Joe climbed upon the stage of a concert hall and bowed to his full house. He returned his mother's smile and winked at her.

Skylar MacRae was in the front row and Scott was beside her. Their interwoven hands were resting in her lap. They were happy, healthy, and together . . . again.

And they looked so proud.

Joe approached the grand piano and took a seat on the bench, making sure the tails of his tuxedo were loose behind him. When the applause died down, he began to play the first movement of Beethoven's Sonata Pathétique. It was his mother's favorite piece and that made it his favorite as well.

Joe always loved the nervous energy that accompanied a performance. It was known to heighten the euphoria if it went well. However, that same energy could amplify the despair if the music failed to meet the audience's expectations. Performing was a risk. But like many other performers, Joe was willing to take that risk. Because he craved the reward like nothing else.

But this was not a perfect performance. He made his first mistake when he spotted motion in the audience from the corner of his eye. The error was not catastrophic. Only a trained ear would have noticed.

Yet one mistake led to another.

The source of the distraction made his way across the first row, disrupting Joe's admirers as he passed.

Chris collapsed in the chair next to his parents. He looked shamelessly bored after about five seconds and kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting something better to arrive. Then something better—or someone to be precise—did enter the concert hall.

Princess Cassiopeia glided down the aisle like a bride, except she was in a gown a shade of gold. Instead of flowers, she carried an infant in her bare, graceful arms. The child's bright head of hair matched the exact hue of his mother's dress as if the fairy gods granted her that gift. And the child was kept ever so close to her ample and barely concealed chest.

Gasps erupted. Audible ooohs and ahhhs.

Chris and the happy grandparents rose from their seats to greet the princess. Cassie handed the baby to his grandmother, the good one. The evil one was nowhere in sight.

Then Cassie kissed the father of her child and the love of her life like she hadn't seen him in a thousand years. Who other than Chris? Golden hair, dashingly handsome, strong physique. Like father, like son, like grandfather too.

Joe had to look away. His eyes returned to his fingers. They were now plunking out loud, discordant errors. He stopped caring until all eyes were back on him. The attention improved his performance, until the little prince started wailing. Joe wished he could cover his ears, but he squeezed his eyes shut instead, as if that would help. But it only made the shrill scream more aggravating.

Joe was about to explode from his seat and make the cry stop, some way, somehow, and yet the sound faded on its own. Soon there was only the piano, the second movement, the calm after the storm. He was lost in the music once again. And the feeling that accompanied the sound . . . his sound . . . it was almost . . . too good to be true.

His eyes eased back open. The piano keys were smudged in red.

Joe's full attention snapped toward the audience. They were all dead and mangled, as if squeezed until they popped.

He stopped playing and looked down. Joe was alone with blood on his hands.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Joe pinched his eyes shut as tightly as they would go. The next time they opened, he shivered and saw only darkness. He sighed, now awake.

As awful as his dream had been, he wished he could return to that imagined auditorium. At least in the dream realm he wasn't freezing and hungrier than he'd ever been. And for a few moments, he felt human again. He missed that feeling. Every day. No magic, nothing to fear, only mundane highs and lows, and ordinary, avoidable "evil." The be-smart, play-it-safe, and you'll-be-fine version of evil.

His current predicament was like a real-life hell. Evil was contagious, worse than any disease. It was maddening. Soul-crushing. And deadly, without question. Quick and painful. Slow and necrotic. Excruciating either way.

Still, he was surviving, most likely because he was groggy at all times. Andromeda kept him that way. She wanted him weak unless, of course, he was working for her!

So, he let the darkness have him, again and again, but his sleep wasn't deep or at all satisfying. He forced chords into his mind to keep it occupied with something that required less effort than hate. Soon he could see music notes in their precise positions streaming past, and hear the concert piano. . . .

"Joseph?"

It was a familiar but entirely unexpected voice. He opened his eyes.

Ursa. She was shrouded from her ankles to her hooded head of red hair. Her face and small hands were a glowing, almost translucent white. The shade of her hair was reflecting her lantern's fire, giving it the appearance of burning embers.

He dragged himself into a sitting position against the wall. "What are you doing down here?" Joe droned loudly and with a hint of musicality. "Is it for an 'I told you so?'" His head swiveled toward her. He caught a direct glimpse of the lantern and had to shrink away from it.

"Shhh. . . " Ursa hissed. "If the queen found out I was here. . ."

"Sorry," he said, even though he wasn't. "I'll try to keep my voice down."

She pulled a sack from the pocket of her cloak and dangled it between the bars. "I came to bring you this, but if you'd rather not eat. . ."

Joe snatched the sack before she could change her mind. He returned to his seat by the wall and devoured the stale bread like an animal. His circumstances had reduced him to that level. He honestly believed he was worse off than an animal. He was a caged animal.

"Are you thirsty? I also have. . ." Ursa pulled out a screw-cap jar of water.

Joe took it from her extended hand, more humanely this time. "Thanks," he said after he consumed almost half of it. "If you can let me keep this, I won't have to lick the trickle of water off the wall. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You can have it as long as you promise not to do anything reckless with the glass."

"Fine. I promise."

"Then I'll make sure you don't starve."

"Great," he replied flatly.

Ursa moved closer and folded her hands around the bars, the lantern now dangling from her wrist. "I would have come sooner if I knew you were down here. We all assumed you were dead."

"No, I'm not that lucky."

"Oh, Joseph. If the queen wanted you dead. . ."

"I know. I'd be dead already. So I should count my lucky stars. Andromeda has a special place for me in her heart. Isn't it lovely?" He gestured to his surroundings.

"She's really not as bad as you think."

He chuckled caustically. "That's easy for you to say!" Ursa was naïve and misinformed, but he wasn't at all in the mood to set her straight. "So what's going on upstairs? How's the transition going?"

She peaked an eyebrow. "Do you really want to discuss politics?"

"No, I really want to know what happened to my father."

She lowered her head and eyes. "He's dead. I'm sorry."

"I knew that," he replied after a somber pause. "It probably sounds weird to you, but it's like I can feel his absence. And what about my honorable brother and devoted fiancée? Do they still have their heads attached to their bodies?"

"Pyxis is being torn apart in attempt to locate them. They either escaped or found a phenomenal hiding spot."

"Figures. Lying and cheating prevail, and true virtue dies with my father."

Now that Joe's eyes had adjusted to the light, he was able to watch Ursa fiddle with the finicky flame.

"Can I ask you something?" he inquired while she worked.

"Yes, I'm listening," she said without taking her eyes from what was left of the fire.

The flame nearly went out. Ursa shook it hard enough to get the oil flowing again. It reignited. Then she looked back to Joe.

"How'd you know all these years? About the princess. You saw right through her. You questioned the integrity of our relationship from the very beginning."

"Female intuition, I suppose. All of her moping, all of the time. More than ever and she wasn't exactly a cheerful child."

"She was sick. But only for a year or so," he said. Then he tried to put a number on the months. "Maybe a little longer than that."

"No, a lot longer. Sick in the head, more like it. The poor princess. Woe is me. No one could possibly love her to her divine standards. That mentality never went away. You just became too preoccupied to notice. She could play the part of the dutiful figurehead and the devoted fiancée . . . if it suited her own agenda. But it was all so contrived. Did you not know she was grieving the loss of your brother? Every minute he was gone? Or did you choose to ignore it?"

He shrugged. "Well, if she had any respect for me, she would have told me the truth. Maybe a 'by the way, I'll marry you, unless, of course, Chris miraculously returns and sweeps me off my feet.' That would have helped me come to my senses."

"She was using you. She was stringing you along in case that never happened."

Despite his vow to himself not to shed a single tear for her, his head began to fill. "Wow, thanks," he said through an audible sniffle. "You're making me feel so much better."

"Joseph, I'm trying to get you to see her for what she really is. Did you know she was spotted sneaking into the back of the palace on the morning of the wedding?"

"No! Where was she? And so soon after being kidnapped? I remember trying to find her." The realization hit him hard. Everyone he spoke to was clearly making excuses for her absence. And he was stupid enough to believe them.

"It had to be worth it to her. And when she couldn't find what she wanted. . ."

Joe shuddered, probably for so many reasons, he couldn't pin down any one in particular. "She came back to marry me! The hypocrisy of it all . . . both of them!"

"They deserve each other. You deserve better."

"I might deserve better but look what I have. Nothing. No one. Could things get any worse?"

"You don't have to spend the rest of your life here. Andromeda is prudent and resourceful, more than you give her credit for. She admires your talent and could benefit from your experience. Pledge your loyalty, do the job you already know how to do, and you could carve out a place for yourself in her administration."

"But she killed my father!" he snapped back. "She thinks less of my kind. Why would I ever. . . ?"

Ursa shrugged indifferently. "I should leave before someone notices I'm gone. But before I go, I have one last thing for you." She stepped away and when she returned, she slipped a black book, a quill and ink between the bars. "I know you used to carry this everywhere."

Joe stood up to retrieve the items. "It's my activity logbook." He paced around his cell, flipping through the pages. "It won't do me much good in the dark, but still! Does it sound strange that I'm glad to have it back?"

"No, it was important to you. And if light is a concern. . ." She stepped away again and returned with a torch. She propped it in an empty sconce on the wall directly across from Joe's cell. "There. Now you'll be able to see what you read and write."

"Wow . . . Ursa . . . thanks. This means a lot to me." He closed the book and tucked it beneath his arm. Then he joined Ursa by the bars, not directly across from her, but close enough to eclipse part of her body. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I acted so damn high and mighty around you all the time. My, how times have changed. I'm sure you're enjoying this role reversal."

He leaned his head against the cold iron as the world fell into perspective. His former life was an illusion—the love of the princess, the respect he had earned, the power and prestige. All of his accomplishments were meaningless. Though they were documented in his logbook, it was practically a work of fiction. His enthusiasm for having it back in his possession began to lessen.

He shrugged. At the very least, re-reading it and perhaps a little writing would help to pass the time.

Ursa swayed closer to him. "That's not true," she murmured, her tone suddenly seductive. "Honestly, I feel connected to you in a way I never have before," she continued. "I know what it's like to battle for the affection of a Sauvageau with an older, seemingly flawless sibling. And to ultimately lose that battle. . ."

"Wait a second. You and. . . ?"

"Prince Canis Major. I suppose you could say he was my first love. And Lyra was the one to bear his child. He was never quite so reckless with me."

"Procyon?" Joe wondered aloud.

"Yes. Lyra's marriage to Sargus was her way of hiding the truth. I always knew, though. I suppose I was too jealous to say anything. Or I found comfort in patience. She'd have to answer for her indiscretions eventually. And I was right."

"Now that you mention it, I always found it odd that Procyon looked more like Cassie than he did his own mother."

"He's better off as a prince. Such a shame, though," Ursa said while shaking her head. "Lyra never should have stood in Andromeda's way."

"Wait does that mean. . . ?"

"Lyra was caught trying to escape with Procyon. She had all of Cassiopeia's jewels with her. Two unforgivable offenses."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and he meant it. "She seemed like a loving mother."

Joe had always liked Lyra. She was polite, hard-working, and unarguably beautiful, regardless of class or one's preferences. And yet her eye never strayed from her husband, Sargus. Not exactly a Prince Canis Major. . .

Joe was at a loss for further words, especially since Ursa didn't have an overt need to hear his condolences. Her resentment wasn't still sour in her gut or something that ever threatened to gush out of her eyes; it had settled in her spine long ago. He wasn't there yet, but it was something he hoped to achieve too someday.

Even so, the more Joe thought about it, the more upset he became. Procyon followed his mother everywhere, from chore to chore, every day. They were inseparable. And Andromeda murdered her grandson's mother.

Now that was cold.

"She may have been loving," Ursa said, breaking the morbid silence, "but if she were smart, she'd still be alive. Now I'm in charge of Procyon's care."

"So, if Andromeda can bend the rules and make him the new heir to the throne, then that would make you . . . ?"

"Eminent Guardian," she replied loftily.

Joe nodded once. He could feel his mouth curving into a cynical smile, the first one in a good long while. "Ah, no wonder you're no longer in uniform."

She shrugged but held her head sky high. "Well, Joseph. . ."

"I know. You have to go."

"Yes, I do. Will you at least think about what we've discussed?"

Joe swayed in her direction and leaned his body against the bars. "Sure. What else is there to do down here?"

Ursa was now directly across from him. She pressed against the bars as well and looked into Joe's eyes. They were barely touching, but he could feel the heat provided by another body. He pressed his face into the bars and closed his eyes.

Her lips brushed against his. It brought to mind their first time together. Joe had his share of flings in his old life, but even the ones he didn't intend to keep long-term required a lot of maintenance. Ursa was different. She was unlike anyone he had ever experienced. Spontaneous to a fault. She was no-strings-attached in a very tight-laced world.

Way back when, all of a sudden, she had dropped in from above. Her wings were a sight to see, but her breasts were popping out at him like he had stumbled into some dirty fantasy. Then she backed him into a corner, literally, in a normally busy hallway. It was late. But still. His pants were around his ankles before he even had the chance to gather his faculties or check for witnesses. He didn't even know Ursa's name at the time.

But he really needed the temporary escape from the all-consuming stress and frustration. It was after a particularly difficult day with Cassie. She was alive—a miracle, everyone claimed—but she wasn't thriving in any way. And when he tried to talk to her, convince her to eat or drink, to care or try, she would just cry herself sick and pretend he wasn't there.

He was only human, or was once, and he convinced himself not to feel guilty. Cassie wasn't his to have at this pass. He believed she never would be. And that turned out to be universally true regardless of the steps they appeared to take toward an eventual outcome.

And Ursa gave him some of what he craved without any of the pomp that usually surrounded courtship. He was in complete control. It was straight to business anytime he wanted it. He'd leave her a note for a time and place and didn't even have to sign his name. She'd be there.

Joe had forgotten the exact reason why he put an end to the wild trysts after only a few months. But there were many contributing factors. His responsibilities were increasing and he was bored with how easy it all was. And he grew confident enough to embark on the ultimate challenge—the princess. So he started behaving himself. He had to earn the approval and affection of the exquisite, magnanimous, outwardly pure, well-mannered heir to the throne.

What an absolute waste . . . a farce . . . a lie. . .

And then Joe wasn't thinking about the fem-fairy within his reach, teasing him with a noncommittal lightness that wasn't her style. He was still hung up on Cassie. How could she. . . ? Why him?

He wanted to bend the bars, scream, or break down. While he was considering his choice in the matter and whether he even had a choice, his activity logbook slipped out from beneath his arm and hit the ground.

Simultaneously, Ursa's heat disappeared. When Joe opened his eyes, she was halfway down the corridor. "Wait!" Joe called after her. He darted to the corner of his cell. "I don't even get a good-bye?"

"Good-bye, Joseph," she chanted without looking back. Her voice was like chimes in the wind—cool and crisp, almost musical, but without the beauty of a true song.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

"Well?" Andromeda asked.

"Two weeks, no more," Ursa said upon entry into the Strategy Room.

"What makes you so confident?"

"The isolation will drive him mad and he misses the power. I believe he'll be ready to join us once he makes peace with his father's death. And as far as his brother and ex-fiancée are concerned, he'll want them dead more than you do. That, I promise."

Andromeda flipped through the pile of documents in front of her. "Very well. Excellent work, Ursa. If you were a fairy-male with combat experience, I'd make you my new general," she said, pointing an eyebrow toward the high ceiling. "These other candidates are truly disgraceful." She stacked the papers together and set them aside.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. To be in your esteem is truly an honor."

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Beethoven. Sonata Pathétique (8:55 for the "calm after the storm")

https://youtu.be/7eYktxvczjw