Page 64 of Every Eligible Man

"What list?"

"The list of things we've destroyed during sex! The antechamber table, the carriage suspension, now the altar."

"That's not a list to be proud of."

"It's absolutely a list to be proud of!"

The rats have begun a triumphant chant.

"Broke the altar! Broke the altar!"

"On their wedding! On their wedding!"

I come so hard I see stars, clenching around both husbands while the third spills down my throat. The orgasm rips through me, magnified by the chaos, the destruction, the sheer absurdity of my life.

This is my marriage now.

This is my life now.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

Later, much later, we lie in the wreckage of what was once a sacred altar, breathing hard, thoroughly satisfied, and covered in splinters.

"We should probably clean this up," Slade says.

"Later."

"The reception guests are waiting."

"Later."

"The kingdom expects..."

"The kingdom can wait."

I'm sprawled across Ash's chest, Slade curled against my back, Wreck draped across all of us like a human blanket. Gerald and Susan have nested in the remains of the altar flowers. Bastard is standing guard over our pile of satisfaction, honking softly at anyone who approaches the door.

The rats are recounting the events to an audience of exactly no one.

"And then the third leg gave out."

"It was magnificent."

"I've never been prouder to be a rat."

One-Eye lands on a nearby pew, looking approximately one thousand years old.

"I have witnessed many things in my long life," he says slowly. "Wars. Plagues. The rise and fall of kingdoms. But nothing has been as exhausting as the past week with you four."

"We're charming," Wreck says.

"You're disasters."

"Charming disasters."

"That's not." One-Eye pauses. Considers. "That's actually accurate. I hate that it's accurate."

I reach up and pat his feathered head. He allows it, which might be the most romantic gesture I've received all day.