8. The Morning After & The Royal Proclamation
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.
One ornate embroidered glove, clearly magical in origin, slightly singed at the edges where it rematerialized on the floor.
One ferret, currently trying to steal my earring.
"These," I announce, holding up the boot and glove while Gerald dangles from my earlobe, "are my clues. And I'm going to use them to find the three men who gave me the only satisfying sexual experience of my entire adult life."
Mira stares at the ferret. "Is that... is that a clue or a hostage?"
"Both. He belongs to one of them. The unhinged one." I pry Gerald off my ear and hold him up. He squirms, chitters rudely, and tries to bite my nose. "Charming, isn't he?"
"He bit six guards overnight. And the Archbishop. And possibly a visiting dignitary, but we're still investigating."
"He has good taste."
I tuck Gerald against my chest, where he immediately tries to steal the sheet wrapped around me. Little criminal. I respect it.
"Summon the royal scribe. I need to draft a proclamation."
"A... proclamation."
"Every eligible man in the kingdom will present himself for inspection. They will try on this boot. They will try on this glove. They will be assessed by this ferret. And then." I let my smile turn feral. "They will drop their trousers for my personal evaluation."
Mira's eye twitches. "My lady. You cannot include that in a royal proclamation."
"Watch me."
Twenty minutes later, I'm seated at my writing desk in a crimson dressing gown, Gerald perched on my shoulder like a very chaotic parrot, dictating to a scribe who is visibly considering a career change.
Aldous. That's his name. Middle-aged, thirty years of faithful service to the crown, probably thought he'd spend his twilight years documenting tax law and diplomatic treaties.
Poor bastard.
His quill trembles. His inkpot rattles. A single tear tracks down his cheek, though he'd never admit it.
"Read back what we have so far," I command.
Aldous clears his throat, voice cracking.
"By royal decree of Lady Cinder, First of Her Name, all eligible men within the kingdom shall present themselves at the castle for inspection.
They shall attempt to fit one." He swallows hard.
"Extremely large boot, size fourteen or greater.
They shall attempt to fit one ornate glove, left-handed, with silver embroidery.
They shall submit to assessment by one." His voice drops to a whisper. “Ferret of uncertain temperament.”
"Good so far. Continue."
"Those who pass these preliminary tests shall then..." Aldous' quill stops moving. He looks up at me with the haunted eyes of a man watching his dignity die. "My lady, I really must protest."
"Continue, Aldous."
"...shall then present their..." He makes a small, pained noise. "Their male member for visual inspection by Her Ladyship."
"Add 'and tactile assessment if necessary.'"
"My lady."
"Tactile. Assessment."
Aldous writes it down. A second tear joins the first.
I feel no remorse. This is important documentation.
"Now.." I lean back, absently stroking Gerald like a villain in a bad play. "We need to add the identifying features. So I can narrow down the candidates."
"Identifying features," Aldous repeats weakly. "Of... of the..."
"Cocks, Aldous. Yes. Three of them. All different. All magnificent."
I stare into the middle distance, letting myself remember.
The first one. Gods, the first one.
"The first was... substantial. The most substantial I've ever encountered." I close my eyes, savoring the memory. "Thick as my forearm."
"Please don't."
"With a slight upward curve. He was the largest of the three. The kind of size where you think 'this is going to hurt' and then it does but in the best possible way."
Aldous' quill is shaking so hard ink is splattering across the parchment. I don't care. This is vital information.
"The second was more elegant. Long, curved distinctly to the left, slimmer but with exceptional technique." I smile, remembering the way that curve hit spots I didn't know existed. "The owner of this one will have a silver tongue and a pretty face. Write that down. Silver tongue. Pretty face."
"My lady, this is not standard proclamation format."
"The third." I pause, a fond smile crossing my face.
The third. The chaotic one. The one whose ferret is currently trying to eat my hairpin.
"The third was... enthusiastic. Average size but curved uniquely, and attached to a man with absolutely no filter and the stamina of a teenager.
" I scratch behind Gerald's ear. "He'll be the one the ferret belongs to.
Write: 'If the ferret shows recognition, examine that man's cock for a distinctive curve and question him about his refractory period. '"
Aldous sets down his quill. "I've served this crown for thirty years."
"And you're doing beautifully."
"I translated diplomatic treaties. I recorded tax law. I documented the Great Peace Accord of…"
"Aldous."
"I was there when your father signed the Maritime Commerce Agreement, my lady. I have served with distinction and honor."
"ALDOUS."
He sniffles. "Yes, my lady?"
"Royal Herald Bartholomew will be reading this aloud in the Grand Hall in one hour. I need it finished, copied, and sealed. Can you do that for me?"
Aldous looks at the parchment. He looks at me. He looks at Gerald, who has stolen his backup quill and is trying to eat it. "I would like a raise," he says quietly.
"Done."
"And a week's leave after this is over."
"Two weeks."
"And access to the royal wine cellar."
"Unlimited access. Now finish the proclamation."
Aldous picks up his quill with the resigned air of a man who has seen too much and will see more still. "Where were we?"
"Refractory period."
"Ah yes. The refractory period." He begins writing again, tears flowing freely now. "How could I forget?"
One hour later, the Grand Hall is packed to the rafters.
Word spread through the castle like wildfire overnight. The lady was seen chasing three masked strangers through the corridors. The lady emerged from an antechamber looking like she'd been ravaged by wolves. The lady acquired a ferret of unknown origin.
The nobility want answers. They also want entertainment.
I intend to provide both.
Royal Herald Bartholomew stands at the front of the room, clutching the sealed proclamation with hands that tremble slightly. Bartholomew is sixty-three years old. He's announced births, deaths, wars, and peace treaties. He's read aloud the wedding vows of three generations of royals.
He is not prepared for this.
I watch from my throne, Gerald curled in my lap, the boot and glove displayed on velvet pillows beside me.
"My lords and ladies," Bartholomew begins, voice steady through decades of practice, "I bear a proclamation from Lady Cinder, First of Her Name."
He breaks the seal. Unrolls the parchment. Reads the first line to himself.
I watch his face go grey.
"Go on," I say sweetly. "The kingdom awaits."
Bartholomew swallows.
"By royal decree of Lady Cinder, First of Her Name, all eligible men within the kingdom shall present themselves at the castle for inspection."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. So far, so normal.
As he reads, more murmurs.
Boots? An unusual criterion, but acceptable.
He carries on.
There are a few confused looks. Two items? How peculiar.
"They shall submit to assessment by one," Bartholomew's voice wavers. "Ferret of uncertain temperament."
The hall erupts in whispers. I hold up Gerald, who hisses at the crowd like a tiny demon. Several nobles take a step back.
That's right. Fear the ferret.
"Those who pass these preliminary tests," Bartholomew continues, sweat breaking out on his brow, "shall then present their."
He coughs violently.
"Their male member for visual inspection by Her Ladyship."
Silence. Absolute, ringing silence.
Then chaos.
"She can't."
"Surely this is a jest."
"Did he say male member?"
"And tactile assessment if necessary!" Bartholomew shouts over the din, apparently committed to seeing this through to the bitter end.
"Identifying features to include: substantial girth, upward curve, left-leaning curvature, distinctive bend, and.
" He squints at the parchment. "The kind of size where you think this is going to hurt and then it does but in the best possible way. '"
Someone faints. Several others look like they want to.
I'm enjoying this immensely.
"Additional criteria!" Bartholomew is sweating through his formal robes now. "Silver tongue, pretty face, no filter, impressive stamina, and a refractory period that Her Ladyship describes as..." He closes his eyes. "Absolutely fucking legendary."
Baron Grimwald, somewhere in the middle of the crowd, has turned the color of curdled milk. His sons flank him, looking equally horrified.
Good. Let them squirm.
I stand, Gerald draped over my shoulder like a furry threat.
"To summarize," I announce, voice carrying over the stunned crowd, "last night I was fucked so thoroughly by three masked strangers that I’m actively restructuring my marriage criteria. They left behind a boot, a glove, and this ferret. I’m going to find them. And when I do, I’m going to marry all three of them, keep them in the royal bedchamber, and spend the rest of my life extremely satisfied. "
I smile sweetly.
"Testing begins at noon. Form an orderly line. And gentlemen?"
I hoist Gerald higher. He chitters menacingly.
"If the ferret bites you, you're eliminated. He knows his owner. And apparently, he holds grudges."
The hall dissolves into pandemonium.
Mira, standing discretely behind the throne, takes a long drink directly from a wine bottle she's no longer bothering to hide. "I don't get paid enough for this," she mutters.
Gerald steals the cork.
I scratch behind his ear, watching the chaos unfold with deep satisfaction.
Somewhere out there, three men are hiding. Three men who think they can fuck me senseless and then disappear into the night.
They're wrong. I'm coming for them.
And when I find them, they're never escaping me again.