Chapter Text
The air was too still.
It always was, within the bounds of her mother’s estate—still and perfect and carefully arranged, as though even the wind understood it was not permitted to disrupt what had been so meticulously controlled. The hedges stood in disciplined rows, trimmed to uniform precision; the gravel paths curved in elegant, deliberate lines; even the trees seemed to bow inward, their branches trained away from wildness, from excess, from anything that might suggest disorder. It was beautiful. It was suffocating.
Regina walked anyway.
Her steps were measured at first, the way she had been taught—heel, then toe, posture straight, chin lifted just so—but the farther she moved from the manor, the more that discipline slipped from her body, until her pace quickened and the tight set of her shoulders eased, if only slightly. The corset at her waist pressed too sharply against her ribs, each breath shallow and deliberate, a quiet reminder of the conversation she had just escaped.
Not an argument. It never was.
Her mother did not raise her voice. She did not need to.
A single look had been enough. A correction of Regina’s posture. A cool remark about how she carried herself, how she spoke, how she was. Always followed by that same, unyielding expectation—that Regina would become exactly what was required of her, no matter how little of herself remained when it was done.
She exhaled slowly, though the breath caught halfway out, as though even that small act of defiance had been anticipated and restrained.
There were plans being made for her. There always had been.
She simply wasn’t meant to know them.
The thought lingered as she moved farther along the path, past the gardens and toward the quieter edges of the estate, where the air felt less watched, less curated. The sounds of the manor faded behind her—the distant clink of glass, the muted echo of voices—and for a moment, brief and fragile, there was something almost like peace.
Until—
A sound.
Faint, but wrong.
Regina slowed, her steps faltering as she turned her head slightly, listening. It came again—a soft shift, the faint scrape of something against wood, too deliberate to be the restless movement of a horse.
The stables.
Her gaze flicked toward them, the low structure sitting just beyond the bend in the path, half-shadowed in the dimming light. Nothing appeared out of place at first glance. No movement. No raised voices. No sign of Daniel making his usual rounds.
“Daniel?” she called, her voice carrying lightly across the open space.
No answer.
A small crease formed between her brows.
If he was there, he would have answered.
The stillness pressed in around her again, but this time it felt different—not controlled, not orderly, but waiting. As though something had slipped into the careful balance of the estate and gone unnoticed.
Regina hesitated.
She could turn back. Return to the manor, to its quiet expectations and suffocating perfection, and leave whatever it was to be discovered by someone else, someone whose role it was to handle such things.
Instead, she stepped off the path.
The gravel gave way to softer earth beneath her shoes as she approached the stables, her movements slower now, more deliberate. The scent of hay and leather grew stronger with each step, familiar and grounding, but it did little to settle the unease curling low in her chest.
“Daniel?” she tried again, softer this time.
Still nothing.
She reached the entrance, pausing just inside the threshold as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light within. The interior stretched out before her in long, shadowed rows, the horses shifting quietly in their stalls, their presence steady and reassuring.
And yet—
There.
A movement at the far end.
Subtle. Quick. Almost missed.
Regina’s gaze sharpened, her breath catching as she focused on the source—a shift behind one of the stalls, just enough to disturb the neat, expected stillness of the space.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then suddenly she caught a glimpse of... gold.
A strand of blonde hair, catching what little light filtered through the slats.
Regina stilled completely, every instinct narrowing into that single point of focus, her pulse quickening as realization settled, slow and certain.
Someone was in her stables.
Regina did not move at first.
The strand of golden hair caught the light again, unmistakable now, and with it came the quiet, undeniable awareness that this was no trick of shadow or stray animal slipping through the stalls. Someone was there—someone who did not belong.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, a reflex she did not fully understand, as though bracing for something she had never been taught how to face.
“Hello?” she called, her voice steadier than she felt.
There was a pause. A shift of movement, subtle but present.
Regina took a small step forward, just enough to close the distance without fully committing to it, her gaze fixed on the stall where the figure lingered.
“It’s alright,” she added, softer now, the edge of uncertainty smoothing into something gentler. “You can come out. I don’t bite.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat longer.
Then, slowly, the figure emerged.
A girl.
Not much older than Regina herself—eighteen, perhaps, or close enough that the difference did not matter. She stepped out from behind the stall with the wary precision of someone used to being caught, shoulders slightly hunched as if expecting reprimand before it was even given. Her clothes were worn, dirt-streaked and ill-fitting, the fabric rough and practical in a way Regina had only ever seen from a distance in the village below. Strands of blonde hair fell loose around her face, tangled and unkempt, catching the dim light in uneven glints, while sharp green eyes lifted cautiously toward her beneath furrowed brows, brighter than anything else in the stable and far too expressive to hide what she was feeling.
And yet, there was something striking about her.
Not despite the roughness, but somehow because of it.
The kind of presence that did not belong in a place like this, and yet filled it the moment she stepped into view.
Regina blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the contrast.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could soften it.
The girl’s posture shifted immediately, defensive, her weight tilting back as though preparing to bolt. Her eyes flicked toward the open entrance, calculating, measuring distance, escape.
“I—” she started, then stopped, clearly revising whatever answer had first come to mind. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean to— I was just—”
Her voice faltered, the lie not yet fully formed.
Regina watched her for a moment, taking in the hesitation, the way her gaze refused to settle, the quiet tension coiled in her stance. It didn’t take much to understand what she was looking at.
Not a threat.
Just a girl who had been caught somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.
“It’s alright,” Regina said again, more firmly this time, though her tone remained gentle. “You’re not in trouble.”
The girl didn’t look convinced.
Regina hesitated, then, as though remembering something she had been taught but rarely used for herself, she added, “My name is Regina.”
The words felt strangely significant as they left her mouth, offered without expectation, without instruction.
The girl studied her for a moment longer, suspicion still lingering in her expression, before it softened—just slightly.
“…Emma,” she said, after a beat, the name quiet but clear.
Emma.
Regina repeated it silently, committing it to memory before she could question why.
Her gaze drifted again, this time more deliberately, taking in the details she had only half-noticed before—the dirt beneath Emma’s fingernails, the faint hollowness in her cheeks, the way her eyes flickered briefly, almost involuntarily, toward the far corner of the stable where feed was stored.
Understanding settled quickly.
“You’re hungry,” Regina said.
Emma stiffened, the fragile ease between them tightening again.
“I’m fine,” she replied, too quickly.
Regina didn’t argue.
Instead, she nodded once, as though accepting the answer, even as she stepped back toward the entrance.
“Wait here,” she said, already turning before Emma could protest. “I’ll be back.”
She did not give her time to question it, before pulling her horse out from the stall and climbing up.
The ride to the manor was quick, though Regina barely registered it, her thoughts lingering not on where she was going, but on who she had left behind. The image of Emma—guarded, wary, stubborn even in silence—remained sharp in her mind, refusing to fade into the background the way most things did.
It was an odd feeling.
Unfamiliar.
By the time she returned, the light had dimmed a bit further, the sky deepening into the quiet blue of early evening. She dismounted quickly, a small satchel clutched in her hand, its contents hastily gathered from the kitchens—pastries wrapped in cloth, a handful of apples tucked carefully inside.
For a fleeting moment, as she stepped back into the stables, she wondered if Emma would still be there.
If she had waited.
If she had trusted her enough to stay.
Regina’s gaze swept the space and found her exactly where she had been left.
Something in her chest loosened, subtle but undeniable.
“I told you I’d be back,” Regina said, a hint of something lighter threading through her voice as she approached.
Emma straightened slightly, her expression shifting between relief and caution as her eyes dropped to the satchel in Regina’s hand.
Regina held it out.
Emma hesitated.
Only for a moment.
Then she stepped forward, taking it carefully, as though it might be taken away just as quickly. She opened it just enough to see what was inside, and for the first time, something unguarded flickered across her face—surprise, quickly masked, but not quickly enough.
She didn’t thank her.
She didn’t need to.
Regina watched as she pulled out one of the pastries, her movements still cautious but no longer restrained, and took a bite. The tension in her shoulders eased almost immediately, the sharp edge of her wariness softening into something quieter, more human.
Regina found herself watching longer than she meant to.
“So,” she said after a moment, tilting her head slightly. “Do you always make a habit of sneaking into other people’s stables?”
Emma swallowed, wiping her hands lightly against her already dirt-streaked clothing.
“Only the nice ones,” she replied, a hint of something dry slipping into her tone.
Regina let out a small breath that might have been the beginning of a laugh.
“Good to know.”
She tried again, more gently this time. “Where are you from?”
Emma’s expression closed off almost immediately, the openness from moments before slipping back behind careful walls.
“Nowhere,” she said.
It wasn’t an answer.
Regina recognized that.
And just as quickly, she recognized that pushing further would get her nowhere.
So she didn’t.
Instead, she nodded once, as though accepting it, even if she didn’t believe it.
“If you’re hungry again,” Regina said after a moment, her voice quieter now, more deliberate, “you can come back tomorrow.”
Emma glanced up, something cautious but curious flickering in her gaze.
“Seven,” Regina added. “In the evening. I’ll meet you here.”
For a second, it seemed as though Emma might question it—might refuse, or disappear into that same guarded silence—but instead, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Agreement.
Without words.
It felt... important.
Emma gathered the remaining food quickly, tucking it back into the satchel, her movements efficient, practiced. When she looked back up, whatever softness had slipped through earlier was gone again, replaced with something more careful, more distant.
“Thanks,” she said, the word quiet, almost reluctant.
Then, before Regina could respond, she turned.
And slipped back into the shadows.
Gone as quickly as she had appeared.
Regina stood there for a moment longer, the space suddenly too still again, the faint echo of Emma’s presence lingering in the air like something unfinished.
Then, slowly, she turned back toward the manor.
Her steps were measured once more, her posture straightening as the familiar weight of expectation settled back into place—but her thoughts remained elsewhere, circling something new, something unexpected.
Something… intriguing.
A girl in her stables. A stranger who had not belonged, and yet, somehow, already felt impossible to ignore.