AN: Hello, readers! I hope you're all having a wonderful holiday season, however you may celebrate. Today's featured song is Lover of Mine by 5 Seconds of Summer. It's one of those songs that just feels meant for New Dream, especially when regarding this storyline. It has this darker mood that sets the scene for what's to come in the next few chapters.
I hope that you enjoy this chapter, which has a hard M rating. And no, I don't regret anything. This is a long one, but an important chapter to the plot, as well, so hang in there. This was one of my favorite chapters to write, and I actually gave myself butterflies.
Chapter 17: Lead to Where Your Secrets Are, Where We've Been a Thousand Times
When I take a look at my life and all of my crimes
You're the only thing that I think I got right
I'll never give you away
'Cause I've already made that mistake…
After checking her over about a hundred times for any apparent, purple bruises, Eugene had walked Rapunzel most of the way back to her own bedroom, in fear that the princess would run into Stalyan alone again. He was still visibly angry about the behavior of the Baron's daughter, and about whatever Charles had said to him at the party, but he was clearly trying his best not to show it in front of her. Eugene didn't even bring up the whole 'running away' thing again, so Rapunzel doesn't either.
She'd wanted to beg him to let her stay the night, to let her explain her answer – that her sense of duty to her country and to her parents, is too overbearing to simply set down and walk away from. But Eugene had vaguely reasoned that it had been a long night for the both of them. It would be best, he'd said, if they got some rest without potentially getting themselves into a third high-stress situation in one night. Although it killed him to send her back to the room that she shares with Charles, Eugene had simply kissed her on the forehead, mumbled good night, and gently nudged her in the direction of her bedroom.
Rapunzel walks tentatively down the candlelit corridor, looking back to Eugene, not wanting to be away from him. He's standing there, watching her go, arms crossed in the manner of a man who is completely fed up with the world. Regardless, he gives her a little smile and an encouraging nod, as if to say, 'Go on, it's okay. This is just for tonight.' It takes everything in the princess not to run back into his arms, but she doesn't.
Turning forward again, Rapunzel wonders to herself, 'Is he upset with me for not running away with him?' No, Eugene doesn't seem mad at her, exactly. Deep down, they both know that leaving the kingdom would be an unrealistic solution to their current predicament – that running away from their problems, wouldn't solve their problems. All running away would do, is hurt more people, people that they care about.
No more than fifteen minutes ago in his bedroom, Eugene had been no less tender and gentle with Rapunzel than usual, not at all projecting his anger with Stalyan or Charles onto the shook up princess. No, this unusual bout of disconnection in his eyes, this... offness in his demeanor... it isn't directed at her. This... this is something else. This is stress, guilt, the slight twinge of possessiveness that doesn't occur within him very often.
This is fear. Eugene is afraid of something. She could see it in his eyes when he let go of her hand, could feel it in his kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering a little longer than usual. Which, in turn, leaves Rapunzel feeling afraid, because Eugene doesn't frequently become genuinely scared. A lot of the time, he's the strong one. He's the one who locks his own fear away, so that she feels safe enough to deal with hers. But this… this is fear in his eyes if she's ever seen it.
Eugene, always a bright character, never remains upset for very long. He's known to have a flair for the dramatics, but typically doesn't hold onto those dramatized feelings for extended periods. Which is why this stressed out, off-putting mood of his, only results in Rapunzel feeling worried about her love, a bitter taste left on her tongue as she reluctantly treads back to her own bedroom.
When Rapunzel pushes back the heavy doors, Charles is waiting there for her, and the princess silently prays that this impossibly terrible night isn't about to get much worse. She looks back to the end of the hallway, ready to run to Eugene, but he's already gone. He'd probably assumed that Charles would be partying well into the night, as the prince often does when the palace hosts an event. Rapunzel herself had silently hoped that Charles would still be at the party, as she'd been able to hear the loud music and muffled voices traveling through the halls while walking along with Eugene. The party would most likely continue on for a while, well into the next morning. Palace parties always seem to flow on forever, like a river of champagne which has no end.
The princess cringes when she sees her husband sitting there on the edge of the bed, hunched over in the darkness. The only light filtering into the vast room, is the illumination of the giant moon shining in through the balcony doors. Rapunzel stares at the moon through the windows for a long moment, noting that it's the same moon which she'd admired from the garden earlier in the night. It feels as though being in the maze with Eugene had occurred in a different night entirely.
Rapunzel tentatively steps closer to the bed, though Charles doesn't look up at her right away.
"Where have you been?" He asks simply, his voice gravely and hard, laced with accusation, eyes glaring at the floor.
"I-I just needed some air. I wasn't feeling well, and –"
"Bullshit."
Rapunzel takes a small step back, realizing that he's probably drunk, that his words are slightly delayed. His head hands between his legs, as though his neck isn't strong enough to support the weight of his skull.
"Excuse me?"
Charles finally looks up at her, his eyes ringed with the red, alcohol-induced halos of falling into self-pity just a little too fast. He looks like a wreck, like a ship which came upon the shore a bit too soon – a far cry from his typically regal, well-groomed self, and Rapunzel concludes that she barely recognizes him.
Though, she never really knew him to begin with. Maybe that's why the indicting look in the prince's eyes, and the barring of his teeth, don't bother her as much as they probably should.
"You heard me. It's bullshit. It's all… just… bullshit."
Distain drips from the young prince's lips, drenched in the aftertaste of the strong liquid that he'd stalked to the kitchens to find earlier in the night. He'd been desperate to escape the prying eyes of the hundreds of guests who didn't realize that the princess had gone missing – and that a particular ex-thief was missing, as well.
But he did. He noticed.
And if Charles has to be miserable and embarrassed, then she does, too. That's what they'd promised to one another in their vows, isn't it? 'For better or for worse?' Thus far, their marriage seems to be exemplifying the 'for worse' part of the deal.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean –"
Charles stares at his wife for a long, uncomfortable moment. His steely gaze is enough to cut her off, stealing the words right from her mouth, forcing them to hang in the air between them awkwardly.
"The parties! The guests! The guests in which we pretend that we are happily married to. The guests that we lie to the faces of!"
His voice is rising steadily, and Rapunzel's eyes fall to the floor, as though she were a child being disciplined. Charles stands from the bed, looming over her like a displeased parent.
"It's all bullshit. And I can't keep pretending anymore. I won't."
"Neither can I." Rapunzel whispers, more to her feet than to anyone else, though Charles doesn't seem to hear her.
Doesn't he notice? Hasn't he noticed anything in the past four months since they've known one another? Doesn't he see all of the smiles that she fakes, the dull emotion of her face when she's around him, the way that her heart is completely shattered on the floor at their feet, all because he can't be the man that she needs him to be? Because this man before her, this prince, this prince that so many young women would kill to be with… will never be a handsome, charming rogue who once climbed her tower, and made her fall so in love, that she feels as though she's never known a life without him, and never wants to.
Charles suddenly takes the young princess by the hand, closing the uncomfortable distance between them, though she keeps her eyes glued to the floor.
"I'm in love with you, Rapunzel. Don't you get that? Don't you see that? Don't you see how I feel about you? It feels like... it feels like you're not even trying here. Not even a little! It's been four months, and I have fallen in love with you. And all you have done, is push me to the side as though I were nothing! As though I didn't give up plenty to marry you, as well!"
Rapunzel lifts her eyes to Charles, opens her mouth to speak, but the words don't immediately come out. She's completely taken aback, her throat swelling to a positively dry state, because this declaration is not only unexpected, but unwarranted.
"I'm... I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know you felt that way, I —"
Charles drops her hands, his own hands thrashing in the air between them.
"You didn't know? You didn't know? I've only been making it completely obvious! Rapunzel, I threw a party in your honor! A party which you disappeared from, need I remind you!"
"I said I was sorry."
Rapunzel feels herself shrinking back, shrinking deep within herself, and she absolutely despises herself for it. This is what she would've done in the tower. Why can't she truly escape from the girl she once was?
"I just needed some time alone. I truly didn't realize that you felt like this —"
"I don't believe you. Were you with him?"
"No, I —"
"Is that where you always disappear off to?"
"Charles, please —"
The prince takes her hands into his again, cold and firm, and Rapunzel starts to feel a little dizzy from his mixed signals – dizzy from trying to read him for all these months, with no conclusive result. She's spent months awkwardly studying his demeanor, months wondering what he truly thinks of her. In the wake of Gothel's emotional manipulation, she's spent months hating herself for seeking validation from Charles, even a little. And now, finally, he's telling her exactly how he feels, spelling it out clearly enough for her to read with ease. And all Rapunzel can do, is stand there and wish that he could snatch the words back up, as if they had never existed at all.
Because it makes it harder to hate him, if he refuses to hate her back.
"Rapunzel, I love you. I have fallen madly in love with you, despite my hesitations in doing so. I simply couldn't stop myself. What I feel for you, is something that I have never felt for another woman before. And I want to make this work. I want to see where our relationship could go. I feel that we have a lot of potential here, not only to be successful rulers of this kingdom, but as romantic partners, as well."
Charles pauses, taking a deep breath, as though his lungs are not capable of carrying what he's about to say on their own.
"But I can't do that, I cannot love you in the way that you deserve, if you're going to allow yourself to be emotionally distracted by another man. It's completely disrespectful to our marriage! Didn't anyone ever explain to you what a proper marriage is supposed to look like?"
Rapunzel feels her chest tighten, suddenly very embarrassed in the wake of Charles's condescending tone – because no, no one had. For a small fraction of her life, Rapunzel has only had her parent's example to follow, and even their marriage isn't perfect. For a split second, Gothel's face flashes in her mind, and the princess narrows her eyes at her equally irate husband.
"No one prepared me for this, or gave me the handbook on arranged marriages, Charles. I had no idea that I was going to have to marry you. So, excuse me, for not exactly being the wife of the year. I had an entire life before —"
"Before I came here. Yes, I know, Rapunzel. Please do continue to rub in my face how happy you were with him before I came here and ruined everything for you!"
Rapunzel doesn't know what to say. The deeply engrained, people-pleasing part of her, wants to comfort him, wants to reassure Charles that, no, her unusually irritable attitude and constant disappearances, aren't partially his fault. But that would be a lie, because they are. And she's so angry herself, after the night that she's had, that Rapunzel no longer wants to be that people-pleasing little girl that she once was.
This time, she rips her hands from his, and the raging look in Charles's eyes only reflects his hurt like a mirror of her own – hurt which stems from two very different places. Nonetheless, each young spouse is angry and hurting in their own way, for their own twisted reasoning. Rapunzel, because something was stolen from her that she will never get back, and because the man in front of her now, is partly to blame. Charles, because there is no pride to be found in yearning after a woman who still loves another man.
"Yes, Charles! I was happy. I was so happy! And yes, that happiness was because of Eugene. I was in love with someone else when you arrived here. My heart is still with him. And I'm not going to stand here and pretend like that's not true, just to soothe your ego!"
Charles sighs deeply once more, pinching the bridge of his straight nose, as if trying to muster every ounce of patience that he has left – which, frankly, isn't much.
"Regardless of how you feel about him, we are married now, Rapunzel. Tell me, when are you going to understand that?" The prince looks down to her once more, staring her in the eyes hauntingly. "When are you going to come to terms with the fact that you must. Let him. Go?"
"I already have let him go, thanks to you." The spirited princess spats back, feeling as though a fire has been lit, deep in her belly – a fire which is strong enough to take down Charles's evergreen forest of pretty words and declarations of love.
'Lies. Lies, lies, lies. I was in his bed just the other night, and I kissed him like the world was ending. And I would be doing just that right now, if I could.'
"No. It's becoming clearer and clearer to me that you haven't. And frankly, our marriage deserves far better than that from you. It deserves for you to at least try, Rapunzel." Haughtily, the aftertaste of liquor hot on his breath, Charles adds, "I demand that you try."
Rapunzel knows that he's right. Charles is pretentious, and spoiled, and spent his teen years and early twenties thus far, blowing through his government's money, and fooling around with enough girls who would risk it all for him, to rival a young Flynn Rider. Despite all of this, Charles deserves true love, just as much as anyone else, and he's chosen to love her. And that would be great, lucky even, that an arranged marriage would even have a chance at resulting in genuine love and affection.
It could all work out in Charles's favor – that is, if Eugene didn't exist, and if they were living in an alternate universe in which Rapunzel did not yearn for another man. She yearns for him so much, in fact, that it actually makes her sick to her stomach to be away from him. But he does exist, and she does yearn for him that much – so much so, that Rapunzel feels like she might throw up in the wake of Charles's admittance of love. Because suddenly, things are even more complicated than they were before. Still, there is nothing that Charles can say or do, to change Rapunzel's feelings.
There is nothing the prince will ever be able to do to effectively coax her away from Eugene.
Rapunzel looks to Charles, falling off the cliff of irritation, into a bottomless, bitter anger. Standing here before the blonde, young prince, Rapunzel feels like the shell of her past self, a figment of the person that she once had been. She recalls how content she'd felt when her and Eugene had spent that first year together in the kingdom – a year which had consisted of chasing one another through the gardens, and nights spent under the stars, tracing the outline of constellations with the fingers of your lover, and being so in love that you actually feel out of your mind.
That princess, that faraway version of Rapunzel, had been bubbly, spirited, adventurous… and yes, pathetically happy. Her life wasn't perfect then, not by any means. The princess had been plagued with nightmares about losing Eugene to the dark whisper of death, still under the metaphorical thumb of Gothel, forced to overcome barriers that she hadn't even realized she'd had for eighteen years, due to extensive emotional and mental abuse. Her father had struggled with overprotectiveness, her mother had struggled to forgive the witch who had taken eighteen years with her daughter from her. Eugene, though quietly, had struggled with what it meant to be Eugene again. But the four of them had struggled right through, and come out on the other side as a strong, tightknit family unit. They had been together, and Rapunzel had become the woman that she was meant to be all along.
In real time, this version of Rapunzel, this self-deprecating, sorrowful excuse of the strong-willed princess that she'd once been, just feels... empty – a consistent contemplation of how her life now, so strongly resembles what her life had felt like when she was still trapped in her tower.
"You're not the boss of me, Charles. There is nothing that you can demand of me."
Rapunzel responds defiantly, her voice hollow and low. She's not particularly in the mood for an argument tonight, but she knows that her brave comment will surely start one with her new husband.
"I have been controlled for my entire life! And I will not be controlled by you."
Charles points a lazy finger at her in response, swaying a little at the sudden motion, his intoxication catching rapidly up with him.
"You are my wife. And I am your husband. Which means, whether you like it or not, Princess, I have the power to tell you how things are going to play out. A few things are going to change around here, starting with you putting a little effort into this marriage!"
The retaliated words burst from Rapunzel's chest, the agony of their circumstance bubbling to the surface, where it has waited for the chance to boil over for four, long months.
"I can't! I can't put effort into this, I can't be the person that you need me to be. I can't just wake up one day, and force myself to love you! And I'm sorry for that, Charles, I really am. But it's the truth."
"Bullshit! Don't lie to me, Rapunzel. You could try, you would try, if you wanted to. But I know girls like you. I've been with girls like you, plenty of them."
Charles creeps close to her, voice low and husky, poking a finger to her chest, which Rapunzel immediately swats away. His flesh upon her body, even if only over her clothes, is enough to make Rapunzel's skin crawl. His touch would still make her shiver, even if Charles wasn't drunk. But something about his high state of intoxication, makes Rapunzel feel a special kind of sick when Charles's shaking hand rests upon her, in a way that she's never feared Eugene when he's been drinking before.
"You find satisfaction in teasing two men at the same time, don't you, Princess? Well, I simply won't have it! I will not be married to a whore."
Charles crosses his arms with a dramatic huff, staring at her, as if he's awaiting an equally dramatic, equally as painful reaction from her – as though he expects Rapunzel to attack his character, too, giving them a reason to fight – a reason to actually feel something for one another.
Rapunzel considers the putrid word, a word rimmed with innuendo and shameful allegation.
Whore. She's heard it before, spoken in hushed tones around the castle by some of the maids when they're engaged in their daily dose of kingdom gossip. When she'd heard it for the first time, never one to shy away from burning curiosity, Rapunzel had innocently asked Eugene what it meant. His eyebrows had shot up in surprise, and he'd tripped over his own tongue for the first half of the explanation, delicately explaining what the harsh slur meant.
But she understands, now. She understands what the dirty word implies, understands the weight that it carries. And maybe Charles is right — maybe she is a whore.
A whore for Eugene, because she still wants him when she has a husband who she should want instead. A whore for her kingdom, because she can't find neither the courage to leave Eugene, nor the courage to leave with him. She's a whore for the guilt, and for the shame, and for the anxiety-ridden possibility of getting caught, all of which are slowly eating her alive. Because letting down her people… would be far worse than letting down herself. Far worse, even, than letting down Eugene.
So, she lets Eugene fuck her. She lets him fuck the guilt and the shame right out of her. Until, like clockwork, all that shame reoccurs in the morning, when Rapunzel wakes up to him whispering that it's time for her to go, and she retreats to a bed that's far too cold – a bed which is painfully devoid of true love, or any sense of love at all (or so, she'd thought, until tonight). But, only being human, Rapunzel needs that love, yearns for it. So, she sneaks to Eugene's bed to be held tightly against his chest, far more often than she should, and she subtly flinches each time her own husband touches her instead of him.
And maybe that makes her a whore.
Rapunzel narrows her eyes, registering the implications of the insult. Where is this coming from? Charles had been so unusually kind to her earlier in the night. Was he truly that provoked by Eugene's presence at the party? Clearly he was, if Charles is standing here, professing his love to her, and not even a minute later, throwing such brutal language in her face – language which respectfully should not be spoken to the face of a young lady, let alone to the face of a princess.
"Honestly, Charles, I don't find satisfaction in anything involving you."
If that armored comment doesn't take down the prince's ego by a few notches, Rapunzel isn't quite sure what will. But, to her dismay, Charles only stalks closer. The slightest of smiles is growing on his face as he looms over her, making Rapunzel's heart pound in her chest – and not in the way that Eugene makes her heart flutter and beat a little too hard against her ribcage.
"Wait a minute… are you… are you trying to make me jealous, Princess? Is that the little game that you're trying to play here? Because if you are, it's definitely working." Charles grins, and the liquor on his breath stings in Rapunzel's nose.
"I can assure you, I have no intention of making you –"
But he's tugging at her hip now, bringing her close, pulling the princess against his chest. Rapunzel tries to pull away, but his grip on her wrist is too strong.
"That's why you always disappear off somewhere, isn't it? So you can act like a little harlot, and get off on making me jealous. Because you want to tease me, don't you?"
"Charles, let go! You're hurting me –"
Charles grits his teeth, squeezing her wrist tighter between his fingers. He should be nice to his wife. He really should. But he's been nice. He's been complacent with her for far too long, allowing her to get away with this unacceptable, childish behavior. He's tired of being nice. Why should he be nice, when she leaves him with nothing in his sheets but questions, and disconnection, and the sad, pathetic truth that he will never be her greatest desire? At least, not while Eugene is still living in this castle.
Well, no more. There's nothing poetic about being the other man, and there's nothing poetic about the red, molten anger flowing behind Charles's eyes, uncontrollable to him.
"No, Rapunzel. I will get you to listen to me, no matter how hard it is for you. It should be easy for a woman to listen to her husband!"
"Well, maybe it won't be as easy as you think!"
Charles is a strong man. A courageous man, an adored man. He is a leader, an alpha male. At least, he was one, back in Maddoline, where every girl had all but fallen at his welcoming feet. Every young, Maddolineon woman had wanted to be in his bed. And now, the girl that he wants in his bed, for purposes that go beyond simple, mindless lust, refuses to stay in it.
He is a strong man. A clever man, an accomplished man. He is a man with title, with regency. And he will not be made a fool by a ninety-five-pound princess, and her refusal to let go of her felonious ex-boyfriend. So, if all of that were true, if he knows his own worth so well, why is Charles stringing himself along for her? Why is he begging for a thread of her attention, when she's sewn herself into the heart of another man, stitch by stich, cross by cross?
Because, for better or for worse, she is still his wife. Because he was taught to respect the constitution of marriage — and apparently, some people in this castle, were not taught such things. Because he can't die before knowing the taste of her tongue in his mouth, can't die before knowing the feel of her in his arms in the middle of the night.
And it looks like he may never know, because she's wiggled from his grasp, making her way for the door, where her petite frame has gone a little blurry around the edges in his increasingly fuzzy vision.
"I didn't ask to be married to you, and I definitely didn't ask to be treated this way!"
Rapunzel turns back, grasping the door handle with white knuckles, resentful tears pricking at her eyes.
"And you know what else? I didn't even ask for a party! I just went with you to be nice!"
With a huff, the angry princess makes to slip through the doorway, her heavy skirts swishing violently behind her. Charles quickly follows after her, though, taking Rapunzel by the arm again, sure to be gentle this time. She whirs on him, her face twisted in pure irritation, though his own face has softened considerably.
"I'm sorry, darling. I lost my cool. It won't happen again, I promise. Please, stay with me. Let us talk about this."
She simply stares at him, as though his neck has sprouted three new heads, and he knows that staying is something she will never do. Physically, maybe, because she has no other choice. But not emotionally, and not tonight. Tonight, she'll probably stalk off to the library, spending most of the night there, as she often does.
'Yes, the library! That's where she probably was. That's why she disappeared from the party, to have a quiet moment alone, just like she said. I've been irrational with her. If I can only convince her to stay, I'll apologize, and we can talk it out –'
"You're right. It won't happen again."
And with that, Rapunzel shrugs out of his grasp, furiously slamming the door behind her. Because leaving him, is the easiest thing that she's ever done. And deep down, in a vengeful, hateful place, Charles knows that she isn't going to the library tonight.
Rapunzel knows exactly where she should be. It's late, incredibly late in the night (or incredibly early in the morning, depending on one's interpretation of time), and she should be in her marriage bed, sound asleep beside her husband. Or perhaps, doing what is expected of married couples, and engaging in the process of creating an heir for the kingdom. But there will be no heirs, not anytime soon. Not unless Rapunzel can find a way to wake up one day, and not feel sick to her stomach at the very thought of anyone but one particular man fathering her children.
So, instead of being in the bed that she theoretically should be in, her bare feet are padding down the dark hallway, avoiding the loud footsteps of the patrolling guards, pressing her back to the nearest stone wall, concealing herself to the shadows when the sound of clinking metal gets a little too close for comfort. The princess tiptoes and sneaks, because there is the bed that she should be in; and then, there is the bed that she needs to be in.
She doesn't bother knocking. She pushes the door open quietly, lingering in the doorframe as he stands there, unknowing to her arrival. His back is to her as he shrugs out of his vest, unbuttoning his shirt. He leaves it unbuttoned like that, fiddling absently with his rolled sleeves before sighing deeply, sinking onto the bed with a defeated slump in his shoulders. He looks up suddenly, realizing her presence, and his frame collapses completely at the sight of her.
Secretly, the part of him which is fueled by love and passion, is relieved to see her. His arms have been aching for her, ever since he walked her back to her own bedroom, no more than thirty minutes ago. The other part of him, which has grown accustomed to being disgustingly responsible and mature, knows that she shouldn't be here – not after the overly-eventful night they've had. They're only asking for trouble.
But isn't that what they've been doing for weeks now, anyway?
"Blondie… I thought I told you to stay in your own room tonight. It's not a good idea for you to be here, not after everything that happened with –"
"I know."
This is all she says. Quiet, and timid, as though she were a child caught with her hand deep in the cookie jar again. It's all she can say, because he's right. She knows that he is. He usually is. Eugene was right from the beginning that this is wrong – that entertaining their happily ever after behind closed doors, is only begging for an explosive situation to erupt, inevitably backfiring right in their faces.
But his warnings, his concerns, they hadn't been enough to keep her away from him. She'd spit right in the face of guilt and royal expectations, for a while. That is, until the secrets and lies had caught up to her, resting upon her shoulders like a weighty, shameful burden. He's right that, what with the night that they've had, they shouldn't risk being caught together. It's completely possible that Charles will cool down enough from his little spat with the princess to come searching for her. Assumedly, the jealousy-ridden prince would not cool down enough to stop himself from starting a fight – a fight which Eugene would subsequently have to finish (and frankly, he doesn't have the energy for that tonight).
But tonight, she doesn't care. Tonight, Rapunzel is far too tired to wrap her lies in pretty paper, tying them neatly with a silken bow. She's become a master at spinning the most sorrowful of tales, decorating them so beautifully, and making them appear desirable, somehow. But there is nothing left within her hollow frame to produce the energy to pretend, not tonight. Tonight, she wants to be reckless, and selfish, and stupid. She wants to get so lost in him, that she'll never have even the slightest chance of finding her way back home. Once, he'd saved her from the home that was her tower, and she hasn't looked back since.
She won't find her way back from him, not ever. Because now, he is home.
Rapunzel doesn't even look at him, just steps into the bedroom wordlessly, clicking the door shut behind her. Eugene notices that his princess's eyes are glazed over with something that looks like a dangerous mixture of desperate yearning and fear – a curious look, which typically ends with them falling into bed together. Most nights, he wouldn't be one to question the origin of her desire. But tonight, after everything that had happened with Stalyan, and after what Charles had said to him at the party, Eugene feels an unignorable unease from the uneasy look in her eyes.
As though she were a heartbroken zombie, or perhaps a ghost haunting her lover, Rapunzel shuffles eerily to the bed. She sinks onto its soft edge, joining him there. She stares at the hardwood floor for a long moment, as though she were trying to find something there – as though she were trying to grasp onto something that's standing just in front of her, yet is not quite reachable. Eugene watches her closely, not saying anything, simply observing her unreadable demeanor.
Then, her little shoulders quake, and she releases a single, strangled sob, quickly followed by another. Eugene is immediately on his knees in front of her, as though he were worshipping her from the floorboards.
"Hey… hey, Blondie… it's okay."
His fingers rake up her body to ultimately cup her face. Rapunzel hangs her heavy head, clinging to his wrists with trembling fingers, desperate to feel his calloused hands upon her, wherever they may feel so inclined to fall.
"Can you tell me what's wrong, Sunshine?" Eugene tries to peer upward in hopes of getting a better look at her face, but she hangs her head unbearably low, unable to confront his worried expression.
"Am I…" Another twisted sob escapes her lips, and Rapunzel shakes her head pitifully, as if she can't bear to speak aloud what she's thinking – as if her tongue can't manage to carry the weight of her self-deprecating thoughts. "Am I a whore?"
The blunt question leaves her mouth so pathetically, as though she were embarrassed to speak the dirty word in any context, let alone when regarding herself. The princess feels an undeniable, burning shame in her stomach just thinking about the possibility that Charles's words hold some truth to them. But she has to know, because the truth is starting to feel a special kind of blurry tonight – somehow, even blurrier than usual.
"What?"
Rapunzel bears a pensive look on her face when the words leave her mouth – one that Eugene would normally be awestruck by, drowning in the pool of her sheer beauty. But right now, he only feels a crippling concern rising in his gut. Her eyes have become particularly fixated on the roaring fireplace behind them, so Eugene brings a gentle hand to her chin, forcing the princess to look him in the eye. She does, meeting his hard gaze, her striking green irises ringed with crystalline tears, which reflect upon her cheeks like little shards of broken glass in the golden firelight.
If Eugene believed in such things, he would swear that her tears were the broken pieces of her poor, shattered heart, finally escaping her body.
"What did you just say?" Eugene demands again, completely dumbfounded by her question. He feels that distinct kind of caught-off-guard which often happens around Rapunzel, because she's always unpredictable in that endearing, adorable way of hers.
But this isn't endearing – her unpredictability, her unquenched curiosity. Not right now. Not tonight. She knows it, and the shame in her trembling frown gives it away.
"Rapunzel… talk to me. Please."
He desperately tries to lift her face, but she won't budge, her mind drowning in a sea of humiliation, her eyes fallen to her hands in her lap.
"Because I can't stop loving you? Does that make me a –"
Eugene grabs both of her hands abruptly, enveloping them in his own, tightly intertwining her fingers with his.
"No! No. Why on earth would you think that, Rapunzel? Who said that to you?"
"Because, I…"
'Charles. Because Charles said it. That's why I'm thinking it, why I'm terrified to be that person – to be seen in that dirty, shameful way. No, don't say that. Eugene will get angry, and this night from hell just needs to end, once and for all. It won't end, not if I admit where these thoughts truly originated from.'
"Well, because I'm married, but I make love to you, instead of to my… instead of to my husband, like everyone expects of me."
Rapunzel chokes on the disdainful word – husband – as if it were a vile of poison which she's poured down her own throat. It's as though simply speaking the word, will ring in the trumpets of her death march, summoning the black parade to suck the life from her entirely.
"And I've heard the maids talking about it before, that some of the girls in the village are…'whores who can't keep their legs closed.' They're the kind of women who don't find contentment in just one man's bed. And I just thought that, maybe… well, I can't, and I don't, and –"
"You stop right there, Princess." Eugene reaches up, brushing away her tears – gently brushing away the pain, and the sorrow, and the longing, which have forever marked the last several months for the both of them.
"Don't ever, ever think that. Don't you ever think that word could even come close to describing someone as perfect as you. I don't want that to ever come out of your mouth again. Don't reduce yourself, or our love, for that matter, to that. We are in love, Rapunzel. This is an entirely different situation than anything you would've overheard. Okay?"
She has trouble looking him in the eye, bottom lip trembling, a surefire sign that she's about to fall apart again – and not in the good way.
"B-but… but maybe it's true. Maybe that's how everyone would see me, if they knew what I was doing with you. I'm sure they wouldn't want me as their queen someday, if they knew. If they knew that I can't keep my legs –"
"Rapunzel, hey. Look at me. Look right at me."
His hands are again resting on either side of her face, desperate to provide her with some much-needed reassurance.
"First of all, you are going to be a kickass queen someday, and don't you ever forget it. Secondly… what those maids were talking about… that has nothing to do with you, nothing to do with us, and it never will. If anything, you just can't keep your legs closed because I'm irresistible."
The joke completely goes over Rapunzel's head, sailing far past her miserable self, and into never-ending space. Instead, her head falls into her hands and her shoulders shake. She can't look at him, and Eugene realizes that his pathetic excuse for a joke has done nothing to console her. He feels even worse now, worse than he had when he'd asked her to run away with him earlier in this never-ending night, and when she'd subsequently said no – if feeling worse than he had in that moment, is even physically achievable.
"You were right. We should run away." Rapunzel suddenly murmurs into her hands, quiet at first, though her shoulders quickly start to shake in the most heartbreakingly anxious fashion. "We can't stay. We can't stay here, Eugene, I can't stay here. I can't do this anymore! I can't be queen, not after I've –"
"Rapunzel –"
Her chest is heaving rapidly, miserably trying to keep up with her deep-hearted sobs, the weight of her four-month bout of pain finally crashing upon her tiny frame, once and for all. The spirited princess has tried her very best to keep it all in, tried her best to tie herself together with a smile – but no more. Not after this night. Holding it together, is nothing more than an abandoned afterthought now.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Eugene. I should've gone with you a long time ago. I never should've come here."
The hysterical princess hangs her head deeper, allowing it to fall into his open hands, where he caresses her hair and shakes his own head, willing her apologizes to stop.
"But I can't… I can't leave! My people, they… they'll need me someday. But I feel like… I feel like I'm trapped here! And I can't breathe, and everything is falling apart around me, and I just want to be with you, and I –"
"Rapunzel, it's okay. I'm here. I'm right here, I'm not leaving you! Not ever."
Tears well in his own eyes, and Eugene hates himself – hates himself – for asking such a thing of her earlier that night – for putting the possibility of getting away from all of this, into her brain at all. For placing something so desired, just barely out of her reach. It was cruel, and selfish, and he hates himself for it.
"We're together now. That's all that matters! And we're going to figure this out together, just like we always –"
"But we're not!" Rapunzel exclaims, wracked with her own unspoken guilt. "We're not together! Not really. Not like we were. I just want things to go back to the way they were! Eugene, I can't…"
She looks to him with watery eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, and if Eugene could fix everything for her, he would. God, he would. But he can't, and he knows it. He's only one man. And although it's not really his fault, Eugene despises himself for not being able to make all of this go away for her.
Then again, it kind of is, Eugene reasons with himself. It is his fault, indirectly. All of this. Because if he hadn't been a thief, he would've been a more suitable consort for a princess and future queen. Not much more, but his chances would have been a hell of a lot higher. The council wouldn't have hated him enough to go through with the deal with Maddoline. If he hadn't been a thief, maybe the council would have reconsidered the whole thing – would have reconsidered the possibility of marriage for him and Rapunzel.
But, if he hadn't been a thief, he never would have found her in the first place. Lying and secrets are what brought them together. Where would they be then, if they never would've met at all? They wouldn't be going through this dreadful agony of being ripped apart, unable to rightfully tie themselves back together. But they would have a big, deep void in their hearts – without one another, an unnamed desire would have been left unfilled for the rest of their lives.
And somehow, a world like that, where they'd never met at all, seems a lot worse than their alternative reality.
Rapunzel sobs again, loudest of all – it's a painful, strangled sound, personifying her complete brokenness. She's angry, he can see it in her eyes. So angry. She swipes hard at her tear-stained cheeks, willing her tears to make a home somewhere else – anywhere else but her damp face.
"Ugh! I can't – I can't stop crying. I am so sick of CRYING!"
"Sweetheart, you need to breathe –"
"I can't! I can't, I can't –"
'It's too cold for her here. Too harsh, too terrible of a world. She's strong, so strong. But she deserves better than this. She deserves so much better, and I haven't done a damn thing to give that to her.'
"Come here."
Eugene stands from the floor, leaving his kneeling position between her legs, gathering her crumpled form into his arms, and sitting them together on the bed. She wraps her limbs around his front as though she were simply an extension of his body, clinging to him, her face buried in his neck. Her tears dampen the skin there, dampening his shirt, leaving wet stains on the white material. But he doesn't care. He just holds her close, murmuring into her hair, stroking it calmly, and trying his best to hold it together himself – to hold it together for her.
Because if he doesn't, who will?
"Breathe… just take a deep breath for me, Blondie."
She does, her frail figure drawing up against his chest, and deflating again after a few, shaky moments.
"Good job. Now do it again." Eugene whispers, desperate to stop the tremors wracking her tiny body.
She obeys, mimicking the action and allowing the low murmur of his voice to soothe her. Rapunzel is desperate herself – desperate to slow her heartbeat, desperate to send the tears away – desperate to force these tears to retreat back to that dark, ugly place that she tries so hard to avoid, but just couldn't tonight. She can feel Eugene's hand tangled up in the hair at the back of her head, can feel the cold stain of tears on the collar of his shirt against her cheek.
"One more for good measure, sweetheart."
Rapunzel pulls back, her legs still wrapped snuggly around his hips. She holds back the tiniest of sobs at the look on Eugene's heartbreakingly handsome, grief-stricken face. He feels this way because of her – it's her fault that he's so sad. He nods encouragingly, taking a deep breath himself, motioning for her to do the same. She does, heaving her chest, holding the air in her lungs for a long moment, just as he does.
Together, they breathe out four months of complete and utter hell.
"That's my girl."
Eugene cracks a small smile, reaching forward with both thumbs to wipe the excess tears loitering under her eyes, which have found a temporary home in her eyelashes. The tears pack themselves up, moving to the pads of his calloused fingers.
"Would you look at that. Absolutely beautiful."
Rapunzel looks away with a roll of the eyes, though she can't help but let out a little laugh, peppered with a small sniffle. The curious mixture of laugh and cry had bubbled up in her ribcage, which is still trying it's best to even her tearful gasps to the time of Eugene's steady chest.
"I'm a wreck." Eugene is just glad to have coaxed the smallest of smiles out of her, though Rapunzel adds, "And you, Eugene Fitzherbert, are full of it."
"Maybe. But you're a damn pretty wreck." He plunges a loving, gentle hand into her hair, pushing it away from her face, continuing softly, "My pretty wreck."
"I wish I was like you." Rapunzel sniffles, wiping her nose on the satin sleeve of her dress. "Always so strong."
Eugene quickly shakes his head, gently rebutting her compliment.
"See, that's where you're wrong, Blondie. I'm not the strong one here, not even close. I'm really just the looks of the operation."
The tear-stained princess giggles at that – a sad, tentative little giggle, as though she were afraid to be happy – as though any showcase of joy would cause the darkness to filter in, snatching it right back from her.
"You do have very good looks." Rapunzel admits endearingly, sniffling again. Her nose scrunches upward as she attempts to clear her sinuses of the tears and agony which have long overstayed their welcome in her body, and it's adorable.
"Well, that's all a man has, you know. His fake reputation, his good looks, his undeniably charming whit. And… if he's really lucky…"
Eugene leans forward, his mouth brushing hers – a ghost, a whisper of the pain which they both feel so inclined to dance with, as though it were the devil, coaxing them right down into hell. The tiniest of whimpers escapes her lips when his own lips touch hers. The sound is a curious mixture of sorrow, and wanting, and the deep need to be consoled after the stressful night they've had.
"A ridiculously sweet, gorgeous girl, who comes along and straightens him out."
Eugene barely gets the words out, his voice raspy and hushed, as though he were sharing a secret with her, before her lips are upon his, coaxing his tongue from his mouth. Though he wants nothing more than to kiss her sadness away, Eugene pulls back a little too soon, looking her in the eyes unwaveringly. He concentrates on swallowing his lust down, never wanting to take advantage.
"Rapunzel… are you sure? We don't have to, not after the night we've –"
"I'm sure. I want you. I need you, especially after the night that we've had." Her small hands cup his jaw, and she's never looked as beautiful as she does now – dress pooled around her waist, legs wrapped around his torso as the firelight dances upon her face. "I've never needed you as much as I do right now."
Rapunzel leans down to kiss him again, enveloping Eugene in her desire, sucking him down with her to that toxic level of need. Her arms, her legs, the soft flesh where her neck meets the gentle curve of her shoulder, the warmth growing between her thighs — they all beckon him in, begging him to comfort her in the only way that he really feels capable of right now – mostly because Eugene doesn't feel that he would be able to find the right words to comfort her if he tried. Their situation feels too big, too unfixable, to even attempt to explain their pain away. And even if he did try, the words would likely fall dead on his tongue, sucked dry by the sheer urgency of desperately needing that comfort from her right back.
Eugene moves them up the bed, laying Rapunzel down in the pillows, hovering over her before she pulls him down to continue their kiss. She whimpers into his mouth, and he pulls off her dress, ripping at her corset like it's the only thing in the world that's keeping them apart – if only it was. Reaching down to unbutton his pants, Rapunzel finds a small dagger strapped to Eugene's belt. Curiously pulling it out, she dangles it in the air between them.
"Eugene..." She peers up at him, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively. "Why do you have this?"
Eugene wordlessly takes the dagger from her hands, and she watches in shock from below as he effectively sinks the blade into the wooden headboard above them. Rapunzel won't admit that the aggressive action effectively makes the warmth between her legs grow even stronger.
"Why not?" He asks simply, looking her in the eyes, his face stoic and unchanging.
Rapunzel hastily looks up to the headboard, where the dagger is now protruding harshly from, her mouth hanging open in surprise. Looking back to him, the princess gives Eugene a hard look, unsatisfied with his vague answer.
"Eugene! That's probably expensive!"
He only shrugs, the lust burning in his eyes. He obviously doesn't want to be having this conversation right now.
Or any conversation, for that matter.
"A guy's gotta protect himself somehow."
"Oh, really?"
Rapunzel leans forward, pressing her freshly naked body to his — a look of lust in her own eyes – only because she can't help it. Though, her eyes are filled with genuine concern, as well. Eugene can't miss it, always acutely in tune with her emotions.
"You're just starting to carry a dagger now, out of nowhere? You haven't done that since we first moved into the castle."
From the tone of her voice, Eugene knows that Rapunzel's hands would be sassily perched on her hips if she weren't lying in bed beneath him. She'd failed to notice that he'd taken the dagger with him from his room earlier, before he'd escorted her back to her bedroom – when he'd naively thought that she would actually stay put there for the remainder of the night. He hadn't wanted her to know, because that would mean telling Rapunzel about what Charles had said at the party, and there's no use in worrying her any more than she already is.
Eugene simply shrugs again, cupping her face with the intention of continuing to kiss her. She lets him, deciding that picking her battles will be a worthwhile skill tonight.
The princess is upset, beaten down by the emotional toil of not only this one, twisted night, but of the last several months. She's been crying, and the last thing Eugene would ever want to do, is take advantage of his love in such a vulnerable state. But then again, Eugene isn't doing this, isn't giving in to her, only because he wants something from her – that's never been what this is. He's not giving in because she's a simple means to a pleasurable end, as so many girls before her.
He's giving in, because he loves her so pathetically, and because he's in his own state of teetering dangerously on the edge of fragility. They've had a horrible, horrible night – a horrible few months. Now, their worst fears are staring them down, harder than ever before, in the form of a bitterly jealous prince and an ex-flame who doesn't know when it's time to let the fire burn out.
And maybe that's why they need this from one another so badly in the first place.
If the only way to survive this guilt, this shame, this sorrow and raging jealousy, is to fuck it out of each other, that's exactly what they're going to do. If they have to live in a motel of delusion and overstay their welcome, they will. They will, and they'll enjoy it, for as long as reality will take pity on them.
Because maybe, if they believe it hard enough, they can still have a future together. And maybe, if they love one another hard enough, all of this will go away. Even if making it all 'go away,' can only consist of one, fire-lit night of purely blissful delusion — a dangerous, rose-colored delusion that they just can't seem to stop craving. And maybe, if they play with fire long enough, they will get burned, and this will all finally be over.
Maybe if he breathes her in deep enough, her scent will linger on his sheets for more than an hour. Maybe if he kisses her with enough passion, her taste will remain in his mouth long after the morning, when she will inevitably have to leave – when they will have to return to reality. Reality: where making love, and whispered 'I love you's,' and panted profanities, aren't enough to save them from the despair of their star-crossed situation.
But they will have this one night. Tonight, there will be no room in this bed for guilt. There will only be room for denial, and the kind of love that you can't find twice in one lifetime. Tonight, she won't frantically sneak back to her bedroom before the sun breaks above the horizon, counting her bare footsteps against the cold marble floor, praying that her husband won't notice her sneaking back into bed in the fading darkness.
For this one night, they will love one another recklessly, panting each other's names with the fervor of two, love-addicted teenagers. He will be a teenager again, all trembling hands and sloppy kisses, touching her with the kind of lustful haste that wordlessly says, 'I will never get enough of you.' When they're done, she will tuck herself into his side, and stay there until they awaken, whenever their eyes decide they can't keep themselves from looking at one another any longer. For one night, he will know that she is safe, right here in his arms. For one night, he will protect her from everything: from the crippling sorrow, the gut-wrenching guilt, and the injustice of their circumstance.
Her eyes roll back, and she forgets about everything except for the warm softness of his tongue between her legs. She forgets about her crown, which presses a heavy weight upon her — the weight of duty, of responsibility, of lifelong commitment to her kingdom. She forgets about the expensive diamond ring sitting in her bedside table, left untouched. She forgets about the robotic breakfast conversation, the empty looks – looks devoid of passion. She forgets about the awkward brushes of a hand, the sorry attempts to appear happily married. She forgets about the unexpected declarations of love from an envious prince. Because she doesn't need his words, doesn't need him to worship her unsteady ground.
Not when she already has Eugene for that. Not when he worships her enough for both men combined.
He goes down on her, because if he does, he won't have to see the sadness soaking up the vibrancy of her green eyes like a plague with no true cure. He won't have to think about how horribly he's let her down, won't have to think about all of the ways that he's failed her in the last four months. He won't have to think about his lack of title, his lack of ability to be what this kingdom would need him to be, if they had been allowed to marry. He won't have to think about the fact that, deep down, he's still nothing more than a lonely, little orphan, clinging to the one thing that he truly cares about with everything he's got. Except now, the one thing that he's clinging to, isn't the possibility of a better life. It's a girl – a girl who gave him a better life – a girl that he can't let go of.
Because he's selfish, and letting her go is a grand act of selflessness that he just can't seem to muster the courage for.
Dying for her? Easy. Done. That's just about as selfless as it gets, and he'd do it again if he had to, without question. Reverting back to that scared orphan, taking on his real identity after abandoning it guiltlessly for years? That was a cakewalk. Leaving behind the only life he'd ever known – a life of adventure, of fast-paced crime – a life of freedom? Completely fine. Letting go of her, even if it means that her life wouldn't have to be so complicated? Impossible. Unimaginable.
Not happening.
Remaining here with her, overstaying his welcome in the palace until someone kicks him out? Not up for debate – not even between the little angel and devil perched upon his shoulders, which so often argue back and forth from their respective spots. In order to leave her, he would have to be a man who is unwaveringly strong, a man who is secure in the possibility of knowing a life without her – and he is certainly not that man. As pathetic as it makes him, Eugene doesn't know who he would be anymore without her, and he doesn't want to find out.
So instead, he expertly dips his head to meet that aching spot between her legs, anchors her trembling thigh with a steady hand, reaching up to rest the other upon her chest. He feels her rapid heartbeat there, proof that she's still alive and well — at least, well enough to want him, yet doing badly enough to desperately need this special kind of comfort. It's the kind of comfort that drags you down into a numbing delusion, if only for a little while, before shoving you headfirst back into reality.
He feels her chest hollow out when she moans his name, and he forgets all about the worrisome threats from a man who can give her a lot more than he can. Instead, he recalls happier times: golden dresses, and chasing her through the courtyard, and watching her face light up brighter than sunshine as the lanterns rise in the sky. And things will be different now, but they will be okay, if he can just focus on nothing more than pleasuring her for this one, uninterrupted night.
When neither of them can wait any longer, he slides seamlessly inside of her. They moan together, the friction that they've yearned for since seeing one another in the ballroom earlier that night, melting away the tension that has built between then and now. His head falls pathetically against her shoulder, as he's nearly paralyzed by the feeling of her warmth around him. It's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last time that he feels this way with her. But somehow, it's never felt as good as it does right now. It's as though every layer of guilt and shame have been stripped away completely, revealing a different kind of satisfaction that neither of them have felt before. Impatiently, she rocks her hips into his, and he's convinced that he might actually break down and cry from the pleasure, because she's just so perfect.
And it hurts. God, it hurts, somehow even more than it had the first time they'd ever made love. Now, there is a distinct weight, a heavy weight – a weight which follows the both of them around whenever they're apart. There is a consequence to be considered, a burden in which they had not fully understood before tonight. Because before, the first time they'd done this, they were not so blindly addicted to this feeling, Charles had not admitted his love to Rapunzel, and the notion of running away had not yet been set before them on the table, teasing their deepest desires. And now that it's all sitting here in front of them, so tangible and unavoidable, it hurts worse than ever before — hurts in that mind-numbing way that just feels so damn good.
Tonight, they won't have to be the sorrowful masters of spinning tales – tales about where they really disappear off to so often. They won't count their secrets, wracked with worry as they wonder how long it will take before those secrets inevitably come to the light. They won't yearn to be in one another's embrace all night long, falling in and out of an uneasy slumber which will leave them unsatisfied and groggy in the morning, their arms left empty and restless. Their hearts and bodies won't be bound together by lies and deception, in the same way their journey together had first started — with secrets.
Tonight, they will simply be tangled up together, flesh attached to yielding flesh, because they are just too in love to be anything else.
"Do you love him?"
Eugene already knows the answer to this deeply charged question, but he needs to hear it anyway – needs her denial to seep into his bones, needs to taste that denial in his mouth, so that he won't have to question it later. So that he won't have to fall into a deep pit of 'what ifs' when he's alone, when he has to go too many days without seeing her to remain completely in his right mind.
"No. I never will." Rapunzel pants between the angry words, sure and defiant, leaving tantalizing kisses down his jaw and neck. "I'll never... I'll never love a-anyone but you…"
She moans against his lips when she finally finds them again, her mouth falling open sooner than she can properly kiss him. Her eyes flutter shut as he hits just the right spot within her, returning to that deep place again and again.
"Oh… fuck. Eugene..."
Her whispered, profane language, intertwined with her heated, rebellious refusal to ever love Charles, sends a pang of lust through Eugene which is so strong, that he couldn't ignore it if he tried. Because he'd taught her that – he'd taught her how to use that word, he'd taught her to satisfy the needs deep within herself. So, to satisfy his own need, in that twisted way of his that can only get off if she does, he reaches down as he continues to pound deep within her, gently rubbing that bundle of nerves between her legs.
She screams when she comes, and he hastily moves a hand to her mouth, pushing her body down into the mattress, muffling her release as she tightens and relaxes over and over again. He kisses her everywhere as she restricts around him – her neck, her shoulders, her cheeks. Though the need to scream soon passes, and though Eugene tentatively retracts his hand, she continues to moan pitifully into his neck, the hard release too much for her to handle gracefully. He tumbles headfirst down the cliff just after her, his hands cradling her head, his body sheltering her from everything the world may use to snuff out her light.
"Tell me you don't love him." He demands in a head-spinning rush, desperate to get his answer before the dizzying moment passes all too soon.
"Eugene, you already know –" She whimpers, completely taken by the orgasm which threatens to rip her right apart.
"Tell me. Please, Blondie, I need to hear it. Tell me." He begs, looking down at her with eyes which are so tired, so defeated, so overcome with love and lust that she simply can't deny him of the truth.
"I don't love him. I'll never love him."
Eugene leans forward, capturing her lips once more, riding out the seemingly endless waves of their climax together, soaking up that truth like it's the only thing that will keep them afloat in this storm.
And maybe it is.
When it's over, Rapunzel doesn't feel guilty, as she often does after the fact. She doesn't hurry to find her corset, doesn't hurry to slip into her underwear, hastily kissing him goodbye, only to return to the harsh reality on the other side of his door. She doesn't feel like a disgrace to her parents, or like the worst possible candidate for future queen. Rather, she feels alive – more alive than she has in four months – her legs still shaking from the weight of that deep-seated shame being lifted, once and for all.
Once they've caught their breath, Eugene slowly slides out of her, though he doesn't roll off of her body. He simply shifts his weight so that his head is resting on her chest, his own chest still heaving slightly, his body positioned limply between her trembling legs.
"Thank you." He whispers against her skin, eyes fluttering shut in the peaceful lull of coming down from that familiar, mind-numbing high – though, it has never felt as good as it does tonight. "I love you."
"Thank you. I love you, too." The worn princess responds in kind, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, before adjusting her body beneath him to ultimately leave the bed. "But I should probably get back to –"
His face still buried against her skin, Eugene shakes his head, a hand shooting up to grab hold of her arm, as if to keep her from moving – from leaving in the way that she always has to on nights like this, too soon for either of their hearts to truly bear.
"Uh-uh. You're staying right here with me, Princess."
Rapunzel straightens her back against the headboard in surprise, eyeing the dagger which still protrudes from the wood, reaching out to absently finger its smooth handle.
"Are you sure? I mean, earlier you said that it probably wouldn't be a good idea toni –"
Eugene raises his head, a look on his face which tells Rapunzel that, just like her, he's too tired to wrap his own lies up in pretty little bows tonight.
"I know what I said, Sunshine. But I'll sleep like shit if you're not safe next to me. And frankly, after tonight, I could use a good night's sleep." He leans up on his elbows to kiss her bare shoulder before rolling out of bed, adding, "Besides, your parents are deep in the countryside, so they'll never know. And Charles, well… he can fuck himself."
And maybe Eugene is also too tired to care much about consequences.
Rapunzel has never stayed completely overnight in Eugene's room before. Typically, she's sneaking from his bed and back into her own bedroom just before dawn, when the world is still dark, the castle still eerily quiet. Even before Charles arrived, when Rapunzel would sneak into Eugene's bed, she was always back into her own bed before her chambermaids arrived to her room to wake her. She knows that staying with Eugene through the night and into the morning, probably isn't an incredibly smart idea.
Regardless of right and wrong, Charles's harsh words replay in the princess's mind like nails on a chalkboard. Suddenly, a small part of her actually hopes that Charles will find them together – hopes that the prince will come to terms with the reason for her constant disappearances. That way, all of the hiding, all of the secrets, all of the long days spent yearning for a life that Rapunzel will never be able to have, a life with Eugene… it could all just be over. She doesn't know what will happen if they do get caught. But frankly, it can't be much worse than being forced to live in the agonizing way that they have been.
Eugene turns back to the contemplative princess, wondering why she's not following close behind him, as she usually does. He's still so used to the pattering of her little, bare footsteps behind him, as he'd became so accustomed to the sound after a year of hide and seek, tag, and general troublemaking around the castle.
"Comin,' sweetheart? Let's take a shower."
Taking the hint that he won't be taking any negotiations tonight, Rapunzel pushes away the sheets and follows Eugene into the bathroom, joining him under the inviting spray.
"You look pretty right now." Eugene comments softly, soaking in her post-love-making glow – a glow which he normally doesn't have much time to genuinely bask in.
Rapunzel giggles, closing her eyes and running her hands over her cheeks, letting the warm water wet her hair.
"Mmm. I probably still have tear tracks all over my face. Very attractive."
"You always are, to me." Eugene shrugs indifferently. Her sadness, though painful for him, makes her no less beautiful. He adds, in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You know, if I remember correctly, the last time you were in here with me, you gave me head."
He's teasing, Rapunzel knows, though he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he runs a bar of soap up and down her arms gently. Chuckling, she places a hand to her hip, looking at Eugene with the air of a girl who knows exactly how to drive him crazy.
And she does. Often.
"Ohhh… was that here? I'm not quite sure if I can recall…"
"Uh huh."
Eugene grabs for her hips, guiding her gently to the shower wall, where their sins should effectively be washed away, but won't be.
"You, you little tease, went down on me while your father, the king, was standing right there in the doorway."
He proceeds to lift her feet from the ground, pressing her back against the stone wall, wrapping her legs around his torso, bringing their faces unbearably close.
"Ringing any bells yet, Princess?"
"Maybe you'll just have to remind me."
Under the warmth of the water, they'll comfort one another once more, properly dealing with any last remnants of despair which are a direct result of this night from hell – these four months from hell – remnants they hadn't been able to discard in bed. That night, the both of them sleep like the dead, far better than either of them have slept since Charles's arrival. In the morning, she'll slip into his button-down shirt. They'll lie together on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one another's arms, watching the sun rise above the kingdom from the window, painting the sky every hue of orange.
And for just one moment, everything will be as it should.
AN: Hey, guys. I'm going to be super honest for a minute. I'm not saying this for pity-seeking purposes, only because it's what's on my mind. I've been feeling really insecure for the last week or so, worrying that this story isn't interesting, engaging, or even well-written. It's probably just the little perfectionist in me tumbling around, making herself at home, although I wish that I could more easily evict her most of the time (sadly, I cannot. I have tried).
Regardless, I truly hope that you guys are enjoying this fic. I've put so much time, love, and energy into it, and I'm genuinely so attached to this story and these characters. That being said, I appreciate each and every one of you for being here. It can be difficult some days to keep writing, when you're constantly wondering if you're successfully entertaining people and bringing them joy, which are just some of those natural goals you have as a writer. I hope that I'm doing at least one of the following for you: bringing you joy, keeping you interested in the story, or making your stomach flutter with little New Dream butterflies. I'm overachieving if you're experiencing all three! Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope to see you again soon with Chapter 18.