Chapter 7 The Tower

Paige

Falling into Rapunzel felt different.

Cinderella had swallowed me so fast I barely understood what was happening. This time there was a strange sense of being carried somewhere, of darkness folding around me while the hoofbeats grew louder and the weight of my own body disappeared.

Then my feet hit stone.

I stumbled, caught myself against a wooden table, and laughed.

“I made it.”

My voice echoed through a round chamber flooded with late-afternoon light. For several seconds I just stood there grinning, absurdly pleased that I had successfully bullied an enchanted book into transporting me.

For once, the impossibility of it did not frighten me. If the story became too much, I knew I could leave. That knowledge loosened something in me, turning fear into curiosity and curiosity into the reckless urge to see exactly what this book had planned.

The tower was smaller than I expected, though not uncomfortable. A narrow bed occupied one side beneath a pale canopy. Shelves curved along the stone walls, crowded with books, jars of dried herbs, candles, ribbons, carved animals, and enough handmade objects to suggest Rapunzel had spent years finding ways to entertain herself.

A loom stood near the window.

And hair was everywhere.

My hair.

Golden strands spilled over my shoulders, across the floor, and around my feet in shining coils. I grabbed a handful and stared at it.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

It was gorgeous. Ridiculous, but gorgeous.

The hair reached well past my ankles. When I lifted my arms, it slid through my fingers with a silky weight that felt completely real.

A soft knock sounded behind me.

I spun.

An older woman stood beside the bed with a basket hooked over one arm.

I had not heard the door open.

Because there was no door.

The realization should have alarmed me more than it did. Instead I looked from her to the blank wall and thought, right. Magic.

She was beautiful in a severe way, silver threaded through dark hair pulled tightly from her face. Her charcoal dress was plain, but rings glinted on nearly every finger.

The witch.

“You are distracted today,” she said.

Apparently the story expected me to know her.

I smiled carefully. “Am I?”

Her gaze narrowed.

“I will be back before sunset. Do not lean too far from the window, and do not answer anyone who calls from below.”

That got my attention.

“Anyone?”

“Men especially.”

Naturally.

She handed me a wooden comb. “Finish your hair before I return.”

I looked at the impossible amount pooled around my feet.

“Before sunset?”

One eyebrow rose.

“Is that a problem?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Her expression suggested she did not believe me. A shimmer passed over the stone beside the bed, revealing a narrow doorway where none had existed before.

She stepped through it.

The doorway vanished.

“Well. That seems unfair.”

Silence settled over the tower.

For a while I explored.

The books had no titles I recognized. Some appeared handwritten. One contained pressed flowers. Another was filled with sketches of birds and distant hills. The little carvings were imperfect in a way that made them feel personal. Horses. Trees. A tiny house with a crooked chimney.

Someone had built an entire life out of things small enough to fit inside one room.

That thought tugged at me.

I moved to the window.

The tower rose above an ocean of green. Forest stretched in every direction, dense enough that the road vanished beneath the canopy within a few yards. Mountains hazed the horizon.

The world looked enormous from up here.

And unreachable.

The tower itself was not ugly. It was warm, bright, even beautiful.

That was what made it dangerous.

A cage did not need bars if the person inside had nowhere else to go.

I stepped back before I could get too philosophical about enchanted architecture and picked up the comb.

My hair took forever.

I divided it into sections, combed through tangles, then attempted a braid that immediately collapsed beneath its own weight. After the third try, I sat cross-legged on the floor and started laughing.

“This is absurd.”

Eventually I figured out the trick was working with smaller braids first, then weaving them together. I added ribbons from a basket beside the bed because apparently I had accepted my fate as a fairy-tale hairdresser.

When I finished, the braid was thick enough to qualify as climbing equipment.

I stared at it.

Then at the window.

“No.”

Surely not.

I dragged the braid behind me and leaned out carefully.

The forest below was quiet.

For a moment I wondered if the hoofbeats from the book had only been part of the transition.

Then a man’s voice floated up from below.

“Rapunzel!”

My entire body went alert.

The voice was deep, warm, and carrying enough amusement to make something in my stomach tighten.

“Let down your hair.”

I bit my lip.

Well.

There he was.

I leaned farther over the ledge.

A man stood at the base of the tower beside a dark horse, one hand shielding his eyes as he looked up. Even from this height, he was clearly built like someone BookTok would immediately make everyone’s problem.

Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Boots. Black shirt open at the throat.

Of course.

I lifted my braid but did not drop it.

“You’re a stranger.”

A beat of silence.

Then he laughed.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

He stepped closer to the wall.

“And here I was thinking you knew me rather well.”

Heat touched my cheeks.

Apparently the book had dropped me into the middle of something already established.

That was new.

“You could be anyone,” I called.

“I could.”

His voice lowered despite the distance.

“But if I were anyone else, you would not be smiling.”

Damn him.

I was smiling.

“You seem very confident for someone standing at the bottom of a tower.”

“And you seem very pleased with yourself for someone holding the only way up.”

That made me laugh.

His expression changed.

“Rapunzel.”

The way he said the name was not a request this time. It was a warning wrapped in familiarity.

I should probably have obeyed immediately.

Instead I rested my elbows on the ledge.

“What if I said no?”

He went still.

Then his mouth curved.

“Then I would wonder what game you are playing.”

My pulse skipped.

Oh.

I was going to like this one.

I let the silence stretch another few seconds, enjoying it far too much, before gathering the heavy braid in both hands.

“Fine.”

I tossed it over the edge.

The weight nearly pulled me forward.

A second later the braid went taut.

He had started climbing.