How to Poison Your Husband

Ivelle chewed her pen and stared critically down at the flier she’d just finished copying.

Everyone knows your story. You’ve been spoiled and pampered your whole life–given unicorns, ponies, everything you desired. And now, you’re suddenly faced with the prospect of marrying your betrothed, but you want to marry for love, and you’d rather put your kingdom at war than do what duty calls for.

Well, suck it up, buttercup. The world’s not a nice place. You could run away and cause a war, but chances are, your dad/future husband/guards/sister/neighborhood dragon will drag you back and force you to marry the guy.

Here’s the good news, though: I poisoned my husband, and you can too! With my simple how-to guide, discounted for princesses, you needn’t stay married forever. Avert that war, make your family happy... and then, when the moment is right, follow my guaranteed 12-step plan to escape the chains of matrimony and attain the spouseless happily ever after of your dreams. Don’t believe me? Try a two-day free trial during which I’ll coach you through everything from making your husband complacent to picking out the perfect poison. Satisfaction guaranteed!

To book your spot, send a reply by carrier pigeon to: 13 North Foxglove Street, Estrella, Postal Code 66613. Don’t sleep on this limited-time offer!

“You know, you might get more customers if you didn’t insult them in every paragraph.”

Ivelle stuck her quill back in its inkwell and glared at the crow leaning over her shoulder. “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

“Well congratulations, you’re getting it anyway. Feel blessed.” Ash tapped his claw against the parchment with an authoritative air. “Scrap the first two paragraphs. Try starting with a simple catchphrase. ‘Are you desperate?’ ‘Is your soon-to-be-spouse a dick?’ Or, ‘Do you want to escape your snotty hobo of a husband?’ A nice, catchy line that doesn’t insult your prospective audience.”

Ivelle ran a hand through her dark hair, somehow managing to make her wild curls even more tangled. “You couldn’t have given me this advice before I copied this flier nine times?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Feathery bastard.”

Some women were blessed with riches, castles, or fairy godmothers. Ivelle was not so lucky. Not only had her parents married her off to the most obnoxious nobleman in Estrella before they kicked the bucket, they’d also left her with a mountain of debt, a stash of illegal dragon parts that Ivelle had had a beast of a time explaining to law enforcement, and Ash.

Ash had been one of Ivelle’s mum’s more spectacular failures. She’d been trying to summon a demon and trap it in a crow’s body. Instead, she’d only managed to enhance the crow’s vocal cords. And turn him into some sort of editing genius, apparently.

Ivelle frowned down at her stack of papers. She knew Ash was right about the wording of her latest batch of fliers, but she’d already used her last silver coin to buy the stiff, creamy paper on which she was penning her advertisements. And she’d just finished ad nine out of ten.

I’ll just change the wording for the last one, she thought, and send out the others as is.

It wasn’t like she had much hope of this venture working, anyway. She’d been sending out similar ads for weeks, with no luck. Just another failure in a long line of failed business attempts that had started after her husband, Lord Saffron, had met his ignominious end.

Next to her ear, Ash let out a snide chuckle, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking about. “You could always take up your parents’ mantle, you know,” he wheedled. “Do some proper black magic to summon yourself some cash.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I know you’ve thought about it. I know you’re sick of pinching pennies and eating stale bread and potatoes with every meal.” Ash rolled his eyes. Given that a crow’s eyes are normally fixed in their sockets, this looked a tad bit unnerving, to say the least. “I don’t understand why you’re willing to poison people, but you’re not willing to engage in a little hocus-pocus. Why not take a leaf out of your old mum’s book and go whole-hog evil? What was that thing she was so fond of saying? 'I will become as monstrous as I must'?"

Ivelle raised a finger. “First of all, that whole hocus-pocus-darkness-and-villany shtick was what got my parents killed. I don’t want to be evil. Or... not that evil, anyway. My goal is to be as minimally evil as possible while still putting food in our mouths.”

“Ahuh...”

"Secondly, poisoning nobles isn’t like poisoning some rando off the street. I wouldn’t poison someone’s kindly old grandma or anyone like that. But nobles are a whole other category. They’re the worst of society. The lowest of the low. The shittiest of the McShitFaces. They’re assholes, the whole freaking lot of them! I’ll be doing the world a favor.”

“Just because Lord Saffron was a bit of a dick to you –”

“A bit of a – that bastard didn’t have the decency to bequeath me a single cent when he died!” Ivelle fumed. “He left all his wealth to his asshat of a son. Who then proceeded to chuck me out onto the street!”

“To be fair... you did murder his father... And your mum kinda bewitched the guy into marrying you in the first place, then tried to embezzle money from his private coffers...” At the murderous glint in her eye, Ash’s voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “But yes! He was a very mean and naughty douchecanoe who totally deserved what was coming to him!”

Ivelle wadded a less expensive parchment and lobbed it at Ash’s tail feathers. “I didn’t ask for your sass,” she grumbled over his indignant squawking. “Are you going to deliver these fliers for me or am I going to have to use one of the neighbor’s carrier pigeons again?”

She was halfway through tying the first letter onto Ash’s leg when a knock sounded on the door.

“Probably another debt collector.” Ivelle waved at the window. “Be a good crow and harass them until they leave?”

Ash hopped up onto the windowsill.

“It’s not a debt collector.”

“Huh?”

Ivelle peered through the window.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.