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

Step 10a: If you manage to escape...

A tear slid down Ivelle's cheek, and then another, and another. They dripped off her chin to leave small, dark spots on the embroidered stags on Eirifold's comforter. Some of her tears were also splashing onto Eirifold's face, but it didn't matter. How could it matter, when Eirifold was dead?

First Lillian's betrayal, then her mother's duplicity, and now... this.

It was all so awful.

She didn't know how much more loss she could take.

Ivelle slumped on the floor next to Eirifold's bed. Her face came to rest against his hand, and without thinking she brushed her lips against his fingers. His skin beneath her lips was ice-cold, as though he'd been dead for hours.

She had no doubt his death was Lillian's fault. Perhaps Lillian had convinced the council to change the woman-can't-be-queen law while Ivelle was asleep, then re-dosed Eirifold with poison. Or perhaps she'd simply got the dose wrong when she'd poisoned Eirifold during the wedding. In the end, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Eirifold didn't deserve this. He might have been an idiot, a royal pain in the ass, but he didn't deserve to die—not when things were finally looking up for him. Not when he'd just now begun to turn his life around.

Sobs racked her body—ugly, choking sobs that made her shoulders shudder. She knew at some point she'd have to leave Eirifold, collect Ash, and escape this awful palace, but she couldn't force her traitorous limbs to move.

She didn't know how long she huddled, sniffling into Eirifold's comforter. Only that one minute, Eirifold's chilly hand was pressed against her cheek, and the next minute it was moving, coming up to stroke her hair in a way that seemed vaguely confused.

"Ivelle? ...Are you okay?"

Her eyes snapped open.

"Eirifold!"

She hurled herself at him.

"Oomph!" he grunted.

"Sorry—I'm so sorry!"

He sat up with a wince. "Where am I? What happened? ...Why are you crying?"

"I'm not." Relief swamped her, mixed with a sudden, overwhelming joy. "Okay, I am," she sniffled. "But my tears are justified! I thought you were dead!"

"You did?" He blinked in bewilderment. "Seems like I missed a few things while I was asleep."

She huffed a wet laugh. "You can say that again! You've been out for awhile. Lillian tried to poison you. And, um—I'm afraid she succeeded—and on top of that, she had the audacity to pin the blame on me and Mariel! But—"

Ivelle's mind raced. The 'poison' Eirifold had ingested must have been the Sleeping Beauty potion. People dosed with the Sleeping Beauty potion went into a state of suspended animation, a state where they looked—by all outward appearances—to be dead. The only thing that could rouse someone who'd been dosed with a Sleeping Beauty potion was a kiss... which Ivelle had inadvertently done when she brushed her lips against Eirifold's hand...

Heat rose to her face. The Sleeping Beauty potion only worked if the kisser loved the person who'd been poisoned. It didn't have to be a romantic love. Platonic love worked just as well, and a concerned peck from a crow would suffice. (She should know. Her mum had been fond of punishing her with the potion, and Ash had woken her up many times when they were kids.)

But she didn't think the word "platonic" applied to this scenario.

She was hyper-aware of the way Eirifold's heart was beating beneath her hand, of his muscles beneath the thin fabric that separated them—far more toned since they had started his exercise routine. The scent of cedarwood hung on the air, his scent, overpowering the faint smell of antiseptic still drifting through the room. She took her hand off his shirt hurriedly, but her palm still tingled with lingering warmth.