Joanne was walking to the abandoned farmhouse on the day of the ball early in the afternoon.
She was feeding and taking care of Artie.
Lancelot had pulled down the image last night that had let Artie see what was happening at the castle.
She saw the pain and anger in his eyes as he looked at the images.
He didn't talk to her.
Joanne felt miserable as she looked at Anya and Lancelot interact together.
Anya wasn't happy.
She was constantly frowning at him and pushing him away when he tried to hold her or kiss her.
She didn't sleep with him.
She didn't want to.
Instead, she slept in Fiona's room by herself, locking the door.
Lancelot, on the other hand, looked at her hungrily and greedily.
He didn't care about the way she was acting towards him.
He was glad, in fact.
Anya wasn't speaking and wasn't herself.
Which was why Joanne couldn't go along with this anymore.
She loved Anya like a sister and she couldn't bear to see Anya so confused and unhappy.
As she walked into the abandoned farmhouse, she saw Artie sitting in his chair, wrists and ankles binded by ropes.
Lancelot was standing in front of him, arms crossed, stance angry as she walked past the king and towards Lancelot, who still looked like Artie.
"There had better be a good reason for asking to meet here on the day of the ball." Lancelot said.
She saw Artie's body tense with anger.
She saw that his wrists were bruised and covered in dried blood from where he struggled.
She spoke.
"Well, I'm afraid Anya isn't really warming up to you."
Artie chuckled softly but it was bitter.
"Told you my wife would notice something wasn't right."
Lancelot looked at him angrily before answering.
"Um, FYI, not my fault. I mean, how charming can I be when I have to pretend I'm him?" He whined as he pointed to Artie who looked angrily at him.
The real Artie had circles under his eyes and he looked tired.
"It's not my fault she's in love with a pathetic loser."
Artie scoffed.
"No, no, no. It's nobody's fault. Perhaps it's best if we just call the whole thing off?" She asked as she walked around, trying to shake off some of the fear in her stomach.
"What?" He yelled angrily.
Artie looked surprised and confused.
"You can't force someone to fall in love."
Artie had a small smile on his lips before Lancelot laughed again.
"Oh, I beg to differ." Lancelot said, taking out the red potion. "Have Anya drink this and she'll fall in love with the first man she kisses which will be me."
Joanne took the bottle.
"You can't! She's mine!" Artie yelled as he struggled.
Lancelot ignored him.
"Um...no." she said
The bottle felt heavier than a boulder in her hands.
She couldn't do this anymore.
"No?" Lancelot questioned.
"I can't. I w-won't do it." She tried to sound brave but she tumbled over her tongue.
"Oh yes you will!" Lancelot threatened as he advanced on her. "If you remember, I helped you with getting your job and I can take it away just as easily. Is that what you want? Is it?"
She winced as he threatened her.
She feared for her life.
It wasn't her fault she had to steal the king's gold.
She needed money for herself.
She was alone and hungry and dirty.
She had no choice.
If the king knew, he was going to have her head.
"N-n-no." She said softly, giving into her fear.
"Good girl. Now, I have to go. I need to do my hair before the ball." And with that Lancelot left.
Joanne turned to the hurt and angry king.
"I'm sorry, your majesty." She said and meant it.