"Cassie, are you in there?" Joe knocked on her chamber door with more urgency. "Open up!"

The door handle was locked and he didn't have the key. Peeking through the keyhole revealed only pitch-darkness. She was either in there, completely still, too angry to acknowledge him, or she was somewhere else, most likely in a similar state of mind.

With the budget tighter than ever, Joe suspected she might be upset about the university's plans for expansion. But he never had the chance to tell her the good news. They obtained a surprise and very generous donation from her uncle for the new Alchemy Wing of the Science Center, which was to be named after Cassie's father, Perseus Labelle. The university only needed the letter of approval from the MacRae Administration to proceed. If Cassie had stayed at the table a little longer, she would have been privy to the details.

Joe wished all of their financial worries could disappear so effortlessly. . . .

For an hour or so, Joe wasn't too concerned. He assumed she had been absorbed in conversation elsewhere, on her way to or from wherever she may have gone to steady herself. For her discourteous behavior—she missed her own uncle's speech—perhaps she deserved flat champagne and a cold dinner.

But she never returned.

Joe wasn't one to panic. Even after midnight, when the Gallery of Enlightenment had been reduced to dribs and drabs of giggly, inexhaustible students and the cleaning crew, he had made the assumption that she had found her way back to the palace. He was only annoyed that she didn't feel the need to mention that to anyone.

After another knock and no luck, and a frustrated kick to the unyielding thing, Joe crossed over to the West Wing. He wished he could end the night as soon as possible with deep and undisturbed sleep, but he knew that would never happen unless she was safe in her room. And he was too self-involved to make much of the buzzing that followed him to his door.

He was trying to identify the right key to his chamber when a velvety voice interrupted his concentration: "You look too debonair to be spending the evening alone."

Startled, Joe dropped the keys. A fairy with fiery red hair and a very generous bust picked them up. In the blink of an eye, she was in front of him, leaning against his door. She had the correct key in her fingertips and traced it along her low neckline before she offered it to him.

When he tried to take the keys from her, she squeezed onto them harder. Not at all in the mood for her games, Joe forcibly pried them from her hand.

"Ursa, why don't you find something useful to do?"

"Oh, I see. You're sore that Little Miss Ice Princess won't allow your entry into her chamber."

"She's not even in there! I don't think. . . ." Other possibilities came to mind. She could be in bed, in a deep sleep, sick, injured, intoxicated . . . any number of things. Why did he automatically assume Cassie was either missing or angry? He felt better and at the same time, worse. "And why are you following me?"

"I would never do such a thing!" Ursa claimed with wide-eyed innocence he knew not to trust. "But I'm sure, deep down, you wouldn't mind."

Joe did his best to force patience. "If you're trying to get under my skin, it's working."

"That's not my intention, although skin could be involved if you'd rather. . ."

She reached for the buttons of his dress shirt. Joe grabbed her wrists before she accomplished any unbuttoning, though. And when he did, his activity logbook hit the floor and tumbled to a stop against the wall. Loose pieces of paper scattered in its wake. His keys fell again as well.

They both crouched down. Joe collected his papers, but he couldn't find the keys.

Ursa pulled them out from behind her back and dangled them in front of his face. "You're not going to invite me in?"

He snatched back the keys, quickly and decisively this time, and refused to answer that question with even a grunt of disapproval.

"Oh, Joseph, I almost feel sorry for you," she chanted in a mocking, singsong tone. "Cassiopeia is pleasant enough to look at, I suppose, if you don't happen to mind her little frailty-and-gloom routine. . . ."

Ursa never had anything good to say about Cassie, using little at every opportunity, and her size wasn't necessarily the stature Ursa was criticizing. Joe hadn't lived in the palace long enough to even begin to understand why.

"You may disagree now," she went on, "but fairies of your status crave a little fire. So when you discover on your wedding night that she's as frigid as a corpse, my door is always open . . . just like it used to be."

"Would you keep your voice down?"

"What's the difference? It's not like you were with her back then."

"That's not the point. She was bedridden and . . . and . . . depressed."

He didn't mean to say that last part out loud. It wasn't Ursa's business. But the truth had a way of slipping out when he was tired and inconsolable.

"Ah, indeed she was. Who knew so many tears could fall from one little fairy princess? And no matter how hard you tried, tended to her every wound, need, and whim, she cried for someone else. It's no wonder you occasionally sought refuge elsewhere."

You're only human. Joe looked down and fiddled with the keys in his hand. But he wasn't human, not entirely, and he couldn't use that excuse. He was better than human. And that meant he didn't have to answer to anyone of her stature. Or let her make him feel guilty by absolving him of said guilt.

He would never hit a fem-fairy who didn't hit him first, but that was close enough. "If you don't mind, Ursa, I've had a really bad night and you're wasting my time. So why don't you do us both a favor and get the hell out of my way. Or tomorrow, you'll regret it."

She moved to the side and lazily threw her hands in the air. "If you insist." While she fluttered off at a snail's pace, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Joseph, I hope for your sake, your brother really is dead."

Joe tried to act unaffected. And yet his hands were betraying him by shaking uncontrollably. The keys almost bobbled to the ground again, but he slammed his palm over them and the lock with enough force that his door sprang open.

On the inside, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, pinching his eye closed, despite the deep darkness of the room already. Though he needed time to pull himself together—Cassie, his entire life, everything he had been working toward seemed to be slipping from his grip—he only stayed in his chamber long enough to light a lantern and change into his traveling clothes.

Joe left to find the groundskeeper. The burly fairy-male answered Joe's angry knock, his eyes heavy from interrupted sleep. But he provided the door key Joe needed and didn't ask questions. "I hope she's all right" were the only words he said.

With the key in hand, Joe returned to Cassie's chamber. He didn't knock this time. He barged in. And he was right to suspect and fear the worst. Her bed was empty, still made without so much as a wrinkle. On his way out, he was surprised to see his father in the open doorway.

"Any luck?"

Joe shook his head. He avoided speaking because he didn't trust what might come out. And that wasn't like him.

Scott glanced at Joe's clothes and could easily discern Joe's plan. "I think it would be better if you stay here. She could be anywhere at this point and you have nothing to go on."

"Yeah, but. . ."

"How about this: I'll check the library one last time and get a group of the Legion together. They can do the preliminary investigations, while you get some rest. I have a lot of work to catch up on anyway. I'll wait up until I hear back from them. If there's any news, you'll be the first person I wake."

"Aren't you leaving in the morning to find Chris?"

His brother's name came out like an attack, nothing planned or calculated, but like a sudden response to pain or injury, a desperate swing at an assailant who had already thrown a few punches.

Scott MacRae had been born a prince. Andromeda stole the right to rule from him soon after they married. He became a loner, a fugitive, hiding in the human world, supporting a wife and raising a family while living in fear. Despite all that, he had risen to power, earned the respect of both his superiors and subordinates, first in Massachusetts, then in Hawaii, and now in Pyxis. Scott certainly had his weaknesses—they all did—but overall, he had seasoned into a moderate, tolerant, and patient leader. And Joe knew, at this critical moment in his life, he was testing his father's limits, crossing over a line that should never be breached.

Scott took in a deep breath, swallowing whatever it was that he was really thinking. "I'll leave once we find her." He put his arm around Joe's shoulder and they walked out of Cassie's room together. "Don't lose heart. She's worth too much to harm. My guess, either she or the ransom note will arrive by morning."

Scott guided Joe to his room, all without incident—his father's righteousness was like a shield against anything improper—and Joe took his advice. He went to bed, too exhausted and mentally spent to consider that his father might be wrong.

Cassie might be gone to him forever.

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