Chapter One Rapunzel #2
The bourrée calls for them to split and walk in tight circles. When Rapunzel returns to the minister, Pascal’s not on the front of his doublet anymore. For a beautiful moment she thinks he’s picked up her plea to return to her bedroom, where they agreed he’d wait—
And then, as she and Minister Cressien turn, Rapunzel finds Pascal scaling the minister’s spine.
“Don’t—” she sputters. The minister’s face stiffens with alarm. “Don’t, er, worry,” Rapunzel stumbles. “I know tonight is very important for us, and I don’t want any surprises to cause a scene.”
“I am delighted we concur,” Cressien says tonelessly. Pascal scuttles up to his shoulder, head tilted, and mottles his hide with silver to blend in with the doublet’s trim. “Matters of diplomacy are of the utmost importance to the kingdom’s security and prosperity.”
Rapunzel forces an uneasily toothy smile onto her face, only listening with half an ear.
Pascal has always kept close, but for the last month, he’s been even clingier, rarely letting her out of his sight.
Even now, he’s giving her the look that says Minister Cressien is perilously close to the once-in-a-lifetime experience of being slapped by a chameleon.
“I do hope Her Highness doesn’t find the kingdom’s security an amusing matter,” the minister says thinly.
Rapunzel decides it’s time for more direct methods. “No, no, I’m sorry—I was distracted. I think there’s a, er, flower petal on your epaulet.” Before he can look, she swipes for Pascal.
The chameleon is unfortunately two steps ahead. He scurries around the minister’s shoulder, out of Rapunzel’s sight. She tries not to scream with frustration.
“How odd.” Minister Cressien glances at his doublet, clearly unconvinced. The music slows as the bourrée winds down, but to her surprise, he stops in place entirely, voice lowering. “Your Highness, no matter the intentions, an unprepared sovereign is a catastrophe waiting to happen.”
Rapunzel can only stare.
Cressien continues speaking quickly. “It’s been my life’s work to strengthen this kingdom’s alliances, but many of our neighbors are simply waiting for a weakness to exploit. For the sake of everyone, I would urge you—”
“Don’t mind if I cut in.”
Rapunzel starts. Eugene sidesteps in front of the minister and briefly clasps the man’s shoulder, giving him a broad, cheeky grin. “Suitor privileges, you know how it goes. Shall we, m’lady?”
“Your Highness,” Minister Cressien grits through his teeth. Rapunzel can’t tell if he’s correcting Eugene or excusing himself.
Eugene links their arms and sweeps her away before she can find out. “Everything all right? I’ve seen happier chats at the dentist.”
“Wait,” she whispers frantically, “I need to go get—”
“Your frog?” Eugene drops a nonplussed Pascal onto her elbow with a flourish.
Rapunzel almost falls over with relief. “Pascal! You were supposed to go back to my room!” The chameleon trills an objection that, per usual, only Rapunzel can parse. “Of course I couldn’t just tell you that. Didn’t you see I was dancing with someone?”
“You still haven’t told your parents about him?”
Rapunzel can’t make herself look at Eugene, even though she knows he won’t pry. All she mumbles is “Not yet.”
Sure enough, Eugene doesn’t push the issue. Instead, as a minuet starts, he bows. “Well, Your Highness, I’d be happy to smuggle him out after this dance.”
“Thank you, Eugene, that would be wonderful,” Rapunzel says. Pascal brrs another protest, and Rapunzel sneaks a headshake into her curtsy. “I’ll be fine, Pascal.”
“You’re doing great, you know,” Eugene whispers, taking her hand as they fall into lines for the minuet.
Rapunzel wants to believe it. Unfortunately, within the first measure of song, she collides with the woman to her left and trips the woman on her right. The minuet is so fussy, but after maneuvering around her hair so long, shouldn’t this be a breeze?
“How do you do it?” she finally gets a chance to ask once the dance brings her back to Eugene.
“The minuet? The trick is to follow the person in front of you and just sort of crouch every six steps.” He deftly catches Pascal before the chameleon can climb back onto Rapunzel. “Or did you mean something else?”
“Doesn’t all of this make you nervous?”
They have to split off again before he can answer.
Three, four, five, CROUCH—Rapunzel is surprised when it actually works.
Madame Frangeline would be livid. Her shoulders relax as she circles and returns to Eugene.
The warmth of his hand around hers breathes sparks up her arm, through her chest, until she’d swear she’ll float if he lets go.
“You have the hard job tonight,” he says under his breath, like he’s getting away with something. “Eventually you’ll have to work with most of these people. But me? They’re never going to like me. So if you need a rude suitor to barge in and bail you out, I’m just one desperate look away.”
The strange thing is it sounds like a joke, and Rapunzel thinks it’s a joke…but something about it bothers her, and she has no idea what. Four, five, and crouch, then they’re letting go and weaving around the other couples.
Eugene winds up averting no fewer than five further Pascal-related incidents before it’s his turn to be cut short; as the minuet settles down, the queen herself arrives.
“We have a little surprise for you,” the queen says over the tolling of the hourly bells as she reaches for Rapunzel’s elbow. Somehow it’s already eight o’clock.
“Oh—okay—” Rapunzel looks to Eugene, who appears the picture of serenity, as if he hasn’t just fished Pascal out of another man’s wig.
“Thank you for the dance, Your Highness,” he says gallantly, and bows. “Your Majesty.”
Rapunzel’s mother tugs her away. Rapunzel herself glances over her shoulder and mouths thank you to Eugene, giving Pascal a stern look.
“Are you having fun?” the queen asks as they cross the floor.
Rapunzel catches herself waiting for the second half of the sentence again. Usually, Gothel would follow a question like that with because you left me all on my own, or it was so nice of that gentleman to humor you. It’s not easy to adjust to questions just being…questions.
“Everything is wonderful,” Rapunzel offers.
She’s conveniently painting over the fact that her secret chameleon is waging a one-lizard campaign to crash the ball.
And that the minister of diplomatic affairs more or less told her to come back when she’s ready to sit at the grown-ups’ table.
And that the slippers make her feet feel like two enormous blisters.
Everyone’s worked so hard to make this night perfect, and it’s so much more than anything Gothel ever did for her birthday. The last thing she wants is her parents thinking she isn’t grateful.
She’d toss her sketchbook out a window before she’d admit that it might be too much. Maybe if she’d been raised as a princess, she’d be used to the pomp and grandeur, but right now it feels like starring in an opera she’s never heard of.
As she and her mother clear the crowd, a herald brays across the floor, “We shall now commence with the presenting of gifts!”
Oh no.
She’s led to a dais where guests are already queueing up. The line seems impossibly long.
The king’s hand falls on her shoulder. “Nothing can make up for eighteen years,” he says quietly, “but we hope this is a start.”