Regina's hands tremble as the door closes—and she's not sure what she's supposed to do next, other than wait for her worst fear to be fully realized.

It was her wedding night, a night she'd share with her new husband and a man she barely knew.

Looking down at herself, she grimaces at the sheer nightgown she'd been put in by a maid she didn't know. It had been so humiliating—being stripped out of her wedding dress, standing there naked in the mirror as a stranger removed the pins from her hair. She couldn't bear to speak and only now occurred to her that making small talk might have made the whole thing a little less awkward.

Her father had arranged this all and everyone she knew spoke of how good and decent Robin Locksley was for unburdening her aging father, for saving what was left of his estate, perhaps even saving her family's once good name; and maybe, as the years faded away, people would forget the shame she'd brought to it.

Her marriage was part of a land agreement, a contract that tied two neighboring estates together—one up-and-coming, the other once grand, but falling into ruin. The contract was filled with clauses protecting rights to livestock and an agreeing on how to pay for the maintenance of an old barn; there was one about how to split the profits made on a field of barely and another that provided her parents with a handsome allowance that would allow them to grow old in comfort as they'd always expected to do—before she'd ruined it for them. And then, there was the matter of her marriage. It was a little clause tucked between one on how servants would be paid and another on how new farm hands would be hired—an obvious add on that was either an afterthought or a bonus to sweeten the deal, one that seemed to suggest her place in her new household. Regardless or whether or not that was true, her feelings had never been considered—and as her mother reminded her, she'd long ago lost the privilege of consideration.

Her breath caught every time she heard movement in the hall, not used to a full and bustling household anymore—and she tried in vain to let herself relax—just a little as she waited—but she couldn't do that; and she wondered if she'd ever be able to.

Her thoughts drifted to Henry, her five-year old son, and she wondered where he was and if he was afraid. After the ceremony, he'd been shuffled away by a nanny he'd never before laid eyes on—and when she tried to follow, her mother stopped her, reminding her that this was the way it was supposed to be, the way it always should have been. Regina had nodded and watched as Henry disappeared down the corridor, looking worriedly behind himself as his mother drifted further and further away. She'd let out a shaky sigh and looked back to her mother with teary eyes, and Cora's eyes had softened—likely with relief—as she again insisted that her daughter would get used it, that this—not the one she'd tried in vain to choose for herself—was life she'd been meant to live.

Shivering, she turned to the window; the reception was still going on and she could see the ballroom from where she stood. She watched as happy couples danced to music and sipped champagne as they celebrated her marriage and drank to her good fortune—people who only week before looked at her and saw nothing more than a scarlet letter.

The door creaks open and she turns with a start, her eyes growing wide as her arm moves up over her chest—and her cheeks flush at the realization that she can't hide herself.

"For what it's worth," Robin begins as he slips inside the room and closes the door behind him. "You looked beautiful today." Her eyes cast down; she doesn't know how to respond. "I hope that you and Henry will be happy here."

"Happy," she murmurs in a hushed but jaded voice. "You hope for us to be happy."

"Sincerely, yes," he says as he takes a step toward her. "I know our marriage is…"

"A land contract," she cuts in. "Our marriage is a contract—a piece of the contact that you insisted upon."

"Well, yes…"

"And nothing more."

Robin sighs and again he takes a step forward; and instinctively, she takes a step back. "Here," he murmurs quietly, as he pulls a knit blanket from the foot of the bed. "Put this around your shoulders." Blinking up at him, her head tips to the side in confusion, not quite following what he's saying. "I'm not here for… that reason," he tells her as she drapes the blanket around her shoulders and wraps herself in it. "I was hoping we could… talk."

"Talk," she repeats, her voice skeptical as her eyes narrow. "You had me dressed like this so you could… talk to me."

"No," he's quick to say. "I told them not to…" He sighs and for a moment, she believes him. "My father wants to waste no time producing a spare heir to my family's fortune." He pauses as he looks to her. "When I was a child, I took ill and…" His voice trails off as she looks away, hugging the blanket to herself. "Never mind."

For a moment, an awkward silence falls between them and she turns back to see him sit down at the foot of the bed. His shoulders slump forward and his head bows; and she wonders, briefly, if he had much to say about the arrangement, or if it had been the work of their fathers.

"Why did you want to marry me?" She asks, watching as his eyes cast up to meet hers—and for a moment, he doesn't reply. "I just ask because… I'm not exactly the most desirable of choices."

"You were once," he tells her, finally looking back at her. "When you first came out, you were the one all eligible bachelors wanted to dance with." She nods—that was so long ago, and it feels foreign to her, like it was part of someone else's life, not hers. "You were engaged to a prince—Leopold, wasn't it? From some little kingdom near Bavaria?"

"Yes," she replies in a quiet voice, remembering the long trips abroad to see him—and she remembers how each time, she cried for the entire journey. "But that was only until the stable boy got me pregnant." She sighs and offers him a curt little smile. "I became less desirable after that."

"You married him."

"Yes," she says, nodding and a little taken aback by a stranger's knowledge of the intimate details of her personal history—but not surprised by it because as her mother often reminded her, it had all been quite an embarrassing scandal. "I was supposed to go to Switzerland to visit an aunt that doesn't actually exist," she adds. "Instead, I eloped."

"You loved him."

"I did—and he loved me. We were happy."

She watches as a smile tugs up at the corners of his mouth. "That's why I wanted to marry you."

Again, her head tips in confusion. "I… don't understand."

"My first wife—Marian—was everything to me, and now she's gone," he says, his voice hitching a little in his throat. "Our marriage wasn't arranged; we met and fell in love, we married and had a son." He smiles at the memory. "We were lucky, I guess."

"You were," she agrees in a quiet voice, still unsure of where this all going or whether or not she can trust it.

"I married you because I want a mother for my son who understands that love is, by far, the most important thing in this world. I want him to grow up knowing that money and position are meaningless, that they're not a fair trade for love." He smiles as he rises and she watches as he moves tentatively toward her. "I married you because I admire you." Swallowing hard she watches as he nears; her heart beats rapidly and she doesn't move when he leans in and presses a tender kiss to her cheek, just barely grazing the corner of her mouth. "I do sincerely hope that you'll be happy here," he murmurs as he pulls away, taking a few steps back as he reaches for the handle on the door. "Goodnight, M'lady," he says, offering a quick wink and soft smile as he disappears into the darkened corridor.

Letting out a shaky breath, her shoulders finally relax and she turns back to the window, and she can only hope that she will be happy—but deep in her heart, she doubts that happiness can be arranged.