Chapter 4

The Chamber Door Was Locked

Not until Rumplestiltskin was in his mountain fortress library, gazing out on the crags and peaks, did it occur to him he had fulfilled a request for magic—Cora's eagerness to learn a trick—without first striking a deal. Curious. He'd never done that before.

Rumplestiltskin leaned on the granite windowsill, chin in hand, staring at the cloud shadows on the jagged rocks. Was the imparting of knowledge different from other transactions? Was the master-novice relationship so unique that his need for equity had been replaced by something else—a desire to bestow his insights and receive, perhaps, acknowledgment?

Rumplestiltskin's mouth hovered between a smile and a frown. Despite his complete unsuitability, he found himself considering taking on Cora's magical education. She wanted him to be her mentor. What was holding him back? Ogre parleys were nearly complete for another year. After that he'd have days, weeks, even months to devote to the cultivation of Cora's knack.

With the proper encouragement, who knew what she was capable of?

The third night that Rumplestiltskin arrived in swirls of purple to call on Cora, he found her pacing. When she saw him, her expression said, Thank goodness. Immediately, he could see why: the haystack behind her reached to the ceiling.

"Ah. You didn't start without me."

"Not after the way I bollixed up the thread last night." Cora brushed back her rich brown hair. "After all, you're the master spinner."

From you, that might not be a compliment. Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips. No time for flourishes. He gave a perfunctory flick of his wrist to summon his stool. As he rounded the spinning wheel, he noticed a large amount of straw that had been pulled off the stack. The resulting heap looked like a comfortable spot to lounge. Well, naturally Cora relaxed while she was waiting for me. Then, beyond the strewn straw, he saw a jug. He paused. Of course, they gave her something to drink.

Taking a step closer, Rumplestiltskin spied a wine glass with burgundy-red dregs at the bottom. Glancing at Cora, he noted a hint of wariness. Placing his fingertips together, he took three playfully exaggerated steps, lifting each knee high before placing his boot back down. As he'd feared, behind the wine jug, half-buried in the straw, he saw a second glass.

Rumplestiltskin felt a pinch in his chest. Then he told himself, No matter. Was the imp expecting anything different? Putting on a broad smile, he turned. "I hope I didn't frighten away your company."

Cora's chin began quivering. Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows pulled together. Then she let out a sob and raced toward him. Her embrace was immediate and tight.

Good thing I wore leviathan, he thought. The skin was particularly thick.

"It's Prince Henry," Cora moaned. "He—he's bothering me. He made me drink with him. He's horrible."

Rumplestiltskin patted her back. Benefactor and mentor weren't enough for your little imp? Now I'm to be your confidante, too? He bit his lip. "There, there, dear. What's so horrible? Henry saw you. He wanted to see again. Don't tell me you don't have experience with young men like that."

In response, Cora began crying in earnest. "That's my problem. I have endless experience."

And yet so little perspective. Clasping her shoulders, Rumplestiltskin held her out at arm's length. "Henry's not so bad—and he is a prince." He turned his head to the side to train one teasing eye on her charming face. "Be glad the royal interest isn't from pants-wetting Falfrey."

"Royal interest?" Cora twisted out of his grasp. Her face was suddenly furious. "And what is the prince interested in? This?" She held up her hands to frame her superb face then swept them down her exquisite body. "I thought all this meant nothing to you. I thought you were different."

"Why?" Rumplestiltskin felt his jaw quiver. He jerked his head to stop it. "Because I'm not a man?"

Cora glared at him. "No. Because you're more than a man. You're better than a man."

Her exclamation struck Rumplestiltskin like a hammer hitting a gong. He stared at her, still feeling the reverberations. What magnificent words. She couldn't mean them. "You're—you're beautiful. Why deny it? But I do see more—your intelligence, your spirit. And your knack. Your raw, unexplored, supernatural knack absolutely enthralls me." But I am still a man.

At his praise, Cora's anger vanished. "And what does a royal know about knack? Only how to use people who have it then toss them aside."

So well put. Nodding, Rumplestiltskin took a step forward. "King Wilhelm's the worst of them. I have the knack for understanding ogre-speak. With that knack, every year, I protect Wensumlea from slaughter and destruction—but when I come for parley, does he invite me to supper? Even to share a toast?"

Cora's eyes sparkled. She reached out to touch the back of his hand. "You deserve more. You deserve so much more."

Rumplestiltskin felt his eyelids flutter. He stared at her hand resting on his. She doesn't mind my lizard skin? "And you deserve to be courted by the best of the best—but only if they're willing to do it properly. So here's a trick that will keep Prince Henry from bothering you." At least without your permission.

Cora intoned the words Rumplestiltskin had taught her.

Her accent sounds right this time, he thought. "Let me test it." He skipped across the room. This time, a few feet from the actual wall, he bumped a force as solid as a wall. Rubbing his nose, he turned back. "The trial worked. From now on, wherever you are, whenever you want, you can conjure a dome of protection."

Cora frowned. "You're sure it's strong? Really strong?"

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "It's the spell I use on my own fortress."

"Your own fortress." Cora's eyebrows rose. "Then you've given me very powerful magic. But you can get around it, can't you?"

"Naturally. And anyone I give a key," he added, thinking of Jeffrey and Gwynneth. "All spells can be broken. If that weren't the case, think of the problems! If an old wizard dies at home, his heir must be able to enter to cart away the body. Otherwise, the Enchanted Forest would be filled with inaccessible castles housing rotting wizard corpses." Not his problem, of course. The only kind of heir he'd ever have would be one who slew him with his own dagger. In that case, his remains would be conveniently at hand for burial.

"Tomorrow morning I'm returning home," Cora said. "Casting this spell around my bedroom would be very useful, but I'd want to give the key to—"

If not Henry, then who? Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth while maintaining a pleasant smile.

"—my mother," Cora finished.

Rumplestiltskin felt his jaw relax and his smile widen. "Of course, dear, of course. Let me show you how."

This time Rumplestiltskin set up the barrier so Cora could test her grasp of the key spell. When she slipped through on her third try, he smiled and shook his head. "You're a quick study indeed." Now that she could work the magic that unlocked the barrier, she was free to make a word key simple enough for anyone to use—even a royal completely lacking in knack.

"Henceforth," Rumplestiltskin said, "it's your choice whether someone like Prince Henry can visit for a drink."

Cora folded her arms. "Why do you think I'd ever want Henry to visit? Or another prince? Or any royal at all?"

Playing the court jester, Rumplestiltskin spread out his hands. "Stands to reason, dearie. They have the luxury, the prestige, the power—the best life has to offer."

"Pooh. Their power's nothing. What if my interests lie elsewhere?"

Cora's focus on Rumplestiltskin was so intense, it was piercing. Does she mean it? No interest in royals whatsoever? Her interest lies… elsewhere? He felt like a juggler's spinning plate. Was this magic or an illusion?

Still in comic mode, Rumplestiltskin stabbed one taloned finger in the air. "Elsewhere outside this chamber, surely. If King Wilhelm is letting you return home tomorrow, then he's including one catch: a third night's worth of golden thread spun from straw by the realm's most skilful virgin."

Cora's posture sagged. "There's that."

Rumplestiltskin sauntered to his stool. Once seated, he asked, "Well, dear, what'll you give me to start spinning?"

Cora's lips parted. "You're—you're joking, aren't you?"

"Joking? No. I never fulfill a request for magic without a deal." Just can't.

Cora stepped closer. "Never? But what about—"

"Tutoring? Oh, that's different. Surprised me, too. But work? Civilized people require fair exchange for that. Only royals expect something for nothing."

Pulling her stool closer, Cora huddled down beside him. "Royals. I despise them."

Rumplestiltskin clasped his hands and studied her sidelong. If he could get Cora to say that one more time, he'd truly believe her.

Cora exhaled noisily. "I don't have anything more to give you—not really. Not unless you'd accept my shoes."

Rumplestiltskin giggled. "Keep your shoes on, dear. You are planning on walking out of here tomorrow, aren't you?" He cocked his head. "We could just say you'll owe me a favor—something you'll repay in the future."

Playfully, Cora shook a finger at his nose. "A favor? Unspecified? Open-ended? That could mean anything—anything at all. Maybe one day you'll drop by and ask for a sip of water. Or maybe—just maybe—you'll ask for my firstborn baby."

At the word baby, Rumplestiltskin looked at his hands. He was practically wringing them in his lap. Ach, she's heard my reputation. Ridiculous, really. He adored babies—new, innocent, unspoiled by the rottenness of daily life. Certainly, he'd brokered deals for them. Why not? If a married couple of means and loving disposition called out to the Dark One—agonized because cruel fate had not blessed them with a child—well, why shouldn't he find them a copiously breeding slattern willing to give up one wee babe to a happier life? Surely Cora didn't believe the rumor he ate them, did she?

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head. "Clever woman. Exchanging work for payment in the here-and-now avoids all misunderstanding. But if your payment is due in the future, always insist on specific terms."

Cora twisted her head toward the mountain of straw. "What could I ever give you that would be worth spinning that? To afford what you deserve, I'd have to marry a royal."

Marry a royal? She can't. Rumplestiltskin ducked his chin and peered at his lap. He'd nearly twisted his fingers in a knot. "But that's something you'd never do."

"I wouldn't want to."

When Rumplestiltskin glanced up, he saw Cora regarding him with wide innocent eyes. You wouldn't? Truly? Suddenly, he realized he had a way to find out. "There's another kind of agreement we can make—one dependent on special circumstances. If the circumstances never ever occur, then the terms are never ever met. But that wouldn't matter. My need for balance and order would be satisfied even if there's never any cost to you."

Smiling, Cora leaned forward. She managed to find the spot just above the leviathan jerkin's collar where she could tap exposed flesh. "So tell me. What deal will we strike tonight?"

Rumplestiltskin stared intently into her deep brown eyes. "In the event you marry Prince Henry, your firstborn child will belong to me."

Cora blinked.

Other than that, she's not reacting, Rumplestiltskin thought. But her finger on his collarbone was beginning to make him feel slightly dizzy. "Isn't that a bargain? A roomful of gold, your freedom, the gratitude of your country's monarch, more donations to ogre appeasement—all for a price you'll never ever have to pay?" She's still staring at me—just staring.

Suddenly, Cora laughed. "I'm no prince's brood mare. Why wouldn't I make that deal?" Slowly, she trailed her index finger up his throat until it rested on his chin. "Time for my dear Dark One to fulfill his end."

When Cora moved her finger up and down, Rumplestiltskin's head moved along with it. Her touch made him weak—no doubt about that. If she wanted him to nod, he'd nod. "Just one thing," he whispered.

Cora sat back, demurely folding her hands in her lap. "What's that?"

Rumplestiltskin raised a hand, letting it hang in the air. "A deal that doesn't require immediate payment requires something else: a contract."

Cora pressed her lips together. Her expression said, Surely, you jest.

Rumplestiltskin gave her a sheepish smile. "Same requirement for everyone. That's equity." He jerked his wrist. The contract that appeared was short—less than a tenth of the ogre truce he'd made King Wilhelm sign. "Standard terms, dear. Completely transparent." He waved his other hand to produce an already inked quill. "Just sign on the dotted line."

The implication of Cora's signature on the contract took a while to sink in—but when it did, Rumplestiltskin was singing. He spun the straw into gold so quickly the twirling spindle was practically a blur.

Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!

As Rumplestiltskin softly crooned the words, he watched Cora stroll around the little chamber. Her nonchalance at pledging away a future baby with Prince Henry meant she intended to never have one at all. And if she had no interest in bearing him an heir, then that meant she had no interest in him. After all, had a woman ever lived who didn't want her beloved's child?

"Well, my dear," Rumplestiltskin said at last, waggling his head, "where do your interests lie?"

"Not in housewifery. That's for certain." Cora turned to face him. "I'll tell you: in discovering how to use my knack. And having you teach me how to do it. Last night you said you couldn't. I think since then you've changed your mind."

Cora's expectant gaze made Rumplestiltskin glow. He looked aside to the golden thread, jigging and cavorting as it rippled to the floor. "Perhaps, dear. Perhaps."

"And you'd tutor me in magic for no payment at all?"

Rumplestiltskin shrugged, his eyes still on his spindle. "Magic always comes with a price. But you needn't think of it as high. Occasionally, an apprentice might be called upon to help her mentor—in the interests of learning the trade." And to spend time with the mentor. Lots of time.

Without warning, Cora's hands cupped Rumplestiltskin's shoulders. He nearly tumbled off his stool.

"So you're committed to teaching me? As long as it takes?"

Rumplestiltskin straightened back up. "Indeed. I honor my agreements."

With an oblique glance, he saw Cora dip her head to peer at his face. With admirable force of will, he continued spinning thread.

She squeezed his shoulders. "When do I sign the contract?"

Rumplestiltskin's mouth felt dry. He sucked on his lips to moisten them. "I have no standard contract for… this type of agreement. This is all… very new to me."

"So you're unsure how to handle it?" Cora craned her neck forward until she was nearly nose to nose. "I know one way we can seal the deal."

Like a moth near a flame, Rumplestiltskin felt mesmerized by her gaze. All he could manage was, "Hmm?"

Cora's eyes danced. "With a kiss."

Rumplestiltskin's hand fell limply off the wheel. Straw flew out of his other hand into the air. "Cora," he breathed. Did she say kiss?

She sprang back from him, clapping her hands. "Oh! You should see your face. The Dark One is a man after all."

Anger welled up inside Rumplestiltskin. Every muscle went rigid and yet he was shaking—partly from fury, partly from humiliation. Her behavior was so outrageous he had no word for it. He was the Dark One. How could she make a mockery of it? Didn't she know he could rip her beating heart from her chest and crush it into black smoldering ash? And yet Cora stood there, snickering at him. He stared at her, frankly appalled.

"Oh, darling," she murmured, hunkering down to the level of his stool. Closing her eyes, she swayed toward him.

For a split second, Rumplestiltskin felt a panic he'd not experienced since he was a mortal peasant about to face ogres on the battlefield. Then her lips pressed against his. Moaning, he snaked his arms around her. His eyes wide open, he watched her hair tumble over her brow and her lashes brush her cheek. I'm not imagining this. Dragging her onto his lap, he embraced her, fondled her, cuddled her.

When Cora's tongue poked at Rumplestiltskin, he slid his lips over to nuzzle behind her ear. Sighing, she lifted her hair out of the way. "I thought men liked that kind of kiss… or so I've heard."

Groaning, Rumplestiltskin pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His cheeks felt hot with shame. Men whose mouths aren't full of corruption. Why did Dark One powers have to come with decaying teeth?

Rumplestiltskin raised his head, shifted on his stool, and repositioned Cora on his lap. Taking deep calming breaths, he racked his brain for something to say.

Cora patted his arm. "So, is the deal struck?"

Slightly woozy, Rumplestiltskin nodded. Good and struck.

"Then teach me another trick."

Good thing Cora's a quick study. Her alacrity at picking up the art of self-transport had given him at least three hours to spin. He wondered whether she was also his good luck charm. In the middle of his work, the moonstone on his ring had begun to glow a particularly warm shade of orange—the pre-arranged signal that at dawn Jeffery would finally take him portal-hopping via his amazing hat. By the time Rumplestiltskin reached the last of the straw Prince Henry had used for his unwelcome tête-à-tête, he was grinning.

For the umpteenth time that night, he heard a whooshing sound. Dense purple clouds appeared across the room. Gentle Cora stood in the middle of them. Coughing, she batted the smoky curls away from her face. "Does it have to be so thick?"

Smiling fondly, Rumplestiltskin continued to spin the wheel. "With time you'll manage to open and shut the door from the astral plane fast enough to allow only a delicate mist to seep through—unless you want a grand entrance."

Cora nodded then looked around. Pointing at the forty bulging sacks piled against the wall, she tsked. "Dark One, I could have stuffed the bags."

"No bother," Rumplestiltskin said as the very last twist of golden thread dropped to the floor. "Finished! You can bag that."

Folding her arms, Cora took three mischievously mincing steps toward him. "Back to your mountain fortress, is it?"

Rumplestiltskin twitched a finger at her. "Did I say it was in the mountains?"

"What fortress isn't?" Cora lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "You should be living in an airy marble castle with a grand entrance, floor-to-ceiling windows, embroidered tapestries, and golden fittings everywhere. That's what you deserve."

Rumplestiltskin returned a dreamy smile. Had any woman ever talked to him this sweetly? "My north turret parlor is cozy."

"And the rest of your fortress is grungy gray granite and ice cold flagstone. Am I right?"

If you put it that way. Rumplestiltskin gave her a lopsided smile. "We don't need to do your lessons there."

"No," Cora said quickly. "Your fortress sounds lovely. You can't teach me at the mill. My father wouldn't understand."

I hadn't considered that. "I'm thinking we should begin with the natural elements. That subject is best taught out-of-doors."

"At least until it snows… How about the meadow in the hills above the millstream? The one with the ring of stones in the center? Do you know it?"

"Where the fairies used to dance, yes." Rumplestiltskin tucked his chin down. Fairies. He despised them. Talk about ungracious snobs. When he'd ripped the boulders from the heart of Mount Dire and hurled them into the midst of Rheul Gorm's party, they'd scattered quickly enough.

"When should we meet...master?"

Master. Rumplestiltskin liked the sound of that. "Today I have business to conduct."

Cora pursed her lips. "On the morrow, I might have some business of my own."

"The day after, then. When you're ready, call out to me. I will appear."

Thanks to everyone who commented, followed or favorited this story.

A promotional still from "The Miller's Daughter" episode of Once Upon a Time (that aired after this chapter was written): Still wearing the red gown in which she'd sneaked into a masquerade ball, Cora was locked in a tower rather than a dungeon to spin gold for one night only, but Rumplestiltskin did wear his leviathan (or some such thick hide) jacket and he did require a contract for the future baby: tinyurl DOT com/lmpz673