How to Poison Your Husband [COMPLETE! Cozy Romantasy With A Dash Of Murder]

Step 5a: Hit the gym...

Ivelle had a new agenda.

She dubbed it Operation: turn Eirifold into a nice, sober, hot prince worthy of Lillian's love, one who the lady would not need to poison.

Operation: hot prince for short.

They were on a tight timeline.

Only three weeks remained until the wedding.

Three short weeks to reinvent Prince Eirifold's image and turn him into the man of Lillian's dreams.

The shocking part was, Eirifold seemed inclined to go along with Ivelle's midnight exercise routine. Jogging, however, was the limit of his capabilities. He stared at her piteously when she announced they were doing push-ups, and after the fourth one, he flopped face first to the ground and lay there like a dead fish until Ivelle was forced to prod him with her toe.

"You'll never get buff with that attitude."

"Mrhfjdkdnf."

Ivelle lowered her face to the level of his head, still planted in the dirt on the edge of the practice courts. "What was that?"

He lifted his head up and glowered. "I said, I don't understand this obsession with turning me buff."

"Exercise is good for your body and mind. You're getting married in three weeks. You should show Lillian your best self."

"Lillian won't care what side I show her." He waved a pathetic hand. "She'll still hate me, regardless of my appearance or mental aptitude."

"You never know until you try." Ivelle scowled. "If you won't do it for your new wife, at least do it for yourself."

She had thought Eirifold might ignore her, but to her surprise, he stumbled to his feet with an aggrieved sigh. "How are you so strong, anyway?"

Ivelle shrugged and flexed her shoulders, not really wanting to go into her failed carpentry business. "Thieves have to be strong. How do you think I make quick escapes? Now, get back to push-ups. I want to see you do at least twenty before we call it a night."

"Are you trying to kill me?"

It was nearly dawn when Ivelle finally finished putting Eirifold through his paces. By then, the prince was so noodly with exhaustion, she feared he might collapse on the way back to his rooms.

Ivelle was equally tired. She stumbled back to her room, almost tripping over the massive pile of dog turds that had materialized in her doorway once again. Resolving to deal with it in the morning, she skirted past it and unlocked the door.

She walked into the bedroom to the sight of Ash having a nightmare.

His small body whimpered and twitched from his perch at the foot of the bed. "No," he muttered. "No, no..."

"Ash?" Ivelle called. "Ash!"

She touched his head. This was a mistake. Ash flinched and recoiled, and his beak narrowly missed gouging a chunk out of her arm. One of his talons connected with her hand, drawing a gash across her skin.

"Fuck!"

The shout roused Ash from his nightmare. His dark eyes blinked. "I–Ivelle?"

"I'm right here," she said. "Are you okay? You went all–" she made a movement that was vaguely reminiscent of a crow having a panic attack "–for a minute."

"Just a dream," he muttered.

She tore a strip of cloth off her tunic and wrapped it around her hand. "You wanna tell me about it?"