Page 7 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
“Agreed.”
We lapse into silence. I should be afraid of him, but I’m not. Somehow, his presence eases my loneliness. Eases something inside me.
Brannock shifts, glancing toward the window. “So… no stairs?”
I shake my head. “No stairs. No door. Just the window. Dame Gothel brings supplies every week—clothes and food—but she never stays. And she never gives me enough of anything to make a rope out of.”
“Dame Gothel?” he echoes, eyebrows lifting.
“She’s the witch who raised me. She said I’m here for protection. From what, I have no idea.”
His expression softens slightly. “You’ve been alone all your life?”
I nod. “Except for the forest animals and the occasional hallucination.”
Something flickers in his eyes—understanding, maybe. Or sympathy. The fierce lines on his face ease, and for a moment, he doesn’t look quite so terrifying.
I pause, wanting to apologize again, but I’m not sorry. This man is special. I know it in my soul.
“Can I touch you?” I blurt.
His frown deepens. “What?”
“I-I need to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Again.”
He hesitates, then offers me his massive hand.
I place my fingers gently against his palm. It’s warm, solid, and callused. Not another dream or illusion spun by the tower, but real and vital.
“You’re real,” I whisper.
His fingers curl around mine, and everything falls away—the roots, the tower, the silence—as I gaze into his eyes. There’s only my heartbeat. And his. My stomach quivers.
“I don’t know why the forest brought you here,” I say, staring at our joined hands. They’re so different—he’s big, green, and unyielding, and I’m soft, pale, and trembling—yet we feel so alike. “But I think… I think maybe it was supposed to.” I move closer, touching his jaw with my free hand. “Perhaps you need somewhere safe too?”
His eyes flutter shut as if the contact is too much. As if he hasn’t been touched with tenderness in years. “You think I need safety?”
I nod, my fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw and tracing the faint line of a scar. “I think you’ve been running for a long time,” I murmur, knowing my words are true somehow. “And not just from danger.”
His lips twitch, like he might smile. As if the idea of safety is so foreign, it borders on a joke. When he opens his eyes again, they’re softer. Guarded but curious.
“I don’t run,” he says eventually. “I fight. I burn bridges. I break things and walk away. I’m not a good person.”
I shrug. “That’s okay. I’m not sure I am either.”
That earns me a deep chuckle that does wondrous things to my nether regions. My breath catches. I don’t dare move. Don’t dare blink.
Because if this is another dream, ifhe’sa dream, I never want to wake up.
“Nothing in this forest happens by accident,” I murmur. “And you… You don’t feel like an accident.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his thumb brushes over my knuckles. Tentative. Testing.
A hush falls over the room. The kind of hush that only comes right before something important.
And then it hits me.
Not just a thought—avision,blinding and sharp.
