Killing Me Slowly: A Tangled Fanfiction

by keeparecordofthewreckage

Living in Corona, Eugene and Rapunzel are more in love than ever. One year post-tower, they have navigated trauma, grief, new relationships, and what it means to have a real family. But is their love strong enough to withhold the restraints of an unexpected arranged marriage? (Rated M for references to prior trauma, sexual intimacy, and language). This is a currently active story!

30. Chapter 29

AN: Hello again, my lovely readers! Today's featured songs are Paralyzer by Finger Eleven, Masquerade by Ashley Tisdale, and Find My Way Back by Eric Arjes.

I'm going to provide a very short introduction today, because I've been waiting for months to post this chapter. Months. Everything has led up to this very moment. I don't want to wait anymore, just as you likely don't want to, either!

Buckle up, my dears. The next few chapters are going to be very fun.

Chapter 29: Me on My Way to You

I'll be there to fall into the dark

To chase your heart

No distance could ever tear us apart

There's nothing that I wouldn't do

I'll find my way back to you…

If the warm-fingered sun were to sink behind the rolling hills of the Canmore Manor estate any faster, Eugene wouldn't have the time to feel so painfully anxious. If dozens of carriages led by pristine, white horses weren't galloping their way up the circular, cobblestone drive, two by two – mocking his own lack of similar status – Eugene wouldn't believe himself to be in the right place.

If Eugene Fitzherbert despised Prince Charles of Maddoline any more than the abundance of hate which his already-heavy heart has come to carry in the recent months, the young ex-rogue would likely wither away into nothing, filled with so much shaking hatred that his body would simply have nothing else to thrive off of.

Without her, there isn't much of him left anyway.

Low clouds, though they should resemble a rather cozy and comforting scene, do not. Not tonight, at least. Low clouds – as they roll above the evening horizon and blanket the entirety of the vast Canmore estate – darken the sky, choke the sky, and leave Eugene with an entirely eerie feeling churning itself up deep in his gut.

To mask his obvious anxiousness is a battle with his own body which Eugene is definitely not winning this evening. There is a nervous twitch at his mouth when he speaks, a lowness of his tense gaze, and a rigidness in his shoulders; all of which showcase how very much Eugene Fitzherbert is on edge, and how very desperately his head and his heart are torn in two. A large part of him is so guiltily apprehensive to find his way inside the manor. But what if Rapunzel isn't in there at all? What if he's taken her somewhere else, hidden her somewhere else? And yet, the other half of him wants nothing more than to finally be inside, searching for her. Finding her.

Saving her from him.

Eugene can feel it in his heart that she is here, and as much as his heart has skewed his decision making as of late, he wants to believe that it's true.

Much as he'd wanted to, Eugene has never truly viewed himself as a hero of any kind. Surely not the hero of his own story, and when it comes down to it, not even the hero of Rapunzel's. A changed man, he'd quietly basked in that quickly-presented hero title when it had initially been granted to him, sure. On the surface, Eugene had adored the bounty of positive attention which had come about when he'd first brought Rapunzel back home.

Hard as it is to believe, that first week in the castle was already over a year ago now. The day-after-day parties, the endless celebration, the river of bubbly drinks and ceremonious pats on the back. The general forgiveness from the local population for the person that he'd been before her. Though some couldn't accept that their precious, newly-returned princess would likely be bedded by such a deceptively charming young man, most were generally welcoming of him.

Even if it was only because the king and queen had ordered them to be.

Now, it feels as though the parties, the drinking – the naïve celebration, not yet aware of the fresh vengeance from hell which was to come – had occurred in another lifetime entirely. And much as Flynn Rider had died on that tower floor, it had all gently stroked his deeply-bruised ego in a way that Eugene simply couldn't deny.

But deep down – when he was alone late at night, and all had gone quiet in the dull glow of the lonely moon through his windowpane, and Rapunzel was safely asleep in her big, fluffy bed upstairs – Eugene hadn't believed himself to be worthy of such sudden, high praise. In all truthfulness, he hadn't felt as though he'd deserved it. Any of it. The celebrations, the forgiveness, the second chance. He hadn't earned it. Not really. Rapunzel was every kind of capable of saving herself, after all. He'd simply been in the right place at the right time, all because he'd stolen something of such great sentimental value to an entire kingdom.

And for that, he was really no hero at all.

If Eugene were to be completely honest with himself, it had always felt as though Rapunzel had saved him. Infinitely more so than he'd ever saved her.

Sure, fate had been on his side (for once) on the day that Eugene had found Rapunzel's tower. But he'd only found it because he'd been busy committing grand theft treason. And while Eugene understands that fate has a funny way of working things out for the very best, there's still a small part of him which has spent the majority of his time since meeting Rapunzel waiting for the other shoe to drop. A small part of him which has never felt as though he really deserves her, much as fate might argue the notion.

There is a part of Eugene which has felt horribly – eternally – guilty for being so foolish and for not being able to do more to save her that night. That night, when the lanterns had burned themselves out far too soon and he'd fucked everything up so badly. When, for a moment in time, he'd burned them out far too soon.

And although Eugene was so happy for Rapunzel that she'd found her parents – that she finally had a proper home, a proper family who loves her so much – there's always been a very small piece of his heart which has selfishly regretted not turning his back on the Stabbington's, kissing Rapunzel on that boat, and simply running away with her right then and there.

He hadn't been able to save her. From any of it. From the implications of life as royalty, from Charles. From his own selfish desires. And maybe Rapunzel – courageous as she is – doesn't really need saving, but still. He'd made a promise to her. Long ago, Eugene had made a promise to her that she would always be free, that he would never lead her back into the tower which he'd once led her out of, and that he would always keep her safe. He'd promised Rapunzel that she would never have to feel trapped again.

History, it seems, has a very peculiar – a painfully humorous, even – way of repeating itself.

Because now, Rapunzel is likely standing frozen-footed in her new and improved tower: this gorgeous manor estate, crawling with ivy and adorned by way of weathered brick, enchanted by the view of miles upon miles of rolling fields, lined with wide-stretched forest which she would likely beg him to get lost in with her – if their circumstances were different. And while this place is incredibly beautiful in every objective sense, it is no doubt disguised, hiding behind its deceptive beauty, burning below the surface as Rapunzel's own makeshift hell.

A hell which Eugene is about to set fire to, if it's not on fire already.

There's a curved, cobblestone drive, a drive which circles around the front of the manor and invites each guest with simultaneously cold and wide open arms. As previously described, ivy of deep, healthy spring-green perches atop the beaten down but handsome brick. There is an endless display of swaying meadows which put to shame even the impressive gardens that surround the manor's perfectly-primed front lawn, twisting in explosions of freshly-bloomed color to the manor's backside.

And while Eugene wants to like this place – and perhaps even could, in another life – the lavish estate loses all of its glamour when compared to the place which they call home. When compared to Corona.

When compared to her, who is really more his home than even Corona itself.

Eugene, Lance, and Cass had spent one tortuously long night at a seedy inn in downtown Maddoline, situated immediately adjacent to the docks and bathed in the consistent scent of raw fish. While there, the trio had choked down an unsatisfactory yet warm meal, acceptably washed for the first time in over a week, and went to bed before the sun had properly set, completely exhausted from their week-and-a-half-long boat ride (and from the constant spats which occurred on said boat ride).

All nerves and bundles of it, awake before the sun had even risen again – having gone to bed so early the night before – Eugene had ventured to the front of the small, wood-paneled inn to check on the two, steady horses which the thrift shop owner had borrowed to them. In the silent, blooming light of golden dusk, he'd ensured that the horses were watered, fed, and of good health for the trip ahead.

Soon after, Cassandra and Lance had joined Eugene in the sitting room on the main floor of the inn for a watered-down cup of bad coffee and a bowl of something which resembled oatmeal. They'd loaded up the few things which they'd brought with them from Corona, Eugene and Lance riding together and Cassandra riding solo. After spending most of Thursday afternoon traveling relatively slowly to the manor – not wanting to draw any further, unwanted attention to themselves – the trio had discovered the ivy-lined mini-castle of the Canmore family, resting prettily there on the rolling foothills of Maddoline.

Once there, the restless trio would have a singular night left to kill, which they would spend quietly camping out on the outskirts of the Maddolineon meadows. They were strategically hidden away in the dense forest, watching. Waiting. Waiting for a sign of her. Waiting for a sign of anyone, though the manor appeared to be locked up tight for the entirety of Thursday evening and cloud-covered Friday morning.

As much as it had killed Eugene to know that Rapunzel was likely inside the hellhole of a royal manor – no more than a lousy mile or two out of his reach now – he knew that this careful plan of action was the smartest, most Flynn-Rider-like route to take… especially when the genius cover of a freaking masquerade ball was simply too fateful to pass up.

Besides, what was two more nights when they've already been apart for three weeks now?

Well, it's everything. But Eugene knows that this calculated wait will be more than worth it to finally have Rapunzel away from Charles and in his arms again: safe and breathing and his.

Crouched anxiously behind a set of thick bushes, Eugene can't help but allow his mind to wander as he watches guest after snootily-dressed guest file into the manor at the front door, having crept through the woods to the very edge of the estate when they'd heard the commotion of dozens of carriages pounding through the shadow-rich forest.

In the should-be comforting silence of approaching nightfall, Eugene wonders what Rapunzel might be doing right now; wonders if she's with him or if they're even in the right place at all. If she's even here.

What the fuck he's going to do if she's not.

Pulled haphazardly from the inside pocket of his navy, thrift store jacket, Eugene plucks between his nervous fingers a thin piece of fabric, shaking it out as though it were a spider's dusty cobweb and watching with held back emotion as the rich, purple material unfolds to display a bright, yellow sun.

A delicately bittersweet souvenir from a time in their lives when things had been so painfully different, Rapunzel had given Eugene the pocket-sized, birthday-gifted flag soon after Charles had arrived in Corona and soon after they'd learned about the prince's arrangement with the Coronan council to marry her. 'You can carry it with you. You can always carry me with you if you have it.'

That's what she'd said to him.

And now, in a different time and place entirely, there is no warm sun glittering in the sky. No warm sun to provide Eugene with some sort of lemon-colored comfort; not like the one depicted so brightly on the sentimental flag, and not like the one which had been filtering upon Rapunzel's own sunshiny face when he'd bought her the flag in the crowded, jovial square.

No, this place is completely devoid of light, it seems. There is nothing here but the darkened clouds of an apparently-stormy evening, clouds which slowly meander over hundreds-of-acres-worth of royally-owned land. And upon this land, a manor: a manor which has become no more than a prison in its own right. No more than a place for hollowed-out hope to go completely cold, a place where dreams travel to die with little peace lining their bones.

No more than another tower.

All tangled up in his own, shaking arms – trapped in a haunting flashback reel of sunbathed, meadow memories – Eugene had dreamt of her the night before. Rapunzel had been lying there on her back in the tall grass, wooden tree swing swaying from the monstrous willow behind her, looking up at him with those green eyes that made him so fucking weak in the knees; eyes that could make him do anything if she only asked. She'd had her bare feet flat on the ground, knees pointed up to the sky and open for him, beckoning him to join her there in the warmth of it all.

She'd almost sounded like someone else as she'd begged for him to stay, pleading with Eugene not to leave this dreamscape which his mind had thought up in order to help him cope through one more night – or perhaps to torture him more than he already has been.

And then, with the warmth of the sensual meadow scene blurring the edges of his groggy vision, Eugene had found himself swiftly awakened by a very cross Cassandra. She'd been standing over him in the waning light of dusk and kicking him in the side, a stormy look on her face, telling him to stop 'moaning on and on like an idiot about her in his sleep' – the her in question being an entirely alluring, entirely stolen princess. Cassandra had been standing there, looking like a threatening ghost amongst the trees, telling Eugene that 'they were close' and that 'he'd better not blow their chance at getting her back tonight.' In typical Cass fashion, she'd shamelessly and thoroughly chided him before stalking off in that stubborn way of hers to fill her belly with a single slice of bread – a lousy excuse for breakfast.

It had left him feeling so pathetically hollow, dreaming about her like that – seeing her like that, all spread out in the grass beneath him and still so in love with him – especially when Rapunzel was (hopefully) no more than a mile or two through the evergreen woods now, her dreamy image pricking and warming his fingertips… and every other part of him, too. Eugene had spent the entire night in a golden haze, on the very edge of restless sleep, teetering on the brink of finally reaching out for her. Only to, depressingly so, awaken from another night slipped by without her in his arms. But soon.

Soon.

The cruel dream had left him feeling hollow – like one of the dead tree trunks in this thousand-acre forest – but he can't focus on that empty, dull feeling anymore. Eugene knows that he can't focus on anything but her; not when he's this heart-achingly close to getting Rapunzel back. Easy as it would be to overthink himself into a nervous wreck, Eugene knows that he must keep his wits about him, his mind sharp, and his heart spilling from the brim with the hope that she will be inside that manor. The hope that all of this pain wasn't for nothing!

Damaged and broken as his heart may be, at least he still has one, Eugene muses. At least it still works. Charles cannot say quite as much.

If he wants to find Rapunzel and repair all that they've lost, he must find a way to reconcile with his own guilty heart and with the past, and Eugene knows that.

Still, even this close to finally seeing and touching her again, it's so painfully difficult not to dwell on what could've been. Eugene so badly wishes that he could've convinced Rapunzel to run away with him that night in the moonlit garden. He wishes that, if he couldn't've been strong enough to walk away from her, he could've somehow convinced her to go. Sure, she still would've been walking away from her parents and from her people, for a little while, but it wouldn't've had to be forever. At least – if she'd left that night – she would've been safe, because she would've been with him.

She's not safe here in Maddoline. She hasn't been safe – not with Charles – and the thought makes Eugene's skin crawl.

And it was strange now, in the throes of hindsight, to think that Rapunzel had always been promised to two men: promised to Charles by a legal document signed twenty years ago, and promised to Eugene by fate; promised to him by a golden string which tangled and tethered them forevermore. It was strange to think that there was little Eugene could've done to stop the marriage, even though he'd wanted to.

Who would win, though, if the battle of destiny and duty was to officially commence? Would fate and love alone be strong enough to overcome the law, an unhinged prince, and half-a-year of emotional hell?

It would have to be. It would have to be enough.

In real time, knowing that dwelling on the past won't lead him down any well-lit paths tonight, Eugene is drawn from the depths of his guilty conscience by the sound of Cassandra's low voice – all condescending and expecting much more of Eugene than he realistically has left to give – as he shoves the nostalgic flag of rich, purple color back into the inside pocket of his fitted, formal jacket.

"So, tell me. What's the plan here, genius?" Cass inquires with a huff, hands on her hips – hips which are concealed by the thick corset and plethora of matching skirts that she'd found at the dusty thrift store – as she too crouches beside him. "You've got me in this stupid getup, so this had better be good."

"I'm going to walk right through the front door." Eugene responds with a casual roll of his shoulders – as though it were completely obvious – adjusting the collar on his suit jacket before rolling up the very ends of his sleeves and wondering just how comfortable he can get in this stuffy outfit when he's already so far past the point of anxiousness.

"You're going to what?" Cassandra demands with a stony glare, pinching at her eyebrows and mumbling a curse under her breath before once again focusing upon Eugene in the dwindling light of the evening. "You're not at least going to try to sneak in? Flynn Rider must be rolling over in his –"

"You see those guards, Cass?" Leaning over to align with her line of vision, Eugene points calmly through the prickly bushes to the perimeter of the lit-up manor and toward the small army of guards: one of which is stationed every five feet or so, shining swords hanging from their belts and pre-loaded crossbows in their gloved hands. "We're not getting in there. Not like that. Professional as I am, I'm not risking blowing up this entire mission. The king was almost just assassinated, remember? They've clearly upped security. Which means that our best bet is to just act natural."

"Right." Cass nods, playing along, though her brooding eyes dart suspiciously between a well-dressed, well-masked Eugene and Lance. "And you're telling me that you two idiots actually know how to do that?"

"Hey, we've waltzed right into plenty of ritzy events like this! Never got convicted once!" Lance defends, crossing his arms over the maroon material of his broad chest with an outward puff, clearly offended by Cassandra's lack of faith. "Well, not for that anyway. We got some good loot out of it, too."

"Yeah, we sure as hell did." Eugene recalls quietly, smiling slightly at the nostalgically bittersweet memory of his childhood of thievery with Lance. The smile quickly vanishes, though, immediately replaced with a look of burning anger when Eugene remembers why they're here in the first place. "But I've got something of mine that I need to steal back tonight, and I'm not leaving here without her."

Shaking his head free of any lingering, sob-filled memories from his orphan days, Eugene turns his gaze away from the bustling manor and trains his determined look upon a suspicious Cassandra once more.

"So we're doing this my way."

"And what if she's not even here? Huh?" Cass inquires boldly – saying aloud what they've all been thinking – her own guilt and anxiety enough to leave the lady-in-waiting feeling even more jaded than usual. "I mean, what if they moved her, or what if that crazy drunk at the bar was just making shit up to yank our chains? What if our buddy Charles didn't want her here for the ball? What if he already knows that we're here, and he's just sending us on some wild goose chase?! What if –"

What if, what if, what if? We'll choke ourselves on all these freaking what ifs!

"Shhh! Shhh. She's here, okay? I can feel it." Attempting to silence a quickly-riled Cassandra, Eugene stresses with a sharp intake of crisp, evening air, pressing his palm firmly to his chest and focusing on the heartbeat there, even though he too had been worried that they were in the wrong place. That the old man at The Stolen Maiden had only been messing with him. "She's here."

Cass rolls her eyes – as she often does in conversation with Eugene – abruptly standing from her squatted place in the bushes, dragging up her heavy skirts and carrying them along with her by the handful.

"You're ridiculous." Striding away in pursuit of the growingly-crowded manor, Cassandra suddenly turns back – backlit by the waning remains of dull daylight – and looks over her shoulder when she realizes that her two companions aren't immediately following behind her. "Well? Are you ready to get our princess back or not?"

Scrambling from their own crouched positions in the thick concealment of the bushes on the outskirts of the manor's main grounds, Eugene and Lance quickly fall into step beside a humorously-dressed, incredibly impatient Cassandra.

The stealthy trio approaches the manor from its east-facing side, trying their best to conceal themselves from view of the front door by way of lingering shadows, not wanting to make it obvious that they hadn't rolled up to the manor in a prestigious carriage with even-more-prestigious, masterly-trained horses. At the front door, the trio is met with a considerable line of spiffy guests awaiting their entry to the ball: entry which is determined by a single, lanky man with silvering hair and a long, straight nose.

While awaiting their turn to be granted access to the manor, Eugene thoroughly studies his surroundings, examining the silk-and-fur-covered guests which would likely be surrounding him for the next several hours. Of course, he's hoping that this rescue mission won't take hours, but that feels a bit like wishful thinking at this point. After all, Charles has never made things easy for him, and Eugene is willing to bet that the arrogant prince isn't going to start showing so much as a sliver of mercy tonight.

He doesn't fit in here. Eavesdropping on the constant chitter-chatter around him about dukes and duchesses, the latest of Maddolineon high-society gossip and the like, Eugene knows in his gut that he doesn't belong here. This place is far too pretentious, filled with guests who so clearly have their noses stuck high in the air.

And if he doesn't belong here, Rapunzel sure as fuck doesn't belong here, either.

Just act natural. You can do that. You know how to do that. Ten years ago, sneaking into a place like this would've been a piece of cake!

"Do the three of you have an invitation?" Looking down his pointed nose at Eugene – who, lost in his own thought, had failed to realize that he, Cass, and Lance had quickly shuffled their way to the front of the line – the tall, skinny doorman frowns deeply, crossly awaiting an answer with his own feigned patience.

Fuck. Of course we would need invitations at a place like this!

"Right." Eugene hides his nervous cringe with an award-winning smile, falling into the Flynn Rider façade so easily that it's only the slightest bit concerning to him. It's only for tonight, anyway, and for a damn good reason. "An invitation. Well, ya see, in the rush to get here on time, my friends and I must've forgotten to grab the –"

"Right here." Cass suddenly brushes past Eugene, smiling sweetly up at the doorman, looking like something of a stranger to Eugene when regarding her entirely pleasant expression. "It's right here."

Cassandra offers to the greying, long-nosed man a crisp square of thick, white paper inscribed with golden, swirly lettering. With raised, unkempt brows, the doorman inspects the strangely-procured paper for a brief moment, finally nodding and pressing gently at Eugene's shoulder as the ex-thief lets out a stressed breath, prompting him to step through the tall, mahogany doors.

"Next!" The doorman calls out in unimpressed monotone, addressing the remaining members of the line and having already long forgotten about them.

"How did you get that?" Eugene breathes over her shoulder through gritted teeth, leaning in close to Cassandra so that none of the nearby guests mingling in the expansive foyer will hear him.

"Don't quit your day job. You're not the only one who knows how to pickpocket, apparently." Cass winks with a sly smile, though her typically-serious air returns as she studies the foyer, clearly mapping out all possible exits in her head. "Now. Commence Operation Save Lost Princess."

Adjusting his stiff collar, lowering his head, and trying his very best to blend into the overbearing, jovial crowd, Lance and Cassandra follow Eugene in a single file line as he leads them through the overflowed foyer and toward the greatest concentration of guests, most of which are still loitering around the doorway of a vast ballroom down the dim, candlelit hall.

After a few minutes of painstaking pacing – and after accepting a much-needed glass of champagne from a passing butler – Cass and Lance follow Eugene's lead once he nods his head toward the ballroom, guiding them inside when dreamlike music finally begins to fill the perfectly-prepped space.

Considering the recent assassination attempt on the king, Eugene is surprised by the sheer amount of guests filtering into the marble-floored ballroom. Sipping at his throat-tingling champagne, Eugene thinks back to the early days of consistently attending events like this with Rapunzel – back when she'd been home for no more than a few months – and wills himself not to get a pounding headache from the multitude of loud conversations being held at once. Everyone is laughing, and everyone is so naively happy, and everyone is so ignorant, because no one knows what the hell is really going on here.

No one knows the evil person their youngest prince truly is; behind the mask, behind the pressed suits and always-fresh face, behind the title which Charles uses to hide so cowardly with.

But he knows. Eugene knows, and he's going to fix it for her, come hell or high water. If every chandelier falls, if every soldier falls – if this entire fucking manor falls on top of him – he is going to fix this for her. He is going to get Rapunzel back home as he once had, when her life had been no more than the walls of a tower up until that point. And this time, he's never going to let anything like this happen to her again.

Though his time in the manor has been limited thus far, Eugene hasn't caught as much as a glimpse of Rapunzel – nor Charles, the fucking bastard – and this harrowing absence of her leaves the ex-thief feeling all the more uneasy. Glasses clink and cheerful dancing commences, and although Eugene wishes that everything would just halt around him, he knows that he'll have to locate Rapunzel in the midst of the commotion; a commotion which will hopefully provide them with more favor than harm.

His impatient heart prodding at him to look up, that very same heart catches in his dried throat as Eugene registers two silhouettes at the top of the grand staircase on the far side of the ballroom, their looming shadows situated far enough back on the landing to not be entirely visible, not yet stepped into the chandelier light overhead. Though the larger shadow could objectively belong to anyone – if he didn't know any better – Eugene immediately recognizes the petite, feminine slope of the other backlit figure, knows that short haircut and that familiar body language like the back of his own hand.

It's her… it's her, it's her, it's her! It just has to be! She's here, she's really here!

Go get her, you fucking idiot! She's right there, mere yards away now!

But if he sees me, he'll definitely make a scene. This is Charles's territory now, not mine. Uncharted waters, ships that are more likely to sink than keep afloat if I'm not careful. He's got guards, the king and queen on his side, and an entire manor packed with adoring subjects. So I've just gotta get her alone…

Anxiously pacing forward, Eugene steps closer to the grand staircase, eyes trained upon the silhouettes there; silhouettes which appear to be engaged in some sort of heated discussion. He pauses, waits. His fingers twitch around the champagne glass dripping with condensation, desperate to reach out for her, though Rapunzel is still completely ignorant to the fact that he's even here.

Now is not the time. Not yet.

Come on, Blondie. Let me see you… it'll be enough for now, if you'd just let me see you.

With a dramatic flair that causes an on-edge Eugene to jump in his boots, a trumpet rings out through the ballroom as the live music halts, and all goes quiet as a single, primly-dress young man stands tall at the base of the grand staircase. All falls quiet in the massive ballroom, an army of guests masked and prepared to masquerade on into the night – to be someone else and to hide their true identity for the evening, just for the fun of it – wondering why they've been summoned into silence when the excitement has seemingly only just begun.

She's dressed in a stunning gown of black, tulle skirts, the top half of the exquisite garment adorned with a floral-like design, covering her freckled shoulders with delicately-shaped leaves and pedals, sheered out at the sleeves which are dotted with the same black, flowery pattern. Half of her gorgeous face is concealed by an ink-colored mask, similar to his own in the way that it's laced behind her head. The lacy material hides much more of her than Eugene would prefer, though he knows that such a getup could come to their advantage tonight. Resting upon her braided-back bangs is a glistening crown, though it's not her crown – not the crown from home, and not the crown which he'd once so mindlessly stolen.

Not the crown which has fatefully led them to this very moment in the first place.

She pauses tentatively at the top of the marbled stairs, Charles's arm – Charles, whom is dressed similarly to Rapunzel, donning an expensive, all-black outfit and silky mask – outstretched between them and providing her delicate hand with a place to rest, awaiting their introduction. Only then – finally drinking in the refreshing sight of her after three miserable weeks apart – does the initial shock of it all start to wear off, and Eugene begins to go into fully-fueled rescue mission mode.

The young man at the base of the staircase clears his throat, shrilly announcing to all in attendance:

"Introducing His Royal Highness Prince Charles Canmore of Maddoline and his new wife, Princess Rapunzel of Corona!"

It's her! It's her, it's really her! Oh… oh, God. She's beautiful… fuck, she's beautiful! And I've missed her! I can't wait to finally have her in my arms again, can't wait to tell her how sorry I am for this whole mess, can't wait to never leave her side ever aga –

"Princess on the move." Cassandra drags Eugene from the storm of his whirlwind thoughts, brushing past him and pushing her way through the mesmerized crowd, ultimately gunning for the grand staircase. The both of them catch a fast glimpse of Rapunzel's glass-sheered hair as it promptly swishes away once she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Much to Eugene's chagrin, Rapunzel immediately disappears into the crowd of guests; guests who are once again absorbed by their own little worlds and chatting loudly, making it hard for him to think straight.

Do I follow her? What if Charles was only getting her something to drink? They just split off from one another, but… what if he comes back right away, and what if he doesn't leave her side for the rest of the night? What if we're walking straight into the lion's den here? WHAT IF –

You're going to choke yourself on all these what ifs, remember? If you choke yourself, you won't be able to get her home.

Ensuring that Lance is hot on his heels, Eugene snakes through the crowd after Cassandra, following the lady-in-waiting's lead and praying to the heavens that Charles will stay away from Rapunzel long enough for Eugene to catch her in a moment alone, if only to let her know that he's here. That he came for her.

Eugene has just stepped onto the grounds of a hundreds-of-years-old estate — an estate which has withstood both the shortcomings and victories of many Canmore successors — fully prepared to destroy the steadiness of said estate in a single night, if it comes down to it.

Blindly, perhaps, he's just stepped into the Canmore's veiled world – a world where 'what ifs' don't matter and morality doesn't count – and Eugene knows full well that he is far from a welcomed guest. Not here. Not in this world is he welcomed with open arms. For he is about to destroy it, make a mess of it.

Pull it apart at the very seams, if only because such destruction is what this world has done to him.

---

The sun has long since grown tired, restless and lackluster now, peeling itself from its dirtied work clothes and preparing for heavy-eyed sleep, allowing the moon to take the night shift as its yellowed companion pulls the clouds over its head in a blanket of sorts. The dull rays of the dog-tired sun have quickly disappeared, replaced by its friend of another type of astronomic illumination.

Before the sun had sunk below the horizon – before the curtains had been drawn for the night, enclosing the manor in its own universe altogether – Rapunzel had stared longingly out the window from her vanity, desperate to see something there, but not knowing what it was that her heart truly longed for. All she saw in the vast landscape before her was grey; the dusky blanket of heavy storm clouds which passed slowly over the meadows, a cold breeze wisping in through the open window as the temperature rapidly shifted.

It's the same kind of greyness that's been burying itself inside of Rapunzel all along, mocking her now.

Grand event of the looming ball held later this evening aside, the day had seemed to progress like every other gloomy day which Rapunzel has spent in Maddoline so far: hollowed out of any hope, of any consolation, of any sign that perhaps things might take a sharp, sudden turn in the young princess's favor.

In preparation for the masquerade, Rapunzel has been dressed in all black – flowered tulle falling from her hips, dragging heavily behind her like an anchor of sorts – as though she were expected to attend a funeral, composing herself to participate in the grimmest of graveyard processions. And perhaps, she is.

Her own.

Her gown an inky, black color, identity-concealing mask tied around the back of her head and made of silky lace, Rapunzel feels almost powerful in a way. If she were still in Corona, under much different circumstances, she would feel beautiful – sexy, even – but she doesn't. She doesn't, because Rapunzel knows which man will be waiting there for her at the bottom of the staircase. Once she's been fully primed and powdered for the long night ahead, Rapunzel knows – much to her own distain – which man will take her hand and lead her into the pretentious crowd.

And it's certainly not Eugene.

It's really too bad that he can't see her in this death-march-like outfit. He would've liked it. He would've liked it on the floor even more than on her, though Rapunzel quickly shakes the intruding, dirty thought from her head. It's entirely possible that she'll never feel him in that way again – possible that she'll never see him again in any way – possible that she'll never so much as catch a lousy glimpse of Eugene for the rest of her life. Much as the miserable princess refuses to believe in Eugene's potential inability to come for her, Charles has made it painfully clear to Rapunzel that there's much more to his low-hanging schemes than even she's been made aware of in the recent weeks.

Keeping her in the dark, it seems, is one of Charles's very favorite pastimes.

Because of her wretched husband, Rapunzel hates the richly-colored ivy which crawls up the side of the manor's brick and closes her in, she hates the rolling fields which burst with newly-blossomed flowers (a sight which should bring her at least some solace in the form of new life and second chances, but doesn't), and she most of all hates the stomach-churning notion that Eugene may not be coming for her at all.

The self-indulging prince has made it clear to her, through his most vague comments and snide remarks, that he'd planned something for Eugene before they'd left Corona – something bad – and Charles clearly doesn't expect him to be coming for her any time soon.

Really, he doesn't seem all that concerned about Rapunzel ever leaving Maddoline. Misguided as the prince might be, the notion that Charles's confidence in Eugene's inability to get to her is because he's done something to Eugene, leaves Rapunzel feeling more and more anxious with each passing day. Rapunzel prays that it's not true, but while Charles is delusional in every way, he's not much of a liar. He's not much of a liar, because Charles seeks every ounce of recognition that he can possibly get. If Eugene truly isn't on his way, Charles must've had something done to him. Rapunzel just knows it.

And if she never sees Eugene again – if she never again hears her name falling from his lips, never hears his laugh or sees his smile, never makes love to him – the thought is too much for Rapunzel to bear.

So, though much easier said than done, she simply will not bear it. Rapunzel must have faith in him, fleeting as her faith has been as of late. Regardless of anything that Charles might say – regardless of the nasty, hopeless ideas which her husband constantly attempts to plant between her ears – Rapunzel must procure an unwavering faith in Eugene that he very well is on his way. She must have faith that he would rather die again than not be able to get to her; faith that he would die trying.

And maybe that's what Rapunzel is most afraid of: afraid that Eugene will die trying.

In the quiet lull of the late-night cricket music drifting in through the open window, Gothel's most haunting words replay over and over again in Rapunzel's tortured mind: 'Where will you go? He won't be there for you.'

He won't be there for you, he won't be there for you, he won't –

Oh, but you lying, conniving voice in my head… you've been wrong before, haven't you? You've been wrong about him…

Though she's been trying hard to avoid her own wearied reflection lately, Rapunzel had caught a fleeting glimpse of herself in the mirror as Fallon had carefully braided her bangs back, creating a crown-like illusion. Together, they'd retreated from the vanity once her hair was finished, moving to the bedpost to shove Rapunzel into her entirely-too-tight corset. In her own mind's eye, Rapunzel had haunted the glass like some sort of tentative ghost, sitting there being pampered and prodded with little choice in the matter.

Frozen in time and frozen in pain.

An unfamiliar dullness overcoming every last shred of exuberance in her once-shining eyes, Rapunzel had looked yearningly back at herself. She'd appeared as though something very precious had slipped sideways through her fingers a very long time ago, leaving her in a pensive, heartbroken kind of longing for the rest of time.

Fallon – so forthcoming and genuine, so desperately wanting to cheer up her newfound friend – had commented excitedly about how beautiful the ghost-like princess looks in the all-black, formal attire which had been set out for her. And while Rapunzel would normally fall to warm, gooey pieces at the sound of any sort of praise, she was left feeling rather hollow and depressed in its wake. Rapunzel has no real desire to attend a crowded ball tonight, nor does she have the desire to do much of anything anymore, which is so painfully unlike her usually-bright, social-butterfly nature.

Maddoline – much as Rapunzel had been promised that she would love it here, and beautiful as the kingdom and its companion countryside objectively is – is the kind of place where soup goes cold and hearts go cold, too. It's the kind of place where fathers and sons rarely speak to one another. And when they do, it would be in the form of heated arguments and sharp-tongued words which they probably don't even mean, though passion and strong opinions have convinced them that they do.

Though there hadn't been much left when Rapunzel had initially married Charles, Maddoline and its cold environment has sucked everything from her.

Whenever Rapunzel has found herself in the presence of the Canmore family, it felt as though she had grown a new organ altogether. Some beating thing between her head and her heart, caught in her throat and sucking from her body any desire to hope, or converse, or dine happily. This crowned family – intriguing as they are – are always full of rich food and fuller of themselves, but never full of anything important. Unlike her own family, the Canmore's aren't full of unjaded love in the way that Rapunzel has grown so accustomed to. There's something deeper lingering there, something like… general unease.

The Canmore family cares about one another. This much is clear. But they don't trust one another. And because they can't fully trust even their own blood, how could they possibly trust her, an outlander?

It was always under the burning, lantern-like gazes of the dinner table where Rapunzel felt most out of control and under wordless interrogation, four sets of blue eyes flickering and darting from her, between one another, and back to her again.

Upon meeting her, they had wanted to like her, the royal family. As much was completely obvious. They had wanted to accept her as one of their own.

They just didn't understand her.

And who could understand her, a girl who had grown up unconventionally in a tower and has lost too much to ever truly be whole again?

Fallon, bless her well-meaning heart, had arranged to have Rapunzel's dinner brought up to her while the young maid aided the princess in getting ready for the evening's grand event. And in the midst of Rapunzel's own hazy depression, it weren't as though Fallon were some piece of forgotten, inanimate furniture. No, not at all. It had been entirely uplifting and all kinds of lovely for Rapunzel to finally feel like she had someone to call her friend again; someone to chat with, someone to confide in.

Though, this new friendship of theirs is a rather double-edged sword of sorts, as Fallon's constant fussing of Rapunzel's skirts, genuine expressions of concern, and proven trustworthiness have only made Rapunzel desperately miss Eugene, Pascal, and Cassandra – as well as Lance, indifferent as he sometimes was – all the more.

To have someone to fuss over you – to have someone who genuinely cares – only hurts worse when you no longer have them around.

"Do you think it's possible to change the course of fate?"

Fallon considers this for a long moment, briefly pausing as she laces up Rapunzel's corset at the bedpost and weighs the odd, loaded question with the air of a woman wise beyond her true years.

"Well, I wouldn't think so." Fallon muses, wondering why Rapunzel had felt so inclined to ask. "But if there is a way, I'm all ears. It seems to have a very strong grip on us humans, doesn't it? Fate?"

"I think some people believe it to be possible." Rapunzel finally huffs, gripping tightly at the wooden bedpost as Fallon yanks particularly hard, sucking the princess's ribs into the cage-like corset. "I think some people enjoy tying the hands of fate together, even though they have no right."

"Well, similarly, the provisions of a passionate heart are not something to be played with, nor are they easy to alter the direction of." Fallon leans over Rapunzel's shoulder to directly regard her – well, half of her face, at least – with a raise of her slender eyebrow. "Especially not when it's Charles whose mind has been made up."

"I know." Rapunzel swallows hard, feeling a bit under interrogation all of a sudden, though she knows that Fallon means nothing of the sort by her well-meaning advice.

"He tends to get what he wants." Fallon sighs defeatedly, leaning back and away from Rapunzel's worried face. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

"I can't be hurt any more than I already have been by being separated from Eugene against my will." Rapunzel fingers the bedpost, picking at the wood there with her thumbnail and wondering how white her knuckles might turn if she thinks about all that she's lost for too long. "From my kingdom. My parents."

Choking on her watery words, Rapunzel sniffs loudly and swallows her welling emotions down so hard that it makes her throat burn, so very tired of her own tears.

"I just want to go home."

Desperate to give the answers which she does not have – answers which Rapunzel so clearly yearns for –Fallon is quiet for an agonizing minute, once again pausing her adept fingers at the laces of the snug, black corset and sounding rather tortured by association.

"This Eugene of yours. Do you truly believe him to be coming for you?"

What is there left to believe in, if I can't even believe in him anymore? All signs – if I were to trust Charles's word, which I don't – point to Eugene's possible attempts at coming after me being complicated or sabotaged somehow. And yet, there is still this lingering hope. This hope which is clawing at my insides and begging for a place to stay, screaming at me to extend its rent for just a little bit longer; promising that it'll find a way to repay me for its overdue stay, sometime soon.

"I believe that he would die trying." Rapunzel finally concludes with an anxious quake of her lungs, knowing that so much – at the very least – is true. "But I don't know how much longer I can stay here, waiting. Doing absolutely nothing to save myself."

Hanging her head with utter defeat throbbing at her skull, Rapunzel disregards the thick-throated tears which she struggles to keep at bay.

"I wasn't this person before, Fallon. Before, after all that I've learned since leaving my tower, I never would've put my fate into someone else's hands. But try as I might, I can't seem to help myself enough to escape from this nightmare that I've simply been dropped in the middle of!"

Rapunzel turns around to face Fallon fully, cheeks rosy and blemished with fast-falling, glass-like tears.

"You know what that's like, don't you? I mean, don't you feel utterly trapped here, having to see him every day? Don't you ever want to just go away from here, after everything he's done to you?"

"I want more than this for my life, of course. But more than this just isn't… it isn't realistic." Gently placing her steady hands on the distraught princess's shoulders, Fallon softly turns her back around after gingerly using her thumbs to wipe at Rapunzel's sorry tears. "Not for me, anyway. But for you, perhaps there is still a chance –"

Rapunzel's chest swells in her corset, a heavy gasp whooshing out as she grips excitedly at the bedpost.

"That's it! Maybe we could go together! Get away from Charles, get away from this horrible place and just run –!"

"I can't, Rapunzel. I can't leave my family, I –" Shaking her head, Fallon heaves a labored breath of her own, as though her deepest desires and obligations were battling amongst themselves in her lungs. "They need me. I can't imagine abandoning them."

Rapunzel nods solemnly, understanding fully and feeling a bit selfish for even suggesting such a thing, already so attached to her new friend. If it were up to her, she never would've been separated from her kingdom, nor from her own parents, angry with them as she'd been during their last, incredibly heated conversation. Now, Rapunzel so badly wishes she could've known that it would be their last conversation.

Upset as she'd been that day, Rapunzel can't imagine leaving her parents behind, either, and this is exactly why she hadn't been able to leave with Eugene when he'd asked her to do so in the gardens.

"They could come with you." Rapunzel offers quietly, knowing in her heart that it's no use.

Fallon deftly shakes her head, returning to the ties on Rapunzel's corset and yanking hard to thoroughly tighten them, as if to take out her own frustration for their shared situation in a tangible fashion.

"You're sweet for caring, but my parents would never agree to that." Suddenly, Fallon's fingers fall still, and she grows eerily quiet for a long moment. Though Rapunzel can't see her face, she knows that Fallon must be deep in thought. "But what if… what if I made sure that you got out?"

Not caring that the ribbon on her once-tightened corset is sure to fall apart – not caring that they'll likely have to start all over again, potentially causing Rapunzel to be late for the ball – Rapunzel quickly turns around to face Fallon once more, afraid of misinterpreting Fallon's prior, most-surprising statement.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. It's the perfect night. With the masquerade, there will be so much commotion going on in the manor." Fallon registers Rapunzel's entirely skeptical look, quickly reaching for the other young woman's hands and squeezing them gently between her own, showing little regard for the corset's yanked-free laces. "We could at least try, no? And if there isn't a good opportunity for you to get out, we'll just… we'll just try again another time."

But if I leave the manor now — if he's on his way, that is — will Eugene even know where to find me? Then again, if he is coming for me like I believe him to be – like I so badly want him to be – how will he find me if I stay here, so far away from the main kingdom? I'm no better off haunting this place like a sitting duck, waiting for him to find me as if I'm some helpless damsel in distress. I can't just wait around, standing like a clueless rabbit in the middle of a forest clearing, waiting for a wolf dressed like Charles to attack me at the neck!

Much as I want Eugene to be here with me, I need to save myself!

"Tonight, then." Rapunzel nods in tentative agreement, knowing that she has little to no other option in regards to her own fate. "We'll try tonight."

Taking Rapunzel softly by the shoulders, Fallon prompts the anxious princess to once again grip the wooden bedpost as Rapunzel immediately braces herself for the harsh, spine-snapping tug to come. Fallon lowers her voice significantly, though the bedroom door is shut tight, leaving them to their own devices.

"We'll need a plan. I know this manor far better than you do." Fallon thinks aloud as she reworks the corset's silk laces, working quickly in the fear that Rapunzel might be late, subsequently raising unwanted suspicion. "You've not taken the time to explore outside of your bedroom much, have you?"

"Not really." Rapunzel admits with a shrug, recalling the depressing lull of the past several weeks, each day feeling the very same and equally as lonely. "I know my way around this wing of the manor well enough, and I've found myself in the library quite a bit. I know my way around the gardens some, but I'm not sure how well I'd be able to navigate them on my own once nightfall arrives."

"Okay." Fallon responds shortly, biting her lip in contemplation. "I'll have to go with you then, at least until we get to the tree line on the outskirts of the estate. To ensure that you can find your way to the road safely. I'll get you a cloak, too, so that you won't be so recognizable on the road."

Completely abandoning the ties of the corset for what might be the third time now, Rapunzel emotionally whirs around to address Fallon directly, looking deep into her eyes and searching for any last shred of reasonable distrust.

She doesn't find any.

"I don't want you to put yourself in danger for me. Charles has already done enough to –"

People have already put themselves on the line for me far too much… people like Eugene. And now you, too? The only friend I have left? I must risk blowing up your entire life as well, if only for the chance to be free from this place?

"That's what friends do, Rapunzel. They sacrifice for one another. And you're the first real friend I've had in a long time." Fallon smiles tightly, misted-over eyes filled to the brim with the pain and wisdom of one thousand lifetimes. "I'll arrange for a strong horse from the stables to be prepared. I know one of the stable boys very well. He wouldn't breathe a word."

Rapunzel nods, though remains silent as Fallon goes on and begins to pace before her now, heeled maid's shoes clicking slowly on the floor as she formulates a realistic plan of action.

"There will be many guards stationed at various points around the manor this evening. What with the recent assassination attempt of the king, they will take no chances, even though many of the guests in attendance tonight are close friends of the royal family." Fallon considers this, halting before the crackling fireplace. "Our best bet will be to leave the manor from the back door in the kitchens. I'll wait there for the evening, just in case you get the chance to slip away. There likely won't be a guard stationed there, at least not for long periods of time. For the most part, they trust us staff to stay in line."

"And what about me?" Rapunzel wonders nervously, chest starting to feel far too tight – corset aside – as she wrings her anxious hands before her. This might actually work… if I'm brave enough to blindly run. "What if I can't get away from Charles, even for a moment? What if I get lost –"

"You're a princess." Fallon smiles – this time, a real smile – stalking to the vanity and lifting from a small, decorative pillow the unfamiliar, diamond-adorned crown which had been waiting there when Rapunzel had returned from the library this afternoon, placing the expensive thing upon her head. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

---

The hallways, as night fell, were dimly lit with waxy candles laced on the edges of hanging chandeliers. It left Rapunzel feeling weary, the dull lighting of the place, as Fallon escorted her to the double-wide staircase which adjoined the wing of Rapunzel and Charles's bedroom with the main floor of the manor.

Fallon was right: in light of the recent assassination attempt, guards are posted everywhere. Much more than usual, and unnervingly so, as the manor seems to be absolutely crawling with them. The pair passes at least a dozen spiffily-dressed guards on their way from the bedroom, each of whom nod their heads with a smile to the lovely princess who has recently inhabited their place of work.

Like a bad omen, Charles haunts the bottom of the staircase, pacing back and forth at the base of the stairs and appearing to be rather annoyed. The stiff-standing prince narrows his eyebrows when he finally notices Rapunzel at the top of the staircase, as though he'd intended to chastise his young wife for taking so long to get ready – for daring to make him wait. But his face strangely softens when Charles fully takes in the masked and crowned sight of her, quickly thinking better of any previous desire to scold her.

"Why, you look breathtaking tonight, my princess."

Charles's cheerful, complimentary tone is so diluted that Rapunzel's ears seem to curl in on themselves, his addressing of her as 'his' princess enough to make her stomach lurch and her insides twist in disgust.

Rapunzel belongs to herself first, to Eugene second, and to her kingdom third. Charles – much to the prince's chagrin – could not even hope to make the list.

As she makes her way down the velvet-lined staircase – seemingly to her doom and without Fallon, winking over her shoulder at the knowing maid in a wordless goodbye – it feels as though Rapunzel has been sent back in time: a time when balls were anxiety-ridden and full of strange faces that she couldn't quite trust yet.

Early on in her return home, these hectic nights had made her feel so far from Eugene, as though they were orbiting one another in two separate worlds altogether. But then, Eugene (devilish rogue that he was) would always find a way to steal Rapunzel away — either for the rest of the night, or even for just a breathless moment or two — and their worlds were always seamlessly melded together again.

If only he were here with her now, rather than Rapunzel finding herself being drug down the candlelit hallway by her eager-to-please, attention-seeking husband.

"So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" Rapunzel questions haughtily as she ungraciously accepts Charles's offered arm. As if you don't already know. "Drink yourself stupid and force yourself upon me again once we're finally alone?"

Charles abruptly stops them in the middle of the long, empty hallway, though they've yet to create any substantial distance between themselves and the stairs.

"Rapunzel, I don't think I particularly like the tone you've taken up with me –"

"And I don't think I much like being here." Rapunzel retorts, swiping the crown from her head and pressing it to Charles's chest, smiling sweetly. "But we can't all get what we want, now can we?"

"You heard what my father said the other night at dinner." Charles grinds lowly, roughly shoving the crown back at Rapunzel, forcing her to wrap her fingers around it. "We — meaning you — will be emotionally and physically present at this ball. You will be present and pleasant."

"You really have no original thought in that head of yours, do you?" Rapunzel chuckles manically, feeling rather satisfied by the burning anger which lights in Charles's eyes at her brash comments. "Just your father's little puppet, huh?"

"And you, my dear, my puppet." Charles takes Rapunzel firmly by the arm then, fingers wrapped around her wrist so tightly that it's sure to leave bruises behind. "Now, come along. We have guests waiting for us, including my parents. This will be your public debut as my wife here in Maddoline, and it's imperative that we aren't late for –"

"What did you do to Eugene?" Rapunzel halts them abruptly once more, yanking her arm from Charles's iron-like grip.

In response, Charles rolls his eyes in clear frustration, as if to wordlessly say: 'We don't have time for this!'

And maybe they don't, but she has to know. She just has to, lest it eat away at her insides forever.

"I didn't do anything to him." Charles scoffs mindlessly, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing away from her with the look of a man who's entirely guilty of something, but trying desperately to hide it. "If anything, he's only gotten his karma for attempting to stake his claim upon a married woman."

"That's what you think this is all about?" Rapunzel gasps audibly, taking a healthy step away from her well-dressed husband. "Staking claim?"

"Well, isn't it?" Charles counters calmly, distractedly playing with the ends of his rolled-up sleeves. "Without that claim on you, he very well can't claim the money and lifestyle which comes with having you –"

"Don't you dare." Rapunzel challenges through the tenseness of her clenched jaw, jabbing a finger up at Charles's face, just barely keeping herself from pressing its tip into his sharp, pointed nose. "Don't you dare imply that Eugene was only with me for selfish reasons like money and wealth!"

"Wasn't he? Didn't you two meet because of his selfish desire for money and wealth?"

Rapunzel is left speechless at that, and while Charles's tone softens slightly, his stern face does not.

"You know nothing but him. You had nothing to compare him to, no man to stand against him before. And he was your first love, sure. I understand the implications of that."

Charles steps forward, attempting to take Rapunzel's hands into his, bringing them up to his chest and holding them there, though Rapunzel swiftly attempts to tug them away. He has her by the wrists, though, unwilling to immediately let go.

"But first loves are not meant to last forever, Princess. Great and valiant as the scoundrel may have seemed to you, he was never meant to be more than a thin, short-lived detail in the story of your life." Charles shakes his head, staring deep into her eyes, as though he were silently begging Rapunzel to somehow see this world from his biased point of view. "You were always promised to me. Tower or not, you were always going to be mine. You could at least give me a chance to love you like he could've!"

Haunting as his lingering statements are, Rapunzel is unable to focus on anything but Charles's past-tense referencing to Eugene as she searches for some shred – any shred – of remorse for what he's done to her. For the hell which he's forced her to walk right through, the raging fire of it all scorching the soles of her feet and making it hard to breathe.

"You talk about him like he's gone." Rapunzel whispers, forcing herself not to shake in his hands, not wanting to provide Charles with the satisfaction of completely horrifying her with his ominous, tear-jerking comments.

Charles stares unmovingly back at her for a moment so tenuous and so long that the world seems to come to a halt around them, reaching out to gingerly caress the side of Rapunzel's flushed cheek.

"That's because he is."

With that, Rapunzel is yanked by the arm down the hallway and into the back entrance of the main ballroom, finding herself on the marble-lined balcony which has made its home on the spindles and steps of a long, grand staircase: a staircase which leads to a vast ballroom so packed with Maddolineon strangers that it makes Rapunzel sweat just looking down at it.

At the top of the grand staircase, Rapunzel halts abruptly, far enough back that the young, married couple is not quite yet in the view of the guests waiting patiently below, voices masked by pretty violin sound.

"I don't believe you. I don't believe you when you say that he's not coming." Rapunzel shakes her head in pure disillusion, taking her husband in for the selfish devil he is. "You're bluffing."

Charles sighs quite dramatically at that, clearly exasperated and clearly craving a strong drink even more than he craves escaping from this dreaded conversation: the overdone conversation of Eugene. A topic which they've fought over one-too-many times now, bringing Charles to his ultimate breaking point.

"Well, it'll be on your conscience when you finally come to terms with the truth of your reality, Rapunzel. Not mine." Charles leans forward then, lowering his voice and nearly touching noses with her as he leers close. "It was you who created this mess in the first place. It was you who had an affair. And it's high time you stopped living in that fairytale world of yours, because there is no place for you there anymore. That is no place for a wife. I will not have a wife stuck so far in her own daydreams that she doesn't appreciate what's right in front of her!"

"Fairytale? Fairytale!?" Rapunzel sputters in blood-boiling offense, desperate to yank her entrapped elbow free from Charles's grasp, but to no avail. "You think that's what I'm doing here? Locked away in some dreamscape, spoiled and happy? Well, I can assure you, this is no fairytale that I'm living in!"

This is the point where, if Rapunzel were telling her story to someone else – to a curious onlooker, or perhaps an innocent child — she might say something like this: "And so, the heroine of our story (but was she really even the hero of her own story anymore?) stared bravely into the steely gaze of her ocean-eyed enemy, and told him to fuck off forever."

But the real Rapunzel — the one who has no one left worthy of entrusting her story with (aside from Fallon, perhaps) — is feeling less heroic and more depressed as the dreaded night ahead only just begins.

In the chandelier light of a masquerade-ready Canmore Manor, Rapunzel so horribly misses the delicate fingers of the warm sun which peeled back the clouds each morning, revealing from her balcony the rosy-colored skies above Corona. She misses everything about her kingdom which she had taken so deeply for granted, replaced with the unfamiliarity of another one; a kingdom which she surely doesn't belong in.

Is time truly passing? Rapunzel wonders with a terrible sense of heavy hopelessness blanketing itself around her, leaving her feeling hot and anxious all over as Charles unwarrantedly invades her space. Or am I just stuck in it, a sad sight to everyone who knows me, frozen here forever?

How long has it been since she's last been home? How long has it been since she hasn't been placed firmly under Charles's thumb, a puppet of sorts in this twisted, demonic circus of his?

And that's what Charles wants, isn't it? That's all he's ever really wanted. From the moment they'd met, the control-freak prince has always wanted her wrapped firmly around his finger, doing his bidding for him and smiling like the good, pleasantly-behaved little wife that Charles believes Rapunzel ought to be.

Well, absolutely not. She will do no such thing. Rapunzel would rather walk herself — she will sooner be dragged by him — to her own grave before she ever bows at Charles's expecting feet.

And, so it seems, that's exactly what she's doing now: arm-in-arm with Charles, entering a lion's toothy den. Walking into a fiery hell of sorts, digging a grave which will be stomped on swiftly if Rapunzel's not very, very careful about her every move on this escape-worthy night.

Her ridiculous and insensitive husband had prompted Rapunzel not to 'make a scene,' had wound his arm with hers, and had plastered a fake-edged smile on his face as their titles were announced and they were introduced as a married couple to Maddolineon high society for the first – and, Rapunzel prays, the last – time. He'd promised to find her later for a dance, having been greeted by a rowdy group of young men about their age at the bottom of the stairs and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Rapunzel on her own.

It was really all that easy… because he doesn't think I can do it. Charles doesn't think I can free myself from this place. From him. So much so, that he doesn't mind leaving me to my own devices for a while.

Once they've reached the bottom of the stairs and the plethora of masked guests have mostly stopped their intrigued on-looking, Charles yells over his shoulder for Rapunzel to mingle, though the princess of course intends to do nothing of the sort. Instead, she is going to use this moment alone to her advantage.

She's going to get the hell out of here, even if it kills her to try.

Although many of their heads are turned away from her, collars stiff and standards higher yet – immersed in their own conversation, having forgotten about their new princess-by-marriage as quickly as she'd come – Rapunzel still searches for his face in every guest in attendance. She wonders hopelessly if she and Eugene's time apart has changed everything and if she will ever stop seeing his face in every crowd.

Brokenly, Rapunzel agonizes over the thought that they're too far gone now to not only save one another, but their own damaged souls. She wonders if Charles is right, and if Eugene really is too physically ailed to come for her – or worse – and tries very hard to disregard the urge to throw up at the disgusting possibility that Charles had hurt him.

Uneasily weaving her way through the crowded ballroom, Rapunzel pauses at its very middle, studying her jovial surroundings. To her right, a lively group of guests perform some sort of traditional dance – one that, as she looks on, Rapunzel realizes she mostly knows the basic steps to – and to her left is an expansive refreshment table, the entire length of which is covered with exquisite foods and glasses of throat-sparkling champagne.

Fallon explained to me exactly how to get to the kitchens from the ballroom. The issue is leaving the ballroom unseen, without running into Charles or his parents. The crowd is thick enough, and I am wearing a mask, but that'll only get me so far if –

"Hi, Sunshine."

Caught in the saturated center of this overflowed, hectic ballroom, Rapunzel's head snaps up at the low voice in her ear, abruptly feeling the hot breath of another person at her back, standing painfully close to her. In this moment, everything seems to shift into slow motion: the cheery dancers in her peripheral go blurry, every voice around her grows dull and muffled – as though she's just entered a sunless tunnel – and the stroke of every violin sound seems to slow significantly.

Typically, she would be afraid. Rapunzel would be afraid that someone – in this strange, unhomely place – were standing so unsettlingly close, breathing down her neck and stealthily latching their fingers around one of the laces at the back of her corset, near her ass so that the hand would remain unseen by the surrounding guests, subtly tugging her back but only by a little.

In any other circumstance, she would be afraid. But Rapunzel knows that endearing nickname, she knows that well-groomed smell. She knows that voice. That painfully familiar, perfect voice. A voice which she'd desperately feared she might never hear again –

And she moves to turn back, wanting nothing more than to finally just look at him. But that voice of comfort and familiarity quickly halts her in place, her bare feet frozen there on the cold marble.

"Don't turn around."

But... but it couldn't be. It can't be —

But she knows it is. She knows it's him.

Rapunzel whimpers softly, allowing herself to be tugged subtly back by the corset, so badly wanting to say something – so badly wanting to wrap her arms around him and bury herself in his chest – but not wanting to give him away in the name of her own selfish need for his comfort.

"I'm here, Blondie. I'm here." The desperation in his lowered voice is so palpable, the tension between them running so painfully rampant, it's incredibly hard for Rapunzel not to turn around and fully face him, though she knows that she can't. Not yet. "And I'm going to get you the fuck out of here."

"Oh, God. Oh, God." Rapunzel breathes shakily, the thickest adrenaline clogging itself in her veins, whispering so that only the two of them can hear her sad whimpering for him. "Eugene. Eu —"

Let me turn around, let me look at you! Let me see you, touch you —

"Shh. Don't say anything. Just be patient. I need you to be patient for me, Blondie." Eugene quietly clears his throat, and Rapunzel can hear his footsteps moving behind her, slowly pacing away as he pulls his fingers from her corset. "Stay close. I'll be back. I just needed you to know that I came for you."

"I knew you would." Rapunzel whispers with a breathless grin, heart soaring as he passes by her.

I did know! I did! I've lost some of my hope in the past weeks, sure, but not all of it. Not my hope in you…

Nearly set on fire by his skin upon hers, Rapunzel registers Eugene's gentle fingertips running down her touch-starved arm, soft as a ghost. She watches longingly as he walks away and climbs the staircase before her with all of his sureness – wishing that she could scamper after him – disappearing as quickly as he'd so suddenly materialized.

Even from the back he looks utterly gorgeous, dressed in formfitting, all-navy formalwear, a nice pair of leather boots leading his determined path. He stalks up the staircase with the air of a man plotting something entirely illegal – and he is, more likely than not.

Canmore Manor, meet Eugene Fitzherbert. I'd be very afraid… if I were you.

---

Her newly-hopeful mind racing far faster than her feet can realistically carry her – her overjoyed expression nearly giving her away and thankfully (mostly) hidden by a tightly-tied mask – Rapunzel wanders through an eerily empty hallway attached to the back entrance of the ballroom. Though Eugene had warned her to stay close, she'd left the ballroom unnoticed in search of a powder room, badly needing to use the bathroom and more so needing a brief moment alone to catch her anxious breath.

Nervous as Rapunzel is, though – in the dark as she feels regarding Eugene's plan to get her out of the manor tonight – her unwavering trust in him far outweighs the overwhelming well up of anxious energy.

Eugene is here! He's really here! Charles, you arrogant bastard, he's here! You've tried to convince me that he wasn't coming for me, but you were wrong! And if he gets his hands on you, he's surely going to –

Suddenly, a firm hand clamps hard around her wrist, the other covering her mouth when she lets out a quiet, thoroughly surprised yelp. Rapunzel feels herself being yanked into the dancing shadows of high-hanging chandelier light, a heavy door closing with a satisfying click at her back as she's pressed swiftly against it. Releasing her wrist and mouth, the same set of calloused, shaking hands are immediately at her cheekbones, brushing themselves down her neck and ultimately sinking into her hair, both thumbs catching at her flushed cheeks.

The world – the tilted walls and spinning ceiling of her fast-pumping blood and rush of heady anticipation, coupled with the loud, muffled voices of the oblivious partying downstairs – stops around her. The entire world, even more so than it had when she'd finally touched the hazy edge of those ever-longed-for lanterns, simply stops.

And for a single moment of calm realization, Rapunzel just stares at him, appearing as though she were submerged completely into a violent sea of ship-tossing shock. Looking at him like that – taking him in – she realizes now how desperately every single part of her has missed him: how much her hips have missed his hands, how much her nose has missed his scent, how much her stomach has missed the butterflies which explode there every time she looks at him, and how much her heart has missed the familiar sureness of him.

Tear-rimmed eyes size him up – mask covering him from mid-forehead to his nose, the same shock-induced expression on his handsome face – and for one, singular second, the spiraling universe and all of its white noise melt away around them, blurring in and out so hard that it actually makes Rapunzel feel sick. So sick, in fact, that she's quickly hurtling herself at him, not entirely sure that she can continue to stand upright on her own.

"Eugene! Eugene, Eugene! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry —"

A strangled sob leaves Rapunzel's lips as the realization of his true form before her fully materializes and she comes to terms with the fact that this is him and that he's really here; that she's not simply daydreaming to cope with the unbearable loss of him. She clings to Eugene's chest by the front of his dark-colored jacket – pupils blown out from the sudden, rushed sight of him – though Rapunzel quickly pulls away to cover her tear-lined face with shaking hands, so simultaneously distraught and overjoyed that she's not sure whether to look at him or not, completely overwhelmed by the abruptness of it all.

"Shhh… it's okay. It's okay. I'm here..." His own yo-yoed emotions tugging him to the bottom of their violent waves like a merciless anchor, Eugene promptly drags Rapunzel back to him, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes to breathe her in completely, needing to feel her; needing to know that she's pumping with warm blood and a beating heart, needing to know that she's finally safe with him again. "I'm here."

Frantic, Rapunzel fingers desperately at the tie on the back of Eugene's mask, wanting so badly to see him in all of his beautiful entirety, untying it and allowing the mask to fall to the floor in a slow flutter; weightless and unhurried, much unlike the quick fluttering of their hearts as they're pressed chest to chest. Her hands grab desperately at the neat collar of Eugene's jacket, crumpling it and pulling him down for a heated kiss which she immediately can't help herself but whimper into.

Velvet tongues brush, hands grappling for some sort of purchase after having nothing to hold for three-weeks-worth of lonely, anxiety-ridden nights. When they finally pull away – breathless and thrumming with the question of 'How long can we realistically make out before someone realizes you're gone?' – Eugene grabs for her jaw with both hands, kissing all over her face and leaving warm, reassuring kisses across her jawbone, cheeks, and nose. Rapunzel graciously grabs for his wrists, wanting to hold onto some part of him as he kisses her all over, though her long-standing guilt quickly gets the better of her.

"Eugene, I can't believe this happened! I can't —"

"I know, but I'm here." Eugene reminds her softly, catching either side of Rapunzel's racing head in impatient palms. "I'm here, and everything's going to be okay now. I promise."

And when I promise something…

"How did you…" Rapunzel tilts her head in curious – though grateful – suspicion, her every thought absolutely muddled with the shaking joy of seeing him again after what has felt like three years of torturous separation. "How did you know that I'd be here, where to find me?"

I was going to escape tonight, find my way to the main kingdom. Find my way back to you! But now, here you are, and –

"I have my ways." Eugene regards her with that familiar smirk of his, looking a bit more like the roguish Flynn Rider than his usual self. "I'll tell you the whole story later. But right now, we need to figure out how we're going to get you out of here."

Tell him about the kitchens, about Fallon… who's likely waiting for you now! But I have to know…

"Why is it that the only way people show me they want me… is by locking me away?" Her own scattered emotions grappling viciously at the best, sound-minded parts of her, Rapunzel sobs heart-wrenchingly, wordlessly asking Eugene for all the answers that he doesn't have with her big, watery eyes. "Is something wrong with me?"

"God, sweetheart, no. No." Horrified by the notion, Eugene quickly pulls her to him, enveloping Rapunzel in the warm kind of hug that she's been dreaming about every night since she'd woken up on the Maddoline-bound ship in Corona's harbor, watching as Eugene had desperately tried to swim after her. "Don't you ever, ever think that, okay?"

Eugene leans back in the low, golden candlelight, placing a hand to each of Rapunzel's cheeks – which have become a dancefloor for wayward shadows – and guiding her to look him in the eye, regarding her sternly, albeit lovingly.

"None of this is your fault. I'm the only one to blame for —"

I'm older, I knew what I was doing! I should've protected you better, and I didn't!

"Eugene, this isn't your fault! Don't say that, don't even think that! This wasn't…" I convinced you to act so foolishly… Rapunzel winces, trying to hold back the overflow of salty, merciless tears, the heavy emotion of it all almost too much to bear. "Oh, I love you! I just love you, I love you so much –"

Rapunzel cuts herself off with another searing kiss, and Eugene doesn't have the heart to tell her that now isn't exactly the time – that now really is not the time, actually – to shove her tongue halfway down his throat. He doesn't have the heart for it, because it's been far too long since he's felt her and touched her like this – since he's touched her at all.

Fisting passionately at his hair, Rapunzel moans into the long-awaited kiss, needy and desperate for more. This causes Eugene to painfully pull away, though he really doesn't want to. Her sounds – gorgeous and heart-aching as they are – shove him back into the harshness of their reality: the reality that he needs to bring her home. Her beautiful, longing sounds remind him of where they are, and why he needs to get her the hell out of here as soon as humanly possible.

"Be quiet, Sunshine." Eugene, on instinct, momentarily brings a muffled hand to Rapunzel's mouth, shushing her pleading moans as he lowers his own voice to a hot whisper. "We have to be quiet."

"Sorry." Rapunzel grimaces apologetically, regretfully lowering her pining tone. "I just…"

I can't help myself, I've just missed you so much! You can't expect me not to react in this way to you!

"Is this real?" Rapunzel reaches up to draw her fingers along Eugene's jaw, hands shaking at the contact of his stubbly face and throat closing at the terrifying possibility that she's doing nothing more than hallucinating, pesky tears still welling in her eyes. "Are you real? I mean, are you really…"

Are you really here? Or is all of this just another daydream, a pathetic excuse for my heart to cope without you? Am I sure to wake up in my bed beside Charles or come back to reality at the dinner table, drug from this cruel, taunting dream of you?

"Hell yeah, I'm real." Eugene grins, though his face quickly falls again, amber eyes narrowing. "And I'm here to get you away from that asshole, for good. And maybe kill him, if I'm lucky enough."

Eugene rolls his eyes with a dramatic huff, and although the most human part of Rapunzel wants to believe that no one is going to really get hurt tonight, another part of her wants Charles to pay for everything he's done. For the harrowing, irreversible damage which he's caused.

And yet, now that Eugene is actually here, he doesn't seem so important anymore…

"I don't care about him, I just – Eugene, I've missed you! I've missed you so much!" The shaking princess launches herself abruptly at him, pressing her forehead against Eugene's chest and clinging with petite fingers to his biceps on either side. "I haven't been myself without you, not even a little! I haven't known what to do… I've felt so lost!"

Mingled with the guilt of knowing that she's felt this way without him there to comfort her, Eugene cringes at Rapunzel's slight roughness then, an obvious display of pain crossing his face. Rapunzel catches the cringe which Eugene quickly tries to hide as she glances curiously up at him, immediately inspecting him more closely.

"What happened?" Rapunzel quickly prods at his bicep, feeling through Eugene's jacket and watching sympathetically as he sucks in a sharp breath at her touch, immediately trying to cover the unwanted reaction up. "Your arm. You're cradling it weirdly. What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing happened, it's just –"

"Who did that to you?" Rapunzel demands, suddenly standing upon very solid ground and scrunching her nose up in that adorable way she does when she really means business.

"Really, sweetheart, it's noth –"

But before Eugene can so much as properly protest, Rapunzel is yanking his formal jacket down his body, pulling the sleeve from his arm to reveal the white shirt underneath. She lifts up his shirt, exposing his chest to her and registering his bandaged arm beneath it, gasping far too loudly for Eugene's comfort.

"It sure doesn't look like nothing! Eugene, you're hurt!"

Rapunzel lets his shirt fall, leaving the arrow-pierced arm hanging awkwardly out of his now-empty jacket sleeve as she places her hands expectantly upon her hips.

"Trust me, it looks worse than it really is, Blondie. You don't need to worry about me –"

"Who the hell did this to you!? Was it Charles, before we left Corona?" Rapunzel leans back against the door, as if to keep the thought and general mention of Charles out of the mirror-walled sitting room, but knowing that she can't do so for very long. "Did he hurt you –"

Rubbing at his anxiously-pounding forehead and sighing rather defeatedly, Eugene knows full well that a scorned Rapunzel is not someone to be messed with, and he's sure not about to willingly place himself in the line of fire; not when they've only just been reunited. He might as well tell her the truth now, rather than have the truth come from someone who isn't him later.

"Stalyan. It was Stalyan, alright? She picked up archery in our time apart, apparently." Eugene haughtily rolls his eyes once more – with a little less distain but a bit more attitude – gently nursing his tender arm back into the jacket sleeve hanging sadly at his side. "But really, I'm fine. And it doesn't even matter right now, because I'm here and we're going to get you home –"

You are the only thing that really matters to me! Don't you know that by now?

"Oh." Rapunzel interrupts brashly, stamping her bare foot to the cold marble beneath them as her expression shifts from incredibly concerned to altogether pissed off. "When we get back to Corona, I'm going to find that horrible, dreadful woman, and I'm going to –!"

Eugene can't help the adoring grin which spreads across his face at her slightly-humorous reaction, and he immediately regrets not bringing a frying pan along for Rapunzel, lest she release some of the obvious tension in her body and help him take this manor down if need be. Instead of encouraging her to wield a cooking utensil for the greater good, though, Eugene just smiles as he's reminded of why he's so very in love with her, placing a gentle finger under Rapunzel's chin and guiding her to focus solely on him.

"Hey, Sunshine? Hi. Focus." Eugene's face falls with a disheartened sigh as he brings his thumb up from under Rapunzel's chin, running it along her lower lip and begging himself to keep his hands off of her (because she looks fucking gorgeous in black), just for tonight. Well, at least until they get on the boat, where he'll surely keep her in his arms for the entirety of the trip back home. "We've got bigger fish to fry."

"Right." Rapunzel sighs herself, blinking her blurry eyes back into reality and momentarily dropping her head to sweetly place a quick kiss to Eugene's bicep as he slowly works on shimmying his tender arm back into its sleeve. "You're right."

Eugene adjusts his collar, smoothing out the front of his jacket after she'd fisted it in her eager hands.

"Listen to me, Blondie. You're gonna have to go back into the ballroom." Steady hands upon her shoulders, Eugene gives her a warning look when Rapunzel opens her mouth in protest. "Just for a little while. And then, we can get the hell out of —"

"Oh, please don't make me go back out there." Rapunzel immediately pleads, grabbing for him with agony in her eyes and messing up the collar he'd only just fixed. "Please, Eugene. I don't want to go back, not to him! I can't —"

I just want to go home, to be with you! That's all I've ever wanted!

"Yes, you can." Eugene nods reassuringly, her begging enough to break his aching heart in two, princess-shaped pieces. "You have to."

"But I don't want to! I want to stay with you! I… I've missed you!" Rapunzel whimpers as she leans in close and clutches at the front of his navy jacket (deeming all that smoothing out as good for nothing), lowering her voice to a whisper and brushing her lips antagonizingly against his. "I want you."

Fuck.

Get it together, Eugene. There'll be plenty of time for… for that. But only when you get her home safely.

"I know, I know. I don't want you to go back to him, either. Trust me." Eugene takes a small step back – only one – so that the temptation of her lips won't be quite so close and quite so irresistible. "But we have to get you out of here without causing a huge scene, okay? There's guards posted at every doorway and around the whole perimeter of the building. The place is crawling with em, and it was hard enough getting in here without raising suspicion. I have to figure out a better plan than just walking you out the front door, sweetheart. Okay?"

Rapunzel sighs stressfully, looking away as she rubs her thighs together under her dress and feels a little embarrassed for her own desire at a time like this. But it's been so long since…

"Okay."

"Hey." Eugene offers her a calming smile, running the back of his hand along Rapunzel's cheek and guiding her to look back at him. "Just trust me on this one. We'll be home again soon enough."

And then, once we're home, we can do anything you want to do…

"I trust you." Rapunzel swallows hard, a mirage of unspoken words floating in the high tension of the space between them. Soon? Soon. "I've always trusted you."

"Good. Now kiss me."

Kiss me, before you go back to him.

Pressed against the sitting room door, muffling their moans into one another's open mouths, Rapunzel and Eugene comfort their three-week separation with the heated duplicity of their own passion and fear; the purely-driven passion which they have for one another, and the desperate fear that this entire rescue mission might go very, very wrong. The desperate fear of losing one another all over again.

"Eu… Eugene?" Rapunzel pants between tongue-tangled kisses, whining out his name in a way that so painfully reminds Eugene of the secretive nights which they'd spent tangled up in his sheets, sweating and fucking under everyone's noses.

Which is exactly what got them here in the first place, isn't it? Their passion? Their fear of this tormenting, never-ending loss.

"Mhmm…" Eugene hums against her soft, pined-for lips, knowing that he should but not being ready to break the kiss quite yet, having missed all of her little, desire-induced noises so much.

Rapunzel gasps for air as Eugene kisses his way along her jaw and down her neck, and… oh no, she's so wet for him already, and they need to get out of here –!

"Right when we get home, can we please –"

"Yes." Eugene promises against her warm skin – knowing exactly what she's asking of him – peeling himself away from Rapunzel before he fucks the entire rescue mission up and finds an empty bedroom to fuck her in, instead.

And what a nice 'fuck you' to Charles that would be.

Literally.

"Yes. I promise." Eugene kisses her nose endearingly – hoping to neutralize the rampant, overly-distracting sexual tension between them – a sorry amount of lust glazing over his eyes for a rescue mission. "If I could, I would rip that dress off of you and fuck you right against this door for Charles to hear. But patience, Sunshine, is a virtue that we must practice."

"Right. Patience." Rapunzel breathes, completely tormented and feeling rather silly for being so needy but not really caring, either – it's been three weeks without him, after all. Three weeks too long. "But soon?"

"Soon."

With Eugene's honored promise tucked safely away in her heart, Rapunzel turns – tentative fingers on the golden door handle, knowing that it's time to rip the bandage off and go back to Charles, deflecting any possible suspicion – though she pauses to longingly look over her shoulder at him.

"Hey, Eugene… I love you." Rapunzel smiles softly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes all over again, because Charles was wrong. Eugene – gorgeous, and loyal, and so in love with her – came for her! Of course he came! "I don't think I've ever loved you as much as I do right now."

"I love you, too, Rapunzel. So much. Now go. And be safe, okay? Just… try to stay with the crowd and I'll try to figure out something. You'll know when it's time." Not wanting to let go of her free hand, Eugene holds onto it until he absolutely can't anymore, knowing she needs to go so that he can continue with his own stealthy plotting. "And hey. I'll see you soon. I promise you that."

Rapunzel nods wordlessly – afraid that her voice, thick with overwhelmed tears, will betray her if she says anything more – looking Eugene over with one last, pining glance and shutting the door behind her.

Composing herself in the empty hallway, smoothing out her dress and completely sure that Eugene's scent will be all over her now, Rapunzel makes her way back into the crowded, lively ballroom. Halting on the top of the grand staircase and leaning over the edge of the balcony there, Rapunzel searches the crowd for Charles, though she's unable to immediately pick him out. From her vantage point, she doesn't see King George nor Thomas, either, though she does spot Queen Charlotte chatting with a group of older ladies and looking quite refined in a pretty, burgundy-colored gown and matching mask.

Just try to blend in with the crowd and do exactly as Eugene said. All you need to do is be patient. He'll be back for you. You know he will.

And pray that you won't run into Charles in the meantime…

Quietly descending the staircase, apprehensive to draw any further attention to herself, Rapunzel weaves through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd and makes her way toward the dancefloor. If she spends some of her idle time waiting for Eugene with a good-humored distraction – she likes dancing, after all, and is familiar enough with the steps – and at least tries to enjoy the party, perhaps this entire nerve-wracking ordeal will pass by much quicker.

Poising herself amongst the female side in the double line of dancers, Rapunzel bows to her stranger-of-a-partner and is taken back to another time and place altogether as the jovial violin music whines out into the night. For a nostalgic moment in time, she's back in the square with Eugene on her eighteenth birthday, limbs flailing and breathing in the sound of live music coupled with cheerful laughter.

Rapunzel wishes that she could be happy, the way she was that day. But she will be… they will be happy again! If they could only get back home without Charles burning them all completely to the ground…

Swinging from partner to partner, Rapunzel – despite the nervous energy threatening to burst her apart – keeps up with the fast-paced music rather well, this particular dance quite similar to the ones that she'd learned back in Corona. And then, she's taken back to the ballroom at home and her dance lessons with Eugene, when they'd made their tutor sick just watching them fool around together so shamelessly.

Each masked person is unfamiliar, each step a bit freer than the last, until Rapunzel ultimately finds herself in the arms of an incredibly tall and burly black man, having switched partners yet again in the twirling, unified mess of it all. The bald, primly-dressed man smirks down at her, gripping her hands far more tightly than the other male dancers had.

"Hi, Princess. Long time… no see."

Wait a second… that voice. Oh, God! I know that voice! But if he's here, then she must be, too –

"La –" Rapunzel gasps, heart fluttering with pure, overflowing joy.

Not only did Eugene come for me, but Lance, too!

"Shh." Lance winks through his maroon-colored mask, smirking as he dips his head to whisper quietly into her ear while they continue to twirl around the other dancers. "Don't blow my cover."

Around them – to the sound of the cheerful music – the dancers begin to circle one another, raising their hands above their heads and clapping to the beat, completely distracted by their own amusement.

"Well, I guess that's our cue."

Suddenly, Rapunzel finds herself being tugged by the wrist, out of the dancing circle and toward the wall where a set of tall pillars shadow the area behind the dancefloor.

"Lance! Lance, you're here!" Rapunzel rambles eagerly under her breath, completely taken by surprise as Lance continues to drag her into the shadows against the wall, under the thick, stone pillars and concealed by the fast-moving dancers. "What's going on –"

"Oh, be quiet. Just for a minute, alright? I know you're excited, but –"

"Where is Eugene?"

"He's right on the other side of… fuck!" Lance curses quietly, appearing to be looking for something in particular as they scale the wall in the dim light of the overarching pillars above their heads. "The lighting sucks over here! Where the hell is it?"

I'm really going home, I really get to – wait. But what about Fallon? She'll be waiting for me in the kitchens… but she would understand! If she knew that Eugene is here, she would understand my disappearance. But I can't stand the thought of leaving her here, knowing what she's been through, the pressure and nightmares of him that she can't escape from… that no one is coming to save her from.

"Ahh… bingo." Thoroughly confused but altogether curious, Rapunzel listens closely in the ear-bursting ballroom as Lance's fingers latch around some sort of metal hook on the wall, yanking hard and causing a burst of sudden light to flood out of the marbled brick. "Go, go!"

Hands frantically pushing her from behind, Lance shoves Rapunzel through the abrupt tunnel of light as they tumble together into a lowly-lit hallway. Standing there in said hallway, broad grin on his once-again masked face, Eugene opens his arms to her, which Rapunzel nearly trips over her own feet to sink into.

"What do you say we go home, Princess?" Eugene pulls back, running his hands through Rapunzel's choppy hair and smiling down at her. "There's a lot of people who sure can't wait to see you."

"I'd love that." Rapunzel breathes a sigh of relief, cuddling back into Eugene's chest for a quick hug as her voice drops to a timid, childlike whimper. "I want my parents. My mom…"

"I know. And you'll see them." Eugene promises, regretful to break the comfort which he knows she so desperately needs, but just as anxious as her to get going. "Let's get the fuck out of here, huh?"

Hand in relieved hand, Rapunzel and Eugene – followed closely by Lance, after closing the little, hidden trap door from the ballroom – begin making their way down the hallway. Leading Eugene a bit – so eager to simply get out of this horrid, nightmarish place – Rapunzel bounds around the corner… though she quickly stops short, Eugene bumping abruptly into her from behind.

Standing there – short sword in hand – is Charles, a look of bitter recognition creeping upon his face.

"Fitzherbert. You're here."

AN: Oh, shit is about to hit the fan in the next chapter. If you thought this chapter was intense, it's nothing compared to what's to follow.

I've been chomping at the bit to write the upcoming chapter for… well, pretty much from the moment that I first started writing this story back in October of 2020. The next chapter will hold an event that I've had planned from the very beginning, and will set into motion the storyline that I have planned for Book 2.

I've been preparing us for this moment for a while now: the moment when shit is truly about to go down.

I mean that quite literally.