Chapter 9
Regina was not quite sure she should attend. It was not something she would willingly admit to herself, but the family did make her nervous. It was too close to all those years ago, all the solitary nights in festive ballrooms where thing and everybody had a place but her.
And still, something in her stomach coiled at the thought of knowing that Henry would be there, helpless in the middle of those vipers. At the untoward thought that Emma might need her.
In a practised move, purple smoke (which she really did not need to enact her magic, but she did have flare for the dramatic after all) she became, once again, Emma's lady in waiting, hunched and old, non threatening, fragile looking Bertha.
"You're coming!" Emma once again hugged her. "Thank you!"
"Yes, well, I don't think your mother will take kindly to you dying on my watch."
"Sure, whatever." She tightened her hug. "I'm just really glad you're coming with me. Hey, here's a thought: why don't you come as prince?" It was an old face, but Emma could still see the mocking expression without need for words. "Well, you're already used to me stepping on your toes…"
"I have all the calluses to remember you by!"
"And you can keep me out of trouble…"
"Not sure anyone can, dear."
"And I won't have to put up with more crap than I strictly have too."
"Ah… always so charming."
"You're not trying to kill me…"
"Not today, at least."
"We can pretend that we're in love…"
Pause for awkward on both sides.
Regina recovered first. "And how would you explain the presence of an unknown prince?"
"A frog kissed all better." This time Regina had to laugh. It was such a beautiful sound that Emma would have made it a mission to hear again and again.
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"Ready?"
Well, no, not really, but there was not much point to her clinging to the door of her room and refusing to go in, was there? Because the idea actually had its appeal even if it severely lacked in merit.
"'Gina?"
"Yeah?"
"Yes, not yeah." Regina actually snorted. Oh, dear god.
"Indeed, Princess. Yes?"
"That pooffing thingy you did…" Regina's raised eyebrow was question enough for Emma. "When you pooffed us out of the snow and into my room…"
"Yes?"
"Teach me that."
"Now?"
"Yes, now."
"Miss Swan, you should be going in through those doors in a few minutes. Tardiness is not good manners."
"Please?"
"Why now?"
"While I still have the motivation."
"I may regret asking, but were you not motivated enough before?"
"Let's just say that I was procrastinating."
"Procrastinating?"
"It was word of the day. But…"
"Okay."
"I just think that I should have learnt more and done more and worked harder. Henry's going to be there and if something happens, I wanna be able to just grab the kid and puff myself out of there and_"
"Emma. I said okay."
Emma crossed her arms like a shield in front of her. "I thought you were going to say it's too late."
"No. Ready?"
"Yes."
"Concentrate."
"On my ruby red heels? Do I say There's no place like home?"
Regina tried hard not to laugh.
"Something like that. Close your eyes and think where you want to go. Concentrate on that place. Think of it with your heart. That's where your magic is. Your heart." Bertha's old hand landed light, careful over Emma's heart. "Where do you want to go?"
"Can it be a place I must?"
"Most of times that's all we have to work with. So yes, it can."
"Right. The ballroom, then."
"You're not hailing a cab. You don't need to say it. You just need to see it."
"Okay." Regina took her hand. When Emma looked at her, surprised. Regina felt the need to clarify.
"I go where you go. If something goes wrong, I need to know where you are."
"Okay." Emma closed her eyes. If ever there was time to not fail, this was it. She closed her eyes and visualised the entrance to the ball room. She concentrated, her nose scrunched up, her eyebrows knitted together. And nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"Look, it is not a simple thing. And you're nervous…"
And she really did not want to be there anyway. Henry. She concentrated on Henry, Henry's room, Henry's bedroom. And just like that, she felt her body go light, light and then she was there, on Henry' bed. Fully formed. Regina still holding on to her hand.
"Holy cow!" Henry screamed from his perch on a stool where James was adjusting a royal red coat on the boy that was a perfect copy of James'.
Emma and Regina had materialised in Henry's room, on Henry's bed.
"Not exactly the ball room, but nicely done, Princess." Bertha was beaming. "Can you believe it this was your first try?"
"That's just so cool. Mom?" He walked around Bertha, trying to make sure it was Regina. He was satisfied when the knobbly hand smoothed his hair down. "How did you do that?"
"Well, I didn't." Bertha spoke trying to move from the soft bed and failing to find purchase. Emma moved fast from her materialising spot and held her hand for Bertha to take, helping her out of the bed. "Emma did."
"Wow!"
"Wow indeed." James quipped with a smile. "Now, ladies, when you're ready. I'll go ahead. I need to catch up with Snow."
"See you there."
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"Ready?"
"Is it okay to be nervous?" Emma asked, draping her arms over Henry's.
"You're not accepting an Oscar, Miss Swan."
"I should though. I'm pretending to be someone I'm not."
"Oh, for the love of_ It's not that hard to curtsy and say Glad to have met you."
"I'm not glad at all to meet any of these b_"
"Lovely people, I'm sure you mean, Princess." And she gave Henry a pointed look.
"No. I mean_"
"If you want to stay alive, you will."
"You keep saying that. You have been saying it for the last hour."
"It is as true now as it was an hour ago. Now, deep breath. The play is about to begin."
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She did. She nodded through the veiled insults and said "Glad to have you met you". Over and over again. She wished they could see her middle finger, raised in her mind if not in her hand.
She smiled through the dinner and through the gathering in the throne room. She had her hand kissed and nodded like any good politician and said thank you and please until her throat hurt from the effort.
She wined and dined them like the best of the politicians. She swapped pleasantries with the wives and the mothers. She fed the wolves with her bare hand.
She resisted poking them. She resisted setting the record straight. She resisted the very great temptation of explaining to them that Henry was a good boy, raised by a good mother. And that she had not been that good mother. And, just for kicks and giggles, that that mother was standing right behind them, magic flowing from her fingers like water from a fountain and that at any time she could fry them like a shrimp.
But she waved off the need.
She behaved.
She did everything everyone expected of her. She was a princess: in manners, in dress, in crown, in fact and in genes.
And then Snow approached her, a smile the size of her face. "Emma" There was quiet excitement in her voice. "Don't look now, but Roderick has approached your father and I?"
"Ballsy move for a rodent. What for?"
"You hand?"
"My what, now?"
"This is about it, Emma. This is the perfect proposal. You could not hope for better: he is powerful, well connected. This alliance could keep you safe. Keep us all safe. And it doesn't hurt that he is handsome and elegant, does it?"
"Snow…"
"He said he is charmed by you!"
"Snow. Stop. Really. Did you think of this visit as a… I don't know, shopping for a husband?"
"No! I mean… no. But it wouldn't hurt you to consider it, would it? You've been alone for… well, quite some time. Does he not appeal to you?"
"I can't freaking believe we're having this conversation. In fact, I'm not having this conversation." And Emma trid to walk out.
"You called him "Dad."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You called him dad. But you call me Snow."
"I've called you mom… What does that have to do with anything?"
"Do you hate me?" Snow did a pathetic little pout.
"I don't" Sucker! Emma called herself. She knew she was waltzing right into a trap. And still, she danced to Snow's tune.
"At least dance with him. Just one dance. What's the worst that can happen?"
"A lot?" Snow's lower lip trembled lightly.
"Alright, already. I'll dance. Happy?"
"If you don't want to do it for me, at least do it for Henry."
Man! Never an effin break.
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"She is manipulating me, right?" She whispered to Bertha as she moved through the throng.
"Yes, she is."
"I don't get it."
"That's what royalty does."
"And why would he want to marry me?" Bertha blushed. "What memory did you put in his head?"
"Apparently, a lot."
"At least look like you regret it."
I do.
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That had to be the long and short of the success of the night because when Prince Charming Wannabe, waving black locks of hair and manicured hands approached her and manoeuvred her first into the window sill and then into a "quiet place", when he got handsy and she lost it, well, that would just have to be chalked up to the length of the night. That and the sense of déjà vu.
She would have waved it off when his hands caressed her, shoulder to hand (leaving behind a train of slime). She would have excused it when he clumsily complimented her eyes, her hair and her bosom (you're no threat when you refer to a woman's boobs as bosom). And God knows she would have let it slide when he simply leaned into her and aimed right for a kiss (because she was nothing if not sober and ducked it). But when he proposed marriage, when he told her he was offering her the opportunity to wash herself clean of her reputation if only she bore is children and offered them the throne, well… who could blame her, really, when her hand flew back, and her fist formed and then simply shot forwards, smacking him satisfactorily in the nose that promptly erupted in a stream of blood.
Regina certainly didn't. She had seen trouble coming the moment she saw him placing himself between Emma and the crowd. She could feel it in the way he took short small steps into Emma forcing her to walk backwards into the recess of the window just not to be touched by him. And she was absolutely sure that nothing good would come out of that when he took Emma's arm and drew her into the "quiet little place" by the throne room. Yes, this had all the trademarks of disaster, most particularly because he was clearly not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Others had approached Emma with similar intentions, careful to use words that allowed her room to misinterpret (which she did, quiet, but surely). No, this was the kind of pathetic that inbreeding produced: too arrogant to consider a no. Too dumb to give himself an outing.
By the time Regina walked into the quiet little room, he was already bleeding profusely into the dainty little chair where he dramatically collapsed, dripping his nosebleed onto Snow's white carpet. Emma was staring him down, murder in her eyes.
Regina locked the door behind her, magic easy in her fingertips, the type that comes from anger that needs no witness.
"If you're not here to help me hide the body, you're okay to leave."
One of the things Regina did not expect that night was the pathetic Help me, Bertha uttered by the Roderick. Not that he could have ever figured out that the boy he had been insulting and belittling all night – to Emma and to anyone willing to listen- was her son. Clearly he was too dumb to breathe. So it was with great pleasure that she lifted the spell that cloaked her as Bertha and, in her full Evil Queen glory, smiled the deadliest of smiles.
"The… you're the…"
"Awww, look, it seems he has lost the power of speech!"
"Save yourself, Princess. Run! I will happily lay my life down for yours." Though he made no movement to overpower the Evil Queen.
"And now he get's gallant!" Emma mocked, Roderick's horrified eyes bulging out of his head.
"Are you out of mind? Do you not know who this hag is?" Roderick croaked.
"Don't call her a hag!" And in a move Emma considered of brilliancy, she magic slapped hand. Hard.
"Only when she walked into a closed room with you. Honestly, princess, I thought you'd know better."
"Heh, he blindsided me. Though I have to say, we have done this before."
"It's you talent for getting yourself into trouble. And now I need to clean your mess."
"Well, you taught me enough." Emma was truly enjoying the panic stricken face sitting right on top of Roderick's blood spattered coat. "I can do this on my own. Might be messy, it might lack finesse, but…"
"Your Highness!" Roderick moaned in horror.
"There is no faulting your enthusiasm, dear."
Emma raised her finger, magic swirling around it, visibly. She was not entirely sure she was doing it all on her own. When she was about to think that her magic had evolved a great deal, she noticed Regina's self satisfied smirk and the smell of Regina's magic in the air, something sweet and sad. Okay, so she was not doing it alone. But the look on Roderick's face was still priceless as was the way he simply lost control of his bodily functions right there and then. Emma wished briefly she'd had all of this when she was growing and going through high school in old hand me down clothes.
In the end, she pointed her finger simply at her dress and cleaned it up. Better than Tide.
"What, you expected me to kill you so unceremoniously?"
"Get it over with, Princess. Stop toying with him. That's rude." Regina quipped, a glint in her eye.
"Are we really going to kill him?" Emma whispered into Regina's general direction.
"Tempting. So tempting." Emma shrugged. Yes, it was. "Alright then. We play by the Charming rules." Regina snapped her fingers and Roderick was clean as laundered money, standing upright and with no memory of how he now had a crocked nose sitting on his pretty face, no sign of the urine that a mere second ago had stained his pants, nor of the blood in the room. Or of the Evil Queen. There was just a very concerned princess, her very fragile lady in waiting and Roderick's concerned mother walking in through the door now opened.
Trouble was, probably all the messing with his mind had not done him any favours: he looked pathetic with his confused eyes and mouth slightly agape. No, it did not look good, but Rowena, who had magic of her own, had not given them time to make a better job of the cleaning up.
"My lady?"
"Is you son quite well?" Regina could have kissed Emma right there and then, for all that poise and cool headed reaction. "He seems to be… a little fragile."
And there, in a nutshell, was why the family would never come to rule anything: they were, beyond the inbreeding, quite spoiled.
Emma moved out of the room, followed by Regina. Mother and son followed after, the mother holding the son upright, leading him to the crowd, seething with rage.
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Rowena knew magic when she smelled it, when she saw it, when she felt it. More importantly, she knew her son. She knew him and his heart and his intentions and she had trusted those to get them one more throne. Seeing her son and her wishes culled with magic? She might not be as powerful as some. But she had bitterness enough and rage enough to cause irreversible damage when pushed just far enough.
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Regina could have, if persuaded, described how the night would play out: the manipulations, the alliances, the marriages, the rebellions. What Regina did not see coming – though she should have- was that a cornered animal has nothing else to lose. Rowena was not without a magic- an ugly, petty magic that smelled of the acrid smell of wet fires- but magic nonetheless. And it seemed she had become more powerful.
"Do not think for one moment that I will sit idly by while you defile my son, princess!" In her voice, the word was all insult. Emma turned back as did Regina, not a moment too soon to see the magic gathering in the old woman's hands, to see it hurtling towards Emma.
It was a moment of clarity, that was all. A simple choice. Regina simply slid in front of Emma, getting the brunt of the deadly spell in her chest. She did not feel her body meeting the floor.