Hello, reader!
This particular story was the first one that I outlined. It was supposed to be a full, stand-alone fanfic, entitled "Unraveled" (oh, so clever), but I've decided to condense it down to be a part of this collection. It will be the longest chapter of this series, because of this. Instead of including some lore from the original material, I will be utilizing some of, in my opinion, the greatest fan theories. "Tangled" is one of my favorite Disney movies. I hope you enjoy this different take!
Happy reading,
Jenn
This is the story of how I lost my innocence. But, don't worry. It's about so much more than that. Falling in love, running away from home, following my dreams, and finding myself along the way. And it's not all about me. No story worth telling is.
I've learned so much, in such a short amount of time. Thinking back on the first eighteen years of my life, I suppose my point of view isn't the most objective. When you're forced to live as a hermit, any form of introduction to the outside world would feel overwhelming.
I'd like to use that as an excuse for my naiveite. And so, I shall.
Flynn Rider crawled through my tower window, and I waited in the shadows for him. I'd heard him not-so-stealthily climbing up the stone face of the exterior. Armed only with a cast iron skillet, I defended myself. I realize, now, that I neglected to guard my heart.
Our deal was struck: the treasure he'd stolen from the palace, in exchange for him escorting me safely from and back to my tower. I wanted to see the floating lights. I wanted to experience life. Just a taste, at the very least. Anything would be better than another year of nothing. And, albeit reluctantly, he had held up his end of our bargain.
My guardian, a woman whom I'd been raised by and swore that she was my mother, followed us and warned me of Flynn's inevitable deception. Within my mind, flashes of my journey offered proof of what she was saying. He tried to trick me into returning to the tower. He used that pub to frighten me from venturing further into the world. He lied about his name… Eugene Fitzherbert. He almost screamed at me, just now, like I was a monster, when I healed him.
But I ultimately didn't listen. I wonder if her reasons were purely selfish, or if Mother Gothel's experience in the world had genuinely made her wary of men.
Flynn and I toured the kingdom of Corona, even as we were hunted by the palace guard. Every so often, there would be a look in Flynn's eyes. Impossible to explain, but it felt like he adored me. I only wanted to see the lanterns. We didn't have to spend the day joining the celebration. I would have been content to stay outside the city gates. We could have watched them rise from the streets.
He chose a more romantic setting. I feel, very strongly, that it was a deliberate choice. I thought, because I was easily manipulated, that it was because he loved me and wanted to be alone with me.
It was a beautiful experience. I knew, at that time, the lights were called lanterns, but I preferred my more descriptive name for them. They floated magically, it seemed, taking off into the sky and then stealing the beauty of the stars. When I turned to face Flynn, to thank him properly for a moment I'd waited my whole life to witness, he held out two lanterns of our own. He said beautiful things. I returned the stolen crown. He leaned in to kiss me, and, as nervous as I was, it was exactly what I wanted.
I leaned in and closed my eyes, anticipating what was to come. Falling hopelessly in love with a man who I credited as my rescuer.
I guess I overestimated him. He could have at least tried to live up to my expectations. No, that wouldn't have been fair to either of us, in the end. He didn't love me, and I prefer that it ended as it did, rather than him continuing to lead me on.
He gave the vaguest excuse of why he had to suddenly row our boat to shore. As he rowed, I looked with regret at the looming castle that overlooked the kingdom below. I could have sworn, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a lime green light bob into the brush and out of sight.
I sat in the boat and waited. And waited. Flynn had assured me he would be right back. I hate that I sat in that rowboat, able to liberate myself and reclaim my heritage…but, instead, I waited. For love.
And it never returned.
Just as I could no longer take the silence, I heard a twig snap within the fog. A male figure appeared as a shadow, at first, and I sighed with relief.
"There you are," I had called out to him. "I was beginning to worry you'd run off!"
As I finished the sentence, the shadow split in two, with equally-intimidating forms emerging and heading directly toward me.
The one with two good eyes responded. "He did." And the lumbering man swept a hand toward the ocean.
I couldn't help but follow the gesture. And I saw Flynn. More than just his shadow, I saw him maneuvering a sailboat back toward the opposite shore, working the line and looking like he was in a hurry to leave. To leave…me.
"Eugene?" I whispered, at first, hardly able to believe my own eyes. "Eugene!"
I'm not paying attention to my surroundings. And as I stare at the water, the brothers come closer to me.
"Fair trade," the same one speaks, again. "The crown for the girl with the magic hair." He sweeps my hair with his hand, still in a large, intricate braid from the festivities earlier, and walks behind me.
I gasped, realizing that the only way they would know my secret would be if Flynn told them about it. I am cornered, now. One brother blocks my way to the right, and the other, the one wearing an eyepatch, bars the left side of the embankment. Behind me is water.
"How much money do you think someone would pay to stay young and healthy forever?" the man with longer sideburns asks his brother. I notice that only one brother has spoken, thus far. He removes a piece of cloth from the side of his belt, and it unfolds into a sack.
"No, please!" I hopelessly plead. "No!"
I miraculously slip past them, running to the left side of the shore. They are bigger than me, which means bigger strides. Before I can make much of an escape, my hair is wedged in the bark of a piece of driftwood. I pull, but it only seems to make it worse.
Then, I hear a loud thud. There's a roar of an enraged man and a slapping sound. I am still stuck, and I freeze, when I see the sleeveless brother coming toward me. He is definitely enraged.
"That WITCH!" He yells through gritted teeth.
I'm crying, overwhelmed, and I'm beginning to feel lightheaded. This would be a terrible time to faint. I struggle, again, because it is all I can do.
"STOP MOVING!" he growls me. He bends down and holds my hair with one hand, then he uses the other to roughly untangle the ends from the wood.
He does not let go of my hair, and I somehow know that placating him is the best idea, for now.
"Please, I won't run again. I'll go with you. Please, don't put me in that sack!"
His answer is to throw me over his broad, muscular shoulder. It's about as soft as a boulder. It forces breath from my midsection, and I have trouble sucking more in. He spanks me, without provocation.
"Keep yer mouth shut, or things will get a lot worse. Is that clear?"
"Yes," I whisper. I'm not sure he heard me, but my silence seems to be enough.
He walks back to where I ran from. I assume I'll be coming off his shoulder, so I push up from his back and arch my own. But he only bends down. I can see, on the ground, the boots of his brother. Several lighter slapping sounds. A groan.
"Come on, can you get up? Let's go."
And that is my introduction to the Stabbington Brothers.
They take me to a little cottage in a glen. It appears abandoned, from the shoddy exterior, but inside shows the evidence of recent use. Their makeshift hideout, it would seem.
I am gently placed on the floor, in the back corner of the room, and I shrink away from him. He gives me a warning look, then returns to his brother, who is sitting against a pole in the center of the room.
"You alright? She clocked you good. I backhanded her, for you. No one messes with us, brother."
The sitting brother doesn't speak, and I wonder if he might be a mute. He nods and uses a hand to massage the back of his neck. The talkative brother meets my stare.
"Who are you?" I ask with a shaky voice.
He smirks. "Don't you already know? We're on posters all over the kingdom." When I don't answer, his brows lift in surprise. "We're the Stabbington Brothers," he clarifies. "I'm Lars, and that's my brother, Leif."
"Stabbington?" I ask dubiously.
Lars chuckles. "And you are?"
I sit up in my corner. "Rapunzel."
"Rapunzel?" he repeats with equal ridicule.
I ignore that jab and press on. "What are you going to do with me?" I ask it boldly, and it fortifies my heart that I can show courage to this goon.
"Not sure, yet. We were all working together, me, my brother, and that woman, when she betrayed us."
"What woman?"
"Someone named Gothel. It was all her plan. Clearly, she intended to play us as fools."
Gothel. My mother's name. I don't know much of the world. Maybe it's popular among the masses?
"Did she have long, thick, curly hair the color of ebony? With a fair complexion, sleepy eyes, and wearing a burgundy dress?"
Lars cocks an eyebrow to newly appraise me. "Yes," he confirms.
"That was my mother! What did you do to her? Did you kill her?!" I will die of a broken heart, if my running away led to my mother's death.
"Don't be a fool," he shakes his head. "She's not your mother."
"Answer my questions! Did you – wait," I shake my head, absorbing his words. "What are you talking about?"
He looks at me seriously. Not with pity or sympathy of any kind. He thinks I am naïve. And he's right.
"You look nothing like her, and she's too old to be your mother," he shakes his own head back at me in disgust. "We saw her age. Silvery hairs, spots on her arms. And all within a few hours."
I heal my mother frequently. She never goes more than a few days without her asking me to sing the healing words. I've never really thought about it. I've never wondered what she would look like if I didn't help her.
Because I don't say anything, he continues. "You do, however, look exactly like the queen of this land."
The queen…I saw a picture, a large mosaic, within the town square. At the festival for the Lost Princess.
"I'm the Lost Princess?" I whisper. He smirks. I say it, again, trying to make myself believe. "I'm the Lost Princess."
"Not lost, any more, Your Highness," he mockingly bows.
"No…" I deny the conversation. None of it is true. It's too unbelievable. It would mean that I was deceived for my entire life. Surely, I cannot be so gullible. I am no puppet. "No…you're wrong! You're wrong!"
Lars invades my space and grabs my chin to force me to look at him.
"How can you be this innocent? Flynn used you, Gothel used you, and now you are under our control."
"Eugene loved me, I know it!"
"Eugene?" he scoffs. "I've known your 'Eugene' for years. YEARS. His name is Flynn Rider, he's a common thief, and he takes advantage of EVERYONE he meets. Everyone. The three of us stole the crown," he stops and his eyes light up. He lets go of my chin and begins to laugh heartily. "Your crown, come to think of it. If only the dolt had looked past his own vanity, he would have seen the treasure he already had!"
He laughs and I still refuse to believe him.
"No! He was an orphan. He only took the name Flynn Rider, after a character in his favorite book…"
Now, Lars is mad. "Put a cork in it, Princess. Flynn's father lives in a neighboring kingdom, and he visits him every year. Just stop. Stop humiliating yourself."
I'm speechless, now. I hate this brute for trying to turn my life into one big lie.
"Do you want to know the story they tell in Corona about their Lost Princess?"
I only glare at him. I wish he would keep his stories and his opinions to himself. I wish he was the mute brother.
"Nineteen years ago," he starts, "a queen was about to give birth to the first royal child. She fell deathly ill, and there was only one hope for her survival: a magical flower that was rumored to be somewhere within the forests surrounding the kingdom."
I hate to admit it, but I'm already intrigued. He spins a fanciful tale, and I do my best to feign indifference.
"The king's guard scoured the land and, at last, it was found. The flower was ground up into an elixir and fed to the queen. She recovered, and her baby was born as perfect and healthy as could be. Although her parents both had hair the color of mahogany, the princess had golden locks that shone like sunlight. When the child was a year old, the king ordered a celebration throughout the kingdom. Lanterns were commissioned to commemorate the miracle of the princess' birth. Shortly thereafter, an elderly woman stole into the chamber of the king and queen. The royal couple awoke to see the woman, with her silver curls and piercing grey eyes mostly hidden under the hood of her cloak, leave with the tiny princess over the rail. Although they searched high and low for their daughter, it appears that she is lost forever, tucked away from the world."
I shiver, and he grins at me. His pointed gaze shifts to an area near my neck. Before I can wonder what he sees, he reaches out to me. I lean away, but he pulls his other hand up to restrict my movement. The first one, then, brushes against the back of my hair, until he sees what he's looking for. His eyes alight and he lets me go, satisfied and smirking with whatever he's found.
"On the ground, next to the princess' crib, was a lock of hair, a shade of mahogany that matched the king and queen's, but not cut from either of their heads."
He seems to stare right through me. I look away, uncomfortable.
"Mother said that someone tried to steal my hair, but, when it's cut, my hair turns brown and loses its power," I whisper. I told Eugene, or Flynn, that same story last night. My mind begins to rework the sentence I've just said. Still grappling. The woman I called "mother" tried to steal my hair, but, when it was cut, it lost all of its power.
My stomach turns.
"And it stays short?" Lars asks, with genuine curiosity.
"No," I admit. "I trim it."
"Why?"
"I don't know," I sigh. "My…mother, she kept cutting it back, when I was young, and I guess I just followed her lead."
Lars leaves me alone to my thoughts and tends to Leif's wounds. I am utterly exhausted, and it's still the middle of the night. I wonder if the lanterns, the beautiful floating lights that I left my small world to see, are finished with their journey across the sky. If I had never left the tower, they'd probably be floating by my window right now. I close my eyes and imagine myself back in my home. The only home I've ever known, regardless of whether or not it was a lie.
My mother…Gothel was right. I wasn't ready for this. To face the world. To leave my nest.
But whose fault is that?
Something is dropped at my feet, and I quickly open my eyes to see a wool blanket pooled on the floor. I look up and see Leif give me a small smile. Then, he retreats, to the opposite corner, lying down with a sack under his head. I'm grateful for the added warmth, but I refuse to say thank you to my kidnappers.
Lars is sitting up, against the wall at the back of the room. He's staring at me.
"Get some sleep, Princess," he says softly. "We'll be on the road tomorrow, and I won't be carrying you." He narrows his eyes, and I gather the fabric close to my chest. He makes me nervous. "Don't even think about trying to run. We're faster than you, and there's acres of forests between here and anything resembling sanctuary. So, either we'll catch you…or the wolves will."
I shiver under the blanket and fall into a fitful sleep. I'm certain that his eyes are still trained on me, as he keeps his watch.
When I wake, it's Leif watching over me. He nods in my direction, then moves to stand by a window. I stand and shake out the stiffness in my limbs. I slept on planks of wood last night, a patch of grass the night before, and my comfy bed the night before that. My sleep suffers, with the worsening materials. Having nothing else to do and being so used to my chores in the tower, I fold the blanket until it's a square pile in my arms.
Surveying the room, now that it's daylight, I see an empty fireplace with a wood stack, a couple of well-worn stools, a wooden bucket, a flat rock that seems to serve as a small table, and several burlap sacks littered around the room. Not exactly homey.
Leif sees something, probably his brother, due to his lack of alarm, and he turns to start a fire.
Lars bursts in, moments later, carrying three dead rabbits and a long metal rod. He immediately addresses me.
"Can you cook, Princess?" I shake my head. I like to bake, but it was Mother Gothel who did the cooking. "Can you skin a rabbit?" I shake my head and try not to gag. He rolls his eyes. "Well, if you can't help, you won't eat."
He hands a rabbit to his brother, who unsheathes a dagger at his waist. Lars drops one rabbit and the pole to the floor, then pulls out his own knife. They set to work, and I watch in horror as they strip the animals until they are bloody flesh. Disgusting. Thank goodness the poor things were already dead. Lars mounts the carcass on the pole, then holds a hand out toward his brother. Leif hands over his rabbit, as well.
As Lars takes the skinned rabbits to the fireplace, I look down to the remaining bunny. A handle comes into my view, and I see that it is Leif holding out his dagger. He gestures toward the dead animal and then gives me a stern look. I wince and take the weapon. He leans down and grabs another knife from his boot. He grabs the rabbit and cuts off its tail, starting the process.
I hate every second. I clumsily cut into the fur, pull at the pelt, and rend the inedible coat from the meat that I know I must devour. I'm hungry, but not painfully so. But, if I don't keep my strength, there will be no chance of escaping them.
When I get to the head, I feel physically ill. My hands start to shake, and Leif takes the rabbit and knife from me. He removes the head on the way to where his brother sits, twirling the pole and cooking our meal.
We eat in silence. They pack their few things, and we are on our way to a new destination.
I'm always with one brother. The other scouts ahead, making sure our path is clear of trouble. There are a few times that the scout returns to his brother, gives hand signals, and then they pull me off of the road and into a hiding place. Each time, they cover my mouth with one of their large hands.
We travel without talking. I study my captors, trying to figure them out from the outside-in. Lars is next to me the majority of the time. He and his brother have the same bright-colored hair. It's not red and not orange. I imagine mixing my paints together. Red, yellow, a little white, a little brown. I could probably match the shade. Both have their hair cut close to their scalp. The scruff of hair at their hairlines sweeps in opposite directions, Lars to the right side of his face, Leif to his left. Lars also has thick sideburns that stretch all the way down to his jaw.
They're built alike, both hulking masses that start with broad, muscular shoulders, and then slim down to trim waistlines. Their legs are equally strong. They look as if they throw around trees for fun. Lars' rippling muscles are exposed, shown off. He wears a forest green collared shirt, unbuttoned to halfway down his chest, that has the sleeves ripped off to just below the seams.
I can't help myself. I'm a seamstress. I imagine how I would fix his garment. Not that I would ever actually offer. And not like he'd take me up on such a kindness. He wears the thickest leather cuffs on his forearms; I suppose it's to look tough, but it may actually be a more practical reason.
Both brothers wear fitted trousers that tuck into their leather boots. Lars has boots that remind me of a picture I saw at Corona's library. It was a story about a pirate. Come to think of it, the picture had a man with an eye-patch over one eye, too. I try to imagine them barking orders on a ship…well, Lars, anyway. I wonder if my healing powers could bring back Leif's voice…
And Leif wears an ensemble that covers him from his neck to his feet. A long-sleeved black shirt that is buttoned to the top, a belt to match Lars, plain pants, and less-dramatic boots. His outfit has no extra flourishes. No accessories. I think it's safe to assume that he's the less conspicuous of the brothers.
Basically, they are identical. Except for the few distinguishing differences, they look alike. But, the longer I am with them, the more I see the differences in their personalities. Lars has an arrogant swagger. He makes the plans, he does the talking. Leif is subdued. He is relaxed and fairly open in his expressions. Although he is mute, he is much easier to read.
The sun sinks in the sky, and Lars directs us to move off the road and into the trees. We travel deep into the wilderness and I watch as they set up a makeshift camp. They remove the packs from their shoulders and Leif hands me the same wool blanket that kept me warm last night. I'm glad that I will have something familiar to keep near me. Even if it's not really mine.
"Can you make a fire?" Lars asks, gruffly.
"I…I think so," I bumble out. Well, I mean, I know how to strike a match. Every time I needed to light a candle or use the oven in the tower, there was always a box of matches nearby. But Lars has a way of insinuating that I am so…worthless. Aside from my hair, of course. But I don't aim to be valued only for my hair. If it were to be chopped off tomorrow, I want to know that I am worth more than the magic I was born with.
Lars nods to his brother and Leif disappears into the brush. I can hear him padding around, rustling, and then sounds of wood splintering. He returns within minutes with an armful of kindling, which he places at the center of our encampment. The wood is dropped in a heap, and he removes two flat stones and gives them to me. I remember seeing him light the fire this morning, striking the stones together and creating sparks.
I can do this.
Honestly, I think they were setting me up to fail. I'm only given a few minutes to work, and then Lars grabs the rocks out of my hands and gives them back to his brother. Leif fixes the wood pile, adds some dead leaves and grass, and lights it quickly.
The fire glows and brightens our little encampment. I sit away from both of them and wrap the blanket around me. From their packs, they take out dried fruits, meats, and an assortment of nuts. They each offer me a handful, but I am forced to go to them to get it. I do so, then return to the opposite side of the fire.
"Where were you and what were you doing with Gothel, for all of these years?" Lars quirks an eyebrow at me.
Dinner and conversation. I sigh and play along.
"I was in a tower. Within the woods."
"The entire time?"
"Yes," I confirm.
"And what did you do, in your tower?"
"I…kept busy." I look down and try to categorize the nuts.
"Doing what, Princess?"
I grimace. I don't like being called that. Especially the way he says it. Mockingly.
"I cleaned, sewed, read, painted, baked, made candles…anything to pass the time."
"Quite the accomplished young lady." He says it sarcastically, so I don't take it as a compliment. "All day, every day, without leaving your tower."
"Yes," I repeat myself. I'm getting defensive, but I'm not sure why. I just have a feeling that this conversation is more of an interrogation.
"No wonder you followed Rider so blindly," I hear him say, a condescending smirk pulling at his lips. He goes back to eating.
After dinner, he approaches me, and I automatically scoot away.
"Calm down, Princess, I just want to make sure that our boy, Rider, was telling the truth. We have some time, and, before we sleep, I want to see if you're worth the trouble." He unsheathes the dagger at his belt and lightly drags it across his palm. Deep enough to bleed, shallow enough to not permanently damage his grip.
I hate that it reminds me of healing Eugene two nights ago. Same place, similar wound.
It's the first time I've registered my hair. Thankfully, it's still in the braid from the day before, but it's already in terrible shape. Most of the decorative flowers are gone, probably falling out here and there, and the rest are all wilted. There's mounds of dirt and some new foliage from today's trek. I haven't let one day go by, without my brushing it, and here it is: a tangled mess.
But it's still golden. And I can still feel magic coursing through it.
I pull the enormous braid over my shoulder and place the end of it on Lars' outstretched hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Leif is watching with avid interest.
"Flower gleam and glow," I begin to sing, and, as soon as the words leave my lips, the magic begins to flow, from the roots to the ends.
The brothers seem to be less impressed, less terrified, really, than Eugene was. The cut heals, without a trace of blood on Lars' skin or in my hair. He releases my hair and flexes his hand a few times, as if he expects to see the cut reemerge. While standing over me, he meets my eye and gives a single nod.
"Good," he states. "Glad to know we weren't being tricked, again."
"I could have just healed your brother's eye, to prove it to you. I still can," I offer.
Lars looks over at Leif, who gives his brother a hard stare. Did some sort of silent conversation occur? Do twins have the ability to read each other's minds? Bizarre. Lars turns his head back to me.
"He is who he is," he shrugs. "He lost the eye a couple of years ago, and he's fine without it."
Well, fine, I don't even know why I was trying to be nice.
Another night, another morning, another hunt, another meal. And now, more traveling.
"Where are we going?" I finally ask.
"To the next kingdom," Lars helpfully supplies. He doesn't look at me; his eyes are constantly scanning the road we're on. Leif is ahead, as usual, and I cannot hear any sign of the silent brother.
"The one Euge-Flynn's father lives in?"
He crooks a lopsided smile in my direction, and his eyes barely dart over. "No," he says with a laugh.
I didn't ask it because I was hoping to see Eugene. I was curious, that's all.
"What will we do, when we get there?"
"The only helpful thing you can do, Princess. Heal."
I hate to admit it, but, despite not wanting to be held, against my will, by these ruffians… it still hurts to have them insult me like that. I wish I was back in the town square of Corona, surrounded by all the friendly people I met there. It was so nice to be with people who expected and required nothing from me. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like my hair even mattered.
And, now, it defines me once more.
Our travels end at an inn. It's not exactly a bustling area. My eyes scan my surroundings, hoping to see someone who can help me, but there's not a living thing in sight. Lars goes inside to make arrangements, and Leif watches me warily. Lars sticks his head out from the entrance and gives his brother a weird head motion. Leif automatically knows what it means, and he leads me to a back door.
The room we've been given is…quite bare. There are two beds, a bath basin, a round table with two chairs, a privacy screen, and…that's it. No windows. Our accommodations are at the top of a single, poorly-lit staircase, with no other doors except the ones that lead to the room and the one that opens to the exterior of the building. Even my innocent mind can wrap around the idea that this particular room is most likely used for less-than-upstanding purposes.
It's laughable, really, in the saddest sense. Here I am, again, trapped and locked away from the world, about to use my hair to heal, but only at the discretion of one person. I doubt Leif will be in charge of finding customers. I'm without any of the comforts of my tower, though. My paints, my bed, my guitar, my craft supplies, the window… I'm already concerned with how long my mind will last in such cramped quarters without any outlets.
Lars joins us with a meal that looks like it was prepared downstairs. Everything is still hot. Sausages, potatoes, and some kind of mashed greens. After days on the road, it is a welcome sight. I sit at the table and I am joined by Lars. Leif leans against the wall and eats from the plate balanced in his hand.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to find someone with enough coin to pay for your services, Princess," he tells me, starting off the conversation in the most disturbing way possible. "I'm not sure how long we'll be able to stay here, before trouble finds us, but hopefully we'll get enough money to make our next lodgings more luxurious for Your Highness."
"Please, stop," I insist through gritted teeth. "I was raised in a tower, not a castle, and I had to do everything for myself. I'm obviously not dressed like a princess," I gesture down to my dress, which is filthy and tattered. "And I have not made one objection to any of the rustic travel you've exposed me to. I don't know about being part of a royal family any more than you do!"
My angry rant makes Lars look at me in a strange way, and then he exchanges another cryptic smile with his brother.
"I'll get you a new dress tomorrow, while I'm out," he simply states.
I'm a little taken aback by that. I decide to push my luck.
"Can you please get me something to do, if I can't leave this room? Some paints and a canvas, maybe? Some books?"
"After your first client pays up, sure," he nods.
"How…long," I ask hesitantly. "How long will I have to stay with you and…do this?"
He is deciding something in his head. The pause extends to the point that I'm sure I'll receive no answer. I continue eating, dejected and trying not to cry.
"A year," he finally says. My heart leaps. "I think a year of travel, customers, and payment should be enough to cover us for the rest of our days."
"A year?" I squeak.
But Lars is not looking at me; he meets Leif's eye, to get confirmation that his brother agrees with the plan he just blurted out.
I can do this. A year. I spent all my life in a tower. One year will fly by.
"How long does your magic hair keep someone young?" Lars is suddenly interrupting my thoughts.
I stare at him and think of the answer. "I don't know," I admit. "Mother…Gothel needed me to heal her every other day, it seemed. She never went more than a few days without asking me to do it." I shrug. I wonder, for the first time, why that was. Why did she age so quickly?
"Fine," Lars answers back, appearing to be slightly annoyed by my lack of knowledge. "We just won't go that route." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I'll try to find people with injuries and deformities only."
I look away. I'm done with both the food and the conversation.
The next morning, Lars leaves, as planned. I'm left alone with Leif. He's sitting on the bed he slept in, examining his knife. I slept in the other bed, but I was up and about as soon as dawn broke. Lars slept on the floor, and he was surprisingly rested, despite the lack of a softer surface.
I'm bored. I imagine the dress that Lars will return with. The one I'm wearing is beyond repair, I'm afraid. I'll have to discard it, which breaks my heart. I worked diligently on this dress, adding so many details and different fabrics.
He'll probably bring me a burlap sack, and I'll have to make something myself. I just hope he doesn't bring back anything the color of what Mother wore. I always chose to stay away from those dark reds. Maybe, within the recesses of my mind, I knew there was a good reason to disassociate from her.
So bored.
Leif has shown himself to be considerate, on occasion. Perhaps we can be civil to one another.
"Are you guys from this kingdom that we're in, now?"
He looks up, surprised, but his face settles into a calm smile and he shakes his head.
"Are you from Corona, then?"
He keeps shaking his head, then uses an arm and throws his hand forward multiple times.
"Far away?" I guess.
He nods and smiles bigger. Charades, it is.
"Do you have family, back where you're from?"
He hesitates and his face falls, a little. He nods.
"Do they know where you are?"
His face is truly sullen, now. He shakes his head. Okay…what else can I ask…
"Do you…have any siblings?"
He quirks a smile, and I'm relieved to see him perk up into a better mood. He puts the knife down and holds up both hands, showing both with his fingers splayed, then he closes all but one thumb.
"Eleven?" I ask, astonished. He raises a brow, but smiles smugly. I start to ask a question, but realize before I speak that it will be too difficult to answer. Yes, no, or quantifiable answers only. "How many sisters do you have?"
He frowns and shakes his head. He looks displeased.
"You don't want to tell me?"
He gives a pitiful smirk and shakes his head, again.
"You don't have any sisters?"
He nods.
"Wow," I whisper. "That's a lot of brothers. Do you have eleven brothers, or are there eleven of you in total?"
He holds up his hands and signals eleven, again, then points to himself and to the other bed and then makes thirteen on his hands.
"Thirteen of you?" I am shocked. And I feel another emotion. I think I'm jealous. I was at the festival, in Corona. There was nothing said about the king and queen having additional children. If I really am the Lost Princess, I have no brothers or sisters. "Must be nice," I mutter under my breath.
Leif frowns, again, and picks the knife back up.
Before the sun begins to set, Lars returns with his hands full. There's a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine that must be the dress. He unpacks a sack and places sewing materials, soap, a pair of flat brown shoes, and a hair brush on the table. I grab the soap and smell the fresh scent. None of us have bathed in days, and it shows.
"Can I…" How do I ask this without making things terribly uncomfortable? I clear my throat. It's probably best to be direct. "I would like to bathe, before putting the new clothes on. May I please have some privacy?"
Thankfully, the brothers both anticipate this. They wordlessly walk toward the door, but Lars calls out before shutting me inside.
"Leif'll be outside. I'll order us some food and return when it's done. You'll want to hurry, so that you're done before we come back."
Well, as if I intended to take an hour-long bath. Of course I'll be hurrying! As soon as they're out, I prioritize cleaning my body with the soap and cold water in the basin. The tepid water encourages me to rush through my task, and I grab a dry cloth to remove most of the droplets. Naked and shivering, I tear open the package and am pleasantly surprised.
The dress is a forest green, with emerald and ivory accents that are simpler than I'd like. The fabric is of good quality. I like the ivory lace cuffs that frill out just past my elbows, as well as the emerald bodice. The laces tie in the front, like my old dress, and I gather up the excess material to fit my smaller frame. This will do nicely.
I try on the shoes. They're a little big, but a pretty good guess, on the part of Lars. My feet are so calloused and used to walking on every surface that I probably don't need them. But wearing them seems like the right thing to do. I eye the brush, but I need to wash my hair first.
I sit on one of the chairs and pull the braid over one shoulder. This is going to take a while. It's not a horrible mess. Actually, having it in a braid for days probably saved my hair being knotted and pulled along this adventure. I begin with pulling out every flower, stick, leaf, and whatever else has found its way into my tresses. After I am done, I will put it in another braid. I watched the young girls in the town. I'm sure I can get it, eventually.
I take most of the foreign objects out and then set to work undoing my braid. Once that is done, I pull it along the floor and wash it as I am used to doing. Section by section. The water is not exactly clean, after my bath, but most of the sediment fell to the bottom. I don't need more soap.
When the washing session is over, I wring my hair from the top to the bottom, back into the basin. The water is disgusting, now. If either of the brothers intend on taking baths, they'll need to change it out. My wet hair will leave a puddle on the floor, but there is nothing to be done about it. I begin to brush it out, carefully starting at the ends and moving slowly up to avoid making the knots worse.
You'd think that, like normal hair, strands would occasionally come out and fill the brush. But not my hair. Each piece is unbelievably strong. The only way to remove it or alter it is to cut it.
Brushing and restyling my hair will take up the remainder of the day, but I'll be relieved to have it done. I'll probably be able to go at least a week without redoing it, if we remain here.
Both Stabbington brothers return, but I am focused on my work. They step over my piles of wet hair, while I finally finish brushing. I'm pleased that they left me alone for as long as they did. It takes me another hour to plait my hair into a more manageable style, so that it no longer drags behind me.
We eat, we sleep, and another day comes. I am not told anything about whom I'm healing. I don't really care, because the exchange of money cheapens the value of what I do. My mother hid me away from the world. She insisted that the world was full of wicked, evil people. For a short time, my time with Eugene, I hoped that she might be wrong. I imagined using my hair to help anyone who needed it; I imagined those who benefited from the magic leaving with happy hearts. Now, I'm worried that my days with Eugene were an anomaly. Maybe the world is as wicked and shallow as Mother said.
Lars leaves, but he returns shortly with our first "customer." I've been told to sit on the ground, against the door, and trail the ends of my hair underneath the threshold. Lars knocks, when he is ready, and I softly sing. I feel the magic flow from my scalp, and the room brightens drastically. Leif watches me like I am a radiant sunset. I know when the healing is complete, but only from my experience. There's not a single noise made on the other side. Not even a "thank you."
Later in the day, Lars comes back with news of more customers lined up, as well as a meal for all three of us. Leif chooses to leave and bathe in a local hot spring. Or so Lars tells me. And, when I'm alone with Sideburns, he is suddenly in the mood to talk.
"It would help if you could leave a bunch of hair loose and flowing, so that I don't have to bring our clients up the steps."
"Um, okay." How isolated do I have to be? Will it be like this all year? I need to change the subject, before my mouth spits out what's on my mind. "I asked your brother if you had siblings. He mentioned you have eleven other brothers. Is that true?"
Lars only grunts in response. Lazy.
"What are their names?" It makes for easy conversation, but I'm also genuinely interested. It's a question that Lars can answer more readily than Leif.
"Why do you care?"
I shrug. "I'm just trying to be polite." He levels a judgmental glare, and my nervousness gets the best of me. I keep speaking. "I was…wondering what it would be like. To have brothers. Or sisters. I grew up alone, and I just…wanted to hear more."
Something I've said loosens his tongue. "Henrik, Magnus, Viktor, Rolf, Oskar, Karl, Kjell, Nils, Fredrik, Erik, and Hans."
I'm a little overwhelmed by all of the names being thrown at me at once, but I stick with the goal of becoming a more sympathetic captive.
"What…I mean, how old are you and Leif? And which of your brothers are older or younger?"
"Leif and I are the eleventh and twelfth, in our line. I'm older. We only have one younger brother."
"Your oldest brother must be a lot older, then."
He nods, shrewdly evaluating me and my interest. "Henrik will be forty this winter."
"Is he married? Do you have any nephews and nieces?" I ask with a little too much excitement. It would be so fun to be around children. I would like to have my own, someday.
"He is married, yes. I don't know if he has any children. He probably does."
"Don't you care? Don't you miss your family?"
"Some of them more than others," he says rather coldly. "And some can fall off the end of the earth, for all I care."
"Where do they live?"
"Most of them are still where we grew up. Some left."
"Where is home, for you?"
"In a land far, far away."
His voice is…smarmy. I recognize the verbiage. I've read that exact phrase in fairy tales. He's making fun of me. He is derisive of the fact that I'm a princess, while making it clear that he's no prince.
After only a few weeks, we leave the inn and head north. It takes another week of travel, but, as promised, our new lodgings are a significant improvement. We rent a small farmhouse that sits far away from the closest town, but now we each have our own rooms.
I am excited to have a room to myself, but it is made clear to me that I am only allowed to dress, bathe, and sleep on my own. Otherwise, I am directed to be in the common area. I have a window, though. I contemplate making a run for it. They say that they'll let me go, after being with them a year, but how can I trust them? I'd be foolish to hold a pair of criminals to their word.
I've been given more freedoms. The private room, another dress, some books and painting supplies… they trust me. And, the more they trust me, the better my chances at escape. If I'm caught now, I may lose my one chance at freedom. I can wait a little longer, if I'm guaranteed to get away from the Stabbington brothers.
I bide my time. I heal customers that wait outside, on the other side of the front door. Leif looks at me, and I'm reminded of Eugene. It's a kind of…a longing. It makes me uncomfortable and flattered.
Healing, painting, healing, knitting, healing, reading…waiting to reclaim my life.
I find out a little more about their upbringing. The brothers they liked: Henrik, the eldest and heir, patient but also uptight; Magnus, second in line, the hard-worker who always felt like he had to prove his worth; Rolf, the fourth brother, relaxed to the point of being ineffectual; Nils, eighth-born, creative and a hunter, taught Lars and Leif everything he knew; and Fredrik, ninth, quiet and reserved, a little too sensitive. The brothers they hated: Viktor, third-born, bitter about his place in his family, abusive toward anyone in his way; Oskar, fifth, a lackey to Viktor, weak and easily-manipulated; Karl and Kjell, the other set of twins, numbers six and seven, irreverent, trouble-making, and completely self-serving; Erik, the tenth, vain and hedonistic; and Hans, the youngest, incompetent and entitled. Lars and Leif seem to be hostile toward their father, but they tolerate, if not love, their mother.
Another couple of months pass and I find myself growing used to my imprisonment. It's not ideal, but it is a comfortable routine, now. Lars finds the customers, Leif watches over me, and I fill my days. Leif watches me paint and wordlessly praises my mediocre drawings. I enjoy his company. He doesn't make me nervous.
Lars, on the other hand…
He still stares. I'll catch him watching me doing something simple, like brushing my hair or organizing my paints. I try to ignore him, but then he outright pulls my attention. And I'm sure it's on purpose.
One night, he brings home a woman to our little dwelling. He bursts through the front door and they enter casually, as if they've done so before. I'm painting, by the firelight, and Leif is leaning on the wall closest to me. We both take note of the woman. She is older than me. Her brunette hair is wildly curly, and most of it is pinned on top of her head. Her navy dress is shabby, well-worn, with a few tears at the bottom hem. Her features are fair, but there is an unnaturalness to her face. I scrutinize a little more closely and realize that she has paint or something like it on her cheeks and lips. It's not her natural coloring.
While I stare at her, she scrunches up her nose in distaste and sticks out her tongue. I turn back to my painting, but my eyes dart to Lars.
He's watching me watch his companion. Amused. The woman whispers something into the big brute's ear and then pulls him toward his bedroom. He laughs and winks in my direction, before closing the door behind him.
I'm oddly flustered, and, when I look over to Leif, he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes at his brother's reprehensible behavior.
Before long, we hear…recognizable sounds. Well, I say that, but I am still a virgin. I hear lips meeting and I know they are kisses. I think back to the town square. I heard kissing then, too. And that circles me back to my anticipated kiss with Eug – Flynn Rider. He hasn't been "Eugene" to me, for weeks.
The sounds of fabric rustling. I know that, as well. Everyday stuff, that is.
A low moan. That, I wonder at. Lars is obviously not hurting the woman, but I don't know exactly what he would be doing to elicit such a response. They are obviously not trying to be subtle about their time together.
Leif is looking at me, instead of my painting. I hope that my thoughts are not betrayed by the expressions on my face. When I glance at him, I see that look…the same look I saw in Flynn. It's the eyes. They look…full? As if they are completely mesmerized by whatever holds their attention. I enjoy Leif's company, and I would even say that he is my friend, in this strained situation.
I put down my brush and palette and say a quick "good night" to him, then rush to my room and shut the door. I'll have to clean up after myself tomorrow, but I couldn't endure being in that awkward situation for one more second. Even in my bedroom, I can still hear Lars and his visitor. I eventually am able to fall asleep…with my pillow held against my ears.
The next morning, I emerge and find that the woman is gone. Lars and Leif are eating breakfast. Lars glances up at me, but Leif focuses on his meal.
The time comes for us to move on, again. I am more reluctant, this time. I have my own room, my own window. I don't know what the next "home" will be like, and it fractures the sanity I've managed to grasp.
We travel on the dirt roads, sleep in the cover of trees, and I realize that I hate this life. It's not the wilderness. It's not the accommodations or the hunted food. It's the uncertainty and nomadism. I just want to stay someplace and make it a home. A permanent home. In my tower, I could paint the walls. I could move, change, or toss the furniture. I hate that I miss that tower. My prison for eighteen years.
The next kingdom is further away, and we are still traveling north. Away from Corona. I wonder why. Why north? Why not west? Why didn't we head south? I try to remember the atlases in Corona's library. I was shocked to see how big and spread out the world truly is. I studied them as long as I could, before Flynn pulled me to some other activity. What was south…
Arendelle. I remember that one. It was along the ocean, like Corona, but further to the east. And then, further south…
The Southern Isles. I remember that nation, too. A series of islands far off the coastline of Arendelle. The name was a little too on-the-nose.
Another kingdom and another place to call home for however long the Stabbington brothers deem necessary. Another secluded residence, even bigger than the last. I am upstairs, and the brothers sleep downstairs, in separate small rooms. I have a window, and I think this may be my best chance, yet, to escape. I can use my hair as a pulley, anchor it on one of the bedposts. In the middle of the night, I'll soundlessly sneak away.
I have the brothers to thank, ironically enough. Especially Leif. I've learned survival skills, being on the road so much. I know how to make a trap for a rabbit to be ensnared in. I know which berries, nuts, and plants are edible and which are poisonous. I know how to make a fire and extinguish it quickly.
And, as I hatch my plan, leaning out of the window sill, I am pulled back. Lars gives me a knowing smirk, the same arrogant manner he's had from our introduction. He and Leif entered as I daydreamed my plans, and they set to work with some supplies in their hands. Flat wooden boards, nails, and a mallet.
They make quick work of occluding my view.
Leif extends me a sympathetic glance, as they leave my room. Lars has been suspiciously quiet, ever since his night with the prostitute. He's barely said more than a handful of words to me daily. And nothing of substance.
I march out of my room and down to the common area, where Lars reclines. Leif is absent, and I assume he's putting the tools away.
"What happens, after this year is over?" I ask.
He sits up. "We'll let you go," he says seriously. "Drop you off near Corona and take off."
"Where will you and Leif go?"
That takes him aback, but he answers, anyway. "We'll go home, Princess."
I hear the defensiveness in his voice, and I wonder what made him react that way. He thinks I don't trust him to let me go? He's right about that. He hates me asking about his life? Probably. I don't care, though. I've had to push past his reservations to gather the crumbs about his past. And I'm not stopping, now.
"Where is home?"
"The Southern Isles."
He gives me the answer reluctantly. But that's one more nugget of information.
The Southern Isles? They just need money to get home? If I'm a princess, why not take me straight to the palace, demand a reward, and be on their way? Why do we keep heading further away from their country?
Something within me warns me away from asking any of these questions. When I first met Lars and Leif, I assumed they were simple goons. Mother easily manipulated them. So did Flynn. But the past few months have taught me to pay attention. I shouldn't underestimate them. They know so much more about navigating this world than I do.
I leave Lars alone, for now.
I realize that I've known, really known, only four people in my lifetime: Mother, Flynn, Lars, and Leif. According to the brothers, two of those people deceived me. Half of the people I've known have deceived me. The very idea is…unsettling.
To make up for his part in my seclusion, Leif is even more amicable than usual. He sits with me, brings me apples and pears, asks me to read aloud to him, and tries his hand at painting. I'm laughing, before I know it. Whenever he goes to leave my side, he sends me a look that makes my heart flutter. I'm not reminded of Flynn, though. Not anymore.
As I lie in bed, I ponder my feelings. Life is so much more complicated, terrible, interesting, and adventurous than I could have ever imagined. I wonder if my experiences are tainted by my upbringing. I wonder if I'm the only one who feels so pushed and pulled in different directions by my varying emotions. I wonder if, and worry that, I may be falling in love with one of my kidnappers.
We stay longer at this farmhouse than anywhere we've previously dwelt. I can see a difference, not only in me, but in the brothers. We're all quite complacent. Lars regularly finds customers, and I leave some of my hair out from my braids, so that it can trail out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door. No one ever comes in. I still have no idea who I heal and what their ailment was. I see small bags of coins accumulate.
Lars pounds on my door, as I paint in my room. It startles me, and I spastically move the brush across the canvas. I sigh and tell him to come in. Leif is not with me, at the moment. Leif always reasonably knocks.
When Lars strides in, he is completely serious. No arrogant smirk or charming veneer. I place my brush and palette on the floor and then stand up straight. I don't think I'll ever stop being intimidated by him.
"There's an opportunity," he jumps straight into the reason he's interrupted my solitude. "Some woman who can't be moved. The pay is worth the trouble, as far as I'm concerned. We'll go to her, tomorrow. I'll take you there, make sure you're not seen, do your thing, then we'll leave. We'll probably have to move on, after this, to give you fair warning. We've been here long enough, don't you think?"
I nod, although I don't agree. He pauses, and I'm hoping it's because he's thinking of a polite way to leave. I look down at my paints, then back up at Lars. He does smirk, then, and he comes around to my side of the canvas; either he's evaluating my artistry or the effect he has on my nerves. I get goosebumps, with him being so close to me. Standing behind me, his head comes to settle in the space above my shoulder. I feel his heated breath tickle the skin that is exposed along my neck. All I can do is freeze and hope that I appear unaffected.
And then, for some stupid reason, I'm thinking back to the sounds he wickedly pulled from the painted woman in the last region. My cheeks feel hot.
"Not bad," he purrs into my ear. "I kind of like what my coming in added to it," he teases.
That makes me bristle. I bend down and pick up the palette and brush; I quickly drag more paint in the area of the mistake.
"An easy fix," I brag. "Soon, it'll look exactly as it would have, if you hadn't interrupted me."
He chuckles and steps away.
"We'll leave before dawn, to avoid running into anyone on the road. I'll come get you, so be ready."
I barely nod, I'm so busy pretending to be busy with my painting. I hear the door close behind him, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.
True to his word, Lars knocks softly. I'm already awake, and I grab my blanket for added warmth. It's a brisk night; only the moon lights our way. We left without a sound, so Leif is probably still asleep.
"How long will it take to get to our destination?" I initiate the conversation. I'm grateful I brought the blanket. I hold it closely to my chest.
Lars is in his normal garb, without any added vestments. Does he not feel the cold?
"Hopefully, no more than a few hours."
I shiver under the blanket. "Can I ask you something?"
"You just did," he replies smarmily.
"Why did you leave your home, in the first place?"
"It was…stifling."
For a ruffian, he sure has an impressive vocabulary. I've never seen him read anything.
"If you don't mind my saying, you talk as though you're pretty well-read. Is your father a nobleman?"
Lars is silent, so I look over. He's grinning, but his expression is darkly amused.
"He was the king of the Southern Isles."
"King?!" I am all amazement. If their father is – was? – a king, that makes Leif and Lars… "You and your brother, you're princes?"
"There, yes. Here, no."
"And did you say 'was?' What happened to your father? Why would you leave?"
He stops and I halt my steps, as well.
"Our father favored one son: his eldest and namesake, Henrik. The rest of us were pawns in his chess game. We found out that he died two years ago. Henrik rules the Southern Isles, now."
"What about your mother?"
"She was better, but she also favored one son: the youngest, Hans. Spoiled and coddled him. Leif and I hated that brat. Pretended he didn't exist for a couple of years," he chuckles. "With our father dead, Leif wants to return to see our mother. I'd rather stay here, but, if he wants to go, we'll go."
My heart is touched, a little, at Lars' devotion to his brother. I look down and Lars starts walking. I catch up.
"You were making fun of me, and this whole time, you're a prince!" I say with reprobation.
"We wanted to live off the land. Not exactly royal behavior."
"And you couldn't do it in the Southern Isles?"
"No, not without constantly being hounded by the court. By our father."
"Did you have to become outlaws?"
"Just a little mischief, now and again. Your kingdom's quite strict, compared to most. Many of the things we're in trouble for would've been overlooked in our homeland."
Well, that answers a lot of my questions. It's still strange to hear Corona referred to as a…as my kingdom. I think of meeting the queen and king. My mother and father. Will they recognize me as easily as Lars and Leif did? Will they think me to be an imposter, using their love for their missing daughter against them?
"Why are you so quiet, all of the sudden?" I hear Lars interject. "Nothing more you want to know?"
I bite my lip. "I'm just tired."
We travel all morning. The sun rises, we eat some of the dried fruits and meats from Lars' pack, and we keep walking. Lars apparently knows the way, and we follow the route in his head. He stops, as we come upon a river, and I see that he's annoyed.
"We should've been there, by now," he mutters to himself. Raising his voice, he includes me in the rest of the conversation. "The man said it would be a few leagues northwest, on the riverbank."
I look around. There's nothing but wilderness. Lars has his hands on his hips, and he's searching the horizon with a clenched jaw.
"Did we head in the right direction? Should we continue along the river?" I try to be helpful.
He pauses, thinking, but, with a scowl, he shakes his head. "No, this isn't right. Let's go home, and, if I find that bastard, again, I'll make him pay up."
"Can we just wait, a minute?" I plead. I've missed being outdoors. I longingly look at the water. "May I wash my face and hands in the river? Have a drink, please?"
He gives me a hard look, like he wants to say 'no,' but I must have more sway with him than I thought.
"Make it quick," he acquiesces.
We walk to the water's edge together, and I dip my hands in. The riverbed is clear, without a fish in sight, and the water is deliciously cold. I cup a handful in my hands and bring it up to splash in my face. When I turn my head to Lars, he's watching me with that unreadable expression of his. His eyes meet mine, then slowly rake down to my chest. I feel beads of water drop down into my dress.
I sit on the grassy bank and remove my shoes. When I dip my feet in the water, I let out a pleasurable sigh. The break and cool water will revive my soles, and I'll be able to make the journey back without much complaint. I can see, out of the corner of my eye, that Lars is still standing beside me, but then he sits, too. He removes one boot, then the other, and places both of his feet in this calm creek, too. He leans back, watching the river flow, then he lies down and shuts his eyes. The sun has sufficiently warmed the air, so I let the blanket fall and join him.
I am drifting off to sleep, but I can tell that something or someone is blocking the sun from my face. I blink my eyes open, and Lars is leaning over me. My heart quickens its pace, but I cannot move. He stands and holds out a hand to help me up.
"We need to go," he orders.
"Yes, Your Highness," I cattily respond.
His eyes flash, not with anger, but with…pride. Or something like it.
On our walk back, I grow bored of the silence and I ask him to tell me about the people I've helped. He shares the information with me freely. A woman who suffered terrible burns in a house fire. A man who had several scars on his face that women found unattractive. A baron who was born without much of the fingers on his right hand. A countess who had a stroke and was unable to move half of her lovely face.
Just the basics. No idea if any of the dozens of people I've helped deserved it. If I go by my own experience, perhaps half of them were worthy of being healed and half weren't. It's better not to dwell on it.
We arrive back to the farmhouse a little past midday. I am famished, and I can't wait to take my shoes off and fall back into bed. Lars is instantly paranoid, and he heads for the bedroom Leif occupies.
"Lars? What's wrong?"
I hear a spine-chilling scream, and I run in to see what is going on.
Leif is in bed. Leif's body is in bed. His throat is cut, from ear to ear, and his chest, the bed, the pillow, and the floor are all covered in blood. One hand rests just below the wound, as if he intended to stop the flow. His face is pale and his eyes and mouth are open in shock. Clearly, someone was able to catch him off his guard.
"Can you…do something?" I hear Lars ask to my left.
There is nothing coming from the wound. I doubt that my power can bring Leif back to life. He's been dead for hours.
Beside me, Lars lashes out. "HEAL HIM! DO IT, NOW! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"
I wince at the yelled words. Then, I step forward. The blood on the floor is sticky. My shoes step in it, so that I can be closer to the body, and I pretend that it is just a sludge. Just a gooey substance that is definitely NOT blood. I drape my braid across the neck, covering the cut and trying not to look at Leif's awful, glassy eyes.
"Flower, gleam and glow,
Let your power shine.
Make the clock reverse,
Bring back what once was mine…
What once was mine…"
My hair stops glowing and I remove my braid. The dried blood that inevitably transferred to my hair is nowhere to be seen, but the cut is unaffected. I step away, squish, squish, walking back to the door. I feel like I failed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TRY IT, AGAIN! KEEP SINGING YOUR DAMN SONG!"
I can't look Lars in the eye. My breathing is becoming erratic, and I feel faint. I run from the room and toward the door that will lead back outside. I need fresh air. Everything I'm breathing in is rotten and sickly.
But, as I reach the door, a hand slaps against the wood and holds it in place. I spin around and lean against it, looking up into Lars' furious face.
"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"
"I just…I just need…I need air…can't breathe…can't breathe…"
"You're not leaving this house, unless it's with me," he growls out. "HEAL. MY. BROTHER," he demands through gritted teeth. I see that his eyes are tearing up.
And that's what breaks me.
I've known four people. Two deceived me. One was my friend. I've lost my only friend. And, as much as that wrenches my heart, I have more pity for the surviving twin in front of me. I can't imagine how it would feel to lose someone I loved. I thought I loved Flynn. I thought I loved Mother. I can see, through Lars' eyes, that I never had a bond so great as what he shared with Leif.
My hand lays on his chest. His heart is racing, running on pure rage, denial, and misery.
"I can't, Lars, I'm sorry," I apologize softly, delivering terrible news. "You know I'd give anything to…to – "
He falls to his knees and leans into my midsection. He wraps his arms around my waist and sobs angry tears into the fabric of my dress. I feel the first two tears slide down my cheeks and give permission for more to follow. I want to comfort him, but I also want to be comforted. I sink down and he loosens his arms to allow me to do so. I end up collapsing into him, and he holds me in a tight embrace, as we cry bitter tears.
I'm not sure how much time passes. It's still light outside, when we stop crying. I feel weak. I was hungry before, and I think I still am, but I mostly just feel hollow. Food would only fill one cavity, and that's not enough for me to feel whole, again.
Lars' arms relax, and his breathing evens out. We're still crumpled in a heap on the hard ground, holding each other.
"Who did this?" I whisper up to him.
I feel, but don't see, his head swivel and look around the room. I tense up, worried that we may be attacked at any moment.
"Someone who wanted to get to you," he says grimly. "Nothing else is touched. It wasn't a robbery. We were lured away on purpose."
I begin to shake. I am scared of what that means and now I feel horrific guilt that I am the cause of someone's death. If it weren't for my stupid hair, Leif would be alive.
Lars squeezes me tighter, which calms my shaking. I feel a splatter on my cheek, and I look up to see that tears are still running down his face, but his expression is stoic. He tilts his head down to look at me, as well.
I don't understand what is happening. And, during my confusion, Lars presses his lips to mine.
My first kiss.
It's hard and desperate. He pours into me his anger and his sorrow. It's passionate and overwhelming. It's too much.
I wanted sweet. I wanted gentle. Lars is neither of those things.
Before I can begin to object, however, he abruptly pulls away and murmurs a quick 'sorry.' He stands and leaves me on the ground.
"Pack up what you can carry," he speaks with a flat voice. "As soon as I'm done wrapping my brother's body, we leave."
I am too stunned to move. I'm not sure what is going on. Wrapping Leif's body? Eventually I am able to get up, and I climb the stairs to my bedroom for what will be the last time. There's not much to take. I have more than what I started with, but much of it can't easily be taken. The easel, my palette, my paints… I'll have to leave them all behind and start over. I pack my blanket, the one Leif dropped at my feet months ago, and I take the two pears that he only just purchased the other day. I have a few books, a sewing kit… I take those, too.
I descend the stairs slowly, with my bag slung over my shoulders. I'm frightened of what I'll find.
The door is open, and I can see Lars standing just outside. When I get closer, I see a blankets bundled with twine around something – around Leif. I'm shaking, again.
"Close the door, behind you," Lars says without looking at me. He has a larger pack resting at his side, and he's holding a shovel in his right hand.
I close the door obediently and stand beside him. He thrusts the shovel in my direction, and I reflexively take it; then, he bends down, grabs the body around the middle, and hurls it onto his shoulder.
He walks away, heading south, and I dumbly follow. The shovel is heavy, but not as heavy as what Lars carries. We walk a ways, and I so desperately want to ask why we are heading south, but I wisely hold my tongue. One notable difference is that we're no longer walking on the road. We are in the brush, taking walking trails that are far enough off the beaten path to avoid anyone or anything that comes our way.
At last, we stop beside a creek. It's smaller than the one Lars and I just visited this morning. The trees are enormous and I recognize them as evergreens of some sort. Lars drops the body on the ground and grabs the shovel from me. I watch as he begins to dig a hole.
I don't know how long it will take. I stand and watch. Then, I sit and watch. Then, I pace and watch. Then, I sit, again. I feel so useless. I want to help, but I fear that anything I attempt will only make the process harder. I see that the sun has almost finished its arc in the sky. Night will fall, soon.
The hole is completed, large enough to fit Leif's massive body and deep enough to avoid being disturbed for a good long time. Lars throws the shovel to the side and rolls his brother into the soil. I am crying, and I didn't even know it.
Lars stands over the grave and looks down to his brother's wrapped body. I have never witnessed a death, before. I don't know what to do. I can't stop thinking about the sticky blood that I had to step in to reach my friend.
"Though born fourteen minutes after me, you were my blood and my strength. Our home was hell, but our bond made it bearable. I needed no other family but you, Leif. I'm sorry I cannot trade places with you, rest in the dirt, while you live for us both. I will do my best to honor your memory. I will find who did this and make them suffer. No one messes with us, brother."
He finishes the brief speech and I take a deep breath. Lars turns to leave, but he stops in surprise when I speak, too.
"I didn't know you long. And, although we didn't know each other under better circumstances, I want to say…thank you. You were…sweet, in your own way. You could have ignored me, been cruel to me…or worse. But, I think, that's not the person you were. And I'm sorry, too. If I'm the reason you died –"
I choke back a sob, and I can't say anymore. Lars lets me cry and picks up the shovel. Covering the hole is a much quicker process than digging it. As he works and I cry, I look around. I need to do something, and I finally have an idea.
There's not much in the way of flowers, and nothing that I recognize from Corona or from my books. I pick some small white flowers that line the forest floor. At the foot of tree, a taller white flower grows. I gather several of those, along with a yellow variety with tiny petals and willowy stems. I hold onto them until Lars finishes his work, then I spread the flowers on top of the fresh grave.
Leaving the site, there's a new emptiness that envelopes us. Just this morning, when we sat by the river, things were fine. Leif was waiting for us to return. We took our time, while he died at home. Alone.
I don't have any more tears, at the moment. I'm too exhausted to make more. I think Lars feels similarly. He is walking alongside me, with an uncharacteristically blank look on his chiseled face.
We still stay under the cover of the forest. And we're still moving south. I remain silent and hope that I'll get answers eventually. We can only travel about an hour before the night hinders us. Lars starts grabbing branches and larger twigs, cradling the future kindling in his arms. I know it's nonsensical, but I still want to help. I pick up some dead grass, holding a handful in each of my fists.
Our encampment is hardly a clearing. There's not much space for two to lay, but I figure that I can curl up a little tighter. I'm so tired, I doubt that the conditions will hinder my rest. I hope that the horror I saw on Leif's face won't haunt my dreams. Lars makes the fire, after waiting for me to throw down the dry grass, and he shoves some of the leftover food in my direction. I eat reluctantly.
When I'm done, I lie down and try to push all thoughts from my mind. Lars extinguishes the fire and then moves to the area behind me. I start, and ask him what he's doing. He's never tried to bed me, and I am frightened that maybe it was Leif that kept his licentious behaviors at bay.
"Leif's killer is out there. If I'm right, and they're trying to get to you, do you really want me to leave you out in the open?" He stares out into the dark forest, as he tells me this. As if he needs to do one more sweep of the area before settling in.
I didn't picture the murderer following us. That adds a whole new element to our journey.
"Why are we heading south?"
"Because I'm taking you home, Princess."
He says the title without any sarcasm or teasing. Matter-of-factly. That, coupled with his answer of our new destination, makes my heart soar. I'm going home to Corona. To the palace. To meet my parents.
Lars kneels, then lies down and pulls me against him. To be held, to feel the heat of another's body, it is shamefully comforting. Mother Gothel was never affectionate with me. Whenever she hugged me, I could tell that she was waiting to let go of me. When she kissed me, it was always on the top of my head.
I remember my kiss with Lars. I blush. He's warm, but not affectionate. He's strong, but not kind. But I'll take anything, after having nothing all my life.
I fall asleep, and I can only vaguely sense that one of his muscular arms snakes around my midsection.
In the morning, I stiffen because I feel and see that Lars is still behind me. One arm encircles my waist and the other supports his body. He's sitting up and looking down at me. He looks like he's in pain. I remember Leif and it's obvious that Lars is in pain. I clear my throat and move to sit up. Lars instantly lets go of me and stands, himself.
"Let's keep moving," he states.
I follow him. And, this time, I refuse to be silent.
"Why are we going back to Corona?"
"Because I no longer need to make money," he supplies.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't intend to return to the Southern Isles."
"What'll you do, instead?"
"Live off the land, as I've been doing for the past nine years."
"And you won't need money for that? For anything?"
"Not much," he shrugs.
We're walking and I'm thinking.
"Will you stay in Corona?"
He gives me one of his smug smiles, and I feel my cheeks flush. It's nice to see a version of Lars that's familiar.
"Perhaps," he confides. "But I'd need a royal pardon, wouldn't I?"
I smile back. Yes, I get what you're saying, Lars.
My mind centers me and the smile is wiped from my face. I should neither care nor want to know what Lars will do with the rest of his life. He kidnapped me, held me captive, and used my hair for his profit. So did Leif, but I can't be mad at him. Either they're equally to blame or equally absolved.
Mother kidnapped me and held me captive for eighteen years. She used me. She wasn't going to let me go. It's taken me months to believe that.
Flynn lied to me. He used me. He was never going to love me more than he loved money.
Lars and Leif kidnapped me, held me captive for five months. Used my hair to make money. Leif was kind. Lars is letting me go, even taking me home. He loved his brother more than he loved money.
Even though I am still confused, my heart softens.
That night, Lars sleeps against me, again. My heart races and I imagine him kissing me gently, under the starlight.
Traveling this way adds time. Off the road, needing to navigate through thick brush, across streams, up and down rockfaces, stopping to make traps and hunt food, gather edible foliage. I feel a little prideful, heading back toward Corona, that I am easily able to do everything that is asked of me. I can skin a rabbit, make a fire, and cook a meal in record time. Lars teaches me new techniques, like how he creates the traps with only items he finds around him.
I am gifted Leif's knife. It matches Lars'. Its twin. I am…honored.
Each night, I am tucked against Lars. I sleep deeply. I wake in his arms. I look forward to the nights more than I should.
One night, I turn to face him, and he lets out a pleased rumble in his sleep. When I wake the next morning, his expression mirrors his brother's. He looks at me like Leif used to. Unlike how I felt under Leif's adoration, I am more receptive to Lars. I don't know why, I just am.
He tilts my head up with a large hand at my jawline and, at last, I am rewarded with the kind of kiss that I wanted to be my first. Soft, gentle, cautious, slow. We kiss and I am undone. I think I love him. I think I want to be loved by him.
When he pulls away, he looks sad.
"You know that Leif loved you, don't you?" he questions me.
I nod and look down. Ashamed, but I don't know why.
"You weren't supposed to be mine," he whispers, and then he kisses me more forcefully.
I don't know what that means. Lars hardly consulted his brother in any of the decisions to be made. But, then again, this whole endeavor was for Leif to have a homecoming. It's reasonable to picture Lars letting his younger brother pursue a romance with me. I recall all the strange looks that I would receive from them both. I never considered that they were both interested in me…in that way.
Our days are long. Too long, as I anticipate the nights. I wait for Lars to hold me and to kiss me. He doesn't try to press me further, thankfully. I'm not ready for…that. Not yet. I want to be sure it's love. I don't want him to abandon me within Corona. My heart can't take that, again. Not this time. Not when I have so much of my heart invested in the man who holds my life in his hands.
Weeks pass, and we are only one kingdom away from my homeland. I'm excited and nervous. Lars is relaxed. He's happier and more open than when we started this trip. We move to the road, stay in an inn, and he makes plans for our return. He uses much of the money I earned to buy us new clothing. I have a dress nicer than I've ever owned. It's a beautiful blend of teal, aqua, and white, with elegant golden accents. He throws out his tattered clothing and dons a fitted, black shirt and a crimson vest. With the black coat and trousers, he can now pass for the prince he once was. His boots, my favorite of his accessories, are also discarded for shiny black ones that complete his ensemble.
He never leaves my side.
The final night, before we are going to cross the boundary into Corona, he takes his knife, freshly sharpened, and uses the mirror and water basin in our room to shave the majority of his sideburns. I watch, shocked. He turns to me when he's done, and I can feel my jaw drop. He's now a blend of both himself and Leif. Leif's face, with Lars' good eyes and arrogant expression.
I kiss him, to make sure that it's still the same man. I relax, when he kisses me with the same fervor and skill that I am used to.
We are on the road, and, occasionally, we receive odd looks. Back in Corona, he is recognizable from the posters littered around the kingdom. But, without the sideburns, the clothing, and the twin brother, it seems that no one can be positive that it's the same wanted criminal. I am mostly ignored, which is fine with me. I'm guessing that my being with him detracts from any small suspicions passersby may initially have.
At night, we still leave the road for the cover of the forest. He steps away from our encampment to get more wood for our fire. I stay and enjoy the fire's heat, seated upon a log.
There's rustling sounds coming from where he left my sight, and I turn my head to welcome him with a smile.
But Lars doesn't emerge.
It's an old woman. Not just old, but decrepit. Her hair is white as snow, curly and fine, hanging down to her waist and practically transparent. Her grey eyes sit deeply in her weathered, wrinkled skin. They also seem to burn within her skull. She should be hunched over, walking with a cane, as old as she is, but she has an incredible amount of agility. She walks toward me, and holds out an almost skeletal hand for me to take.
The only thing I recognize is the clothing. The vermillion dress, sheathed against her form, with a low-slung belt held together by a large gold ring. The black cape lined with golden chartreuse material that shines in any light.
"Rapunzel," her voice creaks out. "Come with me! We must leave, quickly!"
I freeze. Where is Lars?
She grabs my wrist with her hand, and I am surprised how strong she is.
"No!" I call out. I dig my heels in the forest floor to stop us from leaving the area.
"Rapunzel!" she berates me. "We are going. NOW!"
"NO!" I yell back at her. "Where's Lars? How did you find us?"
"He's on his way to his brother," she smirks. Then, her eyes harden. "Now, COME WITH ME!"
On the way to his brother? What does that – why would he return to the gravesite, now? Without telling me?
Mother lied to me. Gothel is still lying to me.
"NO!" I thrash my wrist and she is forced to let go. I step back from her. I am no longer the naïve child she convinced to stay in the tower. I sat on the key to my freedom for too long. I will not willingly go back to my cage.
I think about the knife at my side. I can defend myself, but I cannot stomach the idea of killing the woman who raised me.
"You're not my mother," I hiss at her.
Her eyes widen a fraction, but then she sets her mouth in a grim smile.
"Would you let me die, then? After I bathed and changed and nursed you? I cared for you your whole life, and this is how you repay me?"
"You cared for my hair," I grit out. "And you will NEVER see it, or me, ever again!"
I run from her, toward Lars, and I hear her outraged shriek behind me. I know, now. She killed Leif. She made sure Lars would take me from the house and she struck when Leif was most vulnerable. She tracked us to there and back. She waited until we were separated and struck the remaining brother. She might've assumed I would be grateful, for her "rescuing" me. She was the one who worked with them, in the first place. I have to find Lars.
I scan the forest, cursing him for wearing all dark clothing. I hear my name, called out weakly.
I've accidentally passed him, in my searching. He's behind me and mostly hidden by a fallen tree. I approach swiftly and kneel beside him. He says my name, again, and now it hits me: this is the first time he's ever said it, apart from our introduction.
I can see at least two wounds seeping blood. It looks as though Gothel tried to stab his neck, but she missed and got his shoulder and chest. There are more wounds in his midsection, but I'm running out of time. I lay my braid on his body. The healing energy knows where to flow.
I sing and cry.
"Heal what has been hurt.
Change the Fates' design.
Save what has been lost,
Bring back what once was mine…
What once was mine…"
I close my eyes and will as much magic to pass through my hair as possible. It glows so brightly, I might be blinded if I were to open them.
When the light fades, I cannot open my eyes. I can't bear to see another dead face. I can't bear to see the face of the man I love staring at me with lifeless eyes.
I've known four people: two liars, one friend, and one lover. One left me, one was killed because of me, one I ran from, one I am close to losing.
A hand comes up to cup my face and another wipes my tears from my cheeks. I open them and see Lars smile. I look down at his body and see no blood. There are small tears in his clothing, but no wounds. I laugh, relieved and overwhelmed by my emotions. I lunge at him and kiss him fiercely. He responds in kind, as if it was the last kiss he'd ever be able to give me. When we break for air, he has the smug smirk on his face that makes me nervous. Excited and scared.
Then, he's looking around, holding me protectively.
"It was Gothel," he hurriedly shares. "Where is she?"
"She's gone, now," I soothe, rubbing his broad chest. "Let's find another place to sleep tonight, shall we?"
He nods and gets up.
In the end, we decide to travel all night. We are mere days away from the castle, and Gothel is still out there. There is enough moonlight to illuminate the road, and, at daybreak, we find ourselves in a small village on the outskirts of the larger city. There's an inn to welcome travelers, and we use a substantial portion of the remaining coins to stay in the nicest lodgings available.
That night, I abandon my earlier misgivings and give myself completely to Lars. He slowly coaxes my body to his will, as gently as he can, considering his nature. I worry that this is the only thing that I have left to give, and that, now he's had all of me, he may leave. But I almost lost him, anyway. I want him to know how much I care for him.
It hurts, and then it doesn't. And then I find myself holding back sounds like that painted woman made, all those months ago. Before he finishes, he pulls away and I watch his body convulse into a towel he placed nearby. I fall asleep with heavy limbs, naked and curled into his warmth.
It takes two more days to reach the town square. I walk past the mosaic, my hand on his offered arm, and I stare at the images. Baby me, my elegant mother, and my regal father. I look just like them. Lars was right. I see it, now.
I think about what might have happened if I'd recognized who I was when I visited with Flynn.
Would Flynn still have left me? Or would he have pretended to love me, because I was the Lost Princess? Would Gothel have figured out a way to steal me back?
I know one thing for sure: I wouldn't have known the Stabbington Brothers beyond what I would've read on the wanted posters.
And that reminds me…
"Surely your last name isn't Stabbington?"
A wide smile breaks his tough façade. "It's not. It's Westergaard."
He pronounces it with a foreign accent that I won't be able to replicate.
The guards at the front of the castle see us approaching, and they stop us from entering. I'm concocting what I should say, but Lars speaks up first.
"My name is Prince Lars Westergaard of the Southern Isles. I am here to return your Lost Princess."
He's spoken with such authority and purpose, that I am now under examination. One guard nods to the other and the officer runs inside.
We are escorted to a balcony and told to wait. I marvel at the view, while Lars stands behind me. When I turn to flash him a smile, I see that he is surveying the land below us. He's pleased, and I am certain it means that he will be staying with me. I take his hands in mine, and then the doors to the balcony burst open.
The king and queen wear astonished expressions, and they cautiously approach us. Lars steps back and away, and my parents don't acknowledge him, for the moment. My mother caresses my face, and my eyes fill with tears. Before I know it, I am safe in their embrace, and we slowly sink to the ground, a family reunited.
Lars eventually introduces himself. My dad looks wary of him, clearly recognizing him but also grateful to have me back. My mother is less cynical and takes his hand to thank him properly. He is invited to remain in the castle for as long as he likes.
We are one big, happy family. For complaining about the royal life and the strictness of my father, Lars is reacclimating to being a prince more and more every day. My father pardons Lars of any previous wrongdoings and has every wanted poster destroyed. Lars is proclaimed to be a hero and my betrothed.
Our wedding is held with joyous celebration and glad tidings throughout the kingdom. It's a little much, for me, but I am no longer running around barefoot in the woods. I'm a princess. Married to a prince.
Lars moves into my chambers and we finally consummate our marriage, although we consummated our love months before. He fills me nightly, and no one is surprised when my belly begins to grow.
I ask my husband if he will be writing to his brother, King Henrik, to let him know of our marriage and the upcoming birth of our first child.
"He knows," he dismisses my suggestion, with a smirk. "Why do you think my father had thirteen boys?"
I start to ask him what he's talking about, but he leaves the room. It makes me feel like I'm missing something. Not just that, but I feel that I am still naïve about…something. Maybe I haven't lost all of my innocence, after all.
We welcome a daughter, Gisela, and then we have a son, Stefan. I bear two more, twin boys, Lukas and Leon. My parents are the happiest grandparents in the world, to be able to dote upon their grandchildren. I think it makes up, in some ways, for missing out on my own childhood.
Lars is a good father, if a little strict. He and my father butt heads, as the years pass. Different opinions about how to run the kingdom. My husband is always respectful, and he ultimately defers to the king.
I have many responsibilities, as a princess, but I find time to paint, read, sew, and do all of the other activities I've always enjoyed. My children, when they are older, ask why I was called the Lost Princess and how I met their father. I tell them the story Lars and I agreed upon, all those years ago.
To give our story more credibility, my husband commissions the court scribe to pen our tale. When it is read aloud, I do my best to keep a straight face. It is a fanciful set of lies, so little of it is based in truth.
I was stolen by an evil sorceress who was desperate for a child of her own. I am locked away in a tower, but rescued by my prince who hears me singing while riding in the forest. We fall in love and devise a method for my escape, but the witch learns of my betrayal and throws my beloved prince from the top of the tower. He is blinded, but alive, and we miraculously find our way back to each other, wandering through the forest. My tears and love give him back his sight and we live happily ever after.
Ridiculous.
But it satisfies Lars.
I think it's this preposterous retelling that inspires me to write. I need to say exactly what happened, even if my children never read it.
And this is why I'm chronicling my account of what I lived. Gothel wasn't a sorceress, she was just a selfish, vain woman. She didn't want a child, she wanted my hair. Lars did not meet me in my tower, it was a thief named Flynn Rider. Lars was never blinded by thorny bushes. His brother, Leif, was partially blinded and remained so until the day he died. Lars and I spent time in the forest, to be sure, but not wandering and not separated from each other. My tears did not heal, it was my hair.
I have not used it to heal, since.
Lars and I have kept that secret, at his request. I trim the brunette strand, have my hair braided and twisted into a more manageable style. I insist to others that my hair is my pride and joy, which is why I can't bear to have it cut.
One thing I've learned, since I left the tower: life is a fleeting gift. We can't count our days, nor stretch them further than what we've been allotted by Fate. And that is what makes life precious.
I had to make peace with the ideas of illness, disease, injury, deformity, and death. I cannot save everyone, and not everyone deserves to be saved. That's why Gothel kept me hidden away. If everyone knew, I would be a slave to the world.
After I had the twins, I requested to see the tower that was my home for eighteen years. Well, seventeen years, actually. My parents accompanied me, interested to see how I lived and how close I was to my real home. Lars was less interested, and he remained behind with our four children.
The tower still stood, and the ivy growing up the stone was blooming and beautiful. My father agonized over the fact that I was within the boundaries of Corona. My mother stared up at the single window in amazement. I didn't think I'd be able to show them the inside, but then, on the south side of the tower, I saw a pile of rocks that gave way to show a doorway.
A doorway? The whole time?
We left our guards to watch over our horses, then the three of us climbed the narrow staircase that circled up and up and up. At the top, a trap door was already open and beckoning us to enter.
A trap door. Unbelievable. An exit below my feet. I probably crossed this daily.
But it wasn't the lack of an exit that made me stay. Now I'm the liar. I let my fear hold me back. When I leapt from the window, I did so without any doubt that I would land unscathed. I didn't need a door; I needed courage.
My mother walked around timidly, eyes wide and drinking in the atmosphere. My father, more practical, scanned for danger and then took an inventory of what I had. Some of the paint on the wall was cracked. My paintings. I took the steps to my bedroom. I saw my guitar, my bed, my paints, my three books… I thought I might want to take some of those things home, to the palace, with me. But I didn't want anything from that place.
I descended the stairs, and I stood in the center of the tower, where Gothel once warned me about the dangers of leaving my home. Ruffians, thugs, poison ivy, quicksand, cannibals and snakes, the plague, also large bugs, men with pointy teeth… Her hyperbolic list. My parents, meanwhile, toured the tower, its rooms and amenities. I waited, arms crossed and impatient to leave.
Something grabbed my eye, and I stared at a pile of clothing near the window. I stepped toward it, having nothing else to do. A closer look revealed that it was Gothel's cape and dress, lying in a heap. Odd. Around the edges of the fabric was a thick coat of dust. Very odd. There was a thin layer of dirt that covered everything in the place, now that I am not forced to clean it. But this was…thicker.
Oh.
I wasn't pleased. I hoped she didn't suffer. I hoped she didn't die cursing my name, although she probably did. She always placed blame upon me. But, she had eighteen years added onto her life, thanks to me, so I take none of the blame.
There, I think that wraps up everything rather nicely. You know my story: how I was kidnapped, rescued, fell in love with a criminal, was betrayed by him, how I was kidnapped again, became friends with one of my captors and fell in love with the other, my reunion with my parents, and how many children I had with my husband. I've even shared what happened to Gothel. I don't know what happened to Flynn, nor do I care.
I'll hide this manuscript away, now, right after I write about a recurring dream I've had. A silly, nonsensical dream. None of it matters, but I need to get it out of my mind. It's not a nightmare, exactly, but it still haunts me. It first entered my mind as a wayward thought.
"You weren't supposed to be mine…"
The first time I had this dream was years ago. I think I was pregnant with Stefan, at the time. And, the strangest thing was, in my dream, I wasn't…me. I wasn't anyone. I just…watched.
In an island kingdom on the Southern Sea, a king and queen have thirteen children. All of them boys, all princes, but only one will ascend to the throne. The eldest is favored by the king, being the heir, and the rest are groomed to marry into neighboring kingdoms, thereby securing a dynasty that will exceed the limits of the king's empire. The queen pities and favors the youngest, and the eleven that are not favored grow to resent what they've been bred to do. But still, it's what they know.
As the years pass, some stay, some leave. At least two of them, twins, leave the island entirely. They've heard of a kingdom with one heir – a princess. But her kingdom calls her the Lost Princess, because she was kidnapped long ago. The brothers travel to the kingdom with an idea: find her.
They search high and low, using their tracking talents and extensive knowledge of the outdoors to find her. But, in the end, their hunt is as fruitless as the royal family's. They have other ideas for what to do. Find a girl of the right age and train her to pass as the Lost Princess. Assassinate the king and stage a coup. Ally themselves with one of the kingdom's enemies, wage war, and forcibly take the throne from the king.
They plot, live off the land, pull off petty thefts, steal what they need to, and survive. One of them loses an eye, along the way.
Despite their plotting, an answer falls into their lap. They confront one of the thieves they've worked with and trade for a valuable asset: a girl whose golden hair can heal any ailment and grant eternal youth. It seems too good to be true, and this particular thief has fooled them once before, but then they see the girl in question.
One of the brothers knows who she is, right away, and he swiftly agrees to the deal. The charming thief takes the crown and flees, and unknowingly leaves behind the bigger prize.
The girl with the magic hair is naïve. Innocent. She knows nothing of the world, and the brothers see an opportunity. They take her north, away from her kingdom, away from her possibly being detected.
Is decided, as she sleeps and they sit by their fire in the forest, that the younger twin, the one with only one good eye, will woo her. Her heart is so vulnerable, it will be easy to sway her. The older brother will be the antagonist, pushing her into his brother's arms; it isn't what the older one wants, but he can't deny his younger brother. It is the elder twin's fault that they are in a foreign land…and that the other lost his eye.
They travel, stop, and become familiar with one another. The elder brother cannot hold back his lust, any longer, and he brings a woman home from the local village. But this idea backfires. He sees, in the cheeks of the magical princess, a blush that can only mean one thing. And that's when she is planted in his own heart.
The traveling, healing, and their dull daily lives are only necessary to stall for time. If the brothers truly cared about getting back to their homeland, they would do so without the fortune they're claiming to need. They need time for her to fall in love…with one of them.
Months later, the elder brother is tricked into taking the princess out of their abode. Or maybe he allowed for himself to be tricked. Maybe he wanted to be alone with her. It might be the last time he has her to himself. But, when they return to find the younger twin dead, neither can shake the guilt that fills their hearts.
The plan is foiled, but there is always a contingency. There is still one brother left.
He pulls her to him. She is so unseasoned in the ways of the world. In romance. She had no teachers, no friends, no siblings. He can teach her. And he relishes the task. She is not a typical princess, and he's thankful for that. He pushes her, but not too hard. Just enough affection to make her transfer any lingering attachment she might still have for his late brother.
She is sweet, pliable, and nubile. She is a prize. His prize. And he won't let her go, now that he has her.
Then something else happens to foil his plans. He is attacked by the very woman who implored him to hunt down the thief. He lies in the forest, dying, cursing that he left the princess alone and exposed himself to his brother's killer. But a miracle happens, like out of the fairy tale books his mother read and his father ridiculed. The princess finds him. Instead of leaving him for dead, running off to her royal family, she heals him.
They continue the journey back to her palace. Enough time has passed. At the next stop, he makes love to her, but he is careful not to impregnate her. He needs to be above reproach from her parents.
Once she is reunited, the prince reclaims his title. He ingratiates himself to the royal family and strengthens the bond between himself and the princess. He tolerates the disagreements with the king, as he knows that his time to rule is coming. He marries the princess, has enough children to continue his line, and is satisfied.
The only thing that sours his victory is the knowledge that he accomplished exactly what his father intended for him to do: marry a foreign princess and extend the reach of the Southern Isles.
But, then again, it's what he was bred for and it's all he knows.
And now that I have that written down, I can see how far-fetched it all is. Another fanciful tale. Lars loves me. He would never deceive me. I'm happy, I promise.
If anyone does read this, please…don't believe anything else.
