“They had been told, as young witchers, that the burden of their secondary sex had been relieved by the Trial of Grasses. The mutations took away the change that would come as humans hit adulthood, and they would be without a subsex. Witchers were men, and men alone. They were not given the added burden of being an alpha, or an omega, or a beta. They were free from that particular form of madness.“ Jaskier is hired to be a heat companion for an omega widow, and Geralt is hired alongside him to play bodyguard. Unfortunately, being so close to the chaos that is human mating cycles, Geralt begins to suffer strange symptoms of his own. Trust Jaskier to take care of it. He’s a professional, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says, “but I must have misheard you. ‘Three times’? Geralt, you’re not a man. You’re a-” “Shut up,” Geralt says. “I shouldn’t have told you.” “The worst thing of all,” Jaskier says, either having gone deaf or choosing to ignore Geralt completely, “is that you’ve never really tried. That this is total hearsay. Gods, it could be more than three. You could go all night.” “If you keep on,” Geralt says, “You’ll never find out." (or: Witchers don't have refractory periods, and Jaskier is keen to investigate.)

“You’re sharing a room?” Yennefer says, eyebrows raising. Hm. There’s a surprise. She’d have expected Geralt to want privacy and Jaskier to end up staying up all night and up some farmgirl’s skirt. “It’s cheaper,” Jaskier says. “Or it’s a habit. I don’t know. What do you care?” “I’m just surprised,” Yennefer says. “I thought you two weren’t having sex.” Geralt chokes on his ale.