Page 25 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
Not a creak.
Agroan. Then itshudders. Deep and ancient, like something buried for centuries is waking up.
I sit up so fast that I nearly fall out of bed, clutching the blanket to my chest. “That’s new.”
I scramble for my nightgown as Brannock leaps to his feet, grabs the dagger from his boot, and pulls on his pants.
A chill slithers down my spine as the blossoms shiver and the new vines pull taut.
Theotherroots—the dark, vein-shot ones that stink like sour sap—explode from the baseboards, lashing wildly. The window slams shut with a whip of hair and bark. The oil lamp jumps and sputters. My basket skates across the floor. A thick root punches through the table leg and sends it careening into the wall. The kettle shrieks and leaps from the stove, clattering across the moss.
“Down!” Brannock barks, already hauling me under the swing of the lowest root. We hit the floor in a tangle; a gust of damp air buffets us as a vine smashes a line of books off their shelf, pages fluttering like panicked birds.
“Move!” he barks.
I scramble for the stove corner, hands over my head. He plants himself between me and the chaos, eyes tracking the rhythm of the roots like a fighter reading an opponent.
The tower bucks again. Another root whips across the room, catching the mirror; it shatters, spraying glittering teeth everywhere. Hair—myhair—rises without my consent, caught in the old spell’s riptide, lashing at the air like it wants to join the fight.
Another root crashes through the stove, sending hot embers flying. The fire sputters as smoke begins to rise. The bed is crushed. My books scatter.
“My stories!” I dive for the nearest one.
Brannock holds me firm. “Forget the books! You’re the story now!”
I glare at him. “That was either the dumbest or most romantic thing you’ve ever said!”
“Hold that thought!” he grunts, dodging a thick vine that swings at us like a club.
Brannock pants as he scans the room. The roots are still twitching—but they’re retreating, curling along the walls like sullen serpents.
“It’s watching us,” I murmur, trembling. “It’sme, Brannock. And I don’t know how to shut it off.”
He turns and cups my face in his hands. “We’ll figure it out. We just need?—”
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
My terrified gaze flies to Brannock’s.
Gothel is here.
Chapter 11
Rapunzel
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel…” Gothel croons again from below, sugar poured over rotten fruit. “Let down your hair.”
The words slither through the stone like a curse. My blood turns to ice. My stomach turns.
She’s early.
The braid coiled beside the window twitches, tightening like a muscle.
Brannock is already moving, handing me the obsidian blade before grabbing the spear from beside the window.
“Hide,” I whisper, forgetting all our training as I grab his arm. “She can’t know you’re here. She—she might?—”
He silences me with a look. “I’m not hiding from a woman who locked you away for years.”
