Rapunzel

Untitled Story Part

“You’ve got to be kidding.”
I whip around to face the voice behind me; in no way surprised to see the boy in black standing there looking for all the world as though I’m the most pathetic thing he’s ever had the misfortune of coming across.
“This has got to be an all-time low, even for you Rapunzel,” he says, his voice low and harmonic. He gestures towards the young man tied to a straight backed wooden chair behind me with a honey tanned hand.
“I told you not to call me that,” I growl through clenched teeth, barely biting back my anger.
His emerald framed, mocha eyes laugh slyly but even their humour come nowhere close to piercing through the cold shell of anger I have kept myself wrapped in for the past four years.
“Which is why I have to call you that.” he replies cockily.
“Either state your business here or leave, Prince Not-So-Charming.”
I have had it with this guy. First of all, on my fourteenth birthday, he shows up to the tower I had been thrown into, left to rot, and demands that I go with him to a faraway kingdom which his father rules over, - so yes he is a genuine Prince - to marry him. Marry Him. I mean I have many problems with a fifteen year old boy I literally know nothing about demanding to make me his bride, but the one that irks me the most is that I was Fourteen. I won’t say he isn’t a handsome guy because he is; but he is snobbish, up himself, and to be honest a complete and utter idiot. Second of all, after he shows up at the tower and I tell him I will not marry him, he leaves without so much as a “I’ll send someone to get you out of this tower,” so I was left there all on my lonesome for another year. I eventually gave up waiting for Prince Not-So-Charming to come back and rescue me for real and so decided I had to get out of there myself before I pounded my head to pulp against the cold grey stone walls of the bare tower. I used my hair - which had grown exasperatingly long due to the lack of hairdressers in a lonely tower - as a rope to slide down to the lush grass which coated the ground in the clearing of the tower. Once my feet touched the damp grass I was off, I was not hanging around my prison any longer then I had to and as soon as I got the immensely long, raven black mop of hair unhooked from the metal torch holder, I hightailed it into the woods where I wandered aimlessly for days. Luckily - although it wasn’t very good luck - I ran into Samuel Greyharlen, aka Prince Not-So-Charming, in all his gold-haired glory, and after eyeing me up and down, he asked me, most rudely, how I got out of the tower. I told him that I had used my hair and he laughed in my face and started quoting the brothers Grimm in Rapunzel, mock calling, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair! I walked up to him, stamped on his foot as hard as I could, and rode away on his horse, leaving him stranded in the woods, just to see how he liked it. Sadly, he got pack to the palace unharmed and undevoured by creatures of nightmares and set about destroying all my attempts at revenge on the people who locked me up in that tower when I was twelve. That is why Marissa Heelbrew and Samuel Greyharlen came to have their deep mutual dislike of each other; it’s the story I keep repeating to myself whenever I start to get tempted by him.
“I have come to foil your unjust attempt at revenge...again,” Samuel says grinning as he brushes a stray wisp of hair out of his devastatingly gorgeous eyes.
“I do remember saying last time you turned up that if you interfered again I would gut you like a fish,” I hiss.
There’s just something about him that gets under my skin. I personally think it’s his cockiness. Or maybe I’m just biased because he left me in the tower.
“I am struggling to believe you’d do that.”
That is it.
I move quicker than the human eye can follow - it’s for a good reason I was locked up for being a witch - and shove him backwards so he falls on the ground before straddling him and shoving a dangerously sharp dagger which I fished out of my belt up against his throat.
“You shouldn’t do that Miss Heelbrew,” my hostage warns from the seat, speaking up for the first time since Samuel appeared and disrupted my interrogation.
“Oh shut up Steve,” I throw over my shoulder.
“You called him Steve?” Samuel asks from underneath me, my legs juddering against his body as he laughs.
“So?” I have no clue what Steve’s real name is and I’m really not in the mood to be told I suck at choosing alternatives.
“It’s just...surprising.”
I grunt and reposition myself so my knee is digging into his chest.
“Ow!”
“Sorry,” I smile at him sweetly.
“You’re wicked, you know that?”
I scowl, “At least I don’t leave fourteen year old girls locked up in towers when I can free them.”
Samuel rolls his eyes. “I already told you, I had to go back and report and you left me stranded in the woods.”
“You survived didn’t you?” I have no patience for men who try to play the blame game with me.
“You survived being locked up for another year as well, doesn’t look like it did you any harm,” he points out.
“You could’ve come back for me after you’d ‘reported’,”
“You are a witch, I am a prince; do you really think my father would have let me?”
“He let you come and ask my hand in marriage.”
Samuel laughs bitterly. “He wanted to have magical blood in our line.”
“And when I declined?”
All the black humour vanishes from Samuels face. “I paid for that.”
This is the first I’ve heard of that. My brows knit together in a puzzled frown. “How?”
“If you get off me I’ll show you.”
I reluctantly push myself off him but keep my knife in my hand just in case.
Samuel starts peeling of his dirt covered tunic and I wriggle with discomfort. “You don-” I start.
“If you want to see how I paid then yes, I do.” Samuel throws the garment on the ground and pivots around so his back is to me. “This is how I paid for failing; this is part of the reason I didn’t come back to rescue you, as much as I wanted to.”
I suck in a shocked breath as I take in his back. Five long, pale, scars run down it in gruesomely straight ridges. “Oh my god.” I reach out and softly run my fingertip down one of the scars, noticing as he flinches ever so slightly at the contact. “He’s a monster.”
Samuel turns around to face me, his eyes for once unguarded, transparent, and I can see all the pain and anger, tumbling around in the pools of mocha. “See this?” He jabs violently at a puckered scar over his left eyebrow. “I got this when you stole my horse and I had to walk back home; he threw a glass pitcher at me.”
I’m overcome with an overwhelming sense of guilt. I did this to him, it’s my fault. “Sam, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs off my apology, his shield now firmly back in place. “Not everyone has a good father; but you know that don’t you?” he adds softly, cupping my cheek with his callused hand.
Better than most.
My father is the reason I was locked in that tower, the reason I am filled with a thirst for revenge, quenchable only if I feel the sword embed itself into his measly flesh, or watch as the arrow, shot by me, flies home. He sold me out to a foreign King who locked me in the tower, all for a pathetic little stack of gold which I’d wager would have been gone within the week.
“Well that’s touching for two people who hate each other.” Steve again.
I move away from Samuel, the place where his hand was feeling oddly cold now. I can’t think about that, about him, I’m not allowed to fall for this boy. “I suppose I should probably release him shouldn’t I, considering he has no clue where my father is?”
“Yes, and then I have some good news for you,” he says, rocking back on his heels slightly.
I stride over to ‘Steve’ and roughly shove the chair around so it’s facing side on to me. I slide the dagger in between Steve’s body and the chair, blade facing upwards, and proceed to saw through the many coils of rope.
“So what’s your real name anyway ‘Steve’?” Samuel asks, coming up to hold the chair steady so I can saw through the ropes easier.
“Marco.”
“Polo,” I mutter under my breath. To my surprise both Sam and Steve - Marco - crack a smile.
I cut through the last rope and they fall away from the chair, letting Marco free. He gets up, stretches, and rubs his arms where the rope had cut into them.
“Sorry about that,” I tell him grimacing.
“its fine,” he says brushing off my apology. “I should probably go; so many more people to be kidnapped by, so little time. How do I get back to Tintel from here?”
“This warehouse about an hour out of Amarna, you should travel due west for two days and you’ll get to Tintel no problem.” I instruct.
“All righty then, thanks for not killing me; you’re quite dangerous for a-” I cut Marco off before he finishes.
“You’re welcome, now you better hurry if you want to make it to Amarna by nightfall,” I observe craning my neck to see the glowing sun hanging precariously low in the sky through the dinghy glass windows.
I noticed the look that Samuel gave me when I cut Marco off, but I couldn’t let Marco reveal who I really am.
Marco departs through the heavy metal-lined doors at the opposite end of the warehouse, momentarily letting in a sliver of light from outside.
As soon as the door thumps shut behind him I turn to Sam. “So, what’s the good news?”
He grins, “I’m going to help you find your dad.”
My heart starts beating faster and, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m panicking slightly. “You what?” he can’t come with me, not just because I know exactly where my father is already but because I was planning to go there and confront him next and Sam can’t know who I am.
“Rapunzel,” I scowl at him, “Sorry; Marissa,” I didn’t even know he knew my real name, “I am going to help you find your father.” he states mockingly slowly, as if he was repeating it to a three year old.
I am shocked. And worried. I have to stop Sam from coming. “But what about your father? won’t he be mad? if he hurts you again-”
“My father practically disowned me after something I did a while ago. I’m not going back to him ever.”
Holy cow. “It must have been a pretty big something.”
“I accidently set the stables on fire when my younger brother Harris and I were messing around in them a couple of months ago. Somehow I got all the blame and Harris, being dad’s favourite son, got off with nothing more than a boxing around the ears. He shipped me off to a military school,” Sam says flatly.
I bite back a laugh at his monotone. “And how are you here?”
“I got out the same way you got out of your tower; I used my head.”
“Technically I used my hair.”
“Yes well, not everyone has such beautiful long hair, some of us have to use boring old wits to get out of trouble.” He argued.
“Did you just call my hair beautiful?” I ask raising an eyebrow.
He scowls, and his face turns a deep burgundy. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks even hotter with the blush. How is that even possible? “Shut up; you got my point.”
I love annoying him. “But you called my hair beautiful.”
“Just drop it Marissa.” He’s starting to get mad. I can feel the anger simmering just underneath his skin like a geyser ready to blow, and when it does it won’t be pretty. Another thing I can sense thanks to my witch blood is the deluging turmoil of vibrant emotions swirling chaotically around in his head. I can feel anger - obviously - but I can also feel pain, love - probably for some girl he had to leave behind in his kingdom - and an overwhelming sense of loneliness….strange.
“Why are you so lonely?” I watch, feeling more curious than guilty as his face drains of all colour.
“How do you- oh that’s right, you’re a witch,” he growls through clenched teeth.
I step forward and gently take his hand. It doesn’t surprise me when he yanks it away as though my touch burnt him. I let my hand fall to my side. “Sam-”
“Just don’t ok?” his voice sounds oddly choked up and without looking at me he pushes past me and hurries out the door.
I’ve no doubt just stopped him from coming with me to ‘find’ my father, but it aches that I hurt him, like a dull knife has just been embedded in my skin and the owner is twisting it around, ripping the fragile flesh into shreds. I sigh into the empty room.
“I just can’t do anything right can I?” I ask empty space.
“Apparently not,” comes an eerily whispered reply. Shivers run down my back. Bloody ghosts; if I had known someone had died in here I wouldn’t have chosen this warehouse. “Why don’t you go cry about it to your father? I’m sure he’d be happy to help with your little toy.”
“Leave me alone!” I scream staring wide eyed at the rotting spectre in front of me.
“Make me,” she whispers again.
I let out a wail equal to any made by a wounded animal, spin around and sprint out of the door, my vision impaired by the hot tears streaming down my face. I don’t even notice Sam leaning against the warehouse with a cigarette in his hand. He notices me though and his features rearrange into a puzzled frown.
I cover my suddenly aching head with my hands, clamp my eyes shut and continue running, relying on my senses to get me to the inn I have been staying in the last couple of weeks.
I hear the tread of footsteps behind me and clamp my hands tighter over my ears.
“Marissa!” The voice is distorted through my hands, but even if I did recognise it I wouldn’t have stopped running. “Marissa, stop!”
The voice is like an infuriating itch at the back of my head, the kind that just gets worse over time. I stop and whirl around to face the person behind me, and to my surprise find Samuel.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, rubbing at the dirty, mascara tinged tracks no doubt streaked across my face.
“You ran past me and it looked like you were pretty upset so of course I had to come see if everything was ok. And also I’m coming with you to find your dad so I figured it might be best to keep track of where you were,” He adds somewhat shyly.
“I told you, you can’t come,” I say rubbing my black smudged hands on my pants.
Samuel looks hurt, as though I have just stopped him from doing something he really wanted to do….odd. “Why not?” He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“I just...you just…” I stutter, how can I tell him why he can’t come without revealing everything? I’m trying to save him. I am weak now, all because of him.
“I get it; you just don’t want me to come. I wonder why though?” He studies me critically.
I open my mouth to apologise but he speaks before I can get anything out. “See you ‘round, Marissa,” he spins around on his heel and trudges away, his shoulders slightly slumped.
I’m tempted to call out, to tell him to wait, but I keep my mouth clamped shut and my lips pressed tightly together as I watch him walk away. My treacherous heart, forming an attachment to the wrong person. He’s going to be so disappointed in me.
 
Three days later and I’m tramping through the dense undergrowth of the Eldritch Wood; yes it’s literally named Creepy Wood. I have had plenty of time to wonder if it was a mistake not letting Samuel come with me, but it’s too late to change now.
The thick trees around me let in barely any light, adding to the whole sinister feeling of the wood and as I walk the setting sun overhead and shining through the gently blowing branches creates subtle dances across the leaf strewn dirt stage. The birds and critters chirp peacefully as they settle down for the night and everything is tranquil - that is until I feel a pair of eyes on me and hear the crackle as someone steps onto the makeshift track behind me.
“If you run, I will kill you, so don’t move if you value your life,” comes a gravelly voice from behind me. “Turn around to face me.” The voice is unmistakably male, low and gruff, and vaguely familiar.
“But you just told me not to move,” I say as innocently as possible, fully intending to annoy him.
“Just turn around and face me or you’ll taste lead.”
I spin around on my heel and come face to face with a giant.
The man is at least two metres tall and built like a tank. He has a bald head criss crossed with ugly pale scars and his massive nose is squashed against his face.
His mouth is scarred and turns down slightly on the left side, turning the morbid smile he is giving me into a bone chilling grimace. His eyes are the most terrifying thing about him. One is completely neon green, with no white or pupil to make it look even slightly ordinary, and the other an inky black iris with a vibrant red pupil, like the colour of rubies or blood.
The man has arms thick and corded, which look like they could snap me in half quite effortlessly. In his right arm is a gun, and I’d bet my life that it’s loaded.
“So Princess, escaped that tower did you?” he asks, shifting on his beefy legs.
I blanch; how does he know who I am? “W-what are you talking about?” I stammer, hoping to pull off the I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about act; obviously I failed.
“That was the most pathetic attempt at acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he informs me, twisting his gun around in his hand.
“How do you know who I am?” I whisper.
“Well you probably don’t recognise me; I looked rather different when you were still living in the palace, all that time ago.”
And suddenly I do recognise him. He was a lot different when I last saw him. Lanky, with very little muscle, and with two red tinged grey eyes; Count Filsterious.
“Count Filsterious.” What happened to him?
He inclines his head, “Very good, Marissa. Now; your father has sent me to escort you to Greterria as he wishes to speak with you,” he says stepping forward.
I snort. “And you think I’m going to come quietly? If you were locked up in a tower for four years would you let someone take you back to the person who locked you up without a fight?”
His eyes glisten dangerously. “You are coming with me now Marissa, whether you like it or not. And you should know, fighting with me is a very bad idea.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but I make sure to squeeze it in there anyway.
“And you should know, I know exactly how to keep myself safe, so I’m not coming with you to Greterria, I can make my own way there.” I berate.
“Oh really?” He gives me a sinisterly twisted grin. “And how can I trust that you will actually go there?” He takes a step towards me and I automatically take a step back. “I’m done playing, Princess; you are coming with me, right now.”
He thrusts his arm out and catches me around the waist, pulling me forwards until I’m squashed against his massive chest. I try to wriggle away from him and his stench, but can’t break free of his unyielding grip.
“Let me go,” I seethe, smacking my head back against his collarbone. Yes I barely come up to his chin and I’m not short, last time I measured myself I was 5.9.
Filsterious doesn’t answer, instead lifts me off the ground and throws me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes.
“Let the Princess go.” I start at the familiar voice and feel Filsterious momentarily tense underneath me.
“You think I’m going to take orders from a scrawny thing like you?” Filsterious hisses.
I can’t see him because I have currently got my bum to him, but I imagine Samuel’s eyes hardening and temper rising at that comment.
“Let her go, now.” Samuel repeats his harmonic voice emotionless.
“Would you like anything else while I’m at it Your Highness?” The Count mocks. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.
“I would appreciate it if you sent a message to my father, King Franklin Greyharlen of Sileecetta, to tell him that I, Prince Samuel Greyharlen of Sileecetta, will be bringing Her Royal Highness, Princess Marissa Heelbrew of Gretterria to the Almandine Palace to stay for a few days.” I picture Sam pushing his shoulders back and standing up tall and regal as he gives the Count his message. It is not lost on me that he uses both of our proper titles.
There is silence for a moment and I picture Count Filsterious’ mouth opening and closing like a fish while Sam eyeballs him.
“Well, I cannot do that, but I can bring you back with me, under lock and key like this one of course,” Filsterious finally says jiggling me slightly, “Then send a message to the King of Sileecetta informing him that I’ve found his runaway son, and collect that thousand diamonds reward which he is offering.”
“H-He’s offering a thousand diamonds for me?” Sam sounds amazed by that and I’m not surprised he does. One thousand diamonds is a very large price to pay, especially for a son you hate. It would keep a family of five living in the lap of luxury for more than a year and a solitary man lavishly fitted for at least ten.
The Count nods, his ear brushing against my back and I shiver. “Yes, so are you going to make it easier for yourself and come quietly or are we going to have to do this the hard way which would most likely end with you coming anyway just a little worse for wear?”
“I’ll come quietly,” Samuel mutters so low I have to strain to hear him. Count Filsterious grunts happily and unkindly throws me off his shoulder and crashing to the ground. I lie in a crumpled heap, unable to get up thanks to the dizzying pain rocketing through my left ankle and right wrist. Knowing the Count, that was probably his plan. I inch my head to the side and get my first glimpse of Samuel. His clothes are covered with a fine layer of dirt, and he looks travel weary, but other than that he looks fine, good even. Can’t say the same for me. My black hair which is normally reasonably tidy, is hanging in limp strands around my grime coated face, and my electric blue eyes will have dimmed to a greyish turquoise thanks to the days on the road.
I should be wondering how Sam got here, but am now completely entranced by his hypnotic eyes. His eyes, unlike mine, seem to be brighter, more alive with the green rims brightening from dark avocado, to a vibrant harlequin, and the rich mocha iris has become a vivacious hazel. That’s the funny thing with people in our Kingdom, instead of getting dark circles under our eyes, or being barely able to stay awake when we are tired, or if we are sad or upset, the colours in our irises dim, and when we are feeling any overwhelming emotions like anger or joy the colours become more animated, and often become shockingly fluorescent.
An extra painful throb from my wrist brings me back into reality and I realise I have been gazing adoringly into Sam’s eyes while Count Filsterious has been tying his wrists together shockingly tightly with a long strip of tough looking brown leather. He knocks Sam roughly to the ground and I wince as I take in the painful red welts already starting to form where the leather is digging into Sam’s wrist. Sam notices and tries to comfort me. “It’s fine; it doesn’t hurt.” Funny that the one with his wrists shackled together is comforting the one who’s lying on the ground, free. Free; I’m free. I can save him!
“Well, what do you think your father will say when I return his son to him?” Filsterious glaring down at Sam contemptuously with his broad back to me. I could sneak up on him and whack him over the head with a stick, but judging by the agonising coils of white hot pain darting up my leg, I would just end up back on the ground if I tried to stand. The only other option available to me if I want to save Sam is dragging myself along the ground and bashing the Count’s ankles as hard as I can, then, once he is on the ground, knocking him unconscious.
I scanned the ground for a large stick, thick enough to smack someone with without it breaking. I can’t find one but instead find a hefty rock the size of my fist which will work even better. I commando crawl across the ground towards Count Filsterious, the miniature boulder clenched tightly out of sight in my hand. I wince as I lean on my injured wrist, and wince again as I feel someone’s eyes on me. Please be Sam’s eyes and not the eerie mismatched pair belonging to the Count.
“Knowing my father, I think he will praise you, and then throw you out so he can get to punishing me for pulling the old disappearing act on him.” Sam’s voice is strong but slightly weary, as though he isn’t sure if he should answer.
I am so close to the Count’s hair covered ankles - honestly that guy could give big foot a run for his money - that if he took even a single step backwards he would stand on my head. I cautiously lift my hand with the stone in it so it’s level with Count Filsterious ankle, slowly pull my hand back, and smack it as hard as I can against the jutting anklebone with a satisfying crack.
“Aargh! What the fu-!” Filsterious roars, clutching his hopefully broken, ankle. Quick as lightning, I bring the rock down on his uninjured ankle. It collapses underneath his weight and I watch smirking, as he tumbles to the ground. I rise up onto my knees, looming over him.
“Tell my incurably repulsive father, that I was already coming for him, and to send someone more challenging for me next time, okay?” I ask in a sugary sweet voice. I don’t give the Count any time to respond before I bring my hand enclosed stone down on his temple, knocking him out cold. I lie there on the ground for a few seconds,
“Wow, so you’re regal as well?” Sam glares down at me, the hint of amusement I thought I had detected in his voice drowned by the vicious waves of anger behind his eyes.
“I-” I start, but then stop as I realise I will just end up babbling nonsense.
“What, you didn’t want anyone to find out who you are? Or you just didn’t want me to know?” He snaps.
“I didn’t want to tell you because last time I told someone they tried to take me back to him!” I scream, hot tears of frustration prickling my eyes. “I don’t want to go back!”
He gazes at me through slitted eyes, his lips pursed in a thin line, calculating.
“Do you know how hard it is to be someone you’re not?” I whisper, “When I was growing up, I had to pretend to be some prima donna Princess, always in gowns which touched the floor, never doing the things I really loved.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “When I was twelve, my father had me betrothed to a crown prince who was eight years older than me. After a week the family broke it off as I was an ‘evil, child murdering witch’. My mother died during childbirth, and she had altercations with the pregnancy. My father loved her, and he would have gone to the end of the world to save her. He got a potion off a witch which was meant to help her, keep her alive. He swears it backfired but I’m not so sure. The witch said it would give the consumer - her words, not mine - heightened abilities. I’m pretty sure that means everything you humans can do whoever takes the potion can do better. Somehow, instead of the potion helping my mother, it got into my body and its effects were used on me. I can move quicker than the human eye can follow, I can use telekinesis, and more of my brain is in use than regular humans. At least that’s what the witch said. When I was six I stopped a wardrobe from crushing one of my guinea pigs, Honeyduke, using telekinesis. I didn’t have a clue what was happening and didn’t think anything about it other than it had just saved my pets life, that is, until my father swept in and basically had a heart attack in front of me. His eyes bulged bigger than a bullfrogs and without a word he clamped his clammy hand around my wrist and dragged me out of my room, down the stairs and outside to the stables. He shoved me up onto one of the massive stallions and jumped up behind me. He rode us at a breakneck pace out of the palace grounds and into Saltus Tenebris - The forest of darkness.  We cantered through until we came to a gloomy hut built in the middle of an even gloomier glade. My father yanked the horse to a stop and leapt down. With his hand once again around my wrist like a vice he strode up to the door of the house and without even knocking stormed right in.” I glance up at Samuel to check if he’s listening. He looks enraptured, hanging on to my every word. I swallow again and resume my tale. “There was a little old woman perched on the edge of a wicker chair and staring into the lively green flames crackling merrily in the grate. She looked up when we entered, and seemed to smirk a bit when she saw who it was. My father swept up to her and glared into her beady little eyes. “You were meant to save my wife, and instead you’ve cursed my child!” He boomed. I cowered behind him; there was something about the woman which frightened me. Probably because I could sense even then that she was like me; a witch. “I gave you a potion which would give the consumer heightened abilities,” she cackled, “The potion worked its way into your wife's womb and into this little girl here, the girl was the consumer, never your wife.” My father let out an animalistic roar, spun on his heel, and marched me out the door. Until I was twelve nothing else happened in front of anyone else, so I was able to act like it was just a freak accident, but one day when the prince I was betrothed to was visiting with his father, I had another mishap. They cancelled the betrothal and spread the rumour that I was a witch. My father was furious and within a week I was up in that damn tower.” I can’t help the tears that escape my eyes and trickle down my cheeks, and quickly swipe them away, embarrassed.
“Marissa, I’m so sorry.” Sam’s voice rings with sympathy; I don’t want sympathy.
“Yeah, well, whatever, we should start moving if we want to get to Syrelia by nightfall.” I completely forget about my ankle as I wrench myself off the ground. As soon as my weight hits it I crumple and fall rather ungracefully back to the ground.
“Shit are you ok? Damn these bloody ropes!” Sam sounds really worried and if I wasn’t being bombarded by shiny white stars floating around in dizzying vortex’s I would be reassuring him that I am fine like crazy. As it is I can just offer a weak moan before one of the dazzling stars shoots me in the eye and I black out.
 
I’m standing in a cube shaped room, with sparkly mirrors in surrounding me.
“Marissa?” His voice comes from right behind me, a mere whisper.
“Sam?” I whip my head around but see nothing but immaculately clean mirrors and my own reflection staring back at me with wide, frightened blue eyes, the colour bolder than I have ever seen it. “Sam?” I call out again and am severely spooked when my voice echoes around me in distorted words completely different from the one that I just spoke.
“He’s not here. He’ll never be here. He has left this world.”
“Y-you mean h-he’s dead-d?” I stutter.
“Yesssssss,” my voice hisses and starts to cackle loudly, the horrendous sound bouncing around the walls.
“No,” I murmur, “That’s not true.”
“Yesssssss,” the gruesome parody of my voice is louder this time.
“No.” I state, matching its increase in volume.
“Yessssss!” It roars.
“No!” I scream, clawing dramatically at my hair.
“Yesssssss!” In a flash, the mirrors around me shatter and behind them is a picture of Sam, lying in grass stained a dark burgundy, a colour exactly matching the patch staining his shirt right over his heart.
A wordless scream, leaving no question about the agony I’m feeling, rips from my mouth and I collapse on to my knees.
 
I sit bolt upright, the scream still issuing from between my parted lips.
“Marissa!” Strong arms immediately wrap themselves around me and the next thing I know I’m resting my head against a muscled chest.
“Marissa are you ok? Why were you screaming?” Sam asks, his voice muffled by his arms.
“Y-you were, you were dead Sam!” I sob into his chest. His hands, which had been making soothing circles along my back freeze for a second.
“Well I’m not now am I?” He soothes, his hands going back to caressing my back.
I stifle another sob and pull back to inspect my surroundings. Gone are the endless mirrors and in their place are cream painted walls with numerous flowery landscapes framed by gilt picture frames.
“Where are we?” I demand, suddenly curious.
“Syrelia, in the Palace.” Sam states, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“You brought me here?” I explode scowling as I push myself as far away from him as possible without falling off the bed.
“Why? Was it wrong?” He seems completely baffled by my outburst.
“Yes you idiot! The Prince I was betrothed to was the Crown Prince of Syrelia!” Shock flashes across his face and my scowl lessons. He mustn’t have known which city the prince was from.
“Well, they seem to like you, when I arrived at the door, the crown prince himself opened it for me and he seemed eager to take us - you - in,” Sam ponders.
“What?” I’m stunned. The royal family didn’t want anything to do with me after I had my...mishap… in front of them.
“He said he had a proposition for you.” Sam looks apprehensive.
“And what was the proposition?” He refuses to meet my eyes. “Well?”
“He wants to marry you.”
“Excuse me?”
“He wants to make you his wife.”
“Who does that jack-ass think he is? I do not, and never will, want to marry him, in fact I never want to see his ugly face again. We are leaving, now.” I scramble off the bed and run over to the heavy looking wooden door, noticing with satisfaction that my bones are now perfectly healed, another thing which my magical blood has given me. My hand wraps itself around the brass doorknob but before I can twist it the door is flung open, the dense brown stained wood whacking me square in the face. I curse loudly and stumble back, clutching my nose as the blood gushes from it in flowing streams. I glare through a watery sheen at the vile person responsible for my injury and realise I’m staring at Nathaniel, the crown prince of Syrelia. Just peachy.
“Marissa? Are you ok? Did I hurt you?” He seems genuinely concerned what with the wide eyes and heavy hand resting on my arm.
Yes you friggin’ idiot you just opened a door in my face. “What do you think dumbass?” He looks taken aback at my speech and I realise Nathaniel wouldn’t be used to someone speaking to him like that.
He gets over it pretty quickly and a look belonging on the face of a parent who has to deal with a disobedient child is quickly in place. “Princesses should never use that kind of language Marissa, what would your father say?”
“I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care, now get your bloody hand off my bloody arm.” It’s completely unnecessary to adding in the two bloodies but it is hilarious to watch his face turning an unbecoming shade of aubergine. Nathaniel lifts his offending hand off my arm and turns so his back is to me. I’m certain that’s the end of it, that he will either leave or give up with my language but quicker than I would have thought possible for someone without magic running through their veins, he spins on his heel and brings his palm up to slap me, hard, across my face. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out and stare up at him defiantly, willing Sam to intervene. After a few seconds when he still hasn’t I scowl over my shoulder at the bed where he was sitting last time I checked. He’s not there. I turn around completely although I am loathe to have my back to Nathaniel. He’s not in the room; how could he just disappear? Then I notice the open window. That wasn’t open before, I would have felt the soft breeze with is rustling the drapes. I numbly spin back around, all thoughts of the slap I was just given gone from my mind. Sam ditched me. I stare up at Nathaniel and he grins viciously down at me, his expression chilling me to the bone. “When?” One simple word, but he knows what I mean.
“Just before I slapped you.” I can tell he took great pleasure in telling me that. “Prince Charming left you; he ran out when you needed him most and yet you still love him. I bet if he came back this instant you’d forgive him.” Is that jealousy I detect?
“Are you jealous Nathaniel?” I smirk, enjoying having the upper hand, even if it is only a millimetre higher than his.
“Jealous that my bride is in love with another man? Yes.” He takes a step forward, and I take one back.
“I’m not in love with him,” I say boldly.
“Liar,” he whispers taking another step forward. He’s right, I am lying. I didn’t know it a second ago, but the little voice inside my head wholeheartedly agrees with him.
I shuffle backwards until I hit the windowsill. I glare fearfully up at Nathaniel who has closed the gap between us until there is barely room for me to fidget. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small dark figure slip into the room. Nathaniel brings my attention back to him when he leans forward and brings his lips up to my ear.
“I have always loved you Marissa, I have finally...convinced...my father to allow me to marry you, and I plan on doing that,” he whispers lucidly. He pulls back and let’s his hands caress my waist and I shudder. He looks down on me fondly and brings his face so close to mine that we are breathing the same air. He eyes my lips and I realise he’s about to kiss me. I squirm and try to struggle away from him but he wraps his long fingers around my neck and presses my head back against the window. He leans forward and I press my lips tightly together. Just as his lips touch mine he shrieks and pulls back. Hanging of his leg is a feisty looking pritsek. A pritsek is a small creature, about a foot tall, with inky black skin, several rows of knife sharp teeth whose bite will temporarily knock someone unconscious and the most delicious thirst for trickery. Most pritseks are really creatures with magical blood, like witches or fairies, which can shift into different forms at will. I watch entertained as Nathaniel hops around with the pritseks teeth lodged firmly into his leg. In a minute or two he will fall unconscious and I will be able to escape - granted the pritsek doesn’t come after me. In the mean time, I will thoroughly enjoy watching Nathaniel suffer. It’s over too soon and as he falls to the ground, the pritsek releases his hold on him and turns its gaze on me. I draw in a sharp breath, the creature has human eyes. Before my eyes, the pritsek grows taller and it’s skin lightens and teeth dull. The person standing before me is Sam. I stare at him in open mouthed shock.
“Sam?” Classy.
“Yeah...are you ok? What happened to your face?” He asks, rushing over.
“I’m fine, he slapped me is all.” I watch as Sam’s eyes turn brighter and brighter.
“Son of a bitch! How dare he hurt you?” He looks taken over by anger and I can’t help thinking Nathaniel is lucky he’s already out cold.
“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, you have magic in your blood?” That’s the thing that amazes me the most, he has magic and I never noticed.
“Yeah...I guess I should tell you how shouldn’t I?” He’s still gazing at the red mark on my face. I reach forward and touch his shoulder.
“I’m fine Sam,” I reassure him. Suddenly glassy tears spring up in his still hazel eyes.
“It’s all my fault, if I hadn’t of left he wouldn’t have been able to do it,” he moans. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, resting my head against his chest.
“It’s not your fault,” I croon softly as he squeezes me tightly against him.
He kisses me softly on the top of my head. “You have no idea how important you are to me.”
“As important as you are to me,” I murmur without thinking, letting my heart do the talking before my head can analyse my words. He pulls back and stares at me, amazement written across his face in clear-cut script.
“Really?”
I tip my face up towards him. “...Yeah.”
He leans down and plants a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.
I grin up at him mischievously. “You shouldn’t be kissing someone promised to another, my good prince,” I reproach him. His eyes dart to Nathaniel and then back to me.
“I didn’t hear any complaining from either of you, Princess,” he notes.
“You are just lucky I find you more favourable than him,” I nod with disgust at Nathaniel.
“Oh yes I am lucky,” His smile vanishes and he is suddenly serious. “Do you hear that?” he asks. I listen, sure enough there is the faint tap tap of approaching footsteps. “Let’s go,” he says and moves over to the window. “Can you climb down?”
I nod and he moves to make room for me to get through. The footsteps are closer now and we haven’t got much time. I slip through the window and climb down trellis. It’s the same at basically every palace I have stayed in, the windows unbarred and with a trellis lending a hand to easy escape. I drop the last couple of metres to the ground and wait for Sam to get to the bottom. He grabs my hand and we sprint the short distance to the gate, our shadows stretching far behind us in the afternoon light. Neither of us has to hold back on our speed now and we get to the wall in seconds. Neither of the guards question or stop us as we exit and I figure Sam must have convinced them we are safe. We run until we come to a small grove of trees and then carefully slip between the trunks until we come to a grassy clearing.
“We should be safe here for a while,” Sam tells me as he flops onto the ground.
“So, now that we’re here, how did come you have magic in your blood?” I ask, stretching out beside him.
“My father. When I was ten my father decided he wanted to have some magical blood in the family. He went to a witch and got her to give him a potion which would give the drinker strength and power; it was probably a similar one to what your mother was given. He mixed it in with my food and I consumed it without knowing. A few weeks later a soldier and I were jousting and...I brought my sword up so fast he wasn’t able to parry it and it killed him.” He says the last part faster and I can tell it still pains him to think about. He looks ready to go on but I touch his hand, stopping him.
“You don’t have to say anymore,” I say, knowing how hard it is to revisit old demons. He smiles at me and I’m shocked by the self-loathing I see reflected in his eyes.
“No, I do. I didn’t have to go and ask you to marry me then because he wanted magical blood in the family, he already had that. He wanted me to test out my ability, use mind control to make you marry me. I couldn’t though. Seeing you in that tower, it was too much, I couldn’t do it. I went back to him and told him it wasn’t right, he couldn’t make me do that to people, to you. He punished me with the cuts and locked me in the dungeon for months...more than a year I think. Anyway when I finally got out he made me go find you again and this time I had to…” he trails off, staring unseeing at the grass.
“You had to what?” I have a feeling I already know the answer.
“Kill you.” I nod, that was what I was expecting. “I couldn’t do it so I just let you steal my horse, I don’t even know why I did it. Probably because while I was in the dungeon, I imagined how you would’ve felt, locked in a tower for years. That time I didn’t go back. I’d had enough. I basically followed you, foiling your plans to find out where your father was by hurting people.”
“But you said your dad disowned you after you set the stables on fire,” I puzzled.
“I lied.” I scowl at him. “It’s not like you have never lied,” he reminds me.
“Fair point.”
We’re silent for a bit, each being washed around in our own ocean of thoughts. I don’t know how long it takes but soon I drift off to dream land. When I wake I’m curled into Sam’s side with my head pillowed on his chest and his arm around me. I carefully roll away and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Hey sleeping beauty.” I jump at his voice. I had thought Sam was asleep.
“I thought I was Rapunzel? You were asleep?”
Sam laughs, “Don’t you worry, your still Rapunzel, and I wasn’t asleep I was keeping watch.”
“Oh, how long was I asleep for?” Judging by the sky I was asleep for about twelve hours.
“A day and a half,” he grins. My expression must be hilarious to see right now. How could I have slept for a day and a half? “Now you see why I called you Sleeping Beauty?” Oh yeah.
“You should have woken me up so you could get some sleep,” I denigrate.
“I don’t need it; you took up basically all your energy healing your broken bones the other day and the bruise on your cheek yesterday, but I didn’t have to heal anything much except a few bruises,” Sam argues. That’s the thing about our quick healing; it literally saps the energy from our body and converts it into a protection thing. It’s like when you get a bruise it’s all the blood rushing to a certain place to start healing or protecting it. Our energy does the same thing, it rushes to the injury and starts healing it at a sped up pace.
“Still,” I grumble. “Just give me a second to wake up properly and then we can head off,” I need to go find Dad, and now, thanks to Count Filsterious, I know exactly where he is.
Sam pushes himself off the ground and walks over to one of our two packs. I don’t remember bringing them when we evacuated the Palace. “Did we…?” I trail off as Sam eyes me guiltily. “You went back and grabbed these,” I say flatly. Sam nods sheepishly. “While I was sleeping.” Nothing about me betrays any hint of emotion, not my monotonic voice or expressionless face, nor my turquoise eyes. Sam opens and closes his mouth over and over like some demented fish. “Well?” I ask raising an eyebrow, “Spit it out before you choke.”
“In my defence, I was only gone for five minutes, we needed to each have a change of clothes, and I don’t know about you, but I have some important stuff in here, plus nothing was going to happen to you,” he rambles.
“How do you know nothing was going to happen?” I inquire pompously.
He rolls his eyes as though I just asked him if the moon was made of cheese and not some completely reasonable question. “I would feel it if you were in danger,” he answers bluntly.
“Right; whatever. Can you pass me a shirt and pants from my pack? There should be shirt on the top and some pants underneath it,” I ask nodding my head to my pack just beside his. He stoops down and grabs a tie dyed, figure fitting t-shirt which any of the older women in this country would frown upon wearing and any of the young girls would worship me for, and a pair of equally figure fitting jeans.
“Nice,” Sam laughs, “Are you really going to wear these?”
“Yes,” I growl, “And if you have a problem with that th-”
“Oh believe me; I do not have a problem with you wearing it.” I glare at him although I’m struggling to keep a straight face. “Hey,” he explains to my glare, “I’m a male, what do you expect?” I roll my eyes and motion for him to throw me the shirt.
“Turn around,” I command, looking pointedly at him to make sure he understands why.
He rolls his eyes in a disturbingly mental way, but turns his back.
I yank up the tight, dull grey satin dress which someone cruel from the palace decided to dress me in, wrinkling my nose as the stiff fabric gets stuck over my head. Damn, I’m not going to be able to get this off. I let out a loud, pissed off, sigh.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks. With the stupid fabric covering my face I can’t see if he’s looking or not. I decide to check when I realise it really doesn’t matter because I’m going to have to get him to get this stupid thing off of me.
“I need a hand here.” I manage to grind out between tightly clenched teeth.
He’s silent for a bit and then I hear him snort loudly. “You a bit stuck there?”
I scowl, but when I speak my words are interrupted by giggles. “Yes, now hurry up.”
“Ok, I’m coming.” I hear his footsteps stop just in front of me. “I’m going to pull it off now; nice underwear by the way,” he chuckles. I ignore the dig and instead focus on hitting him.
I feel the fabric slowly begin to lift off my head and grimace in expectation of his expression. It’s not going to be good.
Sam pulls the now slightly bigger dress completely off me and gazes into my eyes. I stare back at him for a few seconds and then have to look away. “Uh, thanks, you can, um, turn around again now,” I mumble, feeling my face flush a bright vermillion. Oh hell, I must look like a tomato. I look up at him again and see that his gaze is locked on my lips. His eyes flicker up to meet mine and he smiles somewhat shyly. He steps even closer to me so there is barely any distance between us. He gently tips his head down, as though worried I might object or pull away. I quench his fears by lifting my face up to meet him, lightly resting my arms on his shoulders and gently brushing my lips across his. He cups the back of my head with one hand and with the other pulls me even closer to him, deepening the kiss. I didn’t realise how much I wanted him to kiss me again and now that he is, I don’t want him to stop. What would my father say? No; I can’t think of him now. One of Sam’s hands are tracing tingling circles along the bare skin on my back, alerting me to the fact that I am kissing someone without clothes on. I end the kiss by gently pulling back so I’m leaning against his hands. “You should let me get changed now,” I giggle. I’m not usually a giggler but I seem to be doing it quite a lot lately.
He runs his eyes over me and I fidget. “Right. I’ll just, uh, turn around.” It’s nice to see Sam’s blushing as well, nice to know I can affect him as well. He gives me a quick peck on the lips, releases me and spins back around. I quickly throw on the clothes and attempt to run my fingers through my knotty hair.
“‘Kay, you can turn around again,” I tell him. He eagerly spins around on his heel and stops short at the sight of me before letting out a low whistle. I raise an eyebrow.
“Wow, you look amazing, I’m not sure if I should let you go out with so many of the male gender around though,” he notes thoughtfully. We grab the bags and I put the dress back in on the top. I sling an arm around his waist as we wander over to the edge of the trees. My stomach does some weird sort of flip when his arm automatically encircles my shoulders.
“You’ll protect me from those animals won’t you?” I ask innocently, barely keeping the laughter out of my voice. He squeezes my shoulders.
“Of course; I’m not letting any one of them touch my girl,” he states, and I love the way he says ‘my girl,’ as though we are a thing.
“How long do you think it’ll take us to get Gretteria from here?” I ask after a few minutes of companionable silence.
“Human speed or the speed of magic?”
“Both.”
“Ahhhhhhh,” he gazes up at the sky, as though expecting it will tell him the answers. “We should be there by tomorrow evening at human if we don’t stop overnight and this evening with magic.”
“I want to get there as soon as possible; get it over with.”
“Magic it is.”
Sam’s estimation is spot on. We get to the palace gates just as the fiery sun sinks behind candyfloss clouds, making the limestone boundary wall glow like fire.
“How do we get in?” he asks as we spy on the guards from behind a copse of saplings.
“There’s a tunnel on the other side of the wall behind some bushes which leads into my room...well the room which was mine,” I say without taking my eyes off of the wrought iron gates. “We have to wait until it’s dark to go because there’s no cover to hide behind.”
“Alrighty then, what do we do while we wait?” Sam barely gets the words out before his mouth is split wide by a yawn.
“You sleep,” I tell him gently pushing his shoulder back until he is lying on his back on the grass.
“I’m not tired though,” he protests feebly, yawning again.
“Bull; now close your eyes.”
He’s asleep within minutes.
 
I wake him up as soon as the world gets dark enough to hide us and we soundlessly creep around the edge of the wall unnoticed by everyone inside.
We find the bushes without any trouble and sure enough, there is a metal grid-lock door set into the side of the wall behind them.
“Is this it?” Sam asks, looping his fingers through the gaps.
“Yeah, it’s got this lock…” I reach my hand through one of the top slots and feel around until my fingers brush against an icy metal lever holding the gate shut. I press it firmly and knock the door open with my knee. I step out of the way and gesture to the pitch black tunnel leading down with a hand. “After you,” I offer. Last time I was in this tunnel I was twelve and a lot shorter having not yet gone through my massive growth spurt. I’m only 5.7 and am having to duck my head to stop it from being grated against the uneven rock ceiling. Poor Sam; sometimes being tall has its drawbacks.
“How long does this tunnel go down for?” he asks after we’ve been walking on a slope for a good ten minutes.
“Um, another couple of minutes I think,” I huff, rubbing my aching knees.
After another five minutes it levels out and then stops abruptly, leaving us in a dead end.
“What do we do now?”
“Can you give me a leg up? There’s a folding ladder up higher.”
Sam braces himself against the back wall and crouches down, locking his fingers together between his knees. “How did you get up from the outside without someone being here with you?” he asks as I grip his shoulder and step onto his hands.
“I never came from the outside and I left the ladder down when I went out,” I answer, latching onto the bottom rung of the ladder and stepping out of his grip. I land lightly on my tiptoes and without hesitation begin to climb, Sam following closely behind.
Within minutes we are sneaking through the halls towards the king’s suite after cutting through my rooms which haven’t changed since I lived in them.
We pause outside a heavy wooden door leading into what I know is my father’s bedroom.
“You ready?” Sam asks, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
I take a deep breath; this is it. “As ready as anyone could be if they were about to murder their father.” He turns to open the door but I pull him back around to face me. “I...Just...well, you need to know that...I love you, ‘kay?” I peck him on the lips and without giving him any time to answer, I shoulder the door open without knocking and we stride into the room. It’s empty.
“What? He’s supposed to be in here!” I grumble, yanking Sam to a stop.
“Huh? How do you know?” Sam asks, bewildered.
“‘Cause he…” I trail off, not wanting to finish my sentence, dreading the look of shock and betrayal which will plaster itself onto Sam’s face. I should have given him some credit, he’s not stupid and it takes him seconds to figure it out.
“He said? That’s what you were going to say wasn’t it?” His eyes blaze the exact shade of flames and I feel as though I am trapped inside my body as his glare turns it to ash. “What happened to killing him? Huh? Answer me!” he grabs my shoulders and shakes them roughly.
“Get your hands off my daughter.” His icy voice cuts through the room and seems to pierce a hole in Sam’s chest through which all of his anger seeps out, leaving a deflated shell.
I back myself out from under Sam’s hands which now rest in tight fists on my shoulders. I spin on my heel without a word and strut over to my father, basking in the glory of bringing him his prize; the boy who left me locked in the tower.
“I thought...but Count Filsterious, he attacked...how?” Sam’s words form a barely understandable sentence.
“It was all a lie,” my father cackles although Sam directed the question at me. “She deceived you, knew you were following her the whole time, knew you would come to her aid and I organised for Filsterious to fake an ambush. I must admit, I was very upset with her for allowing herself a moment of weakness and almost letting you slip through our grip, however she more than made up for it by removing me of The Crown Prince of Syrelia through you.”
“What?” I didn’t think it was possible for him to look any more shocked. “You set me up,” Sam breathes staring at me in the way of a wounded animal. I nod at the ground. The guilt I’m feeling for doing this to him is overwhelming. I didn’t think it would affect me like this, but that was before I knew him, before I cared about him. As we got closer and closer to Gretteria it became harder and harder for me to do this, and if I hadn’t had that moment of weakness when I tried to save him in Armana, we wouldn’t have kissed, which means I wouldn’t have fallen for him and I wouldn’t feel nearly as guilty about doing this. Stupid Samuel Greyharlen.
“You don’t honestly think I would let my only daughter go out alone without learning how to properly defend yourself do you?” My father asks, amused. “You’re dumber than I thought! I needed her to get you back beside her and that was the perfect way.” He hoots with laughter then suddenly straightens up, solem as a statue. “I tire of this conversation. Guards take him to the dungeon and prep him for execution.” At his call two guards I didn’t even notice standing in the corners charge forward, each grab one of Sam’s arms and drag him roughly away.
I stand frozen watching until they disappear then round on my father. “Execution? You said you’d beat him, not chop off his head!” I scream.
“Calm down my sweet, remember he did leave you locked in that tower, it’s a fair punishment for that heinous crime.”
“You know what else is heinous? locking me up in that bloody tower in the first place!” Without thinking I grab my dagger from my belt and throw it at him. It’s a perfect shot of course. Clean though his heart. He’s dead instantly. I crouch beside him and lean my mouth beside his ear. “I wasn’t lying to Sam when I said I was on my way to kill you; this is a fair punishment for your crimes I think.”
I stand and walk out the door towards the dungeon, not feeling the least bit remorseful for that betrayal.
 
The guards posted in the dungeon are the most incompetent guards I have ever come across. I stand in the doorway to Sam’s holding cell, several dead bodies lying in pools of their own blood behind me. He tips his head up to look at me and I see his eyes widen. He probably thinks I’m going to kill him.
“I’m sorry Sam,” I whisper, two tears carving jagged trails down my face as I turn and walk away, leaving the door to his cell swinging open. He can follow me if he wants, though I doubt he will after what I did. The people of Gretteria no longer have their King, but soon they will have a Queen, and locking children away from the world in a tower will be against the first law I enforce.