Page 36 of Rumpelstilzchen

Eventually, the alders gave way to the tall pine trees of southern Falchovari that created a narrow strip of dense forest spanning east to west along the foothills of the Oberland Mountain Range. Rumple utilised their thick canopy and headed west, toward the location of the mine network that he suspected the outcast Prince had made his home.

Rumple’s billowing mass came to a stop when the first watery rays of dappled orange light filtered through to the forest floor. Sunrise meant he was out of time.

He hovered a moment within the dark arbour of a prickly thicket, and reached through his shadow magick until he found the part of himself that had remained at the palace to spin the straw into gold. Exertion may have worn Rumple down, but determination had stayed his course. Had he done enough to see his Heart safe for another day?

Boy wasn’t asleep, as he had hoped for him to be. Instead, he had wrapped himself in a cloak of shadows and was perched on the rickety stool beside the spinning wheel. Rumple ached with pride. His human was the bravest he had ever known, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be worthy of their Heart-Bond.

He stayed with Boy until the last stalk of maize had been transformed and wound onto the bobbin. When the sound of the key turning in the lock of the throne room doors caused Boy’s head to whip to the left, Rumple’s bodiless form tensed. The key was retracted, the handle depressed, and when the Royal Guard cracked the door open by a finger’s width, his shadows caressed Boy’s jaw and swept a lock of hair from his forehead.

Rumple recalled his shadows. Reluctantly, they slipped from around Boy’s shoulders and seeped into the golden collar about his neck. Boy stood tall and turned to face his captor, and for the first time, Rumple couldn’t decipher his expression, but neither could he linger. Queen Schön’s elaborate skirt entered the room before her, and Rumple sealed their connection closed, leaving Boy with only his magick-infused collar as protection.

Rumple had done everything in his power, so why did he feel so restless? His shadowed form flashed between hot and cold, rippling with such force that it kicked up the dried pine needles that blanketed the forest floor.

Unable to remain still, Rumple surged from the thicket and rushed across the clearing to where a solitary cottage stood proudly. Sleeping somewhere inside was the reason he had just left his Heart alone with the Queen.

Rumple solidified in the bedroom, heavy leather riding boots firmly in place on the clean but bare wooden floor, and he took in the Prince’s sleeping form among the five, six, seven other men sleeping nearby. He looked peaceful. His dark hair contrasted with the pillow, and his pristine white shirt hung on a nail embedded in the wall above him. Far from the evil of the palace—and his mother—the Prince had made something for himself. Traces of his new and carefree life were dotted throughout the small dwelling.

A tight ball of jealousy coiled in Rumple’s gut. Could he have had something like this with Boy? Would they ever leave the palace and start a life for themselves?

He looked around the room and found it surprisingly easy to imagine Boy living here. The simple yet tidy abode would suit him well. He visualised him folding the linens that he’d hung out to dry on the line, could almost smell that wholesome forest scent on the sheets, could feel his warm skin where Rumple would wrap him soundly in an embrace and bury his face in Boy’s honeyed curls.

He closed his leather fist tightly and stepped closer to the ramshackle, nest-style bed upon which the Prince slumbered. A pinecone, which had spilled loose from the hastily made stuffing of feathers and other soft items, cracked and splintered under the force of Rumple’s boot, and one of the other occupants in a bed somewhere behind him mumbled and shuffled in his sleep.

Reminded of his duty, Rumple used his shadow magick to cloak the room in darkness. For what he was about to do, it was best that the occupants remained deep in their slumber—they didn’t need to witness this. And Rumple could be lenient when he needed to be.

He commanded a weightless, shadowed tendril up and over the blanket. It reached for his target’s exposed toes and wrapped around his ankle, ready to pin him in place. Another tendril slid further up his leg, and memories of doing the very same to Boy not three nights prior invaded his mind. He hadn’t known then how much the scrawny human with the tattered breeches would come to mean to him. He’d found his Heart that night and had wanted to possess him in an instant.

Control had been Rumple’s world until that point. In everything he’d done, he’d always sought it, flexed it, and craved it. He’d demanded it of Boy too. Had poked his shadows through the hole in his shoes, had slipped one under the open neck of his tunic, and had run them through his hair. Boy was his Heart, but he had never been his to control. That very first night, Boy had commanded his shadows to stop, and Rumple bit back the quiet chuckle that threatened to spill at this fundamental oversight.

At any point, during any of their interactions, Boy could have said that one simple word, and the shadows would have obeyed in an instant. Rumple knew then that any submission had been freely given.

More tendrils still secured the sleeping Prince’s torso and shoulders to the bed, and slowly, Rumple increased their density. The Prince offered neither ragged breaths nor fearful tears when the last shadowed tendril tightened against the hollow of his throat. He twitched in his sleep but couldn’t prevent the shadows from squeezing until his pulse pounded rapidly under Rumple’s deathly grip.

Rumple’s time in the human realm was running out. His shadows had grown old waiting for him to find his Heart. Yes, maybe if he had found him sooner, then perhaps he and Boy could have had what the Prince had. Had Rumple not become poisoned with black magick, he wouldn’t have doomed them both to a life of servitude at the whims of a wicked witch. Had he found a way to break her spell, he would not be forced to watch his Heart one day die.

The Prince’s eyes shot open as his brain finally processed what was happening to his body—but his resistance was futile. Much like for Rumple himself, the most important discovery of his life came too late.

The harder his shadows squeezed, the hotter Rumple became. Tiny purple sparks danced at the edge of his vision and he swayed where he stood. He shook his head and focused on the reddening face of the Prince, but the sparks grew larger and sweat rolled down Rumple’s back. He squeezed harder still, but when the shadowed tendrils that held his target in place burned from the inside out with bright violet vengeance, he loosened his hold altogether and took a giant step back. What was happening?

He held his gloved hands palm up in front of him as the plum-coloured glow immolated each finger in turn before smouldering up his arms. When it reached his chest, it burned more fiercely than anything Rumple had ever known. He curled in on himself and then unleashed a pained roar loud enough to shake the dust and dirt from the thatched roof above him.

Indigo smoke rose into the air from the protective cocoon of shadows that surrounded him, and the acrid stench of black magick filled his lungs. Rumple’s breaths were raw and gasping, each one cut at his throat. He dry-heaved and lowered his head to the floor.

The space where his Heart should have been thrummed, and his shadows chanted relentlessly to its beat.

His only lucid thoughts were of Boy. His Heart.

Then he felt it. Like the cut of a ship’s anchor in a raging storm, his tether to the Queen snapped.

twenty-one

Boy

Boy hadn’t understood half of what had happened in the last few hours.

The bolt of unadulterated terror that had shot through him at the sight of his Shadow, driven to his knees by the pain of the Queen’s summons, had just been the start. He’d paced, unsettled despite the shadows that had remained to comfort him. Since the moment he’d met the geist, Boy had wondered why he had chosen to work for her, and now he knew. He hadn’t. He was as much her prisoner as Boy was.

In the hours that had passed, the shadows had helped him learn everything he needed to know. Through their connection, they’d shared the private conversations between the geist and the Queen, and Boy had uncovered a plot to kill the Prince of Falchovari, but that wasn’t the knowledge that held his mind captive. The words, “You took everything when you took my name,” haunted Boy’s thoughts.