Canis Major was awake early practicing for his Fencing, Masters Level, Practical Exam—a test he planned to ace—when an unexpected knock interrupted his concentration.

He whipped open his suite door and was visually accosted by the detestable Crux Chevalier and three of his Royal Air Brigade cronies. "I'm busy. Come back another time."

As Canis swung the door shut, Crux shoved his foot in the crack and muscled himself into the room. "Your mother is waiting for you in Pyxis."

"I won't be a pawn in her vendetta. I have better uses for my time. You may see yourselves out."

Canis had found out late the night prior that his mother had finally captured some of the Unworthy topping her Extermination List. He had nodded with dignified affirmation when word had reached him, but Canis rarely, if ever, agreed with his mother's policy choices.

Following her whims, she had been squandering his inheritance. But Canis could do nothing but wait until Andromeda stepped down or died. Then, at last, he would be king! He planned to model his regime after that of the great Canis Major V, his grandfather, and hoped to bring prosperity, perhaps even another golden age, to Pyxis.

"This isn't a request. It's an order," Crux expressed, his teeth clenched. Crux didn't dare pull a weapon and it was clearly torturous for him to "negotiate" without one.

"I don't abide by her orders." Canis turned his back on his unwelcome visitors. He resumed the practice of his most advanced maneuvers with his artfully crafted sword, worth a small fortune. The majestic rubies and diamonds glinted with every slash and thrust.

"I can sympathize with your position," Crux stated, though clearly "sympathy" was not a word he could stomach, either. "However, those slippery Bottom-Dwellers have escaped, and General Gustave was held responsible. The queen expects you to lead the operation to recapture the MacRaes. Her anger is unprecedented, so now is not the time to question her authority."

Canis considered which option would be most self-serving. "I'm a semester away from graduating with the highest honors. And I'd rather not be affiliated with her regime's failures."

"If you turn this failure into a success, you will be well on your way to greatness," Crux cajoled, and with that they found some common ground. "You know you only have one option. The academy will let you finish your studies once the Unworthy are executed and order is restored."

Canis had to accept that Crux was speaking the truth. If he could turn this situation around, his subjects would love and respect him well after his death.

He would be a Pyxian legend.

"Fine, but from this moment forward, I make the decisions. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Crux replied.

The lieutenant-general played the role of a loyal servant deceivingly well, but Canis was not fooled. Crux was not to be trusted. The whole Chevalier family—a pit of serpents—and that was a coming from a Sauvageau, a longstanding "ally," a family who reveled in machinations of their own.

Canis took a few minutes to pack some of his belongings, after which, he followed his Royal entourage from his Regal Military Academy dormitory suite. They emerged from a hole in the crumbling architecture of a seventeenth-century Quebec City building and coasted toward the ground, through the harsh and erratic winter wind, and entered the Range Rover idling on the cobblestone.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

By midafternoon, they had arrived at the Aerial Palace. Canis followed Crux up the Grand Staircase but halted midair at the landing between the stair flights branching east and west.

Crux, heading east, paused in flight and turned to listen.

"Tell my mother that I'm very tired from our journey and prefer to be left undisturbed until evening. Though do make certain my chamber is tended to right away."

At Crux's weak nod, Canis nodded back once with authoritative finality, turned in the opposite direction, and fluttered to the West Wing.

He went inside his chamber—the most lavish suite in the palace other than his mother's—and removed his traveling clothes. He put on his most flattering crimson robe. His many full-length mirrors reflected a kingly fairy-male with neat black hair, pale skin, and eyes as dark as a starless night sky. He used to be bony and grotesque, but maturity and a grueling fitness routine had finally given him the muscle tone that would be expected of both a prince and military leader.

He removed his sword from his trunk and watched his body ripple with perfection as he fenced his reflection.

"You may enter," Canis commanded in response to a tap on his door.

Lyra entered his chamber, arms full of fresh pillows, linens, and towels. She curtsied and went about her chores. And she was exactly what he was in the mood for—someone docile, sensitive, and gorgeous.

She stripped the old linens from his bed and let the fresh ones fly high in the air. Her enticing curves begged to be touched. The academy had been all work and no play—and how he had longed for opportunities to play.

When he could no longer resist, he laid his sword on his bureau, eased up on the maid from behind, and ran his hands down her sides.

"Did you miss me?" His whisper in her ear became a covetous nip.

Lyra swept her hair aside so that his lips, tongue, teeth could descend her neck unhindered. With closed eyes and a sweet sigh, she backed against him until it was gloriously uncomfortable. "Not as much as you missed me, apparently."

She had always tried so hard to please him, to stand out from the others, and it wasn't even necessary. She was and always would be his favorite.

His mouth continued to roam about. And his hands worked assiduously on the buttons in the front of her uniform. Gluttonous for more skin, he also unclasped the flap of fabric that connected the dress around her splendid white wings. The uniform slipped off her narrow shoulders and rested midarm.

He was deftly exposing, cupping, and fondling her bare breasts, making good use of every single finger, when she wrested herself from his grip. She took to the air for a beat and after a graceful twirl, landed in a provocative position in the center of the bed. Her blue eyes, as deep and vulnerable as the day she had offered her virginity to him, expressed her faithful and unequivocal yearning.

As she finished the job of undressing herself, his robe dropped to the ground. He bounced on the bed in pursuit of her. They played a game of cat and mouse until he finally caught hold of her arms. She giggled and yelped in surrender when he pinned her underneath him. Her arms went slack beside her head. He won, easy. She let him win. And he didn't care. Any victory was worth celebrating. And if he could exert the bulk of his energy elsewhere, then all the better.

His mouth overtook hers and then wandered, wild and free. She was even more delectable than he remembered, with fuller curves and softer skin, engorged and fleshy pink in all the right places.

With each kiss and stroke, her back arched, her legs slackened. A breath or two escaped her as a whimper, and without further ado Canis began satisfying his strongest craving.

As with so many things, he intended to rise to the top, with strength and efficiency, with stunning expertise and absolute certainty, his critics and opponents prostrate and helpless, his subjects eternally grateful.

And yet, his chamber door swung open. It hit the wall hard enough to startle the enamored pair.

"Canis," his mother hissed.

Oh, Crux Chevalier, the prince thought, this one will be costly. . . .

He sighed irritably and disengaged himself from his lover. "Honestly, Mother. You could knock or, better yet, respect the message I had sent to you that I did not wish to be disturbed."

"Get rid of her! We have urgent matters to discuss!"

Lyra was already redressing as if her life were at stake. With her head lowered, she sped past his mother and out of his chamber. For a libidinous moment, his thoughts followed her, summoning to mind a supply closet, her tidy little bed, an abandoned hallway. He wasn't particular in that regard.

Nonetheless, he put his robe back on, tied it tightly, and got out of bed. "All right, Mother. I'm listening."

"Good. I believe you've heard the latest?"

"Indeed. The MacRae brothers have escaped."

Andromeda emitted a brief snigger. "Oh, Crux Chevalier must have left out my favorite part; your vile wretch of a half-sister helped them every step of the way."

"I'm not all that surprised, Mother. Honestly, what did you expect?"

"I needed that filth out of my sight!" she proclaimed, paradoxically raising her voice and whispering. "I presumed she'd be closely observed, killed if necessary. And yet some fools are too soft to follow orders."

Canis knew he had overstepped a boundary. He decided to divert the topic away from Cassiopeia. It was too sensitive of a subject . . . for them both. "Mother, why exactly am I here? I had nothing to do with the MacRaes' capture. I lack the details pertaining to their strengths and weaknesses, their intentions and how they might go about achieving them."

"You were brought here to lead this mission. Now that Cygnus has failed me, you are the only one I trust to end this madness once and for all. I also have a proposition for you."

"I'm still listening," he urged, eyes wide with anticipation.

"Once they are dead, you will receive something you've been longing for. I will step down, and you will be crowned king." Andromeda let her words sink in for a moment before pressing home her point. "By 'they,' I mean all three generations of the MacRaes—father, both sons, and the grandson. The girl is the only one who may be of interest to us."

Why, yes, of course. A child bride with MacRae blood, spared only for her wing pedigree. She'd be their captive. Their womb. His future. Killing the child would be a mercy, one he would gladly bestow if he could somehow get away with it. . . .

"And let's not forget Cassiopeia," Andromeda went on. "Her end will be the ultimate end. I want her to watch them perish and that's just to start things off. For what she has done to this family, you will ensure she suffers more than just death. She will—"

He put his hand up. "If I have to maim, torture, and kill her, I'm not participating—and that's final."

He paced away from his mother and removed the sword from his bureau. With the bejeweled hilt in one hand and sparkly blade in the other, he hoped his mother wouldn't call his bluff. He professed a fondness for his half-sister, but he would never forfeit his future for anyone.

"Awww. Feeling sentimental, are we?" she chided. "Fine. Have it your way. She can live with the shame of her betrayal and failure for the rest of her miserable life. You'll just be responsible for dealing with her. I have better uses for my time and wherewithal."

Whenever Cassiopeia was out of line and even when she wasn't, Andromeda usually made the time, found the resources, and had never complained before.

"Agreed. Is that all, Mother?"

"Oh, there is one more thing. . . ."

Her hand wove through the many layers of her black gown. Her wardrobe choices were always so outlandish—the embroidered bodice studded with crystals, the skirt pouf as wide as the doorway. Every day she primped herself as if she were attending a lavish event. It had to be her way of diverting attention from her face. But Canis could see that beyond the scars her beauty had deteriorated long ago. There were deep-set trenches around her eyes and mouth that made her appear angry all the time, and outright terrifying when she sneered. No matter how hard she scrubbed, polished, painted, adorned, or outfitted herself, the ugliness was in plain sight. Canis wondered why she even bothered trying to hide it.

Canis could have conceived three male heirs in the time it took his mother to find what she was searching for. At last, she removed a newspaper from her gown and tossed it to him. "Not that you deserve this, but you might want to follow, perhaps, your only lead."

"The Pyxis Discourse?" Canis's nose flared with disgust. "Why do you still read this sensationalist rubbish? You know how it upsets you."

"I like to know how my loyal subjects spend their frolicsome hours. And the editor, Pierre Delacroix, supposedly had a little chat with the MacRaes early yesterday morning. Read it. I also suggest you find him. And, Canis. . ."

"Yes?"

"If I were you, I would begin right away. Every second counts, and I doubt the Unworthy will be found between your bedsheets."

Canis could feel his cheeks flush. He remained silent until Andromeda had left his chamber. "Yes, Mother," he then said, imitating her lofty voice.

He dropped the copy of The Pyxis Discourse on his bed and picked up his sword. His mind was going in many directions.

I will be king!

The idea of ruling Pyxis at such a young age put a little extra swagger in his feints. After a few minutes, though, Canis grew bored of swordsmanship practice. Despite his mother's suggestion to find Pierre immediately, there was not much Canis could do until late evening. Pierre most likely did not stay in one place long due to the dangerous nature of his work. But like most uncivilized rebels, liquor and female companionship would smoke him out of his hiding place by midnight.

Canis collapsed onto his bed, scanned the Discourse, and thought of at least a dozen things he'd rather be doing. Less than halfheartedly, he opened to the featured article, "Christopher the Valiant Seeks Revenge."

Weeding through the long-winded paragraphs made him irritable. Although the details regarding the MacRaes were sketchy, the article did allude to "their mission" and "reconnecting with their father."

"I suppose Pierre might know something," he uttered to himself.

He looked up from the article when he heard a light knock on the door. It was most likely not his mother; she didn't believe in knocking.

"Come in." Canis was glad Lyra had read his mind. She topped the list of things he would rather be doing than reading The Pyxis Discourse. "May I suggest you lock the door behind you this time?" He tossed the newspaper aside and patted the spot next to him on the bed. "Now, where were we?" he asked as the golden-haired maid undressed and rejoined him atop the fresh linens. He loosened his robe and tried to make up for lost time, kissing, exploring, caressing. But he soon sensed a hesitancy from Lyra and bore down on her troubled lips. "Don't fret, love. You have no need to fear her."

Lyra gave him a slight smile, and when he kissed her again, her mouth and body were more receptive.

Canis didn't think twice about his mother's directive to begin his search for the MacRaes at once. He was confident he could please her and still have time to please himself.

⭐️⭐️⭐️