It was shaping up to be a pretty dismal winter, here in the Enchanted Forest.
Autumn had breezed by without much of its usual fuss – the leaves had still changed, but the pumpkins had not made a great showing this year, and besides that castle morale had reached an exceptional low. All Hallows' Eve had been a muted affair, and by the time Thanksgiving came around, even Snow White couldn't muster the strength to explain what pilgrims were or why they deserved celebration.
Not that Regina complained.
She was in fact perfectly content with the lack of fanfare, and kept to herself on the holidays without much objection from Snow, quietly missing her Henry and hoping that somewhere, worlds away from this one, he was not missing a thing.
Regina emerged from her quarters only when needed; she strongly suspected that Snow would make a scene if she missed any mealtimes, and apart from that there were more general matters of upkeep to tend to, witchly plotting to thwart, and the occasional date with a boy on the hunt for some new books in her library.
But as the air thinned to below-freezing temperatures, her mood seemed to plummet along with it – not on account of the cold, but the spirited fervor it seemed to revive in just about everyone else. The thief and his Merry Men were certainly living up to their name; they'd made themselves quite comfortable here in her castle, and when Snow snapped out of her own doom-and-gloom to suggest a midwinter ball of all things, they were the first to chime in their agreement.
"What do you say, Regina?" Snow rounded on her with a beaming expression, trapping her there as everyone else did the same.
Well, everyone minus the thief, that is, who had an ear bent toward Leroy right next to him. They were whispering cheerfully – snippets of "Hey, I've got the beard" and "My boy would adore that" filtering over – and the fire that had been building inside of Regina was abruptly snuffed out.
"It sounds like it's already been decided," she said rather stiffly, and then, before Snow's smile could grow even terribly wider, she leaned to cut in, "Do enjoy your little party."
The whispering stopped, to her grim satisfaction, and she swept from the table, half-waiting to hear someone protest before stalking her way toward the door.
She could feel their eyes on her – how freely they looked, now that she had her back turned – and she told herself not to regret it, one bit, as she let the door slam shut behind her.
…
The preparations were already well underway the following morning, the entire castle coming alive with the thought of a break from routine. Even her presence did little to discourage their good mood, and she soon began to think rather bitterly back to a time when a well-placed glare would be enough to send a man scurrying the other direction. Now, as it was, even the dwarves had grown fearless, practically tripping over her in their rush to festoon every bare inch of wall, until she finally threatened to step on one of them.
Still, brightly glinting baubles managed to find their way up to the darkmost ceilings of her castle, green things sprouting up everywhere she turned until she thought they may as well be living in the damn forest itself.
She burned incense regularly, smoking up the hallways and alarming passersby, but try as she might, she could not get rid of that smell of pine.
And she didn't have to look far to know who to blame.
Every morning like clockwork, the thief Robin Hood would come strolling indoors with a fresh haul of boughs or split logs for the fire, the occasional dusting of snow on his cloak. His men were never far behind him, traipsing inside and dragging their filth around her foyer as she stood disapprovingly off to one side.
"What a magnificent tree, don't you think?" Snow said beside her one morning, as if one stupid tree could really look all that different. Before Regina could point out as out as much, Snow carried on, her gaze still trained on the thief, "You have such a good eye, my friend!"
"Your Highness," he grinned, in a way that made Regina feel strangely irate. "I did have my orders, after all."
"She has you earning your keep, then, I take it?" questioned Regina, and Snow turned to stare at her, looking faintly mortified.
"Your Majesty," said the thief, with a slight bow of his head. His smile seemed to lose a bit of its brightness, though he sounded friendly enough as he told her, "My men and I prefer to make ourselves useful."
"Then perhaps you could start now," she returned, "by learning to close the door on your way back out? You're letting in a draft."
The thief opened his mouth to respond, but she gave a wave of her hand to dismiss him, already half-turning to be on her way.
"She appears to be fond of making these exits," she overheard the thief saying, and then Snow rushing to make her apologies, as Regina strode off with her hands clasped tightly together.
…
As the days got progressively shorter and darker, the castle only seemed to grow bigger and brighter, as though it had awoken from a deep slumber. Regina hardly recognized parts of it anymore, and so took to her more private haunts, the ones that hadn't yet been discovered by some nosy thief and then strung up with garland and bows.
It was during one of these walks, in a small wraparound garden overlooking the forest below, that she found the first gift – at least, she assumed it was intended as such. There on a round marble stand, half-tucked away by some overgrown vines, sat a pair of thick woolen mittens. They were a muted taupe color, but when Regina bent closer, she could see thin threads of purple woven delicately into the yarn.
For a moment she thought they must have been dropped here by Snow, lying forgotten while the Princess went trolling about where she was not welcome. But there was something about the way they were folded, one angled primly on top of the other, that looked altogether too, well, arranged to have been left there by accident.
This somehow infuriated Regina even more than the thought of Snow simply nosing around without any purpose at all, and she promptly flung the mittens back down, vowing to make that the last word on the matter.
If Snow White thought she could shame her for how she'd behaved around Robin that day, well, then Regina was more than ready to show her just how recalcitrant she could be.
The opportunity presented itself even sooner than she'd expected as she thought to stroll past the front doors, where Snow – bundled up in thick furs and a matching hand muff – was greeting the men just returned from a hunt.
"Oh, you boys, I can't wait to tell Granny!" Snow was exclaiming as Regina made to approach them. "I know just the thing that will go with the rabbit stew we're having tonight, thanks to all of you."
Regina noted, with an almost absurd satisfaction, that the thief had hung slightly back from the others, nudging the door closed and fastening all of the locks into place.
"Oh, Regina," Snow turned on her next, mildly scolding as she took in Regina's bare hands, her neck exposed to the elements. "You must be freezing." She gave her a too-knowing look, and received only a bland sort of smile in return.
"Not at all."
The thief had ambled over to them, nodding toward Regina when she deigned to look in his direction. "Your Majesty," he greeted her warmly, as if he might think that he'd finally caught her in the right mood. "I hope you find everything is to your liking."
"It will have to do," she replied, then added an offhand, "I suppose that roast boar would have been far too much trouble," earning another grave look from Snow.
"Rabbit happens to be Roland's favorite," the thief told her pleasantly, not missing a beat. "But I'll keep your suggestions in mind the next time we've gone out."
"Well I, for one, think it's finally starting to feel something like Christmas," declared Snow, removing a hand from her muff and linking it around Robin's arm. She pulled him forward, and he went along with a smile, patting an affectionate hand over hers as she called back over her shoulder, "See you at dinner, Regina."
The two of them walked on without so much as another glance, leaving Regina to fume silently behind them and wonder how she could have possibly been so lucky as to be stuck with them both.
…
It was another several days before Regina thought to venture back up to that balcony garden. She'd half-expected the mittens to have made a quiet exit, leaving no trace that they'd ever been there. This is what she told herself, at least; the truth was that she didn't know what she expected at all, or why she even bothered except for some darkly unshakable impulse to find out.
The mittens were indeed where she'd left them, but they were not alone this time. A small assortment of things had squeezed their way onto the table, and Regina could only stand there a moment, too taken aback to know where to look first.
She finally picked up what looked to be a candle, resting beside one of the mittens. It was small and squat, and a bit roughly shaped overall, but finely carved around the sides, with a trellis of ivy and bluebells that bore a striking resemblance to the very garden she stood in.
None of this made any sense, thought Regina. She knew Snow must have picked up some hobbies, during her banditry days, but this…
This felt like something else, and when she touched her nose to the tip of the candle, and breathed in the scent of spices and pine, her heart did a strange little knock in her chest.
Her hand moved with a will of its own, touching a dark lump of some soft material that had been rolled up and placed just next to the candle. Slowly, she let it unravel, trailing her fingers down each side as it opened, the butter-smooth leather on one, silky white rabbit fur on the other.
On either end of the pelt, a knobby little button and a loop of beige leather had been sewn into place. Fastened together, it would have warmed her neck perfectly.
She dropped her hand away.
Feeling peculiar, Regina took a step back and glanced all around her, as if the bearer of these small offerings might have thought to linger until she arrived. She stared hard into the growing twilight, but not even her garden had stirred while she'd been here, and she knew that she was alone.
There was something else – something feathery and dark near her feet that she must have brushed aside in her study of the rabbit fur, but this was all too much, these…things that she'd neither asked for nor wanted, and she jerked away like it had burned her.
Regina descended the stairs, spiraling down toward the main halls of the castle. There would be gathering of sorts in the drawing room by now, where people tended to go for a drink in the evenings, and she veered a sharp right, meaning to give it as wide a berth as she could.
Before she'd reached the end of the corridor, she heard the door open, and a distant but unmistakable voice calling out over the din of the room, "I'll grab the next round – do try to hold it together while I'm gone, yeah?"
Something froze Regina in place, and she turned to look back before she could help it. The thief had shut the door behind him and was heading in her direction now, gaze still lowered while he chuckled to himself.
She noticed the moment he sensed her, the alertness gripping his body before his eyes lifted to hers, surprise overtaking his features as he slowed to a stop some feet in front of her.
"Your Majesty," he said, recovering the next second, and perhaps it was the ease with which he smiled at her now, or that he'd no doubt been on his way to her wine cellar, but the confusion she'd been battling with quickly submitted to ire.
"What do you want?" she asked brusquely, as if he hadn't been the one to find her just standing there waiting for something.
He seemed to tense ever so slightly before relaxing again, though there was a hint of dryness to his tone when he shrugged and replied, "I was about to ask if you'd like to join us, but I suppose you've already given your answer."
Regina found she couldn't look him in the eye anymore, all that blue in the candlelight, in this hallway that suddenly felt ten sizes too small. "I have a spell to work on," she told him thinly, examining her arm for stray bits of lint.
"Ah," he said, looking far more understanding than he had any right to with her. "Yes, Belle had mentioned—"
"How nice," Regina cut in, but it lacked any of her usual bite, sounding flat as it devolved into silence, and why was he still smiling at her? "If you'll excuse me…"
She turned to go, but didn't hear his own footsteps resume like she'd expected, and she could feel his eyes on her still, her whole body stiffening as if that could keep him from seeing things she didn't want him to see.
He was proving to be quite resourceful, this thief of Locksley.
Finally, he called after her, "I don't believe that was a no, Your Majesty."
Regina half-turned her head over her shoulder, startled. "What?"
"To a drink." She could hear the smile in his voice growing wider. "Tomorrow, perhaps?"
She'd paused too long to effectively discourage this new line of questioning, and they both knew it, though Regina refused to give him the full satisfaction of seeing it written all over her face. "Good night, thief," she said curtly, gathering her skirts with a flourish and trying not to think about how she'd never noticed the way his eyes crinkled to look at her before.
…
It was needless and entirely foolish of her, but the following day she couldn't escape the thought of that now not-so-secret garden in her balcony, and what else she might come across if she just so happened to find herself up there again.
But Regina couldn't risk anyone seeing where she was headed, so she opted to travel by magic this time, purple smoke carrying her straight there from her chambers. She was reaching for the latch on the door when she felt an odd fluttering in her chest, like something trying to break loose and take flight, and she was so struck by the absurdity of it that she almost poofed right back to her bedroom.
It turned out that she needn't have concerned herself with being this careful – it didn't appear that anyone else had been here since she had, everything looking untouched, the table just as she'd left it. The item she'd dropped the night before was some kind of quill, she thought, glancing over, trying to ignore how it looked slightly bent in the middle. She should at least put it back where it belonged…
But the longer Regina stood there the more ridiculous she felt, and it was such an unwelcome feeling to her that she walked briskly to the opposite end of her garden, snatched up a handful of calla lilies as if that was why she'd come here all along, and marched with purpose back through the door.
The ridiculous feeling refused to abate even after she'd gone, and with it grew a bizarre paranoia, everything seeming to catch her off guard. Gripping her lilies, she rounded a corner only to double back several steps when she heard someone approaching on the other side.
She blew out an exasperated sigh.
"Oh, aren't those just lovely!" said Snow as she walked up to her. "I haven't seen them growing around here in ages – where did you—" and Regina promptly deposited them into Snow's arms with what she hoped would pass for a smile.
"I thought you might like them," Regina said tersely. "A little pick-me-up while you handle your…burdens," and she made a vague gesture at Snow's pregnant belly.
The Princess looked genuinely touched, nose buried deep in her lilies, and Regina went on her way feeling somehow more irritated than ever.
To her absolute horror, Snow had arranged them as the centerpiece of their royal table that night at dinner, proudly announcing to anyone within earshot that Regina had selected them just for her.
There was only one other person who knew where the lilies had chosen to bloom that year.
But if the thief noticed (oh, who was she kidding?), he made no indication of it, his attention never straying from his own table.
His son was in the middle of telling some story, arms flapping wildly about as he stood on the bench and made as if to leap into flight. The thief was gazing warmly at him, dimples on full display, laughing outright when Roland gave a little jump and landed dramatically into his arms.
Regina forced her eyes away when Snow passed a full plate of food over to her, the scent of roast meat in the air.
She glanced down.
"Wow," she heard Charming from two seats away, already slicing into his portion with gusto. "I can't remember the last time we had wild boar. This is fantastic."
It was a mistake to look back up. Her eyes met the thief's across the hall, just as he was taking a sip from his goblet. He didn't appear smug, or smirk at her like she'd expected him to as he raised his drink in her direction. The smile he gave her this time was a bit crooked, a bit shy, and she didn't know what to do with him like this – or what to do with herself, for that matter – and so she could only look away again.
Regina stole from dinner early, before the plates had even cleared, with a hasty excuse to Snow about needing to follow up on some things in the library.
It was not exactly a lie; she'd hit a dead end in her spell books after exhausting her last stash of hellebore, but as Belle liked to say, there was always room for more learning. They'd been taking turns reading whatever they could about Oz in the meantime, and tonight in particular suddenly felt like the perfect moment to do so.
Belle herself was just returning from the washroom when Regina slipped out of the banquet hall.
"Off to the library?" she asked knowingly. "I'll come join you soon."
Regina waved her off. "There's no sense in both of us letting a good evening go to waste." She cleared her throat, hating how very transparent she sounded as she added a curt, "You should go have a drink with the others."
"Are you sure?" Belle's forehead creased at her. "Did you want to come? We could both use a break, I'm sure."
Regina thought of a hearth draped in pine, warm cider, warm other things, and realized that she'd already made up her mind.
"You go," she told Belle. "I'll see you tomorrow."
…
She never knew what to expect anymore, as far as the thief was concerned.
But she had braced herself for whatever remarks he would make about her absence the previous evening, and so when they crossed paths around lunchtime, she turned on him, ready.
"Hullo," he said cheerfully, no more than that, not even a customary nod to her title, and she was so thrown by the change that he'd already moved past her before it occurred to her that she hadn't said anything at all.
She had destroyed men for much less.
But there was something about him that made her feel strangely unlike herself, and as he walked on there was another twinge in her chest, like he'd tethered her to him somehow, and this…this, she supposed, was a different kind of ruin.
By the time she arrived at the garden, the sun had already begun its descent, casting a welcome glow in the chill. She wandered toward the balcony rail for a moment, musing over the idea of him scaling up walls and firing arrows through open windows, swinging himself from ledge to ledge. It would have pleased him to know this, she thought, when he'd probably just taken the stairs.
He'd folded the neck warmer back up since she'd been here last, the tip of the quill now nestled safely inside the fur. Regina hesitated a split second before carefully pulling it out, examining the way that it bent at an unnatural angle, a flicker of shame running deeper than she would've cared to admit.
It was beautiful, the feather he'd chosen – a rich swirl of deep blues and greens, with a hint of purple down the middle, tapering down to a nicely shaped point. Magic pooled instinctively to her fingertips, and she itched to set it straight again, but that somehow felt wrong to her, almost offensive to try.
She curled her hand around the quill, pressing it gently over her chest as she turned to go.
Her breath caught when she saw it.
There by the doorway, ensconced in a bed of thick ivy, sat a small plant that couldn't have grown there, with leathery leaves and blooming rose-like white petals, their edges tinged in pink. Thin black roots sprang out from a fresh clump of soil, clinging to the nearby stems of ivy.
Hellebore.
Regina had to refrain from rushing over too quickly, as if sudden movement might break the illusion, or cause the plant to go into hiding. It was not the same species her spell books typically called for – those were of a deeper hue, maroon or even darker – and this pleased her, that she had an excuse to simply let them grow.
She used her magic this time, gingerly extracting the roots and potting them into a warmed handful of air. The flowers seemed to wave at her in the breeze, the pink in them flushing prettily when she touched her finger to the petals.
She knew the perfect place for it, in her bedchambers, and she swept down the stairs with her new plant bobbing gently through the air in front of her.
A curious warmth had settled into her body, but she chose not to question it any longer, hardly even caring that someone might spot her absconding with such a lovely thing.
—but no, she told herself firmly, one couldn't steal what one had been given, and this was quite possibly the most thoughtful gift she'd ever received.
…
He seemed to know her and her preferences so well, and up until now he had never been far from view either, so long as it inconvenienced her in some way; but once Regina determined that she wanted to be found for a change, he proved to be just as elusive as his fairy tale reputation implied.
As far as she could tell, he paid his visits to their garden at an arbitrary time each day. If he did this to avoid any run-in with her, he was more than successful, and short of installing some magical sensor she doubted she could catch him there.
At mealtimes, he was either with Roland or the rest of his men, and she could not figure out how to approach him this way; whatever this was between them felt too new and uncertain, like the smallest thing might break it before it had even begun.
Meanwhile, he didn't stop leaving her gifts here and there – medicinal herbs, some other ingredients she'd run low on (Belle must have been feeding him intel, she thought), a handful of apples he'd somehow procured when even her tree had stopped bearing fruit for the season.
She accepted his offerings in secret, though never more than a few at a time. The rabbit fur warmer came with her last, and she tried it on once in front of her mirror, sighing into its warmth for one indulgent moment before tucking it into a drawer with the mittens.
Each time she saw him it was as though she'd never truly seen him until then, the way he bit his lip sometimes when he smiled, a new sound his laugh made, how blue his eyes looked no matter the lighting.
In her distraction, she'd let Snow rope her into supervising the last of their preparations for winter solstice, a towering fir that was to go in the middle of the ballroom. It had taken all the thief's men to haul it inside, though not without several missteps that might have ended badly for them, had Regina not intervened with a few discreet waves of her hand.
She was still glowering when the thief ambled by.
"Your Majesty," he said with a perfectly straight face, clearly making an effort not to worsen her mood.
"Thief," she returned, heart thundering madly. Everyone else was still happily preoccupied, carting in things for the tree, and this was perhaps the only chance she would have to get him alone before the ball.
He saw her gaze sweep over the room and gave her a lopsided smile. "Excited for the festivities, I take it?"
Their eyes met. "I hadn't planned on going," she told him carefully, watching his face for a reaction.
He took a step closer.
"I see." He looked gravely serious, like he wanted to say something more but hadn't quite found the right words, and then John was calling for him, requesting his assistance on some matter regarding the tree.
Regina released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, feeling the moment slip away.
But Robin seemed remiss to go, stalling another few seconds to simply gaze down at her, eyes warm and terribly endless, and she wondered what he saw in her, how he had never looked at her any other way.
"I should…" He cleared his throat, raising a placating hand in John's direction, and then excused himself with a bow of his head. "Your Majesty," he murmured, so low she wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it, but the words sank into her like a gentle caress, and nothing had ever made her feel this warm, so warm, before.
…
She could hear the music from the ballroom very distantly from her perch in the garden, the lively instrumentals, the rise and fall of Snow's makeshift choir. The dancing would have begun by now, after that extravagant feast had time to settle.
Snow, thankfully, had been dragged away from dinner early to mediate a dispute between her two lead sopranos. Regina had snuck off without any trouble, Charming electing to look the other way as she passed him; and then, just for good measure, she'd sent a little spell over to Leroy, who was red-faced from too much mead and loudly insisting that Friar Tuck's range made him more of an alto, really.
He erupted into a coughing fit, demanding in between breaths for a lozenge and a tall glass of water, and Regina was able to make her escape unnoticed.
Now, she sat at the very edge of a bench in her garden, hidden behind the flowering lilies, and she waited.
He hadn't left her any gifts today, not that she'd expected him to. Snow had kept him busy all afternoon with last-minute details, and he had no reason not to attend the party himself, to drink hot chocolate with his boy and twirl him around in a dance while they caroled.
In another world, she thought, another boy would have told her that she deserved happiness, too.
She didn't hear him come in, but there was a change in the air, a sudden stillness to it that made her chest tighten as she glanced over and saw him.
He was standing by the round stone table, where two empty glass tumblers awaited, an unopened bottle of whiskey beside them.
Regina stood. "You came."
"Milady." He lifted his gaze to hers, and the look in his eyes nearly took her breath away. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." He smiled at her as she came over to him, shyness or something like it making her feel as though they were both in slow motion. "I apologize that I couldn't make it sooner; Roland was a bit resistant toward his usual bedtime."
"With good reason, of course," she said.
"Indeed." He gestured back toward the table, voice going soft. "What's all this?"
"I…believe I owed you a drink."
His smile spread, dimples deepening at her. "That you did. May I?" He reached past her, brushing their arms together as he picked up the bottle and pulled out its stopper. He worked slowly, intently, and she tried not to breathe in too deeply when he leaned back to hand her a glass. "Cheers."
She clinked her glass with his, but neither of them drank. It was hard to get her body to cooperate at all, not with him standing this close to her.
"Speaking of which, Roland quite enjoyed his chocolate beverage."
Regina swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. "I'm glad."
"The, uh, cinnamon. It was a nice touch."
She blinked and had to look away for a moment. "An old family recipe." Her voice tried to crack, eyes burning, but then everything seemed to right itself again, feeling uncommonly steady, and she realized he'd set their glasses back down and taken her hands into his.
"Your hands are like ice," he murmured, closing his more firmly around them. She almost shivered into the warmth, thinking that she hadn't known to mind the cold until now. "So – just to be clear—" and there was a teasing glint to his tone this time, "Of all the gifts you thought to claim first, you chose a weed—"
"It's not a weed."
"—and a broken quill."
"It writes perfectly well," she told him.
"I could mend it for you." He rested their hands to his chest, coaxing her forward just slightly. She was much too warm now to even think about how she'd ever stood for anything less. "Or make you a new one."
Regina curled her fingers into his tunic, offering a demure, "I suppose I wouldn't say no," feeling the way his chest rumbled with laughter.
"Have you tried the candle yet?"
She shook her head. It had seemed a waste, to let it burn.
"Well," he said, shifting over her a little, "should you ever choose to light it, you may find it has an interesting way of masking its own scent, and that of its surroundings. Quite handy when you're on the run…or perhaps tired of your castle smelling like it's gone a bit wild."
Regina straightened and said, very primly, "I don't know what gave you the impression that I would ever want a candle like that."
He released her hand for a moment, brushing back a lock of her hair. His touch lingered, and she leaned into his palm, feeling dizzy and so unbearably light.
"So what did you bring me today, thief?"
"Well, since you've been averse to wearing the things that I made you…" He grinned, and she couldn't help it, reaching up to rest her fingers on his jawline, learning the feel his stubble, the way his dimples moved when he bit his lower lip at her. "I thought I might try to find some new way of keeping you warm."
She wanted to tell him that he already had, but instead she stretched onto her toes, and she kissed him.
It was brief but full of promise, and she rocked back onto her heels, feeling breathless. His lips were parted, gaze heavy with want when she opened her eyes, and all she could do was sigh into him as he gathered her up and kissed her again.
His hand moved through her hair, cupping the back of her neck and angling her closer. His mouth was warm and inviting, moving together with hers in a tangle of heat and tongue. She stretched her body up against his, feeling his weight, his warmth, his arms closing around her and holding her to him.
Everything tingled, where they pressed together, and she was more than lightheaded when they parted again, his forehead coming to rest against hers as they breathed each other in. But her hands would not still, wanting to touch him, to wander up his chest and his shoulders, finally reaching the sides of his neck. He nudged the tip of his nose to her cheek, the world slowing again, and she stole another kiss from him, softer this time, lips parting and brushing back and forth without fully settling back together.
His arms around her tightened, a kiss finding its way to her temple as he rasped into her ear, "I ought to head back soon, in case he wakes up."
"Mm." She didn't trust herself to speak quite yet, her whole body still alight with the need to kiss him like she might not get the chance to tomorrow.
"Could I perhaps…" he leaned back with a mischievous quirk of his eyebrows, looking quite boyish as he asked her, "accompany you on the walk to your room, milady?"
She couldn't hide her surprise even if she'd wanted to. "I'm not stopping you," she said, watching the way his everything seemed to transform in the warmth of his smile, and she marveled that this was all for her, that this was what he wanted too, and oh if this feeling didn't destroy her, she knew it was certainly going to try.
He pressed one last kiss to her lips and released her, wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked.
"We'll have to come back for that drink," he said, and Regina turned into him, touching her hand to his chest for a moment.
"Tomorrow sounds good to me."
He tugged her back in, both of them smiling into the kiss now, and at this rate, if it took them all night to make it where they were going, she would not mind it at all.
…
"How was the rest of your night, Regina?"
She almost choked on her eggs, taking a liberal swallow of coffee before she was able to get any words out. "Excuse me?"
"I didn't see you at the ball," said Snow. "I hope you were feeling all right."
"Just fine," Regina told her firmly. "I'd told you I wasn't going to go." She tried not to let her gaze wander too obviously toward a certain table in the back, focusing instead on spearing up another bite of potato.
"I know, but…" Snow's tone dropped to something suspiciously covert. "I thought maybe someone would have convinced you to change your mind."
Horrified, Regina nearly dropped her fork before deciding altogether it was too dangerous to try eating anymore, with Snow so determined to keep talking to her. She took a measured sip of her coffee, and said as flatly as she could manage, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
Snow seemed willing to drop it for the time being, and Regina let herself relax into her coffee again, stealing another glance between sips. Robin looked just as focused on his own breakfast, but she caught him smiling to himself on more than one occasion, and she couldn't help but look shyly away each time she felt his gaze flick over to her again.
She touched her hair without thinking, curling the ends behind her ear, fingertips grazing the fur at her neck.
"That scarf looks warm," Snow remarked, something intentional about the bland way she said it.
Regina almost took her hand away, but she pushed back the instinct, toying with the Christmas rose she'd pinned to its side that morning. "It is."
"That's wonderful," said Snow.
Their eyes met for a moment, and for the first time that winter, Regina felt, truly, that wonderful was just the beginning.