her foot and Mikolaj tried not to sigh in relief when he stepped over the threshold. 

"Is that such a problem?"

She huffed, shrugging. "He thinks I should discover why I'm not performing well but I really don't know why no one seems to like me."

He patted her hand. "I like you just fine." Moreso now that she was a proven method to help avoid Marian. 

Justyna rolled her eyes. "You don't count."

"You need more confidence. Olaf knows what he's doing. You should listen to him." 

She just sighed. 

The warmth of the front hall flooded into his blood. How little Mikolaj noticed how cold it was until the heat pulsed against him. The borrowed clothes weren't thick enough and they weren't his size. He idly tugged at the collar.

Did he miss all the small details? The smell of lavender, the busts, the floral details on every wall, intricate carvings in the columns. 

"He can't know everything." Justyna mostly mumbled it to herself, the whisper just loud enough under her breath for him to hear. He would have laughed, at least for her sake, but it hit him only then.

Olaf didn't say anything. He didn't tell anyone about Mikolaj being Ulra. He couldn't have. He'd see it in Justyna's eyes, fell her tremble before she touched him, see her tiptoe around her words in case she breached being offensive. 

Had he not believed him? Shrugged it off as a drunken ramble, or hadn't thought much of it once Mikolaj drifted off to sleep? 

Mikolaj slipped his arm away from Justyna. "Would you happen to know where he is right now?"

The question didn't catch her off guard, but he saw her dimples pop out of her cheeks. "He's busy. I gave him privacy because his guest seemed a bit embarrassed." 

"Oh." He'd already took a step ahead, already felt his body turning towards the hall that would take him to Olaf's room. 

Justyna laughed and reached for his hand. "Come on, I have to show you something Stefan made."

He let her take it. He let her whisk him away.