Canis Major checked his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed in his monarch's official uniform—blue cloak, four-squared breastplate alternately red and blue with the Crown Star in the center. Upon his head was his golden crown, rubies glittering at the peak of every arch.

He ran through the highlights of his busy schedule one last time. Execution of the MacRaes by beheading . . . his first address in Pyxis Square . . . and then . . . if all went well in Hawaii . . . his coronation!

He tweaked the position of his crown one last time and spent a few moments perfecting his closed-lip smile. It had to be proud, dignified, but not too forced, and his satisfaction had to be subtle. In truth, he could hardly contain his elation. He was so close to being crowned king. The power and privilege, the wealth and reputation were his to have, at his fingertips, nearly within his grasp.

Before he left his chamber, he glanced at the grandfather clock with a wince—a quarter past three a.m. No one of worth was sleeping on a night such as this, and his mother had asked to speak to him immediately, and that was almost an hour ago.

Oh! And Cassiopeia!

He had forgotten about his half-sister. She was locked in her room and wasn't going anywhere, though, so she could wait to be moved until morning. Perhaps she should be present for the MacRae execution. For her crimes, he ought to put her in the front and center. The spray of blood in her face and the stink of her lover's ruin might teach her a valuable lesson about obedience and loyalty.

Canis left his room at a confident pace, rounded the corner, and headed through the North Hall. It was the most direct passage to the East Wing, and frequently traversed by all palace inhabitants, though at this time of the morning, it was empty, or so he believed.

"Prince Canis Major. Home, once again," came a taunt from the shadows.

He paused and turned and did little to hide his amusement. "Not now, Ursa." He swept his arms open. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Ursa sashayed into the torchlight. Her lips were full and painted red, her copper-colored hair was wavy and lustrous. She was wearing a sheer nightgown, the lacey tie at the neck falling slack. As if she knew exactly which crevice Canis's desire would stumble into, she pressed her full breasts into the thin fabric as she closed in on him. "You always seem to make time for Lyra."

"Lyra is exactly where she's supposed to be when I require attention," the prince intoned.

Ursa's eyes flared with jealousy, just as he'd anticipated. He didn't see anything wrong with a little friendly competition as long as he was the object of it. 

After the lift of one eyebrow, she began toying with the loose strings at her neckline, reeling him in by more than just his eye.

He received her kiss with an open mouth. In the battle of tongues, hers was the clear victor. It overtook his mouth, a seemingly superb attempt to slither through his innards and coil knots around his groin.

"Be in my bedchamber when I return," he panted when her tongue withdrew from the depths of his libido.

"I shall, Your Highness." She curtsied slowly. As she rose, bemused, she crossed her legs tightly, and shifted her weight while she licked and then bit her lower lip.

He didn't think she would wait. He wasn't sure he could wait. Together, they rarely ever made it to his bed. Or hers. She was much more arousing on the spur of the moment in some highly inappropriate locale. She'd go down on him anywhere, and she was the very best in that regard. Lyra didn't have any cons, so to say—he could do as he pleased—but Ursa had one very exceptional pro. And she liked it her way, which was a titillating change of pace . . . much more tit for tat. Why choose if he could have it all?

Before he could gather his wits, her tongue was back in his throat and she was working his belt buckle open with practiced hands. Her firm grip made him gasp. Just as she dipped to the knee to receive him, the unmistakable clang of swords drowned out what should have been his cry of pleasure.

His head snapped to the left. His eyes narrowed in on the East Hall. The shadows and torchlight were in an uproar.

A wail of defeat spurred Canis to latch his belt, wipe his mouth, and straighten his crown. He launched himself into flight, casting Ursa aside.

He drew his sword when he rounded the corner and couldn't believe his eyes. Swordfights were underway. Wounded bodies littered the East Hall, a few of which wore his regime's proud colors.

Canis was out of breath by the time he reached the balcony overlooking the Hall of Crystal. Andromeda was already there, witnessing the insurgence unfold from floor to high ceiling. She was still as an ice sculpture, though her fury was vivid in her black eyes. She didn't even blink when he took her side.

Canis performed a quick headcount—rebels versus Crown Champions and Gray Coats—and felt much relief. The crown's numbers were fewer than usual by half, but that appeared to be more than enough. His well-trained soldiers were handily subduing peasants, academics, undernourished children, fem-fairies, and the elderly. His mother only had to worry about bloodstains on her shiny white floors.  

"Never turn your back on your enemy, Canis Major," Andromeda droned, eyes still fixed on what appeared to be her most prized possession—the grand ruby rotating in the center of the hall. It would have been enormous by human standards and worth a fortune in any world.

The ruby's red glow flickered across her face and scars. She flinched when its glass display case shattered.

Andromeda's fixation found a new culprit. Canis followed her gaze and clenched onto the hilt of his sword. It may have been pristine and untainted by blood, but that was about to change. He lifted the blade high into the air and watched it glint in the eyes of the overwhelmed rebels. On this momentous occasion, he was about to release its fury for sport rather than necessity.

He leaped from the balcony and used his black wings to hover to the ground before the object of his mother's pointed reproach. "Cassiopeia, my dear," he began. "I never expected to be deceived by you after I tried so hard to protect you. You're more like our mother than I originally believed."

"You're wrong." Cassie stepped back, one hand in the air, her other hand clinging to a sword that was large and awkward for her. Her arm was already shaking. It was clear she was no match for him. "I'm nothing like her. And I'm sorry I had to betray you, but I refuse to live under her domain. If you've chosen to cater to her every whim, I can no longer consider you my brother. But, if there's any hope, if it's not too late, you could make a different choice . . . your own choice. You could help us defeat her! You are not like our mother either. I've seen your sympathy, decency, and compassion. Please, Canis, you don't want to kill me. I can see it in your eyes."

Canis lunged toward her and swiped at her sword, nearly knocking it from her hand. "You're trying to trick me again!" Canis's second swing at her only disturbed the air with an angry whoosh. She ducked and tumbled out of range. "You lied so that this traitorous lot would rise up and give you the throne that so rightly belongs to me!" he shouted as she backed away. "I've followed our mother's every command, obeyed her every order. I've earned her esteem. And you think I would forsake her after all that I've sacrificed? I have no reason to trust a word you say. You will die by my hand and I will be king!" 

He backed her against the Grand Staircase. She fell against the marble, losing her balance and her sword. Her shaky hands went up by her ears. Her eyes pinched shut in anticipation of the strike meant to end her life.

Canis aimed for the side of his half-sister's neck, and his blade began its lethal swing. But his sword clashed with something hard, sending a shudder from its edge up to his straining shoulder.

It was another sword. And it was wielded by Christopher MacRae.

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Joe's magic had never been more powerful. Dozens of Gray Coats, one after another, fell dead before they realized why their swords were as disobedient as the rebels they were trying to kill.

All he needed was a little inspiration, and in one perfect kiss he had found it. When Cassie had looked up at him with excitement and hope in her eyes, he couldn't resist the gravitational pull of the moment. He'd stopped thinking, lost control for once, and went for it. And just when he thought she'd pull away, she rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed him back.

That was how he remembered it anyway, and even if it was an exaggeration, the memory of the kiss they shared—better, longer, more satisfying every time he relived it—was making him feel invincible.  

Even so, his enemies were relentless. When one of them fell, three more seemed to take their place, and he no longer had his brother's strong sword by his side. Joe was on his own and he was surrounded. While he kept Cassie in his peripheral vision, he remained untouchable, but then she fell from sight.

He pushed toward the last place he'd seen her—the main staircase—and for a second, he was too worried to focus. At one point he didn't see a sword swipe toward his gut until it was about to hit him. He dodged out of the way, but the blade got close enough to tear his shirt.    

The risk was worth it. A few steps later, he spotted Cassie sitting on the stairs. He couldn't see any wounds and she wasn't nursing any site of injury, and yet she was immobilized with what looked like distress and exhaustion.

When a few Gray Coats ebbed from view, Joe saw what she was seeing—Chris was fighting her brother. The matchup had to be hard to watch, for anyone, but especially for her. Soon, though, she would have to get up and fight, or she would be the next to die.

Joe didn't think he could ever be as outwardly heroic as his brother was, but his smaller, subtler examples of heroism, if well planned and executed, might carry him to victory someday. With that in mind and in heart, he helped Cassie to her feet and magically summoned her sword from where it lay at the edge of the stairs. "It's not a good time to be taking a breather, Princess," Joe said with a wink.

As she pulled the sword from the air, she gave him a slight smile. "Thanks, Joe, for. . ." She paused as a group of Gray Coats closed in around them. She and Joe aligned themselves back to back. "Believing in me," she finally shouted over her shoulder.

Joe smiled a smile he was glad she couldn't see.

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