Chapter 2: The Announcement
The next morning, the first light of dawn barely kissed the horizon when Regina slipped from her chambers, her dark cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The castle, usually bustling with life, was still and quiet. The castle lay in a deep, almost unnatural stillness. The great corridors stretched out in silence, bathed in the dim light of an early dawn. Only the soft flicker of a dying torchlight hinted at any movement, casting long, wavering shadows that crept along the cold stone floors.
The hearths had not yet been stoked, and the air was sharp with the lingering bite of winter, seeping through the cracks of the old walls. Tapestries hung heavy, their vibrant colors muted in the low light, as if the very fabric of the castle was weighed down by the same tension that filled Regina's heart. Even the wind outside seemed reluctant to stir, as though the castle had slipped into a long-held breath.
Regina's footsteps were the only sound, soft but steady as they echoed faintly down the passageway toward the stables. Each step seemed louder in the absence of life around her, the solitude wrapping around her like the shadows of night that still clung to the castle's corners. While the castle lay sleeping, besides the few guards who did not dare disturb her, she was alone, just like she liked.
Her stallion, with its sleek black coat shivered and pawed the ground impatiently as Regina approached. She ran a soft hand down its strong neck, feeling the warmth of the animal beneath her fingers—a comfort in a world that seemed increasingly cold. With practiced ease, she mounted and urged the horse forward, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing off the stone as they exited the castle grounds.
The meadow stretched out before her, a rolling expanse of sun-kissed hills and the scent of freedom across her cheeks. The remnants of winter clung to the earth, the frozen dew glistening like diamonds on the grass. A chill lingered in the air, though the promise of spring hovered on the horizon, faint but steady, just beyond reach. This place had always been her refuge—an escape from the burdens of the crown, from the endless plotting and constant threat of war. Here, in the quiet solitude of nature, Regina could almost forget that she was queen. Almost.
She rode deeper, as far as she could, feeling the rhythm of the ride and the wind against her face. A momentary peace, though, no matter how hard she tried, her mind would not still. Regina finally slowed the horse, allowing it to graze as she dismounted. She stood alone amidst the frost-covered grass, her gaze sweeping the landscape. The stillness of the morning seemed almost mocking, as if the world itself were unaware of the turmoil that lay just beyond the mountains.
Regina knew a plan was her only lifeline. The weight of the looming war on their doorstep created a sense of urgency in all of this. She had studied the five kingdoms her entire life, drilled in their politics and histories by her father. But never had she imagined a future—her survival—would hinge on choosing a husband from among them. Each kingdom had strengths and weaknesses: armies, wealth, naval fleets, or other alliances. Yet none of those cold facts made this decision any easier to swallow, when her own future, and that of her people, would be tied to whoever she chose.
As she returned to the castle, the cold air still clinging to her riding uniform, Sydney, her ever-watchful assistant, intercepted her at the entrance in a huff, his face drawn with concern.
"The council is growing impatient, Your Majesty," he said in hushed tones. "They demand to hear your proposal. They are angry at your delay this morning to the council meeting."
Regina gave a curt nod, tugging off her riding gloves with sharp motions. The moment of peace she had stolen in the meadow felt like a distant memory now. Without bothering to change from her riding gear, she strode directly into the council chamber. The men, already gathering around the long table, glanced up as she entered—some with disdain, others with impatience. Their sideways looks at her choice of attire didn't go unnoticed, but Regina paid them no mind whether they thought she was dressed like a queen. She dressed for business, plain and simple.
Standing tall at the head of the table, she looked each of them in the eye before she spoke. "Gentlemen," she began, her voice firm, "you've made it clear that I must marry if I'm to remain on the throne and secure this kingdom's future. Fine. However, we will do it my way."
The men shifted in their seats, some visibly bristling. Regina pressed on.
"I propose we invite the rulers of the five kingdoms to come here, to the Enchanted Kingdom. I will meet with them, evaluate who among them would make a suitable match—not just for me, but for the kingdom. Whoever can offer us the support we need in this war will win my hand."
A ripple of whispered followed her words. Some men at the table exchanged glances, others leaned forward, prepared to argue. One of the councilmen, Lord Arlon, always quick to assert his opinion, was the first to speak.
"That's unnecessary," Arlon snapped, his voice sharp. "We already know which kingdoms can give us what we need. We need soldiers, not pomp and show. You're wasting our time."
Another councilman shook his head. "No, we need wealth and resources to fund the war—supplies, armaments. Not just men."
The room quickly fell into a chorus of bickering, each man thinking himself an expert on what the kingdom needed most. Regina held her ground, letting them talk themselves in circles before slamming her hand on the table.
"Enough," she said, her voice slicing through the noise. The room fell silent as her voice filled the room. "If you want me to marry, then we will do this my way. I have seen the letters from the front and spoken with our commanders myself. I will determine the best match—not just for resources now, but for the future of this kingdom after the war. You will not dictate that choice for me. Do we understand each other?"
One of the older men, Lord Brenn, scoffed, leaning back in his seat. The other men looked his way with wide eyes. His voice dipped with condescension as he spoke. "A woman leading such a decision… If history tells us anything, it's that women aren't known for making the wisest choices in such matters. They are… soft." He smirked at her, knowing his comment would set her off. In fact, he was hoping for it. When it didn't, he frowned slightly.
Regina's jaw tightened, but she did not flinch. "Then I suppose you'll offer a better suggestion?" Her gaze was locked on Brenn. "Please, enlighten us."
Brenn smirked. "I propose a tournament," he said, with a gleam in his eye. "A contest of strength, skill, and strategy. Let these princes prove their worth in battle. The one who wins will have proven he can lead—both in war and marriage. If he can kill an ogre, he can surely tame this one." He waved a pointed finger toward Regina.
Graham pulled his sword and set it swiftly on the man's neck. "You watch your tongue or you'll lose your head if you speak to your queen again in that tone."
The man stared wide eyed at Graham, his mouth agape, and he rubbed his neck nervously when Regina asked Graham to sheath his sword. Regina wanted to object to the idea outright. The kingdom could not spare that type of money and resources when men were dying on the front lines. Her mind raced with indignation at the thought of her future being reduced to a spectacle of bloodsport. But in the corner of the room, she caught Graham's eye. His expression was calm, but the subtle shake of his head told her enough—she could only push these men so far.
She exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Very well," she said coolly, much to the council's surprise. "Let them prove themselves. A tournament will be held, but the final decision will still be mine."
The councilmen nodded, some more reluctantly than others. Regina turned to Sydney. "Send out the invitations. Make sure each kingdom understands the terms."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and left the room, the weight of their expectations pressing down on her. Her mind spun with what lay ahead, the stakes growing higher with each passing day. As she walked through the quiet corridors of the castle back to her room, Regina knew one thing: the tournament would be their game, but the outcome would be hers.
Emma darted through the bustling streets of the town, her breath coming in quick, exhilarating bursts as she weaved between market stalls and villagers, careful not to bump them too hard. Her wild blonde curls streamed behind her like a banner, and her bare feet slapped against the cobblestones, leaving little puffs of dust in her wake. The town was alive with activity, but for Emma, it was all background noise to her escape. In her pocket, a small loaf of bread that she had rightfully paid for, and yet, perhaps stole first, angered the local baker and his wife. She grinned to herself, fully aware of the attention she brought to her family.
Rounding a corner, she nearly collided with Ruby, her closest friend, who raised an eyebrow at the sight of Emma, breathless and disheveled.
"Emma. What on earth are you doing now?" Ruby asked her, crossing her arms with a smirk.
"Just out for a run. I have to keep up my physique, you know." Emma leaned over her knees breathless. "But also, I need you to run an errand for me." Emma pulled the loaf of bread from her pocket and handed it to Ruby. "Hansel and Gretel." She managed between heavy breaths. "They'll be expecting you at the edge of the river."
"You do know your parents' soldiers are looking for you, again." Ruby said, taking the bread nonchalantly as if she had done it a thousand times before. "You've really outdone yourself this time."
Emma shrugged, still catching her breath, her grin never fading. "Yeah? Well, I'll be back in time for dinner. That's all that matters."
Ruby shook her head, clearly amused. "You're impossible, Emma Swan." Emma smiled, always loving her nickname Ruby had dubbed her years before. When the two girls first met, Ruby always thought Emma's white blonde hair looked like a swan. And the black eye she'd received for sticking up for Ruby, against a boy twice her size, looked like the black rings of a swan's eyes. So she was henceforth known as Emma Swan. Known to everyone else in the kingdom as Princess Emma.
Just then, a couple of soldiers came into view, walking briskly down the road, clearly searching for her. Without missing a beat, Emma grabbed Ruby's hand and pulled her into a narrow alley between two stone buildings. Their bodies pressed close. Emma pulled her hand to Ruby's mouth when she began to protest the tight space, and Emma listened for the footsteps to recede. But when they were gone, Emma made no motion to move. Their bodies close, Ruby's mouth warm on her palm.
The two girls eyed each other, and Emma leaned in, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
"You know," she whispered, her voice low, "we could make this hiding spot a lot more fun." She moved to close the distance between them, her lips almost brushing Ruby's.
Ruby put her hands firmly on Emma's shoulders, and shoved her out of the alley and onto the dirt road. "Nice try, princess. I'm not one of those girls you spend time with at the brothel. You're going to have to work harder than that."
Emma laughed, not even remotely offended, as she pulled herself up off the ground, wiping off the dusty dirt. But before she could make another move, Ruby spun around, raised her fingers to her lips, and let out a sharp whistle. "Hey, soldier boys!" She waved them as they turned to her. "She's here!" She pointed to the blonde.
Emma's eyes widened in mock betrayal. "You traitor!"
Ruby grinned and crossed her arms. "You'll thank me later, send my regards to the King and Queen!" Before she could fully get out her last words, Emma was off again, the soldiers following quickly after her over the cobblestone streets. Emma darted through the marketplace, aiming for the castle.
By the time Emma slipped inside the castle's grand entrance, her breath was coming in shallow bursts, and her dress—a simple thing she had tied and tucked to make running easier—was frayed at the edges. She was covered in dirt from head to toe, her bare feet stained with dust. Her mother would not be pleased. But the grin on her face was still there, untamed and gleaming with the thrill of the chase.
As she entered the main hall, her thoughts drifting to more pleasant things, she bumped squarely into a large figure. His arms placed wide on his hips and his expression stern yet amused at the wildness of his daughter before him.
"Emma," he said in mock-disappointment, eyeing her from head to toe. "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into today?" He glanced pointedly at her dirt-covered feet and the frayed edges of her dress.
Emma shrugged, trying her best to look innocent. "Nothing I can't handle—or that Mom needs to hear about."
Her father chuckled softly, shaking his head. He saw so much of himself in his daughter—the same wild spirit, the same disregard for the rules when it suited her. He couldn't be mad, not really. "Emma, you are supposed to be the next generation of our kingdom. When will you grow out of this childish, reckless abandon? By the time I was your age, I was meeting with kings and visiting battlefields. Your mother…" He paused, remembering they were a united front. "You mother and I want to make sure you understand your role here."
"How am I to rule if I don't know the people I am ruling? I'm just exploring the kingdom. I'll be twenty-one in a month. I have plenty of time for my role."
His smile softened. "Well, you might want to—"
"Charming, did I hear Emma?" The sound of Snow White's voice echoed around the corner, her boots clicking closer and closer.
Charming's eyes widened slightly, and Emma panicked at the state she was in. If her mother saw her, she wouldn't be able to leave her side for a week. She looked up to her father, pleading in her eyes.
Charming leaned closer, giving her a small push. "Go. Now. Get changed for dinner, I'll cover for you."
Emma grinned, giving him a playful smile and a quick kiss on the cheek before dashing into a dark hallway near them and off towards her room. She couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her father. She would always be her father's daughter.
When Emma returned to the dining hall, freshly bathed and still damp from her hurried attempt at appearing more presentable, she wore her most comfortable set of riding gear. The soft leather pants hung loose and slightly off her hips, and her shirt, though clean, wrinkled from being thrown on without much care. The moment she entered the room, her mother gave her a once over and sighed, her disapproval as palpable as the smell of roasted meat that filled the air.
"Emma," Snow's voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and concern. "That is not suitable for dinner. You look… disheveled. This is hardly the appearance of someone who needs to find a husband."
Emma rolled her eyes and, without missing a beat, glanced toward the young server who was pouring her drink at the table. Catching his eye, she winked and leaned over, her voice playful. "Here that?" She whispered conspiratorially, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "I need a husband."
The poor server turned beet red, nearly spilling the drink as he hurried away, cheeks flushed, desperate to escape the situation. Charming, seated at the head of the table, couldn't help but stifle a laugh, his shoulders shaking with amusement.
Snow shot him a sharp glare. "Don't encourage her, Charming," she scolded, her voice firm but laced with that familiar tone of a mother trying to steer her daughter back in line.
Emma grinned, completely unbothered by the reprimand, and settled herself into her seat. "Mom, relax. There's no one here to impress." She waved a hand dismissively, as though the whole notion of finding a husband was just another chore she couldn't be bothered with.
But Snow wasn't so easily swayed. "You never know who might join us for dinner, Emma. You're a princess—you should carry yourself with dignity, not like some… some wild animal who spends more time with her horses than at court."
Emma felt the familiar tug of frustration in her chest but held her tongue. She knew her mother only wanted what was best for her, though they rarely saw eye to eye on what that was. To Emma, being dressed up and dolled up like some prize for a future husband was a fate worse than spending a day learning how to needlepoint or play the pianoforte. Snow, on the other hand, saw Emma's potential—her daughter could be a strong leader, strong willed, capable of commanding a room, and a good queen. But Emma just couldn't bring herself to desire those royal expectations.
The tension in the room was palpable for a moment. Emma knew that she had grown up with more than she needed, while people in town had much less. Her parents were good rulers—their people were happy and well-cared for. They ruled with compassion and fairness, and Emma admired them for that. Often, she was terrified that she couldn't live up to them. That her untamed behavior would cause her to make the wrong choice. She just couldn't see how this was a life she could envision for herself. Her parents made everything seem so effortless. Their decision was always the perfect right decision. Always.
She wasn't like the other princesses who learned to smile politely at banquets and sip their tea while discussing political alliances or the latest needle technique. She was a storm that couldn't be contained, a force too wild for the confines of court. She wanted to drink mead with the boys down at the pub, and she very much was not interested in finding a husband.
As Charming still chuckled softly at his daughter's large personality, Snow sighed deeply, shaking her head. "You have to put in some effort. If I bring suitors here to meet you, I don't know what side of you will show up."
Emma gave her mother a lopsided smile, her eyes softening toward her mother. "I'll be me. And I think that's enough."
Snow looked at her daughter for a long moment, her expression softening ever so slightly. She knew Emma was right, though she would never say it out loud. Snow wanted the best for her daughter—security, hope, love, a future where she wouldn't have to struggle like Snow herself did before she found Charming. But Emma… seemed born for something else entirely. Something more than a princess, though what that was, Snow wasn't sure.
"Go easy on the girl, my queen." Charming said, his voice gentle as he reached for Snow's hand. "She's her own person. Just like you I might remind you."
Snow smiled faintly, squeezing his hand, but her eyes remained on Emma."I just want what's best for you," she said softly.
Emma nodded, an affectionate smile on her lips. "I know, Mom. I know."
A man entered the dining room, his face serious as he carried a sealed letter in his hands. Bowing respectfully before the family, he cleared his throat. "Apologies for the intrusion, Your Majesties, but this has just arrived."
Charming and Snow exchanged a glance, their expression shifting in concern as they recognized the lion seal of the Enchanted Kingdom. Emma, sitting casually at the table, barely lifted an eyebrow. Her mind was more concerned with what was on her plate.
Charming broke the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning it quickly before looking up, his face hard to read. "It's an invitation," he said. "From Queen Regina."
Snow's eyes widened. "Regina?" Her voice held a note of surprise, bordering concern. "What could she possibly be inviting us to?"
Charming handed her the letter, her eyes briefly meeting Emma's. "It's for a tournament," he explained. "King Leopold is dead. Regina is searching for a new husband."
Emma, who had been absentmindedly picking at her food, suddenly sat up straighter, her interest piqued. "A tournament?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. "A real tournament? I want to go."
Snow's face instantly hardened. "Absolutely not," she said sharply, not even needing to look at Emma to know her daughter's thoughts. "This isn't some game for you to play in, Emma. The tournament is to win Queen Regina's hand in marriage. That clearly means you cannot participate."
Emma turned to her father. "What about the war?" Emma asked, her tone more serious now. "Is this tied to that? The ogre wars have been raging in the Enchanted Kingdom for years. You know what this could mean for us."
Snow's brow furrowed at the mention of the war. "That's exactly why we shouldn't go, Charming. We have peace here. We've worked hard to protect our people from the chaos outside our borders. If we send anyone to this tournament, it'll drag us into that conflict. We've seen the damage the Ogre Wars have done. It's not our fight."
Charming didn't respond immediately, his mind clearly weighing something as he stared at the letter. Emma, frustrated, leaned forward again. "Okay, so send someone else to deal with the marriage thing," she said, trying to mask her excitement. "But I could still compete. Not for Regina's hand, obviously, but just to show what I can do. I've been training—hard. You know I can win."
This time, Charming's face darkened, his usually calm demeanor slipping. "No, Emma," he said firmly, his voice louder than usual. He stood up from the table, the tension in the room thickening as his brows furrowed. "This isn't about showing off your skills. This is bigger than that. I need to speak with someone."
With that, he turned and swiftly exited the room, his posture rigid, the letter still clutched in his hand.
Emma's heart sank a little as she watched him go, frustration and confusion rising inside her. She knew her father wasn't angry with her, not really. But there was something about this situation that had unsettled him in a way she hadn't seen before
Snow turned her sharp gaze on Emma. "Don't," she said, her voice firm as Emma made to follow her father. "His business is not yours to meddle in, Emma.
"But I just want to—"
"No," Snow interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You will not follow him. You are a princess, and this is not your place."
Emma pushed back her chair abruptly, her mother's voice calling after her as she strode out of the dining hall, but she didn't stop. Snow's protest faded into the background as Emma grabbed her coat, pulling it on hastily, her mind whirling. She needed to get away, needed space to think, to escape the wright of her mother's expectations and the tangled web of her father's concerns.
Just as she reached the entrance, she paused, hearing her father's voice from a nearby room. The door was slightly ajar, and his tone carried an edge of frustration that Emma rarely heard from him. She stopped, her hand lingered on the doorframe, listening carefully.
"We've already contributed more than enough to that war," Charming said, his voice tight. "And now she is asking for a full alliance. It's not like we can ignore her, but we're stretched thin. We can't be the only kingdom to turn her down, not if we want to avoid making enemies with the Queen. We can't afford that either, not after everything else."
Emma brows furrowed. She had never heard her father sound so conflicted before. Then another voice, lower and unfamiliar, responded. "So, who are you going to send? There's no male heir in your house, and you know as well as anyone, that's what she's expecting. A strong alliance through marriage, through a king."
Charming let out a long sigh, and the frustration in it made Emma's chest tighten. "I know," he muttered. "I know. But what choice do I have? This kingdom—my people—are my priority. And without a son, without someone who can lead..."
His voice trailed off, and Emma's grip on the doorframe tightened. Her pulse quickened as the words hung in the air. She knew her father had always wanted a son, and had dreamed of a male heir who could take his place and continue the legacy. But she hadn't realized until now how much he felt the absence of it, how much it burdened him that all he had was a daughter. It hurt more than she expected, hearing him speak like that.
She couldn't stand there any longer.
Emma turned on her heel and pushed the door open, slipping out of the castle and into the chilly evening air. She didn't slow down until the cold wind bit at her cheeks and the castle was behind her. She needed space, air, freedom from the expectations that seemed to suffocate her inside those walls.
Her feet carried her instinctively to the one place she knew she could find solace: the town, the pub, where her friends waited, where she could shake off the weight of being the princess. The streets were bustling with the last traces of evening life, people hurrying to their homes as the sky darkened. But Emma kept her head down, pulling her jacket tighter around her.
The pub's door creaked open as she stepped inside, and the warmth, the noise, and the familiar faces greeted her instantly. This was where she could breathe—where she could laugh without worrying about royal decorum or the looming weight of expectations. Here, she wasn't the heir her father wished he didn't have; she was just Emma.
She headed to the back, where her friends were already gathered around a table, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow. Ruby noticed her immediately and waved her over. "There you are! I was wondering when you'd show up."
Emma forced a smile and slid into the chair beside her, though the conversation she'd overheard still lingered in the back of her mind like a dark cloud. She wanted to forget, wanted to escape into the jokes and stories that filled the pub, but her father's voice echoed in her ears, reminding her of how much she didn't fit into the world he wanted.
Ruby could sense the forced interactions from Emma. "What's got you down, Swan?" She waved a server down and grabbed two new pints of ale for the both of them, setting one down in front of herself and Emma. Emma took it graciously.
"I needed to get out of the castle," Emma said, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it onto the back of her chair. "Things are... complicated."
Ruby raised an eyebrow, glancing at Emma's tired eyes. "Complicated how?"
Emma hesitated, then shook her head. "It's nothing. Just... family stuff."
Ruby leaned back, crossing her arms. "Well, whatever it is, you're here now. So let's not think about it. At least not tonight."
Emma smiled weakly, grateful that a group saw her for who she was.
"A toast, then!" Ruby raised up her cup. "To the only girl for me, Emma Swan!"
The boys around the table whistled and hollered in approval. And when Ruby set down her now empty cup, she grabbed Emma's cheeks and pulled them to her. A long, ale stained kiss between them, and Emma's eyes widened at the sudden move. The boys cheered them on. And when Ruby pulled away, Emma's cheeks were flush as she looked around at everyone staring at them.
"Work harder, princess." Ruby slapped Emma on the leg and when a high tempo song started on the piano, Ruby jumped up and joined the small group dancing away in the middle of the pub.
Emma had many thoughts swirling in her head. But the one that kept getting stuck was… he wanted a son. And no matter how hard Emma tried, she could never be that.