Rapunzel’s Outlaw Orc (Filthy Fairy-tales #7)

1. Rapunzel

Rapunzel

I don’t remember anything from before the tower. Not a name. Not a face. Just… silence. This place is all I’ve ever known. No stairs. No door. Just a single window that opens onto Fable Forest.

I’ve always been here alone, with roots in my hair and stone walls all around me. Though lately, it feels less like they’re part of me and more like they’re... watching. Listening.

My “home” is little more than a cell—a small table, a single chair, and a narrow bed that my feet dangle from when I lie down.

The stone floor is always cold, even in summer, and the air smells faintly of mildew.

I have a few meager comforts: a mirror fixed to one wall, a cramped bathroom with a toilet and shallow bath, and a cookstove that doubles as a heat source in the winter.

I lean against the windowsill, gazing at the trees beyond. The smells of pine and distant rain tease my nostrils like freedom I can’t touch. I wish I had someone to talk to. To laugh with. To touch.

Besides Dame Gothel, that is. And she’s been gone for a week.

What’s keeping her?

As if summoned by the very thought, her voice rings up from below.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

My hair responds instinctively. It stretches down from the window, golden and glowing, braiding itself into something strong enough to hoist a full-grown woman up the stone face of the tower.

And that’s exactly what Dame Gothel does.

“It’s about time,” I mutter as her smug face appears over the windowsill. Wart-speckled nose. Green lips. Grayish skin. She may be a witch, but she certainly doesn’t waste magic on appearances.

“It’s only been a week, dearie,” she croons, her voice as raspy as ever. “Besides, you could stand to step away from the cake now and then.”

I cross my arms tightly over my full breasts.

Anger churns in my stomach. Dame Gothel always finds some way to mention the extra weight I carry.

It doesn’t matter how much or little I eat, my body retains its abundant curves.

Gothel delights in prodding me with her little barbs when she brings me food or stops by to check I haven’t escaped—as if I could.

And yes, I’ve tried. Once, I braided my hair into a ladder.

Got halfway down before a root yanked me back into the tower upside down, flashing my knickers to every woodland creature with a view.

Pretty sure the squirrels are still talking about it.

“What do you expect?” I snap. “I can’t exactly take up jogging in here. Should I do laps around the bed? Jumping jacks in the four feet of space between the stove and the bathroom? Maybe some hair pull-ups on the rafters?”

She smiles that awful little smile. “You need to try something. I swear your face is rounder than last time. As your guardian, I’m only thinking of your health.”

I sit down hard on the chair, jaw tight. “Then maybe you could start thinking of my mental health and allow me to go outside for fifteen minutes.”

“No,” she says sharply, already hauling up a rope with a basket tied at the end—my weekly delivery. It thunks against the window ledge. “You know why. The world would destroy you. Swallow you whole.”

I roll my eyes hard enough to give myself a headache. If anything is devouring me, it’s this tower. Slowly. One strand of magic-laced hair at a time.

I glance down at the golden locks pooled around me.

They snake across the floor and disappear into the roots that burrow through the tower like veins.

I don’t brush it anymore. What’s the point?

I don’t wear it for beauty. It’s a leash, fused to living roots that twist through the floor and walls. The curse that keeps me contained.

“Here,” Dame Gothel says, shoving the basket into my arms. “And please try to make it last longer than a week.”

I set the basket aside, uninterested.

“Did you bring any new books?” I ask, though I already know the answer. I spend my days staring out of the window, singing the few songs I can remember, and waiting for something—anything—to happen. A book about the mating habits of squirrels would be welcome at this point.

“Forgot,” she grunts, swinging one leg over the windowsill. “Maybe next time.”

Which means probably not.

“You don’t understand how boring it is,” I mutter. “That’s probably why I have those—”

I stop myself too late.

Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and suspicious. “Those what, Rapunzel?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just daydreams. Silly ones.”

She stares at me a moment longer, then says, “Well, as long as that’s all it is,” before vanishing from the window.

The moment she’s gone, my hair slithers back into the room, reattaching to the glowing roots that bind me.

I glance at the basket but don’t bother opening it. Not because of what she said. I’m just tired. Of this tower. This silence. This loneliness that eats at me more than hunger ever could.

I lie down carefully on my too-small bed. She’s not wrong—I’ve grown since the day it became mine. I don’t mind the softness of my body. I’ve learned to love my jiggly thighs and squishy stomach. But sometimes I wonder...

Would anyone find me beautiful?

Not that it matters.

“I’ll never leave this tower,” I whisper. “Never fall in love. Never be truly happy.”

No one answers. It’s just me and these walls. The roots. The same suffocating silence.

I absently reach for the pendant at my throat—a smooth oval of amethyst set in tarnished silver. It’s cool against my fingertips, calming in its familiarity. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.

Gothel told me once that it’s a protection charm. “Never take it off,” she said. “It keeps you safe from the dangers outside.”

And I haven’t. Not really. On the rare occasions I’ve tried—out of spite, to see what would happen—I’ve always found it back around my neck by morning as if I never removed it at all.

As if it doesn’t want to leave me.

I frown, running my thumb over the gemstone. It thrums faintly beneath my skin, like a second heartbeat. I used to think that was reassuring. Now… I’m not so sure. If the necklace is meant to protect me, why does it sometimes feel so heavy, like the weight of the chain weighs me down?

I sigh and close my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me again. I sleep too much. Always have. I used to think it was because I was lonely. Depressed. Waiting.

But lately, even when I want to stay awake, my body betrays me. I’m just so… tired.

A tear slips down my cheek, then another. My hair stirs, pulsing with eerie magic as if it somehow thrives off my sadness.

I sigh, pushing the fanciful thought aside. Loneliness plays tricks on my mind.

I try to remind myself why Dame Gothel says I’m here. That I’d be in danger outside. But I’ve always wondered. Why can’t I remember anything from before the tower? If the world is so dangerous, why keep me in the dark? Why trap me here like a secret?

Sleep comes without my permission. It always does. My only escape.

In the dream, I’m bathed in sunlight. I relish its warmth on my skin. And then—hands. Big hands. One at my back, and one gripping my hip, pulling me against a tall, muscular body.

“Rapunzel,” he breathes into my ear.

I shiver. My breath catches as his hands roam my body, squeezing my bottom and cupping my breasts. A different kind of heat surges through me, lighting up nerve endings and raising goosebumps on my skin. My nipples tighten and my knees weaken as heat blooms between my thighs.

I turn to him, but the sun blinds me. I can’t see his face, but I know he sees me. Wants me. Not despite my softness, but because of it.

“Rapunzel,” he growls, “you are mine.”

My heart races. “And you are mine,” I whisper, knowing in my bones that it’s true. This man is mine, and I am his.

He lifts me. We’re flying. Escaping. At last, I’m free from the tower, soaring into the azure skies.

But then…

Pain tears through me. My hair—the roots. They’re pulling me back.

“Stop!” I scream.

Suddenly, I’m on the ground, scissors in my hand, hacking at my hair. But every cut burns. Every strand bleeds.

My savior backs away, stricken.

“No, please,” I cry. “Don’t go. I just need to figure it out. Please. Don’t leave me.”

But he does. And the sunlight dies with him.