While Cora had never encouraged Regina's unsightly enthusiasm for riding, her daughter was not the only equestrian in the family. In her younger years she had spent more than her share of time in a saddle. A lady was expected to learn how to ride, and Cora had discovered early on that she had a talent for it.
There was a wonderful sort of power to being atop a horse. Taking some fierce, powerful beast and taming it- forcing it to obey you. Feeling it quiver between your thighs and controlling it with a touch, a word.
She had learned that the key to breaking a difficult animal was respect.
You had to teach it to respect you before it would bend to your will. Horses were willful beasts, and strong. If you allowed them to think that they had the option of defying you they very quickly became dangerous.
When that happened there was little choice but to kill them, and she has too much planned to allow that. Not just yet, anyway.
He looks up when she enters the room.
To his credit, Rumplestiltskin doesn't waste time- his or hers- with pleas or foolish threats.
He is sitting on the bed in Regina's neatly furnished little guest room, elbows on his knees, when she goes to him. In the unforgiving sunlight he seems... less, somehow, than when she saw him in his shop, surrounded by his magic and his trinkets. Older. Graying and tired. As if the centuries have caught up to him in the few short days since last she saw him.
When he spies the kris dagger in her dainty little hands a deathly stillness comes over him. A shudder and the ghost of a shaky breath being released, and that's all. She had almost expected more ceremony to it. But then, the oldest magic is rarely accompanied by flashes of light and spectacle.
He taught her that.
She turns the knife over in her hands, letting the edges catch the light. Can he feel it? Can he feel her hold over him? It's grown warmer, now. Nearly blood hot, so close to the one whose name it bears.
Not for the first time she wonders just who created it, this dagger. A bit and bridle for the most powerful evil being in any land. It was almost too good to be true. It couldn't be destroyed, only tucked away and kept secret; hidden until all those who knew of its powers were long since turned to dust.
The dagger was older than Rumplestiltskin, she knew. There had been another before him, and perhaps another before that as well. She suspects the true origins of the blade have been lost to time and memory, even for Rumplestiltskin himself.
Wherever it came from, it serves her purposes well enough now.
A bit of magic and the dagger is hidden away somewhere only she knows. She's taken precautions to ensure it'll work just as well safely out of sight. There's no sense in getting his hopes up, after all.
"Well, I see our pirate's been having fun," she tuts, running one fingertip along a wicked-looking little gash that dipped along the soft curve of his jaw. Care of Hook's- well, hook, no doubt.
She had let the man see to their guest while she tended to business with Regina. It seems she'll have to have a word with him about how he treats other people's possessions.
Her fingertip catches at the collar of his shirt, where the cut disappears beneath it. He wants to pull away from her. She can feel it in the tension in his shoulders and the stubborn set of his jaw. Oh, how he hates her. But as long as that dagger is secreted away, safe and sound and securely hers, he has far too much to lose for such a moment of petty defiance.
"That man I saw in your shop, was that your son?" She asks conversationally. As though they were nothing more than two very old friends discussing their children over tea. Lips pressed in a thin line, he doesn't answer.
"He's a handsome boy. You must be very proud."
He wraps himself up in sullen silence like a cloak, pretending he hasn't heard her. So this is how it's to be, then.
"You will answer me when I ask you a question, Rumplestiltskin, and you will answer me honestly."
A nearly imperceptible shudder and a bitter little sound that might have been a laugh escapes him, "When have you known me to lie?"
Cora smiles, but she cannot let him think he'll be allowed to play these games . "Was that your son?" she repeats, patiently.
"...Yes," he bites out.
"What's his name?"
He hesitates, but it seems to be emotion tripping up his tongue instead of defiance. He drops her gaze. "Bae," he says quietly. "His name is Bae."
"Very good," she murmurs lowly, running her fingers gently through his hair. Cora doesn't miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches at the touch; an aborted snarl. He would rip her apart right now, if only he could. How delightful.
"And Regina tells me there's a young girl as well," she presses. And doesn't that bring up old memories. Cora almost smiles. Rumplestiltskin always did have a weakness for a pretty young thing in a skirt.
"There are rather a lot of young girls in Storybrooke." He doesn't meet her eyes.
"Oh, but this one is special, isn't she. This Belle."
No response.
"Do you love her?" She asks sweetly.
When he answers his voice is monotone, expressionless. "Yes, I do."
"And does she love you?"
"...She did. She doesn't remember now."
"Oh, how tragic."
"What is it that you want, dearie?" he snarls, suddenly all teeth. "Whatever you've come to say, whatever you'll have me do, just say it. "
Cora hums. "You know, you're a very lucky man, Rumple. To have two people so close to your heart. A strapping son, a woman who loves you..."
The hatred in his eyes would break her heart if she still had one.
"If you hurt him-" his voice wavers. "If you hurt either of them-"
This time Cora does laugh, sweetly, "I'm not going to hurt anyone. But since you can't hold your tongue, I am going to give you a choice. Who would you rather kill- darling Belle or sweet little Bae? And please decide quickly, we haven't got all day.