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The house was in a frenzy when Charon entered.

They were setting up a room for the newest courtesan apprentice, which meant moving furniture up and down the narrow stairs.

Lord Laurent’s sister, who’d occupied the room before, had long since moved to her own house in Duciel with her husband, and Margritte and Gwydion had left their posts over the past few years.

The House was starting to change as well, and as he navigated the chaos, Charon could feel it gently pushing him out the door.

Charon took one end of a wardrobe from Nanette without asking and guided it into the cluttered room, only to find Yves standing at the far window with a mirror in both hands.

The mirror smashed to the floor.

“Oh,” Yves said. “Charon!” His expression shifted from dismay to the same cheerful, bright air he presented for his clients.

Charon supposed that was to be expected.

Yves had lived next door to him for years, and he’d doubtless heard the news of Charon’s departure by now.

They were still friends, at least, even if Charon’s feelings had tumbled out of his grip.

Perhaps that was why Yves had neglected to tell Charon of his impending marriage.

“Don’t move,” Charon said, and bent to pick up the shards of mirror that had fallen to the rug at Yves’ feet.

Yves was already half crouching, and he cursed as he bashed his head into Charon’s shoulder.

Charon drew back, alarmed by Yves’ clumsiness.

Was he ill? He touched Yves’ forehead with the back of his hand, but pulled away when Yves stiffened.

“I’m fine,” Yves said. “Sorry. The mirror just slipped.” He bolted upright, stepped over the glass, and walked halfway to the door before he hurried back again. This time, Charon was rising as Yves bent down, and Yves cracked his head on Charon’s elbow. Charon held his shoulders to steady him.

“Let me get something for that,” he said, and gently guided Yves to a chair. He picked up the mirror first, since there were only a few shards on the rug, but when he turned around, the chair where Yves had been sitting was empty.

Yves couldn’t seem to stay in one place after that.

Charon caught him moving in the corner of his eye throughout the day, heading down the stairs as Charon approached, sliding out of side doors, and scrambling into his room before the House of Onyx opened for the night.

Charon tried to put Yves out of his mind, but he couldn’t banish Yves’ sunny, meaningless smile from his memory.

Since Charon was slowly reducing his clients in preparation for his retirement, he had nothing to do that evening except listen to Yves chatter through the wall and mark which books he would have to give away.

He was setting aside the history section when Laurent knocked on his door.

It was strange to think of Laurent as one of his oldest friends, but somehow, just as Yves had ingratiated himself into Charon’s life, Laurent had also slipped in.

Laurent had been new to his noble title when Charon first met him, and while he’d presented a sly arrogance to the world at large, Charon had recognized the signs of a young man still struggling to keep his head above the water.

Now, Laurent had secured his place in the world, and he’d replaced the restlessness of his youth with a self-assured confidence.

“I have a new client for you,” Laurent said. “I know it isn’t usually done this way, but I can vouch for him.”

“Any particular requests?” Charon asked.

“None. He just wants to talk.” The clients who preferred to talk were usually the most exhausting. They didn’t speak to anyone about their troubles in the world outside the Pleasure District, so they found some unfortunate courtesan to hold their hand for an hour and nod sympathetically.

Still, it would be some small distraction. Charon agreed to the assignation, and Laurent left the door slightly ajar, a sign that the man was already waiting. Charon followed, heading down the narrow stairs and into the finely decorated entrance.

The man who stood there wasn’t a nobleman. He had dark eyes that were a little too big for his thin face and thick black hair, and his nose had been broken at least once and set wrong. When he saw Charon, he stepped forward and bowed with the downcast gaze of a submissive.

“I’m glad you could see me on such short notice.” He had thick glasses peeking out of his front jacket pocket, but they had a smoky tint that Charon hadn’t seen before. When Charon gestured to the stairs, the man immediately obeyed the unspoken order.

“My name’s Raul,” he said. “Raul Vitrier. Laurent said your name’s Charon.”

“That’s right.” Charon led him into his room.

Raul straightened when he stepped inside, and Charon watched him move to a spot next to the door so Charon could come in.

It was the same protocol they used to have in the House of Silver, where courtesans had to follow strict rules of etiquette as part of their training.

Charon took in the faint line of tension in Raul’s shoulders and the grim set of his mouth, then closed the door after him.

“I don’t need to be touched,” Raul said, before Charon could turn to face him again.

“You don’t need to, or you don’t want to?”

Charon suspected the answer, but it was better for it to be said aloud.

Raul was clearly struggling with his innate desire to please, and he pressed his lips together and shook his head tightly.

It was rare to see a submissive so consumed by their need to yield that it conflicted with their own limits, but Charon had met a few like him before.

He drew out a cushion, and Raul sank to his knees with a grateful sigh.

“Thank you,” Raul said. “Did Lord de Rue say who I was?”

“Not exactly.” Charon pulled up a chair a few feet from Raul, caught his wary glance, and moved it further back before sitting down.

“It’s in the name. It was my aunt’s last name, but I took it when I took over. You’ve heard of the Vitriers, surely?” He waved his hands in an expressive gesture. “The king requested one of our windows for his coronation.”

A glimmer of recognition flickered in Charon’s mind.

When King Adrien had been crowned, he’d commissioned a rare stained glass window from an artisan in Kallistos.

Yves had taken Charon to see it because, “you like this kind of thing, right?” and even though Charon was only mildly interested in the process of glassmaking, he had to admit that the complex mural of colored glass made for a magnificent picture. “Was that your work?”

“Yes.” Raul blushed deeply. “We hold our processes secret. Only three of us know how to make the greenish and gold tints. My aunt would be horrified that I told someone, even an assistant, but it had to be done. Otherwise, it will all be lost with me when I go. But that’s beside the point.

The point is, I have quite a great deal of money, more than I know what to do with. ”

That likely meant that Raul was about to make an offer. Charon prepared himself for the begging, cajoling, and the inevitable tantrum to follow.

“Do you know Yves?” Raul asked, and a black cloud fell over Charon’s heart.

He stood. He didn’t need a noble begging him for tips to win Yves’ game, or to put in a good word, or whatever it was this man wanted.

Charon strode for the door, and Raul lurched forward on his knees, his submissive panic so acute that Charon’s dominance instinctively brought him to a halt.

“I’ve no interest in helping anyone win his contest,” Charon said.

“I know! I’m sure you don’t!” Raul hadn’t risen from his knees. “But you have to understand. It’s going to ruin him. Those nobles don’t care what happens to him when they’re done, and they certainly aren’t willing to marry him, not for more than a season.”

Charon raised his brows. “But you will?”

Raul blinked, but it wasn’t the shifting, rapid blinking of a liar. “I know what it’s like. And I…I owe him.”

Charon stayed where he was, his shadow falling over the shaking submissive on the floor. In Arktos, when he was Nikos, his mentor had been a quiet, skinny submissive with a conciliatory air that ran at odds with his skill with the knife.

“It’s against the law of nearly every country in Iperios to use your dominance to intimidate the truth out of a prisoner,” his mentor had said when he’d first brought Charon into his office, only thirteen and already too big for the little chair in front of the desk.

“But there are some places where the laws don’t reach, and we must use the gifts we are given. ”

Charon looked down at Raul. All it would take would be a touch—on his wrists, most likely, since Raul kept covering them with his hands.

It was remarkable how easily a person could reveal the source of their own private horrors.

Raul would blurt out his true reason to pursue Yves, and Charon would deal with the fallout when he complained to Laurent later.

Instead, Charon went to the fireplace and pulled down his kettle. “Do you like tea?”

“What?” Raul shuffled on his knees behind him. “I suppose. Nothing sweet, but I can always—it’s my job?—”

“Not all submissives prefer service,” Charon said.

Yves liked it well enough, even if it wasn’t his specialty.

He dusted Charon’s shelves when he’d had a busy evening and needed to wind down, but he always let Charon handle the tea.

Some rituals meant more than dominance and submission.

Tea was transformative. It took time and required patience, and that patience reminded Charon that he was not just his dominance.

“You say you owe Yves,” Charon said. “Was this from your time in the House of Silver?”

“You knew that?” Raul choked out the words. “But I don’t think you were here then.”

“It’s in the way you kneel.”