Page 29 of Every Eligible Man

"Language, Susan."

We walk.

Three farm boys under the stars. Leaving behind a ruined lady, a confused court, and one extremely enterprising ferret who, at this very moment, is likely discovering that the crown jewels are surprisingly poorly guarded.

Gerald is going to be just fine.

And so are we.

Probably.

The Morning After & The Royal Proclamation

Cinder

Sunlight stabs through the tall windows of my bedchamber like it has a personal vendetta.

I wake up sore in places I didn't know could be sore, sticky in places I should probably be embarrassed about, and grinning like an absolute lunatic.

Best. Night. Ever.

I stretch, wincing happily at the deep ache between my thighs, the bruises on my hips, the bite marks trailing down my neck and across my breasts. My body is a roadmap of debauchery and I want to frame it.

Something chitters from the vicinity of my jewelry box.

I turn my head. Two beady black eyes stare back at me from inside a nest made of pearls, loose diamonds, and what appears to be the Archbishop's missing cufflinks.

Right. The ferret, Gerald, who has apparently spent the night on a crime spree. My vanity is in shambles. Three necklaces have been dragged under the bed. A golden hairpin is lodged in the curtains for reasons I cannot fathom. And there's a distinct bite-shaped hole in one of my formal gloves.

The ferret yawns, showing tiny sharp teeth, and goes back to rearranging his pearl nest.

I should be furious. This creature has destroyed my jewelry collection and terrorized my staff.

Instead, I feel a strange kinship. We're both chaotic. We both take what we want. We both spent last night acquiring things we probably shouldn't have.

"My lady?" Mira's voice comes through the door, sounding like a woman who has not slept and has consumed her body weight in wine to cope. "Are you... alive?"

"Alive and excellent. Come in."

Mira enters looking like death in a lady's maid costume. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her hair is escaping its pins. She's clutching a tea tray with the desperate grip of someone holding onto their last shred of sanity.

"The court is assembled," she says flatly. "They've been assembled since dawn. There are... concerns."

"I'm sure there are."

"There are rumors that you were defiled by three masked strangers in the east antechamber."

I sit up, letting the sheet fall, completely unbothered by my nudity or the impressive collection of hickeys on display.

"Defiled is such an ugly word." I examine a particularly spectacular bruise on my hip, shaped exactly like a large, callused hand. "I was thoroughly, comprehensively, magnificently fucked by three masked strangers in the east antechamber. There's a difference."

Mira closes her eyes. "I'm going to need more wine."

"Later. First, we have work to do."

I swing my legs out of bed, wincing happily again at the ache. I cross to my vanity, stepping over a trail of stolen jewelry, and pick up the three items I collected from the wreckage of my evening.

One massive boot, mud-caked, size fourteen at minimum.