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“They’re sending another one of those stuffy princes,” she shouts, splaying dramatically on the window seat of her tower. Then, glancing upwards and towards the dragon sitting idly atop it: “Feel free to take him for yourself. You think they’re somewhat decent looking, and I certainly do not .”
The dragon growls, its tail wailing in the lukewarm air, and the dark-haired princess blows out a breath, focus shifting to the knight in shining armor currently hopping off a white horse on the grounds by the moat.
One hand tugging at the reins as to keep the restless horse nearby, the knight uses the other hand to push up the helmet visor, clear eyes locking with the princess’.
“What do you want?” the princess asks, sounding as bored as she feels.
“To, uh… to rescue you?”
“Is that a question?”
“I’m just—I guess I didn’t expect you to be so… freed already.”
“How eloquent.”
“Hey, I’m just surprised, is all. You’re supposed to be locked up in the tower and your dragon should have at least attempted to incinerate me by now.”
The princess shoots said dragon a look. “Go on, then,” she orders. “You heard the prince. Make him go away just like you did the others.”
But the dragon refuses to look at her, yellow eyes cutting to the cloudy evening sky as if they hadn’t heard the princess’ request.
“Oh, I know you can hear me,” the princess says. “ Mal . Mal, I don’t have time for this.”
The dragon—Mal—flaps its wings as it lazily flies over to the tower across the castle, tail and body curling around its top and head tucked into an arm and hiding behind a large, violet wing.
“Seems to me you have all the time in the world.”
Glaring, the princess turns to the knight once more.
“Pardon me?”
“I’m not a prince, by the way,” the knight adds from the ground. “Nowhere near in fact.”
“I gathered.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Eavesdropping falls far from the royal upbringing.”
“Well, you did shout it.”
“I do not shout,” she bites. The knight snorts in response, and the princess is spurred to add, “And I’m not a damsel in distress so you should know you’re wasting your time. I suggest you get on your horse and go back to where you came from.”
Instead of doing any of the things suggested, the knight asks, “So it’s true?” and it’s infuriating , the utter tranquility threaded into the question.
As though they really do have all the time in the world.
“What is?”
“That you’re here by choice?”
“I don’t answer to entitled, bored princes who wander the woods in search of something that will bring them honor and heroism and the dutiful wife they’ve been brought up to think they ought to win.”
“Then I guess we’re both in luck.”
“What?”
Upon that, the knight finally takes off the helmet; long, blonde hair falling freely around her face, smile broad when their eyes meet again and--
“You’re a girl ?” the princess asks slightly aghast, trying (and failing) to conceal her surprise.
The knight smirks, says, “Woman,” with the sheer confidence of someone who just got the upper hand in a mundane game of cards.
She rakes a hand through her hair, changing the hairline from one side to the other, and the princess can’t help but survey her with a share of interest that simply wasn’t there mere moments ago.
“You’re not that well-mannered either, you know,” the knight says. “You haven’t even told me your name.”
“I would expect you to do your research before riding off and into a rescue mission.”
The knight gives an amused chuckle, and, “I’m Emma,” she says, helmet tucked under her left arm.
From the tower, the princess gives Emma a quick once-over, something warm and unfamiliar settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Regina,” she offers.
“I know.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Smiling coyly, Emma shrugs, says, “I wanted to hear it from you,” and Regina dreads the certainty already buzzing under her skin, the one telling her that she could easily be driven to madness by this knight and her horse alone.
She also fears that said prospect feels more tempting (and way more entertaining) than spending her solitary days sane in the castle.
“Can I come in?” Emma wants to know, effectively yanking her out of her thoughts.
“What?” Regina scoffs. “No.”
“Why not? It’s getting chilly and I’m hungry. And Bailey needs to rest. We’ve come a long way, you know.”
“You named your horse Bailey?”
“You named your dragon Mal?”
“It’s short for Maleficent , and she isn’t mine . She’s her own person.” Regina glances swiftly in the dragon’s general direction. “Albeit a rather stubborn one at the moment.”
“Uh-huh,” Emma hums, one hand traveling up as she rubs the back of her neck. “So... can we? For Bailey?”
Regina renounces, “Fine,” and tries not to think of the way Emma’s entire face lights up. “I’ll open the main gate. Do try to stay out of trouble until then.”
She has already spinned on her feet when she hears Emma’s, “Can’t promise anything,” the grin clear in her voice as she shouts after Regina.
And, well. It’s not the worst voice, Regina supposes. Or the worst smile, for that matter.
The sun is setting behind the mountains when the gates open to reveal a gold-bathed Emma waiting on the other side, the white horse loyal by her side without the need for her to hold the reins anymore.
“There’s hay in the stalls, su alteza,” an older man tells Regina before closing the gates after Emma and Bailey.
Regina offers him a small but genuine smile. “Gracias, Daniel. Take the rest of the night off.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, side-eyeing the newcomers.
“Yes, go have dinner with your family. I can handle one imprudent knight and her horse.”
He nods once and walks away, and Emma watches them with a curious look on her face.
“Blink twice if you’re being held against your will,” she says, and Regina rolls her eyes before leading the way to the stalls.
Wordlessly, they set up everything so that Bailey will be comfortable for the night, then head inside the castle.
They’re going up the staircase, Emma two steps behind and glancing around as to not to miss anything, when Regina says, “If you’re here in hopes of the crown then you should know up front you’re not getting it.”
Emma gives a snort. “Trust me, the last thing I need is a crown.”
“Very well,” Regina says as they reach the second floor, fighting the urge to inquire further on the matter. “Your chambers are down the hall. Feel free to change before dinner.”
“Oh, don't worry. I can’t wait to get out of this thing.”
Around an hour later, Emma is stepping into the dining room, her hair in a high ponytail and sporting a white shirt under a blue vest and dark boots.
Regina, already there and waiting, wears a lacey beige dress with white sleeves, hair down and cascading over her shoulders. She whips around at the sound of approaching footsteps, and Emma freezes, mouth agape.
“I… you look, uh—” She clears her throat. “That’s… nice dress, princess.” Regina arches an eyebrow, cheeks suddenly flush, and Emma lifts her arms to the sides. “What do you think? Better?”
“Good enough,” she says briskly, ducking her head as she heads for her seat.
They eat in almost complete silence—Emma wolfing down her food as Regina watches her from across the table—but even the mere presence of someone else, albeit a rather quiet someone for the time being, fills the room with something Regina didn’t know she had been missing.
After dinner, they go back to the stalls to check on Bailey, then end up on a secluded balcony on the second floor with Mal watching them from the nearest tower. Once there, Emma proceeds to tell stories of travels and people, of lands so far away and oceans so deep that it seems impossible for them to be true, and yet Regina listens with undivided attention, listens and listens and tries not to ask until—
“Why are you here if not for the crown?” she wants to know in the middle of Emma’s narrative about an ogre under a bridge.
Emma’s clear, glimmering gaze latches onto hers, and her lips curve into a small smile. She straightens her spine, her entire stance more solemn.
“I heard stories.”
“About the dragon?”
“About the beautiful princess being guarded by the dragon.”
Mal perks up from her tower, and Regina tries to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks, or the way her heart is thumping against her ribcage.
“What kind of stories?”
“Just… stories that didn’t seem right.” At that, Regina’s brow furrows, and Emma explains, “There are different versions of what happened traveling through entire kingdoms, but I didn’t… I didn’t trust theirs.”
“Theirs? Whose?”
“The version that every guy who was chased away by Mal came back claiming as the truth. That you… that they turned around by their own volition.”
”And?” she pushes against better judgement.
“And... that you weren’t worth saving after all,” Emma says, gaze shifting to a darker, cloudier shade, much like the sky above. “Which is bullshit , obviously—”
Regina scoffs, looks away. “Is it? Seven years ago my own mother made a deal that put me here to be eventually auctioned off to a rich prince in exchange for alliances that would bring victory to the kingdom, only to lose the war anyway and leave the entire kingdom in shambles.” She turns back to Emma with hardened, dark eyes. “I don’t need saving. Not anymore.”
She makes a move to leave, but Emma’s fingers grazing her elbow halt her.
“I know,” Emma says, earnest, and she drops her hand. “I know you don’t."
They stand in ambivalent silence for a moment, neither of them certain of the next step, but then Emma is chuckling lightly, causing Regina to turn around once more.
“What?” she snaps.
Head shaking, Emma says, “Nothing, it’s just—I was in this tavern a few nights ago—”
“Charming.”
Emma shoots her a look. “And this guy with a hideous lion tattoo kept going on and on about how he’d been on his way here but had encountered a group of lost boys on the way and decided to help them instead.”
“And?”
“And, well, he came back from his alleged humanitarian mission missing his signature arch and sporting a green cape that had mysteriously burned up.”
From her spot on the tower, Mal groans and blows out a firey breath.
“We remember him,” Regina says. “He kept shooting arrows at Mal.”
Emma offers a smile. “Yeah, I figured as much,” she says, leaning on both forearms propped on the balcony rail. “So I stole his horse and here I am.”
Something equally as frightening as inciting battering into her chest, Regina echoes, “And here you are.” A heartbeat, then: “And where exactly did you say you come from?”
“I didn’t,” Emma teases, which gains her a glare. She pushes off the rail and turns to face Regina, the smile on her lips so effortless Regina can’t help but be a tad envious of it. “Ivory Kingdom. North-west from here, plenty dull if you ask me.”
Realization dawns on Regina at last, and she fixes Emma with a sweeping look.
“You’re the princess.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve heard about you.”
Emma saunters forward. “Is that so?”
“Your parents gave you free reign and will probably end up heirless because of it.”
“Ow,” Emma whines, feigning hurt. “To be fair, yours didn’t give you enough of that and will probably end up as heirless as mine. And with you in a tower since you were, what? Twelve?" Reluctantly, Regina nods. "Besides, I have a brother. He can rule if he wants.”
“Well, I have a sister who I’m sure will gladly, if not disastrously, rule the kingdom.”
“See? Netiher will be heirless.” Emma bites her lower lip, caught in thought for a moment. “You, uh... you didn’t want to be queen?”
Silently, Regina draws a deep breath, prepares herself to finally admit (to someone else, to herself), “Not really. Not under my mother’s scrutinizing watch, at least.”
“Oh.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I wasn’t really cut out for it.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.”
Emma laughs fondly, and Regina can’t help but to file away the sound. For later, she thinks. For when Emma is inevitably gone.
“What…” Unsure, Emma pauses. “What did you want, then?”
For a moment, Regina tries in vain to remember the last time someone asked her that question. “I always dreamt of living by the sea,” she confesses at last.
“In a cottage,” Emma adds promptly. “With a greenhouse?”
“And a library.”
“With a stolen, white horse to ride down the beach.”
“And a stubborn dragon to guard it all."
Something swells in Regina’s chest at the rare prospect of talking about a future away from the castle and her mother, of glimpses of a future that include someone else for once, and her gaze latches onto Emma’s gleaming in the moonlight.
She draws a breath to steady herself, and—
“So I…” Emma says, clears her throat. “I hear your mom is, uh… she certainly sounds like a piece of work.”
Regina’s eyes darken, and Emma looks positively angry with herself.
“Yes, well. The kingdom needed to be brought afloat after the war. I’m sure she’ll do what it takes, if not more.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“I mean… you’re still here.”
“By choice.”
“ Right .”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” Emma chuckles, rubs the back of her neck. “I mean, you have a dragon . It seems to me that you’re free to go anywhere, and instead you’re in this castle, in this tower, waiting for entitled, bored princes to swing by so you can send them off sprouting fire their way.”
“I already told you, I don’t own Mal,” Regina clarifies. She waits for Emma to push, wants her to push, but nothing happens. “As for the rest, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
“And what are the other ways?”
“My mother had a plan that didn’t go as expected,” she says. “And I turned that to my advantage. This is the only way to be free of her.”
“The only way?”
“The only one I’ve encountered so far.”
Emma hums, glancing away as she ventures, “I gather none of the princes were good enough for a cottage by the sea?”
She sounds uncertain and hopeful all the same, cheeks glowing as pink as Regina can feel her own in the weak moonlight, and Regina figures that surrendering to this knight and her horse and the incessant buzzing under her skin wouldn't be that bad fate at all.
“Well, none of them bothered to ask me my name,” Regina offers, and Emma’s eyes dart up as a knowing grin breaks onto her face.
“Ah. No other option but to make them leave empty-handed, then.”
“But you..." Regina starts. "You've come a long way to go home empty-handed.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily put it like that,” Emma says softly, and takes a tentative step forward.
“How—” Regina swallows. “How would you put it?”
“I, uh…” Emma trails off, gaze flickering between Regina’s eyes and lips. “I guess I’d say I found the princess.”
“Which you did.”
Another step, and they stand in front of each other.
“And that she didn’t need to be saved.”
“Which I don’t.”
Slowly, Emma reaches for Regina’s hand, fingers intertwining as she pulls ever so gently.
“And that those idiots were clearly unworthy.”
“Clearly.”
“And that I kissed her.”
“And that you—”