Page 5 of Every Eligible Man

Bastard honks emphatically. Even Susan and Gerald pause their chaos to chitter in what sounds like agreement.

I dump the last wheelbarrow of muck, lean the shovel against the barn, and strip off my tunic to rinse at the pump. Water sluices over my chest, cold and bracing. I let myself imagine it, just for a second. Walking into that ball. Being seen as something other than a servant. Finding a woman who wants what I could give her.

A woman who wants to be handled. Claimed. Ruined.

Slade wanders over, arms crossed, a dangerous glint in his eye. "You're thinking what I'm thinking."

"That the lady deserves better than those two useless sacks of silk?" I grab a rag, drying off. "Yeah. But we've got no invitation, no clothes, and no way in."

"About that," One-Eye croaks, gliding down to land on the fence post.

His voice carries the weight of someone about to make a decision he’ll deeply regret.

"I've been... collecting things. From the old witch's grave beyond the creek. Shiny things. Magical things." He ruffles his feathers, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Been saving them for an emergency."

Wreck drops the rest of the way from the roof, landing in a crouch that makes both ferrets shriek with excitement. "Define 'magical things.'"

"Things that could, theoretically, transform three mud-covered disasters into something presentable. Clothes. Carriage. The works." One-Eye's good eye fixes on us with weary resignation. "Midnight curfew. Standard fairy-tale fine print. One night only. After that, everything turns back to shit. Probably literally, knowing your luck."

The rats erupt into cheers. Bastard flaps his wings triumphantly. Susan and Gerald do a ferret war dance of such intensity that Gerald falls off Wreck's shoulder.

I look at my brothers, my real family, forged in shit and suffering and spite. Then at the animals who’ve stuck with us through everything. Then at the distant castle lights glittering on the horizon.

Something is building in my chest. Something that feels dangerously like hope.

"Three princes crashing the kingdom's most exclusive party," Slade says slowly, that wicked smile sharpening. "With magic clothes and no noble blood..."

"To compete for a lady who's explicitly tired of limp-dicked disappointments," Wreck adds, eyes gleaming.

"And we're all that's standing between her and a lifetime of mediocre sex," I finish.

The rats start chanting. Bastard honks victoriously. Susan and Gerald steal One-Eye's shiniest feather and run.

One-Eye sighs the sigh of a creature who knows, deep in his ancient bones, that this is going to be the most exhausting night of his very long life.

"Three of them," he says. "The witch's magic is strong, but I don't know if it's stupid enough for three of them."

I’ve made my decision.

The Glow-Up

WRECK

The barn smells like hay, shit, and whatever Susan and Gerald have been hoarding in the walls for the last six months.

I don't ask what they hoard. I never ask. The tooth situation taught me that some mysteries are better left unsolved.

All three of us stand in the middle of the dirt floor in various states of undress while our respective animal companions lose their collective minds around us. This is, without question, the most exciting thing that's happened since Gerald bit the tax collector last spring.

"Alright, ground rules," One-Eye announces from the highest rafter. He spreads his wings like a preacher addressing his very disappointing congregation. "I've got enough magic for one transformation each. Clothes, carriage, horses, the works. Midnight and it all turns back to shit. You lose a shoe, you lose your dignity, you get caught balls-deep in the lady when the clock strikes twelve, not my problem. Questions?"

I have a question. It's a good question. Possibly the most important question anyone has ever asked.

"Yeah. What happens if we're all balls-deep in the lady at midnight? Like, logistically."

"I'm going to fly directly into the sun," One-Eye says flatly. "Any other questions?"

No one has any other questions.