Page 38 of Every Eligible Man

"Have we gotten to Grimwald's sons yet?" I ask.

"They've been... strategically positioned near the back of the line."

A slow smile spreads across my face. "Bring them forward. I want to watch them fail."

BARON GRIMWALD'S SONS: A SPECIAL PRESENTATION

This is going to be the highlight of my day.

Brant and Garrick are shoved forward by guards, looking significantly less smug than they did the night of the ball. Baron Grimwald trails behind them, sweating through his expensive doublet.

"My lady," the Baron simpers, bowing so low his nose nearly touches the floor, "surely my sons don't need to participate in this... this circus. They're nobility. They have dignity."

"Every eligible man," I say sweetly. "That's what the proclamation said. Are your sons not eligible? Are they not men?"

I widen my eyes with false innocence.

"Because if either of those things isn't true, I'm absolutely fascinated to hear why."

Brant steps forward first, chin raised in defiance. "Fine. But when I prove I'm the one you're looking for…"

"Boot."

He shoves his foot in.

It doesn’t fit.

My eyebrows rise before I can stop them. The crowd murmurs.

"Glove."

He jams his hand in. His fingers are too short. The glove flops past his fingertips like a sad, elegant windsock.

I've never seen anything so satisfying.

"My lady, perhaps if I stretched it."

"The glove is magical. It doesn't stretch. It fits who it's meant to fit." I smile. "And it's not meant to fit your stubby little fingers. Ferret."

Gerald is deposited in Brant's arms.

I hold my breath.

For one moment, nothing happens. Brant's smirk starts to solidify.

Then Gerald sinks his teeth into the soft flesh between Brant's thumb and forefinger, hard enough that I see blood.

Brant screams, a high, undignified shriek that echoes through the hall, and flings Gerald across the room. My ferret twists midair, lands on a chandelier, and hangs there hissing like a very small, very furry gargoyle of judgment.

That's my boy.

"The ferret has spoken," I say calmly. "You may leave without dropping your trousers. I've already heard enough about your... equipment... from the milkmaids."

Brant's face goes purple. "What did the milkmaids say?"

"Nothing you want repeated in front of the court. Next. Garrick. Your turn."

Garrick approaches with significantly less confidence. He's witnessed the ear attack at the proclamation. He's witnessed the hand attack just now. He's rethinking his entire existence.