A/N: Wow, I got such a positive response to chapter two! It made my crappy week into a good week. So as a reward, another early update. :)

The Handmaiden's Philosophy
Chapter Three

Regina POV...

Traveling by carriage was never the most comfortable of experiences. If at all possible, Regina preferred to transport herself by magic, or simply ride the horse itself. Both of these options were impractical for longer journeys however, such as the distance between her own castle and Maleficent's. Hence her current position within the carriage on her return trip from Maleficent's lair. Regina's personal carriage was a glowing example of the utmost luxury, and was very comfortable so far as carriages went. (Only the best for the Queen, after all.) So she really couldn't complain of discomfort. Still, such trips were boring, quite frankly. One could only take so much inactivity at one time without slowly going insane. It galled her that reading –what she would normally choose to do to entertain herself when confined to a small space—made her motion sick, thus leaving her without distraction during most journeys.

But the young woman seated across from her now made a wonderful distraction indeed.

Regina really wasn't sure what had possessed her to pick up the blonde tavern girl for use as her handmaiden. Lately, she had taken to simply allowing her head house matron, Josie, to pick the latest sacrifice to her temper. It had been quite some time since she had personally selected a servant, so what she'd done today was unusual. And truly, most people wouldn't choose someone that they had witnessed slaughter three grown men without so much as batting an eye, to carry out such intimate tasks.

Of course, Regina was far from most people. If she thought about it, it really was quite ironic that the Evil Queen was so drawn to a blood-spattered peasant with a self-admitted flaw of vanity.

And Regina was indeed drawn to this girl. She couldn't quite place why. Perhaps it was the fire she'd displayed as she'd defended herself so skillfully from the vagrants on the road. Perhaps it was the utter lack of fear that she'd displayed –and continued to display—towards her person, whilst still maintaining an air of proper respect when addressing her. Perhaps it was even her physical appeal –for Regina was a great admirer of human beauty regardless of gender, and the tavern girl was nothing if not incredibly beautiful. She held herself with a proud sort of posture that Regina had rarely seen outside of nobles trained into such, and her blue-green eyes held a spark of some nameless thing that made excitement curl tightly in Regina's belly.

Yes, the blonde was a rare find indeed. It would be interesting to see how she fared in palace life.

For the first few minutes of their resumed journey, both Queen and servant maintained a surprisingly comfortable silence. Regina sat back against the padded seats of the carriage an unashamedly examined her newest acquisition, eyes roaming freely over her face and body. For her part, the girl seemed unconcerned with this purposefully discomfiting behavior, and simply returned her gaze evenly, her eyes kept respectfully on her face. Regina was honestly baffled by this response. Regardless of whether or not the word Evil was added to her title, she was still a Queen, and any peasant worth his breath should be awed and fearful of her rank alone. This intimidation factor combined with such blatant attention should be enough to make any normal tavern girl highly uncomfortable.

But not this one. Discomfort seemed to roll off of her harmlessly, like water over the back of a duck.

Regina was fascinated.

"What is your name, girl?" she finally spoke, eyebrows raised imperiously as she lowered her voice to its most velvety texture, determined to shatter her newest servant's calm. It was like a delightful game: one that she suspected the girl would be adept at playing. Sure enough, the girl reacted only minutely to the overtly seductive tone, eyes darkening slightly as a faint shiver ran through her body. If Regina hadn't been studying her so intently, she knew she would have missed it. As it was, it was gratifying to know that the girl wasn't completely immovable. Just resilient enough to be fun.

"I am called Emma, Your Majesty," the blonde answered, refolding her hands in her lap. She sat upon the carriage seat as if she herself were royalty, not just Regina. Her posture was impeccable, and her countenance serene. Her eyes flickered with what Regina thought to be amusement though, as the only break in her façade, and the Queen rather thought that Emma was aware that she was deliberately trying to evoke a response from her, and found that fact funny.

It was both galling and entertaining all at once.

Regina chose to simply nod her head in acknowledgement of the answer, filing away Emma's name for future reference. Not that she would ever use it to address the woman, but it was still nice to know. It was a nice name, really. Simple and elegant, and nothing pretentious or ridiculous. For what it was worth, Regina approved. (And as Queen, her approval was worth quite a bit.)

It took another four hours for them to reach the castle. They spent the ride in silence, each staring out a different window at the passing trees while Regina pretended not to notice Emma watching her with interest out of the corners of her eyes.

Regina expected as such. She knew she was beautiful. What she did not expect was Emma's reaction to the castle itself. Or rather, the lack thereof.

The blonde looked upon the magnificent structure with appreciative eyes, but not with the jaw-dropping awe that Regina would have expected of someone of her station. It was odd. Regina considered that perhaps Emma had lived near or in the castle in her youth, and was thus accustomed to the sight, but that didn't seem quite right. Emma looked upon the Summerlands' palace with fresh eyes. Of course, Regina knew that it was entirely possible she was misreading the blonde entirely. She was an enigma, to be certain, and hadn't reacted to anything the way she should have since the moment Regina had laid eyes upon her, which was honestly part of the draw.

Slightly frustrated, Regina chastised herself for spending so much time obsessing over a simple tavern girl turned handmaiden. Emma, while strange, was nothing. Just another peasant. Regina was a Queen. She really needed a hobby if she was devoting so much thought to the inner workings of someone of Emma's station.

Perhaps she ought to return to terrorizing helpless villagers with flagrant displays of power? Though such actions were counterproductive to keeping her subjects whole and hale unfortunately, which was the goal when trying to prove her superiority as a ruler to the world at large. Pity. It had always been somewhat cathartic in her days of hunting Snow White.

The carriage wheels rattled loudly over a road that was now cobbled, even over the sharp claps of the horses' hooves on the stones. Regina didn't bother to suppress the tiny smile that curled at the edges of her painted lips at the familiar sights and smells of her home as the carriage flanked by her guards drew into the main courtyard. Servants and simple citizens alike called out greetings from the roadside and windows, even under the hot afternoon sun. Though rightly feared, Regina enjoyed a certain amount of adoration from her subjects as well; genuine gratitude borne through Regina's fierce protection and respect of even the lowest among them, despite her fearful reputation. She'd never enjoyed such before the Treaty, but Regina found she rather enjoyed it most days.

Finally, the carriage halted, and Regina exited gracefully as soon as a nearby footman ran to open the door for her, nodding regally in thanks to her dismounting guards for their service. The soft clack of worn boots behind her told her that Emma had exited their rolling prison of the past few hours as well, though Regina did not deign to turn towards her. Instead, she turned to the footman and gestured in the blonde's general direction with an errant hand.

"Take the girl to Matron Josie," she instructed briskly, ignoring the boy's wide eyes at being addressed directly by his Queen. "She's the new handmaiden. See to it that she's settled in the servant's wing and is provided appropriate dress."

"Y-yes Your Majesty," the footman stammered, rushing at Emma and hustling her towards the main keep.

Emma just looked amused.

Sighing, Regina turned on heel and vanished in a swirl of violet smoke, reemerging in her own quarters. They were rather dark –as was the entire building, having been hewn of the dark stone from the nearby quarries—but luxurious just the same. She'd strewn the walls with the finest Agrabahn and Tiaxan silks of every color and pattern, and pulled the draperies away from the many windows with a lazy flick of her hand to allow the sunlight to stream into the space. Content with her environment, Regina swept over to the oak vanity and pulled on the silk cord to summon a servant.

Within minutes, a tall, willowy brunette emerged to attend to her. This was Mabel, the chambermaid. During those times when Regina's current handmaiden had been sent away and another had not yet been found, it was Mabel that picked up the slack and attended the Queen personally. She wasn't particularly skilled in the art of preparing a Queen for her court, but Regina honestly liked Mabel in spite of this. She was a quiet woman who rarely spoke, but was generally insightful and helpful when she chose to do so. At twenty-nine years of age, she was rather old for a personal servant, but she remained unmarried and therefore free of other obligation, and continued to serve her Queen well.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty," the brunette greeted her softly, dropping into a deep curtsey. "Did you fare well on your journey?"

Regina smirked, and chose to indulge Mabel with her attempt at small talk. "I did," she responded lightly, beckoning the woman forward to remove her intricate gown. "Though I should like to wash away the dust of the road. Draw a bath for me."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Mabel agreed. She finished untangling Regina from her gown in silence, leaving the Queen in just her chemise before sweeping away to work the water pump in the adjoining bathroom. Regina had had the pump installed to save her servants the trouble of hauling buckets of water up the stairs, considering that she could easily heat the water with magic.

Let it not be said that she was not a merciful Queen.

Neither Regina nor Mabel spoke until the Queen had finished bathing and the servant had redressed her in a simpler, more comfortable dress made of black silk. "Mabel," Regina stated neutrally. "I've brought a new serving girl with me, to take a place as my handmaiden. Emma. She's with Matron Josie at the moment, but I wish for you to send her to me tomorrow morning when I ring. Do not bother to instruct her on the specifics of her duties beforehand."

"My Queen?" Mabel questioned, clearly confused.

Regina just smiled wickedly. "I wish to see how well she comports herself." Poor Mabel probably thought that Emma had done something quite egregious to be set up to fail so, but while Regina did not offer further explanation to the silent chambermaid, she inwardly admitted that she very much wanted to see Emma rattled. Just once. And this was a good way to achieve that goal, she thought.

Come morning though, Regina was surprised.

She supposed that she would have to become resigned to such surprises, if Emma were to stay.

She'd slept well that evening, and rose with the sun like always. Like she'd done for years. Most days fell into a sort of uniform monotony for Regina now, so she didn't even attempt to suppress her inner glee at finding a new game when she rang for her new handmaiden. Emma. The girl who should have been afraid, but wasn't. At most, the blonde would have been shown her quarters, the way to Regina's suite, told how to dress, and allowed a chance to clean herself up. (Because Regina could not abide by unwashed servants.) Emma was a tavern girl. Regina wanted to see her out of her element so badly.

But Emma had arrived quickly, and calmly. She wore the simple short-sleeved brown summer dress that all the servants wore, with a pale apron tied neatly around her waist and brown summer slipper shoes peeking out from beneath its hem. Her beautiful golden hair had been pulled back in the simple, utilitarian bun that was also uniform amongst Regina's female servants, but the Queen could see that a single small braid was twined within what should have been smooth gold in a tiny act of rebellious individuality.

Regina almost smiled at the sight of it. Vanity, indeed. Emma apparently couldn't resist a small token of it, even when conforming to her new role.

"Good morrow, Your Majesty," Emma greeted her with a small smile and a small (but not small enough to quite count as impolite) curtsey. She looked better, Regina decided, when she wasn't covered in dust and blood. "How may I serve you this morning?"

Regina stood from where she'd seated herself on the cushioned divan. "I've court today. I'll wear the mermaid cut black satin with the velvet trim and scoop neckline," she informed her blithely and gestured absently towards her closet, well aware that most tavern girls were unfamiliar with such terminology. (After all, to those of her class, a dress was a dress; cut for practicality and spun from wool.) She wondered how long it would take Emma to admit that she couldn't find the right dress, or if she would simply emerge with the wrong one.

It was a struggle for Regina not to outwardly react when Emma simply walked into the closet and emerged moments later with the exact garment that had been requested, completely unruffled by the task. Baffled and annoyed as she was at this inexplicable proficiency, Regina chose not to comment and simply allowed Emma to undress her and begin lacing her up into her chosen garment for the day, which she did without further prompting.

At first, Regina considered that Mabel had –however unlikely it was—disobeyed her instructions and told the newest chambermaid exactly how to comport herself in her presence. This did not explain the skill with which Emma completed her task, however. As a Queen, Regina's clothes were excessively complicated: riddled with laces to pull taught and hooks with loops and tiny buttons between multiple layers of heavy fabric, all of which needed to be attached just so, so that the dress hung properly over Regina's frame and none of the stiff supports or textured lace sat unpleasantly on her skin. Dressing royalty was, quite literally, an art. Regina had expected confusion and fumbling from Emma. It was incredibly rare for her to acquire a handmaiden that was even passingly familiar with such garments, and it quite often took a few days for them to learn how to dress their Queen properly. Even Mabel still struggled with dressing her. Regina was quite honestly stunned that Emma, the tavern girl, did so without instruction aside from a few queries on how tightly Regina preferred different sections of the dress to be laced.

Not that Regina would ever admit the positive reaction out loud, of course. It wouldn't do for the already cheeky creature to get a big head, after all. When Emma finished, Regina wordlessly sank down onto the stool before her vanity and produced a hairbrush to rest in her hand with a twist of her wrist and a spiral of purple smoke, which she handed back to the blonde behind her.

"How do you wish your hair styled for court today, Your Majesty?" Emma inquired as she accepted the brush with a frustratingly serene smile directed towards their images in the mirror where Regina watched her carefully, as if her reflection would suddenly spill her secrets.

Regina pursed her lips. This morning had been a test for Emma, and the woman was… passing. One does not simply pass a test set by the Evil Queen. Quite frankly, Regina wasn't sure how she felt about this development. "Put it up," she decided. "Formal, but not uncomfortable." She was curious. Very curious. She knew from having seen the intricate style applied to Emma's own hair the day before that the blonde was somewhat skilled in the art. How far that skill extended, Regina was still uncertain of, and she very much wanted to see how Emma would choose to interpret her instructions. She could always do her hair herself with her magic if it turned out too horribly, she reasoned.

And Emma just nodded her head and reached for Regina's long, dark tresses, running her fingers through the strands to get a feel for the texture and humming in approval at its heath and thickness. Regina watched on with narrowed eyes. Though Emma did technically have permission to touch the Queen, Regina still wanted to bristle at the entirely unconcerned way in which she did so. She wasn't used to being touched without a certain reverence –or more often, trepidation—neither of which Emma displayed. She wasn't afraid to run her fingers through Regina's hair, nor did she jump and stutter out apologies when her hands accidentally brushed up against the skin of Regina's neck or shoulders. It was mildly infuriating. Still, the touch was gentle and professional, and Regina forced herself to let it be, for now. Emma took great care in gently easing the tangles out of every inch of her hair, starting at the ends and gradually working her way up towards her scalp until she was running the brush down her back in long, smooth strokes. Little by little, the tension in Regina's shoulders eased with the knowledge that Emma was not handling her hair roughly, even when she abandoned the steady rhythm of the brushing and graduated to twisting and pinning the strands up and away from her neck.

The entire time, Regina stared unmoving at the blonde in the mirror (who pretended not to notice) and at the style that was taking shape. It wasn't awful, she admitted to herself. Curls twisted into being by Emma's talented fingers had joined a great coiled spiral at the back of her head, circling about like a pit of black snakes sweeping from the part of her hair and down and around the nape of her neck. It was well done, and none of the pins taken from the tray on Regina's vanity and applied to her hair to maintain its shape dug into the soft skin of her scalp, with the even distribution of weight that Emma had somehow achieved. It was not her usual style perhaps, but then again, Emma would have no idea what her usual style was regardless, and had done well with the purposefully vague instructions Regina had given her.

Somewhat unsettled with her inability to criticize her work, Regina instead chose to focus on the only other imperfection she could. "Pray tell why you've bound your wrists in those filthy bandages," she commented, referring to the somewhat bulky white linens that were tucked neatly around the blonde's wrists, covering about three inches of skin at the join of her wrist and forearms. They stood out quite clearly with the short sleeves of the summer servant dress.

This, at last, earned Regina a reaction outside of that infuriating calm. Emma's hands paused momentarily in their movements and she cringed ever so slightly, as if the thought of the linens brought her pain. She recovered quickly though, the only indication of her continued upset being a shaky exhale of breath and a new tightness in the skin around her blue-green eyes.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Emma said extremely softly. Were the woman not so physically close to her, the Queen doubted that she would have been able to hear her without straining. "I wear the bandages to cover some rather unsightly scars. They make most people uncomfortable, and I would rather avoid discussing them with the other servants."

Not having expected this answer, Regina permitted her eyebrows to crawl up her forehead in a well-earned display of bemusement. They must be truly gruesome scars indeed, she theorized, to be so large and apparently disturbing. It was especially troubling that the old injuries were on both wrists. Perhaps the girl had been incorrectly shackled at some point in her life? Even then, that didn't seem quite right. Even poorly applied shackles rarely left such scars, and Emma would have been forced to wear them for an impractically long amount of time to achieve such damage.

Emma was rapidly becoming Regina's favorite puzzle.

"How would a tavern girl such as your self acquire such injuries?" she questioned bluntly. Emma may have preferred not to discuss the topic with the other servants, but Regina was her Queen.

Emma just smiled tightly. "My mother gave them to me," she answered with equal bluntness.

Regina's heart grew cold with remembered pain at those words, and she did not speak for the remainder of their time together, waiting until the handmaiden had completed polishing Regina's exterior before dismissing her with a single, curt nod towards the door. Emma certainly was proving to be an interesting puzzle, but Regina for the first time wondered how wise it was for her to try and solve her.