AN: Hello friends, and a Happy New Year to all of you! ivy by Taylor Swift is the main featured song which inspired this chapter, because it just fits so strangely well with this story. I love when that happens. It's almost as though the song was made for this plotline, and it's incredibly satisfying. The song perfectly captures the urgency of a forbidden love. I was especially inspired by the line, 'He wants what's only yours.' This line rings very true for New Dream, in which our dear Prince Charles is seeking the attention of a woman who already – eternally – belongs to someone else.
This chapter includes quite a bit of dialogue – more than I would personally prefer, typically. I very much enjoy actually being in the heads of characters, rather than engaging them in a lot of dialogue. Regardless, the conversations taking place in this chapter felt necessary to the storyline, and I hope this rings true. This is another long chapter – if the chapters are becoming too long and difficult to remain engaged with, please let me know. It simply felt appropriate to keep the events of this chapter together.
Lastly, I want to send out a quick warning: things are about to get very, very difficult for New Dream. I mean, sobbing, gut-wrenching, heartbreakingly difficult. But I'm playing the long game, so please – I'm begging you – in the upcoming chapters, just trust me. And, most importantly, enjoy.
Chapter 18: Why Keep a Gold Bracelet, When You Could Have a Crown?
What would he do if he found us out?
Crescent moon, coast is clear; spring breaks loose, but so does fear
He's gonna burn this house to the ground
How's one to know, I'd live and die for moments that we stole?
On begged and borrowed time
So tell me to run, or dare to sit and watch what we'll become
And drink my husband's wine…
It's just a bracelet. A lack-luster, gold-plated bracelet, dulled in its age. The piece is thin and fitted, ideally made for the wrist of a slender woman. She runs a finger along the cold metal, and shivers in the wake of the endless stream of memories in which it emulates. It's not the most expensive thing that he'd ever stolen, but definitely not the least valuable, either.
She turns the bracelet over in her palm, a wave of reminiscent nostalgia washing over her. She recalls the successful heists, the heart-pumping getaways, and the heated, alcohol-rimmed sex in a seedy inn after the job was done. She remembers the smell of him in her sheets, and the smell of him on her clothes. For the first few months of their relationship, she would douse herself in her strongest perfume, hoping that her father wouldn't smell him on her. They were young, living with reckless abandon, driven by the passion of teenage love. They had been in love.
He'd loved her at one time, right? It couldn't all be a lie, a rouse – she wasn't a simple means to a lustful end, as her father had often biasedly suggested. Flynn hadn't only used her to benefit from her father's connections. He hadn't used her for the jobs, for the money. What they'd had then, was real.
Wasn't it?
It's been so long since Stalyan has felt his kiss, so long since his hands have willingly traveled upon the expanse of her yielding body. It's not that she's gone without during their time apart – it's just that no other man has ever made her feel the way that he once did. And now, another woman is reaping the benefits of the person that she'd shaped him to be. And Stalyan knows – she knows – if she could just kiss him one more time, he would taste like bad decisions, and regret, and unmarked desire which has gone unsatisfied for far too long.
Or, likely, he would just taste like the princess.
This gold, memory-induced bracelet is the very reason that they'd met. She'd watched him steal it from a vendor in the crowded streets of Vardaros, slinking confidently away with the darting eyes and poker face of a well-seasoned thief. Even then, even at fifteen – still grieving the years of his youth that he'd lost in an unforgiving orphanage – he had been handsome as hell, charming, and witty to boot. That day, they'd fallen headfirst into the easy banter that would set the tone of their decade-long relationship – the same playful banter which, over the years, would devolve into explosive fights and malleable trust issues.
Stalyan wonders if they ever fully, mutually trusted one another. She doesn't think so. After all, their relationship had been built upon lies, and manipulation, and taking the things that didn't belong to them in hopes of appeasing the empty feeling in their hearts – things like this bracelet. And she would do anything, anything, so that things could go back to the way they once were, when they were (quite literally), partners in crime – before the engagement, before he'd left her at the altar. Before he would ever have a chance to find the princess in that stupid tower of hers. She would change, for him, and he for her. Their relationship would not be defined by alcohol-induced arguments, or flirtations with another man to make him jealous, or the foul smell of infidelity consistently lingering in the air between them.
But there is no time for that now. There is no time for changing, no time for declarations of unrequited love – no time for the deadly, reminiscent emotion creeping into her mouth like a bad taste, threatening to spill from her lips in a series of heartbroken sobs. Now, she is nothing more than a gold bracelet in his eyes: once valuable, but not uncommon – now, misplaced and forgotten. Easy to let go of, easy to trade for something far better.
And if she is a bracelet, the princess is a crown.
Stalyan swings her feet over the stone ledge of the single window in the same south-wing tower which she often retreats to in her free moments. She ponders the events of the previous night – namely, the tussle she'd gotten into with the princess. Last night, Stalyan had gone through half a bottle of hard liquor, holed up in her bedroom as a rambunctious party raged on in the grand ballroom – a party thrown in honor of the princess. Stalyan, though typically able to hold her liquor considerably well, had begun to feel a bit dizzy (not to mention, a bit self-loathing, though she would never admit to such a thing).
In the wake of fuzzy vision and a head which felt as though it were swimming fifty feet underwater, Stalyan had decided to take a deplorably lonely walk around the castle. She'd felt desperate to escape the suffocating walls of her tiny bedroom, which had seemed to be all but caving in around her. When she'd run into the princess walking there alone in the hallway with her own pitiful, self-deprecating expression etched across her juvenile face, Stalyan simply couldn't help herself. In her slightly blurred vision and unchecked jealousy, nothing could've been more satisfying than ruffling the princess's perfectly-laid feathers.
What Stalyan had said to the princess, is true: she does miss the taste of Flynn, in a way that she's never missed a man before. The last time she'd tasted his lips upon hers, was the night before their wedding day. His mouth had tasted like alcohol and apprehension, and she'd brushed off the tentative look in his eyes as pre-wedding jitters. But the next day, standing there in a white dress, Stalyan would find that he was missing. The officiant would announce that, under 'unforeseen circumstances,' the groom would not be attending the ceremony today. As if that weren't bad enough, he would remain missing for the day after that, and the day after that, and so on. Stalyan wouldn't see Flynn again until just recently, living easy in the castle that he'd always wanted, with a too-young-for-him princess who would be laced deep into his heart – so deep, that Stalyan knows she alone will never be enough to cut the two of them loose.
There is a second truth in which Stalyan had spoken to the princess last night: the princess is a first-class coward, as the Baron's daughter had so bluntly suggested in her slightly intoxicated, self-loathing stupor. To Stalyan's surprise, the princess had actually fought back a little. She'd fought back – that is, until Flynn had shown up, and fought her battle for her. Though, Stalyan supposes, if it had ever been an option, she would've let Flynn fight her battles for her, too. But it never was, and he never did. Flynn had been incredibly advanced at fighting with Stalyan, but not particularly skilled at fighting for her.
There was something very haunting about the harsh words in which Flynn had left her to wallow in: 'If you ever lay so much as a finger on her again, I swear... no, I promise… I will personally come after you. And I can guarantee that you won't fucking like it.'
Flynn had never threatened Stalyan before, despite their hazardous history together. Sure, they'd knowingly engaged themselves in some pretty volatile arguments at the toxic height of their relationship. But he'd never once laid a hand on her, or even attempted to. Flynn was an untrustworthy, selfish, egotistical son-of-a-bitch, but one thing he never was, is abusive. He would lose his cool sometimes, but only when provoked, and his unusual bouts of genuine anger typically wouldn't last for very long. Regardless, the two of them had gotten into it with one another plenty of times – enough times for Flynn to hurt her, if he'd wanted to. Last night wasn't the first time that they'd been up in each other's faces, begging for their raw emotions to splatter across the walls in the most devastating scene.
But it was the first time that Flynn has ever threatened her. And with the dripping candlewax of the chandeliers flickering above them, and the princess tucked against his chest, accepting the protection which she does not deserve… it was almost laughable. It was almost laughable, because Flynn had gotten everything they'd ever talked about having together – now, he has it with her. It was almost laughable, because Stalyan couldn't help but come to the pitiful conclusion that Flynn had never, not even once, dared to threaten another person on her behalf – and it wasn't because he hadn't had plenty of opportunities to do so, because he had. They'd gotten themselves into enough sticky situations for him to defend her honor a thousand times over, if he'd really wanted to.
And maybe, Stalyan realizes, that's the difference between her and the princess – the princess, in Flynn's eyes, is worth protecting – and she is not. This notion leaves a bitter flavor in Stalyan's mouth which she will have to swallow down, no matter how bad the aftertaste on her tongue.
She's just not sure how to.
The pressing problem is – regardless of the raging jealousy and insecure comparison blowing through her body like the unforgiving winds of a hurricane – Stalyan finally coming to the realization that Flynn truly does love the princess, does not make Stalyan love him any less, or really even want to leave the castle any more. There is a twisted part of her, in which knowing that he really is in love with someone else, only makes Stalyan want Flynn more. Perhaps, this is because Stalyan has a clinical problem with not being able to turn away from a presented competition, regardless of how detrimental the battle may be for both parties.
But, Stalyan knows now, this isn't a game to him. This is not a competition – to him, there is no true comparison to be made. In a room full of every woman that Flynn has ever been with, the events of last night have made one thing very clear – he would run to Rapunzel immediately, and bury himself so far into her, that every other woman would simply cease to exist. There is something so clear now, a message so palpable: he would kill for the princess. Stalyan could see it in his eyes, could see it in the way that he pulled the princess flush to his body at the height of danger. This isn't a grand, well-planned scheme, devised to steal something of ever-present value from the royal family.
No – this is an issue of pathetic, true, make-you-feel-like-you're-losing-your-mind – love. And Flynn, if last night's events have made anything clear, is neck deep in it.
And Stalyan, neck deep in consideration as she sits on the window ledge, dangling her feet against the stone castle wall, has found herself at a dangerous crossroads – two paths staring back at her, beckoning her into the deep, dark forest. Stalyan had once thought her love with Flynn to be evergreen. But it had turned out to be a wicked, decaying hoax, unable to survive the harsh winter. And maybe, that's why they aren't married today as they should've been, and why Flynn has fallen in love with another woman – their love was never truly meant to endure the odds stacked against them. But his love for the princess is, if their little affair has proven anything.
This thought causes Stalyan's stomach to drop to her feet, because she'd always thought herself to be 'the one.' Flynn was her fated romance, and Stalyan his – his star-crossed, epic love story – a love which would always find its way back, regardless of the time which has passed. Now, the princess has placed this title of 'the one' upon her own shoulders – much like the crown on her head, which she has done virtually nothing to deserve.
So, which path will Stalyan choose? She could lay her relationship with Flynn to rest, could simply end this chapter of her life without putting up too much of a fuss. After all, their story has drawn out of them more badly written epilogues than either party can properly recall. Perhaps it's time that they close this book, once and for all.
Stalyan could let Flynn and the princess carry on with their badly hidden affair, their little sex-induced escapade. She could allow them to keep playing Charles like a sorry violin, could leave the three of them to deal with the aftermath of the inevitable, adulterous explosion for themselves. She could keep everything that she knows to herself, and finally move on. After all, moving on from him, is something that Stalyan should have done for herself a long time ago.
And she could do it, if she really wanted to. She's a strong, independent woman – strong enough to finally let him go. She's seen him one last time, has received the bluntly-spoken closure which she's secretly always wanted. Stalyan could walk away right now, with minimal involvement, and minimal damage to her own heart.
She could. She should. But then again, Stalyan has never been one to take the boring, easy way out of any situation. No – if her father has taught her anything, it's that you always leave people with a memory of you which cannot be forgotten. And sometimes, the only way to effectively do that, is through the spirit of fear.
Stalyan could move on. She could give Flynn something that she never could have given him directly: a chance at his happily ever after – happily ever after, with the princess. Or – and this is the more interesting path – Stalyan could use the information that she knows to her advantage, and she could feed the princess a taste of her own medicine.
And Charles… well, Charles has his own motives, his own plans, his own desires. Jealousy-inspired plans which Stalyan, frankly, doesn't want anything to do with – mostly because Charles appears to be hanging by a thread which reads: 'potentially unhinged.' Then again, the poor guy hasn't gotten laid in months, so his unhinged behavior is understandable. Perhaps Stalyan could help him in moving his plans along just a little faster than expected – even if those plans are typically beyond the purview of her moral compass.
Not that Stalyan has much of a moral compass, anyway.
'This will destroy him. If I do this, Flynn will hate me. Well, he already hates me. What more do I have to lose, really? And if I can't have him, if I have to live in hell… I'm bringing the princess right down with me.'
After all, Stalyan had played a significant role in shaping who Flynn Rider is – in helping him to become one of the most notorious thieves in the Seven Kingdoms. If Stalyan had never met him, he never would have had the thieving success in which he still proclaims to this day. If it weren't for Stalyan, for her introducing him to her father, Flynn's name wouldn't be nearly as internationally recognizable as it is.
And what has he done to repay her? Leave her at the altar and fall in love with a teenage princess who has a naivety complex, and enough childhood trauma and emotional baggage to suffice for ten women. But, Stalyan supposes, if she had the king and queen of Corona on her side – pardoning each of her most detestable crimes – and ballrooms to dance in, and expensive clothes to wear, and the potential of a crown being placed upon her head one day… she would choose the princess, too.
Echoing footsteps drag Stalyan from the evergreen forest of her self-sabotaging thoughts, and she realizes that there is no remaining time to reminisce, no time to contemplate. Now, Stalyan must decide which path she will take: the right one, or the interesting one.
Revenge has always tasted particularly good on the tongue of the Baron's daughter, if she has inherited any certain traits from her father – much better than 'doing the right thing.' Stalyan, she reasons with herself, has no moral obligation to the princess, no obligation to protect her from Charles's deepest desires and jealousy-induced plotting. She is not the princess's keeper, and if Flynn wants to keep her, he's going to have to sleep in the bed that he's made.
In the early morning sunlight, Charles appears at the top of the spiral staircase which leads to the highest point of the tucked-away tower. His eyes are downcast, rimmed with the lasting effects of a head-pounding hangover. Regal clothes are not pressed as usual, steamed to stark perfection. Actually, they're a bit rumpled, as if he'd slept in them.
"You look like shit." Stalyan murmurs bluntly, staring at the prince in surprise – staring at his deep-set eye bags, his tousled hair – all of which are very unlike his typically well-groomed, tidy self.
"I got your note." Charles rubs at his face and sits beside her on the ledge, and Stalyan notes the tense slope of his shoulders. "This better be important. I have a very busy schedule this morning, and I don't really have time for pointless chit-chat –"
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I see. What? Didn't get your beauty sleep, your Highness?"
The prince looks to Stalyan with an aggravated scowl, his mouth pressed into a hard frown.
"I didn't sleep last night. Meaning, I'm very much not in the mood for your snarky attitude today, thank you. What's so important that it required me to climb all the way up here? Again."
"We need to talk." Stalyan sighs, her own shoulders tensing when she realizes that she cannot avoid this any longer.
Path number two, it is.
"There's something about the princess that you should know."
Charles turns his nose up in the air at that, recalling the previous night's disastrous events for himself. He doesn't remember the entirety of the conversation which he'd had with Rapunzel in their bedroom after the party that he'd pointlessly thrown for her. But he does remember calling the princess a particularly harsh word, and he can clearly recall the way that she'd stormed out of the room, and hadn't returned to their bed at all that night. Actually, he hasn't seen her since the argument, not even a swish of her skirts around a corner, or her petite form hunched over her easel on the balcony.
Though, Charles can make an educated guess about where she is – or, more precisely, who she's with.
But there is a hopeful, yearning part of Charles, a part of him which refuses to believe that Rapunzel would indulge in such immoral behavior, as he'd drunkenly suggested. This naïve (and perhaps, delusional), love-struck part of him – lying there alone in the cold bedsheets last night, willing the room to stop spinning – had tried to convince the rest of him that she really had spent her night alone in the library, and nothing more.
After all, Rapunzel has every right to be furious with him, after the way he'd acted. Charles knows that. But this doesn't mean that he isn't irate with her – it does mean that he detests Rapunzel's inability to stay in her own damn bed.
"I'm not so sure that I want to hear about her right now."
Stalyan turns the gold bracelet over in her hands one last time, slipping the sentimental piece of jewelry back into her pocket, before turning to the conflicted prince – who, somehow, appears even more hung over than she does.
"I think you're going to want to hear this."
After watching the sunrise in bed together, and after pulling on their crumpled day clothes (which had been thrown to the floor of his bedroom in a lust-driven carelessness the previous night), Eugene leads Rapunzel to the palace stables. He saddles Max, lifting Rapunzel to the trusty horse's back. The princess leans down to Max's well-groomed mane, placing a gentle kiss there, and he nudges her cheek lovingly back. It's been a while since they've been able to see one another.
Eugene knows that taking her from the palace grounds likely isn't his smartest idea. But, after the events of the previous night, he's feeling a bit testy – perhaps, a little too testy for his own good.
They pass a few guards on their way through the front gates, but each of them turn the other cheek, marching away as if they hadn't just seen the princess leaving the castle with a man who isn't her husband. Perhaps, Eugene reckons, he has made a few friends around here after all. At the very least, there are a few people who aren't hard-pressed to keep the princess out of his arms, in the way that it feels as though everyone else has attempted to do in the last four months.
Once they've reached the village's cobblestone streets, Rapunzel twists her head to eye Eugene with a soft smile, shifting comfortably between his legs, pressing her back to his chest.
"Where are we going?"
A knowing smile tugs at Eugene's lips, and he squeezes her hip with one hand, expertly holding the reigns in the other.
"You'll see."
After a leisure ride through the bustling kingdom, Rapunzel finally realizes their destination: a vast expanse of meadow on the very outskirts of the village, hidden by a thick tree line. Eugene had showed her this peaceful spot long ago, in the midst of their overwhelming first few weeks of living in the castle.
They'd snuck away to this meadow enough times since then to know that, if they lead one another here, it's because they've been yearning for a moment alone together – away from the hectic air of the castle, away from the prodding eyes, away from the overbearing expectations. This is a place in which they can simply breathe one another in, and lie on their backs, watching the clouds go by or the stars twinkle overhead, talking about their future together as though they had a clue of the hell that was to come.
And what future do they have now? This notion remains completely uncertain. But this doesn't stop Eugene from gently lifting Rapunzel by the hips from Max's saddle, leaving the loyal horse with a small bag of apples to graze on. Eugene clasps the princess's hand in his own, pulling her gently away from the tree line. He leads them to a single willow tree, which stands tall in the swaying grass – weeping there alone in the grand expanse of the field.
A single-person, wooden swing rocks slightly in the chilly breeze, back and forth, beckoning Rapunzel in before pulling away again. Eugene drops her hand, and she misses his touch immediately. He makes his way to the colossal tree, and Rapunzel follows (mostly because she would follow him just about anywhere). Regardless of the cool breeze, the sun is shining brightly, enveloping Rapunzel in a halo of light – it's always been as though the sun is more attracted to her, than she is attracted to it.
Rapunzel watches intently as Eugene stands behind the swing, holding it still for her. He looks to his princess with a small smile – a wordless invitation to sit down. She walks tentatively to him, her skirts pulling behind her in the soft wind, bunching them around her waist in a mass of tulle and silk as she sits down on the swing. The princess can't think of anywhere else that she would rather be, than in this never-ending meadow of nostalgia with the man that she loves.
"We haven't been here in a while." Rapunzel comments, her voice carrying a special kind of aching sadness. There is a melancholy within her which cannot quite be cured – unless there is a cure which involves Eugene getting down on one knee, and asking her to be his forever.
And it doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon. Or – more realistically – ever.
"I know." Eugene responds, gently beginning to push her in the swing. "I just... I thought that, what with the court being closed until later this afternoon, and what with your parents being away until tomorrow… I could take you away from everything, for old time's sake."
Eugene leans forward to whisper into Rapunzel's ear, recalling the sorrowful words that she'd cried into his neck last night, recalling the way that she'd so heartbreakingly sobbed, 'I just want things to go back to the way they were!'
"So things could be like they were… just for a little while."
The princess's feet rise off the ground and her hands grip the ropes wrapped around the thick branch overhead. Rapunzel feels Eugene's hands gently on her back, using her body to gain momentum from the swing, lifting her higher. After only a little while of continually rising in the air, Rapunzel is swinging so high, that she swears her bare feet could kiss the sky if she wanted them to.
A laugh bubbles up in her chest, sent to the clouds above – clouds that look close enough to touch. She looks back at Eugene, quickly falling through the air and rushing past him, before rising up, up, up again. He's laughing too, a quiet laugh, a laugh that says, 'I'm so in love with you, and I couldn't keep it off my face if I tried.'
"I'm going to jump!" Rapunzel shrieks, feeling her stomach drop as she careens back toward the ground.
For the first time in months, soaring through the air on this swing, feeling his fingers at her back, urging her higher… Rapunzel feels truly alive. She feels free, and hopeful, and devastated, and pathetically in love, all at once. And somehow, despite that lingering, dull ache in her heart, she feels like herself again.
She wants to feel everything.
"What?" Eugene yells back, and Rapunzel rushes past him again, the mass of skirts and flailing legs whipping wildly by.
"I'm going to jump!"
His eyes widen, and he reaches both hands out, as if to catch her before she even leaves the swing.
"Blondie, I really don't think that's such a good —"
But it's too late. His sorry attempts to reign her spirited nature have always fallen on dead lips, and Eugene wouldn't want it any other way. When the swing is at its highest peak of motion, Rapunzel is already soaring away from him, the rough ropes free from the white knuckles which had held them tight.
She screams, the widest of grins on her face – Rapunzel screams for her life, for her freedom, for the leftover wreckage of the last four months, and for the way that she feels when she's with him – everything that is good, and warm, and pure.
The moment of perfect freedom is over just as soon as it begins, and the soaring princess tumbles to the ground in a heap of dress and wind-milling limbs – a far cry from landing gracefully on her feet, as she'd hoped that she would. But the meadow grass, though not as vibrant as it is in the summer months, forms a blanket around the crash-landed princess, and Rapunzel feels no apparent pain as she lands in its soft cushioning. She rolls a few times before coming to a panting stop, lying on her back, breathless in the dying grass.
Just last night, Rapunzel had wondered if she was dying – dying on the inside, choked by the hands of her unforgiving circumstance. Now, she knows that she most definitely is not dying.
As long as she's with him, she is not.
She stays that way, completely still, arms flailed about beside her, palms flat on the ground, as if trying to determine if she were in a dream – trying to determine if any of this is truly real, running the grass through her fingertips for a grasp on something tangible. Rapunzel fixes her gaze upon the bright blue sky, pondering what it would be like to live upon the clouds that float effortlessly by. She wonders what it would be like to have no worries at all – to never have to worry about anything being taken from you again.
"Sunshine?" Eugene rushes from the swing as it flaps wildly in the air, recovering from the sudden takeoff, the sudden loss of weight. It swings back and forth, hauntingly empty, as though it were a lonely lover, recovering from the loss of their beloved.
Eugene crouches over the still princess, concern pulling at the corners of his lips, tugging them downward. His head blocks the glittering rays of the sun from her eyes, and Rapunzel realizes that she never wants to live another moment without the comfort of his shadowed protection. The princess appears to be in a paralyzed daze, which only deepens the worry lines etched across Eugene's face. He leans downward, running a hand through her hair, as if to snap her from her lulled state.
"Are you okay?"
She simply looks up at him, searching Eugene's handsome face for a long moment, before bursting into an adorable fit of giggles – the uncontrollable kind, which he has longed to hear falling from her lips for far too long. Rapunzel watches, amused, as his chest heaves a sigh of utter relief. Eugene hangs his head, shaking it, his bangs brushing his face like perfectly fallen dominos – though, his hair isn't enough to hide that broad, true smile of his which she loves so much.
He makes to stand, but Rapunzel reaches for his hand, briefly studying the contrast of Eugene's calloused palm against her soft one. He doesn't deserve a guardian angel, doesn't deserve such a perfect girl – a girl who quite literally saved him from the destruction, the self-sabotage, the longing for something unidentifiable – the longing for something more. He doesn't deserve her at all, not after the life that he's led. But he has her anyway.
Rapunzel's voice leaves her mouth softer than the palm of her hand, her face enveloped in the golden glow of the morning sunlight, and Eugene swears that it must be an angel talking to him.
"I think I'm the most okay that I've been in a long time."
Now, it's Eugene's turn to take a long moment to look her over, to take her in. What he's looking for, she isn't sure, but he returns to his knees in the grass, his figure hanging over hers, as if to say that he would haunt her forever if she couldn't have him anymore – and he would. She knows that he would.
Reaching down, Eugene's fingers carefully – cautiously – feel the ends of her dark hair, making their way to her cheek, caressing it as gently as a whisper. Rapunzel can feel her heart beating against her ribcage, and the entire world goes still – save for the infrequent caws of a murder of crows perched in the weeping willow, watching.
Rapunzel watches Eugene just as closely as the crows do – watches as he leans down, and touches his lips to hers. An immediate warmth pools in her stomach as Eugene's tongue quickly slips into her mouth. Like the swing gaining momentum in only a moment, their kisses shift from gentle to needy, long before Rapunzel has the chance to take a proper breath. She hears the rustling of skirts before feeling his hand against her calf, waiting for her approval, tentatively traveling to her knee before resting between her legs – the place where she truly yearns for him.
"I want you." She whimpers low and quiet, just for the two of them to hear. This isn't the first time that these crows, and this willow, and this wilting grass, have seen their desperate show of affection. "Please."
Eugene smiles knowingly, fully intending to play dumb – dipping a hand into her underwear, completely understanding the power which he holds over her in moments like this.
"You didn't have enough of me last night, Princess?"
'No. No, no, no. Never enough of you.'
Rapunzel shakes her head rapidly, reaching upward to find some purchase in his hair, preparing herself for the overwhelming feeling that's about to bombard her. But before she can feel the pure bliss of his fingers between her thighs, there's a sudden thrash in the underbrush, leaves crunched and branches cracked beneath frantic feet. The crows scatter, cawing a loud warning as they go. Eugene quickly rises, pulling Rapunzel along with him, their heads turning to see Cassandra breaking away from the tree line in a desperate run, making her way to where the young lovers stand in the middle of the open field, her equally-as-jumpy horse waiting beside a patient Max.
Rapunzel notes the way that Eugene's demeanor immediately shifts, harboring a harsh seriousness, as if what they'd just been doing were only a distant memory, slipped away between their fingertips. The breeze stops suddenly, and the long, browning grass ceases to sway, as if to promise its silence — as if promising not to tell of their secret desire, of their forbidden kisses.
A panting Cassandra finally halts to a stop before them, her ribcage heaving, her lungs burning with an uneasy energy. She rests her palms on her knees to catch her breath, hanging her head between them.
"Cass!" Rapunzel exclaims, surprised to see her dear friend here, in she and Eugene's hidden spot, so far from the palace grounds. The princess immediately wonders if something has happened to her parents on the road, or if a disaster has occurred at the castle in her selfish absence. "What's wrong? Is everything alright?"
"He knows." The winded lady-in-waiting manages to breathe out, her head still dipped between her legs, desperately willing her body to even its breathing.
"Who knows —"
"He knows." Cassandra repeats, looking up to Rapunzel with wide, concerned eyes. "And he's pissed. Like, really pissed. He's losing his mind, Raps."
Charles.
Eugene turns away from the two young women, covering his mouth for a moment before rubbing his hands over his face, the reality of the situation washing over him. This feeling which hits him like a ton of bricks, is worse than a bad hangover, worse than catching a horrible fever. He starts to pace in the grass, as if he's trying to decide what to do, his eyebrows pushed close together in a curious mixture of determination and anxiety.
A promising stream of bile threatens to rise in Rapunzel's throat, so she swallows hard. This is not the time to be sick. This is not the time to be scared, trapped-in-the-tower Rapunzel. Now, she must be Princess Rapunzel. She must face the consequence of her reckless decisions – decisions which felt so right in the delusional moment of love and lust, but so wrong in reality.
"How... how did he find out? W-who, I mean… what did he say?"
"He was too upset to really speak coherently. But Stalyan was loitering around, so I'm sure you can put those pieces together." The lady-in-waiting comments with a displeased roll of her eyes.
If she weren't such a good friend, Cass would say, 'I told you so.' After all, Cassandra, an ever-present judge of character, had procured a bad feeling about Stalyan from the moment that the malicious looking woman had stepped foot into the castle.
"Fuck." Eugene breathes into his hands, before running them through his hair distressfully.
"Eugene..." Rapunzel starts, releasing an exasperated, tense sigh.
"Fuck!" A frustrated Eugene continues to pace, his eyes focused hard on the ground. He suddenly grabs Rapunzel's arm, hastily leading her to the tree line where Max is waiting patiently for them. "Come on, Blondie."
"Eugene, what're you doing —"
"We need to settle this. Once and for all. I'm fed up with sneaking around and with pretending that any of this is okay, that any of this is normal! It's not normal. You and I, we both deserve better than this fucked up situation. I never should've let us get into it in the first place. I never should've let you be with…"
Eugene goes on, mumbling something incoherent as Rapunzel yanks her forearm from his grasp, anger slowly rising in her own body — more at their circumstance than at her love. In her escalating rage, tears begin to well in the princess's eyes.
They'd always known this day would come, eventually. Eugene had said so himself. They'd known. Their secrets could not be guarded forever, no matter how badly they wanted them to be.
Why does it hurt so much, then? Why is an undeniable, painful anxiety rising in Rapunzel's throat at the thought of finally facing the reality of their situation?
"Eugene, I can't... I can't lose you! I can't do this without you!"
"Hey. You won't. Look at me." Eugene takes her by the jaw, a determined look etched across his handsome face. "Rapunzel, look at me."
She does, though she doesn't want to.
"You are not going to lose me, Sunshine. I promise."
He tries to take her into his arms, but Rapunzel pushes him away, the pure stress of the moment boiling over, burning the inside of her body.
"It's against the rules to break a promise, Eugene! You know that! You can't promise things that you can't keep!"
Eugene sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
"Have I ever broken a promise to you before?"
"Well… no, but –"
He cuts her off, looking to her with a pleading expression.
"Look, Blondie... we need to face this. Our lies have caught up with us, alright? There's nothing more that we can do now, except for stick together in this."
Rapunzel's mind rapidly searches for a better solution, desperate to keep him from the hurt which she knows is about to overrun their lives – as if it hasn't already.
"We... we can run away! Yes, that's what we have to do, Eugene! We can go, right now! We don't even have to go back to the castle. We can run away, just like you said, and we can finally be together, and we'll —"
Eugene quickly takes her by the hands, squeezing them firmly, a pained smile gracing his lips.
"No. No, Rapunzel, that is not the right answer to our problem. This is where you belong. Right here, in this kingdom. You know it, I know it. We are adults, who decided to have an affair. Now, your husband knows about said affair. And we need to face him, like adults. Okay? We have to."
Rapunzel nods, her shoulders sagging in defeat, and she feels a single tear escape and roll down her cheek, because she just can't hold it in any longer.
"I'm just so scared. I'm scared of being without you." Rapunzel sobs, only once, allowing Eugene to take her into his arms. She presses her forehead to his chest, because she can't stand to look him in the eyes – completed terrified that today might be the last time she'll be able to.
"I know. I know you are." Eugene pulls back, cupping her cheeks softly. "But hey, I love you. No matter what happens when we get back to the castle… I will always love you, and I'm never leaving you. He's going to have to kill me before I leave you. And everything is going to be alright."
Don't say I promise, don't say I promise –
"I promise."
Dammit.
Rapunzel hastily wipes the hot, anxious tears from her eyes, squares her shoulders, and takes Eugene's hand into hers.
"Okay. I'm ready."
The determined look on her gorgeous, tear-stained face, is almost enough to make Eugene chuckle – and he would, if he wasn't about to face the asshole who has taken the only thing that he's ever truly cared about, and has continually rubbed it in his face.
But, Eugene knows – secrets cannot hide forever, and neither can they.
There is a broken, priceless vase lying on the marble floor, shattered into a thousand, tiny pieces. Charles has a second vase hanging high over his head, shaking in his furious hands, moments from being flung to the floor in his desperation to release his outrage.
Charles knows that he will probably be in big trouble for damaging the valuable goods of the royal family. But hasn't someone else already damaged the princess – the most valuable good? So, he deserves a little recklessness, too.
But then, he walks in. And she walks in with him, her tiny hand enveloped in his. And suddenly, the vase doesn't matter so much anymore, because Charles's desired target has finally arrived.
Eyes narrow and fists clench, and Charles is determined to sink his teeth into something – someone.
"You."
"Me?" Eugene raises his hands in a sarcastic defense, willing to take all the blow for this one, as long as Charles doesn't turn on Rapunzel.
As long as the prince doesn't hurt her, Eugene doesn't care what happens to him.
"You piece of shit home wrecker!"
Eugene almost laughs as Charles comes barreling across the small sitting room in which he's ultimately decided to proceed in this tantrum of his, after his particularly insightful conversation with the Baron's daughter in the hidden tower.
Almost. But Eugene holds the chuckle back, swallows it down – swallows it down in the same way that he has swallowed down the agony of the last four months, nearly choking on the feeling of being away from her, all thanks to the hysterical young prince standing before him.
"Last time I checked, Charles, you can't wreck a home that was never built in the first place."
Charles twists his face in an ugly display of pure rage, and Rapunzel wonders if it's too late to grab Eugene's hand, drag him from the castle, and never look back.
"You arrogant, good for nothing —"
"Hey! Don't talk to him like that!"
Charles turns to Rapunzel, eyes rimmed with a resentment so strong – a resentment which the princess has never seen on another person's face before. Despite herself, and despite her respectively growing anger, Rapunzel shrinks back, edging as close to Eugene as possible – wanting nothing more than to be tucked into his back pocket, safe with him forever.
"Oh, do stay out of this, Rapunzel! I will be dealing with you later, you little –"
Eugene, suddenly on the verge of losing his own cool at the hands of Charles's possessive tone, steps in front of Rapunzel, shielding her from the prince's line of vision. Because Charles doesn't deserve her – his fingers don't deserve her skin, his eyes don't deserve her beauty, his miserableness does not deserve the pureness of her heart – he doesn't deserve a single hair upon her perfect head.
Eugene reasons, he probably doesn't deserve her either. But at least he loves her. At least he would die for her.
"No. You won't. You're not going to touch her, or talk to her… or even look at her in the wrong way."
Charles lets out a hearty laugh at that.
"Really, you should be thanking me. You should be thanking me for still wanting her, after she's been..." Charles waves his hand, twisting his face into a look of disgust. "After she's been defiled by someone like you."
"You're right. Thank you." Eugene grinds, the dense sarcasm dripping from his lips. "Thank you for marrying the love of my life."
Charles grins – a wicked grin. An 'I can drive you crazy, and I'm going to enjoy doing it' kind of grin.
"And there it is."
"There it is."
The prince steps closer to the two lovers, looking each of them up and down with a loathing gaze. Charles reaches forward, lifting a finger beneath Rapunzel's chin which she swats away, burying her face into Eugene's shoulder in hopes of keeping herself from her husband – who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had called her a whore and tightly gripped her wrists in his drunken state. If only Eugene knew about that, this conversation would not be quite so domesticated.
Charles only smiles, turning back to a fuming Eugene with the ease of a calm anger – the kind of anger which threatens to explode at any moment.
"So, how does it feel to know that you have to fuck another man's wife? Can't get anyone else's attention, Fitzherbert?"
"I don't know." Eugene shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest in a furiously casual manner. "How does it feel to know that your 'wife' will always want someone else?"
He shouldn't have said it. Really, he shouldn't have.
"Ugh!"
Charles yells in his anger, throwing a punch which seamlessly connects with Eugene's mouth, as if the prince were trying to shove the provoking comment back inside.
Rapunzel screams, reaching for Eugene's hand as he staggers, but doesn't fall to the floor. Touching his split lip in shock, Eugene feels the blood beginning to pool in his mouth, inspecting the thick, red liquid on his fingers when he pulls them away.
Eugene looks up to Charles for a long moment. The prince simply stands there, clearly feeling very proud of himself. But the moment of pride is short-lived, because in no more than a moment, Eugene is surging forward to tackle Charles to the ground, pressing a well-aimed fist into the prince's gut, sucking the air from his lungs completely.
"Eugene!"
Both men struggle to stand, each trying to find their footing again, heaving forward in a flurry of angry insults and narrowly dodged punches.
"Rapunzel… get… back!" Eugene yells, swatting his hand behind him, begging her to keep herself away from the swinging fists and flailing limbs, despite her desire to step between them – to keep Eugene from getting hurt any further.
"You son…of… a bitch!" Charles screams in the midst of the struggle, throwing a punch which Eugene expertly evades. "You stole my wife, you fucking thief!"
"I don't steal shit anymore, buddy!" With that, Eugene throws a punch of his own, which connects with the edge of Charles's jaw. "I just kept what was already MINE!"
As if responding to the profanity-peppered yelling of the two men, the doors to the small sitting room burst open, and the king and queen are standing there.
Frederic and Arianna rush inside, despite the fact that they are still supposed to be deep in the countryside, celebrating their anniversary. And instead, here they are, wide-eyed and bewildered, as Eugene throws another punch at Charles's gritted teeth.
"Eugene!" Arianna exclaims, clear concern etched across her face – the genuine concern of a mother.
"Come on, son. That's enough!" King Frederic rushes forward, pulling Eugene back, wrapping his arms under the young man's armpits in attempts to pry him from the still-swinging prince.
"You're better than this!"
Eugene thrashes and pulls, trying his best to escape the king's iron grip.
"No, I'm not! You think I am, but I'm not." Eugene swipes at his bleeding lip with his sleeve, the blood a bright contrast against the stark white of his shirt. "I'm defending your daughter's honor like a champ! Now let me go! Let me at that bastard!"
Rapunzel, her heart pounding in her chest, turns to her mother, who has a particularly bemused look on her face.
"Mom! Why… why are you here? You're still supposed to be –"
"Experiencing a mother's intuition deep in the countryside and coming home a day early? And I'm glad that I did! Sweetheart, what on earth is going on here?"
Arianna motions to the broken vase on the floor, to Eugene's bleeding mouth – and Rapunzel realizes that she has absolutely no explanation – not one that won't drag her and Eugene into a deep pile of trouble that they won't be able to dig themselves out of.
"I –" Rapunzel's face falls, eyes trained upon Charles and Eugene as the two young men continue yelling back and forth. "Would you believe me if I told you that Eugene tried to steal his crown?"
"No, honey, I wouldn't believe –"
"Always need someone else fighting your battles for you, huh, Fitzherbert?"
"Oh, fuck you, buddy! I could take you any day, any time!"
"No, fuck you! You took something of mine, and you actually thought that you were going to get away with it! You thought that I wouldn't find out! And everyone says you've changed? Give me a break! You're still nothing more than a thief! Always will be!"
"She wasn't yours to take! She never WAS! You know, a diamond ring and a marriage certificate, doesn't mean shit if she doesn't want it to! You know it, I know it!" Eugene continues to thrash in Frederic's hands, his voice seething with a warranted hatred. "All of it. It doesn't. Mean. Shit."
The sitting room falls silent – an eerie quiet – save from the heavy breathing of Eugene and Charles as they recover from their sparring. Everyone here knows the bitter truth – can taste it on their tongue –including Charles: Rapunzel belongs to Eugene. She always has, and she always will. There is no ring, no marriage vows, and no legal agreement between two kingdoms, which can change that. There is no breaking their bond, there is no keeping them apart – not while they're living under the same roof – and probably, not even if they weren't.
When Charles finally breaks the silence, his voice sounds like sharp pieces of glass shattering on the floor around them – much like the vase at their feet, which he'd thrown in his bitter outrage.
"You know what doesn't mean shit, Fitzherbert? You. Because at the end of the day, I'm the one who's married to her. Whether you like it or not, I am her husband."
'Maybe that's true. But she was moaning my name while she came last night – so tell me, Charles, what really matters more here?'
That's what Eugene wants to say.
That's what he's dying to say. But he swallows the crude comment down – not because it isn't true, but because Frederic is standing directly behind him, and Eugene assumes that fucking his daughter won't particularly earn him any brownie points with the king – regardless of the close relationship which they've procured since Eugene moved into the castle over a year ago.
"That's right… you're her husband. How's that been working out for you so far?"
"Oh, you are lucky, Fitzherbert. You are lucky that the king and queen are here, or else I would kick your ass!"
"I'd like to see you try! I've spent more time in jail than you've spent tying your own damn shoes!"
This earns Eugene a pointed look from the king, but he's too pissed off to truly care.
"Please, do not say that in front of me…"
Arianna tugs at her daughter's elbow, motioning to the door of the sitting room – the sitting room which is now overflowing with testosterone, and jealousy, and just the slightest twinge of 'I will kill you in your sleep' fuming from the ears of both parties.
"Come, Rapunzel, let's go. You shouldn't have to hear this —"
"No! I'm not leaving Eugene."
"Sweetheart. Let your father handle this." Arianna looks to her daughter with pleading eyes. "Please."
"Alright." Rapunzel concedes, albeit reluctantly, allowing her mother to pull her gently from the tension-filled room.
The three men watch them go. When the door has clicked shut behind them, Frederic looks between both Eugene and Charles, his face stoic, though concerned.
"Would one of you like to tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"He stole her –"
"Oh, I stole her? You can't steal what's already yours!"
"But she's my wife –"
"Enough!" Frederic booms, waving his hands to silence the two younger men. "Enough. One at a time."
Charles steps forward with narrowed eyes, motioning to the door.
"Your daughter has been waltzing around this palace, acting positively like a…" Don't say it. Don't say it, don't say it – "Like a whore."
"What did you just say?!" Eugene exclaims, rushing the prince, Rapunzel's tear-induced question from the previous night finally making a bit more sense.
That's where she'd heard it from, really. That's why she was so worried about her reputation, about what her people would think of her. This asshole planted that horrible, horrible thought into her sweet head.
But before Eugene can get to the prince and pound some sense into him, Frederic yanks at the back of his collar, holding him back. The king is listening intently, his face almost blank as Charles continues hysterically.
"You heard me! She's been fooling around with this, this... good-for-nothing THIEF behind the back of her very own husband!"
The king sucks in a deep breath, looking between the two men, as if contemplating what to do in such a sticky situation as this.
Eugene silently wonders if his neck is about to be hanging around a noose in, say, fifteen minutes. There's probably a copy of his signed execution order still lying around somewhere. It seems as though this would be the perfect situation, in which a father as overprotective as Frederic, would exhume such things.
But the king simply pinches the bridge of his nose, turning to Eugene with a sour, defeated look.
"Eugene... follow me. Now."
"But sir! What about —"
Turning back to a furious Charles, King Frederic steps close to the young prince, his voice having turned hostile and low.
"Charles... I will deal with you later. And in the meantime, let's get one thing very clear," Frederic glowers down at the young prince, a look of detestment in his eyes which is strong enough to rival the rage of Eugene and Charles combined. "You may, by law, be my daughter's husband, but you are not a part of this family. And if you ever speak of my little girl in such an inappropriate manner again, I will not be as kind as to hold Mr. Fitzherbert back. Are we clear?"
Charles nods feverishly, his eyes grown wide as saucers. If the situation weren't so dire, Eugene would be chuckling into his hand, but he decides to bite down on his tongue instead. Regardless of his close relationship with the king and queen, he's not out of the woods here – not by a long shot.
"I said, are. We. Clear?"
"Yes, sir. I apologize, sir, I —"
"Come on, Eugene."
Frederic leads Eugene into the nearby throne room, where Rapunzel and Arianna are waiting, shutting the door behind the four of them. Eugene lingers back, leaning against the door, trying to grasp his bearings while dabbing at his still-bleeding, split lip.
"Sweetheart, what is going on? The truth."
Arianna stares at the daughter whom she loves so much – the daughter she had once lost – the daughter who had been brought back to her. It feels like she's losing Rapunzel for a second time, and this feeling terrifies the queen more than anything else ever could. Because now, Rapunzel's arms are crossed, and her eyes are glued to the floor, and she's more closed off than she's ever been, her parents standing before her with concerned looks.
"I… I can't tell you. It's between Eugene and me."
"Clearly, it's not. Clearly, Charles is involved, which means we are involved."
"I can't… I can't tell you."
The queen pulls back, trying her very best to remain patient with her daughter, who has clearly had a traumatic morning.
"Rapunzel, this… this isn't like you. It isn't like you to keep secrets from us!"
Rapunzel finally lifts her eyes from the ground, away from her bare feet, and to the faces of her anxious parents.
"This isn't like me? I haven't been myself for months, and no one has so much as bothered to notice! Not even you!"
The king steps forward, his own worry etched deep into his brow, jaw clenched – though his voice remains soft, in hopes of not upsetting his distraught daughter any further.
"Of course we've noticed, Rapunzel. You have changed, that is not hard to see! These last few months have been a big adjustment for you, we understand that. And we will love you, no matter what. But you need to tell us what's really going on. We cannot help you if you won't do that."
The young princess crosses her arms over her ribcage, looking away with a trembling bottom lip, tears pricking at her eyes, unable to meet the pleading looks on the king and queen's faces.
"If you know the truth… I don't know if you'll love me anymore."
Is there any sense in lying anymore, really? It's such a heavy weight upon her shoulders, to keep secrets like this – especially from her adoring parents, who have done nothing but love her – despite her traumas, quirks, and overly-curious tendencies. The final bone in Rapunzel's body which had once cared so desperately to keep her secrets hidden, has been broken – right along with her heart. Last night, with Eugene, Rapunzel had found herself actually wishing that someone would catch them together, so that she wouldn't have to carry this agonizing weight any longer. She knows that this train of thought is messed up. But she's tired, of all of it.
She wants off this train, even if that means jumping off before it can come to a stop.
"Rapunzel, that's simply not true! There is nothing that could make us love you any less. Nothing! But you have to tell us what's going on, sweetheart. Please."
"I did something wrong. I did something that I knew was wrong, because my heart couldn't…" Rapunzel sighs, wringing her hands together, her nervous energy palpable. "I couldn't handle… not doing it."
The princess looks to her parents with apprehension, convinced that they will disown her right here and now, when they become aware of the truth of her situation.
"Sweetheart…" Queen Arianna continues slowly, cautiously. "Are you and Eugene having an affair?"
"Yes." Rapunzel breathes the singular, liberating word.
She's finally free. Free from the lies, from the secrets, from the guilt. Though, she is not free from the paralyzing silence, which her mother does not break for a very long moment.
"Rapunzel, you cannot do that! If word of this gets out, your reputation, it will be —"
"What? It'll be ruined?" Rapunzel interjects, four months of guilt and shame replaced with a newfound rage of her own. "It'll look bad for our family?"
Her parents have no immediate response to give, and this only angers Rapunzel more, a deep pang of hurt running through her veins – a hurt so deep, that it surpasses even the pain that she'd felt when they'd first told her there was nothing they could do to stop her marriage to Charles.
"And what about me? Does anyone care about me? I have been dying inside without Eugene! He's the only thing that I know from before I came here!"
Rapunzel can feel her hands beginning to shake, the movement a token of her four-month torment. She can't stand the brokenhearted expressions in the eyes of her parents, but she can't stop. The floodgates have opened, and there is no stopping the raging waves now.
"Let's recount my history with Eugene, shall we? First, he was ripped away from me by the woman that I thought was my mother for eighteen years. Oh yeah, it was great. I got a grand show of watching him get STABBED, then die in my arms. But wait, it gets better! Because then, when I actually thought that I had him back for good this time, he was ripped away from me, AGAIN, without so much as a warning. All because of your stupid, royal rules!"
"Sweetheart –"
"I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't sign up for this life! I didn't ask to be rescued from my tower by a man that I would die to spend the rest of my life with, only to be married away to someone else! Someone who I'm not in love with. And you know what?" Rapunzel laughs, because it's actually a little funny. All of it. "I didn't even ask to be a princess!"
"Dear, we understand your pain. We do! And of course we care about you, more than anything in this entire world! But we did all that we could at the time. We did what we thought was right —"
Rapunzel whirs on her father, her face a picture of pure anger, which so infrequently rests upon her pretty, petite features. It almost scares Frederic, the rage in his daughter's eyes that's directed right at him – and he doesn't find himself feeling fearful very often. Typically, Frederic only feels that deep-set fear when it relates to his daughter – to the thought of losing her all over again.
And it looks like he's losing her. Not literally – but losing her spirit, losing her joy, losing the very sunlight which she was once made of. And what has he done to fix that for her?
"No, you didn't! You didn't do anything to fight for him, to fight for us! Sure, you gave him a job and you let him stay in the palace, even after the wedding. But letting him stay was practicing begging me to have an affair with him! You knew how much I love him! You're the king and queen! There's more you could have done, but you didn't!"
Arianna interjects once more, wanting so desperately to diffuse the building tension of the situation – to piece together the brokenness that their once so joyful, tightly knit family unit has fallen into.
"Rapunzel, we understand that you are heartbroken, and we feel horrible! It breaks our hearts to see you like this, and to know that we are partly to blame! But you cannot continue this incredibly inappropriate behavior! We are already on very thin ice with the council. They have made their decision. And whether we like it or not, their decision was for you to marry Charles. Your father and I simply do not have the leverage that we once did. There will be consequences, major consequences for everyone involved, if that decision is not properly fulfilled."
If her duty is not properly fulfilled. If Rapunzel does not commit to her husband – if she does not give the kingdom a successor.
Rapunzel's voice leaves her lips bitterly, daring the king or queen to judge her behavior any further – when she feels as though her parents are partially to blame for her acting so inappropriately, so… whorishly, outside of the restraints of her marriage.
"Do you think I care what the council thinks, when they're the ones who took Eugene from me in the first place? Or what you think, for that matter, after the role that you played in ripping him away? You've all already tried to take Eugene from me in every way that you could. So there aren't any consequences that can scare me into letting go."
"I'm sorry that you feel that way. Regardless, this affair of yours... we're sorry, sweetheart, but you have to end it. We cannot risk this getting out to the public, or to anyone else in the palace, for that matter. I don't think you understand what it will do to you!" Arianna's face falls, the concern for her daughter's circumstance clear and unignorable. "We just want to protect you."
"I don't care what it does to me. Don't you get that? Being without him is torture enough. You could've protected me before things got this far! You could've done more to protect me from the marriage, but you didn't!"
"Sweetheart —"
"I won't stop seeing him. I won't end my affair, my relationship, with Eugene. I can't pretend to love someone else for the rest of my life. I won't."
King Frederic has had just about enough – enough of watching his daughter drag herself into a deeper hole – a hole so deep, that she will never be able to dig herself out. A hole that will only result in her being buried alive.
"Rapunzel, I demand that you put an end to this affair."
"No."
"Rapunzel —"
"No! I hate Charles. Can't you see that? I don't love him, I can't love him. Not when I'm still in love with Eugene. So yes, I started an affair. And I know that it's wrong, but I don't care. I'm not sorry for lying, and I'm not sorry for letting him make love to me when I'm a married woman. I will not apologize for that."
"Rapunzel —"
The princess interjects her mother's plea, looking to her with desperate eyes.
"Charles doesn't make love to me, Mom! He treats me like, like... a prize on his arm! He doesn't care about me. He only cares about getting what he wants, about what he can get from me! But Eugene loves me, for who I am. How can you possibly ask me to give that up?!"
The king and queen finally look to Eugene, who's been standing against the closed doorway all the while. His fingers are pinched to the bridge of his nose, as Eugene contemplates his every life decision, and wonders how they have managed to get themselves into such deep shit. He'd really been convinced that things couldn't have gotten any worse than the whole, 'Gothel, kidnapping, magic hair, almost-dying-by-stab-wound-in-a-tower' thing.
But boy, was he wrong.
"I'm sorry, but you… you have to let go of one another." King Frederic responds simply, calmly, his eyes darting between the two young lovers before resting upon his daughter once more. "This can't go on any longer. You're going to get hurt –"
"I already am hurt, Dad." Rapunzel answers with an equal calmness, hands on her hips. "And I refuse to do that."
She feels like an over-dramatic teenager, and Rapunzel supposes, that's what she is – with good reason.
"Fine. Then, although I do not want to… I will sadly have to ask Eugene to leave the palace if you cannot end this affair on your own terms."
Rapunzel takes a staggered step back – unsure if she's insulted, surprised, or perhaps a strange mixture of both.
"You wouldn't do that."
"I don't want to, Rapunzel, but I will." King Frederic responds, standing his ground. "I will. You are my daughter, and I will do what I need to do to protect this family from the council. To protect you."
The princess stares at her father for a long moment, willing herself to find the bravery to say the angry words which are screaming in her subconscious, a haunting hush fallen upon the room.
"You know, Dad… I once had someone tell me that everything they did was to protect me. And that person ended up not really loving me at all."
When he realizes whom she speaks of, Frederic takes a surprised step toward Rapunzel, before shaking his head, furrowing his brow in clear offense, stepping away. Arianna, placing a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder, presses forward, pleading with her daughter.
"Rapunzel, sweetheart, this is different –"
"Not to me, it isn't. If you send Eugene away, I… I'm going with him."
"Blondie, its okay —"
Eugene speaks for the first time since the showdown had begun, and Arianna can't help but note how strained his voice is, how tired the young man seems.
And he is. He's tired. Tired of what he cannot have, tired of feeling as though his insides are rotting without her, tired of this metaphorical tower in which she has found herself trapped in once more – tired, because there is nothing he can do to save her this time. Now, Eugene cannot give up his life for hers. He cannot fix this.
"No, it's not, Eugene. It's not okay." Rapunzel stalks toward him, leaving her mother speechless, and her father all the more frustrated. "I'm done pretending, too."
Rapunzel stands before Eugene as though she were a wall, blocking him from harm – in the same way that he had protected her from Charles only mere minutes ago – glowering at her parents.
"If he goes, I go."
Because he is her dream. He was her dream, before she ever stepped foot into this castle – not the crown, not the fancy ball gowns, not the adoring subjects. Him.
"Rapunzel, don't be ridiculous –"
"If he goes, I go."
Her fingers are on the doorknob, numb and threatening, begging for an escape.
"This conversation isn't over, young lady."
Rapunzel and Frederic stare at one another from across the room – their once-strong trust, ultimately broken – the tapestry of their relationship shredded, the shelter which is their love for one another, blown into a million pieces.
"Yes, it is."
With that, Rapunzel yanks at Eugene's arm, hard, pulling him from the throne room, slamming the door behind them.
"Come on, Eugene."
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know. Somewhere, anywhere. I just need you. Now."
Is she serious?
"Rapunzel, you heard your parents. We can't keep doing this to ourselves!"
The princess stops in her tracks, squinting her eyes in a furious, green glare in order to keep the heavy tears from streaming down her cheeks.
"What are you saying, Eugene? That you want to end this?"
"No! Of course I don't want to, Rapunzel. I love you! But what choice do we have? Your parents are right. If this got out to the people, to the council —"
She pushes him into a small, nearby sitting room, locking the door behind them before pushing him against it, pressing her body to his.
"I don't care. What if this was the last time you could ever make love to me? My parents know now, and it's only a matter of time before the rest of Corona does, too. What if this was the last time we could touch each other, or even look at each other like this?"
The desperation of her tone is unlike any urgency Eugene has heard from her before. The sound sends both a pang through his heart and a lust through his body – one that he tries damn hard to ignore.
"Rapunzel, we have to live with this —"
"I CAN'T."
"You're going to have to find a way!"
"My only way of coping has been doing this with you! Without the sneaking around, without the lying… I can't handle a marriage to someone else!" Rapunzel places both hands on Eugene's chest, pushing him slightly, though he knows that it's not him who she's truly angry with. "I can't love someone else!"
"I know, Blondie, I… God, I can't love anyone else either. I can't even imagine it. But this is the reality of our situation! You have to try. You haven't even tried! Your parents are right, I can't be here anymore! I'm holding you back from the chance of a happy marriage."
Eugene places a hand on either side of Rapunzel's face, running his fingers through her hair on instinct, pulling their faces so close that it kills him not to kiss her.
"I've been selfish with you, Blondie, so selfish by staying here. It's not fair to you, and I'm so sorry for that. You haven't even had a chance to find out if Charles could make you happy, and I'm the one to blame –"
"I already know that he couldn't." She insists, fumbling to unbuckle his vest.
God, this girl is going to be the death of me.
"Rapunzel, stop. We have to stop."
But she's too far gone now, not listening at all, focused only on getting his clothes off. Eugene takes her tiny wrists into his hands, as gently as he possibly can, pushing her away without letting go of her arms.
He's pleading with her now, and Rapunzel swears she can see tears welling up in Eugene's eyes.
"Rapunzel, stop. We can't keep going on like this!"
The princess looks up at him, stares at Eugene for a painstakingly long moment. She suddenly reaches up, pressing a thumb gently to his lip, where its split. She makes a face, as if she hadn't realized that his mouth was bleeding until now.
"You're hurt." Rapunzel looks down at her thumb when she pulls it away, inspecting the suddenly blood-stained skin there.
She's in shock. She's in shock – she doesn't know how to process all of this.
"We're both hurt, Blondie." Eugene whispers, digging a hand into her hair, desperate to hold onto something – to hold onto her – begging her to understand the gravity of their situation.
Rapunzel just looks at him, studying Eugene's face as though she may never see it again after today (and maybe, if the king meant what he said, she wouldn't), before a long heave in her chest ensues. In no more than a moment, she's falling against his chest, sobbing into his shirt. She's been trying so hard to hold it all together for these past few months, but she can't do it anymore.
There is nothing left to hold together.
Eugene cradles his princess to him, stroking her hair, looking up at the chandeliered ceiling with tears pricking at the corners of his own eyes – knowing full well that he should be gone by morning.
But how can he possibly find the strength within himself to leave her? He'd promised that he wouldn't. How can he walk away from his dream – the only thing that's ever been worth living for?
Leaving would be the right thing to do. It would be the responsible thing to do. As Charles had warned at the party: not leaving will only make things harder for her. It would be stupid of Eugene to stay. He knows that.
But standing here, back pressed against the door, the love of his life sobbing in his arms as their world finally falls apart around them once and for all, Eugene wants to be stupid as hell. He wants to be so incredibly stupid, and he wants to stay, forever. He wants to be with her until the sun explodes, or until his lonely ghost stops haunting the halls of this castle – whichever comes first. He wants to make her his wife, and he wants to bury his face in her hair – so he does – and cry with her.
So he does.
AN: Well, that hurt.
What do you think, guys? Charles finally, definitively knows about the affair (round of applause for Stalyan). Arianna and Frederic know about the affair. So, what will Rapunzel and Eugene do now? What will Charles do, in retaliation to the secret finally being out? I'd love to hear your theories.
I wanted to end this chapter by saying thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you to all of you who have been reading this story for the past two months, and a special thank you to those of you who left reviews on the last chapter – as well as to anyone who's ever left a review in the past. This story and these characters mean so much to me. I'm not writing this story, not putting in the hours upon hours of writing and editing, for any praise. I'm writing this story because these characters have gotten me through so much since first meeting them in a theatre ten years ago, and because writing is genuinely my passion. But when someone takes the time to leave a thoughtful review, it only makes writing this story that much more worthwhile. I know that these characters mean a lot to many others out there, so I hope that I'm doing them justice in this story.
I feel very encouraged leaving you guys with this chapter. So again, thank you. Your kind words have made me smile so much, and I'm simply gracious to have such wonderful readers. I hope that each and every one of you have a blessed and joyful 2021. This past year has put us all through the wringer, and each of you deserve any of the joy that is to come in your lives. Creating this story and interacting with you guys has, without a doubt, been one of the highlights of my year. If this story can be even a sliver of joy, if I can bring happiness to even just one person, I will be one happy girl this new year.
I hope to see you all again for Chapter 19. The scales are about to tip rapidly, and I hope you're ready for what's to come!