Robin finds her outside in the courtyard, underneath the apple tree she has deemed "off-limits." She's silent and still, staring off into the distance, oblivious to his presence. He clears his throat, but she either hasn't heard him or she is refusing to look. It's only when he sits down beside her that she finally acknowledges him, and from the look she's giving hi, she is not pleased at the fact he's there.
"What are you doing here, thief?" she asks curtly, turning her gaze back to the view in front of her.
"You seemed in a hurry to leave after dinner. I was just making sure her majesty was all right," Robin explains.
She smirks at his jab, and it makes Robin's stomach jump. What was it about this woman that made him want to be so near her? She was cold, cynical, and often time just outright rude. But then, there were moments where she was soft and gentle-like when she was with Roland, playing together in her library.
"You have excellent manners for a thief and a liar," she quips.
Her comment catches him off guard. "Liar?"
She turns her head to look at him once more, a sneer marring her pretty lips, making the scar on her upper lip stand out. "Do you think me a fool?" she hisses. "I know why you're really here. Snow and Charming sent you to keep an eye on me."
There is some truth to what she's said-the prince and princess had asked him to go make sure the queen wasn't trying to put herself under a sleeping curse...again. The decision to start a conversation had been an idea all his own.
"I cannot deny that they did ask me to make sure you were all right," Robin admitted. "But maybe there was also the need to talk to someone who seems to be lonely."
Robin hopes he hasn't overstepped his boundaries. He knows the queen to be quite temperamental-calm and collected one moment, screaming for someone's head the next. But she merely turns to look at him, a glint of curiosity in her deep brown eyes.
"What is it that you have such a desire to speak with me about?" she questions coolly.
"Tell me about your son."
Robin immediately knows he's hit a sore spot for her when she averts her gaze down to the cobblestones of the courtyard. This mysterious woman and her mysteriously missing son.
"He was my son...there's not much else to say."
"Tell me about him," Robin presses.
She continues to stare at the ground in silence, her eyes adopting a distant and glossy look. Robin is just about to leave her be when she finally breaks the silence.
"He is eleven, he has brown hair, he-"
"Take the mask off when you speak to me."
He's struck a nerve, of that Robin's sure, and she turns to glare at him, a fire igniting in her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"
"Take the mask off when you speak to me," Robin repeats. "Speak plainly."
The fire dies immediately and a soft chuckle escapes from her lips. She turns to face him again, and he sits patiently as her eyes roam over him. He takes the quick moment to study her face: her lips, her nose, the freckle just above her mouth, her eyes...oh, her eyes. Big and daring, but behind that, scared and insecure.
Another soft chuckle draws his attention back to her as a whole. She stands and faces him, clasping her hands in front of her.
"The problem with a mask is that, eventually...you can't take it off."
And with that she's gone, leaving him beneath her beloved tree to ponder her words. And it's there that Robin of Locksley determines to pry her mask off, even if he dies trying.