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Remember when I said that thing about Rapunzel's gifts getting better? Like, yesterday? Yeah, well, it seems I spoke too soon.
It wasn't that I was so terribly disappointed not to get an eyeful of ten laundresses jiggling out of their bodices as they vigorously rubbed their washboards, or even that the vaguely homoerotic show instead put on for me by ten lords of Corona, who were apparently all highly trained ballet dancers or rhythmic gymnasts, was so terribly off-putting-in fact I even nudged the King with my elbow partway through the act and remarked that if our tankards had been full of his best beer instead of fresh cow's milk, I might even be able to appreciate it as comedy act. But the Queen intercepted the cupbearer en route to the wine cellar, and he only came back with two more mugs of fresh, frothing milk.
No, what made this present so much worse than any of the others, including all the ones with feathers, was that Rapunzel was watching the leaping lords with much the same look I imagined had been on my face when I was leering at my maids a-milking.
"Look how flexible they are!" she squeaked in amazement, drawing her legs all the way up in her chair so that I could see how her bare toes were curling into the upholstery. I hadn't even had a chance to do anything to make her toes curl, dammit! "Wow! He landed in the splits! Can you do the splits, Eugene?"
I was actually kind of glad I'd been too distracted by Rapunzel's curling toes to have seen that; the mere thought of any man doing the splits made me want to curl up into a fetal position and whimper. Still, the thought of admitting to Rapunzel that there was, actually, one thing I couldn't do to impress her-okay, two things, but it was hardly my fault she was immune to The Smolder-hurt worse than the actual act would have, and my reply was a very stiff, "No, blondie. I can't."
"The King can," said the Queen, not taking her eyes off the performers as she applauded. "It's one of his hidden talents."
She was so deadpan about it that I thought she was joking, and even came alarmingly close to spewing my milk out my nose as I chortled. But as I hastily swallowed, I noticed the little curve at the corner of the Queen's lips, and the way her eyes cut sideways, almost coyly; I glanced at the king and saw that the patches of his cheeks not covered by his beard were bright red. Since his cup had not been filled with anything but milk all night, I had to presume that he was blushing from actual embarrassment because the Queen was-gasp-telling the truth.
"Wow, Dad!" exclaimed Rapunzel in the same tones as when she had seen the courtier do the splits-although, thankfully, she wasn't curling her toes.
"Oh, it's nothing," he replied, with a modest wave of his hand-but I could see from the way his blue eyes twinkled as they locked for a moment with the Queen's that it wasn't nothing at all. In fact it was just the opposite of nothing. "Just a little leftover from those dance lessons my mother forced on me as a boy."
"That must be where I get it from," Rapunzel went on, oblivious to how uncomfortable everyone was. Everyone-meaning everyone but her and the Queen, who was clearly enjoying this as she sat there primly on her chair, the very picture of composure, except for the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. But I knew better. She'd make a damn fine con artist, if she ever found herself out of work as a Queen. Since that seemed unlikely, I wondered if she knew that Monday was poker night in the guardhouse, and if she'd be interested in joining in.
"Aren't I, Eugene?" Rapunzel asked, nudging me back into the conversation.
"Sorry, babe, zoned out there." I shook off visions of cleaning up at poker with the Queen. "Aren't you what?"
"Very flexible."
Thankfully I hadn't chosen that moment to quaff my milk, as the King and Queen both turned to look at me. Though not, I realized for the first time, with accusation so much as interest into just how far things had progressed between their daughter and me. Which I found pretty interesting.
But a guy couldn't be too careful about his reputation with his girlfriend's parents, so I replied, "I don't think there's anyone in Corona who hasn't seen what gymnastics you're capable of."
Somehow that sounded a lot better in my head, but it seemed to satisfy the King and Queen. Or maybe it was just that it was immediately forgotten in light of what Rapunzel said next.
"Maybe you could show Eugene some stretches, Dad," she suggested. "You know, to increase his flexibility."
This time, there was no stopping the milk spewage. My one consolation to having thoroughly destroyed what was left of my fake image was that I'd managed to spray Sir Splitsalot.
And that the Queen patted Rapunzel's hand and said, "I think you'll be more helpful with that, my darling."