“I’m so glad you came,” I gushed, self-conscious, hyper, and unsure of myself. I did not rush to embrace him as I did in the past.

“I told you I would,” Ansel said, easing into a sitting position on my chest. He wore a green doublet that brought out the color of his eyes.

I flushed. “I want to apologize for the other evening. I realize I hurt your feelings and—“

“Oh, no!” he interrupted, taking off his hat. “It is I who should apologize. I moved far too quickly and I should have remembered your gentle upbringing. You are different, and that is one of the things I admire about you.”

“Can you tell me what wooing is?” I asked, looking at him shyly. I assumed this is what he wanted.

He grinned, and my heart jumped into my throat again. He had never looked more handsome, I thought. “It’s when a man asks and encourages a woman to love him and welcome him into her arms.”

 “What does that look like?” I asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

His voice grew soft. “Why don’t I show you?” Before I could answer, he moved swiftly to sit beside me on my mattress.

My heart beat faster and I couldn’t hold eye contact with him for long before his searing gaze caused my self-conscious attempts at flirtation to fail, and I ended up staring at my feet more than at him.

Slowly, he reached over and picked my left hand up and held it in his right. It was so warm, so hard and soft at once, that I sighed. My anticipation had been rewarded with the most intimate connection I had ever experienced. He did not just hold my hand, but explored it, with his. He turned my hand over and traced the lines of my palm with his fingertips, he clasped and unclasped his fingers between mine, and I responded in kind. I closed my eyes to better feel his rough hands over my fingertips. I do not know how much time passed before our entwining hands slowed and we rested them, locked together, on my lap.

“I like wooing,” I said once I had regained my breath.

He chuckled. “I like you, Rapunzel.”

I glanced up at him and smiled. “I’m so glad you found me, Ansel.”

“This isn’t all of the wooing process,” he told me after a bit of silence.

"There’s more?” I perked up.

“Usually I would write you a poem, rhapsodizing about your beauty and your goodness. Or bring you flowers. Or go on a brave quest to bring you honor.”

I cocked my head, thinking. “I like the flowers part. But soil and seeds sound even better.”

Ansel smiled. “That’s my Rapunzel.” He lifted his hand and smoothed back a stray piece of hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my left ear. My heart skipped a beat.

My skin tingled where he touched, and I wanted to cradle my face in his hand. But he might not like that. Or maybe he would. I wasn’t sure which I was more nervous about.

“Can you show me the seeds you hope to plant at the New Year?” he asked.

I smiled. “Certainly. Come with me.” I stood, grasped his hand once more, and led him down the stairs. As we walked down the steps together, I thought, “My Rapunzel. This is better than I imagined. I do want this—whatever pleases him, I want this.

Looking back, I see now that Ansel was as infatuated with me as I him. I was a damsel in distress, a maiden with a mysterious background and a trusting, eager nature. I was his secret, and it stirred all the poetic feelings of romance he had believed. He thought he could rescue me and love me to wholeness. I could not see far beyond myself, however. I only knew that I loved him for being there, for listening to me, and for telling me I was bright. I could not lose him, or I would lose myself as well. I craved his admiration like plants soak in the sun. I could no longer imagine a life without him.

Still I feared that he would not come back. Ansel never missed a visit. If he said he would arrive, he would, but I could not shake the nagging feeling that one day he would grow tired of my incessant questions and leave in disgust at my ignorance. So I compensated with what I could—he seemed to enjoy food, so I gave him my meals when he came. Some nights I didn’t eat supper because I had given it away. I tried to show him my herb knowledge. Once I tried to get him to quiz me from the book of common herbs, but he grew bored and asked if we could do something else. I looked at him puzzled. My memorization had pleased Gothel more than most other things I could offer.

“Do you dislike herb lore?” I asked, sitting on one end of my bed, my legs crossed underneath me. Music sat beside me, just out of petting reach.

Ansel shrugged. “Nay, it’s fine.” He, too, crossed his legs underneath him. I was always surprised to see how large and hairy his feet were compared to mine. He had brought firewood with him on this trip, for I had complained of the cold. With a fire burning away in the small fireplace, we were free to take our shoes off and rest in warmth.

I took a big breath and plunged ahead with my next question. “Do you dislike spending this time with me?”

“What? Nay! Whatever gave you that impression?” he asked me, looking up from the book on his lap.

I shrugged. It was difficult for me to be so open and ask such questions, but I knew it was the only way I was going to get real answers, and I wanted the truth. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“Of course I want to spend this time with you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come.” He grinned, then crawled over to my end of the bed and lay on his side, resting on his elbow and looking up at me. “I would rather spend my time like this than looking through an old book,” he said in a suggestive tone.

I smiled back, but felt fear and dread growing inside of me. Ansel was wonderful, truly, but this obsession with touching made me uncomfortable. Did he want me to run my fingers through his hair, like he did mine? I never knew how much he wanted, how far he wanted to take this. But I never said no. I never backed away, in part because I could not bear to hurt his feelings again, and in part because I feared that my refusal would send him away forever.

Ansel put his hand on my chin and caressed my face. It felt wonderful, it did, but I felt out of control. He would never hurt me, I told myself.

I smiled adoringly at him. It must’ve been a poor imitation of smile for he stopped and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lied, smiling broader.

“You’re grimacing.” Ansel drew his hand away from me. “Does my touch bother you so?” the look of dejection in his eyes hurt my heart.

“I…I,” I tried to speak, but was anxious. “Nay, your hand is wonderful.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” I finally got out. “Are we going to lie together?”

He looked startled. “Nay. I hadn’t even thought of doing that with you right now.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Do we have to? It scares me.”

Ansel shook his head. “If ever something makes you uncomfortable, you should tell me. No matter what it is.”

I had not expected him to say that. “Do you mean it?”

“Aye.” He frowned. “You act as though you expect me to leave you at any moment, or to force my will upon yours. What are you thinking, Rapunzel?”

That was the question I feared. “I cannot tell you,” I whispered, looking away from his face.

“Why can you not tell me?” he persisted, careful not to touch me.

“Because.” My voice grew softer still. “You will leave me.”

There was silence, then Ansel said, “I shan’t be chased away by you. And I’m certainly not Gothel.”

Burning tears sprung to my eyes. I blinked rapidly, willing them away. Tears only made matters worse. He would leave if he saw me in such a mess. I sniffled.

“I’m not worth this.”

“Worth what?”

“This! You. Me. What we have. What you want,” I got out, my voice wavering. I had little self-control left, and tried to use it to keep my tears from spilling over and my voice from cracking.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Ansel asked gently.

“Because I’m stupid. I keep asking you questions, and you hate it. I tried to show you I was smart by telling you about herbs, but I feel like I’m pretending. I need you here, and I’ll do anything to keep you wanting me. Anything. But I’m just not good enough at pretending to keep you here.”

“Who told you all of these things?” he asked again.

“What?” I got out between gulps of air. I turned and looked at him for second, surprised. “Who told me this?”

“Aye. Where on earth did you get the idea that you’re stupid?”

“I…I don’t know. I just am,” I said, not understanding his point. I was growing frustrated with both myself and him.

“Well it had to be Gothel who told you that,” he said. “You’ve never been with anyone else. Gothel told you that you were stupid, that you weren’t worth knowing, and that you needed to pretend to be something impressive to get attention. Does she like your knowledge of herbs? And your magic hair?” he inquired.

I turned away again, nodding. My hair fell like a curtain between us.

“So that’s why you keep telling me your hair is full of magic,” he mused. “Now I understand.”

“And Gothel’s right.” I hiccupped.

“Oh, truly?” his voice held some gentle amusement in it. “Based on one person’s neglect and their cursory appraisal, you’ve decided that you’re nobody and not worth knowing?”

When he said it like that, it sounded so foolish.

“Well, I, uh,” I stuttered, not sure of what to say.

“Gothel sounds like a terrible person,” he said, and continued on before I could interrupt him in protest. “She has ulterior motives and is only concerned with herself. It sounds to me as though her actions are more of a reflection of her character than yours.”

I had never thought of that.

“I look at you, and I see a beautiful woman who is bright and curious and brave. So very brave,” he murmured. “It is now my word against Gothel’s. But you have to decide what you are, and believe it.”

I rubbed my nose with the heel of my hand, still unwilling to look at him. My head ached from the weight of my hair.

“Rapunzel,” he coaxed, reaching out his hand to pull back my hair. “Are you there?”

“Of course I am,” I got out. I had never realized that so much of my identity was placed upon Gothel’s approval of me. Or that it could be unnatural and unhealthy. My tears ceased streaming down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry I’m crying,” I told him. “You don’t want to see me like this.”

“I don’t care about tears,” he said. “Women cry. I understand that.”

Was that something else Gothel had told me incorrectly? That tears were a weakness shunned by others?

“Can you tell me something?” he asked kindly, touching my chin again and turned my face toward his. I let him, but worried about my blotchy, red face.

“Aye,” I whispered, looking down at my bed. I couldn’t face him.

“What about me scares you?”

We had come back to the wooing, the touching again. I stumbled for an answer. “I’m not afraid of you,” I told him. “I’m afraid of this wooing. I feel out of control. I never know what might happen. What is normal? What do you want? I’m afraid you will get close and then reject me. I’m afraid of how wonderful it feels, too.”

Ansel was silent again, thinking of what to say. He once again removed his hand from my face. “I am sorry,” he said. “I had no idea you felt this way.”

“But I will lie with you!” I told him. “I will do it however many times you want, if it will make you happy.” Just don’t leave me, I begged.

“Nay, absolutely not. No noble manipulates a woman into lying together. It is just as bad as forcing himself upon her.” His tone of voice, so resolute, surprised me. “No decent man would acquiesce to your offer right now.”

Then he told me what was normal, what practices a man and a woman could do together. He spoke of hands and tongues and all sorts until I was blushing and almost sorry I asked at all. It all sounded so odd, yet exciting and dangerous. I had no idea tongues could go so many places! There were so many stages between a kiss and lying together, things I had not imagined. With this knowledge, I felt much more confident.

He cleared his throat. “And a gentleman shouldn’t say, but for the sake of full disclosure, I am willing to do any of those with you whenever you feel comfortable.”

My face burned again. I was utterly embarrassed, but somewhat secretly pleased. Now that I had much more of an equal footing, this was much more flattering.

“I can tell you now that there is no way I will ever find you less than satisfactory. You are a stunning beauty, and I am completely smitten and under your control, Rapunzel.” His fierce gaze confirmed his passionate words, and I was speechless.

“But,” he continued, “because of your background and your hesitation, I vow I shall never touch you again, until you ask for it. Even if in court women aren’t supposed to ask.” His language always grew more formal and dramatic whenever he talked of romance. I assumed it was because of his strange fancy for courtly love. 

“Truly?” I asked, giving a faint smile. This power, this control he had given me was intoxicating. Gothel had never given me such freedoms.

“Aye, my lady,” he swore, and even crossed his heart for good measure.

I giggled. “Well, I do like some things, truly. And I do want to make you happy. I just need time to adjust. But I do want you to still hold my hand and face. I like that quite a bit.” I flushed, but was able to maintain eye contact. “You can do those things. It also helps convince me that you aren’t thinking of leaving.”

“As you desire,” he said grandiosely. “Is there anything else I can do for my lady?”

I shook my head and dried my eyes. “Nay, Ansel. You are enough.”

We grew happy together, and slowly his patience and love did help me learn to accept myself and believe in my own worth. I had tied up my sense of identity into what Gothel appreciated, which was very little. The bond was strong, and it was difficult to break. With Ansel’s help I was able to begin to separate my identity from what Gothel had ingrained in me, but it was difficult.

I was convinced that Gothel loved me, and that she did care for me, she just had a hard time showing it. I tried giving her opportunities to show her love. The next time she visited, four days later, I asked her multiple questions about harvest, her work, and food—whatever seemed natural. She either answered them as short as possible or completely ignored them. Ansel always answered my questions willingly and enthusiastically. When Gothel visited me, she rarely greeted me and went straight to work on her herbs. Ansel’s face always lit up when he say me, and he always gave me an embrace. When I told Gothel I was disappointed or upset over something, she merely grunted. Ansel almost always immediately asked what was wrong. When I asked Ansel for firewood, he remembered. And if he did forget, he would always go back to the forest to find some fallen branches in the snow before spending time with me. Gothel sometimes forgot and when she did, she told me to just put another blanket on my bed at night.

It’s just their personalities, I told myself. Or perchance men are much more in tune with their emotional, relational side than women. That could very well be the case.

Ansel kept his opinions of Gothel to himself, for he knew how quickly I would rise to defend her. She was my mother, and I desired her approval and love. Nothing could ever change that.

On Ansel’s next visit, in which he brought me plum pudding, he told me, “I have to go on a hunting trip tomorrow. It will likely last a sennight.”

I tried not to gobble the sweet-food up, and instead said, “Hunting in the snow? Is that normal?”

“We have had a pretty poor season for boar. Lord Saxlon and his sons are eager to bring in at least one good sow before winter ends, and it’s halfway over now. But that means I shan’t be able to visit you for a few days.”

I stopped eating, the spoon frozen in my mouth. “But you will come back, correct?”

“Aye, of course, darling.” Ansel smiled and touched my nose. “And as quickly as I can.”

I resumed my meal, content. I patted my bed, gesturing for him to join me. “It’s cold today. Sit close!”

Ansel obliged me. “Honestly, it’s good I’ll spend some time away from you. The servants are convinced I am a fool, and the Saxlons are concerned. They have no idea where I go so often, and I always sidestep their questions. A good, long hunting trip in the Darkling Forest will put everyone’s mind at rest. And I shall make certain we hunt far east of here, so none will chance upon your tower.”

“I will miss you,” I said, reaching out and holding his hand. “And hunting is not dangerous, is it?”

“It can be, if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he admitted. “But worry not. We are all seasoned, and it should not give anyone cause for alarm.”

“Rapunzel, I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you,” Ansel blurted, as though he had been thinking through an idea for a quite a while and only now was putting voice to it. “I’m not keeping you a secret because of that.”

I had never even thought of that. Of course, I had a fear that Ansel did not wish to be with me, but none of those fears ever stemmed from the secrecy we kept. “Is that what usually happens with secrets?” I asked. “Mother keeps me a secret because she’s protecting me from evil in the world. My hair, of course.” I trailed off. I had spoken of my hair, my one crowning glory, more than enough. I had to learn to let it be, to not convince Ansel I was special because I had magic in my hair.

Ansel opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he opened it again, as though thinking hard before speaking. “I highly doubt your mother is keeping you locked away to protect you from evil men.”

I bristled, but he hurried on before I could react.

“Many romances are kept quiet because they would not be smiled upon,” he said. “At least, in the nobility. So we practice our courtly love with hidden trysts and forbidden kisses. Secret messages stitched on handkerchiefs. They never lead to marriage. Once something is forbidden, it is so much more enjoyable,” he said with an impish grin, and he leaned forward and kissed my temple.

His touch was over too soon, but I did not feel confident enough to ask for another kiss. It was amazing how fast I was growing used to his little touches and kisses. They always made me feel as though I was melting into a pool of warmth.

“Keeping you hidden is not more enjoyable for me,” I told him. I was growing more and more concerned at how to keep Ansel a secret. Although Gothel seemed to not care how I spent my free time, I knew that she would disapprove of inviting a man into my chambers. She would dislike our intimacy with one another. Gothel hated men, and the fact that I was becoming more and more dependent on one would make her furious. Keeping a romance hidden for the danger and appeal was a luxury I would never have.

“However,” I continued, “I don’t want more people to know about me. So I am grateful that you have not told the Saxlons. If word got out, people would hunt me down.”

 Ansel turned and held my face in both his hands. “Rapunzel, I will never let that happen. I swear to you, I will protect you from harm.”

His devotion and his selflessness were still new concepts to me. I looked back into his eyes and wondered to myself, would I do whatever it took to keep him safe, not for my own pleasure, but for his own sake? I smiled. “I believe you,” I said, and for the first time, I meant it.

It was hard to say goodbye, knowing that I would not see him again for at least a sennight. At the end of our visit, as Ansel climbed over the window ledge he grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I will see you soon,” he promised.

I was so lonely without him. I had grown used to his company, his laughter, and his stories that I thought I would go mad from the silence. I sang every song I knew, songs I had created and song he had taught me, over and over. I hoped that Gothel would come visit me.

Finally, on the fifth day since Ansel had left, she did.

“Mother!” I greeted her joyfully, as usual.

“Hello, Rapunzel,” she returned, straightening her skirts from the climb. She brushed snow off her cloak and hood. “Goodness it’s chilly in here.”

 “I ran out of firewood,” I told her. “It’s quite cold at night, and I don’t think I have enough blankets to keep me warm.”

“Are you using all of them?” Gothel asked. “I keep one in the cellar.”

I nodded. “I’m afraid I will catch a cold.” I wasn’t—I had never been sick a day in my life, but I was getting desperate for some heat.

 “We can’t have you falling ill,” Gothel said, appraising my face for signs of color, fever, or any such ague. Satisfied with the rosiness of my cheeks, she turned back to her basket. “Here’s your food for the sennight.”

I took it eagerly. I had run low on food lately, for Ansel was always willing to eat, and I did not have the courage to tell him he was eating me toward bare cupboards. “What is in there?” I asked the inane question simply because I was starving for conversation.

  Gothel ignored my question. “I have some new potions for you to concoct. I will pick them up next time I come. I need a comfrey mixture and several other of the usual.”

“I’m running low on supplies for those,” I told her.

“I brought some with me.” Gothel reached into her basket and brought out a large bundle wrapped in hemp and handed it to me. I smelled fresh cheese and dried vegetables. She then took out a smaller bundle, also wrapped in hemp and bound with twine, and left it on my chest.

“How is your big project?” I inquired, knowing she did not enjoy talking about it.

“It’s coming. I may need to leave for a few sennights to gather ingredients.”

That surprised me. “Can you not find them here in the forest?”

“Nay, they are quite rare and valuable. I will have to travel to the coast to search for them.”

“Can I come with you?” the question slipped out before I could catch myself. Ansel had made me bold, made me feel as though I was allowed to ask for things. Gothel would not appreciate that change in me.

Gothel turned and stared at me. “Of course not! You need to stay safe here. There is talk of a pestilence spreading along the coast, and I must keep you away from such illness.” She gestured for me to unwrap the replenishment of herbs. I stepped over to the chest and did, and found dried thyme, saffron, sage, and even Johannes’ wort and nightshade. A jar of honey fell into my hand. Our stores had been running low, and I was grateful both that Gothel was staying so long to speak with me and that the cellar shelves would be full again.

“Are you truly leaving without me?” I inquired. “I would love to see the sea.”

“Nay, no. I shall get more accomplished without you bothering me.”

Disappointed, I fell silent. “I will miss you,” I said. In truth, I had missed her ever since she moved away from me, years ago.

 “Good for you,” she said absently, checking her hands for age spots.

“Can you bring me back a lute?” I requested, yet wincing in preparation for the response.

Gothel sighed. “Really, Rapunzel! All you ever do is nag. I have half a mind to leave and remain gone.”

Her reaction was worse than I had anticipated. Fear overcame me. “Oh, please!” I begged, resisting the urge to draw near to her. I clasped my hands together in a plea. “I need you! If you don’t come back I shall starve!”

“By the deep, you are so dramatic. Aye, I shall return. And I shall even get you some firewood before I leave today.” Gothel raised the hood of her cloak and vanished before I could speak.

A few minutes passed by, and suddenly a huge stack of rough tree limbs, high as my waist, appeared in the middle of my chamber. Snow glistened as the pile tumbled apart, leaving bark and dirt scattered across my floor.

I dutifully bent over and picked up the near two limbs and began trudging down the stairs to the room with the largest fireplace. “See, Ansel!” I exclaimed. “Mother does care for me.”

It was three more days before Ansel visited. I was writing Ansel’s name over and over on the wax tablet with my fingernail when I heard a faint shout from below. It was late afternoon, usually the time Ansel would leave rather than arrive.

My heart skipped a beat and I suddenly felt nervous for no good reason at all. Still, I rushed to the window, opened the shutters, and leaned out as far I could safely manage. “Ansel!” I called out, and I saw his dark hair, his broad shoulders, and could almost make out the smile on his face, his figure a dark contrast from the snow he walked through. I fumbled with my hair. It took me a while to pull all of it up to the window to toss over, and I wished I had rebraided it neatly before he had arrived. It took longer than usual to pull him up, and he seemed to falter at the window ledge.

Finally, Ansel came over the window ledge.

“You’re here!” I jumped with joy and flew into his arms, my nerves forgotten. The force of my embrace almost knocked him over, and Ansel didn’t put his arms around me as he usually did. Confused, I pulled back and looked up at him. His face was pale and sweaty, but he still smiled down at me and kissed my forehead. I wriggled with excitement, and even had the courage to stand on my tiptoes and kiss the edge of his chin. It was stubbly and rough, but I didn’t mind. It seemed masculine, which was becoming more and more alluring to me. I grasped his arms to steady myself as I eased down on my heels, and he gasped.

 “What?” I asked, jerking my hands away.

He flashed a quick smile. “Nothing. I just hurt myself on the hunt.”

“Are you well?” I asked, concerned. “Where?”

Ansel gingerly pointed to his right shoulder. “Arrow grazed me. Well, more than grazed. It took a chunk out of my skin.”

“Has this been looked at?” I demanded, horrified. “You swore you would not get hurt!”

“I did try my hardest,” he returned, somewhat amused. “We had just come upon this huge sow, and we circled it and began to close in. Some clot loosed an arrow before any of us were ready, and it tore through my shirt and cloak. It happened three days ago.”

“Has this been treated?” I repeated, glaring at him.

“Aye, the Saxlons’ healer cauterized the wound.” He grimaced in memory.

“You should not be this weak. Take your shirt off,” I demanded.

Ansel’s eyebrows raised. “Well, well. If my lady insists. I am quite willing to remove my clothing, so long as you join me.” He smirked.

I was too intent on his wound to be flustered. “Not now! Goodness, Ansel.” I helped him remove his brown cloak, and then waited for him to remove his shirt. I was quite excited. For years I had practiced remedies and memorized recipes, but never had I treated someone. I pulled my hair out of his way, in case he should stumble on my braid weaving between his feet. “Come on, now.”

“It’s a little tricky when you can only use one arm,” he told me, untying the thread that closed up his doublet at the neck. He then pulled his doublet up with one arm, but was unable to get it over either shoulder.

 I touched his elbow and guided him to sit on my bed. “I can help,” I said.

Music, sniffing his boots, neatly jumped onto the bed and climbed in his lap, sniffing his chest. I pushed her away.

“Even better.” He chuckled as I pulled the doublet over his head, and I rolled my eyes.

Once his double and undershirt was off, I was surprised at the muscle his body had. His shoulders and chest looked hard with sinew, and the veins in his arms stood out. He was altogether different than me. His doublet, which covered halfway to his knees, was gone, and I saw his breeches and hose pinned together. I blushed, embarrassed at my fascination with his body, and forced my eyes away from his bare chest to his wounded shoulder.

There was a black, scabby bump on his lower shoulder about the size of my thumb, and some puss oozed out. It smelled foul. I leaned close to examine it. I had never seen a wound up close. It so ugly it was fascinating. “Incredible,” I breathed. “Why did you take the bandage off?”

“What bandage?” he asked, wincing as I touched bright red skin around the wound.

“After the healer burned your wound closed, he should have wrapped it in a bandage.” As I spoke, I laid my hand on his upper shoulder, far away from the wound. “You are hot! Are you normally this warm?”

“I know not. I feel off. And cold. The man didn’t wrap my arm in a bandage.” Ansel spoke easily, but I saw the sweat drop from his hairline.

I frowned. I had never felt a fever before, but this seemed like one. “Could you have a fever?” I inquired.

He shrugged, then winced. “Mayhap. The healer said I might grow hot, and it would be my body pushing the ill humors from it.”

I frowned again as I knelt on my knees by him, and put my palm to his forehead. “You have a fever,” I announced, certain it was so. “I shall make you a decoction to bring it down. And your healer is a fool. What did he do, pour wine in the wound then push a hot blade again it?”

“Aye,” Ansel answered, turning his face away from me and his wound, distracting himself with Music. She had curled up at his side and was purring away.

            “I shall return in a few moments,” I told him, and picked up my skirts and my hair as I rushed down the steps into the cellar. I scanned the shelves for the jar of honey and some dried herbs. Once I clutched those, I looked in the box for any essential oils of sage and coriander seeds, but found neither. With my arms fool, I rushed up the stairs to the kitchen, where I set to boiling water. As the water heated, I put some rosemary, saffron and cloves in the cast iron pot, then threw in some sage for good measure. I searched around for a rag to use as a bandage. As the water began to bubble, I smoothed back my hair and grinned. I had never felt so useful in my life. This was not only pleasurable, but helpful. It was a marvelous feeling.

Finally, the decoction was finished and I poured the herbal tea into a wooden tumbler. Careful not to spill it, I held the rest of the herbs, honey, and rag in one hand and the tumbler in the other, and made the last ascent back to my chamber. I found Ansel lying on my bed, boots and all, eyes shut, with Music poised to lick his exposed wound.

“Music!” I hissed.

Her eyes turned back, she looked up at me with wide, black eyes. I snapped my fingers at her, and she stepped away from Ansel, arching her back as she did so. I sat on the edge of the bed, in Music’s place, and whispered, “Ansel? Are you awake?”

He grunted.

“I need you to sit up. I have some tea for you to drink.”

He grunted again, and after waiting for a few heartbeat, I poked his side.

“What was that for?” he exclaimed, sitting up far too quickly, which ended in a groan.

“Here,” I said, comfortable in my role. I handed him the hot mug. “Sip it slowly, but drink all of it. It will help bring down your fever.”

Ansel obeyed, and I turned to mix together a poultice on my lap. I scooped out a glob of honey and wiped it on the bandage, then crumped some dried Johannes’ wort leaves and yarrow flowers into the mix. I hesitated. Maybe an infusion of yarrow would be better.

“This is a most bitter tea!” Ansel exclaimed. “Do I have to drink all of this?”

I took another glob of honey and stuck my finger in his mug. “There. That should sweeten it.” I scraped the honey off my finger along the edge of the cup, then went back to mixing the poultice on the bandage. Well, this would have to work. I screwed the lid back on the honey jar and set the remaining herbs aside, on my chest. Then I took the loose bandage in both hands and leaned over to his arm. “Stay still,” I told him firmly, reveling in my authority. I put my head close to his black burn and spit in it, as much as I could manage.

“What was that for?” he asked, insulted.

I waited to answer until I had placed the bandage around his wound and tied it neatly. “It keeps it from becoming inflamed. All healers spit in the wounds.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but I was sure I had read it somewhere.

“Finish you tea,” I told him gently, “then you can rest if you like.”

Ansel took one last swig of his tea. “I knew you’d take care of me,” he said, then lay down on my bed.

I smiled. Healing was an art and part of the magic of the earth that I had studied my whole life, and I only realized now how much I loved it. I loved that I could take Ansel’s wound and make it better, that I could use herbs that few knew how to even identify and do good with it. The purpose and agency it gave me made my heart want to soar.

As the eventide wore on, however, and Ansel still slept, I became restless and impatient. I ate my dinner and extinguished the fire in the kitchen. I swished water with rosemary ash in my mouth as usual, then crept back upstairs to my chamber, a single candle lighting my way. I unlaced my dress in the back and slipped out of it, leaving me only in my kirtle and shift, shivering. I wrapped my braid around my shoulders and edged closer to the chest and the fireplace.

As I sat on the chest and stared at Ansel’s sleeping form in the dimness, frustrated thoughts began to emerge from the back of my mind. I wish he hadn’t been wounded. We haven’t talked since he took that tea. This is boring, I grumbled as I massaged the back of my aching head. If he wasn’t hurt I could be enjoying myself right now. A sudden thought broke that chain. How dare you, Rapunzel! I chastised myself. He is wounded and the burn could still become inflamed, and all you are upset about is that you haven’t been sufficiently amused today. Is that all he is to you? Someone to fulfill your needs? What of giving for him?

Embarrassed by my previous sulking, I realized how, in my own insecurities, I so often looked to Ansel to fill all my needs and desires. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t doing it right now—he was unable! Perhaps this is why my identity should be based upon me, I mused. If I do not love myself, I will always look to Ansel for everything, which he is not providing right now. I realized that I could expect Ansel to be everything for me, and be unhappy that he was sleeping his pain away, or I could accept that I needed to be content with myself first, and be much happier that way.

Tears sprang to my eyes. Wasn’t this something Gothel was supposed to have told me? Wasn’t she the one who, as my mother, should have taught me to love myself and love others? The only person I know how to truly love was Gothel, but as Ansel talked more and more about the idea of love and friendships, I wondered if I even knew how to love Gothel. Wiping the tears away with the heel of my hand, I crawled in my bed beside Ansel. It was a tight fit, but I took much comfort from his steady breathing and warm body. I snuggled underneath the covers and curled on my side, facing his back, and tried to sleep.

I woke early in the morn with Ansel’s arm flung across my throat and his knee in my stomach. I carefully picked up his arm and pushed it toward his body and turned away from Ansel, so his knee was at my back. Ansel snorted in his sleep, rubbed his nose, and cast his arm back across me. I let it curl around my side and pulled the cover back over us. It was warm and soft, and I was unable to resist the bed and Ansel. There was nothing like waking in the morn with warmth all the way down to your toes and someone to share that with. Even though Ansel was sprawled across my bed and kneeing me in the back, his breath hot on the back of my neck, it was the most glorious piece of perfect I had experienced in many, many years. I could wake up like this forever. I drifted back to sleep, resting easy under the heavy covers, Ansel’s arm, and the assurance that someone was with me.

“Rapunzel,” Ansel whispered in my ear. “Rapunzel.”

I was dredged from my sleep and opened my blurry eyes in confusion. I turned my head back toward Ansel. “What?” I murmured.

“Nothing, I just wanted to see if you were awake,” he whispered again.

I grunted. “I am now.” A tail flicked on my face and I brushed it away.

“Music crawled up on your corner of the bed. She’s purring, so I let her be,” Ansel told me.

“She does that a lot,” I said.

Ansel shifted under the covers and put his left arm under me and drew my back against his chest. It was hot, almost uncomfortably so, but I didn’t mind. His arms wrapped around me, his hands tucked under my chin.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I was too drowsy to be nervous, even though I felt the length of his body and his legs with my own.

“Taking advantage of the situation,” he said, smelling my hair. “Imagine my surprise when I awoke to a beautiful girl lying beside me,” he added with a grin.

I lay my head back down and closed my eyes. “I was tired last night,” I defended. I felt his bare chest and felt a thrill pass up and down my spine.

“I’m not complaining.”

“This is wonderful,” I admitted. I sighed. “I could do this with you forever.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he agreed.

We stayed that way for a while, until it grew too hot, and I turned around, dropped my hair over the side of the bed, and faced Ansel. Our bodies didn’t touch as much this way, but our faces were still close to one another.

“How do you feel?” I asked him. “How’s your arm?”

“Much, much better.”

“Is your fever gone?” I asked, and lifted a hand to his brow. It seemed cooler, but it was hard to tell.

“My nurse always kissed our brows. She said she could tell much better than a hand.”

“I don’t see how,” I said. “Unless your lips are more sensitive that your hand.”

He nodded.

I reached up and pressed my lips to his forehead. “I can’t tell,” I said after a heartbeat, and lay my head down again. “Mayhap you have to have touched the person for many years to tell.”

 “She said she knew because she helped raise us. She said mothers usually are able to do these things.”

Silence thickened between us, and I stared at his eyes. The green was a darker shade today, almost brown, hooded by his dark eyebrows. Ansel’s scruff was getting longer, but it did make him look older and manlier. He stared back at me. He raised his hand to cup my jawline, and I welcomed the touch.

“Can we stay here all day long?” he murmured. “It’s so cold outside.”

“Why not?” I returned.

He continued to look at me until his gaze faltered and his eyelids began to droop. Slowly his breathing steadied and his eyes stayed shut. Ansel had fallen asleep with his hand on my face, so I didn’t move, but drifted off again too.

Ansel didn’t leave me until the late afternoon. When we did finally get out of bed, I examined his burn. It was doing much better, and I thought the honey was doing well to keep it from becoming inflamed. I helped him put his shirt and doublet back on, and he kissed both my cheeks and my nose afterward.

“I do need to go. The Saxlons must be wondering where I am,” he told me. “But before I do, I brought a gift for you. Rapunzel, you were always on my mind and I miss you dreadfully. So here is something I brought for you.” With a sheepish smile, Ansel picked up his hat and a little bag fell out. He handed the drawstring bag to me. It had been years since I had received a gift, I hardly knew how to accept it.

“Thank you!” I breathed. I pulled the drawstrings open, and six hairpins, the length of my palm to the tip of my middle finger, fell out into my hand. They were white, probably made of bone, with painted roses at the ends. “Oh my,” I whispered. “These are beautiful!”

Ansel looked pleased with himself. “I had them made. I hope they’re long enough for your hair.”

I had never had pins large enough to actually pin up some of my hair, but these were gorgeous. “These are lovely,” I told him, clasping them to my chest and drawing Ansel in for an embrace with my other arm. “I have never had something like this. Thank you.”

Ansel squeezed me close. “I promise I will be back in a few days. The Saxlons will want to keep an eye on me for a while, since I was gone overnight. But I promise I shall be back in a couple of days.”

 I nodded, and as I pulled away I kissed his rough cheek. “I shall be waiting.”