What Once was Mine by Liz Braswell

Author:Liz Braswell [Braswell, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group
Published: 2021-09-07T00:00:00+00:00

She awoke a little after the sun rose. Someone had very thoughtfully put a blanket over her body and a soft bunch of hay under her head. That was three nights outside on the ground, now; up until leaving the tower she had slept only on a bed, with pillows.

“Like a princess,” she said a little ruefully. She stuck her nose deeper into the hay and inhaled: it smelled amazing. Sometimes she caught that scent at the end of summer, when people she couldn’t see slowly turned the faraway fields from blankets of gold into patches of tan and brown.

“Well, we were going to feed that to the goats…but maybe they won’t want it now.”

Rapunzel sat up. Flynn was leaning against the side of the house, legs crossed, an ironic smile on his face. He must have been up for a while; he had obviously taken pains to wash his face and neck and arms (at least; that was just all Rapunzel could see) and straighten his hair so it was parted dashingly to one side. She wondered, for a moment, whose comb he had borrowed, or if he had his own stashed away somewhere like his knives.

He was stupidly, ridiculously handsome.

Even with the stupid, ridiculously fake smile on his face.

Not at all the worst thing to wake up to.

She suddenly felt her stomach clench: princesses always married princes. Or kings. If they did what they were told for the good of the family.

“I’ll deal with that later,” she told Pascal.

“What?” Flynn asked, leaning forward to hear better.

“Nothing,” she called out, standing up. She grabbed the quilt as she did so and with a few well-practiced shakes and flourishes folded it in precise thirds, and thirds again, until she had a perfect little square to put away. “There, nice and neat!”

“I doubt many princesses could do that,” Flynn drawled.

“Oh, please,” she said, sweeping by him to the cottage. Nothing could take away from her good mood. Sleeping outside was intoxicating. The sky was that bright, clear shade of blue that spoke of a full day of good things and promise. She was hiding out at a real white witch’s house with her two friends and Pascal, and was about to learn the secret of controlling her magical hair.

It appeared that everyone had been up hours before her: whatever they had slept on had all been straightened away now, perhaps the mats or mattresses rolled up and stored in a cupboard. Gina’s mother stood as if waiting for her just inside the door, gnarled root cane in her hand.

“Ah, good morning, Sleeping Beauty! That Flynn fellow and my daughter have left to patrol the woods around us to make sure none of those bad men chasing you accidentally slip through my spells. Or are led through them by someone who knows the arts, I suppose—though that is highly unlikely.”

That Flynn fellow did not seem to have made it far, Rapunzel noted. The thought pleased her immensely. She clasped her hands decorously behind her back and tried to sound as pleasant and polite as possible.

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