Page 21 of Down from the Tower

Slowly, I smile at her. “Zarev.”

6 Rapunzel

Zarev is only very, incredibly, terrifying.

I listen to Cheshie hiss at him as I braid my long locks, wondering when I decided trusting a stranger is a good idea. All the lessons I’ve learned over the years disappear from my mind’s eye, and all I can think about is one thing: fresh air.

There’s a breeze tonight. I could feel the wind all around me. See the moon and my outline in the shadows. I can feel the roof shingles beneath my feet, causing a rush of adrenaline from the height of the castle roof.

I might fall off and die in the process, but this is the closest I’ll ever be to feeling alive again. I went out there once and almost slid off some months ago, desperation making me reckless. It took ages for the guards to get me down, and it’s the last time Midas beat me. This time Zarev might save him the hassle if he tosses me over the side.

But Zarev has too many questions, just like me, none of which I can answer if I’m a bloody smear on the ground.

“Come on, Princess,” Zarev says impatiently. I don’t know what kind of rush he’s in, since no one will notice if he’s missing anyway. I’m the only one who stands to get in trouble if my absence is noticed.

Tying off the ends of my hair, I look down at my shoes again. They’re stiff and hurt my heels and toes. They might be too small, but Mother hasn’t brought me a new pair in more than ten years. Can’t say I’ve really grown much since then, and I almost never bother with shoes in the castle. I just worry about the rooftop cutting my feet or losing grip because of the skin on my feet. Heels are for parties, gatherings, and balls. I attend none of those unless they need my gift.

Zarev unhelpfully had no pointers to offer when I asked about falling. I get the feeling balance is nothing to him, and those creepy shadows probably help him out quite a bit.

I’m about to leave my tower with a man that could be a figment of my imagination to walk around the rooftop of the castle in the middle of the night. To stare over a wall and see nothing but the sea. I know he’s lying about the forest. There’s nothing over there.

But he’s the only person to offer to take me from this room in years. Even my father's guests don’t offer that. They joke of keeping me locked away as well, everyone of them has the same twisted opinion that I need to be kept hidden for my own good.

Zarev’s the only person to offer me anything else. For better or worse I’ll take the leap of faith.

Cheshie practically claws my arm off when I go to cuddle him, his hisses unpleasant and annoyed. “Hush, boy. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’d say your cat doesn’t like me,” Zarev muses.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I never leave. I’m probably stressing him out.”

Zarev shrugs. “You’ll be back soon, Princess.”

And for some reason, that dampens my mood. This is only a temporary freedom, one that ends the moment he decides to bring me back to my tower.

Taking a breath, I leave Cheshie’s protesting form on my bed, turning back as I grab my cloak. “Okay, Zarev. Show me the magic. How do we get out of the tower?”

He raises a brow before pinching the edge of my cloak between two fingers. “You can’t wear this.”

“It’ll be cold on the roof!”

“It’s pink,” he replies, reaching for my neck. I instinctively curl back from his touch, but he’s insistent on grabbing the clasp and pulling it free. His fingertips are surprisingly warm when they touch my skin, sending waves of heat and something else rushing through me. Hand touch lingers on me, making me hyper aware of how tall he is. I’m not particularly short, average height according to Dorah, but Zarev is a foot and a half taller than I am. Maybe he’s part giant or a wolf shifter, but that’s just silly. Neither of those exist anymore, not with the world changing.

Zarev runs his fingers up to my chin, making my skin come alive. I always initiate touch with strangers. It’s a boundary thing, and it leaves Midas in control of the situation while I prepare to use my magic. People rarely ever touch me first, and definitely not a stranger like this man.

His fingertips are rough for the few seconds that they brush over my skin, but he’s surprisingly warm. I almost expected him to feel like ice, but he’s warmer to the touch than I am.

“Pink will reflect the moonlight too easily,” he says, drawing me back to the present. His nose twitches ever so slightly. “And it shimmers.”

“It was a gift from Camelot some years ago.”

“Of course it was,” he grumbles, looking me over. The dress I’m wearing only reaches to the elbow, and I’ve worked to have a few that are higher in the front than back so I don’t spend so much time tripping. It’s only a few inches, but it makes a difference when I’m going to be out on the roof.

With a sigh he reaches up and undoes his own cloak. It’s significantly longer than mine, and I make a small yelping noise when he swings it around my shoulders.

It’s too big and heavy; I feel the weight of the extra material pooling around me. Even the neck is a little loose as his fingers deftly close the clasp again. “There.”

“I’m going to trip in this.”

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