Page 2

CHAPTER 2

F ather’s profuse swearing was accompanied by the pattering of many footsteps as his servants hurried after him, growing closer to the room where I sat, plucking at my harp and forcing myself not to smirk. The door flew open with an almighty crash. After finishing the last few chords, I slowly rolled my head around, an agreeable smile on my face that didn’t match Father’s murderous glare.

“Good afternoon, Daddy. What a lovely surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Where is he?” Father thundered. Behind his back, the servants whispered to each other, hands concealing their mouths.

I blinked innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve just been here practicing my harp, waiting for the ball to begin. Where is who?”

Father’s face was a delightful shade of deepest plum, and the veins on his thick neck throbbed rapidly. “Lord Morvain’s son Harold. Where is he?”

I tapped my finger on my chin. “Lord Morvain…Lord Morvain…isn’t he the one your subjects call the Dark Lord?”

“I swear, Rapunzel, you tell me where he is this instant, or I’ll…I’ll…”

“You could lock me in a tower,” I suggested, eyes narrowed. “Or marry me off to any stranger you choose. Isn’t that your plan, anyway?”

Father rolled his eyes so hard that he could have examined his own brain as he let out a long stream of air, cheeks puffed out so he resembled a plum more than ever. Then he forced a strained smile onto his face.

“Dearest, darling daughter, if you don’t reveal the location of my closest friend’s son right now, I swear I will marry you off to the next man who walks through the door, and I won’t care if it’s the chimney sweep.”

I put a hand up to my chest and widened my eyes in mock surprise. “You always suspect me when your friends go missing. That hurts.”

“Am I ever wrong?”

I raised a solitary eyebrow, glad I could make Father just as angry as he’d made me that morning. “All the time.” I went back to strumming my harp. “Did you know that the gardener’s shed near the vegetable garden is always unattended during the midday meal?” I shot him a wicked expression. “Harold’s head is so empty; he might have been hunting for a replacement among the lettuce.”

Father turned. “Go, go, go!” Two of the manservants sprinted back down the hall in the direction of the vegetable gardens.

I resumed playing the harp, immensely satisfied by how the gentle music was at such great odds with the venom in my father’s gaze. Minutes trickled by as he continued to glower. I smiled adoringly at him. “You’re such a wonderful father to listen and be so supportive of my musical endeavors.”

His eyelid twitched and he didn’t respond.

“Shall I play you another song?” I turned a page on my sheet music and narrowed my eyes. “This next number is called ‘ The Vengeance Sonata .’ It’s one of my favorites.”

I played the melody, relishing how the vein pulsing in Father’s temple was growing more pronounced with each minute that trickled by.

“Your Majesty!” The head servant had returned, panting. “We found Lord Morvain’s son shoved into the gardener’s shed. He was unconscious and seems to have been drugged. He’s now in the infirmary being tended to.” The servant shot an uncomfortable look my way.

I put a hand up to my mouth and gasped dramatically. “Scales above, who would do such a terrible thing?”

“Leave us,” Father growled to the servants. “Let me know once Harold is awake.” Looking quite relieved to vacate the scene, they all scurried away, shutting the door with a snap behind them.

Without breaking eye contact, I idly strummed my harp. “I’m nearly done with this song, then I’ll finish getting ready for the ball, just like you want me to.” I flashed him a wicked smile. “I’m eager to meet all the rest of these men you’re so anxious to marry me off to. Will a chimney sweep be in attendance?”

He ignored my question. “Give me the rest of it.” He held his hand out expectantly.

With a smile, I handed over my sheet music. “Is that what you wanted?”

In a fit of rage, he ripped the papers to shreds and scattered the pieces into the air. “The wyrmsleep! Whatever you drugged Harold with! Where is it? Is there more, or did you use it all? Turn out your pockets.”

I watched the bits of paper flutter down. “This dress doesn’t have pockets, Daddy dearest. Besides, wyrmsleep isn’t even deadly. I don’t know what you’re so worked up about.” How I relished using his own words against him.

“Give me your handbag.”

I gestured at the table where it lay. Father wrenched it open and extracted a simple fan, a comb, my small tin of mints, and the tube of lip stain. Unsatisfied, he spent an additional five minutes scouring the bag for any hidden pockets or concealed seams.

“Take your shoes off,” he ordered.

I slipped them off, followed by my stockings, then wriggled my bare toes as he shook the shoes as if he expected packets of powdered sleep aid to tumble out. I raised an eyebrow. “See? I’m innocent.”

“As innocent as the dragon who keeps stealing all of my oxen,” Father snapped. He closed his eyes and took a long, steadying breath. “Why are you doing this, Rapunzel? This is the third man this year.”

“Why do you keep assuming I did it?”

A smile curled Father’s lips. “Because you’re exactly like I am, that’s why—brilliant and scheming.”

“And I’m the person I am today because of what’s been modeled to me. Aren’t you proud?” I matched his steely gaze, my jaw jutted out defiantly.

Father sighed heavily and ignored my question. “I just can’t figure out where you put the rest of the wyrmsleep. Do I need to have a handmaiden come to search the rest of your person?”

A tentative knock echoed around the room.

“Enter,” Father boomed. The head servant was back. “What news, Reginald? How’s Harold?”

“We managed to revive him.” He shuffled his feet. “He claims the last thing he remembers was…was kissing your daughter, sire.”

I couldn’t conceal the smug expression on my face. “Oopsies. Was that me?”

“Thank you, Reginald. Tell Lord Morvain and his son that I will see them shortly and offer a personal apology, as will my very penitent daughter.” He said the last few words through gritted teeth.

“Lord Morvain and his son are some of the few allies we have left,” Father said wearily after Reginald left and we were alone again. “Why would you ostracize the few who are still on our side?”

“You ought to be glad I picked him instead of an enemy. At least you know he’ll forgive us. Perhaps instead, you should wonder what foreign diplomacy tactics you’re using that resulted in us having so few allies.”

Father stared at me, and I matched his glare with a challenging one of my own. Finally, he sighed and ran his hand through his silver hair. “Why couldn’t I have had a daughter who enjoyed embroidery? The other kingdoms’ royalty have started calling you the Feral Princess of Rookwyn.”

“Ooh, the Feral Princess? I like it. A fitting name for the Dragon King’s daughter.”

Father’s anger faded as he handed me back my handbag, the corners of his mouth curling upward. “So, tell me, how did you get Harold to take the wyrmsleep?”

I took the handbag and tucked it under my arm. “The benefits of my womanly wiles. Shall I describe my exact actions to you?”

Father closed his eyes. “No. I don’t want to think about that. Just…don’t do it again.”

“I would never.” I held out my arms, and Father eyed me suspiciously. “What, you’re unwilling to hug your only child?”

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around me, but the hug felt perfunctory rather than meaningful.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he sighed.

“So are you.” I broke away, giving his hands one final squeeze, and headed for the door.

“Rapunzel…” There was warning in Father’s voice.

I rolled my eyes and gave him back his coin purse.

“Now the rest.”

“I don’t have anything else.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Fine!” I slapped his cloak’s jeweled brooch back into his hand and closed his fingers around it. “Happy now?”

“Very. You’re worse than any dragon.”

“I know.” I beamed and turned away, discreetly tucking Father’s signet ring into my handbag as I did so.