Chapter 4: A Sword Clashing, Tongue Lashing
By the time the sun had escaped from the clutches of the rolling cloud cover, the White Knight had learned quite a few things about her male counterparts. It was amazing what one could glean just by paying attention to your marks.
1) From what she could tell, the Queen's Guard and the King's Army didn't particularly like each other. Berkley and Rivers, the dark-clad terrors, almost habitually kept to themselves and scowled a lot, mostly at anyone who had deigned to wear white that day. Which was practically everyone. But Emma thought that their identical bad attitudes might have stemmed from the fact that they were actually twins. She'd never met a twin before, but she'd heard somewhere that they didn't tend to like anyone else but themselves.
They seemed to fit the stereotype.
2) Out of the five men that had been drafted from the King's Army, Orlund, or Orrie as everyone called him, was definitely the 'little brother' of the group. He was soft around the middle and stood at least a head shorter than the rest of his comrades, while Roman was a near-albino mass of muscle that never spoke, and Garrett radiated an odd sort of boyish charm that weirdly worked with the way he laughed when he fought.
And then there was Lancelot and August, who were apparently the best of friends and had grown up in the service together, judging by the excessive number of shoulder-punches the two were bestowing on their respective armor. Lance there seemed alright, a gentle giant of sorts, but August… August really loved the sound of his own voice and fancied himself as some kind of word-smith savant. The man insisted on droning on and on about how he was writing this novella based on his life and was everyone aware that he was considered to be the pinnacle of truth and justice in the King's battalion and did you know that he had never once in his life told a lie…
Emma wanted to cut off her own ears.
3) Which just left the navy crew, who unlike the other two groups that would have at least had one another's backs in a scuffle, didn't seem to even get along with each other, let alone anyone else. They were on completely opposite ends of the spectrum: Rolfe was a scrawny kick in the teeth with long lanky arms and a cock-eyed smile that seemed permanently stuck on leer while Liam was busy posturing as a literal pillar of good will. He was the veritable poster boy for serving royalty with class; prim and proper and dashingly handsome. The only thing not strait-laced about him were the tight chestnut curls he'd cut ridiculously close to his head.
And even those didn't seem terribly out of line.
Emma swerved in her sparring and parried a particularly hard thrust towards her face. She spun into the hit and clocked the dueling guard in the spine with her elbow as she passed. Rivers returned her heated glare with a glare of his own and she rolled her shoulder for good measure. His eyes darted towards her chest again.
She swore if he tried to jab her in the boob one more time, she'd slice his junk off herself.
Because in the end it didn't really matter who held what grievance with whom or what contingent of the royal guard they had been summoned from. Once her new comrades had discovered that she was in fact the illustrious Savior they had all been told about, they had all silently agreed on the only thing that mattered: none of them liked the thought of being deemed as an equal to a woman, no matter how renowned and reviled she was.
And so on went her morning, 'unintentionally' getting poked and shoved and tripped and hazed an inexcusable amount more than anyone else in her vicinity… until an unlikely shadow deigned to fall across the sandy showground.
The Queen appeared in the royal box like a spot of dried blood against the sun-bleached wood of the arena: a vison of severity in wine-dark satin that caressed her shape like a lover. Whiskey-brown locks had once again been coiffed into an elaborate bouffant that Emma herself would have had a hard time balancing atop her head, but on Regina it did wonders in accentuating her formidably sharp jawline and sculpted brow. It also drew quite a bit of attention to the tormenting lack of fabric currently not covering the upper part of the Queen's body.
Deep burgundy tulle clung low on the woman's chest and pulled in a tight diagonal across her torso to expose the complimenting black-boned corset underneath; it had intricate lace trimming around the bust and it left the long expanse of the Queen's neck and shoulders alarmingly bare. And when the royal leaned forward against the railing and into the ambient sunlight, her clavicle shifted into prominence underneath all of that luxuriously displayed, smooth, tanned skin.
Which Emma was not looking at. Nope. No. Absolutely not. She was not looking.
…but hot damn that was a good dress.
Shadowy eyes found the Savior's wandering ones and the Queen's ruby lips curved upwards into a devious smile.
Given her agenda for the day, Regina had worried for a moment this morning that the gown might be too much; having plucked it from the very back of her armoire after rejecting the first seven that had been shown to her. But the sheen the claret fabric had taken on in the dawning light through her window had made up her mind.
It had been her mother's once upon a time. Of course her dressing maids had no knowledge of this information, but the brunette would have recognized the dress anywhere. Mother had often boasted of its beauty and professed it as the crowning touch of her first ever ball with Daddy. Her father had always tried to hide his side-long look at this detail, but the way Cora told it, the prince hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her.
It was the centerpiece of her parent's love story and Regina yearned to be as close to the magic that had captured her father's gaze as possible. She had even specifically requested that the gown stay with her when Daddy had packed up the family belongings and headed back to their countryside estate without her, newly wedded and now a Queen.
And while Regina had no desire to ever be like her mother, the very idea made her insides pinch and twist terribly at the thought, Cora had always been known throughout the nobility for her strategic maneuvering and unwavering determination.
Regina could pull inspiration from that. She could be strong. In this outfit, she was empowered. And the fact that the White Knight's drifting gaze couldn't stay trained on her face was almost victory enough already.
After all, not all armor is made of metal.
"Your Majesty!"
Graham called out to her in greeting as soon as he noticed Regina slinking up to the rail of the pulvinus. He bowed in short measure and quickly spun on the dueling warriors behind him. "Men! Cease your spats and stand to attention in the presence of your Queen!" he barked.
The knights immediately clamored into a line against the opposite side of the ring to face the royal box. The captain nodded his appreciation at their stoicism and then marched, chin held high, towards the lofted Queen as protocol stated… but the woman's liquid scrutiny remained firmly trained on the arena and didn't move to track his progression.
Now standing directly below the royal in the sand, Graham awkwardly cleared his throat as he puffed out his chest to look up at his Queen. Clasping his hands behind his back in a show of congruence, the man prayed that the uneasy feeling arising in his stomach would just go away. His least-favorite monarch was always so hard to read.
"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visitation, my lady? I must admit I was not expecting you today."
Her head swung in a low, languid arch to meet his gaze. "And I wasn't aware that I had to inform you of my whereabouts, Huntsman," Regina drawled haughtily. "Has Snow asked you to watch my movements as well as my husband now?"
"No! No, Your Majesty!" Graham stuttered much-too-hastily. "Of course not! I swore my heart to serve the crown's legacy and I would never seek to deceive you in such a way. I only thought that you–"
"What you thought is not important," she stated dismissively, and a curt hand waved in staccato halted his ill-disguised alarm. "And is also not what I'm here for."
The Queen squinted into the sunlight with a practiced sense of apathy, even though she knew exactly where Emma was standing. "Where is the White Knight?" she proclaimed loudly.
Graham spun back to his subordinates with renewed gruffness and echoed Regina's request. "Emma Swan!" came the curt command. "Present yourself to Her Majesty, the Queen!"
The blonde felt the heat in her veins begin the slow creep up her neck to flush around her ears as she strode forward.
Regina was much bolder in the absence of the King; the demure vapidities of the court evaporating in the open air of the battleground where she clearly held dominion over her underlings. They might be under her husband's employ, but right now, she was in charge.
And Emma couldn't decide how she felt about that exactly.
The White Knight paused obstinately in the middle of the arena, and then lifted her emerald eyes to meet the caramel-dark gaze of the Queen's.
Regina's eyes burned. They burned and burned and burned and left scorch marks in their wake. Like they wanted to eat her alive and lick up the leftover pieces of her soul until she was nothing but ash.
The warmth that had been prickling at Emma's skin nearly ignited in her chest.
Regina smirked.
The royal's voice lazed through the air like candle smoke in the night; a fleeting caress that was somehow breathily thick at the same time. "Ah, the Savior," Her Majesty crooned. "How pedantic."
Every particle of her being practically vibrated in defiance at the visible condescension and Emma willed the subsequent heat to freeze over. She stood up straighter. "Queen Regina," she replied.
"Our resident White Knight," the Queen announced to the showground, and her hand gesticulated in a belittling sweep of mock grandeur. "The one supposedly responsible for bringing the happy endings back into Midas's frivolous kingdom; the sole reason for the vanquished ogres now strewn and decomposing across the Land of Gold, if the outlandish tales are to be believed." Her gaze fell back to rest on Emma's form and a malicious little grin plucked up the corners of her mouth.
She cocked her head patronizingly to the side, "But I have yet to see anything of note."
Emma scowled but said nothing. She didn't especially feel like rising to the bait today. It'd been a rough morning.
But it seemed that her respectful silence actually bothered the royal woman quite a bit if the minute facial shifts were anything to go by. The Queen's jaw set and reset with the flicker in her eyes, and the haughty smile dropped as her mouth ticked against the hairline scar etched above her lip.
Had the Queen been expecting some kind of fight? Interesting.
The delectable indent quivered again as Regina regained some of her ire. "For someone who has been painted as an angel of disaster by the common folk, I have been fittingly underwhelmed by your presence in my castle thus far. You have no flaming sword. No wings, as some have mimicked you up to have. And you wield no magic." A vindictive sneer cracked along her pretty lips as she snarled, "What makes you so special?"
The icy sting of jealousy tinting the Queen's voice also did not go unnoted.
Her chin thrust hotly into the air so that she could glare down her nose at the knight as she inhaled once in vague revulsion. "Come closer dear and let me look at you," she simmered, and when the blonde didn't move her nostrils flared. "I didn't presume that a legend such as yourself would have the good sense to be shy."
"I think you can see me just fine from where you are, Your Majesty."
The cheeky retort was out of her mouth before Emma's brain even had a chance to reconsider her voice. Regina's eyebrow peaked at the burst of insolence and the knight had to cross her arms at the sudden predatory glint staring back at her.
"You would dare to deny your Queen?"
Emma had to fight to remain stubborn as the royal's eyes flicked angrily over her biceps before fluttering back to her face again. The woman's chest was heaving slightly, and all Emma really wanted to do was dip her tongue into the hollow notch at the base of the brunette's very-available throat, if she was being honest. But she was not about to be bossed around by someone who obviously thought of her as inferior.
The White Knight's latent cockiness surged as she mustered up a grin, "Why?" she answered petulantly, and if she flexed her arms a little as she postured no one was the wiser. "Do you see something you like?" She flipped her ponytail from her shoulder in a smooth twitch of her neck and Her Majesty's eyes narrowed.
"No," she practically spat. "I'm here to call your bluff."
Emma's stomach dropped along with her arms. "What?"
The knight watched as the Queen's nails bit hard into the wooden railing in her grasp. Her knuckles flashed white. "You accused me of being a ruler out of touch with my surroundings. You insinuated that I was ill-informed and that I had no real grasp of the atrocities of warfare or of the sacrifices that are made in combat every time the King sends his troops into battle. And you had the audacity to do this, to try and undermine me in front of my constituents and my family," her lipsticked lips curled suspiciously around the word, like the noun left a bitter taste in her mouth, "all while breaking bread at my table."
Regina rose back to her full height atop the stony platform, made tall by the roiling anger filling up her honey-olive skin. The deadly husk of a threat rattled in the blonde's eardrums, "I think you lied, Sir Swan, about what you are and what you can do. So I demand that you prove your worth to me." Her molten eyes glittered. "I've come for a demonstration of your ability, Savior. And I'm not leaving without it."
"And we shall see it done!" Graham suddenly showboated to his audience of recruits; throwing his arms wide like he was talking to an entire stadium of cheering peasants screaming for blood instead of just the ten of them, standing stiffly at attention. He was still obviously trying to make up for his earlier transgression.
Emma's eyes flashed to him in horror and in the moment they caught, the pass of are-we-really-doing-this and I'm-just-following-orders flew between captain nodded tartly before offering his hand up to the preening monarch with an afflicted grin.
"My Queen, would you care to pick Sir Swan's opponent?"
"As a matter of fact, I would," the royal woman smoldered smugly, and the accompanying delicate shimmy in her shoulders only verified how pleased she was about this turn of events.
Regina made a dramatic show of scanning the lineup from her pulvinus, tapping at her lips and clucking her tongue, mumbling to herself in a way that the knight knew she shouldn't find endearing, before Emma witnessed a slow, ruinous smile bloom across the woman's face.
Emma imagined that the complementing chuckle probably sounded deliciously wicked behind those nimble fingers.
With her right hand still cupping the elbow of the arm pattering a beat against her crimson lips, the Queen's left fingertip momentarily parted from her mouth to point gleefully into the showground.
"I want her to fight that one."
Emma dared a glance over her shoulder at her new opponent.
Of course she would. Of course she fucking would.
Graham relayed Regina's message in a righteous bellow that could have rivaled the town crier, "Roman! Stand forth and fight! Your Queen wishes to see a contest of skill between you and the Savior of the Realm!"
The goliath of snow that had bumped into her at the beginning of practice, aka Mountain Man, swayed from his spot beside Lancelot and laboriously stomped his bulk out into the middle of the grounds to meet her. The pigment-less knight towered like a totem of salt as he moved; he was solid looming muscle with sweeping blonde hair that tufted from beneath his helmet and eyes the color of ice. And a smile just about as chipper.
Staring up into Roman's motionless features, Emma began to worry that the grimace she was currently sporting might somehow become permanently etched on her face with just how deeply she had been frowning all morning.
Then to the knight's chagrin, the Queen continued to deliver orders. "And you there on the end!" she called out, with the irritating airiness of someone picking out floral arrangements. "You look like you have something to prove." Emma wasn't sure how Regina knew to pick her latest, least favorite person, but she was staring straight at Liam. "You also step forth to fight. And…" her dark, dark eyes roved the lineup once more and landed heavily on another daunting man in white. "… Sir August." Regina smiled again, all sharp teeth and vengeance, and the devious smirk that had decorated her so delectably the previous evening now seemed calculating and cold. "Why don't you be a dear and join your comrades on the field as well."
Emma's head whipped up towards the Queen, aghast and angry, and stated the obvious, "This is not a fair fight."
"What?" The Queen's voice turned syrupy sweet as she swiveled languidly from her perch on the dais. Her eyes blistered in the light. "You're supposed to be the Savior after all," she crooned, and Emma decided that the glint in Her Majesty's gaze was the first real danger she'd seen all day. "I wanted to give you a challenge."
"And so it will be!" The Huntsman was back to his showboating, and he announced this loudly in the ostentation Her Majesty undoubtably required of him. The White Knight bristled.
The arrogance was rolling off the Queen in waves in the wake of her little triumph, and she peaked an expectant eyebrow in Emma's direction. Emma gritted her teeth and forced her attention back to the three men now awaiting her attack. Graham began barking out the rules of engagement from a safe distance between the two sides.
"As always, the statues of the training ground still hold true! Combatants are not to utilize steel weaponry against one another unless otherwise sanctioned by the monarchy."
She caught Graham's gaze flick warily to the famed blade she still had strapped to her hip and Emma rolled her eyes. She hadn't impaled anyone the entirety of her stay thus far, and so it wasn't as if she wouldn't be able to handle her urges when in a battle situation. She'd used the stupid practice swords… it wasn't her fault that she still looked surly when she was cooperating.
But nevertheless, the White Knight made of a show of belligerently unstrapping her sword and dramatically tossing it to the ground, before she turned her unamused face back towards the Captain of the Guard. "Do I at least get to dual-wield my stabby sticks then?" she deadpanned. "Y'know, in the spirit of fairness?"
Once she was gifted a second wooden sword, she twirled one and then the other in each hand in full rotation. Their weight was evenly balanced and they sliced through the air cleanly enough, the grain of the wood whistling ever so slightly when she thrust one out to squint pointedly at Liam. The naval officer's eyes were stern but the grip on his weapon kept shifting, shifting, shifting. The man looked nervous.
Good.
"No point system is to be awarded during this skirmish," Graham continued. "You will receive no more valor from a gut strike than you would a sweeping of the ankles. This is to be a test of skill and ingenuity, not one's ego."
Emma begged to disagree. This whole show was a conflict of egoic proportions, and her scoff was audible from across the field.
"Well of course not, Captain," August tutted back. The knight seemed way too pleased with himself at being chosen last to champion for the crown. "It would be most unbecoming of us to put such a lady at a disadvantage."
Graham's hackles raised along with Emma's. "Do not let your desire to employ extravagant maneuvers detract from the ferocity of the battle," the Huntsman instructed again, now more than a little bit agitated.
But Emma's blood was starting to boil, and despite the nuisance of having to prove herself to a snotty royal, she had begun to grow excited at the chance to wallop these cretins with just half of the force she'd been holding back all morning. "Some of us have the ability to execute both simultaneously." she spat.
Her body craved violence like sirens craved destruction, and Emma's magic was beginning to thrum steadily within her at the prospect of filling the ever-present void that ached with its absence.
"This will be a fight to the yield, not the death!" Graham shouted over top of their taunting. He pushed harder for order as he tried to reorient their attention. "I want to see a good, clean fight," he intoned sternly. "From all of you."
But August kept his reedy eyes trained on hers and smiled unkindly, "I don't believe our honor is the one that's being tested."
Oh, it was about to be on.
The Savior's fingers pulsed with adrenaline around dual hilts. She rolled her shoulder and cracked her neck both ways. Then her calves coiled to spring as she dug the toe of her boot into the hard-packed dirt of the arena and lowered her center of gravity.
She could almost smell the blood about to hit the air as if it was a palpable thing.
Liam hunched his shoulders. August bounced once on the balls of his feet. And Roman stood glued to the earth as if he had been rooted there for a century. She looked forward to obliterating them.
"Come at me, boys," Emma's grinned. "I dare you."
The Huntsman began to back away, giving the four of them a wide enough berth that straying strikes wouldn't fall where they were unintended. "And as always, may the best warrior win!" he bellowed. Producing a red handkerchief from an unseen pocket, he brought it down like sword slash through the air. "BEGIN!"