For a moment, he looks—almost like he’s holding something back.
But maybe it’s the kick of the breeze, the shift of the dark, the echo of Gothel sneeringReally, Rapunzel?
“All of it and more,” he says. Then he brings his lips to hers, and everything, even the doubt, fades away.
Four
Eugene
The next afternoon finds Eugene back at the bow with Rapunzel, but this time in foggier weather and fussier clothes. He isn’t sure if the mist they’ve sailed into is part of Astera’s defenses, or just convenient; periodically, he sees the shadows of greater ships in the gray, but they vanish whenever a strange horn sounds from Councilor Teophine’s caravel.
Heissure he’d rather be back in his pajamas. Rapunzel’s parents have made sure he’s properly outfitted for this trip, but the formal suit is meant for summer, and the breezy fabric isn’t quite staving off the clammy mist. Rapunzel’s not faring much better in a gauzy lavender gown and shawl; even Pascal has opted to stay in her cabin for warmth.
“So,” Eugene says lightly, slinging an arm over her shoulders, “how do you want to play this? I can be your handsome and debonair consort, your handsome and thick-skulled admirer, your handsome and suspicious manservant…The handsome part is nonnegotiable, but everything else is on the table. Personally, I’m a sucker for an upstairs-downstairs romance.”
Rapunzel mulls it over. “Just…be yourself for now. I want to go in open-minded.”
“Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Got it. Any other requests?”
“One absolutelycriticalthing.” Rapunzel raises her hands palms out and hooks her thumbs together. “I need you to keep an eye out for white seashells connected at the middle like this. They almost look like butterflies.”
“For…souvenirs?” he falters.
“For paint. The powdered shell makes an iridescent white pigment that mixes better than chalk powder, has higher opacity than zinc white, anddoesn’tslowly poison you like lead white.”
“White paint is poisonous?”
“Lead paint,” Rapunzel says cheerfully. “Any color, it’ll all kill you.”
After a beat, Eugene says with perplexed affection, “You frighten me.”
“The shells could suffice as something of a code phrase,” a dry voice croaks from behind them.
“Minister Cressien!” Rapunzel manages to convert her startled jump into an awkward turn. “Good—good afternoon!”
He inclines his head. He stands polished and immaculate in black brocade decorated with a badge of the royal golden sun emblem, hands clasped behind his back. If Eugene didn’t know better, he never would have guessed Cressien had spent the first two days at sea violently ill, and the last subjecting them to three days’ worth of protocol lectures crammed into one. (Though every so often, he’d pause in the middle of a diatribe, calmly excuse himself from the room, and proceed to be violently ill in the bucket outside.)
“Your Highness,” Cressien says smoothly. “Before Councilor Teophine joins us, we would benefit from designating a code phrase to indicate to one another that we wish to converse privately. I believe bringing up your interest in these white seashells will suffice.”
“That works for me,” Eugene says, already compiling ways to shoehorn it into a conversation.
Rapunzel fiddles with the fringe on her shawl. “Me too,” she says with a touch of reluctance, “as long as wedofind the shells at some point.” Cressien blinks slowly at her, almost catlike, and she adds, “It’siridescentpigment.”
“I see,” Cressien says with a notable deficit of conviction. “Councilor Teophine will be boarding soon, Your Highness. You will not have an opportunity to put on shoes once she arrives.”
Eugene stifles a laugh at Rapunzel’s near sulk; clearly she was hoping the minister wouldn’t notice. She comes perilously close to stomping down to her cabin, and when she returns in slippers, he’s pretty sure he catches a mutter of “don’t know why everyone’s so obsessed with shoes, anyway.”
“Perfect timing,” he tells her. The mist is thinning, and the luminescent sails of Councilor Teophine’s caravel are peeking over the portside railing.
Councilor Teophine herself climbs aboard shortly after.Extremelyvaluable-looking crystals still dangle in her silver hair, but she’s in fluttering seafoam-blue silk today, and amusement tinges her smile as she bows. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. Do you find this weather cold? Kourenne summerissomewhat warmer than ours.”
Rapunzel’s face is blank. “Kourenne?”
“The Asteran name for our kingdom, Your Highness,” Cressien says in awe-already-went-over-thistone. (Eugene must have zoned out during that part of the lecture, given the sheer number ofTales of Flynnigan Ridersubplots taking on an entirely new nuance.)
Rapunzel’s laugh sounds forced. “Oh, right! I’m sure it’ll be warmer in the sun. Is Astera always this foggy?”
“It comes and goes,” Councilor Teophine says with the same catlike calm as Cressien. “Minister Cressien. Your reputation precedes you. And you, young man, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
