Belle’s emerald glare remains on me until she disappears behind a thicket.

“We need to talk,” Lafayette steps to my left. “A raven has returned with news you’ll want to hear.”

“Good.” I motion for him to follow me far away from the camp. “What is it?”

“There was a sighting of Mr. Arwyn and Isabelle. He says that one is farther than the other, but…” He holds up his hand, pausing at the terrible singing that’s a little too close for comfort.

Slinging a gun over my shoulder, I squint through the focal lens, but I don’t see anyone nearby.

The singing becomes louder and more unbearable by the second, the forlorn hymns of yet another lost and lovesick prince.

How are they all this incompetent?

“Let’s handle him first.” I head toward the singing, and Lafayette follows me.

The man’s shadow appears first, casting itself high and wide against a stone wall, and the instant clarity in his lyrics stops me dead in my tracks.

Tonight, tonight, my plans I make.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, the baby I take.

The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name…

The man is far from a lost and lovesick royal. He’s the second bane of my existence, wickedness in its purest form.

Still haggard from a lifetime of deceit, he’s dressed in tattered fabric, and his yellowed teeth have been sharpened into fangs.

“Well, well, well!” His soulless eyes meet mine. “We meet again, Prince of the Damned.”

“His name is Prince Gabriel or Sir G’aston to you, filthy swine,” Lafayette hisses. “You will bow down and address him properly.”

“Or else, what?” He scoffs. “He’ll send me to his nonexistent dungeon? Banish me from a kingdom that is no more?”

“Bow, now…” Lafayette warns.

“I think I’ll save my brittle old back for real royalty.” He spits on the ground. “Last time I checked, he hasn’t been a prince for decades, but he has aged quite nicely … Have I missed the celebration of a certain spell being broken? I would’ve shown up to the party.”

I grit my teeth.

“Aww, that’s too bad, so sad,” he says. “But do you know what? I am willing to call you whatever you want, since we can’t seem to stay away from each other. Perhaps we can strike a bargain?”

“You’d need to have something I want for me to be interested.” I look over at the ragged knapsack behind him.

I’ve ripped it open several times over the decades, only to find golden thread and hay.

“Let’s save ourselves the usual waste of time, shall we?” I say. “Put out your fire and move your camp elsewhere. The last thing my men want to hear is your horrendous singing.”

“You should consider my bargain first.”

“I won’t ask you to move out of my way again,” I say. “Kill the fire and walk away, Rumpelstiltskin.”

“You’re searching for a beautiful woman named Isabelle Arwyn.” He tosses ashes onto the fire, instantly smothering its flames. “You also want her father, correct?”