A/N: This was inspired by episode 1X11 "Fruit of the Poisonous Tree". I think it is by far the most interesting episode in regards to the 'enchanted forest version' of the Queen because I see it as a tipping point. She's not evil or hell-bent on revenge yet; but she is a woman who has lost her love and been trapped for six or so years (since Snow White is now fully grown) in a gilded cage with the people responsible for her misery. And that can do lovely, twisting things to a soul.
Also, so many things about this episode raise flags for me that I wish they would have delved into during the show: What was King Leopold doing walking around unescorted on a beach by himself? Why is Snow White out in the garden with Regina? Why is Regina's father there? Does he live with them? And how did the King get ahold of the Queen's diary and why is no one suspicious as to his motivation behind reading her private thoughts? The King also goes on to state at the beginning of the episode that all he wants is for his kingdom to be happy… and then fifteen minutes later reveals that he knows of the Queen's unhappiness and yet has done nothing to fix it. Why, why, why?
I guess that's what fanfiction is for :) I hope you all enjoy.
-highheelsandchocolate
Chapter 1: Poisonous Fruit Always Appears the Sweetest
Ah, spring. It was another beautiful day in the Enchanted Forest. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the waves were lapping steadily against the sandy shore… and Emma was sweating through her chainmail.
"Jesus Christ."
This was getting ridiculous.
Emma whipped the gleaming hunk of metal off of her head and gulped in the refreshing sea air in large stuttering gasps. Okay. So maybe trying to hide inside her helmet had been a stupid idea. It's not as if her armor wasn't a dead giveaway as to who she really was.
Emma Swan: White Knight and Savior of the Realm.
Shiny and silver and covered in chainmail.
Emma snorted at the title as she tossed her helmet into the sand and thumped her tired ass onto the nearest piece of driftwood. The Savior. What the hell.
She ran gauntleted fingers through messy curls that strained mightily to stick to her leather gloves with perspiration, the cooling sweat on her brow causing an unexpected shiver to race down her spine.
Fighting was just what Emma did. And she was damn good at it too.
Before she had enlisted in King Midas's service she had held a myriad of salty occupations and no one had bothered to care. She'd been a mercenary for hire. Endured a stint of pirating on the high seas. Slain trolls from their bridges and lopped the heads off of a few meddlesome dragons. She had even traveled with the Merry Men for a while before Robin Hood had met his untimely demise against the sharp end of an oriental blade. The band of rowdy scavengers was now run by a brooding warrior from the East with flashing eyes and a broken heart… a deadly combination in anyone's book.
And so the Ogre Wars should not have been a game-changer. Not in the slightest. It was supposed to be just another notch on her belt of adventure and bloodlust. It was as good a distraction as any.
Emma was a free spirit that craved the adrenaline of the fight and the pitch of cannonball fire. She loved dirt pushed beneath her fingernails and blood in her hair, and the sound of knives slicing through flesh was music to her ears. The carnal ferocity of battle made her feel more alive than anything else in her life, and knowing how tempting that drive could be, she had always focused her skills to help the greater good. Bruise the people that needed to be bruised and then disappear into the night with no one the wiser. Good deed done. No praise needed.
Without it, 'itching for fight' nearly became a literal term.
She had intended this venture to merely be the next means to sate what was just an intrinsic part of her nature. But as it turned out, fate had different plans.
The notoriety the sensationalized war had brought the White Knight was a curse in and of itself.
Emma had encountered five small farming towns so far, and in every single one she had been met with heart-felt weeping and goods thrown into her arms free of charge; with people fainting and clutching their chests in glee. One village had even literally fallen to their knees as soon as she had entered the marketplace. Embarrassed and flushing she had of course told them to get up. That it was nothing. That she was just one of many and that countless valiant and courageous soldiers had fought and died by her side.
But "Savior! Savior!" they all kept crying, insisting that they show their gratitude to her in any way possible. They were so thankful to her for saving them. For fighting for them. For ridding their realm of the terrible beasts. For restoring peace to their worn-torn land.
They regaled her with tales of her own feats so far estranged from the truth that sometimes Emma forgot that she had, apparently, actually lived them. The bards singing in the square made her sound like some kind of angel of death, swooping down on hordes of heathens and massacring the opposing forces with deadly finesse and purpose.
Like she had single-handedly won the war.
Emma unsheathed her sword and looked dully at the shine of sunlight glinting off the polished blade.
Midas's kingdom had looked like a wasteland after what the Ogres did to it and no amount of 'magic touch' was going to fix it quickly. Turning rubble into golden rubble helped no one, and the wise king had known in his heart that calling for aid was in everyone's best interest; so he had reluctantly combined forces with King George to merge their essential assets and manpower in order to rebuild.
But unlike Midas, Emma had not seen eye-to-eye with the new co-monarch; the inundation of new knights, strange customs, and unfamiliar formalities chafing mightily against the knight's brash nature. And so she had left. Again.
The goodbyes had stung. To say they had felt any different would have been a blatant lie. Her comrades in arms had become the brothers she'd never known she wanted, and when they bid her farewell with punches to the shoulder and too-tight embraces that squeezed the air from her lungs, she had actually found herself getting a little teary-eyed. The ramshackle palace with its impetuous soldiers had become a home away from home.
But then they had held that damn commemoration ceremony right before she departed. With all the wreaths and medals and titles and unwanted acknowledgement and…
Emma groaned. She knew they had meant well but right now she was so ready to go back to being a nobody. And she couldn't. She was the White Knight and the Savior, now and forever and even after she died.
"What are you doing on my beach?"
Emma was on her feet in an instant with her sword pointed directly at the offending man's heart, her nerves on high alert. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't even heard him approach.
The stranger put his hands up in a gesture of peace with a minor start in his voice, "Whoa! Mighty quick on the draw, aren't you girl?"
The knight glowered at the man who was smirking at her. She didn't like his tone. That and he seemed strangely unperturbed by the fact he was currently being held hostage at the end of a sword. In fact, he seemed mildly amused. Emma narrowed her eyes and dug the tip of her blade into the folds of his tunic a little bit. "Who wants to know?" she growled.
"Well, I do," he chuckled. "Seeing as you are the one trespassing on my private grounds."
Her jaw clenched. This man looked harmless enough, but some of the most dangerous people Emma knew came in unsuspecting packages. He could be a sorcerer in disguise.
She quickly took stock of her captive: his long dressing tunic was made of expensive fabric and was tied with a sash that did nothing to hide the pooch of a belly that strained against tenuous buttons. He had a cape made of a wolf's pelt thrown over his shoulders and he was hiding golden bracelets on the wrists beneath his sleeves. And his head was bald with wispy tufts of gray hair feathering out on either side of his… crown.
Shit.
Leave it to her to unwittingly accost royalty.
Emma immediately thrust her sword into the sand and knelt beside it; her head bowed in apology. "Please forgive any offense taken on my part, Your Highness. This is my first time in the territory and I knew not where I was treading, nor to whom I was speaking. If I have broken any of your laws it was not an act made in defiance, but in ignorance."
The man's unaffected demeanor did not change as he looked down at her. "In troublesome times such as these, it is sometimes hard to tell friend from foe and I grant you my pardon for this incursion." He gestured for the knight to stand and she did. "Today you can just be the unexpected company of an old man trying to avoid his own politics."
The man laughed and the knight forced her mouth into a small but gracious smile, "I appreciate your leniency sir. If you could tell am where I am though, that'd be great. I've been travelling for some time without a map."
The man immediately puffed up proudly in his skin as his hands lifted to showcase the world around them, "Assuming you journeyed here from the South, you entered into the White Kingdom roughly three leagues ago and I am King Leopold, the ruler of these lands. Welcome to my estate."
King Leopold. Leopold, Leopold, Leopold. That name rang a bell for some reason but she couldn't quite remember why. He was one of the richest kings in the Enchanted Forest and held an army that was unparalleled in size, but if memory served her well, Emma could recall a few choice battle-strategy sessions that had ended with Midas cursing his fair-skinned legacy.
Ah, yes. This was the King that had blissfully stayed out of the war. Midas's forces had called for aid again and again only to get no response until the ending skirmishes had all but ceased. Leopold had later claimed that the protective wards encircling his lands were to blame for the delayed response time but Emma, among many others in her regiment, had their doubts about that.
But there was something else too. Something faint in the back of her memory that she couldn't quite get a hold of that featured this King Leopold.
Eh. She'd figure it out later.
"Wow, it's an honor to meet you, Your Grace. The reserve forces you sent in our end stages against the Ogre Horde helped us to finish the war swiftly and without excessive bloodshed. I thank you deeply on behalf of my former King."
An incredulous look passed over the man's face, "You fought in the war, fair maiden?"
The corners of Emma's eyes tightened at the slight and her voice hardened.
"I did."
For the first time then, Leopold really seemed to see who he was talking to; taking in the gleaming armor and sturdy grip on the hilt of her sword as he raked his gaze languidly over her form. And the moment his eyes widened in recognition, Emma's stomach dropped in tandem.
Apparently tales of her valor had reached this far North already.
"I know that insignia," he stated with awe; his indicating finger jabbing her once in the chest over the emblem engraved there. Her breastplate made a tinny sound of complaint before he continued. "A golden lion wreathed in flames and set against a burgundy shield. That's Midas's crest! …and so that must make you that woman knight of his!"
He snapped his fingers in rapid succession off to the side of his face as he tried to recall what her name was, then poked them once more in her direction as his eyes lit up. "The Savior! You're the one they call the Savior!"
Emma winced at the unwanted title and picked the lesser of two evils. "My comrades just call me Swan," the blonde shrugged. "But I find that in the way of titles, the White Knight suits my tastes better. Less flashy and all that."
"Ah, such modesty in such a brave soul," the King clucked. "Very befitting of the realm's newest Savior." He clapped her affably on the shoulder as he blatantly disregarded her wishes. His hand lingered just a little too long. "The Savior, in my land! Who would have thought?"
Leopold's eyes brightened as he scoured her countenance. "You must attend my birthday celebration in a month's time. It's going to be the celebration of the century and your presence there will only serve to make it unforgettable. You know what they say; sixty-three is a banner year!" A chortle shot through his nose as he murmured to himself, "This is wonderful."
Emma immediately protested, "Oh no, sir, I couldn't possibly intrude on–"
"Nonsense." He cut her off with the wave of his hand. "My kingdom's happiness is my main priority and when I'm happy, they're happy. Not to mention that your presence will certainly raise moral. So it's decided then." He smiled widely at the knight. "You will take up residence in my court. No expense withheld. Of course we'll supply nothing but the finest for a hero such as yourself."
And with that King Leopold about-faced and started walking in the opposite direction. He only got about four steps up the beach before he realized that the blonde wasn't following him. She was still rooted to the spot with a dumbfounded look slapped across her face.
The wicked glint in the King's over-the-shoulder gaze made Emma falter. He raised a bushy eyebrow in her direction, "You dare to deny a King is own birthday wish?"
"No sir," she quickly corrected as she snapped out of her daze. The White Knight gathered her belongings from the spongy sand. "It would be my pleasure to accompany you."
The oddball pair had been clamoring over landscape of Leopold's kingdom for a little over an hour now and Emma had just about had it. She felt like she had all the grace of a cyclops with the way she was clomping around; her heavy pack banging against her knees as she clutched her helmet clunkily in the other hand. Bogged down with excessive weaponry, the knight's sword rattled in its scabbard and the hidden dagger in her boot continued to rub a blister into her skin all while the King traipsed unencumbered in front of her with nary a scepter in his grasp.
He was still going on about the mighty wealth his kingdom possessed. "Not only do the dwarves we breed mine numerous invaluable stones from the caves, but they also have become quite adept at harvesting pixie-dust, which we have in turn begun to reassign to the more appropriately deserving–"
Emma tuned him out as her first glimpse of the palace towered over the snow-topped woods, the overcast sun still fighting vainly to mellow the dying season's temper. The monolith of a castle all but sank into the sky; the tall slabs of granite like claws to the clouds as the fortified fortress glared at idle passerby. It was not the welcoming sort of home she had expected for such a soft-spoken king. Castle White was sleek and sharp and daunting… even if the thick trees did mostly block the guarded main entrance from view.
Which brought a disquieting thought into the knight's mind. Weren't they going the wrong way? And if they were no longer heading to the castle, where was the King taking her?
Trying to squash the mounting panic in her breast, Emma boldly interrupted the droning monarch with a falsely light tone, "You know, I don't mean to tell you how to get to your own palace, Your Grace…" she nodded her head in the direction of sinister peaks poking over the tops of the forest. "But I think your castle's that way."
He stared at her unblinking for a moment before he smiled again. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I know," Leopold stated plainly. "I am well aware of where my castle lies. I wanted to show you something first."
A cobbled stone wall rushed into view through the twisting trunks of wood, weathered and loved by the elements, as he led the way a little further into the brush. A black wrought-iron gate lay embedded in its side. "Let's take a peek into the Queen's garden, shall we?"
Emma didn't really think she had a say in the matter and remained silent as the ancient gate creaked open and the vines of ivy clinging to the rusting metal trembled dangerously with the movement.
Her mouth dropped open at the luscious sight she was greeted with. The garden was beautiful.
Seemingly untouched by the residuals of winter, color exploded out of the greenery. Neat little rows of flowers sprung up and scattered in the grass; poppies of orange mingled with budding azaleas and blooming cow lilies until they almost overtook the trees laden with all kinds of succulent fruit.
And there were roses everywhere. White roses. Peach roses. Yellow roses. Pink roses. Lavender roses.
No red ones though. Huh.
The distinctive rustle of petticoats brushing the earth caught in her ears and Emma flashed her eyes toward the sound.
"Ah, and here they are!" the King proclaimed, breaking the mystical quiet that had invaded her senses. "These are the real jewels of my kingdom." He smiled widely as he thrust out his hand in grandeur, "This is my beautiful daughter, Snow White."
A head of luxurious brunette locks snapped up with bright eyes and an easy smile, and Emma nodded politely at the sugarcane princess grinning madly in her direction.
Wrapped all in white, the girl nearly blinded the knight with the absence of color; the arctic fox draped about her shoulders blending almost seamlessly into a dress that shimmered like an ivory tusk. Barely pink lips and aqua eyes garnished pale, pale skin that almost glowed with luminesce in the overcast light, washing out her pixie-like bone structure so that she gleamed as a pearl in the middle of the foliage.
She even had a white daisy clutched in her pallid fingers.
The princess thrust her chin into the air with a look that claimed she knew exactly how pretty she was and curtsied cordially. "How do you do?" her melodic voice inquired and Emma gave another, albeit brusque, proprietary nod.
"My lady."
Monarchs made Emma nervous. Court etiquette made Emma nervous. Everything about this made Emma nervous. She was a knight; honed for battle and bred in the country, and as such the ways of the elite eluded her.
Back in the Kingdom of Gold things were different. There, she was favored by a kind King and surrounded by men that would lay down their lives in her name if she uttered it. There, the halls were loud and boisterous and full of laughter, where wit and candor were prized above breeding. There, her brash tongue was seen as amusing, not offensive, and whenever she unwittingly crossed a line she hadn't meant to cross, Midas or Frederick or someone would have her back.
But Emma was a long way from home and she wasn't sure she trusted her mouth to say the right thing yet.
Snow White held the flower demurely up to her nose and sniffed it as the King's voice sobered a touch, his animated demeanor suddenly falling a little bit flat. The slight change in tone gave Emma momentary pause as Leopold indicated behind her. "And Regina, my wife, the Queen."
A figure encased in a silver brocade gown with a basket filled to the brim with shining red apples turned slowly at the sound of her name ringing through the garden air.
Emma's heart stopped beating. For a moment there, she thought she actually might have died. And she sure as hell forgot how to breathe.
The Queen was lithe curves and elegant lines that melted and danced together until one couldn't tell where one feature started and the next began. From the sloping tilt of her neck, to the willowy upward twist of her tresses, to causal brush of refined fingers on the ripening fruit in her palm; the woman was polished and poised and perfect.
A picturesque study of what royalty should look like.
A barely-there beauty mark dusted the corner of her pouting mouth and the neckline of her dress dipped to flaunt a fist-sized diamond that rested its head against her deep olive skin, bleached pale by the lingering frost in the air. Like a snowflake not long for this earth, she looked fragile and soft as she seemed to almost float over the tender grass beneath her feet.
This icicle angel, with heavy eyelashes that swept demurely against her high-set cheekbones, was a goddess that sculptors around the world would long to discover…
Except for her eyes.
Emma was struck speechless by those heartbreaking eyes that had locked so forcefully onto her own, because they were the one thing that did not fit on that beautiful face. For those sad, sad eyes that belonged to the Queen hid a glowering darkness inside of them that had no place marring the enchanting creature in front of her. The pain she saw swirling in their depths made the knight want to draw her sword and impale something with it.
She wondered what someone as celebrated as a Queen had to be so sad about.
But the emotion only lasted for an instant before it was hastily masked by a warmth that flickered through those dark chocolate irises and the tiniest smile twitched at the corners of her sweet rosy lips. Like a candle playing behind the Queen's skin, her whole face seemed to brighten with the miniscule deed.
"Hello."
A single word. One single word that poured from her lips like a purr. One raspy and wonderful word from the Queen's enticing mouth and Emma felt like she was drowning.
She swallowed quickly before greeting the Queen with a deep bow at the waist and suddenly found herself profoundly invested in how she was being perceived. Emma acknowledged the woman respectfully with a quiet "Your Majesty" before straightening her shoulders again and readjusting the helmet she had grasped underneath her right arm. She hoped that she was painting a gallant image at the moment.
She also hoped that the messy cascade of blonde curls adorning the top of her head didn't look as chaotic as they currently felt.
But the Queen made no bow in return. Instead she simply lowered her gaze as her tentative smile vanished like a puff of smoke and she turned away with the barest swish of her dress; once again hiding her face from the world to engross herself with her apple tree, shrouded in mystery and cream-colored fur that tickled at her wind-bitten cheeks and fluttered at her delicate wrists.
Emma's heart panged unnecessarily at the gesture.
The King however didn't seem to notice. The man singularly had eyes for his treasured only daughter.
He gently took the daisy from the princess's dainty hand and tucked it lovingly into her already flower-woven curls; a crown of spring atop his winter dove. "My darling," the King caught the beaming girl's chin affectionately with his knuckle before he waggled his eyebrows in Emma's direction. "How would you like accompany me and the White Knight into the castle?"
"Oh Father, not the White Knight!?" Snow exclaimed giddily, and suddenly she was right in front of Emma; all bouncing girlish tresses and lamp-lit eyes and a smile that burst forth without a care in the world. Emma had to bite down the instinct to take a few steps back in order to give herself some breathing room.
"You must tell me all about your adventures, brave knight. You absolutely must."
And with that jubilant smile nearly cracking her face in half, the insistent princess looped her arm around one of Emma's elbows and began tugging the thunderstruck blonde towards the castle.
"Well if the princess insists…" Emma muttered hesitantly, anxiously looking back at the King for approval.
Snow White answered for herself. "The princess most certainly does."
And there was that cheek-splitting grin again.
Leopold chuckled at his daughter's antics as he fell into step beside them. "Snow's always been a precocious one. She gets it from her mother…" His voice trailed off wistfully as he let his daughter initiate what was sure to be a tittering interrogation.
Emma nodded and smiled and murmured appreciatively as the princess chattered away at her side. It was Savior this and noble that and I wish I could's and don't you think that's and everything the knight hated about entertaining aristocracy. Lots of talking, not a lot of substance.
But Emma absorbed none of it. For her thoughts were still vehemently circling around in the garden, consumed by the Queen with devastating eyes.
Regina let her shoulders fall slack as soon as their backs had turned on her. She inhaled through her nose and sighed pleasantly at how the crisp bite of the winter wind still burned in her nostrils as she listened to their heavy footfalls fade into the distance.
Thank god that simpering girl was finally gone from her side.
If she had been forced to hear one more fawning syllable about that charming prince Snow had met at the winter festival she was going to wring that girl's scrawny little neck.
Oh my James is so handsome! James is so suave! The way he looks at me step-mother… I'm always blushing something terrible. And his chest is so big and strong! Like an ox. And his teeth… have I told you about his teeth? His teeth are so white and I swear that his eyes actually sparkle! Oh Regina you should have seen him!
Regina had seen him. And he'd looked like a prick.
They deserved each other.
Yes… let the troublesome little snot go be a queen somewhere else. Please.
Regina felt more like consort than a Queen. The King paraded her around like she was a trinket he had won at a marketplace faire: a pretty little gem to complete his pretty little familial image. But Leopold was not the family man he was made out to be, being neither as warm nor as kind as he pretended in front of his fellows and Regina had incurred his displeasure one too many times for her liking. She had learned rather quickly that when she failed in her wifely duties there were always dire consequences after.
She was expected to remain silent when seated next to her husband on the dais. She was to lavish the court with maudlin looks and sentimental statements of peace when told appropriate to do so. She was to smile and bow and lift the spirits of the commoners with her presence.
And she was not to inherit the throne.
No, that claim was for Snow White and Snow White alone: the princess who stood a mere six years her junior who Regina was constantly required to kowtow to and mother indulgently.
A slight crease formed in between Regina's eyebrows as she grimaced at the muddy footprints the trespassers had dug deep into the soft ground of her garden.
Because of how little say the Queen actually held over the events in her own life, whatever control she did manage to grab onto she clutched until it strangled, flexing her power relentlessly and malevolently over anyone she could… and she did so excessively when it came to her obsessive gardening rituals.
This garden was hers. Hers and no one else's. Butlers were not to preen it. Guests were not to visit it. And no one but the Queen herself was allowed to harvest the luscious fruit and curing medicines it produced. The fact that Snow White and Leopold still dared to tromp there whenever they pleased spoke volumes about the respect they held for her wishes.
Another heavy sigh blew past the brunette's lips. Her life had symbolism scattered everywhere.
Still glaring at the mark the King had made on her land, Regina subtly shifted the weight of her apple basket further up into the crook of her arm and redistributed the growing bulk. Then peering into plant life around her and determining that all of the interlopers had indeed left, she gently waved her hand, palm downward, over the scarred dirt.
Her fingers glowed warmly with dark purple fumes and freshly sewn grass sprung out of the earth as if the footprints had never even been there in the first place.
A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of Regina's mouth.
"Cleaning up after castle brats are we, dearie? Now even I can think of a better use for your magic than that."
The Queen nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden voice and, internally cursing herself for such a childish reaction, quickly whirled around to meet the unfortunate little imp she knew would be standing there. Her lip curled in his direction.
"Go away," she sneered.
He didn't.
Instead Rumpelstiltskin sauntered forward with a spring in his step, gesticulating like a jester destined for some grotesque kind of carnival. Regina decided to outright ignore the fiend and pretended to diligently inspect an apple on the low-hanging branch of her favorite tree.
She failed in the next second when he suddenly popped into her eyeline and snatched the fruit right out of her palm.
He was very close to her face.
"When you didn't show up for your lesson today, I assumed you were dead." The imp gave her a stiltedly gross smile that showed too many of his rotting teeth and tossed her apple over his shoulder to be lost in the bush. His eyes laughed when her nostrils flared. "And yet, here you are."
Regina jutted her chin upward to try and gain some height on the little man that was still roughly about her size. She glared down her nose at him and sniffed petulantly. "I'm not so sure about these lessons anymore," the Queen scoffed. "I'm not sure I want a future that looks like…" her critical gaze skittered over his reptilian skin and bulbous golden eyes for a moment, "…well, you."
His irritating giggle grated into her nerves and Regina's eye twitched minutely. "Aww, feeling pessimistic today are we, dearie?"
"Well why shouldn't I?" the Queen snapped as her light-switch temper sparked within her chest. "You told me I would be capable of great things through magic. That I could secure my own freedom. And yet here I am still standing next to you. I need options, Rumple!"
The man shrugged with entirely too much satisfaction and when she scowled at him his grin only grew wider, "Can't be done, I'm afraid. This is how it is with magic. You are the feast and the darkness has tasted you, and oh does it like how you taste. It doesn't mind the bitter." He snickered menacingly at his own joke. "And now that it's started the meal, it's going to finish it. There's no going back now."
Regina's temples pounded with fury as her pretty features contorted into an ugly snarl. "You vile little creature, how dare you talk to me this way?!" she fumed and rounded on her sniveling assailant, stalking vehemently toward the imp with purpose. "I'll have you strung up in the courtyards for all the realm to see!"
"Ah ah ah," Rumple taunted, prancing just out of reach of her burning ire. "But then where would you be, hmm? Still stuck in the palace with your magician's tricks and beginning-level sorcery? I don't think so. See, I think you want out of this gilded little cage of yours, and you can't do that without me."
The muscles in her neck went ridged with tension and Regina turned her back on the man so that he couldn't see the way her face had fallen.
"I do not need you."
But the sorcerer crawled up behind her anyway and ghosted his putrid breath over the shell of her ear. "Oh really?" he mocked in a sing-song voice ripe with patronizing candor. "And tonight when the King calls upon you to do your duty, what will you do then? Will you finally resist his advances and make your daring escape? No. You'll magick yourself out of the castle only to find his guards stationed at every corner of the grounds ready to hunt you down."
Like provoking a snake he waited for the inevitable lash out, and when it didn't readily come he poked a little harder. "Are you really so eager to lose your head over that pretty little thought already?"
Instantly the hot boil of anger surged through Regina like a reckless wave and nearly drowned her in its wake; her face flushing brilliantly as embarrassment, outrage, and shame twisted together and rose up in her throat like bile, threatening to choke her where she stood.
Taking her simmering silence for the win that it was, the imp grasped the Queen's shoulders in his gnarled fingers. "My, my," came the feather-light touch on her bare skin, "I think treason will look lovely on you," he crooned.
The hair on the back of Regina's neck prickled in offense as she tried to suppress the nauseating need to shrug away from his touch. "You know that all I've ever wanted was to be free," she ground out hoarsely, hoping that at least some part of her voice wasn't as desperate as she felt.
But Rumple's jeering only persisted. "Then do something about it!" he spat, and his splintering fingernails bit slightly into her soft flesh. "Take control of your fate, dearie. Or shut your trap and accept the hand you've been dealt. It's as simple as that."
And even though she ducked her head from prying eyes, a low growl caught deep in the bowls of Regina's lungs as she released it through teeth that refused to part.
And still the imp continued to push, goading the breaking woman into oblivion, "Aren't you tired of being the royal family's plaything by now?"
Regina's skin was prickling. Her veins were seething. Her tongue felt sharp and short and nasty. She knew how this worked. She knew what he wanted her to do. And so the Queen allowed her eyelids to flutter shut as she breathed in her rage and waited for the all-encompassing weight the heavy emotion brought with it to nail her steadfast to the ground.
She didn't have to wait long.
Heavy on top of her. The King. The wicked King.
Alcohol-flavored breath on her face.
Wrinkled lips pressed against her collarbone and clumsy fingers picked at her nipple until it perked out of resignation. Hands groped the fabric of her nightdress into a ball so that he could run his length across her entrance. A stifled whimper on her part when he found her not nearly wet enough and forced his way in anyway. Like sandpaper against her softness.
Just wait it out. Ignore the mumbling moans for his dead wife against your ear. Pretend you're somewhere else.
"Eva, Eva, Eva. Oh Eva, my love, my Queen…"
Thrusting, grunting, and one sticky release later and he would leave. Fasten his trousers without a word or a second glance in her direction. Always still in her nightclothes. Never naked. As if he couldn't bear to even look at her crumpled up into a ball in the middle of the bed. Crying into her pillow.
When her eyes flew open again they were pulsing violently with dark purple flames that licked and crackled and popped in time with her furious heart.
This was all Snow White's fault.
Regina's fist clenched so hard around the basket she was holding that the weaving crunched in protest, threatening to break and drop her precious crimson cargo into the dirt. Her eyes glinted like shards of ice as they narrowed, glaring into the distance at the loathsome taffeta princess skipping alongside her aging captor and his newfound guest.
The imp's squeaky voice spiked through her thoughts and the condescending smile he'd infused into his tone had her grinding her enamel with such force it bordered on cracking.
"So… is our lesson back on for tomorrow?" he minced.
"Yes, Master," Regina murmured darkly. "I'll be there."
"Good. Don't be late."
She didn't even need to turn around to know that Rumpelstiltskin was gone. The resulting emptiness pressed in around her like a thick musk and bathed her in its forlorn scent. Her shoulders sagged under the pressure.
And once again, the Queen was left alone to tend her garden in the looming shade of the castle that kept her prisoner.
TBC...