Step 4a: Avoid feeling sorry for your target at all costs

Shit. Shitty Mc-shit-shit!

There was no time to get Ash. Ivelle nodded meekly. "Did His Highness say what he wanted?"

"Your presence. In his gardens. Right now." The guard shrugged apologetically. "Wish I could give you more info, but he started going on about tiny hats and became rather hard to understand after that."

"Right."

Ivelle steeled her spine.

It was going to be fine. She hadn't done anything wrong.

Well... except for physically and verbally assaulting the prince of Estrella yesterday.

But he probably didn't remember it.

... right?

So absorbed was Ivelle in her thoughts, she initially didn't notice the sheer amount of noise pervading the royal wing. But as the guards led her deeper into the royal quarters, a few sounds became impossible to ignore. Specifically the sound of two people – one male and one female – who seemed to be having far too good a time for ten AM on a Thursday.

"OH, SNUGGLEPIE!"

"OH, HONEY-BOO-BOO!"

"SPANK ME HARDER!"

"YES, MY SUGARPUFF!"

Ivelle was no expert at identifying voices, but the excessively macho baritone of King Gorhan was unmistakable.

Bloody Hell.

Ivelle cringed and fought the urge to cover her ears. Judging by the way the guards around her were speeding up, they were probably fighting the same inner battle.

As they neared the gardens, the sounds of shagging were replaced by a new set of (decidedly less happy) voices. Ivelle instantly recognized the annoyed, impatient tones of the Prince of Estrella. The other voice was unfamiliar, but there was an ingenuine sweetness to it that made Ivelle's scalp prickle.

It wasn't until she rounded the corner and an immaculate woman in a stately dress came into view that Ivelle realized the second speaker was the queen.

"...don't know how the thief managed to do away with the guards in your garden yesterday, sweetie. My men are still investigating the egregious lapse in protocol. Don't worry, I will ensure those responsible are dealt with. We cannot have useless men serving as your protectors."

Ivelle hadn't paid much attention to Queen Ysette the night before. She had faded into the background against the overbearing toxic masculinity of the Estrellan king. An almost ethereal beauty hung about her slight frame, but in the sunlight, she looked wan, as though years spent indoors had leached the color from her skin.

"Whatever," Eirifold was saying. "I don't know why you insist on beheading all the guards every time something goes wrong. If you just kept the same ones alive and gave them a good talking to, they might have a chance to learn from their mistakes. Instead, it's just a constant churn of incompetents parading through the palace, day in and day out." He caught sight of Ivelle and his face brightened. "Ah! Jester! There you are."

Annoyance flashed across the queen's face. "Sweetie, why is the court jester here right now? It's only ten in the morning. Shouldn't you be attending to your studies?"

"Sorry, Mother. I think it best that I get started on my debauchery and revelry as early as possible today. After all, I can't disappoint all the servants who expect me to push them out windows, can I? Perhaps you should go bother Father; I think he's forgotten he has a council meeting to attend."

The queen did not look happy. Her brows drew together, and her mouth thinned into a line. A chill entered the air, and for a moment, Ivelle wondered if the queen might actually slap the prince.

The feeling vanished, so fast Ivelle wondered if she had imagined it. A blank look settled over the queen's face. "Very well," she said stiffly.

She stalked away, down the path back toward the royal quarters. Once she was out of earshot, Eirifold waved at his guards. "Go away," he drawled. "Give us some privacy. Go on. Shoo!"

He turned back to Ivelle.

"You forgot to bring your crow again."

He looked... more sober than he had the day before. This was, perhaps, a low bar. His eyes were still bloodshot, and his red glasses still clashed horribly with his gold vest and tunic. His eyes glinted with wicked humor as he studied her.

"I suppose he must still have the runs," he continued. "Either that or you were afraid I'd be so enamored of him and his tiny hat that I'd separate the two of you. I suppose it's reasonable you'd be protective, since he's the only one who would cry for you if you died." He paused and then added thoughtfully, "Can crows even cry?"

So he remembered their conversation last night.

Fuck.

Ivelle suppressed the knot of terror coiling in her gut. She had a vague feeling she ought to be throwing herself to the ground and begging for mercy.

But she had never been good at groveling.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. "And just so you know, if you attempt to bite me again, I swear to God–"

There was a cough and a faint rustle from the direction of the hedges. Ivelle frowned.

Prince Eirifold rolled his eyes. "You there!" he barked. "Behind the bushes! In the uniform! Come out where I can see you!"

Trembling, a guard sidled out from behind the nearest bush.

"Your mother ordered me to not let you out of earshot during these dangerous times, my prince. S-she was worried the thief might return." His voice shook. "Please forgive me."

Eirifold pinched the bridge of his nose. "You may tell my mother you faithfully spied on my entire conversation, which was mostly comprised of me scolding the jester for her subpar jests. Now, be a good man and go stand over there past the burbling brook, out of earshot, please and thank you."

With a last, terrified glance toward Prince Eirifold and Ivelle, the man obeyed.

"Guards," Eirifold sighed. "They are the bane of my existence. They hover like hummingbirds when you least want them around, and they're nowhere to be found when you're being brutally attacked and strangled."

Ivelle's jaw dropped in indignation. "I didn't strangle–"

He waved a dismissive hand. "I didn't bring you here to rehash the events of last night. No..." He leaned across the table, his lips curving into a triumphant smile. "I called you here because I know your secret."

Ivelle tried her best to keep her face neutral, even though her heart was pounding. She suddenly wished she hadn't left her pack of Invisibility chewing gum in her bedroom. "And what secret would that be?"

"Sit down," said Eirifold, beckoning her closer. "You're so far away, and there's a chance more guards could be hiding in the bushes listening to you shout at me from across the garden."

Ivelle sidled into the nearest chair at the garden table, trying to keep as much distance between herself and Eirifold as possible. "Well?" she said in a quieter voice. "What secret?"

"You know..." A smirk crossed his face. "The real reason you were in the royal suite last night. How you put all the guards to sleep and tried to sneak into the royal treasury.

"Don't worry," he continued, as Ivelle stared at him in consternation. "I don't care about the stealing. Steal away! We hoard too much stuff in that treasury anyway. Better for it to be out in the public domain, being enjoyed. But next time you feel that kleptomaniac itch in your fingertips, I'd prefer you ask me to send the guards away and let me take the blame instead of bespelling all the guards and causing a ruckus. Mother seems quite intent on executing them all for negligence, and it's quite troublesome to always have to be finding new guards." He raised an eyebrow. "So what do you say? Are we in agreement?"

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Ivelle found herself speechless. Somehow, despite knowing he was insane, the things that came out of the prince's mouth continued to surprise her.

She opened her mouth to deny his accusations – then hesitated.

If she told him she wasn't the thief, he might ask her to explain why she'd actually been in the garden. "I was trying to steal money you don't seem to care about" was definitely a better alibi than "I was trying to figure out how to poison you and make it look like an accident."

So she gave a slight shrug – casual, as though his offer was the sort of offer sane princes made all the time. "I'll consider it."

"Excellent!" The prince steepled his hands together. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, there was something else I wanted to chat with you about." His red spectacles had slipped down his nose, and his brown eyes studied her piercingly. "Last night, you said I was high on drugs."

"'Cause you were," Ivelle said, before she could stop herself.

He leaned closer. "Am I on drugs right now?"

Ivelle, who had been wondering the same thing, peered into his eyes – not particularly dilated – and sniffed his breath. The innocent smell of mint toothpaste and cedarwood met her nose. Suddenly realizing how close she had gotten to his face, she drew back hurriedly. "Um, I don't think so? You tell me!"

He crossed his arms thoughtfully. "How did you know I was drugged last night?"

"Your breath smelled like mandragar and your pupils were dilated and you were acting like a total loon."

He had tasted like it too.

But she wasn't going to say that.

She would've died before she said that.

He laughed. It was not a very amused-sounding laugh. As a matter of fact, it sounded almost... pained.

"The funny thing is..." He leaned toward her. "...I don't remember taking any drugs last night. So either you drugged me... along with those guards, or someone else did."

"OR, more likely, you drugged yourself and just don't remember doing it," Ivelle huffed. "Mandragar in high doses makes you forget things–"

Ivelle broke off. Something her mom had once told her floated to the surface of her mind.

Taken once, in isolation, mandragar should induce forgetfulness and sleep in the user. It was distilled from the tears of wood fae, who had a particular skill with mind magic, sleep, and forgetting.

But if the user had been taking mandragar every day for long periods – for instance, to help them fall asleep at night... or if an evil villainess like Ivelle's mother was dosing them daily to make them compliant – they might build up tolerance to its memory effects. It would still make them loopy and tired, but their memory would be preserved.

Could that be why Eirifold remembered everything from last night?

Because he'd been taking it every day?

If he was taking it every day, though, shouldn't he remember taking it?

Unless he was taking it while he was blackout drunk from his drinking problem...

Ivelle realized Eirifold was looking at her as though expecting a response. "Sorry," she said. "I zoned out for a second. Did you say something important?"

His mouth opened indignantly. Ivelle wondered if anyone had ever ignored the words coming out of his mouth before.

"I said," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, as though talking to a child. "That yes, I drink alcohol. Sometimes, I drink way too much alcohol. But to my knowledge, I've never deliberately tried taking anything else. So I think someone must have drugged me somehow. And, since I've been feeling... not myself... for months now, I wonder if they've been drugging me for a while."

Ivelle was starting to wonder the same thing, but she couldn't resist the opportunity to give him shit after everything he'd put her through. "Yeahhhh... I've heard that before. Good talk, but you can't go blaming other people for your problems. Have you considered a detox program?"

His lips thinned into a line. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to get angry, or (gods forbid) call for his guards to take her to prison again, but then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay, let's back up." He rubbed his forehead. "Suppose, hypothetically, some nefarious person in my life – we won't name names – has been dosing me with mandragar over the last few months without my knowing. How would they do it? My food gets tasted by an entourage of food tasters, and none of them have gotten sick or loopy. You seem to know quite a bit about this drug. How did your friends who got high on mandragar take it?"

"They weren't my friends," Ivelle said, and then mentally kicked herself. Way to practically tell him they were your victims. Well, your mum's victims, but he probably won't split hairs. "It was usually a nasal spray," she went on hurriedly. "Just a few spritzes were enough to make them loopy. A few more and they'd be... well, asleep."

He stared at her, mouth open.

Ivelle was struck by the horror in his eyes.

"Let me guess," said Ivelle. "You got a new nasal spray a few months ago."

"I have horrible allergies," said the prince faintly. "... Oh, bloody hell."

He scrunched up his eyes, then buried his face in his hands. The expression on his face confused her. It looked like the expression of a man who wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry.

"The pollen this month is dreadful," he mumbled. "I really don't want to have to give up my nasal spray."

Ivelle felt vaguely at a loss. It wasn't often she saw a man have a complete breakdown over drugged nasal spray.

"Okay," she said hurriedly, "It's all going to be okay, you know. Your current bottle of nasal spray might be drugged, but I'm one hundred percent sure we can find some form of fluticasone that doesn't have any mandragar mixed in. It's available at, like, every major drugstore in the city. Even pet dogs take it."

The prince nodded.

But he still had a lost look about him, as though his worst fears had just been confirmed and he wasn't quite sure what to do next.

Damn. Either he was a really good actor (possible), or he'd put mandragar in his own nasal spray one night when he was blackout drunk (Ivelle wasn't giving up on this theory), or (Ivelle still couldn't believe she was considering this)... he was actually telling the truth and someone had been drugging him for months against his will.

Ivelle felt a twinge of something in her chest.

A twinge of something suspiciously like...

Ohhhh no! Ohhh no, no, no. Stop it right there! He's a noble. A no-good, rotten Shitty McShitFace who's had every aspect of his life handed to him on a silver platter. You are not seriously going to start feeling pity for this man! Drugged or not, he still pushed poor Wilfred down the stairs. And the previous jester out a window. And threw hot tea in some poor servant's face. And the baby tigers! How could you forget the baby tigers?

Ivelle cleared her throat. "If that's all you wanted to discuss, am I free to go now? Not all of us can afford to lounge about drinking wine and pushing servants out of windows all day." She knew she was being rude, but she didn't care. Better to have the prince hate her than to start feeling sorry for him.

He shot her a disgruntled look through his fingers. "Give me a moment. I just found out someone has been drugging me for months; I'm still processing here."

"Well, can you process any faster? My crow is probably worried about me, and frankly, I don't really care about your mandragar problem. You probably deserved it."

A scowl darkened his face.

"I told you yesterday that you were cold," he said reproachfully. "Well, I retract that statement. You're not just cold, you're the whole bloody Arctic."

Relief filled her. She wasn't sure what she would have done if he'd continued to look like a puppy that had just been kicked. "I'm flattered," she said archly. "It's always been my dream to have an army of penguins."

"Indeed. Will you be purchasing it with the pile of gold you intend to steal from the Royal Treasury, I wonder?"

Before she had registered what he was doing, he reached across the narrow table that separated them and grabbed her wrist.

"Actually." He smiled thinly. "I've changed my mind. I'm not just going to let you waltz in and out of the treasury as you please. In exchange for my help and for me not telling everyone about your thieving ways, I need you to do a few things for me."

Ivelle clenched her teeth. "A few things like what?"

"First." He held up one finger. "You will bring me some new nasal spray. Mandragar-less nasal spray. Keep in mind that I'm terribly suspicious by nature, and I will make you spray it in your own nose, so don't even think about poisoning it."

Ivelle waited. "Is that all?"

"No." He held up another finger. "Second... you have to come here whenever I summon you."

"I have to do that anyway. You're the prince of Estrella."

He ignored her. "Third... I want you to spy for me."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I need more eyes and ears in the palace. Especially now that my dear mother... in her infinite wisdom... has decided to execute all my guards. I want you to tell me what my sister's up to. Those are my conditions. In exchange, I'll keep silent about you stealing from the Royal Treasury. Do we have an agreement?"

Ivelle sucked in a breath.

On the one hand, spying on Princess Mariel seemed like risky business. Of all the royals she'd met thus far, the princess was probably the sole person who exuded the slightest hint of competence.

On the other, she probably wouldn't get a better opportunity to interact with Prince Eirifold and find new ways to poison him.

And it wasn't as if she had a choice.

"Fine." Ivelle wrenched her wrist out of his grasp and stood up. "If that's all, I have places to be. Items to procure, princesses to spy on, and all that."

"I should warn you," said the prince. He cast a cool look at her across the table. "I don't like being betrayed. If I learn you are actually working for Mariel, or gods forbid, my parents, I will be rather... annoyed."

Ivelle's spine prickled with irritation. Did he have to be such an asshole about everything?

Any pity she'd felt for him was all but dead at this point.

Which, she supposed, was exactly what she had intended.

"Noted," she said, with saccharine sweetness. "While we're on the subject of warnings, I suppose I should warn you... that taking mandragar for several months at a time tends to cause people to go into a bit of withdrawal when they stop. I've heard it can be rather uncomfortable."

She blew him a mocking kiss.

"Have a nice forty-eight hours... git."

~*~

Words: 15,049

This chapter is dedicated to the amazing empiresofwater and her ONC entry Chimera! This sci-fi thriller features a mysterious ship, AI gone rogue, political intrigue, and two women forced to work together to beat the odds. Chimera is gorgeously written, absolutely terrifying, and will have you biting your nails and screaming at various intervals (in a good way!).