AN: Well, my favorite readers, here we are with a new chapter! How could things possibly get any worse for our beloved New Dream? Scratch that – don't ask. It'll only jinx them.
Today's featured song is Angels Like You by Miley Cyrus. Why did I pick this song, you may ask? Because, as we move deeper into the plotline of this story, we're going to see Eugene and Rapunzel battling a lot of personal guilt, convincing themselves that they've utterly let the other down. And well, now we're going to be taking a look at guilt from another perspective. In the last chapter, we saw Eugene feeling pretty damn guilty from the comfort of a prison cell… just like we saw him feeling guilty in the movie before the epic death scene. Now, he's in a prison cell once more, considering how he could've fucked up so badly – enough so that Rapunzel has been put in danger… again.
Ah, parallels.
In Chapter 21, we had the chance to take an intimate peek into Eugene's mind in the wake of Rapunzel being kidnapped by Charles. He's battling some very hefty guilt, and Rapunzel has her own guilt to deal with. Today, we'll get to pick apart our favorite princess's brain a little, and hear how she's doing with all of this. As always, your comments and general encouragement makes my day, and makes writing this story such a wonderful experience for me. I can only hope that it's one for you, too.
Chapter 22: If He's Lying, Don't Come Crying
Plus est en vous.
It's what her mother had once told her, soon after Rapunzel had first arrived home, gentle arms wrapped around her on a huge, fluffy bed which Rapunzel was not entirely used to sleeping in quite yet. The bed was expansive, so much bigger than the little, cozy bed that she'd had in the tower. At the time, Rapunzel had wished that she could snuggle up to Eugene every night, because he was always so warm and his arms so strong, and because the huge bed felt lonely without him. But such behavior was strictly frowned upon, and she wasn't quite prepared to push her parents' boundaries.
Yet.
The freshly-returned Lost Princess of Corona had been incredibly nervous for her coronation later that day: stomach-churning, head-spinning, anxiety-ridden nervous. Her mother, having missed eighteen years of mother-daughter heart-to-hearts, had sunk herself onto the edge of Rapunzel's silky bed, wrapped her arms around her quivering daughter, and had spoken those four, delicate words: 'Plus est en vous.'
'It means, there is more in you.'
Without her mother's gentle translation, Rapunzel honestly wouldn't have understood the well-meaning, comforting phrase. The words would have meant something to Eugene, who had quickly developed an easy banter with the queen in other languages, having picked up on several of them on his grand, world adventures – adventures which Rapunzel so loved hearing all about. But to Rapunzel, the phrase was simply made up of alien words, foreign on the tongue, and seemingly strung together haphazardly – at least, until her mother gave them a new, consoling meaning.
At the time, Rapunzel had undoubtedly believed her mother's well-guided encouragement: there was more in her, and there was nothing which she could not do. She had already overcome so much in her life, that Rapunzel almost felt silly for being so afraid for her coronation day. After months of preparation, she would represent her parents and her kingdom well – she would be the princess which her people needed her to be. And soon enough, the coronation which she had spent weeks feeling anxious about, would be nothing more than a far-off figment of the past. Rapunzel was where she was always meant to be, and the happily ever after which she never would've dreamed about even having a loose grasp on, was unfolding before her very eyes. There in the palm of her hand, was everything that she ever could've wanted.
The young princess had been wide-eyed and hopeful, her heart bursting at the seams with the possibilities of this new chapter of her life. Because – finally – she was home. She was home, and Eugene was home with her, and she was a princess, and what more could a girl possibly want? She had a loving father, who protected and adored her so much, that tears would prick at the corners of his eyes when the king would consider all of the ground which he had to cover when getting to know his spirted, complex daughter. She had a gentle, compassionate mother, who loved her for her – strange habits, eccentric quirks, and all – and not for her magical, anti-aging hair.
Not that she had the hair anymore. But even if she did, her mother would not have loved her any more for it, as Gothel had, and Rapunzel knows this. The hair, Eugene had delicately guided her to realize that day when he'd sheered it off with a piece of broken glass in the tower, had never really been the defining part of her at all – or even a remotely defining part of her, as Gothel had wanted her to believe, tying up every and any ounce of Rapunzel's self-worth into the hair itself. No, it was her heart for others which glowed golden. It was Rapunzel's heart, not her hair (as Eugene would say), which had the power to heal people.
People like him.
Her soul was a chameleon, her mother would fondly say, just like Pascal. Princess Rapunzel was ever-changing, and heart-achingly beautiful, yet the warm kind of predictably loving which could be related to the sun, which is always there each morning without fail.
But that was Rapunzel: wild in a sweet, warm way, kind in the way that made her a borderline pushover (but she was working on that), and free-spirited in the kind of way that can only pray to be reined in someday. Although, those who truly loved her, didn't want her to be reined in. Rapunzel's free-spiritedness was what made her so easy to love, and so hard to let go of.
She had the love of a man who most every young woman in Corona wanted, because he was handsome as hell, mature in his own, worldly way – and, best of all, he would change for you. And isn't that all any girl really wants? A man who will change for them?
This was the man who would stare the grim reaper straight in the eye, if only to ensure that she would have a chance to dodge his scythe – a man who would cut his fingers on shards of broken glass, if only so she could have free hands which still had a chance of grasping onto the future. She had the love of a man who would throw away his future, if only for the sake of her still having one.
And how has she repaid him for his selflessness? How has she thanked him for the beautiful life granted to her at the hand of his split-second, shattered-glass decision? She's allowed herself to get married to another man, and has made said man so angry – because she can't stop loving him – so angry, that she has been taken away from her kingdom, from her family. From the only man that she's ever wanted.
But, before any of that – before everything had been taken away from her, due to her own thoughtless behavior – she had been the girl who had everything. She had doting parents, and adoring subjects, and the purest love that she ever could've hoped to find.
So, what more could she possibly want? Yet, sitting in her bedroom that morning, anxiously awaiting her big coronation, Rapunzel had been filled to the brim with nervous energy. So much so, that she couldn't imagine there being enough room in her for anything else, as her mother had suggested – but Rapunzel understood that the queen had spoken figuratively. Rapunzel, her mother had intended to say, was capable of so much more than she'd ever believed herself to be: she was capable of being the princess which her people had placed on an impossibly high pedestal and had waited eighteen years to return. She was capable of being the princess that her people needed. She was capable of being their hope, their future.
Regardless of every shred of good fortune which had suddenly been placed into the palm of her hand, Rapunzel had found herself incredibly overwhelmed in her first six months of living in the castle. And really, who could blame her? Not only was she trying to adjust to being a simple, fresh-into-adulthood person – learning how to function in the world after being hidden away from it for so long – but she was trying to adjust to being a princess: a hefty title, attached to a lifelong commitment with an extensive list of expectations which cannot be recounted in full in an entire afternoon.
Practically overnight, Rapunzel had shifted from being a person who essentially no one knew existed at all, to a person known by two, but only truly loved by one, and finally, to a person who thousands of people would now look to for grace and guidance. This overbearing change was so sudden – so unexpected – that Rapunzel felt incapable of truly being known by anyone ever again (except for Eugene, of course. He knew her better than anyone – even herself). She felt so uncomfortably seen by so many people, yet she never felt truly known by any of them. Rapunzel's scope of admirers and those who depended on her had blown from one, to thousands, in a matter of only a few eventful, life-altering days.
She had once been nothing more than a girl in a tower, and she had been perfectly okay with being that girl, because she hadn't known any better. She hadn't known enough to realize that there was more in her. Now, not only was Rapunzel expected to be the lovely, compassionate Crown Princess of Corona, but she was to be their ticket to prosperity in the years to come, long after her parents stepped down from the throne. She was to be her people's future.
And sometimes, she just wanted to be Rapunzel. But just being Rapunzel – free-spirited, adventurous, chameleon-souled Rapunzel – was not a luxury which the young princess was granted too often anymore. There were times when Eugene would sense her restlessness within the castle. He, without fail, could always sense when Rapunzel was going a bit stir-crazy, and when the weighty expectations were all becoming just a bit too much for her to handle gracefully, the anxiety of it all bubbling under her carefree, happy-go-lucky surface.
Honestly, after spending eighteen years locked away in a tower, Rapunzel had assumed that Eugene would be the one to experience frequent stir-craziness, but this often wasn't so. Sure, he sometimes missed his daring, roguish adventures, but having a life with Rapunzel was well worth giving all of that up. More often than not, it was Rapunzel who struggled with adapting to palace life, and she often felt guilty for that. After all, shouldn't she be constantly overflowing at the brim with thankfulness? Shouldn't she be ecstatic about this new life which had been granted to her?
Yes, she should. And she was. Rapunzel was thankful for this chandelier shaking, gold-dipped, crowned life of hers – very much so. But this doesn't mean that castle fever was not a frequently broached issue for the active princess: an issue which, with the help of Eugene, Rapunzel was trying to learn that she didn't have to feel so guilty for. Regardless of what her parents might push her to believe – or the council, for that matter – it was okay to want to explore beyond the castle walls, and it was okay to need a moment to breathe again.
So, always incredibly adept to her emotions, Eugene would saddle up Max, and he would convince the king that she needed to go – just for the afternoon, no longer – because only he could truly take note of the tremble of her bottom lip, the anxious look in her eye, the stress in her voice. Eugene had always been so in tune with his princess, capable of reading her so clearly, as though Rapunzel were no more complicated to him than a children's picture book. And she adored him for it.
They would go away together for the afternoon – sometimes to the swaying meadow with the willow tree for a picnic – the one which Eugene had showed her in their first weeks together in the castle. In the peaceful company of one another, they would bask in the warm sunshine, and share long, heartfelt conversations concerning their future together: a wedding which would never come, and children which would never be made, and a whole lot of dreams which could never be fulfilled – unbeknownst to them at the time.
Other times, they would simply bask in the blissful silence of not having any expectations weighing upon their shoulders for a few hours. For a few hours, fingers would run through hair, and lips would meet, and sometimes, quiet moans would be released from those lips – moans which only the crows perched in the trees above would have to keep a secret. And for those few, fleeting hours, they could simply be Rapunzel and Eugene: not Princess Rapunzel and Guard Eugene, or Princess Rapunzel and the ex-thief, Flynn Rider, as so many still felt inclined to call him by. For those few hours, they could just be them, with no one to explain themselves to, no one to hide their hand brushes and dark looks from, and no one to tell them that what they were doing was to be considered wrong.
And Rapunzel liked it that way. She liked the way that Eugene's calloused palm would press into her soft one, or into her side, or cupping her blushing cheek as she hiked her dress up hastily. She liked that he would steal kisses from her when no one was looking (she especially liked when he would do much more than kiss her), and she liked that he wasn't the kind of man which a princess was expected to court. She liked that he was a little rough around the edges, yet so soft and approachable in the eyes and at heart. She liked that he had so many engaging stories to tell, and she liked that he knew so much more about the world than she did, so that he could be the one to teach her about all of it.
She liked when Eugene would teach her things, even if she really wasn't supposed to know them – even when her mother had warned her that Eugene was probably much more experienced than her in just about every way. But Rapunzel didn't mind – it made her feel close to him, the way that he guided her so patiently through most everything. His moral compass was a little wobbly when they'd first met, not entirely pointing north. But his heart was made of pure gold, and his eyes looked like the whiskey in her dad's alcohol cabinet, and the way that he smiled when he was talking to her always made Rapunzel's knees feel like jelly, and always made her stomach ache in a very curious way.
Rapunzel liked when she and Eugene had the luxury of getting away together, if only for a few hours. She liked that he was the one to steal her away, and she liked him best when he was alone with her. She liked him all the time, really – but living in the castle together had its challenges: living in the castle meant judgmental looks, and prying eyes, and strict council heads.
In court life, feeling him, and touching him, and wanting him, were not things which Rapunzel could act upon so easily, or so discreetly. This – this control (or, perhaps, a lack thereof) – was a skill which Rapunzel had only come to learn over time, with his help. Her willpower where Eugene was concerned was not entirely exceptional, and Rapunzel's parents often softly (and sometimes, where her father was concerned, not so softly), chided her for such things. Her mother would delicately explain to Rapunzel the blessed curse of having to love someone behind closed doors – because not doing so when you are a royal, was to be considered wildly inappropriate.
But she didn't care. Eugene was her future just as much as she was the kingdom's key to prosperity, and Rapunzel wasn't entirely sure why such a thing needed to be kept a secret.
And to be Eugene's future… now that was enticing. The notion, even in the earliest stages of their relationship, had been the kind of enticing which caused the butterflies in Rapunzel's stomach to flutter their delicate, little wings. These gut-invading butterflies had effectively flapped off a thick layer of dust: dust which had settled after eighteen years of being fully convinced that her future would be lived out essentially alone in a hidden tower. To consider being Eugene's wife, to consider having a family with him, to consider waking up to his utterly handsome face each and every morning – this thought drove Rapunzel straight off the cliff of heartwarming possibilities, right into the dangerous ravine of 'I have to have it, or I'll never feel fulfilled with my life ever again.'
To be Eugene's future, and for him to be hers, was unquestionable: a simple given, her deepest desire – a fated happenstance. But to be the future of an entire kingdom? It was exciting, it was an honor, it was…
It was terrifying. Because Rapunzel had essentially no idea if she was truly worth being the future of an entire kingdom. She'd spent her entire life being told that she wasn't good enough, and suddenly, she had to be good for everyone.
On that day of her coronation, her mother had been entirely right: there was more in her, more than Rapunzel had ever hoped to be when she had still been living in the tower. There was so much of Eugene inside of her, Rapunzel had often worried if she could be both the loving partner which he needed, and the dependable princess which her people needed. She often wondered if she could effectively fulfill both roles, or if she would simply have to sacrifice one for the other for the entirety of her life: assumedly, would she have to put her kingdom before Eugene, time and time again?
Would Rapunzel struggle to fill the shoes of both roles, effectively breaking her heels as she went? Was she strong enough to forever bear the heavy, combined weight of Eugene's ring on her finger, and the people's crown on her head? Could her lifelong commitment to these two incredibly important, yet unequal parties, be truly fulfilled to the potential in which they both deserved? Could she possibly give all of herself to one, as they deserved, without somehow neglecting the other?
Worst of all: would her people unwantedly, endlessly, inevitably have to come first in Rapunzel's life? Not in her heart, but in her strong sense of duty?
Yes, they would. And her sudden, unwanted marriage to Charles had wrung out Rapunzel's deepest fears like a wet rag in the hot, summer sun, proving her constantly-nagging concerns to be true. Her commitment to her people would always come first, in a way that she never could have predicted when she'd stepped into that rose-colored role – in a way that Eugene had never deserved. This commitment is why Rapunzel had refused to run away with Eugene when he'd begged her to do so in the garden on that horrible night of the party, despite how much she'd ached to simply disappear into the night with him and never come back.
Now, Rapunzel realizes with a gut-wrenching guilt, that's exactly what she should've done: run away with him. To hell with the kingdom, as Eugene had probably thought that night. What about them? What about their love, their love which had been worth dying for? Wouldn't that always be more important than anything? Apparently, not to her.
Instead, bit by the sharp, unforgiving teeth of a monarchy which had been struggling for the better part of two decades – both emotionally and financially – she would be married off to a foreign, haughty prince, only for purposes of economic security over genuine desires of the heart. Her future with Eugene would crumble underfoot unexpectedly, and the weight of her crown would far outweigh the weight of any engagement ring that he could've hoped to get down on one knee with. The crown had beat him to the punch, had gotten her into that white dress before Eugene ever could, and Rapunzel had been forced to neglect the one person which she'd been entirely hell-bent on never losing.
All because she was – according to that damned council – her people's 'only hope at prosperity, economic rebound, and increase in general moral.' And her shoulders would grow weak, and tired, and sore, because who in the hell can elegantly carry a weight like that?
So, much to Rapunzel's dismay, her duty to her kingdom would eventually outweigh the well-intended, meant-to-be-kept promises which she'd made: promises which she'd made in the courtyards and in the meadow under the warm, afternoon sun. Promises which she'd made under the starry, night sky, pointing out constellations and silently praying that the sun would never come up, if only so they could be alone for just a little while longer, lost in the glittering universe of one another.
Promises which she'd made between warm sheets crumpled in fisted fingers, promises which she'd panted between heated kisses – kisses which were rooted in that special kind of lust which stems from pure, destined, inescapable love.
'Tell me you don't love him.'
That's what he'd pleaded with her – hushed and completely desperate, the words on his tongue setting her body on fire – words that he'd whispered to her the last time they'd made love. The last time they'd made love before… before she would be standing here on the deck of this expensive ship which has become her short-term prison: a prison which she will soon trade for a much bigger one. Now, she is standing here, sucking in the cold air which is not quite as bitter as her heart feels now.
Rapunzel would give anything to relive that disastrous, hectic night: would give anything to say yes to him, to run away with Eugene the very moment that he'd asked. She would give anything not to leave him crestfallen there in the garden maze, heartbroken and knowing exactly where he stood: surely not at the bottom of her heart, but definitely below her kingdom, below her people. She would give anything to know that making love with him that last time, would be the last time. She would give anything to know that, when the sun would come up the next morning, Charles would already be nose-deep in plotting her unwanted escape from Corona.
Well, Rapunzel had wanted to escape Corona, some days. She can't deny that, and won't pretend to – there's no use in pretending anymore. Some days, nothing had sounded better than running away. Just not with Charles.
And Eugene – her sweet, perfect Eugene – having so gracefully accepted that her duty to her kingdom was too great to simply run away from, had pleaded with her that night. He'd pleaded with her as they'd moaned and came together – legs shaking, greedily watching one another's release, all heavy-eyed and hearts beating dangerously fast. He'd pleaded with her to just tell him that she would never be able to love her husband in the way that she loves him. That was all that he'd needed from her, all that he'd truly wanted.
He didn't need her to run away, he didn't need her to abandon her kingdom. Regardless of his heat-of-the-moment question in the garden, Eugene had always understood the detriment of that selfish decision, and had ultimately respected her choice to honor her commitment to her people before her commitment to him.
Really, he had just needed her to love him in that vulnerable, heartbreaking moment. So she did, hard. That night, sex with him had never felt so good, and maybe it was because this time had been –unknowingly to them – the last time. The last time before everything nosedived, and Charles had decided to nosedive right along with it. That night, she had given every piece of herself to Eugene that she possibly could have: willingly, and desperately, filled with a painful want and desire: a want and desire which she will never feel for her husband. And if Rapunzel had known then that it would be the last time, she would've loved him even harder.
Stalyan had been right about one very important thing, if nothing else: you don't forget someone who makes love to you like Eugene does – you just don't. But then again, perhaps Stalyan had never made love with him at all. She'd fucked him in the last ten years, sure – enough times to last her for the next decade, Rapunzel can only assume (albeit a bit jealously).
But making love? That seemed to be a special action reserved for the princess entirely.
Regardless, Stalyan had been completely right: you don't forget his hands searing into your skin like heart-shaped burns, you don't forget the pleased look in his eye as he sends you over the edge, screaming his name all the way down, and you don't forget the way that he absolutely rips your soul from its deepest, darkest hiding places. Places which you would be embarrassed to let your soul fall into in the first place, but it all feels too good to care. That was what being with him had felt like.
But more important than any of that, you don't forget someone who loves you like Eugene does, so purely and so genuinely. And if Rapunzel weren't so protective, she would suggest that everyone know what it's like to be loved by him, if only once. Because being loved by Eugene Fitzherbert is kept promises, and endearing nicknames galore, and always having a warm, safe place to run to when the rest of the world is absolutely teetering on the edge of dependableness.
'Tell me you don't love him.'
That's what he'd said to her that night. And, because it was the only thing that she could do in the wake of the guilt of not running away with him, Rapunzel had promised that she wouldn't love Charles, not ever. And she wouldn't.
The guilt of not leaving with Eugene – of not protecting him from this heartache – was eating Rapunzel alive, and he had to know that her heart was still entirely, eternally his. She would never love her husband – or any other man, for that matter – if only because loving anyone who is not Eugene, is not only completely unideal, but impossible altogether. It would be altogether infeasible to love anyone who is not Eugene, because he is lining her lungs, pushing the air out of her body. Even now, an entire week's-trip away from her, he is the salty air which she breathes in, stinging her nostrils in the cold.
He is in every single part of her.
Eugene is threaded within her so beautifully, so painfully – so deeply – that he lingers between every breath, lingers in her mouth like a thick melancholy which somehow tastes sweet, haunting each of her shaky intakes. Not haunting her in a traditional, terrifying way. No, not at all – he haunts her bones like a dull ache, stains her lips like the muted lip color which she's often expected to wear to royal events and parties. He's imbedded within the soft lines of her palms, there are still traces of his smell in her hair, and although she sometimes feels horrible for it, he's the pang between her legs that just won't go away – not even in high-stress, disastrous situations like this one.
So, no – Eugene won't ever not be a deeply threaded part of her. At least, not in the way that Charles would like to think that he's capable of unthreading them from one another. Charles would like to think that he's won this testosterone-induced battle that he's had with Eugene from the moment in which the two men had met.
And maybe he has claimed his mighty victory, for now. Maybe he's muddled enough in the mind to truly believe that the princess will be his for good, finally out of the distracting grasp of that damn thief. The evil-minded prince can do all that he wants to physically separate the princess from her charming ex-thief. But, much to Charles's dismay, he cannot quite seem to separate them on the level in which certain souls are so pathetically tied, there is no chance of cutting the tangled strings.
Charles had once promised himself, many weeks ago, that he would effectively snuff out the light which was Rapunzel's obviously lingering desire for Eugene Fitzherbert. He would snuff out the thought-to-be-hidden, lustful looks from across the ballroom (looks which had made painful sense, now that Charles is basking in hindsight), the soul connection which they'd so clearly had, and the memories which they'd shared. He would be enough to make her forget about all of it.
But, if his wife's behavior in the past week on the ship had proven anything, it had proven that doing so was going to be much harder than Charles had originally anticipated.
It was clear: Eugene puts the wind in her sails – no, to her, he is the wind itself. He is the very thing which propels her forward, the thing which gives Rapunzel a reason to defy the harsh current, and fight her way to the eye of the storm. If there was any light to be had, it was because Eugene had lit the candle. If there was life to be lived, it was because Eugene had been happy to give up his own life for hers, again and again. Her world revolved around him, and her world would subsequently decay in his absence.
Charles, on the other hand, has only successfully shredded her freshly-windless sails, and has blamed her for the ship going down. It's ironic, really.
And now, they're sailing upon a ship which Rapunzel would be so lucky to send to the sea's watery floor. At least then, she wouldn't have to be trapped with the begrudged prince which she must refer to as 'husband' any longer.
"A penny for your thoughts, my dear?"
A regal, steady voice sounds from behind her, dragging the princess from her self-deprecating, guilt-ridden thoughts – though Rapunzel doesn't turn around to greet the voice as its owner leans against the railing beside her, looking her over closely with blue, uneasy eyes.
"You've been awfully quiet today. Not at all like the way you've been for the majority of our trip."
Our trip – as if it had been some kind of mutual, joint decision. Yes, there had been a lot of kicking, and a lot of screaming, and even a few indelicate 'screw you's' intertwined with the princess's generally hostile behavior.
"Oh, I'm not thinking of much." Rapunzel edges slightly away from her husband, fiddling with the lacey cuff on the sleeve of her dress before leaning against the ship's railing herself, gazing out into the choppy waves. "Mostly just about the way Eugene is going to wring your neck when all of this is over, and how I'm going to watch him do it."
Rapunzel takes pause for a short moment, ruefully considering the satisfying image, finally turning to look her husband directly in the eye for the first time that evening.
"Or, better yet, I'll just do it myself."
This comment inspires a deep laugh to bubble in Charles's throat, as though he were enjoying this ongoing, bitter banter of theirs.
"Very funny, Princess. But really, your dramatics aren't necessary anymore. You're not going to hurt my feelings with your empty threats, or push me away with your crude insults. They don't bother me as you want them to."
"I wasn't trying to be funny, Charles." Rapunzel sighs heavily, attempting to appear as unbothered as possible, staring out at the waves once more, and donning a surprisingly calm expression upon her tired face. "Eugene is going to come for me, and he is quite literally going to wring your neck. And I am going to watch."
The prince clinks his tongue as if to chastise her, chuckling darkly.
"Why are you so sure that he'll come for you? Do you truly believe that I would make it easy for him?"
Rapunzel shrugs casually in response to her husband's tantalizing question, as if their conversation were about no more than the weather.
"Because he promised that he would. He promised that he would always protect me from people like you."
"And you believed him?"
"I believe everything he says to me."
Rapunzel, having known that this particular comment would effectively upset her husband, watches with satisfaction as the prince blows hot air from his nose and grits his whitened teeth, a green envy developing in his narrowed eyes.
"Why? He's a thief, Rapunzel. He's not good enough for you."
Now, it's Rapunzel's turn to laugh, pushing her weight from the railing to face Charles full-frontally.
"Oh, and you are?" Losing every glint of humor which had previously graced her face for the first time in days, Rapunzel shakes her head defiantly, a newfound anger bubbling in her chest. "Eugene would never do this to me! And for that very reason, I'm in love with that thief, and not with you."
Another bout of ugly jealousy rears its head and flashes noticeably in Charles's eyes, though he quickly regains his stiff, regal demeanor, tilting his chin up at her in his own showcase of spousal defiance.
"Well, you won't be for much longer, and I don't want to hear you whining when he doesn't come for you. After all, he let me take you." Charles cocks his head in mock questioning, having fully believed that he's won the upper hand in their hundredth spat of the week. "So, he's already broken that promise to always protect you, hasn't he?"
Rapunzel scrunches her nose angrily, coiling her fists in the attempts to find a worthy comeback.
He's just trying to get into your head. He's just trying to manipulate you into letting go of Eugene, which isn't going to happen. Not ever. I'll kick and I'll scream for the rest of my life if I have to, but I will not let Charles live in peace with what he's done. Even if Eugene doesn't come for me after all, Charles is going to pay for this. Mom will make him pay for this, Dad will surely make him pay for this, and my people will make him pay for this.
I will make him pay for this.
"Eugene hasn't broken anything. You're just a psychopath."
"You know, sweetheart… I understand that your experience with the powders hasn't been so pleasant." Charles places an adept finger under her chin with a sickeningly sweet smile, directing Rapunzel's reluctant gaze to rest fully upon him. "I would truly hate to have to continue giving them to you, especially after you've been on much better behavior these last few days."
Gritting her teeth, Rapunzel tries to pull away, but her husband's grasp on her face remains.
"I would rather puke my guts up every day for the rest of my life than live with you in faked civility."
And that's just about all Rapunzel has been doing for the past week: well, puking her guts up, that is. Faking civility with Charles is something which the princess simply does not have the energy for.
From the evening in which she'd been unknowingly placed onto this expansive ship, unconscious and unaware, Rapunzel had fought and fought, and Charles had given her a dose of a strange-colored powder each time that she did; usually grinded into her food, or dissolved in the water that she needed to drink, if she had any hope of surviving this case of grand theft princess long enough to get back to Eugene in one piece.
"Mmm… is that so? Even after the night of awful hallucinations that you had earlier this week?"
Charles tilts her chin with another resentful smile, as if closely inspecting the vulnerable column of her bared neck, his snake-like eyes dragging down her body menacingly before ultimately looking her in the face once more.
"You wouldn't stop fighting me that night, and it really did pain me to see you that way."
This particular night which Charles speaks of now, had been a nightmare to end all nightmares, worse than even the one Rapunzel had experienced when she'd first set sail with Charles last week – the nightmare in which Gothel herself had so elegantly graced Rapunzel's half-conscious mind with her presence. A few days later, when Rapunzel had caught on to the powders which Charles has been feeding her – powders used to sedate and keep her from fighting him too hard, or simply throwing herself overboard – she had realized that what she was experiencing, weren't nightmares at all.
"Oh, I'll gladly take the hallucinations. I saw Eugene in them, after all, so they weren't really all that bad. Maybe this time, he'll wind up in the bed with me, and –"
All sense of humor slips from Charles's face now, his single finger being joined by the rest of his hand as he roughly takes her face in his fingers. Charles pulls his taunting wife harshly forward, holding Rapunzel's hard gaze with a glare of his own, sparkling teeth barred.
"I would watch that pretty mouth of yours if I were you, Princess. Before you dig yourself into a very, very deep hole."
"What? Does that make you jealous, Charles?" Rapunzel steps forward, further tantalizing her husband, fully aware of how angry she has the power to make him. "Does it make you jealous that I was so willing to get into bed with Eugene, yet still refuse to do so with you?"
Rage spilling over his irises, Charles coils his hand back, as if to strike her across the cheek. Before he can connect his skin with hers, though, Rapunzel reaches up, grabbing him by the wrist, fury bubbling in her own, green eyes.
"What're you going to do? You can't hurt me any more than you already have by taking me away from him. I still want him and you know it, and that bothers your sad, little ego, doesn't it?"
Rapunzel tries to tug herself away from him once more, though Charles's grip upon her with his free hand is strong as iron, the tension of the moment painfully palpable.
"You've gotten what you wanted. Why keep torturing me?"
"Oh, I don't mean to torture you, dear." Charles ultimately shoves her away, causing Rapunzel to stumble against the ship's railing as he smooths down the front of his wrinkled jacket. "You simply need to understand that your selfish actions have harsh consequences, and that the way you have acted is no way to treat your faithful husband. You will learn how to be pleasant, and present, and faithful to me."
"You're calling yourself faithful now?" Rapunzel crosses her arms over her chest, blowing out an angry laugh. "Faithful to what, exactly? Your insanity?"
Charles only clicks his tongue with a gravely chuckle of his own, and the lack of humor in their situation doesn't quite match the number of bitter laughs which they've shared with one another in the last week.
"If you keep it up with your mouth, darling, I won't be the one pleading my case to insanity. Hallucinations are bad for the brain, they say."
Having fully believed that he's claimed the last word (and effectively stricken fear in his wife's recently-jumbled mind), Charles turns to leave, his expensive, polished shoes clicking against the wooden planks of the ship. Before he has the chance to leave the deck on his own terms, though, Rapunzel's low voice inspires Charles to turn back to look at her once more.
"You know, Charles, the last time someone took me away from my family, away from Eugene…"
Those huge, haunting green eyes of hers bore into his, the darkening evening sky placing upon her head a halo of dusk which thrusts Rapunzel into a dull, menacing light. And for only a moment, the prince feels intimidated by her tiny, quivering frame – though, of course, he would never admit such a thing aloud.
"They ended up dead."
Clearing his throat, Charles tries his best to appear nonchalant, tries his best to appear unaffected by her clear attempt at an effective threat – though, he's considered plenty of times in the past week what could happen if his plan were to go awry.
What could happen if Eugene Fitzherbert finds a way to get to her after all.
"Yes. And?"
"And that's exactly what's going to happen to you when Eugene gets here, you asshole!"
Scoffing, Charles allows the insult to roll off of her tongue, off of his shoulders, and into the choppy waves below them as he turns away once more, fully intending to leave Rapunzel alone on the ship's deck in the cold, evening air. There are people here on this ship, people who he has hired to keep an eye on her – to make sure that she doesn't send herself overboard simply to spite him – when her bad behavior becomes a little too much for the short-tempered prince to handle gracefully.
"Oh, please. Don't be demented, Rapunzel. You actually think he's coming for you? I mean, if he really loved you, he never would've let me take you in the first place."
With that, Charles smiles back at his wife one last time, turning on his heel to give her a quick wave over his shoulder.
"We'll be arriving in Maddoline by morning!"
Rapunzel has been utterly sick for the majority of the past week – literally, and in heart.
She'd reached for Eugene enough times in those first few nights on the ship to now know that his warm body won't be there on the bed beside her. Her arm would simply fall heavily on the sheets, depressingly yearning for his touch which won't be there to comfort her. His touch which won't be there to pull her close to his chest, and bury his nose in her hair, and mumble endearing, half-asleep phrases.
Instead, Charles is always there in the cold sheets with her: snoring softly, chest heaving slightly, eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. As he dreams about what, Rapunzel doesn't want to know. Rapunzel, lying there wide awake most nights, can't help but notice how her husband doesn't look quite peaceful there in bed with her. He never had, even in the castle. Somehow, Charles still appears rigid, and stiff, and prepared to reach out and grab her if she tries to leave, even in his sleep.
Perhaps her husband's inability to truly rest, has something to do with her being on the very edge of the bed, refusing to lie even remotely close to him. Perhaps his inability to trust her, even in his deepest sleep, has everything to do with her obvious inability to even try to love him – to let him in.
Perhaps if she would have given Charles a chance all those months ago, none of this would have happened, and he wouldn't have to be so angry with her now – everyone wouldn't have to be so angry with her now. She wouldn't have to feel this guilt, this shame.
If Rapunzel had only given her husband a chance, if she only would have accepted the marriage for what it was, she wouldn't have to haunt this ship, carrying the ghostly knowledge that all of this is her own fault. It's her own fault that she's been taken from her kingdom in this way, for the second time in her young life.
It's her own fault that the situation has unraveled so disastrously: because she hadn't been strong enough to let go of Eugene. Even though letting go of him, would have protected him.
Eugene had always looked so beautifully peaceful when he would sleep. She would sneak into bed with him, and he would drift off beside her, and it were as though he had never felt any pain in his life at all – even though Rapunzel knew that wasn't true. If she hadn't known the truth of his past endeavors, Rapunzel easily could have convinced herself that he was an angel there in bed with her. Perhaps this natural sense of peace on his face, came about because Eugene had never had to worry about her trying to leave him – because leaving Eugene isn't something that the princess ever would have done on her own accord.
He knew it, she knew it, and Charles knew it. For goodness sake, everyone in the kingdom probably knew it by now, if the ever-presently gossiping maids had anything to do with it: Princess Rapunzel was never going to peel herself from Eugene Fitzherbert unless someone made her. Her husband would never truly satisfy her – at least, not while Eugene was around.
Perhaps this makes the princess a bit of a tease, but who could blame her, really? The relationship which she'd had with the ex-most-wanted thief of Corona was so secure, so airtight, that Prince Charles understood his only two, viable choices: get rid of Eugene (which quickly had unveiled itself as an unlikely option, especially after Stalyan's clear inability to seduce him), or take Rapunzel away from him altogether.
And that's exactly why Rapunzel has been on a fancy Maddolineon ship for the better part of a week.
Her hands have felt completely restless for Eugene since the night in which she'd found herself on the boat. The wood planks of the ship's floor creak underfoot, reminding Rapunzel of the wooden floor of Eugene's bedroom. The deep, blue water, surrounding the ship on all sides, reminds her of the harbor in Corona. The water is reminiscent of the night in which they'd been drawn into the golden haze of a thousand lanterns, his warm hand upon the back of her neck, molding itself – molding his touch – there upon her skin forever, her lips anticipating the feel of his for the very first time.
It was the kind of kiss that she'd been stripped clean by another person for the first time in order to realize that she'd wanted it – to realize that she had wanted something which Rapunzel had never thought herself capable of wanting from another person, yet she found herself wanting from him all the time now.
It was a kiss which had been stolen from her by circumstance.
They're always being stolen away from one another by unlucky circumstance, aren't they? Old witches, and political arrangements, and princes who don't know how to accept that they will never be accepted in the heart of a princess who already belongs to someone else. They could knock on wood, they could pray to the stars, but was the universe hell-bent on making this difficult for them?
It's painful. No, it's entirely unfair. All of it: having to be married to Charles, having to pretend, and being reduced to sneaking around in order to still properly love Eugene. And, ultimately, after sneaking around couldn't be a well-kept secret anymore, it's unfair that she has to be on this ship, sailing too far away from him to ever be okay again. It's unfair, the way that everything reminds Rapunzel of him.
And for the first time since knowing Eugene, she hates it. She hates that everything reminds her of him. Rapunzel hates it, because she's never felt so messed up in the head in her entire life – not even the day in which she'd watched him die in her arms. She despises her weakness, her inability to unthread him from her constant state of consciousness just long enough to be numb to the terrifying reality of her current situation. Even when she's half-conscious, submerged in hallucinations, he's there, begging her to come home to him! And if she doesn't find a way to become numb to the notion that Charles has stooped low enough to physically take her from Eugene, Rapunzel is not quite sure how she's going to get through this notion alive.
Charles had promised that she would love his kingdom, had promised that Maddoline would be a 'perfect fit' for a nature-loving, creatively-driven young woman like her. Apparently, Maddoline was all romantic vineyards, and bustling villages, and rolling, sun-bathed meadows which she could paint to her heart's content. There would be new friends to meet, and parties to be thrown, and adventures to be had. And it all sounded wonderful, objectively – but it sounded wonderful in the way that it sounded positively horrible, because Eugene wouldn't be there to enjoy any of it with her. And if Eugene isn't there, would any of it really matter?
Rapunzel supposes not. Because she would have gladly given up the crown, the title, the ball gowns and the expensive parties – the lifestyle of pure cushiness and lifelong security – if only to be with him forever. She would have given all of it up for him, and she could have. She could have left with him, that night in the garden, but she'd said no. She'd said no, because her strong sense of duty to her people was absolutely suffocating.
Better yet, Rapunzel could have hidden her knowledge about being the Lost Princess altogether, and ran off with him the second that he'd reopened his eyes after dying on her tower floor.
In hindsight, that's probably what she should've done. Rapunzel should've thought it through, should have considered what her being a princess would actually – realistically – mean for the two of them. She should've known that something like this – something like an arranged marriage – would happen.
Though Rapunzel loves her parents (and her people, for that matter), with a love which is unconditional and pure, being the Crown Princess of Corona has assumedly brought her more heartache than not being the princess would have. Because if she hadn't been the princess, she still would've had Eugene, and life would have consisted of the two of them and nothing else. And that alternative sounds particularly lovely in the midst of Rapunzel's current predicament.
And now, here she is, swaying haphazardly on a ship which is sailing her to a foreign kingdom, trying her best to keep down an ongoing ebb-and-flow of bile which threatens to crawl its way up her throat.
Maybe she deserves this. Maybe she deserves to be on this ship. Maybe, as Charles had suggested yesterday evening on the top deck during their daily argument, this blindsided trip is simply a twisted punishment for Rapunzel's deceit. This is Charles's special brand of twisted punishment for her secrets, and for her shameful inability to remain faithful to her husband. And maybe that's what happens to girls like her, girls who cannot respect the constraints of holy matrimony: they don't deserve to live a happy life, a life in which they are trusted to make decisions for themselves.
But Rapunzel is not a typically unfaithful person. Truly, she's not! She's not completely devoid of moral high ground – actually, she's quite the opposite. On most occasions, Rapunzel is fiercely loyal, and unconditionally trustworthy.
But when it comes to Eugene, she simply cannot follow the expectations of her marriage with Charles. When it comes to Eugene, Rapunzel cannot find the strength within herself to be completely morally correct. How could she? How could she not sneak away from her marriage bed, slipping into a bed where she always felt loved, and cherished, and understood? How could she not ache to be wrapped up in a set of arms which are so warm, so familiar to her? Arms which are so dependable, so safe?
How could she possibly be expected to give him up? How could she let go of the one thing which has always kept her from crash-landing completely? This is something that Charles can never understand. That's what Eugene did: he kept her, and he held her, and he loved her so hard that she never quite hit the ground each time that Rapunzel was convinced she would. No one wants to hit the ground, and no one wants to do it alone.
And why couldn't her husband simply understand that? How couldn't he understand that Eugene is the only thing which kept her glued together at all? Without him, Rapunzel threatens to come apart completely.
Rapunzel had been careening to the ground long before Charles had actually found out about the affair, Eugene holding her up the best that he could as she'd awaited the dreaded bone crush. She'd waited anxiously for Charles to discover the truth of her very much not-terminated relationship with Eugene, and she'd waited for the prince to grab her in his hands, crushing her bones for himself, yanking her away.
And her fingers would still somehow be intertwined with Eugene's, and they would twist and break as Charles tried to claim her hand for himself.
And maybe that's the stark, undeniable difference between Charles and Eugene: one of them had grown up with everything, yet had absolutely nothing to offer to her, while the other had grown up with nothing, and had offered her everything that he had. He'd offered her all of himself, and Rapunzel couldn't have wanted anything in the world more than that.
And maybe, that's the difference between Charles and Eugene: one man would give her life, and the other would take her life from her. One man would keep her together, and the other would sever her apart. One man would give her golden memories, and the other would soak them in an envy so strong, that these memories would become tainted and painful.
And if she could be eighteen, frozen there in time forever, she would. Rapunzel would freeze herself and Eugene in an endless loop of that first year together: all stolen kisses, and chasing one another through the courtyards, and him teaching her everything that she probably shouldn't know. Over and over again, he would teach her the way that swear words can fall off of your lips so crudely, and the way that kissing someone's neck can make their pulse quicken under your tongue, and the way that loving another person with your entire heart is supposed to feel: all drenched in golden warmth, and wandering hands, and brushing someone's hair behind their ear when it falls into their eyes.
This isn't how it's supposed to feel: all anxiety-ridden nights, and manipulation, and haughty conversation. This isn't how it's supposed to feel: backhanded compliments, and possessive gazes which make your skin crawl, and wandering hands which are so unfamiliar. Here, on this hauntingly quiet ship, so far from home that you feel completely turned around in your own body, isn't how it's supposed to feel. This: stomach perpetually queasy, salty tears consistently falling onto the pillowcase when you're actually conscious enough to cry, eyes red-rimmed from sobbing yourself to sleep every night…
This isn't how love is supposed to feel.
And maybe, if she'd never known Eugene at all, Rapunzel wouldn't know any better. Maybe then, she would be able to believe that love should feel like this.
But, unfortunately for her, she does know. Rapunzel knows all too well what it feels like to be so pathetically consumed by another person, that you aren't entirely sure how anything else could fit inside of you. She knows what it feels like to have their taste linger in your mouth, and she knows what it feels like to want them so badly that it actually hurts. She knows what it feels like to beg them to kiss you in the dark, she knows what it feels like to completely let your guard down for another person, and she knows what it feels like to completely bare yourself to them – to let them mold themselves to you forever. Mold themselves to you in mind, body, and soul.
She knows which attributes true love is supposed to embody, and this is not it.
This is not a grand act of love. Rapunzel knows that, no matter how many times Charles has tried to convince her that it is in the past week. No, she knows better. Thanks to Eugene, she knows better. Love is not the seeking out of power, love is not heart-blackening envy, and love is not constantly fighting for the upper hand. At least, love with Eugene isn't.
But maybe love from Charles – if Rapunzel feels so generous to label it as love (which, honestly, she doesn't) – will always be those things.
Maybe marriage with Charles was always meant to be one reigning over the other – naturally, him reigning over her. Maybe it was always supposed to feel like the churning of storm clouds in the distance, like awkward hand brushes and steely gazes. Maybe this one-sided love from Charles was always supposed to feel like the bone crush which occurs just after you've been careening to the ground, fingers desperate to find something to latch onto, and discovering that nothing is there to save you. Maybe marriage with Charles was always supposed to feel like having strings tied tightly around your arms, dancing like a puppet in his hands.
Maybe marriage is supposed to mean being taken far from home, and maybe being taken far from home won't be so bad.
That's what Rapunzel wants to believe. She knows that she must find a way to believe this, or she will never survive. But she can't. She can't bring herself to believe that this new home of hers will be beautiful, because Eugene is still at home – he is still her home – her real home. And if he's still there in Corona, and if she's here in Maddoline, nothing in her world will ever be right again.
This morning, Rapunzel remains locked in the small, cabin bedroom as the shore of the highly-coveted Maddoline kingdom quickly approaches. She stays locked inside of the small cabin, ignoring Charles's coaxing for her to join him on the top deck, because it's a 'wonderfully sunny day!' She ignores him, because she doesn't want to see him, and she doesn't want to see it. Any of it. She doesn't want to see this place, because this place is not home. And no matter how much Charles wants it to be that for her, it never will be.
This place is not home, because Eugene is not in this place.
The numb, queasy princess considers what the love of her life must be doing right now. Is he already on his way to her, or has he been trapped somewhere? Has… has someone hurt him – would Charles hurt him? She doesn't doubt it. It's become clear that underestimating Charles any further would not be entirely wise on her part, though pushing her husband's buttons has become a quite entertaining survival tactic for Rapunzel in the past few days.
Lying there in the rocking bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling, Rapunzel realizes that her frame of reference for the past week is completely blurry. She can barely remember much of anything, aside from waking up on the ship that evening when Charles had first taken her from her old bedroom after she'd passed out – after their argument about her inability to fall out of love with Eugene, and in love with him. From there, everything remains positively hazy in her mind's eye, only small pockets of consciousness floating in and out of Rapunzel's memory.
Though, she clearly remembers Eugene careening himself down the dock to get to her, and she clearly remembers him not being able to.
Maybe it was better this way. Everyone was angry with her for her recent behavior, after all. Charles, her parents… herself. Probably even Eugene, secretly. He was probably upset with her most of all: upset with her for not just running away with him like she should've. He was probably upset with her for not listening to him when she and Charles had first gotten married – when, the night immediately after her nuptials, she had fallen back into his bed with him. Sure, Eugene was a consenting adult, and sure, he was completely capable of making his own decisions. But Rapunzel hadn't made it easy for him to say no. She'd known that he wouldn't be able to say no to her, because he never really had. And if she would've just done the right thing from the very beginning, she wouldn't have drug them headfirst into this mess.
Running away with Eugene has never looked as good as it does right now, when it's no longer an option at all, and Rapunzel has never hated herself more for not doing something before it had become too late.
Sure, it would've been wrong to leave her parents again, would have been wrong to deprive her kingdom of the princess which they'd only just gotten back. But if she would've simply left with Eugene, they wouldn't be in this situation now. She wouldn't be on a ship with Charles. She would probably be in Eugene's arms, which sounds infinitely better.
Eugene.
She really should've listened to him. She should've known that this all had been a very, very bad idea. But how could she walk away from him? How could she move on? How could she accept that she couldn't have him? She couldn't. As she'd told her parents, Rapunzel only had an affair with Eugene because her heart simply couldn't handle not doing it. Her heart couldn't handle being without him. And maybe that makes her heart weak, but she doesn't really care. She'd be weak to be with him.
She'd be weak without him.