Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  “Sorry I didn’t meet you out front. I asked Rip to fetch you.” And then her cheeks pinked fetchingly, and she looked away. “I’d rather avoid the main streets, if you don’t mind.”

  Dmitri looked down at his fine blue coat with the gold frogging, and thought about missing the chance to parade down Everland’s Andersen Avenue showing off his finery. “Actually, I’m perfectly at ease with the suggestion.” He resisted the urge to brush dust—why was this town so dusty?—from his lapels. “But I’d be remiss as a gentleman if I didn’t ask why you want to avoid seeing others.”

  “No reason. Shall we go?” She smiled so brightly that he knew she must be lying.

  Reluctantly, he stepped off the Inn’s back stoop, not sure if he should push her to tell him what she was running from, or if he should just be happy that she was here with him. As he moved beside her, gripping his ivory-topped cane in his right hand even as he offered her his left elbow, her smile faded to something…real.

  And staring down at that beautiful, real smile, he knew. Knew that he could trust her to know what was best for herself, and knew that he should be grateful to be with her. So his voice was a little husky when he finally responded, “Dear Miss Carpenter, I shall follow wherever you lead.”

  “Zelle.” Her whisper sounded like she had something stuck in her throat, and the realization that she was as affected by his closeness as he was by hers made him smile as well. “You’re supposed to call me Zelle.”

  “Zelle, of course. Where will we be walking today?”

  Another smile, and then she slipped her hand through his arm, and began to lead him down the alley. “To the Lake. All visitors to Everland need to see Lake Enchantment, at least once. It’s the reason the town was founded, you know. Early settlers—perhaps even the ones you’re seeking, were so…well, so enchanted by a perfectly grand lake out here in the land of seasonal streams that they settled here. It’s quite lovely, Dmitri.”

  In St. Petersburg and London, women had fought over the chance to stroll on his arm. They would “My Lord” him and simper and bat their eyelashes, and he would escort them to the gardens or—if they were those sorts of women—to more private venues. But in Everland, no one seemed to care or acknowledge his title, his status. There’d been no bowing, no attempts to pander to his status or wealth—what little of either remained.

  It had been…odd. And in some ways, a little relieving. Here, the men treated him the way they treated each other; as equals. It was galling to be considered equal to a man like Roy, Jr., who was a self-centered imbecile…but actually a little flattering to be considered Max Deville’s equal. Max was respected because of who he was, and what his talents were...not because of who his father was or had been. It had given Dmitri plenty to think about.

  And the women? Most of the women he’d met here in Everland hadn’t been too different from those back in London, or even Russia; they’d batted their eyelashes and cooed over his shoulders, and then snapped open their fans to titter to one another behind them. But one woman…

  Zelle had fallen into his lap, a lady made up like a shlyukha, a whore. Zelle had returned his kiss with an innocent sort of enthusiasm he’d never experienced before. Zelle swung her legs freely when she sat on a rail, and turned her face up towards the raindrops, and found simple, breathtaking joy in the freedom of riding a horse.

  Zelle was special. And not just because she peeked in both directions before they stepped out from behind the last storefront, and seemed to almost jog across the path that, because it had ruts and was bordered on one side by buildings, must be considered a street. But once they were past the buildings, through a little copse of trees, he felt her sigh, felt her grip on his arm ease. Felt her relax.

  And so he smiled at her again, and liked the way she pulled his elbow against her side, like she wanted to touch him as much as he wanted to touch her. “So, Miss Carpenter, we’re not actually running to the Lake?”

  A chuckle, and he fell half in love with the uninhibited sound. “We are not, sir.” A little skip that seemed to convey her excitement. “And you’re supposed to call me Zelle.”

  He’d done it on purpose, called her by her last name. It had been a ploy to start a conversation. “An unusual name, even in America, I think?”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with American names.”

  “Of course, that’s what I was going to say. —even in America, not that there’s anything wrong with American names. You just didn’t give me a chance.”

  Another chuckle, and he grinned in response. “My father says that I chose it, which I’ve never understood, but I like it.”

  “It’s unique, just like you.” The well-worn path led them up a hill.

  “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “It was intended as one, I believe.”

  “Oh, good.” She lifted her simple purple skirts in her other hand, to better navigate the rocky hill, and he caught a glimpse of small ankles incased in leather boots. And even that little glimpse made his heart pound. “Papa thinks I’m unique too, which is why he’s so over-protective, I think.”

  “Over-protective?”

  “My parents worry about me. But of course the more they try to make me quiet and reclusive, the more I want to go out and…and…and have adventures, I suppose.”

  He was beginning to suspect why they had to sneak out of town through the alley, and found that he didn’t mind at all. “I think your adventurous spirit is what makes you…” Fascinating. Compelling. Utterly intoxicating. “You.”

  She pulled to a stop, right as they crested the hill, and he turned to see her staring up at him with a serious expression. Those beautiful green eyes bore into his, and he found that at that moment, he wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted anything else. “Thank you. For seeing me, instead of the ‘me’ my parents want everyone to see.”

  He might’ve nodded. Might’ve cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind on the conversation, rather than how her lips might taste. “I think that your parents see the real you, too.”

  A sigh, and then she smiled sadly. “I think you’re right. Which is why it’s aggravating they keep trying to tamp it down.”

  “They’re trying to protect you.” He’d been an only child, too, but his mother had died young, and his father had raised him to be a companion, rather than a cherished innocent. “They’re good people, I think.” And then, desperate to make her chuckle again: “With odd taste in names, I’ll admit.”

  A dimple appeared in one cheek, so he knew her smile was genuine again. “Good point. And now…” With a gesture, she turned his attention to the path again, and Dmitri actually sucked in a breath when he saw the view that he’d ignored to talk to her.

  Lake Enchantment stretched out before him, surrounded on all sides by hills steep enough at the far end to be considered mountains. The water was sparkling in the sunlight, a blue that he hadn’t seen since leaving the mountain lakes of his home, and stretched for some distance. There were surprisingly large shade trees dipping down close to the water, and some sort of yellow and purple wild flowers growing in abundance around the small beach that faced them.

  It was stunning. Absolutely mesmerizing, and he tore his gaze away to tell her so. But when he met eyes the same green as the grass that stretched under the trees, he forgot what he was going to say. “…Beautiful.”

  The dimple flashed again. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Not it, you. “That’s why I wanted you to see it. Come on!” She ran her hand down his forearm until it nestled in his grip, and then tugged him down the hill. He stumbled behind, not sure how he managed to keep from tripping, so intent was he on drinking in her unbridled exuberance. It was intoxicating.

  And when they reached the shores of the lake, and she pulled him towards the shade of the largest oak, he realized that he could follow her anywhere. His life had been so empty since his father’s death, but watching her live made his own life seem…fuller, somehow.

  St
ill holding his hand, she spun around once they reached the shade, her thick blonde braid swinging over one shoulder. It really was much cooler under here, with the branches dipping down low enough to make him feel almost secluded. She tugged at his hand, and then sunk to the ground, sighing. He had no choice but to follow…not that he had any desire to do anything else. He placed his tall hat atop his cane on the grass beside him, and wished yet again that he hadn’t dressed quite so properly for this outing.

  “See? Isn’t this lovely?”

  “I have to admit that it’s the second-prettiest thing I’ve seen since coming to America.”

  “The second-prettiest? What’s the—“

  “You.” They were seated close enough, their fingers entwined, that he didn’t have any trouble watching her cheeks flush at the compliment. But instead of looking away, of demurring, of somehow cheapening his words, she met his gaze boldly. Curiously.

  “Surely there were prettier girls, in New York? Back East?”

  Maybe. “None with your passion. Zest for life.”

  Blonde brows rose. “You think I’m passionate?”

  A blind man would see that she was passionate for adventure. “I do.” He remembered the taste of her lips, and shifted so that he could draw the fingers of his other hand down her now-pink cheek. She didn’t stiffen or edge away, but instead continued to watch him. “I’m glad that I get to spend some more time with you, to experience that zeal.”

  She shrugged, then, and pulled back, looking towards the water. “I don’t do it on purpose, you know. I just… I just want to see everything. Do everything.”

  “Is that why you let me kiss you?”

  Had he thought that she’d blushed, before? Now the dark pink climbed up her neck, and colored even her delicate ears with the blonde wisps tucked behind them. He hadn’t intended to ask the question, but judging from the way she loosed his hand and twined her own fingers together in her lap, it was an enlightening question to ask.

  Finally, she took a deep breath, and he didn’t bother pretending that he wasn’t watching the pale purple material of her bodice stretch across her breasts. Breasts that he’d been lucky enough to stroke—at least the tops—not too long ago. Breasts he was suddenly aching to touch again. “I’d never been kissed. I wanted to try it. I didn’t know you, but…”

  But he was there, and he was ready to be kissed. He was ready to be kissed again, in fact. Pulling one booted foot up, he rested his elbow on his knee, and realized that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about what others thought of him. He was thinking about how nice it was to be enjoying the grass, the shade, the breeze, the pretty girl.

  With a grin, he picked up her braid—lying across her shoulder and pooling in her lap—and circled it with his fingers. She stiffened slightly, but didn't look his way. Not yet, anyway. Dmitri ran his hand down her braid until he reached the tip, and took a moment to thoughtfully brush the bundled end of her hair against his thigh. She was holding her breath, he could tell, and he hoped it was in anticipation. Because it felt nice, he brushed her hair across his leg again, and then lifted it to brush against his other palm.

  “The first time I saw you, I thought you were a shlyukha. A woman who sleeps with men for money.” Her eyes cut towards him, and her mouth made the most tempting oh of surprise, and he knew that he’d gotten the response he wanted. “You were painted and plumped, and oh-so-touchable.” A flush had risen up her neck, and she sucked in a breath at his words. “I’d decided right then and there that Everland did have something to offer me, and I wanted to take you upstairs with me. Ah, I see I’ve shocked you.”

  “No, I…” Those breasts—tucked away primly behind purple cotton—were heaving with her deep breaths, and he smiled wickedly again, knowing that she was so close to being his again.

  “Oh yes, I thought you a whore… But in truth, you were a tempting innocent, and all you wanted was a kiss. Any man would do, I suppose? But it was me that you…used.”

  “What?” Her voice was a mere squeak.

  “I said…” Dmitri tightened his grip on the tail of the braid, and twisted his hand once so that the hair was wrapped around his fist. “That you used me.”

  That got her attention. Still pink-cheeked, she whipped back to face him, her mouth already opened to defend herself. Maybe it was his grin—knowing, and probably as wolfish as his name—that stopped her. Another twist, another wrap of the braid. “You wanted a kiss, and I was a convenient kisser. You didn’t know me. You just…used me.”

  Another twist. Her hair really was long, wasn’t it? She hadn’t seemed to notice yet. “I didn’t mean…” Her whisper was as breathless as the rest of her. “I wanted…”

  “Oh, I know what you wanted.” Green eyes widened in a delicious sort of adventurous innocence that he couldn’t resist. Two more twists; two more layers of braid wrapped around his fist, and he was finally to her shoulder. Her eyes flickered from the hair to his face. “But I think that you owe me something. To apologize.”

  “I…do?”

  “Another kiss, I think.”

  “I should apologize to you?”

  His smile was positively naughty. “Fine, then. I will apologize to you.” His gaze fastened on her pink lips. “After,” he murmured absent-mindedly.

  “After wh—?“

  And then, with a tug, she was his.

  Her lips weren’t strawberry-flavored this time; they tasted better. He wanted to lose himself in her, but knew that he couldn’t afford to. Knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  So he released her, after not nearly long enough. He was beginning to suspect that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough time to enjoy her. When she sat back, her eyes were glazed and her lips seemed redder, plumper. He’d done that to her, and knew that his arrogant smile was probably entirely inappropriate.

  “I’m sorry.” Her first words threw him out of his gloat, especially when he’d been expecting to apologize to her.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry that you felt used when I kissed you at the Gingerbread House.”

  Carefully he began to unwrap her braid. “I am not sorry for kissing you, then or now.”

  And that’s when she smiled, and he knew she’d been teasing, the same as him. “Me neither.”

  When she looked at him like that—bozhe moy!—he wanted, needed to kiss her again. So he did what any sane, sensible man deeply attracted to a woman he found himself with under a secluded tree would do. He changed the subject.

  “I think I like you better with your hair down.”

  She sniffed and pulled the braid out of his hand. But she was smiling when she said. “Yes, I can see why you might think that. Most of the time it’s a pain, though.”

  Zelle seemed willing to change the subject, so Dmitri accepted the opening, leaning back on his elbows, careful to hide a part of his anatomy that would certainly prove him a fool for not kissing her again. He wondered how improper it would be if he removed his jacket. Wondered if he cared. “So why don’t you cut it? Not that I’m advising it, of course. It is handy.”

  She actually stuck her tongue out at him, as if they were playing. The sight did nothing to make him feel playful, though. “You think that I haven’t? I cut it once a year, on my birthday. It’s the fastest-growing hair I’ve ever seen.”

  “When is your birthday?”

  “Next month. The first. I’ll cut off at least three feet, I think.”

  That got his attention. “Three feet of hair? You cut off that much each year?”

  She sighed, and flipped the braid back over her shoulder, so that it pooled on the grass when she leaned back on her hands and gazed at the lake. “See what I mean about ‘fastest-growing’? It’s a pain.”

  “It’s lovely.” It was more than lovely. “And different.”

  A snort. “It’s blonde. There’s nothing special about it. You’re blonde.”

  “I mean, different from your parents’. Both
of my parents were blonde, because where I come from, we have a surfeit of light hair, light eyes. But your parents are both so dark.”

  Zelle shrugged. “Mother is actually my stepmother. She married Papa when I was about two. I just assumed that Papa’s first wife was blonde.”

  There wasn’t anything to say except, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, but not necessary. I have no memories of her—I don’t even know her name. Papa and Mother never speak of her, or their pasts.” He could see her roll her eyes slightly. “They’re ridiculously in love. It’s nauseating, sometimes.”

  Dmitri smiled, to see her acceptance of something so unusual. “My parents were a love-match too.” Mama had died before the Emancipation, which had probably been best, for everyone. “They were very lucky. It is a rare thing.”

  “Rare?”

  “You don’t think so?”

  She shrugged again, and then sent a glance at him from under pale lashes that had him sitting up straighter. “I’ve seen plenty of love matches here in Everland. I don’t think it’s so rare. Do you really think that?”

  He stared at the column of her neck, and thought about the way her smile made his chest tighten. “Actually, I’m beginning to agree with you.”

  And there was that smile, the one that made his throat thicken.

  Dmitri was seriously considering reaching for her again, tasting her…when she leaned forward and started fiddling with her feet. The movement was so unexpected that he didn’t react for a silent minute, instead watching the graceful curve of her neck, her shoulders.

  Finally: “What are you doing?”

  At that moment, Zelle pulled her short boot off with a triumphant flourish, and began to roll down her stocking. She sent him a mischievous grin over her shoulder and began to work on the laces of her other boot. “I’m taking my shoes off, silly. Digging your toes into the shaded grass is one of the highlights of summer!”

  Distracted by the sight of her ankle, completely exposed now that she’d hiked her skirt up her calves, Dmitri could only hum noncommittedly. And then the second boot was on the grass beside the first, the stockings thrown over both, and he watched her sigh with pleasure as she made good on her claim by standing up and digging her toes into the grass.