A/N. Oh dear. It's been ages. I am so terribly sorry for the delay, I had not only a hard time writing this chapter but a weird one, I was very inspired for it at the beginning, then got let down by someone who was willing to have a look at it before I published it and never answered me once I sent the thing, so of course I thought it was horrible, and in the end I had to kick my own butt to get to rewrite it and finish it. I'm amazed by the positive response this story got, and it really helped me overcome my little wtf moment, so thank you to each one of you, thank you for your comments and for not giving up on it and for letting me know that people were still waiting for the rest. You guys are amazing. I hope this chapter will meet your expectations... (I am so nervous I may vomit, as Chandler would say, but I can't postpone it any longer...)
As usually, warning for abuse and marital rape and disturbing imagery, especially in this chapter.
And thank you for continuing the ride with me.
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"Ah! Regina."
Silver-crowned heads all turn towards her in a single frightening motion, dead eyes, blank faces, vain smiles, heavy jewels, the royalty, and Regina has to bite her lips hard not to take a step back and make a fool of herself in front of the noble assembly.
Whispers are spreading like wildfire in the crowd, whispers and sideway glances, and she knows them well, she knows what they mean and what they say, she hears –
the Child Bride
she hears
the Witch's Daughter
she hears
the Trophy Wife
she hears
the Fortune Seeker
– all sweet, familiar monikers that have replaced her name, given equally by those that pity her and those that doubt her. Sometimes the victim and sometimes the danger, to them she remains the same: the wild card, the stranger.
She grits her teeth and strains her neck, hands clutching at the skirts of her dress, tall and proud, like Mother wants, she walks boldly among the parting host, she walks among string puppets, without sparing a single glance for their empty smiles and soulless eyes, devoid of compassion, but filled with mockery, with wariness, with lust, she walks without breathing, her eyes fixed on her executioner-king.
He beckons her to him with a double-edged smile, one shiny benevolence for all to see and one cruelty she alone knows. She fights with her features and her eyes and her smile, she fights against all her instincts and all her pride to coerce her face into an adoring look and a submissive air that can be the only appropriate response to her husband's notice, but she mustn't quite succeed, for the stuffed men of the King's Court keep staring hard, barely nodding with respect as she walks past them to the throne were Leopold is seated.
"My darling wife. How good of you to join us."
"You sent for me," she retorts acidly before she can help herself, and her heart quickens when she sees a frown deepens the old and tired lines of Leopold's flaccid face, "my lord husband," she adds quickly, her sour tone softening all at once. She doesn't like being plucked out of her quarters by brutish guards and summoned like a commoner or a valet into the King's presence, she has no patience for Leopold's games and shows of affection that are nothing but lies, but even she is not nearly foolish or daring enough not to address him with the proper reverence in front of his nobility.
She curtsies gracefully, though her spine is made of steel and dignity and always protests at the demeaning gesture, her head can never bow low enough, her knees bend far enough. She lets her cream-colored dress unfold on the floor like a swan's wings, she lets it get dirty with dust and muck gathered by uncaring feet, all the while wishing that she had enough power yet to turn the cloth into actual wings and use them to fly away with.
Her reluctant show of subjection is apparently sufficient for Leopold, who is grinning broadly when she raises her head again.
"Indeed, wife (he never calls her my queen, always wife in that dreadful, possessive, smug tone, or Regina, in a patronizing voice that makes her feel like the child she could be to him). I did request your presence here. My dear fellow men!"
He awkwardly arises from his royal seat, and Regina can pratically hear the joints cracking when he lifts his arms in a both dismissive and deferent gesture.
"I must ask you to retire. I have some family matter to settle with my wife. And all of you know how the happiness of my family and of my dear daughter precedes all other obligations (there are a few polite chuckles, but several disbelieving or reproachful frowns, and Regina wonders just how safe it is for a king to admit that his royal duties never come first). We'll discuss your kingdom's settlement further tomorrow, Prince Abel."
The Prince thus spoken to bows in deference, but Regina, who is now standing up and looking down at the assembly, can read the deception and anger on his face. But Leopold either doesn't see it or doesn't care, and he lets the nobles leave the room without another word to flatter or appease them. Regina refrains from rolling her eyes. She might be young, and a girl, and somehow still new to the royal life, but she knows enough to be certain that it is ill-advised to let anyone walk away from the King's court and be displeased by how they were received. Even a decision that displeases can be forgiven. But discourtesy prompts war faster than a drawn sword.
Prince Abel of the Dry Sea is a fair, but proud man. Leopold's carelessness in dealing with his request will be considered a slight. And history has proved that Abel was a dangerous leader to cross...
The great doors of the Council Room close on the last guest with a defeaning noise, pulling Regina away from politics musings and memories of past lessons.
She is left alone with Leopold, but for the two guards standing by the door. Something slimy and disgusting begins to writhe in her stomach, a nauseating anticipation of an evil to come.
"Come and sit by me, Regina."
The command weigh heavy on her heart but she has no choice. Her head raised so high the cords in her neck are stiff and pained, Regina covers the few steps that separate her from the smaller throne to Leopold's left. She sits down as if waiting for thorns to welcome her in lieu of the uncomfortable wood. Nervously, she opens her mouth, hoping to distract him before he can say whatever he has to say to her and that she dreads terribly.
"Your Majesty, I hope you have taken into serious consideration Prince Abel's request. May I remind you that he single-handedly put an end to the Civil War that had been tearing his country apart for decades. He only asks for your support in his recapture of the throne and for his land to be recognized as a legitimate kingdom again. I think you should answer him without further delay. He is not a patient man."
"Neither am I, Regina. And if I had wanted your opinion on the royal affairs, I would have let you sit at the Council. But your opinion isn't wanted or needed, my wife. You're much too young and too inexperienced to hold any valuable thoughts on this sort of things."
But I'm not too young for you to use my body in every way that meets your fancy, she thinks with a bitter taste in her mouth, her stomach lurching at the way Leopold pats her hand with condescencion, but wisely, she holds her tongue.
"Yes, my King."
"Do you know why I've sent for you?"
His debonair air begins to melt off of his old flesh, and just like that, Regina knows she won't leave this room unscathed of another horrid defilement of her body and soul, she knows there is nothing she can say that will stop what is about to happen, she has no idea what she has done, she never does know, just like with Mother, they ask for the sins she doesn't know she committed, for the sins she doesn't know were sins.
And then they punish.
Like Gods.
"No, my Lord?"
She tries to stop her voice from shaking but her whole body is sizzling with fear already, cold sweat drowning her skin and bones chattering, unseen.
Leopold looks extremely displeased, though not surprised, by her answer. With a heavy sigh meant for her to understand how distasteful it is for him to deal with her mutiny, he steeples his fingers over his rotund belly covered by a moleskin overcoat, and looks straight ahead, speaking loudly for the whole empty room to hear, addressing himself to the ghosts of monarchy still lingering there.
"What have you been telling Snow?"
"Nothing, my Lord."
"Lies."
His voice, that has remained mostly pleasant, although false, until now, suddenly cracks with ice. Regina stops breathing as he rises from his seat and towers over her.
"My daughter has been avoiding me. She flees from my tenderness and she evades my kiss. She even asked me if I thought you were happy. If I thought I made you happy. Now, why would she do this, why would she wonder about all those things, if someone hadn't specifically told her..."
"I haven't told her anything, my Lord, I swear. She could just have noticed..."
Something ugly and green flashes into the dull eyes of the King and she shuts her mouth, but too late.
"What could she have noticed, wife?"
She lowers her eyes as she answers in a small voice:
"Nothing."
He grabs her chin and forces her to meet his eyes, searching through her, searching the lie, his own gaze unreadable, and as his grip becomes unbearable, nails breaking through her skin, suddenly he lets her go and turns his back on her, calling forth his guards.
"You do know, Regina, that if there is one thing that I can't forgive, it's deceit."
She knows.
She has learned, she learns fast, fast, fast, with every strike of Mother's magical blue whip, with every thrust of her husband harsh cold hips, she's a quick study, she is.
She used to wonder.
Before.
She used to wonder.
She used to wonder, until neglect and abuse turned her numb and uncaring, about the unhealed wound of the King, about the pungent smell that still exuded from it. Who, she wondered as she memorized the ceiling by heart, the top of her skull banging against the headboard, the place between her legs chafed and burning, who could have betrayed the King's trust in such a terrible way that he would look upon her sex with nothing but suspicion and rancor? That he would declare the whole womankind, save for his adored daughter, to be his enemy? Could it have been Eva, sweet, lovely, gracious Eva who could do no wrong and say no foul word, tender, caring Eva with the fairest skin and the softest bosom, that saint of a woman, shaped from birth for motherhood and marriage, adorned with every virtues? No, of course, it couldn't have been her.
Sweet, sweet Eva.
She suffered the consequences all the same (mother had blue marks on her arms too).
As Regina will soon. Again.
She is to pay for the sins of others when she can't even make sense of her owns.
"I... I know, my Lord, I would never deceive you, I promise..."
"But you did," he interrupted her petulantly, and his voice sounded younger, more frail, more insecure, rising and rising, carried away by memories, carried away by his own darkness he had let fester in him (everybody holds darkness in their hearts, dearie, her mentor snides and slithers in her ear, everybody has their own little patch of darkness they feed, feed and let grow until it blossoms into a beautiful evil of their own, a beautiful garden of sins) and he doesn't look at her anymore, if he did he wouldn't see, eyes obscured by madness, "you did deceive me, and betray me, and lie to me, and why should I expect anything more from a woman of your blood?"
She had heard those words from him before, heard them and didn't understand them, like she doesn't understand them now, but she understands the fate they bring with them.
She is plagued by memories of her own when Leopold asks his guards in a high-pitched voice to seize her, she is too stunned to fight them when they push her on her knees in front of the King, who returns to sit on his throne, eyes hard, unyielding, and far gone.
"Lying is what children do, Regina. And therefore, like a child, you shall be punished."
.
"You will make sure to please the King tonight, Regina. He will not grant access to his royal bed to any sniveling child, so take off this distraught air and smile like the Queen you will become today."
Her mother's hands are everywhere, fondling, stroking, massaging heady-scented oil on every patch of her skin, scrutinizing her body, feeling up her curves with a satisfied smirk or a frown, and she's so used to it, being a doll in her mother's hands, that she stands still and surrenders, because if she doesn't move, if she stays a good girl, mother will be pleased and it will be over soon.
"It won't hurt much, you'll see," Mother is saying now, and her ears prick at the word hurt, her eyes widen, she wasn't listening, Mother said hurt, will she be punished, but no, Mother is talking as much to herself as she is to her, and she doesn't notice her daughter's wavering attention, and she ushers in the maidservants to help the bride-to-be into her wedding gown, all the while speaking, mindless of the others people in the room (the help is furniture, Regina), words that are arrows of dread piercing her heart one by one.
"It will be short and quick," Mother's eyes are far away, "and you won't have to do it often. And once you've given him a male heir he will leave you alone."
Mother suddenly grabs her chin and forces her to look up, into dark eyes that never twinkled with mirth, that never shone with love, that never softened with tenderness.
"But whatever you do, never show him your discomfort," she hisses, "whatever you do, don't disappoint me" and the lesson is over, Mother is going away (her wedding gown is not completely on yet, and doesn't she want to stay to see her, doesn't she want to stay to tell her she looks beautiful, and that she will have a marvelous wedding, and she is so lucky, such a lucky girl, my Regina, and Mother is so proud, so proud of her, doesn't she want to stay and say all this and soothe her heart that is lurching in her throat – but Mother never stays. "I have already seen the dress dear, and I will see it all day, I hardy see why you would need me to see it now").
"Be a good girl, tonight, Regina," and the doors close.
.
Mother is gone, Mother is away, off through the looking-glass, Mother is dead maybe, and she, she is a murderer, with invisible blood splashed on her white, white dress, and the castle's in a hustle, because the Queen's mother has disappeared on her wedding day, right after the Queen's coronation, and what a tragedy, what a scandal, what a pity for the young bride. Snow is clutching at her hands, crying her heart out and hiding her red blotchy red cheeks in her skirts, poor, poor Regina, she wails, loosing your mother, and the King's hands are resting on her shoulders, gentle and too heavy, and father is pale and still as death on the other side of the room, and the air in her lungs doesn't move.
Come night, no traces of Mother have been found, and the King leads her to his chambers with a sorrowful face and a comforting smile, promising, if she is to be found he will find her, he will discover what has happened to her (he won't, and she's not worried, strangely, she's not worried), he pushes her into the room, gentle, gentle hands, so old, like father's – do not think of father now, Regina – and he removes her cloak and he removes her tiara and he removes her dress, and she is shivering, alone and pale and cold in her undergarments, her heart is a dying bird writhing in her throat, and he makes her turn around, slowly, chucks her under the chin to make her look at him, and he's still smiling, so kind, so old, and he speaks, "tonight, you shall forget your troubles," his tone is soft but she doesn't know if it's an order, she thinks it might be, she thinks she doesn't want to disappoint, doesn't want to disappoint the kind old mister, he knows better, she's just a foolish girl, adults know better what she has to do (she doesn't want to hear him yell), so she closes her eyes tight, tight, tighter as he leans in to kiss her, and he's awfully wet against her lips, like he's drooling, old people drool, she's seen it and laughed about it with Daniel – Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, tries to chant her heart, tries to chant her mind, tries to chant her soul, old, old, old, screams her lips, screams her body, screams her flesh – and she tries, she does, she tries so hard she wants to be a good girl but when the cold wrinkled hand slips inside her smallclothes, she yelps and she tears her lips away, trembling, hands raising up to protect her barely covered chest, she takes a step back, shakes her head.
"I'm sorry, I can't, I can't, not yet, I'm not ready, not ready for this, please, my King, forgive me, I can't –"
He comes to her and shushes her, holding her arms, steady, she's shaking so much, like a crumbling ground being downtrodden by wild beasts, she is melting, leaking, frightened water running down her cheeks, and he strokes her hair, softly, until she can breathe again, until her senses have returned, and he nods:
"Of course. You had a trying day, my dear, anyone would be as shaken as you are, considering the circumstances. You need to rest. We don't have to rush our wedding night. I shall wait until you are ready."
She drops on her knees before him, relief and gratitude bringing her from the verge of panic to the realm of childish adoration, and she wraps her arms around his knees, and she kisses his own wedding garb, murmuring, "Thank you, your majesty" and hiding the tears still streaming down her face, and while he asks her to stand up and tells her she should never kneel before him, he seems to enjoy her reaction, and she managed to please him in this, at least, and she's glad.
But when she is back in her room – it feels so strange, those huge windows, the air so cold from being so high, the walls so dark, the bed so big, she is lost to vastness – she thinks about how her whole being physically recoiled from his touch, how she is gagging everytime she remembers his tongue in her mouth, how his fingers burned on her skin.
She shudders.
She doesn't know for how long she can keep playing the card of Grief to escape her fate.
.
The first slap makes her yelp, not because of the pain, not because it's unexpected, but because she cannot believe it's really happening.
Her skirts are hiked up around her hips, revealing her bare legs and smallclothes, and one guard keeps her kneeling down while the other spanks her. She is staring, right into Leopold's absent eyes, hurt, disbelief painted clear on her face, the humiliation reddening her cheeks, her lips biting on a single word she cannot pronounce – Why?
She remains silent for the second slap, and the third, and the next ones, she only jumps forward a little with the force of the blows, and the motion is familiar, thrust after thrust, her core ache in memory, well-trained for pain.
She never tears her eyes off Leopold, and he's the one who has to look away, eventually, and demands in a voice he coerces to be strong:
"Turn her around. Now," he adds, forceful, as one of the guards seems to hesitate, the one that has a slack grip on her shoulders, the one that is so young he could be a brother, but he flinches as if stung and clumsily helps his comrade to move her so she's facing the entrance now and the King doesn't have to watch her anymore, only her rump – his voice arises again behind her, "I said I want her bare," and she feels her smallclothes being pulled down and tries her best not to squirm, not to let them see, not to show, how much she is, how much she, how much, how, the blows fall down again and again and furious tears spring out at the corners of her eyes, burning, hateful tears, one smack harder than the others makes her fall on all fours, "hold her," she hears, and a trembling hand wraps around her slender neck, both soothing and painful, choking her and comforting her, and she looks straight ahead, unfeeling, uncaring, and it's not about the pain, and it's not about the humiliation, it's about the helplessness, it's about how effortlessly she is dismissed, how much not of an equal she is to him, how low he thinks of her to debase her so – and now, her Anger thinks, now, I could kill him for this, I could destroy him, and her Anger seethes, final, drooling with hunger, I will destroy him.
His voice is frail and thin as he mumbles hazily:
"I hope you regret what you've done, Regina."
.
"I didn't want to believe it."
She whirls around to face the King, her hand jumping to her pounding heart, having the good sense to let the spellbook drop into Rocinante's box.
"My lord?"
All gentleness from last night has bled out from his eyes, his eyes that are two little black stones sinking deep into his face, retreating, closing in.
"I wanted to trust you. I let you all the freedom you desired, and you repay me by trying to run away."
Something slimy and bitter makes her way into her throat, choking her up, she doesn't reply quickly enough, she's not convincing enough, she's drowning.
"I swear, my Lord, I had no intention to..."
"Two of my men followed you today. Did you really think I would leave my Queen unprotected after what happened to your mother?"
Some shadow befalls between them, some ugly rememberance of things past, things that would have been better left dormant.
"They witnessed your meeting with the Dark One, and overheard you speaking of having always wanted to leave, before his black magic prevented them to hear anything else. What kind of deal did you strike with that monstrosity?"
"I came back," she can only whisper, her body shaking so hard now that her teeth begin to chatter, "I realized the mistake I was making and I came back. Please, my King, forgi –"
The slap is heavy against her cheek, loud, ringing in her ears, but she hears his voice above the numbness, she hears his panting breath and squealing fear.
"I will not stand to be betrayed, least of all by my own wife."
He grabs her by the wrist and leads her into the castle, and she follows, she knows better than to make a scene, and as she sees all the heads bowing down on their way, she thinks anyway that she could throw herself on the floor and have him drag her into his chambers kicking and screaming and no one would come to her help.
They can't.
They don't have crowns on their bowed heads.
He listens to no plea and silences all her screams, and he uses his hands for something other than making love, and she discovers that you have less time to be disgusted when you hurt.
On the morrow the blood-stained sheet is presented to the Court as proof that the marriage has been consummated. The small gathering applauds politely while Regina keeps her face in the shadows to hide her split lip.
Every other time, she thinks about Mother and some of her last words. Every night the King decides to grant her with a visit to her bedchambers, she stands still and surrenders, because if she doesn't move, if she stays a good girl, the King will be pleased and it will be over soon.
.
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A/N. Holy shit I'm horrible. Sorry. I'd still like to hear what you think though?