Before She Cursed

Chapter 9

"I trust you've settled in?" Regina asks gently and Emma smiles at her softness.
"I have, thank you, your majesty." Emma responds shyly, sipping her wine as an excuse to gaze at the brunette and her ample cleavage so generously on show. "How are you?" The blonde ask's with genuine concern.
Regina meets Emma's eyes and raises an eyebrow slightly, smiling slightly back at her gaze.
"Well." She replies formally.
"Do you think it would be possible for me to write a letter? I just want to inform my parents that I'm ok. I'm sure they're worried." She chuckles a little nervously.
Regina looks surprised yet again.
"Someone will do that for you." She answers before turning back to her food.
"Thank you." Emma mutters gratefully.
Emma gazes at the brunette intensely, letting her mind run through the many things she wants to say to her right now but doesn't have the courage.
"You have something else to say, Em-ma?" She hears Regina's low tone snap her out of her thoughts. A blush suddenly spreads across her cheeks as she looks down.
"Sorry. I just..." Emma begins to play with her fingers nervously, feeling Regina's heavy gaze. "You look- beautiful."
Regina is visibly taken aback. She collects herself for a moment.
"Regal, is the word I believe you mean, dear." She shuffles in her seat slightly. She's uncomfortable. "That title is yours, not mine." You smile at her inability to take a compliment. "Something funny, Miss Swan?" She bristles.
"You're blushing." You grin.
"I am not." She intently denies. "A Queen doesn't blush." She scoffs.
"Well, I think you're beautiful." You shrug, reiterating the compliment. "And I think you should believe it too."
She finally looks to you, a raw emotion in her eyes.
She can see that you mean it.
"Why are you here?" She asks, as if she's breathless.
"I like to be with you. And... you brought me here." You answer nonchalantly. "...Don't you ever get lonely?"
She simply chuckles to herself, as if the answer to your question is obvious.
"When you have nothing to lose, you have everything to gain." She cryptically responds, deep in her own mind.
"But nothing to live for." You add with a softness. 
"You will be my harmatia." The Queen mutters to herself.

"Another drink?" She offers as she pours her own wine.
"Yes, please." You smile gratefully, watching her carefully. She sits and you try your best not to stare intently. "You know, I've never been someone's prisoner before and honestly... I could get used to this." You joke.
The Queen smiles and you admire her pearly teeth. Your heart picks up at the evidence of making her smile and you blush slightly.
"Yes, well, don't get to used to it, dear." She rolls her eyes playfully. "This is not the usual treatment. And trust me, there's been many."
"How many people have you killed?" Your thoughts blurt out your mouth before you can think.
Her face drops slightly, as if she's embarrassed.
"I..." she begins. "I couldn't say." She doesn't know.
"Did you ever want to kill me?" You follow up.
"No." She definitively answers. "I wanted to want to."
"What changed your mind?"
"I met you." She looks you in the eyes and you see the vulnerability within her own. "I spoke to you."
"I always heard so much about the big, bad, Evil Queen..." you begin.
"And it's all true." She ashamedly admits.
"But I don't think it is." You counter. "I see someone completely different to the woman in the tales." You look at her fondly.
"You're the only one." She almost sighs.
"I like that." You smile softly. "For now." She looks at you, a slight surprise once again.
She just looks at you, a smile present on her lips that speaks a thousand words you know she cannot bring herself to say, just yet.

The ornate ceiling above your bed captures your mind far more than sleep will ever manage in a place like this. The gold-leaf sculptures and battle paintings are tragically beautiful.
You sit up as you scan the rest of the room, a slight moonlight enabling you to take in brief details.
Your attention is then peaked by the motion of golden light and distant male voices passing your door.
"Her majesty is not to be questioned." A man bellows to another as their unison footsteps pass.
You decide to step out and explore... after all, you're not a traditional prisoner. Or at least, you hope.
You put a robe over your night dress and go out barefoot, concluding it's better to be quiet.
The stone cold floor makes you wince as you poke your head out to take a look.
The only thing in the corridor are the flickering candles, cascading a river of golden light down the pathway.
It's eerily peaceful.
You decide to go to right; the opposite way the guard's went.