by Laura Kenyon
“Is that helping?” Elisa asked, nodding to the tea. “I get nauseous when I fly, too. Ethan used to call me ‘Crinkles’ because whenever we went on family vacations, I’d have to breath into a paper bag the entire way. Until I started threatening to throw up on him, anyway.”
“I’m fine,” Rapunzel said, though it wasn’t even remotely true. She never got airsick, not even pole dancing on a private airbus during an emergency landing. It was probably just stress and jet lag. Not that the sugar-high circus was helping. “So you’ve really got your hands full, huh?”
Elisa laughed and repositioned her camisole, as if she had anything to reposition it on. “They’re good kids,” she said, reaching for a bottle that looked like a beer but was really just cream soda. According to Ethan, his sister ran a completely dry household because her ex-husband liked to get sopping wet. Rapunzel understood the mentality, but didn’t believe it for a second. There had to be a nip or two around here somewhere, at least for emergencies.
“They haven’t seen their uncle in six months, so…” Elisa paused, as if she wanted Rapunzel to sympathize—or apologize—for her brother’s choice of residence, “they’ve got a lot of pent-up greetings to get out. It really is a shame they can’t get together more often. He’s so good with them. Don’t you think?”
In all honesty, Rapunzel hadn’t thought about that at all. But she peeled her fingers away from her aching temples anyway and eyed the trail of discarded books that led from the kitchen to the living area. Ethan was crossed-legged between the couch and a ransacked bookshelf, reading to a five-year-old girl with strawberry blonde pigtails. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the little girl’s face absolutely radiated as he traced the words and pictures across each page and helped her to sound them out. She looked so tiny in his lap, but so … perfect, as if that scene should have been on the cover of a magazine somewhere or included in a time capsule and shot into outer space. Rapunzel watched for at least three pages, trying to understand the strange feeling warming the center of her chest, until Ethan looked in her direction. Her eyes instantly zipped back to the tea.
“He’s good with most people,” she said, downplaying Elisa’s question—both the spoken part and the inferred. “Is it usually this chilly in September?”
“He’s always been great with kids,” Elisa said, completely ignoring her attempt to change the subject. “I keep telling him to move back to Stularia, but it’s like asking a rock to soak up water. He must have something really special keeping him there.”
Rapunzel gave a quick nod, then picked up her mug with both hands and disappeared into it. She wasn’t used to having sober conversations with her boyfriend’s relatives. She felt like a dead frog, splayed out for a bunch of overachieving pre-meds on the dissection table.
“Sorry.” Elisa scratched at her soda label and laughed again. “I’m babbling, aren’t I? Really have to work on that. I just miss my little brother, that’s all. And now that our father’s marrying that Marestam Queen—”
“Letitia,” Rapunzel filled in, as if she didn’t know the name of her future stepmother. “And I don’t think she’ll be queen when they actually get married. I think Logan and Penny’s coronation is first. Letitia’s the sort of woman who wants to be the main event, not an opener.”
“Right.” Elisa took a long slug of her soda, then dropped it back on the table. “Sorta-Queen Letitia. Anyway. At this rate, maybe I should disown my birth country and move to Marestam too. Find out if the streets are really ‘paved with fairy dust’ and all that jazz.”
Rapunzel glanced at Ethan again. How long was that damn book? This conversation was going from plain old uncomfortable to hostile, fast.
“I guess that’s just the way of the world now. No one marries the girl from down the street anymore. Not with planes and computers and—actually, you are from Stularia, aren’t you? Sort of. Maybe you’ll convince each other to return to your roots after this little getaway. Maybe there’s hope for my kids having cousins nearby after all. Gosh, I’d love to see that. Ethan was born to be a father.”
Rapunzel’s spine cracked as her shoulder blades magnetized together. Her mug cracked against her teeth. What did she just say?
“What about you?” Elisa leaned even closer. She smelled of cinnamon with a hint of vanilla—or was that the cream soda? Either way, it gave Rapunzel the sudden urge to vomit.
“Oh, I definitely wasn’t born to be a father,” she joked, crossing her arms and kneading the table with her elbows. She panned the room, praying to see something she could use to change the subject—a lamp flying through the air, a kid springing off a couch, a bottle of milk spray painting the wall. But of course, the very moment she needed them to be devils, Ethan’s nieces and nephews were perfect little angels.
Finally, the corners of Elisa’s lips stretched apart and she hoisted her torso off the table. “Well, you must be tired from your trip. I won’t be insulted if you want to take a catnap, or just head to bed early if you need it. From what I understand, you’ve got an early morning and another long day ahead.” Rapunzel furrowed her brow. Was she being politely told to go away? Did she particularly care at the moment? “Your room’s just up the stairs on the right. Towels are in the closet. Bathroom’s across the hall. If the door isn’t locking, pull the handle up a bit as you close it. Dinner’s at six o’clock if you’re up for it—or breakfast at seven thirty sharp. Do you like eggs?”
She did. But before she could answer, Elisa twisted around and announced, in a voice worthy of the opera, that AUNT Rapunzel needed some peace and quiet so it was time to play outside. For about two seconds, all noises ceased. Rapunzel could not only feel her heart pounding against her ribs—she could hear it too. And then, just as quickly as it had come, the silence gave way to a cacophony of cheers, shouts, and pipsqueak demands—bubbles! swings! slide! bikes!—as the horde spilled into the yard and Ethan flashed her a small, distant smile goodnight.
THE MARESTAM MIRROR
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip
AFTER five days locked behind the impenetrable walls of Marestam General Hospital, Belle Wickenham will finally be released today. I believe this calls for a full-hearted, deep-bellied, “Huzzah!” At least for a moment.
With four months left in her pregnancy, the Phoenix in ruins, and Braddax Castle acting as Donner’s electronically monitored home-away-from-jail (yes, he was released last night on $100,000 bail, in typical Noel Madison, attorney to the stars, fashion), I’m just dying to know where the estranged queen plans to live out the remainder of her rotund weeks. Sure, she’s got that die-hard royal sister circle of which we’re all insanely jealous, but think about it:
• Rapunzel has a brand new roommate of the carnal variety.
• Cinderella is thousands of miles away, sopping up the culture and evading an increasingly frustrated press on Honeymoon Part Deux. (Seriously, if we don’t see a picture of them sipping mojitos on an Elladan beach soon, I might start to worry.)
• Penelopea still lives with her mother-in-law and is probably having hourly panic attacks about her upcoming coronation.
• Snow has somehow gotten her hands on a screaming infant and will be focusing on him 24/7. (Plus, she lives hours away from any decent birthing centers should Belle continue her recent streak of hospital visits.)
• That leaves Dawn. And let’s be honest, no one wants to witness that marriage at work on a daily basis.
So unless our sweet Belle has a secret boy toy to shack up with (perhaps the kind that could send a rich, rock-solid, narcissistic monarch completely off his rocker…) your guess is as good as mine.
SPEAKING of screaming infants, Rapunzel Delmonico was spotted stocking up on maternity and baby clothes this weekend at Cribs and Cankles in midtown Carpale.
“She said it was for the Queen of Braddax,” explained storeowner Shirley Templeton. “But she was extremely frazzled and the items she selected simp
ly didn’t add up. I’m not saying she’s in the family way or anything—though goodness knows that would be a precious, life-changing gift for a woman like her. I’m just saying you might want to keep an eye out. I have a sixth sense when it comes to babies. Always have.”
Keep an eye out I will, Shirley. Always do.
HURRICANE season officially arrived on Monday, bringing winds and rains heavy enough to delay flights, disrupt a Selladórean press conference, and turn the Riverfell Palace throne room into a swimming pool.
According to official reports, the damage is considerable. And with the combination coronation/wedding slated for Friday (or, as I like to call it, the Royal Coronedding), this is causing heart rates to skyrocket all over Riverfell.
Says the newly dubbed king-to-be, Prince Logan: “We’re exploring all of our options right now, including the possibility of changing venues. My mother has been looking forward to this for a long time—as have Penny and I. The people of Riverfell are expecting a celebration on Friday, and I will do everything I can to ensure they are not disappointed.”
For the sake of Logan, his crown, and the people who’ve been backing him for decades, I hope he’s right. Who knows what could happen if the grand event gets pushed back a week—or even a day?
After all, it only takes one second for someone to pop out of a coma.
TONE-DEAF protesters continued to condemn both the monarchies and Parliament’s recent security crackdowns this week—the latter including an uptick in spontaneous search-and-seizures, as well as rumors of MSC confiscations disguised as burglaries.
Sporting a sign reading, “Tyranny!” one man accused Angus Kane of vilifying the monarchies in order to cut them off and create one overarching throne for himself. He called particular attention to Parliament’s statement late Friday that it would send troops to Tantalise if the Whites didn’t abandon their throne (rhetoric from which it has since backed down). “If he can force his way into the private home of a monarch and tell them how to live, can you even imagine what he would do to ordinary people if left unchecked?”
A dozen feet away, a woman hoisting the same message but wearing a Monarch Morality Movement T-shirt, said the monarchies had no place in modern society. “They’re nothing but a bunch of nepotistic tyrants, living their reckless and selfish lives, keeping each other’s secrets with no consideration for the people who could get hurt,” she said. “Aside from the Charmés, I can’t even remember the last time any of them did something to better my life. It’s finally time to let them drown. Bring down the crowns!”
Shiver.
Chapter Twelve
BELLE
Belle had never seen anything so amazing in her entire life. To call him perfect—regardless of what any doctor’s chart said—would be like describing the aurora borealis as “pretty.” From his pursed little lips to the chubby fingers that constantly curled around her own, he was everything she’d ever wanted. And in the instant they locked eyes … the instant Snow whispered those unbelievable words: he’s yours … Belle knew that for the next sixty years, her heart would be crawling, or walking, or barhopping outside of her body. She knew she would be vulnerable as no one but a mother could possibly be. She knew she would do everything in her power to protect him. She’d give up everything to ensure that he grew up happy, healthy, and safe. Even if that meant sacrificing … what?
Everything? Too vague.
Her freedom? Absolutely.
Her friends? She loved them dearly, but yes.
Her life?
The latter would give her pause—but not because she wouldn’t gladly take a bullet, a lethal injection, or the most excruciating disease known to man if it meant keeping her child safe. No. It would decimate her because then he’d grow up without knowing how much she loved him. He’d have to navigate this crazy world without a mother to be there for him unconditionally, to regale him with stories before bed, to kiss away his boo-boos, and to lift him up when he discovered that hearts could break.
Belle knew firsthand how hard this could be—having that sort of love for a short period and then having it stripped away with no explanation. She’d spent most of her adolescence wondering how her own mother could have abandoned her children—even though their father messed up; even though they had to trade their lavish manor house for a cramped cottage in the woods; even though someone else came along and promised to keep up the lifestyle to which she’d grown accustomed. She still could have had a relationship with her kids. She could have moved down the block. She didn’t have to disappear off the face of the earth. And now, finding herself in almost the exact same position two decades later, her mother’s actions still seemed unfathomable. In fact, the only thing Belle’s parenting books hadn’t prepared her for was the intensity with which she would love her baby. She couldn’t imagine this could ever change. But then again … it was her mother’s blood that coursed through her veins. And to a degree, she was seconds away from doing the same exact thing.
“Just remember that this is only temporary,” Penny assured her as they watched the sea of people spilling out on the streets below. From what she heard, it stretched ten blocks south and filled the entire east side of Carpale.
“The only thing harder than leaving my baby is having to pretend it’s a cause for celebration,” she said as Penny wrapped her arm around Belle’s shoulders and rubbed the pocket of Rye’s tiny flannel shirt.
“This is an adorable outfit,” she said, pasting on a huge smile and then glancing toward the window. “And they’re here because they love you. If anything, take comfort in that.”
Belle choked back another wave of tears, not that she really had any left to shed. They’d been coming for almost twenty-four hours now, ever since she returned to her room after the arraignment. She knew Penny had a point. She knew that the people waiting below—with their cameras and their homemade signs and their flowers—meant well. They just wanted her to know that the baby she carried had a special place in their hearts too, and that she would always be their “hero”—as one woman put it—if not their queen. But knowing this didn’t make it any easier to smile through the most emotionally gutting day of her life.
“We can go whenever you’re ready,” said Penny, who’d offered to be Belle’s chauffeur in light of Rapunzel’s absence and her preference that Gray stay off the media’s radar for as long as possible. She was surprised that they hadn’t already started asking questions about him—a handsome bachelor “groundskeeper” who just so happened to be front and center during both of her trips to the hospital—and wasn’t eager to push her luck. “There’s no rush, of course,” her friend added. “You take as much time as you need.”
Belle nodded and thanked her, even though she knew it was a lie. In the fifteen minutes since her arrival, Penny’s phone had chimed almost as many times as Belle had blinked.
“How’s Letitia taking all this?” she asked, snooping over Penny’s teal cashmere shoulder to catch a massive group text with the entire LeBlanche clan. “I’m sure she expected her wedding to be saturating the news this week. Instead it’s a brief mention on page two, not including the news about the flood. Believe me, I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat.”
“Well, she’s certainly not happy about it,” Penny said, fingering an angry reply into her phone. It was answered two seconds later with three more chimes. “But I’ve definitely dealt with worse. Maybe with everything else that’s going on, she’s finally realizing that she isn’t the center of everyone’s universe. Or maybe she’s just relieved that I can’t take Logan away from her once we’re glued to the throne.”
As if sensing Penny’s frustration, Rye began to squawk and squirm in Belle’s arms. Then his furry little head shook from one side to the other and an entire fist flew into his mouth.
“Is he hungry?” Penny asked, finally dropping her phone against a pumpkin orange ballet skirt.
“Maybe. But let’s try this first,” Belle said, laying him under a fabric mobile
in a play gym Kirsten had brought from home. She cooed and “shushed” to him while winding up the music box. “Hey. See the elephant? Ooh. And what’s that? A monkey? Do you know what the monkey says?”
Rye giggled and kicked his legs as she attempted to imitate a monkey. Then he yanked off his sock, rolled onto his stomach, and tried to eat a chunk of crinkly fabric that dangled off the mat.
“I could watch this all day long,” she said, not taking her eyes off him for a second. She almost added, “I’m going to miss this,” but she didn’t—partly because saying it out loud wasn’t going to change anything, and partly because she was still hoping for a miracle. When the music stopped playing, she cranked the dial fourteen times until it started over. Then, about halfway through, she did it again.
“You said Gray found the rings, right?” Penny asked, the concern in her voice undeniable.
Belle nodded. Yes, Gray had called her around three o’clock that morning to say he’d just uncovered the remains of a jewelry box—and in addition to a handful of charred gold and silver pieces, there were two chunky platinum rings with red diamonds that appeared to be completely unscathed. Charms. Indestructible to everything but magic, just like Ruby had said.
She’d actually missed the call, but he left a voicemail and she decided against calling him back. He sounded exhausted, for one thing, and almost an entire week had passed since they confessed their feelings for each other. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the crackle of the fireplace, feel the tension in the air, see the way his eyes—all wide and stormy—seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. Just thinking about it now made her heart curl up a little inside her chest. She’d never felt such passion before Gray. She’d never wanted anything with such ferocity before (except perhaps a child, but those feelings were completely different). In that moment, when she debunked his whole “I can’t fear” story because he feared losing her, she felt as if not kissing him would be on par with not breathing. If she didn’t let her feelings out—and if he didn’t say he felt the same—they might consume her like a uranium core, decaying for eternity.
