Step 2b: ...but not with your lips

The prince didn't react like Ivelle expected.

Not that she'd expected him to react any particular way.

But Ivelle had kissed men before. She'd been married, after all. This wasn't her first rodeo. And she had never, in her entire lifetime of kissing, had anyone recoil from her in horror like the prince was doing now. Or rub their lips frantically with their hands as though the very taste of her saliva disgusted him.

Rude.

Not that Ivelle was complaining. He didn't taste all that great either. In fact, he tasted almost like...

"Did you just try to poison me?"

Ivelle blinked. "What?"

"Did you just try to poison me? Like, were your lips coated with poison?"

A hint of panic had entered the prince's voice. His dark hair looked even more wild than before.

Damn. That's actually not a terrible idea. Ivelle had heard of the technique before. Spread a protective membrane over your lips, coat poison on top of it, and voila! Instant kiss of death. There was, of course, a certain risk posed to the kisser... but it was certainly something to consider. Her kiss had clearly caught Eirifold off guard. Slap a bit of poison on Lady Lillian's lips, and who knew what they might accomplish?

Prince Eirifold was still watching her as though his worst fears had just been confirmed. "No," Ivelle said hurriedly. "No. Don't worry, I didn't poison you."

"A likely story!"

She didn't like the look Prince Eirifold was shooting her. His dark eyes looked... wary. As though terrified she was some kind of lunatic who might ambush her with another unprovoked kissing attack at any moment. She really should have asked for consent first. She couldn't help but think how bad this would look from an outsider's perspective, especially seeing as how he seemed quite drunk...

For crying out loud, Ivelle, focus!

"Erm, so," said Ivelle awkwardly. "Can we just like... rewind the last 10 minutes and pretend they didn't happen? I freaked out when you said you were going to put me in jail. It's one of the things that I learned in... er... jester school. Always do the thing your audience would least expect! Except in this case, it was a huge mistake. I'm really sorry, and I promise I won't do it again. If... if I just leave your garden right now, can you maybe... I dunno, call off your guards?"

She shot him her winningest smile, then frowned.

"As a matter of fact... where are your guards?"

"What a great question!" The prince glanced around bemusedly, and then opened his mouth again. "Guar–OOMPH!"

"Don't you dare!" Forgetting her previous pangs of conscience, Ivelle hurled herself at Eirifold. His chair overbalanced, thunked into a bush, and then tilted sideways, toppling both Ivelle and Eirifold to the ground. Undeterred, Ivelle pressed her hand tighter over the prince's mouth, trying to stifle his yelling. "I am NOT going to let you send me to prison – OUCH! Did you just fucking bite me?"

"Yrfhg. Anghhh. Angh amfh powierhifohsss hfflks adhfoiewhroiw–"

Ivelle gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the pain in her hand. "Shut up. Promise me you won't immediately scream for your guards. Swear it, and I'll take my hand off your face."

"Agh wear."

"What was that?" For a split second, Ivelle loosened the pressure on his mouth – and immediately regretted it. "SHIT-MONKEYS – AGAIN?? YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKER!"

As Ivelle clutched her now-doubly-bitten hand, the prince pushed himself away, spitting into the grass. He looked a right mess – blood smeared his lips, and his once-pristine black hair was now matted with mud. "Is your blood poisoned, too?" His voice dripped with revulsion. "It tastes nasty."

Ivelle glared at him scathingly. "It's blood – of course it tastes nasty! If my blood were poisoned, you moron, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be standing here!"

"I can already feel myself getting dizzy," the prince sighed. He wasn't even trying to get up; as Ivelle watched, his head flopped back despairingly onto the grass. "Perhaps I should just resign myself to death. Gods know I've thought about it enough. Farewell, cruel world. I'd love to say it's been wonderful, but sadly, my life's been pretty pathetic so far."

"For crying out loud! I already said I didn't poison you! I should be the one complaining!" Ivelle seethed. Blood dripped down her hand, which was starting to throb. "Do you know how many bacteria there are inside the human mouth? You fucking nobles are all the same! I can't believe you bit me! I think my fingernail may have come permanently detached."

"Obvious signs of struggle..." The prince waved a tired hand. "Shrieks and screams... and still... there are no guards. Has everyone abandoned me? ... No. Wait. Don't answer that. I don't actually want to know."

His eyes drifted shut.

Ivelle waited for him to open his eyes and shout for his guards again.

But he didn't.

Suddenly terrified she had accidentally killed him with her tackling (and forgetting that killing him had kind of been the purpose of her coming to the palace in the first place), Ivelle leaned closer. She glanced at his chest to make sure he was breathing, and then glanced at his head, looking for signs of contusions. As she did so, he let out a soft snore and rolled toward her, snuggling his face into her legs.

Un-freaking-believable.

"Hey!" Ivelle prodded him sharply in the sternum.

The prince's eyes opened. He squinted up at her blearily.

"Wuuuuttttt?"

His voice was definitely slurred.

"Naptime's over. Wake up, you dolt. Either you have a horrible brain bleed or you're on drugs. Are you on drugs?"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he murmured. "...You're like snow. Beautiful, but cold."

"Uh... thanks, I think?"

"Some days I don't exist. My bed becomes a casket."

Ivelle blinked.

"Don't look so horrified," Prince Eirifold went on. "Did you know, horror is all in the eye of the beholder? You can keep your happily ever after, too. It ain't mine."

"For fuck's sake," Ivelle hissed. "You're making no sense. Are you actually suffering from a brain injury? Snap out of it!"

He seemed to come back to himself for a moment. "Sorry," he said, blinking. "I think I fell into a weird timeslip for a second and started regurgitating the ONC booklet."

"The what?"

"... I... actually, I have no idea."

"Okay." Ivelle rubbed her forehead with her non-bloody hand. "Well, are you ready to make sense again?"

"Do you know, I sometimes dream..." The prince's eyes drifted shut once more, but his voice sounded a little more awake than it had been a few seconds ago. "I sometimes dream about my death. Have you ever thought what it would be like if nobody were the least bit sad when you died?"

His non-sequiturs were giving her whiplash. But he was also giving her very strong vibes of someone who'd taken a bit too much mandragar, one of the sedatives her mum often gave bank tellers in high doses when she was trying to make them go to sleep. Ivelle leaned toward Prince Eirifold and sniffed his breath.

Yup, he smelled like mandragar.

He had tasted like it too when she kissed him.

His irises were even dilated.

The bastard had probably thought it would make him get high.

What an idiot.

But at least it answered the question of whether Ivelle had killed him by inducing a fatal traumatic brain injury. She felt a momentary surge of relief, followed almost immediately, by dismay. After all, she was supposed to be coming up with ways to poison the guy.

"You didn't answer my question," said the prince from his position on the ground. "I knew you were cold."

Ivelle tore off a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress and wound it around her bleeding hand, then stood to go. "My crow would be very sad if I died or went to prison."

"That's nice," Prince Eirifold murmured. "At least you have someone. I have no one at all."

"That can't be true," said Ivelle reflexively. "What about your parents?" She remembered the conversation she'd overheard between the king and Mariel and winced. King Gorhan certainly didn't think much of his son, that was for sure.

As if to confirm her suspicions, Eirifold laughed hollowly. "My parents despise me, and my sister's trying to do me in."

"Well, maybe if you laid off the mandragar and pushed fewer servants down staircases, they wouldn't despise you as much." Ivelle wrinkled her nose. She had no idea why the guards hadn't come when Prince Eirifold had first shouted for them, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She stood up to go. "I'm serious. Lay off the mandragar. It's not good for your brain."

"Huh?"

"I said: Stop. Taking. Drugs." Ivelle straightened. "The good news is, because of the mandragar, you won't remember this conversation in the morning. It has powerful amnesic properties. Which is why I have no qualms about calling you a massive dingbat to your face."

He stared at her, as though she was the most confusing thing he had ever seen in his life.

Ivelle shook her head. "I'm going now. Goodbye... idiot."

He'd better not have fucking rabies, she thought as she popped another stick of Invisibility chewing gum in her mouth.

~*~

Words: 9,853

Today's ONC shout-out goes to lisa_london_'s spooky tale, "Where is Araminta Green?" A delightful, cozy, small-town mystery about a young man trying to investigate one of the town's unsolved disappearances. Link in comment!