Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Are you all right?” I ask gently.
She doesn’t respond. Just stares through me as if she’s somewhere else entirely. A vision? A memory? Some echo from whatever enchantment ties her to this tower?
It wouldn’t surprise me. The hair thing is strange enough, but the moment she touched me, it was like the magic turned solid. Intentional.
I shift my weight, uneasy. Gods, she’s beautiful. Not in the soft, dainty way human women try to be. She’s radiant. Round and lush, with pale skin that practically glows in the flickering light of her oil lamp. Her hair is a mess of gold serpents coiled around the room, pulsing with quiet magic. And her body—hells, her body is a feast for a man who’s been starving a long, long time.
And I have been. Starving for softness. For something that isn’t pain and penance and blood on my hands.
Rapunzel jerks as she snaps out of her trance. She looks up at me with a smile so bright it kicks me square in the chest. My heart feels like it’s about to leap out of my throat and punch me in the face. Gods, that smile could melt steel.
“You’re here to rescue me.”
Her voice is hopeful. As if the idea of being rescued is some grand fantasy she’s been waiting to live out.
“I—what?” Rescue? No. I’m no fucking hero. People need rescuing from me, not by me. If she knew half of what I’ve done, she’d push me out that window herself and celebrate my fall. But instead, she’s looking at me like I’m her salvation.
She tilts her head, and I catch a glimpse of something behind her eyes. Not naïveté. More like… longing. Hunger. As if she’s been alone for so long that even a monster like me starts to look like a miracle.
She cocks her head like she can see right through me and doesn’t give a damn about my rotten core. Her smile is gentle now. Almost shy. And it makes something fierce stir in me.
I try not to stare. Try not to picture her soft body stretched out beneath mine, mouth parted, eyes glazed. But fuck. She’s gorgeous. And I’ve been alone for so long that I don’t remember what it feels like to be touched without fear.
My cock, already on edge, pulses painfully.
I shoot to my feet and turn toward the window, trying to hide the traitorous bulge in my pants. “Surely there’s a way out of here. I could try climbing down the roots.”
“Climb down?” she echoes, confused.
“The roots go all the way down the wall,” I explain. “If I’m careful, I might make it.”
She shakes her head, eyes solemn. “You can try. But I can’t leave. The roots tie me to the tower.”
I frown. “You’re tied?”
She gestures to the roots on the floor. “Tethered, remember? My hair won’t let me leave.”
I frown, glancing at the twisted mass of golden vines. It doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone trap her here? She’s not a threat. She hasn’t tried to kill me when most people do.
“Why are you locked up?” I ask quietly, trying to conceal the chill that crawls up my spine.
She shrugs. “Dame Gothel says it’s for my protection. From the people out there.” She gestures vaguely toward the window, but the forest is quiet. No torches, no mobs. Nothing but trees and moonlight.
“And your family?”
She looks down, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t remember. If I have any, they never came for me. Dame Gothel said she found me alone in the forest.”
Moving to the bed, she curls around a pillow like it’s armor. “I don’t even know if Rapunzel is my real name.”
My chest tightens. “It’s a plant with delicate blossoms,” I say, surprising even myself. “Purple, maybe. Or blue. The same color as your eyes.” Eyes like storm-kissed violets.
Her smile turns shy. “Is it? I wish I could remember. Dame Gothel taught me how to read, how to do sums, and how to cook. But I’ve only ever known this place.”
I murmur, “You’ve been enchanted.” I’m sure of it now. Gothel locked her away and fed her half-truths, doling out just enough information to keep her complacent.
She blinks. “What?”
I ignore her question. “Tell me more about this Dame Gothel.”
Her gaze drops, and she clutches the pillow tighter. “Gothel found me in the forest when I was a baby. She’s my guardian. She brings supplies. Fuel for the stove to heat food and water. But sometimes, I wonder…”
Yeah, me too. She’s been isolated. Cut off from the world and guarded by magic. That’s not protection. It’s certainly not affection. That’s imprisonment.
And I should know. I’ve lived it.
Is this Gothel a warden? A witch?
“Has she ever hurt you?”
Rapunzel pauses too long. “No,” she replies, but her voice lacks conviction. She shifts on the chair, looking away from me. “She’s kept me safe all this time. Maybe she’s overprotective. Maybe she’s a bit harsh. But she’s doing what she thinks is best.”