Page 33 of Every Eligible Man

Someone faints. Several others look like they want to.

I'm enjoying this immensely.

"Additional criteria!" Bartholomew is sweating through his formal robes now. "Silver tongue, pretty face, no filter, impressive stamina, and a refractory period that Her Ladyship describes as..." He closes his eyes. "Absolutely fucking legendary."

Baron Grimwald, somewhere in the middle of the crowd, has turned the color of curdled milk. His sons flank him, looking equally horrified.

Good. Let them squirm.

I stand, Gerald draped over my shoulder like a furry threat.

"To summarize," I announce, voice carrying over the stunned crowd, "last night I was fucked so thoroughly by three masked strangers that I’m actively restructuring my marriage criteria. They left behind a boot, a glove, and this ferret. I’m going to find them. And when I do, I’m going to marry all three of them, keep them in the royal bedchamber, and spend the rest of my life extremely satisfied."

I smile sweetly.

"Testing begins at noon. Form an orderly line. And gentlemen?"

I hoist Gerald higher. He chitters menacingly.

"If the ferret bites you, you're eliminated. He knows his owner. And apparently, he holds grudges."

The hall dissolves into pandemonium.

Mira, standing discretely behind the throne, takes a long drink directly from a wine bottle she's no longer bothering to hide. "I don't get paid enough for this," she mutters.

Gerald steals the cork.

I scratch behind his ear, watching the chaos unfold with deep satisfaction.

Somewhere out there, three men are hiding. Three men who think they can fuck me senseless and then disappear into the night.

They're wrong. I'm coming for them.

And when I find them, they're never escaping me again.

The Inspections (A Montage of Horrors)

Cinder

The line stretches out the castle doors, down the steps, across the courtyard, through the main gate, and approximately halfway to the neighboring kingdom.

Good. Let them come. Let them all come.

I sit on my throne, flanked by my Three Items of Identification: the massive boot on my left, the ornate glove on my right, and Gerald on my lap, vibrating with barely contained violence.

I've only had this little demon for twelve hours and already I understand him on a spiritual level.

We're both ready to bite someone.

Mira stands behind me clutching a wine bottle in one hand and a quill in the other. She's been assigned to keep a tally. I haven't warned her what she'll be tallying. Honestly, watching her slow descent into madness is the only thing keeping me sane.

"First candidate," the herald announces.

I check the clock. 12:04 PM.

Gods give me strength.

A young lord struts forward with the confidence of a man who’s never been told no in his life. Chest puffed, chin raised, swagger suggesting he genuinely believes he's about to win the lady lottery.