1 Rapunzel
All that glitters stands to ruin my life.
My fingers run through the long strands of my hair as I stare out the window, admiring the newly added bars. They obscure the scenery, making the bay in the distance look that much further out of reach. The sun is out, kissing the earth with hot rays of gold as the day gets going.
Briefly, I try to peer around the tower towards the gardens below. How I miss the grass and dirt, how I dream they’d be now as an adult instead of a child. I remember the roses and trees and even that one really big flower that mother loved to care for. The gardens feel like a dream now, something I vaguely remember but can’t touch any longer. It pulls my eyes from the far corner of the land that I can see back towards the water, and the only view I ever have anymore. Sail ships are my life since I cannot see the other side of Tressa and the formidable wall most days.
Eyeing the sails, my heart sinks when I note the green flag blowing gently in the breeze. My least favorite guest is in port, and if I know anything about the King, he’ll want me to appear for a private audience.
My throat bobs, hands clenching at the golden locks of hair. My instinct is to rip them out, but they’ll just grow back as strong as before and the pain would be for nothing. I’d be punished if I put a wedge in the way of the royals plans.
Not just any royals. My parents .
“Your highness,” a timid voice says, and I peer from the window towards the door. It’s locked and double barred when I’m in my chambers, which is more often than not.
It isn’t for my protection. It’s the only way to guarantee that I’ll stay put. The last time I got out, the King grabbed my hair too hard and pulled for such a long time that pieces ripped from my scalp. He used the cursed tresses to tie up my hands and feet and wail on me.
Because my hair is cursed with his so-called gift. He can touch it with either hand, never having to worry about killing me with the golden touch. I’m the only person in existence he can get away with that with. My skin is another matter, something he won’t test.
I purse my lips, eyeing the handmaid that’s waiting in the doorway. Guards know better than to walk in here without permission. I’m the golden gift to Tressa, and no one would dare earn the King’s ire for trying to harm me. “Anastasia.”
She lets out a little gasp when my voice echoes around the room. I know there’s color smudged on my cheeks and fingertips, making me unpresentable to any guests in the castle. The port is full, and I know the King and Queen only request me when they want to share my power with guests.
I’ll be returned to my chambers after, like a tool back in its shed. The bars are in place to keep me from risking my life on the rooftops to get a breath of fresh air.
Anastasia tugs the worn remnants of her purple maid’s skirt to one side as my cat pads into the room, his striped back a unique blend that’s tinted pink and purple. I grin at him, bending to pat his fuzzy middle as Anastasia continues to fret.
She’s the less annoying of the two sisters. Anastasia is resigned to her life as a maid, but Priscilla is determined to flirt with any guard that looks her way even if it’s unsuccessful. I might not get out often but when I do I get the joy of witnessing that every so often. From what I understand the two girls were orphaned long ago when their mother died on a mission for the King and Queen. At least that’s the story that Anastasia likes to whisper, claiming she was lost outside of Tressa where few dare to go.
“King Midas requires your presence in the parlor.”
She doesn’t need to explain. I know which one she means, and the idea of going in there makes my fingers tingle, the unhelpful fear seeping into me.
Only King Midas. Sounds like mommy dearest isn’t going to be in attendance. As much as I despise her, she keeps the Golden King sane. Every time I go to visit with them, it’s another crazy quest and ideas that sound fantastical, if not a little wild. Occasionally he lets a name drop from lands afar, but for the most part I meet the same few guests over and over again, performing the same actions.
Blowing out a sigh, I straighten up and square my shoulders. Ignoring the command never works out for me, so there’s no point. “Very well.”
Anastasia nods, backing out of the room. “Robin will let you in when the King is ready.”
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Robin the brave . Now a slave to the Golden King, trapped forever in a gilded prison.
No one is brave here. Not when a single touch can damn you forever.
There’s no point in readying myself when I know what’s coming next. Marching to the door, Cheshie abandons me to lounge in the room, and I swipe my fingertips over the folds of my dress before touching the golden handles of the door, pushing into the hall.
The air isn’t stale out here. I take a big breath, letting my chest fill with the fresh air drifting in from the open windows. It makes my heart ache, knowing freedom is just outside a gilded door.
“This way, your highness,” a gruff voice says, and I glance to the side to spot one of the head guards. I can’t remember his name; it’s hard when the only times I ever see anyone is when I’m being escorted to play the King’s bargaining chip.
Without me, the kingdom of Tressa has gold and that’s it. It makes the royal family powerful, having an endless amount of gold and an enchantress to play the hand of life.
The guard takes off, and I scramble through names until I remember this one is Theo. He’s a bit stingy, and very irritable, but at least he doesn’t gape at me like some of them.
The Golden Princess. Locked forever in her tower.
The walk is brisk, like it always is when Theo is the guard on duty. I’m slightly out of breath by the time we reach the doors to the parlor. The only exercise I get is during these walks, or if I need to run away during one of the meetings.
Robin, the rogue who almost got away, sits outside the door with his head hung. The horrific wound on his upper thigh, where the limb started to die, kept him from turning completely to gold when Midas touched him. Apparently the golden touch only extends so far. The magic died when the tendons and skin weren't intact, and the blood wasn’t flowing.
Robin Hood started a chain reaction. Before the people who crossed King Midas became gilded statues. Now they become tortured, half turned beings that exist but don’t live.
That’s a fate I never want to face.
He pushes open the door, keeping his head down, and I stroll in without a second glance. The times I have tried to console Robin he didn’t appreciate it. I let that bridge burn long ago.
The door bangs shut the moment I’m inside, the people within not even bothering to turn my way. The King is there, just as he always is, and Mother stands by his side with sharp eyes and an upturned chin. I guess she is in attendance after all, so it's strange that Anastasia didn't mention her. Either she's here despite the King's wishes, or Anastasia wasn't supposed to mention her.
If King Midas never cursed me, I believe I was destined to look like her. Long, dark hair that mixes black and deep brown, a dainty jaw and small hands. Her rounded eyes gleam viscously whenever someone tries to question her, and skin that reminds me of the sands I’ve only ever seen in the distance glows in the daylight.
My mother: Dorah, Queen of a land she never speaks of. The beauteous, dangerous harpy to King Midas' unrelenting, absolute rule.
“No deal, Arthur,” the King says as I dutifully take my place to the left, three steps behind the King and Queen. “We do not deal with traitors to the North. There are more than enough alliances being made.”
North, meaning somewhere north in the sea from this island. There’s no windows in the castle that face that direction, and least none that I’ve found through all of these years. Father says it is a weather thing from when the kingdom was built.
Arthur, a burly man with a head full of red curly hair and a pewter crown set atop, loses focus on the King and looks past him to me. I tense, his eyes widening as he licks his lips. There’s bits of gray and white in his beard, and he’s cut his shoulder length hair since the last time I had the displeasure of an audience with him.
“Ah, Princess Rapunzel,” he coos, standing from the round table. Father always takes counsel here if he’s planning to use my abilities as a bargaining chip, though Mother rarely joins in. I think she personally hates Arthur.
He’s the King of Camelot, and that’s about all I know of his land. Father never spent a lot of time schooling me or my professors in geography, and, according to him, anything outside his Golden Kingdom is irrelevant. Nothing in my world is important outside of the tower, my window, and the guests the King and Queen require that I see. Other than that, my safe little world is boring to the point of being painful.
When Arthur holds out a hand to me, I simply stare. I don’t like when the guests try to touch me. The faster a transaction is over the sooner I can be away from the King and Queen.
“Arthur,” the King snaps, and he pulls back his hand just as quickly. “The princess doesn’t need your affection.”
“Come now, Midas,” Arthur says, stepping back to appraise me. I’ve played this game for a long time, and I know how the game goes. He’s studying me to see how I’ve grown and changed, who I’m turning out to be.
He’s looking for a weak spot. They always are. He wants a way into my mind that’ll sway me from the Golden King’s control. Too bad no one scares me more than my father.
“You keep Rapunzel locked away in the tower,” he continues, pacing around me. From the corner of my eye I can see Dorah tense and Midas snarl. They abhor anyone who tries to get under my skin, because it’s a loss of control.
They need me more than I need them, but each time I peer down the stone tower I remember that outside of my safe little world I know nothing. I don’t even know what the sea on the other side of the walls looks like.
“Our dear Rapunzel is too great for this world,” Dorah says, laying it on a little thick today. “She doesn’t need to come down from the tower.”
My lip twitches. I highly disagree, but without someone I can trust I’ll just be dragged back to the castle to deal with the Golden King’s wrath. He is careful with me in front of company so I will willingly continue to use my gift, but I know there’s evil beneath the King’s false smile.
I see it in the halls, where figures are forever frozen, their lives halted when the King decided they were through living.
“Your sweet Rapunzel needs a taste of life,” Arthur argues, crossing his arms. “You're what dear, turning towards thirty? Quite old for a maiden who will assume the throne.”
“I’m not short on youth,” King Midas growls, stepping closer. Arthur backs up, but I don’t miss the way he smirks. “There’s no change of rulers in the near future.”
I don’t bother to correct either of them. I do the math constantly. Given my birth year, I should be coming up on thirty-five, but the cursed magic within me seems to be slowing my aging. I still look very young, even if the kingdom knows my age. I’m holding onto my youth in inhuman ways, and Queen Dorah envies that to no end.
It’s not my fault. I can’t figure out exactly how old I feel, but thirty seems to be a stretch. The royals here are known for exceptionally long lives since I was created, and now time is an illusion.
I’m not aging. It should be a blessing, but it’s more of a death sentence when the monotony of doing the same thing every day sets in. I hide in my tower with my paints and a single map, staring out a window that’s now decorated in bars and a hall that’s always haunted by guards. I might be the Princess of Tressa, but no one here trusts me.
They all know the truth. I want to escape from my tower, and each endless day drives me a bit closer to madness. I can’t remember the last time I felt the sun on my skin or grass on my bare feet. Maybe when I was very young. When Midas and Dorah could control me without fear.
“Because the Golden King is eternal?” Arthur presses, dragging me back to the moment. I prefer getting lost in my daydreams where I don’t have to focus on reality.
“Because Princess Rapunzel isn’t ready to take the throne,” King Midas says, his tone turning steely. Even if someone bothered to teach me how to rule, the Golden King would never release his hold on the kingdom.
“We’ve strayed from your visit, Arthur.” Midas folds his hands, glaring around the little congregation as he brings the conversation around full circle. “You’ve provided the Kingdom of Tressa with riches untold from the Round Table of Camelot. We are graciously thankful for the gems and goods that my golden touch can’t provide, along with your news of tales from Mystica.”
I don’t miss the way Arthur tightens his lips, the subtle diss not going unnoticed. Midas can create only gold, but the kingdom will never be poor because of it. If my magic wasn't up for trade, Tressa would still be a very rich kingdom.
Mystica is completely foreign to me. I know that’s where many Kingdoms are, but it’s too far for me or my parents to ever worry about. Tressa is a sovereign state, and will remain that way so long as we are separated from the country.
Midas needs news to stay in the loop about what’s going on with his allies and enemies, but it’s information I’m not privy to. I’m not even sure if he shares all of that information with Dorah.
“I have held up my end of our bargain,” Arthur agrees, returning to the chair. He holds out his beefy hands, beckoning me closer. “Come now, Princess. Breathe life into me.”
“Arthur,” Dorah scolds.
He chuckles, and Midas shoots him a look before beckoning me forward. I press my lips together, tangling my fingers into the pleats of my gown. Midas gives me a moment to panic before he hardens his gaze, snapping his fingers. “Here, Rapunzel, now.”
And damn it all, I relent. Gathering handfuls of my long locks I move forward, letting the heavy weight of the hair burden me as I cross the short space to Arthur.
The next steps are ritualistic. I’m more than familiar with how it goes, and I slip back into my mind as I go through the motions. Taking lengths of the hair, I start by wrapping his hands with one length before going to his ankles, doing the same. Part of the deal is I’m the only one who prepares for what’s next.
Arthur returns annually. It’s something that I don’t particularly like doing, but, aside from his crude comments, he’s not one to chat for long. I’ve come to this room enough times to know that Arthur is intimately familiar with the ritual. He’s cocky to the point of fault, and he gives me a snide grin that hints to his self-imposed importance.
He’s a connection for the King, nothing more. And my so-called gift is one he will return for again and again.
I wrap lengths of hair around the crown of his head last, standing to one side on my tiptoes to get the placement right. No one speaks, and I swear for a moment I think Arthur doesn’t breathe. They are all waiting for me to get to work.
I learned about my gift at a very early age, and it’s burdened me ever since.
Stepping back, I still have a good bit of distance between our bodies. I stare at Arthur, his beady eyes glaring back into mine, before closing my eyes and pressing both hands over my heart.
“Of the gift of life, I reject your death. Of the burden of age, I banish time. Of the curse of passing, I tether your soul here another year longer.”
I don’t know if the chant is something Midas created, or if some unknown being taught it to me when I was young. So far as I know there’s no one else like me in the world, least of all in Tressa. So no one except the King could teach it to me.
Arthur’s eyes roll as the magic washes over him. Some of the wrinkles on his face disappear, the thinness of his hair fills in, and his skin tightens all over, the wear of age slipping away.
I step back, watching the process with folded hands. It’s nothing new to me, and I am no longer important now that I’ve shared the gift. The ends of my hair slowly unwind as the magic sinks in, my hair heating for a few moments around my scalp before it fades.
It’s not a glorious performance that people can admire. Other than the effects on the other person, nothing happens that the naked eye can see. King Midas has a hand that glows gold and can turn and torture people with the same beauty. When he’s in a mood it’s a whole spectacle.
Whereas my so-called gift is infinitely more frightening and far less interesting to see.
“That will be all, Rapunzel,” Dorah says dismissively, watching Arthur closely. Now that he’s gotten what he wanted from the kingdom again, my magic, there’s no reason to keep me around.
Biting into my cheek, I nod stiffly and turn. My steps falter when I see someone standing on the far side of the room.
He’s… well, he cannot be a friend of Arthur’s.
He’s tall, at least I think so. He’s a bit like an illusion, fading in and out of focus so it’s hard to really tell what I’m seeing. He’s got on a lot of clothing, from the long black… cape, I want to say it’s a cape, to his dark black hair that hangs loose almost to his shoulders. He’s too far off to make out the color of his eyes, and I swear it looks like the shadows bend and move with him as he watches me from across the room.
I really can’t seem to focus on him. He’s a bit like a dream, or a nightmare.
He shifts, and I realize he’s coming closer. I glance back over my shoulder to find the Queen glaring at me, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She looks directly at my hands before glaring into my eyes, letting me know she's displeased with all the paint stains.
“Rapunzel,” she spits through gritted teeth, “off you go.”
I frown. It’s odd that she doesn’t want to show me off to someone new if they allow him into the room. If he’s an enemy instead of a friend they wouldn’t let him see how my gift works, and I’ve never seen Midas or Dorah make a mistake like this before.
“But, the man,” I say, finding my voice. The King and Arthur glance over at us, and up to this point I think they were both perfectly content to ignore us.
Dorah raises a brow at me, looking around the room. The smile she shoots my way is forced at best. “You’re well acquainted with King Arthur. Now off you go, the Kings have business to discuss.”
“Not King Arthur, my Queen,” I say, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. “I mean him.”
It’s rude to point, but I do it anyway since no one is really listening to me. Three sets of eyes swivel to the space behind me, and I glance over my shoulder before letting out a small gasp.
He’s closer now, much closer than appropriate. Close enough that if I turned and extended my arm I could probably touch him.
His clothes are so odd. They are dark, like the cloak and his hair, but they seem to bend and move like the air around him. Up close it’s easier to focus on him, but even so I still feel like if I look too hard I would see right through him.
Up close, his eyes are red-orange. There’s a tiny golden ring around the pupil like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and they are so captivating I almost can’t look away. In a way they remind me of the wolves I’ve seen in my books, but the being in front of me is all man.
Almost.
It’s his hands that are the strangest of all. They are probably strong from the veins that pop, but it’s hard to see much past the designs on the back of each hand. It reminds me of the spades, almost like a fleur de lis design that’s on some of the walls in the palace. The spade designs are a dark, filled-in black like the rest of his look.
And through each spade is a deep, deep scar. Like someone tried to slash the mark away.
“ Rapunzel !”
I snap to attention, sure that the Queen and everyone else in the room noticed how ill-mannered I’m being. But when I turn back, they are all giving me looks like they think I’m a loon.
Dorah clears her throat. “I’m not sure what you’re staring at-”
“The boy,” I interrupt, turning back again. One corner of his mouth lifts, like he’s amused, and I scowl at him. “The man.”
“There’s no man there, Rapunzel,” Midas says tightly, and I look back towards the others once more. Indeed, they are all staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
But I can see this boy. I know I can.
“Yes there is,” I insist, feeling like this is some cruel joke. I know that the King and Queen only tolerate me, but tormenting me into thinking I’m losing my mind because of one bizarre guest is a bit far even for them. “I can see him.”
“Enough, Rapunzel,” Dorah snaps, and I hear the clicking of her steps as she approaches. I bite my lip, willing this guy to say something, and he simply cocks his head to one side and continues watching me.
Am I missing something? The King rarely lets anyone in the room aside from his guest, and this man is no one I recognize.
Dorah’s nails dig into my arm as she steps up to me, cutting through the thin material of my sleeves. This is the first time in years I haven’t sulked away the second that I’m no longer needed and her eyes scream murder.
But I’ve never encountered such a strange man before. Most people look away from me either for fear of my strange powers or fear of the King. Only the staff stares for long periods of time. It’s not as though I ever speak to people outside of the walls of my room.
“This is not proper, Rapunzel,” Dorah says, dragging me away from the two Kings. She steps forward, and I expect the man to move out of the way and let us pass.
Instead, she moves forward, stepping through the man, and there’s a brief spiral of darkness as she pulls me through his form.
My mouth goes dry, horror washing over me. What is happening?
I whip my head around, ignoring what Dorah is saying to stare at the man.
Eyes rounding, he can only bother to smirk at my horror. “My, what lets you see me like this, Princess?”
The scream that tears through my throat when he flashes his teeth is unbidden, and I don’t remember falling to the ground, but the golden ceiling above is the last thing I see before darkness settles in.