Rumplestiltskin (11 page)

Rumple inhaled and then slowly let his breath out before answering, “Tilly died last year from illness.  It will be a year to the date of her death in about three weeks’ time.”

She slowly lowered herself next to him.  Taking his hand in hers, she whispered, “I am so sorry.  You have had it very rough, have you not?”

He shrugged and smirked.  His eyebrows dancing at bit, before he took in her serious gaze and then answered truthfully, “Until you came along.”

She leaned forward, captured his jaw and kissed him—delicately upon the lips.  “I love you.”

Rumple’s shoulders began to shake slightly.

Alarmed, she stood quickly up.  “Is it happening again?  Are you beginning to quake?”

“No.” He sputtered out a few short chuckles.  “No, my dear, I am trying to a great extent not to cry and look a fool right now.  And I must be failing miserably and looking quite dim if you believe me to be having convulsions.”

“But why?”

“I have waited years to hear those words—and never believed I would at the same time.”  He took a deep breath, calming his soul.  “And here you are, so lovely, so brilliant—sitting in the room of a cursed boy, who is unwanted by everyone left on this earth—and yet you tell me that you love me.  I must shake for a bit.  The emotions are too strong to suppress fully.  It is impossible.  All of this is impossible to imagine.” 

She reached out and touched his shoulder. 

Capturing her hand, he brushed the worn bandage away and kissed her palm.  His blue-grey eyes looked up and seared hers.  “Thank you.”

She smiled as he kissed her palm again. “For?”

“For loving me, of course.”

She took her own deep breath, not sure whether to throttle him for his silliness like she had promised or kiss him again. Instead she asked, “What is your name?”

“Rumplestilts—”

“Your real name.”

He let her hand go and stood up.  “You know I cannot tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Because if you knew, the king would surely kill you.”

She stood.  “Be rational.  He would not surely kill me.  He believes I can turn straw into gold.”

He threw an arm out.  “Do you hear him now?  Do you hear the guards plundering the castle looking for us?  Or marching outside tearing the village apart brick by brick to find us?”

She paused.  “No.”

He stepped forward, trying to make her see reason.  Collecting both of her hands in his, his gaze bore into hers.  “King Marcus has been trained to be extremely intelligent, to look for the unseen—to be ruthless.  He is waiting.  He is piecing it together and waiting.”

“You believe he knows it is you who helped me?” she asked.

“He knows of me, though he has not looked overly hard for me—he knows I exist within this castle.  And he knows I am cursed—which translates to some as having use of magical entities.  I believe he has—if not yet, he will shortly piece it all together, yes.  Especially if you are correct and he did indeed recognize me.”

“Which in short, translates to…?”

“Once he ascertains it is me who has helped you, you become obsolete and worthless to him.  As long as he is still partially convinced you are of merit to him, he will keep you.”

“And by knowing your real name, this will convince him to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“But why?  How does that fit into your reasoning? It makes no sense.”

“You must trust me, my little one, there is much that does not make sense, I know.  But, for reasons beyond what you can imagine, you would be annihilated if he knew you were acquainted with my name.  You would be the first one he would destroy—gold or no gold, it would be too much of a risk to keep you around.”

“But—”

“I only brought up the gold to remind you not to feel too powerful in this castle—as all may shift swiftly.  As I believe it may be doing now.”

Frustrated, she pulled her hands away from him.  “I do not like it.  I do not like any of it.”

Rumple grinned ruefully.  “Yes, well, it is the way of things.”

“What do we do now?  How do we survive this?”

He shook his head.  “I do not know.  But we will.”

Brown eyes locked with striking blue-grey.  She nodded.  “We will.”  She took another deep breath and then grinned, attempting to lighten the mood, one eyebrow rose jauntily.  “And when we do, I shall know your real name.”

Rumple rolled his eyes and tried to tamper down a grin.  “Rumplestiltskin, Maiden, that is my name. It is the only name you will ever know me as.  Do you comprehend why?”

She stepped forward, her hands playing with his shirt.  “Of course, it is because you love me.  And wish to keep me yours forever.”

“Good.”

“But it is more fun to imagine knowing your real name.  I will figure it out eventually, mark my words.”

He groaned.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

KING MARCUS PACED WITHIN his royal chambers.  He great boots clomp-clomp-clomping upon the stone ground. In this particular spot, he preferred to keep it barren of rugs or carpets or the like.  He enjoyed the therapeutic steadying of the sound of his leather heels as they hit the floor again and again. 

Frederico had been helping the girl!

He knew it had been impossible for her to achieve such a ridiculous thing all on her own.  He stomped two more paces and then spun abruptly on his heel to return back the way he had come.  He needed a plan of action.  Something to ferret them out—something to guarantee his brother suffered as much as possible. 

The horror Frederico had caused this family!  The pain they have been put through because of his interactions with that witch!  To know that they lived with this scandalous secret was too much.  It was time his wretched brother died. 

He paused, his boots sliding to a simple halt.  She would have to die as well.  She would.  It was clearly obvious she knew who Frederico was, or she would not have allowed him near her.  She would not have been protecting him and lying upon him as she was.  He sneered. It was disgusting to see them in such a fashion!  Her head over his bent chest like that!

No, he must be planning some sort of revolt with the girl—something to bring himself back on the throne.  And that will not do.  Oh, no, Marcus had worked too hard to build this kingdom up after their father had died to see it all go flinging back to his brother!  His useless waste of a brother! 

What could Frederico do?  Hobble off to battle? 

No!  He could not protect them!  He did not have one straight bone in his body and was therefore completely useless for anything. 

Could he withstand the rigorous demands of a king?  The long hours, the deep contemplation, the ordering people about and making all run smoothly.  No!  He was incapable. 

He was ugly as well!  Snarling ugly!  My brute!  There were few people in the world who did not shriek in terror the second they met him.  How does he believe he will inspire the people?  He is nothing to look at.  A simpleton.  A cripple-wasted-use of a person.  No villager would wish for such a king as he was. 

No one would fight for him or go to battle for him.  They would certainly not pay their taxes or anything else they were expected to do—as is the royal family’s right to have them do.  This whole kingdom would go to complete ruin within a fortnight. 

Urgh!  Marcus stepped forward and slammed his fist into the highboy dresser in front of him.  The pain was dull compared to the loathing swimming within him.  His brother—his worthless, grotesque brother deserved to die. 

Ha!  He glanced toward the ceiling.  The irony that they had been celebrating his death all these years—truly it was remarkable.  Especially when the festering pig was living here, gorging himself off of their wares, pilfering what he could—stealing from his own family.  All the while they turned a blind eye—allowing him to live—and pretended he was dead, to have such a thing happen now.  The traitor. 

It was time—more than time—to rectify this situation.

He picked up the small statue of his father in front of him—the one Mother had insist he keep in the king’s chambers—and weighing it in his hands, he allowed it to bounce up and down a few beats until he suddenly hurled it through the window closest to him.  The glass shattered—its glittering fragments were no match for the heavier weight of the old king’s replica.  With satisfaction, Marcus watched the thing flip and fall several feet before slipping out of his view. 

There.  There, now that is a better place for his father’s likeness.  He had never enjoyed looking at it. 

The sharp breeze of the morning swept into the room and Marcus glared at the broken window.  “Thomas!” he shouted. “Thomas!”

A short, pudgy man ran into the room.  “Yes, Your Majesty?”  He bowed low.

“My window is broken.  See that it is fixed immediately.  I do not appreciate the chill wind that has been streaming through it.”

Thomas’s mouth gaped open as he beheld the shattered pane. 

“What are you staring at?  Fetch someone to fix it this instant.  Do not stand about gawking like a child.  I want warmth back in my rooms again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Thomas bowed once more and scurried from the rooms.

Slamming the door shut, Marcus spun on his heel and began pacing the floor again.  His mind traveling back to all that gold they had collected this morning.  He smirked.  There is so much they could do with it—ah, perhaps it was not a bad thing his brother was alive a bit longer.  Perhaps not a bad thing at all.

His eyes gleamed.  More.  He needed more and then he would kill him!

He stopped and put his hands on his hips.  If there was some way he could weasel the girl and his brother into coming up to the tower again, he could get his gold and then have them both hung for treason. 

He rubbed his mouth a moment, pondering the proper way to go about doing such a thing.  If he took the girl, Frederico would most likely do something rash, so she must be involved as well.  They needed to believe he was not onto their plan.  He needed them to trust him—meanwhile, while they were creating the gold, he would be preparing the henchmen for their hangings at dawn. 

This time, he would not give her warning.  This time he would enter and seize them both. 

He just needed something to nudge them both to do all he asked of them.  What leverage did he have?  What would bring her to him—bring them both out of hiding?  He paced a few moments more before he halted and spun toward the door. 

“THOMAS!” He shouted so loud the chandeliers rattled.  “THOMAS!”

The man hurried into the room, panting and stuttering.  “Yes—yes, Your Majesty!  I am here.”  He bowed low.

“Bring me that fool, Mr. Sloat!  It is time he pays for his lies.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

RUMPLE CAME INTO THE room, his arms heavy laden with oodles of food.

“My goodness!” Aubrynn exclaimed as she rushed forward to help him. “How in the world will we ever eat half so much food? Let this be a remembrance for later, you like to eat!” She was so busy helping him unload the mass, that she did not see the stress upon his features straight away. “Indeed, I fear you have brought enough to feed a small army.” Chuckling, she followed him to the crate with the silver tray upon it, and helped set down the bread and cheese bundles she had taken from his arms. “So what did you bring for us?”

Rumple set the rest of his load on the ground near the crate. His heart hammering as his mind raced. How will he tell her? She needs to know. “I bring bad news, actually.”

Aubrynn’s hands stilled in the midst of opening a bundle. “The king?” she asked.

He cleared his throat and then turned to face her. “Yes.”

“What has he done?”

“It is your father; he has removed him from the holding cell and chained him up in the dungeon.”

Aubrynn dropped the cloth, her hand flying to her mouth. “What do we do?”

“The king has sent word, through the servants, that he wishes to speak to us both in his throne room immediately or your father will die.”

No. She shook her head. “We cannot go there! It is most likely a trap.”

Rumple shrugged. “Do we have a choice?” He walked a couple of paces away and looked around the room. “It was clearly obvious as well that he knew we were here. Since the message was addressed to ‘that filth living beneath my kitchens.’”

“He is such a charming man.”

He headed toward the makeshift dresser. “Gather the food you would like now and eat as much as possible. It may be your last meal for a while.” He rummaged around until he pulled something out of a small chiseled box. “We will each take two stones with us, In case we need them to flee. Tuck one in your petticoat, or somewhere the king will not think to look, and keep the other close by.” Stepping forward, he handed her the two stones. “Have you found something to eat?”

“I really do not believe I could eat much right now.”

He looked at her worried features, his hand going up to brush her cheek. “Aubrynn, all will be well, I promise you.”

She nodded and closed her eyes briefly; resting her cheek in his palm for a few seconds, before stating, “Let us hurry. I cannot have my father’s death hanging over me.”

“He will not die.”

“No. He will not.”

By the time Rumple had led her to the King’s throne room, Aubrynn was a complete jumble of anxiety. She placed her trembling hands behind her back and clutched the small pebble as tightly as possible. They paused outside the door as the servant went in the room and announced their attendance to the king. Aubrynn could not even glance at Rumple she was so terrified of what may happen once they were inside. Her heart beat a wild tattoo at the thought of losing either of the men she cared for most. Though, what the king may do to the renegade Rumplestiltskin she could not possibly fathom—her thoughts were anything but positive.

“You may come in. The king will see you now.” The servant held one hand out.

As Rumple and Aubrynn walked into the spacious marble-floored room, the king sat up a bit taller in his ornate gold and red velvet throne. Two guards stood at attention in their full court uniforms on either side of him. “My, my, my. Look who has decided to grace me with their presence.”