by Jordan Ford
“Tristan!” Helena’s sweet voice caught his attention and he looked up in time to see her throwing down a blanket.
He grinned, swinging himself back around and capturing the “rope.” With a grunt, he pulled himself up, his arm muscles straining when he neared the top. Helena’s hand gripped his jacket, helping to haul him through the window. He landed in a heap, chuckling and slapping the floor before rolling over to face her.
“Thank you, Rapunzel.”
She giggled, flicking her long locks over her shoulder and pulling in the blanket. “I saw you coming and when I heard the snap, I acted without a second thought.”
“Well, thank—”
A creak on the stairs made Helena gasp. Throwing the bundled blanket at him, she spun him around and shoved him towards the clothes rack at the side of the room.
He didn’t argue with her, just stepped behind the clothes and held his breath as the door banged open.
“Helena, did you hear something outside?” The uptight dragon snapped out the words.
Helena’s sweet tenor was in utter contrast. “Outside?”
“I thought I heard something breaking. You haven’t been opening the windows again, have you?”
“It’s a warm day today. I have had the windows open.”
Her mother sighed and Tristan listened to her quick steps on the wooden floor.
“Maybe it was a bird.” Helena looked over her shoulder. Tristan could see her twinkling smile between the puffy princess dress and the thick coat hanging from the rack.
“Hmmmm, well, it’ll be cold soon enough, so let’s close this for now, shall we?”
The window snapped down in one swift movement.
“Yes, Mother.”
“What are you wearing, my dear?” Her mother’s voice was low and strained.
Helena giggled, although Tristan could tell it was forced. “Oh you know me, just playing pretend.”
There was a pregnant pause.
Tristan craned his neck and spied through the clothes as Helena’s mother gently touched her daughter’s puffy sleeve and murmured, “Sweet child.”
Helena smiled, looking as innocent and endearing as her mother no doubt saw her.
The woman blinked, crossing her arms and turning for the door. “I’m just preparing dinner. I’ll call you when it’s time to come down.”
“Okay.”
Tristan waited for the clip of retreating shoes before sneaking out of hiding. Helena spun to face him, patting her chest with a sweet laugh. Her overwhelming relief was obvious, which confused Tristan a little. The woman who had just called Helena sweet child seemed weak and non-threatening, more likely to crumple into a ball of tears than scorch him with fiery flames.
“What would she do if she caught me in here?” He frowned, stepping over the trunk of dress-ups by the clothes rack.
“I’m not sure, but let’s never find out.” Helena winked, her smile glittering.
Tristan gazed at her cherry-red cheeks before taking in her silky, powder blue princess dress. It had a large scoop neck, puffy sleeves, and a fitted bodice that highlighted the curve of her small breasts and tiny waist before billowing out at the hips. She looked like that girl from the Cinderella movie.
“Uh, what—what are you wearing?”
“Oh.” Helena held the plush skirt out, doing a little curtsy. “I am Juliet.”
He frowned, his head jerking back in surprise.
She stood straight, bouncing on her tiptoes. “I’m playing pretend, Tristan.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, a flush of embarrassment and bemusement coursing through him. “I thought only kids played pretend.”
Her hands landed on her hips and she rocked back on her heels. “Why should there be an age restriction? Actors do it all the time.”
“Yeah, but…” He pointed at her dress, finding it hard to argue.
“And since I’ll never make it to Hollywood, I guess I’ll just have to do it here.” Her sweet chuckle made Tristan smile. “I thought I’d pretend to be Juliet for you. Let’s bring some life into that play and make you fall in love.”
Her dress rustled as she skipped over to the coffee table and grabbed the open book resting on it.
“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.” She raised her arm with a flourish, giving him a pointed look as though she wanted him to say the next line.
Tristan’s eyebrows puckered. “Um…I don’t think we’re up to that part yet.”
“Oh, but it’s my favorite part of the play. Do it with me anyway, please? I swear you’ll fall in love.”
Heat kissed his skin and he scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the floor. “Helena, the play is totally depressing. Putting on fancy clothes and reading it with you isn’t going to make it better. They both die.”
The book slaps against her legs as she drops her arms with an exasperated eye roll. “Yes, because they love each other so much.”
“Why does the world always have to be tainted with sadness? Why can’t couples just stay together for…forever?” he croaked, humiliation at his outburst forcing his gaze to remain on the floor.
Silk slippers padded over to him, coming into his line of sight and stopping by his feet. Helena’s cool fingers touched his cheek, her caress soft and delicious.
“Oh, Tristan, you have such a tender heart.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him into an embrace. Jasmine surrounded him, dancing up his nostrils while her hair tickled his cheek. Sliding his arms around her thin waist, he spread his hands along her back and gathered her to him, the puffs of fabric crinkling against his legs. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, relishing her sweetness.
He could have stayed like that for the rest of the day, but she pulled back, holding him at arm’s length and grinning. “We shall just have to rewrite the ending.” She winked, stepping back and holding out her hand. “Come, Tristan, join me. Be my prince?”
He cringed, awkward embarrassment getting the better of him.
She giggled, snatching his hand and pulling him towards the dress-up rack. Hangers flicked across the beam—slide, click, slide, click.
“Nope. Nope. Maybe. Not quite.” She stopped, her face lighting with a radiant smile as she pulled out a velvet jacket with long tails and gold embroidery. “Yes.”
A feeble whine escaped his throat, making Helena giggle again.
“Just don’t make me wear tights.” He grimaced, sliding off his jacket and letting her hitch the coat onto his shoulders.
“It fits you well.” She tugged on the sleeves and did one little yank at the back before spinning him around and nodding her approval.
He wriggled his shoulders, still feeling like a fool as he looked down at the ridiculous attire.
“Come, my Romeo. Let us rewrite history.”
She strode away from him, moving into the open part of the room and spinning on her heel. “So, let’s skip forward to the end scene and pretend that Juliet awakens in the tomb and sees Romeo lying dead.” Skipping over to him, Helena took his arm and steered him towards the couch. Once his knees were pressed against the arm, she gave his chest a light shove and he flailed backwards.
“Well, that was a little ungainly.” She made a face that Tristan could only roll his eyes at. “Oh, come on.” She slapped his knee. “Play my game.”
Fighting a grin, Tristan shuffled on the cushions, laying his hands on his chest and closing his eyes.
“That’s better. Now, where are we?”
Tristan peeked one eye open to see Helena flicking through to the back of the book.
“Ah, here we go.” Pulling her shoulders back, she cleared her throat and looked at him.
He snapped his eyes shut before he got scolded.
“What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand?” Helena stopped and tutted. “Oh, we forgot a cup. Blast it. Just pretend to hold one.�
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Tristan’s lips twitched with a grin but he did as he was told, rounding his fingers around an invisible stem.
“Hang on.” He popped his eyes open and sat up. “Hasn’t Romeo had the poison by now? Shouldn’t we be going back to the part where he sees Juliet pretending to be dead?”
“I’m rewriting this version and I like Juliet’s lines here, so please, have a little faith. Magic is afoot.” She grinned.
With a confused frown, Tristan laid back down, closing his eyes as commanded.
Helena’s skirts rustled as she approached him and perched on the edge of the sofa. Her hand was light on his chest, her soft fingers trailing down to his hands.
“Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end,” she whispered. “O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips.”
Tristan sucked in a quick inaudible breath, willing his eyes to remain closed as he listened to the rustle of fabric move against the sofa. Her upper body pressed into his chest. Tristan swallowed, picturing the curve of her breasts as she leaned on top of him. Her warm breath tickled his chin and her finger glided down his cheek, whispering over the corner of his mouth.
“For ’tis in my lips that magic dwells.”
Tristan held his breath, listening to Helena’s new lines.
“We are but star-crossed lovers, destined to endure the ages. Our love cannot be broken. It cannot die and so I kiss thee, fair Romeo, and awaken you from untimely slumber.”
Her lips were soft, a fleeting brush of tender skin against his own. They tasted sweet, like berries. He wanted to move, to place his hand on her head and force her to linger, but he couldn’t breathe. He’d kissed girls before, but never magic. He’d never kissed magic.
“Thy lips are warm,” Helena whispered.
Tristan opened his eyes, his gaze crashing into hers as she searched his face, a look of awestruck wonder dancing in her eyes.
He smiled, more of a feeling than a lip movement. Pulling his hand from beneath her, he gently laid it on the back of her head.
“Juliet, my love,” he whispered.
She smiled, her eyes dancing like sugar plum fairies. He was about to pull her back down so their lips could meet again, but a creaking on the stairs jerked them apart.
Helena gasped, jumping off him. Panic washed over her face as she flung her arms in the air and mouthed, “Hide!”
Flipping over the back of the sofa, he caught himself before crashing onto the floor, gently easing onto the wood and snatching his hand out of view as the door flew open.
“Helena, it’s time for you to set the table. Get changed now. Dinner will be soon.”
“Of course, Mother.” Helena’s words were pinched and edgy. Tristan grimaced, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice.
He remained a statue on the floor, pressing his fingers into the wood and trying not to breathe.
“Are you all right? You look flushed.”
Helena’s laugh was breathy and all telling. “Just my imagination…dreaming of a true love’s kiss.”
The silent pause that followed felt raw and icy. Tristan pressed his ear to the wooden boards, trying to peek beneath the sofa, but all he could see were a pair of pale blue ballet slippers next to a black pair of well-worn pumps.
Helena cleared her throat. “I’ll be down in just a moment.”
“All right.” Her mother’s voice sounded small and insignificant. “We’re having shepherd’s pie.”
“Oh, one of my favorites. Thank you.”
An awkward silence followed and then the dragon was gone, the stairs creaking out her departure.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Tristan scrambled off the floor and moved over to Helena, resting his fingers lightly on her lower back. “I guess I should get out of here.”
“I wish you didn’t have to.” She pouted, her eyes large with sorrow.
Tristan smiled, turning her to face him and brushing his fingers down the curve of her cheek. “I’ll come back.”
Her lips rose with a smile and he stepped away, shrugging out of his jacket and grabbing his bag out of hiding. He wanted to thank her for the kiss, the drama, and the fact that she’d made him look like a fool and he kind of hadn’t minded. But he couldn’t voice any of that, so instead he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Good night, my lady.” He kissed her knuckles and gave her a charming smile.
She giggled. “Good night, my prince. I shall count the hours until your return.”
With that, he climbed out the window, feeling like a knight of the realm as he descended the trellis, taking care to avoid the weak spot. He landed in the grass and stared back up the tower, blowing a kiss at the closed window before spinning on his heel and practically skipping back towards the fence.
18
Classical Music in a Fairytale Castle
From that day on, Helena’s attic became a regular hangout for Tristan. Every day after school, he’d climb the tower to play pretend, and to chat about everything from music to history to books to their theories on the world. Some days they did homework together; other times they sat beside one another reading. Helena’s stories often drew Tristan to her side when she read aloud brilliant lines that captured her. She’d snuggle into his chest, her long hair cascading over his knees as he gazed over her shoulder at the text. Her jasmine scent would waft around him and the weight of her body on his would fill his heart with a languid contentment he’d never thought possible.
Every now and then they bickered about silly things that didn’t matter. But most of the time they laughed, they smiled, and Helena’s collection of hanging cranes continued to grow.
“Let me teach you how to make one.” She beckoned him towards her desk one sunny afternoon when the light danced in her flaxen hair, turning the long locks into a trail of silken gold.
He ambled across the room, straining for noises on the stairwell before taking a seat.
“Don’t worry.” Helena patted his arm. “She’s down in her room listening to ‘Brahms’s Symphony No. 1.’ Every year, on this exact date, she is consumed by that symphony.”
“Why?” Tristan sat down and took the sheet of paper Helena passed him, noting the way her face flickered with a sad smile.
“It was the music she was listening to when she met my father.” Helena’s cheeks rose, her eyes lighting with a dreamy smile. “When she was at university, she used to travel every holiday. She’d take her classical music with her wherever she went and wander the castles and ruins of Europe engrossed in melody and history and her own imagination.”
Helena folded her sheet of paper diagonally, pointing at Tristan’s sheet. He copied her, creasing the paper with his nail.
“Now do it the opposite way.” She unfolded the sheet and did a new fold.
Tristan followed suit. “So, your mom would just walk around with her headphones on?”
“Yes.” Helena giggled, unfolding her paper and making two more creases until she had a sheet with eight segments. “She’d chosen Brahms because she was in Germany and he was a German composer. She was working her way through them as she toured the country.”
“And where did your parents meet?”
Helena let out a wistful sigh, leaning her elbow against the desk and resting her chin on her hand.
“She was roaming the grounds of Hohenzollern Castle. It’s this spellbinding place in Germany. A castle where fairytales are created.” Her smile slipped for a second, her lips flirting with a frown before she could catch it. Sitting straight, she focused back on her sheet of paper. “Now, turn it over and fold like this.”
Tristan watched her make the folds until she was left with a little square. The tip of his tongue peeked out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated, trying to fold it the same way.
“That’s it.” Helena stepped in, helping him line up the paper before he pressed it flat.
Tristan studied her, his gaze trying to unearth another nugget of truth…
figure out why she was fighting a frown.
“You want to go there one day, don’t you?” he asked.
She shrugged, folding the edges of the paper so they made a kite shape. She glanced at him and nodded at the paper. With a little sigh, Tristan copied her, his gaze flicking to her face as he worked. She bit her lips together, blinking a few times and refusing to look his way.
“And then like this.” She did the next few folds quickly and he had to race to keep up. He fumbled and she had to stop and show him once more. He rectified his mistake, creasing the paper so it sat flat like hers.
They worked in silence for a few more minutes, Tristan trying to figure out how to get her talking. He usually couldn’t keep her quiet when it came to storytelling and castles. Her sealed lips were unnerving.
She lifted the bird and showed him the final move. “Now you just pull the wings, like so…but not too hard or they’ll rip.”
Tristan delicately spread the wings, a smile appearing as he held up the bird.
“You did it.” She grinned, clapping her hands and then clasping them together.
He snickered at her cuteness before looking back at his bird. “Yeah, and I think I’ll need to do it a hundred more times before I memorize how to fold it.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m happy to show you again.”
He placed the bird down next to hers, resting the wings against each other. “Tell me the rest of the story,” he whispered. “About your parents.”
Her fingers trailed down his arm, skimming the fine dark hairs. “She was standing there, looking out at the view, music filling her mind. She was oblivious to the people around her, until my father appeared. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him walk past and she said she stopped breathing. She’d never believed in love at first sight before…until she saw him.”
Helena’s fingers spread over the back of his hand, dipping between his knuckles. He squeezed his fingers, capturing hers within his.
“And then what happened?”