Thank God Sybil took me from this monster when I was born. The things he would have done to me… The torture I would have suffered at his hands is unimaginable.
I give him what I hope is a sympathetic expression even as hatred burns a hot path through my veins. “I understand you’re ill, and I want to help you. But each time I use the magic, it comes at a grave cost.”
Morbid curiosity demands I hear his response, however callous it will be.
Also, I need to buy time for my men to breach the castle. Every moment wasted grants them the precious moments they need. Sir Walter’s men wait for his order to take control of the garrison elsewhere within these walls. Anticipation crackles within me, a slow building deep within my belly that radiates up to my chest until each breath comes in short, excited bursts.
To John, I must appear frightened.
The fool.
He straightens his spine, coughs, then takes my measure. Where there was a fire in his eyes when I first arrived, there is now a…dullness. “What care do I have for the cost to you?”
You, indeed, are a cruel son of a bitch
Of course, I keep this thought to myself as I cross to the hearth. I appreciate that there’s always a fire burning to keep the damp and the cold at bay. Sadly, the mesmerizing flame can’t fend off the chill caused by John’s callousness.
“There are items I need to make an elixir. Mugwort. Anise. Lavender. St. John’s Wort.” I rattle off herbs that, although medicinal, are useless when mixed with my hair. “Also, I ask for time to prepare myself for the pain.”
“Prepare yourself while I rot with disease? You are a selfish bitch,” John roars. I don’t realize how close he is until he spins me around, the shock of his slap sending me to the ground. But the kick to the stomach knocks the air from my lungs. Gasping, I throw one arm around my midsection. Fling my other over my face. I’m too startled to remember my newfound instinct to fight back. He towers over me, jabbing his index finger at me. “I’ll grant you one night, Rapunzel. You have one fucking night toprepare yourselfwhile my physician gathers the herbs you require.” For a moment, I fear he’ll kick me again, but he doesn’t. “My patience only goes so far, even for you. Either willingly give me what I need or so help me God, I’ll have my men hold you down while I personally cut every strand of hair off your stubborn fucking head.”
I push down the pain, anger, and hurt and shuffle to my feet. Scraping up all my dignity, I notch up my chin to meet his livid gaze. “That is the first and last time you willeverstrike me. Next time you try, I will cleave your hand from your wrist.”
He narrows those angry eyes on me. “You dare to—”
“Yes, I dare.” I could kill him… And risk everything before all the pieces are in place because I couldn’t keep my temper in check. No, I’m smarter than that. Training at Dyhurst wasn’t solely about how to defend myself. It was also how to control a situation. John believeshe’sin command here. In truth, he is a puppet. I hold the strings. “I am Rygard’s princess. No one lays their hands on me.” This man speaks a language of violence. I must do the same. Anything less will be taken as a weakness. He must view me as a worthy opponent, or I may as well surrender to him and walk myself into his dungeon. “For the sake of this kingdom, swear you will not threaten to take from me what I will freely give you, and we will have peace between us.”
His eyes are full of suspicion. “No trickery, Rapunzel.”
“No trickery. You are my father. Of course I will do this for you.” With effort, I keep the disgust from my voice. “But not at the tip of a sword.”
John mulls this over a moment, his coveting, curious gaze locked on my hair. “Explain this…” He waves a hand through the air. “Agony.”
I pull the heavy braid over my shoulder and run my hand along the grooves of the plait. “The pain equals severing a limb when the strands are cut. It’s fleeting but excruciating.”
John rubs his forehead. Stifles a cough. Then he tugs the front of his blue tunic in place. Smooths a hand over the buttery brocade to ensure it lays perfectly over his torso to maintain an air of nobility. “Sybil’s magic always came at a cost. It killed your mother to give you life, and that’s why I took her tongue. Now, she can’t infect the world with her foul art.”
The ease with which he says this sends a shot of loathing up my spine. “You did Rygard a great service by locking her safely inside your dungeon.”
I want to spit the taste of that lie out of my mouth.
John keeps his cynical stare on me, seeking, I’m sure, a fracture in my performance. What this bastard doesn’t realize is that a lifetime spent in near-isolation taught me how to master my emotions.
“Did I?” One side of his mouth lifts in a sardonic grin. “Then after we take care of…this…” He gestures to his failing body. “Together, we’ll see to Sybil.”
“She kept me chained to the tower for twenty-four years.” I match his sinister grin. “That witch owes me my life.”
A hint of tension eases from him. “You give me what I need, and I’ll consider relaxing your restrictions.”
Indeed—I thought he said I wasn’t his prisoner.
“Go back to the hall, Father. Attend to your friends.” Although it disgusts me, I embrace him and feel how frail he is in my arms. “Come the morrow, everything will be as it should be. I promise you.”
I’ve fed this man many lies since the day Sir Walter brought me to Newkirk, but this vow is the first truth I’ve spoken to King John. It’s an oath I make, not to him, but to Rygard.
Because in a few hours, John will be dead, and this kingdom will finally be free.
ChapterTwenty-One
