It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a decidedly unfestive temperament must be in want of a dance partner.
Or it was a truth acknowledged, and insinuated to Regina within an inch of its life, by the perpetually optimistic declarations of one Snow White, at least.
"Regina, I will not have you standing about watching everyone else be merry all evening – not on my birthday, and especially not when we're short of women to partner the men as it is! One dance, at least, that's all I ask."
Regina closed her eyes, rueing the snippet of weakness in her that had seen her agreeing to come to this damned party when she could have spent the night in no one's company save her own, for once unbothered by the constant complaints and naggings of her former subjects. Snow had been persistent with her invitation, turning the full force of her hopeful doe eyes on Regina every time she begged some excuse, until it had just become simpler to give in to the younger woman's wishes.
Still, Regina had only agreed to attend the ball, entirely intending to hole up in a shadowy alcove somewhere – preferably near the casks of vintaged wine and ale unearthed for the occasion – and glower at any who strayed a bit too close for her liking. She'd even dressed the part of witch-in-the-shadows, knowing it would irk Snow, by donning her customary black and adorning it with a high, standoffish collar that perfectly framed the proud tilt of her chin.
Dancing, or any manner of interaction with the other guests, had not been part of the deal.
"Have you forgotten that you already forced Charming and me into the quadrille together?" she grumped through teeth clenched into a baleful smile.
"And it wasn't so terrible, now, was it?" Snow asked with some satisfaction, and Regina sensed a beat too late that she was being guided into a well-placed snare. As softened as Snow had become in her years as a small town schoolteacher, she had never quite lost her instincts for banditry, her skill for the hunt, to Regina's own demise.
It was true that Regina had danced an obligatory quadrille with Charming – her birthday gift to Snow, of sorts – and true again that it had not been altogether a disaster. Stilted on both sides, and done rather with the attitude of dispatching an unpleasant task with as much speed as was just-barely-polite, but Regina could (resentfully) admit that Charming was likely the best prospect in the room to be matched with, if Snow were so set on seeing her dance.
To his credit, Charming was slightly less knuckle-dragging than the other available men, and had the good sense to keep his mouth shut and his eyes firmly fixed on something in the region above her head.
"Besides, who am I supposed to dance with – Leroy?"
"Not a bad choice, actually," Snow said thoughtfully, beginning to scan the room as if to flag down the man once she spied him.
"You can't be –" Regina protested, more than a little horrified, and it was only when her hand closed not-so-gently on Snow's arm to drag her away for a pointed tête-à-tête that she realized Snow was teasing her.
"Relax, Regina." She laughed, not unkindly. "There are a good many gentlemen here who would be honored to take a turn with you, and I am certain we can find one to suit even your exacting standards."
"I don't dance," Regina protested again, weakly, but Snow had seized control of the evening some time ago and would hardly be put off from her plotting at this late hour. She considered poofing back to her chambers, letting this nonsense simply drop away to be dealt with in the morning, but then there would be stares, and wittering gossip, and she could not tolerate the additional scrutiny when life in the castle felt like a stranglehold as it was.
They skirted slowly along the border of the makeshift dancefloor, her arm tucked snugly under Snow's in the same way an unwary creature might get its paw stuck in a bear trap. Snow graciously accepted well-wishes from those they passed but never paused for more than a moment, as the quest for a suitable dance partner now constituted a matter of much greater import in her mind.
"I thought you said there would be gentlemen," Regina hissed after they had rounded three quarters of the hall without a single prospect in hand.
Snow's lips parted in response, but an unruly roar from the card table to their right swallowed whatever mild admonishment she sought to deliver, and both women turned to regard the interruption with bemusement.
The Merry Men, as usual, brought attention to themselves like a thunderclap, strewn as they were sideways, over, and even under (thanks to a few particularly inebriated souls) the large banquet table they had commandeered like common pirates, with an energy that tried even Snow's heightened tolerance for the ridiculous.
They stood wild-haired and gesturing emphatically with fists and their sloshing beer steins, several chairs overturned in the sudden excitement that seemed to stem from some mischief in their game of what John had once termed 'exploding kittens' – a name that continued to confound Regina as there were no felines of any description within sight.
"I'd say they were raised by wolves, but that would be an insult to the beasts," Regina sniffed, none too quietly. "Wolves generally have the better table manners."
"I seem to recall you taking an unusual interest in their esteemed leader, that day in the forest," was Snow's only reply.
"The thief?" It took several long seconds for her to make sense of the tangle of men before them, matching limbs with their respective owners and peering through the awkward angles created by bodies primed for a (most improprietous) fistfight until her gaze settled firmly upon the man in question.
Robin, unlike the rest of his band, had clearly raided some noble's wardrobe in the hours before the party (Regina would wager half a florin Charming had had a hand in it), procuring a matching pine-dark waistcoat and tailcoat – slightly too large in the shoulders – and a pair of trousers tight enough to reveal the lines of muscle in his calves. His face bore the usual dustings of scruff, trimmed perhaps just the barest bit closer, but he appeared to have scrubbed any remnants of forest from his skin, and, with his brow rumpled in consideration of his own hand of cards, he managed to look (if only in immediate contrast against his own men) halfway respectable.
"He's...not entirely unfortunate-looking," she conceded softly, before allowing her voice to rise once more with contempt, sharpened anew by this appearance of her favored prey. "But he's certainly not handsome enough to tempt me."
Snow sighed, her patience finally wearing thin. "If you'd just –"
"Not all of us are so easily wooed by a pretty face, dear."
That might have been the end of it, Regina's chance to retire for the night while retaining some semblance of victory over Snow's childish machinations, had Robin not suddenly raised his head and fixed her with an appraising look of his own – one that was all too-knowing and more than a little smug.
He had overheard her.
She watched with fascinated dread as Robin, now fully biting his lower lip to stifle his amusement, leaned over to nudge John and, inclining his head toward the very spot she and Snow stood frozen, muttered something with such expressiveness that Regina felt sure he had just relayed her judgment to the man verbatim.
Indeed, John's eyes abruptly snapped up to lock with her own and, perhaps reading the truth in her face just as he read the tracks of oft-elusive stags, he let loose a great boom of laughter that seemed to shake the entire hall. Soon enough Robin's tale began to wend its way around the table, cards and burgeoning arguments forgotten as other men turned their ears to hear how the proud once-queen had slighted the best among them.
Gossip spread like wildfire in close quarters such as these, Regina well knew, and it would be intolerable to have her name paired with that insufferable thief's as the subjects of idle speculation for the court – no, she would not abide such an indignity.
Half rooted and half in flight, Regina felt an involuntary movement itching up through her wrists, her magic singing to life before she could tamp it down again, and in the split-second before it touched air, taking shape, she worried the resulting flames (fire, it was always fire, when she was struck as deep as this) would light the whole castle up like a magnificent roman candle.
But it was a full-fledged tempest that emerged instead, a gale that whomped the table where Robin and his men sat with hurricane force, setting it rearing back on two legs before it managed to right itself with an impressive crack, the sound of something splintering deep within the wood.
The gust had upset much of the table's contents, cards and tankards going airborne and causing many to shield their heads from the heavy objects and splashes of ale that threatened to rain down upon them. There was an immense stillness as the world began to settle itself again, people cautiously returning upright, and Regina dared them, dared any of them, to meet her eyes.
And then, things went completely pear-shaped.
A stirring came from the folds of John's cloak, followed by the tiniest peep of a meow that had ever been heard. To the thundering bewilderment of all, a kitten nosed its way free of the fabric and set about attempting to clamber up and perch atop the man's head.
They could barely make sense of the one before there were kittens popping up everywhere, a disjointed chorus of little meows that sent the whole party scrambling to detach needled claws from skirts and beards, to seize the (frankly, adorable) blighters before they could caper themselves into serious trouble.
With the hall's attention momentarily diverted, Regina took in the scene with sinking heart, and a rather choice oath for whatever gods had found humor in letting her magic transform a card game into a literal explosion of kittens.
Snow had run off to aid the dwarves in corralling the kittens into one corner of the room – that endeavor was going as well as one would expect herding cats to go – and so Regina had none to take her leave from.
Head held as high as she could muster, she spared one last glance behind her for the chaos, only to be met with a cool cerulean gaze that pierced her effortlessly through the crowd. Robin, completely unperturbed by the madness surrounding him, lifted his broken glass in mock salute to Regina and smirked, dimples on fine display even at this distance.
She stalked off then, managing to keep her pace steady (her hands shaking with fury where they clutched her skirts) until she was well away but altogether unable to forget Robin's damning expression, his delight in her folly, no matter how she tried to blink it away.
That smirk, and the unwelcome message it carried: that she, too, could be thought ridiculous, even in this company of brigands and fools.
In the next installment: Regina broods over the pair of "fine eyes" possessed by a certain thief.