A/N: Hey, thank you so much for the awesome response to this fic so far! I wasn't expecting it, and it's just made me ridiculously happy. Loving the feedback; I hope a few questions are cleared up with this chapter, and that further ones are asked. This chapter picks up more or less where the last one left off. I hope you enjoy it, and let me know how it goes. :)

Emma treads out across the gardens, passing the bench that she can't sit on for the foot of snow that's fallen on top of it. It's almost brimming up past her boots, but she pays the cold little attention as she follows the trail that marks where Regina had come up to the Palace. Fresh snow has already fallen over it, and the trail seems to just disappear the further out she looks.

The landscape is bleak, and the shining sun overhead only makes it look bleaker. The snow glistens and hurts her eyes, and she turns away to head back up to the Palace. The turn brings her face to face with her approaching mother, however, and Emma contemplates pretending that she hasn't seen her. Snow's cloak is almost as pale as the ground, but when she pulls the hood back her dark hair flashes out, unmistakable.

Emma meets her halfway, giving a nod of her head in greeting. "What're you doing out here? I thought you had, uh, stuff to do in the throne room?"

Snow smiles and looks beyond her, to the tracks that she's tread through the snow. "I've left your father attending to matters." Her cool blue eyes slide across to Emma, and pale lips indulge in a smile. "The dwarves predict more snow to come. The villagers can't grow a thing; we're arranging methods to support them."

Emma turns into her with a frown. "The dwarves can predict the weather?"

Snow's own brow crinkles. "I think they heard it from a fairy or sprite." Her lips twitch, and she gives a faint shrug. "Either way, I wouldn't doubt it." She looks up to the sky, and Emma follows her gaze, watching as the sun is slowly covered by a layer of overlapping clouds. It looks like the soft, woollen blanket that Emma had been wrapped in at birth, obscuring the light. Sighing, she rubs her hands down her arms and tries to ignore the cold.

"It's been over half a year already," Snow says, then, and Emma turns to her in surprise. "Hard to believe, isn't it? That a few months ago, we were in an entirely different world."

Emma nods her head, but it isn't hard to believe in Storybrooke, not really. She thinks of playing darts at the Station, and running her Bug into the town sign, and sitting in Regina's office drinking cider, and feels the ache of longing take a grip of her chest. Snow's eyes are on her, but she keeps her gaze focused out on the distant forest, from which this land is named. It truly does look Enchanted, with tree tops rising up like great, white shards of ice.

"Anything, Emma, if there's anything that I can do to make it easier." Snow places a gloved hand over her arm and gently squeezes, but Emma can't meet her gaze. "We just want you happy."

"I know." Emma shrugs and turns back to the Palace, trying to find her room among the many windows facing the gardens.

"What will help?" Snow's voice lightens as she suggests, "We'll throw you a party, invite Red and Granny and Pinocchio." Emma's eyes briefly flit to her, and there's a strained look there that lets Snow know just what she thinks of that idea. "Not a party, then." But Emma's eyes have already found something in the distance, and she's frowning again. "Emma?"

Turning quickly to her mother, Emma shakes her head and says, "It's fine, I'm sorry. I'm fine." She takes a step towards the Palace, and then remembers Snow. "I'm getting cold, I'm going inside."

Snow is left staring after her, hands clasped together and a look of quiet longing on her face. She doesn't know how to help her daughter. Surely, she'd answered her little girl's dreams. Didn't every neglected child pray to be taken away from their life and made a Princess, or the like? But Emma isn't most children, Emma isn't even a child at all, and Snow just doesn't know what to do to assuage her adult daughter's pain.

# # # #

Regina jumps when the door to Emma's bedchamber bursts open, and she takes a cautionary step away from the window, before Emma herself is striding towards her and taking her by the arm. "Are you serious?" she groans, pulling Regina away from the window. For all her nervous energy, however, her touch is brief and almost gentle, and so Regina doesn't pull away from it at first. "I could see you from the garden!"

Regina rolls her eyes and yanks her arm out of Emma's grasp. "I wasn't aware you were checking up on me." Emma narrows her eyes at her, and Regina adopts a bored expression. "You can't keep me in here. Henry's been by twice already—don't worry, he didn't see me." She sighs and glances away, hoping that Emma can't tell just how hard it was for her to keep herself hidden in the bathroom, when Henry was just a few meters away.

"He can't know you're here," Emma says. "You know what he's like, he can't keep a secret for longer than twenty seconds."

Regina clicks her tongue and turns away, back towards the window. "I'm not an idiot." It's not Emma's warning that keeps her longing at bay, however; she wouldn't care if Snow and David found out, not if Henry looked at her for just a second with any real pleasure at seeing her in his eyes. It's the idea of his rejection that she can't stand, and she's so familiar with the reaction that it only seems inevitable.

Emma shrugs out of her cloak and hangs it over a chair. She hadn't bothered to bang the snow off her boots properly, and there are already small puddles forming across her floor. She supposes someone will clean that up for her, and then wonders when she got so damn lazy. Finally, she turns back to Regina, who's careful enough, at least, to keep her distance from the window.

"Okay, you can't stay in here." When Regina turns to her, eyebrow raised, she continues, "Like you said, it's too dangerous; Henry's always coming by here, and when he's not there are people – the staff, whatever – who come to clean up. Sooner or later, you're going to be seen."

Regina sets her jaw, but nods in agreement. "What do you suggest?"

"There are rooms upstairs that no one uses—"

"You want me in the attic?" Regina practically screeches, and Emma sends her a look that begs her to be quiet. "You do understand that that's where you keep the help, don't you, dear?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Only, like, half of the rooms are filled – there are some real big ones up there, too, completely out of the way. I mean, they're a little dusty, but it's better than a bathtub, right?" Regina doesn't look close to agreeing. "Look, you can either stay here and magic yourself invisible every time you hear a creak outside the door, or you can stay up there, out of the way, and not have to worry about being seen."

Regina's mouth flaps, not wanting to see the logic to the solution. "And what about food?"

"I'll bring it up to you."

"Every meal?"

Emma sighs. "I'll do my best." She shrugs her shoulders and sucks the saliva from her teeth. "It's the best I got, okay? But you're less likely to be found out up there, than you are down here."

Regina sighs in a way that says she's most likely going to regret this, and slowly nods her head. "And just how do you suppose I get to these big, empty rooms without being seen?"

# # # #

"I hate you."

Emma rolls her eyes, peering outside of her door. As she'd suspected, the guards are in the process of a switch-over, and the usual posts at the ends of the corridor have been momentarily deserted. "Yeah, yeah, come over here." She pushes the door further open and steps out into the hall, turning back to see Regina, disgruntled and donning one of the Palace maid's outfits, exit her room.

"If you tell anybody about this," Regina begins, but her glare is threat enough. Emma just holds her hands up in surrender, and then motions towards a set of stairs, barely concealed in the wall.

"We'll go up those ones."

"Those are the servants' stairs."

"Don't worry." Emma reaches out to take her by the hand, both to calm her down and to get her moving, because the longer they linger here, the sooner a guard's going to appear and see them. "They don't tend to use these ones that often."

Regina tries to will the colour from her cheeks as Emma leads her along to the staircase, but can't quite stop herself from staring at their hands, bemused. She follows Emma up, saying nothing, and holds her breath once they reach the top. Emma's hand is perhaps a little delayed when it leaves her own, but if either of them notice that, they say nothing. The corridor they're in is narrow and dimly lit, but Emma seems to know her way around. Regina tries not to wonder just how Emma seems to know exactly where she's going, or why she happens to have one of her maid's outfits in her bedchamber, and steps out after her.

Emma must see the look on her face, because she rolls her eyes a moment later and hisses, "It's for me, I'm not sleeping with a maid." Regina simply raises an eyebrow, and Emma isn't entirely sure she believes her. Cheeks reddened, she turns away and begins leading Regina down to a separate corridor. There's a lock on the door at the end of it, but Emma has already managed to jostle it open in the past, and now it swings freely when she pulls down on the handle.

"Grab a candle, please?" she asks over her shoulder, and is only aware that Regina's so once a bobbing light appears from behind her. "You can have any of these rooms, but I think there's some damp up here. I'm guessing that's why this corridor got closed off, anyway."

Regina closes the door behind her and glances around with a sigh. She's on the uppermost floor of the Palace, and the place looks like it's been undisturbed for decades. When she thinks about it, though, that's probably right. One window at the end of the corridor boasts a faint, cobwebbed light, and the weak glow of her candle allows her to see all the rest. There are six doors altogether, and Regina picks the one at the farthest end, to the right.

When she tries the door, it's locked, and she turns to Emma with an arched eyebrow, as though it's her fault that they've been stopped so easily. Emma just rolls her eyes and nudges her out of the way. When she gives the door a hard kick, it bursts open, and Regina is left looking at her distastefully.

"You're quite the brute, for a princess," she mumbles, and follows Emma into the bedchamber, offering the light.

Emma ignores her, moving towards the window. She can see out into the East-facing gardens from here, and can only imagine what this room would look like, bathed in morning light. If Regina cleaned the grime off the window, it'd offer quite the view, she muses, turning around. "It's not that bad, right? I mean, better than a bathtub." There's no damp, she wants to add, but honestly can't be sure.

Regina sets the candle down on a dresser, turning her nose up at the layer of dust that covers – well, everything. Her legs start to itch at the thought of sitting on the bed that occupies the centre of one wall, and she feels her stomach tremble at how even the coolness of the wooden boards beneath her feet is dimmed slightly by the grime between them and the soles of her modest slippers.

The walls are covered in aged paper that once could have been a brilliant magnolia. The ceiling is low, and the one solitary window does its best to light the room. All furniture here is dark wood, once varnished, well-kept. Regina snickers at that, because of course the Charmings try to take care of their staff, too. She'd have probably paid a pretty penny for a room of this size back in that old world, but here Regina struggles to see the benefits of it. The more space, the more dusting she'll have to do.

Aside from the bed, there's a double-doored wardrobe, a dresser that holds an adjustable mirror, almost intact, and a door set into one corner of the room that Regina supposes leads to a bathroom. There are end tables on either side of the bed, and candles settled around the room, with nets of wax dripping from them, giving Regina the impression of having just stepped into a painting. Overall, she supposes, it's better than a dank cell.

"It will do," she nods, looking about the room.

"I'll bring up some fresh bedding and stuff, and if you dust then, I mean, it'll look better. It's bigger than that little cottage you had." Regina glares at her, and so Emma shuts up, taking a different approach. "About bathing, uh, you're welcome to use my room. I mean, I can bring just about anything up here, but repeated trips with a bucket of water might start to look a little suspicious."

"Thank you, I'll deal with that myself."

Emma frowns at her. "How?" Regina snaps her fingers, and, just like that, every candle in the room is brought to the flame. "Oh. Right. Well, I guess you're all sorted, then…?"

Regina moves across the room, no doubt to inspect the small bathroom that leads just off the bedchamber. "Yes, that will be all."

Feeling thoroughly dismissed, Emma heaves a sigh and steps back, away from the window. "Bye, then. Oh, and, I'm getting pretty good at sneaking around without it, so you can keep the, uh, the outfit..."

"You're enjoying seeing me in this?" Regina pauses in the doorway, turning to Emma with a raise of her eyebrow that makes Emma's cheeks flush bright red.

"What? Uh, I mean – in case we need to move around again, or if you want to come down to my room. To talk, or. Bathe, if you change your mind." She shakes her head, hating that Regina can so easily fluster her. "I'm, uh—" She gestures towards the door, and Regina slowly nods her head. Even dressed in a maid's outfit, she has enough influence over Emma to direct her from the room.

"I'll be up with bedding and stuff later," Emma says, taking the candle Regina had left on the dresser and opening the door. She casts a look towards the other woman, but Regina's already entered the bathroom, and so Emma leaves as soundlessly as she can.

# # # #

When she returns to her bedchamber, Henry's there, looking at her oddly. She stops in her doorway, hesitating for perhaps a second too long to pretend that nothing's wrong, and then closes the door behind her when she enters. She doesn't miss the curious look he sends the room, or the empty plate that now sits on her table. Probably, he's wondering how she managed to eat all of those rolls and the fruit by herself, but then Regina had only nibbled at what she'd offered her…

Making a mental note to bring more food up to the other woman, she adjusts her breeches around her thighs and takes a seat on her freshly made bed. "Everything okay?"

Henry nods, but frowns. "Smells… different in here." He doesn't notice the way Emma's expression freezes, or the subtle sniff she gives the air. By the time his gaze returns to her, having just searched the room, she's already adopted a carefree pose. "Are you okay?"

Emma smiles and nods, motioning him over. She slides her arm around his shoulders once he takes a seat beside her, and squeezes him to her. "Yeah, I'm good. It's just this cold weather."

"You hate the cold," Henry agrees, bumping her with his shoulder.

"Right. Hate it."

Henry sighs and looks up at her, expression somewhere between curious and hopeless. "It's not so bad here, is it?"

Emma turns the question over in her mind, but shakes her head. "No, it could be worse."

Henry nods his agreement. "It's good, isn't it, that Grandma and Gramps are helping out with the villagers? I mean, so they have enough food and stuff in winter."

"Yeah, it's great, kid."

"That's what Queens are supposed to do, isn't it? Take care of all of her subjects."

Emma frowns, but nods, wondering where he's going with this. "She does a good job of it. No one's going hungry in the village, I promise."

Turning away from her, Henry picks at his thumbnail and chews his lip for a moment. His shoulders hunch against the arm that Emma has around them, and so she carefully drops it, rubbing her palm in circles against his back, instead.

"Do you think all Queens and Kings are like them?" Henry asks in a small voice.

Emma shrugs, but doesn't necessarily want to show Henry just how brutal this world can be. If it's anything like Ye Olden Days back in that old world, it's not pretty. "It's their job to be," she says, instead, and Henry nods glumly, not bought for a second.

"She's not part of any proper Kingdom, though, is she?"

It's said so quietly that Emma has to strain to hear him, but then she doesn't have to ask him just who he's talking about, once she does. Her hand stops rubbing, and instead moves to settle on the bed behind him, keeping her arm around his back. "No, she's not." Henry looks up at her fiercely, and she wonders if he'd wanted her to lie. "But she's tough, you know? I mean, she's strong. She knows how to take care of herself; she won't let a little snow get to her."

Henry watches her, waiting for the lie to register, and only blinks when it doesn't. "You think she's okay."

Emma shrugs, and answers, even though it was never a question, "Yeah, I don't think she's in any danger."

That's all Henry really wants to hear, and he looks away again, taking a deep breath. "She's probably getting on fine," he says, after a moment. "Starting a new life, too. She probably has new friends, or… maybe not."

Emma understands what he's doing; if Regina is moving on, and not missing him, it's almost enough to get over her, because the sheer injustice of not being able to see his own mother is unbearable. He's not the one who needs punishing, he didn't cast the curse, and yet he's been suffering just as greatly as Regina has with this separation (Emma isn't sure which one of them hides it better).

For a brief moment, Emma thinks she could actually hate her parents for doing this to him, but knowing just how close Regina is, it's hard to make the emotion stick. Instead, she just feels guilty for seeing his mom without him. And does that make her just as bad as her parents?

"I bet she misses you." Henry looks up at her once she's said it, and she has to force back her tears at the hopeful look on his face.

"I miss her, too," he whispers, giving in to the impulse to cry.

Emma only hugs him tighter, muttering into his hair and pressing kisses atop his head, like that's going to make any difference. And perhaps it does. She rocks Henry's body with her own and closes her eyes, trying not to dwell on the sudden impulse to mimic his admission.

A/N: As always, I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter. Thank you for reading!