I own nothing.

His eyes flit around the great room, taking in the grandeur as he nervously adjusts himself on the beige eighteenth century chair for the thousandth time. Larger than life portraits of the family's ancestors hang on the walls, and tall windows open onto the view of the palace's immaculately maintained gardens. Robin feels more than sees the guard's eyes on him as he reaches into the inside of his blazer to pull out the tape recorder in his pocket, checking the battery percentage to make sure it's at a hundred percent, though he knows it is, had made sure he had charged it overnight, had checked as he unplugged it from the plug in the hallway of his flat in the morning that it had indeed charged, had checked once more as he had locked the door of his flat, as he'd gotten into the cab that drove him to the palace, as the guard now standing at the door of the room had led him from the service entrance through the palace to one of the smaller state rooms. He can be forgiven for being perhaps a little paranoid, a little nervous.

For one thing, he can't quite believe he's here.

That he, of all royal correspondents, had been chosen to do this. That, he of all of them, had been hand-picked by the Queen herself, to conduct her very first interview. Not just her first interview, but the first interview, ever, of a monarch's spouse. He's only had this job for four months, and he's suddenly been thrown from interviewing garden party attendees about their royal encounters as they leave the palace grounds to having a royal encounter himself. A one-on-one encounter, for that matter, by special royal request. He can't fathom what on earth he's done to distinguish himself enough for such an honour, to be plucked from obscurity to conduct an exclusive interview with arguably the most famous woman in the world.

He tucks the recorder back into his pocket as he waits for the Queen to arrive, looks at his watch and his leg starts bouncing from the nerves when he sees she's a good twenty minutes late.

Maybe she's had second thoughts about this, he thinks, half expecting someone to burst through the door at any moment, tell him that this was all a mistake and they weren't going to be doing an interview at all, or that the Queen had taken note of his lack of experience as a royal reporter and wanted his editor, Sidney Glass, to do the interview instead.

He's startled when the guard breaks the silence in the room to tell him, "Don't worry, mate. She sure is something, but she doesn't bite."

He looks up to find the guard smirking at him and so he attempts a smile, but it comes out as a grimace instead.

Suddenly, Robin hears voices outside the room, and the guard throws a look over his shoulder into the corridor and then turns to nod at Robin as he moves to the side of the doorway. Robin takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, buttoning his blazer as he stands.

" - and call her and tell her that I'll be at the polo charity event next month and we can discuss endorsing her own charity then. And, please, Ruby, remind Snow that it doesn't matter how passionate she is about those woodland creatures, her duties as a royal mean she is obligated to be impartial in political matters so she absolutely cannot express her support for that bill on social media or else we'll have a constitutional scandal on our hands. Maybe she'll listen to you."

And with that, the Queen has arrived, and she turns from the tall brunette at her side jotting down her every word on a sleek notepad - her private secretary, he knows, she's the one who called him to set up this interview and she's always in the background of pictures of the Queen, almost like she never leaves her side - to look at Robin, and suddenly, he has to remind himself to breathe.

Of course, he's seen her before. You'd have to be living under a rock not to have seen the thousands of magazine covers she's graced, not to have watched even a minute of the hundreds of news segments about her engagement or her wedding to the King, and of course he's been to every public event she's attended in the past four months - even some private ones - thanks to his press pass, but she's never been this close to him and it's one thing to observe her from afar and quite another to be observed by her.

She stands only a few metres from him now, her chocolate brown eyes fixed on him, and he can't help his eyes from roaming down her body because she's here in from of him, and he can see her now through his very own eyes, not through the lens of a camera or in the pages of a newspaper or on a computer screen: her raven-coloured hair that falls straight just past her shoulders, her blood red lips marked by a scar of which no one has yet found out the origin, the deep blue sheath dress she wears that is tailored perfectly to her body, her hands where they rest folded together in front of her and her left ring finger with that infamous engagement ring on it, her feet snug in a pair of high-heels.

Ruby clears her throat, bringing him back to the moment, back to the protocol that Ruby had expounded to him over the phone the day before as Ruby announces, "May I introduce Robin Locksley, Ma'am, the reporter from the Daily Gazette? Robin Locksley, Her Majesty the Queen, Regina."

Robin bows his head to the Queen as she walks closer to him with an outstretched hand and says, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Locksley."

He raises his head and reaches to take her hand as he responds, "The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty."

And then their hands meet and Robin feels an odd sensation course through his entire body – and from the way the Queen's expression changes, he thinks that perhaps she feels it too.

Strange, he thinks.

The Queen drops his hand, takes a step back from him towards the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in and says to her private secretary over her shoulder as she takes a seat, "Thank you, Ruby, that will be all."

She is staring at him with a curious expression on her face and he finds he has to look away from the intensity of her gaze, so he looks above her head to where Ruby is backing out of the room, followed by the guard. The door closes behind them, and suddenly, he is alone with the Queen.

Well, by "one-on-one", Ruby really meant, "one-on-one." No camera man, no body guard, no assistants hovering in the background, just him and the Queen.

He swallows, looks back down at the Queen and tries to at least school his expression into one of calm as she gestures to him to take a seat, which he attempts to do, but misjudges where the chair is behind him and so he ends up bumping his ass against the arm of the chair rather than into the seat, and he quickly tries to recover and moves to the left to properly sit down.

Clearly he's not doing a very good job of concealing his nerves, because now she's looking at him with the hint of an amused expression.

He glances at the carpet as he reaches back into his pocket to retrieve his tape-recorder. He fiddles a little with it before placing it atop his thigh, looks up at the woman sitting across from him and asks, "Is it – erm – do you mind if I record this? I find recording more useful than taking notes – saves the awkwardness of a potential misquote or a misunderstanding of meaning."

The Queen nods at him, then reaches towards the small table beside her chair as she asks, "Coffee or tea?"

"Excuse me?"

She glances at him, raises one of her eye brows, and he thinks he detects a bit of nervousness in her as well as she repeats, "Would you like coffee or tea?"

"Erm – tea, please."

She rings the small bell that was sitting on the table and it seems that almost instantly the door behind her reopens, this time letting in a young blonde woman carrying a porcelain tea service.

The Queen smiles at the blonde and says, "Tea for Mr. Locksley, please, Ashley, and the usual for me. And if you could please bring some of that delicious shortbread Mrs. Lucas made this morning?"

"Of course, Ma'am," Ashley replies as she pours tea for Robin and coffee for the Queen, leaving the cream and sugar on the table between their chairs before retreating from the room and closing the door behind her.

The Queen reaches for her coffee instantly, doesn't bother with the cream or sugar, and he notes that she drinks her coffee black as he pours a splash of cream into his tea.

"So," she says as she places her coffee cup on the side table and turns to him, "I'm sure that you're curious about the reason why you have been chosen over all the other more experienced royal correspondents," – he finds himself choking on his tea at her candour – "but first, more importantly, I should like to explain why the Royal Family has decided to break its media silence by having me interviewed.

"My husband, King Leopold, believes it important that our family remain transparent to the public. As he and my step-daughter Snow have both grown up in the public eye, he feels that they are well known and loved enough by the public that they are personally transparent enough. I, however," – and he thinks he can detect the slightest edge in her tone as she says that – "am relatively new to the family, and to the public eye, and the King feels that a published interview would ingratiate me in the eyes of public and remove any sort of 'mystery' that may surround me. He thinks that despite the fact that I've been in the public eye every day for the past two years, I'm still somewhat an enigma, and we need to let the people get to know me. I agreed to his request, and he let me pick whoever I wanted to conduct the interview. So, that's where you come in."

"But – why me? As you said, there are tens of more experienced reporters who would kill for this kind of exclusive."

She falls silent, seems to study him for a moment before she looks pointedly at the recorder in his lap, and he gets it instantly. Her response to thatquestion she doesn't want on the record, so he moves his hand to hit pause on the recorder, and tries to ignore the flutters in his stomach at the thought that he's been sitting with her for less than ten minutes and already she seems to think he's trustworthy enough not to leak something that she clearly doesn't want made public.

She nods when she sees the red light of the recorder turn blue before drawing a deep breath and confessing, "I chose you because you're the newest royal reporter. For the past two years, it's always been the same reporters covering every single royal event. And then a few months ago, you appeared out of nowhere in the ranks of the press, and you were a new face, refreshingly."

He feels a flush creep up his neck at that, at the idea that the whole time he's been observing her, she's been noticing him, but he doesn't dwell on that thought for too long because she's still explaining to him.

"You see, royal reporting seems to be a certain niche in this country's journalism field. The journalists who take it up, the ones who have been at it for the past two years, have been doing it for years, since long before I came along. But you, you're new. You haven't spent the past ten years shadowing the Royals. And I thought that…because of that…" she falters, but he thinks he knows where she's going with this, doesn't even know how he knows but he supposes the impression has been in the back of his mind ever since her engagement to the king was announced.

She takes another deep breath before she fixes her brown eyes on his blue ones and finishes simply, "I chose you because you weren't a royal correspondent while Queen Eva was alive."

"Because if you have to give an interview, you don't want the journalist to be able to compare you to the King's first wife, to the Princess' mother," he states, with no judgement in his voice, instead he says it as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Which it is, especially since she'd become engaged to the King just a little over a year after his first wife's death, had married Leopold only a week after the second anniversary of Eva's death, when the saintly Queen was still fresh in everyone's memory. He can't help but find fault in the King for that - he's only been shadowing the royals for a short while, but he knows, just like the rest of the world probably suspects, that the King's second marriage is not one based on love.

"Exactly," she exhales.

He smiles at her, hopes his earnestness shines through it as he says, "Well, no worries about that. I wouldn't dream of it, Ma'am."

"Regina. I prefer Regina," she urges, lifting a hand to gesture at the tape recorder in silent permission to turn it back on.

"Regina," he repeats as he reaches for his tape recorder again and she adjusts herself in her seat.

"Because I felt like giving the new guy a chance," she remarks off-handedly once the recorder's light turns back to red.

"And I am forever grateful for that. Alright then, Regina, let's start with a few get-to-know-you questions, shall we? Things people already know, but being related in your own words so it sounds fresh? And then we can just go wherever the conversation leads us, and so the contents of the article will be natural and" – he smirks – "transparent to the people, like they're having a chat with a lovely lady come round for tea? Or, coffee, in your case."

His nervousness is gone now, somehow disappeared in the past few minutes, because sitting here with her, having a conversation with her, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. She may be a Queen, but essentially she's just a person like any other, not intimidating or emotionless as some stories report. Right then and there, he resolves that his article will depict her not as a frigid Queen but as the woman he sees in front of him, because that woman is intensely human and intoxicating and he wants to learn everything about her, at least as much as she'll let him.

She nods, giving him a brilliant smile before saying, "Perfect," reaching to take another sip of her coffee.

The door behind her opens again and he sees it's Ashley, finally arrived with the shortbread.

Ashley places the shortbread on the table between them, and Regina instantly reaches for a piece. Robin simply watches her, amused, because her eyes positively lit up when the shortbread entered her line of vision. She literally looks like a kid in a candy store. That thought makes him furrow his eyebrows, because right now, as she indulges in the tasty cookie, her youth shines through, and she doesn't look like the Queen of a middle-aged King. She looks like a woman in her early twenties, enjoying the little things in life. Robin's only a couple years older than her, and he can't imagine what it must be like to be so young and – and have to act so old, to be the Queen to a kingdom and a mother to a teenager.

She looks up and catches his eye, asks him if he would like one, that they are the best things she's ever tasted, but he shakes his head, too distracted by her to think about eating a cookie.

"Ok then," she says, wiping off her fingers on a napkin, "What's your first question?"

He spends the next hour and a half asking her about her childhood, about where she grew up, what she studied at university, her most cherished memory from university, about her relationship with her parents, about her passion for horse riding and the various competitions she's won, about her other hobbies, about her plans for her 24th birthday, about what causes she supports, what inspires her on a daily basis, what books she's read recently, and much more. And then he asks her a few silly questions, like if she were an animal, which animal would she be? Would she rather live in a dome under the ocean or in a space station on Mercury? Who's her favourite fairytale character? What does she think of swans? Then he asks about the scar above her lip, and is actually surprised when she doesn't just brush it off but tells him the story of it in detail.

And in that hour and a half, in every laugh he manages to draw out of her, in every wrinkle of her nose as she comes up with an answer to his question, in every bite she takes of that shortbread as she talks, Robin finds himself falling for the young woman in front of him. It's too fast, he knows, but he's been observing her for long enough to realize that right now, in this room, she's let her guard down for him, is showing him who she really is behind the façade of the Queen.

And what she shows him is stunning. In every way.

…

As Regina walks down the palace steps to the car waiting to take her to her next engagement, she can't help but focus on the flutters in her stomach, brought about by the dimpled reporter she'd just spent the past hour and a half conversing with. She'd gone in to the interview with her guard up, but there'd been something about him that had made her want to be honest with him, to tell him the truth about why she'd chosen him. She thinks perhaps it may have been a little foolish to have been so open with a journalist – after all, they live off scoops like that – but for some reason, she didn't think he would share that particular piece of information with anyone.

When he'd said he'd never compare her to Queen Eva, he'd looked at her with such sincerity that she'd trusted him wholeheartedly, and so she'd let herself open up to him. The way he had treated her, the way he'd talked to her…as though he saw her for her, and not just as the stylish young bride of the king. She doesn't think anyone's actually seen her without any labels attached since before her engagement to the king – maybe even longer. Maybe not even since Daniel.

She just hopes the fact that she's let down her guard for a reporter in order to heed Leopold's request for transparency will please the King.

…..

Robin leans back into his chair and stretches his fingers, trying to think of the perfect sentence with which to end his article about Queen Regina. He looks out the window at the twilight settling over the city, thinks that the blue of the sky is so very like the blue of her dress on the day he interviewed her.

He's the last one in office now, except for a few of the interns, but the rest of his colleagues had all left an hour earlier, each making sure to tease on their way out about what they considered to be his "crush" on the Queen. He'd sent an earlier draft of his article out earlier in the day, had received multiple emails back telling him that it was brilliant, that it showed the Queen in a new light that would most surely make her more liked, but that perhaps it would be best to ease up on the blatant praise he'd lavished on the Queen in the article.

"Don't want the readers to think you're being paid off by the palace, Robin," his editor had said as he'd patted him on the back on his way out.

Others had said the praise was too much, too affectionate, too tender, but as Robin read over the last paragraph of his article once more, he couldn't think of a single way to change it. Anything else wouldn't be true, wouldn't depict her how he'd seen her that day, wouldn't betransparent. He doesn't want the article to be superficial; he wants it to have depth, so that the people can see the woman beneath the crown.

And with that thought, he thinks he's found the perfect last line.

….

The article is published the day of her 24th birthday, front page with a large picture above the fold of her standing beside her horse, smiling against the sun, looking happy and carefree, a sharp contrast to the photos from her wedding day that had also graced the paper's front page. "AN EXCLUSIVE WITH QUEEN REGINA" reads the title, with "By Robin Locksley" in much smaller letters underneath, which is the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes in the morning. Ashley must have placed it on her night table when she brought in her coffee.

Regina is reaching for the newspaper when she's startled by the door of her bedroom banging against the wall.

It's Leopold, and he's seething. He's holding a copy of the newspaper in his hand, angrily waving it at her as he thunders, "What did you say to him? Are you sleeping with him?"

"I – I – what?" she manages, gaping at him.

"Don't you realize how humiliating this is for me? How this will look to Snow? It reads like a love letter!" he roars.

Her eyebrows rise at that, her lips forming a small o, and she absolutely should not feel giddy about that, not when her husband is standing in front of her in a rage.

And then she's angry at him, because how dare he.

"The reporter?" she says, glaring intently back at her husband, her tone clipped as she tries to keep her voice from shaking. "The only time I've ever seen him was when he came to the palace for that interview. You know I'm telling the truth, you have your people watching me like a hawk every minute of every day. He was just doing his job, as per your request that I make myself more 'transparent' to the public by giving a personal interview so that the people can 'get to know me.' I did as you asked, and during the interview I tried to be myself, and I suppose he - "

Leopold is shaking his head vehemently and then he's shouting at her again.

"You're not supposed to be yourself. You're supposed to be my Queen and Snow's mother. The people need to see you like that, not the way you come across in this!" he yells as he jabs a meaty finger at the paper in his hand.

She's taken aback by that, feels the tears stinging at the back of her eyes as another wave of the rejection that she's felt every single day since she's became engaged to Leopold washes over her again. Nothing she does is good enough.

A hot tear rolls down her cheek, and she hates that he's here to witness her cry. Hates that he can make her cry.

"Maybe if you and Snow didn't so blatantly exclude me and make me look like an outsider whenever the three of us are together in public then that's how the people would see me," she snarls.

He lets out an exasperated sigh at that, shakes his head at her and says, "You've no one to blame but yourself. Snow and I are leaving for the derby in a few hours. We'll be back in a couple of days. I'll make excuses for you, tell everyone you're not feeling well enough to travel. You are not to set a foot outside this palace while we're gone."

With that, he stalks out of the room, leaving her alone in her misery. The door slams behind him, and she lets out a loud sob, picks up a pillow from her bed and half-heartedly throws it at the door.

So much for transparency.

…

Regina cries herself back to sleep, a deep and dreamless slumber.

When she wakes a couple of hours later, her mind is deliciously clear of all thoughts and memories for the briefest of moments before reality comes crashing down on her, causing her to let out a groan as she opens her eyes.

The heavy curtains are still drawn over the windows, but the light beaming out around the edges tells her that it's probably around midday.

She clambers out of bed and pads over to the windows, pulling aside the curtain of one and sleepily rubbing at an eye as she looks down to the back courtyard of the palace. From here, she has a view of the mews where the royal cars are kept, and she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding when she sees that all but one of the cars have already left, meaning the King and his daughter have already left for their journey south to the derby.

She also has a view of the guards in their stations around the back palace gates. To the outside world, it seems like they stand guard to keep people out, but she knows they're also there to keep her in.

Resting her forehead against the glass, she watches a group of tourists standing on the other side of the gates. They're striking poses and taking pictures, laughing as one sidles up to one of the guards and tries to make his composure crack. They look like they're around her age, and a part of her aches to join them, to have the freedom to travel, to have friends to laugh with, not to have the weight of a kingdom's expectations on her shoulders. She's only 24, for crying out loud, and yet she feels like her life has already ended before it even had a chance to really begin.

Regina turns away from the window, tries to brush away such self-pitying thoughts to keep the tears at bay, and moves to the other side of the room to get dressed. She chooses a light blue floor length dress with sheer sleeves, because, well, she loves the colour, and it's super comfortable, and it's her birthday.

She makes her way down the palace's grand staircase towards the dining room, where she finds the table laden with her favourite foods. It's enough to feed fifty, but today, she's the only one to enjoy it. Mrs. Lucas, the palace chef, has placed a birthday card signed by the staff at her usual spot at the table, along with a note saying that the kitchen staff and the maids have been given the afternoon off by the King, and that if she needs anything, they'll be back by 7.

Regina stands there, staring at the note , before she places it back on the table and helps herself to some salmon and asparagus. She sits by herself at the table, staring at a mark on the table a few inches in front of her place mat, eating monotonously.

It's as she's putting a spoonful of a delicious tiramisu into her mouth that her shoulders start shaking and tears start pouring down her face.

It's her birthday, and she's got nothing to do, nowhere to go. When one is surrounded by friends and family, that might sound like paradise, but here, all alone in a cavernous dining room, eating a birthday spread by herself…it's agony.

She'd been so looking forward to going to that derby, in a moment of kindness the King had promised her the trip for her birthday, because he knew how much she loved horses. But the King could be cruel, and now he's taken away the one thing she'd actually been excited about for the past couple of months, leaving her to spend her birthday in solitude, while he and Snow go without her. And Snow White is terrified of horses, she thinks bitterly.

What's worse, she can't think of a single person she'd want to be here with her to celebrate her birthday, and that makes her weep harder.

Her father doesn't even live in the country anymore, since when the King had assigned her mother to her diplomatic post in the west Cora had been adamant that he come along with her, that he stop coddling their daughter and leave her with her new 'family.'

Daniel's dead, killed in a barn fire only a week before her engagement to the King, and other than him, she's never really had any friends. Well, Daniel was her boyfriend, not just her friend, but still. She's only ever had acquaintances, thanks to the fact that her mother made sure to drive away all potential friends one way or another.

She's alone.

She lets the spoon in her hand fall to the table in a clatter and runs back to her room where she launches herself onto her bed and grabs a pillow to sob into.

Above the sound of her quiet sobs comes a sharp chirping noise, and it takes a moment to register with Regina that it's her phone telling her she has a new email.

She sits up, not bothering to wipe the tears as they make their way down her cheeks as she lifts her phone from its place on her night table and unlocks it. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees that the email is from Robin. She'd given him her personal email at the end of her interview, had made him promise that he wouldn't give it to a soul and that he'd only use if he needed to clarify something while he was writing the article about her.

Regina stares at the screen of her phone for a moment before opening the email to see what he has to say.

Dear Regina,

First of all, happy birthday! I hope your 25th year brings you light and happiness.

When we met a few weeks ago, you assured me that you would give me a call to let me know what you thought of the article once it was published.

I have to be honest, I've been wearing out the hardwood in my office as I pace back and forth, waiting for your call. I can only think that your silence is a negative sign.

I do hope that I haven't upset you.

I know you must be busy, especially today of all days, and so I'll resign myself to waiting some more to hear your thoughts, and if I have upset you, for that I'm deeply sorry, and I hope that you can forgive a common reporter like me.

Your loyal subject,

Robin

P.S. Here's my phone number, just in case: 33422343226

Regina glances guiltily at the newspaper that still lies on her night table, because in dwelling in her own misery she hadn't even bothered to read his article. She scoots across her bed to rest her back against the pillows at the head of the bed and picks up the newspaper to read the article, taking a deep breath before reading the first paragraph.

Her Majesty the Queen, or Regina, as she prefers to be called, is nothing like what her critics would have you believe. She is not aloof, nor is she stiff or haughty. Quite the opposite in fact. In the hour and a half that I had the privilege to spend with her, I've come to see that our Queen is warm and kindhearted, bold and audacious.

She lets out a soft gasp, hungrily devours the rest of the article. By the time she reaches the end, there are tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, for an entirely different reason than earlier.

She hasn't fully realized how much she's needed this. How much she's needed someone to just have some faith in her, and if his writing is any indication, he does, and he's shared that faith with the entire country.

…

He's still pacing back and forth across his office, waiting for her call, and he's becoming convinced that it'll never come, that instead two armed guards will burst through the door at any moment to escort him to the Tower for displeasing the Queen. He knows he's being silly, but the anxiety is eating away at his stomach.

His phone has been ringing off the hook all day, with major news networks calling to invite him onto their evening shows to chat about his exclusive with the Queen. He's denied every single one, because he wants to know her thoughts before he agrees to anything of the sort.

The phone rings then, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He lunges for the receiver, picking it up without bothering to look at the caller ID, banging his hip against the corner of his desk in the process. The loud FUCK he lets out at the burst of pain is automatic, and he's sure the person on the other end has heard it, his eyes squeezing shut as he lifts the phone to his ear and says wearily, "Hello?"

"Robin?"

It's her. His heart starts pounding as the anxiety ramps up, because the moment he's been waiting for all day has finally come.

"Regina?"

"Yeah, it's me," she chuckles, and it has a slightly wet sound to it that makes him wonder if she's been crying.

"Wha – erm – what did you think of the article?"

There's a brief silence on the other line, and he wonders if she's going to hang up on him, but then he hears her take a shaky breath before she says, "I'm sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I've only just finished reading it, actually."

She pauses again, but he doesn't say anything to fill the silence, instead just waits for her to continue, and then her voice cracks as she tells him, "Thank you for believing in me."

Let me know what you think!:)