Step 1b: ... commit to a plan...

Normally, a knock on the door of Ivelle's hardware shop heralded one of three things. Either the visitor was a debt collector, or they were trying to sell Ivelle something, or–in very, very rare instances–they were so desperately in need of a hammer, they were willing to look past the fact that the shop's owner was in possession of a uterus and boobs.

The newcomer didn't fit any of these categories. She was tall and elegant, with luscious straight hair, pretty black eyes that might or might not have been bespelled to give the owner the illusion of a double eyelid, and a red-and-brown dress of bright tulle that was rapidly accumulating grime from the dirty cobblestones. Ivelle fought the urge to shield her eyes as the sun hit the lady's dress, scattering light from a few thousand garnets and nearly blinding her.

Up and down the street, people were pausing to stare. Rich people never came to this section of town. There was nothing anyone with money could want here, except perhaps a night of debauchery in Madame Debaulford's Tea House For The Discerning Gentleman (And Woman – We Do Not Discriminate – All Are Welcome!) a few doors down.

The woman twisted her fan nervously. "I'm–ah–am I at the right place?"

"No idea." Ivelle grabbed the lady's arm and dragged her into the safety of the shop, away from the prying eyes of the probing townspeople. She dragged the shop door shut, dislodging a few dozen cobwebs in her wake. "But you shouldn't loiter about outside if you value your life. And send that gaudy carriage away, before your poor, hardworking coachman gets shanked."

"Oh my." The lady wasn't even listening to her. She was staring around the shop, wide-eyed. "What is this place?"

"It's called a hardware store."

Ivelle couldn't quite hide the bitterness that crept into her tone.

A few years ago, for the first time in her life, things had actually seemed to be going well. For one shining moment, she'd been happy to be who she was. She'd been proud of the fact that she had managed to break free of her mum's influence, escape Lord Saffron, and set out to pursue the thing she loved most in the world.

Ever since she was little, Ivelle had always dreamed of building things. From the moment she had snuck away from helping her mum swindle the newest villager to build her first treehouse in secret, there was nothing she loved more than to sit with some nails and some wood and shape them into anything she could possibly imagine. She had resolved, at the tender age of ten, to become a carpenter when she grew up. Not just any old carpenter, but the most sought-after carpenter in Estrella. A queen–not of evil lairs and bloodthirsty minions–but of architecture, woodwork, and exterior design.

Finally, after ridding herself of Saffron and paying off her debt, she'd thought she'd got her wish.

But times were tough, and sexism in Estrella was rampant. Apparently mucking around with screws and saws and sandpaper was not a suitable pastime for a lady. As the years passed, and her carpentry business lost more and more money, Ivelle's hopes dwindled. As a last-ditch effort, she downsized into a small carpentry shop, which – a few months later – was downsized even more into a tiny hardware store.

It still wasn't enough. She had a crow to feed and a mortgage to pay off, and screws and bolts and plywood were a whole lot more expensive in this day and age than they had been a few years ago (she had inflation to thank for that). Sometimes you had to abandon your shiny and glorious dreams for somewhat less inspiring dreams that didn't involve your shop's foreclosure and imminent starvation.

The lady visiting Ivelle's store didn't know any of this, of course. She was still looking around, in that polite, delicately aghast way only a privileged lady could pull off, as though trying to find something complimentary to say about a place with literally nothing to compliment. Ivelle could only imagine what the shop looked like to her eyes: heaps of grimy screws, haphazardly strewn about next to hammers, screwdrivers, and nails, with piles of sawdust littering the shelves. One corner of the shop was devoted to chamber pots (which were the only thing in her shop that sold nowadays).

"Yes, it's a mess, yes that's a pile of toilets, and no, I never have any customers," Ivelle snapped before the woman could open her mouth. Ash shot her a look which, if he were human, would have been accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "Why are you here?" said Ivelle, ignoring the crow.

In response, the woman held out a cream-colored parchment.

This particular version of the ad had been a little less accusatory toward princesses, although it still managed to be mildly insulting. Ivelle couldn't stop her lips from quirking as she scanned it.

"I f-found this during one of my sister's tea parties," the lady said, her voice catching slightly. "I'm not... not quite a princess. But my family is trying to marry me off to a prince, and I truly don't know what to do."

"Hm!" Ivelle handed the parchment back to her, her voice suddenly dropping several octaves. She swept her hair back in a cool, mysterious air and stroked Ash's feathers lightly. "Well, my dear... fear not, you've come to the right place. The hardware store thing is just a front... to hide the nature of my true business. What's your name?"

Internally, Ivelle was cringing. The confident, mysterious, comforting tenor of her voice was exactly the sort of thing her mother, Ascoria, used to do when she was trying to seduce merchants into giving her their bank account numbers.

"I am called Lady Lillian, and I am in desperate need of assistance." The woman's delicate hands fluttered, and she somehow managed to look pathetic in a way that Ivelle couldn't help but despise, and then immediately feel guilty about herself for despising. (Her mother's flaws aside, Ascoria had always encouraged her to stick up for other women. It had probably been her sole redeeming quality). "The truth is, I'm engaged to marry an utter beast of a man. What do you know of Crown Prince Eirifold of Estrella?"

"Uh..." Ivelle's cool, aloof persona slipped as she tried to dredge up what she knew about the royal family of Estrella. The royals were terrifically hush-hush about everything related to their private life. Ivelle was sure they controlled all the newspapers and magazines. Everything printed about Prince Eirifold in The Daily News was so blithely complementary, it couldn't possibly be true. "...A little?"

"I suppose you couldn't know much, with how tightly the royal family guards its secrets." Lillian's fan tapped her lips and she looked around furtively. "Is there any chance we could be overheard here?"

"I told you," said Ivelle with a shrug. "No customers."

Lillian looked around, as though expecting to see spies jumping out of one of the massive piles of sawdust that littered the workroom. When no spies materialized, she leaned closer conspiratorially. "They say," Lillian whispered in a voice so low it was practically inaudible, "the queen of Estrella was infertile. But she wouldn't accept the prospect of not being able to produce a male heir. So she made a bargain with a distant branch of the Royal Family that she would raise their son as her own, then hid the evidence by making another bargain, this time with a faery, so that everyone's memories of where the boy came from would be erased. Except the joke was on her, because the branch of the family where Prince Eirifold came from was... well... not right in the head. And apparently, their insanity was... heritable."

Ivelle leaned closer. She was only human, and like most of Estrella, it was impossible to pass up on such juicy gossip. "So the prince is..."

"A monster." Lillian's lower lip wobbled. "Completely loco. See that door?" She pointed to a lone piece of scrap wood that had once passed for the gateway to someone's basement. "The prince of Estrella has even fewer hinges attaching him to reality than that door has to anchor it to its frame. See these screws?" She pointed at Ivelle's now-defunct workbench. "There are more loose screws in that horrid man's head than can be found in this entire shop. He's more off his rocker than that pile of chairs over there. There are more rats in his attic than–"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture!" Ivelle put her hands on her hips. "Also, my attic is not full of rats! I've shored it up very well against vermin, thank you very much!"

"You can see why I need your help, though. The thought of being betrothed to such a man..." Lillian lifted a delicate, lace-gloved hand to her forehead, and for a moment she looked like she was barely managing to hold back tears. "Well, it's almost more than I can bear."

Ivelle stroked her chin.

On the one hand, this was the chance she had been hoping for ever since she'd sent off her first flier. On the other, now that the chance to execute her plan had finally come her way, she felt uneasy. Offing a rich, unliked lord was one thing, but there were sure to be a whole bunch more legal repercussions if she were to get caught murdering a future king. It was probably grounds for treason. Not to mention, murdering the prince of the very country where she lived seemed a bit risky. Don't shit where you eat, and all that.

"We can help with your quandary," Ash said, putting an end to Ivelle's internal waffling. "However, there is the small matter of payment to discuss."

Lillian jumped.

"What's the matter?" Ash snickered. "Never seen a talking crow before?"

"Forgive me," said Lillian faintly.

Ivelle pushed Ash off her shoulder. "Ignore him," she said. "He's obnoxious, but he's also very trustworthy. And he makes a good point. We should discuss payment before this deal goes any farther."

"I believe... the flier said something about a trial period." Lillian's fan fluttered delicately. "Once the two-day period is up, provided I am satisfied with your counsel, I intend to ensure you are amply rewarded for your assistance and your silence."

She reached toward her gem-studded purse and set it on the table, lifting the top of it so the contents were in full view of Ivelle and Ash. "I'll give you this two days from now," she said breathily. "And then, the rest will be given to you once the prince... once he's..."

Ivelle didn't even hear the rest of Lillian's sentence; she was too busy glancing toward the window and then frantically replacing the top of Lillian's purse. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "Do you know what part of town we're in? You can't just go flashing that kind of money around in broad daylight!"

"I... I didn't know..."

Ivelle rubbed her forehead, trying to calm the racing of her heart. The amount of money that Lillian was offering would not only allow her to save her shop; it would allow her and Ash to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. But it would do no good if her client succumbed to some petty alley thief before Ivelle and Ash were able to cash in on their prize.

"Look." Ivelle tried to make her voice calm. "Obviously, we accept your offer. Trial period included. However, I don't think it's safe for you to come back to this part of town. Is there any way you can think of that Ash and I might be able to join you in your residence for a while? Perhaps I could disguise myself as a servant and Ash could... well, every outdoor space has crows."

"The royal tigers tend to eat errant crows, actually," Lillian said brightly, "But your friend should be quite safe so long as he stays on the rooftops." She pursed her lips. "Right now, I'm staying at the Royal Palace of Estrella, in anticipation of the upcoming wedding."

"Even better," said Ivelle. It would give her a chance to learn as much as possible about their prospective target and how to kill him. "Do you think you could get us inside?"

Lillian's forehead screwed up in thought. Abruptly, her demeanor changed. She clapped her hands together, and a smile lit her face like a beacon.

"I know just the thing!"

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