Page 35 of Rumpelstilzchen

The searing barbs of her black magick burned hot, and he dropped to his knees.

If Boy chose him, there was nothing Rumple could do to keep him from a lifetime of painful servitude—to keep him from certain death.

And if Boy didn’t choose him, the Queen would conscript him to her Collection anyway. Boy would remain mortal, and eventually succumb to it, and there would be nothing Rumple could do but watch his Heart die.

He lowered his head as another lancing pain slashed through him.

twenty

Rumple

“Where are you, Pet?” That saccharine tone that used to set his teeth on edge barely filtered through the depressive fog that had invaded Rumple’s mind.

“It’s been exactly two hours since I tasked you with finding my son. I had expected an update by now.”

Rumple detected the disappointment and condescension that underscored her statement. It wasn’t anything new, but it compounded his already negative self-thoughts. It reminded him just how powerless he was. The once mighty shadow geist reduced to nothing more than the subservient mass who knelt in the dirt.

“Well? Were you successful?”

He grunted. His tongue was too heavy and reluctant to form any other response.

Her displeasure at his incalcitrance flamed through his chest. He narrowed his focus to the patch of frosted mud beneath him.

“Yes, I was successful.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue.

Wasn’t he always? He was successful in every mission she had ever charged him with, but on the one thing that was most important to him, Rumple had failed.

“Good. And where is he?” The telltale sound of her hands smoothing over the thick material of her dress were at odds with the peaceful nature of Boy’s homestead.

“The mountain foothills.”

Rumple hated that she was here, even if only through a magickal connection, where she could infect Boy’s birthplace with her sadism.

“I see. I need you to—”

“What?!” Rumple barked as he snapped his head up. Despite the fact he couldn’t see her, she could see him. “What more do you need? You took everything when you took my name and still you demand your pound of flesh!”

This time, the fire she set within him was insidious. Black magick crept slowly through his shadows, lighting them up with a smouldering amaranthine heat that burned far and wide. It scorched the furthest reaches of his being and charred him on the inside. By the time Rumple realised her power could extend far enough to singe the shadows that had remained to protect Boy, it was too late.

He felt Boy’s fear and pain radiate through his magick, and he pushed every last bit of energy into blocking that connection to shield him. He couldn’t claim Boy as his Heart, nor prevent his inevitable death, but he would set fire to himself a thousand times before he let the Queen hurt a hair on his head.

Spelled to prevent him from harming her, all Rumple could do was push her magick back. She felt his resistance and renewed her efforts. Rumple fought to stand upright. The strain of their battle caused sweat to bead at his temples, and the vein in his neck to throb under pressure, but he wouldn’t relent. Weakened yet determined, he held that block in place with everything he had and faced her head on.

In a sudden and unexpected move, the Queen revoked all her magick. Rumple braced himself, gloved hands planted firmly on his thighs, to stop from falling over. His breaths were hard and ragged from exertion, yet her command came clear and steady, as if nothing had transpired between them. Rumple didn’t trust it.

“What I want, Pet, is for you to kill him. Kill my son, and this little act of insubordination will be forgotten.”

Rumple knew her well. This was far from over, but he’d done what he needed to—Boy was safe, for now.

He dipped his chin in silent acknowledgment: he would kill the Prince.

The moment the connection with her faded, Rumple’s shadows surged through the block to check on Boy. They mapped his body, checking for any sign of strain or injury, and when Boy pulled them close and held them tightly around himself, when he sank into their embrace, Rumple exhaled in relief.

He tilted his face up and took in the iron sky. Soon it would be dawn, and the Queen would visit Boy in the throne room. This next hour would be his biggest test yet. In his weakened state, Rumple needed to ensure that all the straw was spun to gold, and that the Prince died.

With one long, last look at Boy’s homestead, Rumple dematerialised. He flowed over the weir and moved upstream at speed, needing to stay ahead of the rising sun as he chased the darkness south.

Following the river wasn’t the most direct route to where he had found the Prince’s hideaway cottage, but the alder trees that flanked it allowed him to avoid those first rays of sunlight for longer than if he cut directly across the farmland.