Robin had been right about Roland's preference for caretaker.

But it wasn't just when the Merry Men were out on patrol.

Roland became Regina's almost constant companion, seeking her out at all hours of the day.

The Merry Men, too, had slowly warmed up to Regina, their opinions softened by her obvious affection for their youngest member, and - to her frustration - even her sharp tongue now only served to provoke knowing looks.

Like their leader before them, they seemed to have looked straight through her armour and seen what she was trying to protect - her heart.

What was worse was that it wasn't just the Merry Men.

Everyone in the castle seemed to be becoming immune to her temper.

"I don't understand it," Regina grumbled one morning. "Why is everyone being so … nice to me?"

"I don't think they are," Snow said. "They're just not treating you like the Evil Queen anymore. I'm being nice to you; you can't tell me it's the same thing."

"No," Regina conceded, feeling slightly better about that. "But I still don't understand it."

"Mama, weren't you the one who said that you don't want people to see the Evil Queen?" Snow asked.

"But I'm still being … difficult," Regina said.

Snow sighed, giving her a look that made Regina feel like their relationship had just been subverted. "Of course you're being difficult. You're grieving. And it's Henry's birthday next week. That's not the same as being evil."

"So they're pitying me," Regina concluded darkly.

"Not pity," Snow said patiently. "Sympathy. We all miss Henry. But we also acknowledge that your pain will be far greater than ours."

"The fact of the matter, Regina," David added, "is that you have made sure that everyone here is looked after, has food to eat, treatment for injuries, and you're continuously reaching out to the towns and villages to make sure they're okay. Whether you like it or not, people are starting to like you."

"Really?" Regina asked dubiously. "Even you?"

"Well, you're my mother-in-law," David said. "I'm fairly sure I'm obliged not to."

Regina laughed, unable to help herself, even as Snow scolded her husband. Her laughter sobered up quickly though, when she considered what he had said. "I have to keep checking the towns. We're missing another five people since the Merry Men found out about the initial disappearances."

"Yes," David said grimly. "But I'm not sure what else we can do."

He had a point.

They were having council meetings almost daily to brainstorm who might be behind the disappearances - probably Zelena - and how they could stop them - this was the sticking point, as no one could figure out how Zelena was doing it in the first place.

And, of course, they had to consider the possibility that it wasn't Zelena - and if it wasn't Zelena, then they had a whole new problem on their hands.

In spite of her complaints, Regina found herself actually enjoying these meetings. She had never had that before; her council had consisted of the few barons she could trust and her black knights, none of whom were exactly gifted intellectually.

There was something stimulating about being able to bounce ideas off of people who weren't going to agree blindly with everything she said - however much she rolled her eyes and complained.

She dressed up for those meetings, in her old dresses, but she found herself more and more often wearing her hair down, telling herself it softened the look and that her extravagant hairstyles were more pain and more trouble than they were worth.

It was certainly nothing to do with the way Robin's eyes were drawn to her neckline and the way that her hair tumbled over her cleavage when she moved.

He had far too much honour to ever make a move (and he probably wouldn't even if he didn't, she told herself; he was cut from the same cloth as the so-called 'heroes' of the story, and likely wouldn't go near the 'Evil Queen' with a ten-foot pole) but he wanted her, that much was obvious.

So she took her enjoyment where she could, watching him stumble over his words when she leaned forwards.

"Mama?"

Snow was talking to her.

"Sorry, dear," Regina said. "I was miles away."

Snow smirked. "Thinking about a certain handsome thief?"

Regina raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Charming; your wife's looking at other men."

"Just as long as it's not Whale," David muttered.

Snow rolled her eyes. "We were cursed."

"What were you saying?" Regina asked, to avoid hearing the argument once again.

Especially since she was fairly sure the two were incapable of actually arguing, and that this repeated bickering was their version of foreplay.

"I was suggesting we have a birthday party next week," Snow said. "For Henry, I mean."

"Henry's not here," Regina said flatly.

"I know that," Snow said gently. "That doesn't mean we can't celebrate. But if you're not okay with it …"

"You don't need to treat me like I'm going to break," Regina said sharply. "You're a grown woman, Snow; you don't need my permission to throw a party."

"But you're not going to be there," Snow said with a sigh, "are you?"

"You grieve in your way," Regina said softly, "and let me grieve in mine."

And so, a week later, Regina found herself sitting in her private garden under her apple tree, the evening air still pleasantly warm around her, while everyone else celebrated in the dining hall.

To be fair, it was obvious that everyone needed a good party, and Regina didn't begrudge them the opportunity.

However much it bugged her sometimes, that Snow and Charming seemed to have brushed off the fact they had lost their daughter and grandson, she knew better, knew that they would be doing their grieving in private, and trying to make the best of the situation in public.

And Regina could understand that, even respect it, but it wasn't her way.

Her hand touched her locket, flicking it open to look at her son's face.

Her little prince was twelve today.

She wondered what he and Emma would be doing to celebrate, but then she didn't need to.

Emma's new memories of raising Henry were based on her own, so Emma would be doing exactly what she thought she had always done, what Regina had always done.

She would have woken him that morning with a special birthday breakfast, before he opened his gifts, and then Henry would have had his choice of activity for the day.

Maybe he would have chosen to go to a movie, or out for dinner.

Or - they were in New York now, he had a hundred new things to choose from.

He'd ask for pizza for dinner, that was for sure.

Henry had always wanted to try New York pizza.

Soft footfalls nearby had her closing the locket, unsurprised when Robin took a seat on the bench beside her a few moments later.

"Her Highness says this tree travelled realms with you."

It wasn't what she had expected him to say. "Sorry?"

Robin gave her a smile. "Well, I could tell you that you shouldn't have to be by yourself, but we both know how that conversation will go."

Regina's lips quirked in spite of herself. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he disagreed.

"I'm …" Regina sighed. "I'm better than I could be. Give me three weeks and I'll be a proper mess."

"Why?" Robin asked curiously. "What's in three weeks?"

Regina smiled sadly. "Henry's Gotcha Day. The day I adopted him."

"Ah." Robin was silent for a few minutes. "I assume the lad's birthday was more a public celebration, whereas that was just between the two of you?"

"Yes," Regina said, surprised. "That's exactly it." She sighed. "In any case, I don't want to talk about it, I'm fine by myself, and they can carry on having their party."

"And that's how I thought the conversation would go," Robin said. "So what was with the tree?"

Regina glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't looking at her, examining the apple tree above them as though it contained all the secrets of the universe.

"I planted it with my father when I was a child," she answered.

Robin frowned. "Forgive me - you didn't grow up here, did you?"

"No," Regina admitted. "My grandfather was King Xavier, of the lowlands, and my father was the youngest of seven sons. When Grandfather passed away, rather than risk having his sons fighting wars over succession, he made Leopold's father his heir, and the kingdom was absorbed into Misthaven. This tree was planted in the grounds of our home, several miles away. The king had it moved here when we married."

"That was kind of him," Robin said cautiously.

Regina laughed bitterly. "Oh, it wasn't for me. Snow was aware enough to know that it wasn't a marriage I wanted, so she begged her father to bring me a little piece of home. Had I asked him to bring me an established apple tree, he would have laughed in my face and told me it wasn't possible. Since she asked, he ordered his men to dig it up, very carefully, and have it replanted here. When I cast the curse, it came with me to Storybrooke."

"That was the kingdom where you landed?" Robin asked.

Regina paused, unaware that no one had told Robin and the others what the outcome of the curse was. "Not exactly. The curse took us to the Land Without Magic, creating a town called Storybrooke. Time stood still for twenty-eight years, as it did here, only in Storybrooke, I was the only one awake. Everyone else had fake memories and fake lives."

"That must have been very lonely," Robin murmured.

"It was my own fault," Regina admitted, fixing her gaze on the leaves above her. "Rumplestiltskin manipulated me into thinking it was my idea, and I let him."

"I've met the Dark One," Robin said quietly. "I wouldn't say that avoiding that would be easy."

"Perhaps," Regina said quietly.

"I must thank you, actually," Robin said. "For the curse, I mean."

Regina frowned. "Thank me? Whatever for? You and your son were frozen in time for nearly three decades."

"Ah, but we weren't," Robin said. "We were aware of time passing. Roland was three months old when Marian passed, and I took her loss badly. It took me years before I had fully recovered. Without the curse, Roland would have been a teenager by then - probably bitter and angry about the fact that I hadn't been present enough. Instead, by the time I pulled my head out of my arse - if you'll pardon the expression, milady - he was still a child, easily distracted by his uncles and completely oblivious."

Regina faltered, unsure what to do with this sudden confession. "Yes, but … He was a two-year-old. I've had a two-year-old. In that realm, they call them the 'Terrible Twos' for a reason."

Robin chuckled. "Yes, well, if you could have cast it maybe six months earlier when he wasn't in the tantrum stage, that would have been better, but we can't have everything now, can we?"

He was teasing her.

They were talking about a dark curse that Maleficent had told her was too dark to contemplate, a curse she had cast to destroy her stepdaughter, who wasn't even at fault in the first place - and he was teasing her.

A burst of laughter and music floated out from the castle and Robin grinned. "Ah, Alan's found himself an instrument, I hear."

Regina winced. "Can he at least hold a tune?"

"Well, that depends, milady," Robin said cheerfully. "At the moment, I'd say certainly. The more ale he drinks … Well, things may get messy."

Someone laughed, and it was so unfamiliar that it took Regina a few moments to realise that it was her.

Robin got to his feet - maybe he considered his job done now he had elicited a smile, and would head back inside to join the others, and she felt a slight pang of disappointment at the thought.

But he didn't leave, just held a hand out to her. "May I have this dance, Your Majesty?"

Regina raised an eyebrow. Her immediate instinct was to refuse, except she didn't want to. It was just a dance, after all, here in the privacy of her garden, and what harm would it do?

Except …

"I don't actually … know how to dance," she admitted.

Robin shrugged. "I never paid attention. I'm sure we can manage."

Regina found herself smiling and accepting his hand to her feet. His other hand settled on her waist, tugging her closer.

"So," Robin said quietly, as they swayed to the strains of music they could hear, "how does a Queen raised a Princess not learn to dance?"

"How does an outlaw who lives in the woods have lessons to not pay attention to?" Regina retorted, with no heat in her voice.

Robin chuckled. "Fair enough. You answer mine if I answer yours?"

"Actually, I already know the answer to mine," Regina admitted. "You understand court etiquette far too well to have grown up outside of it, and you were the one who explained the tax records to Snow. My guess is that you're not just from Locksley, you are Locksley. Sir Robert's runaway son. Right?"

In the dim light, she could see the set of his jaw, feel the way his hand flexed on her hip. "You're right."

"I don't blame you for running," Regina said softly. "I only ever met your father once, but he reminded me of my mother."

"In what way?" Robin asked.

"Appearance is everything, decency is for Other People, and if it doesn't benefit me, it's worthless," Regina said.

Robin snorted. "That, milady, might be the most accurate summary of my father I've ever heard."

"You were braver than I was," Regina whispered. "I never did get away."

His hold tightened and she stepped closer to him, a shiver running through her at the feeling of his strong body inches away from here, emanating a heat that she wanted to curl into.

"My mother never taught me to dance," Regina admitted. "I never understood it. She was always talking about marrying me off and yet she never taught me to dance, so balls were out." She laughed bitterly. "Turns out she'd already figured that out. As soon as I was of age, she killed Queen Eva and then arranged an accident so I'd save Snow and meet the king."

"Dear gods," Robin murmured. "Did you not dance as the Queen?"

Regina shook her head. "He threw a lot of balls, but he was more interested in dancing with his daughter than with me."

"And?" Robin asked. "I'm sure a lady as lovely as you didn't want for dance partners."

Regina was used to compliments, had never swooned at flattery, but Robin was different - he wasn't spinning a line, or trying to get anything from her, that much was clear.

He was just stating what he considered the obvious.

"Oh, but I was the Queen," she said lightly. "And of course, it would be remiss of me to dance with any man without my lord and master's permission."

Robin scowled. "Let me guess, he never granted it."

"Of course not," Regina said. "He didn't want me, but the gods forbid anyone else got anywhere near me."

"I've never had any patience with kings," Robin said darkly. "Richard ensured that. But that's just … You deserved better."

Something caught in Regina's throat and her fingers contracted around his without her consent. There was a hard note to his voice, a protective thread that had her wondering what he would do if she told him everything.

But no - it was bad enough that Snow knew what she did, bad enough that Ivy had cleaned her up enough that the horror still echoed in her eyes sometimes - this man was not her protector or her therapist or … hers, for that matter.

This was just a dance.

"What about queens?" She asked lightly, trying to bring the mood up. "If you've never had any patience with kings, you seem to do alright with queens."

Robin gave a roguish grin that definitely did not make her heart flutter. "Well, that's because I know your secret, Your Majesty."

Regina's brow creased in confusion. He couldn't be talking about the sleeping curse. "And what's that?"

"That despite what people said," Robin said, "you were a good queen."

"You know what I did," Regina said quietly.

"I do," Robin conceded. "And some of those deeds were evil, certainly. But an evil act does not make someone evil. And for all of your evil acts, you treated most of your subjects with far more humanity than the so-called Good King had."

Regina attempted a smile, relieved when it came naturally and didn't show how shaken she was - she hoped. "Oh? Then why did you break into my castle?"

Robin raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"No," Regina admitted. "I knew you'd been in, but I could never figure out what you'd taken, and it just about drove me mad."

She expected him to laugh, but he didn't, looking thoughtful instead.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"You're not going to tell me," Regina guessed. "Do you even remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Robin said with a smile. "I can assure you, milady, what I took had absolutely no value to you whatsoever."

"But it did to you?" Regina asked.

"To me, it was worth more than all the jewels in your kingdom," Robin said.

"Then I'm glad you took it," Regina said. She was close enough to him now that his scent enveloped her along with his arms; she could almost feel his breath on her face.

If she just tilted her head a fraction, she would be kissing him.

It was that thought that had her pulling away.

She couldn't - wouldn't - embarrass herself like that.

He was being kind to her, kindness that currently soothed her pain like a balm, but could just as well rub her the wrong way by tomorrow.

He had just acknowledged that it took him years to mourn his wife, and she knew better than anyone that that pain never went away - he probably didn't want anyone else, and even if he did, he could do far better than her.

"Are you alright?" Robin asked.

"Fine," Regina said, a little shortly. "I just … It's been a long day. I think I'll turn in."

"Of course," Robin said, readily stepping back. "I hope today wasn't too difficult."

"It wasn't," Regina admitted. "Thank you."

He was still holding her hand, she realised, but before she could let go, he bowed formally, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. "It was my pleasure, Your Majesty. Goodnight."

Regina murmured a response, taking herself to her chamber with a swirl of purple smoke, just about staggering over to her dressing table.

She was blushing.

Regina hadn't even realised she was capable of blushing anymore, but there it was, a pink flush to her cheeks, her hand tingling where his lips had touched.

She was being ridiculous, getting all flustered over a man she would never have.

But this was a feeling other than guilt, than grief, than pain, this giddy feeling that reminded her of being a young girl, sneaking out to meet the stableboy behind Mother's back.

Masochistic it might be, but she was going to let this feeling linger, allowing herself to bask in this warm glow for as long as it lasted, even if reality was going to hit her even harder tomorrow morning.