Page 21 of Rumpelstilzchen

He set about providing small morsels of cheese, nuts, and even some salt-cured meats. Each one he held between his leather-clad fingers, and each time Boy sought permission before eating. Despite his obvious hunger and fear, he trusted Rumple to follow through on their unspoken arrangement, and that knowledge sent a skitter of excitement through his body.

However, it also brought up another arrangement that needed to be discussed. Boy was the Queen’s prisoner, and had Rumple not interfered as he had last night, she would have discovered Boy’s truth and he would already be dead. The numerous hessian sacks filled with straw in the outer bays of the Merchant’s Quarters were a testament to Rumple’s betrayal of them both. Not that Queen Schön could do more to him than she already had, but to his Heart…

Rumple tore his eyes from the innocent human who lapped up soft curds from his gloved palm and stared out of the window, straight at the gallows. It was dark outside now, and the silvery light of the moon seemed only to highlight the ominous wooden structure, as if it delighted in mocking Rumple. In all his years, he’d never known time to pass so quickly as it did when he was in Boy’s company.

Yet another thought he didn’t want to consider too closely.

When all the food had been eaten, Boy leaned his head against Rumple’s leg and stared up at him with a sated expression. Without thought, Rumple combed his fingers through the flaxen waves that were rapidly drying in the heat from the fire, teasing apart any remaining tangles he found.

He relished Boy’s responsiveness, how easy he made it for Rumple to know whenever he was pushed into new and uncomfortable territory, and how he yielded despite that.

Unable to resist, Rumple bent at the waist, pressed his nose into the soft curls, and inhaled deeply. Boy smelled like summer. He cradled Boy’s head in his hands, kept his lips close, and his voice low when he spoke. “Last night, I spun the straw into golden thread for you.”

Boy stiffened at the implication.

Rumple rubbed small circles over the tense muscles of Boy’s jaw with his thumbs until he relaxed into the touch. “Am I to assume, given that you are very much alive and well today, that you didn’t confess this to the Queen?”

Boy paused, his breath caught in his lungs and the pulse in his neck throbbed beneath Rumple’s gloved fingers. On an exhale, he shook his head—no.

“Good boy.” Rumple pulled back enough to tilt Boy’s face upward. “It can be our secret.”

Boy’s eyes flicked back and forth between Rumple’s, and his tongue darted out to lick over his bottom lip.

“And now she’s given you more to spin. Is the task to be completed by sunrise?”

Boy nodded, with as much room as Rumple had left him to manoeuvre his own head, and tried to look away, but it was no use.

Another nervous lick over those perfectly pink lips. Another dart of his eyes over the contours of Rumple’s face. Another hesitant nod of submission. But his Boy could do better.

“And you need my help?” Rumple knew he was coaxing him, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

Boy stuttered, his heart rabbit-fast in his bare chest. “I need you—”

At those first, tentatively whispered words, Rumple’s resolve crumbled. He pressed his lips against Boy’s soft, warm ones, and kissed him. Once. Twice. Then he licked over the seam of his mouth and was granted entry. Boy’s tongue was shy, but his submission was exquisite. The throaty growl it elicited in Rumple was genuine, as was the full-body shiver that ran through Boy.

Rumple held Boy close when their kiss finished. He couldn’t tell Boy that he was his Heart, not without risking that his little human might expose his betrayal to the Queen, and he couldn’t risk her learning of Boy’s importance. Instead, he would have to settle for showing him what he meant to Rumple the best way he knew how.

twelve

Boy

Boy’s first kiss—his very first kiss—was when he was naked, on his knees, and under the full weight of the Queen’s Shadow’s menacing presence.

Hot breaths filled Boy’s mouth, and he inhaled them deeply.

He’d imagined his first kiss many times. Wondered who it might be with, and if it would be before the occasion of his hand-fasting ceremony, or upon it, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought it would be like this. Boy wouldn’t change it—not for all the strawberries in Falchovari.

For some unfathomable reason, the most powerful shadow geist in the kingdom was as infatuated with Boy as Boy was with him.

He’d admitted to spinning the straw into gold for Boy, but given no explanation, and the only reason Boy could think of was to keep him alive for a little while longer. He’d returned today, when Boy hadn’t been sure he would, and had praised him for keeping his secret from the Queen. Had called him his “good boy” —again—and Boy knew right through to his marrow that he wanted to be nothing more than that.

It was only then that Boy realised the geist was right. Boy could have corrected the Queen’s assumption about his ability to spin the golden thread when she’d asked, but he hadn’t. He had made a choice, and he wanted to do so again. Granted another day of life, Boy wanted to fill it with choices. He wanted more. More of this. And so, Boy chose him—the Queen’s Shadow—even if just for one more night.

He chose the geist who held the power of Boy’s life and death in his hands. Those gloved and experienced hands that had rubbed over every inch of his body so thoroughly. Those hands that had fed him the most delicious food he had ever eaten. Those hands that held him now so firmly. No one had ever touched him like that, especially not in the doting way the geist and his shadows did.

Boy pushed all thoughts of the unknown aside. Did it really matter that he didn’t know why the shadows had chosen him? The question was one of those that, if left unchecked, would gnaw at Boy’s skin until it made a wound large enough to crawl under and fester, and he refused to allow anything to spoil this moment.

Not even the fact that he had nothing more to offer the geist in return than the clothes he had arrived at the palace in. Clothes that lay stained and tattered on the wooden floor somewhere behind him. No. Boy didn’t want to think about that either, and so he didn’t.