A ball, a Queen and two thieves vying for a dance. Based on the prompt: Roland dancing with Regina.
wallflower
She's loitering by the banquet table, the Queen, with her back to the rest of the ballroom as if the sight of dancing and merriment is one that makes her terribly uncomfortable. The grapes on her plate remain untouched as she glares and glares at them, looking up only to say an occasional something when Snow White and her prince lean forward in turns to engage her in conversation.
This won't do, Robin finds himself thinking; it's absurd that the Queen, ornery and oft unapproachable as she is, should be made a wallflower on this night of celebrating their latest victory over the Wicked Witch—a victory that, as the Queen herself would be quick to point out, could never have come to pass without her knowledge of magic, or of the castle's secret defense systems.
He's wondering how best to come closer without frightening her off when he sees his son, dressed in a magnificent, tailored tunic and vest (the origins of which the boy has remained carefully mum about, only saying "It's a secret!" every time he's asked), cantering up to linger most charmingly at the Queen's heel, and there Robin spies his opportunity.
She's playfully straightening Roland's mini-cravat when he reaches them, greeting her with a bow and a "Milady, if you would do me the honor of—"
"No," she says.
Robin pauses. "No?" he repeats innocently, face gentling into a confused frown.
"In your dreams, thief," she sniffs, already turning away from him and piling more fruit onto her plate, which has been mysteriously cleared of all its grapes.
"Oh, I would never," he tells her seriously, with a hand to his heart as though she's just gravely wounded it with her willingness to assume the worst and cast such unsavory aspersions on his character.
"So you would be so cold as to refuse my son in a dance, then?"
"I—what?"
"I thought I'd inquire on his behalf, as he is much too shy to ask you himself."
Roland, with grapes pooching both cheeks outward, can attest to neither the truth nor the falsehood of such a statement, and Robin smiles pleasantly as Regina stares in open bafflement at them both.
"Of course I'll dance with him," she says in a rush, and if the evident relief in her tone stings a bit more than Robin would like it to, he doesn't let it show.
"Swallow first," he instructs Roland when the boy eagerly reaches for Regina's outstretched hand, and his mouthful of grapes vanishes in record time before he's skipping them toward all the merriment Regina had been so intent on avoiding.
She's flushed prettily by the time the song has slowed to something more manageable, having clearly underestimated the stamina required of keeping up with this particular four-year-old boy.
"It's Papa's turn," declares Roland, pulling the Queen out of the crowd and eyeing the platter of cheeses Robin had been working through while trying not to watch them too obviously.
"Oh," and here Robin feigns a look of exaggerated reluctance, "that's very thoughtful of you, Roland, but Her Majesty has already declined my offer, and we must respect her wishes."
Roland looks expectantly up at Regina. She appears torn between letting the boy down and swallowing her pride in order to dance with a man that she can't stand, and Robin feels an overwhelming amount of affection for this woman, who seems to detest him so plainly but can never say no to his son.
"A trade, then," Robin offers magnanimously, holding out his plate of cheese in exchange for Regina's hand, and she stands there, caught, helpless to resist as a mischievous boy hands her over to his equally mischievous father.