A/N: Based on a prompt by barbie-shoes on tumblr.

For Regina, there's always been a kind of exhilaration in exploring the edges of freedom. Tiny ones, only to be noticed and kept and held by her alone amidst a life where it seems like every moment is a tightened corset with little room for breathing.

Nothing too big of course, Mother would see right away. Too expressive, Regina, too emotional, too sentimental. Freedoms like reading books on the window sill with her father and a cup of rich apple cider, books about daring adventures and peach colored sunsets and saucy princes and princesses that Mother would never let her read. Freedoms like riding Rocinante to the very edge of the meadow, where the fence laid, her breath labored and her eyes stinging. The forest with it's chirping birds and rushing stream just out of grasp. Or….just for a moment seeing a beautiful girl, hair pinned up in curls, lips pink and cheeks rouged, busts heaving and held by those very same corsets, and allowing a single jump in her stomach before she prying her eyes away, and not being terrified and confused at her own reaction.

Princess Emma, with her delightfully firm wandering hands and soft lips, is decidedly not one of those tiny freedoms. The way Regina gasps when Emma runs those lips down her neck, alternating between sucking and biting, feels more like soaring.

She didn't know exactly what she expected when her House was invited to the Princess's grand eighteenth. Mother had sneered at the name Queen Snow White for unfathomable reasons, and then proceeded to bemoan the fact that Emma's only brother is just a small child. Mother then gently cupped her cheek, her words sliding like honey coated daggers over Regina's skin, and asked if she'd befriend the Princess, gain her confidence. The girl is young and silly and will trust easily. Regina felt something sinister in her tone, but said yes nonetheless. If only to see that proud smile Mother got, the way she'd affectionately stroked her hair back.

The goal was just to befriend the Princess, Mother would be watching, perhaps chat with her in-between dances with eligible sons of lords and princes from other kingdoms, and then their eyes met as Emma descended the grand stairwell. A beautiful green, like Queen's. Her hair swept into an elegant bun, ringlets hanging in front, a small smile curving her lips. Her ball gown jewel encrusted and sweeping across the floor. She was a touch nervous, if only in the quickness of her step.

Regina was enamored instantly.

And then introductions happened, a couple of longing gazes over brawny princes' shoulders, giggles at the bad dancing, and then Emma, having shirked all notions of how a proper princess should act had given her a risen eyebrow before whispering in her ear that they should find somewhere with less drunken dukes and pining suitors.

She was dragged through the cold hallways, laughing until her sides split, until they ducked into a broom closet.

She didn't know how the kiss happened, really she didn't. One moment they were laughing at some phrase Prince Caleb had said, and the next Regina couldn't move her gaze from Emma's lips.

Regina should be wary of the way the back of her dress is catching on the wood, but Emma moves her lips up towards her ear and Regina lightly rakes her nails along her freckled back. Emma moves a knee between Regina's legs, as much as she can with her blue dress covered legs.

She tilts her head to the side to allow more access. A ringlet caresses the base of her neck and Emma's hand runs firmly and quickly up her stomach, coming to rest on already sensitive breast.

She lets out a breathy gasp and holds her tighter. "Princess-" She murmurs, wondering at the new and raspy quality to her voice.

"I'm sure whatever you have to say, my Lady, it can most likely wait." Emma whispers back and gently bites Regina's ear.

It takes another minute for Regina to do what she least desires, but truly must, because panic is fusing with arousal in her stomach, and what if someone saw? What if someone knows? Mother's cold eyes, hand outstretched-

"Won't they notice us gone?" She says, barely able to open her half-lidded lips and use a hand to briefly stop Emma's ministrations.

Emma gives a shrug and purses her lips. Something oddly sad seems to appear in the contours of her face, how her shoulders seem to droop. "It may be my birthday, but this is hardly what this ball is truly for. My parents tend to think I'm more brawn than brains, but I have a head enough for politics to recognize a search for allies when I see one. I'll have private celebrations with my family tomorrow, if anything."

Whatever sadness flickers seems to vanish and she gives a wicked grin before hovering her lips over Regina's. "If you so wish, I think this is a much better way to celebrate." Regina leans just a bit forward and captures her lips, feeling Emma's exploring tongue. She breaks away when breath is necessary and Emma resumes her spot on Regina's neck. This time when Emma reaches for her breast, she gives it a squeeze and Regina truly gasps.

"But in a broom closet?"

Emma chuckles. "Imagined romance, Lady Regina? A canopy bed with a duvet, maybe candles strewn about the room?"

Regina flushes and flares her nostrils. "I'm not foolish. I won't be marrying for love." Her voice breaks when she says this, and she wish it wouldn't. No, she hasn't reconciled that. She can't, and she won't. Her future is as bleak as the North Kingdom skies if her mother's ambitions say anything.

Emma gives her a sad, sad smile and kisses her forehead very, very gently.

"This world is foolish if it seeks to give you unhappiness at every turn. I say, we don't accept the cards we're dealt. I say we fight for our happy ending, because with all it's magic, this world refuses to give us one without it."

"Are you proposing?"

Emma shrugs again and gives a slightly wry grin. "Maybe I am."

"At least take me for a walk around the garden first."

"I knew you were a sappy romantic, Lady Regina."

Regina catches Emma's barely visible eyes and reaches up to cup her cheeks. She leans up on her toes and gives her a very sweet, daresay romantic kiss, a far cry from their original fevered passion. Of course that doesn't last long and Emma's hands are already running down her arms, before she pushes her once more against the door, this time just a little bit more tender, strokes of her hand long and purposeful.

She laughs and feels that soaring sensation again.

"A broom closet it is, then, Princess."