Page 26 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
“But she’s dangerous?—”
“So am I.” He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone like a promise. “I won’t let her hurt you.”
“Rapunzel!” she calls again. “Don’t make me wait, sweetling.”
I channel all my energy, trying to fight it, but my hair slithers over the window ledge, obeying Gothel’s command, responding to the spell that bound it long before I understood what it was. A spell I don’t know how to break.
Gothel appears through the window, stepping off the twisted braid of hair like a queen stepping down from her throne. Her eyes rake over the room, and her lips curl when she sees the chaos, the broken furniture, and scattered books.
And Brannock.
He’s a wall in front of me—broad, scarred, steady, spear poised in his grip. His face is etched with a steely determination to protect me, the sunlight streaming through the window reflecting off his gleaming tusks. Gone is the tender, demanding lover of last night, and in his place stands a fearsome warrior ready to do battle on my behalf.
“Well, well. It seems the fluctuation I sensed in the protection spell was right. You’ve been entertaining a guest,” Gothel purrs, dark beady eyes flashing dangerously. “How did he get in here?”
“The forest brought him,” I say, stepping forward until my shoulder nudges Brannock’s spine.
Her eyes narrow. “The forest?”
I nod. “The roots plucked him off the ground and tossed him through the window.”
Gothel shakes her head, unnerved. “That’s not possible. The protection spell only allows me to pass.”
“Protectionspell?” I spit. “Don’t you mean, imprisonment spell?”
She stills. “Oh, sweetling. Whatever nonsense you’ve been dreaming?—”
“I’m not here because you wanted to protect me or keep me safe. I’m your prisoner. You did something to me, to this place, to make sure I could never leave.”
Gothel steps forward. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” Her eyes narrow at Brannock. “The orc has infected you. I can smell it. Filthy, rutting?—”
The words wither on her tongue as Brannock lifts the spear. “Try me, hag,” he growls. “One more step, and I’ll gut you for breakfast.”
A cruel smile splits her face as she looks at me. “Oh, how precious. The beast thinks himself your protector. No, darling girl. You don’t belong to him.” Her eyes glitter black. “You belong to me.”
“No.” I raise my chin. “I belong to myself.”
“I’m the only reason you’re alive,” she hisses, losing the rein on her anger. “The only reason your power didn’t tear you to pieces. You don’t even know what you are!”
I school my expression to hide my fear. “So enlighten me.”
Her lips curl in a sneer of disdain. “You were never meant to survive. You were born in the heart of the forest, the child of wild magic and dying blood. Your mother was a dryad—half-faded, half-mad—and your conception was a magical accident. You were born during a celestial convergence, screaming with power.I found you at the edge of the ley lines. Unprotected. Glowing.” Her sneer morphs into a self-satisfied smirk. “So I claimed you.”
Brannock shifts beside me, fury rolling off him like a storm.
“You were a gift, Rapunzel. I was dying when I stumbled upon you, but your magic healed me. I took you in, sheltered you, raised you. I gave you purpose.” She paces now, her hands weaving in the air like she’s painting her version of the truth over mine. “But your magic leaked into the world unchecked. I couldn’t bottle it—believe me, I tried. So I built the tower and anchored it to your hair. I fed your magic into the stone and the wood and the roots and let it grow. And once it bloomed…” She bares her teeth. “I harvested it.”
My mouth drops open, and nausea roils in my stomach. “You’ve beenfeedingon me? Like a parasite?”
She claps mockingly. “And it was all going so well untilhearrived. It seems the forest is fighting back by bringing him here.”
Her words click into place in my mind. Even bound, the forest still knew me. It couldn’t free me, so it sent mehelp. It sent mehim.
The thought has barely registered when Gothel raises both hands… and the walls erupt.
Roots spear through stone like the wet crack of breaking ribs, thick as boar tusks and slick with sap. Brannock shoves me aside as one slams him to the floor with a sound that empties my lungs. Another coils around his thigh, jerking his leg out straight. A third clamps his shoulder, pinning his blade arm. Wood splinters as the room pitches and dust rains from the ceiling like ash.
“No!” I lunge, but the tower bucks under me, flinging me.
