He did not mind working, though it hurt him greatly on certain days when his rheumatism was acting up and his joints did not respond as he wished. However, it gave him purpose. Something to do that would beautify his beloved home.
Though the castle was not his anymore, it was still the home he lived in and took great pride in seeing it stunningly on display. Nevertheless, today was a day more full of harm and despair than pride. Today pierced his heart and wounded his crippled frame more than he had felt in years.
In two days’ time all the villagers would come once again to weep over his false grave. To lament at the saddened state of his early death. All of them would come at the king’s insistence. But none would truly be there because they cared. No, they were more frightened of what would happen if they did not show proper respect than if they did.
They were sore afraid of Marcus. Even his mother was fearful of the king. And yet, they pretended to love a boy they discarded years ago. It was all a mockery! A sham!
His mother and brother could not have cared less and the villagers honestly wished themselves miles away from their commencement duties. No one wanted him. No one would ever want him again. And certainly no one wished to mourn for him either.
Tilly had left specific orders to the groomsmen and womenfolk to continue to provide the fresh hay and create the quilt for him as she lay within her sickbed last year. She had made them all promise they would continue to love and protect her Rumplestiltskin, but she was gone now. He had gained favor with the servants and groomsmen and the like. He had. They all respected his quiet, hardworking, cheerful ways. But they still revered him and feared him more than truly loved him as Tilly had.
Perhaps that is why it was so hard this year to bear the silliness that would happen below. Because Tilly would not be there to wrap her arm around his shoulder later that night and jest and mock in great humor all the patrons who had come.
How she would make him laugh! His chuckles at her remembered antics would keep him up many a night afterward thinking of the oddity of it all.
How Tilly had loved him!
How she truly cared about her little rumpled boy.
What would he have done without her?
What in the world will he do now that she is gone?
Rumple crawled over to the wall nearest him and swung his crooked legs around, so that his sore back was leaning against the elegant gold and maroon wallpaper. He dipped his head into his arms, the dirty polishing rag still dangling from his fingers, and wept.
He did not cry when she passed on nearly a year ago. He had remained brave and true as she had requested.
Yet now, now he was not so brave anymore. Now her love that had sustained him had grown cold and as bitter as the ground she was buried in. He needed his Tilly. This grown man wept for the only true mother he had ever known as if he were just the boy of five she had found all those years ago and not three and twenty.
Rumple’s shoulders shook as he wept, his tears plopping to the ground in great smacks onto the lustrous marble.
It was sometime before he could recall himself to where he was and even sometime much later before he could shake the feeling of helplessness and extreme sorrow from his thoughts. Eventually the forgotten prince worked his way down the steps into the kitchen, past the scurrying servants and into his room below. He tossed the old coat off his shoulders and slumped onto the straw-matted bed. His fingers wove themselves into the silken blanket Tilly had commissioned for him and slowly, pulling the soft fabric up over himself, he curled his jagged legs as tight as he could and wondered if he would ever know such warmth and laughter again.
He had long ago given up the thought of any woman falling in love with him. He knew he would never have a family, children, or true life of his own, but then it had all seemed fine with Tilly around to cheer him. Now, his future was so unsettled, so completely unsure, and undoubtedly full of intense loneliness forevermore.
His eyes roamed the ramshackle room, lovingly taking in every bit of Tilly that she had left for him. The old pictures she had purloined from the attics, the mock windowsill and draperies she had fastened out of several pieces of fabric and arranged over the large landscape paintings to create his own outside world. The ornaments and bejeweled cases she had found and fixed for him. The old clock, the battered toys, the candlesticks, the piles of papers and ink quills and the books she had managed to collect for him. They were all there. All upon old forgotten furniture and crates she had amassed over the years.
Oh, how she loved him! How she tried so very hard to make his life as happy as possible. And she truly did. She was a saint; an angel sent to lift his burdens and help carry him through everything.
Another tear crept down Rumple’s cheek as he sniffed his final sniff and accepted once and for all he would never be as wholly and perfectly loved again.
He was a curse. A nuisance. A crippled man.
He did not deserve the love of others.
He was Rumplestiltskin.
CHAPTER THREE
ON THE DAY OF the commencement of Prince Frederico’s death, Aubrynn Sloat hustled and bustled to prepare the small cottage for the trip up to the castle grounds. It was imperative every villager must attend or the king’s men would be sure to toss them in the dungeons. It was used as a day of reckoning—of final tax collecting and an accounting of all the villagers still under the kingdom’s reign.
Aubrynn groaned for the third time as she placed hers and her father’s lunches into the knapsack. Two apples, bread, and a chunk of cheese, yet no father.
Where was he? Did he not know the time? He should have returned hours ago—last night even, and yet, here it was morning and still no sign of him.
Many of their neighbors had already begun the trek up to the top of the mountain. She would have to leave soon, or she would be late.
Aubrynn collected the few coins she had managed to hide from her father for the taxes and tucked them safely into the pocket of her petticoat. She gathered up the water cups and placed them in the knapsack as well and then tapped her foot—waiting. Another ten minutes later had her glancing at the final crowds making their way past the window. It was now or never.
She must leave. Heaven knew where her father was at this time, which tavern he had decided to attend last evening, but it could not be helped, she could not wait another moment. Already she would have to rush to catch up to the last of them.
Grabbing her shawl, she threw it around her shoulders as she clutched the knapsack and dashed out the door. Fumbling with the lock as she closed the cottage up, her eyes scanned the small yard and fence, no sign of her father anywhere. Anxiety plagued Aubrynn and for a moment she felt she would be ill. How foolish could her father be? And today of all days!
With another glance around, she scurried to catch up to the last of the families already yards ahead of her.
Her trek took just under an hour. It was nearly impossible to keep her skirts from being covered in mud due to the rain the night before. It would seem the Fates had guaranteed anything and everything would go wrong this day.
Aubrynn sighed and hitched her skirts as high as she dared while still appearing modest and climbed the last of the stone steps leading to the back of the castle gardens. Mostly everyone had already paid their respects and taxes and were now gathered en masse over where the royal tombstones were.
She tried not to show her nervousness as she turned her back on the crowd, removed the coins from her petticoat and made her way up to the guards in charge of taxing. The very last to approach them, she held out her money.
“Yer name, miss?”
“Aubrynn and Daniel Sloat.”
The man scrolled through the list of hundreds of names. “He yer father?”
“Yes sir.”
The man looked up. “Where is he then?”
“I, uh…” Aubrynn flushed. “I am afraid he had to relieve himself. He could not wait a moment longer.”
“All people must be acc
ounted for. You tell yer father to come here after this is over so that I may be sure to cross him off this list. All those not crossed off meet an outcome they are not too eager to experience.” His kind eyes met hers. “You will find yer father soon, yes?”
“I—uh, yes. I hope so.”
“See that you do. It is orders we cannot disobey.”
“Yes, sir. I know. Thank you.” She dipped a curtsy and hurried away, praying silently her father showed up despite himself.
Already the musicians had begun their tribute to the deceased prince as Aubrynn stepped up to the end of the crowd. Men and women alike were wiping their eyes and attempting all manner of whimpers to appease the royal family. She caught a glimpse of the beautifully dressed queen as the multitude parted, just before King Marcus stood to deliver his speech.
Aubrynn looked down with the others, not willing to meet the man’s eyes. She stared at the stones around her feet allowing his words to glide over her, only catching about every third one. Soon this would all be over. Soon she could head home and wait again until they were summoned next year.
But if her father did not show, she was not sure she would even have a house to live in until next year. Without her father in the home, the king would surely take it up again. Where would she go? Her mother’s sister lived about fifty miles south in a neighboring kingdom, perhaps she would take her in? Or if she offered herself as a maid, for free room and board, maybe one of her own neighbors would take her? But no one could afford the luxury of another mouth to feed. Things were tight everywhere with the king’s high taxes.
Aubrynn cringed and took a deep breath chanting within her mind, “Please come, Father. Please come, Father. Please come, Father…” over and over again until she thought her heart would burst. Heaven knew he had never been a good father, not even while her mother and sister were still alive—but since their deaths it had all changed. He had gone completely downhill.
It was as if Mother’s presence had kept him in check just long enough to be halfway respectable. Now the man was a drunkard, plain and simple. He spent way too much on drink and slothed away the rest of the hours until his next bottle, leaving the housework and farm work to his daughter.
She was lost so deep in thought it was a few minutes before she noticed the commotion coming from the opposite end of the gathering where she was standing. It was not until the group jostled and stepped back that she was even aware there was a disturbance at all.
Standing on tiptoe she could not make out more than the shoulders and heads of all those around her, but with a glance up toward the king she could tell from the look upon his face he was greatly displeased.
“You there!” he shouted. “Come up to the front at once.”
Aubrynn could just see the red feathers of the guards’ helmets as they moved through the mass to the front of the podium. The guards stopped right below the king. Everyone around her was straining to hear and see what was going on as they bumped her aside.
“Why have you come to disturb my brother’s memorial? What is it you were shouting of out there?”
“Tis a man they have!” whispered a woman next to her.
“Who is it? What is he saying?” came the whispered responses all around her.
“Shh…I cannot make out what is being said.”
“What is your name?” bellowed the king. His head dipped out of sight clearly to hear the man they had captured better. It was several moments before the king stood properly back up. “Is that so?” He seemed taken aback.
“What did he say? What did he say?” whispered another villager.
“Shh!”
The king shook his head and then announced loudly, “If that is so, then I allow you a moment to step up to the stand and speak with me.”
The crowd surged again and Aubrynn watched as the guards brought a man up the steps of the podium and toward the king. She could barely make out the back of the man’s head as he bowed low and began to speak, but the coat jacket he had on—that jacket she would know anywhere.”
“Father!” Just as quickly as her heart soared that he had come, it dropped. What is he doing?
Suddenly the king’s voice rang loud and clear. “Aubrynn Sloat. If you are within this company, I command you to show yourself at once.”
CHAPTER FOUR
LARGE GASPS AND MURMURS broke out all around Aubrynn as she nervously stepped forward. Slowly she made her way through the crowd and up to the podium where her father grinned down.
“This is my daughter!” He smiled and pointed toward her as she curtsied. “She is the one I have been telling you about. I promise, Yer Majesty, you will be very pleased with her!” He took a step to the left and swayed a bit.
Aubrynn’s whole body went cold. Her father was clearly intoxicated. What has he said about her? What has happened?
The king’s eyes roamed over Aubrynn, his head tilting to the side slightly. “Come up here and speak with me.” He gestured toward the steps and one of the guards was quick to come to her aid and help her up them. He held tightly onto her, as if he was afraid she would run.
Oh how she wished she could run! Instead she dipped into a formal curtsy before the young king.
Rumple hurried away from the window in the castle and out of the room as soon as the king called the girl forward. He managed to make his way outside hidden behind the bushes, just as she curtsied again before the king on the podium. He was as curious as everyone else as to why the king would call the maiden before him.
From the stiff way she had stepped back he could tell she was clearly terrified. Perhaps she did not know what was happening either.
Fidgeting, she glanced away from the king and toward the bush where he was hidden, perhaps twelve or so feet away.
My! She was beautiful.
Scared, but oh so beautiful.
He was lost in his thoughts for a moment and did not hear the words his brother spoke straight away.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but what did you say?” asked the girl glancing absently around her. The group of people must have been completely overwhelming.
“I asked if it was true, this gift of yours, your father has been boasting of.”
“A gift?”
“Yes!” King Marcus was beginning to lose his temper. “Can you or can you not spin straw into gold?”
“What?” The girl’s face went white and she stumbled a bit.
Rumple watched the girl’s frightened eyes as they flew to her father. Imploring him to make sense of this all and explain himself to her and the king.
“Yes, she can!” The man lurched forward and thumped his daughter upon the back. “This here girl of mine is a magical being. You would be a fool indeed not to want her for yer wife!”
“Father!” Aubrynn reddened, her hands visibly shaking.
“Is what your Father says true, girl?” Marcus stepped forward, his finger lifting her chin up to study her features.
She flinched slightly, but otherwise remained stiff, refusing to answer.
Clearly she had no magical abilities whatsoever. “Lie to him,” Rumple whispered quietly to himself. “Lie. Tell the most convincing falsehood you can and lie.”
The king clenched the girl’s jaw. “Tell me now. Can you turn straw into gold?”
Rumple sucked in air and tightened his hold upon the branch nearest.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Rumple watched as his brother began to lightly stroke her jaw and neck.
“Good. Because if you can, I will marry you.” Her eyes closed tightly clearly repulsed by his forward behavior as his hand moved to her shoulder clasping it, “But if you are lying and cannot do what your father says you can, he will die.”
The girl’s eyes flew to the king and for a moment she looked just like a frightened rabbit facing the hunter, before she nodded again.
“You are very beautiful, you know.” Marcus ran his hand up her neck and jaw again. “So very beaut
iful. I believe you would make a striking queen.”
She turned her head away, but the king brought her face toward his again, leaning over he kissed the girl—claiming to the multitude that he would one day make her his.
The crowd roared—the girl’s own father the loudest.
She flinched, but did not move as he deepened the kiss. When he was through, he flamboyantly stepped forward, his arms swept out toward the throng, their cheers deafening, which allowed the girl to step back into his shadow. Her whole body quaked. Rumple had never seen anyone look so petrified in all his life.
When her father came and captured the girl up in a big bear hug, Rumple could just make out the tears streaming down her cheeks. To anyone else, they could be construed as happy tears, tears of relief and joy; however, he could tell they were anything but.
Marcus shooed her off the stage as quickly as she was brought up. He said a few more words to the people, but Rumple watched as the guards collected the girl and forced her into the castle—her father bellowing out her embellished achievements behind them the whole way.
He waited a few more moments until the coast was clear before hobbling back into the servants’ entrance. Winding his way through the back passageways, he burst into the bustling kitchen as they were preparing for the king’s luncheon. Sliding along the wall, so as not to be in anybody’s way, he swiftly dipped down into the small cellar—his home.
Rumplestiltskin rummaged and searched through every single thing he owned desperately trying to find the stones he had collected by the pond all those years ago. The last time he had even looked at them was on his sixteenth birthday. Tilly was convinced the pretty rocks had magical abilities and that would one day help him. She was positive because they had been in his pocket at the time of the transformation, they held a special enchantment.
After years of trying to make the striped stones correct his body, Rumple had given up. Sure there was no doubt the pebbles had some sort of zing to them, some sort of mystical ability. Hadn’t they shifted his clothing around the room and created a few moments of ease and happiness to him when the chores seemed too hard to bear? Before he gained as much strength as he had now, Rumple would constantly keep one of the stones around with him, to help aid in carrying something or moving something that would prove too heavy for him.