Chapter Text
The portal grew. Green slashes of light whipped around in the whirlpool that threatened to claim her. Killian’s voice rang through heavy winds, but Emma couldn’t make out what he said. She gripped his hand with all the force she could muster, but the pull of the portal became too strong for anyone’s hold. Emma looked up, past wisps of green. She saw Killian struggle to keep her hand in his, to keep his hook lodged in the dirt. Behind him a silhouette appeared, rushing in with a steadfast assurance that she’d ravage whatever got in her way. Regina. She ran into the barn, hair in disarray, cheeks flushed, and eyes dripping in concern. Emma stared at her. She liked this image of her. A queen unveiled. Completely undone by worry.
But there was no use. Emma’s clammy hands couldn’t hold on much longer. Her fingers slipped from Killian’s grasp. The force of gravity yanked her into the void.
She fell to the ground. What ground? She couldn’t tell you. Her eyes were still clenched shut, but she felt the stab of dewy grass trying to poke through her fingers. The smell of humidity crept its way into her nose. From a distance, she could hear galloping and the shrill whine of a horse. Could it be? Had Zelena’s spell actually worked? She opened her eyes.
The Enchanted Forest. She really was here. Again. Only this time much further back in the past. She crawled behind a bush and looked around. A road weaved its way through dense woods and from the looks of it, it was pretty busy. Carriages rolled on either side, tugged in opposite directions from a horse’s saddle. Emma tried to get a sense of where—and when—the time portal had spit her out. Although, the trees gave her no clue to what her exact location might be, and with Emma’s little knowledge on Enchanted Forest fashion trends, pinpointing a specific year would be impossible unless she talked to someone. But who could she talk to? Emma wasn’t a magic pro yet, but she had seen enough time travel movies to know that you couldn’t just walk up to anyone and strike up a conversation. Especially not in a bright red leather jacket and 21st-century denim.
She crouched down as horses buckled past. Branches pricked her jeans. Through the bush, Emma spotted fragments of what looked like a guard sitting on top of his horse. They weren’t moving. The guard just sat, looking at the road like he was meant to survey it, like he was keeping an eye out for something. Other carriages swished by, riders nodding at the guard as they passed. His getup was different than everyone else’s. His armour was black from head to toe, and he wore a black helmet with silver linings and weird-looking frills that splayed out from the sides. Was it supposed to look like hair? Emma couldn’t tell. She never understood medieval fashion sense.
His face wasn’t visible through the dark mesh that covered it, and even though not an inch of skin peaked through metal and leather, people seemed to know exactly who he was. Or what he represented. But what made this part of the woods worth guarding? She inched towards another bush for a better view. A leather bag hung over the horse, just below the guard’s boot. There was a crest embroidered at the centre and what looked like a poster that poked through one of the pockets and drooped face up around the leather. Emma couldn’t quite make up the crest, but she didn’t need to. The poster’s image was clear as day. Her mother’s face displayed in stark black ink on crinkled beige paper, and the word “WANTED” plastered at the top. Emma knew exactly where she was.
She needed to tread carefully. The last thing she needed was for one of these weird hair-helmet guards to spot her and drag her straight to Regina. Back in Storybrooke, that may not have been the worst thing. Emma’s Regina had become somewhat of a guide, a mentor, a friend of some sorts, so naturally, she was the first person to call if ever something went wrong. This Regina, however, was far from the woman Emma had grown to care for. This Regina would likely throw her body in a cage and plant her head on a spike. Or maybe feed her to a pack of wolves. Either way, Emma wasn’t keen on finding out. She had to keep a low profile somehow if she was ever going to gather her thoughts and cook up whatever half-baked plan that would bring her closer to a way back home. Unfortunately, she wasn’t well versed in time travel, especially not in magical forests that were home to evil witches and wizards, and some very questionable creatures Emma didn’t necessarily want to meet again.
Wait. Wizards. Of course! How could Emma forget? Mr. Gold. He was here. Or a version of him at least. He would know what to do. If she could find him somehow, maybe he’d send her on her way back to the future. Emma snickered to herself. Back to the future. If Marty McFly could only see her now.
But before she could wander in the woods in search of Mr. Go—Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, she needed to ditch the jacket and jeans for something a little more Enchanted Foresty. Emma scanned the road as passersby came and went under the watchful eye of Regina’s guard. She spotted a clothesline further down with women’s clothing draped over the cord. The area seemed deserted, definitely less traffic, and the owner of said clothesline was nowhere in sight. She slipped past the line of bushed, crouching slightly to avoid someone catching sight of a blonde head bobbing through the trees. Her foot landed on a branch, cutting the silence with a loud crack. She froze. The guard snapped his head in Emma’s direction. She stayed still, her heart pounding in her chest. He turned back to the road and Emma let out a sigh of relief.
When she reached the clothesline, she grabbed whatever she could and slipped it on as quickly as possible. With the Enchanted Forest look in full effect, she dumped her clothes under a pile of leaves nearby. The outfit wasn’t as horrible as she thought. She wore a linen dress with a burgundy leather corset that hugged her torso, and did impressively well to compliment her chest, and a wool hooded shawl that wrapped around her shoulders. Not bad for a newbie. Now all she had to do was find Rumpelstiltskin. Simple enough right?
“Well, well, well, now what do we have here?” A childlike, sinister voice rang behind her.
Emma turned around. Her mouth fell open. “Mr. Go—I mean, Rumpelstiltskin. How did you—I was just about to—”
“That you were, dearie,” he said with the wave of his index finger. His scale-like skin glittered in the sunlight. “The question is, why?”
“I need your help.”
He giggled, tapping his fingers together like he thought of the most ingenious plan. “I thought you might.” He pressed his fingertips together as we walked around her. “Let me guess, you’re lost.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Emma watched him pace around her, his curly hair bouncing with each step. This Mr. Gold was a lot more…enthusiastic? “I need you to help me find a way back home.”
“And why should I do that?” He asked with a menacing smile plastered over his face.
“Because if you don’t, you’ll never see your son again.”
He shot his hand out, the smile vanished. An invisible grip tightened around her neck, lifting her off the ground. His magic squeezed the air out of her lungs. “What do you know of my son?”
“I….” Emma choked out. She tried to counter his magic using her own, but the force was too strong. “His name is Bealfire. I know he’s lost. In a land without magic.” Her throat closed up. She held her neck like ripping off his magic with her own two hands was a possibility. It was not. The air became so thin, her vision started to blur. “You’re…” she forced out. “Trying to find him. Regina…she’s going to enact your…curse.”
Rumpelstiltskin dropped his hand. Emma fell to the ground, air filling her lungs in a desperate plea. He moved towards her. “How could you possibly know all that? I haven’t even done it.”
Emma choked on the oxygen that rushed thought her. She steadied herself up, a raw soreness developing around her neck. “Because where I come from, it already happened. And I’m the one who breaks it.”
“If that were true, then that would mean—”
“I’m from the future.”
His eyes studied her. “But time travel hasn’t been done before.”
“Yea, well someone’s cracked that code.”
He wagged his finger at her. “Then why not save us all the trouble and simply go back?”
“It was kind of a one-way trip.” Emma rubbed her neck before looking up at him. She regained her breath. “Look, we both know how this works. The longer I’m here, the more likely it is that things will change. And if I don’t break the curse then—”
“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, pressing her to get on to more important matters. “My son, do I find him?”
Emma stood still, careful not to express any sort of emotion that may give away the tragedy of Neal’s sacrifice. His memory sat heavy in her chest.
“Answer me!”
“Yes,” Emma blurted out.
He joined his hands together, smiling into the empty space before him. “Bae.”
“Please, Mr. Go—Rumpelstiltskin. In order for things to play out as they did the first time, I need to leave,” Emma said, priding herself on the slight knowledge she had on time travel based on all the sci-fi movies she had watched as a kid, which in retrospect weren’t many, but she figured even one time travel movie gave you all the basic knowledge you needed.
“Right,” he drawled, rolling the “r” as he stroked his chin.
At the flick of his wrist, Emma could feel the warmth of his magic surround her, clouding over the clothes she had stolen. The linen dress and leather corset were swiftly replaced by black leather pants tucked into brown riding boots. A linen long-sleeved shirt draped over her, accompanied by the tight snug of a blue and brown leather vest. She admired her new outfit. This wasn’t bad. Much better than the cool draft that wafted up her dress earlier. But his magic still buzzed around her. She felt its soft haze covering the outer layers of her skin. “What did you do to me?”
“A glamour spell,” he said. He let out another giggle. “You can’t expect to walk around looking like yourself, can you? This way no one will recognize you from the past once you return home. Oh, and I’ve returned those ghastly rags, luckily before they were missed. I mean it’s a miracle the timeline hasn’t imploded already. Amateur.”
Maybe she needed a few more movies under her belt after all. Emma pressed her lips into a thin line.
“Now, you go on and do whatever is it is that people from the future do, preferably out of sight, while I consult a few things and work on getting a portal open.”
“But how will I—” He vanished in a cloud of purple smoke. “…find you.”
Well, that was hopeless. She still had no sure-fire way of getting home, this version of Mr. Gold was clearly off his rocker, and to top it all off, she had on a magical costume that made her look like someone else. If this wasn’t a recipe for disaster, she didn’t know what was.
Emma walked through an empty clearing of the forest, ruffling through fallen leaves. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going or what she was walking to, but staying still was not an option. If she had to spend one more moment twiddling her thumbs by the side of the road in hopes that Mr. Gold would come back, she’d probably lose her mind. So she kept walking. It was kind of peaceful if she removed the very real possibility of erasing her entire future from existence. The wind blowing through the trees, the bird chirping away, the sway of the wildflowers in the breeze, it was kind of like a really beautiful hike. In the middle of a fairytale land. Wearing a medieval riding outfit. At least there weren’t any ogres this time around.
Ahead, she spotted a barn. Or a stable? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like it belonged to anyone. The doors and windows were sealed off and the grass around it was overgrown. Surely no one would notice her if she chose to hide out there for a few days. Or however long it took Mr. Gold to send her out of here.
The door was stiff. It creaked and groaned as she tried to pry it open, but it didn’t budge. Emma banged on the chipped wood. Because sometimes smacking things in frustration did the trick, right? Apparently, the Enchanted Forest had its own rules. She let out a huff of air. Maybe if she tried—
“And just what do you think you’re doing, miss?”
Emma turned around. Two hair-helmet guards surrounded her, each sitting on a black horse. A picture of her mother hung from one of the side bags. Was this the same guard as earlier? Had they followed her? She held up her hands. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I was just—”
“Just trespassing on the Queen’s property is all?” The guard said. He looked at the man beside him. “Her Majesty is going to love this.”
“Wait what? How is this Regina’s property?” She asked. The whole area looked way too abandoned to belong to someone as meticulous as Regina.
“You hear that, Rivers? Looks like blondie over here is on a first-name basis with the Queen,” he said in a fit of laughter. He turned back to Emma. She could barely see his eyes through the mesh of his helmet. “Well, if that’s the case, I think her Majesty would quite enjoy a friendly reacquaintance.”
The horses moved in closer. Emma backed into the door. “Hold on. This is all just a misunderstanding. I’m not from here, I didn’t—”
“Shut it, blondie.” The guard hopped off the horse, keeping his grip firm over the handle of his sword. He grabbed her wrist.
Emma yanked herself free and elbowed him in the throat, b-lining towards the trees as he fell to the ground.
“Hey! Get back here!” The other guard lashed his lead ropes. Emma could hear the horse gallop from behind her. She wasn’t sure what the plan was, but being Regina’s prisoner was definitely not one of them.
She ran out of the clearing, into a condensed patch of forest. With all the trees and scattered branches, the horse wouldn’t be able to follow her in here. Which meant the guard needed to be on foot, making it easier for Emma to whack him with a stick.
She stood still behind a large tree trunk, listening as his feet hit the ground. Twigs crunched beneath his boots as he walked towards her. Emma slid down the trunk and picked up a thick branch, curling her fingers around it to ensure a tight grip. She may not have been able to wield a sword, but there were two things she did know how to handle: a gun and a baseball bat. This branch came in at a close third. When his footsteps came closer, she steadied herself, waiting for him to walk in line with the tree she was standing behind so she could strike. The crunches under his boots became louder, until finally she could hear the Darth-Vader-like breathing come through his helmet. Emma held her breath. Her heart banged in her chest as he moved towards her. The crunches were slower now, more precise, until finally she saw the tip of his boot creep up on the side. Without hesitation, she swung the branch, smashing it against the mesh of his helmet. He hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Emma exhaled, dropping the branch. “I gotta get the hell out of here.”
“Not today, blondie,” a voice said from behind her.
She turned around. Then everything went black.
Emma’s face was covered when she woke up. A rope was wrapped tight around her neck, likely securing what felt like a linen bag over the top of her head. The bones of her wrists clashed hard against metal shackles, as two guards held her up from either side. Her feet dragged over cold stone, but the guards’ footsteps echoed along the walls. It didn’t take eyes to see that Emma was now in the one place she wanted to avoid at all costs. Regina’s castle.
When they finally stopped walking, the guard ripped the linen bag off her head. Regina stood before them in a red, long-sleeved dress that poofed at the hips and dipped low enough at her chest to reveal the most perfect cleavage Emma had ever seen. The front of her dress dripped in silver embroidery, forming a V of diamonds from the neckline down to her waist. A thick necklace hung from her neck, a large jewel sinking into plump breasts. Emma couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Regina.”
The guard’s grip tightened around her arm.
“That’s a bit informal, don’t you think?” Regina snarled. She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin. “It’s, ‘Your Majesty.’”
“We caught this one near the stables,” the guard said. They threw her to the ground. Emma’s knees fell hard against the paved stone.
Regina smiled. Red lipstick spread from cheek to cheek. Her eyes glimmered with bloodlust as they darted around Emma’s face. She looked at the guards. “It seems she put up quite the fight too.”
Emma followed Regina’s gaze to the cuts and bruises on the guard’s face. Clearly those fancy hair-helmets were no match for a carefully curated branch. She laughed to herself.
“Rivers,” Regina said. She walked towards them, hands pressed together. “I take care of you, do I not?”
Rivers swallowed. “Yes, your Majesty.”
“I provide more than suitable quarters for you and your family on castle grounds, do I not?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“And I believe I’ve also made you head knight. One of the highest honours in the kingdom. Can you conquer?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“And what have I asked for in return?” She was beside him now, her face as hard as Emma’s ever seen it. The fear in his eyes practically leapt out and painted itself onto the stone wall. She circled them like a lion hunting its prey until she faced them again and Emma couldn’t get enough. Watching Regina make two men quiver in their boots sent a pleasant tingle in her chest. And to do it all in the constraint of that dress? Even more impressive.
“To kill Snow White,” he finally replied.
“Precisely,” Regina stepped forward. “So, imagine my disappointment when you instead show up with this peasant stable hand.”
Okay, harsh, but on a separate note, this Regina was kind of a badass. Not that her Regina wasn’t, but it had been a while since she’d seen this kind of dominating fire in her eyes.
"Your Majesty we simply—”
Regina waved him off. “Was she or was she not helping Snow White?”
“She was not but—”
“Then you and the stable hand now have something in common,” she said. “You’re both utterly useless to me.” Regina turned around, walking towards her vanity. “Release her and do your jobs before I rip your hearts out and do it myself.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
She was letting Emma go?
The guards seemed hesitant but they obeyed, proceeding to unbuckle her shackles and remove the rope around her neck. She got up, looking around the room to make sure she wasn’t imagining Regina’s act of mercy. The guards exited Regina’s chambers, motioning for Emma to follow them. She curtsied—if that was even considered a curtsy—and stumbled after them.
Luck must have been on her side.
“Not you,” she heard Regina say.
Or not.
Emma turned around. Regina smirked at her through the reflection of her mirror. She stood up from the vanity, fastening an earring that looked extremely heavy on the earlobes. “Have a seat.”
A velvet chair appeared at the wave of her hand. Emma sat down. Even in Storybrooke, she had a hard time ignoring the erotic thirst that coated her words, but Enchanted Forest Regina made it almost impossible.
Regina walked towards her, studying Emma from the ground up. “Who are you?”
“Em—” Emma stopped herself. She needed to think of a name and quick. “Princess Lea.”
Star Wars? Really? Such an obvious choice even for her.
“I see.” Regina smirked at her. “And what, may I ask, were you doing at the stables?”
Emma swallowed. “I was lost.”
“Hmm.” Regina’s eyes pierced into her, the smirk never fading from plump red lips.
There was something familiar in the way she looked at her. It made Emma’s cheeks fiery hot.
“Tell me, Princess Lea,” Regina purred. “Is it customary for the people in your kingdom to lose members of the royal family?”
The sun’s rays bounced off grey stone. Emma’s heartbeat drummed in her ears. “They didn’t lose me, I just…took a wrong turn.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who, ‘takes wrong turns.’” Regina strut behind the chair. She felt a swish of air swoop down her neck as Regina grazed her fingers along the velvet, circling Emma until she faced her again. “And you certainly don’t seem like the damsel in distress type. No. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Emma hated how easily Regina could read her, even back in Storybrooke. No lie she could ever come up with had ever gotten past her. Regina always knew. And she always locked her in with the same furrowed brows and pursed red lips. Some things, apparently, stay the same in all timelines. She met Regina’s stare. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Regina bent down, levelling her with an all-knowing grin. “Or perhaps you’re lying.” She brought Emma’s chin up with her index finger. Slow, steady. “Your name is not Lea, and you my dear, are far from royalty. Now…why don’t you tell me who you really are?”
God. This was so the opposite of staying out of sight. But Emma couldn’t help but fall into Regina’s seductive pull. “I already did.”
Regina laughed. “Adamant, are we? I can see why Rivers had a hard time with you.”
Emma watched as Regina walked back over to her vanity. She fashioned two crystal glasses at the flick of her wrist and poured brown liquor into each.
“Your glamour spell,” she said as she stirred the contents of the glass with a small silver spoon. Regina licked it dry. “You reek of it. You’re practically dripping in magic, dear.” She handed Emma a glass, her gaze challenging as it was curious. “Care to explain why?”
Well, shit. What good was a glamour spell if she was a walking fountain of magic? Was everyone able to tell? Or was it just those with magical abilities? And why hadn’t Mr. Gold thought of this when he cast the damned spell? Even with all the very valid questions running through her mind, Emma needed to stay cool and collected. She’s dealt with this version of Regina before, not quite as Evil Queen-y but Evil Mayor Regina was close enough. And if she was able to get Regina to warm up to her once, she could do it again, no matter what time period she was in. Emma took the glass, the smell of whiskey opening up her pores. “My reasons are my own.”
“That they are,” Regina said with a sultry grin.
Emma matched her stare, trying to remain equally as composed as the queen of composure herself, which even on a normal day was no easy task. They clinked their glasses together, fear quickly dissolving into a deep curiosity fizzing at the base of her stomach. Despite having called her a peasant stable hand, Regina’s eyes took her in like an equal, dancing across Emma’s face like she was something breathtakingly unexpected.
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been looking at Regina the same way.
Though she wasn’t exactly the Regina she had at home, Emma found bits of her in the way shards of vulnerability shimmered beneath guarded eyes, in the bits of uncertainty that she tucked within the veils of perceived clarity. And it was in those fleeting moments that Emma felt an ache tugging at her chest.
“However,” Regina countered. “Seeing as though you were found loitering on royal grounds, you’ve lost the right to privacy. So, if you’re not going to divulge the truth of your identity, I guess I’ll just have to unmask you myself.”
She brought up her palm, readying the magic that bloomed at the surface. Emma felt a cool draft on her thigh. She looked down. Rumpel’s magic faded, retreating up to her waist like a dissipating mist and revealing the blue of her 21st century denim. This couldn’t be happening. Emma needed to do something. Anything. She jolted upwards, whiskey sloshing out of the glass, and grabbed Regina’s forearm.
Regina’s magic faltered, which was good, but her piercing gaze shot daggers, which was, from any version of Regina, really, really, bad. But to Emma’s surprise, her own body was still intact. No fireballs, no invisible force crushing her neck, just Regina, frozen in Emma’s desperate grasp. Emma exhaled, meeting her sharp eyes with the most pleading look she could muster. “Regina…please.”
She ripped her arm out from Emma’s grip, but her gaze remained steady. The flashy smile flickered away into something more pensive, observing. “For a woman so keen on keeping their name a secret, you certainly have no trouble using mine.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m sorry, I…I guess you just…remind me of someone. It won’t happen again.”
“See to it that it doesn’t,” Regina said. She scanned Emma from the ground up. “Otherwise, I may not be so forgiving the next time.”
Emma looked at her. At the hard lines of vengeful anger that ran through olive skin. The ones that Regina had worked so hard to smooth away. She nodded. “Understood.”
A stranger. That’s who this Regina was. And as she strut back to the vanity to refill her glass, the train of her red dress dragging steadily across cold stone, Emma had to remind herself of that. She had to suppress the need to help her, the burning instinct to prevent any sort of pain and discomfort that was bound to come her way between now and her future in Storybrooke. That was one thing Marty Mcfly never warned anyone about. How difficult it was to let the people you care about experience all the awful things they were meant to experience even though you have the knowledge to help them. Emma guessed that wouldn’t have made for a successful sci-fi franchise, but it certainly would’ve helped her now, because as the seconds passed, it was getting harder to distinguish this Regina from her own, harder not to interact with her like she’s known her for over four years, to look at her like she wasn’t the mother of their son, to pretend like they hadn’t forged a protective bond between them.
Emma set her glass down on a nearby table. The stone walls shot upwards, supported by silver, metal beams forming a pointed arch at the ceiling. To her right, the floor stretched out into a large balcony, overlooking the palace grounds. The sun beamed in, burning away at the shadows that danced along dark walls, softening as it grazed Regina’s cheeks. Even in the Enchanted Forest the light seemed to bend and curve at Regina’s will, like it shone over the lands solely to reach her face. Looking at her now, all Emma could see in her mind were Regina’s hopeful eyes sparkling back at her in Storybrooke, a gaze that seemed so familiar and yet so hauntingly foreign even as the very same eyes stood before her. It made Emma’s stomach coil in ways she couldn’t ignore.
This Regina was a stranger. She needed to be. Their entire existence depended on it.
“Your true appearance,” Regina began. She looked down into the whiskey swirling around her glass. The jewels that outlined her chest glittered against the warm sunlight. “I suspect it’s important that it remains secret?”
Emma nodded.
“Why?”
“My life depends on it.”
Regina’s eyes met Emma’s in a guarded stare. “I gathered that much. Only a fool with a death wish would ever dream of laying a hand on me.”
“Right,” Emma said, shaking her head. But Regina’s familiar tone sent a wave of comfort through her. “I’m sorry about that. I gotta say, I was pretty shocked not to find my heart in your hands, or a fireball to the face, so…thank you for that.”
“I see my reputation precedes me,” Regina said.
“Well, don’t be too quick to thank me.” Regina’s lips curved slightly. “From where I’m standing, someone so reckless with the outcome of their life could only mean their life is in danger to begin with. Why should I get my hands dirty when it seems your fate has already been sealed?”
Under normal circumstances Emma would be extremely pissed. But right now? Regina’s twisted mentality might actually be the thing that saves her life. She put her hands on her hips. “I guess you have a point.”
Regina studied her. “So, what is it exactly that put you in such a…predicament?”
Emma sighed. There was only so much she could keep a secret until Regina decided it was enough. “Okay look, all I can tell you, without endangering both our lives, is that I’m from a different realm. And if I don’t get back home soon, people will die, including me.” That was one way of putting it. She thought of everyone back in Storybrooke, their smiles flitting across her mind. Her eyes stung with the prospect of never seeing them again. “I’ll lose everything.”
At that Regina’s hardened features slipped. Something in her eyes went blank, like it was no longer Emma in her view, but someone else entirely. The bold features of her face softened into something Emma wholeheartedly recognized, twisting her insides like she’d seen a ghost. Regina looked into her glass. “I know what that’s like.”
Emma remembered when Regina had shared that with her back in Storybrooke over dinner at Granny’s. About how losing Daniel made way for an endless journey of loss. About how in his death, any hope or dream of whatever life she had envisioned for herself had been stripped away, her freedom torched with a single match. She remembered the way she tried to keep her smile afloat as the story of her past flooded through her lips. The way the scar above her lip deepened as she spoke, as if it reacted to the fluctuating emotional pain that came with recounting a history buried deep inside her. She remembered how Regina’s hand grazed over hers, cupping her palm as if it sheltered her from heartache. And even now, Emma could feel the warmth that sprouted through as their fingers laced together so instinctively.
“Then you understand how important it is that my identity remains secret. The minute anyone finds out who I really am, I risk everything and everyone I love.”
“And you expect me to just adhere to this unbelievably theatrical tale?”
Emma’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t.” Her gaze melted into Regina’s, whose eyes undoubtedly caught sight of the growing worry within her own. They flashed a flicker of concern. “I don’t expect you to believe any of this. I just need you to trust me.”
“Fine,” Regina said flatly. She walked past Emma, towards the arched doorway that led into the hall. Emma’s eyes followed her. “I assume you’ll need a place to sleep in the meantime. I’ll fetch Rivers and he’ll escort you to your chambers.” She turned around, the sultry spread wide across her lips. “I’m sure there won’t be any hard feelings for…well you know…the large gash across his face.”
“Wait, what?” Emma couldn’t believe her ears. Out of every outrageous thing that’s happened to her today, this one definitely took the cake. “Just like that?”
Her eyes hovered over Emma, fliting down to her legs then back up to meet her gaze. “Let’s just say I’m feeling benevolent, and lucky for you, you’re not terribly offensive to look at, even if you are wearing a glamour spell.”
Leave it to Regina to make a compliment feel borderline insulting. But before Emma could say anything, Regina took a small step forward. “There’s something about you, Miss…well whoever you are, that I find intriguing, something I can’t quite place. But rest assured, if you so much as step one toe out of line, I will rip your heart out myself and watch with a smile as the life fades from your eyes before you can even think about drawing your next breath. Do I make myself clear?”
Emma swallowed. “Crystal.”
“Good.”
“And how do I know you’re not just gonna kill me anyway?” Emma asked.
Regina turned around one final time. She smirked, tilting her head to the side. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”