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

Step 9b: ...but if you do, have an escape plan ready

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Ivelle stormed across her cell, fighting the urge to slam her head against the bars. She didn't know who she hated more: Lillian, for stabbing her in the back, or herself, for allowing her back to be (metaphorically) stabbed.

How had she not seen the signs? Lillian's deceit was obvious when she reviewed the events of the past month. Her unusual interest in poisons. Her offer to keep Ivelle's potions in the secret compartment in her room. Her insistence that Ivelle come to the palace and take the role of jester, where Ivelle would be primely positioned to shoulder the blame for the king's death...

Ivelle had been played.

From the very beginning.

Ivelle smacked her fist against the wall. Far from making her feel better, this only caused her knuckles to explode with pain.

"AUGHHHH!"

"Keep shouting like that. Who knows?" In the adjacent cell, Mariel tossed a pebble moodily against the wall. "Maybe if you scream loud enough, you'll rouse Eirifold from his coma and spark a rescue mission."

Ivelle shot her a dirty glare. "I was just taking a few minutes to wallow in self-loathing before I become a functional human again... Do you mind?"

Mariel shrugged. "In your position, I wouldn't just be screaming. I'd probably chuck myself out the nearest window. At least Lillian has good reason to want me gone, but you? I don't think I've ever seen someone get so badly betrayed by someone they considered a friend."

Wow. Ivelle glowered at her. "Are you sure you and Lillian aren't related? You've both got the heartless act down pat."

"We are definitely not related." Mariel leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. "If it makes you feel better, you're not the only one she's hoodwinked. Let me guess: was it her innocent, fragile Lillian act? Poor Lillian, whose brother was killed by the king, who was forced from her homeland and cruelly betrothed to Prince Eirifold? I won't deny she's been through some trauma. But she's not the soft, helpless girl she pretends to b—"

The creak of hinges cut her off.

"Speak of the Devil," Mariel muttered.

Lillian strode into the dungeon, trailed by two guards. Despite the chaos of the last two hours, she looked every inch the perfect lady, hair still coiffed in an intricate knot that gleamed with diamonds, wedding gown draped in perfect folds around her waist. Kohl smudged the space beneath her lashes, as though she had recently been crying, but this only added to the impression of a beautiful lady doing her best to hold herself together.

"Leave us," she told the guards.

The moment the men were gone, Lillian approached Ivelle, her eyes wide with concern. "Ivelle, are you all right? I know you've had a terrible shock today. Don't worry—I'll get you out of here soon."

"Drop the innocent act," Mariel snapped. "You're not fooling anyone. We both know you framed us!"

"Framed?" Lillian's mouth opened delicately. "I don't know what you—"

"Stop," Ivelle said. "Just... stop. Please."

"Fine."

It was like watching an octopus change color, the rapidity with which Lillian's expression morphed. Her kind eyes turned icy, her lips thinned into a smile, and the hands she'd been wringing in consternation went eerily still at her sides.

"I framed you both," said Lillian sweetly. "I'm a villainess with a passion for vengeance whose sole goal in life is to be queen and to watch Estrella burn. There, Mariel. Are you happy now?"