.

Chapter Thirty Two

The Final Sunset

Rapunzel slept on a bed of purple flowers, and the clouds above were made of suffocating cotton. A lullaby echoed in her ears, soft and haunting, and the harsh sun beat down upon her face. The flowers were rough, and her skin itched, but she couldn't move, no matter how hard she tried. The grass stirred beneath the biting wind, and it curled around her body, tight and twisting, holding her down like a dozen serpents.

She whimpered, unable to help herself, and the ground gave way beneath her. She jolted awake, sitting up on the cold floor, and the shadows swirled around her. Horses whinnied as they cantered around the room, black and spectral, and her throat grew thick and heavy. There was a corpse in the corner of the room. Blond and lean and bloody, the body lay there with unseeing blue eyes, and she screamed.

She crawled across the room, because it couldn't be. It was a lie. It had to be. But, he was so real. Desperately, she shook her son, trying to wake him, because he wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Water bubbled from his lips, thick and foul, and his skin turned green beneath her fingers. She recoiled at the stench, and then he dissolved to nothing, leaving little more than seafoam in his wake.

Rapunzel jolted awake, and the room was quiet. Bare and empty, golden light gleamed at the windows, and she sighed in relief. The nightmares were increasing in frequency, and they were so very real. How long had she been in here? She didn't feel particularly hungry, or thirsty, so it couldn't be too long. Yet, the sun had risen and fallen a dozen times, but… had it really? Was it just another nightmare.

She rolled onto her side, and she screamed. Eugene met her eyes, his body stiff and lifeless, and blood trickled from his lips. Maggots crawled out of his nose, and he reached out with a single, rotted hand to cup her cheek. Flinging herself back, she fell out of bed, hitting her head upon the ground, and with a jolt, she woke up.

Laughter. Rapunzel could hear a child laughing, and she frowned. She was in the field again, and it was a nightmare. It had to be. The cotton clouds hung low in the sky, drawing ever closer, and there was a red-haired woman standing ahead of her, cradling a child in her arms. A companion in this hell? Without thinking, Rapunzel reached out and grasped the woman by the shoulder.

The woman's head rolled off her head, and she crumbled to dust. The child fell to the ground, sobbing in a pile of ashes, and she saw that it was a boy. Red hair and blue eyes, and a tinge of sunlight in its tear-stained gaze. Unfamiliar yet so familiar, she couldn't stop herself from reaching down to pick the child up. Holding it to her chest, she ignored the wails and patted it on the back.

"There, there," she whispered. "It will all be okay."

Fur burst across the child's body, and fangs dug into her throat. She screamed as it tore out her flesh, and she flung it away from her as she fell to her knees, blood running down her side as the world grew blurred around her.

She woke with a jolt, and she was at a dinner table, presiding over a great feast of the dead. Cornelius turned to look at her, smiling as he raised an eyeball at the end of a rusted fork to his green-tinged lips, and water cascaded from his mouth as he opened it. Eugene was there as well, wearing a scarlet grin across his throat, and blood gushed down his shirt as he tucked into his food. Others… she recognized others as well. Her cousins, Anna and Elsa, dressed in rags with worms slithering out of their eyes, and her nephew, Nicholas, wearing a tight noose in place of a tie. They were grinning at her, all of them, and then they were standing up, approaching with their rusted utensils held high.

As the fork bit into her cheek, she screamed, and she woke with a jolt. Tears dripped from her eyes as she ran, because there was something behind her, getting closer and closer, but she couldn't look back. If it saw her, she was dead, and she had to keep running. Rough hands caught her wrist, lifting her into the air, and she kicked out, screaming as a sword slashed her open at the waist.

She woke with a jolt, and she was in her study. Cornelius was sitting across from her, looking at her in concern. Another nightmare. But, he looked normal, her bright and sunny child, all blond hair and blue eyes, and he was holding a squirming bundle in his arms. Across the room, Eugene was standing beside the cabinet, pouring himself a tumbler of bourbon, and he was chuckling, and Alyssa was there as well, looking tired as she sat on the window seat with a book opened on her lap.

"Mum, are you okay?" asked Cornelius, reaching out to touch her wrist. He was warm.

"I must have dozed off for a minute," she said, smiling, and she closed her eyes. It had been a nightmare, a cruel nightmare, and it had all been a dream. "I haven't been sleeping well these last few days."

"You should let me help out more," her son said, shaking his head. "I mean, I have my hands full with this little rascal, but you're working yourself too hard."

And, as he spoke, blood ran from his nostrils and his lips turned blue. He seized, froth and water spilling from his mouth, and his gaze was terrified as he looked at her, pleading for her to help him, and she screamed. In one go, she cleared the desk and clasped her hands to his throat as the child rolled out of his grasp and hit the floor, worms already crawling from its lips, and she poured her healing light into her son.

And, just like all those years ago, he died in her arms. Only, this time, there was no Rumpelstiltskin to bring him back. The room swam around her, and she shrieked as Eugene hit the ground, an all-too-familiar knife buried in his gut, and she clawed at her face. Make it stop. The Nightmares cantered around her, whinnying, and the shadows swirled as she fell to the ground. Make it stop. Make it stop!

She woke with a jolt, with blood running down her cheeks and bits of skin stuck beneath her nails. Laughter echoed in her ears, and she screamed. Her throat was raw, and she tore at her hair, yanking it out in matted clumps, and she screamed again, louder than she had any right to. The tower closed in around her, the walls drawing close, and spiders skittered across her skin, biting deep and ripping at her flesh with a thousand tiny jaws.

Rapunzel woke with a jolt, and she was in a field of purple flowers, with cottons clouds hanging overhead. A single hand reached down, closing upon her throat, and it tightened, claws drawing blood as she wept and screamed and thrashed. The grass was like razors, tearing at her skin, and she didn't want to see anymore, she didn't want to hear. Make it stop. Make it stop. Please, just make it stop.

She woke with a jolt.

Eugene had never been much of an archer, but he knew how to use a bow well enough. He'd never be as talented as his son, not when it came to archery, but he could still take aim and fire from the walls of Sommersea all the same. His fingers were stiff and bleeding, and he'd already had to replace the string twice. Yet, there were still arrows in his quiver, and he had soldiers fletching more in the courtyards.

"Keep firing," he yelled as his arrow caught an Eléadoréan soldier in the eye. "If they gain the walls, we're lost. Keep firing."

Arrows rained down from the walls, and the Eléadoréans marched on, paying the dead and dying no mind. In all his years, Eugene had not seen soldiers such as these, for they seemed to feel no pain. They marched on and on, as unending as the Hollow Ones he'd faced in Old Oloria, and if the arrow did not kill them, they barely seemed to feel it. There was a cry to his right, and two of his men upended a cauldron of boiling oil over the walls.

The Eléadoréans burned, yet even as the flesh sloughed off their bodies, they didn't scream. It was unsettling. Sorcery, he knew, but as to the nature of the spell, he could not say. A large boulder flew over his head, striking the chapel, and he cursed beneath his breath. Trebuchets. They've finally gotten their siege weapons ready. Worse still, it would only be a matter of time before the siege towers and catapults made their appearance known, and whilst it was relatively simple to hold out against grappling hooks and ladders…

No, they had to fight on. It was all that they could do.

"King Eugene," said a captain, falling into step behind him. "They've swung around the city and laid siege to the western gate."

"Can we hold?" he asked, pursing his lips. He fired another arrow, his fingers screaming in pain. For every one he killed, another dozen swept forward. A grappling hook caught around the merlon, and he drew his knife.

Dropping to his knees, he sawed through the taut rope even as soldiers tried to scale the walls, and as they fell, they didn't scream.

"We'll be overrun within the hour. We don't have enough manpower to hold off this many at all three gates," said the captain, his face pale, his voice trembling.

So, this is how it ends, huh? The thought echoed through his mind, but he refused to give in. He had too much to fight for: Rapunzel, Cornelius, Alyssa, his soldiers, his kingdom, his people, the list went on and on. He couldn't let them down. Any of them. If Eléadoré wanted his head, they'd have to pry it off his cold, dead body.

Siege towers rolled into view, and catapults twang as they fired great stones upon Sommersea. Atop the walls, his soldiers fired arrows and flung rocks, tossing cauldrons of boiling oil and taking aim with their ballistae. They stood tall, and so would he. This would not be the end.

A horn sounded in the gloom, and he started. As he looked up, the bow almost fell from his hands as shock coursed through his body. Beside him, the captain swore, but Eugene's eyes were fixed upon the bluffs, and the queen sitting astride a white horse. Her armor gleamed, and she raised a rapier into the air. Eugene's throat went dry as the thunder of hooves echoed through the air, and then, he saw the army.

The cavalry charged down the bluffs, lances raised and levelled before them. Knights in gleaming plate bore the flags of Amoré, and Queen Alyssa rode alongside them. The Eléadoréans swung around the confront the new threat, abandoning their assault on the walls, but it was already too late for them. The knights of Amoré were legendary, and to break their charge was folly. Like a hot knife through butter, his daughter-in-law's cavalry cut a bloody path through the attackers, and then the sky grew dark.

"For Corona!" a familiar voice bellowed, and Eugene didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I told you to stay in Arendelle. I told you to stay safe.

Arrows rained from the sky by the hundreds, and Cornelius stood atop the bluffs with his bow in hand. Archers formed up around him, following his lead, and with a loud roar, infantry poured down the pathways that the cavalry had just flattened. In place of roses, they bore suns upon their flags and tunics, and they charged with a fury that Eugene had never seen. Pikes and swords gleamed in the dull light, and the Eléadoréans scattered, their formations broken.

"Gather the men," said Eugene, "We ride."

The captain nodded in understanding and took off, barking orders. Eugene set down his bow and took the stairs two at a time, all but leaping onto Maximus' back. Drawing his sword, he spurred his horse on, and as he rode, others fell in beside him. The gates swung open, and he took the field. Bodies piled around him, and arrows rained down from the sky. Knights slashed their way through the battlefield, and in the distance, he could just make out Alyssa. His daughter-in-law was a furious whirlwind of steel and red hair, and she opened throats as she punched through steel.

He was the anvil, and his son and daughter-in-law were the hammer. Between them, the Eléadoréan armies broke and fled, fear finally filling their gazes as they were caught between three armies. For a long time, Eugene rode through the battlefield, hacking and slashing, stabbing until Maximus' coat was slick with blood, and his armor dripped with the stuff. The enemy was in full retreat, and for the first time in days, a ray of light pierced his heart.

A soldier charged him with a morning star, and Eugene killed with without hesitation. Then, another leapt at him, so Eugene killed this one as well. They were the soldiers of summer, born and raised in Eléadoré, and without the guarantee of victory behind them, their inexperience showed. With brutal efficiency he swept through their ranks, losing himself to the thrill of battle. When the fight was over, the lives he had taken would weigh on him, but he was under no illusions.

It was kill or be killed upon the field of battle, and he refused to die here, not when the light had finally returned to Corona.

He swung his sword, deflecting an axe and throwing the wielder of balance. Deftly, he pulled back his sword before ramming it into the crevice between the soldier's gorget and helm. As blood spilled down the soldier's armor, Eugene caught sight of a mounted cavalier from the corner of his vision. He spun around in the saddle, raising his blade, but the cavalier had already fallen off his horse, an arrow sticking through his eye. Cornelius. Eugene turned, nodding at the the bluffs above where his son's archers took aim, and he charged back into the heat of battle.

Finally, as the sun set, he reined in his trusty steed and dismounted, just in time for a pair of arms to wrap around him. He clapped his son on the back, the words dying in his throat, and for a moment, they just stood there, grateful to still be alive. I told you stay away, to stay safe… but I'm glad you came.

"I'll forgo the grounding for disobeying my orders, just this once, okay?" he said, chuckling despite everything.

Cornelius laughed, breaking the embrace and glancing around. The battle was won, and the enemy had fled. It was not the end of the war, Eugene knew. In fact, the war was far from over. Still, today had been a victory, and that was good enough for him. For now, all that mattered was that they'd survived.

"You're welcome, Dad," said Cornelius, a wan smile on his face. "We'd have arrived sooner, but we had to take the land route, and it wasn't an easy journey."

"Oh, it seems you have a story to tell me," said Eugene, eager to hear about his son's adventures, and even more eager to begin planning their assault on the capital. All that was missing now was Rapunzel, and they would rescue her together. "Let's go inside. The wounded need to be tended, and I dare say we're all in need of a good bath and a hot meal after this fight."

"That sounds lovely, King Fitzher—"

"Eugene or Dad will do, Alyssa," he said, rolling his eyes. "You're married to my son, remember?"

Cornelius rolled his eyes, Alyssa flushed, and they turned to return to Sommersea. There was much to discuss, and there was much for them to plan if they were to take back the capital city. However, as they walked, a shiver ran down his spine, and he looked around, instantly on his guard. Something was amiss.

There. He glared at the hills, and Gothel glared back. She must have been there for the entire battle, just watching and waiting. It made no sense. What was she doing here? The answer came to easily. She'd come to see him die with her own eyes… Quickly, Eugene grasped Cornelius and Alyssa by their collars, dragging them towards the relative safety of Sommersea.

"Move," he said. "Just move."

Mercifully, they obeyed, and he picked up speed. They couldn't fight her, not yet. Whatever magic she had up her sleeves was powerful indeed, and it had been enough to dispatch of the entire capital city, his spies had reported. To face her, they'd need a plan. A shrill cackle resounded through the air, and he shuddered.

Eugene whirled, catching movement in the corner of his eye, and he narrowed his eyes. That light. Without hesitation, he shoved Cornelius and Alyssa out of the way, just as the streak of yellow mist slammed into his chest. Atop the bluffs, Gothel clapped in delight, though her eyes were cold and furious, and she disappeared in a flash of smoke.

"Dad?" yelled Cornelius. "Dad!"

Eugene groaned, clutching at his chest as the curse spread across his skin. His hands grew gnarled and papery, and he coughed, falling to his knees. The brittles bones within his body snapped, and he gasped for breath, his vision growing milky.

"Dad, hold on," Cornelius was on his knees, holding him up, but it was too late.

"King Eugene, the healers are on their way!" That was Alyssa's voice, he remembered.

Eugene felt the years trickle out of him, and he aged in seconds. His hair grew dry and brittle, falling from his hair in clumps, and he felt a horse nuzzle at his sunken cheek. Maximus. That was his horse's name, wasn't it? Everything was blurry and fading, and he felt old, so very old. Rapunzel… I'm sorry.

He gasped, and then he crumpled, his body turning to dust as he fell.

Cornelius rode in silence, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

It hurt, everything hurt, and the brief taste of victory had turned to ashes in his mouth. The road stretched on in front of him, long and uneven, and his army trekked behind him, and for the first time, they were silent. Not a word was said, and there were no marching ballads or words of encouragement. No, this was both a march to war and a procession of mourning, for their king's body was not yet cold.

His father's ashes would be interred within the Cathedral of the Sun, the holiest place in all Corona, alongside the royals who had come before him. It was not tradition. The spouses of the kings and queens of Corona were buried in the grounds of the cathedral… no consort had ever had their ashes consecrated within. This was different. This was his dad. If the bishop protested, Cornelius would simply replace him. The delegation had left at dawn, bearing both an urn filled with his father's ashes and a missive from him, sealed and stamped with his sunburst.

To refuse him was treason, and he had made that point very clear.

The road stretched on and on, but he refused to look back. If he looked back, he'd weep, and there was still work to be done. His mother was in danger, if she was not yet dead as well, and he would not rest until he had Gothel's head. That was all that drove him. Not his throne. Not his crown. Not even his wife. He wanted vengeance, and he'd have it. Everything… everything ached. The fear, the fury, the fatigue… it was all being driven towards one person, the root of every problem his kingdom had faced.

Gothel.

Ships as new as his did not sink on their own. Kingdoms as vibrant as his did not grow pale and grey on their own. War did not come calling without someone calling the shots. Kings as young as his father didn't die of old age. Everything was her fault. All of it. The minute he'd seen her magic, he'd known.

"Hello, Cornelius," a voice echoed in his head, and he gritted his teeth. The nagging voice had been there from the time he'd clutched his father's ashes in his hands, and it was colder than the grave. Like ice, almost, but colder than anything Nick could create.

"Go away," he said. "The answer is no."

"You cannot win this fight on your own. How can you fight time, Prince of the Dawn? Even your light ages."

"Go away," he repeated, and the voice laughed, low and mocking.

"I cannot leave a mind that has invited me in, Prince. You opened the door as your despair took you. Now, accept the deal, and earn your revenge."

"Cornelius?" another voice said, and he shook himself.

Alyssa's horse fell into step beside his own, and her expression was worried. She reached out a hand, grasping his wrist, and he shook her off without thinking. No. Not now. Do not try to calm me now. I can breathe on my own. His wife pulled her hand away as though stung, looking at him with frantic eyes.

"You're worrying me, Cor. Please, I know it's hard. I know, more than most, the pain of losing a father. Don't shut me out. I want to be here for you."

He took a deep breath, and he turned his gaze back to the road ahead. In the distance, he could make out the towers of his palace, far away but drawing ever closer. Soon, an end would be made. Corona would be free. His father's soul would find peace. Only then would he rest. Only then would he allow himself to grieve.

"She'll die as well if you don't take my bargain, Prince of the Dawn," said the voice, and a shiver ran down his spine. "And the child as well. Did you know there was a child in her? You can march to your death, or you can save them. Just one deal. It's all I ask."

He froze.

As Alyssa drew up beside him once more, he turned to her, narrowing his eyes. She looked no different that she had when they'd left Arendelle, but if what the voice said was true… No, he'd been careful. He'd spilled his seed on her belly or her thigh, and the only time he'd released within her had been the first night they'd spent together. There couldn't be a child.

"Alyssa," he said, needing to know, now more than ever. "Are you pregnant?"

His wife started, and just like that, he knew. They had shared a lot over their relationship, and her reactions were always easy to read as far as he was concerned. Glancing at her, he let his eyes fall to her belly, still flat beneath her armor… They hadn't been together since leaving Arendelle, and, Tsar Luna above, she'd been fighting, and she'd carried him when the pass had collapsed.

This couldn't go on.

"How did you know?" she asked. "I was going to tell you. I was. Things just got very…"

"I understand," he said gruffly, and for a moment, he wondered why he wasn't reacting as he had always imagined he would. The news had heartened him, but the world was still grey and wan around him, and all he truly felt was weary. A child. He was seventeen, which was not too young as far as royal heirs were concerned, but he had a war to fight, a father to avenge, a mother to rescue, and a kingdom to restore.

And, beneath everything, the desire to kill Gothel intensified. It had been a glowing ember and now it was a bonfire. It had to end. The witch had hurt three generations of his family, and he could not allow it to continue, not now that there was a fourth.

"So, what say you, Prince of the Dawn? Can you truly defeat Gothel and protect those you love without my assistance?"

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't know."

Nick,

I need you. I don't need your military or your magic. I just need you here right now, not for me, but for Cor.

This morning, we broke the siege on Sommersea. King Eugene did not make it. Gothel killed him. Nick, I'm sorry. I know he's your uncle and this is not the best way to tell you, but Cor is taking it hard. Very hard. I'm sorry. I'd never ask this of you if I had any other choice, but I'm worried. Please. We leave Sommersea at dawn, and we're marching on the capital.

Cor isn't himself. He's withdrawn and sullen, and I've heard him talking to himself when he thinks I'm not listening. He's talking about deals and power, and revenge, and I'm worried. Please, Nick, come to Corona. He won't open up to me.

But, you share a bond with him that I don't. Maybe you can succeed where I failed. Please, Nick, I'm begging you.

-Sincerely,

Alyssa

"Oh… that isn't good," said Morgan, "That isn't good at all."

Nick sighed, setting down the letter. Rubbing at his temples, he turned to his boyfriend, and without saying a word, pulled him into a tight hug. His uncle was dead. He'd not been as close to Uncle Fitz, as he'd always called Cornelius' father, as he was to his own Uncle Kristoff, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. Could I have changed things had I gone with them? Almost instantly, he shook his head, dispelling the thought. He had his duties to Arendelle, and he couldn't have abandoned them. As a prince, it had been easy to make the decision to go to Amoré.

As a king, he had a lot more to worry about, and he couldn't be ruled by his heart.

Morgan held him, stroking his back, and Nick sighed. After the longest moment, he pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. This… this was an emergency, something they had not predicted, and he knew that he had no choice but to fly to his cousin's aid. Cornelius had dropped everything when Arendelle had come under siege, and Nick couldn't help but feel that things would be so very different had Corona's army been in Corona when Gothel had struck.

No, he couldn't feel guilty. This wasn't about him. Yes, he hurt, but this was about Cor.

"The bird that brought this letter was nearly dead when it reached," he said. "If they left Sommersea the morning after she sent the letter, they should be almost at the capital by now. I'm going. I can't not go. Will you come with me?"

"Do you even need to ask?" asked Morgan, running a hand down his cheek. "Go on. Tell your aunt that you're leaving, and I'll pack a bag for the trip."

Nick nodded, pressing his lips to his boyfriend's cheek in a brief kiss before leaving his study, grasping the letter as he did so. The castle was quiet, yet there was a roaring in his ears as he walked. He felt sad, but it was almost as though he was numb to loss. Cold. That was the word for it. His mother's death had turned him cold, as had the rebellion and all that had come with it. He still cared, and he still felt, but he couldn't deny it.

As he left his private wing, he headed for his aunt's bedroom, noting how the guardsmen inclined their head in his direction. They'd always been respectful, but they'd chatted with him all the same. Perhaps they hadn't been the best of friends, but he'd once had a good rapport with all of them. But, he'd been a prince then, and though he was still Nick, his people treated him very differently as a king. He shook himself, taking a deep breath. This was not about him and his struggles right now. Cor needed him.

"Aunt Anna," he called, knocking on her door.

"In a second, Nick."

He waited, shifting from one foot to another. She wouldn't like him leaving, not so soon after Amoré. As much as he'd tried to hide the full extent of his injuries, she had somehow picked up on how close he'd come to death, and she rebellion had made her even more protective, if that was even possible. Swallowing, he waited until the door swung open. Aunt Anna stood in the doorway, her blouse hanging slightly off her left shoulder, and Morrigan fussed slightly in her arms.

She was growing quite big, though she was still little. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he realized how daft he sounded. Still, his cousin was a healthy little baby, even if she had gotten into the habit of pulling on his hair and giggling whenever he carried her.

Wordlessly, Nick handed his aunt the letter, and scooped Morrigan out of her arms. His cousin looked up at him with brown doe-eyes, calming down at once and despite everything, a smile curled across his lips. He tickled her nose, letting a single snowflake hang above her eyes, just out of reach. Morrigan grasped for it, giggling as it flitted above her, and he closed his eyes. I'll never have one of my own, will I?

He started. Where had that thought come from? Before he could think more on the matter, his aunt spoke.

"Oh, Eugene…" she said, shaking her head. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she looked up at him, pursing her lips. "You're going, aren't you?"

"I have to," he replied. "It's Cor."

"I know," she said. "Nick, you don't need my permission, not anymore. You're the king now. Your outrank me."

"You're still my aunt," he replied, shrugging. "I mean, I'd feel odd just leaving without saying anything. You know?"

"I do," she said. "Stay safe, okay. I'll hold things down on this end."

For the first time in his life, Nick looked at his aunt, truly seeing her for who she was. All his life, she'd just been Aunt Anna, his mother's sister who'd treated him as though he was her own son. She'd sneak him sweets when he was a kid, and they'd build snowmen in the gardens when his mother was busy Yet, she'd been his mother's right hand for decades. Aunt Anna grieved, and there were dark rings beneath her eyes, but she still kept her head held high. She had never been born to rule, and she'd accepted that long ago. But, she was the most faithful agent of the throne all the same, and she always had been.

He truly was blessed to have her as his support.

"Thank you," he said, and he tickled Morrigan's nose as he handed her back to Aunt Anna. "Just… thank you."

There was a lot to say, and even more that he couldn't put into words, but the look on her face as she hugged him was enough to let him know that she understood all the same.

"Gothel, my dear, are you prepared for your final bow?" asked her master, and she shuddered, not quite understanding.

Her final bow? Understanding dawned, and she smiled. Of course. The show was coming to an end, and once Prince Cornelius had been dealt with, her role in the plan was done. Another threat would have been removed, and Corona would be hers to rule as she saw fit. It would be marvellous, and perhaps, if she was feeling particularly bored, she'd give the world an encore.

She sat upon the throne, one leg crossed over the other, and her master stood before her. Tall and thin, he rose from a pool of shadows, and his eyes glimmered like twin rubies in the lamplight. He unnerved her. How could he not? Yet, at the same time, she couldn't help but be drawn to his power, like a moth to a flame. Perhaps, if she flew too close, she'd burn, but for now, all was well.

"Tremaine and Hans were foolish idiots who failed in their tasks, one more than the other," she said instead, rolling her eyes. "Odile failed twice. I will not fail you."

"Of course you won't," he replied, his thin lips curling into a twisted leer. Rising up, he leaned over her, running a claw down her cheek, and he winked. "You will not fail me."

She gasped, almost doubling over in pain. It felt as though her soul was being sucked out through her mouth, but quickly, she realized it was just the power he'd granted her. No. What is the meaning of this? Without the flower and without the magical reserves of her master, she would not be able to fight an entire army, even with the Hollow Ones she'd been given. As quickly as the sensation had come over her, it faded, and she slumped back against the throne, panting.

"Master…"

"In chess, the pawns go first," he said, his leer growing. "You've done beautifully, but your usefulness has come to an end. After all, I have my sights set on another, and he'd never submit to me if you're still kicking."

Terror washed over her, and her eyes widened. Did he intend to dispose of her like a used tissue? Then, the terror turned to rage, and she rose to her feet, lashing out. Yellow mist burst from his palm, flickering and faint, and it barely touched him before fading out of existence. Damn you. Damn you, Pitch!

"Feisty," he said, chuckling. "Now, now, Gothel. Do be a good sport about this. You've gotten your revenge on sweet Rapunzel, and you've put Eugene in the ground. Isn't that enough? Don't worry. It'll all be over soon."

A shudder ran down her back as he faded into the shadows, and she glared. No, this would not be her end. She had the Hollow Ones, and with them, she could hold back the armies of Corona. This would not be her final bow. She had not lived this long, fought this long, and clawed her way to power for this long to die like this, cast aside like a pawn who no longer served a purpose in the master's grand scheme.

She was five-hundred years old, and she would not let herself be defeated by a boy. This would not be her final bow. It would be his. Her master would see she still had her uses. He had to. This would not be how her story ended.

Gothel refused to see it end this way.

By noon, they had taken the walls. General Silvanus had circled the city, striking from the south, and Alyssa had struck alongside her husband's army, seizing the north. There were Hollow Ones in the city, but they were weak and sluggish, cut down in seconds. Something was wrong, very wrong. There was too little resistance, in her opinion, and it was almost as though Gothel intended for the city to be reclaimed. Still, she had no time to stop and think, not now.

By evening, they were entering the castle. It was all happening so fast, and the nightmare was almost over, in her mind at all. Nick, where are you? Her husband was fighting like a man possessed, and he brushed off every wound that came his way. He was whispering as well, talking to himself as he fought, and she was more afraid than she'd even been in her life.

He wasn't listening to her. He wasn't calming down. He wasn't stopping to breathe. All that mattered was vengeance, and even the news that he was going to be a father hadn't roused him from his… she didn't even know how to describe it. Apathy? Disillusionment? Weariness? She just didn't know.

A dozen soldiers accompanied them as they approached the throne room, and she already knew it wouldn't be enough. The army was still charging through the castle, emptying out the rooms of whatever miasma Gothel had inflicted upon the place and slaying the monstrous beasts that prowled the corridors. This was foolishness. They couldn't confront her, not without a powerful magic-user of their own, and even if her husband had his light… it wasn't an offensive talent, not like Nick's ice or Christopher's Dreamtouch. It was diversionary and powerful, but it wouldn't stop Gothel.

"Cornelius, slow down," she said, grasping him by the shoulder. He was muttering under his breath, talking to himself, and she couldn't hear what he was saying despite her excellent hearing. His words were garbled and jumbled as though he was speaking in tongues, and she shook him as roughly as she could. "Cornelius, you're scaring me."

He ignored her. They had reached the doors. Without hesitation, he kicked them open and drew his sword. Biting her lip, she followed, drawing her rapier. The room was dark, and it stank of death and staleness. The stone was porous and dusty, and mold covered the tapestries. Instantly, she wanted to turn and run. All her instincts begged her to leave this place. It wasn't right. The beast didn't like it here.

This place… it was unnatural.

"Gothel," roared her husband. "Show yourself."

A rush of smoke billowed across the room, and Alyssa gasped as a knife pressed against her throat. A second blade dug into the slit where her armour joined, and she blanched as she heard Gothel's heavy breathing in her ear. No, not there. Don't stab me there. I'm pregnant.

The soldiers slumped around her, crumbling to dust as they hit the ground, and Gothel swayed on her feet, yet the blades didn't move. Alyssa tensed. She could break the grasp, but the dagger at her belly stopped her from trying. One false move, and it would take her in the one place where, even if she healed, she'd lose more than she was willing too.

"Cornelius," she said. "Please."

"Shut up," snarled Gothel. "Both of you, shut up. You think you're clever, don't you? Breaking Tremaine's advance and foiling my plans. Making my master think I've failed when I've succeeded. I'll give him what he wants. Don't you worry. The Beast Queen and the Prince of the Dawn. I'll hand you both over to him. He just needs the corpses."

"Release her," said Cornelius, taking a step forward, and his voice was colder and more dangerous than Alyssa could have considered possible. "Let her go, or I will make your end painful."

"I don't think so." Gothel cackled. "Foolish of you. You can hear the whispers, can't you, boy? They lured you right in. We can all hear them. He's in our heads. He's telling us what needs to be done. He's so proud. The master knows I've done a good job. This will not be my final bow."

Alyssa tensed. Nothing made sense. What whispers. She swallowed, feeling the knife tremble at her throat, and she took a deep breath. Nick, for the love of Tsar Luna, where the hell are you? In front of her, Cornelius cocked his head to the side, and he smirked.

"I hear the whispers," her husband said. "And they're telling me to take my revenge."

"What?" Gothel shrieked, and Alyssa sensed the moment of weakness. Grasping the witch's wrists, she yanked the knives away from her body, and she broke free of the hold. Panting, she tossed herself aside, and yellow light began to gleam in Gothel's hands.

"No. I'll not let it end. I have enough power still. I'll turn this entire kingdom to dust. Watch me!"

The world grew still, and the witch raised her hands above her head. The mist swirled around her, and Alyssa's heart sank. Blood ran down Gothel's cheeks, and her eyes gleamed red as the veins popped in her head. No. They couldn't run from this. Even as the curse spread, she couldn't bring herself to blame Cornelius for this. He was hurting and enraged, and she knew what he was like when he was angry. He rushed in without thinking, just like she acted without thinking… but this time..

Her husband was muttering under his breath, arguing in the garbled tongue he'd spoken in since King Eugene had spoken, and the stone pillars of the room began to crack. Alyssa climbed to her feet, looking about for her rapier. They had to end this. They couldn't let Gothel finish her curse. Yet, it could already be too late, and she had no idea where her weapon had fallen.

"Pitch Black," said her husband, and the world froze as she spun around to face him. "I accept your bargain."

For a single moment, her world shattered like glass, and then Cornelius broke the silence with a howl. Throwing back his head, he clutched at his cheeks, stumbling around as violet right poured from his skin. The shadows swirled around him, and he cried out, the vibrant blue of his eyes fading until only the whites remained. Purple-black light glowed at the edges, and his screams turned to laughs.

"No!" screamed Gothel. "No, you can't!" The curse flickered and died, drowned by a wave of shadows, and the witch clutched at herself. "Master, why have you forsaken me?" She shrieked, looking like a deer caught by a hunter's bow.

Alyssa watched in horror as her husband moved, lunging across the room so fast that he was a blur, even to her own eyes. Her hair rustled as he darted past her, his laughter wild and unhinged, and Gothel's gurgled scream echoed through the room. His fist shot out in front of him, and Gothel's arms went limp.

Cornelius stood with his arm raised above his head, and he was up to his elbow in Gothel's stomach. His bloody fingers stuck out of her back, and he shook her like a rattle, laughing wildly as her blood rained down over him, staining his hair. The laughter echoed from his lips, but the mirth was already dying.

He looked at her, and he smirked.

"Hello, Alyssa," he said, his eyes glinting. "Isn't it beautiful. Shall I present you with her heart? Maybe I'll keep yours as well."

That… That isn't Cornelius. She took a step back, her words dying in her throat. He was walking towards her, jerking like a puppet, and his smirk was deepening. Faceless. Oh, Tsar Luna. He's Faceless.

He lunged, pulling back his fist as he did so. Bracing herself, she caught his swing, and a sharp crack echoed through the room. Pain shot through her arm, and her wrist felt as though it was one fire. So strong. He's stronger than me. Cradling her wrist, she backed away, unable to keep the terror and grief from her eyes. Cornelius, what did you do?

Then, he jerked forward, his arm twisting behind his back. His wrist rotated one way and his elbow went the other, and he cocked his head to the left. Her husband stumbled, and his other arm twisted behind him as well. He jerked and writhed, contorting himself into shapes that just weren't humanly possible, and then, he turned to look at her with white eyes.

"Run," he whimpered. "Please. Run while you can."

Alyssa ran, stopping only to slam and bar the doors behind her.