Chapter 25

Sometimes Rapunzel gets this look in her eyes. It's a sparkle when she figures out how to use her newly found powers for mischief. Or as Eugene calls it in his head, "evil."

Like when she discovered that as long as she slathers complements onto the kitchen staff, they will enthusiastically show her exactly how they make such a wonderful sauce and then they'll say, "Here, dear. Do you want to try?" Like when she realized that she could scare away any court ladies that were annoying her just by having Pascal leap at them. Like when she realized that she could get away with practically anything as long as Eugene was standing next to her. Everyone suspected him of wrong doing so much that they stopped paying attention to her and how she hadn't bowed exactly right or how she had rubbed off most of her makeup. It was the look she got when she realized that swaying her hips was a turn on, and would make Eugene stupidly agree to just about anything.

He both loves and hates that look.

And the fact that her dad now has that same evil twinkle in his eyes is beyond disturbing.

They both think they're so smart. They both think they're so funny. And they're both kind of right. If he had been anyone else looking in on the situation, he would laugh about it too.

"Did you have a good day, Eugene?" the man asks, his smirk hidden behind his beard.

"Peachy," Eugene says, dropping a napkin into his lap and attempting to focus solely on his dinner salad in hopes that the conversation will end. Yes, you're hilarious. Yes, I know you're getting a kick out of this. Yes, you win.

Goldie doesn't pick up on this and looks up excitedly. "Oh really? What did you do?"

He scratches his head, which is something Phil has told him not to do about a billion times. "Today I learned about the redistribution of revenue from non-voluntary payments to the government."

The queen gives a very delicate cough that he has come to recognize as her version of a snort.

"Oh! You mean taxes!" Rapunzel says. "They're a bit boring, but if you need any help studying I know all about them."

A bit boring is an understatement, especially since the accountant who is his instructor this week has a voice that drones on like a deep, raspy lullaby. In an attempt not to fall asleep, Eugene counted the tiles on the floor three times, wrote out a forty point list of things he'd rather be doing, and made up words to the song that Rapunzel had been humming the evening before. The lyrics go like this: This is so dull / I want to leave / So dull dull dull dull dull / This is so dull / I want to leave / But I can't. Fan- / Fucking-ta-ast-ic.

Metered poetry is not Eugene's strong suit.

"Did you know the part about how I've never paid taxes?" Ever. Why would he? Paying taxes is for losers who own houses.

The king's tone turns mildly scolding, but that awful twinkle in his eyes only gets brighter. "Don't admit that fact in front of me."

"As if you didn't already know. That's what this whole thing is about, right? Getting back at me for all my misdeeds."

The king grins.

"Eugene," Rapunzel chides. "You should pay your taxes. It's your civic duty."

Oh good grief. "Yeah, and that tower you lived in was tax-free reality."

Her eyes go wide. "Oh no! I've never paid taxes either!" She glances guiltily at her parents, as the king tries to hide how amused he is by pretending to take a very long drink from his goblet.

The queen gives Eugene a dirty look for getting the princess all riled up. "Don't worry about it, dear. You'll make up for it through your service to the community, just the same as Mr. Fitzherbert."

Rapunzel's shoulders sag in relief, and she grins at Eugene. We both got off with community service! Yay!

"I was thinking," the king said, setting down his goblet and letting the smile ease from his face, "the tax allocation meeting is on Thursday, so we'll most likely get around to distributing the money to the public services in a few weeks. I think you should go with Rapunzel for the distribution."

Rapunzel gasps and bites her lip to hold back a squeal. "I get to go? That'll be so exciting!"

Eugene just stares at him. "You want me to go around to the hospitals and give people money?"

"The hospitals, and the schools, and the orphanage, and probably some other places… like the fire brigade. We won't know exactly who gets what until Thursday."

He bites down a wince. "The orphanage?"

"Yes. I was thinking it'd be a good experience for you. And if any bandits attempt to attack the carriage I'm sure you could fend them off."

This is a strange thing to say as the carriage full of gold would surely be protected by about a dozen palace guards, all of whom would be eyeing Eugene just as much as everyone else on the street.

Is this some kind of test to see if he'll steal it? He has to admit that a part of him – a deep hidden part that he's no longer listening to, but a part none the less – is already planning it. Maybe he could whisk Blondie off at the same time and they could live happily someplace where he would never have to hear about influencing microeconomic performance or governmental accountability. But honestly, if he hasn't stolen anything by now is there really any lingering doubt?

Yes, of course there is, not from the king and queen, but from others. So maybe this is to prove to everyone else that he can be trusted around large quantities of cash that's supposed to go to feed sickly, uneducated orphans. Who are on fire. You'd have to be a really twisted asshole to steal from flaming, coughing children. Even Flynn Rider wouldn't have done it. (Because he'd never thought of it.)

So this adventure might be his chance to show up some naysayers and win over some people who are still a bit unsure about his transformation. He'll flash his handsome face at people, do good deeds, kiss some babies… Oh, the king's a crafty one.

Rapunzel helps him study that night. His book is dull and uses a bunch of jargon that he could understand if he tried, but he doesn't want to try. Eventually she takes it from him, puts it away, makes herself comfortable, and starts to tell him everything to book covers. She actually seems excited to do it too. She's gathered up so much knowledge that she's just bursting to share it, to show how much she's learned, to prove that she's been trying and in some way succeeding. Of course, Eugene's not the one she has to prove things to, but he's there and that's always been good enough for her.

She tries her best to make it interesting, stopping to tell him anecdotes about her instructor dropping stacks of books, sharing all the odd ways that she remembers new terminology, and using metaphors that only she would ever come up with. A little part of him is actually starting to get it, and that terrifies him into shutting off his brain and focusing on the texture of her hair, the music of her voice, the gentle curves of her ear, her cheek, her lips.

He traces a finger slowly over her bottom lip, marveling at how the delicately plump flesh dimples beneath his touch. She trails off to stare up at him, her eyes wide and entrancing, the deep green of siren song.

He blinks once and averts his eyes. "Sorry. You were saying that something's like… uh, pie filling?"

He chances a glance back down at her just in time to catch her eyebrows contract for a second in confusion. She looks down at the hand he's dropped to her arm, and with the same care she would give to the finest crystal, she lifts it up and inspects it, cradling it in her hands before gently tracing the lines across his palm and the invisible scar where she once healed him. He never would have guessed that such a small act could make his skin tingle so much. It's almost painful and his fingers twitch in her hand as she marks a trail up the length of his forefinger. She pulls at the tendons of his fingers, at the muscles in his arm, at the strings of his heart, and all the nerves rushing to his groin. She draws up every fiber of his being, pulls them taut, sets them burning with anticipation, and bundles them together in a tangled knot in the palm of his hand.

She looks up at him out of the corner of her eye just to see his reaction, and he realizes that he must look pretty ridiculous with his slack jaw and tensed muscles, but she takes this as confirmation that she's doing something right and she gently lifts his hand back to her lips, pressing a kiss against the heart of his palm, against the knot of prickling cords begging, singing for her to touch them. He takes in a deep shuttering breath as the pressure of her soft lips disrupt the tension she painstakingly built.

She drags her parted lips up the length of his finger, leaving behind the most tantalizing hint of moist skin, then she licks her way back down to his palm, and his hand spasms at her attentiveness to every firm muscle, at the heat of her breath and the wetness as her tongue wraps around him. His free hand clenches against her waist, thin silk sliding over her firm muscles, and she moves under his touch, pulling herself closer so the heat of her presses against him in the most relieving way possible. Her eyes flutter closed and she plants a firm kiss at the base of the digit, then starts to work her way back up.

He grips her tight, maybe too tight, gripping her so she can feel what she's doing to him, so she can know exactly how dizzy and lustful he's becoming, how there's an urgent pull in his groin and a shallowness to his breath. A soft hum of pleasure passes from her lips to his skin to run straight to the base of his spine.

And she slips the tip of his finger seamlessly into her mouth and sucks, and for a moment he imagines that it's not her lips squeezing him, that it's not his finger she's circling with her tongue.

For a moment a blind need overwhelms him like a heat wave collapsing against his bones, and he has to yank his hand away before he does something really bad. "Stop. Stop, stop, stop."

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

He can imagine her face, scared and wide eyed and anxious, but he can't bring himself to look at her. He takes several deep breaths and keeps his eyes closed. "No. You're great. You're… really great."

"Then what's wrong?" Her arm slips around his neck in an attempt to get him to look at her. She shifts her weight, rocking her hips against him and pressing her chest to his. It's unintentional, and it's all in the name of concern, but it's not helping him at all.

He hisses through his teeth. "If you keep doing that I'm going to do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like fuck you."

…

Oops.

Oh great, and now he's looking at her again.

She blinks a few times in rapid succession, trying to process this new bit of information. Then she glances back and forth between his darkened face and his hand, which has now settled itself on her thigh. And when did that happen?

"Eugene-"

"Tell me more about… aww crap, what was it you were talking about?"

"Eugene-"

"Rapunzel," they stare at each other for a moment, and he makes an effort to unclench his fingers, which might very well be bruising her. "You're just too sexy, so stop torturing me and tell me about taxes."

She gives him a look that he can't exactly place, just a tilt of her head and a twitch of her nose. "You said a few minutes ago that taxes were torture."

"Better of two evils."

"I'm not evil."

"I beg to differ, Goldie."

She grins and slips away - not too far, but he misses the feel of her anyway. He groans and runs his hands over his face to try to get some feeling back into it, and she starts to talk again as though nothing happened.