Emma rubbed her thumb over the coarse ridges of the queen piece idly as she strode down the castle halls. She had slept only fitfully after leaving Regina's room the night before, finally collapsing from sheer exhaustion for a few hours near daybreak.
Now she was awake again, summarily summoned to her father's room by a rather terrified manservant. News of her father's collapse must be all over the castle by now, if not the city. It certainly would be after the market opened.
Emma knew she was avoiding reality. Her father was not a young man, it was true; he hadn't been even when she was born. But he had always been solid and strong before her, as unmoving as the castle walls, and nearly as unforgiving. If they had never had a particularly loving relationship, at least it had been a steady one. Now, faced with the possibility of assuming the throne, she found herself longing for her father's guiding hand. The position she had never wanted, the seat she had been groomed for since birth. Her destiny. She could not face it alone.
A sharp edge caught her skin and she flinched slightly, slowing her stride. "I'll always be with you." She could hear her wife's musical voice whispering the words, her body warm and firm and comforting against her own as she shivered in the moonlight. She'd worried that it might have been a dream when she'd first woken up, some specter born of her own fruitless longings, only to feel the smooth, cool stone piece under her fingers as she dressed. It hung heavily at her waist still, the weight reassuring.
Not alone.
Not anymore.
She took a deep breath to center herself, sucking the cool morning air deep into her lungs. The King would not like to be kept waiting, especially if he were going to be bedridden for any amount of time.
The heavy wooden doors echoed as Emma entered the King's chambers, and she almost smiled when her father looked up disapprovingly. The curtains were drawn around the windows, and in the candlelight the severe planes and returning color of his countenance stood out in sharp chiaroscuro relief. A servant stood nearby, practically vibrating with nervous energy. There were papers in his hand, and more spread haphazardly on the King's bed; clearly whatever ailed the monarch would not prevent him from addressing the needs of the court. Emma did smile when she saw the smudge, blue-black like a bruise, of ink on his palm.
"Leave us. I must speak to my son alone." Leopold waved the servant away, who looked positively beatific in his joy at the dismissal.
There was a moment of silence as father and daughter stared at each other.
"You're looking better. What did the doctors say?" Emma finally spoke.
Leopold harrumphed. "Leaches, all of them. Fifty theories and not a one made sense. Agrabahian flu! Do I look like I've been to Agrabah?" He calmed slightly. Emma, who knew him, could see that he was still tired. "But don't worry. I'm not done for yet."
"Father, I-"
"I know. But I also know that until I can stand on my own two feet again, you will have to take my place. Perhaps it's for the best. You'll have to do this sometime; at least now you can get a head for it and I can make sure you don't fuck up too badly."
"You know I never wanted to be King." Emma was stung by the accusation, and her voice came out in the tone of a petulant child.
"And yet you shall. Life is not about doing what we want. We do what we must."
Emma wanted to run. She wanted to leave it all, now, and find a cabin in the woods somewhere where she could be happy. Even if she could leave, even if she took Snow and Regina with her, she knew she never would. No one can escape their own conscience, though many try, and lose themselves along the way. If there were no ruler, people would die. If she didn't rule, if her father didn't rule, who would?
No one good, that was sure.
"What do I need to do?"
"The Council meets today; I'll brief you on that. Lord Stanley will try to get you to give him more money for our southern holdings. Don't do it. If he wants to play about in the jungle looking for snails that's his own problem; I only care that he administrates it properly." As he spoke, Emma felt her mind spin. All the relationships, all the players, all the people she'd been able to haughtily ignore from her father's side for so long.
She thumbed the queen again.
"You can do this, Emma. You're ready. I know you won't let me down." The King coughed, and a few sheaves of paper fell to the floor. "Go now, I need to rest before those damned doctors come to prod me again." His breath rattled as he spoke.
"Yes, Father." She slipped out of the room quickly; he was already asleep.
Emma let out a breath slowly. Her father was both better and worse than she'd expected. At least he was still able to complain about her, although the vote of confidence warmed her more than she cared to admit.
Entering Regina's chambers, Emma found her wife and Snow sitting together, twin dark heads bent over a linen pillowcase. She felt herself relax almost immediately. Here, in this room, sun beams danced across the floor, illuminating motes of dust that danced like fairies in the warm light. Here there was no smell of sickness, no impending signal of the ultimate reality. Here the air was alive.
"Emmett!" She'd been spotted, and Emma braced herself for impact with the small body hurtling toward her.
"Hey there, little one. What are you and Regina getting up to?"
"Sister's teaching me how to sew on the pillow, look!" Snow grabbed at Emma's hand, finding purchase around several fingers and dragging her older sibling over to appraise her new-found skill. Emma took the pillowcase, turning it this way and that to get at the most advantageous viewing angle. Her eyes met Regina's over the pale fabric, raised eyebrows questioning.
'Flower.' Regina mouthed, careful not to let Snow see their interaction. Thankfully the small child was busy hopping from foot to foot, anxiously awaiting Emma's opinion.
"It's a beautiful flower, Snow!" They did say beauty was in the eye of the beholder, after all. Who's to say that the little lump of green and red thread wasn't a beautiful flower, anyway?
"Thanks!" Snow snatched it out of Emma's hands, cheeks puffed out slightly as she studied the pillowcase herself in a miniature echo of Emma's expression. "There should be some horses." Her bright eyes turned to Regina. "Will you teach me how to make horses?"
"Sweetheart, you need to practice a few more flowers first." She gently removed the pillowcase from Snow's grasp, smoothing the wrinkles against her lap. Idly her fingers traced the uncertain lines of thread. The stitches were messy, tiny swirls and large jumps that pulled at the fabric and knotted into an unrecognizable mess at the back. The kind of work that Regina had been strictly punished for as a child, made to go over the patterns until her eyes burned, her fingers spasmed in pain, and the stitches were even and straight.
"How is the King?" Regina carefully folded the fabric and put it away.
"Better." Emma sighed. "He's certainly not slowing down much."
"Can I go see him?" Snow interjected, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
"Not yet, kiddo, he's sleeping. I promise I'll take you as soon as he wakes up, okay?"
"I guess…"
"Thanks, I think." The siblings stared at each other a moment and Regina had to raise a hand to cover her smile. She didn't often get a chance to watch the two of them interact, and now she felt like she'd been missing out on some sort of private family play, with her as the enraptured audience.
Emmett turned to her, mirth dancing in his eyes. "I think it's about time for someone's riding lessons, don't you?"
"I think you're right. You'd better hurry and get dressed, Snow."
"Aww, can't you come and watch me?"
"Not today. I need to talk with Regina about something. Now scoot; you're going to be late."
"Okay!" Snow ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed loudly in the chamber, but even that seemed somehow calmer now that the child's frantic energy had taken its leave. Some of that energy seemed to have left Emmett, too, who collapsed heavily in a plush chair.
"Are you alright?"
"Huh? Yeah. I'm just tired, I guess. It's hard to keep up with her on a good day."
"It's because you're her brother. I was able to get her to stay still just fine." She paused, a beat, drawing an unsteady breath. "I can leave if you want. If you need rest."
"No, stay. I really did need to talk to you. My father…he's still working hard, but we don't know how long he'll be bedridden. Until then I'll have to take his place at court. Mostly it's just financial stuff, or disputes to settle, but I expect some of the family will travel to the castle to pay their respects. Or see if he's going to die." Emmett rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll be expected to put on some sort of welcome feast for them."
"And since it's our first event as a married couple you'll be expected to show me off."
Emmett winced. "I wasn't going to put it like that! I really need you to tell me if you think any of them might be up to something. You're better at that than I am."
"What, plotting?"
"No! I mean, reading people. Getting inside their heads. You do it to me all the time when we play chess."
"Maybe you're just easy to read…"
Emmett rolled his eyes skyward and Regina bit the inside of her lip. It seemed to come so easily, this gentle teasing, that Regina often inadvertently forgot the consequences that could follow when she spoke so openly. Emmett was kind - a simple person, despite his early standoffishness - but she worried that someday she would say the wrong thing, prod at the wrong wound, and lose the familiarity that had been so tentatively growing between them. Today would not be that day, she noted with relief.
"Please? You're the only person I can trust to help me handle this. And I'm going to need a lot of help."
"Of course I'll do help you. Someone has to make sure you don't let the whole kingdom come crashing down. We're in this together."
I'll always be with you.
"Yeah, well, wait until you officially meet my family. There was so much going on at the wedding, you didn't get the full dose of them. I won't blame you if you run screaming into the night."
XxXx
"Okay Snow, you remember what I said, right? No jumping, no yelling, no being annoying."
"I'm not annoying." Snow pouted, bottom lip a moment away from quivering, but her brother was intractable.
"I'm serious. Father's still sick, so don't do anything to upset him." Emmett pushed the door to the King's chamber open, wincing slightly as Snow immediately ran up to the bed. At least she seemed to catch herself before bouncing up on it.
"Snow! How are you, darling?" The King's face was open; he was clearly overjoyed to see his daughter. To Regina, who lingered near the door with the Prince, it was a curious thing to see how he treated his children. Snow, the precious and – if she were being honest – completely spoiled little princess, before whom the whole world lay spun-out and glittering like a sugar castle. Emmett, the first-born. The Prince, heir apparent, who never seemed to receive, or quite to desire, appreciation or affection from his father. She glanced a moment at her husband, who stood silently but rather rebelliously, his eyes unnaturally hard and one hand thrust into the purse at his side.
Curious indeed.
Later, when they were again alone in her room and playing chess with the returned queen, she was purposefully letting him win.
"The King, he seems to treat you and Snow, well…"
"Completely differently?"
"Yes." Regina blushed and ducked her head, but Emmett was gazing fixedly at the fire. His words were flat and clipped when he finally spoke.
"My mother died giving birth to Snow. He blames me for her death."
"That's ridiculous! You were just a child!"
Emmett turned to face her once more, and she was struck by the hidden depths of his green eyes, though they were darkened now with the fire behind him. It reminded her that they'd known each other for scarcely two months, despite their daily matches. There was so much still untouched between them, on both sides. Hardly enough time to become friends; hardly enough time for trust to develop. Her gaze fell upon the black queen, still centered in its primary spot on the slick marble board as if it had never been moved.
"I'll always be with you." After a lifetime of learning to play and be played, she was still such a fool.
"The King is…he's not my real father." Regina gasped, and Emmett's eyes flicked away for a moment before he continued, "Their marriage had been arranged, just as ours was, but he loved my mother very much. She – she never loved him back, though I guess he was happy just to know she was his. After several years, my mother fell in love with a leatherworker here at the castle. I don't know much – I suppose they were happy – but it didn't last; it couldn't. The King found out about the affair when Mother became pregnant with me." Emmett smiled, even laughed, but the notes of his voice were cold and discordant. "She told me I was always a stubborn child, though I didn't really know what she meant 'til later. Apparently she nearly died giving birth to me, and the doctors told her that she would likely die if she ever became pregnant again. Then, well, Snow was born and she did die. Her lover – my real father – was executed."
"So now every time he looks at you…"
"He sees his wife's betrayal." Emmett finished. "That's me. The one who was never supposed to be born."
There was something in Emmett's voice, then, a cadence perhaps of resignation that pulled at Regina's chest. Didn't she know better than anyone what it meant to strive for that unobtainable parental approval? That love which in story and song is every child's birthright, but is all too often denied those who need it most. Yes, she knew well her husband's struggle, the cruel mix of helpless, wanting love and rebellious hatred. Regina rose from her seat, abandoning the board for the moment to take Emmett's hand and draw him closer to her. He showed no signs of argument, so she settled them both on the bed, running her fingers lightly over his, caressing his palm and stroking the fine skin. It was not a sexual act; to call it such would be a gross insult to the purity of spirit that humans are sometimes capable of bestowing on one another, a meeting of hearts that whispers, softly, 'I see you. I see you, and you are not alone.'
"Will you tell me about her?"
"My mother?"
"Mm."
"'Skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, hair black as ebony.'" Emmett quoted. "That's what they used to say about her; that's where Snow got her name, she looks exactly like her. But she was more than that; she was kind, and gentle – she seemed to calm everyone and everything around her; even our father seemed subdued in her appearance. She was amazing."
As the night wore on the fire died low to an ember, the candles played themselves out, and Regina was lulled to sleep by her Prince's warm voice recounting tales of childhood misdeeds. When she awoke to the grey dawn all was ashes and cold, and Emmett was gone. But, she noticed with a smile, so was the black queen.