AN: Hi, guys! Surprise: we have a double-feature this week! I know that I just posted on Sunday, but I've spent the last few days working really hard on this chapter. So, why not put it up, too?
My only real note for right now is that I will unfortunately be starting school again this coming Tuesday, which means that I will not have as much time on my hands to write. *deep sigh* This is part of the reason as to why I really wanted to get this chapter up for you guys. Regardless, this past semester, I was typically able to post a new chapter at least once a week. I will try my very best to keep that weekly tradition going. No matter what, please just try to be patient with me! I'm pretty far into my program, and being in college, while having a job as well, can be pretty demanding. Not to mention, the typical length of my chapters make them quite time consuming to complete. Nonetheless, this story is incredibly important to me, and it's my favorite pastime, so I'll absolutely try to make as much time for it as I can! Thank goodness for weekends, right?
Again, thank you for your consistently encouraging, thoughtful reviews. I genuinely get the biggest smile on my face when I read them. And without further ado… welcome to the (hopefully entertaining) shitshow. This chapter ripped me up a bit, and I'm hoping that it does the same to you. *grins with the smile of an apologetic, yet evil writer*
Chapter 20: The Girl Who Gave Until There Was Nothing Left of Her to Take
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is the only coherent word which Eugene can think to himself as he urges Max faster, legs pressed anxiously against the white horse's coat, barreling down the cobblestone streets of Corona.
The docks. Just get to the docks. If you get there, you can get to her, and everything will be okay, and –
Shit. No, everything isn't going to be okay. Because she's on the fucking ship.
This anxiety-ridden moment is so reminiscent of Eugene's desperate pursuit to get to Rapunzel's tower, the day that he'd escaped from prison, and died in that very tower – so much so, that he feels incredibly sick – sick enough to want to halt Max on the side of the street, and hurl his guts up.
But he doesn't. Because if he can just get to that ship fast enough, if he can just get to her, he can –
What? What is he going to do? Is there really anything that he can do now? Is he even going to be able to get to her? Or has she sailed too far out of his reach? Has he messed up so big, so badly, that she is about to be lost, taken from them as though she were no more than a valuable asset? Eugene isn't sure, but he's sure as hell willing to die trying to catch her.
Things cannot end like this. She cannot be taken from him. They can marry her off, they can try to keep them apart, but he cannot take her.
Charles, that miserable motherfucker. He cannot take her. Not from me. I'm the guy who found her in that tower, and chopped her hair, and died for her. Doesn't he know who he's dealing with here? I'm Eugene Fitzherbert! And Rapunzel is mine: my love, my princess. Not his to take!
The prince's name pierces through Eugene's brain, sharp enough to give him a mind-numbing headache. He's going to kill him. When he gets to Charles – when he gets to Rapunzel, when he sees her sweet face and reassures himself that she's okay – he's going to kill him. He's going to kill that damn prince. And he's going to enjoy it, too.
Hooves racing on cobblestone just aren't enough to ease Eugene's panic. Nothing is – not the image of her face as it scrapes uncomfortably through his mind like long nails on a chalkboard. Not because she isn't beautiful, because she is. God, she is. But because that beautiful face of hers probably has fear etched all over it – his least favorite expression of hers, one that he's seen one-too-many times to ever want to see again: for example, watching him get stabbed right in front of her. He doesn't want to think about her fearful face, because the thought of her being taken away, is worse than any thought that he's ever had before – and Eugene has admittedly harbored a lot of bad thoughts in his previously-shady life.
"Come on, Max! Faster!" Eugene cries, white-knuckling the reigns, digging his heels into the trusty horse's side. "We can't lose her!"
I can't lose her. If I lose her, it'll be all my fault. If I lose her, I won't have anything to live for – no, don't think like that. She's not gone yet. Just get to the docks. Just get to her.
Max cranes his neck to neigh out a loud, nervous understanding, having done this before, urging himself to run faster – desperate to close the gap, desperate to have a grasp on some little shred of hope that she hasn't been lost forever.
When man and horse anxiously reach the docks, Eugene jumps from Max's back before the horse has the chance to come to a complete stop. The massive ship isn't far from the docks – perhaps it doesn't appear to be as far away as it truly is, the disgusting panic shooting through Eugene's mind playing tricks on him now. Because in his mind, she's right there! She's right there, and he knows it, and she's close enough for him to get to her now!
Without thinking, Eugene sprints down the long, rickety main dock, boots pounding, shaky legs on shaky wooden planks. Because maybe if he gets in the water, he'll be in the water with her, and he'll be able to get to her fast enough that way.
As Eugene hurtles himself down the dock, his vision plunges into a depressing nostalgia, a series of beautiful memories collapsing in his mind's eye: a free-spirited girl – no, a spirited girl locked in a tower. Long, golden hair, and big, green eyes. Yes, that's her. A purple, curve-hugging dress, bare feet, a face like absolute sunshine, flowers braided intricately into her hair. Dancing in the square, then wrapped around the front of a little boat, her delicate features a picture of wonderstruck delight in the midst of the lanterns floating around her, enveloping her in a golden glow – a glow which could rival that golden hair of hers, but does not quite compare. Her dream will come true, and she will suddenly be on the search for a new one, but she will not have to look far – because he is right there in that boat with her, thinking about what it would be like to run away with her and never look back.
No, that's not exactly right. That is a memory, a very good memory – but it is not reality.
Short, brown hair. Those same curious, green eyes, those same bare feet, and that same sunshiny face. But now, she is a girl with a crown resting upon her choppy haircut, sheared just before the moment in which he'd narrowly cheated death. He'd held that hair in his hands, taken its magic from her without even asking what she wanted – why doesn't anyone ever think to ask her what she wants?
A beautiful, gold dress, glittering in the candlelight, swishing behind her as he tugs her through the gardens – the raging, holiday party and noble guests waiting for them inside, only a far-off memory. She would follow him anywhere, she'd said, and he would gladly return the favor. And he'll kiss her, and her lips will taste like redemption and second chances, and he will love her so hard, that every mistake he's ever made will be moot. And when she drags him to his bedroom, she will pant his name from those pretty lips, and he will never hear or see anything as beautiful as her again.
No, that's not exactly right. That is a memory, a very good memory – but it is not reality.
Her cheeks, they are wet and lined with crystalline tears which glitter in the candlelight. She is sad, and so is he, because their future has been blanketed in uncertainty, and it hurts. It hurts, because another man has tried his very best to claim her, when her heart will only ever belong with him. And she will question her worth, question their love, and it will kill him to see her like this, because there is nothing that he can do to fix it. So, he will love her harder than ever before, and she will pant his name. And for just a few, delusional moments, they will forget. They will forget the hurt of lifelong commitments which cannot include him anymore. But when they finish, the dried tears will still be there upon her cheeks, and he will realize all over again that there is nothing he can do to help her – not really. There is nothing that he can do to reverse this mess which they have fallen so deeply into, this mess which he did not do enough to protect her from.
The tiniest little thing, with the biggest heart that you've ever seen, trapped in her own tower once more: trapped in the claws of a man who doesn't know the first thing about what it means to love her, or understand her, or adore her so much that you would die for her, over and over again. All of her cages will be mental, but he cannot save her from this kind, because he's lost the key and cannot get inside far enough to find her again.
That's her. The girl with the curious, green eyes, which shred crystalline tears which cannot be fully wiped away. The girl who takes her duty to her kingdom so seriously, that she would never dream of putting her people in misery in order to release herself from misery.
The girl who gives, and gives, until there is nothing left of her for others to take.
Adored by her kingdom, and loved by him, and always being stolen away by someone who does not deserve her.
How many times can she go through this? How many times can she be taken, before there is nothing left of her to steal?
Eugene finally arrives at the end of the dock, diving headfirst into the icy water without refrain. The bitterness of the harbor hits him like the weight of a million bricks, sucking the air from his lungs. He fights to the choppy surface, gasping for his stolen breath, his arms pulling strong strokes toward the ship.
But it's too far gone now – sails billowing, bouncing upon the waves – his princess too far gone.
After his arms begin to feel like gelatin, Eugene takes pause. Not because he wants to, but because he cannot breathe, the sharp coldness of the water and the anxiety of the situation taking his heartrate on a dangerous uphill battle. Gasping for air as he treads in place, Eugene gauges the distance between himself and the massive ship. He hasn't been swallowed by shock quite enough to not recognize sheer reality in his half-beating heart: he's never going to catch up.
Because he's just one man, and one man cannot fix this. Not even him, regardless of his unmatchable desperation to get to her. His love for her is not enough to save her.
Maybe it never was.
The golden glow of the setting sun upon the harbor is mocking him. It's mocking him, because it's so painfully reminiscent of the way that the harbor had looked, the way that her face had looked, with the hundreds and hundreds of lanterns hovering over it. That day, he never would've guessed that he would've fallen as in love with her as he has, he never would've guessed that he would've died for her, and he surely never would've guessed that she would be taken from him, time and time again. And this time is just too much to bear.
And he tries to find the good in that memory, tries to find the good in that golden night that he'd taken her to see the lanterns, the day that he'd accompanied her on her little bout of teenage rebellion – the day that he would fall pathetically in love her. But he cannot, not anymore – he cannot find the good in that day, not when every golden thing reminds him of her. Not when the sun is sinking too fast and she is sailing away too far.
In his self-deprecating anger, not entirely sure if he should laugh in shock or cry in bottled-up anguish, Eugene slaps his palms to the surface of the water, hard. A numbing pain shoots through both of his tired arms, and he fights to keep himself afloat, his limbs trembling from the frigid temperature of the water, as well as from the exhaustion of coming down from a shaky adrenaline high.
Arms.
Eugene shakes his head, treading forward, noticing a dark figure hanging over the ship's railing. Arms are waving, desperately leaning over the ship's edge. Eugene squints, hard.
Her arms. Her arms, waving frantically, her short hair tousled and wind-blown, her little body bouncing up and down anxiously – trying to get his attention.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Rapunzel!" Eugene screams, his lungs threatening to give out, aching for her to hear him, having taken in so much of the bitter-cold water.
But he doesn't care. Not about his lungs, not about his wellbeing, not about anything but her. He needs her to hear him, needs her to see him swimming after her. He needs her to know that he came, that he chased – that he fought for her.
Because if she doesn't, she'll think that he abandoned her with him, and Eugene just can't imagine a worse alternative, a worse end to their story.
No, this is not the end. This is not the end for her, this is not the end for us.
Why does it feel that way, then?
"RAPUNZEL!"
But she can't hear him, can't hear his screams for her, and he knows it. She's gone, as though she were the sun sinking into the horizon over the harbor, providing the most enchanting sunset: golden, and beautiful, and slipping away far too quickly, before there is time to truly appreciate it.
A little like her.
And then, a second figure is visible from the ship, covering her mouth and pulling her back, and it doesn't take more than an anxiety-induced moment for Eugene to realize the only person that figure could be.
"No. No, no, no, no!" Eugene plows forward, desperately pulling himself through the icy water. But it's no use.
He has her now.
He's won. Charles, he's won, and the prince was right. The foreshadowed pain which he'd threatened at the party the other night, was true, and unfolding before their very eyes now: Eugene's selfish inability to just let go of her, is his downfall. She is his weakness, and he'd allowed himself to get so weak – weak enough to forget that protecting her, is even more important than being with her! And now that Eugene realizes what's really happening… it's too late, just as the prince had warned it would be.
It's too late, it's too late –
Eugene had left Arianna standing there in that exterior hallway in the castle with that frantic, motherly look in her green eyes, the harsh unease of eighteen years without Rapunzel settling in all over again, rushing through her mind at once, like a broken dam. He'd put out his cigarette hastily when he'd realized that she was on that ship, had cursed himself for being so stupid, and he'd promised something that he never should have promised. The smoke had still lingered between them as he desperately hurried from the chilly corridor – but even more so, the anxiety of losing her had lingered between Eugene and the queen like a bad omen, because they both knew. Deep down, they knew.
He'd just promised something to the queen that he never should have.
'I'll get her! I'll get her.'
That's what he'd yelled over his shoulder to Arianna, what he'd promised when he'd finally escaped the iron grip of his shock, had escaped enough to sprint from the castle and straight to the stables where Max would be waiting for him, ready to sprint through this kingdom to save their princess… just as they had so many months before.
I'll get her.
The words echo in Eugene's mind now, and if he didn't need to stay alive to get her back, he would kill himself for uttering them. That's what he'd promised, because he's an idiot. He'd promised Arianna that when he returned to the castle, she would be there with him. Their precious, sweet princess would be safe, and she would be his, and she wouldn't be taken away from each of them all over again. She wouldn't be taken – she couldn't be taken – because they've already been through this before!
But hadn't Rapunzel warned him once, not all that long ago, not to make promises that he cannot keep?
The fact of his broken promise finally sinks in, in the same way that Eugene just wants to sink down to the watery floor of the harbor, and never breathe again. He realizes that he will have to return to the castle, head hung low, and will have to tell the queen that his promise was an empty one. Because there is no shock left to hide in, no adrenaline left to operate on, no lovesick delusion left to blame – delusion provided by still having her in his bed, safe in his arms. There is no rose-colored vision, brought about by believing that loving one another would be enough – even if they have to do so in secret. The shock has faded, the adrenaline rushed away, the rose-colored glasses shattered at the lenses – shattered by the unforgiving hands of that motherfucking prince.
Eugene is left with nothing but his shivering body, and the stark white sails of the ship coloring a harsh contrast against the golden sky, and the image of the prince's hand over her mouth, silencing her screams – her screams for him. Her screams for him to save her. And he hadn't been there, hadn't been there to look after her, to protect her – like he'd promised her parents he would always do on the day that he came here.
Another fucking promise that he could not keep.
The reality of the situation settles in Eugene's bones like dust that he's trying very hard not to choke on – or maybe those are his tears – and he feels the sudden urge to throw up again. Right here in the harbor, right here in the choppy, bitter waves.
He'd promised her that they would only be apart for a night or two – that staying away from one another after the inevitable explosion of their affair, would be best. And she'd trusted him so blindly, so lovingly, had trusted his judgement without a nagging doubt – had trusted that he would know what to do from here. Hadn't he learned from that night, that night when she'd run into Stalyan in the hall, that leaving her alone would never be the best? Not because she can't take care of herself, but because everyone seems to be hell-bent on hurting her?
And worst of all, Charles had warned him! The prince had blatantly warned him what would happen if he didn't let her go, and now his own selfishness is going to destroy her!
She'd reassured him that she would stay put in her old bedroom until he came for her, that she would be safe there. But she wasn't safe, not with Charles around, and Eugene should've taken the prince's threats more seriously. He should've known better. He should've known better than to underestimate someone like Charles – someone desperate, and angry, and jealous. He should've known better than to think that she would be safe with her husband in that castle.
She wasn't safe, because he hadn't been there to keep her that way. He's let her down, in the worst way that he possibly could have, because she's about to live through a nightmare which she's already experienced before – but this time, she won't be a baby, and she won't be able to forget what's happening to her. She's going to remember this. She's going to be absolutely traumatized. And it's going to be his own fault, because he never, never should have let her go, not even for a single night.
Because it only takes a single night for Charles to get lonely enough to want her, lonely enough to realize that the thought of getting the princess all alone – that having her all to himself – sounds pretty damn good. Because misery likes company, and Charles is the Prince of Misery. And now, he has her in his nasty grasp, about to make her every kind of miserable that he possibly can – Charles will make her miserable for still loving him.
And he has her! Oh, God, he has her. He's going to hurt her. And if she's gone, I'm never going to be okay again, I'm never going to be able to forgive myself for letting him take her! I don't deserve her, I never did, because I let this happen, and –
And just like that, she is gone. Eugene Fitzherbert's princess is gone, and along with her, every piece of his broken heart.
'I won't say I told you so, you're never gonna go back home
He won't be there, not anymore. What can I say? I told you so…'
The soft singing eases Rapunzel from a heavy slumber, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying their best to groggily adjust to the bitter darkness of her surroundings. The wooden rafters of the tower, though unexpected, are eerily familiar, and she immediately hates that about them.
She hates that they feel like home.
Rapunzel sits up quickly, recognizing the soft texture of her old, lilac duvet beneath her fingers. She doesn't want to be back here, had never wanted to step foot in this place again. Because this place stands for everything that she hates: lies, and loss, and death.
His death.
Every candle has been extinguished, every curtain drawn. There is not an ounce of light seeping through the window, not a ray of sunshine beaming through the dark – the darkness of her small bedroom which had once been so comforting, now feels untrustworthy and jarring.
How had she ever lived here in this suffocating tower? How had she ever thought herself to be happy here? There is no happiness here – not when she knows the truth.
Not when she knows that, in this place, she is nothing more than a head of hair.
"Hello, dear. I'm so glad that you've finally decided to join us!"
Rapunzel recognizes that theatrical, shrill voice. She doesn't need to guess who the voice belongs to, doesn't need to think hard to recall the face which accompanies it – no, that face has haunted Rapunzel's dreams far too many times since the last time that she was here in this place – too many times to forget it's every curve, it's every feature, it's every look of guiltless manipulation.
Rapunzel's breath catches in her dry throat, her eyes grow wide, and she suddenly knows that she is not safe anymore. There is no painting which will be pretty enough, no word which she won't mumble, and no stabbing insult which should not be taken as a petty joke.
She is not safe here. She is not loved here. She is tolerated here, only because what she has to offer, is too valuable not to.
"Moth…" Rapunzel swallows, hard, immediately so ashamed of herself for the broken word that she feels a furious blush creeping its way up her neck.
No. This is not her mother. Her mother is soft, and warm, and looks just like her. She allows Rapunzel to hug her whenever she wants, and she runs her fingers through her hair when she does – not because it is magic, but because her mother loves every piece of her. Her mother lives in a castle, and doesn't care what her hair can or cannot do, and she doesn't lie to her. Her mother loves her. Her mother loves her for who she is, loves her for what is inside of her heart – not for what she has to offer to her.
This… this is not her mother. The cloaked woman who is standing there in the shadowed corner of Rapunzel's tower bedroom, inspecting her long fingernails, a knowing smile upon her lips, as if she'd been waiting here for Rapunzel all along… this is the woman which Rapunzel had thought to be her mother, because she did not know any better.
'No, she… she's supposed to be dust.' Rapunzel converses with herself anxiously. 'She's not real, this isn't real –'
But she breathes a half-hearted, unmeaning greeting anyway, only because her brain is going into a numbing shock which cannot be helped.
"Gothel."
"Oh, Rapunzel. How I've missed you, my flower!" The old woman rushes forward, running her veiny hands through Rapunzel's golden hair, caressing the long locks more than the young girl herself.
'My hair. My hair, I… I have my hair.' Rapunzel thinks frantically, allowing her gaze to follow the waterfall of golden hair across her bed, across the floor, where it snakes and curves, disappearing on the other side of her pushed-back bedroom curtains. 'I don't want my hair! Because if I still have my hair, that means… it means that he –'
"You've been gone for far too long, you know, pretending to be a princess."
The witch scoffs, her delicately possessive fingers brushing through Rapunzel's hair once more, as though it were a long-lost friend who she has not seen in a very long time – as though Gothel were a child, and the hair is the first piece of candy from the candy dish which she has been allowed to dissolve on her tongue in months.
"This is where you belong." Gothel reasons, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "This has always been where you belong. Right here with me, Flower."
The witch turns to her, as though she were seeking some kind of twisted reassurance. This surprises Rapunzel, because Gothel has never asked for her opinion on anything before.
"You know that, don't you, dear? Oh, and your hair! I thought that I would never see it again!"
Rapunzel shakes her head, wanting to pull away, but knowing that she can't – wanting to defend herself, but knowing that she can't. Because for some infuriating reason, she is unable to fully process the old woman's presence – at least, enough to know that she should be running by now.
"Why don't you sing for Mother, hmm?" The silver-haired woman suggests, batting her dark eyelashes convincingly, trying to provoke some sorry feeling from deep within Rapunzel's heart, wielding the emotion of utter guilt in the way that she's always been so good at. "Just like you used to. Mother's been feeling a little run down."
"D—don't… don't do it…"
Rapunzel cranes her neck to where the second voice is coming from, suddenly noticing a curled-up figure on the floor in the main room of the tower, near the drawn, dragging curtains hanging from the window, strategically concealing every possible beam of sunlight.
Rising from the bed, Rapunzel rushes down the staircase, an ugly feeling of trepidation coursing through her veins. She squints her eyes in the dull tower light as she creeps forward tentatively, afraid of what she might see. Rapunzel notices a seeping, dark liquid on the cold, stone floor, pooling beneath the writhing figure.
"Rapunzel…"
That voice! Oh, that voice! It's the voice which could launch a thousand ships, could make her do anything that he pleases – the voice which she would give everything to hear every day for the rest of her life. Right now, this voice is strangled, and just barely above a hoarse, pained whisper.
"Eugene!" Rapunzel immediately sinks to her knees, gently turning him over to inspect the spot which his arm is now clutching, the spot which the rest of his body is curled tightly, protectively around – revealing a deep stab wound, seeping with that dark liquid which has pooled on the floor, which Rapunzel now realizes is his blood.
'How did this happen? Where was I, how could I have let this happen to him? I should've been there, I should've been there to protect him –'
Eugene lets out a low, pathetic moan, clearly trying his very hardest not to release the sobs building in his chest.
"Oh, Eugene… I'm here, I'm right here." Rapunzel anxiously brushes the fallen hair from his eyes, caressing his cheeks and clenched jaw for just a moment before pulling her shaking fingers away, afraid of hurting him further. "I-I love you. Let me help you."
She frantically grabs a fistful of her golden hair, prepared to press it to his gaping wound. But Eugene weakly grabs at her wrist, pushing it away, forcing a bitter sense of déjà vu to run through her.
"No…" Eugene groans, shoving her arm back as she tries to fight her way to the red-rimmed injury. He curls himself around his abdomen, denying her assess. "No, Rapunzel… Go, go home… they're gonna hurt you… and your parents... Th-they'll be worried about you…"
"But what about you?" Rapunzel cries, fighting his hand as he continues to push her away.
'No, I can't lose him! Not again!'
He's fading, and fast, his breathing shallow and labored. She can see it in his eyes, the light draining from them quicker than she can process. Those gorgeous, brown eyes which she has stared into so frequently – eyes which know all of her darkest secrets, eyes which have memorized every inch of her unclothed body, eyes which have sent her into the deep end far too many times to count. He looks up at her now, tears pricking in the corners of those beautiful eyes.
With his remaining strength, Eugene cranes his neck, placing a shaky hand to the side of her face, and kissing her lips gently.
"Go home, Sunshine…" His mouth brushes hers as he speaks, and she wants to lean in again, wants to feel his lips upon hers for as long as she possibly can. But he ultimately pulls away, the unfought feebleness written all over his face.
'No, we've already done this before! I saved him, he lived!'
"Eugene, what… what're you talking about? You are my home! I'm not leaving you like this!"
He smiles at that, a weak smile, his eyes fluttering briefly closed.
"I love you so much, Blondie… You're the only thing I ever did right."
"I love you, too!" She whimpers, pushing his hair from his face. "But why are you talking like this? Like you're leaving me?!"
"Now go find a new dream." He whispers to her softly, and if she didn't know any better, Rapunzel would tell him that he's so handsome while saying goodbye, that he should be ashamed of himself.
But this isn't goodbye!
"Eugene, you are my dream! I can't just find a new one, you silly goose!" Rapunzel laughs, if only to evade the pathetic amount of tears dripping down her cheeks. "Everything's going to be okay, if you'd just let me –"
But it's too late. Those beautiful almond eyes have slipped shut, and his clenched hand falls from her face, hitting the floor with a traumatic thunk.
"Eugene?" Rapunzel pulls back, shaking him gently, not quite understanding his sudden loss of consciousness. Maybe he passed out from the blood loss.
"Eugene."
Rapunzel mutters his name again, a bit more firmly. When he doesn't respond, an anxious energy rips through her. She grabs at his shoulder, shaking him harder.
"Eugene! Eugene, wake up!" She continues to shake him, growing irritated now, and Rapunzel doesn't have half a mind to realize that she's dry heaving.
"Stop it! I know that you're just kidding around, because we've already… we've already done this before, and I… I saved you, and you're my dream, and I'm yours, and I… oh God, I need you! Eugene, wake up! I can't do this without you!"
"Oh, but darling… why would you need him, when you have me?"
Whirring around, Rapunzel realizes that Gothel is no longer the enemy of hers which stands here in the dark tower, but her husband – a knowing smile on his sarcasm-lined lips.
"He was never going to be able to save you, nor were you going to be able to save him." Charles stops just before her crouched figure, his dress shoes clicking crisply against the stone tower floor. "You know that, don't you?"
Rapunzel shrinks back as Charles slinks toward her – a cat, monitoring every little movement of his prey.
"You did this. You did this to him, didn't you?"
The princess demands, glaring at the proud face of her distain-worthy husband, clutching Eugene's head to her chest protectively, as if to keep him away from the prince, though Eugene is clearly already gone. He can't be hurt anymore, he's safe now – somewhere warm, and sunny – on that island he'd always wanted, perhaps. Wherever he is, he's okay now.
But she isn't.
"You did this. DIDN'T YOU?" Rapunzel screams up at her husband, begging him of the truth once more, angry tears streaming down her cheeks.
"No, darling. I didn't do this to him." Charles smiles softly. "You did."
Drawing a hand from Eugene's hair, Rapunzel sees – feels – the sticky, red liquid covering her palm, her fingers. The blood is mostly dried now, but just fresh enough for her skin to still smell of its strong, irony scent. His scent.
"His blood is on your hands, Princess." The arrogant prince clicks his tongue, stepping over Eugene's lifeless form to circle around the two lovers. "It's a shame, really. I'd always wanted to be the one to get rid of him. But you did the honors for me, so I guess I should really be thanking you."
Rapunzel shakes her head frantically, her deep-rooted inability to trust her husband at an all-time high. She wouldn't trust a word that he says – not with the love of her life dead in her arms.
"I don't believe you. I wouldn't… I didn't…"
Charles suddenly crouches beside her, placing a hand under his wife's chin, his voice grown harsh. Rapunzel quickly jerks away, burrowing her face in Eugene's hair, as if doing so will shoo her husband's smooth, mocking voice away – as if Eugene's lifeless body will somehow be enough to keep her safe now.
But she is the one who is afraid, not Charles – she cannot shoo him away, she cannot escape him now. Eugene had been her only shelter to run to, and now he is not here. He is gone, and with him, her only sense of comfort, her only place to hide.
"Of course you did. If it weren't for you, he never would've come here. He tried to save you, Princess, and you did nothing to return the favor. Poor guy. He came here thinking that you would defend him in the same way that he defends you."
Charles reaches down to pat Eugene's leather-clad shoulder in a mockingly apologetic gesture, and Rapunzel shoves his hand away, clutching Eugene tighter to her.
"Don't touch him. Don't you touch him!"
"What does it matter? He's gone." Charles chuckles, ignoring his wife's gritted teeth and angry gaze, a menacing humor glinting in his own dark eyes. "He's gone because of you."
"Shut up! You're lying!" Rapunzel yells to her snickering husband, pressing her lips to Eugene's temple, whispering to him now. "He's lying, Eugene, don't worry. I would never hurt you. I love you."
"Loving you killed him." Charles mocks, hovering slightly over her like a hungry vulture.
"Shut up!" Rapunzel screams, desperate to get her husband's voice out of her head.
Charles slowly stands, brushing a hand through her long, golden hair on his way up.
"I like the hair, by the way. But really, I'm just glad that he's finally out of our way. Now, we can finally be together, just the two of us… forever."
"No! He's my forever." Rapunzel clutches Eugene's head tighter to her chest, rocking him back and forth, tucking her face into his neck. She whispers soothing words that only he could understand against his still-warm skin.
"Don't listen to him, Eugene. You're my dream. You're my best. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."
But he can't hear her, and a deeply broken part of Rapunzel knows it. Her endearing words have fallen upon deaf ears – ears which are no longer capable of hearing her never-ending devotion. And then she feels her husband's rough hands on her shoulders, and Rapunzel sobs against the lifeless form of the man that she would've done anything to save.
"Let him go, Rapunzel."
She feels her hands being yanked away from Eugene, but she immediately pulls them back, clinging to his body stubbornly.
"No!" She's crying now, uncontrollable rivers of tears, flowing and shining like crystals against her cheeks. "I'm not leaving him!"
"I said, let him go!"
"I can't! I can't, I can't, I can't…"
Rapunzel sobs into Eugene's shirt, clutching the collar of his leather vest. Clutching his collar in the same way that she once had, when she'd pulled him into a kiss – their first kiss – so innocent, and so inexperienced, yet so perfect. And then, she'd gone home, and he'd taught her everything that she ever could've wanted to know – everything that she shouldn't know, but would die to learn for his sake. She would die to please him, would die to make him happy, would die to hear that beautiful voice explaining exactly what he needs from her.
And now, he'll never be there to teach her anything again.
"Rapunzel, he's gone! He's not going to save you! You need to accept what you've done!"
"No! I don't believe you, I don't believe you! Just… just shut up! Shut up!"
"Accept what you've done!"
"Get out!" Rapunzel begs, her body wracked with the pathetic sobs of unhealable loss, rocking Eugene to her again as she does so. "Get out, get out… get out of my head!"
Her husband bends down, taking her by the chin once more, forcing Rapunzel to look up at him – forcing her face from Eugene's neck, forcing her to engage with his menacing eyes, his too-white smile – forcing her to stop being so distracted by Eugene, and distracted by his softly-spoken, merciless words, instead.
"I'm not in your head, Princess. I'm right here." Charles leans forward, as if longing to capture her lips. "And I always will be."
Desperate to escape his gaze, Rapunzel squeezes her eyes shut – desperate to find a way to console herself, now that Eugene is not here to do it for her.
"You're not real. You're not real, none of this is real!"
Though Charles has escaped her vision, Rapunzel's ears cannot escape his putrid voice.
"I am real, darling, and you need to accept what you've done."
"No, I won't! I wouldn't hurt him!"
"Accept it, now! ACCEPT WHAT YOU'VE DONE, RAPUNZEL!"
Rapunzel awakens to a soft, jolting motion in a bed which is not her own. The ceiling rocks back and forth, and the princess shoots both hands out to steady herself – though, there is nothing to grab onto, except for the scratchy blankets beneath her.
She sits up abruptly – heart pounding, head swimming, as though she'd just let Eugene spin her around the castle in a wheeled chair for a little too long.
"Oh…" The princess moans, bringing her fingers to her temple, desperate to find some relief from the uncomfortable, too-fast rushing sensation in her skull. She's never felt so dizzy in her life. "Just a dream…"
A really bad, really traumatic dream.
The little, paneled room which she's found herself in, is poignantly dark – save for a single, circular window, which allows the golden light from the outside world to filter in. Dragging herself from the creaky bed, Rapunzel forces herself to stand upon wobbly legs, the constant teetering of the floor not doing her weak body any favors. She latches her fingers around the door handle, pulling the wooden door open, squinting her groggy eyes against the sudden flush of bright, golden light.
The disoriented princess steps forward tentatively, gauging her surroundings. Sails billow overhead, and suddenly, the swaying floor makes a whole lot of sense. She's sailing away from the kingdom. Rapunzel tries to pick her mind, tries her very hardest to recall the events of the day. But she doesn't remember how she got on this ship, doesn't even remember leaving the castle at all…
Studying the resplendent skyline, Rapunzel notices a dark figure sprinting down the main dock in the gold, mid-sunset light. She squints, hard, trying her best to wade through the fog of her cloudy head.
White shirt, leather vest, dark hair –
Eugene.
It's Eugene running down the dock, Eugene sprinting toward her. Of course it is!
But if he's not on the boat with her, then… that means she must be with… who was the last person that she'd spoken with?
Oh, God.
"Eugene!" Rapunzel screams, frantically moving to the railing, waving her weak, heavy arms over her head. "EUGENE!"
He knows! He knows that I'm on the boat! He knows, and he's coming for me, just like he always will! That nightmare was wrong, all wrong – of course he's going to save me, because he always does!
"Eugene! Eu –"
"That'll be enough of that, Princess."
A low voice behind Rapunzel causes her to jump, as a large hand covers her mouth, muffling her cries for her love, roughly pulling her back from the railing.
"You don't need him, anyway. You have me."
Panting hard, Rapunzel kicks and elbows, pushing the newly-arrived hands away.
"You! You –"
And there he is – her husband – standing there, grinning at her.
"What was that, Princess? Did you have something that you would like to say to me?"
What would Eugene say? What would Eugene do? Rapunzel's head whips back to the wavy harbor, and the figure is gone, no longer running down the dock. Oh, Eugene…
"You asshole!" The harsh word escapes her lips, and Rapunzel is honestly a little surprised at herself for uttering such a crude term, but she isn't sorry, either. "You can't do this! You can't take me!"
"Oh, come, now… that is no way for a princess to speak, let alone to her husband."
Rapunzel shakes her head in quiet disbelief, completely bewildered, pushing herself against the railing to get away from him.
"He's gonna kill you."
"What was that?" Charles leans forward, a sarcastic hand curling around the shell of his ear. "I'm sorry, dear, you're mumbling."
Rapunzel steps forward now, a dizzying rush of pure courage coursing through her veins (or maybe it's just a dangerous mixture of shock and adrenaline), sure that her voice is clear enough for her husband to hear.
"Eugene is gonna kill you for this."
"Oh, yeah? Him and what army?" The proud, chuckling prince pushes a singular finger forward, pressing it into her chest, nudging Rapunzel back mockingly. "What does he have without you around?"
"He'll come for me! He will." Rapunzel states, and she's not sure if she's trying to convince Charles, or herself. Maybe just herself.
"Oh, I don't doubt it, my dear." Charles chuckles once more, as though the notion were completely ludicrous. "I mean, look at him now."
The prince nods back to the kingdom, and Rapunzel's eyes widen as she notices that same, brown-haired figure, treading in the water now, waving its hands as though it were yelling something.
Eugene. Eugene! He's… he's in the water, he's coming for me!
Rapunzel's eyes dart to the railing, and so do her husband's, and he knows exactly what's crossed her mind. So when she rushes forward, hastily slinging a leg over the ship's sturdy railing, preparing herself to dive into the frigid water… Charles is there to pull his wife back – to save her from making such a grave mistake – strong hands around her waist, tugging her tightly to his chest, where she would be safe.
"Uh, uh, uh, Princess… I don't think so. You won't be getting away from me that easily."
The furious princess thrashes in his arms, body recoiling toward the kingdom – toward him.
"You can't do this! Where are you taking me?"
Charles only smiles, a knowing look in his eye.
"Why, I'm taking you home, of course."
No! I already am home, he is my home!
But Rapunzel's collapsing in her husband's arms before she can protest any further.
Well, that's alright. If she's going to pass out so often, she will be much less likely to fight me.
Charles sighs heavily, taking a long drink from his glass, which has become the temporary home of a generous amount of amber liquor. The liquid courage goes down his throat warmly, easing his nerves only a little. In the small, paneled office, Charles leans back in his wooden chair, which has been nailed to the floor for the instance of a particularly violent storm.
He'd come for her. He'd realized her absence before they could sneak away into the night without detection, as Charles had hoped – but then again, Charles had predicted that. He'd known that Eugene Fitzherbert would notice her disappearance, had known that the thief would chase, and fight, and struggle to get to her.
Actually, it had been a little humorous to watch the man hurtling himself down the dock, as if he'd had a chance of catching up to them. Charles had been able to picture the panic on his face, the anxiety ripping through his body when he realized that the princess was sailing away from Corona. And really, that's why the manic prince had done this: not just to have Rapunzel all to himself, though he was eager about that. But because he wanted Eugene Fitzherbert to understand what it feels like to lose her affection, wanted him to understand what it feels like to have Rapunzel slip right through your fingers – what it feels like to have her just beyond your reach, but not quite touchable.
And that's exactly what she was, sailing away on Charles's elegant ship, which he'd written a letter to his father to send several weeks ago now. She was so close to Eugene, yet so far away – just out of his reach, just as she'd been out of Charles's reach from the moment that he'd met her. Actually, though it hadn't been a part of his original plan, Charles is glad that Eugene had noticed her disappearance soon enough to realize that she was leaving on the ship – that way, Charles had been able to watch him desperately try to get to her, although there was no way for him to.
Not now, now that Charles's plan back in Corona is surely being put into motion.
Really, he hadn't wanted things to come to this. Charles hadn't wanted to take such drastic measures, hadn't wanted to bring any harm upon his wife – hadn't wanted to scare her. And when the impressive, Maddolineon-owned ship had arrived in Corona's harbor, he'd honestly contemplated throwing away his drawn-out, calculated plan altogether.
But then, his greatest suspicions had been confirmed: the princess was having an affair with that… that thief of hers. And Charles no longer had a doubt in his mind that getting Rapunzel out of Corona would be the best thing for her, and the best thing for their marriage. It was clear now, that if the princess remained here in her own kingdom, their marriage would never thrive, would never grow, and would never reach a place beyond 'I'm with you because I have to be, but my heart will always belong to someone else.'
And knowing that her heart belongs to someone else, is a fact that Charles is finished with complacently accepting. He'd tried that. In the early weeks of their courtship and eventual marriage, Charles had tried to accept that Eugene would always be inside of the princess's heart, had tried to be okay with that – had tried to get to know her, despite her especially infuriating way of always keeping herself at arm's length.
But then, it became clear that Eugene Fitzherbert would always be inside of her – literally – and Charles will simply not accept that.
Not in his marriage.
There are people who would judge him – harshly – for doing this. For making this decision for her, for stripping Rapunzel of the independence which she'd only just recently gained. But what was Charles to do in response to his marriage being invaded in such an angering way? Nothing? No, he is not a coward, and he would not continue to be played like a sorry violin by the princess and her felonious plaything. Charles will take what is rightfully his, because that is what real men – that is what a prince – would do.
He would prove himself as a capable husband, a husband capable of keeping his wife in check – would prove to everyone that the princess does not have the upper hand on their marriage – as it should be! The princess has spent their entire fledging marriage walking all over him! But enough is enough. He will lead her, and she will listen, no longer distracted by Fitzherbert.
And they will be happy. She will be happy.
It was aggravating, all of it: to know that his wife has given herself to a man who isn't her husband. It's completely unacceptable behavior. Sure, Charles has shared a bed with plenty of women who aren't Rapunzel, but he is a man. Such things are different when you are a man. Respectable young women of high noble class, like Rapunzel, should know better than to give their virtue to anyone other than their husband. To know that he won't be the first one to have his wife, completely infuriates Charles.
Then again, there seems to be a lot that the princess should know better about, but she chooses to do anyway. Like her constant lack of footwear, for example. Aren't her bare feet always sore and cold, stepping upon the cobblestone streets or marble floors of the castle? Not to mention, she always has a little reptile on her shoulder, making faces at him. It makes Charles uncomfortable. And her behavior – she was well-known for getting so excited about the silliest of things, like the color of the sky or the warm sunshine on her face. Charles supposes, the young woman had been deprived of the simple pleasures of life for eighteen years, but she must know that, as the future Queen of Corona, there is a certain level of decorum which must be maintained!
Well, it doesn't matter anyway. Because Maddoline will be her home now, and she will learn what it means to be a proper young lady – a proper wife – a wife who fulfills all of her expected duties.
He has tried to understand her quirks, has tried to convince himself that the eccentric princess will be well-received in Maddoline. But a self-conscious, insecure part of Charles, worries that she will not – and his reputation simply cannot survive a wife who does not know how to fit in. While Rapunzel's strange tics don't make the princess any less attractive, they may become a problem when it comes to impressing his parents and older siblings.
After all, Charles has his three older brothers to thank for these feelings of deep-seated insecurity, for this harshly rooted hatred for coming in second to just about anyone. The young prince has spent his entire life coming in last place to his brothers, fighting tooth and nail to live outside of their tall, daunting shadows. Sure, he's always been spoiled, but he has always been just one step below his siblings. And now, he's spent his entire marriage coming in second place to another man. How much longer could he possibly continue feeling so inferior?
Well, no more. He and the princess would be traveling for a week's time before they would arrive in Maddoline, and Charles is determined to use this time to bond with Rapunzel, talking her down from her furious ledge, and hopefully helping her to realize that this is all for the best. Rapunzel will surely come around to him by the time they arrive in his home kingdom.
Right?
And what if he comes, as she'd so confidently suggested? What if your plan has a weakness, an unexpected loophole? What if he comes for her, and all of this work, all of this planning, has been for naught?
No, he won't come for her. Stalyan has promised that she would take care of that. Of him.
And what of her parents? What if they come? They love her, unconditionally – her father's furious, protective display from the other day, proved so.
No, you have made preparations to ensure that the king and queen will not be able to make their way to her. Besides, they cannot abandon their kingdom. When we were first married, I had mentioned plenty of times how much the princess would love my beautiful kingdom, and I had always been brushed off by Frederic and Arianna. Oh, how I hate being brushed off! They will see that I took the necessary steps to protect their daughter – that it was necessary to take her away for a while – at least until Fitzherbert is out of the picture.
Yes. Everything will go smoothly, and she will be yours, and you will be happy together.
Really, Rapunzel is lucky – lucky to have a husband who cares about her so. A husband who cares about her enough to save her from the plague of a man who has nothing to offer her! It is clear that Rapunzel is so blinded by teenage lust and wanting, that she does not realize that her ex-flame is not capable of giving her the things that he is capable of giving her. What could Eugene Fitzherbert possibly have that Charles does not? The man is a reformed thief, for crying out loud! He'd grown up in an orphanage, of all places: a bastard, a lowlife, a worthless and unsuitable prospect for a princess.
Had the princess really believed that she would be allowed to marry him? Had she really believed that she and Eugene would make a suitable match? And had her parents really failed to remember the arrangement which they'd made with his kingdom when the two of them were only just babies. Or had they simply assumed that it would go away, that he would disappear after eighteen years? Or did the princess have the king and queen completely complacent, walking all over them, too – walking all over them, enough to let her believe that Eugene Fitzherbert belonged with her?
No. She is a princess, and a princess belongs with a prince.
Charles is sickeningly wealthy, respected in his kingdom, and has everything that he could ever want – everything that she could ever want – at his fingertips. So, what does he have that Charles does not? A huge dick?
Okay, maybe Eugene Fitzherbert does have one of those.
But so what if he does! Size isn't everything, and Charles surely knows how to please a woman. He's been told as much countless times, that he's plenty good at such things. Rapunzel will learn how to be happy with him, will learn how to provide him with what he wants – with what any husband deserves. He will teach her how to please him, too.
But then, she already knows how to please a man, doesn't she – has already been taught such things by someone else.
Charles had been right about one thing: her innocence, her virtue, and her value to her husband… it had been stolen – stolen by a thief, no less. The irony of the situation is almost too much for the irate prince to bear. Not to mention, he'd been right about the fact that Rapunzel is incredibly lucky – lucky that he actually still wants her, after she's so trampily given herself to another man.
And now, Charles is thinking about her moaning Eugene's name, and he's once again taking a very long drink of liquor, quickly refilling the empty glass.
He hadn't wanted things to be this way. For a while, Charles had honestly wanted to make things work in Corona, to find some contentment there. But Rapunzel had made doing so increasingly difficult: as the weeks went on, it had become more and more obvious to the young prince, that Rapunzel was never going to let Eugene go – so he had to find a way to make her. Charles didn't feel particularly good about hurting his wife, but what else could a man in his position do? He surely couldn't spend the rest of his life coming in second to someone else, fighting for his own wife's attention.
No, that simply would not do. Charles refuses to wake up one day to find his wife pregnant, only to realize that she is mothering the child of another man. What with Rapunzel's recent, scandalous behavior, Charles recognizes that the notion is not impossible, and he refuses to be the laughing stock of Corona – the fool who stood by, and allowed his wife to be loved, and ruined, and… and… fucked by another man.
The only reasonable explanation in this unideal circumstance, was to take her from Corona – take her from the distraction which is Eugene Fitzherbert.
He could make her happy. He would make her happy, happier than Eugene once had. She will need some time to adjust – Charles understands that – but his beautiful kingdom will be good to her. There are vast mountains to explore, and plenty of meadows for her to lie in, and plenty of gorgeous scenery for her to paint. With time, she won't miss him anymore, she won't even think about the former thief. In time, she will fall in love with Maddoline, and fall in love with him. Charles will give Rapunzel her own art room, overlooking the gardens, stocking it with every color of paint that she could ever want. She will wear beautiful ball gowns, and she will make plenty of new friends at the endless parties which they will throw in his home – their home.
He will forgive her for destroying her virtue, and they will make amends, and he will explain that his recent, aggressive behavior was only a result of loving her so much – a result of trying to protect her from a man who is no good for her!
Yes. She will forgive him for his brashness, and he will forgive her for acting like a cheap whore, and everything will be wonderful. They will finally be able to explore the possibilities of their fledging relationship, will finally be able to get to know one another, without her undeniable desire for another man getting in the way. And if she actually knew him, she would surely grow to like him!
Charles has heard the countless whispers from the castle maids, has heard about the person that Princess Rapunzel was before he'd arrived in Corona – before she was arranged in marriage to him. Rapunzel was bright, and bubbly, and the happiest girl that you've ever seen. Of course she's changed, the shock of her sudden marriage to him causing her attitude to shift. That is understandable. But when they are finally in Maddoline, she will be able to be that girl again!
He will prove to her that he is capable of being a kind husband, capable of treating her well. He will prove to her that his temper was not quite as short as he'd led her to believe, and they would be happy. When Fitzherbert is finally nothing but a distant memory, a simple figment of her imagination, a mistake of her youth… she will be that happy girl again. It might take a bit of time for her to come around, but she will.
Yes. The princess would finally be happy, and he would make her that way.
AN: Whew. That was a lot. The featured song for this chapter is Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Lorde. If I could choose a song which would play in the background of a visual trailer for this story, it would probably be this song.
Everybody Wants to Rule the World heavily inspired this chapter, and how I pictured the plot of the chapter going down: for the majority of the song, I pictured images in black and white: images of Charles arriving unexpectedly, images of Rapunzel and Eugene in their first year together – chasing one another through the gardens, lying on their backs in the meadow, the balls in which they attended together. Just before the beat finally drops, I pictured Eugene sprinting down the dock, these memories with Rapunzel flashing before his eyes. When the beat does drop, I pictured Eugene barreling headfirst into the water. For the rest of the song, the climax of the story is retold in the mind's eye of Eugene: his fistfights with Charles, nights spent with Rapunzel – their last night spent together.
Everything that he has lost, and everything that he will lose now. When the song ends, the ship is pulling away from the docks, and Eugene is there, helplessly treading in the water.
Yes, I create mini movies in my head of each chapter, music included. Don't judge. It's an important part of my writing process. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you for Chapter 21.