Author's Note: Yippee, this time a longer chapter as I promised! Be prepared for some Mama Cora feels, some Daddy Henry feels, a confused Daniel and a disappointed Regina. TW: abuse (think 1x18).

Chapter 11

Many Happy Returns

"Turn around… No, not like that," Cora says impatiently. Flustered, Regina turns and poses on the stool again for what feels like the millionth time. Not another dress fitting, she thinks every time she sees the seamstresses arrive nowadays.

Gloomily, she looks back at the first one. She was full of anticipation then, and wonder: the seamstresses brought bolts of cloth of a dozen colours and textures, lace and crochets and ribbons, scarves, gloves, and slippers. She picked and chose and pointed, and everyone ran to fulfil her every whim.

What started out fun and exciting, however, soon turned into an ordeal. The dress of her dreams is not to be: Mama will see to that. Gradually, Cora has taken over all the decisions, or close enough to make no matter. Regina is made to stand on the stool for hours at a time as Cora examines every inch of fabric and points out fault after fault. Pointy pins pinch and stab at her without mercy as Mama flips and turns her roughly, barking orders at the seamstresses.

"We should make the train longer," she declares. That brings Regina back to reality.

"But Mama," she protests, "Isn't it long enough? It will just get in the way."

"And just what will it get in the way of, my dear? You're hosting a ball, not some wild country ride-out."

The jibe stings.

"Regina, for once in your life, act like a lady. I guess it would be too much to ask for you to think like one, too. Besides, it is just a slight modification I've made. A little improvement on your own design."

Regina bites her tongue. A slight improvement. All of them have been called slight improvements by Mama. Yet somehow, at some point, it has become a whole different dress. Not much has remained from Regina's own ideas.

"We shall need to change the neck as well," Cora presses on, waving the seamstress to her. "A grand collar, I would say. Ornate, hand-sewn."

"A collar?" Regina blurts out in disbelief. "We agreed on no collar, remember?" That's the one compromise Cora has made, one small victory Regina has managed to snatch after her mother had practically redesigned the entire dress Regina had assembled on paper.

Cora passes her distress with a casual wave of her hand. "A collar will give the dress a much more impressive look, you shall see. Mother knows best, dear."

"I don't care if it's impressive!" Regina shouts with tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. "It was supposed to be mine. Why don't you wear one with a collar yourself and just let me have a dress I will like?" Regina jumps off the stool and bolts for the door. Before she has made it halfway through the room, though, a blast of energy hits her, engulfs her, and sweeps her off her feet. She feels herself rising in the air. Her hands curl into angry fists and as she stops midair, an invisible fist spins her around and she finds herself facing her mother. The seamstresses, it registers, have all scattered by now.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! You act like a wilful, ungrateful child! I will have none of this insolence! You will have a dress as befits a queen, do you understand?"

Regina struggles, though in her mind she knows all her effort is for nothing. "Mother," she entreats. "I just…"

"Do not talk back," Cora says softly, calm and composed now, smiling – at her most dangerous. Regina watches, slow-motion, her mother's fingers twitch; a moment of recognition hits her before a pair of shackles spring out of nowhere and pull themselves tight around her, hardly letting her breathe. She hears the fabric of the half-finished dress strain as the creaking leather crushes her painfully, and she feels several pins puncture her skin. "Mama…!" she gasps. All the energy seems to seep out of her. There is no resisting, she knows, no fighting back. She looks down at her mother's face, beaten, resigned, and bitter beyond words.

Cora smiles up at her smugly, encouragingly, waiting. Regina knows what is expected of her.

Regina sobs. "I'll be good," she whispers.

"There's my little girl," Cora grants her a glowing smile and slowly releases her from her magical grasp.

Regina rubs her sore arms and swallows another sob, praying to be dismissed, not daring to say a word.

"You may go to your room now. I will come get the dress in a moment and take care of the rest of the fitting for you. Do your homework and don't be late for tea. Remember - a lady never misses her tea."

Regina nods hastily, and flees with as much dignity as she can muster, which is little enough. Even the despised needlework will be a welcome distraction now…

Daniel heaves a pitchforkful of manure and flips it over on the growing pile. The stables must be clean enough to eat from, on Lady Cora's orders. Noble guests will be arriving soon. A number of stalls have already been made ready to accommodate a handful of horses of the select few. With the amount of extra work he's had for the past week, he has hardly seen Regina at all. In fact, no one else seems to have seen much of her, not even around the house. She's probably busy getting ready for her big night, Daniel muses. Still, he misses her.

He thinks he senses a ghost of annoyance creep into his thoughts, and shuns it before he has the chance to see its exact nature. He'd rather not understand it, he's resolved. It's not a good thought for sure. It might be an envious one, a dangerous one even, in which he catches himself wishing, as he normally doesn't, he were of a social stature closer to Regina's, to be part of this big event in her life that a young stable boy must needs be excluded from instead. It might be an angry one, a resentful one because she's been neglecting him so easily. Therefore, it's best not to let himself think such thoughts. He knows better, after all.

The air is cold and grey more than it is warm and colourful, he notices as he pushes the overflowing barrow of muck outside; a dreary onset of winter rather than a warm palette of autumn. Could autumn have been so short? There are patches of leafy gold-and-crimson carpets strewn across the thinning grass, but the trees haven't shed half of their cloaks yet – some are in fact still clad in predominantly green.

"Daniel," his Dad's voice carries from behind the corner with a sharp gust of wind. "Clean the golden harness. But first come and help me with the plough." The shiny, delicate harness comes out, the old battered plough must be removed from sight. Lady Cora represents, Daniel thinks as he strains and struggles alongside his father. Edric has regained much of his strength since his recent illness, much to Daniel's relief. The cough hasn't completely gone yet, but the fits have long disappeared.

"Who's coming to the ball, do you know?" Daniel asks casually, as if to just start up a conversation.

Edric huffs and puffs. "The crème de la crème, I suppose. No one we're likely to know anyway."

"I'll be glad when this whole ado is over," Daniel frowns and wipes his brow on a sleeve.

"There will be more to follow. The ball season is only beginning, son. You host one, are a guest at a dozen others. I suspect Lady Cora will want to attend and chaperone her daughter, now that she's of the age. Put that down now, I can handle it. Go take care of the harness."

"Are you sure?" Daniel hesitates. "You could get the harness, and I the plough."

Edric gives him an odd look, and nods with a hint of sadness. "I'll manage fine. Now go."

The harness is fine wrought gold, so delicate he fears he might accidentally crush it between his fingers; a thing of beauty rather than practicality. Gold like the flecks of the stray cat's eyes, which in turn remind him of his mother's eyes. He passed the stray just that morning; it looked to him slightly less skeletal with each passing day since Regina had rescued it from the tree. She was in a load of trouble then with Lady Cora because of the lip scar she had earned herself from the sharp claws of the terrified cat. Daniel smiles involuntarily. Battle scars, he muses. He must remember to tell Regina that when he sees her next.

Regina watches, her chin propped on her elbow on the windowsill, the first carriage roll in and stop at the main entrance – the guests are starting to arrive. A flutter of excitement she has all but forgotten stirs in her stomach. Perhaps all is not lost yet, she thinks with surprise. Perhaps I might still enjoy this in the end – my first real ball. Daddy steps out from the doorway with Mama on his arm to welcome the arrivals. Regina's brow furrows ever so slightly – part of her rejoices to see her parents get along for a change; part of her protests against the falsehood of a show they're putting up for the guests' sake. Daniel appears swiftly and begins to untack the horses to lead them to their temporary stalls. A pang of desire overcomes her for the stables' warmth and comfort, the familiar snicker of horses, and Daniel's companionship. In that very moment however, Mama's face turns right to the window Regina is peering out of, and Regina winces: she's supposed to be getting ready.

The dress is spread out on her bed - a pretty periwinkle blue. It's the colour I wanted, she tells herself as she closes the door behind her, panting slightly from the rush. She will need someone to help her into it, but she can start on her own alright. The shoes lie waiting at the foot of the bed, too, the same blue as the dress, and embroidered in gold. Regina sighs as she pulls the dress carefully over her head. The fabric itches and pinches on the inside because of the starching used at Mama's wish to make the dress hold its shape better. The collar, richly embroidered with gems and golden thread, weighs down heavily on her neck and shoulders. Even the shoes seem too tight - and they have been made to measure. I can do this, she tells herself, it's just a couple of hours. And next time, I'll have the dress I want, if only I behave tonight – Mama promised. And tomorrow, I can finally go riding again, in normal clothes, and talk about more than gowns and jewellery and balls.

The hairdresser arrives, paraded in by an impatient and infuriated Mama. It turns out that the guests' horses are not exactly tolerant of foreigners and trouble was afoot in the stables before Edric and Daniel moved these to the very last stalls and put a space between them and the other horses. Regina sits patiently and lets the woman do whatever she will with her hair; it's best not to pour oil on the fire. The hairdo, as she could have expected, is elaborate and comes with dozens of pins, many of which pull and pinch at her uncomfortably, yet still she doesn't say a word.

Mama dismisses the hairdresser and takes charge of Regina's corset herself. She pulls it tight, so tight the air is knocked out of Regina at one stage. She holds back a gasp and makes herself take fast, shallow breaths instead.

"Stands still," Mama orders as she ties the bow and adjusts the creases of the skirt. "Twirl for me." Regina twirls. "And smile, for goodness' sake. It's your big day!"

Regina manages a strained smile. She's closer to tears than ever in the past few days and she's not even sure why.

"That will do. I imagine you're just a little nervous. Well, that's normal. It shall pass. I don't have to remind you to remember your manners now, do I?"

She shakes her head vehemently. "No, Mama."

"Very well. Young prince James and his father should arrive momentarily. I will send for you and make the introductions. Prince James will keep you company for most of the evening. I expect you to behave like a lady and not mess up."

Regina nods meekly. "Yes, Mama." Perhaps this prince James will turn out to be pleasant company, who knows? She certainly hopes so.

When Mama leaves, Regina sits on the very edge of the bed with utmost care, so as not to ruin her skirt. A moment later, there's a knock on the door, and Daddy enters. The worn expression on his face is replaced by a smile when he sees her, but it's too late – she has already noticed.

"Daddy," she smiles shyly. "Look…it's nothing like me, is it?" she gestures at her entire apparel.

"You're beautiful no matter what, darling. How fast you've grown up," he says and she fancies his eyes glisten wetly.

"I wanted to give you something. For your birthday."

"But…I'm already getting a ball. I didn't think there will be anything else."

"Your mother is giving you the ball. I'm giving you this." He hands her a small velvet jewellery box. "Go ahead, open it. I hope you like it."

Curious and positively excited once again, Regina takes it and lifts the lid. The inside is light blue silk, and there's a small golden medallion resting on it, in the shape of a tree. "An apple tree," she breathes out. Daddy's eyes twinkle. "Thank you, Daddy!" They hug awkwardly, hindered by the wearisome dress. "Put it on for me," she urges him.

"You already have a necklace," he reminds her; and indeed, it's a heavy sapphire one Mama has had made specially to go with the dress. "Never mind," she says. "I'll have this one."

After a moment's hesitation, Daddy gives in, and the irksome sapphires are replaced by the simple golden chain. "Much better," she smiles.

The door flies open and a distraught serving girl stumbles in to inform Regina that she is now expected at the ball room.

The air is heavy with perfume and wine, small talk and gossip, dancing and feasting. Regina's head swims - a blur of colour keeps flashing in and out of sight as she twirls around the dance floor. Her hand is sweaty around the fistful of her trailing skirt she's clutching to keep herself or anyone else from tripping over it. She realises with embarrassment that her other hand, laid in the prince's, must be the same, and wonders whether this will be considered bad etiquette. She catches a glimpse of crimson and looks away quickly. The smile she makes herself give her dancer brings a smug look onto his face, regardless of what truly lies at its root.

Prince James is handsome enough. His manners are impeccable, just as Mama has whispered into her ear in a stolen moment after they'd been introduced. He's probably the stuff of fairy tales, the kind little girls dream of. And he clearly knows it. The confidence with which he prances around makes Regina uncomfortable and a little envious at the same time. As the night goes on, the quiet envy disappears though, and slight annoyance takes its place.

"My lady," the prince bows to her when the music dies out. Regina returns the bow with utmost grace; in fact she's quite happy with her performance tonight. If it weren't for her sticky palms' betrayal, everything would be going smoothly. "May I escort you to the table?" James offers his silk-covered arm.

"Yes, thank you," she concedes. All the guests clear a way for them as he leads her to the head of the table.

"Wine for my lady!" he calls on a serving maid with them barely having been seated.

Regina covers her goblet to stop the flow of the red liquid. "No more for me, thank you," she says.

The prince looks bewildered for a moment but his white-toothed smile reappears almost immediately. "Would my lady prefer some more cake?"

"N-" she begins, but the cake materialises before her before she can even finish. She likes pie, not cake... Resigned, she picks up the fork.

"I have heard you play the piano beautifully, my lady. Perhaps you would grant me the pleasure of hearing you play later tonight?"

Regina's stomach sinks. The prospect of playing in front of so many people doesn't appeal to her one bit. A single missed beat would earn her shame in Mama's eyes...

She almost chokes on her cake when Mama's voice chimes in from behind: "She will do so gladly, dear prince. Won't you, Regina dear?"

"Yes, Mama," Regina replies, trapped, with her head low. "I will."

"Splendid," James says with a winning smile. Regina's fork clatters against the porcelain plate. The unfinished cake disappears promptly.

The musicians begin to play again. James looks around questioningly. A few couples gather on the dance floor and many more are stealing glances at them - Regina can feel the eyes on herself. James rewards them with a condescending look. "All the room awaits your ladyship. I believe the floor misses its charm without you, my lady. May I have the honour?"

They're just empty words, her mind throws at her out of the blue. It's all just a show. He's being a prince, the same way she's acting the perfect young lady. He'd be the same with anyone else, he doesn't care about me. He knows nothing about me and he doesn't care to. It doesn't mean anything.

"I'd rather sit this one out, your highness. If it please you." she adds, making as polite a refusal as she can think of.

"Regina!" Mama ejects, scandalised. "Surely you don't mean to refuse the honour?"

The prince puffs up at her words. "No offense taken, Lady Cora. I'm sure my lady means to say she is a little tired from all the dancing," he waves a benevolent hand. Regina stares from Mama to the prince. Everyone seems to have a say in what she wants and feels and needs bigger than herself. "Perhaps a small walk in the garden might suit you better." He stands and offers his arm. "It will be my pleasure."

Regina sees no way out of this if she doesn't want to bring Mama's anger and the prince's resentment on herself. "The pleasure is mine," she recites. "You are most kind." Without looking at Mama even once, she lets herself be led outside.

"My compliments on the splendid ball you've organised," the prince says as they walk out onto the terrace.

"Mama will be pleased to hear that, Your Highness," Regina replies. You should be telling her that, not me. It means nothing to me, she realises with a slight surprise. It's Mama who craves your approval.

She searches feverishly for a topic more to her liking. There must be a person under the princely mask for sure after all, if she only tries to get to know him better. "I have heard the royal stables hold over five score horses," she observes.

"More than that," James replies vainly as they cross to the tinkling fountain. "And they're the best in all the land. But I won't bore you with men's talk. Surely there are more appropriate topics."

"Oh no," Regina exclaims. "I do love horses!"

The prince inclines his head curiously "You do? Well, I guess horses must seem lovely enough to look at."

Something in his tone irritates her faintly but the rapture is stronger yet. "Looks aren't the best part of them. They're noble, independent, but loyal animals if you take the time to bond. Riding strengthens the body and uplifts the soul," she finds herself repeating the words she has once heard from Daniel's father.

"Well... I guess so. They make good enough sport for us, especially when hunting. But that's no topic fit for a lady either. Let's not bore you with that. It's your birthday; it's you who's to be flattered and spoilt with matters dear to you. Forget about the princely interests, my lady."

But horses are dear to me, she cries out in frustration deep down. She says nothing, however.

"Would you like to sit by the fountain for a bit, my lady?"

"Please call me Regina," she looks up at him hopefully. She's been called 'my lady' in just this one night more times than she'd care to hear in a lifetime.

"I'm afraid I haven't earned the privilege yet, my lady," he answers and looks at her almost pitifully - as if he were trying to cover up a faux pas she has committed in her ignorance. She swallows and lets out a small sigh. This is getting nowhere. They sit in silence until Regina can bear it no longer and asks if she could be escorted back to the ballroom.

Dancing at least requires little to no conversation. She finds some consolation in it now, gives in to her wandering thoughts, and lets herself be led in a swirl of colour and the rhythm of the music, oblivious to it all.

The time comes for presents to be handed over. Most of them remain to be unwrapped later in privacy, and most will be necklaces, earrings, fans, and the likes. The prince, however, the guest of honour, is a different matter. All eyes are on her as he hands over a big round package ceremoniously. Regina knows what she must do. She accepts the package with words of thanks adorned with the most fashionable courtesies, and braces herself for what's to come.

She has no illusions left after the mishap of a conversation in the garden; without doubt this will not be a gift to her liking. The prince either hasn't bothered finding out anything at all about her, or Mama has misinformed him as she'd deemed appropriate. Her fears are proven true when the contents of the package are revealed: an ornate tiara, pretty beyond doubt she must concede… and a sewing set of lavish decoration, golden frame, fine silken cloth, gold and silver and silk thread, golden needles with little pearls on top. Regina's eyes brim with tears. She stammers a few more words of thanks and musters a crooked smile before she excuses herself and flees the room.

The row that follows when the last guest is gone is one of the worst she remembers - if not the worst.

"What did you think you're doing? Have you no self-control? You silly, silly child!"

"But Mama!" she gives a dry sob. "I did everything you asked. Everything the prince wanted. I even played the piano! I pretended to be the perfect lady you wanted me to be, I was...good." she finishes with her voice breaking.

"You pretended to be a lady? Why can't you just be one? Why would you refuse a prince his dance? Every other girl would give half her life to dance with him!"

"Well then let them!" Regina snaps. "He doesn't care who he dances with anyway. He doesn't care about me at all. He doesn't care who I am, what I am like, he-"

"Why should he care? Does it matter who you are now? You could be queen! Don't you understand what that means?"

"If it means living my entire life in a masquerade like tonight, I want none of it. I want to be myself, I want to be free, and have people like me for me, not because I'm some lady or queen. I hate how pretentious everyone was tonight. Oohing and sighing over my dress, my hair, my shoes - even the piano piece I messed up. I hated it all, I want none of it!"

"You stupid girl! Don't you ever dare say that again, do you hear me? And don't you dare cry, never in front of the prince! Thank heavens he took your silliness for adorable emotionality over the preciousness of his gift to you. I did not venture to correct him, needless to say. But next time you might not be so lucky. So wise up!"

"Next time...?" Regina croaks as tears stream down her face and onto the front of her gown.

"Did you think this was it? Of course there will be more, it would be considered inappropriate for the prince to propose after your first encounter. Although I had hopes... if you had been charming enough. But that obviously wasn't the case."

"P-propose?" Regina whispers, wide-eyed.

"Oh, Regina. Get over it. I was always going to marry you to a prince. That's how queens are made. Now undress and go to bed. We will take this up in the morning. You may go to your room."

It is all Regina can do to restrain herself on the way to her room. Tears cling to her eyelashes and it must be by miracle only that they don't spill right out. Her strides are fast and long, her head held high; but she knows her face won't fool anyone. She fights to repress a sob but it eventually escapes from her throat anyway. Out of earshot now, she breaks into a run.

Only when the door of her room slams shut behind her does she give in it to tears: anger and hurt taste bitter and salty as one. Before she knows what she's doing, a clenched fist lands on the door with a loud bang. The other follows, and the first one again, and again, and again. No one hears, no one comes. Regina keeps smashing the door in an angry rage, until her tears seem to dry up and there is no strength left in her arms. She flings herself on the bed then, fully dressed, and stares at the ceiling.

It's not the bluish pattern she sees though; instead, images of the night chase each other on the backdrop of her mind. The prince and his father the king, looking her up and down and nodding his approval to Mama after Regina enters the room. All eyes on her as she delivers the prepared welcome speech and opens the ball. The first dance, a little gawky at first but appropriately graceful after the first tension is shaken off. Mama privately reprimanding her for replacing the splendid sapphires with a simple medallion. The sickly sweet taste of cake and the cold piano keys under her fingers. Small talk, ever unchanging empty courtesies, compliments on her looks and luck of having the prince himself for her partner. The prince, the stuff of fairy tales, yet an empty vessel similar to the rest of this farce called her birthday party, gallant but without empathy, obliging but without emotion, aiming to please but without a grain of real interest in her.

I like pies, not cakes. Horses, not needlework. Life, not the prison of social masquerade. Stable boys, not princes. Why won't they understand? I want to be myself, but they only seem to care about Regina the act, Regina the lady. Regina the obedient daughter, who is never good enough. And yet all I wants to be is - Regina.

She makes herself stand with a sigh and begins to remove the many parts of her elaborate dress. She breathes more freely as soon as the corset is gone, and a considerable part of her headache seems to withdraw as she lets her hair down. The medallion she leaves for last. She pauses with the clasp open. Having made up her mind after a moment, it takes another while for her to manage to fasten it again – the medallion stays on. Her nightie, loose and soft against her skin, has never felt more comfortable than now. She pulls back the sheets with relief and stops halfway through.

A book lies just below her pillow face-down. When she picks it up, a folded note falls out from between the pages. She flips it open impatiently. It reads: A canter is a cure - here's to many more. Enjoy. Happy birthday from your friend. Smiling for what feels like the first time that day, Regina turns the book over to read the title: On Horsemanship, it says. She crawls into bed, pulls the sheets all the way up, and drifts off with her arms folded around the book and a faint smile on her lips.