by Jenni James
Brown eyes locked with striking blue-grey. She nodded. “We will.” She took another deep breath and then grinned, attempting to lighten the mood, one eyebrow rose jauntily. “And when we do, I shall know your real name.”
Rumple rolled his eyes and tried to tamper down a grin. “Rumplestiltskin, Maiden, that is my name. It is the only name you will ever know me as. Do you comprehend why?”
She stepped forward, her hands playing with his shirt. “Of course, it is because you love me. And wish to keep me yours forever.”
“Good.”
“But it is more fun to imagine knowing your real name. I will figure it out eventually, mark my words.”
He groaned.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KING MARCUS PACED WITHIN his royal chambers. He great boots clomp-clomp-clomping upon the stone ground. In this particular spot, he preferred to keep it barren of rugs or carpets or the like. He enjoyed the therapeutic steadying of the sound of his leather heels as they hit the floor again and again.
Frederico had been helping the girl!
He knew it had been impossible for her to achieve such a ridiculous thing all on her own. He stomped two more paces and then spun abruptly on his heel to return back the way he had come. He needed a plan of action. Something to ferret them out—something to guarantee his brother suffered as much as possible.
The horror Frederico had caused this family! The pain they have been put through because of his interactions with that witch! To know that they lived with this scandalous secret was too much. It was time his wretched brother died.
He paused, his boots sliding to a simple halt. She would have to die as well. She would. It was clearly obvious she knew who Frederico was, or she would not have allowed him near her. She would not have been protecting him and lying upon him as she was. He sneered. It was disgusting to see them in such a fashion! Her head over his bent chest like that!
No, he must be planning some sort of revolt with the girl—something to bring himself back on the throne. And that will not do. Oh, no, Marcus had worked too hard to build this kingdom up after their father had died to see it all go flinging back to his brother! His useless waste of a brother!
What could Frederico do? Hobble off to battle?
No! He could not protect them! He did not have one straight bone in his body and was therefore completely useless for anything.
Could he withstand the rigorous demands of a king? The long hours, the deep contemplation, the ordering people about and making all run smoothly. No! He was incapable.
He was ugly as well! Snarling ugly! My brute! There were few people in the world who did not shriek in terror the second they met him. How does he believe he will inspire the people? He is nothing to look at. A simpleton. A cripple-wasted-use of a person. No villager would wish for such a king as he was.
No one would fight for him or go to battle for him. They would certainly not pay their taxes or anything else they were expected to do—as is the royal family’s right to have them do. This whole kingdom would go to complete ruin within a fortnight.
Urgh! Marcus stepped forward and slammed his fist into the highboy dresser in front of him. The pain was dull compared to the loathing swimming within him. His brother—his worthless, grotesque brother deserved to die.
Ha! He glanced toward the ceiling. The irony that they had been celebrating his death all these years—truly it was remarkable. Especially when the festering pig was living here, gorging himself off of their wares, pilfering what he could—stealing from his own family. All the while they turned a blind eye—allowing him to live—and pretended he was dead, to have such a thing happen now. The traitor.
It was time—more than time—to rectify this situation.
He picked up the small statue of his father in front of him—the one Mother had insist he keep in the king’s chambers—and weighing it in his hands, he allowed it to bounce up and down a few beats until he suddenly hurled it through the window closest to him. The glass shattered—its glittering fragments were no match for the heavier weight of the old king’s replica. With satisfaction, Marcus watched the thing flip and fall several feet before slipping out of his view.
There. There, now that is a better place for his father’s likeness. He had never enjoyed looking at it.
The sharp breeze of the morning swept into the room and Marcus glared at the broken window. “Thomas!” he shouted. “Thomas!”
A short, pudgy man ran into the room. “Yes, Your Majesty?” He bowed low.
“My window is broken. See that it is fixed immediately. I do not appreciate the chill wind that has been streaming through it.”
Thomas’s mouth gaped open as he beheld the shattered pane.
“What are you staring at? Fetch someone to fix it this instant. Do not stand about gawking like a child. I want warmth back in my rooms again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Thomas bowed once more and scurried from the rooms.
Slamming the door shut, Marcus spun on his heel and began pacing the floor again. His mind traveling back to all that gold they had collected this morning. He smirked. There is so much they could do with it—ah, perhaps it was not a bad thing his brother was alive a bit longer. Perhaps not a bad thing at all.
His eyes gleamed. More. He needed more and then he would kill him!
He stopped and put his hands on his hips. If there was some way he could weasel the girl and his brother into coming up to the tower again, he could get his gold and then have them both hung for treason.
He rubbed his mouth a moment, pondering the proper way to go about doing such a thing. If he took the girl, Frederico would most likely do something rash, so she must be involved as well. They needed to believe he was not onto their plan. He needed them to trust him—meanwhile, while they were creating the gold, he would be preparing the henchmen for their hangings at dawn.
This time, he would not give her warning. This time he would enter and seize them both.
He just needed something to nudge them both to do all he asked of them. What leverage did he have? What would bring her to him—bring them both out of hiding? He paced a few moments more before he halted and spun toward the door.
“THOMAS!” He shouted so loud the chandeliers rattled. “THOMAS!”
The man hurried into the room, panting and stuttering. “Yes—yes, Your Majesty! I am here.” He bowed low.
“Bring me that fool, Mr. Sloat! It is time he pays for his lies.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RUMPLE CAME INTO THE room, his arms heavy laden with oodles of food.
“My goodness!” Aubrynn exclaimed as she rushed forward to help him. “How in the world will we ever eat half so much food? Let this be a remembrance for later, you like to eat!” She was so busy helping him unload the mass, that she did not see the stress upon his features straight away. “Indeed, I fear you have brought enough to feed a small army.” Chuckling, she followed him to the crate with the silver tray upon it, and helped set down the bread and cheese bundles she had taken from his arms. “So what did you bring for us?”
Rumple set the rest of his load on the ground near the crate. His heart hammering as his mind raced. How will he tell her? She needs to know. “I bring bad news, actually.”
Aubrynn’s hands stilled in the midst of opening a bundle. “The king?” she asked.
He cleared his throat and then turned to face her. “Yes.”
“What has he done?”
“It is your father; he has removed him from the holding cell and chained him up in the dungeon.”
Aubrynn dropped the cloth, her hand flying to her mouth. “What do we do?”
“The king has sent word, through the servants, that he wishes to speak to us both in his throne room immediately or your father will die.”
No. She shook her head. “We cannot go there! It is most likely a trap.”
Rumple shrugged. “Do we have a choice?” He walked a couple of paces away and looked around the room. “It was clear
ly obvious as well that he knew we were here. Since the message was addressed to ‘that filth living beneath my kitchens.’”
“He is such a charming man.”
He headed toward the makeshift dresser. “Gather the food you would like now and eat as much as possible. It may be your last meal for a while.” He rummaged around until he pulled something out of a small chiseled box. “We will each take two stones with us, In case we need them to flee. Tuck one in your petticoat, or somewhere the king will not think to look, and keep the other close by.” Stepping forward, he handed her the two stones. “Have you found something to eat?”
“I really do not believe I could eat much right now.”
He looked at her worried features, his hand going up to brush her cheek. “Aubrynn, all will be well, I promise you.”
She nodded and closed her eyes briefly; resting her cheek in his palm for a few seconds, before stating, “Let us hurry. I cannot have my father’s death hanging over me.”
“He will not die.”
“No. He will not.”
By the time Rumple had led her to the King’s throne room, Aubrynn was a complete jumble of anxiety. She placed her trembling hands behind her back and clutched the small pebble as tightly as possible. They paused outside the door as the servant went in the room and announced their attendance to the king. Aubrynn could not even glance at Rumple she was so terrified of what may happen once they were inside. Her heart beat a wild tattoo at the thought of losing either of the men she cared for most. Though, what the king may do to the renegade Rumplestiltskin she could not possibly fathom—her thoughts were anything but positive.
“You may come in. The king will see you now.” The servant held one hand out.
As Rumple and Aubrynn walked into the spacious marble-floored room, the king sat up a bit taller in his ornate gold and red velvet throne. Two guards stood at attention in their full court uniforms on either side of him. “My, my, my. Look who has decided to grace me with their presence.”
Aubrynn curtsied deeply, her dress splaying out around her. With her head lowered, she did not see that Rumple refused to bow. “Your Majesty,” she whispered as she stood back up, her gaze taking in the splendid columns around the king’s raised platform. So this is where their tax money was going—to richly decorate such rooms. Her eyes wandered to the multifaceted chandeliers and tapestries, to the immense glorious paintings and the gold and mahogany filigreed ceiling. The whole room gleamed in hues of reds and golds. It was splendid, but much too extravagant for such a small kingdom to sustain such wealth.
“Come here, Maiden,” the king commanded. “Come all the way up to me.”
Rumple began to walk with her, but the king pointed at him. “Filth! You will stay away from me! You will not bring your curse any closer to this throne.”
“As you wish.” He smiled; glad to know his brother was afraid of him.
With great trepidation, Aubrynn bravely took the last of the steps up to the king. She went to curtsy again, but he held a hand out. “No, do not. Come here, my dear. I want to see you.”
She took another step forward, as his hand came to rest upon her shoulder. His throne sat a foot or so higher, and so she had to look up to meet his gaze. After a few moments of silence, she finally asked, “Yes, Your Majesty?” not sure if she should remain quiet longer, but not willing to stand there and look the fool.
His hand snaked up and caught a lock of her long hair. Tugging, he pulled her a bit closer until the toes of her slippers were flush up against the marble step his throne was resting upon. “I forget how beautiful you truly are until I see you again.”
She flushed and looked away.
“Aubrynn Sloat, I have warned you before, when your king demands your attention you give it to him—fully.”
Her eyes met his cool stare. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I was not going to speak of such things, but I have decided to change my mind. I know your game, Maiden.”
When she did not respond, he continued, “I know you are secretly after my throne.”
She balked and shook her head.
“Do not pretend with me! I know you wish to rule here with that wasted rubbish over there! You think you can overturn me. You think you can upset all that I have done and take over! I think not!”
“No! Your Majesty, I promise you. I want nothing of what you speak of—nothing! How would such a thing even be possible? Why would you imagine this of me?”
“Aubrynn, shut your mouth!” He tugged her hair pulling her face next to his.
She winced but remained silent.
“Leave her alone!” shouted Rumple
“Honestly?” King Marcus smirked as he watched his lame brother hobble up to them. “Do you truly want to do this?” He snapped his fingers. Both guards pulled their swords out at once. They stood by the king awaiting his next orders.
Rumple paused, his hand tightening around the stone. “Let her go. She has no idea who I am—none. She is not the threat you believe her to be. It is me you wish to see gone from this room, not her.”
“No, Rumple!”
“Silence!” the king hissed in her face, spittle splattering all over her cheeks and forehead as his hand tightened its grip upon her hair. Anger laced through every word as he continued, “You call this wastrel Rumple? You have a pet name for such a twisted pile of refuse?”
When Aubrynn did not answer, the king pulled her hair—shaking her head. “Answer me! Why? Why do you call him Rumple?”
“I—I—it is because—” Not sure what to make of the king and his volatile ways, she was at a loss as to what to say. What was he really asking of her?
“Because?” He yanked her hair and Aubrynn could not hold back her cry of pain.
“I warned you!” shouted Rumple. “Unhand her now!”
The king snapped his fingers and the guards lunged forward.
In the blink of an eye, the stone in Rumple’s fist shone bright blue before both of the guards’ swords flung across the room to his waiting hands. Shocked, the guards stumbled backwards as Rumple cautiously moved forward. He was crouched slightly, the swords pointing menacingly at the men. One pure steel and the other glowed blue from the stone in his hand.
“I said to unhand her,” he hissed—his eyes never leaving his brother’s face.
Slowly one by one the kings fingers unwrapped themselves from Aubrynn’s hair until she was free, he pushed her toward Rumple. “I want nothing to do with you and your witchcraft! Stand back!” he shouted.
“Oh, dear, King Marcus,” Rumple said slowly as he walked closer. “I think you do want my witchcraft.” He grinned. “In fact, I think that is what you want more than anything else in this world.”
Aubrynn’s heart raced as she scrambled to get behind one of the pillars and away from the men.
The king gulped and then tilted his head in acknowledgment. “You clearly have the upper hand for now. What do you want from me?”
Rumple never let his eyes leave his brother’s, though he knew exactly which portion of the room Aubrynn was. He could feel her—his heart taking in every frantic breath of hers. He had to do this; he had to do this to save her. “You will release her father with a public apology and then…”
“And then?” asked the king.
Rumplestiltskin took a deep silent breath and sternly said, “And then you will marry her, or I will slay you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“NOOOO!” AUBRYNN’S SHOUT ECHOED around the room. “No, Rumple. No! You cannot make me marry him. What are you saying? You know I love you.” She rushed up and tugged on his arm.
If she were not careful, she would ruin everything. Rumple ignored her and glared right at the king. “So will you do as I say—release her father and marry the gel?”
The king looked incredulously at her. “Do you really love him?” he asked, not quite certain he was hearing correctly.
She rose her chin up and said, “Of course I do. He is more man than
you will ever be.”
“Careful, my dear,” Rumple said quietly, his eyes never leaving his brother. “You do not want to upset your king.”
Looking from one to the other and seeing the emotions flit across her face, Marcus was astounded he was witness to such an inconceivable conversation. “Do you really prefer him to me?” he asked her.
“Yes!”
He blinked at her fervent looks. “Why? He is so—”
“Do not you dare call him ugly! He is not ugly! He is beautiful. He is ten times more beautiful than you will ever be.”
“Aubrynn, enough,” Rumple commanded.
“And you honestly do not know who he is?” the king asked.
She stepped closer. “No. Who is he? If you know, will you tell me? He refuses to.”
Marcus flicked his gaze toward Frederico, his eyes narrowing. “You really do love her, do you not? You have truly found someone to love the hideousness that you are and so you love her. So much so, you would do anything to protect her. Even hide your true name from her and give her hand up in marriage—to me.”
Rumple flinched.
The king laughed. “Oh-ho! Is this not one of the most bitter schemes you have ever heard of? A cursed crippled fool falls in love, but gives her to the wicked king, so that she may live.”
“Enough!” shouted Rumple. “Do we have a deal? Or do I end you this instant?” He lunged forward, bringing one sword up to Marcus’s throat.
The king grinned. “I would be more than happy to wed the woman I had intended on marrying anyway. We shall do so tomorrow.”
“No!” Aubrynn cried and flung herself across Rumple’s arms.
He almost lost one of the swords in the process, it scraped across the king’s neck and hit his royal velvet robes. This would not do. “Guards!” Rumple called. “Take this maiden to the chamber King Marcus has prepared for her, so that she may calm down and begin preparations for tomorrow.”
The guards stepped forward and glanced at the king for his approval. When he nodded, the men strode toward Aubrynn. She stepped back and turned to run, but it was too late, they were excessively quick and caught her up fast.
