Prism

Prince Not-So-Charming

You must expect to have it exceeding Black, within 40 days after you have put your Composition into the Glass over the Fire; if it be not black, proceed no further, for it is unrecoverable: it must be as black as the Ravens Head, and must continue a long time, and not utterly to lose it during five months.

If it be Orange colour, or half Red, within some small time after you have begun your Work, without doubt your Fire is too hot; for these are tokens that you have burnt the Radical humour and vivacity of the Stone.

Rapunzel frowned and scratched a note on the parchment beside her. Though her foster mother Ellen had warned her that the philosopher's treatise bore little resemblance to actual magic, she still found it fascinating. Alchemists operated in an entirely different sphere than sorceresses like Ellen or hearth-witches like her other foster mother Moira; their attempts to unveil the secrets of the universe were a far cry from her foster mothers' practical spells.

A smile drifted across Rapunzel's face. Admittedly, most alchemists were more than a bit pretentious, unlike the mages that she knew, but that didn't mean their words were worthless – she simply had to hunt for the true meanings. It was like the scavenger hunts that Moira had set up for her birthdays when she was younger. She'd loved hunting around the tower for miscellaneous knickknacks, and had transferred that enjoyment to searching for the gold hidden by the dross of the long-winded treatises.

A call from below distracted her from her musings. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

Rapunzel bit back a groan and shoved back her chair. "Not another one," she muttered, carefully closing the delicate book and trotting over to the window. Her kitten Liriel followed, mewing curiously.

The knight below saluted when he saw her appear in the window. "Fair lady, let down your hair, so that I may rescue you from this horrible captivity!" he entreated.

Rapunzel sighed. "I'm happy up here, thanks," she called back down.

The knight spluttered. Judging by the shine on his armor, the pristine coat of his white charger, and the four attendants arrayed behind him, he was a prince of some sort. His charger was gaily caparisoned in blue and silver, matching the plumes that flew from his helmet; his retainers wore livery in the same colors. One of them, the youngest, looked to be hiding a smile at her answer.

The prince took off his helmet and frowned up at her. "Fair lady, you have been bewitched by the evil witch who kidnapped you," he declared. "Come, let down your hair, that I may take you away from here!"

Liriel made a rude noise, and Rapunzel giggled. She couldn't imagine Moira or Ellen bewitching anyone – their powers didn't lie in that direction, for one, and they would never remove someone's free will like that. "Like I said, I'm happy up here," she repeated, leaning out the window to get a better look at the prince.

His brow wrinkled. "Fair lady..." He sighed, patting his charger's neck as it sidled sideways. "Is the witch home?" His other hand reached for the sword strapped to his side. "Let her know that Prince Eric is here to challenge her!"

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. This was typical prince behavior, and it never failed to annoy her. "They're not home right now," she called, "but I can let them know that you stopped by." Ellen would be disgusted, Moira amused, and Ben – Rapunzel's foster father – would probably add Prince Eric to one of his songs.

A shadow of unease passed over the prince's face. He swallowed once, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, before looking back up at her. "Them?" In his confusion, he'd dropped his pretentious mode of speech.