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Rumple’s laughter sliced through the air, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Tristan’s spine. “You don’t have to be stronger to win, Tristan. You just have to have the right weapon.”

Tristan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “If you’re referring to the scorpion’s venom, Midas destroyed the last vial,” he said. “There is no other weapon against him.”

A malicious grin played on Rumple’s lips. “Tsk tsk.Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” He wagged a finger in the air. “He does have a daughter, does he not?”

Tristan’s blood ran cold, a chill sweeping through him like a violent tsunami. “Leave Aurora out of this,” he demanded.

Rumple’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with delight. “Now, what fun would that be?”

Anger surged within Tristan like a roaring inferno. “If you truly want to get to Midas, go after his gold,” Tristan said, desperation fueling his words. “His daughter means nothing to him.”

Rumple’s gaze darkened, his amusement giving way to a cold, calculating resolve. “Maybe not,” he conceded with a shrug. “But she does mean something toyou.”

Tristan’s chest tightened, fear and fury churning within him.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” Aurora’s voice echoed from somewhere within the mansion. “Show yourself!”

Rumple’s eyes lit up with twisted satisfaction. “Ah! Right on time.”

Tristan strained against his bonds, his muscles burning with the effort to break free. The rope bit into his skin. “You touch one strand of her hair, and I will end you.”

With a snap of his fingers, Rumple conjured a parchment that floated down to rest on Tristan’s lap. “Sign our new agreement,” he demanded, pushing a quill through the iron bars, “and I’ll ensure that nothing happens to her.”

Tristan’s heart raced as he scanned the parchment, his mind racing to find a way out of the trap that had been set. A sense of urgency flooded his veins, his thoughts consumed by the stakes that hung in the balance.

At that, a tiny fairy with wings like a hummingbird fluttered into the cell. Her eyes met Tristan’s for a fleeting moment, and he saw deep sorrow in their depths. It was a fleeting connection, a moment of shared understanding that left Tristan wondering about the leverage Rumple held over her.

Tristan’s hands were finally free. The burn of the rope marked his skin. The fairy returned to her cage, and Rumple drummed his fingers against the bars. Tristan grabbed the quill with shaky fingers, glancing at the agreement before him.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” Aurora called out louder than before. Her sweet voice coursed through his entire being, then lodged in his heart like an anvil.

He clutched the quill tightly, his heart torn between duty and love, between the throne and the woman who had ignited his soul. The silence of the dungeon was shattered by the echoing footsteps of a destiny he couldn’t escape, a destiny that would be etched in ink on the parchment before him.

“Tick tock, Your Highness,” Rumple’s voice was light and hopeful, like he knew he’d won. “What’s it going to be? Your kingdom, or your princess?”

AURORA

Aurora stood in the cluttered expanse of Rumpelstiltskin’s living room, an odd mixture of awe and unease swirling within her. The room was a cacophony of artifacts, a hoarder’s paradise where cobwebs shrouded relics of the past. The paintings on the walls seemed to gaze at her with faded eyes, and the old cuckoo clock on the far wall seemed frozen in time.

A rustle of fabric announced Rumpelstiltskin’s arrival, drawing Aurora’s attention to the door. He entered the room with an air of calculated charm, his presence commanding the space. She had heard rumors of his manipulative ways, but witnessing his craftiness firsthand was another matter entirely.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Aurora began, her tone firm.

“The Dreamworld stripped you of your royal manners, I see,” Rumple interjected, his lips curling into an enigmatic smile. “What can I do for you, princess?”

Aurora’s eyes bore into him. “Where is he? I know you have him.”

Rumple grin widened, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Smart and beautiful. Quite a rare combination to find.”

“Let him go,” Aurora demanded. “Take me, instead.”

Rumple’s amusement lingered, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against his chin. “Now, what would I do with you? As Tristan himself said, you would be of no use to me.”

Aurora squared her shoulders. “I have my father’s blood. I can turn anything into gold. I can enrich you. Make you more powerful than anyone, including my father.”

Rumple regarded her with a calculating gaze. “Are you saying you still have your gold?”

“I do,” she lied, trying to keep the nerves from creeping into her voice.