Eighteen Years Later
"Princess! Wake up already!"
Captain Marcus sighed as he finished pounding on the door. What was keeping Rapunzel in? She hardly ever slept this late, and there was a lot to do today. "Rapunzel!" he called again. But still, no answer. "Ugh, he's not going to be happy about this…" he muttered, putting a hand up to his face and turning around.
But when he removed his hand from his face, there was another face there to greet him. "Hey!"
"Ah!" Marcus took an involuntary step back in surprise. "Wha…" He frowned. "Rapunzel…"
The princess giggled. "Sorry, Marcus. Couldn't resist."
"Of course not. So, how long have you actually been up?"
"Longer than you have, lazybones."
He narrowed his eyes. "I had a late night last night…"
"Sure you did," she replied, still grinning at him.
"And I've been going around all morning getting things done. How much have you gotten done today?"
"Oh, not much. Just finalized the plans for the decorations, double-checked the guest list, made sure the menu was correct, helped Tara organize the bookshelves, stopped by the infirmary to see if anyone there needed help, and snuck up behind my best friend while he thought I was still asleep."
Marcus blinked. "I didn't think a princess was supposed to be so involved in the planning of her own birthday party."
"I can be as involved as I want. It's my birthday, isn't it?"
"Yes, but we do have people to do all of that work…" He sighed. "Ah, never mind. I've learned not to argue with you."
She smiled. "Good for you."
"But…" he grinned at her, "have you taken Maximus out for a ride yet?"
"You mean your horse? Sounds like your responsibility."
"Please. At this point, you're practically his owner. Besides, you did offer to take him out if I was busy."
"And you're busy now?"
"Yep. So…"
"I'll do it later today. I'm going to see Miss Gothel, remember?"
He frowned. "That's today? I thought you just went recently."
Rapunzel shrugged. "She said she wanted to see me again. I thought I could spare a couple of hours today. After all, there are other people working on the party."
Marcus raised his eyebrows. "Well, this is a rare moment, indeed."
"What?"
"You listening to something I said."
She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Actually, Princess, I'm supposed to escort you to the ballroom." He adopted an air of mock haughtiness. "Sir Gilbert wishes to make sure the princess understands the proper techniques involved in a royal ballroom dance."
Rapunzel would have giggled at his tone if the message hadn't made her groan. "Again? Why can't I just dance like I want to?"
"Because being a princess carries certain expectations," replied Marcus, grinning. "Also, you may want to put on shoes. And get your hair braided."
Rapunzel looked back at her hair, which was, undoubtedly, the most remarkable part about her (at least, her appearance). It was golden, even more beautiful than that of most people with blonde hair. But it was also about seventy feet long. When she had been little, cutting her hair had made it turn brown, and she had made such a fuss about it that everyone had decided to keep it as it was. So it continued to grow longer and longer, and it would have gotten to the point where it would have been cut, regardless of Rapunzel's protests, when it was discovered that her hair had magical healing properties. If she sang to it in a certain way, it would glow, and could heal any wound that it was in contact with. Such an ability, of course, was invaluable, and since cutting the hair turned it brown and nullified its powers, it had been allowed to grow. So now, it trailed far behind the princess, and people had to be careful not to trip over it or anything. Fortunately, it could be braided in such a way that it only hung to her ankles or so—a technique that had come very much in handy—and it was much lighter than most hair, so it didn't weigh down her head very much (though Marcus liked to joke that it was her thick skull keeping it up).
She sighed. "Do I have to?"
"Afraid so." He gave her a sympathetic look. "But don't worry. It won't take too long, and I'm sure that if you tell Gilbert that you're going to see Miss Gothel today, he won't keep you."
"Fine," said Rapunzel, and strode into her room to put on one of her few pairs of shoes. For reasons some people didn't understand, and some just turned their nose at, she preferred walking almost everywhere barefoot. This was tolerated when there was no event that required her to look fancy, but when there was, she had to be persuaded to wear something on her feet. And Sir Gilbert, who was rather uppity in his demeanor, would no doubt insist that the princess wear shoes for her birthday party.
Several minutes later, Rapunzel and Marcus strode down the castle corridors, the former now with shoes, braided hair, and a small chameleon on her shoulder, named Pascal, whom Rapunzel had found one day and refused to get rid of. "It may be difficult to dance properly with a chameleon on your shoulder, though," Marcus commented, earning a glare from the reptile.
"Do you think you could slow it down a bit?" said Rapunzel. "The later we get there, the less time I'll have to spend there."
Marcus chuckled and slowed his pace. "That's rather unlike you."
She sighed. "I know. I just…don't know why I can't be myself at these events. I mean, it's a party for me, right? So why can't I just do what I want?"
"Well," said Marcus, "unfortunately, it's not just for you. It's for everyone. Sure, we're celebrating your birthday, but it's a chance for everyone to see the princess they admire, in all her royal splendor. They look up to you, and so we need to show them that our princess is someone truly respectable."
Rapunzel frowned. "There are other ways to show someone's respectable."
"I know. But this is one of the best ones, especially for the more traditional-minded in the kingdom. A very independently-minded princess may appeal to some people, but we don't want to risk alienating the others."
"What about people who are alienated by tradition?"
Marcus shrugged. "We hope that they understand that traditional duties are part of your job description." Seeing her dissatisfied expression, he continued, "Look, I know it's not perfect. But you've been through it before. Just do your best to relax and go along with things. You'll have some fun, I'm sure of it." They drew up to the ballroom door. "Just, ah, maybe not right now."
She gave him a look, then sighed. "Well, thanks. I'll do my best."
He smiled at her. "Good luck."
After dropping Rapunzel off, Marcus went off himself to make sure his men were all prepared for the following day. He hoped that it would be unlikely for anyone to try anything on the princess's birthday, but there was always the possibility. The guards were not exceptionally talented…but they were loyal, and thanks to the leadership of both him and his father, quite capable of protecting what needed to be protected.
He let out a sigh. He really missed his father. Julius had been killed in a recent skirmish with a group of notorious outlaws, almost exactly one year ago. The outlaws had all been defeated, either killed or captured, but the captain of the guards had died, pushing his twenty-one-year-old son to the position of captain. Marcus was not incapable, but he was taking the position at a younger age than he had expected, and struggled a bit with the responsibility. But anyone who knew him would say that he had adjusted well, and was doing a good job of filling in the role of his father.
He himself was confident in his abilities. He had had much combat training, as well as seeing firsthand how his father led the other men. And there was also the cape. He wore a red cape almost everywhere he went, which, if he had to be honest, made him feel important and grand. But it also served as a reminder of his duties—it had been a reward for him when, eighteen years ago, he had helped to save the baby Rapunzel from a mysterious intruder. The king and queen, knowing he liked to wear a cape and play around, had gifted him with one (though it had been rather big at the time). But he had kept it, and now wore it with pride, enjoying the feel of it flowing behind him as he walked down the halls. Careful not to get it caught on a nearby suit of armor, he rounded the next corner.
"Oof!"
Marcus let out the exclamation as he ran into someone coming the other way, someone who was carrying a large stack of books. Both of them stumbled, and the books went falling to the ground, one of which hit him on the foot. "Ah!" he said. "That's a heavy one…"
The other person looked horrified. "C-Captain Marcus…oh, I'm so sorry, sir!"
Marcus took his foot out from under the large book and looked up. It was Tara, who worked in the royal library. She was fairly young—only twenty—but she had an excellent knowledge of literature, and a fantastic memory, making her an ideal candidate for the job. She even wore glasses, which Marcus secretly thought amusing, given her job. "Don't worry about it," he said, as she dropped down to pick up the books. "I should have watched where I was going."
"Oh, no, I should have seen you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Carrying all of these? I'm surprised you could see where you were going at all." He knelt down. "Here, let me help you…"
"Oh, you don't have to trouble yourself, sir…"
"Certainly, I don't. But it's no trouble." He stacked up the remaining books on the ground and picked them up. "There we go. See? Easy."
Tara stood up, too, the rest of the books in her arms. "Thank you, sir." She held out her arms, as if expecting him to place the other books in them.
Instead, he raised an eyebrow at her again. "Hang on. Where are you going with all of these?"
"Oh, I'm taking them to Sir Thatch. He's compiling a work on nearby celestial bodies and he needs some information."
Marcus hefted the books in his hands. "And he needs every one of these?"
Tara smiled somewhat sheepishly at him. "There's a lot of information about astronomy, sir."
"Evidently." Marcus thought for a second. "Well, I'm already carrying these, and Sir Thatch's room isn't too far away. Here, I'll help you bring them to him."
Tara looked taken aback. "Well…thank you, Captain, but…"
"But nothing. It'll only take a few minutes. I don't have any urgent business to attend to." He jerked his head in the direction of Sir Thatch's chambers. "Come on."
The young bookkeeper smiled at him. "O-okay. Thank you!"
The pair of them walked together down the hall. "Excited for the party tomorrow?" said Marcus.
Tara nodded. "Oh, yes. I…I'm not usually one for parties, but I always like the princess's. Everyone is so happy."
Marcus chuckled. "Yes, most of the time."
Tara looked at him questioningly. "Most, sir?"
"Oh, I was just speaking with the princess a few minutes ago. She's a little…well, not quite upset, but dissatisfied that there are certain ways she has to act on her birthday."
"Certain ways?"
"Sure. Putting on a formal air, dancing properly, wearing shoes…"
Tara couldn't help but grin. "She doesn't seem to like shoes."
"You don't have to tell me."
Her smile fell slightly. "No…I guess I don't."
They walked on in silence for a little while, until finally coming to their destination. "All right, here we are," said Marcus. Moving to the door that led into Sir Thatch's study, he pounded on it with his elbow. "Sir Thatch?" he called.
A few moments passed, in which the noises of someone stumbling around and papers moving could be heard, and then the door opened to reveal an older man, bald on the top of his head but with a sizable white beard. "Captain Marcus!" he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
Marcus smiled in response. "A pleasure to see you as well, Sir Thatch." He lifted up his stack of books. "I believe you ordered a rather large delivery?"
"Ah, yes," said Thatch, looking over at Tara. "Thank you, my dear. I hope you didn't need to call for his extra muscle to do the job."
"No, I merely bumped into her and offered to help," said Marcus. "Though this does seem like a lot…"
"The outer space has much to offer us, my good captain," said Thatch.
"Evidently," said Marcus. "So…do you mind if we come in?"
"Oh, no, of course not." The old man stood back and allowed the two to enter. "Just place them on my desk. Anywhere is fine."
Marcus cast a look at Thatch's desk, which was piled with papers that had all sorts of writings and drawings on them. "Er…anywhere, sir?"
"Yes, anywhere. I'll sort it all out later."
Marcus had a hard time believing that Thatch would sort out anything, but set them down on what looked to be the smallest stack of paper. Next to him, Tara did the same.
"Thank you both," said Thatch. "You know, I'm just finishing up a—rather impressive, if I may say so myself—paper on some astounding mathematical discoveries in the past two centuries. But I'd love an audience to give me some feedback before I actually put it forward." He looked at them both brightly.
Marcus spoke first. "Well, ah…that sounds interesting, but I do need to go check on my men. Make sure they're all ready for tomorrow, and everything."
Thatch raised an eyebrow. "You think there is a security risk for the princess's party?"
"You never know. We need to make sure nothing happens."
"Yes, well, that's true. I understand, then." He turned to Tara. "What about you, dear?"
"Oh! Um…sure, I don't mind."
"Wonderful! Just hold on one moment while I get it out."
He turned back to his desk, and Marcus took the opportunity to give Tara a sympathetic look, which she returned with a smile and a shrug. "Well," said Marcus, "hope it goes well. See you both tomorrow, then?"
"Oh, of course," said Thatch, not turning around. "Wouldn't miss it."
"Great." He looked back at Tara. "See you then, then."
She nodded. "R-right."
He flashed a quick smile at her before turning and leaving the room. He really did need to get everything settled with the guards…but he wasn't too disappointed about missing Thatch's paper. Well, at least Tara didn't seem to mind listening to it. The old man could still have an attentive audience.
Tara didn't particularly mind listening to Sir Thatch, but at the moment, her mind was not on his paper. It was where it tended to be a lot—on the man who had just left the room. Captain Marcus was certainly a handsome young man: fairly tall and muscular, with well-groomed black hair and an attractive face. It was no secret that he was the object of affection for many of the young girls around the castle—and outside of it, as well. And Tara was no exception.
Still, she knew that her attraction to him was little more than a fantasy. Marcus had all sorts of girls and young women fawning over him, and while she herself was not unattractive, there were many others who were more beautiful than she was. Most notably…the princess. It was widely suspected that Princess Rapunzel and Captain Marcus had a thing for each other, and many expected them to announce their engagement soon—especially now that the princess was about to turn eighteen. Tara didn't know for certain if this was true, but there was certainly evidence to back it up: they had known each other for years, grown up together, and spent much time together, often laughing and having a good time. Tara would be lying if she claimed she wasn't jealous, but still, she couldn't hold that against Rapunzel. The princess was very kind and well-loved, and had no reason to give up Marcus to anyone else…least of all one of the castle bookkeepers.
"Tara?"
"What?" She snapped back to attention, to find Thatch looking at her expectedly. "Oh…I'm sorry, sir, what was that?"
"I asked if you thought that my last sentence praised Isaac Newton too much, or if I should give more credit to Gottfried Leibniz."
"Oh, um…" She hadn't heard that last sentence at all. "Perhaps…perhaps if you read it again, I would get a better sense."
Sir Thatch gave her a strange look. Then, he lowered his paper. "Tara…you've barely heard a word I've said, haven't you?"
"Oh, no, sir, it's not like that…I think the material is interesting, I do…"
"I'm not saying you think my material is uninteresting—and I should hope you don't," he added with a huff. "But your mind is on something else." He glanced at the door. "Or should I say, someone else."
Tara went red. "I…I'm sorry, sir…"
Thatch shrugged. "I understand. I was young once, too." His eyes became more grave. "But…I must warn you that you should not expect it to end well for you."
Tara sighed. "I know. But…it's hard to control."
"I'm sure it is. But do you know what I think?"
She looked up at him. "What?"
"I think that you will find a way to get over it. Now I'm not saying anything against you—you're a perfectly respectable and very pleasant young woman—but I cannot reasonably see the outcome that you long for. But, whatever happens, I think that you are strong enough that you will be able to move on."
She smiled lightly at him. "Thank you, sir. I…I hope so, too."
"Yes. Now, do you think we can get back to this?" He held up his essay.
Tara nodded. "Yes, sir."
Thatch's words had given her comfort, and she was able to pay better attention as he read off his paper to her. Still, she couldn't help that sense of longing that she knew so well.
