But he still looks utterly lost.
It’s like the lanterns, Rapunzel realizes. When she was watching from her tower, it was safe to believe whatever she wanted of them; she’d never been so scared as the moment in the boat, before she saw them for herself.
What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?she’d asked.
And Eugene’s answer was justIt will be.
Eugene’s parents were always lights in the sky, too far out of reach for their possibility to be limited. But if Enver is right…then that truth has fallen terribly, terribly short.
Ten
Eugene
The first and last time Eugene got caught picking pockets was when he committed the cardinal sin of trying to rob an old lady. Old ladies were universally understood to be off-limits, but like many teens, he simply assumed that meant people were missing out. They didn’t want the outrage robbing someone’s angel-faced nana would evoke.
So Eugene picked a mean-faced old crone instead.
He learned two very important lessons that day. Unfortunately for him, neither was “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
His first lesson was that mean old crones made it to a mean old age by having a firm command of every trick in the book. Including a few he thought he’d invented.
The second was one she imparted when she was done hitting him with her purse. “Give up thieving while you can, boy,” the woman scolded. “For one thing, you’re no good at it. But even if you get good, then you’ll start thinking you can swindle anything and anyone. And it’ll be too late when you realize you went and robbed yourself.”
Like most practical, heartfelt advice, Eugene proceeded to ignore it until the consequences didn’t so much catch up to him as land a sucker punch.
And that’s the worst part, really. He should have known better. He knows how a con works: You sell someone a fantasy. (A family that could make him good enough.) You tell them they can have what they’re missing. (A future with the princess he loves.)
And when they think they have it all…you leave them holding the bag.
That’s the problem with dreams. They end when you wake up.
Eugene now knows two things about his immediate future:
First, he is going to make the most of every minute he has left with Rapunzel, because “pardoned ex-con” was already bad enough before tacking on “son of traitors.”
And second: No one is going to get the drop on him again. Not even himself.
Morning finds him reverse-alphabetizing a bookshelf in the guest wing parlor, trying to ignore the red ripples left on his wrists by the brief chafe of manacles last night. He, Rapunzel,and Cressien are supposed to have breakfast in their own dining room, but Cressien’s mysteriously absent, so Eugene’s industriously fidgeting while Rapunzel works on fashioning what looks like a miniature coat for Pascal.
He must not be doingthatgreat of a job spackling over his dented mood, because Rapunzel finally says over her stitching, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I…I wish I didn’t have to?” Eugene runs a hand through his hair and turns to face her. “I thought…” Maybe now isn’t the time to throw outI hoped I might be secret royalty, because otherwise I think we’ll have to break up.As if Rapunzel’s stress crafting wasn’t enough of a tip-off, she’s got pigment under her nails, a sure sign she was up late stress drawing. “I thought I’d never find out about my parents,” he haltingly shares. “And now I almost wish that were true.”
“I don’t think the manacles helped either,” Rapunzel suggests carefully.
Only then does Eugene realize he’s been rubbing the red marks on his wrists.
Trust Rapunzel to spot a tell like that. He admits, “The last time I was shackled was…before the execution.”
He leaves out that last night, every dream started with him walking down the aisle of what should have been their wedding, only to find himself standing at the gallows.
Maybe that left a deeper dent than he thought.
Eugene feels like he’s hitting his cap for personal disclosure. And he’s not the only one still rattled. “How areyoudoing?”
Maybe he should have asked about the weather, because Rapunzel’s needle punches through the fabric with excessive force. “Fine,” she grumbles, then caves. “No, not fine. Did you know Minister Cressien is sending reports back to my mother? I already feel like I can’t do any of this right, and it’s even worse now that I know he’stellingher every time I mess up.”
“But you’re doing great,” Eugene objects. “You even got Verette to open up! You bonded over weird worms!”
