Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 26: The Fall (Part 3)

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?