Something nudged her arm, urging her to wake. Emma groaned against it, not wanting to leave the safe, warm world of her dreams.
At first softly insistent, the pressure intensified, shoving Emma from her side onto her stomach.
"Ugh, fine." She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, brushed the hair out of her face, and glared at the impatient animal by her bed. A moonlit ghost against the dark backdrop of a borrowed bedchamber. "I'm up. Satisfied?"
The white wolf sat back on its haunches, a smile behind her red eyes.
"What can possibly be so urgent it can't wait until morning?"
In answer, Fen walked to the door and waited for Emma to follow. With a heavy sigh, Emma got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and let her guardian lead the way.
The castle was quiet, a stark contrast to daylight hours when hundreds of bodies bustled, crowding every corner, clogging every corridor. Whenever her parents left the premises for more than five minutes, their court lost its collective mind. Emma hadn't gotten a full night's rest since she'd arrived. A pattern that would evidently not end soon.
The dark grew around them and Emma acted on instinct, raising her hand to conjure an orb of soft light—an instinct she'd tried and failed to kill. The cuff on her wrist had begun to chafe, a mild irritation compared to the alternative. Still, moments like these served as pointed reminders that sacrifice without loss was meaningless. Empty. And she felt that loss every minute of every day.
"I hope you know where you're going," she said. "Because I can't see a single thing."
She felt along the stone wall as they trekked deeper into shadow. She knew her parents' castle well enough not to get completely lost—she'd spent her childhood exploring its every crevice, uncovering its every hidden passage, much to the chagrin of her parents—but the stillness of night always made things a bit more eerie, added a sinister air to un-sinister things.
When they came to the ground level, moonlight filtered in through stained glass windows, lending itself to Emma's squinting eyes. The autumn air nipped at her skin as they stepped outside, and when it did, Emma realized where it was her guardian was taking her.
Gusts of wind tugged at her robe, pulled the layers of her hair from one shoulder to the next as they fought to erase the last traces of summer that still held fast. Every tree in the garden swayed, painting the path Emma followed with fallen leaves.
There was one tree that bore fruit year-round. No matter the inclement weather. No matter the state of the harvest. One tree in the whole of her parents' kingdom produced ripe, red apples at all times. Some living things, Emma mused, had no concern for the laws and dictates of humans, and did as they pleased.
There was another. Smaller, more frail. Indeed, Emma had expected it to die off at least a decade ago. It was this tree that her guardian knelt next to. Emma followed suit, seating herself on the cold earth and resting her head against a soft white coat of fur. Her eyes fell on an engraving from a lifetime ago and Emma reached forward to trace the jagged letters. K + E. Outlined by a heart.
She'd carved them in haste, heart thundering in her ten year old ears, after meeting a boy in the forest. Killian Jones, at your service.
They'd made plans to meet again the next night, but the boy never showed.
She'd returned home to find Fen waiting, happy to see her back but disappointed she'd gone off on her own. They were a team, after all. Since the day they met, they were bonded—why would Emma have gone anywhere without her?
"You're right, I'm sorry," she'd said. "It won't happen again."
Emma had come back to that tree more times than she could count during her formative years, if only to remind herself that it'd really happened. She'd gone in search of True Love's Crossing and had met a boy instead. Some part of her, large and untamed at first and more discerning as she got older, had wondered if she had indeed found what she'd gone in search of that night. Eighteen years later, she still found herself searching. Lingering a bit longer, waiting for that same spark of connection in the sapphire eyes of a stranger. The crooked grin of one of the suitors her parents so hoped would be the one.
Maybe it was foolish to dream. But Emma could never bring herself to settle for anything less than life-changing, especially with regards to this. She knew how fortunate she was to have the parents she did—a king and queen who would not force a marriage of convenience on their daughter. What could the Truest of True Love couples ever want for her than what they, themselves, had found?
"—and what sort of woman does that make you?"
Emma started at the sound of another voice in the garden—aggressive and annoyed.
"The sort that doesn't have to suffer your ill temper," answered a third person in that garden.
This voice Emma knew, and she rose, ready to defend.
Her black gown made her one with her dark surroundings, but the moon highlighted her pale skin. She was like an apparition amongst the swaying trees as the winds had her dark tresses dancing madly about her form.
Arms crossed, she said, "Now, if you would desist from following me. I have affairs of state to attend."
The man she addressed stepped into view, latching his hands around both her arms, and Emma began a heated approach, Fen at her side with teeth bared in a snarl.
"Unhand me!" Charlotte demanded as she attempted to free herself from a tightening grip. "My mother will hear of this!"
"It was your mother who sent me—to keep an eye on her wayward daughter. How true her words turned out to be."
Charlotte froze, her mouth hanging open. She closed it tight, as a calculated look entered her eyes. One that would have those who crossed her believing she was unaffected. Cold and detached. But Emma saw through the facade to the broken heart it betrayed.
"Is there a problem?"
All bravado drained from the guard's features as he beheld Emma. He averted his eyes, bowed his head, took two steps back from Charlotte. "Apologies, Your Highness, I meant no disrespect," he said, fresh terror in his tone. "You won't…tell the queen about this, will you?"
Emma looked him over. She'd seen him on the grounds a couple times. He was young and untried. Arrogant. If she recalled correctly, he'd come to her parents' court from the humble reaches of Glowerhaven. No title, no connections. No one to recommend him. And yet, her parents had taken pity on his tragic backstory and offered him a position in their royal guard.
"Tell me…"
"Noah," he answered without taking his eyes from the ground.
At Emma's side, Fen let loose a low growl. A warning. Speak wisely, while you still can.
"Noah. Are you in the habit of manhandling members of the royal family?"
"No, Your Highness. Of course not. Forgive me."
"The offense is not mine to forgive," said Emma, turning to Charlotte, who only had daggers for her.
The guard turned his body to Charlotte, head still bowed, gaze trained firmly at her feet, and said, "Forgive me, Highness."
After a moment's heated contemplation, Charlotte nodded once.
"You're dismissed," said Emma.
Noah sighed with relief. "Thank you, Your Highness. Your grace is unmatched in this or any realm."
"I have not finished."
Noah exaggerated his bow.
"Return to your quarters. Pack your belongings. And leave. I don't care where, so long as you never step foot on these grounds again. And be grateful for your good fortune—my friend here has a particular taste for violent men."
He hesitated. Then, with one final glance at Charlotte, took his leave.
Once he was gone, Charlotte pushed past Emma with a huff. "Must you always be so insufferable?" She followed the path Emma had previously taken, but stopped at the apple tree, gazing into its twisted limbs. Arms still crossed. Jaw still locked. "Is it really any wonder no one takes me seriously around here?"
Charlotte reached for an apple hanging low, and plucked it. As her teeth pierced the unnaturally red skin, something flashed in Emma's mind. Sudden. Unrefined. Like a memory, or a dream…
A compulsion.
A sea of red apples rising around her. Taunting her.
Just one bite. It 'll taste so sweet—
"What are you even doing here? Don't you have a palace of your own? I've been left on my own before and the kingdom hasn't fallen to ruin." Charlotte took another bite and chewed it indignantly.
Emma knew the truth would only reopen old wounds. A deep-seated bitterness Emma couldn't fault her for.
So she asked instead, "Am I not allowed to miss you? Miss my home?"
Charlotte turned the half eaten apple over in her hand. "If that's true, why has it taken you so long to come back this time?"
Now Emma considered it, Charlotte was right. It'd been close to a year this time, since she'd returned. She could've blamed the pressures of her new life. Could've claimed all manner of things—could've been honest. Told Charlotte how much it hurt to be away, but that short visits only made the inevitable separation that much worse.
She took Charlotte's hand, the cuff on her wrist grazing one identical on Charlotte's, and said, "I'll do better. I promise."
This was what made her sacrifice worth it. Charlotte alive—was there anything Emma wouldn't give to keep her safe?
Charlotte sighed, her shoulders sagging as a tear streaked like liquid moonlight down one cheek. "I'm sorry, too. It's been hard without you. After Phillip left, I…," Charlotte cleared her throat. "I haven't made the wisest choices."
Emma gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "If anyone understands poor decisions, it's—"
"The Chosen One?" Charlotte scoffed, dropping Emma's hand. "Is that a joke? You could raze Misthaven to the ground and they'd still worship you."
"That isn't true—"'
Footsteps, loud and metallic, interrupted Emma's argument as four guards entered the garden, each bearing a panicked look. The first among them, a woman whose red and black armor did not match the others, approached the place Emma and Charlotte stood.
"Mulan, what is it?" Asked Emma.
The warrior handed her an envelope sealed with dark wax. Emma tore open the parchment to reveal a single word scrawled in black ink. Checkmate.
"That's Regina's writing." Charlotte snatched the page from Emma's grip and began pacing as she read and reread the script a dozen times over. "This is a declaration of war."
Mulan nodded once and said, "The Queen is at your gate."