Page 4 of Down from the Tower
The walk is brisk, like it always is when Theo is the guard on duty. I’m slightly out of breath by the time we reach the doors to the parlor. The only exercise I get is during these walks, or if I need to run away during one of the meetings.
Robin, the rogue who almost got away, sits outside the door with his head hung. The horrific wound on his upper thigh, where the limb started to die, kept him from turning completely to gold when Midas touched him. Apparently the golden touch only extends so far. The magic died when the tendons and skin weren't intact, and the blood wasn’t flowing.
Robin Hood started a chain reaction. Before the people who crossed King Midas became gilded statues. Now they become tortured, half turned beings that exist but don’t live.
That’s a fate I never want to face.
He pushes open the door, keeping his head down, and I stroll in without a second glance. The times I have tried to console Robin he didn’t appreciate it. I let that bridge burn long ago.
The door bangs shut the moment I’m inside, the people within not even bothering to turn my way. The King is there, just as he always is, and Mother stands by his side with sharp eyes and an upturned chin. I guess she is in attendance after all, so it's strange that Anastasia didn't mention her. Either she's here despite the King's wishes, or Anastasia wasn't supposed to mention her.
If King Midas never cursed me, I believe I was destined to look like her. Long, dark hair that mixes black and deep brown, a dainty jaw and small hands. Her rounded eyes gleam viscously whenever someone tries to question her, and skin that reminds me of the sands I’ve only ever seen in the distance glows in the daylight.
My mother: Dorah, Queen of a land she never speaks of. The beauteous, dangerous harpy to King Midas' unrelenting, absolute rule.
“No deal, Arthur,” the King says as I dutifully take my place to the left, three steps behind the King and Queen. “We do not deal with traitors to the North. There are more than enough alliances being made.”
North, meaning somewhere north in the sea from this island. There’s no windows in the castle that face that direction, and least none that I’ve found through all of these years. Father says it is a weather thing from when the kingdom was built.
Arthur, a burly man with a head full of red curly hair and a pewter crown set atop, loses focus on the King and looks past him to me. I tense, his eyes widening as he licks his lips. There’s bits of gray and white in his beard, and he’s cut his shoulder length hair since the last time I had the displeasure of an audience with him.
“Ah, Princess Rapunzel,” he coos, standing from the round table. Father always takes counsel here if he’s planning to use my abilities as a bargaining chip, though Mother rarely joins in. I think she personally hates Arthur.
He’s the King of Camelot, and that’s about all I know of his land. Father never spent a lot of time schooling me or my professors in geography, and, according to him, anything outside his Golden Kingdom is irrelevant. Nothing in my world is important outside of the tower, my window, and the guests the King and Queen require that I see. Other than that, my safe little world is boring to the point of being painful.
When Arthur holds out a hand to me, I simply stare. I don’t like when the guests try to touch me. The faster a transaction is over the sooner I can be away from the King and Queen.
“Arthur,” the King snaps, and he pulls back his hand just as quickly. “The princess doesn’t need your affection.”
“Come now, Midas,” Arthur says, stepping back to appraise me. I’ve played this game for a long time, and I know how the game goes. He’s studying me to see how I’ve grown and changed, who I’m turning out to be.
He’s looking for a weak spot. They always are. He wants a way into my mind that’ll sway me from the Golden King’s control. Too bad no one scares me more than my father.
“You keep Rapunzel locked away in the tower,” he continues, pacing around me. From the corner of my eye I can see Dorah tense and Midas snarl. They abhor anyone who tries to get under my skin, because it’s a loss of control.
They need me more than I need them, but each time I peer down the stone tower I remember that outside of my safe little world I know nothing. I don’t even know what the sea on the other side of the walls looks like.
“Our dear Rapunzel is too great for this world,” Dorah says, laying it on a little thick today. “She doesn’t need to come down from the tower.”
My lip twitches. I highly disagree, but without someone I can trust I’ll just be dragged back to the castle to deal with the Golden King’s wrath. He is careful with me in front of company so I will willingly continue to use my gift, but I know there’s evil beneath the King’s false smile.
I see it in the halls, where figures are forever frozen, their lives halted when the King decided they were through living.
“Your sweet Rapunzel needs a taste of life,” Arthur argues, crossing his arms. “You're what dear, turning towards thirty? Quite old for a maiden who will assume the throne.”
“I’m not short on youth,” King Midas growls, stepping closer. Arthur backs up, but I don’t miss the way he smirks. “There’s no change of rulers in the near future.”
I don’t bother to correct either of them. I do the math constantly. Given my birth year, I should be coming up on thirty-five, but the cursed magic within me seems to be slowing my aging. I still look very young, even if the kingdom knows my age. I’m holding onto my youth in inhuman ways, and Queen Dorah envies that to no end.
It’s not my fault. I can’t figure out exactly how old I feel, but thirty seems to be a stretch. The royals here are known for exceptionally long lives since I was created, and now time is an illusion.
I’m not aging. It should be a blessing, but it’s more of a death sentence when the monotony of doing the same thing every day sets in. I hide in my tower with my paints and a single map, staring out a window that’s now decorated in bars and a hall that’s always haunted by guards. I might be the Princess of Tressa, but no one here trusts me.
They all know the truth. I want to escape from my tower, and each endless day drives me a bit closer to madness. I can’t remember the last time I felt the sun on my skin or grass on my bare feet. Maybe when I was very young. When Midas and Dorah could control me without fear.
“Because the Golden King is eternal?” Arthur presses, dragging me back to the moment. I prefer getting lost in my daydreams where I don’t have to focus on reality.
“Because Princess Rapunzel isn’t ready to take the throne,” King Midas says, his tone turning steely. Even if someone bothered to teach me how to rule, the Golden King would never release his hold on the kingdom.