The walls of Eugene's rooms were already speckled with paintings Rapunzel had done for him, but he carried yet another wrapped in paper under his arm through the quiet evening streets of the Kingdom.
This one was a birthday gift, and rather unlike the other ones she'd given him—which depicted things she thought he'd enjoy, like a scene from The Tales of Flynnagan Rider, or a tailless cat that had taken to following him around whenever he was in the castle—this one fulfilled a request.
It was a picture of her. She did surprisingly few of those, and he'd asked more than once for one.
"You can look at me any old time you'd like, can't you?"
"But I can't."
Which was true. Princess curfew dictated that she be not only within the walls of the castle, but in her room—alone—by nine 'o clock in the evening.
So Rapunzel had, unsurprisingly, taken the painting beyond what Eugene had actually requested; he hadn't asked to be included, but there he was, superbly rendered hair, nose, and all in Rapunzel's signature stylized form. In the picture Eugene was doing something he'd rarely found an opportunity to do to Rapunzel since the week-long celebration that took place after her return to Corona: he was her partner in a dance, dipping her to some cue in the music. Despite the simple smoothness in the lines and colors, the likeness was perfect; her parents had even said so when she presented it to him. Pascal was perched on Eugene's own shoulder, as he was sometimes wont to do when Rapunzel would move around very energetically; the faint freckles across Rapunzel's nose were dappled just right; and he doubted it had escaped anyone's notice that he was holding her in the picture far closer than would be deemed appropriate by her dancing instructor, much less the King and Queen.
So it was perfect.
This visceral piece of her in his own place—not that he didn't already have a few tokens—would be nice to walk in to, nice to practice tricky questions or explanations with, and – most of all—something that would easily distract him when he couldn't fall asleep.
Because that had been happening frequently to Eugene lately. And though reluctant to admit it, Eugene suspected the routine and security he now lived with just weren't as taxing as the sort of lifestyle he'd had before deciding to settle in Corona with Rapunzel. Running, traveling, pursuing, plotting, and occasional lechery had taken a lot of energy and always left him ready to collapse—whether it be onto a bed or an unoccupied rock. But now, in his own comfortable bed in the rooms he let, he spent at least a handful of hours after bidding Rapunzel goodnight at the castle reading the things she'd lent him or idly letting the candles and lamps wear themselves down.
It wasn't that he had nothing to occupy his days. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Four days out of the week he spent time at Corona's orphanage, which hadn't been easy at first, but was getting better; he liked kids in general, even though some of these ones were real shitheads, and the place was nice enough that it didn't remind him of the one he grew up in for long. And whether he was helping by taking care of something practical that needed doing or just running around with the kids, he always felt ready to sit down for a break when he left.
There would be no time for rest, though, as the time afterwards was spent on whatever part of his atonement project he happened to be working on. At the moment he was a sort of apprentice at a woodworking house where he helped men more skilled than him make horse wagons and carriages to make up for the several he had destroyed in the past while earning his arson charges. Eugene liked this project because—unlike his past ones—he didn't have to dress very nicely, and there was no stigma for cursing. It didn't even matter that no one appreciated his attitude and openly complained about his lack of experience—his skin had hardened early. Anyway, some of the younger guys hadn't been so distant since Rapunzel had begun to pay him occasional visits there.
And even if his bed looked ridiculously tempting when he returned to his rooms to clean up before his evening visit to the castle, there was never any chance of him taking to it even for a nap—he only had Rapunzel for a few hours every day in between her Princess Studies and Princess Curfew, and he certainly wasn't going to squander those hours alone in his bed. Besides wanting her company and affection, he was afraid that missing an evening with her might make him feel inclined to run, as the urge did occasionally strike. Old habits, he'd think to push the impulse down. And he'd already promised her and her parents that his 'old habits' would remain just that.
Unwrapping the paper by the strings he and Rapunzel had fastened together, he didn't even care that it would seem overly-sentimental of him to prop the painting against the wardrobe where he could see it from his bed. The only person who ever came in was the chamber maid, and he could just avoid eye contact for a few weeks.
And anyway, he was glad it was there later, as the second—less common, more frequent—reason he had difficulty getting a good amount of rest reared its annoying head.
He was crouching in a thicket of ferns on the side of a rough road; he could see his associates in similar positions surrounding the general area of the pot-hole they'd dug and concealed. It wasn't really necessary for them to hide—the carriage they knew was on its way would fall into the trap and be overtaken anyway.
And as soon as it did, they rose from their places quickly—but he was the only one to speak.
"O-kay, we've got you—you know the drill: come on out."
But the carriage's doors didn't open, and the driver looked to be reaching for something inside his cloak, contrary to the fear all over his face.
Flynn pointed a finger at the driver and one of his associates flew at him.
"Why did you think that was a good idea?" He watched the driver's dagger get pulled away and pocketed. "Oh, come on, you're clearly outnumbered."
Flynn extended his arm to his side—still watching the carriage door. A lit torch was handed to him—hot but still innocuous-feeling under the sun that filtered through the leaves and branches above.
He stepped onto the road, and the two men who were behind him got to work on the cargo that was secured on the top of the carriage. Even the ruckus atop the carriage wasn't driving the passengers out—I'll try one more time.
"Helooo, we've got your driver and your stuff—you wanna come out before I destroy your ride?"
Flynn walked around to the horses to untie them from their harnesses, but it was an awkward job, what with only one of his hands being free and the other holding a f lame the animals were afraid of. Another of his partners took the horses to be loaded with the goods they'd just acquired.
"Come on, Rider, finish this."
"Hey, I've got this—let me work."
It wasn't overkill to leave no traces, no shelter or respite for the people they were robbing; it was thorough. Flynn reminded himself of this as he trailed his torch along the flammable varnish of the carriage walls, finally throwing it atop the roof.
The door still didn't open, and Flynn could see the driver wringing his hands on the other side of the road.
"This one's yours, Rider. Let's go."
He was being offered a heavily-laden horse, but he gestured to the carriage in frustration.
"Forget it, Rider, the smoke'll force them out. Let's go!"
But he couldn't. He stormed to the carriage door, fully intending to throttle those inside for not coming out when he'd first asked.
"What kind of idiot would let themselves burn alive?" he muttered as he thrust his foot at the flimsily-secured door. It took a few tries before the thing finally popped open. He leaned in—noting the stuffiness was already uncomfortable—and roughly grabbed the only shadowy shape he saw.
He flinched and gasped once he and the passenger were in the dappled afternoon sunlight, feet away from the flames.
The sight of her gritted teeth, the angry set of her eyebrows, and the flames growing behind her hurt him.
"Oh my god, Rapunzel!"
He flung her wrists from his hands—
–and the next thing he knew was darkness and a wet chill all over his body.
It didn't help that it was dark all over. It didn't matter that he'd not drawn the curtains- there wasn't any moonlight filtering in anyway. And in the murky darkness all around him, all he could see was Rapunzel's face as he'd torn her from inside of a burning carriage- a carriage he'd set on fire himself.
Light- he needed it.
He needed to never see that expression on Rapunzel's face ever again. Was that even what she looked like when she was furious? Had he ever even seen her like that, or had his mind just conjured up some awful approximation?
The matches were on the mantel-piece over the fireplace. Why did he keep them there of all places?
What would he even have to do to make it so that Rapunzel looked at him that way? Light a carriage on fire while she's in it. That was one way.
Should he even be lighting matches after what he'd just seen?
He'd never put prophetic faith into dreams, but this one had a quality about it that creeped him out. Dreams about Rapunzel- he had them all the time. Dreams about being Flynn- all the time. But the two rarely mixed, and never did so with such unsettling clarity as this one. And the detail with which it appeared in his mind wasn't really all that surprising, as it was made of memory. Mostly—Rapunzel hadn't been there, of course, but he had done a few jobs that had resulted in decent payoffs and flaming carriages. That was why he was due at the woodworker's hall in a few hours' time, after all.
A few lit candles made a world of difference. First there was that tail-less cat that hated Pascal but loved him in strokes of brown and orange hanging above and to the right of his bed; then there was the mounting stack of recommended reading directly from Rapunzel; and finally—what he was looking for—that picture of her, resting against his wardrobe.
Really, it was a picture of the two of them. And that was fine with Eugene. He was holding her nicely, in a dance, rather than pulling at her wrists; she was smiling and clean instead of sweaty and seething with rage.
When he'd told Rapunzel he wanted a picture of her he knew it would be calming; whenever he looked at her, everything he was doing, everything that was happening around him made sense. And he thought that maybe when he awoke with a throbbing head and forearm from a memory-dream about the time an arrow grazed him there, seeing some likeness of Rapunzel would excite that same sense of purpose. He never expected to need to look at it to offset a terrible likeness of her he'd conjured up himself.
Eugene was allowed to go look for Rapunzel by the service staff when he came to see her in the late afternoons. He usually found her still occupied in any of the handful of places she was likely to be at the close of the afternoon, and this day was no exception. She walked alongside a frail-looking middle-aged man, gesturing at a potted plant he held between them as she spoke. She only allowed a cursory break in the rhythm of her sentence to kiss Eugene on the mouth when he met them, and took his hand afterward to pull him along while she finished up her business with the botanist.
He wished—as he sometimes did, guiltily—that he didn't have to share her attention. But he trailed her by the hand he held and kept himself polite and silent until she dismissed the older man.
"Now—" she turned to him after the man had disappeared from their sight to give him a kiss and let him embrace her in ways she saved for moments when she was sure they weren't being watched. It made Eugene feel a little less petulant.
Once they were walking along the hallway again—
"How was the woodworking today, Eugene?"
"Same as it ever was, Princess." He shrugged noncommittally.
"What, is it getting boring or something?" She looked up at him while they walked.
He shook his head. "'Course not. I learn something new every day."
"Oh, come on, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." He squeezed her hand. "I'm just really glad to see you today."
She stopped. "You seem… off."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Something's not right."
"I'm sorry—"
"Hey, there's something I want to show you." She pulled him out of the large hallway and into narrower, more dimly-lit ones to bring them to the corridor where her apartments were located.
Eugene hadn't expected to be brought there. He was allowed in her personal rooms, but was rarely given the opportunity to visit—by design, rather than by accident, he suspected.
"What're we doing here—?"
Rapunzel pushed him into one of the couches. "Shh."
"Rapunzel, not that I mind, but I don't think your—"
"Close your eyes, Eugene."
"Huh?"
"Close your eyes!"
Oh my god. He shut them.
"There's something I've been wanting to show you—"
He could hear the skirt of her dress rustling about as she moved a little deeper into the room.
"—but I wasn't sure when the right time would come around."
Eugene gulped.
"But I realize now that timing doesn't really matter."
Her voice was right in front of him.
"The point is that I just put it all out there. Open your eyes."
Of the handful of possibilities he might have expected upon opening his eyes, he was not met with a single one. He was so surprised to find Rapunzel holding a sheaf of papers out in front of him—so surprised that she had to shake them at him once before he took them from her with a start.
"I made the first one… almost a year ago now."
Eugene had to focus before he could make heads or tails of what he was looking at. The were drawings made of lines darker, harsher, and more abstract than anything he was used to seeing from Rapunzel. The figures were all uncolored, he discovered as he leafed through the stack.
"Who are they?"
"They? It's all the same woman, Eugene."
He tilted the page he was examining, then his head. "Who is she, then?"
"I'm still not sure—that's why I try to make a new drawing every time I see her. Maybe it'll give me a better frame of reference when I finally find her portrait—"
"Whoa, whoa, Rapunzel—'every time you see her'? What do you mean?"
She slithered onto the couch without breaking eye contact with him, a toothy smile filling her face before she finally spoke. "I mean, when she appears!"
Eugene set the papers down in the space between them and rested his elbow on the back of the couch while he considered her.
"I showed them to Papá, and he thinks he's seen her before."
Eugene nodded.
"And the maids have seen her, all right! They call her a ghost, but Papá calls her a spectre." She looked expectantly at Eugene, clearly ready for his reaction.
He deflected, though, knowing that what stood out about what she was saying to him was not something which Rapunzel had meant to bring up. "And your mother? What does she call it?"
"Hmm… Mamá doesn't say much about her. I think—I think the idea scares her, and she doesn't want to admit it."
"So… why're you asking me if I'm afraid now? After everyone else?"
"I didn't ask if you were afraid."
He narrowed his eyes. "The last person to know, then. You've told your father, your mother, the housekeeping staff—and not me?"
"Eugene, I didn't think it mattered much before. I mean, you're only here for a few hours a day." She put a hand on the front of his vest. "And—you have to promise to act surprised when Papá tells you—but it might concern you a little more now that you'll be spending more time in the castle."
He bit his lip.
"Provided you accept, I guess."
"Hold up, hold up—you made a giant to-do about that hybrid ivy that cropped up on the walls a few months ago—ho did that concern me less?"
"Eugene—I don't think you're focusing on—"
"No, no, I'm focusing, just stay with me. Now, what's the difference between ivy and ghosts?" Eugene clutched his chin in his fingers in mock-thought, knowing it would make her laugh. "Ivy involves us taking a walk outside; ghosts call for me to go through a year's worth of drawings."
"Eugene."
"Ivy smells nice. And ghosts are… scary?"
She considered him for a moment. "Do you think ghosts are scary?"
"Mmm…." He pictured for a moment the little boy that would sometimes stand next to his bed at night in the orphanage. "Depends on the ghost."
"You're mocking me."
"I am absolutely not mocking you." He watched her bite her lip and reach for the drawings resting in between them. "But that's why you've kept it from me, isn't it?"
"It's just that I've been really terrible at anticipating people's reactions to this. "Down at the University—"
"You've taken these to the University?"
"—I expected a chilly reception from the scientist I spoke to, but he was really excited and even lent me some things to read. And it was the theology and philosophy professor who was dismissive! Can you believe that, Eugene?"
"Uh, yeah. Wouldn't've called that."
"I know not everyone gets excited about the same things I do, but they don't have to be so…." She looked away and buried a hand in her hair.
"Hey." He put his hand on the spot he supposed was her knee under her dress. "You don't think I'd do something I knew would hurt you, do you?"
"Of course not."
"Because I wouldn't."
"I know you wouldn't do anything on purpose, but if you though I was crazy—"
"Crazy? Rapunzel—" he grabbed one of her hands in his "—I know you're crazy. Of course you're crazy. Your oldest friend is a lizard. And you hang around with a guy like me." She was laughing, so he smiled—even though the last thing he'd said had made him feel pretty shitty.
He only had a moment to dwell on it, though, and less time to consider kissing her, as her father entered the room by booming a greeting at him.
Eugene stood from the couch, as he usually did upon first seeing the King.
"Oh, there's Pascal." He was resting in the King's upturned palm. "I was wondering why I hadn't seen him."
"Papá went to visit the vineyards on the mainland today." Rapunzel held out her hands to take Pascal, still sitting on the couch. I though Pascal might enjoy the change of scenery."
"You didn't miss all that much, Dearest. And besides, you should keep your appointments whenever possible."
"Good royal rule of thumb?"
"Exactly, Eugene!" The King clapped him genially on the shoulder. "Come along, Dearest. Your mother's probably already at the table."
As the King guided him away by the shoulder he held out his hand for Rapunzel, looking back in time to see her drop the ghost-drawings she'd picked up again to catch his fingers in hers before he was pulled out of reach.