Page 10 of Every Eligible Man

"I have no faith. I have resigned acceptance of chaos. There's a difference."

The carriage door swings open.

Ash steps out first, boots hitting stone with a solid thunk that somehow sounds like a threat. The midnight-blue doublet stretches across his massive shoulders, silver thread catching torchlight.

Several nearby nobles take an instinctive step back.

Good. They should.

I emerge next, and I take my time about it. Presentation matters. I've spent twenty-four years with nothing but my face and my charm, and I've learned exactly how to deploy both.

The emerald doublet clings to my frame as I descend with grace. I let my gaze sweep the crowd, casual, unhurried, and catch a countess staring. I give her the smallest quirk of my lips. Nothing overt. Just enough.

She fans herself frantically.

Still got it.

Bastard has somehow made it onto my shoulder. He surveys the crowd with obvious disdain, already selecting targets.

"Behave," I say.

His answering honk suggests he will do no such thing.

And then there's Wreck.

My youngest brother doesn't step out of the carriage so much as he materializes, landing in a crouch that makes his blood-red coat flare dramatically. He straightens with a grin that's sixty percent charm and forty percent "I will absolutely bite you if provoked."

Susan's small furry head pokes out of his left pocket. Gerald's appears from the right. Both ferrets scan the crowd, cataloguing valuables.

"Remember," Wreck whispers to them, "steal from the rich, avoid the guards, and if anyone tries to touch you, go for the fingers."

Susan chitters affirmatively. Gerald has already spotted a diamond brooch across the courtyard and is vibrating with intent.

The three of us stand together at the base of the steps. A wall of well-dressed disaster. Each radiating a completely different flavor of "your father would hate me."

"Everyone ready?" Ash asks, voice low.

"Born ready," I drawl.

"I've never been ready for anything in my life and it's never stopped me," Wreck adds cheerfully.

We climb the steps.

Inside, the Grand Ballroom is everything the farm isn't. Crystal chandeliers drip light over a sea of silk and velvet. An orchestra saws away at something trying very hard to be romantic. Noble egos pack the room so thick you could choke on them.

The music doesn't exactly stop when we enter. But it definitely stumbles.

Heads turn. Whispers ripple. I catch fragments as we move through the crowd:

"Who are they?"

"No crest on the carriage."

"Three of them, all masked."

"The big one looks like he could snap Prince Theodoric in half."

"The one in green just smiled at me, and I think I'm pregnant."