Lyra coasted to a landing in the kitchen. She was wearing her traveling cloak, her son on her hip. Her husband had his hands embedded in pastry dough. She landed noiselessly behind him.

"Sargus," Lyra blurted, startling him. She set her son and her travel bag on the floor. Then she fiddled with the drawstring sack she wore around her neck.

Lyra knew not to bother him until after the dinner bell rang. Sargus appeared as if he was about to remind her of this, but his words seemed to change course on the tip of his tongue. The fear that accompanied her into the room was persuasive, perhaps even more than she intended.

"I thought you'd be busy upstairs," Sargus said. "Didn't she request the entire palace—?"

What he said was true, but she didn't let him finish. "We need to leave, immediately."

Lyra stood on tiptoe, and then lifted toward the ceiling, allowing her to observe the entire expanse of the kitchen. As she settled back down on her feet, she glanced at the doorway over her shoulder.

They were alone . . . for now. She closed her eyes and forced a calming breath. She opened them to the sound of her young son humming a tune with no melody.

He was sweet. Innocent. She was doing the right thing. . . .

Then Sargus, with a knot of worry in his brow that he donned even in the best of times, surveyed the scene too. "For what reason?" Though his voice was a whisper, his clipped syllables echoed off the heavy walls. "We've lived here our whole lives. We'll do our tasks well and keep our opinions to ourselves, and we shouldn't have a problem, same as always. And the queen might actually pay us a decent salary!" he added resentfully.

"Sargus, I don't think you understand."

"I don't understand. Perhaps you should explain. And then tell me how we can afford to abandon both our work and our living quarters on a moment's notice."

"Money is no longer an issue."

After checking the shadows and doorways once more, she eased open the sack at her breast. She never intended to take Cassiopeia's jewels, but the circumstances gave her no other option.

Sargus's mouth gaped open. "Where did you get those?" Now his level of paranoia was equal to hers. His eyes darted around the kitchen and he leaned over the counter to get a better look into the hall. "If the queen ever—"

"Sargus," Lyra whispered. "I didn't steal them. They were a gift."

"From whom? The princess?" he guessed correctly.

She looked down. "Yes," she admitted hesitantly.

The jewels did belong to Cassiopeia, but a lot had changed over the last few hours. Lyra's grounds for possessing a few Sauvageau heirlooms were indeed very weak.

"I know you two were close. I have no doubt the princess gave them to you with good intentions. But she put our whole family in grave danger by leaving them with you. Return the jewels to where you found them this very instant!"

She looked up with tears in her eyes. "I can't."

"Lyra," he said, soft but firm. She recognized it as his attempt to quell her panic with reason. "Tell me what you did. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."  

At that moment, Procyon buried his face in her dress. Lyra stroked his hair and forced a smile when his little wings fluttered, and his deep brown eyes peeked up at her. 

"Sargus, I'm not asking for your permission. I'm leaving. Procyon and I will be at Guillaume's Inn. I'll understand if you choose not to join us."

"That's no place for a child!"

"It's secluded and impersonal. Best of all, they'll accept the jewels without an inquiry. Or so I've heard."

Sargus shook his head and returned to his work, rolling out the pastry dough.

"Trust me. We're not safe here," Lyra whispered in his ear.

Sargus sighed and then looked to her with some degree of resignation. "Leave now," he finally said. "If anyone asks, I'll say you felt ill. Once dinner is served and the kitchen is clean, I'll meet you at Guillaume's."

Lyra pecked his cheek. "No matter what, we'll be together . . . as a family." 

"I'll see you soon."

Before Lyra entered the torch-lit hallway, she looked both ways. The shadows were still. The flames were calm and inviting. So she fluttered out of the kitchen, her bag over her shoulder and Procyon in her arms.   

She was nearly there—the narrow back stairwell—the gateway to freedom. But when she turned, the whites of two eyes had her faltering . . . and grounded.

A smoky white orb grew brighter until it illuminated the hall.

Queen Andromeda always used to look past Lyra or through her. A chambermaid was too insignificant to acknowledge. But for the first time ever, Andromeda was looking at her. And Lyra felt exposed, practically naked. She knows. . . .

And then Lyra became transparent once again. Andromeda's gaze acquired the child clinging to Lyra's neck.  

"You may be wondering why I'm here," Andromeda finally droned, her red lips lifting into a subtle sneer. If Lyra didn't know better, she may have mistaken it for a smile. 

"You are the queen. You may go where you please."

Lyra tried to move past her.    

Andromeda stepped in her way. She tilted the orb of her scepter into Lyra's face. "A moment ago, I was speaking to your sister. She warned me that your room had been abandoned."

Lyra's cognizance was drifting away from her control, but she forced her eyelids closed and took a step back. She clamped her son's face to her shoulder so he wouldn't be seduced by evil either. "I don't see why either of you would express any interest in me."

"She also spoke of a boy. How old would you say your son is? I would guess his fourth birthday is in the month of October. Is that correct?"

Lyra's eyes fell to the stone beneath her feet, dull in luster, though smooth from centuries of coming and going. She wasn't sure if arguing would help. Because Andromeda was exactly right. But if her silence didn't give away her secret, her son's appearance surely would.

An inky blackness swirled and slithered through Andromeda's orb, and it demanded Lyra's attention.

"I find it a rather odd coincidence," Andromeda went on, "that I found you in my son's bedchamber the winter prior." With her free hand, she touched Lyra's face. Then she dragged her fingernails lightly across Lyra's cheek. "You were always the pretty one. It's of no surprise that my son dabbled with the help. He was so weak that way. And all this time I believed there was no heir to the throne. I'll try to look past the fact that your son is only half worthy."

Gathering her wits back together, Lyra dropped her travel bag and launched into a backwards hover when Andromeda reached for her son. "You're wrong. Procyon is not your heir. I was married the January before my son's birth. You can ask Sargus, my husband."

Fast as predatory spider, Andromeda sprang upon Lyra, her expression hostile and unforgiving. Then Andromeda stroked one nail along Procyon's cheek. His face turned and lifted.

Andromeda stared into his dark eyes and then into Lyra's gray ones. "You lie," she hissed. "And with lies come penalties!" She grabbed for the boy.

"Keep your hands off my son," Lyra said as she peeled Procyon away from Andromeda's grip.

Andromeda bared her teeth and lunged at them. Procyon clutched onto Lyra and wailed, at the top of his little lungs. Amid the struggle, the sack of jewelry was torn from Lyra's neck. The gold and jewels hit the bright light of the orb. They glittered in space. At the same time, the orb flashed red. Lyra hit the ground on her stomach and watched the jewelry dance before her stunned eyes.

Then came the pain.

Lyra squirmed and wailed, the torture, unparalleled. Her son's screams grew louder, and then faded as Lyra's protests waned to a gurgle.

Andromeda dug her pointed boot into Lyra's ribcage. "You're a thief too, you ungrateful little whore!"

Andromeda kicked her, hard. Lyra felt it but could not react.

Andromeda's orb then went black. And so did the light behind Lyra's eyes.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

"What is going on out here?"

Sargus squatted beside Lyra and checked for signs of life. Then he looked to his queen, the one he had served loyally for as long as he could remember. "You killed her!"

As Andromeda approached with Procyon, revulsion was eating away at his gut. The sentiment was strong enough to overpower all fear and any instinct to survive.   

Andromeda didn't even look at Sargus. "Come, my child," Andromeda said, Procyon's hand in hers. "Tears will get you nowhere in this life. Your father learned that lesson, and so will you."

"Father? I'm his father! And I'll have you—"

Sargus would never know the truth. With one decisive zap from Andromeda's scepter, he collapsed beside Lyra. He never even had a chance to consider that his life would end there too.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Ursa was waiting in the Common Room, as instructed, thrumming the sides of the threadbare armchair she was sitting on.

As time passed, remaining still became more of a challenge. She was just about to twitch into motion or flight, her glee ready to burst from her in the form of an exclamation or a song. 

She had to maintain perfect composure, though, as difficult as that would be. And that was exactly how she portrayed herself when Andromeda re-entered the room.

Ursa stood, bowed her head, and curtsied. "Your Majesty."

Andromeda presented the tearful child to Ursa by his shoulders. "I am pleased with you, Ursa. Had you not informed me of your sister's imminent departure and the child's questionable parentage, my heir would be spending his life in squalor. For that, I would like to express my gratitude. You are now Eminent Guardian and in charge of the future king's care. Treat him as if he were your own. This will necessitate relocation. You may remove yourself from the staff quarters and choose any uninhabited room that pleases you. See that the boy's chamber is adjacent to your own. Discipline and tutelage will begin at dawn. Since his mother was soft with him for so long, there is not a moment to spare." 

"Thank-you, Your Majesty. It is an honor and a privilege."

Andromeda gave Ursa the official nod and then left the room.

With that, Ursa breathed deep, taking in air that felt fresh for the first time ever.

After gathering all of her possessions, Ursa took Procyon to the East Wing, knowing which room she would select. She would sleep underneath Cassiopeia's silk sheets, wear her fine gowns, and get her attendants to serve their new mistress, the Eminent Guardian.

Ursa vowed to be like the daughter Andromeda never had, but always wanted, and hoped the former princess was either dead or wallowing with the other filthy Bottom-Dwellers, in poverty, shame, and despair.

⭐️⭐️⭐️