Chapter 7: A Final Deal
Regina sat in her study, her sanctuary of quiet amidst the chaos of the castle. The room was dimly lit, the warm flicker of firelight dancing on the walls, and for the first time all day, she allowed herself to exhale. The muffled sounds of the festivities had faded, leaving her in peace. These rare moments of solitude were her lifeline, a fleeting reminder of what her life had once been—free, unburdened, her own.
Her gaze drifted to the fire, her thoughts swirling with the enormity of what lay ahead. The next few weeks would decide everything, yet the decisions felt as though they weren't hers to make. One of these men would become her husband. The thought weighed on her like iron shackles. How could a tournament prove anything about their ability to rule, to lead? She clenched her jaw, frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. Would they rise to the occasion, or would they crumble under the pressure of the crown and the war? Was she choosing the salvation of her kingdom, or signing its death sentence?
The book in her lap, something she had tried and failed to read, slipped slightly as her hands relaxed. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, her imagination running wild with fears of the future. It wasn't until the soft sound of footsteps approached that she stirred, startled from her thoughts. The clinking of porcelain against silver breaking the silence.
"Busy day, thought you'd like some tea," came a familiar, cheerful voice.
Regina glanced up and saw Katherine's smile, warm and genuine, as comforting as the tea she offered. Katherine had been one of the few constants in Regina's life, her only true friend in a world that had demanded so much of her. They had grown up together, wild and free, until life had swept them in different directions. Regina's path had led her to the throne, while Katherine had managed to remain by her side, steadfast and loyal in a way few others dared to be.
"Katherine," Regina murmured, her voice soft with relief. "You always know when to show up."
Katherine shrugged, setting down the tray and settling herself into the chair beside Regina. "It's a talent," she replied with a grin, curling up near the fire with an ease that only Katherine could manage. The tea's steam wafted between them, mingling with the scent of wood smoke.
Regina placed her book aside, letting it slide onto the table as she reached for her cup. The warmth seeped into her hands, grounding her. "Thank you," she said simply, her gratitude deeper than the words implied.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the room. Katherine's presence was soothing, her quiet companionship a balm to Regina's restless mind. Finally, Regina sighed and leaned back in her chair, her eyes still on the flames. "These next few weeks… they'll take everything, won't they?" she asked quietly, almost to herself.
Katherine tilted her head, watching her friend carefully. "Only if you let them," she said softly. "You're stronger than all of this, Regina. You always have been."
Regina sighed, setting her teacup down with a clink. She leaned back in her chair, running her fingers through her dark hair, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't think any of these men have what it takes," she said, her tone laced with disdain. "They're all scraps from their families. Proud, uneducated, alcoholic, recluses, every single one of them. The best their kingdoms could muster to foist off onto me, hoping to win my throne with these games."
Katherine burst into laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained, cutting through Regina's brooding. "Oh, Regina," she said, shaking her head, "you're being so dramatic." She reached for her own teacup, taking a sip before fixing Regina with an amused look. "They can't all be that bad."
Regina raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You weren't there today," she said flatly. "Killian Jones swaggered in drunk, William Scarlett could barely bow without falling over, and Leroy… he brought an entire tribe of barbarians with him."
Katherine snorted, nearly choking on her tea. "Okay, fair point," she admitted, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "But what about the others? Surely one of them has something redeeming."
Regina hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I suppose Aladdin was tolerable," she finally muttered. "He has resources we could use in the war."
Katherine smirked knowingly. "Tolerable, huh? High praise coming from you."
Regina waved her off, but Katherine's expression shifted, her teasing smile taking on a more thoughtful edge. "You know," Katherine said, setting her cup down and leaning slightly forward, "If I may be so bold, August seems quite intriguing."
Regina's brow furrowed, surprise flickering across her face. "The unknown son of The Charmings? Snow's father couldn't steal the throne so they sent his ghost. He's nothing but a boy." she asked, her tone skeptical.
Katherine raised an eyebrow, her expression turning sly. "I've been hearing all kinds of things about him," she said, leaning slightly forward. "A few of the girls from the kitchen came in after he was introduced today—gossiping like their lives depended on it. They said he's the most handsome man in the realm." Katherine looked at Regina knowingly. "I also hear you questioned him most of all today."
Regina snorted, rolling her eyes. "Please," she said dismissively. But she couldn't stop the pause that followed, her mind wandering back to the moment August Charming had stepped into the hall. She wouldn't admit it out loud, not here, not now, but the girls weren't entirely wrong. If there was anyone among the suitors who caught her eye, it had been him.
She shook the thought away quickly, sitting straighter in her chair. "It's suspicious," she said firmly, her tone sharper. "No one knows who he is. What if he's not even their son? What if they've plucked some random man off the streets and dressed him up as royalty?"
Katherine's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Oh, Regina," she said lightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You always get defensive when you think too much." She tilted her head, watching her friend carefully. "Do you really think they just picked him up off the streets?"
Regina held Katherine's gaze for a moment before finally sighing, slumping back into her chair. "No," she admitted grudgingly. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her gown as she let the word settle between them.
Katherine's smile widened, triumphant but warm. "Didn't think so." She picked up her tea again, savoring the moment as Regina stared into the fire, clearly lost in thought.
Regina remained silent, but the truth lingered in her mind. He was handsome. And there was something about him, something she couldn't quite place—something that made her uneasy in ways she couldn't explain.
The morning sun bathed the castle grounds as the families gathered, their laughter and chatter filling the air. After a grand breakfast feast, the day turned toward preparation. The tournament's practice sessions began, each family taking turns at the various events to train their competitors and adjust their strategies. For most, it wasn't just about honing skills—it was a chance to observe the competition, to scout strengths and weaknesses, and, of course, to place their wagers. No tournament was complete without a bit of legal betting to heighten the stakes.
Emma stood at the edge of the grounds, her heart pounding so heavily that she could feel the thrum in her chest. She clenched and unclenched her fists, the unfamiliar strength of this new body sending jolts of nervous energy through her. This wasn't the body she had spent her life in—would it respond the way she needed it to? Could she wield this strength, this power, or would it betray her in the moments she needed it most?
Her eyes darted to the crowd gathered around the practice fields. Families and their entourages stood in clusters, their eyes locked on the competitors warming up. The energy was palpable, filled with anticipation and a touch of rivalry. As her gaze scanned the onlookers, it landed on a group of women standing near the edge of the crowd.
One of them caught her eye immediately. She was stunning, her beauty undeniable, with dark, playful eyes and a confident smile that could disarm even the steeliest of hearts. When the woman noticed Emma looking, she raised her hand in a flirtatious wave, her fingers curling in a subtle beckon.
Emma's breath hitched, her nerves twisting into a new kind of tension. She swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to her face, and quickly turned on her heel, walking in the opposite direction. She wasn't ready for that kind of attention. Not now, not ever—she reminded herself. There was too much at stake to get distracted. Still, she couldn't shake the image of the woman's teasing smile, the flicker of interest that had caught her entirely off guard.
Emma glanced back over her shoulder, relieved to see the woman's attention had shifted to someone else. She sighed softly, the tension in her chest easing. The last thing she needed was women fawning over her—it was a complication she couldn't afford. If she was going to earn Queen Regina's trust, she needed to stay focused, not entangled in flirtations.
As she turned back, she found herself near the edge of a sprawling practice field. Aladdin and Killian were locked in a spirited archery match. Aladdin's precision was impressive—his arrows consistently found their mark, each shot a testament to his skill. Killian, on the other hand, seemed more interested in testing how much rum he could drink between shots without losing all semblance of aim. His attempts were bold but reckless, and Emma winced as one of his arrows flew dangerously close to the edge of the field, causing a ripple of gasps from the spectators.
Emma's attention shifted to the figure standing beside her—a castle guard cloaked in navy, his armor polished to perfection. He stood silent and still, an imposing figure radiating a quiet authority. Feeling the awkwardness creeping in, Emma decided to lighten the mood with humor, even if it wasn't the time or place.
"So," she said, flashing a grin, "you come here often?"
The guard didn't move, didn't even glance her way. His stillness only made her more self-conscious. She cleared her throat, glancing around before continuing as though he had answered. "Yeah, me neither."
The man finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "We probably shouldn't be speaking to one another." His tone carried a quiet warning, as though their interaction could draw the wrong kind of attention. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked to another corner of the field, leaving Emma standing there, feeling both foolish and intrigued.
Emma froze at the sound of her name being called, the familiar voice cutting through the noise of the field. When she turned, she saw her father, King Charming, standing with a dark, broad-shouldered man at his side, a knowing smile on his face. The sight of him sent a surge of joy through her chest, and before she could think, she was sprinting toward them.
"Lancelot!" she cried, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. For a brief moment, the comfort of the past flooded over her—Lancelot, her father's trusted knight, had always been a source of strength and inspiration. But then, like a crashing wave, reality hit her. She wasn't Emma anymore.
She quickly stepped back, letting go, her face flushing with embarrassment. Lancelot and Charming exchanged a confused glance, their expressions mirroring the same unspoken question. Emma forced a nervous laugh, awkwardly stretching out a hand toward Lancelot to recover her composure. "Sorry about that," she said hastily. "The heat must be getting to me."
Lancelot's deep laugh filled the air as he clasped her hand firmly, his grip strong but warm. "If this heat is what's getting to you, then we have a lot of work ahead of us," he teased, his tone light but his eyes sharp, appraising her with the same scrutiny he had for every soldier he trained.
Emma grinned sheepishly, brushing her hair back and trying to ease her own tension. "I didn't expect you to be back so soon," she said, her voice steadying. "Last I heard, you were deep into ogre territory."
Lancelot glanced at Charming, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Your father sent me a letter," he explained. "Asked me to come home and train the future king. And, well—how could I resist?"
Emma felt a jolt of excitement at his words. Train the future king. That meant her—August. She had always admired Lancelot's skill and reputation, and now the idea of learning directly from him thrilled her. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and nerves, knowing that training under Lancelot would be no small feat.
"I can't wait to start," she said, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.
Lancelot chuckled again, clapping her on the shoulder. "Good," he said, his tone equal parts encouraging and challenging. "Because we're going to make sure you're ready for anything this tournament—and this kingdom—throws at you."
The Great Hall glittered with opulence, every surface gleaming with the light of chandeliers and the flicker of countless candles. Long tables were set with fine linens, golden plates, and goblets that sparkled as if enchanted. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation, the noble families mingling as music drifted softly from the corner of the room.
Emma followed her parents through the grandeur, her finest clothing fitting snugly against her new form. Her emerald cloak draped elegantly from her shoulders, a golden eagle embossed at the clasp—a detail her mother had insisted on. Snow fussed over her collar as they moved, her voice low but insistent. "You must dress for an impression, August. The queen will be watching."
Emma nodded dutifully, though her thoughts were a whirlwind. Each bow she offered as introductions were made, each polite word exchanged, felt stiff and rehearsed. The room was alive with faces, colors, and voices, but none of it truly registered. None of it mattered.
Until her eyes found her.
Emma stopped mid-step, as if tethered by an invisible force. Regina stood at the far end of the hall, near her throne, commanding the space with an elegance and confidence that stole the breath from Emma's lungs. She wore a long, figure-forming dress of deep red velvet, the fabric clinging to her curves and cascading like liquid fire to the floor. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline daring, with only the lightest jewelry gracing her collarbone. Her black hair tumbled in perfect spirals down her back, and her lips, painted a bold apple red, curved into a faint smile as she listened to someone speaking.
Emma's heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears as the rest of the room faded into nothing. Regina was a vision, a queen who seemed to defy the laws of reality with her beauty and presence. She was everything Emma had expected her to be—and far more.
As if sensing the weight of Emma's gaze, Regina turned her head, her dark eyes sweeping over the room until they landed squarely on her. For a brief, electric moment, their eyes locked. Emma swallowed hard, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar mixture of awe and panic. I'm in trouble, she thought, the words resounding like a warning.
She quickly averted her gaze, turning back to the conversation at hand, but it was too late. Regina had already captured her, and Emma knew she would carry the memory of that moment long after the night was over.
The Great Hall, though filled with laughter and clinking silverware, was an undercurrent of tension. Emma could feel it shift over the course of the meal, a subtle change in the air. The competitors, who had once flaunted their wealth and grandeur in grand gestures, were now leaning into hushed conversations, their heads close together. Their focus had sharpened, their intentions clear: They were here to win.
Emma's parents, meanwhile, were at ease. Snow and Charming laughed heartily with Killian's parents, reminiscing about Charming's time in the royal navy alongside Killian's father. The bond between the two families felt genuine, a rare display of warmth in a room otherwise heavy with rivalry. Emma couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly her father carried himself in this world. She wondered if she'd ever possess even a fraction of that confidence.
But as her parents chatted, Emma felt like a misfit, painfully aware of how out of place she was. The other men—actual princes, she reminded herself bitterly—moved through the room with a natural command. They snapped their fingers at servers, demanded their preferences without hesitation, and spoke with a sharp wit that made it clear they were used to being heard. They exuded confidence, a born-and-bred understanding of their roles that Emma could never fake. Despite her new body, despite how well she looked the part of a prince, inside, she was still Emma.
Would she ever truly be August? The question gnawed at her as she poked at her food. Could she play this part long enough to make it through the tournament? To achieve what she needed to and still feel like herself? Would she stay like this forever?
Lost in thought, she took a small, proper bite of her meal, only to look up and find Killian's gaze fixed on her from across the table. His dark eyes gleamed with curiosity and mischief, studying her like he was trying to figure out if she was worth his time. A smirk played on his lips as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying whatever he thought he'd discovered.
Emma's grip on her fork tightened, but before she could react, Killian reached for the small canister at his hip and held it out toward her. His grin widened as he tilted it slightly in invitation. "Rum?" he offered casually, his voice low and teasing. "Trust me, these gatherings are far more tolerable with enough of this in your system, mate."
Emma straightened her shoulders, holding up a hand in polite refusal. "No, thank you," she said firmly, hoping her tone sounded more confident than she felt.
Killian, sharp-eyed as ever, caught her staring. His smirk widened, and with a dramatic flourish, he lifted his left arm, revealing the curved hook that replaced his hand. The polished metal gleamed under the candlelight, and Emma's breath caught.
"Crocodile snatched it right off!" he announced, his voice filled with mock bravado as he flexed his arm, making the hook glint ominously. The declaration drew gasps and murmurs from a few nearby diners, though the ones familiar with his theatrics rolled their eyes.
Emma blinked, struggling to keep her expression neutral. "A… crocodile?" she repeated, unsure if he was joking or dead serious.
Killian leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Aye, a nasty beast," he said, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Took it clean off when I was just a lad. Lucky for me, it left the rest of me intact." He winked at a nearby woman, taking another casual swig from his canister of rum.
The table erupted into a mix of laughter and murmured disbelief, but Emma's stomach churned. Something about the way he said crocodile made her skin crawl. Her mind flashed back to Rumplestiltskin, his scaly hands, and his cryptic, unsettling grin. She forced herself to look away, her thoughts swirling.
Killian's smirk turned curious as he leaned forward, his sharp eyes fixed on Emma. "So," he drawled, his voice low but carrying just enough edge to draw attention. "What's your story, then? I've been hearing a lot of murmurs about you. Seems I'm not the only one surprised that the Charmings had a son. Funny thing is, I'd have thought I'd run into you before—a fight, a skirmish, something." He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. "But it's like you've appeared out of thin air."
Emma's heart pounded in her chest, her throat tightening as she swallowed hard. She felt like she was walking a tightrope, navigating holes in a story she hadn't prepared for. The potion had clearly worked its magic on those closest to her, altering their memories and perceptions, but for those who hadn't known her before, there was nothing to rewrite. To them, she was a complete stranger, her existence as August a fresh and curious mystery.
Her mind scrambled for an answer, some plausible explanation that wouldn't invite more questions, but before she could stammer a reply, the sharp clinking of glasses interrupted the moment. All eyes turned toward the head of the table, where Regina rose gracefully to her feet. The room quieted instantly, the weight of her presence commanding attention as she prepared to address the gathered families.
Emma exhaled in relief, her focus shifting from Killian to the queen. But the tension in her chest remained. This life is fragile, she thought. One slip, and it all comes crashing down.
And yet, as Regina began to speak, Emma found herself captivated once more, the queen's voice resonating with the kind of strength Emma could only dream of embodying.
Regina stood tall at the head of the table, her regal presence enough to command the attention of everyone in the hall. Her dark eyes swept across the room, lingering just long enough on each table to make every guest feel as though they were seen, valued. Her red velvet gown shimmered faintly in the flickering candlelight as she raised her glass, her voice smooth and deliberate.
"This night," she began, her tone carrying warmth tempered with authority, "is but the first of many we will share together as friends of my kingdom. It is a privilege to welcome you all into my castle, which, during your stay, will be at your service."
A polite ripple of applause followed her words, but the queen didn't falter. She continued, her gaze steady and unyielding. "Though I would dearly love to stay longer and enjoy this dinner among such esteemed company, I must beg your forgiveness. The days ahead promise challenges that will demand much of us all, and I would be remiss not to prepare myself accordingly."
With a graceful nod, she concluded, "Please, enjoy the rest of your evening. You are my honored guests, and I hope this night will serve as a reminder of the strength we share when we gather in unity."
Regina raised her glass slightly, a gesture mirrored by the room, and sipped before setting it down. She inclined her head politely before stepping back from the table, her movements as fluid and purposeful as her words.
Emma couldn't take her eyes off her, mesmerized by the queen's poise and presence. Even as Regina exited the hall, leaving behind the warmth of her speech, the room felt cooler without her commanding energy. Emma's mind raced with thoughts of her—of the confidence she exuded, of the impossible task that loomed in trying to win not just a competition, but the trust of a woman who seemed untouchable.
Emma winced as she rolled her shoulders, the ache of her evening training session with Lancelot lingering in every muscle. She hadn't expected her body to feel so worn, so alive with a kind of exhaustion she'd never known. The sword swings had been exhilarating, the chill of the evening air cooling her sweat-dampened skin as she pushed herself further than she thought possible. It felt good to feel strong, powerful even—but now, all she wanted was to collapse into bed.
Her stomach churned uneasily, the feast from earlier proving less of a comfort than she'd hoped. "Guess that's one way to work off dinner," she muttered to herself, rubbing her abdomen as she wandered the darkened castle halls, trying to recall the way back to her room.
The corridors stretched endlessly, each turn looking like the last. Just as she was about to give up and retrace her steps, a soft golden glow caught her eye. She paused, feeling the warmth of a fire waft through a partially open door. Curiosity tugged at her, and she stepped closer, poking her head inside.
The room was vast, the flickering firelight illuminating shelves upon shelves of books. The air carried the faint scent of parchment and leather, the unmistakable fragrance of wisdom and stories long kept hidden. Emma's breath caught in her throat as her jaw dropped, awe washing over her. She stepped inside slowly, her boots echoing softly on the stone floor.
She had never seen so many books in her life. They lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their spines creating a rainbow of aged leather and gold embossing. Some shelves were reachable only by ladders, their contents likely untouched for decades. The sight made her heart swell with a joy she hadn't felt in ages.
Emma stepped toward one of the towering shelves, her gaze scanning the rows of books. She reached out and pulled one down carefully, marveling at its pristine condition despite its age. It reminded her of the tomes in her father's library, though these seemed even more exquisite. A smile played on her lips as she let the book fall open in her hands, her fingers brushing across the delicate pages. The scent of old parchment and ink filled her senses, grounding her in a way she hadn't felt all day.
Her moment of peace was shattered when a voice spoke from behind her, soft but firm. "Can I help you?" Emma jumped, slamming the book shut with a snap and spinning around in alarm.
A slender blonde woman stood in the doorway, her arms folded lightly, a curious expression on her face. She was strikingly beautiful, her features sharp and elegant, with a presence that was calm yet commanding. Emma quickly slid the book back onto the shelf, feeling as though she'd been caught red-handed raiding the cookie jar.
"I'm so sorry," Emma stammered, her voice uneven as she glanced down at her rumpled attire, still bearing the marks of her evening training. "I got lost on my way back to my room, and… well, I didn't mean to intrude."
The woman's expression softened, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "It's quite alright," she said, her voice smooth and measured. "The castle can be a maze for those unfamiliar with it. Allow me to show you the way."
Emma hesitated, then nodded, wiping her dirty hands nervously on her shirt in an effort to appear presentable. "That would be… kind of you," she managed, still flustered. "Thank you."
The woman stepped closer, gesturing for Emma to follow her. As they walked, Emma couldn't help but glance at her from the corner of her eye. There was something poised and mysterious about her, something that made Emma wonder who she was and why she was wandering the castle so late at night. But for now, she kept her questions to herself, grateful for the guidance as she tried to shake the embarrassment of being caught so unprepared.
As they walked through the winding halls, the woman finally broke the silence. "So," she began, her tone casual but curious, "are you starting to feel settled here in the castle?"
Emma chuckled softly, running a hand through her hair in a nervous gesture. "If I can't even find my room, I'd say I still need a bit more time to get settled," she admitted. "The castle is… magnificent, but it's also a maze."
The woman laughed coolly, the sound light and effortless. "It does take time to grow accustomed to its vastness," she said, nodding in understanding. "When I first arrived, I got lost more times than I can count. But you'll learn the way soon enough." She gestured around as they walked, pointing out small markers—a particular painting here, an intricately carved statue there, even a set of armored sentinels. "See these? Use them as landmarks. They'll help guide you."
Emma listened intently, taking mental notes of the details the woman pointed out. The castle was starting to feel slightly less overwhelming, though she wasn't entirely confident she could navigate it on her own just yet.
They came upon a grand hallway, flanked by towering armored statues and real guards stationed at intervals. The walls on either side were adorned with regal paintings of a king and queen—figures who bore a striking resemblance to Regina. Emma slowed her pace, taking in the commanding portraits.
Her voice lowered slightly as though out of reverence. "The paintings are of her parents, the former king and queen. Her bedroom is just down there, three doors on the right." She gestured toward the far end of the hall.
Emma's gaze lingered on the hallway, her curiosity piqued. The portraits were haunting in their grandeur, and she found herself wondering more about the woman who had made such an impression on her earlier in the evening. She didn't even realize she had been staring until the woman beside her smiled knowingly.
"Interested?" the woman teased gently, her tone holding a hint of intrigue.
Emma cleared her throat, quickly averting her gaze. "It's impressive, that's all," she said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. She could feel her cheeks warming and hoped the dim lighting of the hallway hid it.
The woman continued to guide her through the castle, weaving through passageways Emma didn't recognize, but she didn't mind. The conversation was easy, and the woman's company was unexpectedly pleasant. Despite Emma's constant apologies for her disheveled appearance and possibly less-than-royal scent, the woman dismissed her concerns with a laugh and a wave.
"I've spent time in the barracks," she said with a smile. "Trust me, you smell much better than almost all the soldiers I've met."
Emma relaxed a little, and as they walked, the woman asked about her childhood, her ambitions, and her thoughts on the upcoming tournament. Emma, still guarded but feeling a surprising comfort, answered honestly. She maintained the royal demeanor she'd been practicing, careful not to betray her inner turmoil, but there was a naturalness to her responses that seemed to impress her guide.
"You're remarkably composed," the woman remarked, her voice thoughtful. "For someone under such pressure, and so young, you carry yourself well."
Emma couldn't help but smile, the compliment landing with more weight than she expected. "Thank you," she said softly. As they walked, Emma found herself opening up, the weight of the evening and her own thoughts spilling into the quiet conversation. "I see this competition as more than just a game," she said, her voice steady but earnest. "It shouldn't be about show, prestige, or prideful moments. It should mean something—be a way to make a real difference in the realm."
The woman turned her head slightly, her curiosity evident. "And what difference do you want to make?"
Emma paused, considering her words carefully. The firelight from a nearby torch flickered across her face as she met the woman's gaze. "Peace," she said honestly, her voice soft but resolute. "For everyone."
The woman's lips curved into a small, genuine smile. There was something almost knowing in her expression, but she didn't press further. Instead, she motioned to a door ahead. "Well, here we are," she said warmly.
Emma blinked, recognizing the door as her own. Relief and gratitude washed over her, and she turned to the woman, smiling genuinely. "Thank you," she said, her voice full of sincerity. "Really, I can't thank you enough for helping me. I'd probably have ended up in the gardens if you hadn't found me."
The woman chuckled softly, shaking her head. "It's no problem at all. Sometimes a walk through these halls is just what you need. Though the gardens are quite impressive this time of night as well."
Emma hesitated for a moment, then asked, "I didn't catch your name."
The woman smiled again, her voice light as she replied, "Katherine."
Emma nodded, committing the name to memory. "Thank you, Katherine. I hope we get the chance to talk again."
Katherine inclined her head, her blonde hair catching the faint glow of the torches. "Perhaps we will," she said, her tone enigmatic. With that, she turned and walked back down the hallway, her steps light and confident, leaving Emma standing at her door with a mix of exhaustion, gratitude, and newfound resolve.
Emma entered her room, her body heavy with exhaustion but her mind still buzzing with the events of the day. She barely glanced around as she made her way straight to the tub. The water, though once warm, had cooled during her training and walk, but she didn't care. Stripping off her clothes, she eased into the tub, relishing the sensation as the water wrapped around her skin. The ache in her muscles began to ease, the tension melting away as she let herself sink deeper into the soothing chill.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the quiet of her room and the stillness of the water settle over her. It was a rare moment of peace in the whirlwind her life had become.
After what felt like both a second and an eternity, Emma rose from the tub, water trickling down her toned form. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it securely around her waist, the sensation strangely liberating compared to the heavy robes she'd always worn. She smirked to herself, a fleeting thought crossing her mind. Why didn't everyone walk around like this? It was freeing, almost as if the towel was more fitting for this new version of herself.
As she passed by her bed, something caught her eye. A rolled parchment lay atop the neatly made covers, tied with a perfect red bow. Emma stopped, her brow furrowing. She could have sworn it hadn't been there when she came in—or maybe she had been too tired and distracted to notice.
Curiosity piqued, she reached for the parchment, her damp fingers hesitant against the smooth ribbon. Something about it felt… intentional, deliberate. The perfection of the bow, the placement on her bed—it wasn't just a random note. With a cautious tug, she untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment, her heart quickening as she prepared to read what it contained.
As the parchment unfurled in her hands, Emma's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted immediately to the bottom, where an unmistakable, looping signature glinted faintly in the firelight.
Rumplestiltskin.
Her heart began to pound, her mind racing as she clutched the parchment tighter. The weight of the name alone sent a chill down her spine, the memory of their encounter at the docks flashing vividly in her mind.
She forced herself to focus, her eyes scanning the text. The elegant, perfect script danced across the page, each word sinking into her consciousness like a stone dropped in still water. The document detailed their deal in meticulous, almost mocking precision—every clause, every condition, every consequence laid out in unnerving clarity.
Her senses lit up as she read the part she had dreaded most: Your life is no longer your own. It is borrowed, transformed by magic for as long as it serves the purpose it was meant for. Should you falter, hesitate, or attempt to undo the magic without fulfilling the terms, there will be a price.
Emma's hands trembled. She scanned further, her stomach twisting.
The parchment described her new identity as Prince August Charming in chilling detail—right down to fabricated memories she hadn't lived, people she didn't know but who would claim to know her. And there, nestled between the conditions and consequences, was an ominous clause: The potion's effects are finite, tied directly to the choices you make. To preserve what you have gained, you must tread carefully. To lose favor is to lose it all.
Her heart raced, her pulse deafening in her ears. The document didn't just reaffirm the stakes of the tournament or her newfound identity—it made clear just how fragile this illusion was. How easily it could all come crashing down.
Emma's hands trembled as her eyes returned to the parchment, catching more words that seemed to mock her every thought. Below the ominous warnings and clauses, a new line leapt out at her, written in the same flowing script:
"Should you wish to end the charade early, dearie, it's simple. Drink the second potion, and the magic will unravel. But beware—truths hidden will be truths revealed, and secrets will come to light. The price of freedom is the weight of discovery."
Her breath hitched as the meaning settled in. The letter wasn't just a reminder of her precarious position—it offered her a choice. She could end this now. She could drink the second potion, become Emma again, and walk away from the game. But at what cost? Everyone—the suitors, the nobles, her parents—would know the truth. The deception would unravel, leaving her exposed, judged, and cast out.
Her eyes skimmed the final lines:
"Two paths lie ahead of you, dearie. One, a life as King of the realm, shaping its destiny, but risking losing yourself in the process. The other, a life of truth, but as an outcast. And know this: the longer you wear this form, the harder it will be to remember who you truly are."
Emma sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of the parchment heavy in her hands. Two lives stretched ahead of her: one where she could seize power, lead the realm, and potentially make the changes she dreamed of—but at the cost of her identity. The other, a return to her truth, but with a price so steep it could cost her everything, including her place in the world.
Emma's eyes fell to her bedside table, and there it was—a new bottle of potion, glowing faintly in the dim light of her room. Its liquid swirled an icy blue, shimmering as if alive. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't need the letter to know what it was: her escape, her return to herself, her true self—Emma.
But the price…
Her throat tightened as she reached toward it, her hand stopping just short of touching the glass. The longer she stared at it, the more the words from the letter echoed in her mind. The longer you delay, the less of yourself you will remember.
Her fingers twitched as indecision gripped her. Could she just drink it? Walk away from this nightmare before it consumed her? Before it took everything?
A sudden, piercing scream shattered her thoughts. Emma staggered back, clutching her ears. But the scream wasn't external—it didn't echo through the halls. It came from inside her, tearing through her mind with such intensity that she fell to her knees. Her chest heaved, her breath ragged as the sound reverberated through her. It wasn't her voice… and yet it was.
Emma.
The name rang in her skull, raw and desperate, as if her true self were clawing to the surface, trying to escape the cage she had built around it. Her body trembled, beads of sweat breaking out across her skin as she pressed her palms harder against her ears, trying to block it out. Finally, the scream faded, leaving only silence—and the overwhelming sound of her heartbeat.
She gasped for air, her gaze snapping to the bottle again. Its soft glow seemed to pulse, the scream now faint, muffled as if coming from the liquid itself. The eerie sight made her stomach turn. She reached out with trembling hands, grabbed the bottle, and without another thought, shoved it into the drawer of her bedside table. Out of sight. Out of reach.
She slammed the drawer shut and pressed her back against the edge of the bed, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. The faint glow from the bottle seeped through the cracks, haunting her even as it was hidden away. Her hands curled into fists as she fought to steady herself.
"What have I done?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her racing heart.
The words repeated in her mind as she stared blankly at the floor, trapped between the person she was and the person she was becoming.