Step 5b: ...learn some self-defense...

Ivelle had two people to train now.

Unfortunately, neither of them bore an ounce of aptitude for physical activity.

At least Lillian was a more enthusiastic learner than Prince Eirifold. She might have terrible aim, but she was so gung-ho during her practice sessions, she became something of a hazard to the male members of her staff who'd volunteered to help.

"Gyaaaah!"

"S-sorry, Alfred."

"That's all right," Alfred wheezed. "You gave me the safety potion pre-emptively, which minimizes the damage, and it's not like these eighty-year-old balls are getting much action anyway. But um... I think I'm going to go grab some tea now. If you'll excuse me."

He hobbled away.

"Oh dear," Ivelle said.

"Don't worry," said Lillian, although she sounded a bit doubtful. "The safety potion I gave him before we started practicing is very good. I got it last year from a witch in town who really knows her stuff."

A prickle of suspicion crept up Ivelle's spine. Sometimes, it seemed as though Lillian was a little too fascinated with potions.

(Not that Ivelle was really one to talk).

"Did the witch give you anything besides the safety potion?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

"Oh no, just that one! I... well... I rather needed it at the time." Lillian's voice dipped slightly. "I mean it seemed super useful. You can bash your head into a wall and come away with barely a scratch. I was—" Her voice trembled. "—worried for my safety at one point, so I tested it out a little bit."

Ivelle squeezed Lillian's shoulder.

"But now I have your self-defense moves, so I won't need to worry about carrying around a safety potion at all times!" Lillian beamed. "Every time I practice them, I imagine King Gorlin's horrible face."

Ivelle's brow furrowed. "Sounds like maybe the king deserves to be poisoned even more than Prince Eirifold."

She eyed Lillian, trying to gauge her reaction, and was disappointed when Lillian gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Maybe."

"Do you think Eirifold is as bad as his father?"

"People don't need to be violent to be evil," said Lillian in a low voice. "Sometimes inaction can be just as bad."

"What did he—"

"Sorry, Ivelle. I have to go to a tea party in a few minutes. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

~*~

Long after the self-defense lesson was over, Lillian's words still rang in Ivelle's ears.

She confronted Eirifold about the matter during their nightly training session. This turned out to be about as useful as the Estrellan daily newspaper—which was to say, not very.

"Inaction?" Eirifold laughed (although it turned into more of a pained wheeze as Ivelle gestured for him to lift the weights she'd laid out in front of him). "Inaction is basically my middle name."

"Was there a specific incident though?" Ivelle pressed. "Something you did that would've tipped Lillian over the edge into hating you?"

"Maybe? Who knows?"

"So... you have absolutely no idea why Lillian thinks you're a loser?"

"You"–huff–"already"–gasp–"know"–wheeze–"I was probably"–huff–"too drunk to remember if there was some specific incident." Eirifold collapsed to the ground, sucking in great gulps of air. "As for being a loser in general, I could definitely see why she would think that. I haven't given her any reason to think otherwise."

"Get up."

"I don't think I can move. You'll have to carry me back to my room."

"Stop being such a drama... prince." Ivelle reached down to pull him up, but Eirifold was heavier than he looked, and he wasn't helping her at all, just lying limp, like a deflated balloon. Ivelle yanked on his arms repeatedly, injecting progressively more force into the motion, but he refused to budge.

"You – stupid – prince! Move – your – lazy – AGHH!"

Without warning, Eirifold had tried to pull himself upright, just as Ivelle yanked on his arms. The sudden movement caused Ivelle to overbalance. She toppled and fell, landing squarely on top of Eirifold, who collapsed to the ground with an "Oomph!"

"Shit!" Ivelle tried to push herself off him, but her hair tangled in his glasses, causing them to drag across his face. She leaned forward, trying to disentangle herself, but somehow made it worse when a lock of hair got caught in one of his buttons. She bent her head closer in an attempt to better see the knot and almost bashed her forehead into the prince's skull.

"GAHH! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Stupid, bloody hair–I need a better conditioner! Are you okay?"

Eirifold blinked up at her dazedly from beneath long lashes, one corner of his mouth lifting. His hand came up to catch a lock of her hair between his fingers, and he regarded it thoughtfully.

"You and your hair are a bit of a menace," he said, still sounding breathless. "But I rather like it."

Ivelle swallowed. Her throat felt suddenly dry, her face hot against the night air. She could feel every inch of his body under hers, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath; if she concentrated, she could probably feel his heart beating too, through the thin pieces of cloth that separated his chest from hers. Sure, he wasn't swole (yet), but he was still handsome enough to make many women swoon, and there was something oddly bewitching in the way the moonlight illuminated his cheekbones, in the way that his dark eyes gleamed with admiration and with humor.

"You're very pretty up close." His voice was oddly husky. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

The words jolted her out of her reverie  – and probably not in the way Eirifold had intended.

Yes, someone had told her how pretty she was.

And he had turned out to be a total fucking asshole.

Ivelle went back to attempting to untangle herself from the button. "Save the compliments for your future wife," she said sourly. "You're getting married in three weeks, in case you'd forgotten!"

Eirifold blinked with feigned innocence. "Am I? Do tell. I don't think I'd heard about it. Oh, look. Another strand of your hair seems to have gotten tangled in a button–"

"For fuck's sake!" Ivelle threw up her hands – although not very high, as her movements were constrained by her tangled hair. "How the hell... hang on. Are you intentionally tangling yourself to delay the rest of your training session?"

He blinked at her, even more innocently than before, though his innocence was rather belied by the impish grin that was making its way across his face.

"You are! You bloody bastard!"

He laughed. Ivelle couldn't help but notice how the corners of his mouth dimpled alluringly. "Well, it was worth a try, but you're onto me. Guess I'd better help."

Somehow he managed to disentangle them with far more ease than Ivelle had been able to do. This made her sour mood, if possible, even worse.

"It's no wonder Lillian can't stand you!" She scrambled to her feet, trying to convince herself the heat in her cheeks was just from all the exercise and definitely not from embarrassment... or something else. "Get back to lifting those weights. ...No, not like that! Fix your posture, before you give yourself a back injury."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, a mischievous smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "If I get injured, will that put an end to this torture?"

"Don't get ideas."

~*~

Inspired by Eirifold's alarming and in no way attractive behavior, Ivelle resolved to redouble her efforts at getting Lillian and Eirifold to fall in love.

She tried to bring up Eirifold during her next self-defense lesson with Lillian. The lady had turned out to be much better at defensive spells than she was at hand-to-hand combat, so they were trying a bit of light magic, which mostly consisted of stinging hexes.

"I've been hearing some rumors..." Ivelle winced as Lillian's hex met her skin, sending tiny shocks coursing through her. "They're saying Eirifold's sobering up and trying to turn over a new leaf. That he has seen the error of his ways. Apparently, he's forsworn alcohol. I heard he even cracked open a textbook the other day. Might be worth trying to have a conversation with him and seeing what's up."

To her disappointment, Lillian didn't seem the least bit intrigued by her remark. On the contrary, her brow furrowed. "Who told you this?"

"It was... um, Ash. I asked him to spy on the prince. Get me some more info."

"I see." Lillian's brows rose skeptically. "Well, I highly doubt Eirifold is actually trying to change. Whatever your crow saw is probably some sort of act."

"What makes you–OUCH!"

"Goodness, I'm so sorry!" Lillian covered her mouth with her hands as Ivelle clutched her singed shoulder. "I'll have Annabelle fetch you a healing potion. And I think we'd better stop for now."

Ivelle tried again the next day, suggesting Lillian stop by Eirifold's quarters for a visit. After all, she told Lillian, if the lady wanted to find the best way to poison Eirifold, it would help for her to know his interests. Also, the more she seemed to dote on him, the less suspicious she'd look. Lillian actually seemed to consider this, although she politely but firmly shut down Ivelle's suggestion that the two of them eat dinner together.

"There are so many people who want Eirifold dead. I'm sure the blame wouldn't only fall on me," she said. "And anyway, it would make it harder for me to... do what needs to be done if I got to know him too well."

To make matters worse, Eirifold wasn't getting buff nearly as fast as Ivelle had hoped. He huffed his way through their training sessions like a steam engine on its last legs, and he took advantage of every chance possible to slither out of the exercises he didn't like, which–as far as Ivelle could tell–was all of them.

"I never knew there were so many different muscle groups," he complained, trying–unsuccessfully–to reach his toes. (Ivelle had decided they were going to try pilates today, and he was lying on his back, his feet about a meter off the ground). "I'm sore in places I didn't know could get sore."

"Suck it up, buttercup."

"I resent being compared to a buttercup. I am much prettier than some ugly wildflower."

"If you spent as much effort improving yourself as you do sassing me, you'd already be buff by now." Ivelle clapped her hands. "Ten reps on the count of three! You got this!"

~*~

"I've got this..." Ivelle muttered, hours later, as she dragged her sore feet through the doors to their room and kicked off her shoes at the lintel. "I've totally, definitely got this..."

She flung herself onto the bed. Ash glanced at her with concern.

"Er... you do?"

"YES! It's just..." Ivelle covered her face and let out a groan. "He's still so limp and floppy!" she said despairingly. "No sign of abs anywhere. And Lillian refuses to see him as anything more than a punching bag whose testicles it would be fun to kick!"

"You do realize," Ash said cautiously, "that it is physically impossible to get ripped after only one week of exercise?"

"Has it only been a week?" It felt like thirty years. Ivelle buried her face in her pillow and let out a muffled scream. "I'm screwed!"

Ash prodded her with his bill. "Quit feeling sorry for yourself for a moment. I've got something that might cheer you up."

"Yeah?"

"My spying has finally paid off. I spotted Mariel sending a clandestine message earlier."

Ivelle sat up, momentarily forgetting her exhaustion. "What kind of clandestine message?"

"Well, I didn't exactly get a chance to read it." Ash tilted his head to the side. "All I know is, the last time I followed her into town, I saw her hand a letter to someone on the street, slip them some money and tell them 'make sure it gets to its intended recipient.' Sure seems suspicious, don't it?"

Ivelle agreed. If Mariel had wanted to send an ordinary letter, she could have sent it via any of the palace couriers.

"Any other suspicious things you've seen?"

"Nah." Ash fluttered up to the bedpost. "But I'm not always able to spy on her. Her German shepherd is very growly, and it's developed an unfortunate fondness for chasing crows. I think she adopted it to protect herself against whatever prince her daddy wants to marry her off to."

"Any word on when that wedding's going to be?"

"Not for a few more months. Long after Lillian and Eirifold's wedding."

"Have the servants mentioned anything suspicious?"

"Nah. The servants who work for Mariel have all signed non-disclosure agreements. They never gossip, never lounge around, and never seem to have any fun."

"Story of my life." Ivelle buried her face in her hands, collapsing once again onto the pillows. "I can't keep doing this!" she groaned. "These midnight workouts are killing me."

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you volunteered to become Prince Eirifold's personal trainer for free." Ash clicked his beak reprovingly. "You're killing yourself for nothing, and it's entirely your fault."

"You could show more sympathy," Ivelle grumbled. "I'm trying to be a good person! You know! Not a murderer like my mother."

"I know." Ash hopped up beside her on the bed. "Sorry, Ivelle. This whole palace puts me on edge, and I feel like I've been taking it out on you lately."

Ivelle stroked his head and stifled a yawn. "What about it is putting you on edge?"

"I just – this is gonna sound crazy. But I have this feeling that I'm on the verge of remembering something. And it's not a good something, either. Part of me's worried that I'm going to remember, and it'll be awful... and part of me's scared I'll go my whole life without remembering, and never know. I think it has something to do with being here. In the palace." Ash's tiny crow shoulders slumped miserably. "...I know it makes no sense."

Ivelle didn't know what to make of this. Up until this week, she'd never brought Ash to the palace. But maybe something had happened here when he had been only a tiny crow that had scarred him. Had the palace tigers eaten his crow mum and dad?

"Whatever you can't remember... you'll still be the wonderful, kind, insufferable crow I've known since I was little," she murmured soothingly. "No memory... could possibly change who you are inside."

She was nearly asleep, so she almost didn't catch the words that came out of his beak, pitched so softly she could barely hear:

"But what if it does?"

~*~

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