"Is
your name Charles? Oliver? Harold?" Gwyneth's pulse pounded,
and she
shivered despite the fact she held the precious trump card
up her sleeve.
Her husband King Midas, the courtiers and soldiers all
looked on, frozen
as they had been from the moment the devil arrived in a
thunderclap
and a puff of sulfurous black smoke. Literally frozen by
some magic
force that thickened the air around them.
"No."
The evil being's deep voice reverberated through the room,
sending a
chill down her spine and making the hair on her nape
prickle. As menacing
as a towering black thunderhead threaded with crackling
lightning, the
dark-shrouded figure dominated the throne room of the
castle. Gwyneth
longed to throw back his hood and behold his face just once.
"Brandon?
Sylvester? Archibald? James?"
Why
was she playing this dangerous game when her child's very
life was at
stake? She should simply spit out the horrid name her spy
had overheard
and win Brea's freedom. A demon from hell couldn't break a
deal, could
he? Surely he was bound by his word.
"No.
Are you prepared to concede, to pay me what you owe?" A cool
voice
came from the dark depths of the hood.
Gwyneth
exhaled slowly, trying to rein in her racing heart. The
warmth of victory
swelled through her, but she willed herself not to show it
with a smug
smile. No point in angering her enemy.
"Is
your name perhaps"--she paused and licked her
lips--"Rumplestiltskin?"
There
was dead silence in the room for the space of three
heartbeats. Brea
stirred in her cradle and gave a soft gurgle. Gwyneth
glanced from the
hooded figure to her husband, whose frightened gaze was
riveted on the
intruder.
Gwyneth
knew she was correct. She'd received an eyewitness account
of this cloaked
demon waltzing around a campfire, gloating over her
inability to guess
his ridiculous name.
"Is
your name Rumplestiltskin?" she repeated.
The
dark being strode forward, stopping only a few paces from
her and the
cradle.
"No.
It is not." He reached for the baby.
For
a moment, Queen Gwyneth froze, unable to fathom his answer,
then she
darted between him and the cradle, intercepting his
black-gloved hands
as they reached for her precious daughter. She snatched up
Brea and
clutched the baby to her breast too tightly, making the
infant squawk
in indignation.
"You
lie! I know that's your name. I won't let you take my baby."
"Madam,
I never lie, and the child is mine." He moved closer.
Gwyneth
caught the familiar scent of smoke and earth that permeated
his clothes.
The odor should've turned her stomach, made her gut clench
in fear,
yet it instantly brought back memories of several long,
dark, mysterious
nights when he'd talked to her and…touched her while she
spun straw
into gold.
"I
won't harm her. I wish to raise her as my own." His fingers
tightened
in the baby's blanket.
"Begone,
demon! I'll never let you take her." Gwyneth pushed away his
hand.
"I
would not be accused of separating a child from its mother,"
he drawled.
"You're welcome to come to the underworld with us, lovely
Gwyneth.
If you dare to give up your wealth and title."
"No!"
Midas cried. Maybe he cared for Gwyneth and Brea more than
she'd thought.
More likely he feared losing the source of his riches--not
that she
could've spun one golden thread if it weren't for the
magical creature
who now claimed their child in payment.
"Guards,
seize him!" The king yelled quite futilely as everyone in
the room,
except, apparently, Gwyneth, was still frozen in place.
The
black figure loomed over the queen and her child. His cloak
seemed to
billow in an unseen wind, and the air around them was
charged as if
from an approaching storm.
Gwyneth
clutched Brea and stared into the depths of the hood, trying
to glimpse
a pair of eyes, trying to make a connection as she begged
for mercy,
but it was like trying to look down a well. A person might
catch a glimmer
of water at the bottom, but it was simply too dark to see
anything clearly.
"Please,
sir, leave my baby alone. I will come with you if that is
what you desire,
but this poor, innocent child has done nothing. Why should
she pay for
my unholy bargain?"
"Unholy?"
A harsh bark of laughter came from the figure. "You think me
some
kind of devil? Well, maybe I am, but I'm not the one who was
willing
to give up her baby in exchange for a pile of gold."
Neither
was I. It wasn't my fault. I was trying to save my life.
Gwyneth wanted
to protest and explain her actions, but excuses would not
move him.
She gripped his wrist, solid and strong beneath the black
gloves--not
an incorporeal spirit, but a demon of flesh and blood, as
she well knew.
She stared into the hood, searching for the face she
couldn't see, and
made her offer again.
"I
will come with you. I will do anything you want.
Anything."