Not today.
“Rapunzel, you fucking coward, come to the window, or I swear on all that’s unholy, I’ll rip this tower apart with my bare hands because not stone, nor magic, nor witch can keep me from you.”
But even as I issue the threat, a familiar thought slithers through my mind. One that’s always nagged at me. A question I never asked because the answer was blatantly obvious, although unspoken.
How does Sybil enter the tower?
When I was a boy, I assumed the witch came and went by magic. As I grew older, I realized Sybil must have a tangible way of entering and exiting—especially given how there is a well behind the building.
Rapunzel gets her water brought to her somehow—and it’s not by magical means.
Once I made that connection, I haphazardly searched the tower’s base, but never with real purpose. Obviously, I overlooked Sybil’s secret passage, one she likely conceals with magic.
No matter.
One way or the other, I’m gaining entry inside this goddamned tower before John’s soldiers eventually find her. And they will. They’re getting too fucking close. And if Rapunzel refuses to come willingly, I’ll drag her out by her cursed hair.
10
RAPUNZEL
Wren’s hatred is a spell that wraps around me, more potent than any magic Sybil could weave.
I feared he’d never return. I hoped with my whole heart he wouldn’t stay away. Now he’s here. I thought if Wren came back to me, we could pretend I hadn’t broken his heart.
What a foolish fantasy conjured by a desperate woman seeking atonement.
One that could never become a reality.
Regret, a heavy weight on my conscience, sinks me to the floor. Wren invested everything of himself in our friendship while I held everything of myself back. He gave. I took. Because…
Because.
Because I spent my life afraid. Even during Wren’s darkest moments, Sybil’s warnings overrode all else. They were a deafening and constant reminder that I am a danger to myself and anyone who learned of my curse.
So I hid the truth from my only friend.
The person who opened my eyes to a world of possibilities that my cloistered life will never afford me.
Now he hates me. I despise myself, and when I slap my hands over my ears to block out Wren’s shouts, I also ache to silence my conscience. I wish I could quiet the nagging voice that’s haunted me during the years he was gone. The one that reminds me of what I did—what Ididn’tdo. How I let his father die. That awful memory bleeds through my fingers. I fist my hands and press them harder against the sides of my head, hoping to fortify my resolve. But nothing can atone for my sin, and when I squeeze my eyes closed, Wren’s visits paint themselves across my mind like precious watercolors. The stories he shared with me are bright, colorful moments I kept locked inside my mind during the grim and empty days I spent in this tower.
“Rapunzel!” At another one of Wren’s ragged bellows, my eyes fly open. “Come to the goddamn window!”
I chew my bottom lip and push off the floor because I have no doubt Wren will do as he threatened. He’ll find the other way into the tower.
My window to the world isn’t the only access point.
Nothing is impenetrable, not even this fortress.
One more secret I kept from Wren.
The chain, fastened by a metal cuff around my ankle, is a burden as I shuffle across the room. The familiar weight slows my steps. I hitch in a trembling breath, with Wren’s shouts echoing across the glade. I hang my head with guilt when I step to the open window. The fresh, summer wind whispers over me like a warning from nature.
And then my insulated world falls quiet. Deathly silent. The echo of Wren’s shouts fades into the forest. I refuse to meet his glare. Then his words punch a hole through my heart. “There you are, you fucking coward.”
I grip the weather-battered wooden ledge as if my life depends on it. “I’m not a coward, Wren.”
“Look at me.”
