Queen Andromeda was finally asleep in her palatial bedroom chamber, restfully enamored with the sound of suffering. Only when the halls of her palace went silent did she awake from her slumber.

She tore into her hellish dungeon like a hungry locust. Her Inquisitor General was snoring, asleep at his desk, drooling like a fool, but he roused immediately at her less than delicate arrival.

"Well?" she inquired.

In the cell across the hall, Dr. Leo Labelle was shivering in the fetal position, his clothing in tatters. There were bloody nubs where his wings used to be. And yet somehow, he twitched in response to her voice. And if he had the energy for that. . .

The old fairy-male sat up and yawned after a wipe of his mouth with his sleeve. "He keeps saying he gave it to her already."

The trinket. So conveniently beyond her grasp.

"What is it?"

With a sneer, her Inquisitor General glanced at the trophies he kept on the wall—Labelle's mangy wings—held in place with stakes at odd angles. The blood was still dripping from them. "A necklace."

Serves him right. Leo was a traitor to his kind.

"What does it do?" Andromeda probed further.

"Nothing. Or so he claims."

"He's lying. Don't fall for it."

"That may be so, but he can't take any more right now," the Inquisitor General advised despite the lack of any true expertise in the curative arts. When it came to torture, however, he was no stranger. "He'll die."

Andromeda wanted Leo begging for death around the clock. He would eventually tell them everything. And with priceless Elfish treasures at stake, the sooner, the better. "I want results! Do what you must!"

The Inquisitor General stood in response and bowed his head in compliance.

Andromeda turned to go. Bloodcurdling screams followed her up the dark stairwell. At that, one corner of her lips curled upward. Music . . . sweet music. . .

In the Hall of Crystal, fully restored to its former glory, she took a slow flutter toward the spectacular ruby revolving in the air beneath its glass display case. In her youth, she had named it the Crimsonstone. It was half her height, three times her width, and it would take at least two adult fairy-males to carry it. Its deep shade of red and majestic luster made the gemstone her favorite by far. Even as a girl, she could tell the ruby was something special.

Two days before the death of her father, her one true king, he found her gazing at it with bloodlust in her eyes.

"Don't worry, my love," he said with his hand on her shoulder. "You remember what my mother told you. The Prince of Polaris and the Princess of Pyxis will create an heir unlike any other. Only he will be able to unlock the Crimsonstone's power. And now that we know you are with child . . . the power will be ours and ours alone."

But things didn't go according to plan. Her first husband, the infamous Rigel Kincaid took that power, whatever it was or could have been, away from her when he killed her father and escaped, prompting the premature annihilation of Polaris and all of his kind. Andromeda believed she had what she needed—his child inside of her—and she never intended to give the King of the Unworthy or any of his other descendants the opportunity to take away what was rightfully hers.

Now she understood that the path to fulfilling the prophecy and unleashing the Crimsonstones's power was a lot more convoluted, but not the lost cause she for so many years believed it to be.

So Andromeda intended to let Cassiopeia have her forbidden love affair with Christopher MacRae . . . for now. She wanted them to believe they were safe. Then it would be easy to kill them and take their child, once she confirmed a "star" was born. Because she had a weapon they did not—Joseph MacRae—an enemy of their own making, one they would not see coming.

Yes, indeed. Joseph would kill for his queen without question. He just didn't know it yet. But he would accept his destiny with pride and pleasure . . . soon enough.