Page 9 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
My cock, already on edge, pulses painfully.
I shoot to my feet and turn toward the window, trying to hide the traitorous bulge in my pants. “Surely there’s a way out of here. I could try climbing down the roots.”
“Climb down?” she echoes, confused.
“The roots go all the way down the wall,” I explain. “If I’m careful, I might make it.”
She shakes her head, eyes solemn. “You can try. But I can’t leave. The roots tie me to the tower.”
I frown. “You’re tied?”
She gestures to the roots on the floor. “Tethered, remember? My hair won’t let me leave.”
I frown, glancing at the twisted mass of golden vines. It doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone trap her here? She’s not a threat. She hasn’t tried to kill me when most people do.
“Why are you locked up?” I ask quietly, trying to conceal the chill that crawls up my spine.
She shrugs. “Dame Gothel says it’s for my protection. From the people out there.” She gestures vaguely toward the window, but the forest is quiet. No torches, no mobs. Nothing but trees and moonlight.
“And your family?”
She looks down, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t remember. If I have any, they never came for me. Dame Gothel said she found me alone in the forest.”
Moving to the bed, she curls around a pillow like it’s armor. “I don’t even know if Rapunzel is my real name.”
My chest tightens. “It’s a plant with delicate blossoms,” I say, surprising even myself. “Purple, maybe. Or blue. The same color as your eyes.”Eyes like storm-kissed violets.
Her smile turns shy. “Is it? I wish I could remember. Dame Gothel taught me how to read, how to do sums, and how to cook. But I’ve only ever known this place.”
I murmur, “You’ve been enchanted.” I’m sure of it now. Gothel locked her away and fed her half-truths, doling out just enough information to keep her complacent.
She blinks. “What?”
I ignore her question. “Tell me more about this Dame Gothel.”
Her gaze drops, and she clutches the pillow tighter. “Gothel found me in the forest when I was a baby. She’s my guardian. She brings supplies. Fuel for the stove to heat food and water. But sometimes, I wonder…”
Yeah, me too. She’s been isolated. Cut off from the world and guarded by magic. That’s not protection. It’s certainly not affection. That’s imprisonment.
And I should know. I’ve lived it.
Is this Gothel a warden? A witch?
“Has she ever hurt you?”
Rapunzel pauses too long. “No,” she replies, but her voice lacks conviction. She shifts on the chair, looking away from me. “She’s kept me safe all this time. Maybe she’s overprotective. Maybe she’s a bit harsh. But she’s doing what she thinks is best.”
“By locking you in a tower,” I mutter.
She glances at me again. “Sometimes”—her throat bobs as she swallows—“I hate her,” she admits. “I hate the rules, the solitude, the silence. But she raised me. She feeds me. She brings me books and fuel and clothes.”
“And lies,” I say.
Her back straightens, and she glares at me, a touch of fire in her eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“I know she won’t tell you who you are. She won’t even let you see the world outside. That doesn’t sound like love. That sounds like control.”
She knows I have a point. A jagged, painful point that digs deep, judging by the way she flinches away from it before immediately trying to shake it off with a toss of her head.
