Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince

by Savage, Vivienne

  Soft, pale light shimmered against the surface. The reflection of the snowy sky above faded away, replaced by the familiar warmth of the library at Benthwaite.

  “Muir, so lovely to see you,” Anastasia said in greeting. She stepped into view with her usual bright, genuine smile. A moment later, the king stepped in beside her.

  “Glad to hear from you at last. If another day passed, I was going to fly there myself,” Alistair grumbled. There was warmth in his eyes though, and a grin spread over his face. “How are you? Busy getting to know the Eislander ladies?”

  Muir grunted. “Unfortunately. All I’ve found are thimble-brained bimbos and desperation.”

  “I did warn you,” Anastasia said, looking satisfied and smug.

  “You did. As did Lady Victoria, but I’d hoped your perception of the kingdom was painted by poor experience.”

  “You mean, you hoped we were exaggerating.”

  “Yes.” As much as he hated to admit it, the truth was the truth.

  “Who’s that behind you?” Ana asked.

  Behind him? Muir glanced over a shoulder and saw nothing but swirls of snow on the brisk wind.

  “I see and smell nothing. No one is close by, my queen.”

  “Please, I’ve told you a dozen times, just Ana is fine. And I swear I thought there was a face in the snow for a moment.”

  “I assure you, there’s no one here, though it does remind me of something I wanted to ask you. Do you know anything of ice elementals in Eisland? I encountered something strange the other evening.”

  “Elementals?” Anastasia pursed her lips. “Not that I know of, but I’ve never been to their kingdom. I can look it up if you like. Now, I have heard about wraiths in their mountains, but I have no idea if they’re real or simply stories meant to scare naughty children into bed.”

  “This was no frightening spectre. It had a feminine shape and led me on a chase,” he explained.

  “You mean it attacked you?” Alistair asked.

  “No, not really. I don’t think it meant to harm me at all, and I was the one who chased it. In fact, it—she—seemed concerned when I broke a blood feather.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If James is in port, would you ask him for me? If anyone would know, it should be him.”

  “Just a moment, he and Tink are visiting now. James! James, do you have a moment?”

  The view in the mirror shifted from Ana and Alistair to James. He leaned in close, until the queen’s amused voice spoke up from somewhere to the side.

  “You needn’t put your nose to the crystal ball, James. He can see you better if you take a step back.”

  “Like this?” James asked.

  “I see you, old man,” Muir said.

  “Ah, Muir, excellent to see you’ve survived your first few days. So, how many women have thrown themselves at you so far? Nigel and I have a bet, and I am eager to collect my money,” James said in fluent Mordenian, not yet capable of speaking the Oclander tongue, although he was learning it slowly.

  Muir scowled at the former pirate in the mirror. “Far too many, you arse. I can’t take a step without some wench tossing her bosom in my face. I lost count at seventeen.”

  “Ha! I’ve won,” James crowed. “He thought our ladies would be far too snobbish to express interest in shifter men. I thought they’d be hungry for anyone with muscles, regardless of whether he can turn into a beast. Belle agreed with me, bless her. Now, what do you need?”

  A rush of cold collided with Muir’s back before crashing into the mirror. He leapt to his feet as the glass iced over and a small crack split across its lower half.

  He spun each direction for the source of the assault and saw nothing but frigid garden. Whatever had attacked him was gone. When he looked at the mirror, three concerned faces gazed back at him.

  “Muir, are you all right? What was that?” Ana asked.

  “I think my snowy friend returned,” Muir said. “James, do you know anything of a spirit that shapes snow?”

  “No, that doesn’t ring a bell. There are stone nymphs in the mountains I warned you about, and ice wraiths deep in slopes, but….” He stroked his chin, and then his eyes lit up with interest. “You may have attracted a khione, although it’s uncommon to see one so close to the castle. Still, I’ve never heard of one doing that.”

  “Khione? What do they do then?”

  “Our word for them in Eislandic translates literally to snow waif in the Mordenian tongue. A sighting is quite rare. They are an actual embodiment of the snow, similar to your sprites, like Belle once was, and enjoy causing mischief. Sometimes they leave gifts for little girls.”

  He traced a finger over the hairline fracture and frowned. “It seemed quite upset at you, James.”

  “Upset is an understatement,” Alistair muttered.

  James shrugged meekly. “I cannot imagine why she was upset at me when I haven’t stepped on Eisland soil in nearly thirteen years. I’ve certainly never harmed one, as far as I can remember. If she’s come to you twice, I’d say she must like you and fancy you for a romantic encounter. They occasionally seek males to… sow their oats, so to speak. Perhaps you can coax her into physical form and ask her why another time.”

  “I don’t think she can speak. I tried, but whenever the creature moved its mouth, no sound emerged. She flew like a flurry and didn’t look like a girl until I crashed.”

  James blinked. “That’s unusual. Whatever you do, I wouldn’t mention it to the castle staff unless she becomes aggressive beyond what just happened. They’ll only seek her out and run her off, or harm her, especially if she’s made a home nearby.”

  Muir snorted. “As if I tell them anything. They’re a tight-lipped group on most topics, especially their princess. Forgive me, if that’s painful, but I thought I should mention it as I know it. I have yet to see the princess. They change the subject and insist she is ill.”

  James’s gaze softened. “Ill? Doubtful. I imagine she may want nothing to do with you because of me. Guilty by proxy, of course. Who could blame her if she still loathes me after all of these years?”

  “How do you know she loathes you at all?”

  James gave a low, almost humorless chuckle. “I wrote her once or twice afterward, hoping for some sign of her wanting to join me aboard the ship. She called me a vile, treacherous cockgoblin and said to sit on my mast and spin.”

  Anastasia’s eye grew wide, but Alistair snorted back a laugh. The queen swatted her husband on the arm.

  A genuine grin spread across the former pirate’s face. “She was always good with words. It hurt at the time, but I suppose I can laugh at it now.” He quieted for a moment and then said, “I know I shouldn’t ask this of you, but if you’d send word to her—an apology—I would appreciate it greatly. She usually frequents the northwestern tower.”

  “I’ve been told that area is uninhabitable. Yet I’ve seen a woman’s shadow in the windows. The servants and every other gossip I’ve encountered say the last time she was seen she spoke gibberish and could barely walk.”

  James grunted and folded both arms across his chest. “Since when has a boundary ever stopped a griffin from traveling where he wants?”

  “Tell that to Fillian. The man shadows me worse than the floozies you call noblewomen.”

  “I see no shadow behind you now,” James pointed out. “Aside from your snowy friend. I do recall the creatures having a particular fondness for Rapunzel. The first and only time I ever saw one up close, she had come to place a snowblossom in Rapunzel’s hair.”

  “I’ll see what I can find. Though speaking of finding, while I believe your talk of slaves, they’ve gone far out of their way to hide it. I haven’t spied one, though I know what they show me cannot explain their harvests. Any advice? They are determined to represent a perfect utopia.”

  “Snoop,” James said simply. “Unless you can convince them you’re on their side, they'll never freely tell you what they're doing. It’s illegal, and King Harold would lo
se the favor of the people if word were to ever get out. There would be an uprising. A grand upheaval.” He stroked his chin. “You’ll have to uncover the evidence some other way.”

  “I figured as much. I tried flying to the vineyard the other night but still, nothing. As if they’ve been ordered to hide their slaves away until after I depart or prove myself agreeable to such things.”

  Alistair glanced at his wife. The two nodded, as if a silent conversation transpired between them. “You’re welcome to tell them whatever you must, Muir, if it will gain their trust. We believe in you.”

  “It’s been... sickening. Forgive my failures." He lowered his head. “But I will not give up. Prince Joren is due to return soon.”

  “You may have better luck with him,” James said. “Years have passed since our friendship ended, but I imagine he’s still as noble as ever. He wouldn’t fall in with his father's plans easily.”

  “Let us hope. In the meantime, is there anything I can do to appease this creature? This khione? I feel as if she and I have not had the best of meetings so far, but it seems a kind enough spirit. Friendlier than your countrymen.”

  “They’re skittish by nature. Show her you mean no harm, and let her sate her curiosity.” James snickered. “As for my countrymen, I did warn you.”

  “You did, yes. Very well, I’ll continue the investigation and learn what I can about the princess so your mind may be eased. Any suggestions on how I may pass her word if I’m unable to set eyes upon her?”

  “Her maid, I suppose. Sebille is her name. Don’t ask for her though, that’s too obvious. If I recall, her hair is ash brown and streaked gray. As a lady’s maid, she will be one of the only servants dressed in quality attire, not a uniform.”

  “I’ve seen her. Thank you, James, for your help. Your majesties, I’ll report back when I have something of more substance to relay.”

  “Be safe, Muir,” Anastasia said.

  The mirror shimmered and then darkened, until the night sky was once more reflected in the fractured surface. He tucked it away in the small satchel he wore at his side and released a heavy sigh.

  The khione didn’t return even though he sat for half an hour in silent contemplation. He hoped she might seek him out again another time.

  He abandoned the bench and crossed the snow-covered grass back toward the castle. Then he glanced up at the tower again and saw the glint of starlight against silver. A pale face surrounded by gossamer. There. She was there after all. Now if only he could speak with her.

  Maybe I can.

  The worst thing that could happen was the lass was truly ill, and if she was, it was possible Cairn Ocland or Creag Morden had a cure. A way to help her. If not, if she was merely a hateful shrew locking herself away after Hook left her, his secret would be blown. Damn.

  Then again, the risk was half the fun.

  Muir’s grinned. James was right. What were a few stories to a griffin?

  Chapter

  James. It was her James. At least he had been her James once. He looked the same, yet different, older with a golden tone to his skin and crinkles at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before when he smiled.

  How could he still be so handsome?

  Something she hadn’t felt in years rose within Rapunzel all at once. Despair, heartbreak, and fury tempered by years of absolute defeat. She’d thought it was all behind her, but it welled up until she rushed at the mirror and collided with it as if she could travel through the thin pane and inflict some of her misery on James as well.

  She awoke with a gasp in her bed. Seeing James again for the first time in twelve years had torn the wound open and rubbed it with rock salt. She wept until the sobs hurt her belly and left her muscles aching, hating him for daring to go on and have the perfect, flawless life while she remained behind trapped in Eisland.

  Gods, look at me. I don’t know what I want. Do I want his happiness or for him to suffer? Do I still love him, or do I loathe him for never returning to rescue me? In an ideal world, in a fairy tale, he would have laid siege to the port city and swept her away on his stolen ship. They’d have sailed into the glorious sunset, and she’d be his wife instead of a captive princess locked away from the world.

  The tears eventually subsided enough for Rapunzel to wash her face at the basin. She applied cream beneath her puffy eyes then sat beside the window to loosen her braid and run a brush through her hair. Brushing it had become an oddly satisfying yet time-consuming comfort over the years.

  On nights like this, with the moon dark in the sky, the stars seemed to shine more brightly than ever, and the Northern Lights dancing over the horizon could be seen for miles. Rapunzel loved to watch the radiant display as purple and green waves pulsed to no particular rhythm.

  For the first time, the sight brought her little joy. Joren was due back any day, and she worried what would happen when he asked to see her. Hated the idea of him seeing her frothing at the mouth like some rabid animal.

  It’d be better for him to see her dead than like that again. Crushing helplessness squeezed her throat. Her recent moods frequently shifted from despair to obstinance, but the temptation to end it all beckoned her to at least unlatch the stained glass window and gaze out into the moonlit world below.

  All she had to do was lean out. A quick fall to the rocks below and everything would be over.

  “No. No, I won’t end it like this. I’ll remain here in this world for spite,” she whispered to herself as she stepped back. If she had the full use of her magic, she could easily escape, but the bracelets on her wrists were her shackles.

  But even if she did escape, where would she go? Who would shelter and hide her from the royal guards? Who would believe her mad tales of slavery when anyone who might have opposed her father had been removed from power?

  Snow began drifting down, swirling flakes carried on a breeze coming from the north. Her clear skies became a haze of white in a matter of minutes. Rather than shut the window, she kept the pane open and stepped away to grab a shawl.

  “Rapunzel!”

  She paused halfway to her wardrobe and cocked her head, certain she was hearing things, but the soft call of her name drifted through the window a second time.

  She dared to peek past the sill, but the thickening snow obscured the garden grounds far below. Who would be calling up to her at this hour? Or was it merely wishful thinking? She strained to listen, but no call of her name came again.

  Calling out in challenge crossed her mind, but then she dismissed the idea. Enchantments had been spun around the window, not to keep her in, but seeming to do something with her voice. She’d come to realize early on that nothing she called out seemed to make any sense to those below. They heard gibberish, or worse.

  Certain her isolation was causing her imagination to run wild, she stepped away and sighed. Everyone knew she was here. They all thought she was sick. Crazed. No one would be coming for her.

  Another noise drew her attention, this time the clatter of stone rather than the whisper of her name. Confusion furrowed her brow, but curiosity returned her to the window. She swung the pane open all the way and leaned out to squint at the frozen world below.

  An immense beak popped up inches from her nose.

  She cried out and stumbled back, throwing up both hands in front of her. A small eddy of snowflakes burst from her fingertips, tiny flecks of snow and ice buffeting the creature’s feathered face. It leaned back from her attack and beat its majestic wings.

  “I mean you no harm.”

  She dropped her hands and backed away until her back struck the wall. While her heart still raced in panic, she recognized the griffin as the Oclander who changed shapes.

  What had Sebille said his name was?

  “I mean you no harm, lass,” the griffin said again. Too large to fit through the window, the creature shifted and climbed through as a man, though it was a tight fit for his broad shoulders.

  With her back to the far wall, she
stared at him across the short distance. How long had it been since she’d spoken with anyone but Sebille or her father? She’d lost count of the years, though Sebille informed her of the time.

  “You speak my language,” she said, breathless, heart hammering in her chest.

  “I do.” He didn’t move from the window. “Forgive my manners. I am Muir of Clan Leomlaire, a visitor from Cairn Ocland come… to enjoy this fine country.”

  “And you thought to do so by climbing into my room?”

  Muir ducked his head and chuckled, the sound low and pleasing to her ears. “Apologies. They said you were ill, Princess. I didn’t mean to startle you, but it seemed this was the only way to make your acquaintance.”

  “Ill. Yes, that’s what they would tell you.” He didn’t approach, but neither did she move, both facing off from opposite sides of the round room. “My father would have you banished or worse if he knew you were up here. Come to have a laugh at his crazy daughter, have you?”

  “No.” His voice remained soft, and his dark brows drew close. “I come on behalf of someone who worries about you, and assuaging a friend’s concern means much to me, enough to be worth the risk. Your father, of course, is welcome to attempt to do his worst.”

  “Did my brother send you? No, that wouldn’t be right. Joren has never been to Cairn Ocland so far as I am aware.”

  “I’ve never met your brother, Princess.”

  “Then….” She thought back to the mirror and James’s face reflecting from the glass. Her heartbeat quickened, and her palms grew damp. “Do you mean James Hook? I’m told he married in your kingdom.”

  “Yes.” His gaze darted over her living space. He had the most peculiar eyes, something she hadn’t noticed before when traveling as snow. They were bright yellow, as bright as some of the raptors that dwelled in the northeastern forests. Sometimes they visited during their seasonal migration during the warm months. “He wishes to know if you are well and was most concerned when I spoke of your supposed illness.”