The ring was a heavy silver octagonal, not perfectly round, as if it molded to all the fingers it had encircled. It was actually a very plain, almost mannish-looking ring. Inside there were words carved, in an ancient form of Gaelic, too old for me to read, but I knew translated to read, “Insert.”I think LKH thinks in phallic objects.
It takes three kindle pages and much cajoling from the men to get Merry to put the damn thing on. See, this is why it's bad to start a book without a plot. You have to waste time on this shit.
So the ring will spark with whomever is Merry's True Soul Mate, and the men start fighting over who gets to be the first. And of course Frost pulls rank. Because that's what poly is all about--positioning and power plays and wait a minute nope, that's what abusive relationships are about. I was under the impression that a good poly relationship makes everybody happy--guys and gals.
So Frost and Merry touch each other and have orgasms. And while that's basically what happens whenever Merry touches anybody, this time it's special because the ring did it as opposed to something else.
So Rhys goes next, and then we stop this process cold to recap that Prince Cel is being tortured with a magical potion of sex for six months, four of which are already gone. And we have to establish that the tabloids are going nuts over everything having to do with Merry, which I actually buy (to a point) because the sex contest thing is pretty much common knowledge.
Galen next. And it's electric. Literally. As a bonus, it produces the first legitimately funny line in the whole novel:
I made a mental note. Even if I didn’t like electricity as foreplay, if some of the men did, then things could be worked out.God this could have been such a good book. If, you know, there were an actual plot.
They dwell on the electricity thing for a while, thus draining it of all possible amusement. Kind of amazing how LKH manages to steal every bit of value from her legitimately good writing moments.
The chapter closes with everyone giggling over a Frankenstine joke, save for Frost, who doesn't get it.