Unless Rapunzel proves too stubborn and leaves me no choice.
“I am your father, Rapunzel.”
Her relief is palpable. “I’m glad. I’ve been so lonely.” She closes her eyes a moment, the tears finally breaking to cut a path down her smooth cheeks. “I would… I would love you if you let me.”
My dubious nature warns me not to trust her. But Anne. She looks so much like Anne… No, Rapunzel’s face must not deceive me. My daughter will have the illusion of freedom while being my prisoner. And as for love, that she can keep. What need have I of such a useless emotion when whatever love that lived inside me died with my wife?
ChapterSixteen
The memories of the tower move through my mind like fragmented dreams. Broken images that somehow no longer find a proper fit when pieced together. And yet, the desolation that marks my soul from my time there is a part of me. A skin I wear beneath the one the world sees. It was easy to forget how it stretched and moved and wrapped itself around me when I was at Dyhurst. There, I was happy. I was…loved. Here, suspicious eyes watch me.
Here, nowhere here is safe.
I’ve been at Newkirk for a sennight. The time has crawled over me like a march of insects across my flesh. The more I pretend that Wren and Dax and Quinn were merely my benevolent captors who released me to face Lansing, the further I feel from them. I haven’t dared to whisper their names aloud for fear these walls have ears. Instead, I chant them inside the privacy of my mind during the lonely, endless nights.
I’ve yet to meet Eleanor. Nor had John allowed me to see Sybil. Wisely, I’ve not pressed to see either woman lest I rouse his suspicions about further—or rile his temper. Eleanor spends most of her time hiding in her room. Hiding from her husband. He refused her the Queen’s Chamber. My mother’s room lay empty and perfectly preserved until I arrived. John couldn’t bring himself to have another woman invade her space—until I showed up on his doorstep, and he put me in there.
Life at Newkirk is my version of the wrong side of the afterlife because being here is akin to Hell. Presided over by an imposter devil with a false benevolent smile and an obnoxious laugh.
A guard follows me everywhere. Suspicious eyes track me. Curious stares study me. Since I entered this fortress, I’ve been a prisoner disguised as a princess. But above all, John’s distrust, his illusion of civility—is a noose wrapped around my neck. One that tightens the longer I must wait for the perfect moment to put the final stage of our plan into action.
As I stride toward the monster I’m forced to call Father,
John’s icy grin pulls me forward. One foot in front of the other. Whispers sound around me from the shrewd but needy courtiers who crowd this gilded hall. All vie for the attention of Rygard’s found princess. They are background noise. Silly creatures easily ignored.
I have crossed paths with Sir Walter, though. He says nothing to me, but his eyes always seem to see too much. Seem to see those secrets he warned me to keep close to my heart.
“There she is,” John announces with a dramatic clap. However, the sparkle in his eye when he spies my blonde waves is genuine. Last evening over dinner, I caught him attempting to touch it, and I nearly gagged on my roasted pork. I had to wash down the bile with a hearty swallow of spiced wine lest I disgrace myself at the king’s table in front of a roomful of nobles. “Rapunzel, that blue on you. You are your mother reborn.”
I’m wearing a lovely sapphire frock decorated with intricate gold embroidery. Suddenly, I wonder if I’m wearinghergown. It wouldn’t be beyond John to dress me in my mother’s clothes. In many ways, he’s trying to recreate her by putting me in her room, presenting me with her jewels, and constantly reminding me of how my temperament is akin to hers.
I wonder if this is for my benefit, to connect me to a mother I never met—or to keep him from killing me by constantly reminding himself that I am a product of his beloved wife.
“Thank you.” I force up the corners of my mouth in a false grin. When I reach the dais, I snag a bit of the velvet, gold-edged skirt and give it a gentle swish. “Although I appreciate these gifts, I must insist you stop. You’re spoiling me.”
Yesterday, he presented me with a beautiful brown mare he’ll never allow me to ride.
These gifts may be grand, but they are empty. A display for the nobles who peck at his feet like chickens seeking crumbs. To show them how much he loves me by showering me with frippery.
John slowly rises. I note his slight sway. He touches the arm of the throne and holds still for the briefest of moments. “And what else am I to do with my fortune other than spend it on my daughter?”
Use it to better the lives of your people.
Of course, I swallow the retort and step onto the dais to accept his outstretched hand. He pulls me into his arms, and it’s an effort not to recoil from his embrace. His touch makes my skin crawl. Worse, he rests his cheek against the side of my head and buries his hand in my hair as if he’s cradling me. “I trust you are well?”
“I am, thank you.” I allow this farce of affection to go on for as long as possible, then push away. “You’ve made me very welcome in your home.”
Lies. I am a captive, and I want to see Sybil and Eleanor.
“My home?” Johntsksat me with a playful wag of his finger. “Our home.” Then he turns to regard his courtiers. To me, they are a nest of vipers lying in wait to strike. “It’s been eight glorious days since our lost princess has returned to us, and while we’ve rejoiced in our reunion, our queen has yet to celebrate this good fortune with us. But a new day has dawned.” He looks beyond the gathering of people to the opening chamber door that reveals a tiny, feminine version of Quinn.
Eleanor, quite simply, is exquisite.
Her bold red and gold gown is striking against her fair skin and plaited-to-perfection raven hair. Her steps are measured and graceful as the crowd parts for her. The only sound heard is the rustle of fabric as the courtiers curtsey when she strides past them. Her eyes are downcast, their color a secret. She steps onto the dais and slides her tiny hand into John’s. Her wedding band is an ugly reminder that she’s as much a prisoner here as I am.
“Good day,Wife.” John stresses the last word right before placing a kiss on her cheek. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice Eleanor’s barely perceptible wince. John, a handsome man twice her age, has an evil heart and rotten soul that makes him ugly. I can’t imagine she enjoys his touch, and as he inspects his young wife from head to foot, she compresses her lips and raises her eyes to the ceiling. She won’t find it there if she’s seeking a momentary refuge from his unwanted attention. “You look lovely on this fine morning.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she murmurs, redirecting her gaze back at John. “As always, you were correct. Rest was all I needed.” I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to hear her voice with bated breath until she spoke. When she turns to me and pins me with her mesmerizing sapphire eyes, the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess Rapunzel.”
