8 Rapunzel
For another three days I stew in my room, waiting for news. Dorah holds out on her threat for all of a day before she sends Anastasia in to help tend to me, and she simply scrunches up her nose the entire time we focus on the bath.
I keep looking, but I haven’t seen Zarev since the night on the rooftop. His absence is making me antsy, and between the secrets my parents keep and his disappearing act, my stress is ratcheting higher every day.
There’s nothing I can do about it, though. I blow through most of what’s left of my paint, and when mother sends Anastasia and Priscilla to dress me one evening, I know some special type of torture awaits me. These two sisters always have it out for me, and I don’t know why. They’re a few years older and always doing petty things like poking me with pins, over tightening my dress when I need to meet with guests, or spilling a meal so I have to wait longer some nights to eat.
There’s no sense to it. I’ve known them my whole life, yet they always act like I’ve done something to ruin their lives. I once heard the guard Michael that Priscilla sneaks off with saying their mother was once in love with the King, but I don’t know anything about her. Lady Tremaine, as far as I know, died in a tragic accident just after I was born. Plenty of the staff wish to get with one of the royals and elevate their lives, but Midas and Dorah are too cruel and I’m off limits.
Today is going to be especially painful for me. There’s news that another guest is coming into port, and my concern is that it’s Arthur. There’s no reason he should be back if he was here within the past month. I’m not sure what the endgame is, but mother and father demand that I look my best this afternoon.
That’s another weird thing. I can’t remember the last time they bothered to put me in such a glorified dress to spend a few minutes with the company. The new dress is snatched at the waist almost to the point of pain, keeping my posture ramrod straight. The neckline is lower than I’ve ever worn, and the sleeves are loose and flowy; I can tell they’re going to get in the way of everything I do.
Only once Anastasia tightens my dress to the point of pain does she let up on the corset. I press my hand to my chest, wondering how long I can stand to wear this getup before I pass out. “You’ll have to look extra special tonight, your highness.”
I frown. Her tone is bitter, so that means I probably won’t like whatever gossip she’s in the mood to share. “Special occasion?”
“You could say that, Miss. King Arthur is back in port.”
As she speaks, I look towards the window. We’ve spent hours getting ready this morning, Priscilla arriving to cake my face in too much makeup and adding little flowers and beads to the braids in my hair. I never go to meetings with my hair bound, not when I usually need it free to be of any use, so this is a new one. With how long they’ve been at it, I could believe Arthur’s docked again without my knowledge.
A sigh escapes me. I looked out my window for half the night expecting to see Zarev, but he didn’t show. Knowing now where Arthur’s kingdom is only makes me antsy for answers, along with everything else he shared. Looking to my map, I feel woefully underprepared for anything today, even if I know that the royals in Camelot have no desire to quiz me on anything.
I can’t ask the King or Queen directly, so I need to get creative with this. If Zarev won’t come back, I’ll need to dig for my own answers.
“I suppose he’s looking for more of my gift,” I muse, feeling Anastasia tense behind me. I almost think she’s going to leave it like that and scurry out like she normally does, treating me like a creepy abnormality. Priscilla left the moment she finished with my makeup, turning up her nose and scurrying out like I’ve personally insulted her today. Turning, I study Anastasia.
I know after my time with Zarev that my magic isn’t truly creepy. Zarev can turn us into shadows and slip through bars, so being able to heal people can’t be all that strange. He left too quickly once we got back to my room for me to question him, but my paintings took a dark turn since. I’m seeing beauty in the shadows and I want to keep exploring.
“It’s not my place to say, Miss,” Anastasia breathes, sweat beading along her brow. “But King Arthur brought along a guest.”
“Did he?” I ask, suddenly curious. Arthur is a selfish man when he visits. He’s never shared his time with me with someone else, but if he was here not long ago he can’t possibly need more magic yet. I’ve tried in the past, and my magic can only reverse time in small bunches. It doesn’t work close together. I have no idea why, and it’s not as if I’ve had the chance to test it.
Anastasia nods her head quickly. “Yes. Didn’t catch his name, but he’s got dark hair and these beady little eyes. Been asking around the castle about you.”
That’s not unusual. People always ask about me, even if their questions largely go unanswered. The guards like to complain about that when escorting me to one of these meetings. “It’s because he’s new to the castle, Anastasia. He’s probably as scary as Arthur is.”
“More, Miss,” Anastasia breathes. “He’s asking all kinds of questions, speaking with the staff and even some of the tortured. The King upped the security you see. Guards keep shooing him off. Michael says he was pestering the gardeners too, Miss.”
I almost thought maybe they were talking about Zarev, but he’s more mysterious than creepy. I hate that Arthur brought a guest, because that makes it seem like I am available at his beck and call. Spending time with him grates on my nerves enough, and I don’t think his guest will make things any easier to tolerate.
My mind drifts when I think of the shadow man, and I mentally remind myself that I don’t even know what exactly Zarev is. Something to do with Death and shadows, but he’s not put a true name to himself yet. I’ve heard him whisper Reaper, but from what I know…
I shake my head. As the stories go, Reapers are the living who are forever cursed to guide the dead into the afterlife. It’s a forever task, endless, lonely, and damning. I may not know anything about the world beyond Tressa, but my mother loved to whisper about Reapers at night to scare me to sleep when I was very young. The cruel curl of her lip as she left taught me she enjoyed my discomfort.
A bunch of rumors, nothing more. I wouldn’t go so far as to call my mother caring, but she had her moments. She never really tried to be a parent, but every once in a while she did something like the moms in my books. She occasionally told me a story, nothing that should be considered a bedtime story but a story nonetheless. Usually about some poor young girl who died a horrible death for not listening to her parents. Her underlying message was clear every time.
Anastasia grasps my hand, a totally out of character move for her. Round eyes peer at me, like she’s trying to figure out something without asking me. “Have you seen the shadows moving lately, Miss?”
Yeah, this doesn’t sound like it’s about to go very well. I decide to play dumb, since I would usually never know about the happenings in the castle anyway. And if there’s speculation about Zarev I don’t want to point fingers. “Can’t say I ever see anything different in my room.”
She’s unperturbed, looking towards the door for a moment before meeting my gaze. “The cook says she saw a man of shadow walking through the halls. Says he was there one moment and disappeared the next, like he was hiding. Rumor got back to the King. He’s mighty paranoid today. Best be careful when you visit with King Arthur.”
My eyes widen. Father must be in an especially foul mood if she’s warning me. The few times he’s raised a hand to me, I’ve always wished it to be the cursed one. He occasionally touches me with his golden hand, but the touch is light and never hurts me. If he struck me with it, I could suffer the same fate as all the others. If he’s in that bad of a mood there’s a chance of that happening.
I want to pry about Zarev but the doors open before I get the chance to ask. I know he’s sneaking around the castle, and if I could prove to anyone that he’s there I would report him.
I would probably report him. I think I would. I know I should. Just because he gave me my first taste of fresh air in years doesn’t mean I’m suddenly on his side.
When I think of him, my mind gets twisted and my body heats. He’s trespassing here in the kingdom, hiding right beneath the King’s nose, and I should hate his mere presence. But I can’t, not when he doesn’t see me as the frightening Princess of Tressa, the girl who controls life.
He sees me as someone who knows next to nothing about life and is trapped in a tower. I don’t like that he might see something real within me. The reactions I have to him and those twisted shadows are troubling enough. I can’t get careless with someone who could turn around and be the enemy. He’s trespassing in Tressa for a reason.
“Rapunzel!” Mother’s clipped voice suddenly echoing off the high beams in my room scatters my thoughts. I was distracted and that almost never happens. “It’s time. Maid, you’re dismissed.”
There’s a touch of annoyance in her voice. I don’t think Anastasia ever hung out long enough before to earn the Queen’s ire, but she’ll regret that later. I barely notice her as she scurries away, Mother’s penetrating gaze snagging my attention.
Dorah purses her lips. Yesterday we talked, and she paced my room for most of an hour muttering to herself about the tea. They couldn’t get more brewed before today, and she still looks nervous about it.
Since I haven’t seen Zarev, I can only make up wild ideas in my mind about why that is.
Blowing out a breath, Dorah turns without another look my way. I must be presentable enough. “We’re late.”
I eat dinner with the guests, something I despise. It's one thing to be the pawn, it’s another to sit there and fake my smiles until they decide to use and dismiss me.
I keep fisting the fabric of my skirt in my hands, barely touching my food. I wouldn’t risk eating too much anyway with how tightly Anastasia cinched the dress, and I worry the corset won’t hold if I breathe too hard. Why they care what I look like today is a mystery, but I’m sure I won’t like the reasons.
If anyone notices something amiss with me, they don’t seem to care, and I manage to take up space without needing to speak to anyone. I’m trying to not show how bored I am on my face, but it’s hard when a sense of unease rests over the dining hall.
Arthur’s company really is a strange, pensive man. While the King of Camelot finds me fascinating and a bit like a toy, this newcomer is studying me with the type of interest I don’t like. I have no idea how to read him, and his lecherous stares make me uncomfortable.
Modred. I don’t know this name. Arthur’s never mentioned him before, but from the way they talk he sounds like family of some sort. Father gave him a tight smile during introductions, but I get the feeling Midas is unhappy to see the newcomer here. I already know that Arthur’s return isn’t a planned visit, and before slipping into the dining hall, Midas muttered to Mother to be on the lookout if they try something sneaky.
Halfway through dinner, I look up and spot Zarev sitting across the room on a table. Curious, sharp red eyes watch the room, his shadows licking up the walls lazily around him and the heavy scythe he carries dangling loosely in his hand. He’s propped back against the wall, dark hair falling around his face, but I swear all his attention is focused on me.
I almost choke on my water when he winks, pounding a hand against my chest.
“Rapunzel,” Midas says, his hands pressing to the table in front of him. His golden one presses to an already turned napkin as I recover, and he watches until I no longer cough as the napkin hardens to gold. “Pace yourself.”
“She seems to be a little jumpy,” Modred says, and I resist the urge to scowl at him. He’s had something to say about every little thing possible tonight. My glass clicks a bit too loudly on the table when I set it down and Mother winces as Modred continues. “Do you dine with the guests often, girl?”
“Princess,” Midas warns.
“Of course,” Modred agrees, offering the table a lecherous smile. I’m too stunned by his jab to even look back towards Zarev now. “Princess Rapunzel. I’ve heard rumors that they only bring you out of the dungeon when the guests are in port.”
“ Modred ,” Arthur hisses, his eyes rounding in stunned surprise.
“Enough,” Midas growls, cutting off the need for me to reply. I finally glance at Zarev again, who watches all of this with narrowed eyes. What he’s been up to the last few days is a mystery to me, but he better come up to the tower later and explain his absence. My dependency on his visits is painful. I regret that I miss his company, but it’s better than going back to being totally alone.
“My daughter will not be disrespected in this kingdom,” Midas booms, and I force my gaze away from Zarev. Staring at nothing will just make my parents curious, and the more questions I avoid the better. “Now I did not request nor sanction another visit so soon, Arthur. Letting you dock in our port was a courtesy. Do not overstep your welcome.”
The King of Camelot purses his lips as I watch, and the smile he forces out is ringed in displeasure. “Of course not, Midas. Modred is still getting his land legs back after days at sea.”
Zarev’s words replay in my head. Arthur made a surprising turn around if Camelot is as far as the shadow man claims. They would’ve only been in port for a day or two, barely allowing for a restock or any repairs before sending the King off again.
If Midas was away from the throne for that long, despair would settle across the land. Why can Arthur disappear from Camelot’s throne for weeks while Midas has to remain in this kingdom at all times?
“Waves were choppy,” Modred says, taking another swig of his goblet. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s had several glasses since sitting down at the table. He’ll be sloshed soon, and it never goes well when I try to use my gift on drunks. “Got into port in the nick of time.”
“We were following up on your gracious offer, King Midas,” Arthur cuts in, folding his hands beneath his chin. “To visit again and see what else the Kingdom of Camelot can offer you.”
“And what more can Camelot offer me?” Midas asks, leaning back in his chair again.
I look towards Zarev. I don’t know if it’s because no one else can see him, or because I’m getting to know him, but I like seeing his responses. He isn’t as guarded as Dorah or Midas, or as concerning as Arthur or Modred. I like trying to gauge his opinion on things.
Modred stands at the same time as Arthur huffs, speaking over the King. “I recently took a trip up past the Red Woods to the Queen's Court.”
That doesn’t mean much to me, but my eyes widen when Zarev jumps from his table, eyes narrowing at Modred’s words. I watch, wishing he’d look over and give me an idea of what’s suddenly flying through his head, but his eyes don’t leave Modred.
“I picked something up while I was there,” he continues, opening up the side of his coat. He’s looking a little sweaty, and I wish my seat were a bit further down. He digs through a large interior pocket before tugging out a thin, bound book.
I jump when Midas stands so fast his chair scrapes against the golden floor. Dorah stands too, her eyes wide and full of greed as she stares down at the book.
Zarev paces across the room, coming to stand so close to Modred that he does a double take at something he can’t see before shuffling back a step. Zarev’s narrowed eyes never leave him.
Finally, I catch a glimpse of the book's title: Into the Looking Glass.
“Where did you happen across that,” Midas breathes, a hunger entering his gaze that I’ve never seen before. He values gold, gems and alliances. He doesn’t care about literature, and he certainly never stares at a worn out book like a trophy. He shifts away from the head of the table, circling around to our side. I’m sitting far too close to Modred now for my liking, and I don’t want to end up in the middle of something. “ How did you get that?”
“Mad Queen isn’t watching her trophy room like she should,” Modred says, looking around the room. Arthur’s lost the color in his cheeks, making him look a little ill. “I simply opened the case and took it.”
“He stole from the Mad Queen,” Zarev breathes, sounding stunned. Just like before, no one hears him but me, and I watch his red-orange eyes flash in the lights of the dining room. “Impossible.”
I may not know what’s so important about a book I’ve never heard of, but everyone in this room is painfully focused on it. Modred just became the most important person here.
Midas scoffs, drawing my gaze from Zarev. “You want my daughter's magic in exchange for the book?”
Modred laughs, gesturing to Arthur. “He didn’t want me to bring it, but how could I pass up the chance to meet the Golden Princess?” He turns his gaze on me, eyes darkening in a creepy way. “Beautiful, I would be honored to receive some of your magic in exchange for this little book.”
His voice cascades over me like mud, leaving an icky feeling behind. I’ve only just met Modred and I do not like him.
“Be careful calling her anything but Princess,” Midas reminds him. “Rapunzel, give him a taste of your magic.”
My eyes widen. We never do this in the dining room where so many people can watch. The parlor is more secluded and creates less of a spectacle if something goes wrong. “Father-”
“Your majesty,” he barks in correction, brushing past me to meet Modred. “Listen and do as you’re told, Princess.”
“Don’t give him your magic,” Zarev contradicts, and I shoot him a glare. He’s too close again, making me look like the mad one as I glare at nothing.
“Rapunzel, now,” Midas snaps, holding out his normal hand towards Midas. “Give me the book.”
“Get your daughter to work her magic on me.”
“ Modred ,” Arthur growls.
Shaking my head, I eye Zarev again. He’s shaking his head in return, clearly against this, but I really want to see what’s so important about the book. It’s not as though I haven’t used my magic hundreds of times before.
Schooling my features, I decide to play along. I need answers. “Of course, your majesty.”
As soon as I’m within reach, Modred gets antsy. He reaches out to tug at my hair, making me wince as he pulls bits of my hair loose from the intricate braid. I don’t think there was a plan to use my gift tonight or mother wouldn’t have sent for Priscilla to do the fancy braids. In the blink of an eye, Zarev appears just behind his shoulder.
My breath catches. What’s he playing at?
Zarev lifts a hand, and the scythe I haven’t seen used much vanishes from across his back and appears in his grip. It looks as though he plans to cleave his head straight off, but instead he lowers the sickled blade until it brushes Modred’s neck. A gasp escapes Modred’s lips and he spins around, letting go of my hair.
Retracting the blade just as quickly, Zarev steps back when Modred reaches out, his hand sailing harmlessly through the man of shadows.
I’m mesmerized by how bizarre it is to watch Zarev play with people like that. He did it to Dorah, and now he’s taunting Modred.
“What…” Modred’s voice tapers off, and he turns back to me again. All eyes stay on us. “Did you do something, Princess?”
“She hasn’t gotten to the magic yet,” Dorah interrupts, but I don’t turn around to see what her face gives away. “Rapunzel, stop messing around.”
I school my features, but cursing Zarev is high on my to-do list when we aren’t trapped in this room. He scowls, watching as I tug the braids apart, ignoring the sadness that washes over me as the flowers and little embellishments fall to the floor. It was nice to be beautiful for a while, but nothing will keep Midas from using my powers to his own needs.
I bind Modred in my hair the same way I’ve done to so many of my father's allies in the past. He’s more impatient than some, twitching whenever I move around, and his hands can’t settle as he watches me. He gulps down another half glass of burgundy wine while I prep.
Zarev is still behind him, and as I work he glares murderously into Modred’s back. He truly doesn’t want me to use my gift this bad? I look down when I speak, closing my eyes to escape all the looks I’m receiving right now. I don’t care if Modred, Zarev, or anyone else sees down the ridiculous bodice of this dress, I just don’t want to see the gleaming eyes judging me.
This is the only thing I’m good for. As much as it makes me hate myself for giving in, I close my eyes and accept that this is something I’m going to do.
I blow out a breath before reciting the words I know by 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.”
The words flow freely, and usually people take a moment to breathe in the life I give to them. It’s different for each person, but if he’s anything like Arthur -
I yelp, eyes flying open when his hands clamp over my forearms, so instead of stepping back I’m drawn in closer. “More.”
Blinking at him, my eyes widen. I can’t focus on anything else in the room, because he’s so close I can’t look away. “I - it doesn’t work that way.”
“A year is nothing,” he growls. “Give me more time. A year doesn’t change my age.”
“Modred-”
He drags me so close, he’s practically spitting in my ear. “I knew you weren’t anything special. A deceiver, a waste. Let’s see how powerful you really are, Princess . ”
Something digs into my forearms and I scream, the pain surprising and strong. I don’t recall seeing Modred wield a weapon, and to sneak it past the guards and the King is no small feat.
There’s some yelling, but I can’t pick apart who is saying what around the stabs of pain in my arms. I shove against Modred, but his grip is like a vise, and my eyes open wider when the stabbing pain starts to drag across and down in my skin.
Everything is oddly bright when I open my eyes, but maybe it’s just the surprise rush of pain. Aside from Midas and Dorah occasionally raising their hands to me, no one is permitted to hurt me. There’s too much at risk to allow that..
“More!” he growls, dark eyes wild and wide. I vaguely make out the shadowed figure behind him and the scrambling of feet around us.
I shake my head, struggling. I can still feel the heat of my hair, the slight tingle in my hands, but it’s all dulled by the new rush of pain. “Let go!”
He’s pulled backward, but his hold on my arms drags me with. “Give me more, Rapunzel!”
He grinds his fingers into my arms and I scream, the pain intensifying. I flatten my palms against his chest, pushing back against him.
Hands appear, grabbing at my shoulders, but we’re locked together and I can’t figure out what’s keeping us here.
Red hair behind Modred tells me Arthur is there, and there’s too many figures who seem to be surrounding us. Why is my vision going blurry?
I scream, unsure if it’s rage or pain, and shove my hands harder into his face, desperate for him to just let go. Modred cries out, and my hair is practically burning my scalp.
“Rapunzel,” Zarev says, but his voice is easy to hear over the rush around us. I glare at Modred as we’re pulled around, but his voice is the only one I can focus on. I don’t even see him, my eyes locked on Modred’s ugly face. “You’re burning him.”
I… what?
Shocked, I rip my palms away from him, and feel the heat in my palms dissipating. Gasping, I blink around the blinding pain in my arms to focus on Modred and try to make sense of what’s happening around me.
The brightness is fading. I blink and can focus on Modred again, on his face…
I scream, struggling with his hands until they fall free of me. I expect someone to be behind me, to pull me away and start up a new clamor in the dining hall, but there’s no one there as I stumble.
My hair falls from Modred, who makes a gurgling sound in his throat. As my hair unwinds I realize his skin looks less youthful than it should, more… sludgy.
Slick. Free. Like it’s melting from his face.
I scramble backward until the piercing pain in my arms leaves, and his hands fall away. There’s a stunned glaze in his eyes as he tries to focus on me, the skin on his face seeming to slide down, like it’s trying to fall off.
I scream again, the hair around his wrists and ankles coming undone as I back up. Other than our cries, it’s silent in the room. Lifting my hands to reach for… well, I don’t know what, I notice something strange. I would touch my hair but I don’t know what’s going on with it, and my fingers flex uselessly as I pull them back on instinct, staring down in wonder.
They are glowing. A dull golden haze surrounds them, seeming to glow as brightly as the intense heat in my skull.
It looks like… magic. Like the soft glow that happens when I use my gift.
“Witch,” someone gasps, and my head snaps up as I look around the room. Modred stumbles to his knees, his skin still unnaturally slick, and stares up at me with lost eyes.
“She’s a murderer,” Arthur says, cutting through the silence. I look up to meet his horrified gaze, taking in the terrified looks of the guards who ran in here. For the first time I dimly realize there’s a blade at his hip, hidden mostly by his cloak. Weapons never make it this far into the castle, and alarm bells go off in my mind.
Shaking, I do a slow circle. People stand back from me, shoved from their seats and backing towards the doors. There weren’t many people dining, but all the servants and guards are putting as much space as they can around me. My hands still burn and my scalp tingles, but I fist my palms at my sides. I don’t want to do… whatever that was, again.
Modred remains a mess on the ground, but the guards line the room hesitantly.
I skate my gaze around, catching Zarev’s eyes before my parents. There’s a hardness to his gaze, his sickle in hand as he watches me.
I open my mouth, feeling the shakes take over. It’s like I’m losing my mind, suffocating beneath the heat I’ve created. I can’t get a read on Zarev, but if he’s disgusted or afraid my parents will be a million times worse.
Before I can speak, Modred’s pained voice drifts through the silent room. “S-shadow man.”