If Napoleon Solo hadn't been buckled into the backseat of a sedan, he would have been pacing.

"Tell me you have a plan."

"All right. I have a plan." Waverly answered calmly, still reading his book.

Napoleon sighed and rearranged himself in his seat. However, comfort remained elusive.

"Do stop fidgeting."

"Ah, sorry, Sir. It's just-- They have Illya, I know they do! And if they're not handing him over as part of the trade, then--"

"Mr. Solo, you have duties to carry out. Are you going to let friendship get in the way?"

What he wanted to say, he didn't. He wanted to say something incredibly rude, something that would have him booted down to menial work in seconds flat. Instead, he said 'no'.

"Well, I'm rather disappointed in you, Mr. Solo. I was counting on it."

---/-/---

"Piotr's wife presented the king with what looked like a giant lump of coal. Ivan's wife brought him something that almost looked like bread, but when he bit into it, he nearly broke a tooth. And then Napasha's frog-wife hopped in, and behind her she dragged a tiny cart, and on the cart was a beautiful cake, in the shape of a grand palace, with painted windows made of spun sugar, and domes and spires, painted in brightly coloured frosting."

Claire and Micheal hung on every word of the cake's description.

"Now I'm hungry."

"Well, I can't do anything about that." Illya shrugged. "Anyway, the king tasted the cake, and it was as sweet as it was beautiful. 'Wonderful!' He cried. 'Again, the winner is the bride of my youngest son!'. Now, the other wives were truly mystified, and very jealous. And the king said that he would not make his decision until that night's ball, where he would award the kingdom to the husband of whichever girl was the most clever and engaging."

"What's that mean?"

"Whichever girl was the best hostess."

"Oh. Are frogs good hostesses?"

"Well, Napasha was once more distraught, and his wife laid a clammy little froggy hand on his troubled brow, and she said 'Do not worry, husband mine. You will go to the party without me, and at ten, there will be the sound of a carriage in the courtyard. When the king asks who is there, you will say 'it is only my little froggy wife, come in her carriage'. Can you do this?'"

"Does he know she's not a frog."

"No, he does not. Anyway, Napasha agrees, but he still isn't sure how it could possibly turn out well. So the night of the ball arrives, and Napasha arrives alone, telling his father and the guests that his bride will be late. Well, the wives of Piotr and Ivan are beginning to feel more confident, until ten o'clock. A carriage sounds in the courtyard. 'Ah,' says Napasha, 'it is only my little froggy wife, come in her carriage'. But who should walk through the door as it opens?"

"A frog!" Micheal exclaimed.

"No."

"A handsome prince!" Claire whooped.

Illya sighed. "Claire, we have been over-- nevermind. In comes the most beautiful blond *human being* that the guests have ever seen. Napasha is surprised. He wonders where his wife is. And then the blond, dressed in golden silk and silver velvet, embroidered with pearls and crystal, takes the seat beside his. 'You do not recognize your little frog?' the creature whispers. 'What is your name?' Napasha asked, truly confused. 'I am the princess Ilyana, and--"

Claire stuck her tongue out.

"--My godmother is Baba Yaga. I was placed under an enchantment, so that only my true love would find me.' And Napasha said 'I am your true love?' And Princess Ilyana said 'Yes'. And they smiled all through dinner."

"Frogs are supposed to turn into princes." Claire grumbled. "Everyone knows that."

"Yes, well, this story does not conform to your Western standards, children. Anyway, the other brides decided that they would do everything that Princess Ilyana-- Are you going to pout all through the story?"

"Yes."

"If I make her a prince, will you stop it?"

"Yes."

"It rather ruins the story."

"Does not."

"You are impossible, you know that? The other brides decided to do everything that the-- the prince did. When-- he-- poured the last drops into his right sleeve, so did they. When he hid the bones from his chicken in his left sleeve, so did they. Then came time for the dancing..."

---/-/---

By silent agreement, they placed the letter where it had been found.

"Remember," April said solemnly. "No one else is to hear of this."

"It doesn't leave this room." Ginger nodded.

"It has to be a fake of some sort, a joke or something." Mark shook his head. "Doesn't it?"

"Miaow."

"I agree with Ponce. The orange one." Ginger clarified, giving Mark a look.

He turned to April, perplexed. "You know what I did to deserve this hostility?"

"I'm sure you were just being your charming self."

"Oh, ha-ha, luv." He crossed his arms, sitting in the chair behind the desk. "And what do you agree with the little guy on, exactly?"

"Illya and Napoleon are in love. It's so obvious."

"It absolutely is not!"

"Actually, Mark, it is." April shrugged. "I mean, in retrospect, it is. I don't know why we didn't see it at the time."

"Miaow."

"Yeah, that's probably it." She nodded. "Anyway, we can only ever talk about this amongst ourselves, and only in secure settings. Nobody else is to know. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Agreed." Mark shook hands with both women. "I still can't believe it. I mean, Napoleon was always such a-- a ladies' man."

"Too much so." Ginger pointed out.

"And Illya Kuryakin, of all people to be a-- to be not a ladies' man with... well, really."

"V obvious, sweet."

"When did I go from ponce to sweet?"

"All right, then. V obvious, ponce."

"I think I prefer sweet."

"You should have thought of that before." April smiled, smoothing the letter one last time. "I wonder if he'll know we were here, I mean, looking through things?"

"Nah. It could've just as easily been the cat. Come on, we'll protect their secret love while we finish our own work."

DeLeon padded after them as far as the doorway.

---/-/---

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