Epilogue
“I’ve submitted my final report, Your Highness.”
Rapunzel, who has been absorbed in sketching out the mural she’ll start probably the instant they get home, looks up.
Cressien is leaning against the railing of the bow. He’s already been more at ease this past week, and the prospect of Hughes moving to their kingdom has him positively sparkling, which manifests in Cressien as a slight upward tilt at the corner of his lips.
“I’m glad,” Rapunzel says tentatively. She tugs on Pascal’s coat as he clings to the railing beside her. “Now you can relax. Is it still a wasted effort to ask you to call me Rapunzel?”
“It is,” he confirms with a faint tinge of humor. “While the circumstances were less than ideal, I’m relieved I had the opportunity to review my previous reports and…recalibrate. Of course, I was in no way biased by your saving my life.”
“Of course,” Rapunzel says with a very feeble attempt at gravitas.
Cressien’s eyes crinkle, only for a moment, but Rapunzel counts that as a win. “I am looking forward to continuing our work together.”
“Me too,” she says honestly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of princess I want to be. I want to do things. I want to make people’s lives better.”
Cressien nods, thoughtful.
“I—” Rapunzel hesitates, staring at her sketch.
Sometimes the best thing for a painting is a big, bold stroke.
“I don’t want us to execute anyone anymore.
I-I think we should stop. Especially without a trial.
We almost lost Eugene, and if we could lose someone like him, who else have we already lost?
And I don’t think everyone will make the best use of a second chance, but…
execution shouldn’t be the first and only option anymore. ”
To her immense surprise, Cressien says, “I think that would be a strong beginning, Your Highness.”
Rapunzel nearly pitches her sketchbook into the sea in excitement. “Really?”
“I would be honored to help you propose it when we return.”
She gives him a sly look. “Are you sure you aren’t going to be distracted?”
“I may be a little distracted,” he allows. “I thought I was prepared to attempt a long-distance relationship, but I went through seventeen drafts of a romantic letter last night alone, every one rubbish.”
“I’m sure they weren’t that bad,” Rapunzel laughs.
“I used ‘moon’ as a simile in five consecutive sentences. Unintentionally.”
Pascal lets out a dismal bihrrrr.
Rapunzel tilts her head. “We all have our own unique styles?”
That gets a raised eyebrow out of him, which seems to indicate, Well played. He pushes off from the rail. “Fitzherbert is approaching. I believe I’m going to go attempt draft eighteen before the seasickness claims me.”
As he wobbles away, Rapunzel realizes that despite the wind, and the chill of the sea, and the reality that her hair can’t have grown more than a quarter of an inch…her neck isn’t cold anymore.
If there’s anything she learned from the brief time she commanded starlight, it’s that she didn’t miss her magic. She didn’t miss her hair.
She’s missed being the girl who took herself out of the tower. And it turns out that the best part is, now she gets to help other people leave theirs.
Eugene strides toward her, practically bouncing on his toes. In his hands is his copy of The Tales of Flynnigan Rider. “Sunshine, you’re not going to believe this.”
Rapunzel can taste it in the spray of the ocean, feel it in the sun on her face, hear it in the rise of Eugene’s voice: Another adventure is knocking at the window.
She smiles and says, “Show me.”