What-You-Don-t-Know

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Chapter 1

It's become very clear to Eugene that Rapunzel has little to no understanding of amorous
affection.
She knows that if she holds Eugene's hand when she's scared he'll rub his thumb across her
knuckles and she'll be filled with strength enough to clench her jaw and be brave. She
knows from her mother – from Gothel – that you hug someone to say that you love them
even though they're plain looking or silly or ask ridiculous questions. She knows that both
Gothel back in the tower and now the king and queen kiss her cheek or her forehead to wish
her sweet dreams. And she knows from a few stories she read (before Gothel had the
inclination to read them more closely) that you should kiss someone on the lips when the
sight of them makes your heat pound and your neck feel warm. She knows that when she
kisses Eugene it feels like there's this warm joy inside her heart and it bubbles up out to her
arms like fireflies dancing on her skin.
Rapunzel kisses like a child would kiss. She puckers her lips and presses them against
Eugene's. She'll hold them there for a moment, then pull back and smile. There's usually a
smacking noise at the end - mwah - one that really has no necessity to be there, one that
she picked up long ago from Gothel. Her kisses are short and simple. They make Eugene
feel like he's being tickled just beneath his skin. He knows that they shouldn't really leave
him breathless, but they usually do. He knows that they always leave him wanting more.
Rapunzel thinks it's a nice feeling and she enjoys it. But it never occurs to her that there
might be something more to it than that.
Eugene knows there's more to it. He knows that there is much, much more and he knows
that it's fantastic, and he has this idea that with Rapunzel it would be even more fantastic
than usual, but he doesn't know why he thinks that. He also knows that Rapunzel has no
idea that there's a whole other world of sensation, and she is perfectly content to leave
things as they are. The knowledge of these contradictory facts and the knowledge that there
is very little he can do to make them meet somewhere in the middle is driving him crazy.
He could sit her down and explain it to her. He could explain it the same way he explained
what a cup cake was, or why you would want to drink a beer even though it tastes "nasty,"
or why people stare at her when she splashes around in the fountain. He could explain it the
way he explained more complex, abstract concepts like honor and moral relativism and
unconditional love. The part of his brain controlled by Flynn Rider tells him that he could
explain it quite easily by pressing her against a wall and kissing her soundly until she
understood.
But that seems wrong, and he can't bring himself to do it, and he can't figure out why.
Maybe it's because she's so innocent. She's so sweet and perfect and he can't bring himself
to sully that. It's one of the things that makes her the way she is. It's one of the things he
likes about her. But on the other hand she's so innocent. Isn't it his job as the dashing,
roguish vagabond to steal that innocence away, to fully embrace that part of her, to wrap
himself up in it and breathe it in as she gasps and whispers his name in a way she's never
whispered anything before?
It could be because she's a princess and if her father found out then his life would be forfeit.
But wouldn't it be worth it? And didn't it seem like the king kind of liked him? And would it
really have stopped him from trying a month ago? No. That would have been the part that
made it dangerous and exciting. He'd had multiple experiences where he met a girl's father
as the man barged into the room, shouting and cursing. The girl would yell, "Daddy, no!"
and Flynn would grab one boot, pull up his pants, and escape out the nearest window. Good
times.
Good times that he does not want to repeat with Rapunzel.
It could be because he actually cares about this girl and he wants to do right by her and he
wants to protect her from everyone out there who would do such unspeakable things to her,
even if he's included in that group. But that's just stupid. That would imply that he's falling
for her and that kind of thing just doesn't happen to Flynn Rider.
He catches himself staring at her during dinner with an absent smile on his face. She's
enthusiastically telling her father of her latest discovery that feral cats have claws and are
easily startled. She grins and shoves back her sleeve to show off three thin lines that run
the length of her forearm. The king laughs and Eugene realizes that he's been staring. He
averts his eyes and takes a sip of whatever it is that's being served tonight. When he looks
up again he sees the queen watching him. The corner of her mouth quirks and there's far
too much understanding in her eyes for Eugene's liking.
The next day Rapunzel's wearing nothing but her corset and her petticoats as she explains
to him that she and Pascal can't figure out how the clasps on her dress work. Scowling
down at the green, velvet monstrosity that's laid out across her bed, she crosses her arms
just below her chest, forcing her breasts to bunch and swell upwards. She pops out a hip
and Eugene's fingers twitch at the thought of how that hip would feel if he grasped it.
He clears his throat and easily demonstrates how to latch the hooks and eyes that run down
the dress' back. Of course he knows how they work. Buttons, clasps, zippers, ties, you
name it and he has at one point figured out how to work it. Most likely he did it while drunk
and in the dark.
Rapunzel tries it once and then excitedly practices on three more, her thin fingers running
up the hooks like the wings of a moth. With a bit of difficulty, she pulls them all open again,
and in a flurry of spinning fabric, she grabs up the dress and throws it over her head. For a
moment she's completely obscured in a mass of green, then one hand appears followed by
another. She pulls her head out and shoves the dress down to rest on her hips.
She grins up at Eugene, looking far too proud of herself considering that her many layers of
skirts are all crumpled together so that the floor length dress barely reaches her knees. "I
just learned to do that," she says. "I never used to be able to put a dress on over my head."
Eugene has to help her straighten her skirts, and before he knows it, he's on his knees in
front of her, reaching under her dress to smooth one layer of netting after another. He's
helped with this kind of thing before - usually after a fling in a broom closet. Usually the girl
whose dress he's straightening tries to muffle her giggles and Eugene doesn't help at all by
trailing little kisses along her thigh. He notes that Rapunzel has very nice thighs, but he
resists the temptation to touch them.
She grins at him as he stands. It's not a come-hither grin or a grin flushed from the tingling
proximity of his warm hands. It's a grin of gratitude for a job well done and a grin of
triumph for their conquest over the dress.
He takes her by the shoulders and turns her around to provide assistance when it becomes
clear that, even though she now knows how they work, she still can't fix all the latches on
her back by herself. He marks the elegant column of her neck. It would be so easy to bury
his face against the junction of her throat and shoulder or her jaw just below her ear,
breathe her in, fill himself with her scent – warm and earthy and womanly. He imagines that
if he runs the pads of his fingers along the bare curve of her shoulder blade, he'll be able to
feel her shiver. He'll be able to hear her breath catch.
He pulls himself together and buttons up her dress.
A week later the door to his bedroom creeks open in the middle of the night and he sits up,
alert in the dark. He's generally a light sleeper, having been on the run and having spent
time with people who would stab him in the back just as fast as he would turn on them.
Since he moved into the palace the guards have taken to patrolling regularly past his room.
Their armor makes them clank as they walk and it wakes him up every time. But this
intrusion on his sleep is different.
"Who's there?"
"It's just me."
"Goldie?"
She pads across the floor and slips under the blankets to snuggle up close to him, her skin
cold from the evening chill. She presses her face against his bare chest and leaves a damp
streak of tears against his flesh. Without thinking, he wraps his arms around her to comfort
and warm her through her thin nightgown. The silk bunches as he caresses her back.
"What are you doing here?"
"I had a dream." Her voice is like a whisper, and she sniffs as she holds him tighter.
He's starting to feel a bit more awake now, and starting to realize that there's a certain
danger to her being here. Regardless of that, he can't turn her away when she's in need.
"Tell me," he murmurs.
She shivers and hesitates. "I was someplace strange. It was all white. A bright white that
stung my eyes. So white that I couldn't tell where the walls were or the ceiling or where
they met the floor. There was just nothing. Nothing at all. And I called out for my mother,
but she wasn't there. I called out for you, but you… you weren't there either. No one was.
Not anyone, and I was all alone."
She didn't specify if his absence was because he was dead or because he had abandoned
her. He has a feeling she knows which one it was. Either way it couldn't be pleasant.
"The place was big. It was so big. I felt like I would fly apart so that little pieces of me could
fill the space. I was too small and I wanted to be in my tower. My tower would hold me
together. It would hold me in. Like a hug."
Eugene's arms tighten around her.
"And then there wasn't a floor anymore. Nothing looked different. Nothing changed. But I
was falling. I was falling and falling and I knew that if I had my hair I could throw it and
catch myself on something, but I reached for it and it was gone too."
She had lost everything, and it was all his fault. He hadn't asked her what she wanted. He
had just ripped everything away. Something tightens inside his chest.
"I'm sorry." He truly is, but the words seem empty.
She pushes closer against him. Her skin has begun to warm.
"For what it's worth," he says, resting his cheek against her hair, "I know it's a bad trade
off, but I'm here for you. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
She pulls back and looks up at him, her eyes dancing with tears and starlight in the dark.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Oh!" She shifts upwards and presses her lips to his. He feels that familiar tingle in his arms
and the warm coals that light just beneath his navel. But then she's pulled away again to
smile, and she shifts back to tuck her head under his chin.
For a moment he stares, blinking at the far wall in the blackness. It takes a moment for him
to realize he's not breathing. He swallows and he feels the thick knot of his Adam's apple
grind against her temple. The warmth in his navel smolders.
"Uh, Rapunzel?"
She shifts again, giving him a look of curiosity, a look of innocence.
He's going to do it. As much as he fights it and as much as one look from her can turn him
into a fumbling idiot, there's no denying that he wants her in a way that makes him think
that he's never really understood what it was to want before.
He runs a hand up her spine, over the back of her neck, up to cup the base of her skull and
tangle his fingers in her hair. Her face is so small, so delicate that he can reach his thumb to
her lips in a caress that tingles with anticipation. Her eyes widen, then flutter, and she
purses her lips against the calloused digit.
He holds her tight as he lowers his head to hers. He holds her because after a moment she'll
try to pull away, and for this to work he has to hold her still, keep her close. He swears he'll
let her go if she struggles. He swears. He'll count to three and he'll release her. He will.
He presses his lips to hers and he pushes away the lightheadedness that follows. He has to
be careful, gentle. Controlled. Two heartbeats and she pulls back, only to be held firm by
the strong hand against her neck. She sucks in a breath through her nose, causing her
chest to swell against his own. But she goes along with it and stays still, waiting and
wondering what he's up to and why they're still pressed together like this.
He starts slow, a subtle puckering of his lips, a purposeful movement of his jaw. She's never
felt such a thing before, and she quickly mimics him, deciding she likes the caress and the
tension in her back and the shallowness of her breath.
His tongue drags across her lower lip. It's firm and damp and it sends a jolt through her so
strong that she gasps and jerks away.
The room is deathly still as she stares up at him in shock, one hand covering her mouth.
He's trying to control his breathing, he's trying to control the lust burning in his eyes.
"I-" He can't find the words to apologize. He can't clear his throat enough to speak. He's
crossed the line, and he knows it, and he's sorry. God, he's sorry.
But the guilt dissipates as he watches her test her lips with the tips of her fingers. It's a
tender caress that has him fascinated. The tip of her tongue appears, tentative, enticing as
it traces the trail he so recently marked. He thinks his heart may have stopped as he's
never in his life seen anything so painfully seductive.
She has that look in her eyes that she gets when she gathers her courage, when she tries
something new, when she feels a thrill of novelty, and Eugene holds very, very still as she
leans into him and, in hesitant imitation, draws her tongue across his lips.
A deep groan is ripped from his throat. All his logic and reason disappear. There's only her,
and open mouth kisses, and hot breath, and the weight of her as she wraps her arms
around his neck and pulls a leg around his waist. He grabs her tight, just wanting to feel
her, to be closer to her. Closer. Closer. These aren't the cool and experiences movements of
Flynn, but the passionate groping of Eugene. And he doesn't care.
And suddenly she gets it. It's like the shock she felt when she realized she was the princess
- more pleasant, but just as terrifying. The way Eugene looks at her. The meaning of the
smolder. The sensation she gets when his hand brushes her skin and when his touch
lingers. She understand that now. It's all just leading up to this. To this magnetic feeling in
her stomach that begs for her to press against him and has her digging her fingers into the
muscles of his back. The feeling that she's on fire as he sucks and nibbles at her neck and
runs a hand up her thigh, bunching up her nightgown. The writhing longing as he strokes
her back and her side and her waist. The frustration that makes her want to whimper, that
coils and tightens in her stomach, because he's not touching her enough and if he shifted
just an inch more she knows – she knows! – it will feel wonderful! And after too many
frantic heartbeats, his touch finally, determinately slips that last inch-
"Eep!"
She jerks away as a shock snaps through her, her entire body going rigid, her eyes going
wide, and he freezes knowing that he didn't cross the line before, but he's definitely crossed
it now.
Everything comes to a screeching halt as reality and consequences settle over him like a
suffocating fog. He tries not to pant. He tries not to let her feel how strongly his heart is
pounding, but her hand is splayed against his chest to keep him away and there's not a
chance she can't feel it. He tries not to let the shock and fear and disappointment show on
his face.
"I'm sorry," he gasps.
"No, I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Don't be."
For the first time she blushes, and he sighs, the burst of warm air causing her hair to
flutter. Cautiously, he pulls her close again, tucking her head under his chin, placing his
hands unobtrusively against her back. He works at slowing his breathing. He works at
showing her that this is a comforting embrace, and not one of desire, but the tension in his
arms and the stiffness of her spine prove that that's a lie.
Eugene lies awake and curses himself for taking advantage. He curses himself because now
he wants more.
In his arms Rapunzel can't even think of sleep. Her mind is racing with thoughts of fear and
love, of sensation and desire.

Chapter 2
Eugene and Rapunzel avoid each other over the next few days.
She's avoiding him because every time she sees him, she blushes so badly that she's sure
that everyone will know exactly what happened, and she has a suspicion that that would be
a bad thing. Eugene is also pretty sure that with the tint of her cheeks everyone in the
castle will know something's up, but unlike Rapunzel, he thinks that people will assume
much more than the truth.
He's avoiding her because everything she does nowadays makes his blood rush from his
head to leave him dizzy and winded and warm. One morning he came across her in the
gardens where she had bent to smell a flower. Her ass was tilted towards him, looking
perfectly squeezable, and she was humming with pleasure, and Eugene turned on his heel
and marched in the other direction. At dinner one night she was presented with a chocolate
mousse, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on what time of night it is when
Eugene thinks about it later) she guessed that she should eat it with her fingers, sucking
each digit clean, closing her eyes, and moaning. It was just too much, and he had to excuse
himself on the pretext of feeling sick. He went out and took a long walk in the rain.
His reactions are embarrassing and he hopes to God that no one can tell. For this reason
he's avoiding the queen as much as possible too. He's absolutely sure at this point that she
can read him like a book. He feels really guilty about the whole thing, and he's convinced
that Rapunzel must be mad at him for his actions. That's why she's avoiding him. Of course
this isn't true at all, but even if there was someone who could tell him that, he most likely
wouldn't listen.
He feels especially guilty when he wakes in the night, covered in cold sweat and shaking
after dreaming about her.
He dreams that he's rescued her – really rescued her, not her rescuing herself or her
rescuing him – and she's just so grateful that she wants to give him something special, she
wants to reward him, and she lies back in the grass, open, inviting, perfectly beautiful and
in awe of his prowess as a fighter and a protector. She moves beneath him, all the softness
of her body molding to fit against him, her rhythm perfectly following his own, and she's
warm and wet and tight and welcoming. The sweat on her skin is slick and salty. She purrs,
her face buried in his shoulder. "Please, Eugene. More. More." He dreams of how her face
would look as she calls out his name, head thrown back, spine arched, lips parted in
ecstasy.
He dreams that they're in her tower and he's bound to a chair by her blond hair. She gives
him that devilish look that doesn't grace her face nearly often enough - the one she wears
when she figures something out and then sets her wicked mind to using the new
information mischievously. But in the dream, the look is just sinful, and he'd be rooted in
place even without his bonds. She walks towards him, her hips swaying and hypnotizing.
She easily slips into his lap to straddle him with a sigh, and slides forward slowly to rub
against the entire length of his thighs and finally press against his chest so he can feel the
fullness of her breasts. He would do anything for her. Anything at all.
She's leaning so as to be just tantalizingly out of reach of his mouth, and his arms jerk
against his restraints wanting to hold her. Fingernails drag across his skin, over his scalp, to
fist in his hair and pull his head back so she's just out of reach. She lingers for a moment,
her lips just a breath away from his. She smiles seductively and yanks his head back to
expose his throat and slowly – so painfully slowly – she drags her lips over his pulse point.
She breathes hotly against his ear, whispering that she wants him, torturing him with kisses
and touches.
He wakes up panting, and after several deep gasps, he runs a hand through his damp hair
and curses.
As it happens, the only person who he can talk to – and he uses the term "person" loosely –
is the horse. The horse. The one that hates him. Which is weird because horses don't have
feelings so they shouldn't be capable of hatred, and horses can't understand speech so
there's no point talking to them. He finds himself sitting on the short wall near the stables
after one of his many trips to get some fresh air when Maximus appears.
The horse glares at him.
"Hey," says Eugene.
I hate you, says the horse.
"Riiiiight." He scratches his head and looks up at the sky in an act of forced casualness. His
eyes dart back to the horse.
Glare.
Eugene sighs. "Look, pal, I'm really not in the mood for this today. I get it. You don't like
me because you have no sense of style and no sense of humor. I'm sure It's not your fault,
and we can blame it on upbringing. You don't like me. I'm not too fond of you. So can you
just spit at me like usual, or whatever you're going to do, and go away?"
The horse narrows his eyes, as if trying to decide what to make of this. He shakes his head
with a snort, and sits down. Eugene's never seen a horse sit before. He thinks that Maximus
might be broken.
Stare.
"What?"
Stare.
"Quit being nosy."
Snort. Eye roll.
"There's no way I'm talking about this with you of all people."
Eyebrow lift. And since when do horses have eyebrows?
"It's nothing, alright? I'm just a little… frustrated."
Maximus jerks his head towards the castle. With your new life? he asks.
"No. But that's not going so great either."
The horse cocks his head to the side. What is it then?
Eugene rubs the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, and admits it. "It's Goldie."
The horse blinks at him. Why?
"She's just… I'm just…frustrated, you know?"
Blink
"…Sexually."
Glare.
Instead of fearing for his life like he should, Eugene's face splits into a grin. "Hey! Someone
around here knows what I'm talking about! Finally. I was starting to wonder. So you got
yourself a little filly somewhere, eh, buddy?"
Glare.
Eugene holds up his hands in a pacifying manner. "Not my business. Got it."
Snort.
Maximus bats his eyelashes to get the conversation back on track.
"Oh right, Blondie. She's just…" He takes a deep, preparatory breath. "She's driving me
crazy. You know when you've got an itch you can't scratch and that itch just gets sexier and
sexier until you find yourself talking to a horse?"
No.
"Well, it's not fun. Let me tell you. And usually I'm not one for self control, especially if I'm
in as bad a dry spell as I am right now-"
Glare.
"- but there's something about her that's different. It's like when she's around all my mojo
is just sucked away."
Good.
"I think I might… I don't know I think I like her a little too much."
Eyebrow lift.
"A little too much for my own good."
Eye roll.
"And her own good too."
Damned straight, Maximus says with an enthusiastic nod.
"Thanks, buddy."
Anytime.
"I just think that… I'm no good for her. I'm going to hurt her."
That's for sure.
Eugene frowns and lowers his head in a sulk. "It might be better for everyone if I just
leave."
Maximus rears up and shoves him, making him tumble backwards off the wall to land
awkwardly on his shoulder on the ground. The horse glares over the wall at him and shakes
his head with something between irritation and pity.
Idiot.
Maximus walks off, leaving Eugene in the dirt to question his sanity.
As it happens, Rapunzel seeks advice from a very similar source: a chameleon. It turns out
that Pascal doesn't have any suggestions about the tightening of her chest and the flutter of
her heart, unless it means that she's ill, which might very well be the case because she
seems to have a fever.
Something happened to her and she doesn't quite know what it is. She feels like she's so
close to understanding it – so close she can taste it. But she's still not there, just like how
Eugene was close to touching that spot on her stomach and she knew he was close to
something but she didn't know what. The thought of it has her blushing again. She
tentatively presses her hand over the spot he touched. It's sensitive, ticklish almost, but it
doesn't make her jump, it doesn't make her gasp, it doesn't send thrills through her body.
Strange.
That thrill was terrifying. But it was also wonderful. Maybe now that she's expecting it once,
it won't be so shocking in the future. Maybe if they kissed again, she wouldn't have to stop
him because she got so frightened. She wants to keep going because she can remember
how good it felt and she wants to be able to feel it again, to feel it more. It was good, but
scary - just like how talking to Eugene and finding out what's going on will be good, but the
knowledge might be frightening. Just like how every new experience she has is like a double
edged sword of thrilling joy and thrilling horror.
She wants to keep going to prove she can. Sometimes she just becomes overwhelmed by
sensation. It's happened pretty frequently lately. Everything's just too much too fast. She
can't take it all in. Sometimes when more than one person is talking or when there is music
in the background, she can't understand what people are saying. Once she went into a
fabric store and the vibrancy of the colors made her so weak she had to sit down. Once she
went to the castle kitchens and the aroma of so many different kinds of baking bread made
her cry. Feeling the texture of flower petals or drinking a new kind of tea sometimes makes
her tremble. There's too many different things to sense and there's just so much of it.
Lately she has been swinging dangerously back and forth between being overly excited and
threatening to weep.
Obviously she will have to overcome her sensory overload problems if she wants to feel
Eugene touch her again. Maybe they can just take it very slow. She doesn't want to rely on
it, but maybe he'll be patient with her and let her cry if she gets overwhelmed. He's been
pretty good about letting her cry other times. He's really good at comforting people, even
though it seems like he wouldn't be. And he was kind to her the other night when she made
him stop.
When Pascal proves to be ignorant of the subject as well, she does the next best thing to
asking a reptile: she goes to the library to do some research. Unfortunately, she has no idea
where to look or even what to look for. She ruffles through the K volume of the
encyclopedia and does not learn anything new about kissing. She reads the entry on
hugging in the H volume and doesn't learn anything there either. T for touching is likewise
unhelpful, and "feeling tingly" in the Fs doesn't have an entry at all. She makes a frustrated
noise and looks down at Pascal for assistance. His eyes roam over the page again, just to
see if the entry has appeared in the last few seconds. He looks back up at her and shrugs.
There's no help for it. She's going to have to ask Eugene what this thing that's happening to
her is called so she can find a book about it. Or maybe she should just force him to tell her
what's going on. He seems to know, and he has been so good at helping her understand
other things. He helped her walk in heels that first time when her balance was already off
because she had just lost twenty-five dragging pounds off the back of her head, and for the
first time she had something on her feet that were more substantial than warm socks in
winter. He showed her how to pick a lock, and he told her not to tell anyone that he had
taught her, and she had kept that promise. He had even explained more delicate things like
why she shouldn't mold a snowman out of her mashed potatoes at dinner. Surely he could
help her with this.
But then it hits her. There's someone else she can go to. Someone who's protective enough
not to take advantage. Someone candid enough to give her a straight answer. Someone
who wouldn't feel embarrassed or confined by modesty. The person who already explained
to her that although Tor was a great guy, she should probably steer clear of him because of
his opium habit. They then explained what an opiate was.
She gasps and claps her hands together. "I've got it, Pascal!"
She runs from the library, not even bothering to re-shelve the encyclopedias, and searches
high and low until she finally finds Eugene lying on his back, staring up at the sky, hidden
behind a low wall.
"Eugene!"
"Goldie! How'd you find me?"
"That's not important," she says, her face lit with excitement and triumph. "Can you take
me to the Snuggly Duckling? I want to talk to the guys."
Chapter 3
Rapunzel is too excited about getting answers to remember to be embarrassed walking next
to Eugene. She likes walking with him, and being with him, and holding his hand – none of
which she's done in the last few days. She decides that that's a shame, and she's glad she'll
know what's happening so things will stop being so complicated and confusing and they can
go back to having fun together. Maybe having fun together in the future will involve more
kissing. She hopes so. She grins and slips her hand into his. He gives her a reassuring
squeeze, feeling immediately more at ease.
Upon entering the Snuggly Duckling, she is instantly greeted with a rowdy cheer, and
whisked away so she can hug everyone. She loves the Snuggly Duckling and they love her
back. It's so good to have friends! Yay!
The tavern thugs really don't give a shit about Eugene's presence, so he slides up to the bar
and orders two mugs of beer and a glass of water. It might turn out that Blondie won't drink
her beer, but that just means two for him. The bar tender growls at him and Eugene flashes
his most winning smile. This earns him another growl.
Collecting his drinks, he takes a moment to spot Rapunzel (still doing fine) and slips around
to an empty booth along the wall. It's under a window, but the glass is so grimy that the
light that comes in makes the room look even more distasteful. After a moment, she
appears again on the beefy arm of Hookhand, who has gallantly offered to escort her to the
bench next to Eugene.
The big man leers at him as he flops onto the bench across the table with a thump. "How's
it feel being a kept man, Rider?"
"Better than you're going to feel if you keep asking stupid questions."
Hookhand lets out a bark of laughter, lifts the ale in his hook in salute, and downs half of it.
Smacking his lips, he turns to Rapunzel. "What brings you here, girlie?"
Rapunzel grins. "I wanted to ask you about something I don't understand."
"I can try. Not the most eloquent of pretty faces, you know." He leers at Eugene again.
Eugene glares back. "What's it that interests you?"
"Kissing!"
Eugene's head snaps towards her. "What?"
Hookhand beams. "Rider's not doing a good enough job explaining it to ya?"
From the table behind them Big Nose shouts, "I'll help!" and dashes over to their table, each
of his footsteps causing the floor to tremble. He shoves Hookhand over and squeezes his
way into the booth. Crammed side by side, they look simply too big to be allowed.
"Soooo, girlie. What exactly is it ya need? A demonstration from a real man, maybe?"
This cannot be happening to Eugene. He's starting to feel numb and clammy. He would
make a break for it, but sitting in the booth like this Rapunzel has him trapped against the
wall. He considers slipping under the table, but his pride won't let him. Damned pride.
"Rapunzel, we should talk about this someplace else."
"Shut it, Rider," Big Nose shouts. "The lady asked us." Eugene doesn't comment that she
actually only asked Hookhand. He doesn't think that having only one of the thugs around
would make much of a difference in terms of how horribly this is going to go.
"Yeah, and you've had your shot," Hookhand adds.
"Seriously, Rapunzel. Someplace else."
"Quiet. Let her talk. Go on, sweetheart."
"Well," she says, wrapping her hands delicately around her mug and looking up at the
ceiling in thought. "I'm not really sure how to ask."
"Straight out's always best, I say!"
"Ok. Well, when I was kissing Eugene the other day, I started to feel all tingly."
"Oh hell." This cannot be happening to Eugene.
The thugs are so pleased they look like they might explode. "Tingly, you say! Then what
happened?" No. Definitely not happening.
"Then I started to think – and I don't really know why I think it – but there might be
something more than kissing. Something better." She grins and blushes at the thought, her
shoulders squeezing together, lifting with glee. "Do you know anything about that?"
The grins slip off both the thugs' faces as they stare at her. Eugene rests his elbow on the
table and covers his face in his hand. Maybe if he hides everyone will forget this happened.
Maybe the floor will swallow him whole.
The thugs look at each other in confusion, then turn back to the princess. "Girlie," Hookhand
starts, leaning forward slightly, his voice slow and low and serious. "Are you saying that you
don't know?"
"Don't know what?"
Big Nose's mouth drops open. "My God. But you're eighteen. Eighteen!"
"Didn't your ma ever explain it?"
Eugene snorts. Lucky Gothel, who didn't have to give the birds and the bees talk because
there was no chance (in her mind) that her daughter would ever meet a romantic partner.
Rapunzel shakes her head.
"Ouch, Rider," Hookhand says, a look of pity on his face. "I'm sorry, kid."
"Yeah. That's gotta be rough."
Eugene doesn't move. He's still hiding. A massive hand reaches across and pats him on the
shoulder, although it feels more like he's being beaten with a bath mat.
"What's wrong?" Rapunzel asks with concern. "You're all acting like someone's died."
"Something has died," Hookhand says knowingly. "Something in Rider's pants."
Rapunzel looks down at Eugene's lap in horror as if expecting to see the outline of a
deceased squirrel or a dead dove. Not seeing anything of the sort, she gives him a confused
look, puts a comforting hand on his leg (not that she's checking for dead things under the
fabric of his pants or anything), then turns back to the thugs. Eugene shoots them a glare
between two fingers before burrowing back in his hiding spot. No sarcastic comment can
make this better. He takes Rapunzel's hand in his own. That makes it a little better.
Hookhand sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back to give Rapunzel a
thoughtful look. "Why haven't you asked Rider about this? He's an experienced man whore,
and I'm sure he's the one with the most interest in you knowing."
Rapunzel doesn't know what a man whore is. She files the term away to look it up later in
the encyclopedia. "I think he's embarrassed."
The thugs both look at Eugene, his face still hidden behind his hand, the grimace of his
mouth just barely visible. "I can see that."
"Why don't you ask yer ma?"
"Well," she shifts uncomfortably, "sometimes I ask her things and then she looks… sad. Not
all the time. Sometimes she looks shocked. I don't know. I just thought that this might be a
little different than other things and that I should ask someone I'm close to."
It's like a stone has dropped in Eugene's stomach, and at the silence across the table he can
tell the thugs are feeling the same kind of discomfort. Rapunzel's relationship with her new
mother is fine, all things considered, but it's still stressed. Unlike her new found relationship
with her father, her mother is taking over the place of someone else. In Eugene's humble
but biased opinion, the queen is a way better person to be related to than Gothel, but
Rapunzel loved the old witch regardless of what she did or how things turned out. And the
queen is kind and clever and understanding – understanding that the daughter she lost has
in many ways grown up without her.
"Alright," Hookhand says slowly. "We'll see what we can do."
"Really?" she asks, trying not to let the excitement show too much. Everyone seems so
sober. She wonders why, but then again she's going to find out really soon and that will be
great.
"You see," Big Nose says, "when two people love each other very much-"
Hookhand punches him in the arm. "Quit being an idiot. The girl wants the truth."
"It is the truth!" Big Nose punches him back. "Whatever beau the princess finds should love
her or he's going to have to answer to me!"
"Yes, of course, that's true for her but not for most people."
"There's no point in making it too complicated for her."
Hookhand grunts and begrudgingly admits, "Fine. You've got a point there."
"Good." Big Nose turns back to Rapunzel. "When a man loves you very much-"
"Yeah, that's better."
"-he'll try to kiss you."
"And you should punch the bastard because he's not good enough for you!"
"That's not helpful, Vladamir. Go away."
Vladamir snorts and continues walking past.
Big Nose clears his throat and continues. "He'll kiss you and then… uh… kiss some more."
Rapunzel nods enthusiastically. She knew this part. "With tongues," she squeals.
This isn't happening to Eugene.
"Right," Big Nose says. Having overcome his initial shock, he's back to trying not to laugh at
the poor sap across from him who roped himself into being the princess' boyfriend. "Then
the next step is touching above the waist."
"I wouldn't call it a step. It's not like you do one thing, and then move on to the next. Not
unless you're really boring."
"It can be boring?" Rapunzel asks, her eyes wide. She can't imagine that being possible.
This outburst raises Eugene's spirits ever so slightly. Not much, but slightly.
The thugs ignore her, already engaged in a debate over the benefits of progressing base by
base. Rapunzel doesn't know what they mean by that either.
"-Sure you can hold an ass and a boob at the same time. I'm just saying that you should
grab the boob first!"
"What a load of horse shit! You can grab whatever you want at any point during the
process. It keeps things interesting."
"Or it makes yer girl surprised and twitchy."
"I've never gotten any complaints!"
"Of course you haven't. You've never touched a woman's ass in your life!"
"Say that again, you goitered piece of filth!"
"Guys?" Rapunzel tries, wanting to avoid a fight before they finish explaining everything.
That would be awful.
Eugene decides that he's had just about enough. Flynn Rider would never put up with this.
He should kick everyone in the room's ass, then drag Blondie away and tell her about sex
with graphic and horrifying demonstrations. Or not. Yeah, definitely not. Maybe they should
just slip out while no one is paying attention. He nudges Rapunzel in the side. "Come on.
Let's get out of here."
She looks almost betrayed when she looks at him. "But I'm learning."
"You're not going to learn anything from these idiots."
"Who are you calling an idiot?" Hookhand shouts, disengaging his hook from his ale to wave
it threateningly in Eugene's direction.
"You two," he snaps. "Seems to me that neither one of you have any style when it comes to
pleasuring women. You've got no finesse. No flair. No…" he thinks for a moment before his
face slips into a smirk and his voice grows huskier, "Je ne sais quoi."
Rapunzel feels her face heating from his words, and then- Oh! Now she understands what
that weird voice he uses sometimes means. Wow!
"Alright, smart ass, what would you do next?"
"Depends," Eugene says, covering his complete and utter embarrassment with self
aggrandizement, because – honestly – why didn't he think of doing that earlier? Just
another sign that he's going soft. "Such things require subtlety. A delicate touch."
Rapunzel feels faint. She thinks she might have been better off clueless as to just how
attractive Eugene is, because right now she can't think straight. All she can do is picture
dragging his face down and kissing him – those long kisses too, the ones that heat her
stomach and pull away her breath. He wasn't even looking at her and he's still having the
effect of making her want to grab him. She takes a sip of her beer in hopes of cooling the
warmth that's washed over her. Instead she is distracted by how bitter the drink is. She
makes a face and coughs. How can people drink this stuff?
"That sounds like a whole bunch of fancy talk for how you don't know," Hookhand says.
Eugene shrugs. "I'm just saying that there's no clear cut way to go about things."
"Fine," Big Nose says. "But for the purposes of this discussion-"
"Oh, we're still talking about this?"
"-it's easier to explain above the waist first."
"Whatever," Hookhand grumps.
"Touching above the waist means the stomach, right?" Rapunzel asks. She almost knows
about that. She feels briefly proud of herself before remembering that she should feel
scared and guilty. She shoots a look at Eugene and he can feel the Flynn mask shielding his
flushed, stuttering self start to crack.
"I guess so," says Big Nose, scratching his head as if this has never occurred to him before.
(It hasn't.) "But it's mostly about boobs."
"Boobs?" Rapunzel asks.
Eugene is determinedly not looking at her, so he murmurs the word out of the corner of his
mouth. "Breasts."
Oh! She shoots a look at Eugene's chest and quickly looks away. There's something about it
that she likes. She knows that she herself has smallish breasts because Gothel always told
her not to be too upset about their size, so when she first met Eugene she was excited to
know that there was someone out there who was flatter than she was. Poor Eugene. Even
the unkempt men in front of them have more impressive busts. She wonders if he ever feels
self conscious. She hopes not, because there's something about the broad, taut planes of
his chest that makes her feel a bit weak.
The men begin to expound upon the many fantastic things about breasts, none of which
sound very comfortable to Rapunzel, but the men seem to like it so she pays attention so
she can try everything on Eugene later.
"And you can squeeze them-"
"-and suck them –"
"- and bite them. Not too hard, mind you, but… still."
"-and tweak them –"
"I once knew this whore who used to take- Ow! What the hell, Rider? Don't kick me! I'm
telling the girlie for your own good." There's a THUMP from under the table and Eugene
cringes as Hookhand returns the kick to his shins. Eugene strikes back, hitting Big Nose by
mistake, and the three of them collapse into a mad scuffle of kicking legs under the table,
ending with Eugene standing up in his seat and climbing over the table to get out. He
doesn't make it very far before he's grabbed by three other patrons, who dog pile him as
the whole tavern explodes into a brawl.
Eugene is very pleased with himself despite the bloody nose. Bar fights are the best way to
end awkward conversations.
Chapter 4
"We were just getting to the parts I didn't know," Rapunzel chides as she dabs at Eugene's
bleeding head with one of the napkins he lifted from the tavern. She looks slightly
intimidating standing over him like this while he sits on a stump in the woods and tries to
look a bit more wounded than he is. "Why did you have to go and start a fight with them?"
He winces as she pushes a bit too hard against his cut. "I'm sorry that I had to break up
your girl talk, but you were getting into dangerous territory and something had to be done.
I don't want you picking up their perverted habits."
She pulls back and frowns down at him, her expression one of confusion bordering on
distress. "You don't?"
He blinks at her. "I-" The image of her in a compromising position flashes before his eyes
before he shakes it away. "No."
Her shoulders slump and her face falls further. "How am I supposed to make sense of all
this if there's no one to explain it to me and there aren't any books in the library?"
"I'm pretty sure there are some books."
"Then where are they?" She stamps her foot at the complete unfairness of it all. "I'm trying,
but it's hard, and I'm scared, and no one will help me, and it's just one more thing that I
don't know and everybody else does, and they all think I'm stupid and naïve, but I wouldn't
be if someone would just tell me!"
"Woah, woah! Calm down, Blondie. It's alright." He reaches for her, but she swats him away
to turn and pout. "Hey. It's ok." He stands and reaches again for her shoulder. She allows
him to rest his hand there and squeeze, but she's determinedly not going to be happy about
it. "If it's really bothering you this much, we'll figure something out. Something that doesn't
involve asking the Mauling Wonder and the man with the face only a mother would love,
because honestly, Blondie, that was one of your less inspired ideas."
She spins on him and glares. "Don't you call me stupid."
"I never called you stupid."
"And don't make fun of my friends." She emphasizes her words with several sharp pokes to
his chest. "At least they were trying to help."
"They were trying to lead you down a path of debauchery."
She pushes up onto her toes to get right in his face. "That's what you say! They thought
they were helping, and I've learned to make my own decisions about who to trust when
people say they want to help me."
"And you trust them over me?"
"You don't want me to know!"
"Of course I want you to know! I want to be the one to show you!"
"Then do it!"
"Maybe I will!"
"Good!"
"Do you have any idea how hot you are right now?"
"I don't know what that means!"
He's grabbed her before she's even finished her shout, his mouth over hers, hungry and
demanding, because she has set him on fire, and she's pressed so close that he can feel all
the liquid tension of her body.
She pulls back in outrage, and he blinks at her once before she throws her arms around his
neck and kisses him so fiercely that he stumbles and trips and ends up on the ground,
sitting with her in his lap while she forces her tongue into his mouth. Her corset is thick and
tough, but he can still feel the delicate cage of her ribs in his hands. He can feel the tremble
of her flesh, the thinness of her waist, the arch of her back. He pulls his mouth to her neck
to suck her pale skin and hold her as she gasps, head tilted perfectly to the side to expose
as much skin to him as possible.
He wraps one arm firmly across her back for support as she shivers. It's something solid,
something firm. It's her rock as she floats in euphoria. His other hand skates lower, rubbing
circles with his thumb, hard enough that she can feel it through her corset. He struggles for
breath against her ear, and she shudders at the sensation. "Shh," he breathes. "Relax." She
nods shakily and presses closer as his hand moves gently to the spot on her stomach that
set her off before.
A small cry escapes from her throat before she muffles it, and he kisses her and whispers to
her, words of comfort that she doesn't comprehend because she's lost in the tender
movements of his hand and the feeling of flying. His fingers trace upwards, finding new
places, each with their own subtle colorations that are too overwhelming for her to tease
out at the moment. The back of his hand grazes the underside of her breast and she's
startled to realize that the thugs at the tavern were right. It feels different, more, better,
she doesn't know, but she knows that she disapproves of his hand running back down her
stomach. She is thoroughly convinced that that is the wrong way for him to be heading,
even though it still feels wonderful.
The thought reminds her that she isn't doing anything for Eugene. She should be stroking
him the same way he's stroking her. She wants him to feel these things and she doesn't
want him to be bored. So she pulls his mouth back to hers and kisses him, taking pride and
a thrill of pleasure as he groans.
He hisses as one of her hands grazes the cut on his forehead. She jerks away and squeaks
an apology, her cheeks flushed prettily, her lips swollen and darkened. "Don't worry," he
pants and pulls her back, claiming her mouth, pressing her hand back against his cheek. He
lets her hesitant fingers explore his face, trailing the strong line of his jaw, teasing against
his stubble before caressing his beard and tipping his chin to alter the position of their kiss.
He loves her curiosity. He loves it, and he rewards her by pulling her lower lip into his
mouth and sucking, drawing out a prefect little moan.
He lets his hand wander back upwards. He wants her to be pleased with his ministrations
rather than startled. He wants her to want it before he touches her. He drags his fingers
slowly around the curve beneath her breast, holding her close as she takes a deep breath to
press deeper against his touch, which courses back and forth and up and around to finally
hold the fullness of her in his palm. The feel of her is perfect because God! she's perfect,
and damn it he hates her stupid corset and he hates that he's still wearing his vest because
her shaking touch has run down to his chest to mimic his own movements and fuck! she's a
fast learner.
The heat between them increases, like strain, like need, and she feels as though all that
tension is starting to focus on a spot between her legs. She shifts and finds that putting
pressure against it helps bring some relief – relief in one sense but also the feeling of coiling
tighter. Eugene knows the feeling as without thinking – he no longer has a brain to think
with - he takes hold of her hip and eases her into a steady rhythm, guiding her body to rub
against his own full arousal. He swears and knots a hand in her hair, pulling her close so he
can taste the skin against her collar bone. He's starting to feel numb and shivery, and his
insides quiver, the passion building.
And somewhere in her brain she knows that all this rubbing and the movement of her hips
is all quite odd, but she doesn't care because it feels so natural, it feels so good to press
against whatever resistance is in Eugene's pants.
Wait. What?
Oh no! "Eugene!"
"Huh? Wha-" Why did she stop? What did he do?
In all seriousness, despite her tousled hair and her flushed features, she slowly whispers,
"I've found the dead thing in your pants."
It takes a moment for his foggy mind to figure out what the hell she's talking about. He
blinks at her. Then he groans and his body slumps. "I'm going to murder them."
"Who?"
"Ugg. The idiot twins."
"Why?"
"Because my cock's not dead. They were just being rude."
"Your cock!"
"Yeah."
"You do have an animal in your pants!"
"What? No!"
"Then what is it?"
"Oh God! Don't touch it!" He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away, breathing far too
heavily, and scaring her nearly out of her wits. She sits frozen for a moment as Eugene tries
to compose himself.
It takes a while.
"Eugene?" she whispers.
"Yeah, Goldie."
"What is it, and why did you… react that way?"
"Uh… well…" He runs a hand through his hair.
"You said you wanted to be the one to tell me."
"Yeah, but it's uh…"
She takes a deep breath. "Eugene, please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't have
time for this. Can you just have Flynn explain it to me?"
"What?"
"Usually you're really good at explaining things, and I like you much better as Eugene, but I
think it would be better if Flynn Rider told me about this one."
Eugene doesn't really think it would be better. He's also a little offended, but he's not sure
why.
"It's not like we're two different people," he says defensively.
She gives him a look crawling with skepticism.
"Ugg. Fine. That down there is my penis, and it is very much alive as I'm sure you've
noticed."
"Penis," she repeats. She has a certain way of saying new words, almost as though she's in
awe of them. As though new words are delicate little things that might get frightened and
run away. She tries to memorize the name and the feel and the function and file it carefully
where she can find it again. "What is it?"
"It's a part of my body."
She gasps. "Like another arm?" She knows that Big Nose has an extra toe, but she never
thought that it was possible to grow a whole other appendage. Poor Eugene! He's deformed!
"Well, not really. It's more like a… thumb? No, that's not quite right. Are you sure you've
never heard of a penis before."
She nods her head soberly. "Very sure."
He shifts, reclining back a little, thinking for a moment. "Do you know how nuts and bolts
work?"
"Yes," she says slowly. "I used to fix the windows in my tower when they got worn out."
"Well, there you go. A man's cock is like a bolt and what you have is like a nut. They fit
together, you see."
She stares at him while she processes this. Did that mean that all men had bolts, or was
Eugene special in this ability to fit with her like a piece of hardware? Did that mean that he
didn't have a nut? She knew there were differences between men and women, obviously.
Men were generally taller and had beards and deeper voices. Was there more that she
didn't know about? Most likely there was. And why on earth would you want to fit together
with someone like that? It doesn't sound very pleasant to have a strange part of someone
inside her. But then again, she likes having Eugene's tongue in her mouth, and she hadn't
been too excited about the things that the thugs had suggested doing to breasts, and that
had turned out to be quite pleasant.
"This is all very strange," she says. It's the only complete thought she can manage.
"Yeah," he says. "No kidding."
Chapter 5
It's quite difficult for Rapunzel to find time to research these things. Her tutors are starting
to demand more of her and although she spends a great deal of time in the library studying
history and literature, ethics and oration, law and philosophy, her tutors are always
watching her and which books she's reading. Her busy schedule is such a change from her
regular boring routine that she sometimes gets a headache. Sometimes she's so
overwhelmed that she feels like crying.
She hasn't had time to work on the half started mural in her room, even though she has
brand new paints that she's dying to try. She hasn't even had time to talk much with
Eugene or Maximus, although they seem to be handling themselves quite well without her.
She started sending notes to them with Pascal as currier. Eugene found this very amusing
and they had a funny little back and forth before she was caught by her etiquette instructor
and informed that passing notes was not appropriate. Pascal returned from his trip to see
Maximus without a response. It turns out that the horse can't read.
It then occurred to her that she could send Pascal to gather the books she wanted, but they
turned out to be too large for him to lift, and she couldn't bring herself to be disappointed
about it because he was being very sweet for trying.
She finally finds time to pursue her own line of research one late night after most everyone
has gone to bed. She sneaks down to the library in her fuzzy, blue robe, carrying a candle
and Pascal, avoiding all the guards on their lazy nighttime patrols because she's pretty sure
that what she's doing should stay a secret and because she finds that being sneaky is rather
exciting. No wonder Eugene likes doing it so much.
Now with some direction to her search, she pulls down three anatomy texts, because she
has given up on the encyclopedia ever since it failed to tell her what a whore was. She's
about to make herself comfortable in her usual comfy study seat when she hears the guards
coming her way. She snuffs out her candle and darts out of the library, down the hall, and
away from the clanking patrol. Apparently reading in the library without being discovered is
out. So is reading in her room, as she can't think of a place to hide her books that the maids
don't know about – they keep her room stunningly tidy, especially considering how she likes
to bring in flowers and dirt and paint.
She slips into a dark alcove to plan her next move. "We could go outside," she whispers to
Pascal, but she's not enthusiastic about this suggestion and he seems to agree with her
about that. "We could go to… Eugene's room! Do you think he'd mind?" The chameleon
shakes his head and grins at her. Of course he wouldn't mind. What a fantastic idea!
Her books clutched to her chest, she snakes her way to Eugene's room, dodging the many
guards that seem to congregate in the area. She reaches it with a grin, slides to a stop,
reaches for the door handle and- and it's locked. She trades a confused look with Pascal.
Why would Eugene lock his door? It wasn't locked last time. She tries it again just in case
it's stuck, but she still doesn't have any luck.
Humpf. Well that just won't do at all. She stows the books behind a statue across from
Eugene's door. It's the nude figure of a woman, made of gold, draped with emeralds, and
placed there as a test to see if it will be stolen. A quick dash to her room and back and
Rapunzel pulls out the lock picking set that Eugene gave her and showed her how to use on
the condition that she keep it a secret just between them. She grins as she fiddles with the
little rods, clicking the pins into place one by one. The lock snaps open and she's sure that
Eugene will be proud. She grabs her books and slips into the room and draws up short,
because in front of her stands Eugene, his hands on his hips, looking down at her with an
eyebrow cocked as if he's been waiting for her. In retrospect, she hadn't been very quiet
about picking the lock.
"You ever hear of knocking, Goldie?"
"I thought you'd be asleep."
"And you wanted to come in here and not to wake me up?"
"Oh," she shifts her weight and furrows her eyebrows together. "I didn't think about that."
She looks down at Pascal, who admits that he didn't think about it either.
"Great. So what can I do for you at this ungodly hour?"
"I need a place to read and hide my books so no one finds them. Can I do that here?"
He blinks at her. "Reading?"
"Yes."
"Secret reading."
"Yes."
He considers this for a moment. On the one hand she really shouldn't be slinking into his
room in the dead of night, and he is pretty tired. On the other hand he hasn't seen very
much of her lately and there's a reason she shouldn't be slinking into his room at night, and
that reason is awesome. "Do I have to be awake for this secret reading?"
"No."
"Good." He turns and walks over to the window seat, where he promptly pries off one of the
cushions to reveal a compartment already holding three bracelets, a pocket watch, a knife,
and the set of clothes he was wearing when he showed up at the castle. "You can store your
stuff in here. Just be sure to seal it back up and don't tell anyone or get caught coming in
here or I'll be in trouble."
She picks up the pocket watch and gives him a stern look. "Eugene, did you steal this?"
"No. Your dad gave it to me for bringing you home, and if you want to use my hiding place
you should stop jumping to conclusions."
"Sorry."
He shrugs, glad that she didn't ask about the bracelets. "Are you going to let me in on the
secret of what it is that you're reading?"
She grins and proudly holds up her first book. "Anatomy!" He takes the book from her and
flips through it as she looks overly pleased with herself and rocks back on her heels. "You
said there were books about it in the library and I've found them."
"Well this wasn't exactly what I-" He catches her look of growing disappointment and
quickly changes direction. "But this is much better than what I had in mind. Smart thinking,
Blondie." She smirks, which is a different look for her, one that is overly attractive now that
he's noticing how her eyes shine in the lantern light and how she's not wearing that horrible
corset. His fingers twitch and he wonders if she really needs that anatomy book.
Yes. Yes she does.
He clears his throat and paces back to the bed, where he collapses on his stomach and
turns his head away from the lamp on his bedside table. He really should go back to sleep.
He pulls the blankets over himself for good measure, because a blanket will definitely keep
her away. Definitely. After a moment he reconsiders and turns down the blankets on the
other side of the bed – he's not calling it her side of the bed, because it's not, it's just the
side that's not his. She gives him a questioning look.
"You're going to get cold," he says. "Come read over here." She smiles and slips next to
him, and he turns his head away from the light again. She's going to read and he's going to
sleep and that's all there is to it. Seriously.
Sleep. Sleep sleep sleepsleepsleep. You know, like what he was doing before she picked the
freaking lock to break into his bedroom. He peeks over his shoulder at her to watch her
read, her brows drawn together in concentration, her lips twitching as she silently mouths
the words. He can feel warmth radiating off of her, seeping into the sheets, into his skin. If
he closes his eyes and thinks very hard, he can smell her. He gives up on sleeping and
concentrates mostly on holding very still and counting backward from a thousand.
But then she starts whispering to herself – no, not to herself, to Pascal. Great. Now the
frog's in on it too. If this were anyone else, he would be annoyed, but it's not just anyone,
it's Rapunzel, and he's got a stupid soft spot for her wackiness, and he's secretly fascinated
to hear her thought process.
"All men have it, Pascal. You see, Eugene's not special."
He resents that, but doesn't say anything as he's supposed to be both ignoring her and
asleep.
"It's looks funny, doesn't it?"
Pascal agrees with a squeak, and she turns the book sideways to get a better look at the
illustrations.
"Hmm. It's not a very good picture. We'll have to find a better one."
Chirp?
"No, I don't think he'll show us or he would have offered already."
Whirr.
"Maybe in the art collection in the library. I've seen a lot of paintings of nude women since
we got here, there must be some nude men around."
Purr.
"I wonder why people don't like drawing men. Maybe because women are prettier and
everyone agrees that this thing looks too silly to draw."
It takes a great deal of effort for Eugene not to laugh, but he manages, and imagines her
face as she flips through old art books searching for pictures of naked men.
She's silent for a good fifteen minutes as she reads about the more technical side of the
mechanics. The only reason he knows she hasn't fallen asleep is because every now and
then she turns a page. Then she gasps.
"Babies," she breaths.
Eugene's entire body stiffens. Oh crap. Please, please, please don't let her get all baby crazy
now.
"This is how babies are made, Pascal. It feels good because it's an evolutionary incentive for
people to reproduce. That's interesting."
Chirp?
"It mixes genetic material from a man and a woman and gives that material to new person.
We'll have to find a book on genetics next. That sounds fascinating. Oh, that must be why I
look so much like my parents! I have their features!"
Purr!
"They mix their genetic material and then the baby grows inside the woman. Well, that
doesn't sound very pleasant."
Growl.
He hears her turn several pages, flipping to the chapter on pregnancy. "I've never thought
about where people come from before, but I guess they do have to come from somewhere.
Have you ever thought about it?"
Squeak!
"Well I haven't. I've never even seen a baby before. Have you seen a baby chameleon?"
Rumble.
"Don't worry. I'm sure you will one day."
Purr.
She slips back into silence for a while.
"No. That doesn't sound fun at all. Do you think that's why Eugene didn't want to tell me,
because he didn't want me to have to grow a baby?"
Whirr.
"Or maybe he just doesn't want to have a baby with me." She sounds immensely sad as she
considers this.
Chirp?
"No, I'm sure he'd be a great father. He would laugh with her, and hold her, and play with
her, and teach her new things, and she'd love him very much."
Eugene finds this conversation horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. So why is it that he's
smiling? Uh oh. He needs to put a stop to the smiling and the warm feelings right now.
"He'd be like my father would have been. And we'd be a family and I'd be a-" Her voice cuts
off abruptly and Eugene can feel her suddenly tense.
"No," she whispers, her voice almost frantic. An icy hand has clasped around her heart and
it's suddenly very difficult to breathe. "Oh, Pascal, I can't be a mother. I can't. I don't know
how!" Her voice breaks as she buries her face in her hands, and Eugene pulls her into his
arms before he remembers that he's supposed to be asleep.
"Shh. It's alright, Rapunzel. It's alright." He rubs her back and runs a soothing hand through
her hair, letting her cry against his chest again. "Shh. I think that's about enough reading
for tonight. What do you say?"
She nods shakily as he moves her book from her lap to toss it on the bedside table and
extinguish the lamp. He guides her down to sleep tucked up against him, and Pascal takes
up a spot nestled against the back of his neck, and he thinks to himself that this position,
this sense of comfort is becoming a bit familiar.
Chapter 6
They fall into a routine over the course of the next week. Rapunzel slips into Eugene's room
as soon as her maids leave her for the evening and she considers the hallways deserted
enough for travel. She has found a genetics text that she is reading cover to cover with
fascination while tucked in next to Eugene. She falls asleep over her book after no more
than an hour, and Pascal takes his place wrapped around the back of Eugene's neck, which
wakes the man up enough to slip the book from Rapunzel's hands, extinguish the lamp, and
pull the girl close. His room is close enough to the kitchens that at four in the morning when
the cooks arrive Pascal can smell their baking or hear them moving or sense the subtle
change in temperature enough to nudge Rapunzel awake again so she can sleepily return to
her room.
Eugene wakes every morning feeling as though something is missing. There's no telling
what it is.
This schedule of small amounts of interrupted sleep is wearing on the princess. She's
yawning more than usual and her eyes are heavy and stinging. Although it's really hard to
say it, Eugene tells her that she should probably stop coming and stay put in her own room.
She promptly refuses and the next night Eugene goes to extreme measures to get her to
take her rest seriously. He locks his door again and listens to the scuttling sounds as she
once again picks it. He grins as she tries to open the door, only to find that he has shoved
his heavy dresser in front of it. He assumes that she's taken the hint and gone back to bed,
but then a few minutes later he hears the pat of bare feet on his balcony and then she
successfully snuggles up next to him with her book.
"I know you're awake, and you know you can't get rid of me that easily. So there."
"And you shouldn't be climbing around the outside of the castle at night."
"Just give up, Eugene."
"Yeah," he yawns, draping an arm over her. "That's a good plan."
She has completely abandoned pursuing a physical relationship in fear of becoming
pregnant. He has to admit that it's practical and it's probably wise, but good grief it sucks.
Kissing? No.
Making out? Hell no.
Cuddling in the dark and looking all peaceful and attractive? Yeah. That's apparently ok.
Being insufferably frustrating? Oh yeah. That's cool too.
After a week, Eugene takes it upon himself to put an end to her fears. Being afraid of sex is
sad. Being afraid of sex with him is just absurd.
This is a three stage attack, the first stage of which is to show her that there are certain
precautions one can take to avoid conception. Although he has a condom made of sheep
intestines and soaked in some sort of stinging chemical in his inside shirt pocket at all
times, he's pretty sure that it would be best if she doesn't know that. He's new to this whole
relationship thing and he's trying pretty hard not to screw it up, and announcing that he's
easy seems like a way to do that.
Besides, the one in his pocket doesn't have instructions. He lost those. Well, no he didn't
lose them, he just threw them out, but the point is that they're not around anymore. So he
takes a trip to the sketchy part of town to get a brand new box of prophylactics complete
with instructions handwritten by the chemist. He tosses them into the window seat on top of
her books, where she'll find them that evening.
She and Pascal spend a good hour whispering to one another as they puzzle through this
new, grand invention by reading the directions and scattering the individual cloth baggies
about and opening a few and poking at them.
"They smell funny," she confides to the chameleon, who agrees whole heartedly. Eugene
almost dies laughing and Rapunzel teasingly scolds him for spying. She gives him a peck on
the lips, and the light of reassurance glows in her eyes. He victoriously considers this to be
progress.
Stage two is reminding her that kissing and such is fun and that she wants to do it. She was
so interested just a few days before, surely a part of her is still interested. The problem with
stage two is that he has very few ideas as to how to make her want him besides looking
devilishly handsome, which he's already tried. How do you seduce a girl? He's never sat
down and thought about it before. It's usually pretty easy for him as a well placed word
here and there, an easy swagger, and a smolder will generally get the job done.
Flowers? Barf. No.
Poetry? He had a few good ones memorized for when such a thing might be necessary (or
more accurately he had bits and pieces of good ones memorized, cutting out the stanzas
about betraying the girl and leaving her to kill herself, and hoping that no one he tries it on
is well read enough to know.) But using a poem that he's used before on a floozy feels
wrong considering that whole relationship thing again. Maybe he needs a new poem. No.
That's not going to happen.
Sing her a song? No. He doesn't sing.
Buy her something shiny? Or… steal her something shiny? She wouldn't like that. If she
ever found out.
Maybe he could die for her. He's hesitant about that one, because he thinks that he really
should have some credit left over from last time.
So he decides on flowers (ick) and that evening he presents her with a little bouquet of
purple something or others. This earns him a squeal, a bounce, a declaration that they need
water, and then-
She leaves. Off to put them in a vase, which was not at all the way he was hoping the
evening would progress.
He considers that maybe these failures are a sign that he should not be attempting to
seduce her. Even though she now knows what's going on more or less – mostly less, he still
feels guilty. Guilty enough to stop trying to think up romantic gestures that he finds
distasteful and most likely won't work.
But he's a lecherous, horrible human being, and he can't fake sleep as she scoots up close
to him and searches for her place in her book and her place in his arms, and she's wearing
that blue silk nightdress that's just a touch shorter than the rest of them. He sits up and
peers over her pale, bare shoulder.
"Learn anything new?"
"Yes! Someone did these experiments with pea plants that I want to try but… Hey, you're
not listening."
"Hmm?" He looks up at her from rubbing his cheek against her shoulder and nuzzling
against her neck. "Yes, I was. Pea plants. Fascinating. Tell me more." He turns back to his
work, dragging his chapped lips over her smooth skin.
"I really don't think you're listening."
"Mmm."
"Eugene… Eu- oh." She tilts her head and her eyes flutter closed. Her shoulders relax ever
so slightly.
Phase two accomplished! On to phase three: fun without going all the way.
He hisses at Pascal, who – good man that he is - glares at him, sticks out his tongue, and
wanders off to make himself scarce.
She keeps her spine straight so as to hold as much contact with him as possible as he
guides them down, her back pressed against his chest, his arms about her waist, hands
splayed over her stomach, her arms wrapped over his pulling him tighter, her backside flush
against his groin. He trails kisses over the sensitive back of her neck, over the upper
vertebra of her back. He can feel every muscle of her small form tighten and release and
tighten again as she breathes, as she feels, as the electricity between them turns palpable.
He breathes against the shell of her ear, and she shivers so deliciously, that he can't help
but bite her, and she can't help but press back against him more tightly.
"Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, then groans burying his face in her hair as her
hips rock back against him.
"Ok," she gasps, her voice thin and quivering.
He kisses her neck again. It's sloppy and inelegant. She's so full, overflowing with life,
radiating perfection with her smile, her eyes, the press of her hips. His hands quiver so
close to her skin. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." He would never hurt her. Never.
"I know," she promises, trusting and open and innocent and resting in the circle of his arms.
"Close your eyes," he whispers, drawing his hand to the curve of her breast, so near and
immediate beneath her nightgown. "Just feel."
She moans and the song is beautiful. There is nothing in his world but her, the feel and the
taste and the sound and the warmth of her. Her breath quickens in fright and he tenses to
pull away, but she wraps herself around his arm and holds him in place. "Slower," she
breathes, her eyes still closed. He nods against her shoulder and strokes her more carefully,
building each wave of sensation before pressing on, building momentum until she's pulling
at his arm and whimpering.
He shakes because this is new. This has meaning. Before her he had nothing, and now...
Now she is his. She is his everything. And this feeling of holding her as she is elevated to
new heights of pleasure has him feeling more deeply, more passionately than he has ever
known. His desire for her has grown to near shameless proportions. That burning in his
navel is threatening to devour him.
His free hand slips down over her hip, down her leg, to find the hem of her gown and pull
back again against smooth skin. They groan together as he skates over the fabric of her
underwear, silky and thin and revealing. He pulls the flesh of her backside against him and
squeezes his eyes closed as she rocks back. Maybe her movements are instinctive. Maybe
she's just perfectly following every subtle guidance of his fingers as they dig into her
abdomen. God help him, she's a fast learner.
She latches onto his bicep with one arm, trying to wrap herself up in him, trying to get
closer without knowing how. One of her hands fists and twists in the sheets as she writhes,
needily searching for satisfaction. Eugene slips his hand between her legs to oblige.
She jerks, knocking her head back against his cheek. He barely feels the throb of pain over
the throb of his need, but he stops and listens to her struggle for breath. It's an intoxicating
sound, one that pulses through his veins. She swallows thickly. "I'm alright," she croaks.
"You sure?" His voice is pained, and he swallows as well, tightening his hold around her,
seeking support for his spinning head.
She nods. "You won't hurt me." And there's so much assurance, so much blind trust in her
voice that he feels as though his heart may explode with the exquisite homecoming of it all.
He holds her tight with one arm, and gently – so gently – he strokes her. She bucks and
gasps each time, but they gradually wane as she becomes accustomed to the sensation and
starts jerking and panting for entirely different reasons. She grinds against him in the most
deliciously, painfully provocative way. She tries to curl in on herself, but immediately misses
the feel of him against her back and forces herself to bear it, forces herself – no, allows
herself to feel it all even though the feelings are coming at her so fast she feels she might
be drowning.
He can feel her tense. He can feel her pulse race under his lips, under his fingers. He can
feel her skin heat. "Eu- Eug-" She can't get the word out, but it's still enough to send him
careening. Her legs lock around his hand. Her back arches violently. Her whole being
shakes.
She comes undone in his arms and it is the single greatest moment of his life. She is perfect
and delicate and she shatters all because of him. This is all for him, because she loves him
completely, and together they're finally both whole. Lights burst before his eyes, as his loins
jerk and erupt and drag part of him away, as his very soul explodes with bliss, as a
pounding surf rushes in his ears and blocks out the world so that the only thing he knows is
the smell of her sweat.
When he can think again, she has collapsed against him, limp and heavy and still tingling
with residual shudders. He's drained and slow and there's a pinprick pain in his skull, but he
musters up enough effort to turn her face and kiss her, deep and slow and lazy.
She bats her eyes - he loves her eyes - and smiles at him - he loves her smile – and rolls
over sleepily to wrap weak arms around his chest.
He has this habit of saying stupid things at stupid times, things that are true but he doesn't
know they're true until the words are loose and there's no chance of snatching them back.
Words like "My real name is Eugene Fitzherbert," and "You were my new dream," and
"I love you."
"Mmhmm," she purrs. "I love you more."
But there's something in the way she says it that makes him still, something automatic,
something insubstantial. He frowns and pulls back to meet her weighted, fluttering eyes.
"That's… the first time I've ever said that," he admits.
To anyone. Ever. Some sort of fanfare, or at least mild shock would seem appropriate.
"Mmm," she says, already dreaming.
Chapter 7

Eugene wakes from a restless sleep when he is disturbed by the shifting of his pillow. He
opens one gummy eye and comes face to face with Pascal's dirty look.
"Don't give me that."
Pascal shakes his head slowly, dripping with disappointment.
"Do I comment on your sex life?"
The frog's head tilts to an odd angle.
Eugene groans and rubs his temple, where his headache has grown into a dull throb. He
feels crusty and depressed and he would very much like to take a bath.
Pascal chirps and blinks at him with concern.
"I'm fine. Is it time for her to go?"
This is met with a nod, but the frog's nice enough to look a little sad.
He looks down at Rapunzel, her face obscured by stray stands of dark hair. She is dead
weight against him, her breathing deep and even. For a moment he considers pretending to
be asleep when Pascal wakes her. For a moment he considers running as soon as she leaves
the room, running and running and running until he's far enough away that he can't look
back. He gave her his heart, he gave her his life, he finally found the place where he
belongs, and she didn't seem to care.
Maybe he's over analyzing it. She does care for him. He knows that - he knows. But he can't
help thinking that she cares for everyone. It's her nature. And really, what makes him
different from anyone else except for the fact that she saw him first. If one of the
Stabbington brothers or one of the palace guards had stumbled across her tower, would she
be lying here with them? The idea fills him with jealousy and self pity that tastes like poison.
He's pulled from these thoughts by Pascal, who purrs and rubs against his cheek. It
comforts him to think that Pascal would never nuzzle the Stabbington brothers, so he must
have some sort of redeeming qualities. Of course he does, Rapunzel's not stupid. He takes a
deep breath and brushes her hair behind her ear.
"That old witch really messed her up."
Pascal nods vehemently and makes a disgusted kacking noise. He was hurt pretty badly
himself when he was kicked across the tower. Eugene scratches the little guy's head and
pokes him once in the chest, glad that he has at least one ally.
"Hey, sunshine," he murmurs, brushing his lips against Rapunzel's forehead. "Time to get a
move on."
She mutters under her breath and snuggles closer to him.
"Nope. Wake up." He manages a cheery smile as she cracks her eyes open. He's a fantastic
liar. "Good morning!"
"Eugene?" She rubs one eye with her wrist and props herself up on an elbow. "What
happened?"
"You fell asleep. And now it's morning so you need to go back to your room."
"Can't I stay here?"
"No, Blondie, you can't."
"Hmm. But I'm tired."
"You're also eloquent and agreeable."
"Don't be rude," she grumbles, flopping back down on the bed and closing her eyes.
"Come on, now. You can go back to sleep in your own bed. In order to get my beauty rest, I
need to sprawl out." He kicks at her gently with a leg, invading her side of the bed - the
side that wasn't his side, that is. She giggles and smiles up at him with a look that makes
him melt. Man, he's got it bad.
"It feels like I've been struck by lightning," she confides.
He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a good thing?"
She considers this a moment. "I don't know. Is it supposed to be a good thing?"
"What matters is what you think."
She considers again, absently petting Pascal, who's turned a sunny yellow color. "Did you
feel it too?"
He blinks, not knowing how forward he should be. Put himself out there and let her squash
him, or protect himself?
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I did."
She nods and smiles. "And you like it."
"Yeah."
"Then it's a good thing."
He finds himself honestly smiling. "I'm glad you think so."
"So can we do it again?"
"Uh… not right now."
"Why not?"
"Because your maids are going to wonder where you are, and they'll send the palace guards
straight here, and then they'll hang me."
"It'll take them a while to find me."
"No, it won't."
"I'll tell them to leave you alone."
"I don't think that will make a difference."
"I'm the princess," she says indignantly.
"And that's why you need to stay away from scum like me." He gives her a peck and a
gentle shove, but she won't be moved, choosing instead to thread her fingers through his.
"Then when?"
"When what?"
"When can we do it again?"
"Uh…" He's momentarily boggled by how she can be so perfectly at ease while asking him
something like that. Oh right, he thinks. She doesn't know any better. It's refreshing in a
way. He could be the worst partner ever and she would have no idea. Well, maybe not the
worst, and he wasn't anywhere close to being the worst anyway. But it does take a bit of
the pressure off. He won't have to constantly be trying to impress her or top himself or top
someone from her past. You see? he tells himself, there is a silver lining.
"Soon," he says. She gives him a skeptical glare, just daring him to lie to her. "Soon."
He spends his day doing nothing as usual, which is actually starting to get a bit boring. He's
starting to consider taking those etiquette lessons that the king was hinting at the last time
they spoke. Or maybe he could get a job, but he can't really think of anything he would be
good at. Maybe someone else around is in the market for finding a lost princess and he
could go on a quest or something. Maybe he could steal stuff from bad guys and return it to
their rightful owners. He's already told the Captain of the Guards – who's a prick by the way
– about all the more apparent holes in the castle defenses. He could go see if he could find
more, or if anything had been done yet about the ones he pointed out. But he decides not
to check on it, as most likely nothing has been done, and knowing that he's not being taken
seriously will just make him feel bad.
Without really thinking about it, he wanders towards the stables, and only comes up short
when he spots the great white pain in the ass.
Maximus looks up at him, snorts, then turns back to his feed in disinterest.
Eugene leans back against the stable wall. "How's it hanging?"
This earns him an eye roll. And Eugene wonders exactly what provoked him to come in
here.
"Have you ever told someone you love them?"
Max pauses to give him a look of utter disbelief. On reflection, it was a really stupid
question for multiple reasons.
"Has anyone ever told you that they love you?" He highly doubts it. He doesn't think the
horse deserves to be loved. Maybe begrudgingly respected. Maybe gaped at. But loved?
To his surprise the horse perks up and nods excitedly, wagging his tail in a way that doesn't
seem possible.
"Seriously?"
Nod.
"Who?"
Maximus bats his eyelashes and gestures towards the castle, and Eugene has a sinking
feeling that he knows exactly who told Maximus she loved him. He groans and marches off,
leaving the horse to stare after him in confusion, shrug, and return to his feed.
Eugene wanders aimlessly through the gardens as it seems as good a place as any to mope,
and ends up at the fish pond, where he spends a while throwing pebbles and wallowing.
"You look down today."
He jumps and spins around to see the queen watching him, her head tipped to one side in
interest.
"Ma'am," he says, bowing.
"Strange that you should be unhappy," she says. "Rapunzel is in an exceptionally bright
mood this morning."
Don't blush. Don't blush. Don't blush. "Ma'am?"
"Emma."
"What?"
"My name is Emma. You may use it if you wish."
"I don't really think I could."
"That's up to you, of course. But I don't mind. I believe you call my daughter by her given
name."
"Well, sometimes."
The queen smirks at him. "And other times you use a nickname."
"Uh…"
She laughs. It's a nice sound, honest and open. "Come sit with me, Mr. Fitzherbert."
He doesn't really have a choice, so he stiffly sits down next to her on one of the cold, stone
benches. He doesn't really know what to expect from this interview, but it's definitely not
what comes out of her mouth.
"Do you know how I met my husband?"
He blinks at her. "A ball? Some sort of arranged thing?" he guesses.
She makes a noise that's deceptively like a snort. "No. Richard was hunting in the forest
and got himself gauged by a boar. Nasty injury. He really shouldn't have lived. He was too
far away from Corona to get him there in time, so his party brought him to the nearest
healer and he was forced to stay there for over a month while he recuperated. That healer
had a daughter, and that daughter was me.
"I was tending to him when he woke, and the first thing Richard said to me was, 'I didn't
think I'd go to heaven, and see such angels.'"
It's now Eugene's turn to snort. "That's a line if I ever heard one."
"I know," she says with a hint of irritation, "and I wasn't buying it at all. But even though I
wasn't receptive to his advances, and even though I had such a lower status than him, he
was convinced that he was in love and he was going to whisk me off and make me a
princess."
"What did you say?"
"I said he was feverish, and too weak to whisk anyone anywhere. And then I said that he
only thought he loved me because he hadn't seen anyone but me and my father and his
idiot friends for a month. And then I said that he only thought he loved me because I had
nursed him back to health and he was grateful. Do you see?"
He gapes at her. "How did you-"
"Eventually he went back to the castle, but he spent the next year coming out whenever he
could to try to court me. And finally I couldn't take it anymore and I told him that I didn't
love him and I wished for him to leave me alone."
"You lied."
She shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. But do you know what he told me?"
He shakes his head.
"He said that he loved me because I was different. Because I was the only one who would
lie to his face and send him away so that he could have a better life."
He frowns and thinks on that for a second. "Are you saying that she's better off without me
and I should leave?"
She rolls her eyes, which is something Eugene has never seen her do. "I'm saying that
you're different, Mr. Fitzherbert. There is a reason she likes you and you should respect her
choices enough not to question it."
"She doesn't always make smart choices."
"None of us do."
He pauses, unsure, and then confesses what's been weighing on his chest all day. He
doesn't know what the deal is with all these confessions lately, but it seems like once they
started they just won't stop. "I'm worried that she doesn't know what love is enough to love
me back."
The queen sighs. "That worries me as well. All we can do at the moment is show her what it
means to feel loved. That's one of the few ways I can think of to help her." For a moment
she looks so exquisitely sad, but then she looks up and smiles at him. "And besides, if we
truly love her then we won't care if it will be returned."
She stands and brushes her skirts to remove invisible wrinkles.
"You should take the etiquette instruction that my husband offered. Inactivity does not suit
you, and coarseness does not suit a prince consort."
Chapter 8

Rapunzel scurries in that night, bounces onto his bed, and grins at him. It might be his
imagination, but he thinks her nightdress is more revealing than usual.
"Something you want?"
She giggles. Then she scuttles under the blankets to press against him. Eagerly, she grabs
his arms and drags them around her, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes while
biting her lip to attempt to control her excitement. It's far too attractive a look on her. She
prods him with a hip as he continues to stare - it's a more sensual movement than just a
grab for his attention.
"You're feisty this evening."
"Kiss me here," she says, tilting her head and pointing to a spot on her neck near the hinge
of her jaw. "I like it there."
"I've created a monster."
She takes a moment to stick out her lower lip in a pout and bat her eyelashes. This is also
far too attractive. She reaches behind her and taking him by the wrist, guides his hand up
and down her back in a mockery of a caress.
"Where did you want a kiss? Show me again."
She beams at him and points and he seals his mouth over her neck, immediately feeling her
pulse quicken under his tongue. Far too soon for both of them, he pulls back and gives her a
fake, clueless look as if he's finished and doesn't know what to do with himself next. It's
called playing with your food. It's also called don't give the princess a hickey. Her eyes
widen slightly and she makes a small noise of protest before she quickly points again to her
neck - a spot just below the last one.
He smirks and kisses her again, easily following her finger as it trails slowly down her neck
and over her collar bone. There he snatches her finger into his mouth and sucks it while she
giggles. He pulls her closer, reveling in the fact that she has finally relaxed. She guides his
lips back to her skin and almost hesitantly leads him to her breast. His fingers tighten in the
silk of her nightgown as her free hand fists painfully in his hair and his loins clench. Her thin
sleeve slips easily off her shoulder and she trembles as if she's cold in the second before he
runs his tongue across her nipple. She gasps and her back arches, thrusting her breast
against his lips and her hips against his stomach.
He rolls them both so as to rest on top of her. It brings her closer. It allows him to feel
every one of her writhing movements, each stutter of her gasping breath. He guides her
legs up around him and the pressure of her squeezing him is simply amazing. He attempts
to burn the feeling into his memory. She holds him tight, both hands on his head to hold
him in place. He tries to be gentle with her, to control himself, but she is doing no such
thing, squirming and squeezing and digging her short fingernails into the flesh of his cheek.
She's beautiful and uninhibited and shamelessly enjoying what he's doing to her. He grins
and draws her skin between his teeth.
Then he hears the worst noise he could possibly hear: the clanking of an approaching
guard, and he freezes, every muscle in his body tense.
And then he realizes that it isn't the worst sound. The worst sound is the cry that breaks
from Rapunzel's throat, even though at any other time he would love hearing it.
"Shh!" He presses a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, and she squeaks as her eyes
snap open in fright. "Shh," he whispers against her cheek, holding her still with his weight,
trying to calm his breathing and listen and come up with an escape plan for when the
guards come to investigate. The balcony. That would be best. She could escape that way
and the guards wouldn't find her if they search the room. She continues to stare at him,
absolutely still, frightened as a little bunny. Damn it, he can't believe he scared her again
just as she was feeling so confident. He kisses her cheek briefly to try to calm her, but he
can tell it doesn't work.
The clanking grows louder as the guards approach, and after a moment she hears it as well.
They both lie painfully still, holding their breath as the patrol moves closer-
And then passes.
The sound dies away and Eugene breathes a sigh of relief. He rests his forehead against
hers and pulls his hand from her mouth.
"Sorry," he murmurs.
She continues to gaze up at him, her lip quivering slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No! No, you're great."
"Then why'd you stop?"
"I don't want the guards to catch us."
She thinks on this for a moment. "I don't see why they would care. It's not any of their
business. Is it?"
"Well, no, it's not. But if they knew then they would make it their business."
"Why? I'm having fun and you're having fun. Why wouldn't they want that?"
"Uh… well…" He shifts onto his back to give himself a moment to think. "You know when you
went dancing in the rain?"
"Yeah, that was fun."
"Yeah. You remember how the guards threw a fit?"
She scrunches her face up with supreme distaste.
"This is like that," he says.
She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows to bite at a fingernail in
thought. "They said that I shouldn't be out in the rain because it would make me sick and
ruin my clothes," she said slowly. "Why would they say that kissing is bad?"
He shrugs. "Because they don't like me and they don't want us to get too close."
"I like you," she mutters. He smiles and traces her cheek with his fingertips. "What if I was
doing this with someone they did like? Would they be alright with that?"
Something in his chest contracts harshly at this thought. "No. I don't think so."
She rolls her eyes. "Then it's not about you. You're just being self centered."
He snorts and she gives him a cheeky grin. "You're right," he says. "It's not me. It's you."
"What do they have against me kissing? It's fun," she reiterates.
"They want you to be pure and unspoiled."
"And kissing is impure."
"No. They just think it is because they're stuffy and have no one to make out with
themselves."
"Ah." She nods, "Ok, I get it."
Eugene doesn't really think she does as he didn't really explain it very well, but then she
settles down next to him and sighs sleepily.
The next day he starts etiquette training. He doesn't do it so he can become a viable
candidate to marry Rapunzel. He does it because he's bored and because the queen asked
him to. His instructor is a thin man with a mustache that curls at the ends, and he's used to
teaching knights and guards how to behave themselves, so he is not as taken aback by
Eugene's lack of tact as he could be.
Getting straight down to business, they spend two hours shaking hands, which Eugene
thinks is immensely stupid as he already has a fine, firm handshake – thank you very much.
His instructor disagrees and they shake hands over and over and over and over, and
eventually his arm gets tired and his fingers start to hurt. Deciding that he's mastered it
"well enough for now," the thin man goes on to list all the people with whom he should not
shake hands. This list includes royalty, lords, knights, people who are exceptionally
impoverished, all women, and about a thousand other people. Eugene thinks it might have
been easier just to give him a list of who he could shake hands with, but he's quickly
informed that his smart mouth won't get him anywhere, with which he disagrees.
A bit put out, he wanders the castle looking for Rapunzel and eventually finds her in one of
the little drawing rooms doing a jigsaw puzzle with the queen.
"Look!" she cries. "This puzzle has a thousand pieces. I only ever had one puzzle and it only
had four hundred pieces. And I never had anyone to help me with it before. Do you want to
help? Here. Sit down."
The queen gives her daughter a loving smile as the girl continues to ramble. "I did that
puzzle over and over again. I got really good at it. One time I even did it upside-down, with
the picture facing the floor, just to show I could, but mother wasn't very impressed."
The queen flinches, but does it so subtly that Rapunzel doesn't notice, and promptly
recovers herself and clicks a piece into place.
"Well, I'm impressed," Eugene says. "Gothel just didn't appreciate what she had."
Rapunzel beams at him.
"How were your classes today, Mr. Fitzherbert?" the queen asks.
"Fine," he says focusing on a puzzle piece and pretending to look for its neighbors. He
doesn't want to tell the queen that he had a horrible time.
"Do you want to show me your handshake?" she asks.
He skips straight over the part where she knows his curriculum, and says, "I'm not
supposed to shake your hand."
"Indulge me." She reaches across the table, and he takes her hand. It feels like almost the
exact same handshake he's been giving his instructor. "That's very good."
"Thanks."
Rapunzel watches the whole thing with ever growing interest. "Can I try?"
"Sure, Goldie."
She takes his hand and shakes it. Then shakes it again. Then she changes the angle of her
grip. Then the pressure of her grip. And then the whole thing just disintegrates into her
inspecting his fingernails.
Chapter 9

Rapunzel spends the evening tracing the lines of Eugene's back – the strong curve of his
shoulder blades, the rise of his vertebrae, the way he narrows at the waist, the way his
muscles roll beneath her fingers. She keeps having to tell him to lie still and she suspects
that she's tickling him and he just refuses to admit it. His skin keeps rising into gooseflesh,
and he keeps shooting her a look of mild annoyance that doesn't even make her pause
because he looks so very unintimidating with his face half squished into his pillow and his
eyes gradually growing darker. She grins down at him and continues her examination. She
decides that she enjoys making him squirm, because Flynn Rider would never let himself be
tortured this easily.
She wants to sketch Eugene's back, because it is absolutely fascinating and she's found
herself thinking about it a great deal during her lessons when she really ought to be paying
attention. She thinks about his back and his chest and his eyes and his hands – mostly his
hands. At first she thought that touching him would help. If she became familiar with his
body, then the allure they had might be broken and she could focus more readily on her
lessons. But it turned out that this plan didn't work at all and she is even more interested
and distractible than she was before.
Her new plan is to draw, because that usually helps her sort out her emotions and work
ideas through her system, as if when she puts them on paper she no longer has to store
them in her head. And also, her father just gave her a new sketch book and showed her
where the art books were in the library and sat with her as she flipped through them. The
king didn't know much about art, but that didn't really matter because Rapunzel didn't know
much either. It seemed as though several other artists were distracted by their loved ones
and painted images of delicate kisses and passionate embraces. She could feel the emotion
in some of the paintings, she could relate to them, and they set her heart pounding. She
decided then and there that her new aspiration would be to express that level of emotion in
a painting.
She has only ever seen Gothel's back before. She couldn't even view her own back as it was
hard to crane her neck around in a mirror and her back was always covered in a great sheet
of hair anyway. But Gothel's back and Eugene's back are worlds apart. Gothel's skin was
soft, pale, pristine, and ageless. Eugene's is more coarse, weathered by the sun, and
textured from years of activity. Fine muscles ripple just beneath his skin, shifting and
twitching against her caress. And then there is the scattered hodgepodge of scars that
break up the subtle lines of him and make him look somehow disjointed without looking
unattractive.
She used to give Gothel shoulder rubs, and with years of corrections she has gotten fairly
good at them. She wonders if Eugene would like it, and decides to try. He tenses for a
moment, then relaxes with a groan.
Then she remembers that when Eugene kisses the back of her neck it feels amazing, so she
tries that, lowering her lips to his rough skin. He tenses again under her hands, as he forces
himself to hold still. She trails down his spine in hopes that she's making him just as ticklish
as he makes her. She presses her cheek to the hollow under his shoulder blade and finds
that she seems to fit there perfectly. Her massage continues on his shoulders then down his
arm to squeeze his bicep, trying to help him relax, but also trying to do exactly the
opposite, because she's feeling a flutter in her stomach and she's hoping that he feels it too
and any moment he'll snap and grab her and kiss her again.
"Blondie?"
"Hmm?" She smirks and looks down at him to see that his irritated expression has only
grown more desperate, which makes that flutter in her stomach twist.
"You about done back there?"
"No."
He grumbles something under his breath, then buries his face firmly in his pillow.
"You're not going to be able to breathe like that," she says.
He lifts his head enough to say, "Passing out is the plan."
She smirks and moves on to investigate the small of his back.
The next morning is spent bowing. Eugene bows to his instructor. His instructor bows to
him. He bows to his instructor. His instructor bows to him. Apparently a flamboyant Flynn
Rider bow, although dashing and inspiring, is not what his instructor has in mind.
"You look idiotic," the man informs him.
"Thanks!"
"What would the princess think of you if you bowed to her like that?"
"She'd think I was charming and handsome."
"You're not."
"Come on, Phil. Don't be like that."
His instructor narrows his eyes. When Eugene asked what the man's name was he refused
to tell him until Eugene was able to introduce himself and inquire after his name properly.
Since Eugene didn't know how to do that yet, he made up a name and was determined to
continue using it until he was corrected.
"What would the king and queen do if you bowed like that?"
"The king would laugh."
Phil nods. "Yes, he would."
"He'd laugh in a good way. With me, not at me. And then he'd slap me on the back and talk
about dinner. Or my adventures. Or the princess. We haven't really branched out into other
topics yet."
"I wonder why."
"As for the queen, she'd just roll her eyes and tell me some story with the moral that she's
better than me."
"That doesn't seem to bother you as much as it should."
"Of course it doesn't bother me. She's right. She is better than me."
The instructor sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Alright," he says slowly.
"Bow like a normal person or I'm going to kick you."
"Ah. Got it."
Rapunzel gives him an odd look as he bows to her that afternoon. She's sitting sideways in
an armchair, her legs dangling over an arm, a sketch pad cradled against her bent knees.
She frowns, her eyebrows pressing together. "Your bow changed."
"Yes, it did."
"You're not doing that hand thing anymore." She gives her wrist a wave.
"That's right."
"I liked the old one better."
"You and me both," he sighs, flopping onto the arm of her chair to peek at her drawing over
her shoulder. She stretches out a bit to rest her head in his lap. "What are you working on?"
"Oh! You'll like it!" She flips back several, several pages, then eagerly pushes the sketch
pad into his hands.
He blinks at it. Then he blinks again, thinking that there is just no way this could be what it
looks like because it looks like a picture of Rapunzel squeezed fervently around him while
wearing her skimpy nightdress.
"Is that… Wow."
"I know. It turned out well, right?"
"I… yeah."
"And look, there's more." She reaches up and turns a page.
Eugene turns the pad sideways and tries not to stammer out something that can in no way
express how fantastic the more animalistic part of his brain finds her sketches. He turns a
page and feels the heat rise in his neck. "Oh," he says, clearing his throat. "This one's in
color."
She nods excitedly even though it's a really poor comment considering the magnitude of the
piece in front of him.
"Do you like them?"
"Goldie, there's no way I couldn't like these."
"Really?"
"Yeah… It's like having my own personal pornographer."
"What's that?"
"Sexy pictures."
"Ah."
He turns the page again. "Oh. I like this one."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Look at me. I look great! You should draw the wanted posters from now on, except
that – well – I guess you shouldn't really."
"You're not wanted now anyway."
"And look at you! You've got great legs, Blondie. You should really show them off more."
She considers this, looking at her feet and wiggling her toes.
He turns another page. "And this… This is a picture of Pascal… Why is this a picture of
Pascal?"
"He was being really cute."
"Ok, I can see that, but it's a bit disorienting to suddenly have a picture of your frog in the
middle of all this-" He turns another page. "Wow." He stares for a moment. "Yeah, this
picture of Pascal has got to go."
"Don't be mean."
"I'm not, it's just… What do you say we take this page out…" She frowns at him, narrowing
her eyes causing him to quickly change tracks. "…and we'll frame it and hang it up in your
room?"
She grins. "I think it'd look better in your room."
"Uh… ok… sure. Let's do that."
"Oh, Eugene! This is so great."
"Yeah," he says, staring again at her drawings. "Great."
Chapter 10

The Corona archery tournament is Rapunzel's first large scale obligation as royalty. All she
really has to do is have fun at the festival, then watch the tournament, and then present the
winner with their prize, but she is very excited nonetheless.
Eugene is only mildly looking forward to the ridiculous amount of fried food that will be
available, but he's having fun watching Rapunzel gush about how great it will be. It's also
just too funny watching her practice as she picks up random objects and presents them to
him as if he had just won the archery tournament, with a speech about victory in manly
sports.
He spends the morning of the tournament being dragged around town by the hand as they
watch fire dancers and sword eaters and puppet shows. They determine that the best of the
festival food is the deep fried cookies, but after sampling so much indigestible junk,
Rapunzel starts to feel a bit sick, so they make their way to the tournament grounds where
she can take her seat in preparation for the contest.
Half way there they run into Maximus and have to stop so the horse and the princess can
hug each other. The Captain of the Guards stands at Max's shoulder and watches their
exchange with an air of amusement. He's out of uniform and Eugene barely recognizes him
without his extravagant hat.
"Rider," the captain growls.
"Hey," Eugene grunts with a jerk of his chin. He's really not in the mood for manners today,
or at least not with this guy.
Rapunzel's face peeks out from behind Maximus. "Are you entering the archery contest,
Captain?"
"I am, your highness."
"Good luck. I hope you do well."
"As do I, but there's some stiff competition this year. How about you, Rider. You entering?"
"No. Projectile weapons are cheating." Eugene considered this a good cover for the fact that
he has no clue how to shoot an arrow. Not that he minds or anything, as he can't think of a
situation where he would have to use a bow.
"Hmm. Who's your money on then? I hear that young Lord Wesley, Lord Herbert's son, is
quite the archer." The captain's face bends into a leer. "He's turning out to be quite the
noble and honorable young man. Just like his father."
Something contracts in Eugene's chest at the mention of the family he never had. He
suddenly feels clammy, but he'd rather die than let the captain see his discomfort.
The captain smirks. "Too bad the same can't be said about you."
Eugene smirks back. "Yeah, it's a real shame. I have yet to have a heart attack from being
an obesely fat drunkard, and I don't have a half dozen bastard children."
"You sure about that?"
"Pretty sure." He turns to Maximus. "What do you think? Have I been putting on weight
lately?"
The horse shrugs one shoulder. Meh.
"You're an idiot," the captain says.
"Ooo. That's original."
The captain's eyes narrow and his voice drops to an angry hiss. "And I don't like you."
"Wow. Another great insult. I seriously think you should give some consideration to taking
your show on the road. Maybe you can form an act with glue-face here."
"Stop it." Both men snap around to see Rapunzel glaring at them. Maximus gives an
affronted snort, but that's probably deserved. "Just stop."
The captain's shoulders relax and his face eases into a smile. "You're right, of course, your
highness." He bows his head to her. "My apologies." Eugene doesn't bother to point out that
he's the one who needs an apology, not Rapunzel.
She accepts his apology with a nod, and then – much to Eugene's surprise – turns her glare
on him.
"What?" he asks.
She rolls her eyes, a gesture that Maximus somehow duplicates at her side.
"If you'll excuse me," the captain says. "I must prepare for the competition."
"Of course," Rapunzel replies with a smile. "Best of luck."
"Thank you."
As the captain leaves, Rapunzel rounds on Eugene again.
"What?" he repeats.
"You were rude."
"Me?"
"You insinuated that you would turn Maximus into glue."
"Maximus insinuated that I was fat."
"And you called Lord Wesley's children bastards."
"No," he corrected. "Lord Wesley doesn't have any children. I called Lord Herbert's children
bastards, which I have every right to do. And I don't use that as an insult, only a technical
term… Like when I call someone an ass hat."
She blinks at him a moment, then decides it doesn't matter and moves on. "You didn't have
to pick a fight with him."
"He picked a fight with me."
"He's just upset about all the stealing you used to do. He's a guard. That's his job. You can't
really blame him for disliking you."
"Sure I can," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. If that was the case, then she
couldn't blame him for disliking the man that chased him across the country when he was
just doing his job.
"He's actually very nice when you get to know him."
"When have you had the chance to get to know him?"
She shrugs. "He's usually there when I go to see Maximus. He's introduced me to the rest of
the guards."
"That sounds fascinating. Bring me along next time, won't you?"
She scowls magnificently and raises herself up beyond her full height by using the horse's
shoulder for support. "You, Eugene Fitzherbert, are an ass hat."
He blinks at her. Then he laughs. "Good one, Blondie."
She tries to deepen her scowl, but it's not working because now she's kind of laughing. He
reaches for her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss, which thoroughly disgusts Maximus.
He sits in the stands and watches the archery competition, even though he really doesn't
care as long as no one he dislikes wins. He can't sit with Rapunzel because her place is in
the royal box and his place is anywhere but the royal box. His absence confuses the king for
a moment until he remembers that Eugene actually isn't a part of his family.
Eugene is too distracted as Lord Wesley has his turn to notice how well he scores. The man
has his nose! Honestly, the nerve of some people! He catches Rapunzel squinting through
one eye and holding up a thumb to cover a part of the lord's face, so apparently she's
noticed it too. When the semi-final is over the lord doesn't progress, and Eugene cheers in
celebration along with everyone else.
The captain does fairly well, moving on to the quarter-final, then the semi-final, and then
the finals. That's annoying. Eugene cheers for the other guy, even though he has no idea
who the man is. Unfortunately the captain wins the whole stupid thing, but it lifts Eugene's
spirits to see that there are many people in the crowd who are less than happy with this
development.
The captain steps up to the royal box and drops to one knee in front of the princess. She
stands and gives her speech, which Eugene can't hear over the babble of the crowd, but he
has it memorized already and he can tell that she is about to burst with joy. She presents
the captain with a golden arrow for a trophy, and one of the secretaries from the treasury
gives him a bag of money. They have a brief exchange: she says something, he says
something, she laughs and says something else, he nods enthusiastically.
Eugene has the feeling that something just happened and whatever it is can't be good.
The next day he finds out that it's not good at all. In her excitement, she decided that she
wanted to learn archery and asked the captain for lessons. Where she finds time to take
archery lessons is beyond Eugene. He doesn't let it bother him because she's obviously
enjoying herself. He's been able to find a balcony that overlooks where she practices and he
is able to watch her progress. She's getting pretty good. Or at least he thinks she is. It's
kind of hard to tell.
All he's doing is watching her progress. Seriously. He isn't spying on her because that is
creepy and shows he doesn't trust her, which he does. And he isn't spying on the captain
because… alright, maybe he's spying on the jerk a bit just to make sure he keeps his hands
to himself and doesn't make her cry or something.
And, he tells himself, it isn't like he has a claim on her or anything. Not really. If she wants
to ditch him and date… ugg, he couldn't even finish the thought, but if she wants to do that
then she had every right to. It wasn't like he had died for her and given up everything to be
with her. It wasn't like he was madly in love with her and jealous for the first time in his life.
No. That wasn't what was going on. At all.
It's just that he doesn't understand how she can spend time with the captain of the guard
and still laugh about it afterward. Doesn't she realize that he's a giant tool? Apparently not.
And he's so old. Way too old for her in Eugene's very knowledgeable opinion. But that's ok
because she can spend time with whoever she wants. He isn't going to stop her. She'll be
mad if he tries, and he'll feel like an ass about it later.
He is not going to be like Gothel and keep her jealously hidden away all for himself.
Reminding himself of that makes him less anxious. Not that he's anxious.
But the main reason he isn't bothered by it is because she still shows up every evening in
his room to tell him all about her grand adventures and how well she's doing, and she grins
just for him and she looks absolutely beautiful.
She hums as he kisses her, her tongue working furiously against his because she hasn't
quite got it down perfectly yet, but the sheer eagerness of her movements makes it better
than even the most adept, practiced kiss. She kneads the muscles of his chest, and his
breathing speeds up, growing deeper yet more constricting with each beat of his heart. Her
hands are still cold from the night and he shivers as they run across his abdomen. He nearly
groans with frustration as they veer off to wrap around his waist, and he pulls her closer to
make up for it, to try to reduce the demanding need to have her touch him.
He fills both greedy hands with the rise of her hips, then slides back to cradle the curve of
her rear. She gasps at the contact, then again as he squeezes her flesh, then again as he
pulls her tight, holding her so she can feel every inch of him pressed against her thigh. For
a second they stay like that, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed closed, the heat of their
desire and the discord of their inaction building, drawing them together, making her fingers
claw against his back. She can't restrain herself for long and claims his mouth with a
vehemence that will leave her lips swollen. She shifts against him, bringing his cock
between her legs and squeezing it between her thighs.
He groans and bites down on his lip, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling her breath
hot and fast against his face as she ever so slowly rocks her hips. He swears and she lets
out a breathless laugh before she rocks again, firmer and stronger and more confident than
before. She matches her rhythm to the squeezing of his fingers.
He hates that he's still wearing pants. He absolutely hates it, and he pushes himself
between her long, gorgeous legs in an attempt to make things better, but it only makes it
worse because - maybe he's imagining it - but he can feel the heat of her pressed against
him, and he just longs for her so badly. He makes a passionate, frustrated noise in the back
of his throat that comes out like a growl, and he's all but had it with self control.
He snatches up one of the hands at his back and swallows thickly, just cogent enough to
remind himself to go easy, not to scare her. Quicker than he really should be moving, but
far too slowly for his throbbing need, he eases her hand around, guiding it into his pants.
Her breath catches, and he wraps her fingers around his length, covering her delicate hand
with his own. Having her touch him feel so good, and his head spins, and the temperature
rises, and he can't find enough air as he shows her how to stroke him. He's still restrained
by fabric and he's still far too confined, but he reminds himself through the feeling of her
sweating skin that he should take what he can get. In a way it's like he's doing it himself,
controlling the pressure and the speed, but her fingers are so fine, so distinctly foreign, and
somewhere distantly he can still feel the rest of her pressed against him - around him.
"Like this?" she whispers, breathless against his neck. But all he can do to answer is open
his mouth in a silent moan and nod. So she kisses him, and it's perfect, and he doesn't
know if he can hold out much longer if she keeps doing that and holding him close and
squeezing him tight. And he realizes that there's no need to hold out, no need to impress,
no need to save up for round two. With her he's free. With her everything is as it should be.
Gripping her tight, he falls apart in her hands.
Chapter 11

Eugene doesn't make a fuss when he meets up with Rapunzel to work on a jigsaw puzzle
and finds the captain sitting next to her, separating out all the edge pieces. It's not like they
would have been alone anyway because the queen is also there. Eugene feels a bit of
vindictive amusement at the look the woman shoots him. Maybe he's not the only one who
wishes the captain would get out or grow a better personality.
He bows to the queen and Rapunzel and gives the captain a look of utter boredom before he
takes his seat.
"Don't you have a job to do? Some poor sap to chase and throw in jail and execute?"
"Don't you have something to steal somewhere?"
"Nope. My afternoon is completely free."
Rapunzel giggles and Eugene determinedly pieces together more of the edge than the
captain.
He doesn't make a fuss when a portrait of the captain makes its way into her sketchbook.
It's mostly just a study of the man's hat and an attempt at portraying both the metallic
texture of the helm and the feathery texture of his crest and mustache. This is the
sketchbook that until recently featured a sketch of a lizard, and now features two. The
original sketch is now framed and hung over his bed. Rapunzel wanted to get a rather
elaborate frame, but he had convinced her to get a simple one of dark wood, that was thick
enough for Pascal to rest on. It's now the frog's preferred place to sleep.
He doesn't make a fuss when she starts referring to the captain as "Walter." She calls
everyone by their first name, so it isn't really a big deal.
He is taken aback when he hears Walter call Rapunzel by a nickname. A nickname. She's
the princess. Where does he get off? He calls her Zel, and he does it effortlessly, as if he's
done it before, as if they are actually friends.
Zel. What the hell is that? It's stupid is what it is.
He's taken aback, but he doesn't make a fuss. Instead, he spends an hour that evening
trying to come up with a worse way to butcher her name.
"Rap," he says, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration and running his fingers up and down
her spine.
She makes a face. "Wrap?"
"You know, like you how wrap around something." He pulls her leg over his waist so he can
rub her thigh.
"That's awful," she giggles.
"Rappy?" he tries.
"No."
"Pun?"
"Like the jokes?"
"Like the middle syllable."
"Ah. No."
"Ra… Ra… Oh! I got it. You ready?"
She nods.
"Rarrrr!" he shouts and attacks her, flipping her over as she laughs hysterically. He kisses
her, possessively letting most of his weight rest on top of her so he can feel her soft breasts
compress against him, and he can feel the gentle strain of her diaphragm as she breathes.
In this moment she is all his, and no one can take that away from him. He looks down into
her sparkling green eyes.
"I love you, Blondie."
He thinks that maybe if he says it with enough seriousness, she'll understand that he's
being honest.
She smiles and chirps, "I love you more."
"It's not a competition, you know."
She blinks at him in bewilderment for a moment before he claims her mouth again and all
her confusion slips away.
Eugene doesn't even make a fuss later when he accidentally hears Walter talking to the
queen .
"…He's a criminal, who should not be allowed to walk free, let alone consort with the
princess."
Eugene pauses in the hallway outside one of the studies that the king and queen regularly
use when they don't want to go through the trouble of meeting in the throne room. He
knows that he really shouldn't eaves drop, and he considers just ignoring it. Then he
considers just marching in and allowing the jerk to tell him his problems to his face like a
man. In the moment that he's hovering between these two options, it's already clear that
he's just eaves dropping and he might as well just keep doing it.
"Mr. Fitzherbert is a hero who rescued my daughter."
Eugene grins. He never had a mother, but he thinks he might be beginning to understand
what it's like to have one.
"Your highness, my understanding of the situation is that he stumbled upon her and was
blackmailed into bringing her to the castle."
"Perhaps, but he has been on his best behavior lately."
"For him that doesn't mean much. You can't honestly believe that his change of heart is
genuine."
"People change after experiencing extraordinary events."
"I am convinced he is faking it, your highness, to ease you into a sense of security before
betraying you."
"And I must disagree with you, Captain. Mr. Fitzherbert is perfectly capable of taking
whatever he wants from this castle without bothering to rub elbows with everyone inside. I
also do not believe that Mr. Fitzherbert has the patience for such a convoluted scheme."
Eugene frowns, unsure if that was an insult or not.
"Furthermore," the queen continues, "he is helping my daughter through a difficult time,
and they are quite fond of one another. I am certain that he would do nothing to harm her."
"Oh, really?" Something in the captain's voice makes the hairs on the back of Eugene's neck
stand up. There's a bitterness to it, but also something triumphant. "I regret to inform you
that I have evidence that he has been taking liberties with the princess."
"Evidence?"
"Yes, your highness."
Eugene has no idea what it could be. He can't come up with anything that's not both
disgusting and an invasion of privacy. He barely controls himself from peeking in to see
what it is, but he can hear that something has been passed to the queen. There is a
pressing moment of silence.
"I beg your pardon, Captain, but I don't see how a sketch of Rapunzel's pet chameleon
proves Mr. Fitzherbert's depravity."
Uh oh.
"If you would turn the page..."
A page turns. Then another. Eugene plans his escape.
The captain clears his throat. "I know that the images may not be… suitable for your eyes."
"Please," the queen says, a distinct note of irritation creeping into her voice. It's unclear
whether it is from her distaste of the sketches or from the captain's assumption that she's
never seen something so vulgar.
Another page turns and the queen begins to speak again. "Are you suggesting that these
sketches depict actual events?"
"Yes."
"You should tread more cautiously when casting doubt over the princess' virtue."
"I didn't mean to… that is, I'm sure she's not at fault."
"I'm sure." Another page turns. "My daughter has a very active imagination." Another page
turns. "Oh, here's a picture of you."
"I… uh…"
She ignores him and turns another page.
Then another.
"Surely you're going to do something about him," the captain pleads.
"Will this be all, captain?"
"I…" He seems to recognize his defeat and sighs. "Yes, your highness."
"Very well."
The captain exits the room with a bit more stomp to his steps than is polite. He comes up
short when he catches sight of Eugene, and his eyes contract to slits.
"Your time is coming, Rider," he hisses. "Someday soon."
Eugene shrugs. He has the feeling that he might be right, but he's sure as hell not going to
show it. The captain shoots him a disgusted look and storms away. Eugene watches him
until he disappears around the corner.
"Mr. Fitzherbert?"
His blood runs cold. If he makes a run for it now how far could he get?
He swallows and pokes his head into the study, where the queen is still inspecting
Rapunzel's sketchbook. "Have a seat." He does as she says, remembering to bow
appropriately.
"Everything shows on Rapunzel's face," she says. "I know you haven't had sex with her."
Eugene takes the breath he didn't know he was holding. "But be aware that if you do, I'll
know, and I will not be so forgiving."
"I understand."
"Good." She flips another page. "It looks like I should have a talk with her about discretion."
"That'd be a good idea."
She gives him a penetrating stare. "I assume I don't need to have that talk with you."
"No, ma'am."
She turns back to the sketchbook. "The captain doesn't like you."
"I noticed."
"You should watch yourself. He could make things very difficult for you."
He grimaces.
She sighs. "Just behave yourself and don't give me a reason to expel you from the castle.
It's been pleasant having you around."
"Thank you. I'll try."
"Good."
He feels light as he leaves the study, dizzy from his narrow escape.
The weather is beginning to turn and he can feel the bite of autumn in the wind as he sits
on the railing of the balcony where he can overlook Rapunzel's archery practice. He
stretches out his legs and leans his head back against the wall. Watching her from this far
away is really pretty boring, but he doesn't trust Walter any farther than he can throw him.
"How is she doing?"
He snaps his head around to see the king step onto the balcony. He hurries to stand, but
the king waves him off with a gesture. "You look comfortable. Don't bother yourself."
"Thanks."
"So, how is she doing?"
"Pretty well, I think. At least she hasn't shot anyone today."
"Has she done that before?"
"No, but she's come close."
The king laughs. "Well that would be the captain's fault more than hers."
Eugene smirks and turns back to Rapunzel. The captain has his arms around her to adjust
her posture. His smirk slips a bit.
"Do you know much about archery?" the king asks.
"I know that it hurts if you get hit."
"But you don't have any experience being the one to do the hitting."
"Once I grabbed an arrow from a quiver and threw it at someone." He mimes the
appropriate arm gesture. "It didn't hurt him too bad, but it did distract him."
"Clever."
Eugene shrugs.
"I'm awful at archery. Everyone agrees. But the thing about being king is that no one wants
to tell me how inept I am to my face."
Eugene laughs. "That's a nice perk."
"It is. One time I was meeting with the Earl of- oh." The king frowns, looking down at the
practice area, his eyebrows drawing together harshly.
Eugene follows his gaze, and this is the point when he makes a fuss, because his world has
stopped spinning and there, on the practice field, the captain is kissing Rapunzel.
Chapter 12

Walter's mustache feels strange, almost suffocating, and causes her nose to wrinkle. But he
seems to take the curling of her lip as some sort of invitation to force open her mouth and
explore with his tongue. It's… different… strange… wriggly… wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
And now his arms are around her and instead of feeling nice, it feels constricting and
suffocating. She forces a splayed hand against his chest, which would make Eugene pause,
but the gesture is misinterpreted as Walter makes a small noise of pleasure and his fingers
clench against the small of her back.
She wants it to stop. She compresses her shoulders to shrink in on herself, and with
difficulty she tears her face away and stands, hunched, with her eyes squeezed closed and
her brow draw together in hopes that if she doesn't look at him for a moment everything
will be back to the way it was before. All the fear will dissipate. Her heart will stop
quavering in a bid for escape.
"Zel? Is everything alright?"
She takes a deep, shuddering breath before looking up at him. He looks genuinely
concerned, which settles the churning of her stomach just a fraction.
"I… Yes. I'm fine." He continues to look at her, as if waiting for her to say something else.
"I'm sorry," she says.
He smiles down at her. "Don't be. I didn't mean to startle you by moving too fast."
She feels a bit sick but tries not to let it show on her face. She doesn't really know how
successful she is. "Moving too fast" implies that they are moving and she doesn't think that
she wants to go anywhere in that direction with Walter, no matter what the pace is, but
telling him this will hurt his feelings, which is something she doesn't want to do. He's nice to
her, and he likes her, that much is clear, and she likes him too, it's just that…
She doesn't know. It's all very confusing, and she's starting to feel overwhelmed. Her hand
shakes against his chest and the reminder that he is still holding her is suddenly very
frightening.
She takes a step back and he lets her go.
"I think that's enough for today," she says, forcing as much nonchalance into the words as
she can.
"Alright." He smiles at her. It's a nice smile. Or it would be if it wasn't obscured by his
mustache. The thought strikes her that Eugene's facial hair is by far superior.
She turns and heads back to the castle. Half way there she breaks into a run and she
doesn't stop until she slides around the corner into the familiar hallway of the guest
quarters.
She's brought up short as she comes face to face with Eugene as he shuts the door to his
bedroom with a kind of finality that makes her jump. He gives her a look, full of some
emotion she can't place and yet more closed than she's ever seen him. It's a look so
strange that she instinctively takes a step backwards. He has changed clothes, back into his
old Flynn Rider garb that's been sitting in his window seat for months, back into the
blue-green vest and rough pants. He grips the satchel thrown over his shoulder as if he's
afraid she might try to snatch it away. It bulges as though he's haphazardly thrown a great
many things into it.
Her frayed nerves shrivel nearly to the point of panic. "Where are you going?"
He stares at her, all the muscles in his jaw pulled tight. "Away," he says, a bite to his voice.
His eyes slip purposefully away from her as he walks forward and passes her at a brisk
pace.
The blood drains from her face as she watches him walk away, an icy fear stabbing at her
heart, breaking her to pieces. "No! No, you can't! You promised!"
He stops, both hands clenching into tight fists, and she takes the opportunity to run up and
slip around to face him. She reaches for his arms, but he flinches away from her touch,
leaving her hands suspended in the air.
"You promised you weren't going anywhere. You said you'd be here for me when I needed
you."
There is too much intensity in his eyes. It makes her feel small. It almost makes her feel
like she's done something wrong. His jaw works as if he's chewing his words thoroughly
before spiting them at her.
She was right. He had promised.
If we truly love her then we won't care if it will be returned.
God, he hates that he just remembered that.
"Fine," he snaps. "What is it you need?"
"I…" She swallows, realizing that she doesn't really know. "… Nothing."
"Great. I'll just wait here for you to come up with something."
With that he turns on his heel, stomps back to his room, and slams his door behind him.
She stares at the empty space he's left behind as her heart refuses to beat. When it starts
up again she bursts into tears and runs and runs and doesn't stop until she collapses on her
bed in her room.
A few minutes later someone knocks at her door and she ignores them, having absolutely
no desire to speak to anyone. She's vaguely aware that she's supposed to be in a history
lesson, but she can't bring herself to care that she's being rude to her instructor. She
doesn't think that she could hold herself together enough for lessons anyway. She would
just be crying in front of someone, and she has learned that doing that makes people feel
uncomfortable.
There's another knock at the door, but this time the door opens and the queen sweeps in,
takes one look at Rapunzel, and immediately pulls the girl into her arms. The speed of her
reactions and the complete lack of hesitation takes Rapunzel by surprise, and this new
shock on top of all the others is the final crack in her tenuous grasp on self control. She
completely breaks down, sobbing hysterically, her arms thrown around the queen's neck.
The queen doesn't say a word. She simply strokes her daughter's back in soothing, even
circles and lets her cry. She doesn't try to get her to calm down. She doesn't tell her that
the tears will spoil her complexion or stain her dress. She doesn't tell her to stop crying
because it's not that bad and she is getting a headache. She just holds her. No one has
done this for her before except Eugene, and the thought that he might never do it again
just makes her cry harder.
Eventually the tears subside, not because she feels better, but because she's too exhausted
to continue. She pulls back from the queen and brutally rubs at her eyes to remove the
traces of her weakness.
"I'm sorry," she sniffs. "I've ruined your dress."
The queen looks down at her shoulder, now spotted and damp from Rapunzel's tears. She
smiles tenderly, warmly, sadly, and brushes a few loose strands of hair behind Rapunzel's
ear. "It's only a dress," she says.
"Really?" Surely the queen must be lying to make her feel better.
"I've got loads of dresses, and you can cry on any of them because I love you."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"That's what love is: holding someone while they cry."
Rapunzel stares at her while she processes this. If someone came to her and cried, she
would hold them no matter who they were. But then again, she doesn't think that anyone
would come to her for comfort. That thought makes her a bit sad. Pascal would probably
come to her if he needed to cry, but he never seemed to need it. He is currently wrapped
around her ankle, giving her a look of extreme concern.
But on the other hand, she wouldn't go to just anyone and cry on them. She had always
tried not to cry in front of Gothel, preferring instead to hide in her room. And she wouldn't
ever think of going to Walter, or most of her handmaidens, or even most of the thugs from
the Snuggly Duckling.
She blinks up at her mother, biting at her lip. "I like crying on you," she admits.
The queen laughs. "Well I hope you don't like crying. But if you have to cry, I'm here for
you, and I'm glad I can bring you some comfort."
"You're here for me?"
"Always, my dearest."
"Oh!" She squeaks out another sob, and again throws her arms around her mother.
Eugene handles things a bit differently. He focuses on furiously pacing his room. His eyes
fall on the framed picture of Pascal, and he walks over and takes it down so he doesn't have
to look at it. He paces and paces until he realizes that he's pacing and that's stupid, and he
drops into a chair to rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
He's not moping. He's planning. Sometimes he just has to sit and plan – plan out how he's
going to murder the Captain of the Guards, how he's going to stab him, choke him, and
light him on fire. But as much enjoyment as he gets from these plans (they were plans, not
fantasies) what he really needs to focus on in how he's going to get away with it.
Maybe if he makes it look like an accident, but he can't think of a way to do that and still
have it be brutal enough to be satisfying. Maybe he can challenge him to a duel. The upper
classes tend to overlook murder in the name of honor, so he could possibly get away with
that. And after all, he had knocked the man unconscious with a cast iron skillet once, so he
can definitely do more damage if he has something that's sharp. Maybe he can just outright
kill him and then go back to being an outlaw. That option is feeling really good at the
moment, except for the fact that he is an idiot, who wants to stick around and be stepped
on by the princess, because he promised her that he would do that and for some reason he
suddenly keeps his promises. Idiot.
Seriously, he's an idiot. In love with a princess? What was he thinking?
Teaching her about sex so that she could use her new found skills on someone else? He
wants to punch something, preferably something that resembles the captain's face.
He broods over these things for far too long – and by broods he means plans. And since he
hasn't really gotten anywhere with his planning, it's probably about time that he went and
kicked dearest Walter in the head.
He doesn't really give a shit that he has become a big, jealous monster. He doesn't really
care that Rapunzel won't approve or that the king and queen won't approve. He doesn't
even really care that he'll be basically walking straight back into the dungeons.
Rapunzel might even truly like the guy. She might not have minded having someone kiss
her. She might have even liked it. (Shudder.) She might just not know about monogamous
relationships, because the idea of him explaining that to her is just ludicrous. She might not
know better, but that dick of a captain sure as hell should. He should know better than to
take advantage of Blondie's naiveté.
Any irony in this situation is lost on Eugene.
As he sees it, this is just one last attack against Flynn Rider's character and this one is over
the line. Using Rapunzel against him is wrong, and he's not going to put up with it. He
pushes his sleeves up, even though they're already rolled up to the elbow, and marches into
the courtyard that separates the castle from the guard tower.
He is grabbed by the back of his shirt and jerked backwards off his feet.
"Hey! Let go!"
Back in the shadow of the castle, he is dropped to the ground, and he looks up at his
attacker with a groan and a rub of his skinned elbow. It's Maximus.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Snort.
"That is definitely not an answer."
Max drops his big, horsey nose in front of Eugene's face and gives him a glare and a not so
gentle shove back in the direction of the castle.
"Back off. This doesn't concern you."
Oh really?
"Yes. I'm going to murder him and I'm going to enjoy it."
Eye roll.
"Shut up. There's nothing you can do to stop me."
Maximus highly doubts that and grabs Eugene's shirt again to drag him away from his arch
enemy.
"Let go. I like this shirt and you're going to rip it."
Maximus lets go of his shirt, and instead flops down to pin him under his bulk.
"I… can't… breathe…"
Don't care.
"Come… on!"
Maximus shifts ever so slightly to allow Eugene a little bit of wiggle room, but not enough
that he can escape. He's forced to lie there on his back and stare up at the sky. After a few
minutes of this he's calmed down enough to try to reason with the horse again.
"Look, I know that old geezer is your best friend or something-"
Snort.
"He's not?"
No.
"Then why do you care?"
This gets him a completely blank look.
Eugene blinks at him. "Is it because… you're worried about me going to jail?"
Maximus huffs out a sigh and shakes his head before he decides to just get it over with and
explain it to him. He does this by miming the motion of stabbing Eugene in the chest
several times, which is really rather impressive.
"You're… wait, seriously? You're worried that prick is going to kill me?"
The horse nods begrudgingly, as if it causes him pain to admit it.
"Wow, buddy, that's really-"
We're not talking about this.
"Ah. Right."
Maximus doesn't let him up for another twenty minutes, and when he does, he makes sure
that Eugene realizes that he's going to be watching him, so there's really no point in even
trying.
Eugene decides that the horse is insane, but he really doesn't want to be sat on again.
Chapter 13

Eugene has trouble sleeping. His sheets are cold and it's too quiet without the little
wheezing snore that Pascal always makes. He keeps rolling over only for his arm to land on
a big empty space. He wakes naturally at four in the morning, when Pascal would usually
wake him up, and he realizes that he has sprawled out over the entire bed, as if he was
searching for her in his sleep. He presses his face into his pillow and groans loudly.
Rapunzel can't sleep either. Pascal is not big or warm enough to emulate Eugene, so she
turns one of her pillows sideways and snuggles up against it. Strange that she should
become so used to him so quickly. She never used to feel alone before. There are too many
thoughts running around her head, none of them standing still long enough for her to look
at them, to tease them apart. It's like being attacked by bees.
It's almost dawn when she gives up on sleep and rolls over to rest her chin on her pillow
and look Pascal straight in the face.
"Eugene tried to leave," she whispers. "I don't know why."
Pascal cocks his head to the side and makes a soft, comforting cooing noise.
"He must not be happy here." She bites at her lower lip. "He's used to having all sorts of
exciting adventures, but now he's trapped here in the castle where no one but us really likes
him."
Pascal nuzzles her hand with the side of his face.
"I shouldn't really keep him here if he's that unhappy, should I? It's not good to lock
someone away when they want to be free."
The chameleon's eyes grow wider and he opens his mouth as if to protest, but then
promptly shuts it.
"And I really shouldn't make him stay if he's angry with me." She sighs and absently curls
Pascal's tail around her finger. "I just don't know what I did wrong. Do you know?"
He shakes his head.
"Maybe he just doesn't like me anymore. But… I don't know what changed. He used to like
me, right? And I don't know what I'd do if he left. I'd be lonely."
Loneliness is a new feeling for Rapunzel, one that is worse than most of the other feelings
she's encountered lately.
"I wish I could talk to him, but he said he didn't want to talk to me unless I needed
something."
Pascal makes a whirring noise and nudges at her hand, encouraging her to get moving.
"I don't think this counts. I just want to talk. I don't need to talk."
Pascal rolls his eyes.
"He's already mad at me. I don't think he'd like it if I woke him up. You know how he likes
to sleep."
Pascal has to give her that one.
She groans and drops her head into her pillow, muffling her words. "He's the one I want to
cry on most."
Pascal stares at her prone figure for a moment, his eyes twitching back and forth with
concern. He wants to help, he needs to help, because when she's in pain like this it feels like
he's been kicked in the ribs. It's sharp and radiating and deep inside the worried knot of his
little chest. The color begins to drain from his face. A moment later he begins to cough.
Eugene is pulled out of his half-sleep by a bang against his door and a feminine squeal of
surprise. He locked his door and pushed the dresser in front of it again, just so she can't try
something like this. The balcony door is also locked and blocked by one of the big arm
chairs. He narrows his eyes at the door and waits for her to try to pick the locks. Instead
she does something that she's never done before.
She knocks. Loudly. And there's something frantic about her voice when she shouts his
name and raps against the door again, something frantic that pushes him out of bed to let
her in.
"Eugene!" She shouts, throwing herself forward, her face a mess of tears, her eyes wide
with panic. "He's sick, Eugene! He's sick and I don't know what to do!"
She thrusts out her small, cupped hands to show him the limp form of her chameleon,
whose body has turned a chalky shade of grey, whose eyes are lidded and glazed. He lies
on his side, his breath coming in quick puffs that have his lungs and his neck visibly
pulsating in a rhythm too fast to be healthy.
Eugene reaches out and takes the chameleon from her with the upmost care. He and Pascal
have been through a lot, and if he's honest with himself he's grown fond of the little guy.
Seeing him like this makes his chest ache and his face contort into a frown.
"I don't know what to do," she says, choking back a sob and anxiously running her hands
through her hair, forgetting for a moment that it's no longer its old length.
The truth is that Eugene doesn't know what to do either. How do you care for a sick
chameleon? What even makes a chameleon sick? And how long do they usually live
anyway? It couldn't be all that long, and - if he did his math right - Pascal is getting on in
years. He swallows down the chilling feeling that Pascal's time might be near.
He moves to the washroom to get him a bowl of water. Lizards drink water, right? And that
might very well make the little guy feel better.
God, it would devastate Rapunzel if Pascal died. The thought makes him feel sick, first as he
thinks of how broken she'll be, and then again because now he's thinking about Rapunzel
and that topic is still raw.
He sets the water dish down by the fire and holds the frog so he can take a drink. When it
becomes clear that Pascal is too weak to do so, Eugene grimaces and sets him down
carefully on a throw pillow and tries to coax the fire back to life. Lizards like being warm,
right?
After this he can't think of anything else to do and sits down on the floor and stares at the
sick little thing in disbelief. Rapunzel slips down next to him and pulls his arm into a hug as
she presses her cheek against his shoulder. He stiffens, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Will he be alright?"
"Uh… yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine." She looks up at him and for a moment their eyes meet and
she offers him the smallest of teary smiles before he clears his throat and looks away and
throws them into a tense silence.
Pascal's eyes blink wearily.
"Why'd you bring him here?" he asks. "Why not to a doctor or a vet or… one of your new
friends?" He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"I don't know," she whispers. "I'm so scared, and you're so good at taking care of things."
He snorts, not really knowing if he should be flattered or feel like she's taking advantage of
him.
The side of Pascal's neck continues to jump.
"Eugene?"
"Yeah?"
She takes a deep breath, her breasts pressing against his arm. "This is the worst day ever."
"You think so?"
She nods. "I guess tomorrow might be worse."
"Why's that?"
Her voice drops even lower, as if hoping that the chameleon can't hear her, as if whispering
it will make it untrue. "Because Pascal might die, and you're going to leave, and I'll be left
all alone."
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "He's not going to die. I told you I wouldn't
leave. And there's not much chance you'll be alone for long."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh please."
She pulls away from him to look up into his face, what she finds there is concerning. "You
two are my best friends. And I…" She trails off and shakes her head.
"You what?"
"…I want you to be happy. If – if your dream has changed and you want to leave then- then
I think you should do what makes you happy… even it if makes me sad."
He stares down at her for a minute. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No! I want you to be with me! And I'm sorry that I haven't been spending as much time
with you as I should, and I'm sorry that you hate it here. Maybe- maybe we could run away,
we could go somewhere and have an adventure and we could be outlaws and- and-"
"Whoah, whoah! What?" He turns to take hold of her shoulders and give her a very
confused look, because this is honestly the last thing he was expecting.
Her eyes brim over with tears. "I don't know," she whimpers. "I've had a very bad day."
She throws herself into his arms and weeps and all he can think to do in his confusion is
hold her and run a hand through her hair.
He can only make out bits and pieces of the sobbing ramble against his chest. "It was
horrible. He kissed me and it was horrible, and then you were mad at me and you wanted to
leave, and then my mother started telling me about love and I started thinking and I think
that the only love I have really is for my mother and you and Pascal, and it's just all really
confusing, and now you don't like me and Pascal is going to die!"
"Ooook," he says, trying not to get his hopes up because it's entirely possible that he hadn't
heard her right and she just rambled something about Maximus instead of what he thinks
she said, but what he thinks she said suddenly makes him feel lighter, fresher, buoyant.
"Let's start with that horrible kiss. Now what happened? Was it really that awful?" It must
have been, as she's crying about it.
"Soooo bad," she moans. He resists the urge to grin and pump his fist into the air. "He just
came at me, and it was all wet, and it just wouldn't stop."
"So you wanted him to stop and he wouldn't?"
"Yes! And now I don't know what to do!"
Bad-freakin-ass!
Except not, because molesting his girlfriend is not ok.
"Don't worry about it, alright?" He presses his lips to her forehead. Suddenly he feels like he
can take on a whole army of bitter, handsy guards. "I'll take care of it." And he'll enjoy
taking care of it too. He's going to beat the man senseless, not because he's jealous, but
because the creep dared to hurt Rapunzel. He's going to stand up for her honor and protect
her and feel like he's actually doing something productive.
"That's that settled," he says. "So let's move on to the part where… you love me?"
She nods, lowering her gaze and sniffling.
"Seriously?"
"I think so. I mean, I don't know, but you're my best friend and I don't know what I'd do
without you, and if you really want to leave then I'll go with you, or we can change things
here so that you like it better."
"Shh, no, you're not going anywhere. Your place is here."
"But where's your place?"
"Next to you," he says. "Sorry, Goldie, but you're stuck with me."
She stares as if she doesn't trust herself to believe him.
He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I was
having a bad day too."
She offers him a small smile. "I told you not to freak out."
He laughs. "Yeah. You did."
"Are you going to keep freaking out on me?"
"I'll try real hard not to."
"Alright."
"Ok."
"I love you, Eugene."
"Love you too, Blondie."
He rubs the tears from her cheeks with a thumb, and she chokes out a muffled little giggle.
He wants nothing more in the world but to kiss her (well, maybe a little more than that),
but her jagged breathing and the redness of her cheeks and eyes reminds him that there's
still one problem they have to face. He sighs with the knowledge that this one won't be as
easy.
"And as for Pasc-"
He freezes.
He stares down at the throw pillow, where the chameleon is resting fitfully, back to his
comfortable shade of bright green.
"What the hell?"
Pascal looks up at him with an obnoxious smirk, and winks.
Eugene can't move for a second, as if his brain just can't process what's happening, as if all
the gears in his mind have stopped turning. Then things click together, and Eugene
explodes. "You lying, manipulative little fucker! Do you know how worried we were about
you?"
The frog rolls his eyes and gives him a look that says, yeah, right, soooo worried . Then
before he goes back to sleep he gives him a smirk that says, you owe me.
Chapter 14

Eugene sleeps like the dead, and only wakes up when a throat is purposefully cleared above
him. He opens his eyes to see a figure looking down at him, upside-down from his
perspective.
The king arches an eyebrow at him.
Eugene blinks twice. "I'm on the floor, aren't I?"
The king nods. Eugene flexes his arms and wrinkles his forehead enough to get back his
bearings while not breaking eye contact.
"And there's a frog on my face."
The king nods.
"And Blondie's using me as a pillow."
The king arches an eyebrow.
"Is she drooling?"
The king's eyes narrow as he inspects Rapunzel's face. "Yes," he says.
"Fantastic."
"Do you care to explain this, Mr. Fitzherbert?"
"I-" Eugene thinks about this for a second before deciding that "the frog was faking it" most
likely won't go over well. "No."
"You sure about that?"
"Umm…" The king gives him a look that says that he probably should give an explanation a
try. "Uh, the frog was faking it?"
The king only looks confused for a moment before he shakes his head, deciding it's not
worth it. "I came by to inform you that the Captain of the Guards has submitted his
resignation effective as of noon today. After that point he will be a normal citizen."
It takes a moment for Eugene to process this. "… So after noon I can punch him and not get
executed?"
The king shrugs. "If you'd like. I would hope you have better ways to spend your
afternoon."
"No, my schedule's free."
"We'll have to change that. You know, I think we should go through all the laws and iron out
all these double standards. You were scheduled for execution, but got off because you
saved my daughter. How many other men in the dungeon would do something so noble if
given the chance? Then if you attack the Captain of the Guards you'll be thrown in prison,
but if you attack a normal man you won't. Either way it's still assault. And then Walter gets
fired for kissing my daughter while you…" He gives the girl passed out against Eugene's
chest a pointed look.
"I'd never do anything she didn't want."
"Am I supposed to be impressed with that? That should be the norm for civilized behavior,
rather than an uncommon occurrence."
"But that prick guard-"
"-has been fired."
Eugene snaps his mouth shut as the king begins to mumble absently to himself, "I think I'll
start with the assault laws, can't have people attacking one another no matter how little
clout they have. Won't be able to get around to it until at least Tuesday. I have to find a
new Captain of the Guard after all."
"You could always go for Maixmus," Eugene suggests.
"The horse?"
"Yeah. He's the best law enforcement you've got."
"Mr. Fitzherbert" the king sighs, "…Eugene… I like you. I know that the two of you come as
a set, and I've started thinking of you like the son I just recently found. So you really need
to quit acting like an idiot, so I don't have to do anything to you that I don't want to do."
"Sorry."
"Hmm. Anyway, I just came to tell you that. And to tell you that it is eleven forty-five and
my daughter has missed all her morning lessons."
"Oops."
"Just make sure she's on time to her afternoon lessons. I think they're learning about
scansion today, and you know how frightfully important that is."
Eugene can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, and he sits for a minute in thought as the
king leaves, shutting the door behind him. Staring up at the ceiling, he starts feeling the
warm fuzzies creeping into his chest.
The king thinks of him as a son.
He grins like an idiot as he dislodges Pascal from his face and looks down at Rapunzel.
Thankfully she doesn't look overly sexy, with her face slack, her mouth hanging open, and
both arms thrown at odd angles. He's also glad that she's wearing one of her more modest
nightgowns and that both his hands are placed in reasonable spots on her back. It really
doesn't look as though they got up to much, which is good considering the unexpected
company, but also disappointing because he's heard that make-up sex is fantastic. He
wouldn't know as he's never made amends with a girl before.
"Hey, Sunshine," he whispers, shaking her awake. "Time for lunch."
"Lunch?" she mumbles.
"Yeah. It's that meal you eat between breakfast and dinner."
"Mmm." She snuggles closer against his chest, rubbing her soft cheek against his skin
before turning to leave little, drowsy kisses against his solar plexus. His eyes close as she
trails down across his abs, his breath more forced and his body stiffening with each passing
press of her lips. She nuzzles against him, resting her head in the more fleshy skin of his
stomach, and he groans as he realizes that she was simply searching for a more
comfortable spot.
She looks up at him, her clearing eyes alight with curiosity and discovery that she can so
easily elicit such a noise. It's a look that will launch a thousand ships and destroy him
completely. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers her lips once more against his
stomach, and the heat in her eyes and the heat of her tongue make him groan again and
drop his head backwards onto the floor. He feels her smile against his navel as she nuzzles
his thin trail of hair and places a heated kiss low against the joint of his hip, sending shivers
up his spine, to his toes, to his groin. He gasps as she fingers the waistline of his pants.
"Whoa. Whoa, whoa." He sits up and pulls her to a stop and she blinks hooded, darkened
eyes at him, and the words to say that they should stop, that he separately promised both
her parents, that he has things to do today and doesn't want to be spent, choke in his
throat. He swallows and simply gasps, "Door," before he scrambles to his feet, throws the
lock, and haphazardly shoves his dresser back in front of it. He flops back down into his
original spot, and pulls her face up for a breathless series of kisses.
She determinedly moves from his mouth to his neck, to his shoulder, to his chest, crawling
down his body and shifting to settle between his legs, winding him tighter with every
fleeting brush of her lips.
Her breast brushes his heated cock and he curses under his breath, one hand finding its
way between her shoulder blades to pull her closer. She forms a delicious little noise at the
contact and pauses a moment, her breath hot and damp against his skin, before she slowly
repeats the movement, the muscles in her back writhing seductively. He shifts, pressing
himself between her breasts and rocking his hips along with her next wave of movements,
each new burst of friction making him more dizzy.
She stifles a moan, one hand splayed against the floor the other hungrily gripping his side,
both trembling. She presses as close to him as she can, her body between his thighs, her
cheek against his waist, trying to get closer, to sink into him, but it's not working, she's not
satisfied. Then her hands are on his pants, pulling them down, and before he can yelp out
her name she's flung herself back against him with a groan, his whole length flush between
her breasts. And it's skin against skin and his hand in her hair and he's gasping for breath
and she slips her tongue into his navel.
She abruptly slinks lower so her chest presses against his balls, and she drops her lips and
kisses the very tip of his cock. And it's so chaste, and so unexpected, and so very her that
he explodes, eyes rolling, heart pounding, jaw clenched into a grimace. His groin clenches.
His back arches. Everything he is drains away to leave him blissfully exhausted and light
headed and mostly naked, and when the great tattoo of his heartbeat fades from his ears
and his vision clears, he looks down at her to see her startled, green eyes and her face
splashed with ejaculate.
"Shit, Blondie, I'm sorry," he pants, guiding her up to wipe her face clean as delicately as he
can given his fumbling fingers. The tip of her tongue slips out to run across her marked lips,
and he stares in dumbstruck awe as she tastes him, blushes, and wraps her arms around
his neck, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss.
Chapter 15

Eugene has an extra bounce in his step as he strolls out toward the guard tower. His hair is
still damp from his rushed bath, and even though he's a bit concerned that he might miss
Walter entirely he can't wipe the smirk off his face so he doesn't even bother to try. As it so
happens, he's not too far behind the ex-captain and he catches sight of him a half block
ahead, walking away from the guard tower, down the street, into town.
Eugene's grin grows to the point where it can only be described as shit eating, and he picks
up his pace to catch him. "Hey," he shouts. "Hold up a sec."
The captain looks over his shoulder and comes to a stop, frowning as he sets eyes on his
least favorite person on earth. He's out of his bright red uniform again, and even though
he's dressed quite nicely and even though he is still carrying himself with dignity, he seems
somehow shabbier, shorter, less intimidating. He drops the bag he was carrying full of his
meager personal effects onto the ground, and plants his hands on his hips.
"What do you want, Rider? Come to gloat?"
"I'm mostly here to kick your ass for trying something with my girl," Eugene says with a
smirk. "Gloating's a bonus."
Before Walter can get out his derisive snort, Eugene throws a punch hard and fast and
aimed at his face, which the captain grabs and blocks before throwing a punch of his own.
With a twist and a spin, Eugene avoids the blow entirely and rams his elbow backwards into
the captain's stomach, causing the man to stagger back a few scuffling steps with an oooff!
They stare at each other for a moment as the people in the street around them pause in
their daily activities and watch the scene in awed, tense silence. Eugene smirks and the
captain's eyes narrow.
With a growl, the captain flies forward, years of battle training and war tactics and a
championship boxing title on his side. He rails at Eugene with a flurry of punches, powerful
and swift and vicious, but Eugene taps into his own experience as easily as slipping into cool
water, and he ducks and dodges, light on his feet, bending and twisting to avoid most blows
and block the rest with his forearms, which sting with every hit until his reddened flesh
turns raw.
He throws his head and shoulders back and to the right, and the captain's fist sails past his
cheek. With a series of quick steps Eugene manages a glancing blow against the other
man's kidney, then with another quick dodge he moves in for a choke hold, only to be head
butted away. Pain blossoms across his forehead and the captain lands a solid blow to his
stomach, which hurts like hell and would probably make him lose his lunch had he eaten
any. But he holds his own and blocks the next punch, not giving into pain or doubling over
or showing weakness other than to grunt as the air is expelled from his lungs.
The captain slides a half step back, then throws a roundhouse kick at Eugene's face. Mixed
martial arts was not what Eugene was expecting, but he manages to grab the leg with both
hands and dampen the blow enough so that he is only pushed violently to the side, his heels
scraping into the ground, raising a cloud of dust. He has the bright idea that he should twist
the leg he's holding to bring his opponent down, but the captain is ahead of him, already
throwing another punch, and Eugene has to drop his advantage to protect himself, slipping
easily back onto the defensive.
And then he sees his chance. Bob left, bob right, and –
"Bam!" he shouts as an uppercut makes contact with the captain's overly pronounced chin.
And Bam! A left hook to the nose.
Eugene does a fantastically obnoxious gloating victory dance as the captain splurts and
snorts blood out of his nose.
His eyes widen and his dance ends abruptly as the captain bellows with rage, throws himself
forward, and tackles Eugene to the ground. They grapple with one another, rolling across
the dusty street, all form and style abandoned as they brawl, fueled by righteous anger.
One of the captain's hands clenches around Eugene's throat and he grits his teeth and
yanks the man's hair and punches him in the side again and again and again as dark spots
pop before his eyes.
And then something grabs the back of his shirt, the captain is yanked away, and Eugene's
vision and airways slowly clear enough to see that the townspeople have decided that
enough was enough. He coughs and shrugs off the hands restraining him so he can cringe
and rub his throat. Just out of reach, the former guard glares at the two townspeople
holding him back and starts to wipe at his nose, leaving behind a smear of blood.
"Good Lord, Rider. Can't you control yourself for five minutes?"
"Not when someone makes a move on Blondie just because they've got some stupid
vendetta against me."
"You think I spent time with her just to get to you? Just to make you jealous? You're
insane."
"You tried to steal my girl and rub it in my face."
The men who had pulled the combatants apart shift awkwardly, ready to grab the thief
turned princess' lover and the disgraced Captain of the Guards, but unsure if they should be
listening in on something so private. They silently agree that they should stay put. Not only
can they break up the violence, but they'll have a great story to tell later.
"Oh, grow up!" the captain shouts. "Not everything is about you. I spent time with your girl
because I like her. She's sweet and kind and funny. She lights up a whole room just by
smiling. I would spend time with her even if you had never been born. Rescuing her from
you was just icing on the cake."
"Rescuing her? Seriously? Is that what you've been up to?"
"I know you, Rider," the captain hisses. "I've been chasing you for three years. I've seen
the aftermath of your little adventures. I've met the men you've stolen from, the men
you've backstabbed, the women you've used and ditches the next morning, the bar owners
and stable hands who you sweet talked out of paying, and even the black market contacts
you've swindled, and I've seen your complete lack of remorse. I know you. I know that you
are a dishonest criminal who is not to be trusted, and I will not have you hurt the royal
family, this country, or Rapunzel."
Eugene stares at him, his face slackening and his stomach knotting with guilt. No, it couldn't
be guilt because he doesn't feel sorry for anything he's done. It must be something else –
something else that makes him drop eye contact and lower his voice. "I've changed."
The captain snorts. "Right. Of course. You met just the right girl and she changed your
malicious, deceitful ways overnight. You saw the light and now you're on the straight and
narrow. An upright citizen. Please excuse me if I don't buy that load of a fairytale."
The knot in his stomach tightens to the point where he feels a bit sick. Must be from that
punch. He shrugs. "It's a miracle."
The captain rolls his eyes. "I've no idea how you've managed to fool absolutely everyone
this time. It makes me sick."
"You know what? Think what you want. I'm done talking about my past with you. That's not
what this is about. This is about you attacking Blondie."
The captain blinks at him in confusion. "Attack? What are you talking about? I would never
attack her."
"Attack. Molest. Generally freak her out. Whatever you want to call it doesn't really matter.
You upset her and now you have to deal with me. Ready for round two, or do you need a
mop for your nose?"
The captain doesn't move, holding perfectly still as he allows his mind to inspect this new
concept, letting it sink in, trying to ascertain if it is true. "I- I upset her?"
The look of surprise and concern in his eyes is so genuine that it gives Eugene pause.
"…Yeah."
"But I thought…" the captain's eyes flick back and forth across the ground at his feet, as if
trying to replay his encounters with Rapunzel, the time they shared, the feelings lit in his
chest. "I thought she liked me," he murmurs, more to himself than to Eugene.
Ouch. Eugene sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "She probably does. She likes
everyone, you know. But not like that. She's vulnerable and naïve and you took advantage."
"I did nothing of the sort. She was sending me signals."
Eugene bristles slightly, but lets it pass. "No. She wasn't."
The captain's head shoots up to give him the full force of a glare. "Yes. She was. I know it.
You're lying. Again."
"No."
"You're lying and that's how you convinced the king to relieve me of my duty."
"I didn't know you'd been fired until he told me this morning. Wish I did, but I had nothing
to do with it. The king made that decision for himself after Goldie spent the evening crying
on her mother because she was so scared and confused."
The captain's stony face falters. "I- I made her cry?" He stares up at the castle, almost as if
looking for Rapunzel so she can reassure him that this is all just Rider and one of his lies. Of
course all he sees is the motionless facade of stone posed against a cloudless sky. "I never
meant to hurt her."
"Well, it is easy to do," Eugene admits. He doesn't know why he admits it. A tingle of pity
starts to nag at him before he shakes it off. Walter's a prick and he doesn't feel warm and
fuzzy enough to go looking for his humanity.
The captain thinks for a few moments, then takes a deep breath. "Is she alright?"
"…Yeah. She will be."
The captain nods absently. "Good." He dusts himself off, and steps forward to pick up his
discarded bag. The townspeople near him twitch, but he waves them off with an easy hand
movement.
"I hope for her sake that you have had a miraculous transformation. I really do hope it's
true. But in my line of work I've come to believe that there are no miracles."
With that he shoulders his bag, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Chapter 16

A stranger wakes Eugene up at the crack of dawn. Well, not exactly the crack of dawn,
because that describes the point in time when the sun first breaks over the horizon. This is
before that, when the sky takes on the depressing, gray hue of night's end.
Eugene cracks open an eye. "Can I help you?"
"I have been sent to help you prepare for your appointments this morning, Mr. Fitzherbert,"
the stranger says in a businesslike, clipped tone.
"What appointments?" He tries to remember if there's something going on. Maybe he made
plans with Goldie earlier? No, she would have reminded him when she left, which was only
about an hour ago. He can still feel the phantom impression of her bare arm across his
chest, the press of her breasts against his side, the heat of her sleepy little kisses against
his collar bone. Good thing this guy hadn't shown up too much earlier – not that an earlier
time in the morning was even conceivable.
"The appointments arranged for you by the king so that you can be prepared to assist him
in the Reservoir Reconstruction Meeting on Friday."
"Reservoir Reconstruction?"
"Yes, Mr. Fitzherbert. Do you have any preference for what you would like to wear today?"
"Uh, not really. Whatever's easiest."
The stranger nods and retreats to the closet, while Eugene pieces together that he must be
a page or something. He sits up and scratches his head with a yawn.
"This might be a stupid question," he calls, "but what exactly is Reservoir Reconstruction?
And why would the king think I know anything about it?"
"I don't know, Mr. Fitzherbert," the page says, reappearing from the closet with an
overstated blue outfit that Eugene had noticed, but never worn. "I assume that they will tell
you during your appointments today."
This turns out to be true as Eugene is plopped down in a study with two strict instructors
that he's never seen before and Phil, his etiquette tutor. They all seem very stressed and
Eugene quickly figures out that he is in no way prepared for the big meeting on Friday, and
these three guys are having to scramble to whip him into shape. So they're multitasking, all
three of them teaching at once, which is so confusing at first that Eugene can only sit with
his mouth hanging open as his wide eyes dart back and forth from speaker to speaker. Phil
slaps him upside the head and tells him to quit gaping.
The etiquette tutor is there to teach him to sit up straight, not fiddle with his sleeves (even
though the brocade is very distracting,) drum his fingers, yawn, or speak. Since they're so
pressed for time, Phil figures that they should just get him looking like he knows what he's
doing, which should work as long as he doesn't open his mouth.
The thinnest of the instructors has arms and fingers as spindly and fluid as an insect as he
draws diagrams across great sheets of paper, explaining the complicated political
relationships between all the men who will be attending the meeting. It sounds like a mine
field and for a moment Eugene thinks that Phil might have a point about staying quiet and
not getting involved. This person has this agenda and will push it no matter what. This
second person is easily befriended by talking about horses. This third person hates this
other person because of a duel eight years ago involving blah blah blahblahblah. This
person is slow. This person is rich. This person is that person's estranged half brother.
Eugene groans, crossing his arms over his chest, and mumbles, "Yeah, I know that one."
"Posture!" Phil shouts. "And don't mumble!"
The shortest and roundest of the men turns out to be an engineer, who is there to explain
absolutely everything there is to know about dams. How they work, how they're built, their
economic and ecological impact on the surrounding area, and the devastation caused by the
recent dam collapse.
Oh, Eugene thinks. Reservoir Reconstruction. That's what this is about. He decides that this
must be the king's idea of a joke, and somewhere the man is probably snickering
uncontrollably. Well, at least someone's getting a laugh out of his near death experience,
and - considering how upset the engineer is by the calamity of it all - the king might be the
only one.
They keep him there all morning. Then all afternoon. Then most of the evening, until Goldie
shows up and says that he's needed for dinner. He loves Goldie, what with her rescuing him
and looking pretty and bringing him to where the food is. He grins at her, then smirks at his
instructors and strolls out the door.
His back is aching. He always considered his posture to be pretty good, but after sitting ram
rod straight for twelve hours he thinks that maybe it's not as great as he thought. Bah. No.
That's nonsense. He's awesome.
The king looks far too pleased with himself at dinner, and the queen looks mildly interested
as to why he's dressed so nicely, but neither one of them say anything about it.
His instructors gave him homework in the form of a book about dam construction, which is
full of equations and figures and diagrams, which is not his thing, so he allows most of it to
go over his head. Once he falls asleep, Rapunzel slips the book from his hands and pours
over it enthusiastically, her eyes and shoulders growing more and more tired as she shifts
the book closer and closer to her face in the waning candle light while the night wears on
and Eugene and Pascal sleep.
The next day they do it again, only this time he's wearing something red and it's raining
outside, leaving little rivulets against the window. In his boredom, he watches the drops
skip and flow down the glass until Phil yells at him to pay attention.
His reading that night is "The Nobility of Corona, eighth edition," which is even less his
thing, so he doesn't even bother to crack open. Rapunzel doesn't either as she's already
read it and memorized long sections.
His shoulders ache less the next day, and the focus of his education changes from the ins
and outs of what's going on to how to sound like he's intelligent. This actually proves to be
the more difficult task.
He needs to say things that are factually correct. He needs to say things that are factually
correct, and are also not going to rub anyone the wrong way. Without the sarcasm. That are
basically what whoever he's talking to wants to hear. Unless what they want to hear goes
against what the king wants to hear.
"So what does the king want to hear?" he asks.
"I'm not sure yet. You'll have to figure that out during the meeting."
"Great," he says. "So I'm not allowed to disagree with the king ever?"
"You're not."
"At least not yet."
"Teaching you how to politely disagree with people comes later. You're not ready. Maybe
next week."
It sounds like it's going to be the most exciting and productive meeting ever.
"Why does he want me to go to this stupid thing anyway?" he complains that night as
Blondie reaches up to massage the kinks out of the back of his neck with her lithe fingers.
He moans and rests his forehead against hers, not ever wanting her to stop.
"You're smart and you'll have a different perspective."
"I'm not that smart and I'm not supposed to voice a dissenting opinion."
She shrugs. "Maybe you're not supposed to, but you will anyway. He knows that or he
wouldn't have invited you."
"It's less an invite and more an order."
"Oh, stop whining. You're actually involved for once and you have something to do that's
not haunting around the castle or getting into fist fights."
He cracks one eye open at her, and her fingers pause in their movements as she gives him
a look that very clearly says, bitch, please.
He closes his eye again and skirts right over the part where she tells him that she's
disappointed in him or whatever. "You're right. Having something to do is nice. Even if it's
something amazingly lame."
She starts to rub his neck again. "Just don't hurt anyone at the meeting."
"I make no promises."
"Violence is not the answer, Eugene."
"Look who's talking! I've got three cracks in my skull that say your motto has nothing to do
with non-violence."
She pouts and runs a hand up through his hair. It feels nice – especially as she presses
closer to him to stretch out her long, pale arm. "Does it still hurt?"
"Terribly," he hums, wrapping both arms possessively around her waist, the cool silk of her
nightdress contrasting exquisitely against his flushed muscles.
"Hmm." Her eyes flutter, and she brings her full lips to within a breath of his own. Her voice
drops to a chocolatey smooth purr. "Anything I can do to make it better?"
"Mmm." The tips of his fingers rub coiling figures against her side, and she moves against
him in response, a rise of her chest, her stomach, her hips. Her leg slides around his waist,
pulling him against her, holding him close, holding him tight, trusting and intimate and
letting him feel every inch of her, every movement of her diaphragm, every pulse through
her veins. He brushes his lips against hers, just enough to make her eyes slip closed, just
enough to make her shudder in anticipation. Then he whispers, his breath warm against her
skin, his lips brushing hers with every slow, purposeful syllable.
"I guess you could get me an ice pack."
She blinks at him once. Twice.
He smirks at her.
"Eugene!" She shoves him away, and rolls over in an exaggerated huff, while he laughs and
pulls her close again, her back against his chest, her head tucked against his shoulder, their
fingers intertwined.
Chapter 17

Eugene's collar is too tight, and resisting the urge to tug at it – which he has been told
again and again and again not to do – is making him feel hot and twitchy. Leaning against
the wall and looking cool while he scopes out the other people as they arrive for the dam
meeting sounds like a good idea and would probably calm him down, but he's not supposed
to slouch or casually lean against walls, and Phil told him that the way he sizes people up
makes them feel uncomfortable and makes him look untrustworthy. He debates for a
moment whether it's better to look untrustworthy or to look awkward.
He's leaning towards untrustworthy.
"Pst." He turns to see Goldie sidling up next to him, her wide eyes taking in all the meeting
attendants in all their puffed up finery. "This is exciting!" she squeaks in something between
a squeal and a whisper that only she can pull off.
"I guess," he shrugs. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming to this." Oh,
please let her come to this. It would make the whole thing bearable.
"No, I just came to check on you."
Rats.
"And now that you've checked on me, how do you think I'm doing?"
She contemplates him for a moment before saying, "Stiff."
He snorts under his breath.
"Do you know who everyone is?" she asks.
He returns to his completely un-sketchy surveillance of the men around him, all talking in
small groups and occasionally laughing in an over-acted way. "Yeah, so far I do."
"Who's that?" she asks, nodding her head towards a very fat man in purple with a bald head
and flushed cheeks.
"That is Lord Percival. He owns the land that until a few months ago was a lake."
"And who's that?"
"That is Master Dugan, a royal engineer."
"And who's that?"
"That's… hold on, are you quizzing me?"
She blushes and shrugs. "Just a bit."
"Sneaky.'"
"Just trying to help. I've been working at memorizing names and faces around here longer
than you have."
"I know." Honestly, it's weird for her to know something he doesn't, as it's usually the other
way around. She's usually the one that needs help. The vulnerability in this situation irks
him as much as his collar, and the prospect that Blondie doesn't really need him any more
makes him feel uncomfortable. He shrugs the thought off. It's good that she needs him less,
it means she's finally coming into her own, which is most definitely a good thing.
"Oh," she hisses, trying to duck out of sight a bit, but not really succeeding, and not really
wanting to as she wants to keep staring. "It's that man who has your nose."
"Don't remind me."
"He's coming this way."
"Fantastic."
Lord Wesley hurries towards them, looking as though he's trying very hard to contain his
excitement. He's a slender man and a bit fidgety, giving him the look of a sapling about to
be blown free of its roots in a storm. As he bows to the princess, Eugene notes that he and
Lord Wesley have the exact same color hair although Wesley's style is not doing him any
favors. As the young lord stands straight again he shows that the same is true of their eyes,
the tint is the same although the shape is markedly different.
"Your highness," he says with a grin and a light in his eyes that makes him look like he's
fourteen again. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. We're all so thrilled at your safe return."
"Thank you. The pleasure is mine," she says, bobbing ever so slightly into a curtsy that
Eugene has to admit is impressive.
"And Mr. Fitzherbert!" he says, holding out a hand. "It's so good to see you again."
Eugene narrows his eyes and raises one eyebrow at the extended hand. Someone in his
position isn't supposed to shake a Lord's hand. A Lord can shake a Lord's hand, and the
princess' betrothed can shake a Lord's hand, and brothers can shake hands with each other,
but Eugene doesn't want to admit that he has any sort of status whatsoever, and he doesn't
want to mislead this man into thinking that they're on friendly terms. Meanwhile, refusing to
shake hands will amount to an incident, probably a stern talking to from several people, and
maybe a duel or death threats or something.
Good grief, he hates politics.
They shake hands and the Lord beams at him.
"We met once before," he says, "about ten years ago, maybe?"
"More or less."
Sheesh. Yeah. They'd met ten years ago just a bit after Eugene left the orphanage, and
right after he had gotten into some trouble in a town that turned out to be governed by
Lord Wesley. Well, it was technically governed by Wesley, but since he was fourteen at the
time it was actually governed by his mother, who is awful. But then again, Eugene's biased.
Wesley had come to the jail, ordered his release, then gawked at him for about an hour in
dumb struck awe that he could have a half-brother who led a life so different from his own.
Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he felt lonely. Maybe he felt some sort of responsibility. Eugene
didn't know, and he still doesn't. He did know that he didn't want anything to do with the
boy, and he still feels the same way.
"And have you heard anything from… oh, what was her name?... Anne! Have you heard
anything from her?"
Eugene suppresses an eye roll. Anne was one of their mutual half siblings, apparently the
only other one whose name Wesley knows. They had lived in the same orphanage for a
while, but had never been overly friendly.
"I last saw her about six years ago."
"And how was she?"
"Dead."
Wesley's face falls, but being embarrassed is what he gets for asking stupid questions. "Oh.
Oh dear. How did she pass?"
"Syphilis."
"Oh," Wesley says, distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."
Eugene shrugs. "Occupational hazard."
This comment has the desired effect of getting the idiot to switch back over to talking to
Rapunzel about something completely benign. Eugene pretends to listen until a hand falls
on his shoulder and he looks up to see the king smiling at him.
"Sit on my immediate left," he instructs in an undertone, before jovially greeting Lord
Wesley. Eugene stares, not listening, taken completely by surprise that he's been given a
seat usually reserved for someone with exceptional status. Blondie elbows him to get his
attention and silently balls her hands in front of her face, mouthing the word "Yay!"
He supposes that's one way to look at it.
With the king's arrival, everyone slowly files into the meeting room, where Eugene pauses a
moment before taking his seat. He reminds himself yet again not to pull at his collar and to
try to look relaxed as surely everyone will be looking at him.
Lord Wesley slips into the seat next to him with a sheepish grin, and Eugene braces himself
for the great stretch of monotony and awkwardness spread out ahead of him.
Five hours later he finds himself rushing to the library, relieving the strain in his legs and
the ache in his back, moving away from Lord Wesley (who had hinted several times that he
wanted to talk over lunch) and away from lengthy discussions of hydrostatic pressure and
natural wood rot rates and the trauma that his escape from the guards has caused – not
that anyone has seemed to piece together that that was what happened. Except the king,
and Eugene was now convinced that sitting through this meeting and stewing in his own
uncomfortableness is punishment for something, but he's not exactly sure which of his
many crimes he's supposed to be contemplating during this torture.
He has maybe a half hour over the lunch break before people start to think that he's
skipped out and start to look for him, so he's damned well going to make the most of it.
He sticks his head into the library, where Rapunzel's tutor (he's pretty sure this one is for
history) immediately cuts off his lecture at the interruption, causing Blondie to turn around
in her seat and then grin at him.
"I beg your pardon," Eugene says, putting on his look of sincerest humility. "Her highness'
presence is required in a very urgent matter that simply cannot wait."
Her tutor looks skeptical, and Eugene gives the man his most winning empathic look. Yes,
it's awful that I have to take your pupil away. I completely understand how frustrating it
must be. But what're ya gonna do? This look involves a complicated eyebrow movement
and a slight purse of his lips.
The man sighs. "Oh, very well. I suppose this is as good a place as any to pause for the
day."
"Thank you," Rapunzel chirps. She snatches up her books and bounds up to Eugene, who
takes her wrist and pulls her down the hall.
"How's the meeting going?" she asks.
"Awful," he says, not pausing in his march away from the library.
"What's so bad about it? And where are we going?"
"Here." With a sweep of his eyes he establishes that the little sitting room is empty, and in a
single movement he pulls her in behind him, presses her against the door to close it, and
kisses her.
She jumps from the suddenness of it all, but eases into him with a sigh, her arms melting
over his shoulders, her body relaxing against the door.
He needs to remind himself why he's doing all this, why he's putting up with meetings and
lessons, with nobles and guards, with disapproving looks and uncomfortable clothing. He
does it all for her, just for the chance to hear her laugh, hear her gasp, to look into her
eyes, to count the freckles across her nose. She flicks open the topmost buttons on his
jacket, giving him some much needed air, a much needed release of the heat mounting in
his chest. He loves her for that – it's exactly what he needs.
He pins her snug against the door, flush against his body, letting the heat of her and the
smell of her and the feel of her seep into his muscles, which draw tighter, firmer as her
kisses grow more heady and intoxicating. He drags a heavy hand up and down her side,
teasing all the little muscles of her belly, all the trembling nerves against the side of her
breast. She moans into his mouth, her fingers grabbing at the back of his jacket, wishing
more than anything that it was bare skin in her hands.
He slips down her neck, and her shoulders roll back against the door as her head falls back
in a gasp. His hands trail down to her hips, his mouth against what pale expanse of skin
there is to be had until her neckline, where he curses, and her fragile laugh is cut off by a
sharp gasp as he slides to his knees and rakes up her skirts. His name is pulled from her
lips, out from her lungs, from her soul into the air, where it trembles and flutters as one of
her hands grabs at her skirts and the other grips his shoulder, unsure how to support
herself.
Hands run along her smooth legs, rubbing hungry figures into her flesh, sending eddies of
pleasure up into her core and out into her toes. He's fantasized about her legs so often, the
feel, the shape, the strength of them, the feminine curve of her calves arching upwards and
tantalizing him. With a steadying hand against her hip, he presses his lips to the inside of
her thigh, dragging slowly upward, feeling heat race across her silky skin while her breath
catches and her nails stab into his shoulder - a pang that runs straight to his crotch, fueling
his need for her.
He peels away her underwear, slick from her need, and she hurriedly wiggles her hips and
kicks them away before spreading her legs ever so slightly around him. She takes several
shaky breaths as he resumes his course upward, rubbing small circles against her hip in
reassurance as she squeezes his shoulder to show her trust.
He nuzzles his nose against her, and she squeaks, her legs nearly giving out, and maybe
this position wasn't such a good idea, but it's far too late now as his tongue drags across
her slit. And back. And forth. And back. And she's warm and wet and with every stroke she
widens, inviting him in, her pulse growing wild against his lips. Hs thrusts inside her and her
hips buck and she contracts around him so he's filling her, his tongue pushing in and pulling
back and pushing in and pulling back and she is overwhelming, the smell of her, the taste of
her, so much like sweat but so deliciously, viscerally different. All he wants is more, more of
her, more of this dizzying feeling as he feels all her muscles roll and boil against his tongue.
She comes so beautifully above him, a thin trial of juices slipping down her leg, down his
throat. Her legs shake so violently that she collapses to the floor, into his arms, burying her
face helplessly against his chest. He holds her as she struggles for breath, his arms tight
and desirous around her as he fights off his own need.
He holds her, and he loves her, and for her he would do anything.
Chapter 18

"If you keep rolling your eyes like that they're going to fall out."
Eugene turns away from the carriage window to face the queen and her perfectly posed
eyebrow. Seated next to her on the bumpy bench, Rapunzel makes a short strangled noise,
her eyes growing wider in dismay.
"She's just exaggerating, Blondie."
"Oh. Right. I knew that." She goes back to absently digging her fingers into what little of
the cushion is available for clinging. At first she had been excited about the carriage ride,
but the jerkiness and the closeness had gotten to her quickly and she had gotten so motion
sick that Eugene had thought that they would turn back. He had hoped that they would turn
back. But she had pulled herself together after a break of sitting very still in the grass,
leaning against his shoulder with her eyes closed, counting her breaths.
"So," the queen says cutting straight to the heart of the matter with her usual forwardness,
"How many Fitzherbert children are there exactly?"
"Boat loads."
"That's not a number, Eugene."
He runs a hand through his hair and… painstakingly… does not … roll his eyes. "I've met
three. I've heard of two others. No idea how many I don't know about."
"Do those figures include Lord Wesley?"
"No."
Lord Herbert had been prolific in everything he did, whether it was his generous donations
to charities, the amount of bad poetry he wrote, the quantity of wine he ingested, or the
number of bar maids he knocked up.
"I thought you didn't have any family," Goldie says, her voice still a bit strained and her
face still a bit pale.
"We share blood. That doesn't make us family."
Her eyebrows draw together as she considers this, her lips press together into a thin line,
and Eugene tries to quickly think of a way to change the subject. He's saved from this when
the carriage jerks violently, and he instinctively reaches forward to place a steadying hand
on her knee. The queen similarly grabs Rapunzel's elbow as the girl stiffens and swallows
thickly. When the carriage settles again the princess shoots them both a look that says she
doesn't need their help, and she irritatedly moves the conversation along on her own.
"How come you never told me about your siblings before?"
"I don't do back-story."
"Yes, you do, Eugene."
"Fine. It just doesn't come up very often and I don't much like thinking about it."
"Oh." She absently curls Pascal's tail around her finger. "Why is it that Lord Wesley lives in
a manor and you lived in an orphanage?"
"He's legitimate."
"Legitimate."
"It means his mother was married to his father."
"Oh… Oh."
"Yeah."
"Hmm… That's strange. I mean, it's not your fault what your parents did. Or didn't do.
That's not really fair. You didn't do anything wrong."
He doesn't bother to remind her that he's done quite a bit wrong. "You're a little rebel,
aren't ya, Blondie?"
The queen suppresses a smirk by turning her attention out the window.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rapunzel snips.
"It's just one of those 'the way things are' things."
She huffs, the trip making her more agitated than he's ever seen her. It's almost cute, but
he remembers that at any moment it may involve vomit and that's really not very
attractive.
"Sometimes I think 'the way things are' needs to change."
"Well, if anyone can handle that it's you."
"Do you think Lord Wesley has invited any of his other siblings to stay at his manor?"
The queen's eyes roll. "Now whose eyes are going to fall out?" Eugene says smugly. She
gives him a look that says she does not find him amusing, and he decides to shut up.
It hadn't taken Lord Wesley long to manage to get himself invited to dinner, and from there
he had started dropping hints that he and Eugene should hang out, and he had somehow
convinced Rapunzel that he was charming and friendly and nonthreatening and generally
the best thing since sliced bread. They should be best friends (Hurray!) and – what was it
they wanted to do together? Gardening? Eugene wasn't quite sure but it definitely involved
plants and a lot of giggling and arm waving.
Or maybe he was remembering it wrong.
The king turned out to be similarly impressed with the young lord, but Eugene was starting
to get the idea that the king was impressed with everyone. So when Lord Wesley suggested
that they should all come visit him in his manor where they could do more gardening or
giggling or whatever the king had enthusiastically accepted, and made arrangements for
Rapunzel, Eugene, and the queen to "go on holiday" for two weeks.
Eugene and the queen were not so thrilled. They both suspected that Lord Wesley was up to
something. They weren't quite sure what it was, so they just silently suspected him of
everything. They'd bonded over the last week through their mutual overprotective
reservations, and he suspected that this would only intensify during the fortnight they spent
at Wesley's manor.
They bonded because no one else wanted to hear what they had to say, even though they
were the two most reasonable people in the kingdom (in Eugene's opinion) and their
distrust was entirely justified. No one wanted to hear it, and they didn't want to bring the
party down, so they came to an unspoken agreement that they would watch from the
sidelines until they had some evidence and it was time to step in and put a stop to all this
nonsense and save the day.
"No," Eugene says, "I don't think he's invited anyone else to his manor before."
"When I became princess," the queen says, "I had long lost relatives crawling out of the
wood work too."
"How'd you deal with them?"
"With poise."
"So I don't have a chance then."
"I wouldn't think so, no."
Rapunzel leans forward in her seat excitedly, pressing her nose against the window pane.
"Oh my gosh, I think we're almost there! The first thing I'm going to do when we stop is lie
down on the ground with a big glass of water."
"We'll have to greet our hosts firsts, but you'll be able to rest once we're inside," the queen
says diplomatically. Rapunzel doesn't look too thrilled with this plan, but she accepts it,
happy enough that she'll soon be out of the carriage.
The manor house is made of stones painted bright white against the dark gray of the
window trimmings and the expansive, sloping roof. It stretches out to either side without
any architectural marvels to break up the flat, three storied façade. They ride up a neat
little drive, passing an elaborately planned flower garden on either side that inspires awe in
Rapunzel and queasiness in Eugene.
This is the house he would have lived in if things had been different. This is the house he
always pictured his castle would look like, even though now that he's looking at it, it's not
all that spectacular. These are the people who had everything he was denied, wealth,
stability, family. These are the people who didn't want anything to do with him until he
stumbled upon the lost princess and became a celebrity.
These people do not care about him.
Which is fine really as he doesn't care about them either. His life turned out for the best
without the benefits of all their manners and finery. And anyway, now he lives in a castle
ten times as nice as this place, and he has the king and queen on his side, and a sexy
girlfriend, and a frog - who was currently nibbling at the hair on the back of his neck.
"Stop that," he snaps, glaring down at the little lizard on his shoulder. "What are you
doing?"
Pascal shrugs, and Eugene snatches him up and stuffs him into his breast pocket.
"Quit being weird."
"He's just excited," Rapunzel tells him.
"He just better not crap in my pocket."
Pascal smirks up at him.
"No. I'm serious. I'm watching you."
They wrench to a stop, and both Eugene and the queen have to grab Rapunzel's arm to
keep her from bursting out of the carriage to roll around in the flowers. They need to make
their ruse that they have manners last at least until dinner.
Rapunzel fidgets anxiously until someone comes to open the door for her and assist her and
the queen in stepping out. She finds this completely unnecessary as she's jumped several
stories before with nothing to assist her but a great mass of hair, but for some reason
people think she can't handle a two foot step by herself. Oh well, it's just one of those
things.
One of those things that will change as soon as she's queen.
No one helps Eugene out of the carriage, which is perfectly alright with him.
Lord Wesley stands on the front steps to meet them, a broad smile stamped across his face.
Next to him is his mother, who looks overly tight and orderly and prudish.
"Your highnesses," he says with a bow, "we're so glad that you could find the time to join
us. How was your journey?"
"It was a bit tiring," the queen says with a small smile, cutting Rapunzel off before she can
start a rant about how awful it was.
"I'm dreadfully sorry. We'll make sure to prepare something to lift your spirits for dinner.
May I introduce my mother, Lady Sophia?"
The lady curtsies deeply to the queen, "You honor us, your highness." Then she curtsies
with the same level of exaggeration to the princess. "Our prayers for your safe return have
been answered. We are so pleased to welcome you to our home."
"Thank you," Rapunzel says.
Lady Sophia completely ignores Eugene's presence, and an icy, malevolent chill settles over
everyone but Blondie. "Please allow me to show you to your rooms."
"That would be wonderful," Rapunzel says with relief, quickly following the lady off into the
house.
Eugene and the queen exchange a look as Lord Wesley tries to stammer something, then
gives up.
"Oh, this is going to be the most fun ever," he mutters to her.
"Hmm," she agrees.
Chapter 19

Eugene has sat through some pretty awkward meals before. That list includes his first night
in the castle where none of the royal family knew how to talk to each other, the dinner
where he and the Stabbington brothers tried to plan their crown stealing heist while also
trying to out drink and out grimace each other, the first (and only) time he tried to have
breakfast with a girl the morning after, and the lunch when the orphanage cook was carted
off to the asylum for attacking the headmaster and left them with just the groundskeeper to
try to fix a meal for three dozen hysterical children.
This dinner is worse than all of those.
When the soup is served there's a round of compliments directed at no one in particular, as
whoever made the soup or even planned to make the soup isn't in the room. That lasts
about thirty seconds, and then they fall into a thick silence.
Eugene decides that he should go ahead and eat his soup despite the tension, but Wesley
doesn't seem to want to eat unless someone is talking and sits with his spoon hovering over
his bowl. Every now and then he lifts it almost to his mouth before thinking better of it and
lowering it again, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. Every now and then he twitches,
blinking a few too many times in a row. Eugene thinks about kicking him, but decides
against it. They're not that close.
The queen maintains her poise as if nothing's wrong, but she keeps shooting him a look out
of the corner of her eye as if he ought to be doing something. For the life of him he can't
figure out what.
Lady Sophia is still ignoring him completely, but she sits ram rod straight and after every
bite she aims a glare at her son so fierce that it's shocking the kid hasn't burst into flames.
Pascal gives him a wide eyed look from his pocket, then buries himself deeper, staying out
of it and trying to hide.
But Rapunzel's handling it the worst. Like Wesley, she doesn't eat anything, deciding
instead to stare at everyone around the table in turn, trying to figure out why everyone's so
upset. Her eyes dart from her mother, to Lady Sophia, to Wesley, to her mother, to Eugene,
to Wesley, to Lady Sophia. She must be getting a headache, and the creases on her
forehead grow more and more pronounced and her anxiety grows until her head starts to
duck and her shoulders start to slouch as she draws into herself in fear.
Eugene stretches out his leg to press his foot reassuringly against her own, and she jumps
and squeaks at the contact, dropping her spoon with a clatter.
Everyone's heads snap up to her, the queen holding her breath in concern, Wesley looking
like a traumatized rabbit, Lady Sophia looking thoroughly unamused.
"Sorry," Rapunzel mutters, and after a moment everyone returns to their soup.
She looks up at Eugene and he offers her an apologetic cringe. She gives him a hesitant
twinge of her lips and finds his leg with her toes. She's apparently slipped out of her shoes
under the table. The arch of her foot finds his calf and rubs steadily back and forth, trying to
draw confidence from his warmth and his presence and soak it up into her fluttering
stomach.
With a deep, silent breath, her shoulders relax and she takes a delicate sip of her soup. He
watches the muscles in her neck move as she swallows, and when their eyes meet again
he's able to give her a confident smirk that makes her toes curl against him before they
both look away again.
He decides that he doesn't care for all this, and he's thus going to ignore it. He has
everything he needs with his meal (which really is pretty good) and with playing footsie with
his girl.
The soup turns into salmon, and the salmon turns into chocolate cake, and through it all
there is silence except for the clinking of cutlery and Wesley's few tragic attempts at
conversation. When the queen apologizes by saying that they're all tired from their journey
and suggests that they retire, Rapunzel jumps to her feet so fast she almost forgets her
shoes.
"That was horrible," she groans once she's collapsed onto the sofa in Eugene's room,
dropping her head into his lap. "What's wrong with everyone?"
"Don't worry about it too much," he says, stroking her hair. "Miss. Priss just doesn't like
me."
"Why is it no one likes you? I like you."
"Thanks, Goldie."
"I'm serious. It's not fair."
"I don't mind. You like me. Your folks like me. Pascal… is also here." The frog glares up at
him and sticks out his tongue. "That's all that matters."
"Really?"
"Really. You just enjoy yourself and don't let it get to you. It's not your problem, it's hers."
"Hmm." She narrows her eyes up at the ceiling in thought, absently tracing the lines across
the palm of his free hand, sending tingling ripples through the bones in his arm.
"What are you two doing?"
Blondie pushes herself up on her elbows and they both look up to see the queen standing in
the doorway, her face set in an expression somewhere between disappointment and
amusement. It's a look that Eugene is being familiar with.
"We're hiding," the princess tells her in a stage whisper.
"I found you easily enough, so you're not doing a very good job."
"You don't count."
In such a motherly gesture that he almost laughs, the queen announces, "Bed. Now. Both of
you."
"My bed?" Rapunzel asked, her nose wrinkling in a way that would be cute if Eugene's heart
hadn't just jerked to a stop.
The queen blinks at her, then closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and rubs her forehead
with the tips of her fingers before drawing them back through her hair. Then she turns on
her heel and leaves without further comment.
Rapunzel tilts her head back and grins up at him.
He can't think of anything cohesive to say except, "You two seem to be getting along."
Her grin grows. "We're friends," she declares.
"Just when I think you can't get weirder."
"My manners tutor says that it's called quirky."
"Alright, Quirky," he says, pushing her into sitting up with his elbow. "Time for you to go to
bed."
Her face slips into a pout as he guides her to her feet, then across to the door. He fishes
Pascal out of his pocket and plops him onto her shoulder.
"Goodnight."
She digs in her heels before she's all the way out of his room, and turns to peer at him.
"That's it? Just goodnight?"
"Uh… Sweet dreams?"
She ducks her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, her green eyes bright and
intoxicating. And where did she learn that?
She reaches out to thread her fingers through his before whispering, "No kiss?"
Oh, she's going to be the end of him. Again.
She drapes an arm over his shoulder, pressing her body fully against him to get leverage, to
pull herself up onto her toes, to hold him tight, to turn him on. She runs her hand up his
spine, sending shivers through his chest, to reach the back of his neck and draw him down,
down into her and her green eyes and her parted lips.
This must be what it feels like in the moment before drowning. When his mind relents and
relaxes along with every tendon, every muscle, every worry. When his body is encircled in a
thick and muggy warmth. When the air rushes from his lungs, too excited to hold breath,
leaving behind only dizziness and bliss. When little shocks of pleasure burst along his skin
where she touches him.
"Oh! Sorry! I didn't… sorry."
Eugene pulls himself free, feeling a bit like a plunger coming unstoppered and a bit like a
man who's going to murder the next person to interrupt him.
Lord Wesley's eyes are so wide they might fall out of his head at any moment, and his face
is warring with itself, unsure if it should turn red or white.
"Sorry," he repeats, dropping his eyes to the floor and looking sheepish.
Eugene manages to untangle himself, which is more difficult than it really ought to be.
"What can we do for you?"
"I was just… I…" Wesley coughs, and glances up at Eugene with that look in his eyes that
he's had nearly every time they've spoken. And suddenly Eugene is able to give it a name.
Hero worship.
The revelation hits him like a wall of water. Wesley couldn't be that much younger than him,
maybe only a few years. And the kid had everything, right? It was crazy. Absolutely crazy.
Eugene's demeanor softens as he asks, "What's up, buddy?"
"I just came to… ah…" Eugene raises an eyebrow, and Wesley sighs. "I wanted to apologize
for my mother. She's being unreasonable."
Eugene shrugs. "I can see her point, I guess."
"Yeah. I guess I didn't really think this through."
"Yep. You sure dropped the ball on this one."
"Eugene!" Blondie hisses.
"What? It's true. I mean I get it, you want to hang out so you can learn to be as great as I
am. There's no shame in that. But look, kid, there are better ways to go about it."
Wesley gives him a look of awe inspired by Eugene's amazing mind reading powers. "There
is?"
"Sure!"
"How?"
"You need to go get in trouble."
He looks unsure for a moment. "Like how?"
"Like…" Eugene pauses. Then looks down at Rapunzel, back at Wesley, then down the hall
to see if they have any more unexpected guests. "You know what, let's just show you.
How'd you like to go get drunk?"
Chapter 20

"Aww, shit. Now there's two of you."
Hookhand scowls magnificently, and Eugene gives him his most annoying smirk. "No.
There's still only one Eugene Fitzherbert." True, there were two Flynn Riders, but he decides
to skip over that minor detail.
"Then what's that?" Hookhand asks, gesturing at Wesley, who shrinks away and cringes.
"This," Eugene says, slapping the kid on the back and pulling him forward, "is Wes, and
we're here to show him a good time, so pull on your best hazing boots and don't hold
anything back."
The young lord looks like he's about to protest, but can't decide which part to object to first.
Hookhand is not impressed with any of this at all. "What do you want?"
"Two beers for us and a cupcake for Blondie to start us out."
Wes' eyes widen. "Can I have a cupcake too?"
"Is it your tenth birthday?"
"Well… no."
"Then no. You can't have a cupcake."
"But the princess-"
"Yeah, shut up, Rider!" Hookhand shoves his hook threateningly into Eugene's face forcing
him to jerk backwards to avoid losing an eye. "If the squirt wants a cupcake, he can
damned well have a cupcake, and there's nothing you can do to stop him. Attila! Get over
here!"
From across the room Big Nose catches Eugene's eye, points at Rapunzel, and very
obviously mouths the words, "How's it going?" He then gives him a questioning gesture.
Thumbs up? Or thumbs down? Eugene gives a gesture of his own. It's not a thumb.
Big Nose just shrugs and turns around in his seat to interrupt Goldie's one sided
conversation with Ulf and asks her something that makes her blush. This seems a good
enough answer for Big Nose as he turns back to Eugene and grins. Thumbs up.
"What's that about?" Wesley asks, handing Eugene a beer and a cupcake so he can carry his
own.
"Nothing. That guy's an idiot. Don't listen to anything he says."
"Oh."
Eugene winds his way to the table Rapunzel's saved for them, shoving Ulf out of the way
and giving Big Nose a dirty look.
Blondie takes her cupcake with a squeal. "Strawberry today!... Mmm." Her eyes roll back in
bliss and the tip of her tongue slides across a dollop of fluffy pink frosting from her lower lip.
Eugene's mouth waters at the thought that she probably tastes like sugar now. "He's out
done himself today."
"Yeah." He makes a mental note to give Attila something awesome if he ever figures out
what exactly that might be.
"Do you two come here often?" Wesley asks, taking a more refined bite of his pastry and
eyeing the nearby table of sweaty thugs who are giving them menacing looks. One of them
pulls out a knife the length of his forearm and uses it to pick at thin, yellowed teeth.
"Not nearly often enough," Rapunzel says with a sigh. She relaxes her shoulders for the first
time since they left the castle, and looks around the room with a contented smile on her
face, almost as if this crowded, stinking pit is a nostalgic childhood home. "Everyone's so
friendly here."
Wesley scans the room again, trying to see what she sees. He's there to learn, after all, and
if the princess isn't intimidated he'd look like a wuss if he chickened out now, so he might as
well shake away his fear. One of the thugs rips a chunk of undercooked meat off a skewer
and chews it viciously before spitting a hunk of gristle out onto the floor. Wesley doesn't
know if he should be horrified or transfixed.
"When do we get started getting into trouble?" he asks. He's eager to have an adventure
with someone as cool as Eugene, but he's also getting this icy feeling in his stomach that
he's never gotten before when he fantasized about all the marvelous daring do he could get
up to. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, and he really is a chicken.
Eugene waves his hand and takes a long gulp of his beer. "Don't worry about it. After a few
drinks I'm sure you'll think of something. Drink up."
"But-"
"If it makes you feel better, you're already in trouble just for being here."
"Hmm." He takes a sip and almost gags. "Ugg!"
Rapunzel nods consolingly. "It's nasty stuff."
"Hey, girlie!" Vladamir shouts from a few tables away, "I made that."
She gives him an embarrassed half smile. "I'm sorry, but it tastes like… like broccoli."
"Like watered down piss!" one of the thugs supplies.
"Fermented mud!"
"Burnt dog hair!"
"… citrus?"
"Shut up and quit bitching!"
"Then make better beer!"
"I don't see any of you offering to help."
"I don't mind it so much."
"Fuck off, Rider. No one cares what you think."
Eugene shrugs and turns his attention back to his mug. A moment later, a delicate bare foot
runs up the back of his leg, as if trying to console him. Or maybe practice. Given how sticky
the floor is, taking off her shoe is probably not the best idea ever, but he's certainly not
going to point that out.
"Eugene told me that after the first glass, you can't really taste it anymore," Blondie
explains. "He says it's not about the taste, it's about the hum."
"The buzz."
"Right."
Wesley considers this, then braces himself and takes a deep, cringing drink. When he comes
up for air, he starts coughing, but he's grinning and almost everyone around the bar cheers.
After one drink Wesley is tipsy. He makes Eugene tell him a story about his Flynn Rider days
which has the kid giving him a look of absolute idolization, and has Blondie resting her chin
in both hands, watching him with doe eyes and a little, love struck smile.
He's never had a better audience. They gasp in all the right places, and lean in, enraptured
as he talks. Even when Shorty sidles up and debunks half his story they stick with him,
telling the little geezer to hush and beat it.
Shorty huffs something about knowing when he's not wanted and stumbles away.
"Excuse me a minute," Eugene says, then follows after him to have a brief discussion
involving a lot of hand gestures and shoulder patting. When he comes back he drops a bag
of money on the table. "You need to keep that in an inside pocket or it'll get lifted again."
Wes looks at him in renewed awe.
"Actually, how about we let Blondie keep up with it. She's the only one around here they
won't steal from."
"Yeah. Sure thing."
After two drinks Wes is drunk. Poor thing. He'll have to work on that.
At eleven o'clock Hookhand pulls out an axe, throws it across the room, and bellows at
everyone to shut the hell up, before he takes a seat at the rickety little piano and plays a
sonata for the silent, intimidated crowd.
"Wow," Wes breathes, his eyes dancing as they follow Hookhand's fingers across the keys.
"He's amazing."
Goldie giggles. "One time he played a song just for me. It was about a river."
"I've been studying the piano for fifteen years and I could never even hope to play with
such… such passion! And he's only got one hand! It's amazing. I have to go talk to him."
This proves to be difficult as Wesley has trouble walking straight and trips over Tor, who
snarls at him. But eventually he and Hookhand end up in an enthusiastically drunken
conversation about the finer points of tuning theory, counterpoint, and hook maintenance.
"You two are having fun," Blondie whispers, leaning against his side and resting her head
against his shoulder.
"Not as much fun as your foot seems to be having." She giggles. "Isn't it getting cold yet."
"Yes."
"Give it here."
She slips her foot from under his knee, crosses her legs the other way, and slides it into his
lap. He holds it between his palms for a moment to warm her before he rubs his thumb into
the gentle arch of her foot.
"My feet probably aren't that clean."
"I don't mind."
"I think I should have something to drink too."
"You don't like the taste. Remember?"
"No. But you two are having fun and I feel left behind."
"Don't give into peer pressure, Goldie."
"Wesley is."
"But he's not as smart as you." He tries to sell her a smirk, but she's not buying it.
"Besides, you're not that far behind me. I won't be drunk for a while."
"Eugene, you need to buy me a drink or I'll have someone else do it."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Big Nose! Can you get me-"
"Fine! Fine! Whatever you say. You're the boss."
She looks smug. "I am."
After a great deal of discussion at the bar, Eugene and the thugs decide that serving the
royal princess cheep piss-beer is a bad idea. She might go blind. They go on to decide that
they should just start her on liquor. There's a bottle of really nice rum around somewhere,
which has a flavor she might enjoy, and they could mix it with… uh, orange juice? No, the
orange juice has gone bad. Cranberry juice? Yeah, like they have cranberry juice.
Attila comes to the rescue when he figures out that they have the stuff to make a mojito.
No one else knows what that is, which thoroughly disgusts Attila and his more refined
tastes.
After Wesley's third drink (half of one for Rapunzel, four for Eugene, and about two dozen
for Big Nose, who's now sitting with them) he starts waxing poetic about the girl he's
smitten with, which Eugene thinks is a bit stomach churning.
"…and she has the most beautiful hair," Wes sighs, a distinctive slur slipping into his words.
"It's black and straight and shiny and long, and you just want to touch it."
"I used to have pretty hair," Goldie says dreamily, a flush beginning to seep across her
cheeks.
"You still do," Eugene says, but his comment is ignored.
"It was golden blonde and it was long. So. Long. And it was magical. And it would glow."
Wesley snorts.
"It was! Wasn't it, Eugene?"
"It was," he agrees.
"Yeah. It was freaky," says Big Nose. "It was all dragging around on the floor. Shocking it
didn't always have mud in it."
"Or blood."
"Or tangles! I got tangles in my hair. See?" Big Nose pulls off his winged helmet to show off
a little tuft of unruly, brown hair.
"It was magic," Blondie explains. "And I could use it for so many things. I could use it like a
blanket, or a ladder, or a rope… one time I even used it to tie up Eugene."
"What?" Big Nose's jaw drops and his eyes bulge. "No shit, you ugly, lucky bastard."
"Shut up. It wasn't like that."
"Like what?" Goldie asks.
"Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it? What are you, broken? Damn it, Rider, you lived the dream and let
us all down! You're a disgrace."
"What dream?" she asks.
"Being tied up by a beautiful woman so she can have her way with you, that's what."
"What?" She glances over at Eugene, but her brain feels a bit fuzzy and her head feels a bit
warm and it's making it hard to figure out what's going on. "I thought you didn't like being
tied up."
"I didn't."
"Because he's broken."
"But why would you like it? You were my prisoner." She says this with just the right amount
of possessive pride that it makes the statement about a thousand times worse.
"I hate you, Rider." Big Nose glares and spits and shoves himself to his feet to stalk off in a
huff.
After Wesley's fifth beer (Goldie's second, and Eugene's eighth) Eugene's vision is starting
to blur. He's feeling so good that he agrees that it would be a great idea to teach Wes and
Goldie how to pick pockets. He gives them a rundown of the basics, some dos and don'ts,
and demonstrates by easily taking one of the princess' earrings. Pearls. Nice. He then sends
them out to try their luck, because this will be fun and safe and educational.
Wesley comes stumbling back with a black eye and a grin. He says that next time he'll try
to be more subtle, but he trips over the word "subtle" and crumples onto the table.
Poor light weight.
Rapunzel shows up a few minutes later, and presents him with Hookhand's hook.
"He said that he needs… he needs it back in a minute."
"You asked him?"
"Yes."
"And you're going to give it back?"
"Of course," she scoffs. "It's his hand! He can't do without it!"
"I think you missed the point."
"More like you missed the point." She pokes him hard in the chest, leaning precariously to
the left.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking… about… I don't know!" She collapses across him in a fit of wild giggles.
"You're a nut."
"I love you, Eugene Fittttzz-zerbert. You're fun."
"You're a blast too, Sunshine."
"I'm gonna… tie you up… and," snirk, "have my way with you."
"Don't repeat things that idiot says."
"Why not?" She snuggles deeper into his chest, suddenly too tired to open her eyes. "You
get the funniest face."
"Thanks."
She sighs as her body relaxes against him. "You're welcome."
Chapter 21

Someone is kicking Eugene's boot and it's the most annoying thing he's ever experienced.
Ugg. Can't people just let a man sleep? Can't they see how cozy he is?"
Prod prod.
Nope. Apparently they can't. Jerks.
He cracks open his eyes to see four royal guards, dressed in a red far too bright for this
time in the morning (or afternoon. No, it's probably still morning) and faces so pinched with
irritation that there's no way they could be comfortable. The man in front, prodding at
Eugene's boot, has the most irritated face and the most elaborate helmet, marking him as
the new captain.
"You the new guy?" Eugene asks. "Huh. Weird. Suddenly I miss Max."
"Unhand the princess, Rider."
Eugene takes in his surroundings. He's still in the Snuggly Duckling, which has cleared out
except for the few other drunks who weren't able to get home and are now snoring on
whatever flat surface they found most convenient. Lord Wesley is still sprawled out on the
other side of the table, his face smooshed against the sticky wood grain. Pascal blinks up at
him blearily, his skin a gross, yellowed shade of brown. Eugene almost remembers that the
chameleon ate the limes out of Rapunzel's drink, and he has a blurry notion that that might
have been his idea.
Eugene has managed to stretch out a leg across the booth bench and rest his back against
the wall. And Blondie has made herself at home on his lap, arms wrapped around his chest
like an octopus, legs curled up and tucked neatly beneath his bent knee.
He raises his hands in surrender, but Rapunzel doesn't move at all. He could probably stand
up and she'd stay attached to him like a barnacle.
The guards are not nearly as amused by this as Eugene is.
"Get up."
Eugene makes a face and eases the princess' arms up around his neck, where she latches
onto him again and mutters something under her breath. He awkwardly adjusts them both
until he can slide an arm under her legs and scoot off the bench, hefting her dead weight up
into his arms.
He aims a swift kick at Wesley's shin, and the kid jerks up, one of his eyes wide and
bloodshot, the other swollen and pinched and a brilliant shade of purple. There's some
cupcake frosting on his face, and his hair sticks up at odd angles, which actually suits him
better than his usual style. A second after his abrupt movement he cringes as if in slow
motion, and clutches at his throbbing head.
"Uuuuuggggggh."
"Come on."
"Wha?"
"Our ride's here."
"Nggh."
Wesley struggles to his feet and follows without protest.
"Can you get my frog?" Eugene asks the nearest guard. "Thanks."
The guard gives Pascal a disgusted look before plucking him up between his thumb and
forefinger. The chameleon shudders, as though he's about to be sick, and Eugene looks
away, not wanting to see that.
"Oh, and grab the princess' shoes too." He stoops a bit to look under the table. "There's
one. And the other should be…" He scans the room. "Ah. There it is." He nods at Blondie's
left shoe, which is hanging from Shorty's right foot while Shorty dangles suspended from
the ceiling, dressed in nothing but what at one point in the evening was a toga.
The guard holding Pascal looks aghast.
"They have the same size feet," Eugene explains.
"Oh."
With that he strides out of the bar, his arms full of hung over princess, and his goofy
half-brother and a half dozen confused guards trailing behind him.
"Max! Buddy!"
The horse glares at him as he approaches.
"Didn't know you were here."
Maximus gives Goldie a suspicious look, then sticks his nose in her face an sniffs her, his
breath causing her hair to flutter. He snorts in what's almost a sneeze, shakes his head
wildly, and glares at Eugene with even more venom.
"What?"
I hate you.
"Oh, we both know that's not true," he says with a smirk.
Maximus looks like he might hit him, then his eyes dart down to Rapunzel. She's like a cute,
little human shield.
Eugene's smirk grows, and the horse rolls his eyes and flops down onto his belly to let him
get on without having to set the girl down.
"Thanks."
Snort.
Blondie wakes up about halfway back to Lord Wesley's manor. But after realizing how bright
it is and how much she's being jostled, she decides that opening her eyes and sitting up just
isn't worth it. Finding a more comfortable spot against Eugene's shoulder, she lets out the
saddest little moan he's ever heard. It's a moan for his ears alone, and somehow he finds
that adorable.
"Go back to sleep," he whispers, laying a soft kiss against her temple. "We'll get you some
water when we get back. That'll help."
She seriously doubts this, but going back to sleep does sound like a good idea. It turns out
that this is difficult while riding a horse and feeling queasy. And it turns out that Maximus is
feeling particularly vindictive for no good reason, going out of his way to wiggle and run into
tree branches.
She's a bit worse for wear when they arrive at the manor, and the sick feeling in her
stomach only hardens as they are greeted on the front steps by Lady Sophia and the queen,
neither of whom look amused. She swallows and shoots a look up at Eugene, who's
suddenly also feeling sick.
He rubs a reassuring hand against her back as he helps her down off of Maximus.
"Don't worry," he whispers, but she does anyway.
They line up on the lowest step like children preparing to get their knuckles rapped.
Standing on the step above them, the queen looks even more intimidating than usual. The
look she gives him makes him feel more guilt ridden than anyone's ever been able to make
him feel before.
And that's before she speaks.
She starts with Wes, and with that way she has of making her words cut with uncanny
precision she says simply, "You worried us."
Wesley flinches, as worrying people was the last thing he wanted to do. He never wanted to
make a scene or cause a fuss, he just wanted one brief adventure, one short break from his
usual routine.
The queen moves on, looking straight into Rapunzel's eyes to convey the seriousness of the
situation.
"You know better."
She flushes, and Eugene fights down the urge to reach for her. Rapunzel is always so proud
of herself for knowing things about the world. She seeks out knowledge and soaks it up and
revels in it, and then she tries so very hard to implement everything she's learned. And
then there's the fact that this is possibly the kindest dressing down she's ever received, and
the only time it's happened from someone she ought to respect, from someone who loves
her and cares for her wellbeing.
Then the queen turns to Eugene, and for a second they stare at each other and he is
paralyzed by the honesty in her eyes.
"I'm disappointed."
He has to drop his gaze to the ground. If she was disappointed, it meant she was expecting
something. It meant she trusted him.
He'd been reprimanded before, sure. He'd had people yell and curse at him, hit him, and tell
him he was in the wrong. He'd had people slap up wanted posters and throw him in jail. But
never from someone whose opinion mattered. Never from someone who had his best
interests at heart.
The queen reaches out to her daughter, squeezing her shoulder and meeting her gaze,
giving her a silent reassurance that yes, she is in trouble, but she will always be loved.
Rapunzel sniffs and throws her arms around her mother. When they pull apart a moment
later, the girl hastily wipes her eyes.
"Now I believe it's time for you to all go to bed."
There's a small chorus of "yes, ma'am," and the three of them troop up the stairs together.
For a moment Lady Sophia looks as though she's not satisfied with this special brand of
chewing out, but she bites her tongue at a sharp look from the queen.
Eugene squeezes Rapunzel's hand as she slips into her room to lie down, and she offers him
a little smile to show she's ok. He finds his own room and slumps into a chair, running a
hand over his face and massaging the bridge of his nose.
Glurp.
Glurp? What the hell kind of noise is glurp?
The sound repeats itself, this time with an added wheeze, and this time Eugene realizes that
sound is emanating from his pocket - from his pocket where a very sick chameleon is
hacking up several mojitos worth of limes and mint and quite a bit of strawberry frosting.
"Ugg! Pascal!"
He fishes the frog out of its own mess and hurries to the washroom, where he strips off his
shirt and carefully tries to clean the little guy up as much as possible.
Glurp.
"Shit." Eugene sighs and gives up trying to wash Pascal off, opting instead to hold him over
the sink and rub a soothing thumb back and forth over his little, scaly eyebrows.
The chameleon blinks up at him, looking more pathetic than anything has a right to be.
"I know, buddy. It's gonna be alright."
Blink.
"It's ok. Just take it easy, now."
Eugene spends most of the day looking after Pascal, who eventually coughs up a penny,
falls asleep, and returns to looking green. It's dark by the time Rapunzel shows up, looking
refreshed and ready once again to find Wesley to do something fun.
"Fun within limits," she clarifies with a half smile. "Fun while telling mother where we're
going."
"How about we find him and go to the library?" Eugene suggests. That seems pretty
innocuous, and wouldn't really require permission.
Her eyes light up, and she slips Pascal onto her shoulder and grabs Eugene's hand,
chattering away about what kinds of books Lord Wesley might have in his collection. Maybe
more art books? Or maybe some adventure stories, because she found one in the castle
library about pirates and it was fascinating.
They turn down the hall towards where they guess Wes' rooms are, and Blondie's
excitement is cut short by the sound of an icy voice coming from one of the sitting rooms
down the dimly lit hallway.
"You shouldn't be spending time with him anyway." Eugene recognizes it as Lady Sophia.
Great. "He's a scoundrel, a criminal, and a manipulator. He's already gotten you into trouble
and who knows what else he'll have you involved in if you continue down this road. You're
too good for the likes of him."
Eugene knows that he ought to turn and leave, but somehow his legs won't allow it.
"It's my own fault for getting into trouble, mother," Wesley says.
"Oh please. You couldn't get up to anything if left to your own devices."
Eugene's eyes narrow, a defensive fire lighting in his chest.
Wesley however handles the insult more diplomatically – most likely because he's used to
such abuse. "I can spend time with whoever I choose. I am an adult, and I am Lord of this
manor, and Eugene is my brother."
Lady Sophia makes a sound of the upmost disgust.
Wesley sighs, and Eugene can tell from the tone of his voice that he doesn't believe what he
says next. He's heard people lie and tell half truths his entire life. "Someday he will be the
prince. It would do us well to be in his good favor."
"In his good favor? It seems to me you should be working on the princess' good favor.
Someday she will realize that he's filth. Someday that simpleton will figure out that he's
using her and he'll be tossed out like the trash he is. You are the much smarter match and
you are wasting your efforts to try to impress that ruffian when you should be trying to
make an impression on the princess."
Rapunzel makes a noise of outrage at his side, and he looks down to see her filled with
more fury than he has ever seen in her. She clenches her jaw and stalks towards the sitting
room, tensed like a tigress ready to rip out a beating heart. To keep her from making a
scene and embarrassing everyone and possibly hurting the old bat – and since when has he
cared about any of that? - he grabs her around the waist and in the ensuing struggle they
completely miss Wesley's response and Eugene gets an elbow to the ribs that hurts way
more than it should.
"Let go!" she shouts, wriggling out of his grasp and marching straight into the sitting room.
He follows her hesitantly and stands in the doorway with every muscle in his back tensed to
watch Rapunzel explode. Maybe he'll have better luck restraining her if Wes helps out.
"You," she says, staring daggers at Lady Sophia, who looks so shocked and pale that she
might faint at any moment, "are a horrible, mean old woman. Your son is very nice, and
kind, and doing the best he can, and you should be proud of him. You should tell him that
you're proud of him and that you love him instead of being so rude. And you should be nice
to Eugene. And if you can't be nice to him you should at least be polite, because he is the
bravest, sweetest man in the world. And if you ever call me a simpleton again I'll…" She
shakes from rage and fear and shock at her own daring, and he finds this much more
concerning than anything else that's happened today. "Ugg! I'm not staying here another
minute. We're leaving!"
She shoves past him, and he has enough time to crumple his eyebrows at Wes to say,
"Sorry. What can you do?" and to then cock an eyebrow that the near stricken woman to
say, "yeah, you're a bitch," before he hurries after the princess.
He catches up with her three hallways away, her face flushed and her eyes swimming.
"Rapunzel, wait a second." He needs to calm her down because her new infuriated state is
scaring him, and he's almost positive that she's about to start crying again and this sobbing
fit is going to be one for the books.
She stops so suddenly that he almost runs into her, and for a moment she stares into space
and swallows before making her announcement.
"We need to get married."
He freezes. "We- Wh- wait, what?"
"We should get married," she repeats, nodding her head with growing confidence and
pushing back her tears. "It would solve all sorts of problems."
He tries not to look as terrified as he suddenly feels, but he's cold and clammy and a bit
numb and a bit nauseous. He swallows thickly as bile rises in his throat, and when he
speaks it comes out in an undignified squeak. "Problems?"
"People would stop trying to…" She glares down the corridor, back towards Lady Sophia's
sitting room, and she waves her hand at it, unable to come up with the right word. "Stop
trying to kiss me and impress me and things. And then you'd be royalty and people would
treat you better and like you better, and it would just be easier for everyone."
Only about half of what she says makes it into his head to take root. He's still caught up in a
panicked fight or flight reflex that's making it difficult to breathe, much less think.
"Well? Don't you think so?" she snaps.
"I… uh… I don't know."
She blinks at him, finally coming out of her anger enough to notice his distress. "You don't
know?"
"I…" He clears his throat and scratches at the back of his head. "It's just… not something to
rush into."
She doesn't understand that at all, and her irritation slowly starts to transfer from Lady
Sophia to Eugene, and the bite returns to her voice. "Don't you want to marry me?"
"I…" Honestly, he doesn't know. The whole concept is just too freaky for him to think about
logically.
"You said you loved me."
"I do love you."
"And you want to be with me forever."
"Of course." He can't imagine his life without her.
"And most people already think we're going to get married eventually."
"Yeah, but-" This is different. Very, very different.
"And then I wouldn't have to sneak into your room every night."
"…uh…" Yeah, that argument doesn't help him form a complete sentence.
"I don't see what the problem is."
He starts to explain, but immediately realizes that there just aren't words to describe this
kind of claustrophobic idiocy. Another stupid croaking noise escapes his throat before he
closes his mouth with a snap and drops his eyes to the floor.
He really is just being stupid. Isn't he? Maybe? But… Arg!
"Eugene."
There's a plead to her voice that makes him cringe, and he glances up to see her eyes
sparkling with hurt and confusion, her brow creased more than he thinks he can handle.
"I don't know how to explain it," he says. "Just… just give me a minute to think."
"You need to think about it?"
"Well, yeah."
"Why? Either you want to marry me or you don't. It's not that hard."
"It is for me!"
"Why?"
"Because! Ugg! Can we please not have this fight in the hallway? You're not really mad at
me anyway, you're mad at her and you're just taking it out on me."
Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits, and for a second she actually looks quite scary.
Then she spins on her heel and storms off, leaving him to stand alone in the hallway,
staring after her, feeling like a dejected fool.
Chapter 22

She doesn't start to sob as soon as they're out of sight of the manor the way Eugene
predicted. Instead it's a hundred times worse as she curls up on the bench with her head in
her mother's lap and her back facing Eugene as if she can't bring herself to look at him. The
jostling and the noise of the carriage make it impossible to tell if her shoulders are shaking
from quiet little tears, but the way she clutches at her stomach and curls in on herself and
the expression on the queen's face tell him all he needs to know.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
The queen hasn't asked what happened. When a fuming Rapunzel declared that they were
leaving, she trusted her daughter and made hasty arrangements for their departure. If their
abbreviated stay caused a political incident, then so be it. In this matter she believed that
the princess knew what she was doing and all its ramifications.
Eugene wasn't so sure about that part. Sure, if Rapunzel said they were hitting the road,
he'd be the first to help her pack, but then again he didn't really care if they offended half
the countryside.
Maybe the queen felt the same way.
There was really no telling.
The queen runs a hand through Rapunzel's hair as if attempting to stroke the hurt away, as
if through the simple, repetitive gesture she can calm not only her daughter but herself. She
shoots a look of concern up at Eugene, trying to find some explanation for what happened,
trying to find some assistance or suggestion while she's feeling so useless.
But Eugene doesn't have anything to offer her. His arms ache from how hard he's having to
hold himself back from grabbing Rapunzel and pulling her into an embrace so tight it will
squeeze all the fear and anger out of her and will somehow explain everything he's feeling
even though he can't put it into words himself. But she doesn't want him to touch her, and
he knows that they'll both feel even worse when she shrugs his hand away.
He's helpless, and he's not at all used to feeling that way.
He slumps forward and rests his face in his hands. His posture, and the tension of his
fingers, and the slope of his mouth all make him look utterly defeated, and this scares the
queen even more. She swallows and directs her gaze down at her daughter, stroking her
hair with even greater intensity.
In reality it doesn't take very long for Rapunzel to fall asleep, but the time stretches
painfully until at last her shoulders ease and her breathing evens.
At last the queen looks up and met Eugene's eyes and in a hushed voice says simply, "Tell
me."
He doesn't know what to say, and after running a hand through his hair he settles on, "Lady
Sophia said some hurtful things." His voice is just loud enough for her to hear over the
rumble of the carriage, soft enough not to wake the princess.
The queen lifts a delicate eyebrow at him as if to say no shit. But then again, there's no way
she would phrase it quite like that.
"She was rude to Lord Wesley. From what I've gotten out of Rapunzel, it was a lot like how
Gothel was rude to her."
The queen's hand tightens on the girl's shoulder, as she nods for him to continue.
"Then she questioned my intentions."
"Towards my daughter?"
"Towards everyone."
"Ah."
"And then to top it off she insulted Rapunzel's intelligence."
The queen sighs and rolls her eyes. "That woman…" She trails off, too polite to voice her
feelings even in private.
"…is a first class bitch?" he suggests.
"Watch yourself, Mr. Fitzherbert."
"Why? It's the truth."
"It's your opinion."
"And yours."
"Perhaps."
"Oh, come on."
She tilts her head and purses her lips in a way that tells him she is not going to continue
talking about it and he should stop being obnoxious. "Exactly how big of a scene did you
cause?"
"Excuse me?"
"Please tell me you didn't break Lady Sophia's nose."
He gapes at her. "You honestly think I would… No. No, no, no. It was all Rapunzel. She
just… lost it. She wasn't violent – and I've seen her violent – but she was just… I don't
know. Angry and yelling."
The queen thinks on this a moment, smoothing out a wrinkle in Rapunzel's sleeve.
"Then what did you fight about?"
"What?"
"What did you and Rapunzel fight about? I assumed the two of you fought over your
behavior forcing her to leave. But now I see that I jumped to conclusions."
Eugene's throat goes dry and he instinctually hides behind something smarmy. "You really
don't think much of me then, do ya?"
She lifts her eyebrows.
"Who said we fought about anything?" He knows that track's not going to work the second
the words are out of his mouth.
"You've explained why she's upset, but not why you're upset."
"I can't be upset when some old biddy's rude to my girl?"
"You can," she admits. "But this is something different. You're not exactly upset. It's more
like…" She narrows her eyes at him in contemplation. "…guilt."
The way he drops his eyes gives him away.
"And I don't believe that Rapunzel would be this upset over verbal insults. She's heard such
things before, and although they anger her she usually calms down and brightens up if
given time. No, Eugene, this isn't anger. This is heartbreak."
He swallows and shifts uncomfortably. "It's just been a long day."
"And now you're making it longer."
"Is there any chance we could not talk about this?"
"No."
"It's not really any of your business." He knows he's on thin ice with that one, but he's
running out of excuses and he's starting to flail.
"Of course," she says. "Please continue to brood in solitude. I'm sure eventually you will
come up with something resembling a solution."
He frowns. "No need to get snippy."
She shrugs ever so politely. "Glass houses."
"Ugg. Fine. You want to know?" He leans forward and his voice drops down again. "She
attacked me – totally out of the blue – and said that she wants to get married."
The queen blinks at him.
"Married!" he shouts, the volume restrained to a whisper that makes his voice crack.
"Oh dear."
"I know! It's nuts."
She nods, looking thoughtful. "I take it she didn't take your rejection very well."
"I didn't reject her."
"…Then I'm very confused."
"I told her I had to think on it. That's different."
The queen rolls her eyes. "Oh, Eugene, you know nothing about women."
"Hey. I know plenty about women."
"The fact that you just said that to me shows that you don't."
He has to think on that one for a second.
"Don't you remember what it was like to be eighteen and in love?" she asks.
"No."
"Alright. Do you remember what it was like when you were eighteen and you watched your
friends who were in love?"
He tries to remember. He's never really had many friends, but bringing this up would just
be petulant, so he thinks up the closest situation he experienced to what she's describing.
"It was like I was taking crazy pills."
"Exactly."
"Soooo… what?"
"So be gentle with her and watch what you say, because you are taking crazy pills and you
will be for a very long time."
"Great."
"Hmmm, and maybe you should explain some of your hesitancies to her. I don't think she
understands about your fear of commitment."
"Fear of commitment? I died for her! That's as committed as it gets!"
"Yes. But your death does not involve her wearing a wedding dress."
He stares at her as that cold horror crawls back up into his chest. "You're kidding me."
"Yes. A bit," she admits with a smile. "It's fun."
He shakes his head to clear it and looks out the window in time to see the castle gates
creak open. "Crazy pills," he mutters.
He reaches out to gather Rapunzel up into his arms when they come to a stop. The queen
brushes a strand of her hair away from her face, and helps to arrange the princess' arms so
they don't dangle. He carries her away from the queen and the servants that are now
swarming the carriage to grab their luggage, and into the castle where her face is
illuminated by torchlight, displaying thick tear tracks that almost seem to glow. Something
twists in his heart at the sight and he adjusts his hold on her to pull her closer so he can
press his lips to her forehead and continue to walk.
Carrying someone around is not nearly as easy as everyone seems to think it is, even if it's
someone as small and light as Rapunzel. Sure, he's carted her around dozens of times
before because she seems to think that he's some kind of jungle gym and yeah, maybe he's
starting to believe her on that point. And yes, he does makes it look easy, but that's just
part of why he's so fantastic.
Because he is fantastic. He just has to remind her of that, and then remind himself, and
eventually they'll be ok again.
"Eugene?"
He looks down to see that her lips are pressed together in a frown as she refuses to meet
his eyes.
"Hey," he says, trying to sound nice and unthreatening and apologetic.
"I can walk."
He stops for a moment in the empty hallway. The servants haven't descended upon the
area yet to get the princess ready for bed and unpack her luggage and build up her fire, and
without their buzzing presence the passage feels deserted and chilled. Or maybe it's just the
look in her eyes that makes him feel that way.
He starts walking again. "Nah. I got it."
"Put me down," she snaps, then starts to struggle so much he nearly drops her.
"Ouch. Don't kick me."
"Put me down."
"Oof. Hey!"
He decides to set her down, but he grabs her hand as she starts to walk off. She tries to pull
away, but he holds her tight and she ends up rounding on him. Her eyes flicker back and
forth between anger and tears, as her nose wrinkles and twitches in irritation, which would
be cute if it were directed at anyone other than him.
"Let go."
"No. I don't like seeing you this upset, so we're going to have it out right now."
"I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because… arg, I don't know why! I just know that I'm mad and I don't want to look at
you."
It feels like a blow to the stomach, but he tries to let it pass over him as much as possible.
"I've got issues. You know that. It's not horribly surprising. And when you spring something
that major on me I'm going to freak out a little bit. It's not about you. It's about everything
else."
"I know! I know, I know. But…Arg!" She grabs at her hair in frustration, squeezing her eyes
closed. "I just can't stand it. The way people talk about you. It's awful! And there's such an
easy way to fix it, but you won't do it!"
"Rapunzel," he takes her cheeks in both hands, forcing her to look up at him. "Hey, now.
Calm down. It's alright."
She stares up at him, her big, green eyes sparkling with unshed tears, mesmerizing and
heartbreaking. A second later she throws her arms around his neck, and he pulls her close,
enveloping her small form, wanting to hold her and protect her and never let her go.
"Marriage isn't some easy fix. And people aren't going to stop talking shit about me just
because we get married." He pulls back enough to give her a small smile and run a thumb
over her cheeks to wipe away the tears. "They'll hate me no matter what. So you know
what? Fuck 'em. They're not worth getting upset over. What you and me have going is
between you and me and nobody else. So let's just take our time, ok? We can go at our
own pace."
Her shoulders slowly relax as she searches his face. "What about your issues? They'll still be
there."
"I'm sure you can beat them out of me if you try hard enough."
The corner of her mouth twitches towards what might be a grin. "I do like challenges."
"Oh, then you'll love me."
Her smile finally cracks, lighting up her face like the sun. "I do."
"Friends again?"
"…Maybe."
"What can I do to make it up to you?"
"Hmmm." She adjusts her hold around his neck, something glittering in her eyes. "What do
you have in mind?"
"Uh, chocolate? And flowers?" She looks amused, but not impressed. "No, you're right.
Those suck. I'll, uh… take you someplace. Anywhere you want to go. All day. Just you and
me… And I can buy you something nice… Or I could steal you something very nice."
"Eugene!"
"Ok, ok. Uh… how about a good hallway make out session?"
"Oh, I like that one."
"Do you?"
"Sounds fun."
"Well, if it's the only way."
She grins as she drags him down into a kiss.
Chapter 23

His back slams up against the wall, knocking the breath out of him and sending a painful
shudder through his shoulders, but it doesn't make him stop kissing her. Her fingers grapple
in his hair, pulling at his neck as she balances on her tiptoes to reach him better. He holds
her close, tight against his chest, nearly lifting her clear off the ground, but then she would
lose all the traction she has and she wouldn't be able to shove him against the wall
anymore, which she apparently enjoys doing.
She throws him back again with one hand and her shoulder and her chest, and yanks down
on his hair with the other, and a searing pain rips through his neck.
"Ow. Shit, Goldie."
"Sorry," she gasps, then seals her lips over his again, and suddenly he doesn't care if she
beats him to death as long as he can still taste the softness of her lower lip.
Rapunzel likes it rough. Who knew?
And now all the clasps are undone on his vest and her leg wraps around his hip and he's
squeezing her ass with such a hunger, such a need to grip her flesh that she moans into his
mouth, sending vibrations running straight down to his stomach.
And now he's lifting her, pulling her close, and she's climbing him like a tree, hooking her
leg over his arm for support and raising herself up until she's the taller one and he has to
look up to find her lips. He eventually gives up and buries his face against her neck, leaving
a hot trail down to her collar bone, leaving a bite mark against her breast that has her
squeezing him tight between her legs.
From somewhere in the background, from the world outside of Rapunzel's hands and chest
and legs and gasping breath, he hears the servants coming their way, and somehow
through the tangle of limbs and the fumbling of his hands in the dark, he maneuvers them
into the nearest room, where she kicks the door closed and scrambles for the lock, grinning
against his ear as the crowd bustles past. Then she starts nibbling, and the delicate feel of
her teeth and her tongue makes him groan and grip at the back of her dress.
"Shh," she whispers, and her breath against his damp ear has him biting down on his lip
and hissing.
She squirms to get closer, completely unconcerned that they might topple over at any
moment, and he finds himself compressed snuggly between her and the door as her tongue
presses hungrily to his neck.
He's never really let someone have their way with him before. Maybe a few times when he
was super drunk, but he doesn't remember much of those, so they don't count. He's always
been the one to do the pleasing and the torturing, to set the pace and stay in command.
But for the first time – no, it's not the first time she's done this to him, it's just the first time
she's done this while she pulls at his vest and tosses it to the floor. For the first time he's
letting her wildly sweep him up with her.
It's – his brain sticks for a moment before he can admit it – exciting. For once he doesn't
know what to expect and it's new and it's different, so much so that it's almost a completely
different experience. This time he cares and his emotions carry him forward like a wave,
and he's lost all that suave control as he falls into her, wanting to wrap himself up in her
scent, wanting to be part of her, wanting her to hold him tighter.
And it's freeing. Her fingernails scrape through the stubble on his cheek and it's like a spark
runs up through his jaw, and he no longer cares about anything, not his reputation or his
pride, all he cares about is the feel of her skin and the ache in his muscles and how he can
possibly please her enough so she makes that noise again.
He recognizes that there's possibly something to say about trust in this situation, but the
thought is wiped away completely with the new question of how is she able to bend her leg
like that. Good God!
She writhes against him, a firm rock of her hips against his and a roll of her diaphragm to
drag herself across his chest. He squeezes her tighter, guiding her to rub against him and
relieve some small amount of stress, but he utterly fails as she winds him tighter, and
within moments he's grabbing at her skirts, pulling the layers and layers of netting up
around her hips so she can be closer, so he can feel the softness of her skin in his hand, so
she can have more freedom of movement.
She starts to gasp, her forehead pressed to his, her arms locked and trembling around his
neck, and it takes him a moment to realize that she really is having trouble breathing. He
almost drops her in his hurry to undo all the hundred buttons down the back of her dress to
get to her corset, but she gasps out a giggle and shifts their weight again before kissing him
in an exceptionally distracting way.
He pulls her corset apart with a ripping series of pops and she lets out a shocked little yelp
and clenches around him.
"You alright?" The words come out strangled and he swallows down the knot in his throat
and squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face against her shoulder in his attempt not to
pounce on her until she's less startled.
She takes a deep gulp of air and nods. "Yes… yes, I can breathe again."
"Then I'm doing something wrong."
"You're not kissing me."
"Sorry."
She guides his face up to kiss him, and it is so perfectly sweet, so simple and effortless and
undemanding and so wildly at odds with the way he's massaging her ass in time with the
movements of her hips, and the feel of the bare skin of her back as he traces the delicate
curves of her spine and her shoulder blades, and the way he slips his hand around through
the loosened fabric of her dress to tease her breast.
She breaks away long enough to moan his name, then she claims his lips again more
fervently. There's a sheen of sweat on her skin that makes him want to taste her, to bite
her, and she grows warmer in his arms, her pulse growing wild beneath his fingers.
Roaming hands grab at his shoulders and her side and his arms and her thigh and his ass
until he just has to grab her. She gasps and bites his lip and the jolt echoes through his
brain and quickens the pace of his fingers, because she needs him and she wants him and
the desperation with which she soaks up every sensation he gives her makes him burn.
Her back arches and her arms tense and she breathes out a single, completed "Oh."
Then holding her becomes like trying to hold water in cupped hands and he sinks onto the
nearest piece of furniture – a desk covered in papers. He sinks back onto it, pulling her
along with him, not caring about wrinkling someone's work or knocking over little
knickknacks. He closes his eyes and tries to calm down.
After a moment she giggles and runs a finger along his cheek. That definitely doesn't help
him to calm down. He looks down at her and her ridiculously sexy bedroom eyes and
promptly turns his attention to the ceiling.
"So am I forgiven?"
She sighs and rests her head against his chest, pulling back into herself a bit. "I suppose
so."
"That's not really a yes."
"It's not," she agrees. "I don't know. Can I still be mad at how frustrating you are, even if
I'm not really mad at you?"
"I… yes?"
"Hmm…" She props up her chin and looks down at him with her eyebrows drawn together,
leaving a crease across her forehead. He instinctively reaches up to soothe it away. "Have I
beaten your issues out of you yet?"
"…uh…"
She sighs and drops her head back against his chest in disappointment.
"You know, Goldie, if this is your new method to beat things out of me, you're more than
welcome to try again."
"I'm serious, Eugene."
He stops trailing his fingers over the shell of her ear and reaches out to cup her face. "I
know, Rapunzel."
She slowly moves up to kiss him - a soft, "I guess we'll have to agree to disagree" kiss.
Eugene's never had one of those before. He's not sure if he likes it.
She leans back and considers him a moment, then straightens up and smiles. "Now, help
me get my corset back on. And then help me find my shoe."
Chapter 24

It's early, but not nearly as early as that prick page usually wakes him, so there's not really
any use arguing as Rapunzel throws open the door to his bedroom and declares that it's a
beautiful day.
"Get up, Eugene!" she cheers, bouncing onto his bed and ruffling his hair. "We're supposed
to be at Lord Wesley's manor still, so they haven't had time yet to give us anything to do."
"If I don't need to be doing anything, then why am I not asleep?" he asks, propping himself
up groggily with an elbow.
"Because it's snowing!"
He groans and flops back down.
She immediately starts poking him in the ribs, which tickles like crazy, but he's not going to
admit it. "Come on! I heard from one of the cooks that when it snows you can lie down in it
and make shapes that look like fairies. And you can sculpt it into different shapes and make
statues."
"You can't fool me into thinking you haven't seen snow before."
"I have," she says. "One time, I left the trap door in the ceiling open so that the snow fell
into the tower, and Pascal and I got to play in it. But it wasn't nearly as much as is outside
now, and now I won't get in trouble when it all melts!"
Eugene finds this image thoroughly depressing. How much snow could you really get from a
little trap door? He imagines her mopping up the puddle as an evil old bat gives her a
deprecating lecture while sitting by a roaring fire, drinking something warm and alcoholic. In
his head the puddle is much larger than the little pile of fluffy snow that would have made
her so dazzlingly happy.
"Alright, Blondie. We'll go play. But watch yourself. I'm going to get you back for getting me
up this early."
She grins at him and pulls him to his feet. "If we don't go now it'll all be ruined."
"You can ruin snow?"
"Yes. We need to get to it while it's still fresh before someone comes and messes it all up."
He plasters on a smile and keeps it to himself that snow is horrible. It's cold and wet and it
will bite into your fingers and gnaw at your ears. It's definitely not going anywhere soon, no
matter what she might think about people messing it up or possibly stealing it. No, it will
just sick around for months and turn to black ice and slush and make it downright
dangerous to sleep outside.
She follows him to his closet, and excitedly starts pointing at things he should wear to keep
warm when she decides he's taking too long. He has to kick her out of the closet so he can
change in peace, but then he immediately regrets it when he realizes that that would have
been the perfect opportunity to both feel her up and distract her from going outside and
getting frostbite.
He hates snow.
When he reappears, she looks him over before telling him that he needs gloves, because
the cooks told her to wear gloves. For her it wasn't hard to find a pair because formal ladies
wear gloves all the time. "But don't worry. I found a pair for you and they look like they
might fit."
He barely understands what she says because she's talking so fast in her excitement, but
when he pieces together that she wants him to wear the pair of black gloves she picked out
for him he has to put a stop to it. There's no way those gloves are going to fit him. And
there's no way in hell he'd be caught wearing them.
He also thinks that she missed the point completely when she shows him her own pair.
They're made of red silk and trimmed with lace and go up to her elbows and she fidgets
with them repeatedly, fisting and unfisting her fingers. She wasn't going to let her
discomfort over how clammy her hands are growing bring her down, but after discovering
that Eugene doesn't really want to wear the gloves she brought for him and doesn't really
want to go outside at all, she's starting to doubt the whole thing.
Eugene hates snow. But he hates that uncertain look on her face more.
He bites the bullet and pulls the extra pair of gloves away from her before tossing them
away. He then strips the gloves she's wearing off, completely ignoring how nice it is to peel
clothing away from her soft skin and how her breath catches a bit as his fingers drag down
the inside of her arm.
Yep. Completely ignoring it. Doesn't even notice.
"What we need are mittens, not fancy lady gloves."
She blinks up at him. "What are mittens?"
"They're gloves but they keep you warm. And they pull all your fingers together. Like this."
He demonstrates with his hand in a way that's not terribly descriptive.
She doesn't seem too excited about the prospect of not being able to move her fingers
individually, and gives them an exploratory wiggle. "The cooks said gloves."
"If you really want gloves, we'll find you some warm ones. But snow gloves and ball-gown
gloves are different. And trust me, mittens will keep you warmer, especially if you're
planning on playing around in the snow."
She brightens. "Where do we find some?"
That's actually a good question and he doesn't exactly know the answer. His first thought is
that they should "borrow" some from the guards or the stable hands or the falconers. His
second thought is that they should go into town and buy some. Then he remembers that
they live in a castle and all they really have to do is ask.
So twenty minutes later they find themselves in the snow covered gardens, adequately
prepared in mittens and scarves and hats. One of the handmaids even thought to bring
Goldie a warm pair of boots, which the princess found highly entertaining.
"It crunches," she squeals, carefully setting one booted foot down, as if trying as hard as
she can to not disturb the snow covering. She giggles as her foot sinks, compressing a few
inches of snow with a noise like falling leaves.
He grins at her and takes hold of her elbow as she bends to inspect the snow's depth. As
much as he fights against it, her enthusiasm is contagious. Plus he's not that cold yet. Once
he's cold he'll probably go back to being grumpy.
"So what do we do first?" she asks, her eyes dancing with contained excitement.
"What do you want to do?"
"Can we make a snow statue?"
"You mean like a snow man?"
"Yes! But I want to make a snow kitten."
"…ok."
"So how do we do that?"
"You know… I have no idea."
She pauses a moment in her inspection of a frozen hedge. "What do you mean?"
"Well," he says, chewing over his words carefully before speaking. "I think the way you
make a snow man is to get a really big snowball - like this tall – for the body, and then get
another big snowball that's a little bit smaller and put it on top for the head. But I don't
know how you would go about making a cat."
"Oh. Well. Maybe we should start with something more basic."
"Sounds good."
They start packing snow together, building it up layer by layer, as Blondie tries to disrupt
the surrounding snow as little as possible, taking a handful then smoothing the rest back
out, placing her feet carefully to avoid any unnecessary crunching.
While she works she creates an elaborate back story for the snowman. He's an Admiral in
the navy, who's visiting the castle while his ship is being repaired because it was attacked
by a sea monster. The sea monster thought that the ship was his friend Stanley the Sea
Monster. But when he went to give Stanley a high five and Stanley exploded into a million
shards of timber he realized that he had been mistaken.
"Mmm," Eugene says. "Happens to the best of us."
"It happens to me all the time. The other day I got Derek the gardener and Ralph the
steward mixed up. It was so embarrassing, but they do have the same hair cut."
"They do," he agrees. It's about the only feature they share, but they do have the same
haircut.
He tries to hide it, but after the third time the giant snowball cracks open under his hands
like an egg and spills out fluffy snow onto the ground it becomes painfully obvious that
Eugene has no idea what he's doing. Rapunzel bites her lip and looks down at the disaster,
her eyebrows drawing together but not wanting to say something to make him feel bad
about himself.
He hates that he's ruining this for her. He tries to run a hand through his hair, but in his
frustration he forgets that he's wearing a hat. And that he's wearing mittens. And that his
mittens are wet.
Shit, he hates snow.
She peels off her mitten to help him, brushing the snow from his forehead and readjusting
his hat before cupping her chilled hand against his numb cheek.
"You haven't done this before either, have you?"
"No," he admits. "But I'd heard about it and it didn't sound so hard."
"Maybe we can find someone who knows what they're doing and they can teach both of us."
Honestly, he'd rather be ignorant on the issue of snowman construction than ask someone
to teach him something that every normal child manages to figure out.
"You want me to find you a better teacher?" he asks.
"No," she says, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. "I want to spend the day with you,
because you're the best."
"You're sweet, Blondie."
She beams at him, and somehow he feels warmer. Maybe it's from her body heat.
"Show me something different."
"Different?"
"Something you know about."
"Ah." He pulls back from her and gathers up a handful of snow. He holds out his hands so
she can watch as he compresses the snow between his palms and shapes it with his fingers.
She watches him carefully, wondering what the difference is between what he's doing and
what he did when making the snow man. He pulls one hand back to show her an oddly
shaped lump in his hand.
Then her rears back and throws it at her, hitting her in the arm and causing her to squeak.
He takes several quick steps back from her and grins, waiting for her retaliation. But she
just stares at him with a stunned look on her face that seems to say, "Why would you do
something like that? How could you betray me? Betrayal via snow, which is the worst thing
ever."
His face falls. "Rapunzel." He hurries back to her, reaching out for her hand. "Rapunzel, I'm
so sorry. Are you alright?"
There's a split second before it happens when he catches the impish sparkle in her eyes,
and he has enough time to think oh shit, before she lunges, throwing her weight at him and
tackling him to the ground. She doesn't bother forming snowballs, opting instead for a rapid
fire assault of loose snow, as she pins him to the ground and grapples with his hands,
laughing hysterically even as he flips them over, traps her hands over her head, and rubs a
handful of snow against her neck.
She yelps and laughs and squirms, and the way her eyes shut and her nose wrinkles and
the way her cheeks are flushed with cold has him grinning and then kissing her. Hot kisses
against chilled skin. Warm breath against nerves raw and vulnerable form the cold. She
sighs contentedly, kissing him back, slipping her hands from his to pull him closer –
Pull him closer and chuck a snowball against his face.
Chapter 25

Sometimes Rapunzel gets this look in her eyes. It's a sparkle when she figures out how to
use her newly found powers for mischief. Or as Eugene calls it in his head, "evil."
Like when she discovered that as long as she slathers complements onto the kitchen staff,
they will enthusiastically show her exactly how they make such a wonderful sauce and then
they'll say, "Here, dear. Do you want to try?" Like when she realized that she could scare
away any court ladies that were annoying her just by having Pascal leap at them. Like when
she realized that she could get away with practically anything as long as Eugene was
standing next to her. Everyone suspected him of wrong doing so much that they stopped
paying attention to her and how she hadn't bowed exactly right or how she had rubbed off
most of her makeup. It was the look she got when she realized that swaying her hips was a
turn on, and would make Eugene stupidly agree to just about anything.
He both loves and hates that look.
And the fact that her dad now has that same evil twinkle in his eyes is beyond disturbing.
They both think they're so smart. They both think they're so funny. And they're both kind of
right. If he had been anyone else looking in on the situation, he would laugh about it too.
"Did you have a good day, Eugene?" the man asks, his smirk hidden behind his beard.
"Peachy," Eugene says, dropping a napkin into his lap and attempting to focus solely on his
dinner salad in hopes that the conversation will end. Yes, you're hilarious. Yes, I know
you're getting a kick out of this. Yes, you win.
Goldie doesn't pick up on this and looks up excitedly. "Oh really? What did you do?"
He scratches his head, which is something Phil has told him not to do about a billion times.
"Today I learned about the redistribution of revenue from non-voluntary payments to the
government."
The queen gives a very delicate cough that he has come to recognize as her version of a
snort.
"Oh! You mean taxes!" Rapunzel says. "They're a bit boring, but if you need any help
studying I know all about them."
A bit boring is an understatement, especially since the accountant who is his instructor this
week has a voice that drones on like a deep, raspy lullaby. In an attempt not to fall asleep,
Eugene counted the tiles on the floor three times, wrote out a forty point list of things he'd
rather be doing, and made up words to the song that Rapunzel had been humming the
evening before. The lyrics go like this: This is so dull / I want to leave / So dull dull dull dull
dull / This is so dull / I want to leave / But I can't. Fan- / Fucking-ta-ast-ic.
Metered poetry is not Eugene's strong suit.
"Did you know the part about how I've never paid taxes?" Ever. Why would he? Paying
taxes is for losers who own houses.
The king's tone turns mildly scolding, but that awful twinkle in his eyes only gets brighter.
"Don't admit that fact in front of me."
"As if you didn't already know. That's what this whole thing is about, right? Getting back at
me for all my misdeeds."
The king grins.
"Eugene," Rapunzel chides. "You should pay your taxes. It's your civic duty."
Oh good grief. "Yeah, and that tower you lived in was tax-free reality."
Her eyes go wide. "Oh no! I've never paid taxes either!" She glances guiltily at her parents,
as the king tries to hide how amused he is by pretending to take a very long drink from his
goblet.
The queen gives Eugene a dirty look for getting the princess all riled up. "Don't worry about
it, dear. You'll make up for it through your service to the community, just the same as Mr.
Fitzherbert."
Rapunzel's shoulders sag in relief, and she grins at Eugene. We both got off with community
service! Yay!
"I was thinking," the king said, setting down his goblet and letting the smile ease from his
face, "the tax allocation meeting is on Thursday, so we'll most likely get around to
distributing the money to the public services in a few weeks. I think you should go with
Rapunzel for the distribution."
Rapunzel gasps and bites her lip to hold back a squeal. "I get to go? That'll be so exciting!"
Eugene just stares at him. "You want me to go around to the hospitals and give people
money?"
"The hospitals, and the schools, and the orphanage, and probably some other places… like
the fire brigade. We won't know exactly who gets what until Thursday."
He bites down a wince. "The orphanage?"
"Yes. I was thinking it'd be a good experience for you. And if any bandits attempt to attack
the carriage I'm sure you could fend them off."
This is a strange thing to say as the carriage full of gold would surely be protected by about
a dozen palace guards, all of whom would be eyeing Eugene just as much as everyone else
on the street.
Is this some kind of test to see if he'll steal it? He has to admit that a part of him – a deep
hidden part that he's no longer listening to, but a part none the less – is already planning it.
Maybe he could whisk Blondie off at the same time and they could live happily someplace
where he would never have to hear about influencing microeconomic performance or
governmental accountability. But honestly, if he hasn't stolen anything by now is there
really any lingering doubt?
Yes, of course there is, not from the king and queen, but from others. So maybe this is to
prove to everyone else that he can be trusted around large quantities of cash that's
supposed to go to feed sickly, uneducated orphans. Who are on fire. You'd have to be a
really twisted asshole to steal from flaming, coughing children. Even Flynn Rider wouldn't
have done it. (Because he'd never thought of it.)
So this adventure might be his chance to show up some naysayers and win over some
people who are still a bit unsure about his transformation. He'll flash his handsome face at
people, do good deeds, kiss some babies… Oh, the king's a crafty one.
Rapunzel helps him study that night. His book is dull and uses a bunch of jargon that he
could understand if he tried, but he doesn't want to try. Eventually she takes it from him,
puts it away, makes herself comfortable, and starts to tell him everything to book covers.
She actually seems excited to do it too. She's gathered up so much knowledge that she's
just bursting to share it, to show how much she's learned, to prove that she's been trying
and in some way succeeding. Of course, Eugene's not the one she has to prove things to,
but he's there and that's always been good enough for her.
She tries her best to make it interesting, stopping to tell him anecdotes about her instructor
dropping stacks of books, sharing all the odd ways that she remembers new terminology,
and using metaphors that only she would ever come up with. A little part of him is actually
starting to get it, and that terrifies him into shutting off his brain and focusing on the
texture of her hair, the music of her voice, the gentle curves of her ear, her cheek, her lips.
He traces a finger slowly over her bottom lip, marveling at how the delicately plump flesh
dimples beneath his touch. She trails off to stare up at him, her eyes wide and entrancing,
the deep green of siren song.
He blinks once and averts his eyes. "Sorry. You were saying that something's like… uh, pie
filling?"
He chances a glance back down at her just in time to catch her eyebrows contract for a
second in confusion. She looks down at the hand he's dropped to her arm, and with the
same care she would give to the finest crystal, she lifts it up and inspects it, cradling it in
her hands before gently tracing the lines across his palm and the invisible scar where she
once healed him. He never would have guessed that such a small act could make his skin
tingle so much. It's almost painful and his fingers twitch in her hand as she marks a trail up
the length of his forefinger. She pulls at the tendons of his fingers, at the muscles in his
arm, at the strings of his heart, and all the nerves rushing to his groin. She draws up every
fiber of his being, pulls them taut, sets them burning with anticipation, and bundles them
together in a tangled knot in the palm of his hand.
She looks up at him out of the corner of her eye just to see his reaction, and he realizes
that he must look pretty ridiculous with his slack jaw and tensed muscles, but she takes this
as confirmation that she's doing something right and she gently lifts his hand back to her
lips, pressing a kiss against the heart of his palm, against the knot of prickling cords
begging, singing for her to touch them. He takes in a deep shuttering breath as the
pressure of her soft lips disrupt the tension she painstakingly built.
She drags her parted lips up the length of his finger, leaving behind the most tantalizing
hint of moist skin, then she licks her way back down to his palm, and his hand spasms at
her attentiveness to every firm muscle, at the heat of her breath and the wetness as her
tongue wraps around him. His free hand clenches against her waist, thin silk sliding over her
firm muscles, and she moves under his touch, pulling herself closer so the heat of her
presses against him in the most relieving way possible. Her eyes flutter closed and she
plants a firm kiss at the base of the digit, then starts to work her way back up.
He grips her tight, maybe too tight, gripping her so she can feel what she's doing to him, so
she can know exactly how dizzy and lustful he's becoming, how there's an urgent pull in his
groin and a shallowness to his breath. A soft hum of pleasure passes from her lips to his
skin to run straight to the base of his spine.
And she slips the tip of his finger seamlessly into her mouth and sucks, and for a moment
he imagines that it's not her lips squeezing him, that it's not his finger she's circling with her
tongue.
For a moment a blind need overwhelms him like a heat wave collapsing against his bones,
and he has to yank his hand away before he does something really bad. "Stop. Stop, stop,
stop."
"What? Did I do something wrong?"
He can imagine her face, scared and wide eyed and anxious, but he can't bring himself to
look at her. He takes several deep breaths and keeps his eyes closed. "No. You're great.
You're… really great."
"Then what's wrong?" Her arm slips around his neck in an attempt to get him to look at her.
She shifts her weight, rocking her hips against him and pressing her chest to his. It's
unintentional, and it's all in the name of concern, but it's not helping him at all.
He hisses through his teeth. "If you keep doing that I'm going to do something stupid."
"Like what?"
"Like fuck you."

Oops.
Oh great, and now he's looking at her again.
She blinks a few times in rapid succession, trying to process this new bit of information.
Then she glances back and forth between his darkened face and his hand, which has now
settled itself on her thigh. And when did that happen?
"Eugene-"
"Tell me more about… aww crap, what was it you were talking about?"
"Eugene-"
"Rapunzel," they stare at each other for a moment, and he makes an effort to unclench his
fingers, which might very well be bruising her. "You're just too sexy, so stop torturing me
and tell me about taxes."
She gives him a look that he can't exactly place, just a tilt of her head and a twitch of her
nose. "You said a few minutes ago that taxes were torture."
"Better of two evils."
"I'm not evil."
"I beg to differ, Goldie."
She grins and slips away - not too far, but he misses the feel of her anyway. He groans and
runs his hands over his face to try to get some feeling back into it, and she starts to talk
again as though nothing happened.
Chapter 26

"I've been thinking."
"About what, Blondie?"
"If we got married, we could have sex."
Eugene pauses in his act of tightening up Maximus' saddle, draws his eyebrows together,
and watches her as she clasps her hands behind her back and rocks back on her heels with
a smug look on her face.
He quickly scans the area to see if there's anyone within earshot, but all the servants and
accountants and guards are distracted, hurrying around shouting at each other while they
try to get all the gold on the cart and squared away, still clinging to the chance that they
might leave on time. Eugene was ready to go a half hour ago, and he offered to help out,
but they gave him a definitive no and told him to back off. It wasn't a surprising response.
With everyone distracted, he figures that the coast is clear for them to have a hushed
conversation, until he remembers that the horse is there. Maximus cranes his neck around
to unleash a glare.
"Don't give me that. She's the one that brought it up."
The horse turns to Rapunzel and narrows his eyes to inspect her, but she makes a kissy
face and scratches his ears, so Max turns his glare back on Eugene.
That doesn't seem very fair, but then again he's never won an argument with the horse
anyway, so her feminine wiles aren't really affecting anything.
He takes a deep breath and leans back as casually as he can, folding his arms over his
chest. "Where'd this new idea come from?"
"My etiquette teacher told me that's how it works."
"Did she?"
"Uh huh."
"She couldn't have explained this to you a few months ago?"
"Well… she didn't want to talk about anything useful. I asked and she just turned red and
told me that 'men of ill repute would try to steal my virtue.'"
"Ah." He turns back to Max's saddle.
"I think she was talking about you."
"How 'bout that."
"But she did say that once I was married I could give my virtue to my husband. And at first
I thought that meant that if we got married, everyone would know you were a good person,
because you'd have virtue. But then I figured out she was talking about sex. It's an odd
euphemism, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"So what do you think," she asks.
"I think they're almost ready to go."
"No, about getting married."
"I've told you what I think about that."
"But don't you want to have sex?"
He stops again and blinks at her. She looks genuinely confused, and he shakes his head and
turns away again. "You're a tease."
"And you need to get over yourself."
He snorts.
"Come on," she says. "That way we'll both win."
"Both win? You act like you won't enjoy the sex part of this deal."
Max shoves him, and he elbows the monster in the side in response.
Goldie blushes, but makes a valiant effort towards covering it. "And maybe you'll like the
marriage part. Remember how you thought you wouldn't like the floating lanterns, but you
had a good time anyway?"
"Yeah, good times… getting knocked unconscious… thrown in prison… thinking you were
kidnapped by dimwitted criminals with a hair fetish."
"I meant before that."
He sighs. "I know."
He meets her eyes again to offer her a soft, little smile, which makes her blush more.
Then his eyes narrow. "Just a second… You're trying to bribe me again. If I marry you, you'll
give me something I want. This is the satchel fiasco all over again!"
"You just agreed that turned out for the best."
"You're not going to be able to get everything you want that way, Blondie."
She shrugs. "It's worked well so far."
He has to give her that one.
"Give me your foot," he says, bending so she can set her foot in his cupped hands. He easily
hoists her up onto Max's back, where she settles herself while he climbs up behind her.
It was expected that if the princess was going to go on this trip, then she would ride in a
royal carriage that would parade along in front of the cart full of money. So when it was
announced that Rapunzel would be going with them there were a few hours of hysteria
while they tried to organize everything that would be involved in such an endeavor. But
then Eugene put a stop to it, saying that it would be best for everyone if he just took her on
Maximus.
Not only would there be a distinct lack of motion sickness and claustrophobia, but Rapunzel
would also have the chance to ogle the city and wave at everyone and talk to people and
probably stop for souvenirs and pastries. She would have a great time, and the people in
town always liked seeing her. It would also provide prime baby kissing opportunities for
Eugene, but that was secondary to Goldie's happiness.
But regardless of how great an idea this was, the suggestion was greeted with outrage that
escalated into a shouting match between Eugene, the steward, and the stable master, and
only ended when the queen showed up and explained Rapunzel's dislike of carriages. She
said almost the exact same thing Eugene had said, just in a softer voice. Now the steward
was feeling personally insulted for some reason, and he was directing all his anger towards
Eugene. Not that he cared.
He sets an arm around her waist and pulls Maximus around to wait for the rest of the
caravan to get their act together.
"I'd be a good wife," she says.
"I'm sure you would."
"I'd be good at sex too."
He freezes. Then he looks down at her and her perfectly innocent smile – innocent and
eager to please, one that makes him want to abandon this whole field trip into town and
carry her off somewhere to find out just how good she could be. It's also a smile that sets
off several alarm bells that scream, "She doesn't know what she's saying!" "You're a
terrible, horrible person!" "She's trying to get you to agree to something. Watch out!" "Stop
staring at her like that. Get a hold of yourself!"
He gulps and looks away, only to lock eyes with Max, who has never looked so horrified.
"See what I have to deal with?"
Maximus nods his head very slowly, staring at Rapunzel like he's never seen her before.
"What?" she asks.
"Quit trying to seduce me."
Yeah. That's a sentence he never thought he'd say. And now he feels stupid for saying it.
"Look," he says, lowering his voice and trying again, "where would we be if I agreed to a
deal like that? If we get married, I want you to know that it's because we've really got
something. Not because I want to get laid or because I want people to stop giving me dirty
looks. Does that make sense?"
She bites her lip. "A little bit."
He plants a quick kiss against her temple and straightens his posture as one of the guards
rides up to announce that they are ready to depart.
Eugene doesn't delude himself into thinking that her excitement over a day in the city has
ended the conversation. It's just on an extended hiatus while she's distracted, and the
debate will most likely pick right back up that evening or the next day or the day after, and
she will have had time to come up with new arguments and he'll have had time to think
about how soft her skin is and how good it tastes when it's sweaty.
He has a feeling he's not going to win this war, but by God he's going to put up a fight.
They barely make it three blocks before she tries to get Eugene to stop so she can watch a
group of boys playing a game. He has to remind her that they're on a schedule and it
wouldn't really do to have such a large chunk of the treasury sitting in the middle of the
street while she plays a game of sardines. They can do all the exploring she wants on the
way back. She agrees, on the condition that he explain to her what sardines is.
She asks a lot of questions about the rules of sardines, some so obscure that he honestly
doesn't know the answer. Eventually one of the guards – a new one, who doesn't seem that
upset at Eugene's presence and isn't weirded out by the princess' oddness - over hears and
steps in to talk at length about his vast experience playing sardines, and she starts quizzing
him about the finer points and unlikely contingencies. Eugene never even considered that
there would be finer points. You look for someone who's hiding then hide somewhere else
until you're the next to last person out and about so you don't have other kids invading your
personal space, or you hide until everyone finds you or until you get tired of hiding and
come out to discover that you had hidden so well that the other kids had given up looking
for you and moved on to tag. He suspects that the new guard is making up most of the
rules that he's telling the princess, but that's fine as Eugene will never be involved in a
game of sardines with her.
Hopefully.
Their first stop is the fire brigade, where they give the princess a tour while the accountants
settle everything and sign way too many papers. The fire brigade excitedly give Rapunzel
one of their uniform hats, then show her where they keep all the buckets. They show her
the map of the city where all the wells and streams are marked, and she stares at it in
fascination, her eyes sparkling but shadowed under her oversized hat. She plays with the
dogs, who lick her face and leave her sticky, and there's some talk about letting her slide
down the pole from the second floor to the first floor, but then the accountants finish up
their work, ruin everyone's fun, and shuffle the party off to the next stop.
She decides that the hat looks better on Eugene, and the new guard laughs and agrees with
her.
Their next stop is the school on the west end of the island where a thousand children
(seriously, a thousand, Eugene counted) swarm out of the building to crowd around
Rapunzel and hug her. If she wasn't already sticky from the dogs, she'll surely be sticky
from the all children after this stop. Walking into the building is like wading through a bog,
and he has to shift two kids aside every time he takes a step, and when he finally makes it
to the classroom they're supposed to hang out in he finds that he has one kid in his arms,
balanced against a hip, and another in a piggy back ride on his back.
Goldie thinks this is hilarious, because being assaulted by eight-year-olds is funny.
He raises an eyebrow at her over the head of the boy in his arms, who promptly sneezes on
him. Great. Way to mess up his flirting while he's looking compassionate, kid.
Instead of a tour, the school has the younger kids sing a song, which Rapunzel then wants
to learn (Eugene can tell) but they move on to having the older students recite before she
can ask.
Blondie has never been to school and she finds the entire institution fascinating - everything
from the little desks and slates to the picture books and the way the students stand to
answer questions. He can see her fingers twitch as she gazes at the chalk boards, her eyes
darting back and forth as she plans the mural she could create there. Eugene makes a note
to find a way to get her a chalk board. She'd like that. Her mom would like that too as it
might protect the three hundred year old crown molding in the princess' bedroom from
being painted to look like daisy chains.
He can see the greedy way she watches the clumps of girls, who whisper and giggle with
each other. She never had anyone to giggle with aside from Pascal and the thugs from the
Snuggly Duckling. At the moment those feel like pitiful imitations, like a shadow of the real
thing. He knows how nasty girls can be when they're in groups, but it still doesn't seem
right that she should be denied something so basic. Maybe one of her handmaidens, one
close to her age, could take up the role of bestie gal pal. But then again, asking someone to
be her friend would be all kinds of wrong.
It's going to be way easier to get her a black board.
She's quiet as they leave the school, seeming to sink into herself, to hide by pressing as
deeply into his chest as she can. He holds her tighter and murmurs into her ear.
"How ya doin'?"
"Ok," she says.
"You seem less chipper. You need a break?"
"No."
"We can stop and have an early lunch if you're getting overwhelmed."
"I'm fine."
"I could just take you back to the castle if you wanted."
She starts to tell him that she's really alright, but then she pauses to think about his offer.
After a moment she shakes her head. "You couldn't get away with it."
"Sure I could. I can do anything. I'll just say, 'Crap! I've lost my frog! Have you seen him?
He's about this big, with big, freaky eyes and a taste for ear wax. Is he in your ear? No?
Well, we need to go back and look for him then. See ya.' And we'd just turn around and go
home."
She snickers quietly and he feels her shoulders relax. Sometimes just knowing there's an
exit available makes it easier to keep going.
"I'm ok," she repeats, this time sounding like she means it. "It's just… a lot."
"Yeah."
"But I think it's going well so far, don't you?"
"You know, I think it is."
She beams up at him, the sunlight making her hair shine and her eyes dance, and he grins
back, thinking that the day isn't going to be nearly as bad as he expected.
He's wrong.
Chapter 27

The tour of the hospital is much more formal than anywhere else they've been. This is
mainly because no one dog piles him and they don't give the princess any silly gifts. The
two doctors who show Rapunzel and Eugene around act as though they've given this tour
before, and this translates into Rapunzel being on her best behavior so as not to disrupt
their routine or have them think she's strange.
She could spend all day in the room where they store the medicines. There's so much to
take in, stones that are being crushed up in mortars to make fine powders, herbs that hang
from the ceiling to dry that smell sweet as smashed berries, vials full of liquids of every
color, and jars full of leaches that are both disgusting and fascinating at the same time. She
bites down her desire to learn the name of every last ingredient as the doctors hurry them
on to the next site.
It's been a few weeks at least since she felt this overwhelmed. She's been doing a good job
lately of knowing her limits, of knowing how far she can push herself. She knows the signs
of when she needs a break, when she needs to sit and clear all the sensations away. First
her shoulders start to feel weak, like she wants to hunch in on herself and hide. Then it gets
harder to breathe, not suffocatingly so, but like something heavy is resting on her chest.
She feels tight and confined, and at the same time she feels like she might explode while
trying to fill the hugeness of the world around her. Then her hands start to shake and at
that point she usually drops something.
Her hands started to shake an hour ago.
That's why she would rather spend their tour just in one room. If they're going to show her
something, she wants to stop and learn everything about it, so she can understand it and
file it away appropriately. Teasing her with hundreds of different things that she's going to
have to research later is just mean, and her laundry list of things to look up is getting so
long that she's forgotten the first few items she put on it, and that thought just makes the
anxiety worse.
Eugene's hand has been at the small of her back since they arrived. He guides her from one
room to the next, so she doesn't have to think about it – not that it's much to think about in
the first place, but she does recognize that it helps. Every now and then he rubs his thumb
against her back in a way that's so reassuring it's almost funny.
Well, it almost makes her burst out in hysterical giggles, but then again that might be more
about her nerves than about Eugene.
"…and as you can see," one of the doctors says while leading them down a hallway, "We
would like to expand this ward to include-"
He's cut off as a howl rips through the air, long and unearthly and ravaged with pain. She
jumps and pulls her hands to her chest, making herself small, trying to cover her heart
before the noise can tear it out.
The doctors exchange one anxious glance, then hurry down the hallway towards the
scream. Eugene tries to grab her, to hold her back, but she's already darted forward, out of
reach. Distantly she hears him swear and chase after her.
It's kind of like a dream, something that she watches without participating, something that's
happening around her while she is powerless to stop it. She's had this feeling so many times
since she left the tower, since it became clear how much of her life she can't control.
The man stops screaming and starts shaking violently, his eyes rolled back, jerking around
wildly on a thin bed while doctors swarm around him, their hands frantic even though she
can't make out what they're doing. She can't really see them. With her vision focused on
the tortured man everything around him is blurred. She watches as he chokes.
Someone takes hold of her, but before they pull her away there is a moment, a single flash
of a glimpse as blood gurgles up and spills over and pours freely out of his mouth. The
image burns itself against her eyes so even as she's moved away she can't see where she's
going – all she can see is the blood so bright it can't be real and the man's haunted, empty
eyes.
She's cold. Cold, and dizzy, and is she shivering or are her hands shaking?
"Breathe for me, alright? Just breathe."
She's sitting on something and someone guides her head down between her knees, plucking
her crown from her head before it slips off. She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut, but
the blood won't go away. It seeps from her eyes into her mind, then down into her heart
and leaves her sticky and dirty and so very, very scared.
"That a girl. You're doing alright. You're going to be ok."
Someone's rubbing her back – and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows it's
Eugene, but for some reason knowing it's him only makes her shudder. She wishes the
rubbing would stop, because it's making her feel sick.
"Shh. You're doing good. Just keep breathing."
That man is going to die. He might already be dead. He needs help. Someone has to help
him.
She lifts her head and pushes herself quickly to her feet. Maybe it's a bit too quickly
because she sways before Eugene grabs both her elbows for support, rising from his place
kneeling in front of her. She blinks around, realizing that he's taken her outside and that's
why it's cold (or part of why it's cold), and he has her crown dangling off his elbow and such
a concerned look on his face that she can't even begin to process it.
"Someone has to help him," she says. "Someone has to-" she makes a move back towards
the building, but he stops her, and she reaches for her hair, but-
"Woah. Hold on. You need to sit down."
"No. He's dying and I can save him. I can- I-"
She meets his eyes for the first time, and they're so… they're so…
They're so much like they were just before he died.
And now she can't just see the blood, she can feel the stickiness of it, the phantom pulse
against her hand as she tries to cover it with her hair – blood so bright it can't be real. And
now she can feel his grip on her wrist as he holds her back – or maybe that's actually
happening. And now her eyes are clouding with tears.
"Eugene," she sobs, and throws her arms around him, pulling him tight and pressing her
cheek against his chest so she can feel his pulse, so she can remember that he is still alive.
He enfolds her in his arms, warm and secure and most definitely real, and she contrasts the
feeling of his touch, of his cheek against her hair and the moisture of his breath in the cold,
with the lingering feeling that her hands are soaked in blood.
"You left me," she whimpers. "You died and left me all alone."
He stiffens and holds her tighter, shutting his eyes against the pain in her voice. He knows.
He beats himself up about the same thing, about how he showed her the world and then
ripped away everything she knew, everything familiar. Life as she knew it and everyone she
loved were destroyed with two quick slashes.
He holds her tighter, as if to say he's sorry. He is. He's sorry he hurt her and he's sorry that
it had to come to that. But he's not sorry he did it. He would do it again in a heartbeat.
They stand together like that until her shaking turns to shivers. He pulls back and wipes the
freezing tears from her cheeks. Maybe going outside was a bad idea, but he thought that
getting some air that didn't smell like sickness would do her some good, and that the cold
might snap her back together. He rubs his hands over her arms to try to warm her.
"Come on," he says. "I'll take you home."
"What?"
"Home. Where you live. We'll set you by a fire and feed you something warm and we'll play
a game of checkers with Pascal."
Her frown grows more pronounced. "But we're not done with the taxes yet."
"So?"
"So we have to finish."
"They don't need us to finish."
"But people are expecting me. I can't disappoint them."
"No," he says flatly.
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. I'm not going to let you push yourself any more today."
Her eyes narrow. "You're not going to let me?"
He knows this is a trap. He can feel it in the hairs on the back of his neck. So he thinks
about his choices for a moment. He could say, no, do whatever you want, and then watch
as she has another episode. Or he could hold his ground and have her be mad at him.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "That's right."
She cuts through this show of determination so effectively it's like it never happened. "Stop
making decisions for me."
She might as well have punched him. She might as well have renamed her cast iron skillet
"Guilt trip" and whacked him over the head with it.
He swallows. "I just… I want you to be alright."
"I'm fine," she says, and there's a defensiveness to her voice that doesn't cover how it's
shaking. "I'm going to finish this."
He really doesn't have a leg to stand on to argue with her.
Chapter 28

The thing about Flynn Rider was that he could get anybody to do anything. He could talk or
charm or cheat his way out of any situation.
At least that's how Eugene remembers Flynn Rider, but the details are starting to get hazy.
Flynn Rider's crushing defeat at the hands of the one girl on Earth who could not be
charmed has elevated the way he thinks about his old self to the stature of a legend. He
tells himself that things used to be a certain way before Rapunzel, but at this point Eugene
has taken over to such an extent that he's starting to doubt if any of it was true. Was he
really that great after all or was he just constantly deluding himself? If he was as awesome
as he tells himself he was, then why can't he tap into that and get Blondie to quit being
crazy?
He doesn't know. What he does know is that Eugene is an unhelpful sap who's going to dig
them into a deeper pit before he can man up and act.
So he makes a conscious decision. He is going to be Flynn Rider for the rest of the day and
that way they are going to survive this.
The problem is that there's no convincing her to change her mind. He's known this for a
while now, and she's not going to change that part of her personality today just because he
wants her to. I'm going to see the floating lights no matter what! I'm going to go on a crazy
tour that's giving me multiple panic attacks! I'm going to be sultry and obnoxious until you
agree to marry me!
He hadn't gotten out of the first one. He wasn't going to get out of the second. And the
third… Good grief. If he has any room left in his brain to be mad at her he would be, but
right now he's busy coming up with a plan. Maybe later he can get upset with her.
Oh good. Something to look forward to.
Since he can't get them out of this by changing Rapunzel's mind, the only thing to do is to
change everyone else's. Yes. Ok. That's doable.
She shivers in his arms and he absently pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders and his
arm tighter around her waist. She sneaks her hand over his to give it a squeeze, but her
eyes remain focused on a spot somewhere between Maximus' ears.
Then he slaps himself, because that's a Eugene thing to do. It's a nice thing to do, but it's
still… oh crap, this already isn't working.
He bends his head to murmur in her ear so only she can hear him. Well, Max can probably
hear too, but he doesn't count.
"I have a plan," he says, sure to keep his voice calm and pitched in a way that won't startle
her, sure not to nuzzle her ear or her neck. "Go along with it, alright?"
"I'm not running away."
"So I've heard. But this isn't running away. We're just changing the rules a bit."
"What do you mean?"
"Remember that meeting where we talked about distribution, and it went on forever, and
everyone was arguing, and Lord Steven had spinach in his teeth."
"It's hard to forget."
"You remember how everyone was in an uproar about the security in the poor house?"
"The work house," she corrects.
"Follow my lead and this might be a less stressful trip than the others."
She turns her head to give him a skeptical look, but by then they've arrived and he helps
her down, noting that she is still acting a bit dizzy.
He makes sure that she's stable, before he puts on his determined face and marches
straight up to the head accountant. If you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you
might as well use it. And if you act confident enough you can get away with anything.
"Master Perkins, I wish to speak with you on behalf of the princess."
The accountant pauses looking through his stack of documents to raise a pencil thin
eyebrow. He is one of the people who would prefer for Eugene to be as far away from him
and his loved ones as humanly possible. "Oh really?" His voice creaks skeptically. Ok,
maybe confidence isn't all he needs.
"Yes." By now Rapunzel has joined him at his elbow, looking as though she might have
another panic attack, and expecting Eugene to stab her in the back by announcing that she
wants to go home. "The princess is deeply concerned about the security measures in this
institution. She requests to personally inspects the accommodations."
The accountant looks aghast that he hasn't been informed of this change ahead of time. He
also looks a bit hurt that someone is questioning his judgment. But thankfully, he directs all
this blame at Eugene rather than the princess. Who does Eugene think he is anyway?
He turns to the princess for confirmation and she nods her head slowly, still not entirely
sure how Eugene's plan is going to help.
But it's enough. The accountant sighs deeply, agrees to her demands, and shows them
inside, leading them straight to an office in the back without stopping to speak or even look
at the few dirty children and thin, frail women who peek their heads out for a look at
royalty. Rapunzel has her head held high and her eyes locked on the back of the
accountant's head, and this leaves Eugene to grin at the children and wink at their mothers,
who blush and pull their children back. In a few minutes they won't remember that the new
princess didn't give them the time of day. They'll remember that they saw her and she was
beautiful and her escort was charming.
The accountant begrudgingly introduces them to the work house director and Rapunzel is so
used to introductions by now that she handles herself with poise. Only Eugene can see that
her smile does not reach her eyes.
He makes himself taller, clears his throat in a commanding way, and gives the director a
fierce glare that nearly makes the man shit himself. "Concerns have been raised about your
security. Show us what measures you've taken to alleviate those fears."
It should also be noted that Flynn has pulled this act before. "I'm here to inspect your
security. Show me where your safe is and tell me the combination. Oh, no, no, no, this
won't do at all. Give it to me and I'll fix it up for you to make it better. Wouldn't want
vandals to come and steal your life savings, would we?"
But now he's standing next to the princess and he's wearing nice clothes, and he's in the
party of government servants, so this is going to be about a million times easier. Especially
since the goal is just to waste an hour of time, rather than steal a whole bunch of money.
Phil would be proud that he doesn't pull at the collar of his jacket, even though it's getting
painfully annoying again.
The director rises, looking frightened and explains that they keep the money here in his
office and only he has the key.
Eugene gives him a long, intense look that makes him gulp, then turns to inspect the lock.
Maybe those bureaucrats had a point other than "poor people are sketchy and will steal
anything." Security here was a joke. If he ever did have a desire to rob the place, it would
be too easy. It wouldn't even be fun.
"This is your lock?" he asks with contempt. He sighs theatrically. "Anyone could pick this.
It's so easy I bet..." he looks around, as if trying to find a volunteer, "Ah! I bet the princess
could do it."
"What? This is nonsense! That door is entirely secure."
Rapunzel's eyes enlarge, and he bows before asking in a whisper that carries, "Do you have
two hairpins, your highness?"
She nods slowly, and he grins at the director, guides her outside the office, and waits for
the lock to click shut behind them.
"I think this is going well," he murmurs.
"What are you doing?" she hisses. "This is insane!"
"I am going to keep you doing simple and easy tasks until everyone gets done moving
money around and then we can move along."
"And having me pick locks is making it easier for me? People are going to think I'm crazy."
"No. They're going to think I'm crazy. They're going to think you're very sweet for putting
up with me. Now show 'em what you got."
She narrows her eyes at him, plucks out two hair pins, and sets to work on the lock. Thirty
seconds later it pops open with a click, but during that time he watches her as she finds a
focus and puts aside her other troubles, even if it's just for those short moments. She
straightens up to give him a blank look.
"That's my girl. If we weren't in the middle of something I'd kiss you."
"Too bad we're in the middle of something." With that she opens the door and strides in,
much to the director's dismay.
"Yeah, buddy. You're really going to need a better lock on that."
The man swells, puffing out his cheeks indignantly. "You helped her!"
Eugene turns to Rapunzel. "Did I help you?"
"No."
"There you go."
The director splutters, his face growing redder, reminding Rapunzel a bit of Pascal. She
misses Pascal right now, and reminds herself that he needs to come with her if they ever do
something like this again.
"That's not the only security measure we have!"
"Really? What else you got?"
"We keep the money in a safe."
"And which safe is that?"
"This one!" The man points at a black, metal box in the corner, and for a moment victory
gleams in his eyes before he realizes that telling someone where you keep your money is
probably not the best safety procedure. His grin fades a bit.
"That safe?" Eugene asks.
The director attempts to hold on to some measure of pride, and laces his voice with
defiance. "Yes."
"Huh. I thought you were going to tell me that's a toy."
The man huffs.
"So where do you hide it?"
"What?"
"Well, it's out today because you were expecting us and don't want to show us your hiding
place, but where do you keep it the rest of the time?"
"Uh…"
"…You don't just leave it there, do you?"
"So what if I do?"
Eugene sighs and trades a look with Rapunzel. His look says, Some people, am I right? Her
says, Please don't hurt this man's feelings.
He strolls up to the safe, taps it a few times here and there with his finger tips, listening for
the subtle changes in pitch, then he takes the butt of his hand and hits it, causing the safe
to spring open immediately.
He crosses his arms over his chest as he gives the director a pitying look. "Now do you want
to talk about your security problems?"
This does the trick, and Eugene is amazingly proud of himself as he keeps Rapunzel and the
director busy for the next hour trying to find a place to hide a safe in an office. Rapunzel
looks at this like a kind of game and within a few minutes she's smiling again.
Eugene then gives detailed instructions for what new kind of lock to get and some simple
security measures that will make it more difficult for people like Flynn Rider to rob him
blind. It'll make it difficult, but not impossible because Flynn Rider could steal anything if he
put his mind to it. Rapunzel likes this part too, because she thinks hearing about anything in
obsessive detail is interesting. She also likes hearing Eugene's stories about being a dashing
rouge, even if they're taken slightly out of context like this.
Her face is relaxed again as they leave, but her shoulders tense as they make their way
through the streets again. It's late afternoon and the streets are growing more crowded. A
group of kids are trying to fly a kite, which veers dangerously close to her head. A group of
women are screaming at a vendor. A dog runs up and snaps at Maximus' feet, causing him
to prance sideways and snarl. They can hear a band playing a dance number, but it's
impossible to tell which building it's coming from. The street alternates between smelling
like bread, and smelling like fish, and smelling like mud, and smelling like paint so rapidly
that it makes her head spin.
Their next stop is the asylum, and given the speed that her eyes are darting between every
last little thing and that her breathing hasn't felt right in hours, Eugene makes the decision
that he is going to do whatever's necessary to keep her from even going inside. He may
have to fake some sort of sudden illness or maybe a broken leg or something. It would
freak her out, but then they'd go home where she could calm down.
As luck would have it, the director of the asylum meets them out on the front steps and
Eugene puts on his "I'm your new best friend" grin and starts saying ridiculous things about
the building's architecture.
"Look at that roofing, Blondie. Have you ever seen tiles that shade of red before? That's
amazing."
She looks at him like he's crazy, and his craziness is about to make her cry, but then the
director hurries forward looking beside himself with glee. "Yes! They are quite spectacular,
aren't they. You have a good eye, sir."
"I do, don't I?"
They both laugh. The director laughs because he's finally found someone to talk to about
the joy of roof repair. Eugene laughs because he's shocked that this is actually working.
"We imported them from [someplace Eugene's never heard of.]"
"You don't say!"
"Have you ever been there?"
"Who hasn't?"
"Haha! I went there on holiday [at some time for some duration] with my good friend
[whose dropped name means nothing to Eugene.]"
"[That guy's name only appropriately shortened]! You don't say. What's he been up to?"
"Retired."
"Good for him. He deserves it after so many years of [random guess at a hobby]."
"He certainly does. That old so-and-so"
"Now tell me more about this roof."
The conversation then moves to the angle of the slope of the roof. Eugene suspects that it
would be difficult to climb, especially in winter. The director says that they actually found a
way to put a third floor inside the roof and it works great except that the walls are all
slanted, which confuses their patients and makes the nurses whack their heads. Rapunzel
chimes in in a delicate little voice to say that the angle is actually purposeful so that from
afar it holds a ratio that [some Greek guy] thought was the most beautiful thing ever. The
director thinks that's the greatest thing he's ever heard.
Then they talk about what the most beautiful thing ever is. Rapunzel says that it's flowers
and she recently saw the most wonderful painting of flowers called [something to do with
Spring] by [some guy that did a lot of paintings.] And now she's back on a topic she knows,
talking to just one new person who seems interested, and her posture eases visibly. Eugene
says some crap about beauty being in the eye of the beholder, and the director readily
agrees with him in a way that makes Eugene suspect that the director is trying to hit on
him.
Huh. Well… he can work with that.
They move on to some other philosophical disagreements, where Eugene understands
absolutely nothing and nods a lot and says things like, "I'd never thought of it that way,"
and "Surely you must be joking," and "I couldn't agree more, my friend." It doesn't really
matter, because as long as he stands a certain way, with his head cocked to the side and
his arms crossed casually over his chest, the director doesn't seem to hear a word he says
anyway. Every now and then he'll grin and toss his hair just for good measure. Goldie
probably thinks he has a tick, but she's too involved in explaining some odd minor concept
from a philosopher who's been dead for hundreds of years to call him on it.
He's starting to believe that his plan is perfect. He is a genius. And everyone should be in
awe of how cunningly he has saved his princess. One more stop and they'd be home and
she will admit that he saved the day and she needs him and ought to listen to him more,
and then he'll pull her close and-
"I think they're ready to move on," she says.
"Huh? Oh. Right."
It's going well, but with the realization that their next stop is the orphanage, his fantastical
Flynn-ness starts to fall away in chunks and a knot forms in his stomach that's so tight it's
hard to breathe. He's never been Flynn there. He's only been Eugene, who was scared and
needy and wished for nothing more than a family. He used to hide and he used to cry, and
he has no desire to return, no desire to have his Flynn persona who could handle such
things ripped away, no desire to crumple in front of Rapunzel and maybe bring her down too
with his weakness.
He doesn't want her to see where he grew up, because it's sad and she doesn't need any
more of that in her life.
"Eugene?" she whispers, pushing back against his chest to bring her voice closer to his ear.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm great. Why?"
She searches his face for a moment and he realizes that at this point she may be able to
sense his moods as well as he can sense hers. She shakes her head and turns forward
again, which is probably a good call. But then he realizes that she's not ignoring him
completely, because she's started to soak up his stress and the heartbeat in the hand
against his starts to pick up.
His anxiety makes her anxious and her anxiety makes him more anxious, so by the time
they get there they're a big ball of frayed nerves. Great!
He reaches up to pull at his collar, but then thinks better of it and drops his hand again with
a growl.
The headmaster is standing in the doorway to greet them when they arrive. Actually, greet
seems like far too friendly a term. The man is probably there to berate them, hit them with
a ruler, then act emotionally distant for the next few days.
A small hand slips into his, and he looks down to see Rapunzel following his gaze. She has
that look, that hardness to her eyes and that set of her jaw that means she's terrified, but
she's going to be brave. Usually in these situations her version of bravery comes pretty
close to stupidity, and so the sight of her fills him with equal parts encouragement and
dread.
"You once told me to go big or go home," she says, just soft enough that her words are lost
under the bustle of all the guards.
"We could go home." He throws in an eyebrow wiggle just for good measure, just to show
the somewhere deep inside Flynn's still kicking.
She looks up at him and puts on a very fake looking smile. It doesn't suit her. "Don't be
scared."
She rubs her thumb over his knuckles and pulls him forward, toward the drab little building
growing darker shades of grey in the retreating light.
Chapter 29

There are several appropriate ways to greet royalty. There are also several ways to greet
other humans without looking like a dick. "We were expecting you two hours ago," is not
one of them.
Rapunzel makes an attempt at a laugh that comes out more like a startled croak, hoping at
any moment this man with sunken eyes and sunken cheeks and a sunken heart with beam
at her and shout "just kidding," before pulling her into a welcoming hug.
Eugene doesn't hold on to any such hope. His whole life he has only heard two kind words
from the headmaster. One of them was sarcastic. The other was directed at someone else.
Usually Eugene would respond to behavior like this by rolling his eyes, crossing his arms
over his chest, and ignoring the rudeness until it came to an end. But with Goldie around –
and shit, is she shaking under this asshole's glare? – he can't just let that pass.
"Well," he says, "You know how time flies when you're doing very important things."
The headmaster ignores him and continues to address Rapunzel. "I didn't realize that we
were so low on your list of priorities."
"Oh no! It's not like that at all. We were just-"
"Excuse me." The headmaster pushes past her to approach the carriage and berate the
accountants. Rapunzel stares after him, looking utterly confused, a sight that makes the
knot of dread in Eugene's stomach solidify into a hardened mass and start oozing some
chemical that makes him feel queasy.
"I don't think he recognized you," she murmurs.
Eugene snorts.
A few moments later the headmaster returns leading a procession of two accountants and
three guards carrying a chest full of gold. He pauses to give Rapunzel a look that is not
quite a glare, but close enough to make her mouth go dry.
"Excuse us," he says, his tone far from polite, and Rapunzel scurries back a few feet to
allow them to pass into the building.
"Uh… excuse me," she says, bringing the stomping procession to a halt. "We were supposed
to have a… uh… a tour?"
Poor thing, she's trying so hard. It's a miracle she's even still on her feet considering how
pale she is.
"As I said in my budget request, we are short on staff. If you can't live without a tour, then
I suggest you have Fitzherbert give you one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have very important
things to attend to."
The guards give her pained looks out of the corners of their eyes as they pass, and
Rapunzel's eyebrows twitch together as she watches their retreating forms.
Eugene slides next to her, slipping a comforting hand on the small of her back as they stare
into the building.
"He is not a very nice man," she says.
"Nope. But he recognized me." He doesn't really know where the joke comes from. His brain
isn't functioning enough to process anything more than, "I'm back at the orphanage. Oh no.
The orphanage. Oh no." It's almost as though some disembodied spirit is controlling his
actions now.
For a moment they both stare up at the threshold, where an arch of flowers are carved into
the stone to droop ominously over them.
Eugene clears his throat, then holds out his elbow for her. "Shall we?"
She nods, threading her arm through his so they can lock elbows and hold hands as they
step inside, into a narrow hallway that leads all the way to the back of the building. The lack
of windows makes it dreary and the low, ancient ceiling gives the impression that something
is dripping. The sound of overlapping screams from a dozen children echoes toward them
like a physical force in the confined space.
Eugene squeezes her hand as another surge of anxiety washes over him. Being back here is
a bit like nostalgia if nostalgia made you want to hide.
"So," he says, "Do you want to start the tour with screeching kids, or end the tour with
screeching kids?"
"End the tour," she murmurs.
He nods, sets his jaw in a determined grimace, and leads her to the rickety staircase. On
instinct he steps over the fourth step, but Rapunzel doesn't and it cracks with a sound like a
small explosion, causing her to yelp and grab for him. She scrambled up his back as best
she can, which isn't very well considering her fancy dress, and after a moment of her heavy
breathing against his neck and her eyes squeezed close in anticipation of some deadly blow,
he turns his head to look at her.
"Bum step," he says.
"What?" There's a whimper to her voice, as if she's too frazzled, too far gone to even know
what he's saying.
"It always makes that noise."
She looks down at it like it's a snake reared back to strike at her, and she lets out a pitiful
little laugh, forgetting that she ought to climb down. Eugene sighs, tucks one arm under her
leg and carries her up the rest of the stairs before setting her down on the landing. She
immediately grabs his hand again.
"Ok. Well. Over here is the girls' room." He gestures at the room on the left, a long, wide
room, housing a row of bunk beds and broad windows that let in the last rays of sunlight as
it settles over the city, illuminating the scattered clothes and books so that they glow with
accentuated color.
"Can we go inside?" she asks.
"No. That's the girls' room."
She blinks up at him and it takes him a second to realize what a stupid thing that is to say.
It's just been beaten into him so many times that now, back in this sad little building, it's
like a reflex.
He scratches his head in confusion, then wordlessly guides her across the hallway. Best not
to think about it. "You can look around in here. It's the boys' room."
The boys' room is remarkably similar to the girls', except the view is not as nice and the
mess is a bit more sprawled. He pulls her over to a bed near the middle of the room. "This
one's mine."
"Really?" Her eyes light up, and she quickly bends to inspect it, running a hand over the
thick, blue blanket.
"Yeah, look." He sits down on the bed and leans back to show her the underside of the top
bunk where his name is carved into one of the slats. He had trouble with the curves in the U
and the G and they look ragged and feral, as if the boy who carved them was desperately
trying to own something, to put his mark on anything.
Even as he points at it his short lived burst of pride fades and his face melts into a frown.
His name has been inelegantly scratched out, and above it someone has written "TIM."
Rapunzel scoots next to him to look, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Who's Tim?"
"I don't know... But I hate the little shit."
"Eugene," she chides, "He's just a child. And you're not using your bed anymore anyway."
"That's beside the point," he says. It's also besides the point that some twenty-odd years
ago he scratched out the name "Terrence."
"You have a better bed now anyway. This one's kind of small."
This is a very good point, and he pushes himself off the bed to lead her back into the
hallway where he points out the headmaster's room/office and the caretaker's room/storage
cupboard. When they traipse back downstairs, he stops her to point out the spot that held
the record for the highest place someone had jumped over the banister to land on the first
floor without serious injury. Then he stops her again to point out the trick step. Then he
says, "Look at these hardwood floors, Blondie. They're original." And then he realizes that
he's stalling.
She realizes it around the same time and leads the conversation along as she guides him
down the hallway towards the noises of a small riot in the dining room. "What's on this
floor?"
"There's the kitchen, and the laundry, and the dining room."
"So we're going to have to talk to people now, aren't we?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "I could give you a tour of the laundry room."
"Is it interesting?"
"No."
She thinks on it for a second. "I do like laundry, so let's go look at that."
He pauses to look down at her, her face still bloodless, her lower lip pulled into her mouth.
"I love you. Have I told you that?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Never mind then."
She smiles slightly, then takes his hand as they head down the corridor. Maybe they could
hide in the laundry room until it's time to leave. And by "hiding" he means "release tension
through necking."
But of course it's the day from hell so this doesn't even come close to happening.
As they pass the dining hall, someone shouts his name, causing him to freeze before he
turns around to see the caretaker jogging up to him between tables crowded with messy
haired children. The caretaker's bulk makes his jog more like a waddle and the fine layer of
sweat that Eugene remembers from childhood is still smeared across the man's forehead.
He's supposed to be the caretaker for the building, not the children, and his job description
entails fixing broken windows and ordering supplies and shoveling snow. However, he finds
very little time to do his actual job since he is always too busy trying to maintain peace
among the children's various factions and between the cook and the headmaster or the
headmaster and the children or the headmaster and the neighbors. Child care is not his
thing, but it's what he's done every day for the last thirty-five years, and this fact makes
him look more and more like a hot mess every day.
"Eugene," he huffs, coming to a stop in the doorway and leaning against it as casually as he
can while he tries not to look as though he's catching his breath. "Eugene. I heard you were
coming."
"Yeah. How 'bout that?"
"You have to help me."
No, "Oh, Eugene! It's so good to see you again." No, "Who's your friend? Oh hello, your
highness. What a pleasure. Eugene's so lucky!" No. None of that.
Eugene rolls his eyes, because talking to the caretaker is like stepping backwards in time to
when he was one of the oldest kids who hadn't run away yet, to when he was always being
called upon to look after the little guys, to when his response to anything the caretaker said
was an eye roll and begrudging agreement.
"What do you need?"
The caretaker sags in relief. "Just watch them. Ten minutes. Dinner's a disaster and
Harold's busy with the accounts and the furnace is acting up again. Ten minutes, Eugene.
That's all I need."
Eugene is well aware that ten minutes is usually more like a half hour and "watch them" is
more like "make sure they don't light anything on fire or stab each other or bite the babies
and make sure they all get a bath." But for some reason Eugene finds himself nodding as
the caretaker grins and rushes off to the basement to work on the furnace (with which
Eugene is also painfully familiar.)
"What do we do?" Rapunzel whispers. Briefly she wonders if anyone here knows who she is,
but then she decides that that's a vain thought and drops it.
"Well," he says, taking a deep breath and giving into the tragic fact that his plan to be Flynn
all day has utterly failed. "I'm going to watch them, and you're going to find out who Tim
is." And with that he marches into the room.
The kids aren't silent as they enter, but all eyes are focused on them, each child confiding a
different theory to a neighbor. The strangers are a noble couple here to adopt, so everyone
needs to look cute and well behaved. They're from the board of directors (a mythical group
of omnipotent men whose word is law but are never seen) and they are here to shut down
the orphanage. They have nice shoes, which means they must have items worth stealing on
their person.
No one guesses that Eugene used to be one of them and that none of their tricks of looking
cute or asking for a hug or throwing a fit will work. He invented those.
He grabs a free chair, drags it to the head of the room, spins it around, and flops into it,
resting his elbows against the chair back.
He stares at them for a minute, then says, "Hey. How ya' doing?"
The kids exchange confused looks with one another. He doesn't blame them. Strangers are
rare and strangers that will speak to them are unheard of.
"Who wants to hear a story?" Stories always used to work to settle the kids down and keep
them entertained for lengthy periods.
The kids stare at him, a few turning their attention to Rapunzel as she slips into a seat at
one of the tables, tucking her skirt in around her legs and looking excited for another story.
"What kind of story?" asks a boy with an upturned nose.
"A good one. One about heroic adventures and daring escapes. And this one is especially
good because it's true." Or at least it's true before he heavily edits it.
The kids look skeptical, but at least he has their attention.
"Is there a horse in the story?" asks a girl in pigtails.
"Yes. A big, nasty monster of a horse-" The girl gasps. "-Who turns out to be very nice in
the end."
"Is there a dragon?" asks a boy missing a front tooth.
"Yeah." There is now. "One that breathes fire and kidnaps princesses." More girls gasp,
which Eugene appreciates.
One of the boys crosses his arms over his chest. "You said this was a true story. Dragons
aren't real." This Eugene does not appreciate. Especially when a few of the younger children
look as though all their dreams have been shattered by this bit of information.
"Dragons are very real," he says. "They just don't like company and most people who see
them get eaten so there aren't any witnesses. But I've seen one and I assure you they're
real."
There's nothing more fun than lying to children.
"How come you didn't get eaten then?"
"Because I'm amazing. Now are you going to shut up so I can tell my story or are you
gonna keep asking questions?"
The kids shut up and lean forward in their seats ever so slightly, wanting to hear about the
real, live dragon, but not wanting their friends to know that they want to hear. Eugene
begins to spin his tale, pulling in one kid at a time, building up the drama, laying on the
action, until, at last-
"Your horse sounds like a dog."
"Yeah. Horses don't do that."
"Have you even seen a horse before, Mister?"
The story collapses around him as even some of the younger kids are thrown out of the
magic and wrinkle their foreheads in confusion over whether anything they just heard was
true. It takes him a while to patch the story back together, making an effort to go into less
detail about Max (something he thought would earn him a laugh or two.) He gathers the
tale back together, weaving it around the children like the backdrop of a play, building up
suspense for the moment he would finally introduce the dragon – red and copper, with
scales that clink and scratch along the cavern floor, encrusted with dried blood and horded
jewels and exotic fabrics from across the globe, smelling like expensive incense and rotten
meat and thick smoke, its eyes gleaming like the gates of hell as they settle on the hero
and hold him hypnotized-
"I thought dragons were blind."
Eugene blinks at the interruption. "You what?"
"Dragons are blind. Everyone knows that. That's why they live in caves."
He's never heard this piece of folklore before, but several kids around the room nod as if
this is common knowledge and Eugene is an idiot.
All these interruptions are a severe blow to his pride. Didn't he used to be great at this? And
now one of the kids has taken off his shoes and is trying to put his stinky feet in his friend's
face. Another kid is staring off into space with his chin propped in his hand. The far table of
kids are flicking pebbles from their pockets at one another.
He's losing his audience and his grove and continues with the story a bit too hastily,
throwing off the poetry and letting anxiety creep into his voice. He wraps everything up a
bit too quickly saying, "and they lived happily ever after." He hates ending stories that way.
It seems too unrealistic, even for a story about a dragon.
There's a moment of silence when he finishes as the kids let his words percolate in their
little minds. They exchange looks with one another before one boy voices what they are
collectively thinking.
"No way."
Now he's just affronted. "What do you mean, 'no way?'"
"There's no way the princess would run off with the hero. She sounds nice and he sounds
like a tool."
Eugene doesn't know what to say to this.
"I liked him," one of the older girls argues. Eugene mentally cheers. "But he doesn't sound
like a real person, more like… like someone you would make up. You know?" He stops
cheering.
"I liked the dragon," says a boy sporting a severe cow lick. "Can you tell the story again,
but have the princess stay with the dragon? I think she'd like that. And the dragon can eat
the hero and his horse."
"Not the horse!" screams one of the little girls, lifting her balled fists to cover her mouth.
The kids explode into arguments over appropriate changes that can and should be made to
the story – arguments that quickly dissolve into insults against Eugene's story telling
capabilities and each other's intelligence and parentage. Then one of the little ones starts
crying and two boys collapse to the floor trying to give each other nuggies.
Ok, Eugene decides. These kids are pricks.
Chapter 30
Eugene doesn't even bother making an excuse for himself. He drops Rapunzel off in the
arms of her mother in the front entrance hall, then takes Maximus back to the stable to get
him settled in, then he heads straight to his room to tear off his jacket, pull off his boots,
and collapse face first onto his sofa. His body limp, one arm hanging off to trail on the floor,
he groans for a minute, just because it makes him feel better. After the groaning, he shifts
and kicks the dozen or so throw pillows off the sofa so he can have more room. Then he
groans again, the elaborate, cream colored cushions muffling the sound of his pity party.
He's going to miss dinner, but he really doesn't care.
He used to have two skills.
The first was stealing things. He was the greatest thief the kingdom – no, the world had
ever seen. No job was too big or too dangerous. Not guards were fast enough or smart
enough to catch him. He was a legend set to retire.
But now stealing was off limits. For the most part. He still took things every now and then,
but they were little and he was sure no one noticed. They were never anything worth
bragging about, and he didn't have anyone to brag to anyway.
The second thing he was good at was telling stories. It was a silly skill, but it was one he
prided himself on anyway. Stories were great. He could entertain people long enough to
cause a distraction. He could win people over with tales of his daring-do, great escapes,
grand romances, or sob stories. He could wrap people around his finger until they would
hand over their valuables, or tell him little details around which he could form a plan, or buy
him another beer. He could get people to trust him. He could get people to do things.
But now there were very few people who trusted him, and the one person whose decisions
mattered to him at all wouldn't go along with his plans. Hell, he couldn't even keep a group
of children interested in a fairy tale.
What happened to him? Who is he? He wasn't Flynn because Blondie had crushed Flynn in
her delicate, little hands. All that was left of him was a shadow that popped up every now
and then to shoot off a sassy comment. He wasn't really old Eugene either. These past few
months he's been blaming his softening on The Return of Eugene. But now that he's
thinking (moping) about it, that's not exactly true. He's braver now, maybe from Flynn's
influence. He's seen things and done things that Eugene couldn't have imagined even in his
wildest stories. Yeah, he was still scared, but the desire to run when things got hot was
fading. Yeah, he was protective, but now it wasn't just protective for protective's sake. Now
he actually cared, when Eugene never had anything to care about except becoming
someone else.
Who is he? And why did he have to live through such a sucky day?
He lays there for a very long time, telling himself that he's trying to find an answer to these
questions, but in reality he's just repeating all the things he's upset about at the moment.
It's not clear how long he stays there, but when a distraction finally arrives, the
embroidered pattern from the cushion is imprinted on his forehead and cheek, his arm has
fallen asleep, and his bare feet are getting cold.
The door to his room opens and someone comes in, but he refuses to sit up or even lift his
head.
He knows it's Blondie. No one else would come in like this and set something that smells
really good down on the table with a metallic clunk. No one else would take a seat next to
him on the floor. No one else would brush the hair from his face ever so gently, only to have
it fall right back into place.
He groans.
"Are you awake?" she whispers.
"No."
Her hand runs up his arm to rub his shoulder. He stiffens at first, then eases against her
touch.
"You missed dinner, so I brought you something to eat. It's Cornish hen and mixed
vegetables, and I even got you some apple fritters. You like those, right?"
She lowers her face close to his, watching him for any sort of reaction, hoping to tempt him
with food and her cooing voice.
He stays pressed into his cushion. "Thanks, Goldie."
Her hand slips up to the back of his neck to rub gentle circles against the kinks there. It
sends a trickle of pleasure through his shoulders, through his spine, contracting his lungs
with anticipation, warming his belly with desire. He holds himself very still as he tries to
control his body's responses to her touch. The renewed tension in his neck doesn't help her
massage.
She's silent for a long moment, and when she finally speaks her voice is fragile and soft, like
a cobweb, like she no longer has any tears to shed.
"I was wrong today, wasn't I?"
That gets him to turn his head to look at her, her deep eyes focused on the needlework
along his shirt sleeve and holding all the world's sadness.
"It's alright to be wrong sometimes."
"But I hurt you. I was wrong and wouldn't listen and you tried to help and it hurt you." She
traces the needlework with a finger, sketching over his wrist in a way that he would have
never guessed would feel so nice.
"You were scared and you overreacted," he says. "That's understandable."
"But..." She trails off, letting both her hands fall away from him to clasp together in her lap.
He props himself up enough to get a better look at her. "But what?"
"You didn't over react."
He scoffs. "I've seen people cough up blood before, Blondie. It's old hat for me. And
besides, I'm bold and courageous." He shoots her a grin that he doesn't really feel and it
falls flat as she lifts her eyes to meet his.
"I meant at the orphanage."
His grin fades and he blinks once before turning his attention back to the sofa cushion.
"Eugene?" she asks, scooting ever so slightly closer to him. "…Thank you. For looking after
me. I know that I can be difficult sometimes, and I know that it must be hard to look after
me when you have to think back on the way things were after your whole life gets turned
upside down-"
"Hey, no-"
"Yes!"
She glares at him for a moment, and he stares at her in mild surprise until her eyes widen
and she claps a hand over her mouth.
"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "I'm doing it again! I'm not listening to you."
He stares at her for a few more heartbeats then starts to laugh. She's just so cute. She's so
cute that it makes him think that none of the crap that happened today matters anyway.
"It's not funny."
"Yes, it is."
She huffs and he grins, sweeping over to plant a kiss on her freckled cheek before he
faceplants back into the sofa with a sigh.
"Eugene?"
"Mmmpf."
"I've been thinking."
"Again?"
"You know how my etiquette instructor said that you'd try to steal my virtue?"
He groans. Loudly.
She hesitates a moment then slips up to sit next to him, causing the cushions to shift
against her weight.
"I was thinking. She also said I could give it away. Then it's not really stealing."
He holds very still, because she can't be saying what he thinks she's saying, and even if she
is it's a bad idea.
"What do you think?"
He turns his head to the side to answer her, but keeps his eyes firmly closed. "You give up
on your weird bribery plan already?"
"Well..."
"Uh huh."
"You were really nice to me today."
"Oh, Goldie, don't put out for everyone that's nice to you."
"I don't know what that means. And you're not everyone. You're sweet and…" she blushes.
"… and I like your arms."
He cracks one eye open, unsure if he should be weirded out or amused. "You like my
arms?"
Her blush deepens and she averts her eyes off to something terribly uninteresting over the
back of the couch. She shrugs. "They're nice."
"My arms? Not my face or my ass?"
Her eyes dart down to his butt then back up to meet his gaze. "Those are nice too, I guess.
I just…"
He sits up slowly, planting one hand beside her on the couch so he can pin her in place
without actually touching her, so he can fluster her, so he can keep this newly found
attribute as visible as possible, so he can lean forward and smirk. "Yes?"
"Never mind. It's stupid."
He drops his voice to something warm and sultry. "I don't mind." He shifts his shoulders to
emphasize the muscles in his bicep.
She is transfixed, staring at the point where his forearm would press against her hip if he
would only move ever so slightly. "It's just… sometimes I think about them… and I feel…"
She searches for the right word. "Weak?"
He grins, and he leans in to presses his lips to hers. Once. It's brief and chaste. Twice. Her
eyes slide closed. Her lips part.
And she throws herself at him, her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing her
small frame against his chest, warming him with her breath as she gasps between kisses.
He fills his arms with her - her waist and her back and her shoulders and all her love and
pain and need. He squeezes her and she moans, grabbing at the muscles in his arm so
ravenously that it hurts. It hurts like the burn in his lungs as he holds himself back while
she rakes her fingers through his hair and her tongue presses into his mouth.
She shifts closer, further into his lap, and he drags his hands up and down her sides trying
to feel the warmth of her skin, the beat of her heart, the give of her flesh through her
corset. He squeezes her between his fingers in an attempt to hold more of her, to be closer,
and she pulls at his arm to urge him on, nearly begging for him to touch her.
Her hunger's like a drug, siphoning away his reservations as she sucks on his lower lip. She
drains away his rational thought as all the heat in his body runs to his cock when she pulls
his shirt from his pants with a quick burst of friction and a groan. He works the thousand
hooks down the back of her dress with one hand as he holds her breast and covers her neck
in greedy kisses. She pants, head tilted back, eyes closed dreamily, fingers digging into the
bare skin of his shoulders.
He peels her dress down to crumple at her waist and he sets to work on the ribbons of her
corset. Through the hot fog of her arched back and needy little noises, he notes that they're
a pale, baby blue satin, but he immediately forgets it in favor of holding her tighter. He
strips the ribbons away cross by cross, in an effort to control his urge to rip the damn thing
apart and leave it in tatters on the floor. His carefulness is not appreciated and she
whimpers against his ear to get him to work faster.
"Almost got it… There."
The last few ties fall away and the corset opens like a clamshell from which she's stepped
free, one that's growing more lifeless by the second without the benefit of her heart racing
within it or the magic of her touch gracing its features. She rears back and tosses it aside
before grabbing the thin, cotton sleeves of her shift and shrugging her arms loose with a
frantic wiggle. The shift joins her dress at her waist and before he can get a good look or
yelp out a startled, happy comment she's wrapped herself around him again, her warm,
bare flesh against his, her greedy lips on his own.
She's so small. So delicate. Her breasts compress against his chest. Her stomach flickers
against his abs, like the hesitant brush of a hand, like the flutter of her eyelashes. He can
feel the thin cage of her ribs in his hands, the slender planes of her shoulder blades, every
gentle prominence of her spine, all covered in skin so soft he can't help but revel in the fact
that he's the first to touch it. She's his. All his. And she wants him. Even though she could
have anyone she wants him.
He pulls her close and flips them, pressing her back to the sofa, felling her body held tight
beneath him, whacking her head against the arm rest-
"Eep!"
"Shit, are you alright?" He's breathless as he runs a hand to her cheek, then buries his
fingers in her hair to caress the back of her head.
She winces briefly, but then her eyes roll back and she turns to kiss his wrist. "Yes," she
gasps, pulling his head down for another kiss. He tangles his hand in her hair, because it's
just so grabable now, so easy to ruffle up and tousle. He scoots them both down away from
the armrest to protect her from any more of his flailing stupidity.
He forgets about it quickly enough, because now he can touch her. He can let his hands
roam over the tension of her stomach, the swell of her breasts. She shivers against his
fingers and arches into his touch before dragging her hands over his chest, pausing at his
nipple, the hollow of his solar plexus, his navel, slipping lower and lower, driving him wild.
Her fingers slip teasingly beneath the waist of his pants, her hand pressed flat against the
valley between his abs and his hipbone, her thumb scrawling desperate circles against his
skin.
He buries his face against her neck and swears, rocking into her hand. She's so close he can
barely stand it and he grabs on to her waist for support, for something to ground him, but
the way she squirms under his hand throws him off balance again.
He moans pathetically when she draws her hand away, until he feels her shift beneath him,
both hands at her waist in an attempt to free herself of her skirts, her hips lifting in a way
that's far too appealing. He pulls at her dress too, finding the ties on her petticoats and
yanking at them until they come loose, then shoving her dress and her underskirts and her
shift down her thighs until he can't push them any farther away and she kicks them off in a
massive flurry of noisy fabric.
He pulls a leg around his waist and runs a hand over her smooth thigh, up to her ass to
squeeze and pull her flush against him. He can feel the heat of her, or maybe he's imagining
it, and she can feel how hard he is, how much he wants her. They moan together at the
feeling and hold each other tight, not wanting to let go even for a moment. He's never seen
her this naked before. He's seen parts of her naked and it's not like she wears that many
clothes to begin with, but still there's something awe inspiring about it.
Their eyes lock.
He swears to God he's never seen anything so beautiful.
Then he moves, squeezing his eyes closed and biting his lip as she gasps. He knows that
dry humping isn't the most sophisticated thing in the world, but honestly, what choice does
he have?
Her skin starts to shine with a fine coat of sweat and she presses her face against his as if
trying to hide from the pleasure building inside her.
"Pants. Off. Now."
"That's not such a-"
"Eugene." She whimpers his name in a way he just can't ignore. Then she bites his earlobe
and the next thing he knows, he's grabbing at his belt. His pants are starting to rub him raw
anyway.
"I need to get a-"
"If you get up," she pants, "I'm going to strangle you."
Well, no arguing with that, he agrees, kicking off his pants. It doesn't really matter anyway
because he's going to marry her and she's going to have his annoying, handsome babies.
Wait.
What?
She pulls him down for a kiss that makes him completely forget what he was just thinking
about. He hooks his fingers in her underwear and peels them away, kissing down to her
navel, where he's able to reach her foot and pop off the last of her clothes and throw them
across the room, hopefully they land somewhere where she won't be able to find them.
He pushes himself up, to look her in the eye, and suddenly he understands the fear of the
moment before your dream becomes reality. He cups her cheek and kisses her, softly,
distractingly, and she kisses back so tenderly that he feels more complete than he has in his
entire life.
His hand trails from her hip to between her legs, and he strokes her once, eliciting a shiver.
He presses the tip of his cock against her, and she tenses. Then he guides himself in, as
slowly as he can.
It's bliss.
Absolute bliss.
She's warm and wet and she clenches around him so tightly it's painful. Painful in all the
right fucking ways. He breaks off the kiss to moan and press his forehead against hers,
trying to remember how to breathe.
Then she whimpers.
He opens his eyes to see her face crumpled in pain, tears leaking out of the corner of her
eyes.
"Ra-Rapunzel," he chokes because he can't breathe and he can't swallow and – oh God –
he's hurting her. "You alright?"
"Oww," she cries, a single, painful note that rips into his chest.
"Rapun-"
"Oww, oww, oww, oww, oww." She pushes against his shoulders, shoving him away, and he
pulls back immediately, sliding out of her in a way that he will never admit feels good. He's
left hard and needy, damp and sticky, but he really needs to not think about that.
"Rapunzel." He presses a shaking hand against her face, brushing back her dampened hair
and brushing away her tears. She pulls her arms away from him and shifts to wrap them
both around her abdomen.
She lies there trembling and Eugene has no idea what to do.
Chapter 31

Watching Rapunzel fall into an uneasy sleep is one of the worst half hours of Eugene's life.
His mind goes into panic mode as he holds his body as still as possible, trying not to disturb
her, trying not to touch her even though it's really hard not to – the sofa they're both on is
really small, and the desire to reach out and comfort her just grows stronger and stronger.
Then there's the fact that his racing thoughts make him want to scream. They move so fast,
slipping from one heinous thing he's done wrong to the next so fast that it's hard to focus
on anything except the overarching tone of panic.
Eventually, her breathing evens out, although her eyebrows are still furrowed together and
a little frown is painted across her lips. He curses himself, and very gently lifts her up to
tuck her in bed, where she curls up in a ball and snuggles into his comforter.
He sighs as he watches her, then decides to make himself useful. Maybe if he's moving the
thoughts will stop. Probably not, but it won't hurt to try.
He finds himself a pair of pajama pants and wonders into the washroom to splash water on
his face and clean himself up a bit. It doesn't help him feel any less revolting and he can
feel the beginnings of a headache form behind his eyes. He braces himself against the stone
basin and looks at his reflection. He has the sudden urge to punch the image staring back at
him, to feel the physical pain in his knuckles as he shatters the glass. He just wants to
break something.
But he's broken something already tonight, hasn't he?
Shit. His moping is disgusting.
Like the rest of him.
…Ugggg…
He sets about gathering up Rapunzel's clothes, which are thrown about so happily that it's
almost hard to look at them. He tries to fold them up neatly, but it's hard. He doesn't know
much about folding clothes, especially great big piles of satin. After a few attempts it occurs
to him that maybe they're not supposed to be folded.
He even tracks down her underwear, which he had intended to hide from her just to see
that cute, annoyed purse to her lips and just so he could think about her walking out of his
room without them while he was the only one who knew.
Also because he's a pervert.
A cradle robbing pervert.
Gaah!
He stores them all away in his closet, because at some point in the evening someone's
going to notice that she's missing and a hundred guards are going to descend upon his
bedroom. It wouldn't do in that situation to have all her discarded clothes on display. He
doesn't think much about the larger evidence that there's a naked, deflowered princess
snuggled up in his bed.
He stares at his stained sofa for a minute, one hand on his chin, the other propped against
his hip as he contemplates what to do with it. He decides that flipping the cushions over is a
good idea. There! No one will ever know.
Then he throws open the window above the window seat to air out the room. He wants to
get rid of the smell that's been muddling up his mind and making it so hard to think clearly.
(It's totally the smell's fault. Not something deeper.) The winter air will help with the
thinking too. He grabs a robe for her out of his closet and sets it gently on the bed next to
her, just in case she gets cold. Then he flops down into the window seat and stares off at
the forest.
He imagines that he can see her tower in the dark. Then he thinks some very depressing
things about her tower that are too pitiful to be repeated.
He briefly thinks about leaving. Not about running away (which is a such a step for him that
he doesn't even acknowledge it) but instead he considers stalking around the castle
hallways, just so that he can move. Pacing around his bedroom feels like it won't get him
away from his problems. He stops himself because he wants to be there when she wakes
up. He can't hurt her and then ditch her, even if he's just ditching her to walk to the
kitchens.
This is another step for him and again he doesn't even realize that he's made the transition:
he wants to be there for her in the morning. He doesn't know what he's going to say, or
even if she'll want to see him because she probably hates him now. And she's never stayed
in his room until morning before and she'll probably get woken up by the guards bursting in
or by the page that shows up to shuffle Eugene off to his lessons. But he doesn't care.
His self preservation has completely disappeared.
He stares out the window and watches as the lights of the city slowly extinguish one by one,
and he wonders what he's going to do if she hates him.
A gust of wind brushes through the room, and he shivers but doesn't move. Behind him he
hears her shuffle, the rustling of fabric, the patting of her feet. When he turns to look at
her, she's standing next to him shrouded in hesitancy and a robe that's far too big for her.
Her fingers are barely visible inside the sleeves and the belt has been wrapped around her
waist twice. Even though he's never bothered with the robe before, something possessive
grips at him seeing her wear his clothes.
He doesn't know why, but he holds out a hand, and she easily slips into his embrace, letting
his arm wrap around her waist, gliding down to sit next to him on the edge of the window
seat. There's not enough room for both of them, even though he tries to scoot over as much
as possible, so she easily slides into his lap to wrap her arms around him and snuggle her
head under his chin.
He sighs and nuzzles his cheek against her hair. He knows that even when Gothel was mean
to her, she would always run into the old woman's arms for comfort. So just because she's
hugging him doesn't mean anything.
"You're cold," she says, pressing her hands more firmly against his back to try and warm
him.
"It's winter," he says. He means it to be a wry comment, but it doesn't work out that way.
"You don't like being cold. Why are you sitting here?"
"Trying to clear my head." Also trying to make the room smell less like sex and leftover
mixed vegetables.
She seems to understand because she nods and presses deeper into his chest.
"You need a blanket?" he asks.
"No."
He pulls her closer and swallows. He wants to ask, but he doesn't know how, so he wobbles
back and forth a moment between staying quiet and spitting out something stupid.
"Are you- Does it still hurt?" He cringes, expecting her to shove him or start crying.
She shifts a bit and answers in a small voice. "Not much."
"… Good."
"… I'm sorry."
"Rapunzel, you have nothing to be sorry about. It's my fault."
"Why is it your fault?"
"Because I hurt you. You're an itty-bitty virgin and I'm a terrible, lecherous man."
She huffs. "I'm not made out of china. You don't have to coddle me all the time."
He sighs. "We're not starting this again. I care about you and I want you to be alright. That
doesn't mean I'm going to lock you away in a tower forever. I'm not going to change, so
you might as well get used to it." Or kick him out, which she might very well do.
It takes her a moment to answer and when she does it's a grumble. "You still don't have to
be so overprotective."
"God! You are so stubborn!"
"And you're not listening because you'd rather be mopey."
"I'm not moping."
"You're sitting in the cold and staring into space."
"Still doesn't mean I'm moping."
"Frowning gives you wrinkles, Eugene, and no one likes a sulking hulk."
"Where did you hear that?"
"…Nowhere." Whenever Rapunzel says "nowhere" or "nobody" like that it almost always
means "Gothel."
"I'm not moping, I'm thinking," he says.
"About what?"
"About how I should have stopped. And I should have been… I don't know, gentler or
something. I should have warned you."
"That sounds like moping to me," she mumbles.
He rolls his eyes.
"Wait," she says, her back stiffening. "You could have warned me? Did you know it would
hurt?"
"…uh…"
She pulls back to frown at him. "Does it always hurt? Everyone says it's supposed to feel
good!"
"I- Well-"
"Did it feel good for you?"
"Oh hell."
"Eugene, tell me what's happening."
"Uh…"
"Eugene!"
"Ok!" He holds up a hand to pacify her (because that works.) "Ok… Sometimes it hurts the
first time… for girls… I think."
"You think?"
"I don't know, I'm not a girl!"
"Well what about the other girls you've done this with?"
"Don't ask me questions like that!"
"Why not?"
"Because no matter how I answer you'll get mad."
Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. "No, I won't."
He groans and covers his face with his hand.
She thinks for a moment, finding another way to get information. "So this happens to other
people?"
"Yes."
"So I didn't do something wrong?"
"No!"
"And you're not mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you?"
She ducks her head a bit. "I don't know."
He sighs and leans forward to pull her into a hug. "Oh, Blondie."
They hold each other for a moment as Eugene considers that they really ought to work on
their recurring communication problems.
Eventually she pulls back and sniffs. "It'll be better next time?"
"I guarantee it," he says, brushing a lock of rumpled hair from her face.
She gives him a skeptical look. "Really?"
"Sweetheart, to make up for today, I promise I will blow your mind."
She wrinkles her nose. "That doesn't sound pleasant."
"It is. You trust me, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, you shouldn't. That's a very bad idea."
She smiles and shakes her head. "Shut up, Eugene."
"Hmm."
She leans in to kiss his cheek and then snuggles back against his chest.
"So," he says, clearing his throat and letting his muscles tense up again, "are we… ok now?"
"Of course. Were we ever not ok?"
"I guess not."
"It's cold," she repeats.
"Ok, ok."
He leans forward and reaches out to shut the window, and that's the moment when several
loud bangs pound against his door.
"Open up, Rider!"
"When are they going to stop calling me that?"
Rapunzel shrinks in on herself. "I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"
"Nope. But they really took their time finding you."
"What?"
"What if you'd actually gone missing or something?"
"Eugene…"
"Security around here's atrocious."
There's another series of bangs and more shouting from the other side of the door.
"What are we going to do?"
He pushes himself up, half lifting her with him. "You're going to go in the closet and get
dressed and then head back to your room. And I'm going to explain to these guys what my
name is."
She makes a move to protest, but he just kisses her forehead, gives her a nudge in the
right direction, and heads off to his door.
Four stern looking guards frown at him as he rubs the side of his head sleepily and blinks at
them a few times. Just four of them? That's insulting. "I'm sleeping," he says.
"We're looking for the princess," one growls.
"Do you need directions to her room?"
"No. Because she's not there."
He blinks once at them and frowns. "What do you mean she's not there? Where is she?"
"That's what we're here to find out."
"You lost the princess? The one you just found?"
The guards' nervousness bubbles up to the surface, letting their bravado crackle away. Two
exchange wary looks. One shuffles his feet. The other gulps.
Eugene rolls his eyes in disgust and advances on them. They take a frightened step
backwards. "Well, what are you doing here? We need to go find her." He pulls the door
closed behind him and starts marching down the hall. "She might just be in the library.
Have you tried there yet? Tell me where you've already looked."
Shockingly enough, this works and the guards follow him down the hall towards the library.
One starts to give him a report about where they've already looked and when she was seen
last.
They march on determinedly, joined every now and then by different desperate patrols, to
whom Eugene gives random orders that they should search this place or that place or report
to someone or join forces with someone else. He mostly just sends them away from his
room and does a lot of glaring. But the guards seem to respond to this and none of them
question him.
It's bizarre and unnerving.
"Eugene!"
He comes up short and turns to see the queen hurry up to him. Worry is etched into her
face and she looks as though someone has recently woke her up with the news that her
daughter has been kidnapped again.
And now he feels like a jerk.
"Eugene, you're…" Her eyes narrow as she takes in his appearance. "You're not dressed
appropriately."
"No, ma'am. Someone woke me up to help find something they lost." He shoots a glare at
the nearest guard, who looks like he might shit himself. Eugene knows he's walking a
tightrope now and the only way he'll pull through this is if he clings to the angry boyfriend
act with everything he's got.
The queen seems to hold her breath for a moment as her eyes dart back and forth over his
face. It's like she's reading something written on his forehead. He tries not to swallow too
thickly. He tries not to let his face give him away. He tries really, really hard.
The queen's shoulders sink as she rolls her eyes. "Continue your search," she tells the
guards. "I need a moment with Mr. Fitzherbert."
Gulp.
She crosses her arms and waits until the guards disappear before she speaks. "Is there
something you want to tell me?"
"…No." And what kind of question is that?
"I was worried."
"I'm worried too."
"Oh, you should be."
Yikes.
"Mr. Fitzherbert, do you listen to a single word anyone says to you?"
"…Yes?"
"No. You don't," she snaps.
He doesn't really know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, which seems like his best
option.
She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Just tell me she's alright."
He takes a moment during which he decides that to continue lying would just annoy and
confuse both of them. "She's fine."
"And you know where she is?"
"Yes."
She pulls her hand away and looks up at him. "What am I going to do with you?"
He shrugs.
She shakes her head in disgust.
"… Are you going to kill me? Because she kinda likes me and I don't think that would make
her happy."
"Eugene, that's the worst defense I've ever heard."
"So… that's a 'yes' then?"
"That's a 'be quiet so you don't dig your hole any deeper.'"
"Gotcha."
"You can deal with the guards. I'm going back to bed."
"Yes, ma'am."
She turns and stalks back down the hallway. But then she stops and glances at him over
her shoulder.
"You held out longer than I thought you would, you know."
And with that, she continues on her way.
Chapter 32

In the following weeks, lessons about tax distribution turn into lessons about high court
procedures, which turn into a crash course on everything you needed to know about the
neighboring country of Artesia before they visit, which turns into preparations for a literacy
campaign for the kingdom's children. There turned out to be a guy who was pretty fun in
the Artesian envoy, and Eugene secretly enjoyed the literacy campaign, but the high court
procedures were painful.
Lessons on how to keep his mouth shut progress to lessons on how to politely disagree, to
lessons on how to command others. Eugene immediately put these skills to work ordering
the guards to change their ridiculous patrol routes into something more threatening. It's a
mixed blessing but at least they're keeping Rapunzel safe. He begins to settle into his
corrected posture, and one day he formally introduces himself to Phil, whose name turns
out to be Bill. He congratulates himself for being obnoxiously close for so long.
The queen doesn't speak to him for a week. No one else seems to notice this, but Eugene
does. He understands that it's her job to be ticked at him, and underneath this show of
disapproval she still likes him. The fact that he's still breathing and that she obviously hasn't
told anyone else is evidence enough for that. Then one night he cracks a joke and the
queen can't help but laugh, and things are all back to the way they were.
Rapunzel comes up with new ways to propose about every three days or so. They're starting
to get really silly. It's a game at this point. She gives him some ridiculous reason to marry
her, he turns her down by saying something witty, and then they make out until one of
them has to go back to their stupid lessons or meetings or tea party. One day she shows up
to her etiquette lessons flushed and giggling and her instructor decides that it's well past
time to discuss the rules of courtship, just to emphasize that Eugene is doing it wrong.
Rapunzel doesn't pick up on the slights against his character, and instead sees these
lessons as some sort of step by step guide that she needs to relay to him.
"You're not supposed to hold my hand," she says, straddling his lap while he kisses his way
down her neck. "You're only supposed to hold out and elbow when we're walking."
"Uh huh."
"And you're allowed to kiss my hand."
"I can do hand kissing."
"And we're supposed to stay - mmm – an arm's length apart. And keep our hands folded
behind our backs."
He drops his hands to the small of her back and continues to kiss her collar bone, drawing
out a giggle.
The king invites him along on a hunting trip, which turns out to be not so bad. It mostly
involves drinking and insulting other members of the hunting party, and Eugene excels at
both of these. He doesn't even attempt to hunt anything. It's a waste of energy, and
Maximus has orders from the princess to keep him safe, making it impossible to charge
after anything even if he wanted to. The horse acts very smug about the fact that he can
control Eugene's actions, but Eugene gets him back when everyone on the expedition starts
referring to Max as his horse.
"Boo ya!" Eugene shouts, pointing a finger in Max's face. "Take that!"
Maximus bides his time.
The queen is a big ball of nerves about the whole expedition. Not that anyone can tell. She
never likes it when her husband goes hunting, and she likes it even less now that he's
dragging Eugene into the mix. The moment they return home, she checks the king over for
injuries, hugs him fiercely, then turns to Eugene to inspect his split lip (which is the horse's
fault - the horse, and maybe a bit of alcohol.) She glares at him, then hugs him, then
informs him that he's an idiot.
The first morning the snow melts, Goldie wakes him up and drags him off into town to
celebrate. She's finally gotten tired of the snow, just the way he said she would, but she
phrases it differently. "Look! You can see the sidewalk again! Aren't seasons amazing?"
It's the first day of the year that the street vendors are able to come out of hiding from the
weather. They come out cautiously, like bears emerging from hibernation, blinking in the
light and looking at their old spots as if they've never seen them before. There's an air of
excitement about them – a new year, a new chance to begin. They display the new wares
they spent the winter creating with a mixture of pride and trepidation.
They smile at Blondie and test out their latest slogans and jingles as she approaches. Some
of them are kind of catchy. Some of them will never be used again.
She darts from vendor to vendor, flowers to taffy to carvings of ducks and back to the taffy
again. She gladly chats with anyone who will talk to her, which is just about everybody, and
Eugene tries to stay out of it as much as he can, occasionally stepping forward to move her
along.
She catches sight of another vendor and pulls away from him to skip forward and inspect
everything, rocking forward on her toes, clasping her hands in front of her to try to keep
from touching everything. It's a jewelry cart, which means the trinkets are shiny, and as
odd as it is to say it Blondie likes shiny things. For the most part the merchandise is
mediocre. Nothing is worth even half of what the gold hairpins she pulled out of her hair and
stuffed into his pocket are worth. Eugene knows. He has a discerning eye.
Her eyes lock onto a particular piece, and her face perks with interest. Her hands strain not
to reach out and touch it.
"Something catch your fancy, Miss?"
Her head snaps up at the sound of the vendor's voice, and she pulls herself together a bit
before speaking. "Oh, no. It's just…" Her gaze locks onto the piece again before darting up
to Eugene. "Look." She reaches out to point at it, bringing her finger as close to it as she
can without touching it, as though disturbing it will make the magic disappear.
It's a ring made from braided strands of spun gold, one of which is formed from a narrower
braid. It's simple, unadorned by jewels, and thin and muted enough to not be overbearing.
"It looks like my hair, doesn't it." She pulls herself from her awe enough to qualify the
statement with a wry quirk to her lips. "I mean the way it used to be."
The vendor plucks it up and holds it out to her excitedly. "Go ahead. Try it on."
She hesitates a moment, then takes it from him carefully, as if she's afraid of breaking it.
She slips it onto her index finger, where it catches on the second knuckle.
"Oh." Her face falls as the magic around the ring dissipates.
It's terrible to see her so sad over something so silly, and Eugene finds himself rolling his
eyes and taking her hand to slip the ring over a few fingers.
"Oh!" Her eyes light right back up. "It fits there. See?" She holds up her hand for Eugene to
get a look (even though he already knows), then turns for the vendor to see it too. "That's
funny. I'd never noticed that before. Do your hands do that?" She snatches up Eugene's
hand to inspect the width of his fingers with a critical eye.
Before she forgets all about his wares, the vendor cuts in, saying, "That looks lovely on you,
Miss."
"Thank you! It's very pretty."
"Thank you."
She grins and looks back down at her hand. Eugene has to admit, it does look nice wound
around her pale, lithe fingers. She sighs once, and looks at it as though she's trying to
remember it forever. Then, with a bittersweet smile, she slips the ring off and hands it back
to the vendor.
"Wha- You're not interested, Miss?" He looks like he might cry.
"Oh, I am," she insists. "It's perfect. It's just that… I don't know. It seems too nice to buy it
when we're just wandering around like this."
"Nothing's too nice for you, Miss."
She beams at him. "You're sweet. But I think if we bought this it would be the highlight of
the day and we would have to go home, but I heard someone say something about kite
flying later and I want to do that."
The vendor seems completely boggled by this explanation. Eugene wonders if it's a good
sign or not that he understood it completely.
Then she catches sight of a kid with a kite and flits away to go ask him a million questions.
She calls a farewell over her shoulder and waves.
Eugene watches her for a minute to make sure she's not going to run off too far, before he
turns back to the vendor and gives him a cynical look. "Alright. How much?"
The man smirks, just a bit too pleased with himself. "Fifteen hundred crowns."
Eugene snorts. "I'll give you eight."
"Fifteen."
"Do I look like I have fifteen hundred crowns?"
The man's eyes dart over to the princess, who has fallen into a deep conversation with kite
boy. "Yes."
Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look demanding and powerful. He hasn't
really mastered it yet. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. "Eight."
"I've gotta make a living here."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Fine. Twelve."
This is still a stupid number so he marks it as a partial victory. For a moment he considers
just grabbing someone else off the street and have them buy it for him. The price would be
more reasonable for someone not affiliated with royalty.
"You know," he says, sneaking a look to make sure Blondie hasn't wandered away yet
before leaning in and dropping his voice, "if the princess wears jewelry that you made, word
will get around. Within a week you'll practically explode with popularity. That's worth
knocking off a few hundred. Right, buddy?"
The vendor leans forward too, his voice lowering even further. "And if I were you, I'd
consider throwing in a few hundred just so's I keep my mouth shut."
"Why would I care about that?"
"Wouldn't want word getting 'round that you've bought her a ring. Might ruin your big,
romantic proposal."
Eugene blinks at him. "Huh?" All his pretenses of being commanding or persuasive die.
The man grins.
"Look, she likes the stupid thing. I want to get it for her. It's not like- I'm- No, no, no."
His grin grows. "Twelve hundred."
"Fine," he snaps. "I'll be back for it." And with that he chases off after Rapunzel wondering
how he's going to come up with twelve hundred crowns.
He decides that hocking his belongings is a good solution. He doesn't really have that many
belongings and he has even fewer that he's willing to part with, but this doesn't stop him
from grabbing some crap, skipping dinner, and heading for the Snuggly Duckling.
Killer raises an eyebrow at him.
"What's with the man purse?"
"It's a satchel. And how much do you think I can get for it?"
The thug takes hold of it, sniffs it, then bites into the strap, causing Eugene to grimace.
Does he have any idea where that thing's been?
"Real leather," Killer notes. He fingers at a fraying seem. "Kinda beat up." He peers inside
the front pocket. "Got a place for your lipstick."
Eugene rolls his eyes.
"Eight crowns."
"Excuse me?"
The thug shrugs. "Not a lot of people want a man purse."
"It's a satchel. Everyone wants one. And this isn't just any satchel. It's my satchel. There's
got to be someone out there who wants a piece of Flynn Rider memorabilia."
Killer eyes him skeptically. "Narcissism at its finest."
Eugene grins in a way that most people think is winning.
Killer just finds it annoying.
"I've got whole boat loads of fans. They'd be tripping over themselves, pulling each other's
hair to get a hold of this baby."
Killer just raises an eyebrow and taps his long fingers across his crossed arm, drawing
attention to a very impressive scar. Eugene thinks about commenting on it, but decides he
should just press on.
"Not only is it mine - which really ought to be enough for anyone – but it's also got a
history. The Lost Princess' crown was hidden in this rather expansive bag. " He pulls it open
with a flourish so Killer can see inside. "Then Blondie stole it after she knocked me
unconscious, and blackmailed me into taking her to see the lanterns before she would give
it back. So you see, it's really all thanks to this very satchel that she was able to climb down
out of her tower, find her way back to her parents, and – most importantly – meet you."
The thug's fingers tap against his arm again.
"I might also mention that she was secretly hiding this thing on her person the entire time.
Or most of the time. I'm not really clear on that part. Not real clear on where exactly she
hid it where I wouldn't notice. I kind of suspect it was stuffed up her sleeve or something."
"Or in her hair."
Eugene snaps his fingers. "You, my friend, are bursting with bright ideas. Seriously. I'm not
being sarcastic. You're one smart guy."
"Shut up, Rider."
"So how much?"
Killer takes the satchel away from him again and inspects it once more. He traces the length
of the strap again, as if looking for deficits, but Eugene can tell that he's pausing to chew
over his words.
"Maybe I know a guy."
He grins. "Do you?"
"Maybe," Killer says. "Maybe he comes in here every now and then wanting to hear about
Flynn Rider. Maybe we feed him some bullshit and send him on his way. Maybe he's
wealthy, and maybe his unhealthy fascinations extend to include the lost princess."
When it's put like that it sounds a little creepy.
Eugene narrows his eyes. "How much?"
"Two thousand." Killer shrugs. "Maybe."
"Yeah, maybe. So when will you maybe have my money?"
"Come back next week."
"Good! Want a drink?"
"Not from you."
"Fair enough. See you next week."
A little more than a week later (because Killer is an ass) Eugene gets the money from his
satchel, which is a little less than he had been promised (because Killer is an ass), but it's
more than he needs so it doesn't really matter. It's only once it's gone that he realizes that
he misses the old thing. He doesn't miss it terribly, and he doesn't regret selling one of his
few precious possessions, one of the last physical ties to his old life, just so he can get
something on a whim for his girlfriend. Maybe it's more like nostalgia, but that's not really it
either.
It takes another week for him to find time to go see that jeweler, and then it takes a good
ten minutes to assure him that he wanted the little braided ring and not the big assed, fake
diamond encrusted necklace with tacky flowers. It takes a while after that to get the price
back down to twelve hundred crowns.
"I hung onto this for you for way too long. I didn't know if you were even coming back. I
could have sold it four times over for twice as much. You're a penny-pinching thief. That's
what this is! Thievery!"
Eugene leans in, coming close to the little man's face while still somehow towering over
him. His voice turns threatening. "You really want to see some thievery?"
He makes it all the way back to the castle with a happy spring in his step. The guards
around him call it a stupid spring in his step, as he waves to them and comments on what a
beautiful afternoon it is. It's not a beautiful afternoon. It's still cold and drab and the sky is
still a dreary, cloud covered gray.
Something must be wrong with him. But that's nothing new.
He makes it half way up the broad staircase to the main entrance when it hits him. It hits
him so hard that he stops dead on the stairs, making the guards wonder if he's alright and if
they should do anything if he's not.
He just bought her jewelry.
He just bought her a ring.
That's not a gift that you just hand someone for no reason.
Especially someone who gets super excited over getting something as lame as a flag for a
birthday present. And that was her birthday, which was just about the only (and thus
biggest) holiday she knew about (the only other being Pascal's birthday, which was an
arbitrary date and mostly an excuse to bake a cake.)
Now it's late February. There isn't another holiday for… months. (Actually, Pascal's birthday
is a week and four days away, but Eugene doesn't know this and the occasion wouldn't
warrant giving any kind of gift to Rapunzel anyway.)
And she's been taking lessons all about proper courtship lately. Didn't she mention
something about a ring a few days ago? Did she? He wasn't paying attention. Trying to
recall the memory only brings up an image of her giggling while wearing something skimpy.
Yeah, he definitely remembers the something skimpy.
What was he thinking? He even sold his satchel to a creepy stalker. He loved that satchel!
He looks down at the box in his hand.
It came in a box. A little ring box. With a hinge on one side. The kind you get down on one
knee and open.
Shit!
Up in his room, he tosses the box into his window seat and slams the top back into place.
He glares down at it and makes a firm resolution to quit being such a sucker.
Chapter 33

Eugene's eyes snap open as someone desperately shouts his name. She's still above him,
her eyes full of fear, but her face is darker now, almost blurry. The pain in his side is
excruciating, and he can feel her trying to pry his hand away. He fights her, because if he
doesn't keep pressure on it he'll bleed to death.
"Shh. It's alright," she murmurs, her voice quavering in a way that tells him that it is not
going to be alright at all. He is going to die.
He is going to die.
And there was something he had to do… something very important… something…
He pulls her down and kisses her with a fiery passion, with everything he has left, with the
last air left in his lungs - her first kiss, his last kiss – and he pours so much into it, too
much, but he wants her to know. Before he dies he needs her to know.
She pulls back far too soon, and immediately turns back to his hand as if he hadn't done
anything at all but distract her momentarily. She grabs his wrist with both hands and pulls.
"Stop it, Eugene. You're going to hurt yourself."
He doesn't know what she means by that, and he drops his eyes to the stab wound in his
side.
His hand is clenched unnaturally, his fingers buried in his flesh as if he's trying to hold in the
blood and pull the rip back together through physical force. He can feel the dig of his short
fingernails against his skin. The image is downright frightening.
In his surprise, she pulls his hand free, and amazingly the pain begins to fade. Aside from a
deep bruise that he'll find in the morning, he's unharmed. Holding his hand up to his face,
he stares at it in confusion.
There's no blood.
It was a dream.
It was just a dream and he's perfectly safe and everything is alright and…
"Shh." She reaches out to cup his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "It's alright. It was
just a nightmare. You're alright now."
He stares at her, and she takes his hand again before he can panic. She's gentle with it this
time, cradling it against her breast, his palm over her heart. She lowers her head and closes
her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath that stutters as she exhales.
He's too shaken to do anything else but stare at her. His blood pounds through the veins of
his arm, through his head, the pulse visible through his skin, hammering against his chest
so hard it hurts. He bows his own head and closes his eyes and tries to breathe. He
concentrates on finding Rapunzel's heartbeat through the adrenaline, pumping so strongly
that everything else is hard to hear. He breathes and tries to calm down. He tries to find her
again.
They stay like that for a long time, sitting and facing one another with lowered heads and
lowered eyes. The panic fades like a wave rolling back into the ocean. The moment clears
and he can again distinguish between the memory and the present. He sighs with relief
when he can finally feel her steady heartbeat against his palm, a little flutter of something
real.
She scoots backwards to lean against the footboard, pulling him along with her to settle his
head against her breast. Her heartbeat thrums reassuringly in his ear, and she's so small
and soft that he worries about using her as a pillow like this. He might squish her. She pulls
his arms around her waist, then rubs his back, running a soothing hand through his hair.
Being this close to her is calming, the feel of her gentle fingers in his hair, the press of her
cheek against the top of his head, the way they seem to meld perfectly together.
He inhales the scent of her, releasing a warm gust of breath against her breast, making her
breath catch ever so slightly, which brings the ghost of a smile to his face.
"It's unnatural for you to be quiet this long," he says, annoyed that his voice sounds so
much like a croak.
"I'm trying to keep myself from singing to you. I don't think you'd like that."
"Yeah. Please don't." If she starts singing, he's going to have the world's most epic panic
attack.
"I've been getting better about not saying everything I think." Or singing every time she
feels like it.
"I know. But you don't have to filter what you say around me. Talk to me, Goldie. It'll make
me feel like a normal person again."
She thinks for a moment as he closes his eyes and tries to sink into her.
"Being held like this used to help me when I had nightmares when I was little. But I was
much littler than you are, so I was probably easier to hold."
"I'll bet."
"It used to make me feel safe. Just being held. And I would fall back asleep in the warmth
of my hair and the sound of my mother singing…" Her hand freezes mid stroke, and her
whole body tenses. He looks up to see her staring, unseeing at the picture of Pascal hung
over his bed. "I just realized that- ugg!"
She moves to push him off, but he's already scrambled back. "Yep, that's enough of that."
She presses both her hands against her forehead and groans. "That was one of my good
memories! And she was just using me. Oh, she was just using me all the time."
"Here, switch with me." He pats her hip to get her to budge over, but she doesn't.
"No, I'm comforting you."
He doesn't know what to say to that, because she's not really doing a very good job so far,
what with bringing up the woman who stabbed him. But telling her this will hurt her
feelings.
"And I want to be taller than you," she adds.
He raises an eyebrow.
"What? It doesn't happen very often."
"Alright," he says. He scoots down to use her stomach as a pillow, wrapping one arm
around her hips and sliding the other up her thigh under her night dress. He decides that
this is significantly different from anything Gothel would ever do and is therefore
acceptable. After a moment, she comes to the same conclusion and runs a hand back
through his hair.
"I never knew how awful she was before I came here. Now it's like every day I realize some
new way she was mean."
"Ignorance is bliss."
She frowns. "Is it?"
He shrugs. "That's how the saying goes."
"Huh." She thinks it over for a moment. "I heard something else like that a few days ago.
My oration tutor said, 'What you don't know can't hurt you.'"
"Unless you don't know that there's an alligator in your closet and you walk in and it eats
you."
"I think he meant something more figurative. Like how I didn't know about anything outside
my tower, so I didn't know what I was missing and I couldn't get upset about it. Or like
kissing. I used to be perfectly happy not kissing and now I don't know how I ever survived."
Eugene has to smirk at that one.
"I don't know if ignorance is bliss," she says. "I was content in the tower, but I don't think I
was happy. I didn't know what it was to be happy, so I didn't know that I didn't have it.
Does that make sense?"
"Yeah."
"What about you, were you happy?"
"I thought I was. Now I'm not so sure."
She grins down at him. "Are you happy now? I'm happy now."
"Blondie, I'm ecstatic."
"Good… But what if there's something more. Like some other level of happy that neither of
us have thought of yet, and right now we're not really as happy as we could be?" She looks
down at him with a hint of anxiety.
"Deep," he says.
"I'm serious."
"I know. But it's not something to really worry about. That's what 'ignorance is bliss' means.
If you're always worrying about all the things you don't know, you're going to drive yourself
crazy."
"That's true," she says, not sounding convinced.
"Think of it like if you're always chasing something better, all you're really doing is running."
He smirks up at her. "And anyway, I think the life you've got is pretty good."
"Of course it is! That's not what I meant. You know I love you and Pascal."
"Me and Pascal?"
"Yes." Her voice drops to a whisper, "I think he's listening."
He snorts, because he's used to that joke by now. He plants a kiss against the silk covering
her stomach before snuggling deeper against her, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of
her leg.
"Are you feeling better yet?" She whispers it as though if the answer is "no" then they can
pretend she didn't ask and she can keep talking about something else.
"Much."
"Good." Her shoulders sink in relief and she smiles down at him in a way that makes him
feel as though his insides have warmed and then melted to seep down into his stomach. He
probably looks like a sappy idiot grinning back at her, but he doesn't really care.
She's just so sweet, and caring, and lovely, and genuine, and… and her skin smells really,
really good.
He has this crazy urge to-
"Rapunzel." He props himself up on an elbow before he cuts himself off and clears his
throat.
"What's wrong?"
"I- Just let me get this out first, ok?"
She nods, that unsure pucker returning to her eyebrows.
"Ok… ok… I am really happy. Here. With you."
She smiles.
"And I think that this is perfect and I can't really ask for anything more and I really don't
want to mess it up."
"You won't."
"I might. You never know."
She has to give him that one.
"Yeah, so I don't want to mess it up. And that's why getting married…"
"…Scares you?"
"I'm not scared."
"Oh."
"No. I just- When people get married they stop trying and then they start hating each other,
and the girl starts nagging and the guy stops hiding all his bad habits-"
"That's not true."
"It is of all the married people I know." Which isn't very many people.
"My parents are married. Did you forget about them?"
He had. It's just that they're so peachy all the time and don't constantly complain about
each other that they kind of blend into the background of this discussion. Eugene decides
that he's not going to let this one counterexample throw off his train of thought.
"Mine weren't," he says.
"Your father was."
"Yeah, to someone else. He was the best husband ever. A fantastic example of wholesome
family living." He thinks about throwing in a "hurray!" but then decides that enough
sarcasm is enough.
Her response is matter of fact. "You're not going to end up like him, Eugene."
This gives him pause too. Maybe that's the real problem here and he just hasn't thought of
it before.
"And I already know all your bad habits. Unless you have more. Do you have more?"
"No. I've got enough as it is."
"And what do you think I'll stop trying to do?"
He's actually not quite sure, because the answers he comes up with don't really make any
sense with regards to Rapunzel. Trying to impress him. Trying to look extra pretty. Trying to
get in his pants.
"Look," he says, "I'm just trying to explain how I'm… hesitant… about change-"
"Getting married won't really change anything," she says, interrupting him.
His speech is in total chaos now and he doesn't even remember where he was going with
this. Where was he going with this? Why did he bring this up? What is wrong with him?
"When you love someone you get married, so you can be together and love each other
forever. It's a way to keep things the same, not change them."
"That's a fairy tale, Goldie."
She leans down to look him full in the face. "I have magic tears that bring people I love
back to life when I sing. We're kinda past fairy tales now."
They stare at each other, and her face is so funny that he wants to laugh and so serious
that he wants to gulp. "You're really not making this easy for me."
"You make it hard on yourself."
"… That's a good point."
"And what am I supposed to be making easy for you anyway?"
"If you'd just let me finish-"
"But I've heard these arguments before."
"Rapunzel."
"And I'm tired."
"Rapunzel."
"And you really scared me with your nightmare and shouting my name in your sleep."
"Rapunzel."
"Why don't we just-"
"Marry me."
"-drop the whole thing and- What?"
"Marry me?"
She stares at him, face completely slack, eyes widening by the moment. He raises an
eyebrow at her, which snaps her back into the present, into a moment of desperate
exasperation.
"Eugene!" she groans. "That was the worst proposal ever!"
"Get proposed to often?"
"Yes. I've been proposed to three times and this one was the worst. You're lucky I like you."
"What? When?"
"And what was all that about us not liking each other?"
"I don't know! It sounded better in my head."
"Oh, Eugene."
"So is this a 'yes' or what? Because it would kind of suck for you to say 'no' after you've
been bugging me about it for months, and I got you that stupid ring and everything."
"Ring?"
"Oh! Right!"
A moment later, with the ring box in her hand, the giddy excitement begins to boil up and
spread across her face, which was the reaction he'd expected in the first place. She throws
her arms around him and kisses him, dozens of little excited kisses all over his face. The
cool metal of the ring is in sharp contrast to the warmth of her hand as it presses into his
shoulder. He finds himself grinning into a kiss in the moment before they topple over.
Chapter 34

The king, queen, and Eugene look up as Goldie bursts into breakfast the next morning, the
only indication that she's lost any sleep being that she's ten minutes late. She beams at
them, then dashes forward, skidding to a stop next to Eugene to kiss his cheek before she
bounces over to her father.
"Guess what!"
The king raises an amused eyebrow.
"I'm getting married!" She throws her arms out in a grand ta-dah gesture. Then she
squeals, throws her arms around her father and somehow manages to bounce up and down
while hugging him. The king chuckles and pats her hand, but she's already dancing around
his chair to beam at the queen.
As she inhales Blondie draws herself up, tall and thin and shivering with excitement. She
balls her hands up against her chest. "Isn't it exciting, mama! Eeee!" She claps her hands
together then presses them over her mouth to hold back some small portion of her joy.
Eugene takes a bite of toast. She spent most of the morning before dawn bouncing on his
bed, skipping around his room, and listing all the amazing things they could do once they
were married.
"You get to have a ring too. Of course yours won't be as nice as mine. Mine's gorgeous. Oh,
Eugene, it's so pretty!... And then we can sleep in the same room and I won't have to wake
up so early and leave, and I won't have to sneak around the guards. Their patrols have
changed lately. It's kind of hard to get past them these days."
He's gotten pretty good at just letting her do her thing when she gets this excited, waiting
patiently for it to stop without interrupting.
"That's wonderful, dear," the queen says.
"Are you pregnant?" the king asks.
Eugene chokes on his toast.
The queen sighs and her voice turns chiding, "Richard."
"What? It's just a question."
Goldie answers in a dreamy voice with a giggle that is completely inappropriate to how
horrifying the moment is. "No."
"Ah." The king turns to Eugene, and asks in a tone of mild concern, "Are you doing
something wrong?"
Eugene chokes on his toast again.
"Richard."
"Oh well, maybe someday. That'll be really exciting."
"My getting married's not exciting enough?"
"Honestly?"
Rapunzel nods.
The king shrugs. "I thought you already were married."
"You did not," the queen says.
"Yes, I did. I eventually figured it out. But still, I suppose the thrill isn't as great if you start
out thinking something like that. Pass the butter."
Eugene passes the butter.
"Don't listen to him, dear," the queen says, taking Goldie's hand. "He's excited, you can tell.
He's just pretending he's not. We're both very happy for you. Both of you."
Rapunzel beams.
She doesn't stop beaming for a good week and a half.
Eugene has only been to one wedding before. The groom was one of his buddies (not a
great buddy, but as close as Flynn ever got,) who had knocked up his on-again-off-again
girlfriend. The wedding was mostly an excuse for everyone to laugh at the dumb sap as he
marched to his doom. That and get really drunk.
It was awesome. But Eugene is under no delusions that his wedding will be anything like
that. He does hope that there's booze, but he doesn't hold out a lot of hope. Probably just a
bunch of pompousness and a big show for the nobility, that will cost more money than the
castle he once wanted. He'll probably have to wear one of those jackets with the high collar
that he despises. But after that his imagination dries up. Not that he even wants to think
about what kinds of fancy tortures will be involved in a royal wedding.
In short, Eugene has no clue what's coming.
Neither does Rapunzel.
"Can Pascal be my flower girl? He's not a girl, but he's not particular about labels anymore
since he got used to Eugene calling him a frog."
"I already have a lot of dresses. Why can't I just wear one of those? Some of them are very
nice."
"I know the greatest concert pianist in the world! He can do the music. He'll be so excited
when I tell him."
"Can the cake be chocolate? I love chocolate cake. Mmmm. Oh! I know! We can have one
layer be chocolate and one layer be red velvet and one layer be… Wait, they do come in
layers, right?"
She wants to invite the pub thugs so desperately that the party planning committee
eventually caves. It then comes to her attention that she doesn't actually know any of their
names, and Eugene has to fill her in (making up a few last names as he goes through the
list.) He thinks it's just asking for trouble to invite "Lenard 'Big Nose' Wilson & Guest," but
he keeps it to himself.
The party planning committee is frightening, and any leeway he and Rapunzel are given is
taken with gusto.
Eugene gives his opinion fairly often in the beginning. This opinion is mostly along the lines
of, "No," or "Hell no." They start outright ignoring him, and he then decides that he needs to
pick his battles better. He needs to find just the right thing to push on the party planning
committee that will disrupt their plans most effectively and still get him something he
wants. After much deliberation, he pushes for a particular brand of beer and the release of a
bazillion floating lanterns. It helps that Goldie and the queen are behind him one hundred
percent on one, and the king's behind him on the other.
Having gotten his way on both of these, he backs down and lets the party planning
committee do what they want. As long as he's married by the end of the day, he doesn't
care.
The only time in the entire process that they actually ask his opinion is when they ask who
his best man is.
"I don't know. Can Pascal do it?"
"Pascal," the committee member says with a distinct tinge of disdain and sarcasm, "already
has multiple roles in the ceremony. It would be rude to ask him to bear any more
responsibilities."
"Huh. Well, how about Max?"
The party planning committee is not amused. A week later he's informed that Lord Wesley
will do the honor of being his best man, and Eugene is shocked to hear that the kid's head
didn't explode when he was asked.
After his failure to find himself a best friend who isn't an animal or the person he's
marrying, the party planning committee gives up on asking him questions and turns to just
telling him things. They burst in as he's being given a lecture on economics and tell him to
stand up so they can take his measurements. The worst part of this isn't that he has to strip
off several layers of clothes while three people poke at him with measuring tapes in the
middle of the library. No, the worst part is that his instructor keeps talking through the
whole ordeal.
Then they burst in on a lesson about the inner workings of the judicial system to hold up
bolts of cloth to his face and comment on how "this shade makes him look peaky."
And then there's the dancing lessons. The party planning committee has cleared out one of
the smaller banquet halls, which is still obscenely large, so that he can practice, and the
most renowned dancing instructor to have ever graced the word with his presence, a
mediocre pianist, and the queen are all there to watch him screw up. At least Rapunzel's
there too. She already knows how to dance and her presence makes him calmer at things
like these.
"I don't dance," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You have to, Eugene," the queen tells him from her seat next to the piano. She doesn't
even bother looking up from her book.
Why is it even necessary? Last time he checked, all he had to do was sign some papers and
say, "I do." Since when was dancing a requirement for the process?
"I don't dance."
"Yes, you do. I've seen you," Goldie says. She turns to beam at the instructor. "He sings
too."
Despite the princess' pride in this fact, the instructor is unimpressed. Dancing is an
acceptable manly past time. Singing is not. Eugene scratches at his eyebrow and mutters, "I
don't sing either."
This – of course – causes her to burst into song, bobbing up and down to the beat of her
own voice and using hand gestures that he vaguely remembers using. God, he must have
looked like a fool.
"I've got dreams like you, no really. Just much less touchy feely. They mainly happen
somewhere warm and sunny!"
"I was threatened into doing that."
"On an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone-"
He snatches up her hand, pulls her against his chest, and locks a hand over the small of her
back, effectively ending her song. Her eyes widen in surprise – an expression that easily
slips into a grin.
He shots her a glare he doesn't really mean, then turns it on the instructor. "It's like this,
right?"
Behind him he hears the queen's delicate cough that she uses to cover up her laugh as the
instructor adjusts everything about his posture. After a few basic instructions the music
starts, and under the cover of a sluggish waltz, Goldie giggles into his ear.
"Surrounded by enormous piles of money!"
He pulls her closer, not enough to get him yelled at, but close enough that she can't see his
smirk.
One day the party planning committee bursts in during dinner and drags him away so he
can try on his outfit. He stands on a little box in front of multiple mirrors while a whole mess
of tailors have him step into this and shrug on that and button this up. There's a long line of
hooks down the front of his jacket, and suddenly he's very relieved that Goldie knows how
to work hooks. He smirks. The best part of this outfit will be taking it off.
He likes the boots though. Those are nice. They don't fit in the way that new boots never fit,
and he wonders if he's going to be allowed to break them in. Did you know that you can eat
boots if you get really, really hungry? Eugene does. Of course it's always better to try to sell
them before you try to eat them. You get more meals out of them that way. And the ones
he's wearing right now could buy him something like a hundred meals.
One of the tailors adjusts his baldric, then as one the crowd around him steps backwards
and he's able to see himself in the mirrors.
He stares at his reflection.
And he just keeps staring, because damn it, he looks good.
Ok, maybe this outfit isn't so bad.
He swallows and runs a hand over his baldric, fingering the sun medallion resting against
his chest. This is what he'll look like when he gets married. Complete with stupid
expression. He blinks and realizes that everyone is staring at him and he's not upholding his
usual levels of obnoxiousness.
"Can't you do something about this collar?" He tugs at it, but he doesn't think he's fooling
anyone.
"No," one tailor snaps, and they're on him again, inserting straight pins into his sleeves and
his pants and the back of his jacket for alterations. He holds very still and stares at the only
part of himself that he can see: his stupid expression.
As soon as they let him loose, he tracks down Rapunzel and pulls her against him, into a
fierce kiss in the middle of the hallway. He doesn't notice if people are watching him. He
doesn't care. All he knows is that he feels like he's been kicked in the chest and he's not
sure if it's a good feeling or not. He needs her to help him pull himself back together and
remind him what the hell is going on.
He closes his eyes and all there is is her, her breath and her mouth, her arms around his
shoulders, her waist in his hands. The smell of her, the heat of her, the way she melts
against his chest, it all washes over him and after a moment that tightness in his chest
dissipates. He lightens his kiss into something more soothing, something more caring and
respectful and much less needy.
She sighs as he pulls away, and smiles up at him with eyes so bright it makes him a little
giddy. Not that he'll ever admit that.
"Are you freaking out?" she asks.
"No. I'm all done."
"Ok." She gives him a peck, then continues on her way, off to a tea with the ladies from the
kingdom's public library system.
Chapter 35

The castle is in chaos in the week leading up to the wedding. Every member of the party
planning committee looks as though they will either explode or faint and any moment.
When they aren't hovering over a dozen servants working in an assembly line to make
centerpieces, they're marching down the hall dictating lists of things they've yet to do to a
frazzled looking scribe. Or they're having a panic attack in the kitchens because some
obscure food item is missing a garnish. Or they're barging in, asking Rapunzel for her
opinion, then giving up when she takes too long to decide and barging back out again to
worry about it on their own.
Eugene offers to help. Not because he really wants to help, but because everyone is so
stressed that it seems like the polite thing to do. Also because he's getting a bit jumpy and
would like to have something mindless to do with his hands. Hanging decorations in the
courtyard seems like it would do the trick for a few hours.
The party planning committee won't hear of it.
"You should be relaxing, Mr. Fitzherbert."
"I think we have all the help we need," meaning "you're going to screw something up."
"It'll be best if I just do that myself," meaning "I'm too hysterical to even delegate right
now."
Eugene finds himself shadowing people, just to keep himself occupied and calm. Whenever
he sits alone and unoccupied, he starts getting twitchy and eventually has to go track down
Rapunzel anyway. He thinks it's best if he just avoids the tightness in his chest completely,
even if that means following her like some kind of lost puppy.
He gets shooed away when it's time for her final veil fitting. What are the chances of a veil
not fitting? And what is there to alter if it doesn't? He asks the king about this, because
that's who he's attached himself to at the moment.
The king looks up at him from across his desk and a thick pile of paperwork. "Eugene," he
says, "calm down."
So Eugene's grateful when Wesley finally shows up. When he's following Wes around it
looks like they're hanging out and he looks like less of a loser. And following Wes around is
a lot like following Rapunzel around in that they're both overly excited about everything and
Eugene can tune out large portions of it.
"Hey, Eugene," Wesley chirps, popping his head into the study where Eugene and Pascal are
sitting, working on one of Rapunzel's jigsaw puzzles.
"Hey!" He jumps up to greet his best man and get as far away from the evidence of his
boredom as he can. Pascal is great and all, but it sucks to have him as your only
companion. "Good to see ya. I'm starting to go craz- What is that?"
"Huh?"
"That." Eugene points to the Wesley's waist. "What is that?"
"Oh!" Wesley beams and pulls the satchel over his shoulder to hold it out for display. "Do
you like it? It's an authentic Flynn Rider bag."
"You bought my satchel?"
"Yeah! Well, I bought a satchel. But I know it's not the real thing. You need yours." He looks
up at Eugene hesitantly, the squint of his eyes giving away his anxiety. "Right?"
Eugene stares at him, not quite sure where to start with this one. "Ok, first off, you do
realize that this is insane, right? Don't be like Flynn Rider. That guy's a jerk and you're
starting to weird me out."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"So does this means that this is your satchel?" A certain delicacy sneaks into his voice, as if
he's heard something and wants to find out if it's true without flat out asking. It makes
Eugene wary.
"Probably."
"And… you sold it at the pub because you needed money?"
Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. "What of it?"
Wesley sighs. "I would have given you money."
"What?"
He shrugs. "I would have."
"God! No!"
"Why not? I mean, you deserve some of it. Like an inheritance or something. I've got more
than I need."
"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all day. And I spent the morning watching people
polish silver." He was allowed to watch, but not allowed to help.
"Are you in trouble, Eugene? I can help you if you are."
"Just stop."
"I'm worried about you."
"Why? I'm marrying into royalty in three days."
Wes raises an eyebrow. When he does that the resemblance is uncanny.
"I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity."
"I still don't want it. And I don't want an inheritance and I don't want to talk about money
right now. Aren't you supposed to be here to make my life easier? You'd better get on that."
"Fine." He pauses a moment before trying one more time. "Do you want your satchel back?"
"No! You bought the stupid thing. It's yours."
"You sure?" He gives Eugene a skeptical look. "Why would you sell it in the first place?"
Eugene shrugs. "I don't need it anymore."
Oddly enough, this seems to satisfy the kid and he takes a seat at the puzzle and starts
frowning at it in concentration, absently scratching Pascal's eyebrow.
Eugene takes a seat too and hesitates a moment before asking the real question here. "Just
out of curiosity, how much did you pay for it?"
"Three thousand crowns."
"You're kidding."
"No."
"Ugg!" Killer is an ass.
The night before the wedding, Eugene doesn't even attempt to sleep. Instead, he paces
around his room problem solving for all the different things that might go wrong the next
day. The problems he comes up with include tripping and falling, Rapunzel tripping and
falling, the king tripping and falling, over sleeping, over eating, losing Pascal, lighting his
floating lantern on fire, the pub thugs lighting their floating lanterns on fire, the thugs
lighting other things on fire, and the thugs starting a brawl, bursting into song, and just
generally embarrassing him. His solutions are all some variation of finding Goldie and
waiting for the whole thing to blow over.
Speaking of which, "Oh, you're up."
He turns to see her standing in his doorway, looking so beautiful that she makes him stop
pacing. She makes him forget what he was thinking about. "Can't sleep."
"Me neither. I'm too excited."
He draws her into his arms, bending to capture her lips and draw her up against him. She's
light in his arms as she bounces up onto her tiptoes and gently sighs. Her curves press
against his chest, supple and soft, her tender lips yield to his caress, her fuzzy robe
depresses under his hands.
He pulls away before she can lure him deeper, before the feeling changes form lighthearted
joy to smoldering need. He can't pull himself very far, and his lips brush hers as he speaks.
"You can't stay tonight."
"I know. I just came to bring you something."
"What's that?"
"Tea!"
She takes her hand from his shoulder to show him the teabag tucked into the palm of her
hand.
He raises an eyebrow. "Tea?"
"Everyone's been worrying about your feet getting cold. I think there's supposed to be a
cold snap or something this evening. Or maybe there's something wrong with your fireplace,
but I don't think that would make a difference because it's spring and it's not very cold out
and my fire hasn't been lit for a month. Of course it is colder in your room than it is in mine.
Tomorrow we'll both get to sleep there! But anyway, everyone is concerned about you. They
don't want you to get the sniffles. The cook said that the tea would help with that. It'll make
you warmer too. And it'll help you relax if you're as excited as I am. I'm so excited! But I'm
sorry you're not feeling well. Do you think you'll get better soon?"
She presses the back of her hand to his forehead to check his temperature, still holding
onto her teabag. He rolls his eyes.
"That's not what…"
He trails off as he looks down at her smiling face. She looks too happy to let her in on
exactly how little everyone seems to think of him. And she brought him tea. It's impossible
for her to get more adorable.
"That's sweet of you, Goldie."
She beams at him and presses the teabag into his hand, before pulling him into another
kiss. He lets this one get away from him, as she rocks against him, and pulls his lower lip
between her teeth, and he grows dizzy and warm and intoxicated by the movements of her
tongue. The teabag crumples as it's clutched in his fist, all the tiny leaf shavings crunching
into dust. He clings to the swell of her hip with his other hand, rumpling her robe to feel the
silk beneath and the skin beneath that.
He's cut off just before he lets out a moan when someone knocks. Someone he hates. It
doesn't matter who it is.
He considers just ignoring them, but Goldie slips back down off her tiptoes and smiles up at
him through her eyelashes. "I shouldn't be here. I'll go back to my room once they leave."
This is not at all what he wants to do, so he steals another quick kiss before agreeing.
Giggling softly, she slips into his closet to hide.
He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face, then opens the door. In front of him
stands the king flanked by Hookhand, Wesley, and a few of the more agreeable guards.
"Uh… hey, guys."
"Hello, Eugene," the king says. "You don't look ready."
"Ready for what?"
Hookhand makes a snorting sound that's as disgusted as it is disgusting. "We're throwing
you a party, idiot. Put on a shirt. No one wants to see that."
Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and tries to keep the irritation out of his voice as he
addresses the king. "Umm, thanks… really… but it's late, and I kinda have a big day planned
tomorrow."
Hookhand snaps at him again. "Don't be a jerk, Rider."
"Yeah, it'll be fun," Wesley says.
"And it's not like you were going to sleep anyway," the king says.
"I really don't think-"
The king makes a small, dismissive gesture and says, "Get him."
Before he has time to react, Hookhand and Wesley sweep forward and grab him by both
arms to drag him back into his room to get him ready for his severely unwanted bachelor
party. He starts struggling when he realizes that they're headed for his closet, and he
manages to knock Wesley loose, but Hookhand is a mountain. He's like a force of nature
from which there is no escape. He squeezes his eyes closed in preparation for the oncoming
tongue lashings and punches, or ridicule and wolf whistles. There's really no telling which
one it will be.
Instead, there's nothing as Hookhand drags him inside and glares around the little room.
"You have too many clothes. It's disgusting."
"More disgusting than the unwashed bear skin you're wearing?" He doesn't know where the
comeback comes from. His mind's in panic mode. They're going to find Blondie. And where
did she go anyway?
"Shut up, Rider."
"My name's Eugene," he says, shrugging the man off. He glances around surreptitiously,
trying to find her hiding spot. Is there a secret tunnel in here or something? It'd be really
shitty timing to find that out now.
"I don't care. Hurry up. I'm thirsty."
Eugene grabs a shirt at random and shrugs into it. "You don't care what my name is, but
you want to throw me a party."
"Like I said, I'm thirsty."
"And we all know you can't drink without me."
Wesley looks up from inspecting a pair of boots and grins. "It's not a party without you,
Eugene."
Hookhand lets out a sarcastic, "Aww," as Eugene snatches up a pair of pants and changes
as quickly as possible, stuffing the teabag into his pocket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt,
and throwing on a vest without bothering to button it.
"Is this dressed enough for you?"
Wesley hands him his boots.
"Whatever," Hookhand says, giving him a shove to get him moving. Out of the corner of his
eye he catches Wesley wave at a dresser as they leave. The dresser reaches out a thin hand
and waves back.
They don't have time to go all the way to the Snuggly Duckling and most of the gang is in
town anyway for the wedding, so Eugene is dragged to a little pub in town. It's much nicer
than most of the pubs he's frequented, not that it's so ritzy as to make him feel
underdressed, but the glasses are clean and there are no obvious signs of vermin.
He's paraded over to a table already occupied by Big Nose, Vladimir, Attila and Fang. One of
the guards shoves him into a chair, and with everyone else spread out in front of him,
looking at him intently, he feels like he's at the head of the circular table. The king takes the
chair on his right so that he won't try to get away for fear of being rude. Hookhand takes
the seat on his left so that if he does try anything it has only a slim chance of working.
Someone buys him a beer, but he can't tell who it's from. It doesn't taste like piss, which
considerably narrows down the suspects, and he takes a guess that it's from Attila.
"Alright, everybody settle down," Vladimir booms over a chorus of groans. His voice is so
low and growling that it demands attention even when he's not shouting. "We all know why
we're here: to give Rider a good send off."
"More girls for us!"
"Dumbass, there will never be more girls for you."
"Shut up."
"I think," Vladimir rumbles, "that we should all give him… uh, advice or something."
The table reluctantly agrees, because none of them really know what you're supposed to do
at a bachelor party except get drunk and buy a lap dance, and the second of these ideas
isn't going to happen. They all like Rapunzel and this pub is too nice to host that kind of
business and the king is there.
Eugene gives them all a look of burning skepticism. "You guys are going to give me advice?"
"Yes."
"Have any of you even been in a relationship before?"
"I am!" Big Nose shouts, a delighted grin lighting up his hideous features.
Everybody groans.
"Stop talking about her!"
"We don't care!"
"You just made her up anyway!"
"I did not!"
"If you didn't then she has brain damage."
"Or she's blind."
"And has no sense of smell."
"Or taste."
"You dare insult my lady's sensory perceptions?"
"Yeah. Bring it."
The king clears his throat before the first punch is thrown, and as easily as that they all
drop it, settling begrudgingly back into their seats, which creak under their weight. Thank
God the king is here. He'll keep things within some sort of limits.
Or his presence will make the whole thing ten times more painful. Having his idiot friends
give him crude advice in front of his future father-in-law was not high on his list of things to
do this evening.
Eugene takes a deep drink of his beer.
"You need to be nice to her," Big Nose says. The table mumbles an agreement. "Like give
her compliments and things."
"Especially about things that probably shouldn't be complimented. She probably feels bad
about those."
"Like her haircut."
Eugene glares at them. "Watch it."
"Oh come on, it looks awful."
"Yeah, when is that gonna grow out?"
"It's not," Eugene growls. "That's how it'll look forever."
"What?"
"Forever? That's stupid."
"Poor kid."
"Did she cut it herself or something? She does get carried away sometimes."
"I hope she didn't pay someone to make her look like that."
"It looks fine," Eugene snaps. Actually, he thinks it looks more than fine. He still feels a
pang of guilt whenever she reaches for hair that isn't there, but the overwhelming
attractiveness of the new look generally crushes those thoughts. It's just so grabbable now,
like he can fist his hand in it and pull her close and make her look all disheveled.
"There ya' go!" Big Nose says. "That's a good start."
"But how's he going to complement her little-"
"Stop trying to find faults with my girl," Eugene says through clenched teeth.
"Yeah, let's find faults with Big Nose's girl."
"She's stupid."
"And ugly."
"And easy."
"SHUT UP. You haven't even met her. She's lovely and delightful."
"It's not bad that she's easy. Don't want to be in a situation like Rider."
"My name's Eugene."
"That reminds me." Hookhand swivels in his seat to face Eugene. "I've got advice. See,
when you fuck her for the first time-"
"Oh God."
"-you need to be careful, 'cuse she's really little."
"Yeah. Don't break her."
"And make sure she's enjoying herself."
"Oh, that's my advice. You see, there's this move you can do where-"
"I don't want to hear it," Eugene says, signaling for another drink.
"It's not that hard to do. I think even you could pull it off."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means we hate you."
"Yeah, I can see that."
The advice during his second beer only grows more graphic, with descriptions of how to go
slow but still enjoy himself that are so bizarre that he's sure none of them have ever
attempted it. (They haven't.) None of them even consider the possibility that Goldie would
be anything other than a demure little flower, much less that she's a handful and a half.
They don't know that he has a pair of scratches on his shoulder from her fingernails and a
bite mark on his abs that haven't quite healed yet from the last time they fooled around.
They don't know, and he's definitely not going to let them in on the secret, so most of their
advice doesn't apply to him (even if it is good advice for someone else, which he doubts.)
And anyway, where do they get off giving him advice? Idiots.
The thugs and the guards grow more irritated with every passing moment in which Eugene
doesn't pull out a pen and start taking notes. Meanwhile, Wesley is following the
conversation so intently that he looks like he wishes he had a pen of his own. The king is
humming something under his breath, drinking his beer and looking up at the ceiling with a
little smile, having gone momentarily deaf.
The realization that the men sitting around the table are somehow, against all odds, actually
his friends is an odd one.
After Eugene finishes his beer, he orders a mug of hot water and tosses in the teabag from
his pocket with a little plop.
"What the fuck is that?"
"Tea. Goldie gave it to me."
"Ugg. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."
"Tea? You've gotta be kidding."
"Tea from your girlfriend? When you could drink… anything else?"
"Shit, Rider. You are so whipped."
He plucks up his mug and gives them a blank look. "My name's Eugene."
Chapter 36

Maybe the party wore him out, or maybe the tea really helped, but for whatever reason
Eugene was able to sleep for a while when they returned to the castle. Since he's the only
one who doesn't have a hangover in the morning, he's going to attribute it to the tea.
Three valets wake him up to fill the tub in his washroom with hot water. They attempt to be
delicate as they explain that he really does need to use soap.
"I know how to use soap," he says.
They look skeptical.
"If you don't do a good job, we'll make you do it again."
"And we'll make sure you do it right."
"And use this soap. It smells like vanilla."
Eugene grumbles. He really doesn't want to smell like vanilla.
After his bath they let him eat breakfast, which is way too heavy for how tight his stomach
feels. He eats a half a slice of orange then pushes his bacon around his plate. After a while
the valets decide that he's not going to eat anymore and frown at him for wasting their
time.
They make him brush his teeth, and at first they seem to think that he can handle it on his
own, but then they make him do it a second time. He then has to hold a little minty ball in
his mouth for a half hour to make his breath smell nice. It also numbs his tongue. He tries
to ask if that's normal, but they snap at him and tell him to keep his mouth shut.
They've decided that he can't wash his hair on his own, so they plop him down and have
him lean back into a tub of water while they massage his scalp. He rolls the little minty ball
around in his mouth and stays quiet. He starts to wonder if keeping his mouth shut until it
dissolves is really necessary or if they just made it up so he'd stop complaining. They rub
four different substances into his hair, and he never asks what any of them are or what
they're for.
While one valet is busy with his hair, another goes after his fingernails, which is beyond
bizarre. They are cut, and buffed, and his cuticles are poked at, and stuff is rubbed against
his cuts and different stuff against his calluses. Eugene sincerely hopes they're not going to
come after him with nail polish. He'd have to punch someone.
They dry his hair, then spend a very long time combing it. Eugene informs them that his
hair style is sexy and if they make him look stupid he's going to kick all their asses. They
ignore him and chalk it all up to the fact that he's both nervous and an idiot.
"This is all a bit much. Don't you think?" he asks.
"No."
"Is anyone even going to notice my fingernails?"
"Yes. They're disgusting."
"Are not."
"The princess awoke a full three hours before you for her preparations."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
Eugene has a sudden, strong desire to see her and make sure she's alright after having
people prod at her for so long. He tries to run a nervous hand through his hair, but he's
promptly shouted at as his hand is snatched away from his head.
Wesley shows up as one of the valets starts sharpening his straight razor.
"Hey, Eugene. How you doing?"
"Peachy."
"Oh, you're not dressed yet. Then I'm taking off my jacket. It's too stuffy."
"Good call."
Wesley gives him a high five and flops down onto the window seat as a valet presses a hot
towel to Eugene's face.
"How's Goldie? Do you know?"
"No. They're not going to let me in to see her."
"That's true."
"Do you need anything else? You hungry?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yeah. I don't think I can eat."
"You should try anyway."
"They'll just make me brush my teeth again."
"That's right," the valet says, rubbing warm shaving cream between his hands before
plastering it against Eugene's jaw.
Wesley informs him that he looks funny, and Eugene tells him to fuck off.
There's a moment of horror when Eugene suspects that the valet is going to shave off his
beard, but it passes and the procedure ends up being the most pleasant part of the day so
far. He attributes this mostly to the fact that he now smells like aftershave instead of
vanilla, and that makes him feel more manly all the way around.
Everyone wants to help him get dressed, which is weird because he's not a toddler and he's
never considered that helping someone get dressed could be a fun pastime. He pulls on his
vest undershirt and his white dress shirt, and he's swarmed by people who want to help him
with his cuff-links.
He steps into his pants, which are a warm reddish brown with a gold stripe down the
outside seam. Someone hands him a leather belt, and he notes that his ass looks really
good. He wonders whose idea that was.
Someone helps him shrug into his jacket, then someone else starts on all the hooks running
down the front. It's a creamy white color with more gold embroidery around the cuffs of his
sleeves and running down his chest to hide the clasps. It's heavy cotton and he's positive
that he's going to melt in the heat. Someone hands him a glass of ice water and he takes
two gulps before he starts feeling queasy again.
One of his shoulder straps is unbuttoned to attach his baldric, a gold strip of fabric that runs
from his right shoulder to his left hip, bearing a metal sun emblem that rests against his
chest. Someone refastens his shoulder strap, while someone else snaps the baldric together
at his hip. In theory he would attach his sword to this, but he doesn't have a sword, no one
wants him to have a sword, and it would mostly just get in the way anyhow.
He pulls on his boots and notes that even though it took five people to get him dressed,
Wesley manages to get his jacket on by himself.
And then he has nothing to do. He tries to sit, but he's too anxious and the valets keep
giving him dirty looks because he might be wrinkling his clothes. Then he tries pacing, but
he can tell that this is making everyone else anxious.
"If you touch your hair again, I will handcuff you to something!" one of the valets shouts.
Eugene stuffs his hands in his pockets, which makes the valet groan as he wrinkles his
jacket. Why did they give him pockets if he's not allowed to use them? That's stupid.
After a while, he kicks Wesley off the window seat and pries open his hiding place to get his
pocket watch and check what time it is. He has about an hour before the ceremony, and he
thinks maybe they should start making their way over there. It is, after all, a full five
minute walk.
Wesley tells him to calm down.
Is Rapunzel feeling this anxious? He hopes she's not. He hopes she's still excited and not
getting overwhelmed. He hopes she's not so anxious that she faints or has a panic attack
and doesn't show up. He'll be standing there in front of hundreds of people as it's
announced that she's feeling a bit ill and there's not going to be a wedding after all.
He swallows and checks his watch again.
Wesley tells him to calm down.
Eugene's about to tell him to bite him, when there's a knock on the door, and Eugene
assumes that that means it's time to go. But it's not. It's just the queen come to check on
him.
"Is Rapunzel ok?"
The queen is very sweet not to laugh at him. "Yes, dear. She's fine. She's going to wear
herself out if she keeps going like she is."
Relief sweeps over him, his shoulders sinking, the tension in his jaw seeping away.
"Oh, Eugene, you look so handsome," she says, giving him a hug that he didn't realize he
needed. When she pulls away her eyes are a bit teary, which amuses Eugene so much that
he makes fun of her. She swats him and leaves.
After a mindless half hour, the valets decide that it's time to leave and they walk way too
slowly across the castle to the grand ballroom where the ceremony will take place. Then
they wait around some more, this time at the side entrance where Eugene can peak inside
at everyone in their finest clothes and most colorful hats. The piano music in the
background doesn't cover the murmur of discussion, which fans the nervous tremor in his
arms and hardens the knotted ball in his stomach.
"Look at Lord Oliver's outfit," Wesley whispers in an attempt to distract him. "Can you
believe anyone would wear something that made them look so…"
"Clown like?"
"I was going to say distracting, but I like yours better."
"Maybe him and Ulf will hit it off."
"Yeah, because Lord Oliver talks enough for three people."
Eugene snickers.
Their discussion of who has the most hideous/scandalous/attention grabbing outfit is
interrupted as the pastor comes up behind them and notes that Lady Wendy's gown is
ridiculous, with which everyone agrees.
"You ready?" the man says, straightening his stole and tucking his notes under his arms.
Eugene shrugs. "Are you?"
The pastor squeezes his arm and throws open the door to let light from a hundred windows
and the murmur from a hundred voices into their dark little hallway. Wes throws him a
thumbs up, and Eugene squares his shoulders and marches into the room.
The background music settles as everyone focuses their attention towards the front, toward
Eugene. He thinks about waving, but decides against it. He does shoot a grin at the queen,
who has a handkerchief tucked into her hand. She tries to glower at him, but she's smiling
too broadly.
And then the music starts up again and Eugene watches, his chest tightening as the single
bridesmaid appears. It's a girl from the kitchens who he's met a few times, but he can't for
the life of him remember her name. She's mostly just there to give Pascal a ride anyway as
the chameleon is tucked inside her bouquet. In theory he has both the rings.
The girl smiles at him as she takes her place up front, but he doesn't even notice because
Rapunzel's turn is next and he's so excited that his brain feels fuzzy.
The crowd stands as one and Rapunzel appears.
She's resplendent.
And she's beaming. And he's beaming back. And it's like the last few hours of painful
anxiety never even happened.
Her dress is the exact same shade of cream as his jacket, decorated with the same swirling
gold embroidery, showing off a tantalizing amount of skin. Her veil is long and gold and
reminds him so strongly of her blonde hair that it's funny. Under her veil he can just make
out that her hair has been braided back and decorated with little, white flowers.
He looks away long enough to shake the king's hand and be pulled in for a hug. And then
he's standing with her at his side, where she belongs, and he's holding her hand, and he's
lost in her eyes, and he's grinning so madly that his face starts to hurt.
He can't even pay attention to the pastor as he's too busy marveling at how much he loves
her and how she is his forever and ever. He repeats what he's told to repeat, but he's not
sure he gets all the words right, and he doesn't concentrate enough to know what he's
saying. Later he'll hope that he didn't agree to anything weird.
Pascal holds out his tail for him to take Rapunzel's ring. He slips it back onto her finger and
she sighs as if she was missing it between the time she gave it to Pascal and now. The
chameleon smirks at him, then sticks out his tongue to give Eugene's ring to Rapunzel. She
takes it off the tip of his tongue with a giggle and slips it onto Eugene's finger. It's slimy,
but he doesn't care as he takes her hand again.
It's announced that he's her husband, and she's his wife, and he should kiss her.
She throws her arms around his neck and grins. For a moment he grins back, then pulls her
tight, closes his eyes, and kisses her. And she's breathtaking and beautiful and warm as
sunshine. And he loves her more than anything.
Chapter 37

Eugene will only remember bits and pieces of the party that follows. The thousands of
congratulations blur together, as do the music and toasts. He will remember leading
Rapunzel in a dance, but they're holding each other so closely and she's giggling so much
that they are basically doing it wrong. The dance instructor would throw a fit. He'll
remember dancing with the queen while Rapunzel spins around with her father. He'll
remember that the cake is delicious, especially as Rapunzel brushes frosting off his face.
He'll remember that Big Nose cries and is comforted by a woman no one has ever seen
before, who surprisingly enough looks pretty normal.
But mostly he'll remember how hard it is to keep himself from kissing Rapunzel. Constantly.
And repeatedly, and with much more passion than would be appropriate in company.
She snuggles back against him as they release the first of the floating lanterns out in the
courtyard. The warm paper bounces off his fingertips and drifts off into the sky, soon
followed by a thousand more, and all the little lights reflect in her eyes.
Everyone cheers as they make their exit – cheering mixed with congratulations, mixed with
catcalls. He leads her by the hand as they dash back into the castle, and they don't make it
very far before they pull up short and fall into each other. He smiles into kisses and she's
entwining their fingers together and slipping an arm around his shoulders to draw him
closer. They grin at each other, then he kisses her one more time because it's just too hard
to stop.
"Come on." Kiss. "We shouldn't stand around-" Kiss. "In the hallway."
"Right." Kiss.
Eugene groans, then squeezes her hand, and she follows him with a giggle.
"You're supposed to carry me," she says.
"What?"
"It's bad luck if I trip in the doorway, so you're supposed to carry me."
"I think we're more likely to fall if I'm carrying you."
"My etiquette instructor said-"
"Ok. Ok."
He turns to lift her up, but she's faster than he is and climbs up onto his back for a
piggy-back ride before he can sweep her off her feet. His arms slip under her legs
automatically, doing strange things to the skirt on her dress.
He cranes his neck around to give her a sideways look. "I don't think this is what your
etiquette instructor had in mind."
Her eyebrows draw together in confusion, and he swoops to peck her cheek before setting
off again. She starts planting her own kisses across his cheek and down his neck with a
grin, and when she runs into his collar she makes a little noise of protest and starts
unclasping his jacket. Once that's done she starts on his dress shirt.
Eugene walks faster.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
He raises an eyebrow at her. "Where do you think we're going?"
"I think we're going to your room, when we should be going to my room." She laughs and
corrects herself, "Our room."
He stops because she's absolutely right. He's gotten a bit used to his room and the concept
of having her snuggled up in his bed.
"Oops."
He turns on his heel and heads the other direction while Rapunzel nibbles and kisses at his
ear. This doesn't really help him keep his balance.
She has to open the door because his hands are full of skirt, and she hops down and doesn't
give him time to turn before she hugs him around the middle, resting her head in the hollow
between his shoulder blades, sighing because she's had a very long day. Now that she's
here alone with him she can finally relax. He can too, and he takes a moment to close his
eyes and work the tension out of his shoulder, as if she's draining it all away from him.
"Hi," she murmurs.
"Hey." He drapes his hands over hers and gives her a reassuring squeeze. "How ya' doing?"
"Good. Just tired."
"But not too tired?"
"Hmm. Not too tired."
He turns to wrap her up in his arms. "You look beautiful."
"I know!" She beams and pulls away to spin around, holding her skirt out to the side to give
him a better look. "We match. Did you notice?"
"I did." He also noticed how much of her back she's showing off and how she's a good three
inches taller in her heels - which he now notices have disappeared.
She blushes from the funny way he's smiling at her, soft and gentle and full of more love
than she knows what to do with. She ducks her head to say, "You look good too, you know."
Cupping her face, he tilts it back up so he can look in her eyes and marvel at her flushed
and freckled cheeks. "Thanks, Goldie."
Her eyes slip closed as he bends to kiss her, long and slow, without any need to rush,
without any need to hesitate or pull back. She's his, and she wants him, and there's no one
who can do anything about it. He would have thought that this lack of danger would make
the whole thing less exciting, would make it too normal. But instead he feels free. For the
first time in his life he feels settled, and he realizes that finding his place like this is really all
he ever wanted, all he'll ever need.
She drags his hands to her waist, then around to the clasps on the back of her dress. And
he tries to memorize every sensation: the creaminess of her skin against his rough hands,
the texture of the embroidery across her dress, the taste of her pink lip stain, the gentle
click as each of her clasps come undone.
Her narrow sleeves have sat precariously just off her shoulder all evening, teasing him with
the thought that they might slip off at any moment. He pushes one down to uncover the full
expanse of her shoulder, a shoulder he's seen a hundred times before, but for some reason
has never looked so attractive.
The hooks down the back run all the way down to the curve of her ass, and once they're
undone he moves to pull down her dress by the sleeves.
"Wait. It comes off over my head." She grabs her dress by the bust line and pulls, and
Eugene tries to help her without knowing exactly which parts of her skirt are supposed to
come free and which aren't. After a moment of struggling she reappears again, her hair a
bit mussed and her cheeks a bit flushed, letting the mass of lifeless dress flop to the floor
while her many layers of delicate, netted petticoats settle back around her.
While he inelegantly kicks off his boots, she slips her hands into his shirt, palms flat against
his chest, and pushes both shirt and jacket off his shoulders to meet her dress on the floor.
"They're going to get wrinkled," she says, making no move to pick them up as he kisses her
neck and delicately unties the strings on her petticoats.
"You ever gonna wear it again?" His voice is low in her ear, making her tremble, making her
drag her hands up his arms, up his shoulders, up into his hair. Her petticoats fall to the
floor.
He plants his hands on her hips and leans back to get a look at her, and his eyes widen and
his jaw slackens and all he can really think to say is, "Wow," because his sweet, little
Rapunzel has officially become the sexiest thing to ever walk the earth. Her corset is laced
up the front, decorated with intricate white on white flowers, made of silk soft as air over a
firm base that bunches her breasts in a way that makes his fingers itch to let them free. It
wouldn't take much as they look fit to burst.
And then there are the stockings – stockings that stretch and strain over the curves of her
legs, stockings that could very well be painted on, stockings held up by the most delicate of
little ribbons attached to her corset.
The desire in Eugene's chest growls.
"I don't know how it all works," she admits, but he cuts her off with a kiss that's deep and
hot as he holds her tight in his arms, just the way she likes, and lifts her clear off the
ground to walk a half dozen steps and deposit her on the bed with a little squeak of surprise
and approval.
He pulls back enough to peel off his undershirt, and her hands immediately roam over his
bare chest, over his abs, awakening nerves he didn't know were asleep. She scoots
backwards as he crawls onto the bed, climbing over her as she props herself up on her
elbows to meet his lips.
Her leg curls up to rub against his side, looking for contact, looking for a way to get more.
And he runs a hand up her stockinged leg, pressing every inch of her against his palm,
feeling her shiver under his touch. With several meticulous motions, the little ribbons come
undone and he trails his hand back down, peeling back her stocking, letting her leg breathe,
letting her warmth seep into his palm. Undressing her is thrilling beyond words, as he strips
away layers to find the girl beneath, as his blood pumps faster and a fire lights in his belly
and his groin clenches. His fingertips brush over the curve of her ankle, and she presses
against him more eagerly.
He wants to take it slow, revel in every sensation, remember every moment. He doesn't
want a quick and dirty fuck before someone walks in on them. He wants to make love to
her. He wants to make her to feel like a goddess. He wants to rock her world.
Rapunzel doesn't understand this, and considers his slow and teasing movements to be
some sort of newly invented torture. She wants him. Now. And he needs to take her or
she's going to scream.
She grabs at his belt and in three quick, aggressive flicks she has the buckle undone. With a
belt end in either hand, she yanks him down to press against her. Eugene hisses, his face
pressed against her neck as he squeezes his eye closed and pants. She rocks her hips
against him and whimpers, nuzzling her face into his hair.
He takes off her other stocking a touch more quickly, and moves directly to her corset,
kissing on her collarbone, feeling one breast beneath the thick material. She franticly
pushes down his pants, but can't reach very far and settles for grabbing his ass, making him
buck instinctively against her, making them both gasp at the contact. Never one to back
down from an experiment, she repeats the action, and her head lolls back as he jerks
against her again.
Her corset comes loose enough for her to feel the whisper of night air against her skin, and
for her to pull it over her head, dislodging a few wilting flowers from her hair as it falls to
the floor with a muffled thump. A thin arm slips around his neck to pull him down, flush
against her, and he can feel her bare skin writhe against him, already showing the first
glimmer of sweat.
He holds her tight, one tensed arm firm across her back while the other roams over silky
skin. She holds him so close that he can feel the roll and boil of desire in her muscles, in the
shortening of her breath, in her kisses that grow more and more reckless. They pull at each
other. She tries to drag him down into pure sensation and abandon, heating every vein in
his body, making him dizzy. He tries to hold them back, make it last, make it good. It's a
struggle they willingly play out with mouths and hands and moans.
She struggles with his pants again, and he pushes himself off of her enough to shimmy out
of them while she strips off her underwear. His pants land on the ground with a thunk, and
he realizes that that's the sound a fancy watch makes as it hits a hardwood floor. Oops. Oh
well.
She kisses him again and he sighs into her, cupping her cheek in his hand, settling over her.
He pulls back to look in her eyes, to see her anxiously suck at her swollen lip, to see that
underneath it all she's still scared.
"You- You alright?"
She nods, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug and one last
comforting kiss.
"Relax," he whispers, and she nods again, rubbing her forehead against his.
He trails a hand down her body, stroking her twitching, shivering skin, not helping her relax
as they both wind tighter. He feels between her legs and she presses against him needily as
he strokes her, drawing out the wetness of her and coating his fingers before pressing his
length against her to send a bone shaking shudder up his spine.
With a steadying hand on her hip, he guides himself into her as carefully as he can. His eyes
roll as she tightens around him, and he presses his forehead against her to ground himself
for a moment, before he checks on her, his breath barely contained, his body on fire, his
eyes clouded with need. She grimaces, and swallows thickly, her fingers digging into his
shoulders. He doesn't think he can speak without moaning, so he drops a kiss against her
cheek and strokes her hair.
Her voice comes out high pitched and strangled. "I'm- It just- pinches a little."
And then she moves. Just a small shifting of her hips to get more comfortable, but it's
perfect, and he finds himself squeezing her tighter and kissing her passionately as he pulls
away then back in. She cries out. Then again. And again. Clenching her legs around his
waist and groping against his back for some sort of purchase.
There's only the heat of her skin, and the painful buildup of pleasure as she clutches him
tight, as she moves beneath him to match his strokes, as she gasps against his ear, sending
tremors from his eardrum to his tightening chest. She whimpers in half words and
exclamations, her movements becoming more wild, more desperate as she urges him on, as
he kisses her neck, as she bites at his shoulder.
Her arms fly up to cover her face, to try to hold herself in as she threatens to burst apart.
And he was absolutely wrong when he thought she couldn't get more beautiful than she was
in her wedding dress or in her sexy underwear, because one of his choice swear words falls
from her lips, and the thought that he is responsible for teaching her so many dirty things
drives his passion to new heights.
He seizes her mouth with his own, gobbling up any new expletives, drinking her in. And the
movement of his hips eases into a swirling pattern that has her eyes rolling back as she
chants. Yes… yes… yes…
His hands run up and down her sides, trying to draw her closer, because he can feel her
body tightening and he can feel the tension growing in a spot inside her as he pounds
against it again and again. He can feel all of her and it's breathtakingly, mind-numbingly
wonderful.
Her back arches and her head is thrown back, exposing the long, pale column of her neck,
which he sucks so passionately it'll leave a mark. Her mouth opens in a silent cry he can
feel against his tongue. He tries to keep moving, to make it last for her, but she's clutching
him so tightly that it's hard to do without hurting her.
She collapses under him, arms dropped and sprawled over her head, body limp, her chest
swelling with every labored breath. He gathers her up and rolls so she can collapse against
his chest with a little, dizzy mew of satisfaction. "Eugene…"
He kisses her because he's still hungry and she responds languidly, breaking it off to nuzzle
against his jaw line, leaving behind little, teasing kisses.
"Hey," he huffs, "don't you go to sleep yet."
"Mmm?" She runs a hand over his chest, brushing his skin with feather light fingertips,
drawing out a tremor of excitement from every taunting stroke, pulling out a groan from
deep within his chest that grabs her attention as his hands grip at her back.
With one hand splayed against his chest, she pushes herself up to look into his face, some
mixture of curiosity, pleasure, and pride just visible under the sated tint in her eyes. He
props himself up on an elbow and takes hold of the base of her skull to draw her closer so
she has to meet his burning gaze.
"Don't. Go. To sleep yet." The dark desire in his voice makes her shiver as an aftershock
sweeps over her, and she grins deliciously into a ravenous kiss as he adjusts her hips and
eases into her again, guiding her into a rhythm that has her alternatively giggling and
moaning.
She's naked and gorgeous above him, shamelessly enjoying every sensation, every caress
of his hands over her body. He cups her breast and she covers his hand and gasps so he'll
squeeze her tighter, so he'll rock into her harder. And with her own brand of wild
enthusiasm, she pushes him closer and closer to the edge, she pushes him so he topples
over and his vision blurs and there's a pulsing roar that threatens to make his head explode
and all his energy is released into her to leave him sprawled against the bed in a tangle of
limbs and breath and lazy kisses and murmured declarations of love before falling into the
most restful sleep of his life.
In the morning he'll wake with her in his arms as the first rays of sunlight brush across her
skin, shining in her hair, illuminating her sleeping face. He'll tuck a loose strand of hair
gently back into her braids and pluck up a drooping flower that's come loose during the
night. He'll slip it back into its proper place, or at least what he assumes is its proper place.
He's not sure, but it looks good enough.
He'll press his lips to the crown of her head before relaxing back into his pillow and closing
his eyes with a smile.
With her he's happy. With her he's at peace. And as long as she's by his side he knows…
He's where he's meant to be.
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