Page 42 of Rumpelstilzchen

Boy chewed on his lower lip. “Did it work? Are you free now?”

“Yes.” Rumple struggled to find his voice and cleared his throat. “Yes, it worked.”

Boy released his lip and lowered his gaze. Silence permeated the space between them, and Rumple couldn’t resist reaching up with a newly solidified arm to cradle the side of Boy’s head. The more he touched him, held him, the more he revitalised.

“So why…?” Boy hesitated. “Why did you come back?”

The space where Rumple’s Heart should have been stung. Boy had no idea how important he was—because he’d never been told. Not by his father, who’d willingly sent him to the palace as tithe, and not by Rumple.

A sudden urge for sincerity struck, and Rumple commanded his shadows to form a low lying cot on which to seat his human. To answer his question truthfully, Boy needed better than to be lying in the cold and grime.

Rumple’s shadows took a supportive hold of Boy, and transitioned him to sit on the edge of the bed, then ensconced him within their dark shroud. Only Boy’s head and neck, as well as his grubby and scratched bare feet, remained visible, and Rumple’s anger at Queen Schön renewed at the reminder that she had dragged him here from the throne room without the protection of his shoes.

Rumple knelt before him and placed Boy’s feet on his thighs in an effort to warm them.

“I came back for you.” The simple words exposed Rumple in a way nothing else ever had.

Boy tilted his head to the side as if he were trying to solve a puzzle, and Rumple inhaled. He had teetered on the edge of a metaphorical precipice earlier and knew his next move would be a leap of faith. This was the moment he had longed for with his fading breath, but now that it was here, he found he was still afraid. How had Boy always made it look so easy?

He wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth, but when he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out. What if, after he knew Rumple’s dark secret, Boy denied him?

Boy had set him free, yet the Queen could still recast a new spell. The only way for Rumple to remain in Boy’s life, like he wanted, was to claim his Heart, but it was Boy who held all the power now. If Rumple wanted him, he would have to be worthy.

Boy’s smaller hand slowly reached out from inside his shadowy blanket and pressed lightly against Rumple’s face. His work-hardened fingers slid over the shell of Rumple’s ear and into his hair, and Boy’s strong thumb swept an arc across Rumple’s cheek.

With an exhale, Rumple found his courage.

twenty-five

Boy

Boy had never seen his Shadow look anything other than composed and thoroughly in control, so this version of him—the magnificent geist who knelt on the damp floor of the prison cell and was lost for words—unsettled Boy. Despite that, he kept his hand where it was and tentatively carded his fingers through the Shadow’s inky black hair. He might have imagined it, but it seemed to Boy that his touch helped ground the geist, and he was more than willing to be that anchor if he could.

“I came back for you because…” His usually deep timbre rasped, and wisps of smoke curled up from his black and leathery form. “Because you are my Heart.”

Boy’s hand, tangled in a thick length of dark hair, froze. He was his what? How could he, the simple son of a miller, be the Heart of a shadow geist? What did that even mean?

Boy looked down at his chest. He could just make out the off-white cotton blend of his tunic through the shadows that hung from him like a cape.

A low and throaty laugh permeated the air. A gloved hand reached through the shadowed cloak and pressed flat over Boy’s left pec. “No, this heart is all yours, and perfect right where it is.”

His Shadow had aimed for reassurance, but Boy remained unconvinced.

That same hand trailed languidly up to his collarbones, where the tips of his fingers brushed over their prominence, before they cradled the back of Boy’s skull. In this mirrored position, the geist had risen on his knees and moved closer, and Boy relaxed into his proximity.

“I was as surprised as you when I realised. I’d spent my entire existence searching for a trinket.” He huffed a sardonic laugh. “And yet….”

Black eyes that swirled with all the vitality of a clear night’s sky scanned him from head to toe, and Boy shuddered.

“Yet what I found was far more vibrant, more beguiling, and more precious than any other artefact in Falchovari.” His Shadow punctuated each description with a gradual tightening of his hold on the back of Boy’s neck.

Almost subconsciously, Boy felt himself nod. Then he stiffened. Then he shook his head. “I still don’t understand,” he whispered.

The geist nodded once. “I am not human, and so not from your realm.”

As if a further explanation were needed, shadowed tendrils thickened and pulsed around Boy’s waist and thighs. Boy arched his eyebrow as if to say “no kidding,” and his Shadow quirked his lips.

“I come from the shadow realm, where only the strongest of us can cross through the veil, but in order to remain in the human realm, I need a tether.” The geist squeezed the back of Boy’s neck. “A special artefact from this realm made to bind with my magick. A—”