“Show me.” Nick started to sit up, but our blanket of hair tangled around us, and we giggled as we loosened it.
Once we righted ourselves, I turned about the room, not remembering at first why we had gotten up. “Oh yes, the stairs.”
“You forgot?” Nick asked, grinning.
His disheveled appearance made more tingles under my skin, and I smiled. “I was distracted.”
He raised his eyebrow, a tiny smile on his face, and I imagined he knew what I was feeling.
I took his hand as I led him to the storeroom. “Here.” I leaned against the wall, letting him by. “They are behind the shelf, but I cannot go down them.”
He stepped to the shelf, moving it out of the way so he could open the door to reveal the worn stairs. “Why not?”
“They are old. They will break if I try to go down.”
Nick looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “They will not.” He stepped on the first one.
Nothing happened.
“If they can support my weight…” He did not get to finish his sentence, for the stair creaked and his foot started to fall through. He snagged the arch of the door, holding himself before he fell the rest of the way through the stair.
“Maybe those are not a good idea after all,” Nick said, stepping back on the stone floor. He let out a sigh, leaning against the table where Mother’s herbs were. “I want to take you to my home.”
I nodded, for I did not want to stay here any more. “I am ready to leave.”
When we left the storeroom, Nick walked to the fireplace, stoking it.
“So what do we do?” I asked, watching the way his shoulders moved as he shifted the logs.
He turned to look at me. “It is getting late. I need to return home.” He came to my side and pulled me into another embrace. “I want to take you with me now, but I cannot see how. At least not right now.”
We rocked back and forth as he held me, though disappointment filled my heart. “I understand.”
He kissed my temple. “Do not worry. I shall return early, with plenty of rope. Tonight, pack your belongings, anything you wish to take.” He caressed my hair. “Perhaps braid your hair.” He continued to stroke it. “Though I must say, I like it hanging like this.” He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.
I smiled too, though it felt equally insincere. I wanted to leave with Nick. Now. More than ever. I was afraid Gothel would return before I could get away.
“Until tomorrow,” Nick said, placing a kiss on my lips.
Tears snuck from my eyes.
He wiped them away with his thumbs. “Do not cry. I will be here in the morning. We shall leave then.”
I nodded. “Until the morning.” I tossed my hair out the window.
While he climbed down, I stood there wondering if tomorrow would be soon enough.
Chapter 26
Nick woke early. He had barely slept the night before, his thoughts so wrapped around Rapunzel. He had wanted to stay. He had wanted to bring her with him. Right then. The plain fact that a lack of a rope had resulted in their continued separation seemed ridiculous. Criminal, even. He took a deep breath. He had the rope now. He would ride out to her within the hour. Nonetheless, the need, the gut feeling he had to get back there would not ebb.
His valet helped him slip on his boots. “Sir, a letter came for you last night.”
Nick paused. “From who?”
“The Count von Thalunburg, my lord.”
Nick stood, stomping into his boot as he crossed his room, looking for the letter.
“On your desk, my lord,” the valet said.
“Thank you.” Nick strode to his desk in the front room of his suite. There was the letter, with Bryan’s wax seal.
He wasted no time opening it.
And almost fell down when he read it.
Bryan had tracked Gothel into Gruenewald’s province, but lost her in the heart of the village outside Gruenewald’s castle. Nevertheless, it was not a wasted effort, for the town was alive with talk of the Duke being married. The woman in question was a mystery to the town–no one knew who she was or where she came from, only that she would arrive in less than a fortnight.
Nick knew who Gruenewald’s new wife would be.
His Tressey.
Nick’s stomach twisted at the thought of her married to that monster. His servants were notoriously clumsy, appearing regularly in town with broken bones and lacerations bearing a resemblance to whip marks. He had spent years taxing his province to breaking in order to support his lavish lifestyle and, while his people starved, Gruenewald lacked for nothing.
Almost nothing. Gruenewald was desperate for a bride. His last had died in childbirth along with the heir. And while the townspeople publicly supported their duke, they did not offer their daughters to him. A notable number of young women had suddenly been struck by the urge to visit family in other provinces around the time they came of age. Gruenewald would have to find his bride elsewhere.
A girl locked in a tower, without any knowledge of the world, would be perfect for him for she would not know how to fight back.
Nick felt ill.
He turned to his valet, waving the letter. “When did this arrive?”
“Last night, just after you left, my lord.”
Nick did not hesitate. He took off out the door, heading straight for the stables. A fevered need to get her out of the tower burned in him. The nightingales sang as Nick reached the stables. Fog had enveloped the land, and everything felt thick, cold, and most of all, wrong.
He should not have left her.
He had wanted to go back last night, to get ropes and return to her immediately, but he had known he would need all his faculties to get her out of the tower safely. He had been terrified if he returned without at least some sleep, she might slip and fall from the window.
Packing every rope he could find, Nick heard footsteps coming his way. He grumbled a curse. He had no time for distractions.
Of course, it was Penn. Not that he did not love Penn like a brother, but he wanted, no, he needed, to get back to Rapunzel, and soon.
He tightened Ovet’s girth, making sure his saddle was snug. The horse sniffed in approval, nodding her head.
“So, did you rescue your lady fair yet?” Penn asked, strolling into the stables and leaning against the entrance door.
Nick grimaced then shook his head. “I am heading there now,” he said as he mounted Ovet.
“You are armed.”
Nick nodded. “Something is not right.”
“Expecting trouble?”
Nick turned his horse just enough to let him see Penn’s face. “Yes.”
Penn nodded. “Let me get my horse saddled and I will be right behind you.”
Nick leaned down and clasped Penn’s elbow, relief pouring through him. Two were far better at dealing with trouble than one. Perhaps Nick’s worry was for naught, but his gut screamed the sooner he could get Tressey out of the tower, the better.
He rode as fast as he dared through the trees, though it did not seem fast enough. With each beat of Ovet’s hooves, his feeling of urgency increased. When the tower finally came into sight in the distance, his anxiety still did not recede. It was too quiet. Usually, even this far out, he could hear vague whispers of the notes she sang, enchanting melodies that led him like the ancient sirens’ song, driving him on.
Yet today, nothing.
At the tower wall, he took a moment to look around, his nerves jangling. Nothing seemed out of place, but his worries would not be quieted. He hesitated. Perhaps he should wait for Penn before climbing the tower.
No, Penn would be along soon enough. He needed to get up there.
Easing the side door open, he made his way through the thorny garden surrounding the tower as he had done so many times before, yet nothing felt familiar. He stumbled over a bush he had passed a dozen times without incident and its thorns jabbed him in the leg. An overgrown rosebush snagged his cloak as he went b
y, tearing off a small patch. He tripped over a vine he would have sworn was not there the day before.
Apprehension was a taut wire in his chest as he called for her to lower her hair, and his voice sounded like a stranger’s. He stared up at the window, waiting for her to appear. When nothing happened after a moment, he paced under the window, looking up every few seconds, trying to convince himself there was a reason for the delay.
Perhaps she had fallen asleep.
Perhaps she was busy with something intricate.
Perhaps she had not heard him.
He called, louder this time, and the rope of hair tumbled out the window. Relief did not come with it. Rapunzel had still not come to the window to wave at him. There was only silence from within the tower.
Something was wrong.
He climbed, the braids tight in his fingers, but even that felt different somehow. He hoisted himself onto the ledge.
The witch stood just inside the window, eyes ablaze, holding the long braid no longer attached to Rapunzel’s head. What had happened?
Rapunzel?
He leapt through the window, automatically reaching for the sword strapped to his hip. He held it aloft, ready to attack, when he saw Rapunzel out the corner of his eye.
She lay on her stomach, still as death and her hair chopped off just below her nape. Ragged strands, splintered like straw, covered her face. He could make out the braid he had wrapped around her forehead, though it had fallen over her eyes, covering them completely.
“Rapunzel.”
She did not move. He took a step toward her, fury and grief howling in his blood. Somewhere close behind him came the unmistakable rasp of a sword being drawn. He whirled, bringing up his own sword only seconds before Duke von Gruenewald would have run him through.
Gruenewald closed the distance between them until only the cross of their swords separated them. “So you are the dandy that has been tupping my wife.”
Blood pounded in Nick’s ears as rage consumed him. With a shove, he sent Gruenewald across the room, and Gruenewald slammed into the fireplace. The thin man jumped away immediately, crying out.
Nick charged at Gruenewald, swinging his blade with both hands in a diagonal arc. With more strength than expected, Gruenewald jerked his sword up, blocking the strike. Gruenewald shoved the sword down, making Nick stumble and twist to the side. With his right hand, he brought his sword across to knock Gruenewald down again.
Gruenewald tried to out-step the sword, and Nick spun into him, slamming his free fist into the thin man’s face. This time, Gruenewald fell to the floor. Shaking his hand, Nick switched his grip for an overhead strike. “She is not your wife.”
Pain burst from the side of Nick’s head and his whole body lit on fire.
He spun, and the room seemed to spin with him. The witch had smashed him in the side of the head with the pot of water Rapunzel always kept on the fire. The steaming water singed his skin and, disoriented, he swung around, slamming his arm into the witch’s side. She let out a cry, stumbling backward and falling into the table and chairs. Rapunzel’s music box flew off the table, the contents spilling onto the floor. The music box tinkled, and the witch shoved it across the room.
Shaking his head, Nick turned to find Gruenewald.
“Perhaps she is not my wife in deed,” Gruenewald said, and shoved a knife into his side.
Nick crumpled to the ground.
Gruenewald bent over until his face was inches from Nick’s. “Not yet,” he whispered. He straightened his jacket as he stood. “In a way, I am glad it was you.”
Nick closed his eyes but the room tossed sickeningly and he opened them again.
“Naturally, you would try to take what was mine. You Charming Nobles, you think you can have anything you want, just because of your birthright. You are no better than that wasted skin of a cousin of mine.” Gruenewald spit blood on the floor.
“I never wanted anything that was yours.” Nick swore three Gruenewalds floated over him.
“Your family has wanted my province for generations. You and Penn have been plotting my death for years.”
“No.” Nick shook his head and it only made the spinning worse. He groaned. The room drained of color, fading into a soft and gentle gray.
Gruenewald yanked Nick’s hair. “You may be one of the largest men in the region, but I have you now.” He shoved the knife deeper into Nick’s side.
Nick cried out as the white-hot heat seemed to reach all the way to his hair.
“You cannot have her, Lord von Hohburg,” Gruenewald spat, slamming his bony fist into Nick’s face.
The witch started kicking him, right where the wound was. Something cracked. Agony spiked inside him, the likes of which he had never imagined.
“How dare you!” She kicked him again.
The pain faded. Blackness engulfed the room, beckoning him.
“You cannot destroy what I have worked all these years for!” She kicked him in the head.
Rapunzel.
Nick slipped into the darkness and was gone.
Chapter 27
Pain ripped me awake. An ache slammed into my temples, my neck, my crown. Inhaling a breath, I opened my eyes a crack. Light streamed in from the window, intensifying the pain. I cringed, covering my face with my arm, yet as soon as I touched my face, more pain shot through my head.
Rolling over, I tried to find some relief, some way to hide from the stabbing light. My pillow. Where was my pillow? I groped for it in vain. Exhausted, my body went slack, my arm slid off my chest toward the floor.
And hit something.
I twisted to the edge of the bed. My head pounded as I did so, but I managed to see the floor. I gasped. There, curled in a ball on his side, was Nick.
My heart raced. The pain sliced through me, and I forced my eyes closed and then open, and looked again.
It was Nick.
Why was he on the floor? Why was he not moving?
“Nick?” I croaked out.
He did not move, and everything was so black around him.
Black.
I reached down, touching the black underneath him. As soon as my fingers met the slick liquid, I realized it was not black at all, but red.
Blood.
Panic overrode pain as I leaped off the bed. I reached to move a bundle of my braids, but they were not there. An image of Gothel standing over me, the dagger in her hand, rose in my mind.
She had taken my hair.
That did not matter now. My bare feet slid in the blood as I knelt next to him. “What happened?” I whispered. Nick’s arm curled around his side and I moved it away as I tried to lay him flat on his back.
I jerked, seeing the hilt of the knife sticking out of his side.
I let out a choked sob, trying to remember if I should pull the dagger out, leave it in… What should I do? My head throbbed as I looked at the hilt. The blade was straight. It would not rip when removed, but should I remove it? Every second I wasted in indecision could be the instant his life was lost. My gut told me to leave it in.
Leaning over him, I listened for his breath. When I heard a faint whistle of air, I let out a cry of relief. He struggled to draw air, but he lived yet. I hoped it would be enough.
I ran, stumbling, to the storeroom and scrabbled for bandages and a bowl. As I grabbed herbs, I tipped the rest of Gothel’s special tea blend into the bowl as well and stirred it up. I also pinched some tea between my fingers and choked down the herbs. I patted my head, sweat pouring out of my brow.
My braid.
Nick’s braid. It was still there, coiled around my head, underneath the ends of my remaining hair. Gothel had not cut it off. How she had missed it I did not know, but I would not start questioning blessings right now.
Nick’s braid would save him.
I prayed it would be enough, for the piece was not as long as the rest–only a couple of cubits. In the room, Nick’s breathing, labored and weak, echoed in the otherwise quiet chamber. Tears
poured from my eyes as I brought the herbs to Nick. Kneeling next to him, the blood from the wound still warm and bitter-smelling, I grabbed all the braids on my head, and slid them down. They pooled on the floor and some of his blood seeped into the hair. I tried not to look at the sight as I reached under my pillow for my dagger–still nestled underneath, ready to be used.
Nick tossed his head back and forth, panting, though his eyes did not open.
I stroked his cheek. “Oh Nick.” I placed my dagger with the herbs. “I am so sorry,” I whispered, hating that he lay there, in agony, because of me. “Oh, I am sorry, my love.”
I had to get the knife out first. After I cut the braid I might very well pass out from the pain. I would have only moments at most. I shuddered at the thought of what awaited me, but I had to be strong now. I had to save him before I collapsed into the lure of oblivion.
I bit my lip, grabbed the handle of the knife, and yanked with all I had. It came out smoothly and was not quite as long as I had feared, but a wave of blood came behind it. I pressed bandages against the wound with one hand. Already the blood was soaking through. With my free hand, I slid my braid into my mouth, biting hard on the strands.
The hair tasted vile but I had no time to consider it. I grabbed the other dagger and slid it between my hair and my face. I gritted my teeth and sliced through the hair. The pain made me scream. Nick’s body jerked and my head pounded. A cool black wave waited behind my eyes, but I held on. I could not let him die like this. Not because of me.
As fast as I could, I bundled the hair in one hand and pushed it into the wound. Nick screamed, his eyes opened and he stared at…at something. I hoped with all I had that he saw me. That he knew I was trying to save him.
I pressed the herbs against the hair and continued bandaging his gash. My hands shook, tears poured from my eyes, washing over the wound as I worked. They seeped into the first layer of the bandage and I had to tear strips from my own chemise to bandage him properly. Where the hair rested against the wound, it stuck out like a ball from his side.
Finally finished, I let out a sigh. I collapsed against his chest, letting his heart beat–already stronger and steadier–carry me into the dark.
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