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“An orphan who was kept as a prisoner in a tower with plague signs to keep away?" Gina gently teased. "Seems like a lot of work. Nahh, I bet you're a princess of some sort." Rapunzel stared at her. Then she began guffawing: big, hearty barks of laughter. "She doesn't sound like one," Flynn observed. "She wears a pretty dress like one," Gina pointed out. "Your skin is creamy and perfect," Flynn said. "I mean, um, I guess." "You have a crown," Gina said. "It's not my crown," Rapunzel shouted, still laughing. "I grew up in two rooms... not a giant castle. I don't have any servants, or ladies-in-waiting..." "... or crowns you didn't steal," Flynn added. "... or a white horse, or velvet capes, or a scepter..." "You do have that magnificent hair, though," Flynn pointed out. "I mean, just look at it. It looks fancy and expensive and royal. A normal person, even a lord or lady, couldn't manage locks half that long. Even if it ever came in silver, which seems reeealllly unlikely." He leaned forward to get a better look, and at first Rapunzel did nothing, suddenly aware of his closeness. Whatever he said about her skin, Flynn's was also clear, healthy, and peachy. He had a little bit of hair on his chin (not a full beard like she had seen in pictures), a tiny feathery thing that she kind of wanted to touch.” — Liz Braswell