Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Found you!”

CLANG. A hand clamps down on Emma’s shoulder, firm enough to make her armor rattle.

“Me?” she says, trying not to panic. “I, uh, don’t think we’ve met.”

“Hm?” Her host blinks at her, then draws back. “Oh. I thought you were one of the nieces. Please, accept my apologies.” He looks down, earnest and embarrassed—indeed, more like a bumbling uncle than the prince of a small but thriving kingdom. He frowns with a mouth bracketed by laugh lines, one hand scratching at a head of curls that are now more grey than gold. “We have so many, you see. Proof that my brother can be productive when he wants to,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

Ew. “Sorry, no niece here.” Emma smiles tightly. “I’m just Em—er, Ser Swan. I’ve got my invitation somewhere...” she makes a show of patting her armor-plated pockets with one hand, the other occupied by a half-eaten drumstick. It’s chimera—not her favorite—but more importantly, it’s free.

“Invitation?” says her host, shaking his head. “Never mind that! The more, the merrier!”

He might say that, but this is no common Spring Faire^[1]. Hosted by the prince consort himself, this countryside soiree is restricted to an exclusive guest list, the most uppity of the kingdom’s upper crust. Buying enough gold leaf to forge an invitation had taken every coin left from Emma’s last job, and if the dwarf checking the guest list hadn’t been half asleep, even that might not’ve been enough.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser Swan,” the prince says, clasping her hand. “What brings you to our little corner of the Enchanted Forest? I sorry to say I don’t recognize your colors.” He nods at the crest on her surcoat, and Emma feels cold sweat bead on the back of her neck.

“I bet you’re halfway through some grand adventure,” he continues with an easy smile. “Feel like sharing?” He looks eager to listen, interest radiating from every wrinkle. “I’d love to return the favor with a few old tales of my own.” There’s not a speck of suspicion in his face or tone. The man is just... honestly happy to talk to a perfect stranger.

Emma is immediately on guard. In her line of work, a casual conversation is much more dangerous than an interrogation. You know what you’re getting with an interrogation, but when you’re just talking, the most inconvenient things tend to slip out.

“No epic quests this week,” she says. “I was just passing by and heard you were having a... um, pest problem.”

“Ah, you’re here for the dragon!” The prince lights up even more. “You’re the first to respond, you know. We sent for aid barely a week ago. I’m impressed!”

More nervous sweat trickles down her spine. For obvious reasons, Emma tries not to chit-chat with the people she’s about to rip off, but this noble isn't as knobbly as the others she’s met and subsequently swindled. He’s warm and approachable, and while he’s far from the first aristocrat to claim a history of heroism, something about the prince convinces her that he actually knows what he’s talking about. Unlike those armchair champions, whose armor ranged from flamboyant to flimsy to flat-out hazardous, he wears only a simple suit of plate and an even plainer crown. Emma felt scars during their handshake, too; real ones, not the kind you’d get from the light exercise and even lighter sparring favored by so many royal scions.

Of course, her host’s experience isn't exactly a good thing. While he may not be suspicious yet, it only takes a single slip-up for Emma’s story to start to unravel. She’s always been better than Lily at handling their noble marks, but that’s not saying much. Emma can play a passable knight, but she doesn’t have the pedigree or the training that comes with it. The longer she chats with the prince, the closer she gets to screwing herself out of a payday.

“Yeah.” Emma clears her throat, realizing the royal is waiting for her to respond. “You’re lucky I was in the area, huh?” It’s not even technically a lie^[2].

She resists the urge to look up, her smile starting to strain her cheeks. How much longer is Lily going to make them wait? Emma would be happy to shut up and let her host talk, but he keeps giving her encouraging looks, like he actually wants to get to know his guests. What an asshole.

“Lucky indeed.” The prince sighs. “We truly hoped the beast would move along on its own, but it’s been nibbling at our herds for over a month now.”

“I’m surprised you waited this long,” says Emma. In her experience, it takes about a week for the average ruler to get slay-happy. Less if Lily’s feeling particularly hungry, vandalous, or bored.

“No sense in rushing to tick off a dragon.” His face hardens, a solemn note entering his voice. “Sadly, we could hesitate no longer. This one seems to like it here, and she’s getting bolder by the day. It’s truly a pity, but we have our subjects to think about.”

Emma nods. Lily is nothing if not an inconsiderate houseguest.

The prince leans in, the gravitas vanishing as fast as it appeared. “Since it’s come to this, I wanted to take care of it myself,” he says conspiratorially, “but the old ball and scepter said no.”

She forces a laugh, nudging the prince’s marital strife away with a mental ten-foot pole. “Look on the bright side. Perhaps all your sheep will give the beast indigestion.”

“Hah! We can hope,” laughs the prince. “You remind me of myself, Ser Swan, young and brimming with optimistic spirit!”

She bites her tongue. “Yup. That’s me. Real glass-half-full kind of girl.” While the prince chuckles, she risks a glance upward. The sky is a lovely shade of blue, as clear and empty as it was five minutes ago. Seriously, what the hell is taking Lily so long?

“Indeed.” He nods. “I’m an excellent judge of character.”

Emma doesn’t bother to correct her sadly mistaken host, preferring to work on her drumstick. The best part about crashing these events is the free lunch. Well, apart from exploiting the calcified imperfections of an inherently inequitable feudal class structure. Taking from those who have more than enough is incredibly satisfying... at least most of the time. Emma’s current conversation with the prince is giving her an unpleasant pinch in her gut that feels a lot like guilt.

She swallows another mouthful of chimera, which proves to be the opposite of helpful. Emma frowns as her stomach gurgles. Wait, maybe she can use this to fake an outhouse emergency.

The churning continues, and her frown turns to a grimace.

Maybe she won’t have to pretend.

“So, tell us more!” the prince says before she can make her escape. “What kind of trouble do wandering knights get into these days? Rescue any damsels recently? Slay any monsters?”

Sometimes Emma wonders why everyone else seems so unfazed by the world they live in, where mice can sew, mirrors can speak, and a frog can have a better social life than Emma herself. She has nothing against a bit of the fantastical, but on some days it feels like the only thing more common than curses is true love’s kiss. She can't blame it all on magic, either; in the Enchanted Forest, even law and order are only as stable as the brain beneath the nearest crown.

Of course, when you’re the one holding court or slinging spells, it’s all sunshine and enchanted roses. Everyone else has to deal with real problems, like evading troll tolls and competing with dwarf labor and weaseling health care out of witches without ending up in a cauldron. With all that to look forward to, it’s no wonder some people decide to give up on society and live as roving murderers who expect to be paid per dragon.

Like Emma!

Thanks to Lily, she doesn’t even have to bother with the murderizing. Dragonslaying is a lot more convenient when you can recycle the dragon. These days, it’s almost easy for them to pry a payday from even the most penny-pinching of patricians. The hardest part for Emma is keeping up her act in front of gossip-starved royals like this one.

“Trouble?” she echoes. “Just the usual, like you said. Rescuing monsters, slaying damsels—wait, no.” Fortunately, her slip of the tongue goes overlooked thanks to the sinuous shadow that suddenly sweeps over the fairground.

Finally.

“Hey,” she calls halfheartedly. “What’s that?”

“Dragon,” someone screams. “DRAGON!”

“Dragon, dragon,” Emma echoes, voice flat. “Oh no.”

The prince already has his sword out, enthusiasm shining from every wrinkle. “A cool head under dragonfire!” he says, bouncing on his armored toes. “Are you sure we aren’t related, Sir Swan?”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll handle this.” Emma grabs her helmet off the table and jams it onto her head to hide the roll of her eyes.

“Nonsense! It’s my duty to protect my guests... and I can't let you have all the fun.” A wink crosses his face. His wholly unprotected face. Emma winces. In her experience, head wounds don’t make for good tips.

“Please, leave this to the professionals,” she almost begs. Royalty is best when they stick to what they’re good at, like throwing well-catered parties and handing out rewards for ostensibly heroic deeds. Emma’s dealt with plenty of nobles of the spineless, selfish or suspicious variety, but this is her first time meeting the opposite problem. This prince is bold, benevolent, and practically begging to be scammed. Or maybe he’s hoping to hog the credit so he can skimp on the reward money.

As if sensing her skepticism, the prince pauses mid-stretch. “Oh, you’re worried about the bounty.”

How did he read her so well? Maybe the old man heard it in her voice, or maybe he noticed how Emma was ransacking the buffet and figured she needs the dough.

“Don’t worry,” the prince soothes. “The prize is all yours—and the glory, too!”

While that’s generous of him, the real issue is Emma’s need to keep her host as far from the fight as possible. She can’t let him smell a dragon-shaped rat. “Stand back, Your Highness,” she tries again, picking her words with care. “You’re... important. You can't end up dragon food.”

The crowd streams around them, fleeing Lily’s hovering form. Every pump of the black dragon’s wings sends another gust across the field, flattening tents and ruining noble hairdos. Sword aloft, the prince faces the airborne calamity with a set jaw.

“I won’t end up in that thing’s belly,” he says, “and neither will any of my people. They’re important too—and so are you!”

He means every word. Emma can see it in his eyes^[3], and now she almost regrets crashing his party and ripping him off. Almost, but not quite. A girl’s got to eat, even if it is only chimera.

More importantly, she’s in too deep to stop now. The prince clearly isn't backing down, but on the bright side, he’s old. The odds of him actually threatening Lily are slim. He doesn’t look too fragile, either, so he should be safe.

Safe enough.

Probably.

Well, Emma can’t worry about that now! She has her own performance to focus on.

She’s going to have to make this one convincing.

. . .

“I can't believe you stabbed me!” says Lily.

Emma just groans as she sheds the last of her armor. She doesn’t know how real knights spend so long in that stuff. “It wasn’t a stab,” she says. Her partner in fraud is completely overreacting. In dragon form, a sword might as well be a fancy toothpick.

Across the campfire, Lily peers down the front of her blouse, dark brows creased in a frown. “It was too. And right in my favorite tit.”

“You don’t have those as a dragon,” Emma very reasonably points out, but it takes a lot more than reason to stop Lily when she’s in a whining mood.

“You know that some things carry over,” says her accomplice. “I bet this one’s going to leave a mark.”

“Really?”

“Nope, not really.” Lily looks up, lips twitching. “But I knew that would get your attention.”

“Shut up, Lily.” Shaking her head, Emma plucks a heavy pouch from the dirt beside her. “We had to make it look real, and I thought it’d be best if I got you before the prince.”

“That was one limber old man,” her partner grumbles.

“See? You’re welcome.”

“Oh, please, I saw the look on your face. Sticking me with that thing was the highlight of your month.”

“No,” Emma lies, but it does nothing to stop Lily’s string of complaints.

“Did you have to throw it so hard? Who even throws a sword?”

“I had to do something to distract everyone from your terrible performance,” retorts Emma. “What was that at the end? All that thrashing and clawing at your chest. I know this whole thing’s an act, but you don’t need to make it so obvious for the marks. They’re not all morons.”

“I had a sword sticking out of me,” says Lily, matching her tone. “And I don’t need acting tips from you.”

“That’s true, you’ve always been the better liar.”

“One day you’re going to let that go,” Lily mutters before blatantly changing the subject. “So, how much did we get?”

Emma looks inside the purse. “More than enough to get us to the next kingdom.” Much more. Enough to cross a dozen kingdoms, not that that’s saying much. Sometimes it seems like the Enchanted Forest has more crowns than trees. The territories come in all sizes, but she and Lily try to pick the smaller ones to rip o—to visit. It makes it easier to skip town before anyone gets too curious. Speaking of which...

“We should get going.”

“I sort of felt like sticking around,” says Lily, contrary as always. “This neck of the woods isn't so bad, right? That fat old prince of yours runs a tight ship.”

“He didn’t really seem like the brains of the operation,” Emma muses. “I hear his wife wears the hose in that relationship.”

Which is why she’d picked a party that the queen wouldn’t be attending. The prince consort was totally fooled, judging by how eagerly he dispensed Emma’s reward—along with several minutes of glowing praise that hit the ‘dragonslayer’ right in her atrophied conscience. Emma was mentally drained by the time she finally managed to dip out, claiming a need to retrieve her sword before it grew too dark.

To Lily’s credit, she crashed down right where they’d planned. The thicket is dense and thorny enough to discourage any serious investigation of the scene, and large enough that it wouldn’t be impossible for a dead dragon to go missing in. It was close enough to the fairground to make her death throes convincing, but far enough that no guests would feel tempted to go poke the corpse. She and Emma have refined the formula over their years running their ‘Dragon, dragon!’ scam, but it’s rarely been put to the test. Most nobles don’t care what happens to the dragon as long as it’s no longer their problem.

“Whoever’s in charge, they must be doing something right,” says Lily. “The other day I saw some dwarfs literally whistling while they worked.” She shivers. “So creepy. But a busy little kingdom like this is the perfect place to find a fun way to unload some of those heavy, heavy gold coins.”

“We don’t stick around after the job is done,” Emma says. “It’s safer that way.” She hates having to be the responsible one, but someone has to make sure they don’t get exposed or arrested or turned into pigs by a vengeful sorceress^[4].

“First, we’re getting a good meal,” decides Lily. “Getting vanquished is hungry work. I could eat a—”

“Sheep?”

“No sheep!” Lily grimaces, tongue poking at her teeth. “I don’t know what they’re feeding them up here, but those things can run. So much chasing, and when you finally get to dig in, it’s nothing but wool and muscle... Urk, my stomach hurts just remembering it.”

“Plenty of places to eat on our way to the border,” says Emma. “The inn a few towns over is supposed to have a decent menu and a trot-thru window.”

“You really want out of this kingdom,” Lily notes, studying her partner with sharp, golden eyes. “What’s got you so spooked, Swan?”

“It’s the prince,” she says slowly.

“Do you think he’ll come after us?”

Emma frowns, then shakes her head. “No. It’s just a... gut feeling. I really don’t think we should stay.”

“A ‘feeling’?” Lily’s fingers draw air quotes around the word. “Is this like your I-can-tell-when-people-lie bullshit? ‘Cause that barely works.”

“I can tell when normal people lie. Not—”

“Dragons?”

“Sociopaths.” She heaves herself to her feet, ignoring Lily’s warning growl. “Come on, Lil, time to hit the road.”

“I’m tired,” whines Lily, massaging her favorite tit.

“You can ride the horse first,” Emma says. As she lugs her armful of armor across the clearing toward their humble steed, Max greets her with a snort. The old rouncey nuzzles Emma as she slings the armor onto his back, accepting the load without complaint.

“Right, where to next?” asks Lily, sounding much more energetic now that she’s conned her way out of light exercise. “We probably don’t have to go far—I swear these nobles get more gullible every year.” She swings herself into the saddle with a thoughtful hum. “Must be all the inbreeding.”

“I was thinking we’d lay low for a while,” Emma replies as they start moving. “We have enough to last us a few months if we stretch it, so why don’t we find somewhere to relax?”

“That sounds like a fantastic... waste of time,” says Lily, starting to braid Max’s mane. “I say we con our way across a few more kingdoms and grab enough gold to take a real vacation.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” Emma protests just to give Lily a taste of her own medicine. More gold is never a bad thing, and the farther they get from the prince consort and his earnest eyes, the less she feels that wriggle of guilt in her gut. “We can't overdo it. People will start wondering where all the dragons are coming from. And why they all look exactly the same.”

“C’mon,” Lily pleads. “I promise, a few more runs of ‘Dragon, dragon!’ and we’ll take a break, okay? Just three—no, four... maybe half a dozen, tops.”

“One more.”

“Five!”

“One,” Emma insists. “Or it’s my turn to ride the horse.”

“Oh fine. Three more runs, and that’s my final offer.” Lily sticks a hand out, and Emma reaches up to shake it.

“Three more,” she says. “And that’s it.”

“That’s it,” Lily agrees, leaning back against Emma’s bundle of armor. Her fingers lace behind her head as she smiles up at the evening sky. “Don’t worry, Ems. I swear it’ll be faster than you can say...”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, your what in what?”

“It’s traditional, is it not?” The king leans back, stroking a wispy grey beard. “Thou hath slain the wyrm most grotesque”—beside Emma, Lily lets out an indignant hmph—“and thereby earned a reward most fair. Upon my word, you will not be disappointed with your prize.”

Emma’s unease rises with every word. Even apart from the way this guy refers to his own daughter, their whole situation has her itching to cut and run. First, her and Lily’s usual song and dance hit a snag when the king demanded physical proof of the dragon’s demise. They’d planned for this, of course, and Emma soon presented him with a pair of massive fangs pulled straight from the maw of the vanquished wyrm. Unfortunately, the more she thinks about it, the more she suspects that the ‘proof’ was just a way to lure her into his castle, surrounded by scribes and heralds and curious courtiers.

And guards. Lots and lots of guards. Emma should have known this place would be trouble. For one thing, it’s much too pointy. Normal kings rule from sturdy fortresses or elegant palaces, not this assembly of spines and spires that looks like it belongs in a blacksmith’s trash heap.

“This...” Her voice pitches up, and she pauses for a thick swallow. “Your Majesty, this is much too... generous a reward for someone like me. With all due respect—”

“Respect is precisely of which I speak,” the king interrupts. “Each and every one of my subjects is priceless. How could I fail to reward the valiant knight who saved them from such a horrible, fiery fate?” Lily lets out another hum, this one inappropriately proud. “I am afraid, Ser Swan, that my honor as sovereign demands I insist.”

Did Emma mention the guards? Her eyes pinball around the room, their movement disguised by a bowed head. How the hell are they going to get out of this one? She’d much rather have a fat bag of coins than a betrothal, especially to some spoiled, sheltered—

Crash!

The grand double doors at the end of the hall fly open, nearly flattening the flanking footmen. The whole room turns to look, and into the silence strides a young woman, her footsteps echoing across the hall. She moves with the poise of someone who knows that the world will step aside for her, and the court is happy to prove her right. The crowd parts, and down the aisle she comes, dressed in a gown of red so dark it’s almost black.

Like the castle in which they stand, everything about her is sharp; from the serrated hem of her dress to the crisp click-clack of her heels on the stone. A scalloped collar stabs at the air by her ears, and wine-red wings of makeup swoop around her eyes, framing a glower as dark as her pinned-up hair. Long, fingerless gloves complete the gothic getup, their black lace sewn into strange and unsettling patterns. It’s exactly the kind of impractical noble couture that Emma hates^[1], but for once she doesn’t hate it, which is somehow worse.

“Your Majesty,” the stranger’s voice rings out, clear and cold with just a hint of... Emma tilts her head. Sarcasm? She comes dangerously close to liking this girl before the princess sears her with a look of instant distaste. “Father,” she says, “Zelena just told me the most ridiculous—”

“Ah, Regina,” booms the king. “Excellent timing. Allow me to introduce Ser Swan: brave knight, humble dragonslayer, and the consort I have promised you for so long.”

“Promised me,” echoes the princess. On her lips, the word sounds more like ‘threatened.’ She glares at the false knight, and Emma immediately knows that the king’s endorsement does her no favors. “Respectfully, Father”—again, there’s an undertone Emma can't begin to unpack—“I must object. No matter her deeds, this... knight is a stranger to our court.”

“So much the better!” The king gives her a smile as kind as it is inflexible. “You have made it perfectly clear that no soul among my court nor any of our neighbors’ can hope to capture your heart, so I present to you this exceptional stranger, a knight unlike any we have seen before.” Emma stifles a grimace. He has no idea how right he is. “I have always had an eye for talent, and in Ser Swan I see it in spades.” This, Emma feels, is slightly less accurate. Her talents are not the kind any ruler should approve of. “Who could be better for my daughter than our kingdom’s savior?”

The princess glances back at Emma, but whatever she sees only redoubles her resolve to resist. Emma would be offended if it wasn’t completely justified.

“If she’s so special, then surely Zelena—”

“Alas, as my heir, your sister is bound by her responsibilities.” The king cuts her off once more. “I can only rejoice that one of my daughters is able to marry so freely.”

Wow, it actually looks like he believes it. Gaze darting between the royals, Emma can only regret the day she and Lily set their sights on this melodramatic mess of a kingdom.

Then she makes the mistake of catching Regina’s eye and the princess marches over in a storm of skirts and studded shoes. She stops her charge at the last moment, face smoothing into a courtly mask as beautiful as it is false. Her nose, a few inches below Emma’s, tilts to a perfectly condescending angle while her hands clasp before her waist. Judging by the way her fingers twitch, the pose is less for decorum and more to stop herself from tearing Emma’s throat out on the spot.

“Ser Swan,” she says, teeth carving the name from pure, poisonous pique. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Her Royal Highness The Princess Regina, Duchess of Dawnmere and Heir of House Mills.”

A pause.

“This is the part where you kneel.”

“No thanks,” Emma says, the words shooting straight from her lungs to her lips without bothering to stop by her brain. She ducks into a bow as the princess’s cheeks flare as red as her eyeliner. “Um, I mean...”

The king’s laugh fills the throne room. “I see I chose well,” he chortles. “Our Regina has always been, shall we say, impetuous. I can only pray you will be a calming influence on her, Ser Swan.”

Ew, no. No no no no no. Emma officially hates this. It’s getting more and more obvious that the king is trying to teach his daughter some kind of lesson, and she did not sign up to be the ruler across anyone’s knuckles. Much less the woman who, from everything Emma has seen, is the only one with a speck of common sense in this entire castle. When she tries to shoot the princess an apologetic look, she catches Regina holding her breath, visibly restraining herself. A vein throbs on her forehead, but Emma is the only one close enough to notice before the rage is bottled up and hidden behind another false smile.

“Ser Swan, I would simply love to hear of your... ‘adventures.’” Unlike Lily, the princess doesn’t need to lift a finger for the air quotes to be obvious. “You are a vagrant by trade, are you not? A free lance. A bounty hunter. A contractor.”

“A knight-errant,” Emma corrects her, more amused than insulted. She’s been called worse.

“Errant, I can believe.” Regina starts to move, prowling in a graceful circle around her^[2]. “Your armor is practically an antique,” she notes. “I see my father was right to call you a humble dragonslayer.”

Emma risks a glance at the king with the corner of her eye. He doesn’t object as his daughter twists his words, just gets comfortable on his throne and settles in like he’s watching a joust. Good, she thinks. She’s had enough help from him. Turning back to the princess, Emma straightens her back and prepares to address the genealogical elephant in the room: any knight, even a wandering one, must be of noble birth.

This is not as large of an obstacle as it seems. Not all nobles are royalty, and keeping track of every minor house in each kingdom, country, and principality across the continent is impossible for even the most obsessed of aristocrats. Emma—or rather, ‘Ser Swan’—is far on the low end of the upper class, so low as to be beneath notice.

Hopefully.

“My house has managed a small barony for eight generations,” Emma starts, drawing a sneer from the princess.

“Ah. New money.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Your Highness. My family’s lands are certainly nothing compared to yours, and I myself am merely a spare with nothing to inherit.” This, like most of what she’s said so far, is partly true. Mostly lies, sure, but partly true, and that can make all the difference. Not to pat her own back, but Emma is the very definition of a spare child, so superfluous that her parents hadn’t even bothered to hang on to her. Her story’s not even unique: hundreds of kids just like her can be found infesting the alleys of every city from here to Oz. She sure hasn’t seen any hint of an inheritance, either, but maybe her castle just got lost in the mail.

“So, to my shame,” she goes on, “I have nothing to offer but my name and the strength of my arm.” Emma raises said arm, armor squeaking at the joints. She’s overacting just a bit, but this is clearly the kind of knight the king wants; one as modest in spirit as she is in means. He nods to himself as she speaks, pleased to be proven right.

“Normally, Your Highness, I wouldn’t dare put myself before you,” she tells the princess with perfect sincerity^[3], “but if there’s anything you wish to know about my travels, I’ll try my best to satisfy you.”

The court seems to be buying it, but Regina herself doesn’t drop her guard. For a long moment, she continues to circle Emma, scrutinizing the knight-errant with eyes as sharp as any dagger. Emma can feel her gaze even through her armor, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Then I’ll try my best to be satisfied,” the princess says, finally coming to a stop in front of Emma. “Have you been travelling long, Ser Swan? Where did you begin?”

“Far to the south,” says Emma. Oh, another truth. She’s on a roll. “My page and I go wherever the work takes us.”

“Does it take you to many royals?”

“A fair few,” Emma hedges, wary of the way Regina’s eyes spark with triumph.

“Then if you came through the south, you must be familiar with Princess Tiana. We’re quite close, she and I.”

“Yeah, we’ve met.” Emma watches the princess carefully, looking for the trap in her words. Where is she going with this? “I didn’t know you were friends.”

“We certainly are. And if you’ve met Tiana, then surely you must have met Prince Naveen. What did you think of him, I wonder?”

Oh, that’s where. Emma hides her relief. “He was alright. Easy to talk to, really cheerful... A little too cheerful, sometimes...”

Regina smiles, or at least bares her teeth. It’s still a more honest expression than the face she wore a second ago, and Emma can’t look away. “Are you sure that was your first impression? Perhaps you—”

“... especially considering he was a frog for a few months.” Emma feels a touch of guilty pleasure as Regina’s smile freezes. “Oh, didn’t you hear they broke the curse? I heard it was true love’s kiss, which is good news for your friend. You must be so happy for her.”

“Ecstatic,” the princess says icily. “What good fortune. I can barely contain myself.”

Emma may not have noble parents, but she does have plenty of noble gossip. When half your job is schmoozing, you don’t really have a choice. The frog story was a big hit in the lands around Tiana’s, but it clearly hasn’t spread this far north. While the court murmurs with interest, Emma keeps an eye on the thwarted princess. She’s insulted that she thought that would work. Emma may be a charlatan, but she and Lily have been doing this since they were kids. If there’s such a thing as a professional fraud, Emma is it.

“Oho, they’re already getting along so well.” While she reflects and the princess seethes, the king decides to continue hyping up the betrothal that neither of them wants. “How wonderful.”

With every word that rustles that stupid beard, Emma feels invisible shackles closing tighter around her wrists. It’s ridiculous. Offering your daughter’s hand as a reward is so last century. How did she stumble into the one king in the Enchanted Forest still stuck in the 700s? Even back then, that kind of reward was for real heroes, not con artists balancing on a ladder of lies that were never meant to hold up longer than it took to get paid.

This... this is nothing but a joke. A terrible joke that only one man seems interested in telling. Unfortunately, his opinion is the only one that matters in this castle.

Emma’s mentioned the guards, right?

In the smallest of mercies, the king proclaims that their betrothal will not be rushed. “Never fear, my daughter,” he says. “There will be plenty of time for Ser Swan to prove herself a worthy addition to our house.”

The princess says something so acidic that Emma can taste it, but her mind is elsewhere. Plenty of time, she tells herself. Plenty of time for her to find an escape from this castle, from this kingdom. Possibly from this continent. All she needs is some privacy so she and Lily can start planning their way out. Her partner may be as impulsive as she is irritating, but nobody can deny that Lily is a quick thinker.

She’ll know what to do.

. . .

“I say we go for it.”

Emma stares at her accomplice. Lily is currently sprawled across a couch, picking through a crystal bowl of complementary snack mix. Ignoring Emma’s look of disbelief, she wiggles a peanut through the fresh gap in her teeth. Considering how much she whined about having her fangs pulled in dragon form, she certainly seems to be having fun.

“Feel free to marry her yourself, then!” Emma snaps. Unlike Lily, she’s not relaxed enough to sit down or even stand still. Her feet carry her in nervous circles, wearing a groove into the lush carpets of her new quarters. The sight of her cracked, faded boots against the rich cloth is a reminder of how little she suits her surroundings, and it’s far from the first one. They’re in way over their heads, and she knows that Lily knows it.

The problem is, Lily’s immune to shame.

“I’m good, thanks.” She waves Emma’s ire aside with a lazy hand. “When I said ‘we,’ I meant you. Let’s face it, you could do worse.”

Emma gives her partner a cold look. “I have.”

“Ouch,” says Lily, not looking too broken up about it. “C’mon, we don’t have to panic. Just picture everything we can get out of this. Nice clothes. Hot meals. Hot baths. Ooh, wedding presents!”

“Who am I supposed to invite to a wedding?” For a second, Emma lets herself follow Lily down the rabbit hole. “It’s not like I have a family to bring, and half my friends are already in this room.”

“Oh, Ems, that’s not true...” Lily sits up, eyes softening. “It’s way more than half.”

“You’re the worst,” Emma informs her. “The point is, I can’t get married! I’ve known her for five minutes and she already hates me. And that was with me lying through my teeth to make myself look better! Besides,” she says, voice dropping, “I just turned twenty-four. Even without everything else... I just wouldn’t feel, y’know, ready.”

Lily’s face falls. “That’s a shame,” she murmurs, slouching back into the couch cushions. For once, she looks genuinely contrite.

“Oh. Um, don’t worry about it,” says Emma, caught off guard. She can't remember the last time she actually won an argument with Lily. Emma really didn’t expect her to take it this badly, but maybe her friend is finally growing some empathy. “It’s no big deal,” she says, giving the cushion beside Lily’s shoulder an awkward pat. “Let’s just start thinking about how we get out of—”

“What? No, we’re staying,” Lily says, grabbing another fistful of mixed nuts. “I’m just sorry I forgot your birthday.”

Emma sighs.

“Fiiine,” Lily groans. “How about this: First, we hang around for a month or so, living good for once in our fucking lives. That’s what you wanted, right? To lay low?”

“I can honestly say this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’re right, it’s better!” Her partner hops up and perches on the edge of the bed, where she promptly sinks in up to her waist. “Have you ever even seen a mattress this soft?

“Second,” she goes on, “you keep up the simple country knight act—shouldn’t be hard for you. A king like this one will want to clean you up, so we let them foot the bill for new clothes, new armor, maybe even a horse or two.”

“Another horse would be nice.” No offense to Max, but calling him pre-owned would be an understatement. He’s probably seen more of the Enchanted Forest than Emma has, and it shows. Strange noises, overheating, terrible mileage... it’s hard to think of a problem old Max hasn’t had^[4]. Don’t get her wrong, he’s the best steed she’s ever owned, but there’s something alluring about a brand-new horse fresh from the dealership.

“Third, right before the wedding, once everyone’s gotten used to us, we grab all the silverware we can and run for the border. What do you think?”

Emma thinks that all might have been more reassuring if it wasn’t delivered through a mouthful of almonds, but Lily paints a tempting picture. It’s a little greedy of them, but Emma is sure the king can afford it. He may be condescending, controlling, and selectively oblivious, but from what she’s seen, he sure can run a kingdom. Apart from the wedding curveball, the king is actually Emma’s favorite type of mark: enough of a success to be worth scamming and enough of a dick to make the scamming guilt-free.

Even so, she knows better than to get greedy. She learned that lesson long ago—and Lily should have, too. It’s how they met, after all.

“We don’t even know when the wedding’s going to be,” she points out. “Can't we just leave tomorrow?”

“That would be a waste!” says Lily. “We’re already here, so why not make the best of it? I mean, we’ll have to hang around for a little bit anyway, at least until the King lets his guard down. Once we’re that far, what difference does a few more weeks make? Might as well grab all the perks we can! Then we can take a break, lay low, whatever you want. No matter how boring it is, I promise I’ll do it.”

“How convincing.”

“This can work,” Lily insists. “I know it can. Trust me.”

“Right. That’s never gone wrong before.” Beneath the sarcasm, Emma wavers. Of course she knows the risks of listening to Lily, but her partner hasn’t said anything false. This scheme isn't that different from their usual, and if they pull it off the payoff will be huge. Just look at what they’ve already gotten!

Gold? Always great.

Glory? Good for business.

An arranged marriage? Okay, that one’s a bit of a wrinkle, but not a fatal one. All she has to do is play along for a little longer than usual, then find the perfect time to skip town. As for the marriage, she’s perfectly happy to let the king clean up the wreckage of his own bad idea. There’s no guilt here, not like there was with their last mark...

Emma pauses, considering.

“Not right before the wedding,” she decides. “The closer we cut it, the messier it gets.”

“If it gets that bad, I can always fly us out of here.”

“Not just messy for us,” Emma says. “Messy for... everyone else.”

Lily stops snacking to raise an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” says Emma, looking away.

“What? I didn’t say anything about your stuck-up betrothed and her stupid spiky shoes.”

“I just don’t like how he talked to her,” Emma answers the unspoken accusation. “There’s no point in us making it worse.”

Lily shrugs. “Whatever.”

Emma forces herself to sit down, take a deep breath, and stare out the window. Who knows? It’s not impossible that Lily is right^[5]. Maybe Emma is worrying over nothing. Maybe, just maybe, they can lie low, turn this proposal into a payday, and get away clean.

“Hey, you.” Emma looks up to see her accomplice hanging halfway out the door. “Yeah, you in the helmet.” Emma hears a dull jingling, like a nearly empty crystal snack dish. “I’ve got a message from your future princess-in-law. She wants more of these, lots more—but no walnuts! Wait, hold on, there’s something else.” Lily leans back into the room, tosses her a wink, then leans back out. “Right, and a bottle from the wine cellar.”

Emma drags a hand down her face as the guard answers, their words muffled by the moocher in the doorway.

“Nope, no special requests, just make sure it’s a big bottle,” says Lily.

More muffled words.

“Yeah, exactly! Surprise me—I mean, her.”

Or maybe, just maybe, they’re already doomed.

Chapter Text

“Mm. No. No! This won’t do at all.”

Emma turns away from the practice dummy toward the unfamiliar voice. Sweat trickles down bare arms as she lowers her sword, free hand coming up to wipe her brow. She’s annoyed at the interruption, at being torn away from her soothing routine of swings and footwork. This early in the morning, she’d rather be exercising than socializing, especially with someone who drips judgement from every word.

“You, my square-jawed little social climber, are all wrong,” the stranger pronounces. She’s a tall woman with blue eyes, a silver tiara encircling her twist of ginger hair. Her lips are pinched with disapproval, her chin tilted to an angle that gives Emma major déjà vu.

“What?” Emma says. She’s been cooped up in this castle for seven days now, and her morning sword practice is the only time she has to herself. The rest is spent acting like a good little knight in front of her future father-in-law and the rest of the court. Most of the time, her betrothed is nowhere to be found, which is a mixed blessing at best. Emma doesn’t want to spend any more time with Regina than absolutely necessary, but being the sole target of the king’s attention is a true test of both Emma’s skills and her patience.

Not that it’s any less nerve-wracking when she’s away from the king. Between the nobles that clutter the castle halls and the servants that clean them, Emma feels like she hasn’t been alone for more than five minutes at a time. How do royals live like this?

Maybe she should ask the one who interrupted her. Her attention returns to the redhead with a thoughtful grunt, which doesn’t seem to improve the woman’s mood.

“Such eloquence,” she drawls. “What a pity. I was hoping I wasn’t right about you.” Emma feels a stab of paranoia before the other woman continues. “No, you don’t fit my sister’s aesthetic in the least! Regina may be a sulky little thing, but that’s leagues better than some backwards, backwater blockhead.”

The crown princess—Zelena, Emma recalls—pauses at a distance, keeping the sparkling soles of her ruby slippers well away from the dirt of the training ground. Before she can go on, an insolent gust of wind rolls across the field, sending the lightest sprinkling of dust toward the flashy footwear. Emma is almost impressed by the look of childish disgust that twists Zelena’s face at the thought of getting dirty. It takes a lot of hard work to be this insufferable.

Then Zelena raises one long, manicured finger and something explodes. Replaying the moment in her mind’s eye, Emma sees green light gather around the crown princess’s fingertip before blasting back the oncoming grime.

“Magic,” she realizes, heart kicking in her chest. Why is it always the worst people who have it? Before Emma can do more than step back, Zelena catches her eye with a wicked smile.

“Don’t worry, hero, it’s just a hobby. I’m sure my tricks are nothing to a dragonslayer. You’ve nothing to fear from little old me.” She summons a tiny tornado to dance across her palm. “Well, almost nothing. I must confess: when I heard how you managed to worm your way into my family tree, I did not take it well.”

“I didn’t want—”

“Was I angry?” Zelena just raises her voice, rewriting Emma’s objection in real time. “Yes, I’ll admit the thought of some scoundrel of a knight taking advantage of my sweet, simple father and innocent baby sister had me feeling just the teeny-tiniest bit... homicidally enraged.”

Five minutes ago, Emma would never have thought to describe the king and Regina as sweet, simple, or innocent. But now, faced with Zelena in all her vicious, venomous, slightly unhinged glory, she’s starting to realize she has to grade this family on a curve.

“Was I suspicious? Naturally. But...” The menace radiating from the crown princess vanishes as quickly as it arrived. “I suppose I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

“What?” Emma blinks.

“I could have excused ambition or audacity,” Zelena says. “But you’re just boring. All you do is eat, exercise, and do what you’re told. A horse could do that.” Zelena wrinkles her nose. “Hmph. Maybe you and my sister actually will get along...” Her gaze sharpens. “Assuming you can scrape together the courage to speak with her. A whole week since your betrothal, and you’ve barely been in the same room as your blushing bride-to-be. What’s the matter, chivalry got your tongue?”

Emma almost laughs. She’s been accused of many things in her nearly two and a half decades of life, but chivalry is a new one. With great effort, she manages to keep a straight face as she stares at Zelena, waiting for her to leave.

“Bah, it’s like talking to a scarecrow,” sighs the crown princess. “You could at least try to be interesting. Oh, those shoulders are wasted on you.” With a final sniff, she dismisses Emma, turning away in a twitch of emerald skirts. “I suppose Regina can keep you after all.”

A moment later, Emma is alone in the courtyard once again.

“What.”

Clearly, lying low is working—Zelena has no idea what she’s really like. Unfortunately, she seems to have made Regina’s sister suspicious in a whole new way. It’s true: Emma’s been... lightly avoiding her betrothed. She was hoping nobody would notice, but if the king starts asking questions, he could blow this whole thing wide open. As much as Emma wants to deny it, she’s going to have to talk to Regina.

She tries to think positively. Sure, they had a poor first impression, but that just means there’s nowhere to go from here but up! Besides, that was mostly the king’s fault. Even if Regina hasn’t exactly rolled out the welcome wagon, Emma knows that sometimes you have to be the bigger person^[1]. Without an audience to perform for or a father to spray condescension all over their conversation, she’s sure they can come to an understanding. Or a truce, at least! This will go fine, juuust fine.

Right?

“Right,” Emma says.

She can't even manage to convince herself.

. . .

Sluuurp.

Emma’s never been much of a tea person, but this isn't bad. She can even identify the flavor: apples, with just a hint of loathing.

Across the table, Regina’s teacup is frozen halfway to her mouth, the bow of her lips drawn taut with disgust. Emma’s poor table manners are just the latest in a long line of evidence that she doesn’t belong, and she’s sure that the princess is keeping detailed notes. Emma already knows that she’s horribly out of place here, surrounded by gold-rimmed plates and satin tablecloths—not to mention Regina herself, who sits perfectly upright in an outfit as impeccable as her posture.

Today’s getup includes a dress of burnt-orange silk, its bodice embroidered with silver thread. On second glance, a subtle pattern jumps out at Emma, the needlework resolving into dozens of tiny daggers around an already dangerous neckline. More silver sparkles from her ears and the tips of her fingers, each nail polished into a tiny mirror. A chorus of charms and chains chime from her neck and wrists, but her head is as bare as it was the day they met, possibly because the impact of that beehive hairdo would make any crown an afterthought.

Clothes have never been that important to Emma, but that was before she saw Regina’s. Her own outfit is made up of the plainest pieces she could find in her new wardrobe: a shirt and hose, simple and safe. Emma likes to think she wears them well, but next to the princess she feels like a kid in a costume. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but at least her other costume is armor plated. This one can't even protect her from the revulsion in Regina’s eyes.

Oh well. Emma takes another slurp. It seems to shake the princess from her horrified pause.

“I checked your story with Tiana,” she says, clearing her throat. “It appears you were telling the truth.”

“You’re still on that?” Emma rubs her neck—not from nerves, but discomfort. This shirt is so new it hurts, with seams as sharp as razors and a collar stiff enough to stab with. If this is what all new clothes are like, she’s glad she’s never had any before.

“Was I supposed to take you at your word?” Regina sets down her cup with a barely audible click. “Not everyone is as... trusting as my father.”

“Why would I lie?”

The princess gives her a flat look. “The usual reasons. Wealth, power, prestige. I’m sure you’re familiar.” Her lip curls. “Well, maybe not familiar, but you must have heard of them.”

“Rude,” mutters Emma, toying with her teacup. “I meant, why would I lie about something so easy to prove?”

“You may have done your homework, but it will take more than a few scraps of gossip to earn a passing grade.” Her voice goes low and stern, and Emma is struck with visions of Regina at the front of a schoolhouse with horn-rimmed spectacles and a severe bun. Trying not to squirm, she goes to lean on one elbow, realizes her chair has no arms to lean on, and narrowly avoids spilling all over herself^[2].

“I, er...” Emma considers her words while grabbing a discreet handful of tablecloth to dry her pants. “I wasn’t sure a passing grade was on the table, Your Highness. You seemed pretty set on calling this betrothal off.”

“Oh, I still am,” says the princess. Emma lets out a soft breath of relief—one that Regina does not miss. “And you, Ser Swan? I would expect any knight-errant to leap at my father’s offer, and yet...”

“Maybe I’m a romantic.”

“Ah, your page,” guesses Regina, wildly missing the mark. Emma’s eyes fill with horror as they slide toward the servants’ door in the corner. The princess’s attendants are in the adjoining room, giving them privacy while staying close enough to act as chaperones. Lily is also among them, probably bored out of her skull.

“Hell no,” says Emma. “Never ag—” She swallows her words. “Never an option. Lily and I are just friends—I mean, not even friends, really. More like... work acquaintances?”

It’s not a total lie. When you’ve spent over ten years travelling together, working together, and running away from angry mobs together, friendship doesn’t seem like the right word. At this point, Emma’s just accepted that she and Lily are stuck with each other, two halves of a charmingly dysfunctional whole.

The princess doesn’t look convinced. She also doesn’t look like she cares. “You never answered my question, Ser Swan. I can see that you wish for this marriage as little as I do. What I don’t know is why.”

Emma weighs her options. The princess is right: neither of them wants this. Her second conversation with Regina has been relatively painless so far, but that doesn’t mean she’s looking forward to a lifetime of them. Obviously Emma can't tell Regina that she already has an exit strategy, but being on her good side—or just out of her line of fire—can only aid Emma’s inevitable escape.

“You’re right,” she says. “I’d rather have my reward in cash. Um, no offense.”

Regina’s mouth flattens. “Perhaps you don’t realize what you’ve been offered. While my sister may be the heir, my own lands and titles are far from negligible.” Okay, she is offended, but not for the reasons Emma expected. “My territory may only include a single diamond mine, but returns on our fishing and textile yields have been steadily rising, thanks in no small part to my careful—”

“Only one diamond mine?” Emma blurts. She knows where her priorities lie. Sure, seafood and shawls are super, but swiping a sack of salmon won’t make you a millionaire. “How many does your family have?”

A sigh is the only response.

“Y’know,” says Emma, hiding a smile, “I’ve always heard the reward for dragonslaying was half the kingdom and the princess’s hand in marriage. Like, traditionally. Do you think I could bargain up?”

“Traditionally,” echoes Regina, “the dragonslayer delivers the monster’s head, not its baby teeth.”

“Oh, come on, those were grown-up teeth and you know it.”

The princess purses her lips. “Young adult teeth, possibly, and that was the most generous assessment. Their size and lustre were far from ideal.”

“Maybe the dragon just had terrible dental hygiene,” Emma says^[3]. “And are you telling me you actually double-checked the teeth?”

“Naturally. I had Zelena take a look. She’s a bit of an animal lover.”

“You can't keep testing me forever.”

“Oh, do you truly think so? How adorable.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Anyway,” she says, “I bet I can make a case for a quarter of the kingdom, maybe a third. What do you think?”

“You’re welcome to argue domestic policy with Father,” says Regina. “He’s a stubborn negotiator, but I’m sure you’ll be up to the challenge. Just think of all the time I wasted being educated from birth when all I had to do was yawn my way through a few nights of dinner theatre.”

“It wasn’t all dinner theatre. Some were puppet shows.” Emma can't help herself. The more annoyed the princess gets, the more her hair wobbles, and by now the beehive is practically buzzing. “Look,” she says, forcing herself to circle back. “I’m sure you’re a great landlady—”

“Liege lady,” corrects Regina. Emma doesn’t bother arguing^[4].

“—but honestly, being married to you sounds like a lot of work.” Emma pauses, ready to tack on another limp ‘no offense,’ but Regina just accepts this with a nod.

“At least you know your limits,” she says. “I’d hate to be the one to cut down your delusions of grandeur.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“No.” For a heartbeat, something awfully close to a smile tugs at Regina’s lips. “No, I would not.”

Emma grins back, starting to rise from her chair. “Okay, great.” She shrugs. “Guess we understand each other. I’ll be seeing you, Your Highness.”

“Not so fast, Ser Swan. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh?” Under the table, Emma clenches a fist. And she almost got away with it, too. “What’s that?”

“Why?” The word cuts through the air. “We’ve established that royalty holds no appeal for you. I don’t care enough to judge you, but I am interested in your reasons. Most people in your position would at least consider the benefits of marriage, but your very first instinct was to refuse. So why, Ser Swan? If it’s not a prior entanglement, then it is myself you object to? Or my family? Or simply the threat of responsibility?”

Slowly, Emma sits back down. “It’s really nothing personal,” she says. “I just know how messy crowns can make things. All that gossip I’ve heard: the curses, the intrigue, the infidelity... it’s good conversation, but not a good life. Er, I’m not saying it’s a bad life, either, just too complicated for someone like me to, uh, live with. Like you said, I know my limits. I kill monsters”—well, allegedly—“I get paid, and then I move on. Things are just better this way. Simpler. More... me.”

When she looks up, there’s a funny light in Regina’s eye. “I suppose that’s one opinion,” says the princess. Her odd expression vanishes, replaced by a thoughtful frown. “Not an entirely inaccurate one, either. When it comes to nobility, things are rarely simple. If they were, I’d suggest you simply steal away in the dead of night.”

“And that’s... a bad idea?” Emma asks, dreading the answer.

“For you, certainly. I’ll be perfectly fine until the next idiot manages to slay a dragon.”

And to think Emma was actually worried about her. “What’s wrong with me just disappearing?” she asks. “Uh, hypothetically, I mean. It seems like it would solve both of our problems.”

Regina just looks at her for a long moment. “I’m not sure how much you’ve heard already,” she says eventually, “but we lost my mother many years ago.”

“Oh.”

“That wasn’t a euphemism,” Regina clarifies. “She left when I was quite young, and we’ve never been able to track her down.” Her face hardens with every word. It isn't the perfect mask she donned when they first met. Instead, it looks... brittle. Neither smiling nor frowning nor anything in between, an expression that refuses to express. “I knew she never loved my father, but I thought...” Regina’s eyes start to redden, but she blinks the color away with sheer, stubborn pride. “In any case, she left us without a word, going who knows where to do who knows what. If you ask Zelena, she returned to the fiery pit of hell from whence she came.”

“Sounds right to m—”

“My sister has a terrible sense of humor, of course.”

Emma’s no stranger to sob stories, and she doesn’t doubt Regina’s. She is a little unsure of how it relates to her specifically, but the princess continues before she has to start guessing.

“Father was far from heartbroken by Mother’s departure, but it did make him more, mm... proactive. He’s always had very firm views on how things ‘should be,’ which is fine when it comes to ruling. He is King, after all. But when it comes to people...” She sighs through her nose. “It used to be that he would simply work around you—I’m sure you noticed how selective his hearing can be. But these days, his patience is thin. If you don’t fit into his view of the world, well... he is King, after all. There’s plenty he can do to make you fit.”

“Is that what he’s doing to you?” The question slips out before Emma can stop it, but after a brief stab of panic, she decides she doesn’t regret it. She’s too curious.

Regina draws back, eyes hardening. “You should be more concerned about what he’ll do to you,” she says. “I’m his daughter. You’re just a stranger.”

Not for the first time, a corner of Emma’s brain lets off a faint ping. Whenever Regina mentions her father, something rings false. The princess is almost as good a liar as Lily, but trying so hard to suppress something is its own sort of evidence. The secret is nothing sinister, Emma judges, but it’s clearly important—at least to Regina. Emma wants nothing to do with any royal family secrets. She’s in deep enough as it is, and this sordid backstory has only redoubled her resolve to run for the hills.

“Actually, that’s not quite correct,” the princess muses, voice cool. “If you were just a stranger, His Majesty wouldn’t care what you did. But you’ve made yourself interesting.”

“Thank you?”

The roll of Regina’s eyes is actually a relief. Emma would rather have her annoyed than angry. “Interesting to Father,” the princess says, “and once you have his attention, it’s hard to shake.”

Emma just shrugs. Unless the old man can keep up with a dragon, she’s pretty sure she and Lily can manage.

“My father has friends and family across half the continent,” Regina continues as if reading her thoughts. “Escaping his reach may not be as simple as you expect.”

“Who said anything about escape?” says Emma, feeling her heartbeat speed up. “I told you I was being hypocritical.”

A furrow grows between Regina’s brows. “You... Oh, yes. Hypothetical.”

“That’s what I said.” In Emma’s defense, she’s a little lightheaded on account of all the panic. Her palms are suddenly damp, visions of wanted posters dancing in her head. All the reputation they’ve built, all that time honing ‘Dragon, dragon!’ to perfection. All gone in a flash because one king can't take a hint. “Anyway, say—” She swallows. “Say all that’s true. What am I supposed to do?”

“Are we still speaking in hypotheticals?”

“Yes, obviously.” Emma folds her arms. The princess is enjoying this a little too much. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about getting hitched in the last five minutes.” She expects Regina to sneer, sigh or shake her head, but to her horror, the princess actually thinks about it.

“You’ve been honest with me, so I suppose I should return the favor,” she says at last. “I’ll admit, Ser Swan, that I didn’t have the highest opinion of you when we first met. Father’s been throwing suitors at me for years, and I had no desire to shackle myself to some sword-swinging simpleton with a head as hollow as her helmet. But now that we’ve spent some time together, I have to say you’re not what I expected—no, what I assumed.” She ducks her head, but Emma’s not sure if it’s a bow or a way to hide her face.

“I do have to apologize for that,” Regina says^[5]. “Now, I still can't claim to know you, not yet, but I’m starting to, and from what I’ve seen...” She pauses, and the palm sweat intensifies. “... No, Ser Swan. I remain extremely opposed to our union.”

“Thank god,” Emma groans. “You could have just led with that.”

“I suppose I could have.” The princess lifts her head, and Emma catches a glimpse of a smirk before it’s smoothed away. “More importantly, Ser Swan, I can't tell you how to handle my father. If I knew that, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.”

Well, that’s fair enough. Emma can tell Regina’s still holding something back, but calling her out for that really would be hypocritical.

“Thanks anyway,” she says. It doesn’t come out as sarcastic as she means it to be. She really has gained a lot of info from their talk; maybe even too much. Which reminds her...

“And, uh, sorry your mom ran off.”

“Teleported, technically,” says Regina. “She was quite the witch, my mother.” One elegant eyebrow rises, daring Emma to agree.

“I’ve got nothing but respect for witches,” Emma says, then amends, “Most witches. Maybe a little less for this one.”

Judging by Regina’s reluctant snort, this was an acceptable answer. The atmosphere between them is almost comfortable... for about a second before it curdles into awkwardness.

Across the table, Regina takes a sip of tea, then another. She seems perfectly happy to sit in silence, leaving Emma to fidget with her cold, empty cup. Is she supposed to pour more for herself, or is it rude to touch someone else’s teapot? Should she just leave, or call Lily from the next room? Are all noble tea parties this intense, or is it just her?

When she asked for a meeting, Emma hadn’t expected to learn so much, nor to give so much away. She gets the feeling that Regina no longer considers her a mortal enemy, but now Emma doesn’t know where they stand, and that’s somehow worse. Not knowing is becoming a pattern with this princess, and Emma’s not a fan. Even though she’s lifted nothing heavier than a teacup for the past hour, she feels exhausted.

After several suffocating minutes, the princess sets down her cup.

“You’re still here, Ser Swan?” she asks, voice brimming with insincere surprise. “Please, don’t stay on my account. I’m sure you have a busy afternoon of freeloading ahead of you.”

Emma stands. “That’s more like it,” she says under her breath. “Lily, we’re leaving—”

When she yanks open the door to the servants’ waiting room, someone tumbles out on hands and knees.

“Uh, hey, boss. I was just lacing my boots,” Lily claims with a close-lipped smile^[6]. This fools nobody, not least because of the red mark on one ear in the perfect shape of the keyhole.

“Get up,” snaps Emma, dragging her partner to her feet. “I’m sorry about this,” she says, not daring to look back at Regina. “I’ll, er, talk to her.”

“I’m innocent,” groans Lily, dodging every hint Emma tries to elbow into her ribs. “C’mon, Ems, you know how bad I am at knots!”

“Shut up, Lilith,” Emma hisses. “Really sorry,” she says in Regina’s general direction. “She’s harmless, I swear.”

“Mm.” Despite the utter neutrality of the princess’s tone, Emma can't shake the feeling that she’s trying not to laugh. “Work acquaintances, you said?”

Chapter Text

At long last, Emma is back on the road. After over a month cooped up in that castle, the fresh air and Max’s slightly lopsided gait are doing wonders for her nerves. The forest that surrounds the castle grounds is decidedly deep and dark, but Emma doesn’t let it bother her, not today. Today she’s happy just to be moving, to be doing something.

It would be even better if she wasn’t accompanied by a pair of princesses, three dozen guards, and a whole mob of assorted sycophants. What was once a lean, mean expeditionary force has become a bloated caravan that ambles through the trees with all the urgency of a snail on vacation.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Emma may be enjoying the outing, but she’s in no rush to reach their destination—after all, she’s expected to kill something when they get there.

“A siren?” the king had said, eyebrows rising. “Now we can't have that, can we? It’s our good fortune to have just the champion to protect us from such a ghastly creature.”

Following the sweep of his arm, the entire court had turned as one. So had Emma, until she realized they were all looking at her.

“Lovely!” Zelena had chimed in before she could even try to dodge the task. “What a perfect chance for our savior to prove herself worthy of my dearest sister.”

Emma’s had several run-ins with Zelena over the past few weeks, but the two of them have never gotten over their first impressions. The crown princess still thinks of Emma as a mere hedge knight grasping far above her station, something to be scraped off the sole of those gaudy ruby slippers. In return, Emma views her as yet another sticking point in this glue trap of a kingdom, a bundle of conceit and privilege to be avoided whenever possible. It was no great shock that the crown princess leapt at the chance to get Emma either embarrassed or killed, and even less of a surprise that she insisted on tagging along to watch.

Regina was there too, but she’d said nothing, no hint of help in her eyes. To be fair, Emma isn't sure if there was anything the princess could have said—or a reason for her to say anything at all. If Emma had refused, she’d be tossed out on her ass and Regina would be off the hook. If Emma fails, ditto. Either way, the princess gets what she wants and Emma gets screwed out of the biggest payday of her life.

So now here she goes, off to live up to her very fictional reputation. Emma’s no stranger to digging herself into holes, but this is the first time the hole seems happy to dig itself. Maybe one of these days she’ll burrow her way out the other side of the earth and tumble out, up, and away into the emptiness of space.

What a relief that would be.

Her depression deepens as their column leaves the forest and rides through the streets of the capital, turning into an impromptu parade. The citizens seem genuinely honored by the sight of their king’s banner, sending off the convoy with an outpouring of spirit that Emma can only describe as ‘a little much.’ Flags are flapped, flowers are flung, and full-throated cheering is all anyone can hear. At the head of the procession, Emma gets hit with the worst of it all. By the time they make it out of town, she’s gained a frozen smile, a ringing in her ears, and a cramp in her arm from all the gallant waving.

When the same thing happens in every village they trot through, she fully dissociates. The smile and wave become her armor, because her actual armor, while shiny and new, is no help against the stab of unearned adoration. Emma does her best to ignore it all, the cheers fading into a dull roar as she daydreams about falling into the sky to join the sun and moon in orbit, peaceful and guilt-free.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

Emma may be able to block out the crowds, but Lily refuses to be ignored. Blinking her fantasies away, Emma realizes that they’ve left the latest town behind.

“Wow, you look exhausted.” Her partner shakes her head sadly. “I knew it, all that smiling can't be healthy.” Lily has pulled up beside her, straddling a donkey so well-fed that it’s practically spherical^[1]. Like Emma’s armor, it’s a perk of their new position. A new horse was also on the table, but when she tried to choose one, Max looked so pathetic that she couldn’t bring herself to replace him. Lily was far less sentimental, laying claim to her rotund steed on top of another half dozen assorted equines as ‘backups^[2].’

Overall, Emma muses, Lily’s been having much more fun than she has. It doesn’t seem fair, but it does makes sense; the ‘page’ doesn’t have to deal with a lot of things that Emma does, like a betrothal or a conscience.

“Still, you don’t usually look this bad.” Lily runs a thoughtful tongue over her teeth, a habit picked up while the ones they pulled were growing back. “What’s wrong, Ems? I was really hoping the sunshine would get you out of this mood you’ve been in.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Emma stifles a yawn. She’s just tired, and Lily isn't helping by being... herself. “What mood? I haven’t been in any mood.”

“It’s ‘cause Her Royal Spikiness came with us, isn't it? You’re always sulky when she’s around—when you don’t run away, I mean.”

“I’m not sulking,” grumbles Emma. “And I don’t run from Regina.”

“Suuure. I must have imagined all the times we had to detour because you heard high heels click-clacking around the corner.” Lily shivers. “I mean yeah, it’s a terrifying sound, but we’ve heard worse.”

“I’m hearing worse right now.”

Lily doesn’t rise to the bait. Her focus is rare, and it always comes at the most inconvenient times. “You haven’t embarrassed yourself that badly, have you? You can't have; the two of you haven’t been alone together since your little tea party.”

“Don’t remind me.”

It’s all Lily’s fault that meeting ended on such a sour note. The memory of Regina’s parting shot makes Emma’s gut squirm with embarrassment—and that’s the real problem. She’s been called out before, but this time was different. For starters, she might actually sort of care what Regina thinks. It must be the whole being betrothed thing, because she’s met princesses before. This one may have a tongue like an Agrabahn viper and the dress sense of a necromancer’s widow, but that isn't so unusual. Quick wits and fancy clothes are items one and two in the noble socialite’s starter kit.

But even as the thought crosses her mind, Emma knows that’s not quite right. It’s not exactly wit, what Regina has. It’s more like... spite. And the flashy outfits are as much of a costume as the face she wears to court. It’s layer upon layer with Regina: princess, daughter, landlady^[3]. Emma’s only gotten glimpses of the woman beneath them all, a sight with all the sparkle and danger of broken glass.

All this is to explain why she’s been avoi—keeping a cautious distance from Regina. They’ve barely established a working relationship, and there’s no point in giving herself the chance to piss the princess off. It’s not like Emma’s been ignoring her, either. They sit together at meals, stand side by side at court, even dance at the occasional ball. Sure, none of those involve much talking, but that suits Emma just fine. She’ll be gone soon enough, and then it won’t matter what Regina thinks about her.

“One day you’ll tell me what you two talked about that has you so mopey.” Lily’s voice breaks into her thoughts.

“I’m not moping either.” Emma’s helmet squeaks as she turns her face away. “Do you really expect me to believe you didn’t hear anything?” she asks after a moment.

“Well I didn’t.” Her friend shrugs. “Like I told you, all the doors had some kind of magic muffling on ‘em. The king must have a wizard stuffed in a closet somewhere.”

“Or a witch.” says Emma. Hadn’t Regina said something about witches?

“It was the old Queen, actually.”

Both of them jump at the sound of a new voice. So does Max, the horse stiffening beneath Emma as a half-familiar woman walks up beside them. The stranger smiles at Emma and Lily, her dark hair framing a face that not only defies aging, but shoves it against the lockers and demands its lunch money. The biggest hint to her years is in her eyes, which are blue-green with just a touch of yellow. They’re old eyes, the skin around them faintly creased by years of experience—experience that might explain how she snuck up on them with that bright red cape draped across her shoulders.

“Her Former Majesty liked her privacy,” the woman explains. “So, when she moved in, she made sure the castle had plenty. It’s been pissing off spies ever since.”

“I’m not a spy.” Something in Lily’s voice catches Emma’s ear. She sounds almost scared, but that can't be right. Pretty much the only thing that can intimidate a dragon is an older dragon, and those are kind of hard to miss. Even in human form, they radiate danger^[4].

“Sure you aren’t,” says the stranger. “None of my business, anyway. I’m just a forester.” Emma doesn’t buy it, but the title matches her clothes. Under the red cloak, their new friend wears the leathers of a ranger or gamekeeper, muted and unremarkable with the exception of a very memorable neckline.

“You were the one who tracked down the siren.” Emma finally recalls. “Great job.” She thinks she manages to filter the sarcasm out of her voice, but the twitch of the forester’s eyebrow says otherwise. “Um,” she says, scrambling to move on, “it’s nice to officially meet you, Miss...”

“Red.” The woman manages to curtsy without breaking stride. “I’m absolutely honored, Your Soon-To-Be Highness. I can’t wait to work with the kingdom’s savior.” She smiles at Emma, broad and bright and not exactly sincere.

“You’ve heard of me,” Emma says, mostly to buy time. Of course Red’s heard of her. She was in the room when the king nominated Emma as siren bait.

“Sooo much,” confirms the forester. “The Dragonslayer.” She frames the title with her hands. “It was all anyone was talking about on my way back to the capital, and who could blame them? We don’t get many monsters like that out here. Good thing you were there to kick its scaly tail, huh?”

“Just doing my job,” deflects Emma. The convenience of her arrival is the last thing she wants anyone to dwell on. After a moment’s thought, she tries for a modest chuckle. “Don’t expect too much. I’m really not that impressive.”

“Come on, have a little confidence,” Red says shaking a finger at her. “You’re the real deal, I can tell.”

“We just met,” Lily points out. She’s steered her donkey^[5] several feet to the side, her hackles still up as she studies the older woman. When Red’s grin turns her way, she tries to hide behind her mount’s stumpy neck. The sight makes Emma frown. Her partner is always suspicious of strangers, but she’s never been this timid. It’s not that scary of a smile.

Emma clears her throat, drawing Red’s attention away from her cowering accomplice. “Have you known a lot of monster hunters?”

The smile only grows. “Ooh, too many. Usually not for very long, though. It’s a risky job. But like I said, you two are different.” She glances between them, her gaze almost mocking. “They don’t make ‘em like you up here.”

What exactly did Red hear? Emma has to look away, fists clenching around Max’s reins. What does she know? Is she on to them, or just fishing for information? Does she suspect something about Lily, or—

“Are you hitting on me?” Lily squints at the older woman, finding courage in contempt.

Red just laughs. “Maybe in another twenty years,” she snickers, which only gives Emma more questions. The forester looks barely a decade older than them, let alone two.

“Well, I’ve obviously bothered you kids enough,” says Red, slowing her pace until she starts to fall behind. It’s only then that Emma registers how odd it is that she could keep up in the first place. The horses^[6] are moving at a decent trot, but Red is on foot. She isn't even winded.

One glance at Lily tells Emma that she’s noticed too. They trade alarmed looks as Red drops behind and vanishes into the bustle of the caravan. Part of Emma is pleased that her partner finally shares her unease, but this is a terrible time for Lily to join her in the cold feet club. They may be outside of the castle, but that just means there are fewer walls between them and the guards. Even worse, most of the soldiers treat Emma as some kind of good luck charm. The closer they get to the siren, the more often they look to her for reassurance. Lily might be able to slip away, but there will be no easy escape for The Dragonslayer.

It’s funny. She and Lily have plenty of plans for when things go horribly wrong, but that’s not what happened here. The opposite, if anything. Their schemes are intact, their pockets are bulging, and their reputations have never been better. Who knew that last part would be the real problem? It turns out that if you lie as well as they have, people start expecting you to live up to the legend.

Emma sighs, then shrugs. The only choice she has now is to try her best. She’s not sure about ‘legend,’ but she’s very interested in living.

. . .

Almost a full day’s ride from the capital, they reach their destination. Emma’s seen haunted forests before, and while this one doesn’t quite qualify, it’s damn close. If the woods around the castle were unwelcoming, these are flat-out hostile. The outskirts don’t look too bad, but farther in the trees grow twisted, a thick mist creeping around their roots. Even here, far from the lake at the center of the wood, the air is damp, heavy... and silent. Emma has never paid much attention to the sounds of nature, but now that they’ve disappeared, she misses them dearly.

She barely gets to stretch her legs before Red leads her to the edge of the trees, followed by Lily and most of the guards. The rest are setting up a comfortable camp for the princesses and their courtiers. Naturally, the nobles won’t be going anywhere near the dangerous magical monster. No, that honor is reserved for a certain sham of a dragonslayer.

At least she’ll have help from the—

“Tomorrow, the soldiers and I will set up a perimeter,” announces Red. “I wish we could do more, but I’m sure we’d only get in your way.”

“R-right.” Emma swallows. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“Will your page be going with you?”

Lily’s feet start shuffling campwards. “Actually—”

“Of course she will,” says Emma, glaring at her accomplice. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Of course I will,” Lily echoes mutinously.

“Excellent!” Red’s teeth flash in the sunset. “You’ve got the hard job, but we’ll make sure our singing fish doesn’t slip the net. Trust me, nothing is getting out of these woods without going through us.”

“Fantastic,” says Lily.

As Red and the guards start planning shifts, Emma and Lily trudge back toward their tent. Like the donkey and the armor, it’s brand new. It’s also been set up right in the middle of camp, in a place of honor right next to the princesses’ pavilion. Even if the soldiers weren't already taking up positions around the campsite, escape would be no easy task.

When they reach the tent, Emma discovers another downside to their location.

“It’s an ambush,” whispers Lily, eyeing the women standing between them and the safety of their bedrolls. “Do we fight or do we run? I bet we can take them.”

“Your Highness...es.” Emma ignores her as she greets Regina and her sister. “How fared your travel? I hope the carriage was comfortable.”

“Ooh, you’re getting better at this.” Lily’s undertone continues to buzz in her ear. “Very knightly.”

Eyes narrowed, Regina glides forward. Though her steps are as smooth as ever, this time it takes some effort; today’s getup is clearly meant more for sitting than walking. Her dress clings close to every curve of her figure, from the toes of her pointy black boots all the way up to the matching ribbon around her neck. The golden-yellow cloth complements her skin—and with her arms and back bare, there’s plenty of skin to complement. Though the sight of her shoulders and spine slips toward the scandalous, modesty is maintained by a thin shawl, pale orange to match the citrine drops that drip from her ears.

“I’m surprised to hear you ask, Ser Swan.” Emma’s eyes dart back to an unimpressed face. “Does my presence no longer repel you?”

“Told you so.”

Emma shifts her weight, coincidentally swinging an armored elbow into her friend’s side. While Lily holds in a curse, she gives Regina a sheepish smile.

“I haven’t been avoiding you on purpose. I just didn’t want to bother you,” she says. “You’re always so busy ordering people around and scaring children.”

“Babies cry for many reasons,” is Regina’s retort, her ears going pink. “What were Ella and Thomas thinking? A ball is no place for an infant.”

“I agree.” Emma holds up her hands in a—hopefully—soothing gesture^[7]. “All I meant was, it’s not my fault we’ve been missing each other,” she lies. “I don’t have a regular schedule, and yours is always full of important princess stuff.”

“Nice try.” Zelena butts in with a sneer. “We all know that’s complete tosh. Nothing my sister does is important.”

“Thank you, Zelena,” says Regina, folding her arms. “So helpful. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my... with Ser Swan.”

“Of course, dear sister. I don’t mind at all.” The crown princess doesn’t budge. “Carry on.”

After a second, Regina gives her sister a subtle look—and then, when Zelena remains rooted to the spot, a less subtle stomp to the instep.

“You little—” yelps the crown princess. “Yes, fine, all right.” Copper curls flare out as she turns back toward their palatial pavilion. “You there, page.” One finger swings toward Lily, who yawns. “Congratulations! I’ve decided to allow you to assist me.”

Lily doesn’t hesitate for a second before abandoning Emma. Hands in her pockets, she strolls after Zelena with a muttered, “Oh, what an honor.”

“Hold your tongue, stooge. I don’t have to take that from you.” Despite the bite in her tone, the crown princess slows to let Lily catch up.

“Well, what would you rather have from me, Your Highness?” says the page. “Use small words, please. I’m only a peasant.”

“Hmph. I’m sure we can find you something heavy to lift.”

Emma and her betrothed watch the unlikely pair until they leave earshot. “That can't end well,” she says.

“Agreed. The last thing my sister needs is a henchman.”

Emma shudders. The shared horror lasts them a handful of heartbeats before Regina sighs and continues their conversation.

“I’ll accept that you may mean well, Ser Swan, but I don’t need your ‘consideration.’”

“I don’t know what you—”

“You’re not nearly as good an actress as you believe, you know. Even so, while it can be grating, your company is never dull—nor as unwelcome as you seem to think.” Her brows descend, eyes sparking. “Trust me, when I wish to be left alone, you’ll know.”

It’s the most threatening peace offering Emma’s ever heard, but she’ll take it. “Gotcha,” she says. “I’ll visit more?”

“Just use your judgement. Such as it is.”

They stand there for another minute, watching Lily move furniture in and out of Zelena’s pavilion.

“Can you really face a siren?” Regina must be as tired as Emma is. She’s not usually this blunt.

“I... have a plan.”

“And in your experience, do those tend to go your way?”

“Not always,” says Emma, shrugging. “Sometimes things go wrong, but I’ve got a good feeling about this one. Seriously, what are the odds I end up betrothed again?”

She hears a puff of laughter, but by the time she turns, Regina is already leaving.

“Good night, Ser Swan.”

Later, when she beds down for the evening, sleep comes surprisingly easy to Emma. Maybe it’s her conversation with Regina, or maybe she’s just exhausted from all the waving, but she feels almost serene as she drifts off. At this point, she knows she’s going into that forest tomorrow. There’s no avoiding it. She just has to make sure she comes back out, and she can manage that much. Probably.

It’s not like Emma’s useless with a sword. Her and Lily’s performances aren’t as easy as you might think: play fighting is a lot more work when one of you has claws, flaming breath, and a thirty-foot wingspan. Even apart from that, you don’t travel for as long as they have without bumping into your fair share of nasties. Outlaws, mermaids, woman-eating plants... Nothing as dangerous as a dragon or even a siren, but enough to assure Emma that she has a chance.

More of a chance than an unlucky lumberjack or washerwoman, anyway. Two villagers have already been lost to the siren’s waters, and if someone doesn’t handle it, there may soon be a third. Emma’s not convinced that someone has to be her, but she can't deny she’d feel guilty—just a little—about abandoning them. It’s not their fault the king sent his future daughter-in-law instead of his army.

Is this nepotism? Or is it a test? Emma’s stomach sinks as she realizes it’s probably both.

The point is, she’ll be fine. Probably. She has a decent sword arm, a good pair of sprinting legs, and enough wits to know when to use one over the other.

Oh, and also a dragon. An insufferable, self-centered scoundrel of a dragon that Emma can always count on when she’s completely screwed—and not a moment sooner.

It’ll have to do.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawns bright and cheery, not a cloud in the sky. Perfect weather for anything but fighting a monster to the death.

“Good fortune, Ser Swan!”

“Show no mercy!”

“Hah! Against our dragonslayer, I almost pity the creature!”

Emma would appreciate the hype squad a lot more if the courtiers weren't so obviously relieved that it’s her going instead of them. On the bright side, this time she doesn’t have to smile and wave. It’s much easier to hold a look of steely determination as she strides forth, making her way through the throng of nobles on her way out of camp. Red, Lily, and the guards are already waiting on the edge of the woods, but as the slayer-in-chief, Emma has to suffer through the fancy sendoff.

Halfway through the crowd, she strides through a cluster of swooning handmaidens and nearly trips over her betrothed.

“Unacceptable.”

The harsh denial makes Emma flinch, and it’s not ever directed at her. Apparently, some ambitious baron thinks this is the perfect time to pitch their cousin’s business venture. Emma only catches the tail end of the proposal, but it’s clearly a ziggurat scheme^[1]. Honestly, she’s surprised the courtier lasted this long. Regina must be in a good mood.

The princess dismisses the con artist with a flick of her hand before turning to... well, the other, far more successful con artist. Regina’s mask is firmly in place today, her face the image of a dismissive royal daughter. She’s also in the same clothes as yesterday, a sight so unusual that it makes Emma pause. She doesn’t believe for a second that Regina didn’t bring at least three outfits, so why is she still wearing this one? Maybe she just likes the yellow dress that much. Emma can’t object to that. It is a good look...

The princess shifts, and Emma realizes she’s staring.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” Her armor creaks as she stands up straight. People are starting to watch. “I, er... Wish me luck?”

Regina holds out a hand, palm down. “If you must.”

It takes a huge effort not to roll her eyes as she bends to press dry lips against the proffered hand. Regina’s fingers twitch slightly, her skin soft and cool over the delicate spikes of her knuckles. When Emma rises, she keeps Regina’s hand in hers, donning a smile for their growing audience.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I know you just hate to see me go, but I’ll be back before you know it.”

The princess gives her a dead-eyed look.

“But...” continues Emma, “if something does happen to me—”

“Unacceptable,” Regina says with all the emotion of a brick.

“Hah! I knew you cared.” Emma is starting to enjoy herself, but judging by the vein on Regina’s forehead, the feeling is not mutual.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ser Swan.”

“Please, don’t make this harder than it is!” Emma heaves a dramatic sigh, hiding her grin behind an upflung arm. “We’re only just getting to know each other. To have that cut short... Oh, the very thought makes my knees tremble and my heart, um, weep.”

Regina scowls at the performance, but before she can say more than, “Don’t—” a figure in green appears at her side.

“As much as I hate to interrupt you lovebirds, I believe our savior has somewhere to be.” Despite her words, Zelena doesn’t hesitate to wedge herself between them like a redheaded crowbar. “They’re waiting for you over there, Ser Swan. Chop chop.”

“Right.” Emma would much rather stay here, plucking on Regina’s last thread of patience, but the crown princess has a point. There’s chopping to be done, and everyone expects her to do it. With a final nod to her betrothed, she goes to join Lily and the others.

“This way, sister dearest,” Zelena’s voice drifts after her. “It’s much cooler inside the carriage. Let’s leave all the mucking about in the woods to your pet hero, shall we?”

“If you must,” says Regina.

Something about her words gives Emma déjà vu, but when she looks back, the princesses are already walking away, arm in arm.

. . .

“Don’t worry, Ems, I’ve got your back.” Lily’s voice drifts through the mist. “I’m way behind you.”

“Right behind me.”

“What?”

“The phrase is, ‘I’m right behind you.’”

Lily’s silence is deafening.

“Yup, I’m definitely behind you,” she says eventually.

“You’re the worst,” Emma informs her.

They’ve been walking through the woods for less than an hour, and the sun is already a distant memory. Between the trees and the mist, visibility is reduced to a grey bubble, shapes and shadows looming on all sides. It’s almost claustrophobic, and the silence isn't helping. There’s no birdsong in the trees, no squeaking from the bushes. Even the rustling of leaves is stifled by the thick, still air.

The only clear path is the one to the siren’s lake, and the threat of getting lost in this soundless, suffocating forest is enough to keep Emma firmly on the trail. The woods can't be that big, but Emma doesn’t like their chances of finding a way out... at least not before something finds them.

Once or twice, she thinks she sees movement in the corner of her eye. Thinks she hears scratching just out of earshot. But when she focuses, nothing is ever there to be found. Shivering, Emma wraps a hand around her sword, but any sense of security is fragile at best. Maybe the weapon would be more comforting to a real hero, but her cynical heart can't draw any courage from the polished piece of steel.

“Did you notice anything weird about the princess this morning?” she says, glancing over her shoulder.

“Which princess?” asks Lily. “The tall snobby one or the short nasty one?”

Emma’s sigh mingles with the mist. “The... not the tall one.”

“Sorry, I know that’s your future wife I’m talking about.” Lily snickers. “No, I didn’t notice anything, why?”

“She seemed a little... out of it,” says Emma, scanning the trees as she walks. “Did you notice? There was something off about how she talked.”

“How would I know? We’ve never had a conversation, thank god.”

“Come on, she’s not that bad.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t sound like that.” For a moment, Emma is grateful for the mist as it cools her cheeks. “She’s not a pushover, that’s all. And she’s a lot less annoying than some people.” She stops walking and pivots to give her friend a pointed look.

Lily snorts, unfazed. “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. I told you, you could do worse.”

“I’m not trying to do anyone. Anything!” Emma corrects herself. “But... I guess it could be worse. After meeting the rest of her family, I think Regina might actually be the reasonable one.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” says a familiar voice.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.” Emma turns back around to shrug at her betrothed. “Was I wrong?”

Her lack of surprise puts a frown on Regina’s face as it emerges from the mist. The rest of the princess soon follows, melting out of the gloom as she steps onto the path a few paces ahead. “When did you notice me?” she demands.

“Five minutes ago,” admits Emma.

“Ten,” says Lily.

“I’m pretty good at knowing when I’m being watched,” Emma explains.

“I’m better,” says Lily.

The princess continues to frown at them both. “And how did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Shut up, Lily.”

When Emma starts walking again, Regina falls into step beside her. Today’s getup is almost practical, but it still features a green suede jacket, a cap with a matching feather, and the tightest pair of pants Emma has ever seen^[2]. Seriously, that’s either leather or paint, and only the copper thread woven into the trousers disproves the latter. The embroidery, mirrored on her jacket’s collar and cuffs, takes the form of twisting branches that hug the curves of Regina’s legs from calf to thigh. Each bough is lined with thorns in the form of small, spiked studs; a pointed warning to any wandering eyes. Broken-in riding boots complete the picture, looking shabby by comparison despite being worth more than anything Emma’s ever owned, up to and including Max.

Leather pants aside, what sticks in Emma’s mind is the fact that Regina was wearing something completely different back at camp, the kind of dress that would take half an hour just to peel yourself out of. It doesn’t seem physically possible for the princess to have gone to her tent and changed clothes in time to stalk them as they entered the woods. Not to mention the delay of dodging Zelena, the guards, and all those clingy courtiers.

“I was never there, of course. I slipped away early this morning,” is Regina’s explanation, which only raises more questions. Those are answered by, “A standard Double-Double spell. Difficult to master, but I’ve had plenty of practice,” the princess tries to sound modest and fails. “An obedient doppelganger can be quite useful when it comes to escaping tutors.”

So she can do magic. Emma tucks this knowledge into her mental Regina folder—a file that grows thicker by the day. Like most things she’s learned, the knowledge is as impressive as it is concerning. Emma prefers her marks to be gullible and ineffective, but this princess is neither.

“Naturally, it’s not quite a perfect copy.” Regina continues. “Its speech is severely limited, but that’s all that a puppet of this level can manage. Choosing my words is always an amusing challenge.”

“Right,” says Emma, not all that interested in the details. She’s confident she already knows the most important thing about magic, which is to avoid it as much as you possibly can. She’s been caught in the crossfire of too many curses and prophesies to forget that lesson, no matter how adorable Regina looks as she brags.

“I borrowed a broomstick from Zelena, but the thing is as irresponsible as she is. The second I let go, it—”

“Hold on,” Emma interrupts. “You said your double could only say a few things?”

“Three phrases, yes. I’ve found it best to have one that boils down to ‘yes,’ another for ‘no,’ and...” The princess trails off.

“And one just for me!” recalls Emma. “What was that you said about flattery, Your Highness?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ser Swan,” Regina says dryly. “You know, I should thank you. I normally need to consider so many possibilities, but this time, the choice was easy. I only had to count on you saying something stupid.”

“She’s reliable that way, isn't she?” says Lily. “I think she thinks it’s charming.”

Regina lets out a soft snort. “Yes, she would think that, wouldn’t she?”

“Only half of what she says is worth listening to in the first place,” continues Lily, smoothly moving out of kicking range. “I mean, the real useful stuff is even less, but better safe than sorry.”

“A shrewd observation.” Regina eyes Emma, her mouth in a neutral line. “You’re clearly the brains of this operation, Miss Lilith.”

“Clearly,” echoes Lily. If she gets any smugger, her head might just burst^[3].

“And how, if I may ask, do you decide when to start listening to Ser Swan?”

Lily gives this some thought.

“Usually when she starts yelling.”

“Fascinating.” Regina glances back at Emma, who can only grit her teeth.

“I liked it better when you two ignored each other.”

. . .

“You promised me you had a plan.”

“Of course we do,” Emma says. “Lily, show her the plan.”

Her partner pulls a fist-sized lump from her pack. Emma knows it’s a creamy yellow color, but the gloom gives the glob an unflattering greenish hue.

“Is that wax?”

“For our ears,” says Emma. “Everyone knows a siren’s bark is worse than its bite. Want some?”

“Absolutely not,” Regina says, leaning away. “Keep your... ear wax.”

“Are you sure? We’ve got plenty.”

“Must you be so childish?” the princess snaps. “I assure you, there’s no need to concern yourself with my safety.” With a click of her fingers, a shimmering bubble appears around Regina’s head. Her lips continue to move, but no sound reaches Emma or Lily through the globe of magic.

“Well that’s useful,” says Emma, reluctantly impressed. “You can't hear us at all?” A moment later, she realizes the problem with asking, but fortunately the princess seems to get the gist. Regina smirks as she points to one ear, finger passing through the magic without even a ripple.

“WHAT ABOUT NOW?” Lily’s bellow accomplishes absolutely nothing unless you count making Emma jump out of her skin. Regina frowns at the page, watching with arched brow as she cups her hands around her mouth and tries again.

While her partner illustrates that one quote about the definition of insanity, Emma circles around, eyeing the sphere of silence. It’s bigger than Regina’s head, extending about a hand’s width on all sides. Just enough room for...

“What about now?”

She’s close enough to see Regina’s ear perk up at the unexpected whisper. Emma almost laughs before she realizes her mistake—when Regina is startled, when she feels threatened, she doesn’t flinch away. No, she leans in.

In a blink, they’re nose to nose, a tingling sensation spreading across Emma’s skin. From the magic bubble, no doubt. She’s hyperaware of the blood pounding in her ears, the heat creeping up her neck, and it doesn’t look like Regina’s in a much better state. This close, Emma’s vision is filled by the princess’s eyes, wide open in a stunned expression that mirrors Emma’s own. Neither of them dares to breathe, but she feels the ghost of a gasp tickle her chin as Regina closes her mouth.

Emma’s gaze follows the motion, glancing down past deep brown eyes and faintly fluttering nostrils to watch Regina’s lips seal shut. They form into a line as straight as any ruler, under the princess’s strict control... unlike the color blooming on her cheeks. Emma feels her own breath catch in her chest, a matching flush threatening to rise on her face^[4].

With her ears outside the sphere of silence, she still can't hear a thing from Regina, but that just means Emma has more attention to study the face frozen inches from hers. The way light curls around the scar that marks her lip. The way perfectly shaped eyebrows tremble as if trying to tune into just the right emotion. The way wide eyes go impossibly wider as the princess loses her balance.

Loses her balance?

Emma’s hand finds Regina’s a split second before the smaller woman topples off the edge of the path. The sphere of silence disappears with a small pop, leaving the princess free to unleash a scolding like this forest has never heard.

At least that’s what Emma expects. What actually follows is a light cough from Regina as she fixes her footing and slips her fingers from Emma’s unresisting grip. The lack of reaction is almost... disappointing? No, that can’t be it. Emma shakes her head, an apology dying in her throat as the princess turns away.

“I assume earplugs aren't your entire strategy?” Regina asks Lily, the first words slightly raspy before she clears her throat.

It takes a moment for Lily to answer. “You bet they aren’t,” she says, eyes bouncing between them. Emma glares back until her accomplice pulls the rest of their gear out of her pack with a proud, “Viola.”

“Voila,” Regina corrects. “Though that may be more than this plan deserves.” She pauses. “Well, I say ‘plan,’ but all I see is a rope. And a sack.” She doesn’t sound impressed.

“They’re for the siren,” says Emma, letting herself relax. She’s happy to pretend nothing happened. Avoidance is practically her middle name! She was just surprised Regina could resist the urge to yell at her, that’s all.

“Even if you can avoid their song, a siren is hardly harmless.” Regina glances at Emma, then toward the lake at the end of the path. “Especially here. They drown their victims, you know.”

Is that concern in the princess’s voice? Emma doesn’t dare comment. “We know,” she says instead. “That’s why we have a Plan B. Lily?”

Lily hands her Plan B.

“A stick.”

“It’s a club, actually.” Emma gives it a few illustrative swings, grinning at the way Regina’s face sours. Annoyance is a familiar look on the princess, and against all logic, Emma is starting to like it. “What? This is why you’re here, right? You’re the one who snuck all the way out here to see us in action.”

“This isn't quite the action I had in mind.” The princess eyes their tools with distaste. “Somehow, I expected something more... refined.” She sighs. “In hindsight, I don’t know why. When I think of you, Ser Swan, refinement isn't exactly the first thing that springs to mind.”

“What is the first thing?” Lily asks innocently.

With a click of Regina’s fingers, a shimmering bubble appears around her head. As the princess starts walking toward the lake, Emma aims a sharp look at her accomplice.

“Don’t tell me you weren't wondering,” Lily says.

“Just keep an eye on her,” says Emma. “I’ll handle the siren.”

Following Regina’s lead, they plug their ears with wax and head for the water. Emma’s fingers flex around her club, her other hand checking the sword on her waist. She’s hoping that the creature will come quietly—no pun intended. The less stabbing she has to do, the better. Emma has fought to escape, to survive, but never to kill, and she’d rather not break that streak. If all goes well, the worst the siren will suffer at Emma’s hands is a bonk to the head. After that, any punishment is up to the King’s Justice—and on the king’s conscience.

As they approach the water’s edge, Lily hovers at Regina’s side while Emma takes the lead. She can't afford to look bad when the princess still doesn’t trust them—and that’s not paranoia. She said so herself on their way through the woods. Emma’s starting to think that Regina really can keep testing her forever.

The moment her foot touches the water, it starts. Even with wax in her ears, Emma can feel the air vibrate with the siren’s song. It’s no ordinary sound; it’s... aimed. The mist before her starts to ripple, then drifts apart, clearing a path to the center of the lake. With a deep breath, Emma walks forward into the water. After one step, it reaches her knees. After two, it’s almost to her waist, but luckily that’s as deep as it gets. A few steps later, something begins to take shape at the end of the gauzy corridor: an island where a feminine figure stands.

Emma squints, then frowns. The siren isn't just standing there. She’s... waving? And not the dainty kind of wave that noblewomen practice in the mirror, but a wild, urgent flapping of both arms. The motion is almost panicked, like the woman is trying to—

Water sloshes against Emma’s legs as she whirls around. Lily and Regina are a few steps behind her, but behind them, something is moving beneath the surface. She wades past them, raises her club, and brings it down on what feels like a rubbery log. The log jerks under the blow, then starts to move, brushing her armored leg. She turns to follow the motion and sees something emerge from the water: a long, narrow head grinning with long, narrow jaws. A toothy underbite sits under two mismatched eyes, the right beady and black while the left shines a sickly yellow. As Emma swallows, the head rises on a fat tube of a body to loom over the trio of trespassers.

Emma doesn’t know much about eels, just that they’re technically fish and—according to Lily—they taste delicious. But she’s pretty sure they’re not usually twenty feet long with teeth the size of butter knives. The monster moray sways to inspect them, head flopping from side to side before zeroing in on Emma.

“Don’t look at me, I taste terrible,” she says, the words thrumming oddly in her blocked ears.

The eel doesn’t seem to care.

Moments later, she’s sprinting for the safety of the island, shoving her friend and betrothed before her. Well, ‘running’ is a bit optimistic with the mud and water dragging at her legs. So is ‘safety,’ to be honest. Emma doesn’t know what to think about the siren, who has stopped waving to watch as the eel herds them closer. Her song still thrums through the air, growing stronger with every step they take. The wax is holding up so far, but the melody still resonates through Emma’s helmet.

Right now, though, that’s only their second biggest problem. A wave of lake water crashes into Emma’s back as the monster makes another lunge, quite literally snapping at her heels. She’s falling behind Lily and Regina, who don’t have to deal with what feels like a hundred pounds of waterlogged armor. To be fair, the armor is worth the weight. The eel’s successful chomps have earned it nothing more than cracked teeth, and while the thing stays focused on her, it’s not going after the others. If they can keep this up, they’ll be back on dry land with a fighting chance.

Then the pair ahead of her stops short, Lily blocking Regina with an outstretched arm. A heartbeat later, she flings the princess back toward Emma just before a second goddamn giant eel explodes from the water. It takes a moment for Emma to sort out her sudden armful of princess and the mouthful of hair that comes with her, but she looks up in time to see Lily swat the new eel aside with one hand.

It’s quite the sight, a twenty-foot fish flopping around like a wet noodle^[5]. Even after it recovers, the monster reels back, visibly confused by her inhuman strength. Joined by its twin, it gawks down at the dragon for a long moment, weighing its odds, then recoils as she raises her fist. When Lily takes a step forward, licking her lips, the creatures make a hasty retreat into the mist.

Something knocks on the cheek of Emma’s helmet, and she looks down to meet Regina’s gaze. The princess is still squashed against Emma’s armor-plated bosom, wet hair plastered to her forehead. She raises an expectant eyebrow, and Emma loosens her grip. Regina takes a half step away but sticks close as she fixes her clothes and scans the mist. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and through the sphere of silence, Emma sees her face shining with sweat.

Before Emma can think, she’s reaching out to take Regina’s hand in hers. The princess barely hesitates before latching on. Her brown eyes, normally so guarded, are full of something like relief. Her lips part, starting to form words before remembering that nobody will hear them. Instead, she just nods, free hand rising to push back her hair. For a split second, they understand each other perfectly.

Thank you for catching me, say Regina’s eyes.

Any time, answer Emma’s.

Although... the princess goes on, it could have been a softer landing. Not to complain, of course, but I can feel the bruises already. Next time—

It’s hard to read Regina’s body language after that because Emma’s sprinting for the island, half carrying the soggy princess. One of the eels thrashes through the water behind them, struggling as it enters the shallows. They drag themselves onto the beach a few steps ahead of the monster, but the beast doesn’t give up that easy. Jaws yawning open, it rears out of the lake, neck coiling as it prepares to strike.

Regina’s fireball catches it square in the mouth, and its mismatched eyes bulge out of its head. It lets out a silent screech, then topples back into the water like a felled tree. Emma catches the flick of a slippery tail as the eel writhes away, leaving them alone on the island.

Alone, apart from the potentially murderous siren.

The song is stronger here, almost a physical force. Its waves fill the air, making it hard to focus, to move, even to breathe. Emma can feel it beneath her skin now. In her bones. And judging by how her companions squirm, so can they. The melody may be muted, but this close, there’s no ignoring it. She can block it out with some effort, but even then, it lurks at the edges of her mind, coaxing, cajoling. It only wants to help. To tell her what she wants to hear, to show her what she wants to see. If she’d only open her ears, she could be truly, honestly happy for once in her miserable life.

Bullshit, all of it. Emma’s lied to herself too many times not to notice someone else trying the same trick.

But as eerie as the song is, the weirdest part is that the siren doesn’t seem to be singing it. The woman isn't doing much of anything besides crouching behind a rock and wringing her hands. She stands as they approach, arms in motion once again. It’s not some kind of eel-summoning spell, as Emma briefly suspected, just plain old hand signals. She looks younger than Emma expected, her face as animated as her arms as she beckons them to the center of the island.

After a brief exchange of looks, they follow. Emma keeps a firm grip on her club, just in case, but she doesn’t need it as the siren leads them to a large, bowl-shaped rock at the center of the island. Nestled in its hollow is a seashell, a golden spiral open on one end and visibly vibrating along with the siren’s song.

No, Emma finally realizes. It’s the shell itself that’s producing the hypnotic melody.

Well that makes things nice and simple. Emma raises her club, only for the siren to cling to her wrist. Green eyes plead with her until she lowers her arm, earning a bright smile from the red-haired girl. Emma waits for her to let go, but the siren just shifts her hold and starts running her fingers over the metal of Emma’s gauntlet. It’s hard to pinpoint her age, but there’s an honest curiosity about her that makes it hard to see her as a threat.

Regina is suddenly between them, neatly breaking the redhead’s grip as she stoops to inspect the singing seashell. Seconds later, she straightens, flames flickering between her fingers, but the siren makes her objection known once again. Any threat to the shell is blocked; not with force, but with a wide-eyed, kicked-puppy look that’s too pitiful to deny.

In the end, Lily solves the puzzle with her usual subtlety. Under the siren’s watchful gaze, she lifts the conch from its hollow, digs something out of her pocket... and shoves the whole hunk of leftover wax into the shell’s mouth.

Emma stumbles when the song suddenly cuts off. She hadn’t noticed how tense she was until her muscles loosened. Warily, she unplugs one ear, then the other. When no magical music assails her ears, she nods to the others, who follow suit.

“So what are we supposed to do with this?” Lily wonders, tossing the seashell from hand to hand. The siren follows its motion with anxious eyes, worrying her lip between her teeth. While she watches the conch, Regina watches her, eyes narrowed and fingers at the ready. The eels clearly left an impression.

“Why don’t we ask her?”

Sensing their attention, the redhead gives them all a smile, opens her mouth, and... points. First to her tongue, then her throat, followed by a series of hand motions that Emma can't follow.

“Really?” Regina hums. Rather than confused, she sounds intrigued. “Your voice, you say?”

Emma looks back at the siren and finds herself as baffled as before. “You can understand her? How, magic?”

“Education,” the princess answers absently, busy nodding along to the siren’s sign language.

“She’s got us there,” says Lily, still juggling the conch.

“Well I’m sure you could have gotten a better deal than that,” Regina tells the siren, bringing a pout to the girl’s face as she continues signing.

“A sea witch, you say? That would explain the eels.”

The princess and the siren continue their bilingual briefing as they make their way back to the beach. Emma watches them out the corner of her eye, a little annoyed by how quickly Regina dropped her guard. She’s been talking to the redhead for all of five minutes! Emma’s known her for a whole month, and while she definitely isn't jealous, she does wish the princess was a little easier to talk to. Not a lot, because that would just feel wrong, but a little. Is that too much to ask?

When they reach the edge of the island, they find that the mist has cleared, not just from the lake but from the woods beyond. The water is calm, with no sign of big honkin’ eels, but Emma doesn’t relax. How far could they have gone? It’s not that big of a lake.

“All right,” Regina returns to her side, leaving the siren to beg Lily for her seashell back. “Her name is Ariel, she promises she’s not a siren, and she’d really appreciate an escort back to civilization.”

“Okay, but—”

“And speaking of returning to civilization, I believe my ride is here.” Regina turns. Emma follows her gaze to see a broomstick zipping through the air over the lake. It goes straight for Regina, making a neat hairpin turn before stopping at her side. Emma stares at it. She didn’t think a broom could be tasteless, but she’s never seen one with a spoiler before. Its bristles are pitch black, well-manicured, and have clearly never been within a foot of a dirty floor. Half the handle is wrapped in engraved upholstery, and the rest is bedazzled with green gems the size of Emma’s gawking eyes.

“I told you, it’s Zelena’s.” Regina looks embarrassed for her sister. “Oh, one more thing. Are you paying attention?”

Emma totally is. It’s not like she was distracted by how Regina’s leather pants looked as she swung her leg over the broom. “Yeah,” she says a second too late. “What is it?”

“Ariel can't get in the water. It’s a... medical condition. You’ll have to carry her. Good luck!”

And then she’s off, flying across the lake and into the trees. Emma stares after her for a moment, then blinks and turns back to the others. Lily has finally relinquished the seashell, which Ariel now cradles like a baby. The siren gives her an apologetic look, but Emma waves it aside.

Honestly, she was expecting today to go a lot worse.

Chapter Text

The castle walls are chilly in the mornings. Cold radiates from the stone beneath Emma’s elbows, seeping through a shirt as thin as it is well-tailored. Despite her best efforts, new outfits keep invading her wardrobe, each set finer than the last. She clung to her old clothes as long as she could, but the maids just took that as a challenge. One by one, every threadbare tunic and poorly patched pair of pants has vanished from her chambers, never to be seen again.

While the changes aren’t exactly bad, they hammer home the fact that privacy is becoming a rare luxury. It’s hard for Emma to feel at home when she never finds her rooms quite like she left them^[1]. The castle is full of servants, often out of sight but never out of mind. Emma can't get used to being waited on, to knowing that someone is always lurking just around the corner, ready to jump in and make her life easier.

The horror.

Look, Emma’s not complaining. In most ways, life here is a dream compared to how she and Lily have lived before. She’s finally getting used to having clothes that fit, and just being able to count on three meals a day would be worth the price of admission—especially when it’s a price they never intend to pay. Emma may not feel at home here, but she’s damn comfortable.

Privacy is still a problem, but that’s why she started watching the sunrise out here in the cold. The castle swarms with activity even at this early hour, but all the hustle and bustle is much more manageable from a distance. There are no maids up here on the battlements, only guards who seem happy to ignore her and be ignored in turn.

Some things are harder to ignore, like the commotion in the main courtyard when Regina steps outside. As usual, the princess is followed by a small entourage, now including a new member: Ariel. The girl is a spot of color in Regina’s retinue, both literally and otherwise. She seems in good spirits despite her continued muteness, pausing every few steps to admire the way her salmon-pink dress swirls around her legs. Emma’s glad they were able to pass her off as a victim of the conveniently slain siren, and Ariel herself seems content to stick with Regina, drifting in her wake like one of those fish that hang around sharks.

As for the shark herself... Regina is in a dark mood today and dressed to match. The details of her ensemble are hard to make out from this distance, but Emma’s sure that they’re as dramatic as ever. She leans on the battlements, cheek resting on one hand as she watches the princess storm across the flagstones.

Just before Regina exits the courtyard, she pauses and looks up. Her gaze skims the wall before zeroing in on Emma, who can only try and pretend she wasn’t staring. She raises a casual hand, but Ariel is the only one who waves back. Regina just sticks up her nose and marches off toward the stables.

Emma tries not to feel disappointed. Usually she at least gets a nod.

Minutes later, a line of horses rides out from the castle. Regina gallops in the lead, her mount’s hooves pounding the earth like it questioned her fashion sense. A pair of guards keep pace behind her, and the rest of her hangers-on follow as best they can, bouncing in their saddles as they try not to fall behind.

“Yup,” Emma says to herself. “She’s definitely in a mood.”

This is far from the first time she’s seen Regina off on her morning ride. Most days the princess lets Rocinante stretch his legs on one of the riding trails that wind through the surrounding forest, but when Her Highness is truly steamed, she gravitates toward more well-trodden routes. The bigger the path, the faster she can ride. Today Regina aims herself straight down the main road through the woods, breaking into a gallop the moment she clears the walls. Her silhouette quickly shrinks, then vanishes, swallowed by the trees.

For a moment, Emma wonders why her betrothed needs so much catharsis on this particular morning. Then she shrugs, stretches, and starts for the stairs to get on with her day. There’s not much point in guessing.

With her luck, she’s sure she’ll find out soon enough.

. . .

‘Soon enough’ comes even sooner than Emma feared. She’s barely finished with her morning sword practice when a familiar face pops into the training yard. The face belongs to Red, who’s been stationed at the castle ever since the successful siren hunt. Well, the forester stationed herself here, and everyone else just accepted it for some reason. Even the king seems content to let Red wander around doing odd jobs, but Emma’s skin tingles whenever the older woman appears.

Red always looks amused, like she knows something that Emma doesn’t. It’s not the kind of feeling a con artist likes to have. Every so often, Emma notices Red lurking in the background, watching her with the same big, sharp smile she wore when they first met. It’s thoroughly unnerving, but not as much as the thought of all the times Emma hasn’t noticed.

Whenever she shows up, Emma tries to play it cool^[2], but the more it happens, the more she starts to doubt herself. It doesn’t feel like Red suspects her and Lily—it feels like she knows they’re full of shit and just hasn’t gotten around to proving it. The only thing that soothes her paranoia is the fact that Red hasn’t said anything.

Yet.

“I’m sorry,” is how Red greets her today, sounding almost serious for once. “The King wants to see you.”

“But... breakfast,” Emma objects.

“Exactly,” says Red. “His Majesty requests you join him for breakfast.”

“Just him?” Emma asks, hoping against hope that Regina is already back from her ride. Even now, almost two months into their betrothal, it’s impossible for Emma to tell where she stands with the princess; but with Lily absent, she needs all the backup she can get.

“Not just him,” Red says, but the hope that follows is short lived. “I think the crown princess will be joining you.”

“Fff... Fantastic,” mutters Emma.

“I’m sorry,” Red repeats, back to her usual smile. “Come on, this way.”

A few minutes later, Emma joins her second and third favorite members of the royal family for breakfast. She sits across from Zelena, the king occupies the head of the table, and between them lies a spread of food rich enough to make an ogre’s heart explode. The table groans beneath mounds of meat, a pyramid of pastries, and eggs of every order. A yard of yogurt flecked with fruit sits to one side, clearly meant to cleanse the palate between courses of cholesterol.

In any other circumstances, Emma would be digging in, but the anticipation in the crown princess’s gaze isn't great for her appetite. If Zelena is looking forward to something, it can't be good for her. Zelena’s opinion of Emma has been in free fall since before they met, and nothing she does is ever good enough for Regina’s sister. She may not see Emma for the fraud she is, but Emma doubts it would change anything if she knew. Even after her ‘success’ against the siren, the crown princess’s position is crystal clear.

In her own words, “Killing things is easy. My sister deserves better than a jumped-up exterminator.”

Which is, well... fair. The first bit makes Emma even more wary of the crown princess, but it’s fair. If there’s anything Emma’s gained in her time here^[3], it’s a healthy respect for Her Royal Highness The Princess Regina, Duchess of Dawnmere and Heir of House Mills. Administration, ballroom dance, calligraphy and diplomacy... It feels like Regina unveils a new talent every time they see each other. Then there’s equestrianism, of course, and Emma can't forget fashion. Give them another month, and she could probably go through the rest of the alphabet.

The point is, Emma understands Zelena’s pride in her sister. Envies it, even. The closest thing she has to a sister is Lily, so she’ll probably never know what that feels like. Unfortunately, the main way Zelena shows that pride is by harassing her sister’s betrothed. Back when Emma stayed away from Regina, she was suspicious. Now that Emma and Regina are on decent terms, she’s overprotective. Emma shudders to imagine what Zelena would be like as an in-law.

On the bright side, the table is broad enough to keep Zelena’s feet at a safe distance. Those ruby slippers are surprisingly sharp.

“It’s a shame we don’t see more of you, Ser Swan.” The king says, his kindly smile offsetting Zelena’s glare. Like his heir, the king clings to his initial impression of Emma: a heroic knight, as capable as she is humble. She knows she doesn’t deserve the high esteem she’s stumbled into, but she’ll take it. For one thing, it means the king gives her the benefit of the doubt, and for another, she doesn’t respect his opinion enough to care what he thinks of her. All she cares about is keeping him fooled, and Emma is pretty sure that he doesn’t suspect her anymore—if he ever did.

The king clears his throat, and she kicks herself back to the present just in time to hear him say, “We’ve barely spoken since your triumphant return.”

“Sorry, Your Majesty. I’ve been...” Recovering from my battle with the siren. The perfect excuse races up her throat only to stumble at the finish line, letting something far more dangerous overtake it: the truth.

“I’ve been nervous,” she tells the king, looking down. “Regina is great, of course she is, but I’m just a common... a common knight.”

The king raises an admonishing finger. “That’s no way to talk, Ser Swan. My daughter is quite the catch, it’s true, but don’t discount yourself. Once upon a time you may have been nothing but a free lance, but no longer! Now you are no mere knight-errant, but a jewel of our kingdom. Our savior—our hero!”

“Right. Yeah. Those too.” The words drip from her mouth, slow but impossible to stop. “What I mean is, I’m not royalty. You’ve been an excellent host, Your Majesty, but sometimes”—All the time, she corrects herself—“I just don’t really feel like I fit.”

“In the castle?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Emma looks up to meet the king’s gaze, which is warm, welcoming, and utterly unwilling to understand why someone might not feel at home in this place he holds so dear. Her fingers dig into her thigh, teeth finally clamping down on her runaway tongue. What is she even saying? This is not the time to experiment with honesty, no matter how much she needs the practice.

“Sorry, it’s probably just nerves,” says Emma, forcing a laugh. “I guess I thought I’d be used to being betrothed by now, but it’s still so... awesome.”

The king chuckles over his toast. “I suppose a little awe is to be expected,” he says. “After all, it’s not like you’ve had any practice!” He waggles a spoon at her. “Be at ease, Ser Swan. Enjoy your last days of freedom!” They both laugh, but she’s pretty sure neither of them are joking.

“Right. Thanks.”

“You haven’t been married before, have you?” Zelena demands as she scalps a boiled egg. “One hears such scandalous stories about hedge knights.” With her father’s attention on his meal, she’s free to eye Emma with the usual venom. “Always with one foot on the road; coming and going, toing and froing. So much opportunity for... tally-hoing.”

The king lets out a vaguely disapproving cough. “That was quite crass, my dear,” he says mildly. “Hardly proper behavior for our kingdom’s future queen, even if we are among family.”

“Sorry, Father.” Zelena’s voice is as sweet as it is insincere, but the king accepts it with a nod. Naturally, neither of them makes any move to apologize to Emma.

She feels the tension leave her shoulders in a rush. Well, what did she expect? It’s almost comforting to be among nobles like these, the self-absorbed sort that she and Lily were always happy to swindle. Regina is... to be fair, equally unapologetic, but she’s at least a little more grounded—and much less predictable.

Dropping her smile, Emma starts to eat. The soft clink of knife and fork dominates the room for the rest of the meal, occasionally interrupted by small talk. Most of it is between the royals, with Emma doing her best to deflect any questions the king lobs her way. She’s not very smooth about it, but he’s barely listening anyway. It’s only later, once the mountain of leftovers has been cleared away and the servants ordered from the room, that the king focuses on her once more.

“Now,” he says, sitting forward, “let’s see it.”

For a moment, Emma has the terrible feeling she’s forgotten something... but she hasn’t. She wouldn’t make a mistake like that. Now that they’ve moved beyond their usual con, Emma’s been careful to keep certain things in mind. Number one is the king’s expectations. Anything that’s ever been asked of Emma, anything that’s even been hinted at, she’s kept track of. So, it’s with complete confidence that she can say:

“Huh?”

The king frowns. “It’s been over a week, hasn’t it? You are prepared for tonight’s banquet, are you not?”

“I’m... aware of it,” Emma says, mind racing. She knew something was happening, but learning she has a part in it is an unwelcome surprise.

“I should hope so! It’s well past time that you and my daughter took the next step. She’ll accept, of course, and then we can finally schedule the wedding! I believe a month will give us plenty of time to prepare, don’t you think?”

Emma opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a thin, wheezing breath. What the hell is he talking about? The words make sense, but nothing else does. Tonight? The next step? A month? The wedding? She was supposed to have more time!

As she struggles to remember how to breathe, the king goes on, oblivious.

“But first things first. May I see what you’ve chosen? Of course I understand that such an important selection can't be rushed, but Zelena assured me that she would help as best she could.”

Oh, Zelena assured him? Zelena?

Fists clenched below the table, Emma turns to the crown princess, who doesn’t even pretend to look guilty.

“Yes, Father. I passed on your instructions almost two weeks ago, not to mention my own advice. Just the other day, I pointed her toward that surly dwarf smith we like.”

“Passed on to who?” asks Emma. “Pointed who?” All she’s exchanged with Zelena over the past week is dirty looks.

“Oh, not you.” Zelena smirks, curling a loose lock of orange hair around one finger. “That delightful page of yours, what was her name? Lisa... Lola...”

“Lily,” Emma groans. “Are you positive?” she asks. Her legs tremble, eager to bolt from the room and hunt down her partner, but first she needs to make sure she’s not being sent on a wild dragon chase. Obviously she doesn’t trust Zelena not to lie straight to her face, but with the king as a witness she won’t be able to play innocent later.

“Lila assured me you trusted her with such tasks, and I was happy to help. The timeline, our royal connections, my sister’s hand size... I gave her all the details,” says the crown princess, the glee in her voice mirroring the horror in Emma’s. “Oh, and all the money.”

When was the last time Emma saw her accomplice? She wracks her brain. Not today, or yesterday. The day before, when Lily told her she’d be away for a while to... Emma resists the urge to cradle her face. To do some shopping.

“That’s not an issue, is it?” asks the king. “Servants should be trusted, of course, but better an ounce of caution than—”

“Nope, not a problem at all!” Emma’s chair nearly topples as she jerks to her feet. “Of course I trust Lily^[4]. I’ll just go find her and...” Shake her until the coins fall out. “... and see what the delay is,” she finishes weakly.

“Yes,” the king says slowly. “I think that would be best.”

Emma flees as fast as she can without running, but she can’t escape Zelena’s parting shot.

“No need to rush!” she calls. “It’s only an engagement ring.”

. . .

“Where’s the money, Lily?”

Lily holds up her hands, which flop back and forth as Emma shakes her by the shoulders. “Don’t worry, Ems,” she says^[5], “I can be responsible once in a while. I spent it on a ring, just like I was supposed to.” She hesitates until Emma starts shaking harder, then admits, “Okay, most of it.”

“Most of it?”

“Some of it,” Lily amends. “But only because I didn’t need to use the rest.”

“Didn’t need to, or didn’t want to?”

“Well, your girl’s hotter sister did say I could keep the change, but treasure hunting is just fun!” Instead of guilty, Lily sounds proud. “This little guy was a real steal.”

Something appears in her palm. ‘Something,’ because Emma refuses to call that bent, discolored band of metal a ring. Lily’s hand wobbles, and the thing musters the weakest twinkle Emma’s ever seen. It’s in bad condition, but even if it were new, it would be a horrifying example of the jeweler’s art. The band is engraved with terrific skill but terrible judgement, its ridges and grooves sure to chafe the hell out of any neighboring fingers. The head is an unbalanced mess with a dozen small gems surrounding a rock as huge as it is tasteless, a brownish chunk of crystal that could probably be used to club someone to death—and if she presents it to Regina, surely will be.

“I can't give her that!” Emma groans. “It’s probably fake, completely tacky, definitely not her style... What’s it even made of, tin?”

“You sound just like the guy who sold it to me.” Lily scoffs. “He thought he was ripping me off, can you believe it? He didn’t know what he had.”

“I know exactly what he had,” says Emma. “It’s tetanus.”

“It’s gold,” says Lily. “White gold at...” her nostrils flare. “Mmm, fifteen karat.”

“What?”

“Real gems, too. The big one’s alexandrite, and the little spiky ones are white topaz. Dragon, remember?” Lily taps the side of her nose^[6]. “I can always tell.”

“Oh.” Emma had not, in fact, remembered. In recognition of this lapse, she lets go of her partner. “But we’re humans, Lily. It doesn’t matter how real the thing is when it looks this fake.” She takes another long stare at the ring, trying to be generous. If she pictures it in decent condition, considers a few minor changes, and squints a little...

After a moment, she has to shake her head. It truly is something only a dragon could love.

“Don’t give me that look.” Lily frowns. “I was sent for a ring, I got you a ring. And at great value, too! They’re your in-laws. Selling it to them is your job.”

She’s technically correct, but Emma isn’t happy about it. Now Re—now the royal family is going to think she has terrible taste. According to the king, Emma’s supposed to propose at tonight’s banquet, leaving her with only a couple of hours to get the ring cleaned up. She’ll need some cloth, a lot of polish, and maybe a small hammer—

Wait.

“I’m supposed to propose?” Emma asks aloud. Far too late, she realizes that the ring in ‘engagement ring’ might be the least of her problems. “Since when am I supposed to propose?”

Her blood freezes as she registers the full extent of the king’s demand. A proposal is big. A proposal is binding. A betrothal is just words, but a proposal is real. Within a week, every kingdom this side of Bald Mountain will know that Emma Swan, Dragonslayer, is engaged to...

Oh no, Regina. No wonder the princess was so angry this morning. She and Regina... Emma drags a hand through her hair. It’s sweaty. She’s sweaty. The ring digs into the palm of her other hand, and she loosens her fist before she has to add an infection to her list of worries. With a deep breath, she gathers her thoughts.

She and Regina aren’t enemies. Once in a while, it almost feels like they’re friends. At best, she can claim they have an unspoken understanding, and that won’t last much longer. A formal proposal delivered before the entire royal court is very, very spoken. She doesn’t even know what kind of proposal Regina wants. Obviously ‘no proposal’ would top the list, but at this point Emma’s just scrambling to soften the blow.

What does Regina like? Horses... productivity... verbal murder of well-meaning con artists. If Emma mucks out the stables in front of her, she might be able to score all three!

No, what is she thinking? That will never work; Emma can't bring the stables with her to the banquet. Maybe just a few horses? No, that wouldn’t be the same.

It’s hopeless.

“How am I supposed to propose?” she groans.

“You haven’t been planning?” While Emma spiraled, Lily has sprawled out on the window seat, flipping a gold coin between her fingers. “Not very romantic of you, Ems.”

“You’re the worst,” Emma informs her, sinking into a plush armchair. They’re in Lily’s room, which is only slightly less lavish than her own. “Why does this have to be public? Everyone knows this whole marriage was the King’s idea. Who’s he trying to impress?”

“Other kings,” suggests Lily. “You know how they gossip.”

“But it’s all bullshit!” says Emma. “He’s already settling for me as a daughter-in-law. No proposal is gonna make that look any less pathetic.”

“It’s not that weird.” Lily says. “As far as they know, you killed a very impressive dragon.”

“You're right.” Emma sits up. “Maybe that can count as my proposal. What do you think?”

Lily gives her a quizzical look. “I think you’re freaking out. Why are you freaking out? We knew this would happen eventually.”

“Did we? You said we’d only be here for a month.”

“A month or so. We’re still in ‘so’ territory.” Lily shrugs. “But we don’t have to stay much longer. The King showing you off just means the plan is working. All you need to do is keep pretending for as long as you can, and when you can't anymore, we’re gone.”

The reminder of the plan does calm Emma down, but the fact she had to be reminded makes her stomach twist. Lily’s right: they’ve fooled the king and built up their savings. Now they can leave whenever they choose. It’s what Emma wanted from the start.

So why didn’t she think of it?

“I can handle pretending,” Emma claims, avoiding her friend’s eye. “But that’s for our plan. This is just to make the King look better. Besides, how am I supposed to put on a good show with less than a day’s notice?”

“It doesn’t have to be good, just good enough. We’re experts at good enough.”

“Yeah, but still... Ergh,” she mutters. “Zelena. She was hoping this would happen, wasn’t she?”

“Hoping, planning, what’s the difference?” Now it’s Lily’s turn to dodge her partner’s gaze. “To be fair, I thought it would be funny too.”

“You what!?”

“I don’t think it’s funny now,” Lily defends. “I didn’t expect you to take it so seriously. Can't you just say something romantic and give your girl the ring? If she complains, tell her you’ll make it up to her on the honeymoon.”

Emma feels herself flush. “I can't tell her that.”

“Yes you can, because she’s not actually your girl, and because there’s not going to be a honeymoon!” Lily’s eyes flash with annoyance for the first time, but it doesn’t last long. “Ems, are you okay?” she says, tone softening. “You’re starting to make me nervous. I know it’s nice here, and there’s stuff I’ll miss too.” She sends a longing look at her mattress. “But it’s all temporary. You can't get too comfortable.”

“I know that. You’re the one who wanted to stay, remember?”

“Well maybe you were right,” Lily says, but Emma can't even enjoy the admission. “The longer we stick around, the messier it gets. If you think we should go, I’m ready to leave whenever you are. Just grab everything you’ve got stashed and I’ll go warm up the horses.”

Emma tries to keep a straight face, but as always, her partner decides to focus at the most inconvenient times.

“You have been collecting stuff, haven’t you?”

“You mean stealing,” Emma deflects. Unfortunately, Lily is immune to shame.

“Duh,” she says. “So, have you?”

“Have you been stealing?”

“Yes! Constantly!” Lily stands, picks up her bed with one hand, and whips out a sack the size of a pumpkin. It’s so full that when she shakes it, it barely jingles. “It’s not that hard! And this is just the small stuff; there’s a ton more I’m planning to nab on our way out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” snaps Emma. “I’ve been busy dealing with the most annoying family in the Enchanted Forest, making sure our whole story doesn’t fall apart!” She catches her voice rising and forces it down before it can draw any attention. “Look, Lily, just put that away. The proposal thing was a surprise, that’s all. We don’t need to leave yet.”

“Are you sure?” Lily studies her, searching for something in Emma’s eyes. “I meant what I said. We can go whenever you want.”

“I... I know, and I really appreciate it.” Emma meets her partner’s gaze. “I just think we’re not done here. After all the trouble this family’s put us through, the least we can do is see it through to the end. If the King wants a wedding, then let’s give him one to remember us by.” She feels a grin tug at her mouth. With the day she’s had, Emma is really coming around to the idea of dealing out some embarrassment to the royal family—or at least two-thirds of them.

“This is going to be fun,” she says. “Trust me.”

After a short pause, the frown melts from Lily’s face.

“Okay then.” She tosses down her sack of loot and drops the bed on top of it. “Good to have you back, Ems.”

“Were you really worried for me?” Emma starts to smile.

Lily looks away. “Oh, don’t try to act cool. You’d still be crashing out if I didn’t get you back on track.”

“Fine,” Emma relents. “You really helped. I guess it had to happen sometime.”

Her friend flops back onto the window seat and stretches like a cat. “Yeah, I think that’s enough for the year. Empathy is exhausting.”

“Great, we’re both back to normal.” Emma stands, grimacing at the ring in her hand. “Where did you put the armor polish? I need to get this thing cleaned up before Regina...” She breaks off, looking out the window. “Regina’s not back yet? It’s almost dark.”

“Really?” Lily yawns. “Heh, with how she rides, she could be halfway out of the kingdom by now.”

“Very funny,” says Emma, squinting at the horizon. “She’s not us, Lily.”

“You’re right, she’s smarter.” Lily sits up, eyes widening. “Crap, maybe she did run.”

Emma opens her mouth, thinks for a moment, then takes a step toward the door.

“I... I’ll be right back.”

Chapter Text

The good news is, Regina didn’t run far.

“I expect you’ll find her in her duchy,” the king had said between sighs. “My men can guide you there. I do beg you not to take my daughter’s flight personally, Ser Swan. Cold feet and a hot head are a volatile combination.”

So they rode out, escorted by a squad of the kingdom’s finest guards and Red, who once again invited herself along and once again found nobody brave enough to deny her. It took their party less than half a day to reach Regina’s fief, which explains the ease of her escape. There was no need for supplies or baggage when she had a whole manor waiting in her duchy’s capital.

“Storybrooke.” Emma rolls the word around her mouth. “Well that’s definitely... a name.”

She gazes down at the town, taking in the clean streets and colorful rooves. It’s not a large town by any means. The only landmarks are the princess’s manor, a clock tower, and the harbor. Though small, Regina’s duchy includes most of the kingdom’s short strip of coastline, which is more rock than sand. Storybrooke itself sits nestled in the curve of a bay, right up against the water where dozens of sails catch the sea breeze.

“Cute,” grunts Lily. Emma can't tell if she’s talking about the name or the town. Either way, it’s clear she doesn’t mean it. Lily woke up on the wrong side of the hoard today, dreading their early-morning commute to, as she put it, “Somewhere even the tide wants out.” If Emma hadn’t dropped a mention of the duchy’s diamond mine, Lily might still have been back in the castle. Even with her draconic interest piqued, she’s been grouchy all morning, but that’s not Emma’s problem. She’s focused on keeping the royal family happy, and if she can do that by taking a trip to the seaside instead of playacting a proposal in front of the king and his court, fantastic!

Still, Lily’s mood is oppressive, lowering Emma’s spirits and unnerving their escorts—except for Red, who leads their party into town with a skip and a smile. As always, the forester is on foot and in her element despite the utter lack of forest. Emma narrows her eyes as a local guard greets Red by name, then waves the rest of them past with barely a glance at their arms and armor.

“Have you been here before?”

“I’ve been all over.” Red winks up at her, not missing a step as she pivots to walk backwards. “Looking after this family takes a lot of legwork.”

“The family? I thought you were supposed to look after the woods and sh—stuff.” Lily’s self-correction draws a look from Emma. She still doesn’t know why her partner is so afraid of Red, and Lily has been unusually quiet on the subject. Emma is wary because the lady knows more than she’s saying and there’s no telling how long that silence will last. Lily’s fear seems less practical, more... primal. Even as she challenges the older woman, she keeps Emma between them, and that’s downright heroic in comparison to her usual strategy of ‘run.’

Red shrugs, still walking backwards. A chicken waddles across her path, and she steps over it without looking.

“What’s the difference?” she says. “Every part of any kingdom is connected. Forests and cities, rivers and roads, beasts and men... Everything is just a small step in one great big cycle, so taking care of one piece is bound to help the rest. It’s all the same, isn't it? All important. Even the smallest piece deserves someone to keep an eye on them.”

It takes Emma a minute to process that nugget of nonsense. By the time she assembles a retort, Lily beats her to it.

“You could say that about anything!”

“I know. Convenient, huh?”

Emma rolls her eyes. She doesn’t have the time, the skill, or the guts to interrogate Red. At this point, all she can do is hope that whatever the older woman wants doesn’t involve their exposure. Right now, Emma has to focus on the other woman in her life with a devious nature and a collection of low-cut bodices.

There’s something she’s been wondering since yesterday, when the weight of the proposal really started to sink in: What was Regina thinking? The princess has hinted about plans of her own, and while she and her father don’t see eye to eye, there’s a certain sense of security^[1] that clings to Regina as tightly as those leather pants that Emma still hasn't managed to forget. On the other hand, Emma is well aware of the many masks that the princess shields herself with, and recent events make her think that Regina’s position isn't as stable as she’d like Emma to believe.

After all, if she was so in control, then why would she run?

. . .

“Fish emergency,” says Regina, not looking up from the ledger in her hands.

“Is that really what you’re going with?” Emma’s words come out slightly nasal, but only because she’s trying not to breathe through her nose. “Okay, I’ll play. What kind of ‘fish emergency’?”

After arriving in Storybrooke, they found the princess not in her manor or the town hall, but in a storehouse on the docks, inspecting a recent haul from the local fisherfolk. It’s... a lot of fish, in a wild assortment of shapes and colors. Rows of baskets filled to bursting line the warehouse, many of them still twitching.

Paper suddenly fills her vision, and she turns to see Regina by her side. The wind shifts, and the piscine perfume in Emma’s nostrils is joined by a much more pleasant scent. Apples and loathing, how nostalgic.

“The numbers are clear,” says the princess, sounding almost defiant. “See for yourself. Storybrooke hasn’t had a harvest this large for over a generation, and the season’s not even half done. Our cold storage isn’t fully operational yet, but if we sell the excess too fast we risk flooding the market...” She trails off, glaring at her records while her teeth tease her lower lip. The sea breeze sends a curl of hair to tickle the groove in her brow, the rest pulled back in a tight twist.

For once, Her Highness isn’t dressed to the nines. Today’s getup is simple by her standards, with an ankle-length dress flowing out from her short, fitted coat. The dress is impeccably sewn from cloth the same brilliant blue as the waters in the bay, while the coat’s darker wool is offset by tasteful application of silver braid. A pair of thick-soled boots peek out from the hem of her skirt, and a pencil is wedged behind the ear closest to Emma, bobbing whenever the princess scrunches her nose.

Emma enjoys the sight for a second, then clears her throat.

“Have you... tried fishing less?”

“Of course we have restrictions in place,” Regina shoots her an offended look. “There are strict limits for every class of vessel, and we adjust them with new data each season. It’s just that we’ve never had every boat reach their quota at once before.” With a sigh, she sets down her ledger and starts to walk, beckoning Emma to follow. “It’s like the number of fish in our waters has doubled—no, maybe tripled without warning. The current projections...”

As hard as Emma tries to understand, her expression soon matches many of the surrounding fish. She’s still happy to listen, to drink in this rare variant of Business Regina. Back at the castle, she heard many a monologue from the princess about her duchy; about prosperous businesses, bountiful industries and a finely honed administrative apparatus shaped by Regina’s own two hands. Those were endearing enough, but now that Regina is actually here, it’s clear she was holding back. Here, her love for the land in her care surrounds her thicker than fish stank. Pride and concern run through every word, and the look on her face tells Emma more than any number on a list.

She’s peeked past Regina’s defenses before, but never this far. The closest she’s gotten is when they fought those giant eels, and that didn’t leave much time for appreciation. Here and now, Emma can watch every twist of her lips, hear every rise and fall of a voice less guarded than it’s ever been. It’s much too easy to let herself drift in Regina’s wave, tracing her steps and nodding thoughtfully at whatever she points to.

“And then there are these.”

“Gah!” Emma jerks away from the basket so fast she feels her spine pop. “What the hell are those?”

“Specimens from deeper waters.” Regina doesn’t even try hiding her chuckle. “We don’t see them often.”

“Lucky you.” Emma rejoins the princess, giving the specimen basket a wide berth. “I wish I hadn’t seen them at all.”

“Clearly, something is disturbing the ocean,” Regina concludes, growing solemn. “I don’t know what, but I have my theories.”

She turns to look out the open doors. Following her eyes, Emma peers down the rocky beach toward two familiar figures. A ways away, Ariel follows Lily from tide pool to tide pool, zigzagging to keep her dress safe from the spray of the ocean. As they watch, she holds up a bucket in her arms, shoulders trembling with silent giggles as she catches the oysters that Lily pries from the cracks.

“Ariel? I never got her whole story, did I?” She remembers Regina watching the girl sign, nodding along to frantic fingers. “But you did.”

Regina purses her lips. “It isn't my story to tell. She was able to provide some insight, but all we can do for now is adapt, and fast.” She gestures to the baskets with a neat sweep of her hand. “Hence, ‘fish emergency.’”

“Fish emergency,” echoes Emma. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. “Do you think your dad will buy it?”

“I’m not so certain,” Regina says. “His interest in my developing fief has always been... secondary at best.” Emma doesn’t have to ask what it’s secondary to. She’s living it. When the princess hesitates, she stops herself from filling the silence. If Regina wants to talk, she’ll talk. If she doesn’t, well, Emma’s never been great at convincing her anyway.

At the reminder of the king, she watches reality creep back across Regina’s face, dragging a blank expression with it. The courtly mask settles for a moment, then flickers, something desperate flashing across dark brown eyes. Another blink, and Regina’s expression is back under control, but she can't stop the twist of her fingers or the pulse of her forehead vein as she wars against her better judgement.

Emma’s not sure what tips the scales. It could be where they are, or why they’re here, or what’s waiting for them when they go back. Wherever, whyever, whatever it is, when Regina finally lurches into motion, a hand reaches out to pull Emma with her. She grasps it without a second thought, clutching surprisingly warm fingers as the princess leads her out of the storehouse and into the sunshine. Emma shields her eyes, stumbling after Regina until they stand at the end of the pier.

Cool, salty air surrounds them, the sigh of the ocean filling their ears until they can hear nothing else. They watch the waves in silence, Emma waiting patiently as Regina gathers her thoughts. After what seems like years, the princess slips her hand from Emma’s and takes a calming breath, turning just enough to catch her in the corner of one eye.

“I’ve always known my father doesn’t value me.” Here, where nobody else can see, Regina wraps her arms around herself, chin dipping into the shelter of her collar. “Even before Mother left, I don’t remember a single moment of attachment, and after... Well, why would it improve?” Her grip tightens, fingers digging into her coat. “When I was a child I dreamed that one day, once I mastered every skill a princess should have, once I exceeded every expectation Father could hold, then he would finally recognize me.

“That lasted until I was fourteen, when my tutors said they had no more to teach me and absolutely nothing changed. I realized that day I would never meet his expectations because to him, I was never worth any to begin with.” As she speaks, Regina’s face is utterly still, less like a mask and more like the cold, frozen face of a corpse. She pauses, pressing her lips together, then goes on.

“But if I would never be loved, then I resolved to at least be useful. When my father granted me these lands, I thought this was my chance. The duchy was a coming-of-age gift, meant to be as much of an accessory as the title that came with it. The court expected I would follow in my sister’s footsteps and hand it over to some noble advisor to govern for me. Instead I visited every village, researched every industry, studied every trade route. Then I moved to Storybrooke for a year and actually started learning. I learned from my new people, and they from me until we built Dawnmere into the envy of the eastern coasts. All the while, I imagined that once it was done, my father would acknowledge me as a ruler, if not a daughter.

“That lasted until I was twenty, when I believed I had brought my duchy as far as I could with the skills I possessed. I reported it all to my father, and all he said was ‘Yes, well done’. Not a single question about my policies. Not even an offer for further discussion. Not the slightest flicker of real interest, just well done, as if I were a servant, and not a particularly clever one. That was when I realized I would never change his mind.” Her eyes, still aimed out over the waves, narrow into bitter crescents.

“So I decided that if I couldn’t make him respect me, I would at least make him regret it. For years, I found loopholes in his decrees, critiqued every policy he put to the court, drove off suitor after suitor... For His Majesty, it was little more than an annoyance, but it was something.

“That lasted until yesterday morning.” Now she faces Emma, pinning her with her red-rimmed gaze. “That’s when it finally sank in. After everything, after all these years of trying to prove myself one way or another, do you know what finally earned me more than a moment of consideration? You. An errant knight with no lands, no allies, nothing but your name and the strength of your arm. That is all I am worth to him.”

Emma holds her breath, squeezing her mouth shut until her lips go numb. If only Regina knew.

“A prize, wasn’t it? That’s what he called me. I’m not even a bargaining chip to His Majesty, just something he had to raise until he could pawn it off.”

It surprises Emma how much she gets it. She’s never had a parent to lay her hopes on, never experienced anything exactly like the rise and fall of Regina’s hopes, but she gets it. She knows what it’s like to want something you’ll never have, what it’s like to force yourself to accept reality one dead dream at a time.

“Regina...”

“At ease, Ser Swan. I don’t blame you, of course. If it wasn’t you slaying the dragon, it would have been someone else; some clever traveler or ambitious third prince who managed to impress His Majesty with something just as shallow. But...” Her eyes drift shut as she breathes a low, shuddering breath. “I—I am glad it was you.”

For everything that Emma wants to say, every thought she has about the love Regina deserves and the father she doesn’t, all that comes out is:

“Um, why?”

“Clearly, it’s your way with words.” Regina hasn’t quite pulled herself together, but the corner of her mouth tilts up as she meets Emma’s eye. “I do enjoy our conversations, Emma. It’s rare for me to find someone who truly listens. At court, my words are dissected and weaponized. In my territory, they are far too often obeyed without question. And amongst family... Zelena cares for me in her own way, but not as much as she cares for herself.

“But you’ve always treated me less like a princess and more like an annoying obstacle between you and your gold.”

“Not always!” objects Emma. “Only at first.”

An eyebrow rises. “And as we all know, first impressions are never important. You’re fortunate that I’m so open minded.”

“Relatively^[2],” Emma has to admit.

“Relax, Ser Swan,” says Regina. “I’m not upset^[3]. You were the first one in... far too long to make me feel instead of think. I spent so many years focusing on what I was instead of who, and it was miserable. With you around, things are—” She tilts her head, jaw working in thought. “Less miserable,” Regina decides.

“I’m happy to help,” says Emma, only a little surprised to learn that she means it. She never thought her particular combination of cynicism and incompetence could be this useful. The warm feeling in her center nudges her to go a little further, help a little more, and she finds herself speaking up.

“Did you ever think...” She chooses her words as cautiously as she can. “Did you ever think you might be less miserable somewhere that didn’t treat you like crap? You work so hard for this kingdom, but with everything you can do, I know a ton of places would love to have you. I know it wouldn’t be easy with your dad and all, but I bet if you wanted to, you could...”

Something in Regina’s face makes her trail off. The princess doesn’t shake her head, but her face hardens, eyes staring past Emma. “I don’t do this for my father,” she says. “It may have started there, but now Dawnmere is mine.” There’s not an inch of give in her voice. “I may not be an heir, but I am still royalty, Ser Swan—I was born to rule. Father and Zelena can have the rest, but nothing will take my domain from me.”

Thunder, actual thunder, punctuates her words. Emma tears her gaze away from Regina to see clouds gathering out at sea. Rain starts to fall a moment later, sending citizens scrambling for shelter. Down the beach, Lily and Ariel flee from the tide pools with their bucket of oysters, probably in search of a kitchen.

She turns back to the princess. “Did you do that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ser Swan.”

They take shelter in the doorway of the fish warehouse, caught between storm and stink. The sudden weather seems to damp Regina’s passion, the fire fading from her as they stand side by side. Emma crams her hands into her pockets, content with the comfortable silence. She’s not sure if she’s disappointed or relieved that the princess refused her almost-offer. Regina’s decision isn't exactly a surprise, but it is hard for Emma to understand. She’s never had anything she’d be willing to fight so hard for, something that would drive her to hold her ground and tear it from the hands of her enemies. She’s never had the resolve she just saw in Regina’s eyes, but for the first time, she thinks she might want to.

It sure looked good on her.

“I suppose that’s another reason I have to thank you,” muses Regina. “A princess or prince might expect me to marry into their house.” The words are detached, as if she’s discussing an interesting but irrelevant factoid. “Even a lesser noble could get ideas about power. Ideas I would certainly stamp out, but who has the time? You, however, have no backing, no influence, no resources—and most importantly, no such lofty ambitions.”

“That’s me,” agrees Emma. “I don’t have shit.”

Regina sighs. “So from a purely practical standpoint; despite your presumption, your lack of judgement, and the remarks you think are clever, I’m afraid you’re my best option.” The curve of her lips turns into a smile, small but brilliant. “At least until the next idiot manages to slay a dragon.”

Emma’s shoulders shake with a laugh, and something in her pocket scratches her palm. She starts to pull it out before remembering what it is, then pauses, the grin freezing on her face.

“What is it?” asks Regina.

“It’s nothing. Just... an engagement ring.”

They both go quiet at the reminder of why they’re here. Then:

“Show me,” Regina says, the demand a whisper. Emma can only obey, slowly sliding her hand from her pocket until the horrid thing is dragged out into the light. Lightning crashes, and the princess lets out a gasp as she sees the fruit of Lily’s labor.

“It’s absolutely awful,” she breathes.

“You should’ve seen it yesterday.” There’s a washtub full of dirty rags back at the castle, evidence of Emma’s endeavors to make the ring somewhat presentable. At least now the band is recognizable as metal, not just a clump of dirt and rust. The gem is still a gaudy, oversized thing, but now it gleams in the low light, the alexandrite flashing from red to green at the slightest tilt of Emma’s hand.

Hmm. Maybe it suits the princess better than she thought.

“I suppose I should be pleased,” says Regina. “With such a hideous symbol, our engagement will be the laughingstock of the Enchanted Forest. And yet...” Her sense of fashion seems to rebel, reluctance twisting her mouth. “Very well,” she says after a second to steel herself. “Let’s see the damage.”

She holds out her hand, and Emma feels her heart crack. “I—Wait,” she says, keeping the ring a safe distance from the proffered finger. “I’m sorry, I thought you... I thought we had the same idea. I don’t—I can't actually marry you.” Her eyes dart from the ground to the doorframe to the storm still churning overhead. Anywhere but Regina’s face. “I swear it’s nothing personal,” Emma tries, “I have my own problems, that’s—”

“That’s not where I was going with this.” When she finally meets Regina’s eyes, the princess is flushed and frowning. Emma winces and looks away, her gaze landing on Regina’s hand... which is palm up, not palm down.

“Oh, you just wanted—Yeah, that’s what I... Good.” Emma rubs the back of her neck. “Great. You want to see it? Right, here you go.” She practically flings the ring into Regina’s hand, face burning. “If you don’t like it, blame Lily,” she babbles. “Or your sister. Lots of blame to go around.”

“Calm down, Emma. I remain rather opposed to our union.” Regina’s voice is almost completely flat. Almost. “But if you’re willing to extend the act a little longer, I—I’ve considered more than one strategy to provide you with a safe exit.”

Emma is only too happy to ignore the stutter. “So have I,” she says. It’s true, as long as you count ‘run away’ and ‘fly away’ as different plans. “I bet we can figure something out if we put our heads together.”

“I’m sure we can.” Regina’s lips linger around the ‘we,’ a pleased look in her eye. Emma knows how she feels: it’s a relief for the two of them to be done with dancing around each other, done with getting in each other’s way and ready to get shit done. She already knows they can work well together. The king might be a little smarter than a pair of giant eels, but it’s clear that he doesn’t see either of them as a threat. If she and Regina play their parts well enough, His Majesty will have no idea what hit him. And speaking of playing along:

“We should deal with this first.” Regina holds up the ring. “Father’s not here, so there’s no need to...”

Emma is already halfway to one knee. “I mean, why not?” she says, grinning. “It’ll help us keep our stories straight.” She plucks the ring from Regina’s hand before the princess can pull it back, earning a glare that clashes beautifully with her reddening cheeks.

“Ser Swan, must you—”

Emma clears her throat. “Your Highness. Princess Regina. Duchess of Dawnmere and Heir of House Mills. I solemnly plead for the privilege—no, the honor of requesting your hand in marriage.” Her voice rises to drown out Regina’s groan. “Please, Your Highness, I only ask for your consideration! Should you accept my humble request, I pledge to strive every day to make you...r dad the most miserable old bore in all the land.”

The ring catches another flash of lightning, blinding them both until Regina snatches it from Emma’s hand and jams it onto hers.

“You truly are a romantic,” she mutters, the sarcasm sharp enough for surgery. “There, I accept. Now will you get up?”

“Of course.” The grin stays on Emma’s face as she stands. “Guess we’re stuck with each other now.”

“Not quite. I have to return the favor, don’t I?”

Emma’s smile drops.

Even in a dress, Regina manages to look graceful as she descends to one knee. A plain band of metal appears between the princess’s fingers, raised to the perfect height for Emma’s inspection. Through the ring, she spies a twinkle in Regina’s eye, shining with triumph at having rendered her speechless.

“Ser Emma Swan,” the princess begins. “Though it pales in comparison to your...” Her eyes shift to her new ring, which visibly weighs down her other hand. “... gift to me, I beg you accept this token of my everlasting affection. Should you do me the highest honor of joining your goals to mine, I pledge to spare no effort to remove you from my side as soon as possible.”

It takes Emma a moment to reply, mostly because her lungs are still climbing down from her throat. “It’s a good ring,” she croaks, barely hearing her own words over the pounding of her heart. “Clean and simple.”

“Indeed.” Regina’s mouth twitches. “We clearly went in different directions.”

“Oh. You actually picked one you thought I’d like?”

“No, I picked one I thought would be hard to sell.”

“I wouldn’t have sold it,” says Emma, almost offended. “Not until we sold everything else.”

“If you say so.” A moment of quiet passes between them. “Now, do you plan to answer?”

“In a minute.” It’s a little petty to leave Regina on bended knee, but Emma will manage to forgive herself. After all, the only proposal she expected today was her own. “Alright,” she says, taking the ring. “The honor is mine, Your Highness.”

“You’re damn right it is.” The princess stands, shaking out her skirt. It’s the rudest she’s ever been, and Emma is loving it. She hums to herself as she slides the steel band onto her finger. Despite the alleged lack of value, the ring is a perfect fit.

As the sound of the rain outside fades from a pounding to a patter, they glance at their new rings, then back at each other.

“Seems like it’s lightening up,” Emma says. “Should we start looking for the others?”

Regina looks from her to the drizzle, seeming to make a decision. “Not yet. We’ve taken this long; we can take a little longer.”

She must want some time to unwind—or, considering Regina’s usual state of mind, to wind herself back up. Emma could use a break herself. Her throat feels raw; not just from the talking, but from... everything else. She feels like she and Regina are finally speaking the same language, like they’ve closed a gap that never had to be there in the first place. Yesterday, she was so afraid of this conversation, but now she can’t remember why. Now that it’s done, now that she knows where she stands with the princess, everything else just feels like details.

Emma takes a long, satisfied inhale.

It smells like fish.

“Is there really an emergency?” she says, powering through the burn in her nostrils. “One that needs you here, I mean.”

Regina’s head angles toward her, the movement almost lazy. “There’s plenty I can do to help,” she says. “It’s always more efficient to be on site when major decisions need to be made, and a little magic will go a long way to jump-start the cold storage.”

“Oh.” Emma bobs her head. “So you’ll be here for a while?”

“A week, for now. You’re welcome to stay as well.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will,” says Emma, trying to sound casual. “I can see why you’re so proud of this place,” she offers.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nice here. Peaceful, but not too quiet, y’know?”

“I do.”

“Right. Back at the castle it feels like there’s always something—”

“Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re ruining it.”

Emma smiles.

Chapter Text

“Someone’s been having fun.”

Emma cracks one eye open. “Is that what it looks like?” she says, not bothering to fix her posture. It’s only Lily. “I’m exhausted. Is wedding planning supposed to be this hard?”

“This may surprise you, but I don’t actually know anyone else who’s marrying into royalty.” Her partner pokes Emma until she slides over, then joins her on the bench.

With a groan, Emma lifts her head from the backrest and rubs her eyes. The castle gardens sprawl out before them; lush, colorful, and viciously manicured. Between them and the hedge maze is the scaffolding for a flower arch, only partially decorated pending the final decision—Emma’s decision. And Regina’s, but nobody’s worried about her taste. It’s Emma’s input that has them all concerned.

“Did you choose those?” Lily nods to the work in progress. “It’s very pink.”

“I had to pick something or we’d be there all day.” A yawn cracks Emma’s jaw. “We worked on the menu before this, and soon I have to go over invitations, then more flower stuff... If I make terrible choices, do you think they’ll stop asking me things?”

“Nope. If you were that lucky, they would’ve stopped way before now.”

“Ha ha,” she says, too tired to come up with anything more clever. “You think you could do better?”

“Well, your first mistake was mixing those in with the pastels.” Lily flicks a careless hand at the trial arch. “Coral is way too warm, and that one... what is it, strawberry? Much too saturated. I mean, it’s not impossible to pull off, but with all that white and blush, you were clearly aiming for a soft palette. Personally, I’d go for something with a little more kick, but if this is what you want, you’ve got to commit. You could go as far as carnation, maybe flamingo, but I don’t think you can handle that. Not with your eye.”

Emma blinks.

“Do you... want to help with the flowers?”

“No I don’t care about the flowers,” her friend snaps, the words coming out in a rush. “I just saw the guest list, Emma. This wedding isn't just going to be big, it’s big big. The snobs are coming in from all over, and they’ll all want to meet the bride. It’ll be days of them staring at you, talking to you, memorizing your face!” Her pitch rises with every point.

“Longer,” says Emma, frowning. “Family and close friends are arriving early.”

“So you get what I’m worried about.”

“It’ll make things harder once we get out of here.” Being known of is very different from being known. A wandering dragonslayer is one thing, but if Emma becomes an established figure to these people, she and Lily will have to make sure their story is airtight every single time.

“It might be good for business?” She tries to find the silver lining.

“We’ve seen where that leads,” grumbles Lily. “The whole point of this scam was to get out of actual work.”

“We have to balance this just right,” Emma agrees. “Screwing with His Majesty will help bring down our review score, but we want to keep at least some of our reputation.”

“Obviously.”

“I think we can do both: we just need to create enough of a reason to call off the wedding without blowing our cover entirely.” Emma frowns, thinking aloud. “We cause a scene, the guests are shocked, we’re embarrassed, he’s embarrassed but worse because he’s actually one of them, and then we’re gone before they realize we helped ourselves to the wedding presents.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy.” She holds Lily’s gaze. “You’re not scared of a little challenge, are you?”

Instead of taking the obvious bait, her partner just shakes her head. “That’s not going to work forever.”

“But it’s working for now?”

“Ugh, yes.” Lily folds her arms. “Leaving now would just feel like giving up.”

“Exactly. Don’t worry, Lil. The plan is solid, we just need to sharpen the details.”

“We? You mean you and her.”

“Regina? Yeah, we’ve had some time to talk between wedding stuff.”

“About the plan, or your honeymoon?”

Emma gives her friend an incredulous look. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No, I’m pissed.” Lily huffs. “We don’t need her help.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll... help.” Emma tries to catch her partner’s eye. “Lily, please. I’m sorry I made the decision without you. It really felt like the right time to...”

“To what?”

Honestly, Emma doesn’t know what to call it. Trying to put words to the nebulous sense of support and understanding that she and Regina shared in the shadow of the fish warehouse is like trying to describe why she and Lily work so well together. Neither relationship is one Emma can truly comprehend, but why would she pick them apart when she knows they work? Her partnership with Lily has lasted for over a decade, and apart from the criticism, the sulking, the codependency, and the occasional lack of trust, they’re doing fine.

“To join forces,” Emma eventually says, once her shot at introspection turns out to be friendly fire. “That’s all. I didn’t screw anything up for us, I swear.”

“Really?”

“Really. We all want the same thing, so why not let her make herself useful? This way, there’s less risk and no confusion.”

Lily sneers. “Are you sure about that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. You’re the one wearing her ring.”

“Come on, Lily, that’s not fair. I have to wear the ring. We’re engaged.” The king hadn’t been happy that their proposal was quiet and romantic^[1] instead of public and performative, but he wasted no time in trumpeting it across the region.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to smile when you look at it, do you?”

Emma glances down at the simple band. Most of the time she barely remembers it’s on her finger, but every now and then she’ll look down and be pleasantly surprised. She’s only had the ring for a week, but it already feels like it’s been there forever. It’s a little eerie, how well it fits. Did Regina put some kind of magic on it?

“You’re doing it again!” Lily groans.

No she wasn’t. Was she? “It’s not important,” insists Emma. “I know it’s just a ring.”

Lily narrows her eyes as she stands.

“It better be,” she says, and stalks off.

. . .

Emma gets about thirty seconds of peace after Lily leaves before another dark-haired pain in the ass takes her place. She seems to be surrounded by them these days.

“What do you want, Red? I don’t have time for you right now.”

“Having a bad day?” Red asks far too innocently. She stands in the shade of a nearby tree, a picnic basket swinging in her hands. It shouldn’t be as intimidating as it is.

“I have to go.” Emma pushes to her feet. “There’s a stack of invitations with my name on them. Bye, Red.”

As she starts to turn away, the ‘forester’ holds up a hand. “Actually, they sent me to tell you they’ve been delayed. You’re off the hook for another hour or so.”

“Great,” says Emma, changing direction. “That’s enough time to eat. Bye.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Red holds up her basket with a big, sharp smile. “Join me?”

Damn it.

Minutes later, Emma sits on a checkered blanket, facing off with Red over an admittedly delicious-looking picnic lunch. Keeping her eyes on the older woman, she reaches for a finger sandwich. Then another. Then some fruit salad, a deviled egg, one of those tomato-and-mozzarella skewers...

“Who made this stuff?” she asks between bites.

“I did. Duh.” A little too late, Emma wonders if she should have been more wary of the food. As if sensing her misgivings, Red rolls her eyes and assembles a plate of her own. “I learned to cook from my grandmother. Eventually, at least.”

“Bad teacher?”

“Hah!” Red grins, but this smile is softer than her usual toothy threat display. “No, bad student.”

For a while, it’s a perfect lunch. The weather is good, the food is great, and her meal partner doesn’t make any ambiguous yet unsettling remarks. Then, just as Emma considers moving on to the baked goods, Red clears her throat.

“Lily seemed upset,” she says. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing important,” denies Emma.

“Uh huh.” Red hums thoughtfully. “I saw she left in quite a mood.”

“Lily does that.”

“And you let her?”

“I don’t ‘let’ Lily do anything. It’s hard enough to get her to listen when I suggest things she likes.”

“Isn't she your page?”

Oh, right. “Yeees,” says Emma. “Technically she is.”

Red arches an eyebrow.

“We’ve known each other for so long... I can't just treat her like someone who cleans my armor.”

“True.” Red nods. “I’ve never seen her clean much of anything.”

Emma has to snicker at that. “You know what I mean.”

“I really do.” She sees Red’s gaze go distant with memory, but it passes in the blink of an eye. “While we’re on the topic, how long have you two been together?”

“Define ‘together.’”

“In whatever way you’re willing to answer.”

“We’ve been friends for... a while.”

“That long, huh?” Red gives her a knowing look.

She’s not giving up, Emma realizes. Unlike their other conversations, Red plans to keep pushing. She doesn’t know what changed. Maybe the jump from betrothed to fiancé has nudged her up the priority list, or maybe Red was just having a slow day. Either way, Emma judges that’s it’s better to talk. Answering some of the forester’s questions will let Emma control the story. If Red gets fed up and starts searching for new sources, who knows what she’ll dig up?

“Lily and I have known each other since we were kids,” says Emma, trying to sound indifferent. “We grew up together—she’s more like family than anything else.”

“A sister? Or...”

“Let’s go with sister. Why else would I put up with her?” This time, Emma doesn’t have to fake her reaction; she truly is annoyed. Just thinking of all the times Lily got her thrown out, locked up, or roped into whatever mess she could find that week... Some days, Emma wonders how her life would’ve turned out if she’d been a better thief, or maybe just a less ambitious one. If she’d never needed the assist from that strange, golden-eyed girl with the dangerous smile.

The wondering never lasts long, though. She knows the answer. Without Lily, Emma thinks her life might have been safer. But she knows it wouldn’t have been as happy.

“All right.” Red’s voice brings her back to the present. “So how did two kids without a title between them turn into the knight and page we all know and tolerate?”

“Hard work and determination.” Emma lies through her teeth.

Red presses her lips together. “Right.”

“I started as an apprentice in a knightly order,” explains Emma. It’s far from unusual for knights to take children of minor nobles under their wing. Emma, being as common as a cold, was no such child, but she’s not lying. She really was an apprentice in the order for almost three years. The fact that she was apprenticed to the maid just doesn’t seem worth mentioning.

“I already knew Lily before then, but she was never much for order of any kind,” Emma says. “While I trained, she and I stayed in touch. Even after I earned my armor”—earned, stole; same thing, right?—“there was nobody I trusted more.”

Red nods. She hasn’t written anything down, but Emma gets the feeling she doesn’t need to. Any notes she needs are safe and sound behind the twin spotlights of her eyes.

“Now that,” she says, “might be the sweetest story I’ve heard all day. Mind telling me where it was set?”

“Trefor.” Emma answers smoothly. “It’s a decent-sized town in Camelot, northwest of—”

“Avonlea,” says Red, nodding. “I know the area. A lot of knights up that way, aren’t there?”

“Too many.” At least that’s what Emma’s hoping. Even if Red makes the long trek to the town in question, it won’t be easy to disprove Emma’s tale. You can't throw a rock in Camelot without hitting some knight or the horse they rode in on. She studies the older woman’s face for any hint of insight, irritation, anything, but all she finds is the usual mild amusement.

“You two have sure come far.” Red sighs. “I’ve gotta say I’m impressed. After all that time together, I bet you have some wild tales to tell.”

“We weren't always together,” says Emma. “Like I said, Lily leaves when she feels like it. Sometimes she’s gone for a while, but she always comes back.”

A hand settles over Red’s heart. “What a connection,” she says. “You really are full of surprises, Emma.” Her smile is real, but her eyes stay on Emma with predatory focus. “In all that travel, you must have—”

“We dated once, okay?” blurts Emma, her voice rising so high that Red actually winces. “For a few months, years ago, when we were finally out on our own. We’d always had each other’s backs, knew everything about each other, so... we thought we should try.”

“And?”

“And it was terrible. We were terrible. It didn’t take long for us to realize that kind of ‘together’ wasn’t the one for us.” Emma feels her face twist at the memory. No, it hadn’t taken long at all to learn they were better partners in crime than in romance. She loves Lily, but the two of them need that bit of distance to keep from murdering each other in their sleep.

“Is that enough for you?” she asks Red, letting the embarrassment she feels leak into her voice. “You know the whole story now, so can I go, or do you want some more of my worst memories? How about the time rats got in the storehouses and we had to eat them instead of the food? Or the time the other squires threw me in the midden and I had to scrub myself down outdoors in the middle of winter? Would that be enough?”

By the time she finishes, she’s red-faced and breathing hard. Red’s gaze has sharpened, but Emma refuses to look away, her hands trembling as she clutches her knees in an iron grip.

Inside, she’s far less resolute. Please, please let Red fall for it. From the start, Emma’s gut told her she couldn’t endure Red’s interrogation for long. Sooner or later, something would slip. So she deflected as long as she could, mixed truth and lies as much as she dared, and finally ‘cracked’ to give Red something juicy to chew on. Now she just has to hope that her humiliation was convincing enough to earn her escape.

The memories were mostly lies, of course; sprinkled with just enough sad truths to try for some cheap sympathy. Her hunger, for instance, was real enough, but it was harshest in a time before Emma started serving the order. A time when she had nothing but what she could beg, scrounge, or steal. Oh, what she would have done to get her hands on a nice, well-fed rat. And it truly had been the dead of winter when the squires tossed her in the midden, but at least the trash was warm, warmer than the hole she shivered in the night before. Besides, the maid found her the next morning, so it all worked out for Emma in the end.

For a short eternity, she stares into Red’s face. The older woman has always been hard to read, but now her smile is almost lifeless, frozen except for the grinding of her jaw as she chews on Emma’s performance. As the seconds tick on, Emma starts to consider escape routes, but then she blinks and Red is back to her playful, only slightly terrifying self.

“Of course you can go, Your Imminent Highness,” she says. “How could a humble forester like me ever hope to detain you?”

Emma is so relieved that she doesn’t even give that statement the snort it deserves. “So glad we had this chat,” she says, not bothering to hide the sarcasm as she climbs to her feet. “It’s always a pleasure, Red. This whole woman-of-mystery act isn't getting old at all.”

As she turns to go, a soft, “Emma?” stops her in her tracks.

“What?” she snaps, glancing over her shoulder. Still seated, Red meets Emma’s glower with a grin that looks almost apologetic.

“There’s still plenty of food. Do you want to take the basket?”

. . .

The next two weeks pass quickly, rushing by in a blur of wedding-related nonsense. Despite Emma’s best efforts, people keep asking for her opinion on one choice or another. She can't go five feet without being harried for her thoughts on table settings and musical accompaniment and life-size ornamental ice sculptures. She blunders through the endless consultations as well as a common orphan can, which isn't very. Yesterday alone, she was buried alive in calligraphy samples, waterboarded with perfumes, and force-fed a dozen cakes’ worth of sample slices in a single sitting.

Okay, so it isn't all bad. But apart from the cake, the only thing keeping her sane is the fact that most of these tasks are shared with Regina. The princess is even busier than Emma, but she never misses an appointment, clearly ready to pick up the slack when her fiancé fails. So obviously Emma has to stick with it, just to prove a point^[2].

Fortunately, the chaos of the preparations makes it easier to find time together. Between Regina’s magic and Emma’s practiced slipperiness, they manage to sneak away from their various assignments to meet in private at least once a day. With all the activity, nobody comes looking for them as long as they don’t take too long. She’s pretty sure some of the maids have noticed, but they probably think they’re just, like, an actual happy couple. Idiots.

Today, Emma is on her way to find Regina after the princess’s meeting with the kitchen staff, a meeting to which she was not invited^[3]. As she walks toward the parlor where they planned to meet, Emma smiles as she hears Regina’s voice. She’s usually the first to arrive, but it looks like the princess wins this round.

A second later, her amusement fades as she hears another voice, low but familiar. What is Lily doing talking to Regina? Wary of... well, both sides of this particular conversation, she slows her pace and creeps up to the door. It doesn’t do much good. Thanks to the magic muffling that lingers around the room, Emma can only make out the general sentiment: hostility from Lily matched by irritation from Regina. Their voices spike up, then fall just as sharply as she nears the door. Then, as she reaches for the doorknob, there’s a final burst of noise, one that Emma has heard all too often before.

It’s the sound of Lily making a rude gesture and jumping out a window.

Emma opens the door. As she expected, the princess is alone in the room, but the curtains behind her sway in the breeze.

“Regina?”

“Good morning, Ser Swan.”

Emma gives her a chance to continue, but Regina only mirrors her expectant look, which is... fine. It’s perfectly fine that her best friend and fiancé are talking behind her back. She’s sure it had nothing to do with her. Yeah.

“How was your morning?” she asks, ambling toward the window. “Anything interesting happen?”

Regina lets her pass, an amused curve to her lips. Today’s getup—today’s getup isn't important! Emma has more important things to think about than the texture of Regina’s indigo velvet dress, or the swirling pattern of black silk that licks along the line of her waist in place of a belt. The laces that ever so gently tug her bodice closed are equally unremarkable, just like the adorable hat teetering atop her wavy waterfall of hair. The bejeweled hatpin that holds it in place is hardly worth mentioning, even if it is the size of a small sword. And Emma barely even notices the flash of smooth skin bared by the slit that runs halfway up her skirt, or how the heels on her feet bring them almost eye to eye.

“The master of the kitchens agreed to your demands,” says Regina, still wearing the same slight smile. “Chicken and fish, in addition to the vegetarian options. Congratulations. I did have to cede control over the side dishes, but I’m sure whatever she chooses will be perfectly adequate.”

“As long as there’s no chimera.” Emma pokes her head out the window. There’s nobody outside, of course, but she knows what she heard. “Anything else?”

“This morning? Hmm.” She turns back to see a look of deep, artificial thought on Regina’s face. “This morning... Nothing too unusual, I suppose. I woke up early to brew a new potion for Ariel—no success, sadly—had breakfast with my sister, wrapped up some paperwork, met with the cooks, spoke with your page, and now here I am.”

“Aha!” Emma says, then frowns. “Oh. It’s not as fun when you tell the truth.”

“Maybe not for you.” The princess folds her arms. “Unfortunately, that’s all the truth you’re going to get. The rest is between Miss Lilith and myself.”

“Was it...”

“Unpleasant? Certainly, but not unbearable.” Regina’s mouth flattens. “She truly cares for you, you know.”

“In the most inconvenient ways,” sighs Emma. “So she didn’t... I don’t know, threaten you?”

“Well I never said that.” Her long-suffering look brings the smile back to Regina’s lips. “Relax, Emma. Nothing’s changed.” The princess gives a pointed glance toward the clock on the wall. “Except that we’ve wasted two of our twenty-seven minutes. Now, I’ve been considering how best to ruin our wedding, and I really think you should let me kill you.”

The change of topic is not subtle, but Emma goes with it. “And I really think we can come up with something less fatal.”

“This is ‘less fatal,’” says Regina. “As I’ve told you, the toxin I have in mind places its victim on the brink of demise, but no further! A relatively safe revival is well within the realm of possibility. Naturally, the proper dosage is vital and the timing of the antidote must be precise, but I’m confident I’ll get it right this time.”

Emma opens her mouth, closes it, then just shakes her head. “What else you got?”

“Well, I’ve also come across a curse that places the subject in a state of deepest sleep indistinguishable from true death.”

“Wow, from poisoned to cursed. What an improvement.”

“It’s perfectly harmless, I assure you,” snaps Regina. “Now, the cure is... a bit tricky, but I’m sure we can find some wiggle room.”

“Right, because curses are always sooo considerate.”

“There’s truly no pleasing some people.” For a split second, Regina’s expression looks awfully close to a pout. “Were you planning to offer any ideas of your own, Ser Swan, or would you like to waste the rest of our time poking holes in mine?”

That does sound fun, but the warning vein in Regina’s forehead is starting to twitch. “Sorry,” Emma relents. “Please, Your Highness, go on.”

“That’s better.” The princess thinks for a moment. “Oh, Zelena suggested—”

“No thank you.” With a sigh, Emma starts to pace. “Did you happen to think of any plans that don’t involve killing me off?”

“Well if you want to take all the fun out of it,” Regina huffs. “With a mere drop of blood from you, I can create a perfect double to take your place. I believe you’re familiar with the spell?”

Emma nods slowly. “I remember.” This actually sounds promising.

“It will require some strategy to convince the wedding guests, but after that I believe I can keep up the façade for a few years at minimum. Naturally I’ll need to deanimate and recycle the double every few months, so we should build up a good stock of blood while you’re here...”

“How much blood are we talking?” Emma asks, then reconsiders. “No, wait, someone will definitely notice if I say the same three things over and over for months at a time.”

“Will they?”

“Regina...” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “Do all your plans have to be so... evil?”

The princess narrows her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Neither do I,” says Emma, holding up her hands in surrender that’s only half a joke^[4]. “I guess... how did you get rid of the rest of your exes? Don’t tell me you poisoned or cursed all of them.”

[4] What exactly did Regina mean by ‘deanimate and recycle’?

“If by ‘exes’ you mean the suitors my father threw at me...” Somehow, Regina’s expression grows even more severe. What did Emma say? “... then, no,” admits the princess. “Only a few of them were stubborn enough to need the extra effort. A garden-variety scandal or two were enough for the rest.”

“That.” Emma points. “Let’s do that. I’ll take a scandal over instant-death poison any day.”

“I never said the death was instant,” Regina says darkly. “And in noble circles, most would rather take the poison. A body can be healed; a reputation is harder. But you...”

“I’m not that proud of myself to begin with,” brags Emma. “Lily and I were already planning to lay low for a while. We’ll just wait a few gossip cycles, then get back to—” She glances away. “Knight stuff.”

“Mm.”

“So what rumors have you used before?” Emma plows onward, amazed at how nervous a single syllable can make her.

Regina pauses just long enough to show she noticed. “It varies,” she finally says. “Old debts and other such indiscretions are far too common amongst my peers, and if those fail, there’s always a lost love or cursed sweetheart waiting in the wings.” The princess shakes her head. “Lord Locksley had his Maid Marian, Princess Abigail had Ser Frederick... what is it about nobility that attracts tragic romance?”

“It’s the money,” says Emma. “Hey, look on the bright side: soon you’ll have a tragedy of your own!”

Regina gives her another long look. “We’ve grown far too comfortable with each other,” she mutters, then goes on. “The trick to an effective scandal,” she explains, “is an anchor. Past missteps can be erased far too easily, and romance alone can rarely outweigh politics. For proper effect, I always made sure the rumors were attached to someone—or something—too important to ignore. A king, a wizard, an empress. That’s the kind of weight you need to stand in the way of my father’s ego.”

“Too bad I left my genie in my other pants.”

“Never fear, Ser Swan.” The smile that grows on Regina’s lips is downright devilish. “No one ever said all scandals had to be true.”

. . .

When Emma finally makes it back to her chambers, she’s exhausted. After her rendezvous with Regina, she barely had time for lunch before they were tied up all afternoon responding to the responses to their invitations. Like Lily said, there are a lot of people coming to this wedding, and that’s without any invitations on Emma’s side. The king hadn’t made a fuss when she gave him her excuses—parents dead, siblings estranged, the usual. He just seemed happy that there was more room on the guest list.

Speaking of Lily, Emma needs to track her down. They haven’t spoken since... was it yesterday, or the day before? Either way, she should probably check in. Her partner has been acting moodier as the wedding approaches, and it can't be just because Emma press-ganged her into flower arch duty. Some days Lily seems perfectly at ease bullying the florists and pocketing anything that the wedding planners leave unguarded for more than a minute. Other days she’s restless and irritable, practically clawing at the walls when she’s not pocketing anything that the wedding planners leave unguarded for more than a minute.

Emma will talk to her tonight. Soon. She just needs five minutes to herself, and then she’ll go. With a groan, she flops down onto her usual armchair, sinking into the cushions with a soft crunch.

Wait, a crunch?

She stands up and looks down. On the seat is a crumpled envelope.

Trying to ignore the buzz of alarm at the base of her skull, Emma picks it up and tears it open. When she shakes it over her palm, a scrap of paper flutters out. It’s not even a full sheet, just a corner with one ragged edge, as if... she glances around her room... as if torn from the calendar on her desk.

“There’s a blank page right there,” she sighs as she unfolds the scrap.

There are only three words written on it:

Enjoy the honeymoon.

Emma is jogging down the hall before the envelope hits the floor. Lily’s quarters aren’t far, but when Emme arrives, she finds them empty. Her friend’s belongings are completely cleared out... along with the wall art, the curtains, the bath supplies, and every piece of bedding up to and including the mattress.

“How?” she murmurs. Then, as it sinks in. “How?”

How could she have not seen this coming? Sure, she hasn’t been spending as much time with Lily recently, but that’s not Emma’s fault. She’s been busy with the wedding and their escape plan and her—and Regina. Just to talk tactics, of course.

“Are you sure about that?” Lily’s words echo in her ear.

Emma looks down at the ring on her finger, then shakes her head. She can deal with that later. Right now, she has to... what? She can't catch up with a dragon. Then again, with the sheer mass of loot Lily seems to have absconded with, she probably needed to take a cart or two. Still, Emma doesn’t know when she left, or in which direction. It wouldn’t be that hard to find out, but should she even bother? Maybe her partner will be back by morning.

The memory of her conversation with Red comes creeping back. She and Lily have been apart before, but she always comes back.

Right?

This time, Emma realizes, she’s not so sure.

Chapter Text

The morning after Lily’s departure, Emma truly feels her absence.

So does the rest of the castle.

“Those sheets? I don’t know. Maybe the laundry still has them.”

“Does anyone remember where we left that bottle of wine?”

“Just put out the spare candlesticks until the other set turns up.”

“Calm down, it’s not even the king’s favorite carriage.”

Anxious whispers fill Emma’s ears as she walks through the halls, her shoulders tensing further with each one. Clearly, Lily made a few more stops on her way out of the castle^[1]. At least it sounds like she avoided stealing from the staff themselves. Lily may not be the most moral of women, but she does have her limits—specifically, weight limits. Even with a carriage, she can only carry so much, and a servant’s cheap trinkets are neither valuable nor interesting enough to make the cut. Emma’s partner has always had a nose for the good stuff.

Emma pauses halfway down the stairs. Can she still call Lily that? A partner wouldn’t disappear like this. True, Lily did leave a note, but she could have come to say goodbye in person—or just not left in the first place! Did Emma really screw up so badly that Lily couldn’t even stand to face her? Her first thought, as it so often is, is denial; but the more she thinks about it, the less impossible it seems.

All the way to the end, Emma believed Lily was just being her usual contrary self, but clearly she was wrong. Way back when the king first sprung the marriage on them, Emma wanted to run and Lily convinced her to stay. Then it became the other way around, but Emma clearly wasn’t as convincing.

Lily was right, she realizes. The ring on her finger isn't just a ring. For the past few weeks, she’s been more focused on planning her wedding than her escape. Emma’s not in over her head; that’s where she started. Now she’s sunk much deeper than that, so deep she can't even see the surface anymore. Lily just knew it before she did and was smart enough to get the hell out.

But why did she leave Emma behind?

Emma tries to tell herself that this has happened before, but it’s not the same. Lily has gone off on her own countless times, but she’s never vanished in the middle of a job. What makes this time different? Was she tired of acting like a servant^[2], or was it something Emma did? Or didn’t do? How did she fail to see this coming? Why, fucking why couldn’t Lily have left a longer note? Is this her fault, or Emma’s, or can she somehow blame Zelena?

The more Emma thinks, the more her head spins. Her thoughts whirl around and around, growing less and less focused... Wait, she’s describing a spiral. Emma is spiraling. And why shouldn’t she? She may have finally driven away the one person broken enough to stick around this long, and now she’s alone in this stupid spiky castle full of enemies and wedding planners and—

“... Swan. Ser Swan? Emma.”

—and her fiancé.

“Yeah?” says Emma, her voice little better than a croak. “What’s up?”

“You’ve been standing in the middle of the staircase for almost five minutes.” From one step down, Regina slowly reaches up to tap Emma’s hand.

Emma looks down, finally registering the numb feeling in her fingers. They’re wrapped around the banister in a clawlike grip, so tight that something is starting to creak. With a cough, Emma lets go.

“Just thinking,” she says, attempting a smile. The princess doesn’t look fooled, but she merely raises an eyebrow and changes the subject. Unfortunately, the new topic is not exactly an improvement.

“Where can I find your page?” she asks. “My purse seems to have gone missing after our talk yesterday.”

Despite the full-body wince that hits her at the mention of Lily, Emma has to ask, “Your whole purse?”

“Only the purse. She was kind enough to leave its contents behind.”

Well that explains the small pile of expensive-looking junk Emma saw in the parlor yesterday. “That means she likes you,” she says glumly.

“What an honor.” Once again, Regina clocks her low spirits, and this time she notices the pattern. “Did something happen between you and Miss Lilith?” she asks. “It’s not because of our conversation, is it? She was much less rude than I expected, and truly, her threats were quite mild.”

“No, it’s not because of that,” says Emma. “Probably.”

“How reassuring.”

“She’s just wandered off, that’s all.” Emma tries to stop there, but the concern in Regina’s eyes drags the words out of her. “I don’t know if she’ll be back anytime soon. She didn’t exactly give me an itinerary. She could have, but she didn’t.” She sighs through her nose. “It’s really not a big deal. It’s not like my calendar was right there or anything...” Emma scowls. “And Lily’s schedule wasn’t exactly packed. She had plenty of time and it would’ve taken like five minutes, but that’s not the point...”

What is her point?

“The point is, things are fine between us,” Emma claims, hoping that if she says so enough times, she’ll start to believe it. “I’m just pissed I’ll have to go find her once I’m out of here. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking, y’know?”

While this is true, Emma has to admit that she really should be better at it by now. Guilt fills her at the thought—guilt and more than a flicker of anger. Lily is always like this: doing whatever she wants, never explaining herself, leaving Emma to pick up the pieces. Seriously, she couldn’t have given her a little more of a heads-up? Or at the very least a better goodbye than three words that are really hard not to read as sarcastic.

“Ser Swan,” says Regina, watching the curtain of depression descend across her face. “I think I should show you something.”

“Uh, sure? I guess.”

Caught off guard by the random request, Emma can only follow the princess through the castle. Her attention wanders, eyes unfocused until they step outside. As they enter the gardens, she looks up, squinting into the sunrise. Gold light streams over the hedges in the distance, forming a small halo around...

Emma rubs her eyes.

The fully assembled flower arch is like nothing she’s seen before. When she pawned the task off on Lily, Emma didn’t expect much. She just wanted to give the antsy dragon something to do before idleness could ferment into mischief, and floral arrangement was the only task in which Lily showed even a hint of interest. Also, Emma was fed up with dealing with the endless shades of color that the royal gardeners managed to coax out of their charges. Around the hundredth time she reached for coral instead of crepe, she’d had enough. Waving a white flag^[3], she aimed Lily at the unfinished arch and let her loose.

Last she checked, the arch was still far from finalized, its scaffolding nearly naked. But now... “I’d go for something with a little more kick,” Lily said, and she certainly has. Half the arch is white as cream, the other a rich, thunderous purple. The two colors splash together at the center, separated not by a neat line, but a battlefield of intermediate hues. Seashell and amethyst, magnolia and lavender, the shades war back and forth across the jagged junction, never symmetrical but always in balance. Further down the arch, each arm holds hints of the opposing color; islands of lilac floating amongst the white and bursts of pale gold peeking from the purple. These accents are small and scattered but grow denser near the top, like splatter from the great clash of colors.

As Emma gawks, she hears Regina clear her throat.

“Perhaps your page was busier than you thought.” The princess gives her a small smile. “If Miss Lilith were truly upset with you, I doubt she would have taken such care with her parting gift.”

“With her, who knows?” says Emma, but the longer she stares at the flowers, the less anxious she feels. The knot of guilt in her gut starts to loosen, unwinding into a tangle of irritation and mild confusion^[4]. Some of the tension remains, of course, but most of it leaves her in a long sigh.

“At least the arch looks great.”

“It does,” Regina agrees. “Of course, it clashes with everything else we have planned.”

“Now that sounds like Lily.”

“We’ll make do,” says Regina, smile vanishing behind a hand. “It is quite the piece; it would be a shame not to use it. Although...” She frowns. “The wedding is still weeks away. I shudder to think of the state the flowers will be in by then.”

“They’ll last.” A ripple of emerald light accompanies the new voice, sweeping up one arm of the arch and down the other. As it passes, petals and leaves go perfectly still, pausing mid-flutter as if trapped in time. Tracing the magic back to its source, Emma is met by Zelena looking even more smug than usual. The crown princess brushes her fingers across the newly frozen flowers, smirking at both of them as she goes on.

“I should have known neither of you two had anything to do with this,” she says. “I like it far too much.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” drawls Regina. “I’ve seen the things you like. Are you sure your spell will hold?”

“Never fear, sister dearest, it should last until your happy, happy day. You deserve the best, and nothing but.” Zelena’s eyes soften—but only for a moment before snapping toward Emma. “Do try not to be too overshadowed.”

“I will,” mutters Emma. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Yes, thank you, Zelena,” Regina says, earning a grin.

“It was no trouble at all!” All sincerity drops from the smile as it turns to Emma. “Don’t expect a wedding present.”

“Zelena...” chides Regina, the words exasperated yet fond.

“Why are you even here?” Emma demands.

“Emma...” Regina says in the exact same tone.

“I was only joking,” claims Zelena.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Jokes are supposed to be funny.” Regina’s disapproving gaze tickles the side of her face, but she ignores it. If there’s one thing Emma’s learned about Zelena, it’s to never show a hint of weakness. This theory is vindicated when the crown princess turns away, feigning interest in the flower arch.

“I have every right to walk my own gardens,” Zelena says haughtily. “Remember your place, hero. I don’t need to answer to you, no matter who you’re marrying.”

After a moment’s consideration, Emma shrugs. “You’re right,” she says. “Bye.” As she turns away, she hears a strangled huff from the crown princess.

“Regina?”

A hand slips into the crook of Emma’s arm. “Farewell, dear sister. Ser Swan and I have business in the kitchens.”

“We do?” says Emma, trying not to sound too pleased. She wasn’t sure if Regina would pick a side, and she didn’t dare expect that side would be hers.

“I assume you’ll want breakfast,” says the princess. Emma’s stomach voices its agreement, and Regina smiles. “I know, it wasn’t much of an assumption.”

Emma can only grin back, heat rising in her cheeks.

“Disgusting,” Zelena calls after them. “But before I claw out my eyes, I have to ask: have either of you seen my ruby slippers?”

. . .

“Ariel, try placing Abigail and her family at table twelve. Ser Swan, push the Tremaines over to table seven. Hmm...”

As Regina’s lips twist with thought, Emma feels a smile start to spread. The princess doesn’t notice, her focus riveted to the large table between them. Normally meant for planning battles, the table now lends its services to a more social form of warfare. In place of the usual maps is a floor plan of the castle’s grand hall drawn completely to scale. A range of figurines stand in for the attendees, from game pieces to tin soldiers. Emma’s sure their noble guests would be outraged if they knew they were being represented by old toys, but someone decided to run away with the war table’s usual markers.

“No,” Regina decides. “Ser Swan, move Midas to table three with the rest of the kings. Ariel, replace him with Ella and her family. They’ll appreciate the balcony access when Alexandra gets fussy.”

Emma’s smile broadens.

“There’s no need for that ridiculous look on your face.” Regina’s eyes dart sideways to catch hers. “This reception will be chaotic enough without an infantile outburst, that’s all.”

“Right, we already have Zelena for that.”

The smirk is only on Regina’s lips for a moment. “That’s my sister you’re talking about, Ser Swan.”

“And?”

“I suppose I just felt obligated to point it out.”

“Heh.” Emma turns back to the table, reaching out with her stick to nudge ‘King Midas’ into place.

“Wrong.” Regina stops her with a frown. “That’s not Midas.”

Emma points her rod at the chess king she was aiming for. “He’s not that one?”

“Of course not, that’s Abigail. Her father is that pawn beside her.”

“I thought we decided those were dwarfs.”

“The checkers are dwarfs. The pawns are kings, and the kings are princesses.”

“What about the queens?”

“Naturally, the queens are queens.”

“Except that black one, that’s you.”

“Correct.” Regina gives her an impatient look. “Fine, for the last time: That queen is me, that pawn is my father, that barrel of monkeys is Zelena. The shoe is Ella, the top hat is Thomas, and the thimble is Alexandra...” As hard as Emma tries, her eyes slowly start to glaze over as Regina runs through the guest list yet again. By the time she finishes with, “and the lead pipe is Red,” all Emma can remember is a faint ringing in her ears.

“Got it,” lies Emma. “And which one am I again?”

“That knight.”

“Right, just like the rea—uh, the rest of the knights.”

“No, Emma, weren't you listening? The jacks are knights. The knights are merchants.” She points to one piece. “Except for that knight, which is Jack.”

Scratching her head with the butt of her pushing stick, Emma looks at Ariel. “Did that make sense to you?”

The redhead gives her a big thumbs up.

“Good help is so hard to find,” Regina says, dismissing Emma with a wave. “Ariel, let’s try seating King George with our guests from the Empire. Their trade relations have been worsening for years, and meeting face to face will give him the perfect chance... to alienate them completely.”

Regina is putting a lot of thought into this wedding, which Emma finds both endearing and surprising. Sure, Regina has never half-assed a task in her life, but it can't be easy to plan your wedding’s success and failure at the same time. Maybe it’s just damage control for her own reputation. Maybe she’s hoping their guests will be so impressed by the lighting and the seating plan that they’ll barely notice the ceremony going down in flames.

Emma, on the other hand, just can't get that excited about an event that she’s actively plotting to ruin. Although... she finds her gaze drifting back to Regina’s thoughtful expression. The plotting isn't so active at the moment. They haven’t spoken about Emma’s exit strategy at all in the week since Lily left. At first she was relieved that the princess was giving her space, but she’s starting to grow concerned. Okay, Emma hasn’t brought it up either, but that’s only because she never thought Regina’s drive for excellence could be held back this long. It’s almost as if her fiancé is having cold feet about... having cold feet.

She shakes her head. Regina was fending off her suitors just fine before Emma came along. She doesn’t need a marital meat shield, and even if she did, surely she could find a better one. A smarter one. One who has more in common with her than mild contempt for her family. One she could actually trust to—

Emma feels her heart sink into the ocean of guilt and shame that pools in her gut. She’s been denying it for weeks, but she can't anymore, not with the wedding right around the corner and no Lily to distract her. Emma has no issue with fooling herself, but this is about more than just her. As painful as it is, she can't stay in denial unless she’s willing to let Regina make the biggest mistake of her life—and that’s not an option.

Even when they barely knew each other, Emma never wanted the princess to take the fall for her deception. Now that they’re finally on the same side, that stubborn sliver of conscience has grown into something she can't ignore. Emma didn’t want to believe it was true because then she’d have to do something about it, and avoidance is so, so much easier, but here it is:

Regina trusts her.

No, it doesn’t make sense to her either, but it’s true. Emma’s no stranger to trust she doesn’t deserve, but all those other times were on purpose. It’s not easy to talk the rich into giving up their gold. Usually, it takes preparation, rehearsal, and a healthy disregard for the truth. For example, the king... Well, it worked too well on the king. But think about that old prince she and Lily ripped off back when things were simple. He was almost the perfect mark! Sure, he was a little too gallant, much too chatty, and Emma didn’t feel great about ripping him off, but that’s the job.

Her thoughts drift back in time, remembering noble after noble that she and Lily conned. Some got uncomfortably close to the truth of their little scam, but they always pulled it off in the end. All that work—all those lies—getting people to trust her, and the one time she barely even tries, it happens all on its own.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but Emma refuses to engage with it. Introspection is dangerous stuff. The longer she thinks, the more likely it is that she’ll find a reason to chicken out, to keep avoiding the ever-unpleasant task of coming clean. Even now, Emma wavers, wondering if it would really be so bad to keep going with the flow, letting Regina lead the way to whatever ending she thinks they deserve... but that decision would be built on a lie. Sure, the princess never fully bought the whole ‘Dragon, dragon!’ story, but Emma knows there’s a difference between being caught and being honest.

Watching Regina fuss over the war table, she grits her teeth and makes herself a promise.

As soon as she can, she’s telling Regina the truth.

. . .

“This really isn't a good time, Ser Swan.”

Regina slips away, starting to turn before Emma catches her hand.

“It won’t take long, I swear,” says Emma, drawing her close. The princess narrows her eyes as they come face to face, shifting her grip to interlace their fingers.

 “It’s not the length I have an issue with, Emma. We’re being watched, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Oh, Emma is definitely aware. She can see their audience in the corner of her eye, a small group of nobles watching her and Regina with unwavering focus. The princess moves, and Emma follows, matching Regina’s steps until she can take the lead. At the right moment, Emma pulls them into a turn, angling away from the spectators for a pretense of privacy.

“It’s important,” she says, her voice low. “Can we talk?”

Regina frowns up at her, their noses nearly close enough to touch. Her lips start to part, but then she pulls away, twirling out of Emma’s grasp until she’s all too literally at arm’s length.

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Her voice drifts back, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “You know how busy our schedule is.”

Emma raises an eyebrow. “I thought this wasn’t a good time,” she challenges, matching Regina’s whisper. She steps forward. Regina steps back. Their hands are still linked, Emma’s arm outstretched like a leash as the princess leads her across the floor.

As they move, Regina looks away, making Emma frown. The princess looks anxious, evasive, almost hunted, which just isn't fair. Emma is supposed to be the one dreading this conversation, and she’s nervous enough for the both of them. She opens her mouth, but then Regina slows her pace, drifting back into Emma’s orbit. They circle each other, eyes locking, and Emma sees the princess steel herself.

“Very well, Ser Swan. Let’s talk.”

Relief fills Emma as they come to a stop, pivoting to stand side by side. She doesn’t know what she would have done if Regina were truly opposed to a conversation. It’s not exactly a good sign that the princess is so hesitant, but Emma can’t back down now. It’s finally time to—

“Adequate,” she hears. Both of them bow their heads toward the speaker, a tall, elegant woman who stands at the head of their small audience. Her posture is impeccable, her eyes sharp as they inspect the couple’s every movement. Light sparkles off her glittery gold dress, casting a personal halo around her dark-skinned face. As beautiful as she is, Emma’s attention keeps drifting lower, drawn by a huge, perfectly formed pair of wings. They’re a gorgeous shade of amber, slender and translucent like a dragonfly’s... and two feet long at the very least. Best of all, they buzz whenever the fairy gets excited, which makes her real easy to read.

“Regina, your tempo continues to improve. Emma, your footwork was nearly perfect that time.” The fairy smiles. “Another twenty or thirty repetitions, and your first dance will be flawless!”

It takes two whole hours for them to be released from their instructor’s grasp, and another quarter hour before Regina can slip away from her entourage. Emma spends those fifteen minutes pacing back and forth, completely failing to plan out her confession. She knows what she has to say; the problem is finding a way to say it that doesn’t earn her a fireball to the face. When the door finally clicks open, Emma turns toward it, fists clenched at her sides. She imagines taking all her guilt in one hand, all her anxiety in the other, and squeezing them down until they burn her palms like white-hot marbles.

“That’s a very interesting look on your face.” Regina closes the door behind her, peering at Emma with a raised eyebrow. “Is something wrong with your stomach?”

“S’fine,” grunts Emma.

“If you say so.” The princess takes a seat with a soft groan. “Oh, my feet.”

“You too, huh?”

Regina sends her a look that could scare the red off an apple. “I don’t want to hear that from the toe-crusher herself.” She stretches out her legs, shoes peeking from beneath her dress. To be fair, they’re a little more... dented than they were this morning. “I didn’t know a knight could be so clumsy.”

“Well...”

There it is! The perfect opening. All Emma has to say is, “No, a knight wouldn’t be,” but instead she hesitates until Regina flexes her ankles and stands back up, her gaze turning expectant.

“So, Ser Swan, what was so important? Did Zelena do something? Has your page resurfaced? Don’t tell me you’ve been squabbling with the caterers again.”

Emma looks away, mind suddenly blank. “Uh...”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘It won’t take long, I swear.’”

“I’m working on it,” Emma says. “Don’t rush me.”

“Oh yes, take your time.” Regina’s eyes narrow. “It’s not like we’re busy or anything.”

“This isn't helping.”

“Well, how can I help, Ser Swan?” Surprisingly, Regina doesn’t sound sarcastic, but her patience is clearly running dry. “We can deal with whatever mess you’re trying to tell me about, but can we do it quickly? The first guests will start arriving within the week, and there’s still so much to finalize.”

A frown tugs at Emma’s mouth. “Actually, it’s about that,” she says. “The guests, and the plans, and the... thing the guests and the plans are for.”

“The wedding.”

“Yeah. That. Before you... Before we... Before, uh... I—There’s something important I need to tell you.” She takes a slow breath^[5]. “I should have told you a long time ago, obviously, but I was just...” Cautious? Guilty? Nervous? Emma pauses, letting the feelings whirl past her mind’s eye until she sees the one they’re all orbiting around. “Scared,” she says. “I was scared that if I told you, things would change.”

“Everything changes eventually.” Regina’s voice softens. As she steps closer, Emma fidgets, not daring to meet her eye. “You coming here was a change, and it was... not entirely disastrous.”

“Not yet,” Emma mutters.

“Ser Swan—Emma,” sighs Regina. “Whatever you’re getting at may be painful, but dragging it out just makes both of us suffer. Just say it, and we can start to move forward.”

Coming from her? That’s rich.

“Excuse me?”

Emma winces. “That wasn’t out loud, was it?” Regina’s glare answers that question. “It’s not like you’ve been super open these days, either,” she defends. “I’m not the only one holding something back.”

The princess draws herself up. “That and this are completely different matters,” she says, but the hunted look is back, her eyes locking with Emma’s before sliding away. “Aren’t they?” she says, the words soft.

“Maybe...” The flicker of disappointment on Regina’s face has Emma’s tongue moving before she can stop it. “Maybe not?” she hears herself say. “What have you been worried about?”

“I’m not the one who called us here.” Regina folds her arms, fingers drumming against her side. “Why don’t you start, Ser Swan?”

“Seriously?” The princess narrows her eyes. “Fine, fine! There’s something important I need to tell you—"

“You said that already.”

Emma would be annoyed if Regina wasn’t clearly as anxious as she is. “I guess I did,” she says. “And the important thing is... well... you remember when we talked for the first time? Like, really talked, not the night we met.”

“I remember.”

“Right, of course.” Emma swallows, throat unreasonably dry. “You told me about your mom, and I told you why I didn’t want to marry you...” Wait, that sounds bad. “And—and then you said you didn’t want to marry me either,” she adds in a rush.

“I believe my exact words were, ‘extremely opposed.’”

“Of course they were.” Emma tries not to roll her eyes as Regina sticks up her nose. “Anyway, you were honest with me, and I did appreciate it.” Emma hadn’t said anything at the time because, well, how would that conversation have gone? But it stuck in her mind.

“Then your father ordered me to propose while you ran away to your summer home—”

“There was a fish emergency.”

“Sure. And when I caught up, you told me about you and your father, and I told you that I still didn’t want to marry you...” Regina’s eye twitches, and Emma holds up her hands. “Hey, you said the same thing, didn’t you? You said...” She feels herself frown. What did Regina say, exactly? For a moment, the world tilts beneath her feet, but then she remembers. “Right, you said you were still opposed, haha.”

Phew. For a second, Emma thought she might have missed something. That would have been embarrassing.

For some reason, Regina’s face has gone stiff. “Go on,” is all she says when Emma meets her eye.

“You—You keep being honest with me,” Emma goes on, feeling her palms start to sweat. “You’re not always nice about it, but that’s, um, not exactly a bad thing. And you offered to help me and Lily, even though we—even though I’m not like you.”

“Emma.” Regina uncrosses her arms, looking for a moment like she wants to reach out, but in the end her hands fall to her sides. “What do you mean?” she says after a pause. “Naturally we can’t all be royalty, but that’s not... I never thought... I certainly didn’t offer to help because I hated you.” Frustration leaks into her words. “We’re not so different, are we? Not in the ways that count.”

Emma wishes she could agree, but she’s not that good a liar. Regina may be a spiteful, overbearing control freak with a chip on her shoulder the size of a giant eel, but even she has something she cares about, something she works toward every day. All Emma has is a reputation built on bullshit and a growing certainty that this is as good as things are going to get. She can pretend all she wants, convince the king, the kingdom, the whole damn Enchanted Forest, but then what? The world? Even if she could, it wouldn’t matter when she knows the truth.

Emma’s not like Regina, especially in the ways that count. She’s not honest, or driven, or even ruthless. Maybe if she was, she’d be an actual dragonslayer instead of a cardboard cutout of a knight, stale and ragged around the edges. She can’t lead or create or contribute in any real way, only leech from people who can. She’s not special, never has been, but... but at least she can finally be honest about it.

“Regina,” she says, looking up. “I’m not...”

The first thing she sees is the wrinkle between two deep brown eyes. Then she feels the warmth of a hand on her face, then another, cupping her jaw from both sides as—

“Kmph!”

Regina’s lips meet hers, and Emma loses track of everything else. To be honest, it’s an uncomfortable start; Emma’s arms half raised in surprise, her mouth half open in a monumentally stupid expression. She sees Regina’s eyes drift closed and follows suit out of embarrassment more than anything else, trapping herself in the darkness of her mind with nothing but the beat of Regina’s pulse pounding against her cheek, the tickle of Regina’s hair brushing her forehead. A soft gasp leaves Regina’s lips, more felt than heard as Emma tilts her head to swallow the sound. Her hands move through air that smells like apples but feels thick as honey, drifting down with dreamlike slowness to settle on Regina’s back.

She feels a hand leave her face to clutch her collar as Regina leans up and in, inching closer until her shoes touch the inside of Emma’s. Their lips slide apart with a hot puff of air, only to meet once more with a force that makes their teeth click. Regina goes stiff in her arms, then laughs, a low, happy sound that fills Emma’s chest with warmth. She can only pull Regina closer, lips tingling with the taste of her amusement until they finally pull apart.

Emma’s cheeks burn as she opens her eyes, her hand rising to cover her mouth. She shivers as her palm brushes her lips, unable to stop them from splitting into a smile. Before her, Regina is just as flushed, her eyes wide and dark as they look anywhere but Emma’s. Her fingers still twist into Emma’s collar, thumb tracing back and forth along her collarbone so smoothly that Emma doubts she realizes she’s doing it.

All she can do is hold her breath and stand there, swaying on feet that seem a million miles away. She can feel her smile broaden, her whole face humming with something she hasn’t felt in a long time. Happy, Emma realizes. Right now, for as long as it lasts, she’s just... happy. Not watching her back, not worried about saying the wrong thing, not rushing to assemble a new insecurity about what future misery must be coming for her to deserve this—

No, not that, she said. She’s happy. Truly, honestly happy for once in her miserable life.

So of course it can’t last. After what could be a minute and could be a year, Regina disentangles herself and takes a small step back. Her eyes glitter as they finally meet Emma’s, lips fighting against her own blooming smile. Her mouth opens, only for an adorable squeak to escape as she catches her breath.

Cheeks glowing, the princess clamps a hand over her lips, glares at Emma for daring to giggle, and... vanishes, disappearing from the room in a puff of purple smoke.

Emma blinks. Coughs. Blinks again.

“I did not know she could do that.”

All along, the smile never leaves her face.

Chapter Text

“You’re in a good mood today. Pity.”

Emma does her best to ignore Zelena, but the smile on her face is starting to feel stiff. She can handle the crown princess up to a point, and that point was about half an hour ago. The two of them have been assigned to welcome the guests as they enter the ballroom, letting them meet Emma before the wedding next week. These early arrivals are all related to the king by blood or by bond, making tonight’s reception more of a family reunion.

“What a waste of my talents.” Zelena sighs, peeking into the ballroom. “Our family is absolutely horrid, did you know? I’m surprised they’re not tearing each other apart already. The arrogance, the backstabbing, the pointless feuds... I should be in there with them, not stuck out here with you.”

“I totally agree.”

“Are we almost done here?” The crown princess fluffs out her skirts, examining her silhouette on the wall. “We must be close to the end. How many guests is that now?”

“Like thirty?” Emma estimates.

“Wrong! It’s twenty-eight.”

“If you knew, then why did you ask?”

“My sister would have kept track,” says Zelena, sticking up her nose. “So would any of them.” Her chin jerks toward the mingling guests.

Emma holds in a sigh. “I’m sorry I’m not one of Regina’s cousins. Would you prefer she marry one of them?”

“Of course not.” Zelena grimaces. “No one does that anymore. So passé.”

“What about you?”

Zelena gives her a look of pure disgust.

“What about your marriage?” Emma clarifies, trying not to sound too annoyed. At this point, her good mood is nothing but a memory. “My whole time here, I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“And why would you?” says the crown princess. “Unlike my little sister, I have more important things to worry about.”

“Wow.”

One orange eyebrow arches dangerously. “Something to say, hero?”

“Yeah,” decides Emma. “What exactly do you think Regina does all day? She has plenty to worry about, like—”

“Like her salty little seaside shanty town, I know.” Zelena flicks a hand. “And who do you think runs the rest of the kingdom, hmm?”

“Your father.”

“Well... yes. But as the next in line, it’s not like I’m uninvolved! How I wish I had a single duchy to manage. Instead, I get to deal with a dozen other nobles who do nothing but ask for money, complain, and ask for money. Countesses, marquesses, duchesses—useless...es, all of them.”

It’s not often that Emma sees a strong family resemblance between Regina and her sister, but Zelena’s vicious exasperation makes it more obvious than usual.

“Still, I suffer through it. After all, it is my duty as heir to the kingdom and head of House Mills,” Zelena groans, lost in her own dramatics. “As the most gifted of our family by far, both inside and out”—Emma rolls her eyes—“I must care for my poor, directionless kingdom and its pathetic useless subjects so that they don’t die of poorness. Or was it fires? Or foodlessness? Licking things? Whatever peasants die of.”

Now Emma wishes she waited to roll her eyes.

“And,” says Zelena, gaze snapping toward her, “so that whenever my stubborn little sister makes a mistake, I’ll be there to fix it.” The crown princess has always been tall, but now her presence seems to fill the hallway, harsh and suffocating. It’s not just force of personality, either. Emma spies a spark of green leap from Zelena’s hand, fizzling out on the carpet between them. The doors to the ballroom shiver on their hinges, and the glass door of a nearby cabinet fractures with a warning crick.

“If.” Emma has to force out the first word, but the rest comes easier as she finds her voice. “You mean if Regina screws up, not when.”

The pressure of Zelena’s magic vanishes. “Feeling protective, are we?” Her lips stretch into a smile that shows too many teeth. “My, you two are getting along these days.” One long finger taps her chin. “Well, if she’s made up her mind, I suppose I should give you my blessing.”

Emma waits.

And waits.

“I wonder how many guests are left?” Zelena turns to peer out the window into the evening gloom.

Shaking her head, Emma tries to remember tonight’s guest list. Assuming Zelena was right about how many have already arrived, then...

“Just one more group.”

“Wrong! It’s—” The crown princess pauses. “Hmph. Yes, all right.”

A small victory, but it makes Emma want to smile. That’s been happening a lot recently. It’s like a warm, happy cloud has been lingering around her since Regina kissed her. Even Zelena can't scare it away for long, though that hasn’t stopped her from trying. No, the only thing that can truly ruin Emma’s mood is Emma herself.

Knowing how Regina feels about her should be a relief, and it is, but it’s as daunting as it is comforting. Emma can't say that Regina doesn’t know her at all—she’s not that good an actress—but the princess sure doesn’t know all of her. The whole reason they met was because of a lie, a hoax, a petty scheme that seemed oh so important at the time. Things didn’t exactly go according to plan, but Emma can't deny what she’s gained. The respect, the comfort, the... feelings. She’d have none of them without that stupid lie.

The Emma that Regina cares about is as much of a mask as any of the princess’s, nothing but a convincing shell. It’s not just her fictional past, either; her factual present is not exactly a point in her favor. Emma’s not a noble, not a knight. She can't manage a kingdom or plan a ball. She can't claw out trade deals or juggle alliances as easily as apples. Any one of the nobles in the ballroom could eat her alive, and the only thing stopping them is the fact that she has nothing worth taking. Not yet.

But if she and Regina actually go through with this, Emma knows it won’t be long before she fucks it all up. All her skills are selfish, meant for survival and little more. She can cross a kingdom on a handful of pocket change or evade an ogre with two rocks and a bit of string; but what good are those in Regina’s world? Even as a trophy wife, Emma will be plunged into a world of royalty and magic and all the nonsense that comes with them, the nonsense that she’s been so careful about avoiding all her life.

Emma isn't scared of a few complications, but she knows her limits. While she was stealing from clotheslines and snatching unguarded leftovers, a young Regina was probably rezoning her nursery and conquering the playrooms of her sticky little peers. How can Emma measure up to a lifetime of preparations like that? She’s sure Regina won’t expect too much of her, but she has to expect something, and no matter how low the bar, Emma has no doubt she’ll manage to squeeze under it.

So, no matter how much she savors the memory of warm lips crashing against hers, of cool hands cupping her face, Emma has to make this right. No matter how her heart drags its feet as she pulls it back to reality, she has to tell Regina the truth. Not just about her past, but about herself.

She has no illusions that it will go well. The reveal itself is embarrassing enough, but the timing? Terrible. The consequences? Oh, so much worse than they would have been a week ago, but Emma can't bring herself to regret the days she spent in that happy bubble of denial. Still, she tries to tell herself that it’s not too late. She and Regina still have all the plans they made before things got all... soft and complicated. All Emma has to do is find her and—

“Good evening, Ser Swan.”

The smile slips onto her lips before she can stop it. Her feet turn toward the voice without waiting for orders, the rest of her rushing to follow suit before she twists something important.

“Your Highness,” Emma says with a short bow. When she rises, she sees Regina frozen a few steps down the hall, fists clutching her skirts. Today’s getup is even flashier than Zelena’s, a violet ballgown that’s all layers and ruffles and floaty bits, so far from Regina’s usual style that it looks physically uncomfortable. Long gloves cover her arms all the way up to the gown’s off-the-shoulder neckline, and a bib of gems hangs from her neck, looking like it weighs more than Emma’s boots. For once, a crown sits atop her head, the silver tiara circling the base of her bun.

None of it looks bad. None of it looks like something Regina would have chosen for herself. It’s a showpiece of an outfit, as gaudy as... well, as her engagement ring, which manages to blend in with the rest despite sticking a good half an inch out from Regina’s finger. Against her better judgement, Emma is impressed.

When her gaze finally makes it to the princess’s face, Emma feels her grin broaden. Regina’s eyes continue to wander until she realizes she’s been caught, then snap up to meet Emma’s. It’s flattering until Emma clocks the amusement in her gaze.

“Ser Swan,” she says again. “You’re looking very... gallant this evening.”

Emma resists the urge to squirm. She knows damn well how she looks. The puffy pantaloons are surprisingly comfortable, and she managed to talk the tailor down to his least embarrassing shade of blue. She doesn’t mind how the hose clings to her legs, but the tights are eye-catchingly white, like two sticks of chalk sticking out of her boots. Her high-necked tunic strangles her whenever she tries to slouch, and the pourpoint atop it seems like one layer too many, but Emma actually likes the bold red military jacket she wears over it all, even if she’d have to chisel off about a mile of gold braid before daring to walk down the street.

“She looks like a bloody nutcracker,” mutters Zelena.

“Are you done out front?” Emma asks her fiancé. “Where’s His Majesty?” While she and Zelena loitered outside the ballroom, Regina and her father were stationed at the front of the castle to be the first thing their guests saw as they disembarked from their tasteless carriages. The king and the bride must have been an impressive pair, united for once by the need to flex on friends and family^[1].

“Father is on his way with the last group,” says Regina, gliding to her side. “They’ll be here soon.” Her hand hovers for a moment, then slips into the crook of Emma’s arm and latches on with a vicelike grip as if to compensate for her hesitation.

“Alright,” Emma says, barely wincing. “Guess it’s almost showtime.” Her mind races, trying to recall any free time in tonight’s program. She might be able to squeeze in a confession between the opening toasts and the appetizers, but after that, she won’t be able to pull Regina away until after the dancing starts.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Regina smirks up at her, but her fingers are still digging into Emma’s elbow hard enough for her to feel the princess’s pulse. “It’s only dinner, and our family is horribly elitist. They wouldn’t deign to notice you even if half of them weren't already drunk.”

“Perfect,” says Emma, feeling another bead of sweat soak into her collar. “A room full of drunk snobs is my favorite place to be.”

“Don’t worry, Ser Swan, you’ll fit right in.”

“Wow, thanks.” She smiles down at Regina, comforted despite her best efforts. Emma doesn’t want to feel at home here. She shouldn’t feel relieved that Regina seems just as jittery as she is, that even the princess can be intimidated by the audience that awaits them. She shouldn’t be touched when Regina’s rigid stance finally loosens, her death grip relaxing as she leans into Emma’s side.

“Ugh.” With a huff, Zelena sweeps past them. “That’s more than enough of you two for one evening. See you inside, sis.” She sneers over her shoulder at Emma, and then she’s gone, leaving them alone in the hall.

“You look good too,” Emma says into the silence. “I should have said before.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” grumbles Regina, giving her dress a disdainful shake. “Father’s been trying to stuff me into this thing for ages. It’s...”

“Cute?”

“How dare you.”

They stand there for another minute, listening to the low clamor from inside the ballroom, before Emma clears her throat.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ser Swan.” The answer comes too quickly to be convincing. Regina looks away, but the ear facing Emma has gone pink, practically glowing against the dark backdrop of her hair. “We’ve both been busy, haven’t we?”

“Not busier than we were before... um, last week.” Emma can't help the verbal swerve. Being honest is hard enough without bringing their kiss into it. She checks the doorway, then glances up and down the hallway. Much to her dismay, there are no interruptions in sight.

“Regina,” she says, each syllable fighting her on the way out. “Last time we talked^[2], do you remember what I said?”

“Of course.” Regina turns back toward her, a light frown on her lips. “I believe there were several mentions of how much you disliked the idea of marrying me.” She draws back, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Where are you going with this, Ser Swan?”

“That wasn’t my—You know that’s not what I meant!”

“Good,” says Regina, settling back into her side. “I believe I made my position on the matter very clear.” The words are smooth, but they’re standing close enough that Emma can feel the skip of her pulse, the tremble of her lungs as she holds her breath.

No pressure, right?

“I like your position,” she says softly. “And, yeah, I didn’t mean to focus so much on how I kept turning you down.”

“Oh, is that how you remember it?”

Emma swallows. “I just think I could have been clearer,” she says. “I... Regina... Look, I swear, the problem’s nothing on your side—”

“There’s a problem now, is there?” Regina pulls away again, but there’s no teasing light in her expression this time. “I agree, Ser Swan: I think you should make yourself clear.” As she steps back, her hand stays on Emma’s arm, now more like a threat than a consolation. “Now. Before it’s too late^[3].”

Well, this is what Emma wanted, isn't it? She feels lightheaded, like she’s watching herself from a distance as she shuffles her feet and licks suddenly dry lips. Regina’s gaze is cool and unreadable, her mouth in a hard line as she waits for Emma’s explanation.

“You—Regina, you’ve been honest with me from the beginning,” says Emma, a thousand thoughts flying through her mind. She’s no closer to finding the perfect words than she was a week ago.

“You said that before,” Regina snaps. “You’re repeating yourself again. If you’re trying to soften the blow, don’t—” Her hand drops from Emma’s arm as her eyes dart away and her jaw clenches. “Just don’t.”

“That’s not why I said it. I keep bringing it up because... because even though you’ve been honest with me, I haven’t been honest with you.” Emma sucks in a breath and lets it out in an unsteady stream. “When I said I wasn’t like you, Regina, I meant it. You asked if we were the same in the ways that count, but I can't even say that much.

“Regina, I’m not a knight, and I’m definitely not a hero.” She spits out the word with a venom to rival Zelena’s. “I never killed any dragon; the whole thing was a... a trick. A lie.” Emma doesn’t dare to look up, doesn’t dare to see what expression Regina is wearing as she vomits up the tangle of lies that has been squirming in her throat for months. “I’m definitely not any kind of noble, just someone who’s gotten good at ripping them off. You were right about me from the start, and I was too stupid and scared to admit it until we... until I...”

Her voice fades into panting breaths, her words swallowed by the dead air that fills the hall. Emma stands there for too long; spine straight, head down, until she hears Regina move. As she approaches, Emma hears her heels hit the floor like the strikes of a gavel, sees the hem of her skirt drift into view, and then,

“Emma,” she hears, the name heavy with disappointment. Emma winces, keeping her eyes trained on the floor, on her boots, on the ruffles of Regina’s dress. “You absolute idiot.”

Her head snaps up, lips forming into a scowl on pure defensive instinct. “What?”

Regina stops rubbing her forehead, her hand falling to her side. As it does, Emma can't help but seek out her eyes even as she dreads what she’ll find. Anger is what she sees first and foremost, and beneath it a deep, cold hurt. But she doesn’t see disgust, or loathing, or what she feared most, which was nothing at all. As much as Regina might hate her, at least she hasn’t shut her out.

“Regina—” Emma starts, but the sound of footsteps around the corner makes the words catch in her throat.

Her teeth grind as she clamps her mouth shut, cursing the king as he strolls into view down the hall. Regina returns to her side, and while Emma doesn’t dare look at her, she can feel the chill between them like a wall of ice.

“—more like your mother every year,” the king chuckles, patting the hand of the woman on his arm.

“And you say that every year, too,” she replies with a musical laugh. “My thanks, Godfather.”

Emma can't focus on her face, or the other guests that trail behind her and the king. She can only stand by the doors, stiff as a statue with an equally rigid smile on her face. The group approaches with agonizing slowness, ignoring her silent pleas to speed the fuck up, get in the goddamn ballroom, and leave them the fuck alone so she can talk to Regina. The princess seems more distant with every breath, her hand now barely resting on Emma’s elbow.

But this is fine, right? Emma tries to convince herself. Obviously Regina isn’t happy, but she expected that much. At least now she’ll know what Emma really is and they can... move on? Start over? As the seconds stretch on, Emma realizes she doesn’t want either of those. Even worse, now that she’s shoved herself off the cliff of no return, she can feel the bungee cord of hope tightening around her ankle, mocking her with the idea that everything might actually work out.

Maybe, miraculously, Regina will just brush the whole thing off. Maybe she won’t mind that Emma’s not a noble, a knight, or a functional member of society. Maybe her lies are like a tablecloth, and if she yanks them away fast enough, everything else won’t come crashing down in a horrible fiery mess.

Maybe these stupid nobles will decide to hurry up and get out of the fucking way.

Emma hears a gasp, and her heart stops. None of that was out loud, right? Right?

After another moment of panic, she manages to reassure herself... but that only leads to more questions. If Emma didn’t say anything, then what’s with the gasp? When did the guests even get this close? Why has a sudden, stifling silence fallen over the scene?

And why is the lady next to the king staring at her like she’s seen a ghost?

Oh, duh, it’s probably time for her introduction. She must have missed everyone else’s, but give her a break. She has a lot on her mind.

“Good evening...” Her eyes race across the heads of their guests, “... Your Majesty.” Nailed it. She bows to the queen, then the prince consort at her side. “Your Highness. Thank you both for honoring us with your visit,” she recites. “I’m—”

“Ser Swan.”

Emma’s gaze springs back to the prince consort—the familiar prince consort. Panic fills her chest for the second time in as many minutes, but she wrestles it down before it can twist her expression. “Oh, Your Highness!” she says, hand jerking in a stunted wave. “How’re the sheep?”

Regina’s elbow gets her right between the third and fourth ribs, but the prince gives her a smile. An oddly sad smile, but at least he doesn’t look offended.

“Ser Swan,” he repeats, then, "Emma..." He turns away, coughing into the fur collar of his cloak. Emma thinks she sees a wet gleam in his eyes, but someone seizes her hand before she can dwell on that bizarre detail.

The hands clutching hers are cold like ice, their fingers thin but strong. She feels wrinkles against her palm, interrupted by the tough skin of calluses she can't identify. Like her husband, it seems like this queen is more than just talk—not that she’s doing much talking, either. The queen just stares at Emma with her big, sad eyes; mouth ajar in an expression that’s far from regal. The blood has drained from her already fair cheeks, but as Emma meets her gaze, a new warmth blooms across her face. It starts with a smile so wide her eyes crinkle into shining crescents. Her cheeks flush red as roses, her wrinkles softening as she sheds a decade right before Emma’s eyes.

It’s beautiful, but more than a little scary. When Emma tries to inch away, the queen’s fingers turn to steel, catching her hand in the gentlest of bear traps.

“Emma!” she cries, gliding forward to clasp the captured hand to her breast. “Oh, Emma. After all this time, I didn’t dare think...” A single tear escapes her beaming eyes, sparkling as it trickles down her cheek^[4]. “But I never gave up hope,” the queen sighs, her voice overflowing with emotion.

All Emma can do is lean as far back as possible, seeking out Regina’s gaze. She catches the tail end of the princess’s shock, but it’s already fading as Regina puts the pieces together. What pieces, Emma has no idea.

Baffled, she scans the rest of their little group. The king shares Regina’s look of dawning realization, which is just as useless as it was the first time. The prince consort is still turned away, his face in shadow but his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Behind them, the expressions on their small entourage range from fascinated to confused, with the exception of one lady-in-waiting with a memorable neckline and a big, sharp smile.

The sight of Red makes something fall into place, sending the gears of Emma’s brain into tortured motion. She can practically hear them grinding as her mind picks up speed, pieces clicking together around the queen’s triumphant expression. For one of the king’s foresters, Red always seemed a bit... off. Emma thought it was because she suspected her and Lily’s scheme, but Red never exposed them. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and lurked around the castle.

No, not the castle, Emma realizes. Around them. Since they met, Red has never been far away. She followed Emma and Lily from the siren’s wood to the castle to Storybrooke and back again, never interfering but always on the edge of Emma’s awareness. They’d spoken several times, of course, with their longest conversation probably right before Lily left, when Red probed into their past with unusual insistence. After that, Emma doesn’t remember seeing Red until a few seconds ago.

Finally, it all makes sense! What if the reason Red never turned them in to the king was because she never worked for him in the first place? That would explain why he didn’t bother to command ‘his’ forester. Why give orders that you knew wouldn’t be followed? The independence, the skewed focus, the creeping sense of danger... all of them could only add up to one thing:

Red... must be a bounty hunter! Maybe the old prince caught on after they left, or maybe the queen was the one to smell a rat. Either way, they’d sent Red after them. She must have known what Lily was, so she decided to focus on Emma, probing her target while waiting for her chance. And now that the dragon is away, she called her employers to collect.

Except wait, no, that can't be it. Emma glances back at the queen’s joyful face. She knows exactly what people look like when they come face to face with the one who stole from them, and they’re never this happy.

So what does it mean? Her head aches, insisting that the answer is somewhere in the queen’s sparkling eyes.

As Emma stares, the monarch’s smile slowly fades, red lips settling into a resolute line. “Of course,” she says, the words barely a murmur. “You wouldn’t remember, would you?” The queen nods, taking a slow, shuddering breath.

“Emma, it’s us.” Cool hands tighten around hers, clasping her like a prayer. “Your parents.”

Emma’s mouth drops open at last.

“What?”

Chapter Text

Flap.

The bluebird pumps its wings as it crosses the lake, riding the breeze that rolls down from the snowcapped mountains behind it. There is no urgency in the little bird’s flight, but it has plenty of energy, swooping back and forth over the crystal waters as it drifts toward its destination.

Flap. Flap.

Suddenly, it reaches land, the green earth of an island rising from the lake. Trees blur past beneath its wings before giving way to stone; first a weathered slope of natural rock, then the sheer face of a wall, perfectly cut blocks gleaming gold in the morning light. The bird follows the curve of the familiar barrier, winging into a lazy loop to dodge the bridge that arches from the mainland.

Flap. Flap. Flap.

A helpful gust lifts it past the outer wall, carrying the bluebird over the courtyards and alleys that fill the castle grounds. It weaves between towers and skims over rooves before, at long last, it reaches its goal. Tiny heart fluttering, it alights on a parapet of carved stone, puffs out its feathered chest, and lowers its beak in a birdly bow.

“Fuck off,” Emma grunts.

The bird looks scandalized. She feels guilty, then less guilty when the bluebird squawks and pecks at her fingers.

“Get out of here,” she sighs, shooing the thing away. It takes wing with a rude chirp, flapping over to the next balcony, where a dozen other bluebirds sulk around a birdbath.

Emma slouches even further, one cheek squishing into her hand. She’s draped along the railing like a quilt hung out to dry, her free hand dangling over the parapet. Her abysmal posture is probably bad for her back, and certainly bad for her pretty new dress. She can practically feel the wrinkles forming across the delicate pink cloth, the wear on her sleeves where they rub against the stone.

“Oh nooo, what a shame.” Emma says aloud, momentarily forgetting her avian audience. When she glances over, the look in their beady little eyes is downright reproachful. Wonderful, she grumbles, this time in the privacy of her empty skull. Even the birds here are better behaved than she is.

Doing her best to ignore the bluebirds, Emma sweeps her surroundings with listless eyes. This castle is everything the king’s wasn’t: bright and open and elegant, surrounded by lovely lakeside instead of foreboding forest. The décor is warm, the people are friendly, and every other room seems to have a balcony with a new picturesque view. The royal chambers have two, one of which serves as Emma’s latest refuge.

Why here? Because it’s the last place anyone will look.

It’s still so hard to think of Snow White and Prince David as her parents, let alone say it aloud. They didn’t push for it when she first got here, happy to be Snow and David for the time being; but now, two months later, Emma is sure their patience must be running out. No matter how gracious they are, the royals must have some expectations for her, right? That’s why they offered her all those lessons on etiquette and ethics and economics and every other ability an heir ought to have. They didn’t push for those, either, but how could Emma refuse?

Honestly, the lessons haven’t been terrible so far. She absorbed a surprising amount of that crap when she was with—Emma blinks, hard—when she was scamming her way across the Enchanted Forest, taking advantage of people just like David and Snow.

Well, there’s no ‘just like’ about it. The prince consort takes any excuse to boast about seeing her in action, still blissfully unaware of how artificial that action was. That’s another reason Emma keeps her distance, not that the way they look at her isn’t cause enough. They’re just so... happy whenever they see her. It’s definitely not something Emma’s used to. She knows how good it is that these people want her around for some reason, but it doesn’t feel good, just weird.

And Emma knows they know she thinks so, because they’re careful not to come too close. Instead they stare so hard they forget to blink, filling the air with hope and affection and carefully smothered expectation.

That’s why she’s out here, tucked away on this balcony with nobody but the bluebirds to bother her. It’s only slightly less suffocating than the rest of the castle, but at least here she can have a moment to herself.

But only a moment.

“Look!” A voice comes from below, echoing off the castle walls like the crack of cannon fire. “It’s her! Princess, princess!” the voice calls in the same tone others used to cry, “Dragon, dragon!” Emma feels a twinge of nostalgia as she slips away from the railing, ignoring the continued shouts of, “Princess! Princess Emma!” as she drags herself back indoors.

She’s surprised it took this long for someone to notice her. Just like the last castle she stayed in, privacy never lasts. Must be a royal thing. Emma makes a face as she realizes she’s going to have to stop thinking of ‘royal things’ with such disdain. She is one now. Technically.

“They mean well,” says Snow White.

“Gah!”

“I’m sorry!” the queen bustles across the room only to stop short of touching Emma’s arm. The distance clearly pains her, but after the first few days, when Emma stiffened at every hug and hand squeeze, Snow and David got the message. Now they just... hover. “I thought you knew I was here,” the queen goes on, blushing.

“No, it’s fine,” Emma says, willing herself to relax. “I just didn’t see you there, Your Maj—” The queen’s eyes go watery at the title. “... you,” Emma amends, which isn't much better. “Sorry,” she adds, fingers twisting into her dress. “I... This is your room. I’m the one who shouldn’t be here.”

“You know that’s not true,” says the queen. “Emma, you can be anywhere you want.”

“Can I leave?” She regrets the words as soon as they come out. It’s not like she’s been trapped inside the castle, or even on the island. She’s taken day trips into the nearby towns, strolled through the idyllic woods, even spent an afternoon stubbornly rowing her way across the lake. If Emma’s on a leash, it’s so long she’s yet to find the end of it.

She feels even worse when Snow just sets her jaw and nods. “Of course you can, Emma,” the queen says. “You’re a grown woman, after all.” Her mouth is still set in an earnest smile, but it’s impossible to miss the pain beneath that statement. “Your father and I love having you here, but the last thing we want is to force you to be something you’re not. If leaving is what you need to do—”

“It’s not,” blurts Emma. “I’m sorry, I was just...” She waits for the right words to come to her. They don’t, because she already knows the right words are ‘being a bitch.’ Emma can only bite her lip and inch toward the queen, offering one hand as an olive branch. Snow latches on with both of hers, eyes sparkling as she closes the rest of the gap to Emma’s side.

Frantically searching for something to fill the silence, Emma waves toward the balcony. “You were saying something about them?” she prompts.

“Oh, yes. The people mean well,” Snow repeats, guiding them back toward the balcony but keeping them out of sight of the citizens below^[1]. “They’re just happy to see you,” continues the queen. “The whole kingdom has been in mourning ever since the kidnapping incident that tore you away from us, and now that you’re finally back...” She gives Emma’s hand the most gentle squeeze. “They’re thrilled, of course. So thrilled it almost doesn’t feel real. They want you to feel welcome here, they want you to know that you belong, but they know that’s not up to them. They can't make up for a whole lifetime apart; all the years they missed, all the ways you grew, all the things you learned without them. They can't forget how they lost you, and—”

Snow’s voice finally gives out, one hand rising to cover a sob. Emma feels her lean more heavily on their linked arms, but this time she doesn’t mind the weight.

“Your Ma—” The queen glares through her tears. “Snow,” Emma says, nearly blinded by the beaming smile that follows, “I wasn’t... I still have a lot to learn,” she says. “Being here has been nice. Great? Better than great,” she decides. “It’s not what I’m used to, but that’s a good thing! Everything’s perfect here. It’s me that doesn’t... that isn't... I just need more time,” she finishes lamely. “To adjust.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time,” says Snow, unable to stop smiling. “We’ll have plenty of time. There’s no need to push yourself too hard. I already know you can take care of yourself.” There’s a hinting note in her voice that Emma tries to ignore, but that gets a lot harder when the queen goes on. “You did quite well for yourself, after all. You even managed to get yourself engaged to R—”

Emma feels herself go stiff, heat rising up her neck.

“—oyalty,” Snow finishes, head tilting curiously. Emma has no idea if that’s what she meant to say from the start, or if she noticed Emma’s reaction and switched mid-word. Either way, it shouldn’t matter. That’s ancient history.

Forcing herself to unclench, Emma musters an awkward smile. “Yup,” she says. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s looking after myself.”

“Not that you have to anymore.” Snow’s expression softens even further. “If there’s anything you need, please, please ask me or your father. I know he’d love to spend more time with you. He’s been making noise about dragging off you on another adventure,” she adds with a fond roll of her eyes.

“Isn’t he a little old for that?”

“He’s just restless,” says Snow. “He hasn’t been on an adventure since... hmm. Be honest with me, Emma. Would you call your first meeting with him an adventure?”

“Nnn... I mean ye—” She squints at the queen, whose smile yields no hints toward the right answer. “Sort of?” Emma tries.

“Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

. . .

“... a treaty which finally came into effect at the turning point of the Third Ogres’ War. It wasn’t all smooth sailing, of course, but thanks to these earlier negotiations, crucial aid was sent by several monarchs, quickly turning the tides.”

The tutor’s dull drone suddenly pauses, making Emma jerk upright. She blinks at him with the most innocent expression she can muster, but he doesn’t look convinced. Probably. She’s not sure what that expression means on a cricket.

“Princess Emma,” the cricket says, which makes her wince for multiple reasons. “Would you please name one of these helpful monarchs for the class?”

“King... Fergus?”

“Not quite.” Jiminy shakes his little green head. “Would anyone else like to try?”

“Queen Gerda!”

“Very good, Prince Neal, but we must remember to raise our hands.”

“Why? There’re only two of us,” the boy grumbles, glancing at Emma out the corner of his eye. She holds up a subtle fist of solidarity, and he giggles.

“Manners are important!” The cricket puffs up, gesticulating with his tiny umbrella. “If you can’t at least try to be polite, it’ll be that much harder to get others to listen. And listening...” He gives his students a prompting look.

“Is how change starts,” recites Neal.

“—starts,” Emma chimes in a moment too late. It’s an odd feeling, being upstaged by an eight-year-old^[2]. She obviously doesn’t blame the kid, because she’s not a complete monster; but it is a reminder of how much she’s lacking, and Emma doesn’t need any more of those.

Satisfied with his little lecture, Jiminy returns to his... bigger lecture, picking up right where he left off with yet another Ogres’ War. Emma is soon dozing off once again, their tiny classroom the perfect temperature to lull her to sleep after lunch.

She blinks, and Jiminy has switched to droning on about economics.

Blinks again, and the lesson has moved on to current affairs.

Blinks again, and someone is climbing through the window behind their tutor with a butterfly net in hand.

“Run, kids!” yells Prince David, sweeping the poor cricket into a jar before galloping out the door. Neal abandons his desk to sprint after his father with a boyish whoop. Emma, who refuses to answer to ‘kids’ on general principle, follows at a more dignified pace, pausing to poke a few air holes in the lid of Jiminy’s jar.

“Thank you, Emma,” he sighs^[3]. “You know I can open the lid myself, but if you felt like lending a hand...”

“Sorry, I think that would be treason.”

When she wanders outside, she finds Neal and David whacking each other with wooden swords. The prince consort smiles at her arrival, pausing to pull a third sword from his belt and toss it her way. The throw is way off, but only because Neal is a ruthless little goblin with no patience for interruptions.

“Join us,” calls David. “It’ll be fun!” He’s so clearly pleased by the idea that Emma finds herself picking up the sword and ambling forward.

“So—”

David knocks the toy out of her hands the second she gets in range, sending it clattering across the courtyard. Emma looks at it, then back at David, who continues to fend off his son with an innocent expression.

“You’re bigger than he is,” says the prince.

So that’s how it is. Emma narrows her eyes, but feels a smile growing as she retrieves her wooden blade. This time, she actually pays attention as she approaches, keeping a tight grip on her weapon and circling until she and Neal can come at David from opposite sides.

She’s not smiling when she picks up her sword for the second time. Or the third. By the tenth time the prince twists her blade out of her grasp, Emma suspects he didn’t mean this would be fun for her.

Emma never claimed to be a master swordswoman, but this is getting embarrassing. Sure, she never had any real training, but she’s picked up enough tricks to deal with all sorts of foes, man and monster alike. David’s swings aren’t particularly fast or powerful, but somehow they always end with her sword spinning through the air while his returns to fending off Neal’s dogged attacks. Is there some kind of trick to it that they only tell royalty? She frowns as she trudges back toward the others.

“You’re holding on too tight, Emma.” David holds up his sword hand in illustration. “It makes your arm movements stiffer, makes it harder to shift your grip when you need to. Strength is important, but so is flexibility. Ow,” he adds as Neal’s blade bounces off his shin.

Emma looks down at her own hand, frown smoothing into something more thoughtful. “Thanks,” she says.

“I made the same mistake for the longest time,” the prince explains. “Don’t worry, you’re way ahead of where I was at your age. I started late, y’know.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she repeats, not sure what else to say. “And I didn’t. Know, I mean.”

“It’s a long story, but I’d be happy to tell you all about it,” David assures her. “Another time, maybe. Maybe... over a real spar? If you want?” It starts as an offer, but gets more uncertain with every word until it trails off into a question. Emma knows how he feels; there’s a lot she’s not sure of these days.

“Yeah, I guess,” is the best she can offer. She winces at how horribly stilted it comes out, but her tone doesn’t stop David from lighting up.

“Great! We can train whenever you want,” says the prince, then winces. “Except tomorrow. Lots of prince stuff lined up for tomorrow. But the day after—Ah, no, then we’ll have those guests arriving from the Frontlands. And of course this weekend we’ll be at that ball... Let’s try early next week?” he says sheepishly. “Sorry. I just want to make sure we’ll have enough time to really talk.”

“Don’t worry about it.” A short sigh escapes Emma at the pleading look in David’s eyes. Like the queen, he’s been super accommodating since Emma came to stay with them. It’s nearly enough to make her suspicious, but she knows that’s just her old paranoia. From everything she’s seen about the royal couple, the two of them are genuinely kind, responsible, and well-adjusted adults. The only suspicious thing about them is their affection for Emma, who is none of the above.

They’re probably just guilty about losing her as a baby, like any sane couple would be. Really, it’s no wonder they’re compensating so hard now. Emma might as well try to meet them halfway.

She gives David a shrug, carefully casual. “There’s no rush, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right,” he echoes, smiling broadly. “I guess you’re not, are you?”

“Except th’ ball,” Neal pipes up, scowling as he takes a sullen swing at his father’s unbruised shin. “When do I get t’go to a ball?”

“You know the rules,” says David, sidestepping just in time. “One more year of lessons.”

“But that’s forever!”

Emma holds back a sigh as she reaches down to pat the disgruntled child’s back.

“Trust me, buddy, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

. . .

“You must tell me, Alteza^[4], what was it like to grow up... ugh, poor?”

“Naveen.” Tiana’s fingers tighten around her fiancé’s arm, earning her a wounded expression.

“Why, mi zeppole^[5]? Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine,” Emma assures them. “It’s true, after all.”

“Yes, yes!” says Naveen. “You see, my lovely tacho do lirio^[6]? I am nothing but truthful.”

“Truthful? Maybe. Tactful? Hell no. I’m sorry, Emma.” Tiana gives her an apologetic smile, but there’s a certain distance in her voice. Not that they were ever close, but after crossing paths with the princess first as a knight-errant and then as a royal fiancé, Emma likes to think they were on good terms. Tiana is still as friendly as ever, but Emma can tell when she’s being kept at arm’s length. She’s just not sure if it’s because of her new station in life, or for... some other reason.

“Ah, I never meant to offend. My deepest apologies, Dona Cygne^[7].” Naveen sweeps into a bow. He, at least, is comfortably oblivious. “But what was it like?”

“Naveen!”

“Oh yes, the multa. Of course.” For some reason, the prince starts patting his pockets. “I’m afraid all I have on me are Maldonian mucos, is that all right?”

Emma blinks as a few crisp banknotes are pressed into her hand. Looking down, she sees several copies of Naveen’s own face grinning up at her from the paper money.

“What?” she says, baffled.

“For l’amende,” Naveen repeats. “As requested. The, ah... what was it you said... yes, the fine! Now, tell me—”

“Back off! She doesn’t need your charity.” A tall, wiry figure suddenly looms between Emma and the royal pair. She’s older than all of them^[8], a streak of grey gleaming in her brunette braid. Unlike, say, Red, this woman actually looks her age; her face lined, her shoulders slightly bowed. But the marks of her years do little to reduce her raw charisma, her wrinkles only making the wink she tosses Emma even more dashing.

And then a cloud of booze-scented air catches up with the older woman, stinging their eyes as she goes on. “Our Emma is a true princess,” she proclaims, barely slurring at all. “One hundred—”

“Proof?” mutters Tiana, wrinkling her nose.

“—percent,” the woman finishes with a glare. “She’s dressing like that because she wants to, not because she has to. It’s called fashion.”

Emma’s hand was already halfway to the older woman’s shoulder, but now she doesn’t bother with being gentle as she clamps down. “They didn’t say anything about my clothes,” she says. “Also, look who’s talking.”

Unlike Tiana and Naveen with their matching finery of green and gold, the newcomer’s outfit is barely acceptable for a noble soiree like this one. Yes, Emma herself is in a more casual ensemble, but one of the benefits of a ‘heroic’ reputation is a looser dress code so long as you look suitably adventurous. The older woman is pushing that benefit to the edge of acceptability, looking more like a tavern thug than one of the Enchanted Forest’s elite.

“Yes, who is talking?” Tiana asks, eyeing Emma’s unreliable ally.

“Tiana, Naveen, meet Jack.” Emma tries to drag the woman behind her, but Jack is old in the same way as some trees: knotted and gnarled and impossible to uproot. “She’s my aunt. Well, almost.”

“The Jack?” Naveen looks thrilled. “Slayer of Jabberwocks! Liberator of geese! Deceiver of giants!”

Jack takes a sip from the overfilled wineglass in her hand^[9]. “Oh, you flatterer,” she chuckles. “Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere with me. I’ve heard it all before.” The rest of her wine vanishes in the time it takes Emma to roll her eyes. “Go on.”

“Even in my sadly distant Maldonia, we marvel at the tales of the Giant Killer,” Naveen doesn’t miss a beat. “But seeing you with my own yeux chanceux^[10], I can only say that the stories fall far short.” The prince turns his boyish grin toward Emma. “And no wonder! Adventure, it is clearly in your blood!”

“Not really,” Emma cuts in. “We’re not related like that, for starters. Jack could have married my uncle, if it wasn’t for all the backstabbing, the womanizing, and the narcissism...”

“That’s not fair,” says Jack. “It wasn’t all my fault. Believe me, James was no peach himself.”

Emma finds that very easy to believe. In many ways, her rake of an uncle is the perfect match for the walking cautionary tale beside her. Even now, nearing the end of middle age, the two of them are still in some strange, stubborn situationship that Snow and David are utterly unable to explain. They’re by far the messiest of Emma’s new relatives, which might be why they’re also her favorite. The rest of her surprise family is perfect—too perfect—while James and Jack are... anything but.

“I think I see, er... someone I know.” Tiana gestures vaguely, not even bothering to make up a decent excuse as she drags Naveen away. “Goodbye, Emma.”

Emma waves. “Bye.”

After Tiana flees, the other guests give Jack—and by extension, Emma—a wide berth. She has no problem with this. The main reason she’s here is to convince David and Snow that she’s not completely useless in a formal setting. Emma doesn’t really care about impressing the rotating roster of royals that attend these balls; she has her hands full trying not to disappoint the ones she lives with.

Like many of the older attendees, David and Snow have been given seats around the high table at the end of the ballroom. Every so often, one of them will peer over at Emma until she catches them watching. Then they’ll give her a big, encouraging smile, making what feels like half the ballroom glance in her direction.

So obviously, Emma avoids eye contact at all costs. Meanwhile, in order to not look like a complete friendless loser, she’s been forced to make idle conversation with any noble she’s met before, like Naveen and Tiana—who were actually one of the least painful conversations of the night. Her other acquaintances were all former marks eager to renew their connection with the freshly minted princess, which is just sad on multiple levels.

Now, though, she can use Jack as both a shield and an excuse. Babysitting an alcoholic aunt is a perfectly worthy use of her time, and the perpetually tipsy Jack is easier to talk to than most of the other guests.

“Hah! He’s right about your grip.” Jack wags her wineglass at Emma, her other hand resting on the sword that hangs at her hip. “Corrected by David—David! How embarrassing.”

“He’s not that bad,” grumbles Emma, folding her arms.

“Maybe not compared to you. Your old man’s never beaten me in a fair fight, and he’s even worse in an unfair one.” Jack smiles fondly. “Yeah, I’ll swing by in a few days, see if I can whip you into shape.”

“David’s never beaten you?”

“Nope, and neither has your mother. Got much closer than David did, though—she’s got a mean streak, that one. James bested me once or twice, but only if I didn’t see him first... By the way, has he been asking about me?” Jack asks, far too casually. “He hasn’t, has he.” She shakes her head, wineglass swaying gently in her hand. “Well, good. I was planning to let him sweat for another week or two anyway.”

Emma shrugs. “I see you more than I see him,” she reminds the older woman. “You know he doesn’t get along with David. Or Snow. Or you, half the time.”

“Oh, but the other half...” Jack’s eyes go misty with memories that Emma has absolutely no interest in—but it’s too late for her to avoid the thought entirely. Her grimace draws a snicker from the old adventurer. “You look just like your mother,” she cackles, slapping Emma on the back. “She never liked James either.”

“I don’t not like my uncle,” Emma protests, trying to think of a compliment she can give Prince James without lying through her teeth. “He’s... my uncle. But how—I mean why are you so into him? Y’know he has like seven kids, right?”

“Are you worried about me?” Jack tries to pat her head, but Emma dodges. “How cute! Don’t worry, junior, I know what I’m about. So does James, to answer your question. He’s always known exactly what he wants, and there was a time I found that very attractive.”

“I’m sorry I asked. And don’t call me that,” mutters Emma, feeling her shoulders start to hunch.

“Junior?” Jack flaps a hand. “It’s not because of your parents, Emma; it’s for me! I love having a little scoundrel skulking around the palace. I love Neal, but he’s just too honest. There’s no making a proper ruffian out of him. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“He’s eight.”

“That’s no excuse.” The older woman’s unfocused eyes are suddenly sharp as the sword at her side. “I’m sure your morals were much more flexible at his age, hmm?” She nods at the way Emma’s jaw clenches. “Well, it’s not the kid’s fault. We can’t help how we’re raised.”

Emma can only nod stiffly.

“Ah, did I ruin the mood?” Jack gives her an apologetic smile, the cold gleam in her eyes now a distant memory. “Please don’t be mad. I really meant what I said. Meeting you makes me glad I never smothered your uncle in his sleep after all.” One long, bony arm loops around Emma’s shoulder for a quick squeeze. “You’re a good kid, Emma. If anyone tells you any different, I’ll...” Jack frowns, clearly trying to piece together a suitably clever threat with a brain that’s mostly wine at this point. “I’ll kill ‘em,” is what she settles on, trying to pat Emma on the head again.

“Stop that,” snaps Emma. “I’m not eight. What even is this?” She frowns at the older woman. “What are you—Are you being nice? Why are you being nice?” She tries to twist out of Jack’s grip, which only tightens.

“Before you turn around,” Jack says solemnly, “I want you to remember: It’s her loss.”

“What? Let go of me—”

Emma finally manages to tug away just in time to collide with another guest.

“Sorry...”

“Your Highness. How nice to see you again.”

The first thing Emma thinks is, Oh, Tiana wasn’t making up an excuse. She had seen someone she knew. She just didn’t want Emma to know who.

The next thing she thinks is, Who is Regina talking to? It can’t be Jack, she’s not a Highness—

Oh. Right.

“Regina,” Emma hears herself say. “It’s great to see you too.”

She means every word. Most people would probably be less thrilled to run into their former fiancé, but... it’s Regina. Regina, who Emma hasn’t seen in months. Regina, who Emma is both relieved and disappointed to find, looks completely unbothered at the sight of her. Regina, who Emma’s been stubbornly not thinking about ever since she was kissed by her, vomited a whole laundry list of confessions at her, and then transformed into royalty before she could even finish reacting.

“Great? She never said great.”

“Zelena.” Emma’s gaze slides over the smug-looking redhead. “How... necessary to see you.”

“Feeling awfully brave, aren’t we?” The crown princess sneers down at her. “Have you finally grown a spine, or is that your crown talking?”

“I’m not wearing a crown.”

Zelena’s eyes flash with victory. “No, just our generosity.” She juts her chin toward the bold red military jacket wrapped around Emma’s shoulders. “Coming to a ball in stolen clothes; how shameless.”

“I thought it was a gift,” Emma says through clenched teeth. Now she regrets wearing the jacket, even if it is one of her favorites. To be fair, she had no reason to expect Regina or her sister to show up tonight—they managed to avoid each other for two whole months, after all.

She edges to one side, trying to catch Regina’s eye around her bitchy bulwark of a sister. It doesn’t work. Regina has taken a step back from their confrontation, her face unreadable even to Emma. Not exactly a good sign.

“I’m surprised you even kept it,” says Zelena. She’s even more intractable than usual today—or at least more than Emma remembers. A lot can change in two months. The redhead shifts to block her view, possibly by accident^[11]. “I suppose I should be honored. At least our clothes are good enough for the esteemed House of White.”

“I never said you weren’t good enough!” Emma tells Zelena’s shoulder, the closest she can get to her real target. “Do you think I wanted this?”

“Yes,” Zelena says flatly. “I think you did. I think you never appreciated how fortunate you were. And I certainly think you’re stupid enough to jump at a better offer.”

“There was no better offer,” snaps Emma.

“No.” The redhead matches her glare. “And there never will be.”

Emma’s not sure if Zelena is trying to wingwoman for Regina, insult Emma, or both. Whichever it is, this is going nowhere.

“I thought even you could understand why I’d want to meet my family,” Emma tries to reason with her. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Why would I care about someone else’s family?”

Well, Emma doesn’t know what she was expecting. Regina’s sister has always been unreasonable even on a good day, which this certainly isn't.

“And...” Oh, fantastic, Zelena’s not done. “I seem to recall you telling Father that your parents ran a barony,” she says, watching Emma with narrowed eyes. “Such a modest little hero.”

“I must have been adopted,” Emma says stubbornly.

“Quite the fairy tale, isn't it? Almost... too good to be true. Well, I’m sure the baron and baroness can clear this right up—”

“They’re dead.”

“Lucky you.”

Emma feels her fingers twitch, but she stops them before they can curl into fists. Only Zelena would be so callous, but dragging out Emma’s story before their growing audience isn't doing either of them any favors. Emma’s fake past won’t matter to any of the spectating nobles, not with Snow and David so clearly in her corner. The best Zelena can hope for is torturing Emma, which is... very plausible. Emma’s just surprised the crown princess is willing to dirty her own reputation to do it. It’s not exactly elegant to accuse your sister’s ex of lying about their dead parents, even if you’re completely correct.

“That’s enough, Zelena.” Finally, Regina steps forward, bringing her rabid sister to heel with a hand on her arm. Emma straightens, nervous fingers tracing the gold braid on the cuffs of her jacket.

“Regina,” she starts, voice low and soft.

“Your Highness,” says Regina, and Emma barely manages not to wince. She wasn’t expecting them to be back on ‘Emma’ terms, but she would kill for a ‘Ser Swan.’ Emma chose that name for herself, lived with it for decades. Her new royal title just feels cold and unfamiliar, ringing false when anyone says it^[12]. ‘Your Highness’ is supposed to be what she calls Regina when she’s annoyed, not the other way around.

“C’mon, Regina. I’m still—”

“I apologize for my sister,” Regina continues without a hint that she even heard her. “Our kingdom, of course, has no objections to the dissolution of our engagement. Father was more than pleased with the terms proposed by Her Majesty and His Highness, and I personally look forward to the continued partnership between our nations.”

Emma’s mouth is still ajar when Regina concludes her clearly scripted statement with a polite smile.

Seriously? The scoff rushes up her throat, but Emma holds it back, a bewildered look frozen on her face. Regina can’t honestly think Emma cares about the stupid fucking partnership between their stupid fucking nations. Some of that must spill onto her face, because for a moment, the quirk of an eyebrow thaws Regina’s expression, her lips flattening into a familiar look of amusement.

“On the bright side,” she says, smirking like she’s about to share an inside joke, “I can finally tell you how opposed I am to our union.”

Like you ever hid that! Emma wants to retort. Regina never hesitated to tell her exactly how opposed she was. Straight to her face. On multiple occasions. Bringing it up now is just pointlessly cruel, which isn’t like Regina—all her cruelty has a reason. Sure, sometimes that reason is spite, but Emma doesn’t hear any malice in her tone. Maybe she’s trying to push Emma away for both their sakes?

But it can’t be that simple. If that’s what Regina wanted, there are much easier ways to get it^[13]. As Emma frowns, wracking her brain for any justification, any glimmer of hope that their relationship isn’t completely in tatters, Regina’s look switches to one of exasperation.

“Get ahold of yourself. You look ridiculous,” she murmurs before turning away. “Have a good evening, Your Highness. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other soon.”

As the sisters depart, the small crowd goes with them, scattering into gossipy clusters until Emma is left alone with Jack.

“Cold.” The aged adventurer exhales an admiring hum. “I knew there was a reason I always liked her.”

“Yup,” sighs Emma, finally finding her voice. “That’s the problem.”

Chapter Text

“So it looks like Regina is doing... well.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

Emma groans as she thinks back to the night of the ball. David and Snow had kept quiet the whole carriage ride home, only gently prodding Emma about her night once they reached the castle. And how had she rewarded their patience? By fleeing to the gardens like a moody child.

Great job, Emma. A perfect pair of parents drops out of the sky, and you can’t even open up to them.

She’s back in the gardens today; not to hide, just to think about everything that’s been piling up.

First, of course, is Regina. Their encounter had gone both better and worse than Emma hoped. Over the past few days, she’s tried and tried to convince herself that Regina’s behavior was a good thing. After all the things Emma hid from her, she could have—should have been a lot angrier. Especially with all that time to seethe over her betrayal after Emma was spirited away. Instead, she was surprisingly mild when their paths finally crossed. Sure, she had Zelena to do the yelling for her, but Regina herself was perfectly polite.

A little too polite, actually.

More like stiff, if Emma’s being honest.

Nope, she still can't manage to delude herself. But as painful as it was to have her former fiancé address her as a stranger, Emma can't help but cling to hope. Regina’s final words to her had been... not kind, that’s for sure, but more familiar. It’s not exactly a smoking wand, but it’s something.

If only she knew what.

With another soft groan, Emma lets her head fall back, knocking against the tree behind her. Then she sighs, straightens her neck, and reaches up to brush the dirt out of her freshly styled hair. By now, she’s gotten used to the thousand tiny hardships that come with dressing like a princess, but it’s so annoying not to be able to lean on things.

As she moves to perch on the edge of a nearby fountain, Emma looks down at the long summer dress that feels disturbingly familiar on her limbs. She’s getting a little too used to this, which reminds her of the second thing weighing on her mind:

Snow and David. They haven’t pushed her to talk about the ball, just like they never push her to call them ‘Mom and Dad,’ or attend her royal lessons, or dress like a proper noble daughter. Except for the first part, Emma does all those things anyway, because she has to give them something, doesn’t she? And this is what they want, isn't it?

She thinks so, but she doesn’t know for sure. How can she, when they never ask for anything more than once? It’s almost like they’re scared of her. Emma appreciates them giving her space, but when space is most of what they give her, it starts to feel like distance. Sure, she’s had one-on-one time with both of them, tea with Snow and sparring with David^[1], but whenever they’re alone together, the gap between them only gets more obvious.

Emma can feel it every time they talk: a mismatch in the way they think, a chasm carved out by a lifetime of very different experiences. Not as different as she once thought, considering what she’s learned about their eventful pasts, but the tales she’s heard of David and Snow’s exploits are all grand quests and righteous struggles, full of daring escapes and success against all odds. Not the kind of stuff that Emma’s misanthropic misadventures can stack up to in any way that matters.

And the story of their romance... Emma only thinks about that when she really feels like torturing herself. She knows she shouldn’t compare them to herself—true love and all that. But it’s not that rare. Every other kingdom has a prince or princess that’s stumbled into it, and she’s one of them now! Kind of. But the longest relationship she’s had is... Emma counts in her head, thinking of the handful of romances that she’s collected over her two dozen years of life^[2].

No, it can’t be those few messy, mortifying months with Lily, can it? She counts again.

A moment later, she sags with relief. No, it’s not that. Her time with Regina was longer, though the numbers are far too close for comfort. She feels herself scowl. What’s the difference? She’s lost both of them now.

The anxious energy is finally too much to hold in, and Emma starts to pace, circling the fountain in brisk, meaningless laps. Ten steps forward, turn. Ten steps forward, turn.

What was she brooding about? Right, Snow and David. Emma knows she’s probably overestimating them, but it’s so hard not to. Their kingdom loves them, their allies respect them, and they’re just similar enough to Emma for any comparison to really sting. Snow was orphaned and cast out when she was still a teenager, but somehow her time as a bandit and insurrectionist is inspiring instead of outrageous. David was even a commoner once, but unlike Emma, he actually earned his way up, got properly adopted and everything.

Ten steps forward, turn. Ten steps forward, turn.

Of course most of these tales come from David and Snow themselves, but Emma’s never heard any conflicting versions, not even through her network of noble gossips. It’s not like she has anyone else to ask for details. James and Jack were off on their own far less principled escapades while Snow and David fought for their kingdom. Emma doesn’t feel comfortable asking Jiminy for personal details, even if he is the most empathetic cricket she’s ever met^[3]. And she doesn’t have access to anyone else in their inner circle. Unless...

Ten steps forward, turn—and then turn again, too fast for her stalker to get behind the next tree.

“I knew I was being watched,” says Emma. “Where have you been, Red?”

“Great, Emma, thanks for asking!”

“I said where, not how.”

“How rude.” Red’s grin deflates under the weight of Emma’s frown. “I’ve been around,” she replies, strolling out of the garden. “I know I didn’t really make the best first impression, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable before you were ready to talk.”

“You’ve been here the whole time? That can't be right, I would have seen you.” Exploring every corner of the castle was the first thing Emma did. “Wait, have you been spying on me?”

“How else was I supposed to know when you were ready to talk?”

“You’re right, this is much more comfortable,” Emma mutters, but a twisted way, she appreciates the effort. Back in the king’s castle, Red was just a mysterious, ageless, vaguely threatening woman; far from a comforting presence^[4]. Add that to her role in shoving Emma into a whole new life, and yeah, Emma wouldn’t have wanted to see her when she first got here. Maybe in her own way, Red truly was trying to be considerate.

But she’s still a pain in the ass.

“Why are you still here?” Emma asks, trying not to sound too demanding. Whoever, whatever Red actually is, she’s clearly important to Snow and David. “I know it’s not just to talk to me.”

“What if it is?” Red shrugs. “Like I said, I know we didn’t have a great first impression. If there’s anything you’re still curious about, go ahead and ask.”

Emma folds her arms, wary of the invitation. “So you can tell David and Snow?” she says. “How close are you exactly?”

“They’re my best friends,” says Red. “Well, Snow is. David is... fine, I guess. And it’s not like I tell them everything I hear,” she adds. “That would take forever.”

“So you won’t tell them,” Emma presses. Red doesn’t seem like she’s lying, but she hasn’t actually promised anything yet.

“No,” Red says with a fond roll of her eyes. “I won’t tell them anything you don’t want me to. You know I can keep a secret.”

“Yeah, from me,” Emma points out. She’s surprised when Red cringes, her shame mild but genuine.

“I’m not sorry I told your parents about you,” she says, hands spread wide. “This is where you came from, Emma. You deserved to see it. But I know you had your own... stuff going on back there.”

The response is automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emma knows how defensive she sounds, but anything she had ‘going on back there’ is hers and hers alone. Her time with Regina was confusing and messy and very personal, not something to be shared. Not with David or Snow or even Jack, and definitely not with Red. Maybe with Lily, if she were here and Emma felt like being bombarded with suspicion and sarcasm.

Red gives her a look of pure pity. “Okay,” she says. “Aaanyway, I owe you one.”

“Just one?”

Once again, Red gestures to the castle around them. “Well I was hoping the palace and the parents would help.”

Emma just grunts. The parents are part of the problem. Red seems sincere, but now that Emma has someone to ask about David and Snow, she doesn’t know where to start. Should she ask about Snow’s childhood? No, she was probably born a perfect little ruler. David’s rise to glory? Emma doubts he had to deal with any botched engagements. Her own kidnapping? She already knows how that ended.

In the end, Emma can only give Red a slow nod. “I’ll think about it,” she says. “And... thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Red sounds pleasantly surprised. “I’ll see you around, Emma.”

Huh, no ‘Your Highness.’ Emma’s surprised at how nice it is to hear her name from someone who didn’t give it to her. She watches the... forester? Spy? Lady-in-waiting? She watches her mother’s friend slink away, quickly fading into the background despite her crimson cloak.

“And stop spying on me!” Emma calls after her.

Red doesn’t answer.

. . .

Emma feels herself lift out of the saddle as the lance meets her shield, the blow hitting her like an overloaded wagon. After a brief, dizzying flight, she hits the ground, armor clattering as she rolls across the dirt.

“Ow,” she groans, head still ringing from the fall. Winded, it takes a few tries for her to clamber to her feet and tug off her helmet, already feeling a bruise blooming on her shoulder. A moment later, Max trots back to her side, nosing her arm apologetically.

“It’s not your fault,” Emma says, reaching up to give her horse a pat on the withers. “We got a lot further than I thought.”

On the other side of the tilt, her opponent spares her a dismissive look as they ride back to their end of the field. They don’t bother to raise their visor, but the mockery is obvious even through the black metal.

Well, what did they expect? Everyone saw this coming. The dark-armored knight has been storming their way through the tournament so far, monstrously strong and clad in hulking black plate that Emma doubts she could even lift. Strength isn’t everything in a joust, but it’s certainly not nothing. They ride a destrier—black, of course—that stands only a few hands taller than Max, but the warhorse is probably twice his weight, all muscle and malevolence.

Shaking her head, Emma turns away from the sore winner and starts to walk Max back toward their station. “At least it’s all over now,” she mutters, giving her steed an appreciative stroke. “Finally.”

Like she said, Emma didn’t expect to get this far in the bracket. She’d done pretty well against her more pampered peers, but once she started matching against actual trained warriors, it was only a matter of time before she ran into someone like the black knight. A wave of polite cheers follows her off the field, and Emma turns to give them a stiff wave.

Across the field, she sees the black knight catch something thrown by Zelena from the host’s private box. Emma scowls, rotating her bruised shoulder. They're not even trying to be subtle about it. She wouldn’t be surprised if Zelena set up this whole tournament just to pay someone to send Emma flying. When she left the king’s castle, Emma had been looking forward to not having to deal with the petty crown princess, but that was far too optimistic. If anything, Zelena is even more vicious now, like she’s making up for lost time.

Still standing at the edge of the field, Emma finds her gaze drifting toward the woman seated next to her tormentor. Regina seems unimpressed by her scheming sister, but it’s not like she’s doing anything to stop her. Emma’s glad she’s here, at least. She’d hoped so, seeing as the tournament is being hosted at Zelena’s summer palace, but she has no idea what to expect from Regina these days. They’ve run into each other three times in the past month^[5], and Regina has been...

Different? No. Emma wishes that was true, but it’s not. Regina hasn’t changed; she’s the same piqued, prickly princess she was when they first met. She’s not quite as angry as she was back then, but she’s guarded, she’s calculating... and now she’s staring straight in Emma’s direction.

Emma waves.

Regina looks away. Behind the princess, Ariel sends Emma a sympathetic smile, the pity in her eyes visible all the way across the field. Emma looks away.

“You did great out there!” David manages to stop himself from patting her back just in time. “How’s the shoulder? That was a nasty hit.”

“It’s fine, David.” Emma holds out Max’s reins like a shield. “But I guess I’m out of the joust now. How sad.”

The old prince deftly sidesteps her sarcasm as he takes over guiding the horse. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, beaming at her like a proud da—er, David. “You gave ‘em a good knock on the first pass; it’s no wonder they wanted payback.”

“Sure, David.” And Emma’s sure the payout from Zelena had nothing to do with it.

“Still, you took that fall like a champion!” David continues to gush. “Perfect form.”

“I landed on my ass.”

“A champion’s ass!” the prince’s grin never wavers. “Anyone else would’ve been carried off the field, but you just picked yourself up and strolled right out. That’s my—” For the first time, his voice falters. “My training at work, no doubt,” he says after the briefest pause. “We’ll show them next season, huh?”

“Thanks, David.” Emma feels herself smile. It’s a small one, but David’s relentless cheer makes it hard to stay sullen for long.

. . .

“And you’re sure you didn’t piss them off somehow?”

“How annoying do you think I am?” Emma demands.

Lance frowns down at her. “Not at all,” he says, and she believes him. He’s a terrible liar. “But I can see how all the judgement and cynicism could rub people the wrong way.”

Emma gives him a long look. “You could be a little less honest sometimes, y’know.”

“Never,” says Lance. His voice is solemn as ever, but humor twinkles in his eye as they continue their stroll.

Lancelot is the most tolerable of the knights Emma’s met so far, and it’s not close. The rest are all from old noble stock, nurtured from birth with all the training and resources of generation upon generation of decorated warriors... and not much else. Between jousts, all they do is strut about in their v-neck breastplates and monogrammed tabards, loudly asking where you studied the noble art of hitting people until they stop complaining.

If you give the right answer, they’re all smiles.

“Oh, you studied at Sir Bart’s? So did I! I barely even had to apply; my family’s been going there for ages. Well, my uncle went to Pellinore’s, but we don’t talk about him...”

And so on. But if, like Emma, you answer with some obscure school a day’s ride past the middle of nowhere, you’ll be lucky to get a polite, plastic smile before they vanish like Lily when there’s chores to be done.

“I’m telling you, it was a setup,” Emma goes on, strangling the hilt of her sword. “I saw her give them something right after the joust. They hadn’t even left the field!”

“Maybe it was just a favor,” says Lance, infuriatingly reasonable. “An innocent token of affection.”

“From Zelena?”

“Hnh. You may have a point.”

As they both mull this over, they reach their destination: the guest privies at the back of the summer palace. Of course, there’s a line. Lance gives Emma a polite bow, and then they part ways.

“Good luck,” she calls after him. Sir Lancelot will be next to face the black knight, and even though he’s a seasoned jouster^[6], Emma’s not sure of his chances. That armored asshole has been swaggering around all day in their oversized plate mail, handing out losses left and right. Their technique is almost as rudimentary as Emma’s, but with that monstrous strength, rudimentary is plenty. Even without Zelena’s extra incentive, there’s no way Emma could have won.

Emma shakes herself. She’s getting way too swept up in a tournament she barely wanted to attend in the first place. Spending more time with David has been alright, but Emma wasn’t going to sign up until she saw who the host was. How desperate is that? She’s glad David’s enthusiasm gave her an excuse. There’s no way Emma could admit to attending a party just because it was at her ex’s sister’s summer home.

Well, anyway, this is fine. Just participating in the tournament is enough to please Snow and David, and now that Emma’s out of the running, she can just sit back, watch nobles fall off their horses, and enjoy a second lunch at Zelena’s expense. As for Regina... seeing her is about all Emma can hope for these days. While Regina is always polite, it’s a mocking shadow of their previous closeness. She deftly dodges every hint to meet in private, treating Emma as an old acquaintance at best.

It sucks, but what can Emma do? It’s what she deserves.

After unburdening herself, she strolls back out of the privy. Lance is already gone, along with everyone else. The next round of the tournament is already underway, cheers rising from the stadium down the path. With nothing better to do, Emma starts walking over, admiring the surrounding forest. It’s bright and open, full of life—the exact opposite of its owner.

Emma’s shoulder twinges. Frowning, she hooks her thumbs into her sword belt and boots a pebble into the trees.

“Have the woods offended you somehow, Your Highness?”

The familiar voice makes Emma look up, but her frown remains. “No,” she tells Regina. “But Zelena’s out of range.”

“Ah.” Regina knows what she means right away, but her answer isn't what Emma might have hoped for, were she still confident enough to hope. “My sister does enjoy her little pranks.”

Another indignant ache radiates from Emma’s bruised shoulder. “Little?” she grumbles. “I don’t think I’d survive a big one.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’re on her side?”

“Is this really what you want to talk about?” Regina meets her challenging look with an iron mask of indifference. “My sister?”

Emma almost laughs at the question. “What else are we supposed to talk about?” she says, a bitter edge to her tone. Emma’s not the one who refuses to talk. Every time she sees Regina, she tries, but the most the princess is willing to do is playact as amicable exes, and even that is purely to pander to her noble peers. This is the first time they’ve been alone together since Emma left, and Regina is still...

“I think it’s pretty obvious how we both feel,” says Emma, looking away. “You’ve been pretty clear.”

“Have I?” For a moment, she almost convinces herself that Regina’s voice has softened, but Emma shakes herself out of it.

“I’m not stupid, Regina. I can take a hint. Why don’t you?”

If the venom was ever gone, it returns with vengeance. “Oh can you?” snaps Regina. “That’s certainly news to me, Your Highness.”

And they’re back to ‘Your Highness.’ Perfect.

“There’s nobody else here,” says Emma, frustration leaking into her voice as she waves at their surroundings. “You don’t need to pretend.”

Regina pauses. “You’re right,” she says. “I don’t. Will that be that all, Your Highness?”

A tangle of emotions clogs Emma’s throat as she opens her mouth to explain, to justify, to demand... she doesn’t even know what. She has no idea how she wants things to be between them; she just knows she hates how they are now. From the moment they met, Emma knew Regina could hold a grudge, but this cold new version of Regina doesn’t even seem angry. Emma could handle anger, but every glance at that courtly mask makes her feel small and uncertain, forcing her to ask herself what she hopes to see instead.

Emma could try to explain, but she doesn’t know if that would make a difference. By now, she and Regina have been apart longer than they were together—and half of that was under false pretenses^[7]. Emma wishes they could rewind to happier times, but when would that even be? She can’t think of a single time when she wasn’t hiding something from Regina.

Even that would be better than this, insists a selfish corner of her mind, making Emma scowl. She knew this would happen when she decided to confess her deceptions. She just hoped... this wouldn’t happen. Emma is well aware of how needy she’s being, but if changing her mind were easy, she’d have done it already.

Like Regina so clearly has.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” says Regina, and Emma realizes that she hasn’t spoken for over a minute. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

“Oh yeah? What?” Emma feels stupid and defensive as soon as the words come out. Whatever business Regina has, it’s none of hers.

Regina points to the privies.

“Oh yeah. That.”

Before Regina can do more than lift an eyebrow, Emma flees toward the jousting arena. When she looks back a few heartbeats later, Regina is gone.

As she slows her pace, flushed face aimed firmly toward her feet, another roar goes up from the stadium. Emma’s frown deepens. She really doesn’t feel like dealing with knights and nobles and all of their expectations. She rarely does, but the reluctance is especially sharp right now. With a shrug, Emma pivots off the path and tromps into the woods.

It’s not sulking, she tells herself. It’s just that privacy is rare and she feels like taking a walk.

At least in the woods, nobody will be around to judge her.

. . .

“Are you following me?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” As she meets Regina’s accusatory glare, Emma just feels tired. “Don’t worry, Your Highness,” she says, her voice perfectly polite, “I’m just stretching my legs, Your Highness. Nice woods you’ve got here, Your Highness.”

As she starts walking again, she hears Regina huff. “Good!” she calls after Emma. “Neither was I!”

Emma waves over one shoulder, not looking back.

A moment later, she hears the soft stabbing of Regina’s shoes against the forest floor. “It’s rude to leave so suddenly,” says the princess, her presence prickling against Emma’s back. She always has to have the last word, doesn’t she? “One would think you’re avoiding me.”

Now Emma does turn back, but only so Regina can see her look of disbelief.

“There’s no need for that... charming face, Your Highness,” Regina says. “I’ve never avoided you—we simply have nothing to talk about these days.”

“Whatever you say, Your Highness,” says Emma. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Your Highness.”

“Don’t be childish.”

“You started it.”

The game trail that Emma has been following is far too narrow for them to walk side by side, a fact for which Emma is incredibly grateful. It saves her from having to look Regina in the eye when the princess goes on, voice sharpening.

“I started it? Did you expect me to come crawling after you, Your Highness?” Regina demands. “After you failed to uphold your side of our agreement? After I... trusted you? After you lied?”

“I told you the truth in the end,” Emma defends weakly. It’s all she can do. She doubts an apology is what Regina’s looking for. But if not that, then what? A target, whispers a corner of her mind.

Sure enough, the response she gets is unimpressed. “Oh yes, the very end. And then you fled, and then you sent your parents to let me down easy. Condescended to by the great Snow White herself.” Regina shudders. “How humiliating.”

“I didn’t send David and Snow to do anything,” says Emma. “And I would never think you needed to be let down easy.” She slows down to hold a branch out of Regina’s path.

“Hmph,” Regina scoffs as she takes the lead. “I most certainly didn’t.”

“They said they were family,” Emma explains, ever so slightly encouraged by her amusement. “I had to go with them—and I wanted to,” she admits to Regina’s back, the first time she’s said so out loud.

Regina goes quiet, and Emma wonders if she’s thinking about her own mother, who abandoned her to a father that was a condescending control freak and a sister that was... Zelena.

“Naturally,” is what Regina eventually says, the word soft and almost resigned. “I would have done the same.”

And finally Emma thinks she sees the problem. Regina wants certain things in life: respect, responsibility, prosperity, and Emma^[8]. Emma wants other things: simplicity, security, independence, and Regina^[9]. Their aims aren’t necessarily opposed, but with one hopeful exception, they’re undeniably different. It would be all nice and romantic to claim that their goals could never tear them apart, but they already have. Emma was blindsided by the appearance of a pair of long-lost parents, but she didn’t have to go with them. If she really wanted to, Emma knows she could have slipped away from David and Snow and even Red.

She hadn’t even tried.

The problem isn't just on her end, either. Emma knows how stubbornly Regina pursues her ambitions—in fact, she might be the only one who truly does. Sometimes she still thinks of everything Regina told her on the Storybrooke docks, of the years of disregard and dismissal that shaped Regina into the lean, mean, regal machine she is today.

The things Emma and Regina want, the things those things make them do... It’s all, to be delicate, a complete fucking mess.

They walk through the woods for who knows how long, neither of them saying a word. The silence is far from comfortable, but the ache Emma’s been feeling in Regina’s presence has faded. Maybe it was the show of actual emotion from the princess instead of poised passive-aggression, or maybe Emma is just getting used to the fact that their recent separation might be for good^[10].

Sometimes Emma walks in front, shouldering through bushes until leaves stick out from beneath her collar. Others, Regina goes first, leading Emma across her family’s estate as easily as she strode through the halls of her castle.

But no matter how, er... not unpleasant this is, eventually Emma has to ask:

“So, where are you taking us?”

Regina misses a step. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Me? You’re the one who lives here.”

“Zelena lives here. I don’t even visit her that often.”

“I wouldn’t either,” mutters Emma. “But why would you think I knew where I was going?”

“You were walking with such confidence...”

“I’m a fast walker! You didn’t notice how I kept letting you go first?”

“You could have just been being chivalrous.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” says Emma, not petulant at all.

“Yes, what was I thinking?” Regina says sharply. “The problem remains: where are we?”

Emma can't help but grumble, “You’re the one who lives here.”

“Stop it.”

Before they can decide whose fault it is^[11], Emma spies the silhouette of an armored figure through the trees. “I’ll just ask them,” she says, ducking past a screen of low-hanging branches. “Hey, excuse me? Hello?” She taps the unfamiliar knight’s shoulder.

“Ser Swan, wait.”

Emma looks over her shoulder, careful not to grin too broadly at Regina’s slip. “Not enough alone time for you?” she teases. “We can always—”

“No.” A moment too late, she registers the fear in Regina’s tone. “Get back here, Ser Swan. Now.”

Time slows to a crawl as Emma obeys, taking a step toward the princess. Her hand slides off the knight’s shoulder, their armor scraping at her palm. It feels off, oddly rough, almost like... She looks back.

“Don’t!” Regina hisses, but hers isn't the only one. A sharp, sibilant sound slithers across the clearing, soft at first but rising in volume as it echoes off dozens of figures just as stiff and silent as the knight by Emma’s side. As she lays eyes upon the poor, petrified soul, she feels her heart sink.

She knew this day was going too well.

Chapter Text

Emma’s sword bounces against her leg as she slides into cover, pulling Regina down beside her.

“I told you to wait,” says the princess, pressing her back to the pair of statues that offer them shelter. Emma can see the muscles twitching in Regina’s neck as she resists the urge to look back. Back the way they ran, fleeing the sound of scaled coils sliding through the undergrowth. Back toward the garden of frozen figures and the gorgon that made them.

“Do you really want your last words to be ‘I told you so’?” Emma snaps back, numb fingers scrabbling for her sword. In a way, she actually appreciates Regina’s ill-timed dig. Annoyed is safer than afraid, and with a magical snake-woman hunting them down in an unfamiliar forest, there’s plenty to be scared of.

“Well?” she demands when the princess doesn’t answer.

“I’m considering it.”

A sound reaches their ears, the scratch of claws over tree bark off to their right. Emma feels Regina tense.

“Relax,” she whispers, rising to one knee. “This could be much worse. Gorgons really only have one trick, and everyone knows about it.”

Regina gives a pointed look to the statues beside them.

“It’s a good trick,” admits Emma, “but—”

They both freeze as a soft rustling drifts from the woods. This time, the sound is somewhere in the trees in front of them. The gorgon clearly knows this forest a lot better than they do. Every time they try to get some distance between them and her gruesome gallery, she’s somehow able to cut them off, sending them running in circles with aching lungs and tiring legs.

A hand slides over Emma’s and tugs her back toward the statue garden. As they creep through the brush, Emma scans their surroundings, keeping her eyes moving from side to side. Never backwards toward the threat of petrification—and never forwards, toward something far more dangerous. Regina’s grip is firm, her palm burning against Emma’s knuckles as she drags them into a hollow between the roots of a massive tree.

“We need a plan,” Emma says, her low tones nearly swallowed by the earth around them. “She can’t look in both directions at once, so maybe we can flank her? At least one of us will be safe that way, and if we attack from both sides, we have to hit something.”

“Yes, like each other,” Regina points out. “Don’t pretend you know what you’re doing, Ser Swan. There’s no one to fool here.”

The words are sharp, brittle, oh so similar to the ones Emma used less than an hour ago. And just like Regina had, Emma brushes them aside.

“I’m not,” she says, rising from her crouch. “Don’t worry, Regina, I’m not completely useless.” She loosens her sword in her scabbard, squaring her shoulders as her ears strain for any hint of movement. A breeze ghosts through the forest, sending her blonde curls flowing back over her shoulder.

Emma hears Regina suck in a quiet breath, but manages not to preen. Looking heroic wasn’t her goal, but it’s certainly a perk.

Then she looks down and sees Regina’s eyes pointed somewhere to the left. Following her gaze, Emma sees yet another statue: an adventurer, back straight, hair flowing... frozen in the exact same pose that Emma’s in.

She ducks back into the hollow. “On the other hand, I’m always open to suggestions,” she says.

“Emma...” Regina sighs, then freezes.

Emma feels a brief, bottomless panic before she feels Regina’s breath on her chin, sees the flutter of her eyes beneath squeezed-shut lids. At the same time, she hears the same thing Regina must have: the soft scrape of scales on bark as the gorgon slithers closer than ever. The sound of her approach gets louder, the whisper of her passage joined by a chorus of eager hissing. Emma can picture her drawing nearer, her living hair writhing in anticipation, her serpentine lower half coiling as she prepares to strike.

Eyes still firmly closed, Regina reaches out, grasping urgently for Emma’s hand. She takes it, feeling the weight as Regina leans into the grip.

“Now?” Regina breathes.

Silently, stupidly, Emma shakes her head, then murmurs, “Not yet.”

As they wait half-crouched in their hole, the gorgon drags herself closer and closer until her dry, musty scent fills Emma’s nostrils. A shadow falls across the hollow, and Emma studies its silhouette, searching for openings.

“Now?” hisses Regina.

“Wait,” Emma whispers back. Then, louder, “Wait!” she calls, the skin on her back prickling under the gorgon’s attention. Thinking of whiny dragons and mute ‘sirens’ and... whatever the hell Red is, she has to ask, “Why are you doing this? We’re not here to hurt you!”

For the first time, the gorgon speaks. “So you say,” she says, her voice surprisingly clear and without any hint of a hiss. “But you trespass...”

“We’re happy to leave.” Regina sounds calm even as her fingers squeeze the blood out of Emma’s.

“No!” the snake-woman snaps. “Trespassers... trespassers must stay.”

“I guess we can stick around for a little while.” Emma grips her sword, quietly loosening the blade in its scabbard. She doesn’t like how that ‘stay’ sounded, not one bit. “Were you thinking tea, croquet...”

“You will stay forever!” the gorgon shrieks. “Your lovely faces will grace my garden until the wind and rain scour them from your skulls!”

“How flattering,” mutters Regina. “Now?”

“Okay, now” Emma says, and drops.

The heat of Regina’s fireball flashes over Emma’s scalp as her knee sinks into the dirt. Bent low, she twists, eyes snapping shut as she draws and swings her sword in one motion. It whips through the air, slashing blindly, but the gorgon is too close to miss.

As the snake-woman screams, Emma rises, dragging Regina with her. Together, they break from the hollow and charge past the gorgon as she reels back, wounded—or maybe more. Emma knows she hit something, and judging from the smell of smoke, the fireball also found its mark. Cracking one eye open, Emma bolts through the trees until Regina’s grip tugs her to a stop.

“We have to keep going!” Emma pants, sweat pouring down her brow. The gorgon’s shrieks still echo through the forest, but they’re not as shrill as they were a moment ago. “She still might—”

“Your hair’s on fire!”

What? The panic doesn’t even have time to set in before something is thrown over Emma’s head. She thought she was sweating too much. A hand beats at her cloth-covered head to smother the last of the flames, then continues for a few more whacks before Emma throws off the makeshift fire blanket.

“Okay, okay! I’m fine now.”

“I had to be certain,” says Regina, not the least bit ashamed. To her credit, she doesn’t so much as smirk at Emma’s hair, which probably looks even worse than it feels. A smoking piece of cloth hangs from her hand, dangling beside the ragged edge of the skirt it was torn from. The freshly raised hem reveals elegant ankles and a flash of calf, the sheer silk of Regina’s stockings clinging to every dip and curve...

“We should keep going,” Regina says, tossing aside the singed scrap of her dress.

“I wasn’t staring,” blurts Emma.

“If you say so.”

As they start moving again, Emma does her best to change the subject. “Tell me you got her, and not just me,” she says, touching the burnt ends that stick out amongst her hair. The gorgon isn't screaming anymore, but she knows better than to take that as a good sign.

A look of prim dissatisfaction crosses Regina’s face. “Only barely, I think,” she grumbles as if she’s talking about a game of darts and not a matter of life and death.

“Great. She’s probably—”

The silence of the forest is broken by two sounds at once. From the right, the quiet creak of a twig being pressed into the dirt by heavy, serpentine coils. From the left, a distant clank that just might be from a suit of armor. Emma makes her decision in a split second.

Her hand settles onto Regina’s shoulder, making the princess jump. “That way,” Emma whispers, turning her gently to the left. “Get to safety, then find help.”

Regina’s brows set in a suspicious line. “You say that like you’re not coming with me.”

“I’ll be right behind you.” Emma really wants it to not be a lie, but the suspicion on Regina’s face only grows.

“Emma...”

And then the gorgon lunges from the bushes, putting an end to any debate. Emma propels Regina forward out of the monster’s path, then stabs blindly with her sword, drawing an incensed snarl from the territorial snake-woman. Pivoting away from the sound, Emma sprints in the opposite direction as Regina, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“EVERYONE THINKS YOUR YARD ART IS TRASHY.”

For a moment, she doesn’t hear anything and almost turns back, terrified that the gorgon decided to chase Regina instead. But then:

“How dare you!” Leaves scatter and branches snap as the gorgon charges after Emma, abandoning stealth to crash through the forest in hot pursuit.

Emma’s eyes are wide open now, her chest heaving as she dodges trees and vaults over boulders, barely staying ahead of the offended snake-woman. Whenever she misses a step, the gorgon draws a little closer, snarling about display themes and aesthetic composition. After a close call with a protruding root, Emma could swear that she feels her pursuer’s hair-snakes literally snapping at her heels.

Her concern for Regina is a distant worry at this point. Now, Emma is far more focused on her own escape. Downhill! She has to run down—no, that’s for bears. Zigzags? No, that’s crocodiles. Playing dead? Come on, Emma, that’s bears again!

She settles on running as fast as she can without her heart exploding, weaving through trees in the shallow hope of slowing the gorgon down. Her sword waves wildly as she runs, the gorgon’s blood still darkening one edge of the blade. That’s all Emma’s been able to accomplish so far: a single scratch with Regina’s help and a lot of luck. The weapon grows heavy in her hand, but she doesn’t dare try to sheathe it for fear of stabbing herself in the leg. At least she’s not wearing her armor.

Then a tree looms before her, and Emma slows down just a little too much as she swerves. The tip of a claw catches her hose, barely missing the leg beneath, and she stumbles, glancing back on pure instinct. She jerks her head forward as soon as she remembers, but in that brief sliver of a second, she thinks she caught a flash of glowing red eyes.

Was that enough? For a few more steps, it doesn’t seem like it... but then Emma feels a horrible feeling creeping up her leg, a terrible, twisting pain that sends numbness crawling up her calf. She pushes off with her good foot, but only manages to tumble face-first into a cluster of bushes. Branches entangle her head and torso, her sword arm pinned to her side, her stiff legs sticking out behind her.

My statue is going to be so embarrassing, she thinks.

The gorgon slithers to a stop beside the bushes, as surprised as Emma is. Through a gap in the leaves, she sees the gorgon’s snakelike lower half tilt from side to side as she considers what to do with Emma once the statuefication sets in. Although... Emma’s never been petrified before, but she thought it would be quicker. Apart from that first jolt, she sure doesn’t feel like she’s turning to stone.

As subtly as she can, Emma wiggles her toes, then her fingers. All of them move. One calf is still stiff and aching, but now that she has a moment to think, it’s possible that sensation was, uh, just a leg cramp.

While Emma wonders what she’s supposed to do now, the gorgon seems to realize that her latest victim is still frustratingly flaccid. She draws back with a wary hiss, circling the small thicket until she’s right in front of Emma. One clawed hand reaches out to pull the branches aside—

Puff.

Then promptly jerks back to avoid the fireball that roars between them. The gorgon recoils, arms raised defensively, then retreats from a barrage of flames, fleeing like a spider before a lantern. Still stuck in the shrubs, Emma cranes her neck to see the last wisps of purple smoke dissipating around Regina’s legs.

Aaand she’d forgotten Regina could teleport. Perfect. Another reason to feel stupid was just what Emma needed.

Before she can speak, Regina rushes to her side. “Ser Swan? Emma!”

Emma opens her mouth.

“What were you thinking?” demands Regina, fury in every syllable. “Playing hero? I thought you were smarter than that... but here you are, and I’m left to clean up the mess. Again.” The words catch in her throat, and for just a moment, her tone softens. “Oh, look at what she’s done to you.”

Emma shuts her mouth. Yes, the gorgon did this to her. That’s a much better story. She hears Regina draw in a slow, ragged breath, then feels her sword being gently wriggled out of her hand.

“Don’t worry,” Emma hears, but it sounds more like Regina is talking to herself. “I’ll fix this. She’s too stubborn to—Emma is going to be fine.” She speaks with certainty, but there’s an almost desperate edge to the last word that has Emma frowning. “Do you hear me?” Regina demands, but it’s obvious she doesn’t expect an answer. “I’m not letting you take the easy way out. Not after all the trouble you put me through.”

Emma cringes. She should definitely tell Regina that she’s not actually petrified, but when she tries to speak up, her lips refuse to part. Stupid, stubborn mouth. Always ruining things. She needs to say something before it gets really awkward; the longer she listens, the more it feels like eavesdropping^[1].

“Not after all your lies,” Regina goes on through clenched teeth, “and even worse, all your honesty. I wasted so much time trying to tell the two apart while you just sat back, being... yourself. Making me snap and seethe... and smile.” The confession is soft, but she doesn’t sound like she’s smiling now. “At least none of Father’s suitors pretended to see me as anything but a convenient crown. None of them truly cared to know me, to push any deeper than they had to for their own sakes... and now, Ser Swan, you’ve forced me to wonder if you were any different.” Her voice stutters. When it comes back, it’s nearly a whisper. “And now, thanks to your idiotic impulse of heroism, I may never know.”

Don’t just kill me off like that! Emma wants to shout, but she can’t stop listening now. Just a few more moments, and then she’ll say something.

“Truly, there’s no one more utterly infuriating than you, Ser Swan.” Regina’s doing something with Emma’s sword, the blade wobbling dangerously close to the shrub. “Do you have any idea how maddening it is to watch someone clearly making it all up as they go and see them succeed? How frustrating it is to see right through someone and still be surprised? How embarrassing it is when someone so clever refuses to take a hint?”

Before Emma can puzzle out what that’s supposed to mean, her sword jerks in Regina’s hand, slashing through a leaf not far from Emma’s ear. She holds her breath, lips pressed tighter than ever. She’s still planning to speak up, of course. Just maybe... when Regina isn't holding a deadly weapon.

“I suppose I should thank you,” says Regina, sounding the opposite of grateful. “If you hadn’t come along, it might have taken years for me to realize how fed up I was with my life.” She laughs, short and bitter. “And just in time for you to settle into yours. What luck we have, Emma.”

The gorgon’s return is marked by the scrape of scales on the forest floor, but Regina doesn’t run. Instead, she tosses Emma’s sword aside and steps toward the sound.

“It’s poor manners to interrupt,” she calls. The emotion is gone from her voice, replaced by cool determination as she begins muttering under her breath.

As the gorgon draws closer, Emma finally forces herself out of the bush. She keeps her eyes down as she scoops up her sword and clambers to her feet, listening to Regina’s voice rise in the background. The princess doesn’t seem to notice, focused on the words spilling from her lips. They sound like nonsense to Emma but fill the air with the uncomfortable charge of magic unleashed.

Regina completes her spell a split second before the gorgon lunges, snake-hair hissing triumphantly. The tingle of magic intensifies until, with a sudden rush of air, Emma feels something appear right in the gorgon’s path. Eyes still aimed at the ground, she readies her sword before hearing the hissing rise, then stop short, and then... silence.

Emma’s scared to look up. Regina seemed sure of herself, but she knows Regina well enough to never rely just on how she seems.

“You can stop hiding, Ser Swan. You’re safe now,” she hears a moment later, the words edged with irony. “Safer than I thought, apparently.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” says Emma, finally raising her eyes.

“Not very well,” Regina agrees. “I suppose you were too busy listening in.” She stands before Emma, posture perfect as ever, one eyebrow raised as she wipes her hands. Despite her uncaring tone, her eyes are sharp and searching, demanding to know what Emma heard.

And behind her is not one gorgon, but two, both of them solid stone. One snake-woman rears over the other, a look of shock on her face. The other gorgon, the one next to Regina, simply stares back with a blank expression. Emma’s gaze darts back to the princess, searching for an explanation, only to see something much more important.

“Regina, you’re hurt!”

“How sweet of you to notice.” Regina shakes out the handkerchief she was using to clean her fingers. “Don’t panic, Ser Swan; the blood isn’t mine,” she says, nodding to Emma’s sword. Following the gesture, Emma looks to the edge of her blade that struck the gorgon. There’s a dark smear there that matches the faint stains on Regina’s hand.

“Oh,” she says, recalling an old conversation.

“With a mere drop of blood, I can create a perfect double to take your place.”

“Magic,” grumbles Emma, wiping her sword on a nearby branch. “I wasn’t panicking,” she says. “Maybe I was a little bit concerned, but that's not the same thing.”

Regina just sighs and starts walking away. Emma hurries after her, picking leaves out of her jacket.

“Regina—” she begins, but swallows her words when the bushes ahead of them start to shake. What now? Emma wants to scream. Don’t tell me there’s more of them. As she runs through a string of mental curses, she’s already stepping in front of Regina, eyes snapping shut as she raises her sword. As the rustling gets closer, her sword swings down and—

CLONK.

—stops dead.

“A bit of an overreaction,” says a familiar voice.

Emma opens one eye to see Zelena looking up at her sword, which has been caught in the dark iron fist of the black knight. Lance stands behind them in full armor, catching Emma’s eye with a relieved nod. Ariel spares her a smile before rushing to Regina’s side to fuss over her dress.

“What are you doing here?” Emma croaks.

“Looking for my sister, of course. When Regina didn’t return, I thought it would be wise to gather a search party.” Zelena’s gaze skims past her to settle on Regina’s shortened skirt, then back toward Emma’s disheveled clothes and thoroughly distressed hair. “Although...”

“Zelena,” says Regina, a warning in her tone. It doesn’t stop her sister, who starts to grin at the whiff of weakness.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have rushed?”

. . .

“We were just talking,” Emma insists for the hundredth time. They’re back at the summer palace, their various scrapes, bruises, and burns all cleaned and wrapped. They still sting, but the headache she’s feeling is far worse, especially with its source standing over her with gleeful eyes.

“Wandering around half-dressed in the woods?” Zelena can barely hold back her grin. “It must have been quite the conversation.”

“It was nothing of the sort,” Regina sighs. “Her Highness was on fire.”

“I’m sure she was.”

“We already told you about the gorgon,” snaps Emma. “So why are you...” She waves her hands, trying to encompass the whole of Zelena’s spiteful, sneering self in one exasperated gesture. “... like this?”

“It’s only my right as older sister,” Zelena says with a sniff. “I thought you might do something stupid once you found out about the new engagement, but I didn’t expect—”

“Zelena,” says Regina, but the damage is done.

“New engagement,” Emma echoes, the words ringing hollowly in her ears. “Yours?” she asks Zelena, who laughs in her face.

“Hah! Oh, you really hadn’t heard. Whoops.” And oddly enough, the crown princess does sound sorry, just a little bit.

Emma can't stop herself from looking at Regina, every drop of familiarity they gathered in the woods draining away all at once. Her eyes ask the question that her mouth refuses to, but Regina can’t hold her gaze.

“It’s very new, Ser—Your Highness,” she says. “With our... courtship at an end, there was really no reason to refuse. And—and the benefits—”

“I’m sure you’ve thought it through.” Emma hears herself say. “No need to justify anything to me.” The fact that Regina is even trying to explain means that she isn't opposing this latest proposal with every fibre of her being. And if that’s true, she must have a reason. Maybe the king threatened her duchy, or maybe she simply decided the gains were worth it. Or maybe Regina has found someone else to rely on, someone she can trust to have her back like Emma couldn’t.

“Congratulations,” she says robotically. “Happy for you. Nice.”

In the corner of her eye, she sees something flash over Regina’s face before Zelena steps forward.

“Well, we must be going,” she says, eyeing her sister with something that almost looks like caution. “Please, give our best to your parents.”

Emma doesn’t know what she says in response. It must be good enough for a dismissal, because the sisters leave the room without a backwards glance. As the door closes behind them, Emma brings a hand to her face, pressing her fingers to her forehead as if that can calm the tempest between her temples. But before the storm of emotions can truly burst, a squeak of armor reminds her of the figure the princesses left behind.

“What do you want?” says Emma, glaring up at the black knight.

Silent as ever, the knight steps forward.

“Did Zelena put you up to this?”

Without a word, the figure reaches up to their oversized helmet and pulls it off.

Oh.

Somehow, Emma isn't even surprised by the face underneath.

“Well,” she says. “It’s about time.”

Lily wrinkles her nose, giving Emma’s head a pointed look.

“You need a haircut.”

Chapter Text

Emma hasn’t been in a room like this for months. Dim lights, no windows, tucked deep in the back of a nameless tavern. She meets the gaze of her opponent across the table, then lets her gaze drift across the cards between them, hiding her concern. No matter how many times she does the math, she can’t see a way out of what comes next.

“Of course you realize,” she says slowly, “this means war.”

Jack just smirks, bony fingers drumming on the tabletop. Both of them reach for their cards, then...

“One, two, three, War,” Emma counts, laying down three cards off the top of her deck before flipping over the fourth. She frowns as she takes in the results, tucking her newly shortened hair behind one ear. The damage from Regina’s fireball was mercifully light, but after the royal barber finished evening everything out, Emma’s hair hangs just below her chin at its longest.

“Oh, a jack,” says Jack. “Not bad... but can it beat a king?”

Emma shrugs grimly. “We’ll see.”

“Okay, final bets!” seated halfway between them, Sir Lancelot claps his hands with very un-knightly enthusiasm. “I’ll put ten silver on Emma.”

“Fool,” scoffs the woman across from him. She’s a manic-looking beauty with a striking bob of hair; half white, half black, split straight down the middle. “Fifty dollars on the geriatric lush.” The Baroness de Vil pulls a wad of paper money out of her fur coat, chomping on a long, silver cigarette holder sans cigarette^[1].

“Um...” Between Cruella and Emma sits Aladdin, a young man with the dubious honor of being even newer to nobility than she is. Bright but wary eyes dart around the table as he pats the pockets of his Agrabahn finery. “I’ve got this, uh, golden beetle thing,” he says, holding up a shiny scarab. “Is that enough?”

“Keep it,” says Lance. “The first few games are free.”

“That’s how they get you,” Emma warns the kid. “Don’t get used to it, or you’ll end up like Pinocchio.”

The scrape of wood on wood comes from her other side as the gambler in question digs through his pockets. “Hold on, hold on...” says the man-sized marionette, condensation beading on his knotted brow. “Here! It’s a magic chisel. Worth a few silver at least, much more if you consider the sentimental value...” He shrugs, scratches his poorly sanded stubble, and tosses the tool onto the table. It overshoots the pile of collateral and narrowly misses the line of cards, leaving a nick in the table and almost rolling off the edge before Jack grabs it.

“You’re a mess,” she says, earning a glare from the puppet.

“There’s a saying about pots and kettles that comes to mind,” Pinocchio says loftily. “But there’s no drinking involved, so I doubt you’d be interested.”

Jack grins in a way that says Fair enough before turning back to Emma. “Last chance to back out,” she cajoles, adding a few coins to the pot. “Think of the odds.”

“Maybe I’m feeling lucky,” Emma lies, matching Jack’s wager with a handful of bills. “Here, a hundred Maldonian mucos.”

“I didn’t come here to listen to you lot,” snaps Cruella, glaring not at them, but at the cards. “Get on with it!”

At her bark, Emma’s jack grows two tiny legs and hops upright. A pair of stubby arms pops out of the card’s sides, one of them holding the short staff from its artwork. Brandishing the club, Emma’s jack lets out a valiant squeak and charges across the table. Her other four cards leap up to join it while Jack’s king draws its sword and rallies its own allies.

As the clash of cardboard kicks off, Emma’s eyes wander over her companions. She’s not a regular at Jack’s card nights, but they’re the perfect chance to catch up on the latest dirt in noble society. Ironically, Emma hears less gossip as a princess than she did as a wandering knight. People actually pay attention to her now, which means they pay attention to what they say around her. So annoying.

The conversation at Jack’s game nights is much less guarded. Nobody here is a model of nobility. Whether it be Aladdin’s urchin origins, Lancelot’s ill-fated love, Pinocchio’s various vices, or Cruella’s heavily implied matricide, these are Emma’s kind of people^[2].

“Oooh...” The shared wince draws Emma’s eyes back to the table just in time to see her final card fall to its knees, clutching the spear plunged through its heart. The rest of her forces have already been subdued with brutal prejudice and are being dragged to Jack’s side of the table.

“Ripped to shreds,” Cruella says with a satisfied smile. “Oh, that brings back memories.”

The enchanted cards mend themselves as Jack adds them to her deck, trying not to gloat too hard. “It was worth a shot,” she tells Emma, who shrugs. Losing at cards is the least of her problems, which is good, because Jack proceeds to take the rest of her deck one card at a time.

While Jack and Pinocchio start a new game, Emma listens to the others gossip. Most of it is less than useless; Emma doesn’t care about eloping fairies or mysterious treasure caves or who ate who at Cruella’s latest exotic pet show. Eventually, she runs out of patience and decides to give the conversation a subtle nudge.

“So, you guys hear of any interesting engagements lately?”

The chatter stops. The rest of the table looks at her with varying degrees of empathy and amusement. Jack hides her grimace with a gulp of wine.

“Emma...” Pinocchio’s hand hovers awkwardly over her arm until she swats it away.

“I’m just curious, that’s all,” she insists. It has absolutely nothing to do with the wedding invitation sitting facedown on her dresser back home.

The man-puppet just shakes his head. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says. Emma almost believes him until she hears a soft creeeeak and sees the tip of his wooden nose slowly extending into view. “Lives like ours are full of ups and downs, but the important thing is to never stop trying to be good. As long as you believe in yourself and do your very best, everything will turn out... shit, fuck,” he breaks off, grabbing at his ever-lengthening nose. “Crap, does someone else want to take over? Anyone?”

“We’ve all been there,” says Lance. As Emma cringes, she sees a surprising amount of nodding around the table. Jack and Aladdin, she expected, but even Cruella bears a look of vague agreement. It’s all very heartwarming, and not at all what Emma asked for.

“Who cares?” she says, ignoring the wounded look on Lance’s face. “We all have terrible love lives, I get it.”

“Not me,” Aladdin pipes up, earning glares from every side. He just grins and rubs the back of his neck, clearly thinking of his headstrong, gorgeous princess girlfriend and their relationship that started with a lie before being rebuilt on mutual trust.

Emma suddenly feels the urge to throw something at the kid.

“All of us but Al have terrible love lives,” she amends, squashing the envious impulse. “But I... I’m over Regina. I’ve got to be. Holding on isn’t good for either of us, y’know? Honestly, I’m... glad she’s moving on. She deserves better than what I gave her, and I’m ready to let go.” Emma takes a deep breath. “Now tell me everything you’ve heard about her new fiancé.”

Lance sighs. Jack drinks. Aladdin watches one playing card suplex another into the tabletop.

“Well,” Cruella says, sounding bored, “he’s a prince, of course.”

“Of course,” echoes Emma.

“And a good-looking one, too,” adds Pinocchio. Emma glares at his nose, urging it to grow, but instead it actually starts to shrink. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “Tall, dark and handsome, the total package.”

Emma sits a little straighter, wondering how she’d look as a brunette.

“His kingdom has excellent trade ties,” is Lance’s reluctant contribution. “Not a bad match for anyone with a port.”

Emma mentally reviews what she’s learned about Snow and David’s economic network.

“I think I know who you mean,” says Aladdin. Is Emma the only one who hasn’t met this guy? “Jasmine told me about him. She said he’s never happy. Not mean, just... sad.”

“That’s him,” Jack confirms. “It’s too bad; he was such a cheerful kid. Then again, some people really like the dark and brooding type.”

Emma scowls.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” says Jack. “If you want us to pretend you’re over your ex, you should at least try to make it convincing.”

“And if you don’t want to pretend, that’s fine too,” Lance adds. “It’s normal to be upset when things don’t work out, especially when the cause is beyond your control. Like status, or honor, or her already being married to someone else...” The knight’s eyes lose focus, gazing mournfully off into the middle distance.

“Ignore him,” says Pinocchio. “Just try to think of this as a good thing. One less responsibility, one more step toward living a life with no strings, no shackles, nothing to hold you back from doing whatever your heart desires,” says the compulsive liar and gambler.

In search of a less depressing pep talk^[3], Emma looks to Aladdin, who just frowns. “Good luck,” he says. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if Jasmine and I hadn’t patched things up.” While this isn’t exactly helpful, Emma finds it oddly comforting.

She doesn’t even try to consult Cruella. Unfortunately, the baroness doesn’t wait to be asked.

“Don’t worry,” she drawls. “We won’t tell anyone about how deliciously desperate you are.”

Before Emma can think of a less desperate way to say ‘Yeah, but seriously don’t,’ a wet clatter distracts the group. They all turn to Jack, who is gazing blearily between the card in her left hand and the wineglass in her right. Judging from the puddle of alcohol spreading across the table, she’s finally drunk enough to forget which was which.

“Same time next week?” Lance wraps up the game as smoothly as he can, peeling a wine-stained card off the table. It coughs and clings to his fingers, shaking a tiny sword at Jack. “Emma, if you need any help getting her home...”

Emma shakes her head as she helps her aunt to her feet. She owes Jack for ending that excruciating conversation, and even if she didn’t, Emma has a soft spot for the old adventurer.

“Don’t worry about it. I already have a ride.”

. . .

The wind whistles past Emma’s ears as they make their way home, almost drowning out Jack’s rambling. The cool night air has helped sober her up—relatively speaking—and now Emma has no choice but to listen to her aunt’s take on the whole mess with Regina.

Well, not the whole mess. Like the rest of the world, Jack doesn’t know that the engagement began with Emma lying through her teeth, or that she and Regina had schemed to sabotage their own marriage before circumstances took the decision out of their hands. This makes it hard for Emma to take comfort from her aunt’s inebriated insistence that she did nothing wrong.

“Honestly, you dodged an arrow there,” Jack says with a wobbly nod. “Trust me, marrying a royal is like... like...” She chews her lower lip, clearly searching for a suitably severe comparison. “Like hosting a party,” she decides. “Seems like fun at first, but then you’re stuck with all the work while everyone else has fun, and whenever anything goes wrong you take all the blame.”

“Regina wouldn’t do that,” Emma says before she can stop herself.

“Blame you?”

“Let me help with the work.” Emma frowns, kicking at a passing branch. “When we were planning our wedding, she kept all the hardest parts for herself. And did a great job, obviously,” she feels compelled to add, “but it was like she didn’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

“She seems fun.”

“She was,” sighs Emma ignoring the sarcasm. “Watching her yell at calligraphers never got old.”

Jack gives her a funny look, though it could just be her trying to focus through the fog of wine. “What was I saying?” she mutters. “Oh right, marrying into royalty. It’s nothing but trouble,” she insists. “And the drama. Ugh. Royal weddings never go smoothly, and after that you’ll have to deal with your new in-laws...” Jack shudders. “Look, Emma, our family is complicated enough already. Why go looking for more noble nonsense to pile on?”

“Regina was great at dealing with noble nonsense,” Emma says glumly. “You’re right about the in-laws though.”

“I know things are rough right now,” Jack reaches over to give her knee a clumsy pat. “It’s always rough when an old flame moves on, or gets engaged to someone else, or decides to knock up every eligible widow in the Enchanted Forest...”

“You’re talking about Uncle James again.”

“Which proves m’ point!” says Jack, pointing at her with the wine bottle that’s suddenly appeared in her hands. Emma has no idea where she was keeping it. “You’ve gotta know when somebody’s too much trouble. After a certain point, it just isn’t worth it, an’ that’s when you need to get yourself out of there. You really got lucky this time.” She chuckles. “If I were you, I probably would’ve tried to ruin the engagement m’self.”

“Hah.” Stone-faced, Emma echoes her aunt’s amusement. “Yeah, what a crazy idea.”

Jack’s outlook on life is oozing with old hurts, almost childish in her clear longing for simplicity. It’s also uncomfortably similar to Emma’s—or at least a past version of her. Hearing Jack’s wine-tinted worldview forces Emma to reflect on how she’s changed since her first conversation with Regina, half a year and two kingdoms ago. She doesn’t really want to think about it, but with Jack busy mumbling into her bottle, Emma is more or less alone with her thoughts.

Back then, all Emma wanted was an easy payday and a vacation. Even as she found herself playing the part of a royal fiancé, she did all that she could to dodge the consequences of her own actions. Her days were spent avoiding suspicion and trying to blend into the background, doing her best to avoid anything resembling a hard conversation. At the time, Emma was terrified at the idea of accountability, of complications and connections that would hold her back from the life of easy freedom she thought she wanted. Those were problems for other people, she thought. People with families and responsibilities and actual life goals. People better than Emma.

 Like she told Regina, Emma knows her limits. Or at least she did half a year and two kingdoms ago. Now Emma has a family, technically. And responsibilities, more or less. As for goals... that’s still a work in progress, but at least she’s progressing. Emma may know her limits, but that doesn’t mean she can’t push them.

The thought of—shudder—self-improvement scares her much less than it used to. Now that she doesn’t have to worry about basic stuff like food and clothing and not being run out of town by an angry mob, Emma has had a lot more time to think about herself^[4]. She’s not surprised by how much of herself she wants to change—shockingly enough, a childhood of paranoia, trust issues and imposter syndrome was not helped by a decade of work as a literal imposter—but she is surprised by how much of herself she wants to keep. Her independence and cynicism grew out of necessity, but they’ve saved her ass more times than she can count. And while her personality still consists almost entirely of emotionally stunted sarcasm, at least some people seem to enjoy it.

One particular person flashes through her mind, and Emma bites her lip. As much as Regina liked to complain, she never even hinted that she wanted Emma to be anything other than what she was. She did make Emma want to grow, but only by setting an example that was impossible not to admire. Emma isn’t about to turn into an overambitious workaholic, but watching Regina be so unapologetically... Regina definitely left its mark.

If nothing else, Emma will suffer through any amount of introspection not to grow into Jack. As fond as she is of her ersatz aunt, the only example Jack sets is what not to do. But she’s very good at that.

When Emma turns back to her aunt, she winces. I definitely should have taken that bottle away. Any sobriety gained from the fresh air has vanished in the handful of minutes that Emma was distracted. The wine bottle is drained dry, and Jack’s drunken monologue has gained new energy as it swerves in an entirely different direction.

“D’you know what the worst part about being a hero is?” she says loudly, tugging on Emma’s jacket. “D’you, junior?”

Emma thinks for a moment, slightly concerned. This is a whole new level of drunk for Jack. The wedding talk must have brought up all kinds of painful memories.  

“The expectations?” she answers.

“What? No. S’all the murder.”

She frowns at Jack, who is gazing down at the passing treetops with a hung head. “Say again?”

“Giants can talk, y’know. Talk—talk like people. Act like people, too. There’re asshole ones and there’re decent ones. Even’re some nice ones.” Jack makes a face, her normally proud expression twisting into a grimace. “D’you know which ones I killed?”

Judging from her tone, Emma could guess, but Jack doesn’t make her.

“The rich ones,” the older woman answers her own question. “Bigger reward that way, y’see. Of course, some of ‘em were assholes too, but that’s not why I got ‘em.” Her head swings toward Emma, bobbing slightly. “Anyway, nobody cared,” she says, the words heavy. “Everyone knows giants’re monsters. Even though they act like people... It was easier to ignore back then,” Jack muses. “Must be ‘cause I was young and greedy and stupid. Mostly stupid. Stupider than you, even.”

 “Sorry?”

“At least dragons look scary. Giants just look like people but bigger. ‘N hairier, most of the time. Also they smell.”

“Oh, right.” Emma glances up at the darkness above her. She’s never actually killed a dragon, which means that Jack’s grapple with morality in monster-slaying is way beyond her. For a moment, Emma wonders if she could ever attack a dragon for real. Her long history with Lily... isn’t exactly a point in dragonkind’s favor, but it certainly proves just how human they can be. Not many people have that perspective.

“Dragons...” Jack says, eyes going hazy with memory. “Dragons don’t usually look like people, but they can. Did you know that?”

Emma frowns. “Yeah, I know. How do you?” One of the reasons ‘Dragon, Dragon!’ worked so well was the complete lack of stories about dragons changing form. Still, as a seasoned killer of things, it’s not that surprising that Jack would know more about them. Emma is mildly curious, but she doesn’t expect Jack’s answer, which is:

“I’m not supposed to tell youuu.” Jack trails off, head lolling.

“Tell me?” Eyes widening, Emma leans over to nudge her aunt’s shoulder. “Tell me what?”

“I’m not the only one who’s been mean t’monsters,” Jack slurs defensively, switching gears at the worst possible time. “I know lots’ve people who’ve did a bad once upon a time.”

“Tell me what, Jack?” Emma repeats, feeling tension coil around her. She doesn’t care who ‘did a bad.’ She cares about who told Jack to keep secrets from her! What could Jack possibly know that’s worth hiding? Who would care if she told Emma? And who would Jack even listen to? Emma doesn’t like where this line of questioning is going.

“Always acting sooo perfect,” continues Jack, her words growing more and more muddled as she picks up steam. “Like they’ve never made a mistake. We all fuck up sometimes!” she shouts at the treetops.

“Tell me what?” Emma can hear her own desperation, but she can’t just let this go. She doubts Jack will be this talkative once she sobers up.

“‘S... ‘s not fair,” the aged adventurer continues to rant, only pausing for the occasional hiccup. “Things always works out for e-vry-one but Jack. Why can’t other people be miserable sometimes too? They get everything, with their happy marriageses and their perfect rep’tation and that cute kid, too.” A pair of red-rimmed eyes suddenly swings toward Emma. “No, two kids now. Lucky bastards.”

“Were you talking about my... my Snow and David?”

“Lucky bastards,” agrees Jack, going limp with a groan.

Emma sits back, the tension curling in her gut. Jack has really given her a lot to think about tonight, hasn’t she? Emma’s honestly grateful, but she can’t bring herself to thank her aunt—not that Jack’s in any state to be thanked.

“Ooough.” Jack covers her mouth with one hand, the other still clutching the empty wine bottle. “How much longer ‘til we’re home?”

“Just a few minutes.” Emma gives her aunt a concerned look. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope, it’s just me,” is the darkly cheerful response. “Where’d you find this carriage, junior? ‘S the smoothest ride I’ve had in years. Makes the breeze feel nice and cool. Seats are a little hard, though.” She reaches up to knock her bottle against the backrest with a dull clink.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t—”

Before Emma can finish, Jack’s seat suddenly jerks, shaking the older woman from side to side. A moment later, a draconic head curls down to give Jack a warning snarl.

“Do that again, and I’m dropping you,” says Lily, talons flexing beneath her unruly passenger.

“So sorry, miss. Won’ happen again.” Just like she was when Lily picked them up, Jack is hammered enough to mistake the young dragon for a ‘funny-lookin’ carriage.’ Even now that they’re airborne, one of them cradled in each of Lily’s front claws[4], Emma’s aunt doesn’t seem to register the forest zipping past beneath their dangling feet.

[4] According to her, no self-respecting dragon would let a human on her back.

As Lily straightens her neck, Jack lets out a worrying sound. Her hand is back over her mouth, her other arm wrapped around her stomach. “How much longer now?” she asks, voice strained. “The ol' stomach isn’t happy with that bump we just hit.”

“Lily?” Emma calls. “You might want to fly faster.”

Chapter Text

“Are they here yet?”

“Nope.” Red stands aside, inviting Emma into the room. “Love the new hair, by the way.”

Emma grunts, running a hand through her chin-length bob. She’s not in the mood for flattery. Seeming to sense it, Red pats her shoulder as Emma strides past.

“Don’t worry, Emma. They’re on their way.”

“Wasn’t worried,” grumbles Emma, scanning the parlor. It’s as neutral as any room in the castle can get, meaning only one of David’s old swords is mounted on the wall and only three of Snow’s hand-painted birdhouses hang over the balcony. A few couches fill the center of the room, facing each other across a low table. The early afternoon sun streams through the windows, giving the scene a warm, cozy air. Emma wonders how long that will last.

“Sorry,” she hears, and turns back toward the door. Red has stopped Lily from entering the room, blocking Emma’s friend with a raised palm. “It sounds like this’ll be a... sensitive conversation, so we should keep it private. Family only.”

“She’s as much family as you are,” Emma objects.

“I don’t know about that,” says Lily, wrinkling her nose. “Your family’s a mess.” But her eyes narrow happily, her head ducking to hide a bashful curve of her lips.

“Cute,” Red says. “But orders are orders. Sorry, kid.”

“What orders?” demands Emma. “Did David or Snow tell you to keep her out?” Lily doesn’t speak up, but she doesn’t back down either, which is a huge improvement when it comes to Red.

“No, I’m ordering her.” Red jerks a thumb at Lily, who scowls. “She stays outside.”

The young dragon sets her jaw, squaring up to Red in the doorway. “Ems wants me here, so I’m staying,” Lily says. She’s clearly still intimidated by Red, so rigid that it looks like a stiff breeze could knock her over, but her shoulders are set, her fists clenched at her sides. Wherever she’s been for the last few months, it looks like it’s been good for her.

“Sure, you can stay. Outside.”

Lily visibly steels herself and... tries to wriggle past the older woman. “I don’t care what you—”

An arm bars her path as Red... well, it’s hard to describe the sound Red makes. Emma wants to call it a bark, but that would be like calling a megalodon a goldfish.

“I said NO.”

Red face twists, her jaws lengthening into an inhuman snout. Her hair seems to thicken, the dark curls growing thick and shaggy as her eyes gleam yellow as the harvest moon. Emma feels her heart leap in her chest, her hands coming up in pure instinctive terror. Is this what Lily felt all along? Red’s not even looking at her, and Emma still feels like prey. Still feels the urge to run, to hide, to lock the doors and bar the windows and huddle by the fire, far from the big, bad things that lurk in the woods.

Lily flinches, but hisses back, her pupils narrowing to draconic slits in a moment of fight or flight.

“I knew it.” In a blink, Red is back to normal; her eyes blue green, her hair soft and smooth. Her lipstick isn’t even smudged. The only evidence of her transformation is in Lily’s spooked expression, in the thunder of Emma’s pulse. “Come on in,” Red says, stepping out of the doorway. “Maybe you should hear this after all.”

Emma makes her way to a couch on wobbly knees. Lily walks around to sit on her other side, putting Emma between her and the door—and Red. Emma can’t blame her.

She’s still dazed when Snow and David arrive, but the shock slowly fades as Red ushers them in and starts serving tea and cookies from her picnic basket. When she catches Emma staring, she just winks and gives her a big, sharp smile.

“Th—” Emma coughs, her throat gone dry. “Sorry. Thanks for coming, Snow. David.”

“Of course!” Snow says.

David gives her an encouraging nod. “What is it, Emma? Red said it sounded important.”

“It is. It’s...” Emma thinks for a second. How to put this nicely? “Have you two ever committed any war crimes?”

David gasps. Snow tilts her head. “Can you be more specific?”

“Scary,” Lily says under her breath.

“Is this about how your mother and I liberated her kingdom?” asks David. “We didn’t tell the fairies to use so much fairy dust; they did that on their own. And we turned all the bugs back into people. Eventually.”

“No, no, that’s not it.” While a little concerning, that doesn’t have anything to do with Emma. Her gut tells her that Snow and David wouldn’t stop Jack from gossiping about some old dirty tactics. No, whatever they’re keeping from her must be personal. She just knows it. Emma’s been thinking about it all morning and only came up with a handful of options, each more farfetched than the last.

Lily bumps her side with an elbow, clumsy but comforting, and Emma zones back it. Bracing herself, she tries her first guess.

“Was I like, some kind of magic baby?”

“Of course!” Snow’s answer stops her cold. “Our little bundle of True Love,” she sighs. “It was just after the war, and we weren’t exactly trying, but, well...”

“Nope, not what I meant,” says Emma. “But I’m definitely yours, right? You didn’t like... kill a giant and then find out they had a baby, so you shrunk me down and pretended I was yours. Right?”

The baffled look on David and Snow’s faces answers that question for them. “Why would you even ask that?” he says.

“You’re definitely ours, Emma.” Snow’s gentle tone sharpens as she turns to David. “And it sounds like I need to have a talk with your sister-in-law.”

“Don’t lump me in with Jack! There’s nothing lawful about her and James.” David groans, rubbing his forehead. “Emma, is something wrong?”

That’s what she’s trying to find out! But Emma is getting less confident by the second. She hasn’t sensed a single lie from them yet. Maybe Jack was just drunk and jealous. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe, maybe, maybe... Emma forces herself to focus. Now that she’s dragged Snow and David here and started interrogating them, she can’t exactly back down. And Red definitely seemed to know what she was talking about, which means... What the hell does it mean? Emma has no idea, but she has to say something. They’re looking at her like she’s crazy.

“How did you lose me?” The thought bubbles up out of nowhere, but as soon as it does, Emma knows it’s the right one. David and Snow have been happy to talk about anything else, but never that, and Emma was happy to let it lie. It’s bound to be a sore spot, especially because the two of them are so perfect. She knows they were looking forward to raising her, knows that they would’ve done everything to keep her safe, especially right after the war, so how?

“How did you lose me?” she asks again. Even the way they react is telling. They both go perfectly still, guilt all over their faces. Emma’s seen it before, but she assumed it was guilt over failing her, over not protecting her well enough. Now, though, she looks closer, Jack’s words fresh in her mind, and sees differently. This isn’t guilt over something they didn’t do. It’s guilt over something they did.

“We...” Snow starts, then stops just as quickly. Her eyes are pained as she looks to David, who takes her hand with a grim look of his own. “We should start at the beginning,” says Snow. “As I said, it was just after the war for our kingdom...”

Emma feels suddenly scared as Snow goes on, telling them about prophecies and oracles, of visions of darkness in Emma’s future. Snow and David were younger then, with no shortage of enemies and the struggle for their thrones fresh in their mind. A sorcerer promised the desperate couple that he could remove that potential from Emma... but it needed somewhere to go.

“You said I was kidnapped,” someone says. Emma only realizes it’s her when Snow and David meet her gaze, their eyes filled with regret.

“It was easier to let you think that,” Snow says, looking away. “A kidnapping separated us, it’s true, but...” She trails off, shame filling her face.

“We had no idea there was a baby in that egg.” David says solemnly. “In hindsight, all Maleficent’s screaming and roaring should have been a hint, but dragons are always territorial, and... and we didn’t want to hear it,” he admits. “I’m not trying to make excuses,” he says to Lily, who looks sick. “We’re the ones who made a terrible mistake—no, a terrible choice that day, but you’re the one who’s suffered for it.”

Emma thinks back to her and David’s first meeting, when he was unusually tolerant of the dragon poking around his kingdom. He hadn’t set a bounty until he thought he had no other choice. She thinks of how Snow and David have treated Lily since she followed Emma back to the castle after the tournament. Emma thought their wary tolerance was just them being ashamed of her checkered past, but now she knows that it wasn’t her shame they had in mind, but their own.

Even today, David and Snow have barely looked at Lily until now. Had they known right away? Emma feels like she’s falling. She always thought Snow and David were too good to be true, but she never wanted to be proven this right.

“To be fair,” Red pipes up, “dragons are like chickens. Most of their eggs aren’t... armed, you know?”

“How would I know that?” says Lily, her voice colder than Emma’s ever heard it. “Thanks to them, all my dragoning is self-taught.”

Now it’s Emma’s turn to support her friend, finding Lily’s limp hand and squeezing until she squeezes back. They sit in silence as Snow and David wrap up their tale of panicking parents, an angry dragon, and a ritual gone wrong, flinging baby Emma and hatchling Lily across the Enchanted Forest.

When it ends, Emma’s surprised to realize that she’s honestly not even that angry—for herself, anyway. She’s plenty pissed on Lily’s behalf. Her partner is still disturbingly quiet, all the usual insolence replaced by blank eyes and a clenched jaw. Emma knows that look. Lily is thinking.

She can certainly understand that. Emma’s own thoughts and feelings are still racing around her head in a wild relay of emotion. Despite learning that her shitty life was David and Snow’s own stupid fault^[1], she’s not nearly as mad as she wants to be. Instead, she’s just disappointed, which everyone knows is worse... except when you’ve been subconsciously putting your long-lost royal parents on a pedestal so tall that it was about to breach the stratosphere.

The strongest thing Emma feels is, weirdly, relief. All her life, she’s learned that no one can be perfect. Emma sure isn’t. But ever since meeting Snow and David, it’s been impossible for her to think of them as anything else. They were her parents, the ones she dreamt of for so many years, and pretended not to dream of for so many more. They were kind, they were royalty, and they were looking for her. It was everything that a younger Emma wanted, and everything that an older Emma had learned she would never have. How could they be anything less than flawless? And coming here, surrounded by this perfect family in their perfect castle in their perfect kingdom... No matter how welcoming everyone was, how patient David and Snow acted, all it did was prove that Emma would never belong here.

But now she knows that they truly are as much of a mess as she is. It’s probably not healthy, but learning what a pair of fuckups her parents are is the most productive thing to happen to their relationship since she moved in.

Snow and David watch Emma and Lily brood for over a minute before taking the hint and getting out. Red goes with them, but is smart enough to leave the tea and snacks behind. A few moments after the door closes behind them, Emma reaches for a biscuit and feels Lily shift beside her.

“Do you mind?” her friend says. “I’m trying to angst over here.”

“Sorry. Do you want one?”

“Obviously.”

The crunching of Red’s unfairly delicious baked goods fills the room for several minutes.

“Maleficent,” Lily says eventually. “That must be my mom, right? I wonder what she’s like.”

“Can’t be worse than mine.”

“Oh, stop it,” snaps Lily. So this is what Emma gets for showing a little loyalty? “Oh no, my parents wanted me to live my best life so much they tried to sacrifice a baby to make it happen. Poor you.”

“You’re being sarcastic, but you realize that’s a bad thing, right?”

“Maybe for the baby.”

“You were the baby.”

“And you were their baby,” retorts Lily. “Honestly, you could do worse. I wouldn’t think they had it in them.”

Emma stares at her. Maybe Lily has a point? If you look at what Snow and David did from a certain point of view...

“Nope,” she decides. “They’re nuts, and so are you.” Lily rolls her eyes, but without her usual flair. “Lily, seriously, how are you feeling? I swear I had no idea this would be so personal—for you, I mean. I thought it would just suck for me, and that was fine, but—”

Lily cuts her off with a pat on the knee. “I’m okay, Ems. I always knew I was messed up, but at least now I know what’s wrong with me. I’ve got two people’s worth of ‘darkness’ inside me, whatever the hell that means.”

“Don’t be stupid,” says Emma, shifting to look her friend in the eye.

“Wow.”

“You’re not messed up, you’re the best,” Emma informs her. “There’s nothing wrong with you apart from your shitty personality.”

“Wow. I feel better already.” Lily almost cracks a smile. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you””

“Well you did ditch me back in Regina’s castle,” says Emma. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I guess it’s all that extra evil in me.”

“Would you stop that?” Emma raises one finger. “First of all, that sorcerer clearly didn’t know what he was talking about, because we both turned out fine.”

Lily holds up a cookie. “Sure, just fine. Which is why we’re eating our feelings in your parent’s house.”

“Second,” says Emma, ignoring her, “the stupid ritual was screwed up anyway, so who knows what it did to you.”

“You’re right, that’s so much better.”

“And even if it wasn’t, so what if you have two babies’ worth of evil inside you? How evil can a baby be, really?”

“I really don’t think that’s how any of it works,” says Lily, but she clearly appreciates the attempt.

Emma lets herself sag back into the couch, satisfied that her friend is at least a little less likely to descend into depression. “Lily,” she says after a minute. “Are we... okay?”

Lily looks at her, and Emma finds herself examining the dragon’s golden eyes. They look exhausted, for obvious reasons, but beneath the recent trauma, Lily actually looks... stable? Emma’s not sure, but only because she’s never seen her friend like this before.

“Where were you?” she asks, sitting up. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but it looks good on you. Maybe you were right; we should’ve just taken a vacation.”

Lily shrugs, then sighs. “Yeah, you really should listen to me more. But then I guess you wouldn’t have met your girl, and I wouldn’t have... found out how much your folks screwed me over.”

“Regina’s not...” The scraps of Emma’s good mood vanish at the reminder. “You know how that turned out.”

“So you’re really giving up?” Lily clicks her tongue. “That’s a shame. I don’t want to owe Zelena money.”

Emma can only make a helpless gesture. “I just don’t know, Lil. Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to tell me something, but now she’s engaged and wait what does Zelena have to do with this?”

“Well you asked where I’ve been, didn’t you?”

“You’ve been with—” A pit of horror opens in Emma’s stomach. “You’ve been with Zelena? For how long?”

Lily looks away. Is she actually blushing? No, Emma doesn’t like this at all. “That’s not important,” Lily says.

“Oh yes it is. Zelena?” Emma glares at her friend. “Wait, she paid you to rough me up in the joust, didn’t she? How can you like someone like her?”

“She did not!” objects Lily. “She just asked. I did it for free.”

“Never mind, I see it now. You two are perfect for each other.”

Lily laughs, and to Emma’s shock, pulls her into a hug. “Now we’re okay,” she whispers into Emma’s ear.

She relaxes, but only for a moment. “Hold on, you didn’t know what Snow and David did when you did that.”

“Details,” says Lily, leaving an arm around Emma’s shoulder as she ends the hug. “But we were talking about your problems, not mine.”

“Were we?”

“We were.”

Emma gives up. “Fine,” she says, thinking of the invitation on her dresser. It’s very tasteful, silver ink on a sea-green card with just a touch of decoration. She hates it, but can’t throw it away. “What do you want me to say, Lily? That I’m still half in love with Regina? Everyone already knows that.”

“Does Regina?”

“Of course she does.” Emma hesitates. “Probably. It doesn’t matter. I’m not the one who’s engaged.”

Lily examines her nails. On the bright side, needling Emma has cheered her right up. “Right, that makes sense,” she says. “It’s not like she has a history of broken engagements or anything.”

Emma opens her mouth to object, then narrows her eyes as suspicion strikes. “What do you know, Lily?” The words are sharp, but only on the outside. Privately, Emma is more than ready to be convinced.

“I know you, Ems. I know you’ve been scared to make the first move your whole life. And I know that this time, you’re really going to regret it.”

“I...” There’s nothing Emma can say to that. Lily’s always known her a little too well. “Crap,” she mutters, but inside she feels a surge of anticipation.

She was scared, it’s true; scared enough to convince herself that going to Regina would bring nothing but more hurt. Scared enough to ignore all the hints she’s dropped and the moments they’ve shared, the sense deep in her gut that things can’t possibly end like this. She’s been building her dam of denial ever since she learned of Regina’s engagement, stacking up excuse after excuse to hold back thousands of gallons of stupid, stubborn hope.

She’s still scared. No matter what Lily says, no matter what Emma believes, she knows that there’s no way this doesn’t end in a massive mess.

“You’ve gotta know when somebody’s too much trouble.” Jack’s advice rings in her ears, and Emma doesn’t disagree.

She stands up, thinking back to an unexpected engagement and unhinged in-laws. To giant eels and creepy statue gardens. To hard conversations, awkward encounters, and so many times that she couldn’t say the right thing if her life depended on it.

The thing is, Regina’s always been too much trouble, and Emma... Emma’s built up a tolerance.

Lily’s eyes shine with anticipation. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“Oh, Emma. You can cry in front of me, y’know.”

“Not to cry! The wedding invitation’s in there.”

“So...”

Halfway to the door, Emma turns back to aim a finger at her partner.

“If you’re wrong about this, I’m killing you for real this time.”

. . .

The invitation isn’t the only thing waiting for her. As Emma approaches her room, she’s surprised to see David and Snow waiting outside with clasped hands and sad eyes.

“Emma, we’re so sorry,” Snow begins as Emma reaches for her door.

“Apologize to Lily first. I’m... fine.”

“Are you?” David’s voice is mild, but there’s a hint of frustration in his words. “You’ve been ‘fine’ since you came here, Emma. It’s not healthy to keep everything inside.”

“Oh, and trying to suck out your baby daughter’s bad side is totally normal behavior?” Even Emma’s surprised at her outburst. Snow and David draw back, then nod almost encouragingly.

“We were wrong,” says Snow, barely stopping herself from reaching for Emma’s hand. “You must be so angry with us, and that’s okay! We’ll do whatever it takes, wait however long you need to consider forgiving us.”

“You’re great at that,” Emma hears herself say, one hand still clenched around her doorknob. “Waiting.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always waiting!” the words burst out of her as she spins to face them. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to deal with this”—she waves a hand between the three of them—“any more than you do. Can’t you just... tell me how to make you happy?”

“We don’t want to be controlling,” Snow says. “We want you to do what you want to do.”

“I want to leave,” snaps Emma. “Lily and I have somewhere to go.”

In the corner of her eyes, she sees them exchange a long look. Then:

“If that’s what you need,” David says gently. They’re always so gentle, so calm. Soft enough to drown in. Do they even care what Emma does?

“Do you even want me here?” she asks.

“Of course we do!”

“We’re only trying to give you space.” Snow and David both answer at once.

“Well, you’re great at that.” Emma has so much space she feels like she’s suffocating in the vacuum. “You—I’m not a kid, but I’m not... I’ve never had parents,” she says, her voice dropping, “and it still doesn’t feel like I do. Parents aren’t supposed to be this... easy.”

“This doesn’t feel easy,” mutters David, then winces as Snow squeezes his hand.

“What do you want from us?” she asks, frowning. “I promise we’re trying. We just don’t want to push you away.”

“I’m not going to run away!”

“You just said you wanted to leave,” Snow points out.

“Not, like, forever.”

“Emma, how are we supposed to know what you mean if you don’t tell us?” David looks as clueless as Emma feels, which is comforting but also inexplicably irritating.

“You’re my parents!” she cries. “Isn’t that your job?” They flinch, and Emma reins herself in, feeling her face burn as Snow and David trade another glance.

“What?” she demands, rubbing the back of her neck. “Why do you look so happy?”

“You’ve never called us your parents before.”

“Yeah, well... yeah.” Emma clears her throat. “It’s what you are. I just... I just wish you’d act like it more. Like you do with Neal.”

“Oh?” Snow raises a dangerous eyebrow. “Do you want to be scolded for not finishing your times tables?”

“Yes! No. Not exactly.” Emma feels the urge to throw up her hands. “I just want to know when I’m doing something wrong. You won’t scare me off with a few lectures, or whatever. Come on, stop holding back! There has to be something you don’t like about me.”

“Of course not, you’re our daughter,” David says at the same time that Snow says, “Well...”

They both turn to look at her.

“You’ve been here for three months,” Snow exclaims. “And how many times have we had a conversation with you that we didn’t start?”

Emma tries to think back. There must have been a few times, she just can’t recall right now...

“Five times?”

“No guessing! It’s once,” says Snow. “Today.”

“That’s not fair,” mumbles Emma.

“You wanted to be scolded, didn’t you?”

“That’s not what I said.” She turns to David. “Well, what about you? Anything?”

“Honestly, no. You’ve been wonderful while you were here.” There’s something about the way he says that that makes Emma pause.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. As long as you and Lily aren’t going out to extort another kingdom.”

Emma freezes.

“You... knew about that,” she says once she regains her voice.

“Not at the time,” says Snow. “Red mentioned some theories after she met you two, and we did our own research from there.”

So they’ve still known for a while. Even before Emma came to live here, which means this whole time...

“You knew what I was?” she whispers. “And you still...” Loved me? She can’t bring herself to finish. Seriously, this whole time?

“It’s not like we’ve never made mistakes,” David chuckles, earning a sharp look from them both. “Sorry, too soon.”

“But I...” Emma pauses, still frowning. “I robbed a lot of people.”

“You stole from a lot of people. Robbery implies harm. If you’d hurt anyone, we’d be having a very different conversation.” Snow looks stern, but she almost sounds impressed. “However, you didn’t. I have to admit, it’s impressive that you two were able to go on as long as you did.”

Emma ducks her head, fighting a blush. “There were some close calls,” she admits. “We pulled it off every time, though. And now that I’m here, I guess it doesn’t matter if anyone realizes what happened.”

“Oh, you’re right,” David muses. “I didn’t think of that. What if someone does track you down?”

“Um.”

“We can’t let them think we support this kind of behavior,” Snow chimes in.

“Actually, never mind—”

“No no, I’m glad you brought this up,” says David. “It’s good that you’re taking responsibility.”

“I am?”

“So I think a week should be enough.”

“A week,” Emma echoes.

“Yes.” David smiles. “You’re grounded.”

“You can’t do that! The wedding is the day after—” Emma cuts herself off. She refuses to confess to her parents before Regina herself. “Maybe after I get back?” she tries.

“I thought this is what you wanted?” Snow looks like she’s enjoying this far too much. “Don’t worry, Emma. From now on, we won’t hold back.”

Emma looks at her, then at David. They’re still as soft as ever, but for the first time, she sees the iron will beneath. Just her luck, her parents are as stubborn as she is.

“Whatever,” she grunts, finally yanking open the door to her room. She doesn’t slam it behind her, because she’s not an actual teenager, but she does close it very firmly.

“Great timing, Mom and Dad.” Emma slouches back against the door with a sigh. When she looks up, she sees the wedding invitation mocking her from atop her dresser. And also Lily, mocking her from atop her balcony railing.

“Sounds like it went well.”

“Shut up, Lily. We’re leaving.”

“But you’re supposed to be grounded,” her friend snickers. Emma tries to ignore her, packing as fast as she can. What do you wear to crash a wedding? Oh, of course.

She checks the invitation for the dress code.

“Is having parents everything you dreamed of?” Lily’s still at it when Emma finishes, lying on the parapet with her head propped on one hand.

“No,” Emma says, striding over. “Not yet. But we’re getting there.”

Then she pushes Lily off the balcony.

As her friend’s yelp fades into the distance, Emma feels herself start to smile. Her parents are going to be so mad when she gets back. She can’t wait.

A moment later, the pump of scaly wings echoes off the tower walls. “Dragon!” someone screams. “DRAGON!”

Lily’s enormous eye rises into view before the panic can spread. With a playful snap of her fangs, she scoops Emma into one claw and curves away from the balcony to glide over the castle grounds.

“Nice place,” the dragon’s voice rumbles in her chest. “Those rooves look real flammable.”

Emma slaps her on the talon. “Maybe next time. We have a wedding to ruin.”

Chapter Text

Even as the dragon flies, it takes over a day to reach the site of Regina’s impending nuptials. The wedding is being hosted by her—ugh—fiancé in his kingdom’s capital, a bustling seaside city that’s clearly looking forward to the occasion.

It’s growing dark when Emma and Lily enter the capital, eyeing the decorations that festoon every eave and awning. Flags of every color hang in strings along the streets, and tinted lanterns bathe the sandy cobbles in blue-green light. Emma has to resist the urge to hold her breath, feeling like she’s walking across the ocean floor. The city’s echoey acoustics only deepen that sensation, distant conversations bouncing off the smooth stucco walls to reach her ears.

She doesn’t like what she hears.

“—can’t wait for the wedding!” squeals a starry-eyed shopkeep. “It’s about time our prince found someone who makes him happy.”

“... the most we’ve seen the lad smile in years,” Emma overhears from a leathery sailor holding court outside a taverna. “Ever since that shipwreck—”

“—Eric was never quite the same, but now...”

“... walking on air whenever he comes back from visiting—”

 “Princess Regina, wasn’t that her name?” she hears a passing shopper sigh. “She must be a lovely, gentle soul, I just know it.”

Sadly, Emma doesn’t have time to tell them how wrong they are. She’s too busy eyeing the castle that looms at the end of the main street, perched between the city and the sea. Even from this distance, she can see the guards patrolling the walls—and past them, the glow of a celebration spilling out the windows. She can practically feel the joy of an entire kingdom all around her, and she hates it.

“Where are you going?” Lily pulls her to a stop halfway up the main street. “Aren’t we going to find somewhere to sleep?”

“Do you think you can fly me over the walls once it gets dark enough?” muses Emma. “After that, I should be fine. I just need to find out where she’s staying...”

“Of course I can,” Lily interrupts her with a scoff. “But why should I?”

“Because I’m your best friend?”

“My best friend who I just flew halfway across the Enchanted Forest. I’m tired,” Lily whines.

“Please, Lily. I need—”

“You need a good night’s sleep,” says Lily. “Your eyes look puffy enough already.”

“They’re not—” Emma pokes at her own face. “Wait, don’t change the subject. Please, Lily, Regina’s right there.”

“It’s not like we don’t know where she’ll be tomorrow.” Lily nods toward the invitation tucked into Emma’s jacket. “What’s the point of bringing that thing if you’re just going to sneak in?”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow,” pleads Emma. “What if I don’t convince her in time?”

Lily sighs, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders. “Do you even know what you’re going to say?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then tell me.”

Emma glances at the people all around them, then back at Lily, feeling her cheeks go hot. “I don’t want to.”

“Well, I’m convinced.” Lily’s grip tightens as she starts to guide them through the streets. “Let’s go.”

Emma doesn’t resist, her mind still spinning from the unexpected challenge. Obviously she knows what she wants to tell Regina. Nothing but the truth: that Emma hasn’t been able to get her out of her head since their engagement imploded.

Hmm. Putting it into words, it’s not exactly convincing. Emma shakes her head. She’ll apologize too, naturally. And grovel. Regina loves seeing her enemies grovel. Not that they’re enemies anymore, right? They fought off that gorgon together, and Regina didn’t abandon Emma to a cruel half-life as a cursed garden statue, so they must be back to frenemies, at least. Rivals, max.

Oh great, now Emma’s stomach hurts. She feels Lily stop walking, and looks up.

“This isn’t the castle.”

“No, this is an inn,” her friend confirms. “Now are you going to slow down, or am I going to have to make you?”

Emma sighs, reaching for the door. “I hate it when you’re the responsible one,” she says.

. . .

Even after she’s in bed and the streets outside have gone quiet, Emma can’t fall asleep.

It’s her own thoughts that are the problem, racing around her head in a whirlpool of doubt and determination with Regina at the center of it all. Emma knows what she wants to tell her, more or less, but she’s far less certain that Regina will want to hear it. She can’t stop thinking back to their encounters over the last few months, going over each exchange with a level of focus that comes only with desperation. For a moment, Emma feels certain that there’s a message there, something she can’t quite piece together. Then the doubts crash over her, sending her tumbling like so much flotsam and jetsam, whispering that she’s only seeing what she wants to see.

When Emma’s eyes snap open to see the pink light of dawn painting stripes across the ceiling, she’s not sure if she slept at all. She must have, but it doesn’t feel like it. Head bleary, it takes a moment for her to realize what woke her: the quiet rasp of a hinge as someone inches open their room’s window.

A few minutes later, Emma is tailing Lily through the sleepy city, wondering if her friend is really going where she thinks she is. When Lily takes a turn leading away from the castle, Emma lets out a sigh of relief, feeling a little guilty for suspecting her. Lily’s probably just getting them breakfast or something^[1].

“So you showed up after all.”

Green smoke drifts past Emma’s legs as a figure appears behind her with a soft puff. She closes her eyes and takes a bracing breath before turning to face Zelena, who looks incredibly annoyed by the sight of her. She must be in a good mood.

“And with a new look!” The crown princess flicks a finger at Emma’s hair. “How cliché.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, Zelena.”

“Why would I?”

“What did I tell you?” Lily strolls back around the corner, an extra swagger in her step as she joins them. “Ems is the best kind of stubborn.”

Emma can see the hostility drain from Zelena’s face in real time as she glances toward Lily. The slightest flush fills the redhead’s cheeks, her cruel features melting into a soft expression that Emma would never even imagine her making before today. “Oh, and you had nothing to do with it, did you?”

“I can’t help it if I bring out the best in people.” Lily sticks out a hand. “Now where’s my prize?”

With a sniff, Zelena reaches out, and—Well, Emma blinks, thank god, and by the time her vision clears, the two of them are pulling apart with swollen lips and satisfied expressions. Zelena sneers at her, but the expression melts when Lily darts back in for a peck on her cheek.

“Well, hero, best of luck,” says the crown princess, slipping an arm around Lily and preparing to snap her fingers. “Not that I think you’ll succeed, of course, but I’m supposed to act civil now^[2].”

“Wait!” Emma says. “If you feel like being helpful for once, can you drop me at the castle?”

Zelena grins nastily. “Drop, you say?”

“Will you take me there or not?”

The redhead twists her mouth until Lily clears her throat and whispers something in her ear. Zelena lights up, then rolls her eyes at Emma. “Oh—”

Click.

Puff.

“—very well,” she groans, lowering her hand. Emma stumbles as they appear on the castle grounds, bracing herself on the cool white wall beside her.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely. “I know we haven’t always...” She looks up to see Lily pinning Zelena against the wall, only one hand visible between the two of them. “... gotten along,” finishes Emma. “But thanks.”

Zelena surfaces with a soft smack of lips. “You owe me,” she says as Lily tugs them away from the building.

“Where are you going?” Emma asks before reconsidering. “Actually, never mind, I’ve already thought more about you two than I ever wanted to.”

“Just for that, you can find the right window yourself,” Zelena calls over her shoulder.

The right—Emma looks up. “There’s like fifty windows!”

“And that’s only on this side. It is a castle, you know. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it after a dozen or two.”

They’re gone before Emma can answer, vanishing in another puff of green smoke. With a swallowed curse and a flex of her hands, she starts climbing.

It doesn’t take long for her to reach the window directly above her, which is really more like a balcony. Pulling herself up, Emma peeks over the parapet and sees—She nearly slips as her hands start to sweat. A figure stands across the room, her back to Emma. She’s humming to herself, swaying slightly in a sunbeam. The sunrise turns her dress a fiery orange, but when she moves out of the light, Emma can see its true color: a stark, terrifying white.

The wedding dress is truly one worthy of a princess, from the wide, sweeping skirt to the immaculately embroidered veil. A sweetheart neckline reveals a pale flash of shoulder above two puffed-out sleeves that float about her upper arms before tucking in for a closer fit from elbow to wrist. The veil reaches nearly to the floor, but with a step to one side, Emma catches a glimpse of the tailored bodice that completes the striking silhouette of a ball gown.

Wait, when did she climb onto the balcony? Emma swallows. For all her rush, she suddenly feels like things are moving too fast. What are the odds that the first window she tried would be the right one? She scowls. Zelena. Even when she’s helping, she’s terrible.

Fueled by that spark of irritation, Emma stands up straight and steps into the room. With only a moment’s hesitation, she opens her mouth to—

“Ser Swan, what are you doing here?”

Her head swings to the left. Oh look, a walk-in closet. How nice. Also, Regina.

Regina?

The woman in the wedding dress turns around, sees her, and waves. “Emma! Hi!”

“Ariel? You talk now!”

The young redhead holds up what was in her hands. It’s a necklace with a familiar-looking seashell pendant. “Regina fixed it,” she explains happily. “I owe her so much, especially for tod—”

“Never mind that,” Regina herself is suddenly right next to Emma, eyes burning into the side of her face. “What are you doing here, Ser Swan? You’re not... You can’t be here.”

She pulls out the invitation. “Then why did you invite me?”

“I didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

Emma braces herself. “Didn’t expect, or didn’t want?”

Something flickers across Regina’s face before the noble mask slams back down. “I don’t have time for distractions today, Ser Swan. I don’t know why you’re here, but you’ve made your feelings quite clear, so please just... stay out of the way.”

“What are you talking about? That’s what I’m here to do.”

“Keep out of my way?”

“No, to tell you... how... I feel,” Emma feels herself flounder, momentum grinding to a halt. “Wait, what do you mean I made myself clear?”

Regina studies her face, then pivots to pace across the room with a strangled noise. “I knew you didn’t understand me. But you were so sure, weren’t you? I was ‘pretty obvious about it’ was I? Clearly not obvious enough!”

Oh. She’s talking about what they said at the tournament—before they wandered into the woods and almost got themselves statuefied. Setting aside the ridiculousness of calling Emma sure about anything, she’s relieved to hear that Regina truly was trying to send her a message.

“Tell me, Ser Swan.” Unfortunately, the princess doesn’t share her satisfaction. “When we first spoke at that ball, what exactly did you think I meant?”

“Just—just what you said,” Emma says, backing away. “You didn’t want anything to do with me, you could finally tell everyone how much you hated me, I was never good enough for you anyway...” Wait, she might have added that last one.

“What I said,” says Regina, enunciating every word with surgical care, “was that I could finally tell you how opposed I am to our union. Did you read anything from my words besides the obvious?”

Emma draws herself up. “Of course I thought it was weird. You never shut up about that.” It’s almost comforting to see the vein bulge in Regina’s forehead again. “But... But!” she continues, “Then I asked if you were extremely opposed, like you always said, and you said it was way worse than that.”

“Not even close,” snaps Regina.

“Me?”

“That’s what I actually said: Not. Even. Close.” Regina rubs her temples, muttering something that sounds like, and she said she could take a hint?

Well if ‘extremely opposed’ wasn’t right, then where did Emma go wrong? Apparently ‘even more extremely opposed’ is wrong too, so what’s even left? Something far from opposed, but not worse according to Regina... Not worse, which means...

“How the hell was I supposed to understand that?” Emma cries. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted... I mean, if you did want...”

“In front of the worst gossips in the Enchanted Forest?” Regina’s voice is dismissive, but the mask is shaking, her lips twitching as her eyes dart to Emma, then away, then back again. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, my dearest Emma, even after you extorted my father and lied to me throughout our engagement, I stupidly can’t bring myself to hate you?’ Or maybe, ‘Ser Swan, as long as it’s been and as hard as I try, somehow I can think of no one else I’d rather spend my life with?’ Would that have been understandable enough for you?”

Emma realizes her mouth is hanging open, and snaps it shut. “That would’ve been nice,” she murmurs.

“Emma,” Regina says, stepping closer to lock their eyes. “Even after you swindled your way into my life and stumbled your way out of it, I never hated you. When you told me everything you hid from me, I... I wasn’t pleased,” she says dryly. “Was I surprised? Well, no. You know I always had my suspicions. Was I hurt? More than I expected.” Her voice falls. “So much more.”

“Regina, I’m so sorry.”

“Was I angry?” Regina goes on, her hands finding their way into Emma’s. “Yes. Not because I hated you, but because I didn’t. Because I couldn’t stop thinking of you, missing you. Trusting you.”

Emma feels smooth fingers lace with hers, smells an almost forgotten scent of apples and something that she hasn’t been able to call loathing, not for a long time. “To do what?” she breathes, an answering gasp tickling her chin.

“I... I don’t know,” a smile blooms on Regina’s lips. “Maybe what you’re doing right now?”

Their second kiss is smoother than the first. Softer, but no less passionate. The morning sun pours through the windows to warm Emma’s already flaming cheeks, to turn the inside of her eyelids a blazing red, but none of that compares to the heat that pours from Regina’s lips into hers. Their hands are still clasped between them, clinging tight as they both lean in. They sink into each other, lips saying all the things their lungs are too clumsy to manage, stripping away the conflict and the confusion until they’re left with nothing but a single shared heartbeat and understanding at long last.

When they pull apart, Regina reaches up, thumbs brushing the damp corners of Emma’s eyes. “You cut your hair,” she says, her own gaze sparkling.

“Whose fault is that?” Emma rasps, her cheeks filling Regina’s palms as she smiles.

“I’m not complaining.”

“Ahhh,” a sigh reaches their ears. “I’m so happy for you,” says Ariel, wiping her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how sad she’s been, Emma. It was like—”

“Why are you still here, Ariel?” Regina asks as politely as she can, her eyes boring into the girl with deadly intent.

Ariel just smiles and spins, veil fanning out perfectly as she twirls. “I can’t go out there,” she giggles. “Eric might see me, and that’s bad luck to you land people, isn’t it?”

Land people? Emma cocks her head, studying the smiling girl. Oh yeah, why is she the one in the wedding dress? She sends Regina a questioning look, making her sigh.

“She’s right,” she says, hands lingering on Emma’s face as she steps back. “There’s still so much to do.”

“Can I help?”

“You—” Regina considers for a moment, head tilting as her lips start to curve. “Yes,” she says at last. “I know just what you can do.”

. . .

“You really came,” says Lance, patting her on the shoulder. “Good for you.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot.” Emma suddenly turns to look behind her, and a small swarm of gossips scatter like cockroaches. One of them hustles over to the family section, from whence Regina’s father radiates severe disapproval in Emma’s general direction.

“Well I think you’re really, uh, brave.”

“Thanks, Al.”

“I couldn’t agree mo—ohno.” Pinocchio twists away, shielding his nose behind his hands. It doesn’t take long for him to run out of hands. “It’s not like that,” he insists as Lance sadly shakes his head. “Just... why would you do this to yourself, Swan?”

She holds up a drumstick. “Free food?”

None of them buy it, but that’s fine, because the more attention she has, the less Regina and Ariel have to worry about. Splitting from the group, Emma takes a few more laps around the grand pavilion, admiring the ocean view between the venue’s columns. The ceremony itself is set to take place past the edge of the pavilion, on an extension that juts out over the sea itself.

The food is great, the air is fresh and salty, and her head still buzzes with the sensation of Regina’s lips on hers. Emma is having a great time. The barely restrained outrage from Regina’s father is just the bow on top of this perfect summer wedding.

Eventually, people start to take their places and Emma gets her first real look at Regina’s so-called fiancé. He’s not that handsome, but Ariel loves him, and the feeling is mutual, so she guesses she won’t have to hate him anymore. With Zelena and Lily still nowhere to be found, Prince Eric is the only other person who’s in on the plan, but his part is simple; all he has to do is marry the girl of his dreams. Some people get all the luck, and from the way he’s beaming, he knows it.

Music drifts through the air, and the guests rise as the bride starts her walk down the aisle. Regina’s father is clearly on high alert, the old king scanning the audience until he zeroes in on Emma at the end of one row. He glares, she waves, and the king doesn’t even notice the lock of red hair that Ariel quickly tucks back behind her veil.

Careful not to alert the king, Emma makes a scan of her own. Regina didn’t tell her where she’d be, but Emma knows her well enough to be sure she’s nearby. If Regina is going to scuttle her own wedding, there’s no way she’s missing the show.

Apparently Emma’s looking around too much, because the old lady next to her keeps jabbing her with surprisingly strong fingers. Emma ignores her for as long as she can, but when she finally turns to apologize, she instantly recognizes the eyes in that aged face.

“Regina?” she whispers.

The old woman winks. Magic, Emma silently groans. Still doesn’t make any sense, but it sure is convenient.

They turn back to the altar just in time to see the ring slide home on Ariel’s finger. With a happy squeak, she practically leaps into Eric’s arms, which is when the king finally notices his youngest daughter has turned into a redhead.

“What is the meaning of this!” he calls, squinting at the newly married couple. “Is that—Are you my daughter’s maid?”

The audience gasps and Eric moves to shield his bride. Ariel meets Regina’s eye across the crowd.

“This is unacceptable.” The king looks to Eric’s parents, who seem more confused than concerned, before swinging back to Ariel. “What have you done to my daughter?” he asks far too mildly, looking more embarrassed than concerned as he shakes his head. “You must know that your ‘marriage’ will never be recognized. Who put you up to this, girl? Who would dare...”

Emma can see him tense up all the way from her seat.

“You!” His goatee bristles as he whirls around to point straight at her. “Haven’t you humiliated my family enough? How could you stoop so low?”

“I really didn’t,” she calls back.

Shockingly, he doesn’t listen. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this,” the king moans, “but whatever you’re hoping to achieve, it won’t work. No one will stand for this. No one will stand for her.”

“You’re wrong.” With a flash of purple light, Regina suddenly stands halfway down the aisle, a vision in black and silver. It’s been a while since Emma was truly in the mood to appreciate one of her outfits, and this one is a classic. Pointed shoulders? Check. Plunging neckline? Naturally. Wildly unnecessary lace headpiece and a sky-high ponytail? You bet. Black boots, leather pants, and an honest-to-god feathered cape?

Emma is having a very good day.

“Regina,” the king sighs. “I thought you’d outgrown these... meaningless tantrums.”

“Wrong again,” she sneers, “but shall we go one by one? There are plenty who would rejoice at this marriage.”

The king walks right into it. “Where?” he scoffs.

Regina gestures with a sweep of one arm, and everyone turns toward the sea just as Ariel dives in.

The king is stunned. Emma is stunned. Prince Eric looks surprisingly fine with this.

Just as they begin to recover, the floor beneath them starts to tremble. The ocean churns, wave after wave splashing against the rocks below. Clouds darken the sky and rain starts to fall as the shaking intensifies, rumbling louder and louder until it feels like the castle is about to vibrate right into the water.

Then a geyser erupts from the ocean below, a pillar of seawater rising level with the pavilion as Ariel returns. Her soaked skirts are split down the middle to reveal her changed lower half, feet and legs replaced by fins and sparkling sea-green scales. Emma briefly wonders if she can stand on that thing, but it doesn’t matter right now, seeing as she’s being held in the arms of a merman with a crown of shells, a flowing white beard, and more muscles than the entire wedding party put together. He balances atop the waterspout on an emerald fish tail of his own, gazing down at Ariel with tears in his eyes.

The king can’t seem to close his mouth. Regina gives a satisfied nod. Prince Eric looks surprisingly fine with this.

“MY DAUGHTER!” the regal merman bellows, choking back a sob. “I’VE FOUND YOU AT LAST!” Then, only slightly less thunderous, he asks, “You said you had something to show me?”

Ariel beams, extending a hand that Eric happily takes. “Daddy,” she says, “meet my husband.”

“WHAT?”

“And this is Regina,” Ariel waves. Regina curtsies. “She’s been taking care of me after—”

“You!” Luckily for Prince Eric, Ariel’s dad is easily distracted. “You have retURNED MY DAUGHTER TO MEEE?” The merman’s voice rockets back up to a roar, then goes solemn as he bows his head. “You shall always have my gratitude, Lady Regina. My debt to you is vast as the seven seas. Should you ever require aid, the very oceans of the world will move to—”

“That’s enough, Daddy.” Ariel pats her dad on a bicep the size of her torso. “Like I was saying, Regina has helped so much ever since she and Emma found me. Hi Emma!”

Emma waves back with a frozen smile. Fortunately, before she has to endure the deafening attentions of the sea king, Regina’s father clears his throat.

“G-greetings, my fellow sovereign of the sea.” The king has finally regained his voice, and he’s decided to use it to address Ariel’s dad as an equal. If nothing else, Emma has to respect his ego. She wanders to Regina’s side as the king tries to explain that well, actually, Ariel’s new husband was already promised to another. And while yes, they were technically declared husband and wife, that can easily be annulled considering the prince’s all too literal previous engagement.

The king is lucky Ariel’s dad doesn’t seem to get what he means. It’s only when the king tries to drag Eric’s parents into the conversation that the massive merman seems to grasp the idea that they’re trying to meddle with his daughter’s marriage.

“Are you saying you refuse TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITYYY?” The pavilion trembles as the sea king raises a hand, summoning a trident that sparks and crackles like a thundercloud.

“Well.” Regina’s arm slips through Emma’s. “Shall we leave them to it?”

“Gladly.”

No one stops them as they leave the pavilion, then the castle altogether. They wander through the town before ending up on a terrace that overlooks the ocean not far from the castle. Emma leans on the low wall while Regina gazes toward the wedding pavilion, where Ariel and her dad seem to have joined Eric’s family at the head table.

“I’m glad it worked out for them,” Regina says, her smile just this side of smug.

“And the king of the seven seas can’t be a bad friend for a port town to have,” suggests Emma, thinking of Storybrooke and future fish emergencies.

Regina leans into her side. “You’re learning.”

“It happens every once in a while.”

“And what else have you learned recently?”

Emma pretends not to notice Regina’s expectant stare. “Oh, lots. The seafood here is fantastic, my parents are almost as messed up as yours, and oh, Lily’s screwing your sister.”

“Huh.” Only the last one seems to surprise Regina. “She could do worse.”

“Lily or your sister?”

“Yes.”

Emma grins, and they sit for a little longer, quiet and comfortable. “Where do we go from here?” is how she eventually breaks the silence.

“I don’t mean to complain, but you never did court me properly,” Regina answers a little too fast. ‘I don’t mean to complain.’ Sure.

“Why is all the courting on me?” Emma wants to know.

“I’m glad you asked. With my resources and responsibilities, you’d obviously be marrying into my house,” Regina declares. Amusement dances on her lips, but Emma’s not sure how serious she’s being. She suspects that neither is Regina. “It’s only natural that you need to prove yourself.”

“I haven’t already?”

“You’ve been fairly convincing so far,” says Regina, playing with Emma’s fingers. “But there’s no need to rush. I did just get out of a committed relationship, after all.”

“Anything I should be worried about?”

“No, it ended well; but the one before him was a real piece of work.” Regina sighs wistfully. “If only she weren’t so charming.”

Emma sits up straighter. “Oh yeah? Sounds like I’ve got some catching up to do. Should I pick you up in Storybrooke tomorrow morning?”

“I suppose I should be back by then.” As much as Regina tries to sound indifferent, Emma can feel her pulse speed up through their fingers. “But your kingdom is much farther. Will you be able to make the trip in time?”

“I have my ways.”

Regina arches an eyebrow, but only says, “Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Perfect!” Emma tries not to sound too eager, but it’s a losing battle. “It’s a date!” she says, which isn’t much better.

“Yes, Emma.” Regina’s fingers squeeze hers as she slips away. “A date. Well spotted.”

The confirmation puts Emma in such a good mood that it takes a moment for her to remember. “One more thing!” she calls, catching up to Regina.

“Yes, Emma?”

Emma blushes, tucking her hair behind one ear. Her eyes are aimed downward, but she hears Regina’s breath catch. “It’s important,” she murmurs, intertwining their fingers once more. “I...” Their cheeks brush as she whispers into Regina’s ear. “I... don’t know where Lily went and she was sort of my ride. Can I go to Storybrooke with you?”

With a sigh, Regina pulls away, but doesn’t drop her hand.

“Yes, Emma.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know, we could always use a few more donkeys.”

“Of course!” David nods before heading for the stables.

“And just to be safe, we should probably bring plenty of... pocket change.” Lily jingles the already bulging purse on her belt. “For, y’know, tolls and stuff.”

“Of course,” says Snow, less enthusiastic than her husband. Still, she produces another pouch of coins with surprising speed, almost like she knew Lily would ask.

“I don’t get it.” On the edge of the courtyard, Neal looks up at Emma. “Does Lily get an allowance now too?”

She considers this, resting an elbow on her brother’s head. “Not exactly. Mom and Dad feel guilty about... old stuff, and Lily’s happy to let them bribe their way out of it. She’s going on a trip and wants to squeeze them dry before she leaves.”

“Aw.” Neal ducks out from under her arm. “I don’t want her to leave.”

“Go tell her,” urges Emma, starting to grin.

“Okay!”

She watches as Neal gallops over to Lily, who grimaces and stuffs Snow’s money into one of her donkey’s overstuffed saddlebags. When Neal gets close, she holds him at bay with a hand on his head, wiping her palm on her pants once the kid stops trying to hug her.

“She’s a real people person, ain’t she?”

Emma turns toward the approaching voice. Jack is in her usual adventurer’s leathers, but they—and she—look cleaner than usual. Jack always hovered around the border between scruffy and sloppy, but these days she’s as well-groomed as a retired rogue can be. The perpetual perfume of alcohol is still there, but it’s been getting less pungent ever since Jack got even more hammered than usual and spilled her guts in front of Emma^[1].

She actually came to apologize once Emma got back. It wasn’t clear what exactly she was apologizing for—the hangover did her eloquence no favors—but it was obvious that Jack felt she’d crossed some self-drawn line. Emma’s not sure if it’s embarrassment or guilt or something else that has Jack drawing back from the bottle, but she’s happy to see it, especially now that her aunt will be the closest thing Lily has to adult supervision for who knows how long.

“Lily is... Lily,” she says, shrugging at Jack. “Are you all packed?”

Her aunt jabs a thumb at one of the more lightly packed donkeys in the growing caravan. “Yup. I’ve got all the essentials. Spare swords, silver arrowheads, even some fairy dust. Don’t tell your mother.”

“You know you’re trying to find Lily’s mom, not slay her, right?”

“I’m sure Maleficent’s not the only big, angry thing we’ll meet out there.” A solemn expression crosses Jack’s face. “Don’t worry, this time I’ll look before I leap. Or... stab.”

Emma pats her back. “That’s great. Can you teach Lily?”

With a chuckle, Jack gives Emma a quick squeeze around the shoulders, then flees. A moment later, Snow arrives at Emma’s side, explaining the sudden exit.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” the queen asks, hands twisting together before her waist. They stand close enough to touch, but neither of them does. “Lily might be gone for some time.”

“I’ll see her again,” says Emma, watching Jack and Lily start to squabble over a map. “And probably sooner than I’d like. Thanks for helping her prepare, Mom.”

“It’s the least we could do.” Snow looks up at her with big, earnest eyes. “We owe both of you far more than we can ever—”

“Please don’t start that again.” Emma reaches for her mom’s hand. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m fine? You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” She heaves an exaggerated sigh to distract from the blush creeping up her cheeks. “It’s been nice to spend time with you and Dad with everything out in the open.”

“Honesty can be so cleansing,” agrees Snow.

“Sure, and now I know that you can be stupid too. Much less pressure.”

“Emma!” scolds Snow. Emma grins at her.

“We were stupid,” David says as he joins them. “Now we’re... less stupid.” He fixes Emma with a stern look undermined by the twinkle in his eye. “I know why you’re really staying with us.”

Emma tilts her head, honestly baffled. “You do?”

“It’s so Regina doesn’t think you too eager!” Her dad laughs as Emma groans. “A wise choice, Emma. Desperate is never a good look.”

“Don’t listen to him,” scoffs Snow. “He chased me down on horseback when we first met.”

“Can you blame me? It was love at first strike.” Emma’s dad gives her an expectant look.

She’s heard this story enough times to know what he’s waiting for. “Don’t you mean love at first sight,” Emma says in a monotone.

“No,” chuckles David, running a thumb over the scar on his chin. “You see, when I caught up, your mother—”

“Hit you with a rock, I remember.”

“Ah.” Her dad smiles sheepishly. “I’ve been telling that one too often, haven’t I.”

“No, no,” Emma lies. “It’s just... so memorable.”

Snow coughs into her hand. It sounds an awful lot like a laugh. “In any case,” she says, recovering, “how are you and Regina—”

Before Emma can be truly cornered by her parents, she hears the sound she’s been listening for: the rumble of a carriage coming to a stop in front of the castle. A moment later, a neigh echoes through the open gates, almost like a signal. Exactly like a signal, in fact.

“Well, Regina’s here,” says Emma. “I’d better go.”

“She’s not going to come inside?” Her mom frowns. “Does she not want to see us?”

Emma avoids her gaze. “I’m sure she’s just in a rush. We’ve got a full day planned.”

David folds his arms with a humph. “Still, she could at least—”

“Your Majesties!” a familiar voice calls across the courtyard. “You’ve got a meeting in the throne room.”

“Is it that time already?” Snow pulls Emma into a quick hug. “We’ll see you later, Emma. Have fun.”

David chuckles. “Try not to ruin any more weddings.”

Emma rolls her eyes as they stride back into the castle. They’re met at the door by Red, who glances in Emma’s direction just long enough to wink. Smiling to herself, Emma turns to leave—and nearly smacks into the side of a donkey as Lily rides past.

“Tell your girlfriend to move,” she calls over her shoulder. “She’s blocking the road.”

. . .

“I missed you,” Emma says as soon as she climbs into the carriage.

Regina goes pink. “So did I,” she says. “Missed you, I mean. Not... myself.” The pink darkens to red as she blushes harder, turning away to frown out the window.

Emma grins. Every day seems to bring a new side of Regina for her to explore; but this reluctantly honest, slightly awkward one is her favorite so far. She sits beside the princess, close enough to bump their legs together. “You don’t need to be embarrassed—”

“Good, because I’m not.” Regina turns back, cheeks still a little rosier than normal. Their eyes meet, and Emma feels her breath stutter. Here in the cozy dimness of the carriage, there’s almost nothing to distract her from the perfect curve of Regina’s lips, the heat of her thigh against Emma’s, the flutter of her eyelashes as she leans in...

Almost nothing.

Emma only returns the briefest of pecks before pulling away. She feels a guilty throb of pride at the disappointment in Regina’s eyes when they snap open.

“Is something wrong, Ser Swan?”

“With you? Never. It’s just...” Emma gestures toward the bench on the other side of the carriage. “Why is Zelena here?”

“Oh. You noticed.”

“About time,” Zelena says with a sneer.

“How could I not?” laughs Emma. “Sure, she was sitting really still and being suspiciously quiet, but it’s not that big of a carriage, Regina.” She glances back at the crown princess, who glares back. “I didn’t think we still needed a chaperone.”

“Simple.” Zelena sniffs, but doesn’t explain, just watches Emma with eyes that dare her to ask.

Emma holds in a sigh. “Well, what is it?”

“I’ve never approved of you panting and drooling after my sister, and I never will.”

“That’s enough,” Regina snaps, barely sparing her sister a glance.

“I never drooled,” Emma says at the same time.

“Ignore her,” insists Regina. “My sister is just trying to get a reaction out of you. There’s no need to be—”

“Simple,” Zelena snickers.

Emma frowns at the crown princess. Insults are business as usual from Zelena, but there’s something about the way she spoke... “Oh,” Emma relaxes, looking back to Regina. “She’s one of your...”

“About time,” says Zelena.

“... magic puppet things,” Emma finishes before realizing that only brings up more questions. “Wait, then where’s the real Zelena?”

Regina massages her temples with one hand while the other points. Outside, Lily’s caravan of asses is still winding its way out of the castle gates and down the road. As Emma watches, another donkey pokes its head out of an alley, looks back and forth with a furtive expression on its muzzle, then trots out to join the line. Its back is piled high with enough baggage to blend right in with the rest of the pack animals, but its harness is flashier^[2] and its mane is far lighter, more orange than brown.

“No,” Emma breathes.

“As for the double, blame Miss Lilith,” grumbles Regina. “If she hadn’t invited my sister on that wild dragon chase of hers, I wouldn’t be stuck covering for her. As I said, Emma, you can ignore... Emma?”

“Huh?” Emma manages to tear her eyes away from donkey-Zelena, but the grin refuses to leave her face. “Hold on,” she says, gaze darting back out the window. “I need to memorize this. It... it suits her.” She can barely hold back her laughter.

“You’re just as bad as she is.”

“Am not!”

“I’ve never approved of you panting and drooling after my sister, and I never—”

“See?” Emma points at the doppelganger. “She’s way worse.”

Regina sighs.

. . .

Mmph. Lmph. Mmmlm. Mmlp.

“Slow down, Emma,” Regina gasps. “That’s too much, too fast!” Her eyes are wide as she looks down at Emma. “You’re going to choke!”

“I can’t help it.” Emma straightens up, reluctantly parting from her plate. She keeps a firm grip on her fork as she wipes her mouth, blushing a little at the awe on Regina’s face. “This place is amazing. Is there a dessert menu?”

“I’ve never seen a whole catfish vanish so fast.” Regina’s shock slowly drains away, replaced by a fond smile. “But I’m glad you like it.”

Emma takes a sip of wine as she looks around the restaurant. It’s a simple little seaside eatery, somewhere she and Lily might have eaten at before their lives got all... exciting. “We have to thank Tiana for the recommendation!” she says. “I had no idea she knew so much about food.”

“Of course she does.” Regina sits up, glowing with quiet pride. “Tiana has always loved to cook. If you think this is good, we’ll have to visit her kingdom next time. The chefs there always have something new; they refuse to lose to their princess.”

It’s adorable, the way she lights up while she brags. “You’re a good friend,” Emma says softly.

“Of course I am,” says Regina, lifting her nose with a superior expression. “I’m a good everything.”

“Yup.” Emma just nods, which seems to catch the princess by surprise. Regina’s mock arrogance melts into a smile, small and almost shy.

“That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But it’s true. Someone has to tell you how amazing you are.” Their hands find each other, fingers weaving together over the tablecloth. “All smart and driven and stubborn and everything.”

Regina’s mouth twitches. “One of those things is not like the others.”

“And hot. Did I mention hot?” Emma runs her thumb over Regina’s, watching her eyes soften... somewhat.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she says. “But do go on. What’s next? My spiteful streak and suspicious nature?”

A wistful sigh leaks from Emma’s lips. “You’re right, those are even better. I miss watching you scheme.”

“You won’t miss it for much longer if you keep talking nonsense,” Regina says darkly, but the spark in her eyes is far from threatening.

“I’m serious! It’s, y’know, inspiring. I guess.” Emma winces. She’s starting to lose steam, but it’s not her fault! The way Regina is looking at her is making it really hard to think big words.

“Thank you,” says the princess. The words are quiet, but heartfelt. “You inspire me as well.”

Now it’s Emma’s turn to go red in the face. Old habits nudge her to brush off the compliment, but for once, a lifetime of insecurity is nothing against the certainty in Regina’s voice. Emma still might not know what Regina sees in her, but Regina does; and for now, that’s enough. She’s certainly not needy enough to ask.

“Why?”

Then again, maybe she is.

“Why?” echoes Regina, a frown crossing her face. “Emma...”

“I just mean objectively—”

“Objectively, you’re a self-made savior who managed to pull the wool over the eyes of half the Enchanted Forest before lying her way into a royal engagement. Then, after taking far more trouble than necessary to uphold your own ruse, you ruined it all by being honest at the absolute worst time.”

“I thought this was going to be a lot more encouraging.”

“And then, of course, you somehow failed upwards into an entirely different royal family and proceeded to sulk around for months before deciding to rush back just in time to ruin yet another engagement.”

“Don’t be modest, you deserve all the credit for that one.”

Regina gives Emma a challenging look. “Do you know what that tells me?”

“That I have the most forgiving girlfriend in the world?”

“You do, but no. It tells me that you always do the right thing.”

Emma feels her face twist. “Well that’s just—”

“In the end,” amends Regina. “You always do the right thing eventually. We’ll have to work on your timing, admittedly, but the spirit is there.”

“And the spirit is what matters most.” Emma rolls the idea around her mouth. Yeah, maybe that could—

“What? No. Results come first, Emma. Don’t be ridiculous. Luckily, as we’ve established, you have the most forgiving girlfriend^[3] in the world.”

Oddly, Emma finds this a lot easier to swallow. What does it say about her that she can only take compliments if they acknowledge that she’s a little bit of a fuck-up? She gives a mental shrug.

“But in the end,” repeats Regina, “you do what’s right, even if it means you suffer for it.”

“I do?” Emma can’t argue with her own actions, but she remembers them being a lot more selfish than Regina might like to think. “I should have been honest with you a lot sooner,” she says. “And I only stuck around so long in the first place because I let Lily convince me we needed the payday.”

“Are you telling me you couldn’t have left at any time?” Regina prods. “Surely with your skills—and oh yes, your dragon—escaping His Majesty was far from impossible.”

“Well... no,” Emma has to admit. “We could have left, but that would have been messier.”

“Why did you care? You would have been long gone.” A teasing smile grows on Regina’s face. “Oh, Ser Swan, don’t tell me you were smitten at first sight.”

“No! Not at first sight.” Even in the middle of a quarrel—if that’s what this is—Emma can’t miss the chance to make Regina blush. “Fine, maybe I was a little worried about you. I didn’t know how much trouble it would be, obviously. Anyone would’ve done the same thing.”

“No, Emma, they wouldn’t. Nor would they have carried me away from a pair of oversized eels, or used themself as bait to lure away a rabid gorgon...” She frowns. “Far too many of our memories together involve monsters.”

“Agreed.”

“And even going to Ariel’s lake in the first place was rather heroic of you, Ser Swan.” Regina goes on. “Even I thought there would be a siren waiting for us. You could have ended up drowned or eaten, not to mention ensorcelled.”

“I didn’t think I’d actually go through with it,” protests Emma. “Not until we were already there and I couldn’t back out.”

“So you tried to slip away?”

“Well no, I couldn’t just leave.”

Regina makes a satisfied sort of hum.

“Okay, okay, you have a point. I might be pretty great, actually.” Emma pretends to preen, but soon finds herself puffing up with actual pride. Clearing her throat, she squeezes Regina’s hand before blatantly changing the subject.

“How did Ariel end up in that lake, anyway?” she wonders. “I know there was something about a sea witch, and, uh, a curse?” A curse is usually a pretty good bet.

“A bargain,” Regina says with distaste. “And quite a devious one at that.”

Emma frowns. A bargain? “But how was she supposed to hold up her end stuck in those woods?” Realization dawns as Regina gives her a pointed look. “Oh. She wasn’t. Lucky we came along, huh?”

“Lucky is a good name for her, isn’t it?” It takes Emma a moment to catch what Regina’s saying. “A little cliché, but maybe I should have a collar made. I do owe her for springing that lovely surprise on us both.”

Huh. Emma nods to herself. It was Red that led them to Ariel in the first place. What had she known? As always with Red, it’s impossible to say.

“Then why didn’t she just save her herself?” she has to wonder.

Regina shrugs. “Sensitive ears?”

“Right, the music.” A shiver runs down Emma’s spine as she remembers the siren’s song. Thinking back, she can almost recognize Ariel’s sweet tones turned alien and alluring, thrumming through the wax in her ears... “I’m glad you were able to give Ariel her voice back. And a husband, too!” Emma pats her hand. “You are a good friend.”

“Yes, we’ve been over this,” says Regina, trying not to look too smug. “Restructuring the enchantment on that insidious seashell was hardly a challenge for someone with my education in the arcane arts.”

“Didn’t it take you months?”

“Fine, I was self-taught,” Regina huffs. “And to be fair, I didn’t even realize it could be done for the longest time. Once I stopped trying potions and found the right loophole in Ariel’s contract, everything fell into place.”

“Thanks to you.” Emma raises her wineglass, Regina clinks it with hers, and they slip into comfortable silence, listening to waves splash against the edge of the terrace.

After a few minutes, Emma lazily climbs to her feet, offering Regina a hand. Leaving the table behind, they move to the railing to gaze out over the bay. The setting sun turns the water black and gold, a stiff breeze sending a chill over the waterfront. When Emma reaches for Regina’s hand, she takes it, then swiftly draws Emma’s arm over her shoulders and nestles into her side.

“Thank you,” she says.

Emma looks down. “Me?”

“Who else?” Regina glares out the corner of her eye before looking back out over the waves. “Thank you for coming back.”

“Of course.” Emma wants to lighten the suddenly somber mood, but all she can manage is a softer, “Of course I did.” And then, because she remembers how much Regina loves her attempts at wit, she adds, “Eventually.”

“Just in time,” says Regina, leaning into their contact. They’re almost holding each other up now.

“You didn’t need me.” Emma’s not trying to be self-deprecating this time; it’s just a fact. “You had everything planned out. Curse broken, bride swapped, the king of the seven seas as a backup plan... You could’ve done the same thing without me there.”

“I could have done it alone, yes. I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

With Regina’s quiet confession, they settle into another spell of silence before Emma decides that they could both use a distraction.

“Tell me more about how amazing you are at magic.” It’s not her smoothest segue, but it has two of Regina’s favorite topics: the arcane arts and her own excellence.

“Not every silence needs to be filled,” says Regina, sighing into Emma’s shoulder. “I’m all right. But I appreciate the effort.”

“What do you mean?” Emma plays dumb. “I just love the way you say ‘loophole.’”

Regina looks up at her with a wrinkled nose. “Somehow, that sounds wrong.”

“That’s why I like the way you say it.”

With a fond shake of her head, Regina leans back into Emma’s side and starts to reminisce, her voice drifting over the bay. “As I said, it was a devious contract. The shell that held Ariel’s voice was never meant to release it, but buried deep in the invisible print, I discovered a...” She presses her lips together “... a crucial loophole.”

“Ooh, sexy.”

Regina’s noise of disgust is swallowed by Emma’s kiss. They’re both grinning, lips slipping in and out of step as their shoulders shake. Emma loves this feeling. Loves not needing to worry about what Regina truly thinks of her. Loves finally knowing just what to say. She loves Regina, and she loves that when she gets the courage to say it out loud, she’s not afraid of what she’ll hear. No matter what Regina might say, Emma will be happy just knowing that she was honest with Regina... and honest with herself.

Something that Emma loves less is the swell of seawater that crashes over the railing, soaking them both. Her mouth fills with salt as she sputters, eyes stinging until Regina reaches up and wipes them. Hands still linked, they turn toward the water and see...

Well, the bottom half is an octopus.

“LOOPHOLE?” screeches the woman above the tentacles. Her voice is ear-piercing, shrill enough to crack every window on the waterfront.

“Well I don’t like the way she says it,” mutters Emma.

“I knew I was forgetting something,” says Regina, fingers tightening around Emma’s.

The sea witch glowers down at them, but mostly at Regina. Emma tries to put herself between them, but Regina’s iron grip pulls her back until they stand side by side. After a quick smile, Emma glance over her shoulder. Where the hell did she leave her sword? She scans the patio as the octo-lady shrieks on.

“I don’t do loopholes! And loose ends are even worse.” She jabs a tentacle at Regina. “You! You’re the one who meddled in my contract with that little brat! Who ruined decades of planning! Who”—one arm covers her face as she heaves a dramatic sob—“who burned my babies!”

“Objection!” cries Emma. “We never burned any—”

Two big honkin’ eels rise from the water behind the sea witch, their mismatched eyes gleaming with malevolence.

“Ah.”

She meets Regina’s eyes, then sees them flick sideways toward—Oh, her sword! Emma nods back, feeling a rush of guilty excitement. The sea witch continues to rant, watching them with hateful eyes, on guard for any scheming, but they don’t need to talk to know what to do next.

All they need is trust.

The End