Eugene winds up averting no fewer than five further Pascal-related incidents before it’s his turn to be cut short; as the minuet settles down, the queen herself arrives.
“We have a little surprise for you,” the queen says over the tolling of the hourly bells as she reaches for Rapunzel’s elbow. Somehow it’s already eight o’clock.
“Oh—okay—” Rapunzel looks to Eugene, who appears the picture of serenity, as if he hasn’t just fished Pascal out of another man’s wig.
“Thank you for the dance, Your Highness,” he says gallantly, and bows. “Your Majesty.”
Rapunzel’s mother tugs her away. Rapunzel herself glances over her shoulder and mouthsthank youto Eugene, giving Pascal a stern look.
“Are you having fun?” the queen asks as they cross the floor.
Rapunzel catches herself waiting for the second half of the sentence again. Usually, Gothel would follow a question like that withbecause you left me all on my own, orit was so nice of that gentleman to humor you. It’s not easy to adjust to questions just being…questions.
“Everything is wonderful,” Rapunzel offers. She’s conveniently painting over the fact that her secret chameleon is waging a one-lizard campaign to crash the ball. And that the minister of diplomatic affairs more or less told her to come back when she’s ready to sit at the grown-ups’ table. And that the slippers make her feet feel like two enormous blisters.
Everyone’s worked so hard to make this night perfect, and it’s so much more than anything Gothel ever did for herbirthday. The last thing she wants is her parents thinking she isn’t grateful.
She’d toss her sketchbook out a window before she’d admit that it might be too much. Maybe if she’d been raised as a princess, she’d be used to the pomp and grandeur, but right now it feels like starring in an opera she’s never heard of.
As she and her mother clear the crowd, a herald brays across the floor, “We shall now commence with the presenting of gifts!”
Oh no.
She’s led to a dais where guests are already queueing up. The line seems impossibly long.
The king’s hand falls on her shoulder. “Nothing can make up for eighteen years,” he says quietly, “but we hope this is a start.”
Duke Louis of Maenvale is first. “My finest rosé,” he announces, gesturing to a wine cask trimmed in gold and purple. “Five barrels. The rest have been delivered straight to the cellar, Your Highness, but perhaps we might tap this one tonight?”
“Perhaps later,” the queen says firmly.
Rapunzel makes a note to ask what a rosé is, and what she’s supposed to do with five barrels of it, later. “Thank you so much, Duke Louis, this is so thoughtful.”
Next comes a countess with a beautiful string of pearls (“How lovely, thank you!”). Then a marquis presents her with a fine mare who seems, incredibly, more at ease in the ballroom than Rapunzel (“She’s perfect, thank you!”), and an earlsomehow manages to fit an entire new carriage through the doors (“I’m…speechless! Thank you!”).
By the fifth present, Rapunzel is beginning to sweat.
By the eighth, she’s trying to find new and creative ways to say “I love it, thank you” while Minister Cressien looks increasingly unimpressed. It’s not that she doesn’t mean it—it’s justso much.
It’s all for her, all this treasure, all this fanfare. After eighteen years of hazelnut soup, it’s…
It’s not justsomuch. All of it—it’stoomuch.
Finally, after a present Rapunzel actually knows what to do with—yards of gorgeous silks and velvets from the head of the merchants’ league—it seems like a reprieve is finally at hand, the end of the line at last.
Then a tall woman steps from the crowd. She’s wearing a curious midnight-blue silk robe, embroidered in silver and gold patterns that look strangely familiar—
Stars, Rapunzel realizes. Stars charted in thread, the way she painted them in her—Gothel’s—tower.
The woman approaches the dais and bows deeply. Her hood falls back as she straightens, revealing a pale lined face and silver hair glittering with crystal pins. When she speaks, her deep voice lilts in a way that makes Rapunzel think of incense smoke. “Greetings, Your Highness. I am Councilor Teophine Trahan, emissary of the kingdom of Astera. I bear a gift from His Majesty King Enver.”
Astera. Rapunzel knows next to nothing about Astera, other than that its white seashells make her favorite pigment. And thatit’s three days there and back, but only because of how Gothel had griped when Rapunzel asked for those shells. Gothel was careful to keep any maps or history books far from their shelves.
But judging from the murmurs leaping through the ballroom, there’s more to Astera than its seashells. Queen Arianna draws a sharp breath behind Rapunzel. Minister Cressien’s brow has furrowed, eyes darting to the king. Rapunzel fishes “…ever seen an Asteran?” and “hundreds of years” and “forbidden” from the darting whispers.
Teophine’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Our crown princess, Verette, is coming of age in ten days. To forge a new working relationship between our two nations, for the first time in our history, King Enver has extended a royal invitation to attend the celebration”—her slender hand emerges from her robes, extending a golden envelope—“to Her Highness Princess Rapunzel.”
Rapunzel gulps. Didn’t Cressien say diplomacy was critical to the kingdom’s safety? He’s already elbowing his way through the crowd—it would be rude to refuse, and Councilor Teophine is waiting for an answer—
