Page 40 of Every Eligible Man

Search: continuing tomorrow

Wine supply: dangerously low

Ferret: still a menace

Mysterious strangers: still at large

Likelihood of Cinder burning down kingdom to find them: high

She's not wrong.

DAY TWO: THE SCOPE EXPANDS

I take the search on the road.

The royal carriage, a proper one, not a hay wagon held together by spite and ferret magic, becomes my war room. Gerald rides on my shoulder like the tiny general he is. The boot and glove sit on velvet cushions, guarded by Mira, who has graduated from wine bottles to a small personal cask.

I respect her coping mechanisms.

Village after village. Farm after farm. Every man between eighteen and sixty dragged out for inspection.

In the village of Millbrook, I find a man whose foot fits the boot.

His cock curves downward.

"That's not a curve," I say, staring at it with a mixture of fascination and horror. "That's a droop. That's geometrically the opposite of what I'm looking for."

"My wife has never complained."

"Your wife is either lying or has never experienced anything better. Next."

In the village of Thornfield, I find a man whose hand fits the glove perfectly.

Gerald bites him so hard the man passes out cold.

I step over his unconscious body. "Still not him. Next."

In the village of Ashwick, I find a man who claims to have a refractory period of ninety seconds.

My heart actually skips.

"Prove it," I demand.

He blanches. "...here? In the village square?"

"Do you want to be a prince consort or don't you?"

He tries.

He cannot, in fact, prove it.

"Performance anxiety," he stammers.

"Performance lying," I correct. "Next."

DAY THREE: MORALE IS LOW

Eight hundred and forty-seven.