Chapter 8: Don't Tempt Me
This had to be the door. Right?
Emma glanced around the deserted corridor. All of the doors looked exactly the same. But Ryn had insisted that this one was the one. The one next to the portrait of the deceased Duke.
'Duke Rupert the Fifth from the House of Pewter' the name plate read. He scowled down at her from within his massively opulent frame. He looked like he had a stick up his ass.
Emma reached for the handle and tugged… but the door wouldn't budge. She pulled again, and again, several times in fact, but still the door stuck tight in its frame. Emma glanced slyly down the corridor once more and listened for footsteps. And when for a full minute she heard nothing, she secreted two straight-pins from their hiding place in her vest and picked open the lock.
You could be hanged for something like this, the knight thought errantly, and a little thrill trilled down her shoulder blades instead.
The bolt caught against her tools and with a sharp click, the heavy wooden door creaked inward to reveal utter darkness.
"Hello?" Emma called out hesitantly. She stepped one foot inside the room and cursed herself for not thinking to bring a torch with her, despite the fact that it was still daylight outside. The gaping maw of the doorway was pitch black. "Anybody there?"
Her voice was swallowed by the room, blanketed in the thick, shadowy quiet of the unknown.
The knight's victorious grin fell as took another step into the space cautiously, hands outstretched in front of her to brace for any unexpected impact she might happen upon. She called out again, "Your Majesty?"
Emma made it about five steps into the vacuous space before she cracked her shin against something awful. "Son of a bitch!" she swore, and stumbled sideways in the dark, only to collide with an instrument that was dreadfully out of tune. Her falling fingers hit several daunting minor notes that screeched through the air around her, and the blonde winced at the ungodly sound.
It was moments like this that made her despise the lofty title of Savior and her consistent inability to be as graceful as her last name suggested. The irony of it all made her grimace. All she needed now was for someone to find her hobbling around in the dark like an idiot.
The knight tripped around the opposite edge of the instrument and blindly stuck out her hand to feel for a wall. She came back with a fistful of velvet curtains and immediately jerked them hard enough to send the fabric sliding across the rung at the top of the supposed window.
Dusky afternoon sunlight exploded into the room. Dust wafted in and out of the sunbeams streaming onto the ill-fated harpsicord and clung to sound-muffling tapestries insulating the chilly walls. Even the various fainting couches and plushy sofas had a thick layer of disuse settled on top of them. The room was obviously meant to be a showroom to wine and dine important guests in, but apparently King Leopold was not one much for making friendly alliances. Or at least, he wasn't anymore.
It was no wonder that Ryn thought Regina could have stolen into here without anyone noticing. The parlor was so still and quiet, and so vastly different from everywhere else Emma had seen in the palace so far. And with how highly the handmaiden had spoken of the Queen's musical capabilities, she could easily imagine Regina sneaking off to play here in her private moments, losing herself in the music while the hustle and bustle of castle life droned on outside the densely wooded door.
Emma swiped a finger through the coating of dirt on the harpsicord. A pristine polished smudge smiled back at her.
But if the dust was anything to go by, the Queen had definitely not performed here recently, and she was certainly not here now. No one had touched this place in years.
Scanning the empty room with a small spasm of disappointment in her chest, Emma's eye suddenly caught on something out of place. The knight cocked her head at the odd assortment of pointed angles pushing at the underside of a large tarp that had been draped over an amorphous blob in the corner. She sauntered forward to investigate, and wrapping her hand around the dingy material, she sent the cover flying in a violent cloud of dust.
Paintings. Scores and scores of paintings. Oils and acrylics and charcoal and pastels; lifelike to abstract they exploded into the forgotten parlor with the zeal of a child. Smudges of gray danced with wisps of pinks and purples while bursts of sun-bright yellow and bloody red dye jumped to be seen in the pictures behind. A few of the smaller ones in front even carried deep blotches of black ink that looked like the faces of ghosts.
The knight knew that it was quite a common practice for high-bred young ladies of the court to acquire some kind of flimsy skill in order to increase their marrying value. Being able to play the flute or recite long volumes of poetry was not only an easy way to showcase their worth to a wealthy suitor, but it was also a handy ability to possess when, after their nuptials had been substantiated, the ladies were required to occupy themselves or entertain the house guests of their husband.
But damn. Ryn hadn't mentioned a thing about this.
Emma's fingertips delicately traced the outline of the royal's initials and mesmerized, began to flip through some of the forbidden pieces. Picture after picture after picture, she lost herself in the Queen's design until almost out of nowhere she reached the back wall, where one last illustration stood propped solemnly against the stone. Her fingers had been tripping aimlessly along when she'd found it; cloaked in its own tarp and settled as far back into the corner of the room as possible.
Emma's eyebrows tugged together as took in the mysterious outlier.
Curiosity piqued once again, the blonde maneuvered the drawings that had fallen to rest against her abdomen to the side, shimmying out from under their combined weight so that she could stand flush in front of the final covered canvas. And then with nary a thought to the contrary, the knight ripped away the sheet to unveil the last of product of Her Majesty's skill.
The painting was by far the largest of Regina's artwork; the canvas stretching almost to rival Emma in height. And with drafting charcoal lines still jumping out from underneath the painter's brush strokes, it was clearly an unfinished piece. But what was completed could only be described as utterly creepy.
Captivating, but creepy.
The interior of the canvas boasted a frame drawn not unlike the one Emma had seen earlier this morning on the mirror in her bedroom. Twisting and ornate, the recognizable golden trim jumped out in stark contrast to the dark smear of black dye that had been hastily splattered in the middle. The shadowy smudge rippled to the illustrated edge and if she looked closely enough, the knight could see where the artist had sketched what looked like the beginning of fingers trying to claw their way out of the frame.
Like she'd said: creepy.
But it wasn't the echo of scraping fingers that gave Emma pause. It was the pair of cold, harsh eyes in the middle of the portrait that were staring back at her.
They had no face. Just two dead eyes set in the middle of the blackened mirror that seemed to slice right through the veil of reality and sear into her soul. Staring unblinking like a reptile deciding how best to dismantle her. The hazel irises were so detailed that they almost felt like they were breathing, seeming more than just a collected assortment of lines and color, and Emma had the immediate urge to recoil from them. Their studying scrutiny prickled against her skin and she was sharply tempted to throw the tarp still clutched in her hand back over the painting just to shut out their dissecting gaze.
Those were not the eyes of someone who was haunted. Those were the eyes of someone who did the haunting.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
Emma's head snapped up just in time to see the Queen land; her arms pinned to either side of the doorway and her dress still swishing with the halted movement.
The knight's heart jumped into her throat at the sight. Regina looked like anger embodied: still trussed in that mouth-watering ensemble from before, waist cinched tighter than ever and glaring like her life depended on it. But her once pristine composure had been lost. Her hair was pinched up in a monstrosity that was bound to be gorgeous when completed, but half-done it left her looking a little feral. Untamed tendrils of silken brunette waves fluttered down Regina's back and curled around her face where wild eyes darted like a cornered animal. Which seemed odd to Emma, because given their current situation, it was her, not the Queen, who was most likely about to be trapped.
She flew into the room like a hurricane. "What gives you the right?!" Regina spat, advancing on the knight with frightening speed. "This room is off limits to anyone without a key. I don't care who you think you are, but being named the mighty Savior of the Realm does not grant you unfettered permission to waltz yourself about the palace as you please." The royal was up in her face, scant inches away and seething, and Emma's nostrils swam with the sudden scent of citrus and burning smoke. "Do locked doors mean nothing to you, White Knight?"
The Queen's perfectly stained lips were snarling barely a breath in front of her and for a moment, Emma could think of nothing else. "I was lost," she lied.
"You were snooping."
Regina snatched the tarp from Emma's fingers. She clutched the material fervently in her fist and huffed once, a short snort through her nose like an angry horse, before the brunette turned sharply on her heel to march over to her artwork. She flung the fabric over the pile with a surprising amount of haste and then whirled back to glare at Emma. "Those are private."
Emma's stomach sank. It was never her intention to make the Queen feel uneasy, and judging by the protective posture she'd adopted, Emma had failed in the venture. She gestured apologetically to the hidden paintings. "They're really good," Emma tried.
"They're also none of your concern," the Queen snapped. "As are my whereabouts." She then swept back into the knight's personal space and Emma found herself retreating in kind until her spine collided with the harpsichord. Eyes the color of scorched caramel pinned her to the instrument looking every bit as threatening as a thundercloud. "Who knows that you're here?"
Emma's eyes darted to the regal woman's lips, flicked to her eyes, to the door, and then back again. She took a stuttering inhale. "Look, Your Majesty," Emma started. "I didn't mean to overstep. I just thought that-"
"Who knows that you're here?!" Regina growled again, and Emma could have sworn that lightning flashed in her irises. "Who else did you notify of my departure from the castle?!"
Having stumbled upon a problem she hadn't even thought to consider, Emma suddenly felt as if she was balanced on the perilous edge of a knife, and as the Queen leaned ever closer, enunciating every word, she noted the vein in Her Majesty's forehead beginning to make itself known.
"It is very important to your continued health that you answer me precisely, Sir Swan, or so help me…"
"Your staff!" Emma insisted, hands scrambling for the edge of the harpsichord as her back bent over it a little further. "I just consulted your staff! Nobody important, I promise! The cook, your guard, your handmaid. I briefly bumped into her Royal Highness in the hallway but-"
It was as if the air had been sucked from the room. The Queen's eyes widened. "Princess Snow is aware of my absence?"
The intake of breath was small but devastating, and Emma raced the plummeting feeling in her toes to wipe the look from Regina's face. "Don't worry," she was quick to assure. "I covered for you."
Regina didn't quite know what to do with the sincerity radiating in the knight's expression. It was earnest and honest, and honestly, it made her feel entirely too seen. Which was not something one would think a Queen would have taken issue with, but something about the sensation made Regina feel extremely exposed. She turned up her nose in the hopes that she'd appear haughty and disinterested, and attempted to blink back the fear she could feel pricking at her features.
"Leave." Regina dismissed the knight with a wave of her hand and turned away, pacing back towards the center of the room.
But an audacious clucking sound clicked behind her and the Queen peered over her shoulder just in time to see the White Knight plop onto the chaise with a cockiness completely unwarranted for the situation at hand. A plume of dust pillowed up on either side of her like wings as she continued to shake her head in what seemed to be… playful dismay? "Oh, Your Majesty," Emma tutted, and her biceps found the back of the sofa like she owned it, "but then you wouldn't have the chance to tell me where you actually were."
"And why should I trust you?" Regina spun to face to the blonde, the galling show of familiarity sending a tingle into her fingertips. "What on earth gives you the impression that you, of all people, should be privy to such information?"
Vibrant green eyes sparkled with mischief and little flecks of gold. "I can keep a secret with the best of them," Emma smiled, and Regina was embarrassed to admit she was a little dazzled. Loose strands of golden hair floated next to rosy cheeks and strong shoulders shrugged in a nonchalant way that made the knight's muscles ripple under thin fabric sleeves. Confidence oozed from her pores as she crossed a leg over her knee and settled deeper into the couch. "That, and I proved you wrong about me and my battle prowess. I absolutely trounced your soldiers on the field this morning."
The knight was cheeky and inappropriate, and it was damn enticing. But Regina also remembered the glint of more from beforeand her eyes narrowed. The woman clearly had her own secrets as well, and she was doing a much better job of unearthing the Queen's than the other way around.
"I still suspect you were cheating," Regina sniffed, and raked her gaze down the knight's form and back up again. She raised an eyebrow. "I've just yet to discover how."
Emma's smile disappeared and the Queen was both disappointed and relieved to see it go. "This again?" The blonde's arms were off the back of the couch at once and landing on her knees. "Seriously? I took down three of your men at once."
"Well, I don't know the extent of your sorted history." Regina pretended to check her cuticles and felt the White Knight's blood begin to boil. "You could have coerced a fairy into doing your bidding. Blackmailed a sorcerer to illegally enchant you. Eaten Herculean fruit before competing." The Queen's eyes flicked to meet the Savior's once more and found her sufficiently nettled. She poked the struck nerve again, just for fun. "I personally know several brews that are rumored to increase one's performance so… you can never be too careful."
"Wow," Emma scoffed. "Okay." She was off the couch and puffed up to her full height, which was frustratingly not much taller than the Queen's. "So that's how it's gonna be, is it?" Her hands balled into fists and released twice as she tried to shrug off the impending wave of anger. "And here I was hoping we could come to some kind of accord."
Emma was thoroughly offended. She had worked herself up into a fit over this woman and for what? It was clear that the Queen believed the knight to be beneath her, and Emma had vowed long ago to that this was not the kind of person she needed in her life. She knew her worth, and the people who couldn't be bothered to acknowledge it weren't of value to her time. Emma started for the exit and then remembered that this was exactly what the Queen had originally ordered her to do, and she stopped herself.
Reason #3,047 that Emma hated royalty. It all started to feel like a pointless and hurtful game after a while.
Emma twisted back around to face the arrogant Queen. Somehow, the royal's face was even more striking while being a cantankerous twat, and the knight furrowed her eyebrows against the thought. It would truly be a shame if they couldn't find common ground with one another, if only for the fact that Queen Regina was the most beautiful person Emma had ever wanted to murder.
She tried one more last-ditch attempt at camaraderie. "You know, thanks to you, I'm actually in with the guys now. Common enemy and all that." Emma hoped that if she offered up this piece of potentially vulnerable information, that Regina might follow suit and see that she only wanted to be on equal footing with the woman. "It would have taken me at least two weeksto get to where I am now without your little stunt and so I had thought that maybe we could be something to each other. Allies and whatnot." Emma found herself beginning to gesticulate wildly as her mouth began sprinting away from her brain. "But no! You clearly think that I'm a fraud, or worse, your own personal punching bag. Which as a newly lauded member of our husband's infantry is not only insulting, but downright uncalled for. And that is seriously not going to fly with me, Your Majesty."
But the Queen had frozen in the middle of a dusty rug, as still as one of the statues in her garden.
"You all bonded over a… common enemy?" The weighted words thudded as a dead bird between them. Hurt, and then panic flashed over Regina's features as the impact began to settle in. "Am I the enemy?"
And suddenly it was as if Emma wasn't even in the room at all. The Queen's palm landed over her heart and clutched madly at the garnets about her throat, pressing them into her skin so hard that Emma was surprised they didn't draw blood. "Not to all of them," she murmured to herself, and the breath shallowed in her chest a little bit more. "They took the oaths, and they would honor their vows." Her hands fluttered briefly to the tulle of her skirts before skating a shaky path into her failing updo, several braids freeing themselves in the commotion to fall around her grasping fingers. "The Queen's Guard would die for you if they had to. Claude would never. Rivers would n-…" Her voice caught in her throat. "Berkley wou-…" She shook her head. "They wouldn't."
Then there was an inhalation that all at once grounded and reignited the Queen. Her hands fell from her hair to ball at her sides as her gaze raised to the knight's with deadly force. "You've turned my men against me."
Emma's jaw clicked as she ground down on it in aggravation, "That is NOT what I said."
Regina's loosened locks whipped around her elbows like a banshee as she strode forward. The woman was a crumbling building, suddenly lit aflame. "I will not have you undermining what little authority I've seized for myself in the past six years."
Emma scoffed, "You've undermined me since the moment I got here."
"I am a queen," the royal declared. "And I demand the respect of my subjects."
Emma remained obstinate and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I am not your subject, lady."
"You are residing in my castle," Regina simmered, the feral glint back in her irises, "ergo, you are mine." She dropped her voice low into the gravelly bit of her range, and the subsequent command came out in a smoky rasp. "And you will give me your respect."
Emma ignored the shiver in her spine at the sultry tone and grimaced at the pompous woman instead. "Well where I'm from, respect is a two-way street. And by the looks of things, I don't see you giving me the benefit of the doubt anytime soon." The knight boldly stepped forward so that she was eye to eye with the royal, their lips a biting distance away. "So no, I don't think I will."
The Queen seethed before her, the breath high in her throat and her honeyed skin so, so close. Tantalizingly close. Citrus perfume swam in the minute space between them, Her Majesty's hooded gaze glazed with fury, and for the briefest of moments, Emma watched as her perfectly stained lips parted ever so slightly.
They then pressed firmly into a snarl. "I want you out of the palace by morning," she growled.
Emma threw her hands to the air in exasperation as the spell broke and she backed away. "It would be my deepest pleasure to do so!" she mocked in her best imitation of a royal voice. "But seeing as the King has made it abundantly clear that I will be in deep shit if I leave before his birthday, I'm kind of stuck here with you, aren't I?"
The sizzling, unsated tension in the air fizzled and fell flat at the truth of her words, and the Queen's shoulders deflated along with it. Seeming to finally notice the extent of her hair's unraveling, the royal self-consciously tucked a few of the escaping strands behind her ear in an attempt to regain composure; the fiery fight fleeing from her face in exchange for a curt tenseness that made the room feel chilled.
When the brunette spoke again it was with a detached sense of apathy that cracked at Emma's heart. "Then it would be wise to stay out of my sight," she stated plainly. "After all, we have no need of one another. Best not to tempt the destruction of the Fates."
Emma couldn't shake the swell of defeat pounding inside her chest, but she steeled her expression to preserve what little was left of her dignity. "Works for me," she said tightly, and then bent at the waist in the deepest bow she could manage. When she met the Queen's gaze again, it was completely unreadable.
"Goodbye, Your Majesty."
Emma then turned on her heel, marched out of the door, and petulantly slammed it behind her.
The White Knight's flaxen curls vanished from the doorframe with what little light was left in Regina's world, and suddenly the room went hollow. A newfound silence rang in her ears, the parlor much too still, and her fingers found one another and fidgeted. She could feel her mother's illustrated gaze boring holes into the side of her head from underneath their covering and so she turned away from their painted judgement to stare blankly at the drapery instead.
The loose-lipped princess was sure to have blabbed of the Queen's absence to her father by now, and as such, it wouldn't be long before he ordered Regina to be placed under even heavier supervision. With her luck, probably within the hour.
Regina tore herself away from the curtains and paced the length of the room. Starting tomorrow, she would likely no longer be allowed to make daytime excursions, which was going to cause more conflicts than she'd like to have with Rumpelstiltskin. But if she could convince the imp to meet her under the cover of darkness perhaps, she would be able to continue her apprenticeship in the dead of night when illicit witchery was best practiced anyway.
Regina's palms began to thrum with a low pulse of unused magic as she remembered the unbridled feeling of power she was learning to wield. The ability to conjure fire was brimming at her fingertips and she ached to know more, harness more, become more. To cease her training now would mean her demise, especially if Leopold's noose of a reign was about to tighten around her neck and further suffocate her. To admit defeat within the confines of this castle was, without question, unacceptable.
If only she could guarantee that she be chaperoned by her own Guard, she might be able to coerce fortune back into her favor. Otherwise, she'd be forced to attempt bribery of some sort, and Regina was quite confident that she'd be happier not knowing how easy it was to pay off members of the royal staff.
A heavy sigh fell from the Queen's lips as she slumped heavily against the harpsichord. She let her head hang low in a manner not at all suited for someone of her station and permitted her extravagant coiffure to topple completely out of its style. Braids and curls unwound themselves, most of the rubies Ryn had twisted into the design clattering to the floor as Regina wrapped her arms protectively about her waist. She wished that the warmth radiating from her fingertips was more comforting.
Her Queen's Guard had been immaculately cultivated over the years. She'd spent years batting her eyelashes to covert the loyalty of men. Years threatening to threaten families. Years promising a better life once out from under the thumb of a vicious, indolent King. And now that the seed of doubt had been planted, Regina was exhausted. Trust could be bought for the right price and a wicked word and she was tired of the continuous political maneuvering that her safety required. Because now even with her Guard around, she could never fully rest. She had to remain vigilant.
The Savior's intentions may have been just, but they had royally dashed the Queen's best laid plans.
Regina dared a glance out of the window and found the sun low on the horizon line. If she continued to languish at this pace, she'd be late for her dinner with the King. And on the small chance that he wasn't already aware of her indiscretions, it would be in her best interest if she didn't do anything to further upset him.
She rubbed absently at her wrists and briefly considered gathering the gems from the floor before she decided against it. Ryn was the real reason they were scattered over the cobblestone, so she could be the one to muster them back up again as punishment for alerting Sir Swan to this parlor's existence in the first place.
The White Knight's persistent gallantry was as refreshing as it was exhilarating, but it was not something Regina to afford to entertain at this juncture. The blonde was reckless and bold, and the Queen's life required her to be cautious. Too much hung dangerously in the balance for Regina to allow herself to get caught up in the sparkling emerald irises of Emma Swan. The knight's obvious advances reminded her of a time when she was able to love as wildly as she rode horses, and that perilous feeling was a seduction she could not permit.
The Queen noted where Emma's hands had dislodged the dust atop the harpsichord and traced her index finger around the Savior's smudge, trying to convince herself that her actions had been in everyone's best interest. Palace intrigue followed Regina like a plague, and while an idle flirtation might seem insignificant to some, simply more fuel for the rumor mill of the castle, the consequences could be most dire in her case. The King would not take kindly to hearing that her eyes had wandered, and the risk wasn't worth the castigation if the idiotic blonde was only going to leave in a month's time.
Regina's hand hovered above the keys for a long moment as she tried to recall a pleasant memory associated with the playing of the instrument, and then closed the lid to preserve the ivory.
Regina remained resolute in her decision to ostracize the knight and nodded once to herself to secure the promise. But as she made to call for her handmaiden, her regretful glance at the heavy wooden door only gifted her with the memory of fleeing golden locks and a cherubic face crushed by her harsh, pitiless words. And as the isolation washed over her senses and the ever-present dread settled itself back within her stomach, the Queen couldn't help but feel as though she'd lost a friend.
A/N: Finishing this chapter was when I realized that my love-letter to these characters was actually going to end up being a novel-length fairytale… oops. And I do not write quickly. I also apologize for the bummer of a stopping place- the next chapter was destined to be much spicier, with them starting to build trust/find common ground, etc, etc.
So feel free to subscribe for updates if you love this story as much as I do, but be forewarned, I currently have no writing schedule in place (because I've been writing other actual novels!). However, I promised myself that one day, before I die, I will complete this. But for now, please enjoy this unfinished piece of my heart. I'm over the moon to finally be sharing it with my favorite fandom 3