Written for OQ Prompt Party 2019.

This one is a bit different. Instead of a flashforward, it's a flashback.

Regina stands in her bedchamber, her hands shaking as she stares blankly at the closed door. She can still feel the warmth of her new husband's lip on her cheek, she can still feel the rough scratchiness of his beard on her skin-and she can she still hear the soft kindness in his voice as he told her he sincerely hoped she'd be happy in her new life.

She's not sure what to make of it and she's even less sure that she trusts it.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of questions-questions she still didn't have answers to-and she wasn't quite sure what to make of her husband's apparent kindness. After all, he'd essentially bought her hand and she was sure there was something he'd want in return. She hadn't been at all surprised when she'd been taken up to the bedchamber by maids she didn't know and stripped from her dress. They'd put in her a negligee presumably for her husband's enjoyment-and yet, he'd barely looked at her. He didn't touch her save that one, soft kiss to the cheek. And then he left, leaving her to… be.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she turns away from the door, looking to the fire burning at the hearth as she wonders if her things have arrived. Biting down on her lip, she moves to the dressing room, grabbing one of the candles as she goes. She frowns at the realization that no one has bothered to unpack for her-and given the maid's disdain as they prepared her, she doubts anyone will.

She sinks down to the floor and carefully sets the candle down, looking at the trunks until she finds the one she thinks her nightdresses were placed into. It takes her a few minutes to open it, and when she does, she grins, glad for the familiar cotton nightdress that's on top. She shrugs off the robe and puts it on, hugging the fabric to herself-and it's then that tears rush to her eyes.

She doesn't want any of this.

She doesn't want to be here.

She wants to go home… wherever that is.

Dragon Head hadn't felt the way it did before she left. She couldn't keep a maid and they couldn't seem to secure a nanny-not that she needed one, she was glad to care for Henry herself-and she made a habit of keeping her eyes down. She didn't talk unless spoken to, and even her father seemed distant. Her mother barely looked at her.

Wiping away her tears, she gets up and takes the candle back into the bedchamber, thinking of her son-her six year old son who'd never spent a night away from her. She doesn't know where he is, only that he's somewhere in this house-and she worries that he's too scared to sleep.

It doesn't take her long to make her way into the hallway, wandering down the long corridor and peeking into bedrooms until she finds the nursery-and that's where she finds Henry, sitting up in bed and hugging his knees to his chest.

"Hey you," she murmurs, peeking in.

Henry's smile explodes across his face as he jumps up, and her heart breaks as her arms form around him. He hugs her tightly, his little fingers clutching at her nightdress.

"Mama," he whimpers. "I missed you."

"I know, sweetheart, I missed you, too," she says, lifting him into her arms.

For awhile, she just holds him, hugging him as tight as she can. He cups her hand over the back of her head and stroking his hair as she sways back and forth-and it's then that she notices the little boy in the bed across the room.

"You have a roommate," she tells him, grinning at the realization that Robin has arranged for their sons to share a bedroom-an indication that Henry will be treated well.

"Yeah," Henry says, blinking as he looks to her. "I do."

"Is he nice?"

Henry shrugs. "He was sleeping when I got here."

"Oh-"

"I missed our storytime."

Her heart aches and she nods. Since he was a toddler, they've had a bedtime routine and with a few exceptions-tonight being one-she never missed it. She made a point not to. It was one of the few constants she had in her life. No matter how terrible things were-and for a time, they'd been truly terrible-if she could end the day with her son in her lap, telling him stories about mythical lands and outlandish adventures, there would always be a silver lining and there would always be a reason to get through the next day.

"I know," she tells him, "I'm sad about that, too."

"Did you bring the book we've been reading? The one that Grandpapa gave me?'

"I don't know," she admits, biting down on her lip, doubting that the nanny in the room next door had time to unpack Henry's things. "Maybe tomorrow we can find it."

Henry frowns, but nods-and then, he burrows his face in her shoulder. "I don't want to stay here."

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathes out, hugging him a little tighter as tears fill her eyes.

"I want to go back to Dragon Head." He looks up at her with teary eyes. "Can we go home?"

Drawing in a shaky breath, her eyes sink closed. "This… is home now, I think." Henry's face falls, so she musters all the strength she has in her to smile. "Come on," she says, bouncing him on her hip. "I have an idea."

"To leave?"

"No," she murmurs, her stomach lurching and her chest aching. "I want to show you something."

Henry nods as he reaches out to play with the ribbon at the front of her nightdress. "What?"

"Well, that's just it," she says, grinning through her own tears. "You have to wait and see."

Henry brightens a little. "A surprise?"

"Kind of," she tells him, bouncing him again. "Come on."

She sets him down and takes his hand, leading him down the long corridor to her bedchamber. All the way there, he looks up at her curiously-and all the way there, she smiles, though all she wants to do is cry.

She breathes out a sigh of relief as she closes the door, shutting them away in her new bedchamber-a room that was hastily cobbled together, but is nonetheless warm and inviting. The maids who'd prepared her for Robin brought with them a box of jewelry. She didn't know who the jewels belonged to and she didn't think to ask and after selecting a long string of heavy pearls that would hang down between her practically bare breasts, they'd left the box on the dressing table.

"I found a dragon's hoard," she whispers as she helps Henry up onto the stool in front of the dressing table. "Have a look." Through the mirror, she watches as her son's face brightens and he gingerly opens the box, looking down in amazement and the collection of sparkling jewels. There are pairs of earrings, bracelets, hair combs and necklaces-some tarnished from lack of use, others missing gems from their sets, but all looking magical in the light of the candle. Henry's fingers run over them as she sits down beside him, lifting him into her lap as she makes up a story on the spot.

She tells him that she heard the maids talking and somewhere in the woods just beyond the estate, a dragon lives. He comes out a night, hiding his precious things and keeping them safe from bad people and spirits, protecting them as they sleep.

"So, he's watching us now? He's watching the house?" Henry asks, looking back at her.

"Yes, just like the stone dragons at Dragon Head did."

"Wow," he murmurs, reaching for a diamond and ruby ring that's missing a couple of stones. "Do you think he'll be mad that we're going through his things?"

"No," she says easily, hoping that's truly the case and no one will be upset that she's touching the things inside of the box. "I think he left this box in plain sight, just for you."

Henry blinks, looking up at her through the mirror. "Why?"

"To let you know that you're safe here."

Henry grins and leans back into her, still examining the ring-and as she looks down at it, noting all of its imperfections, she thinks there's probably an obvious moral to her story, but she leaves it alone, not wanting to point out to her son what misfits they are at Sherwood.

Leaning in, she presses a kiss to the top of his head and cuddles him. "Are you as tired as I am?" she asks.

Henry giggles-and it makes her heart soar. "No."

"Well, I am exhausted," she tells him. "Do you think we could get into bed?"

"Will you tell me more about the dragon?"

"Of course," she says, yawning as she lifts her son. "What do you want to know?"

"Does he have a name?"

She nods. "Igor," she says, her brow furrowing as she laughs softly to herself, wondering where that name came from. But Henry doesn't question it, instead, he fires off another question and another after that. They climb into bed and pull the covers up around themselves-and as she pulls Henry close, holding him as tight as she can, she continues to spin a story, finding comfort in the warmth of her son and the normalcy of their favorite bedtime ritual.