Chapter Text

I. Lamp

“You can't really be a genie.”

Regina, Princess of Hearts, frowns at the stranger before her. The woman may be unlike anyone she’s ever seen, with her hideous jacket and tight trousers, but she certainly doesn’t look like a wish-granting djinni.

She gives her unexpected companion another up-and-down glance, from the pair of thoroughly broken-in boots to the mane of straw-gold hair. On the other hand, Regina muses, the truly powerful can afford not to look the part. By those standards, this woman must be mighty indeed.

The self-proclaimed genie folds her arms, green eyes darting to the lamp in Regina’s hands—the lamp she emerged from just moments prior. Another small point in favor of her claim. “Expecting someone taller?” she laughs. “What, do you wish I’d popped out with a big ol’ musical number?” Her fingers wiggle through the air in a mocking gesture, thick bronze cuffs peeking out from her red leather sleeves.

“I—” Regina stops herself just in time. “I wish no such thing,” she growls, angry at the near slip.

The genie’s face cracks into a crooked smile. “Eh, worth a shot. So, you believe me now?”

“Not quite,” says the dark-haired woman, “but better safe than sorry.” She composes herself, squaring her shoulders and straightening her clothes. “It’s just... you don’t look much like an all-powerful desert spirit.” She’s far too pasty, for one.

“Right. I bet you get a ton of those around here,” the possible genie retorts, rolling her eyes. “And I’m hardly all-powerful. I can't make people fall in love. I can't change the past,” she lists, ticking the rules off on her fingers. “I can't kill or un-kill. And of course, I’m either stuck in the stupid lamp or granting wishes,” she grumbles. “Any more judgments, Your Highness?”

Regina fixes the restrictions in her memory before replying. “I only meant, shouldn’t you be more...” her eyes rove over the blonde once more, “more colorful?”

The other woman shrugs one shoulder. “Hey, I figured, ‘When in Wonderland...’ but if you insist.”

With a snap of her fingers, the genie is ten times larger and blue, legs replaced by a winding column of smoke. Her hair shrinks into a glossy black topknot, but the crimson jacket remains, clashing terrifically with her new hue. Behind Regina, Rocinante rears back, the horse mirroring her alarm at the sudden change.

Heart racing, Regina glances back toward the walls of Hearts’ Keep. “Stop that!” she hisses, reaching back to soothe her steed. “Do you want the guards to see you?”

“I’m a genie,” points out the genie. “What’re they gonna do to me?”

“It’s not what they’ll do to you that concerns me.” The princess drags a hand down her face. “Fine. Fine. I’m very impressed; are you happy now?”

Another snap, and her companion is back in human form with a smug look on her face. “Sort of, yeah. Aaanyway, if you're who you say you are, that makes your mother...” The genie taps her chin. “Queen of Hearts, Queen of Hearts… Carrie, right? No, Kara... Carla... Corolla?”

Regina is surprised that the grinding of her teeth doesn’t drown out the prattle. “Cora,” she snaps.

“That’s it. Real piece of work, I heard.” A wince flickers across the genie’s features, as if she’s finally remembered who she’s talking to.

Instinctively defensive, Regina opens her mouth, but for once her acid wit fails her. “Worse,” is what comes out instead. “Mother has magic. Maybe not as powerful as yours, but more than enough for her needs.” A hand rises to her upper arm, where the bruises from two days past are still tender.

“Right.” After a long, uneasy moment, the genie claps her hands. “Okay, down to business. You get three wishes, full stop, no exceptions; I've heard it all before, so don't even try. Previous terms apply, yadda yadda yadda... So, what’ll it be? Money?” A bulging pouch suddenly jingles in one hand. “Power?” A crown appears in the other. After a loaded pause, both vanish, replaced by a fan of glossy pamphlets and a meaningful look. “Vacation? Somewhere warm and sunny and very far away?”

“I...” Regina hesitates. This is longest conversation the princess has had—with someone who isn't her father—in what feels like years. Mother’s card soldiers are too terrified to speak with her, and the rest of Wonderland’s inhabitants rarely dare to venture onto palace grounds. “I’m afraid I’ll need time to decide.”

The genie sags. “You’re the boss,” she sighs. “I’ll just get back in the—”

“No!”

Her companion pauses, brows rising.

“I mean, there’s no need,” Regina is quick to amend, fidgeting with the hem of her riding jacket. “I was almost done with my daily ride. We can walk the rest of the way back.”

The suggestion seems to brighten the genie’s mood. “Be nice to stretch my legs,” she admits. With the hint of a smile, she sweeps out an arm. “After you, Your Highnessness.”

Feeling her own lips twitch in response, the princess turns away, nose rising. “Naturally,” Regina huffs, stalking off with Rocinante’s reins in one hand. “Come, genie. Attend your mistress.”

With an unladylike snort, her new acquaintance jogs to catch up. “I have a name, you know.”

Regina walks faster, pointedly not taking the bait.

“It’s Emma,” says the genie. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” she echoes, rolling the name across her tongue. “How... common.”

“I wasn’t always a genie,” defends the—defends Emma, a sulky edge to her tone. “I was cursed.”

“Well, I’m sure you deserved it,” snips Regina, anticipating an objection that never comes.

“A little, yeah,” admits the genie. “But I did what I had to do. My”—her easy tone falters for the barest sliver of a second—“friend would’ve died without that water. How was I supposed to know the stupid well was cursed? It’s not like they put up a sign.”

The princess merely hums in reply. She would never be so foolish. All magic comes with a price, she learned that long ago. Even wishing wells. “And your friend?”

“Huh?”

Regina sighs. “The one you stole the water for. Was it worth it, at least?”

“Oh. Yeah, definitely.” Though Emma’s voice is light, Regina doesn’t miss the regret lurking beneath the surface. “I made sure he got it before, you know, the genie thing kicked in. Sucks that I couldn’t stay longer, but He... he’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

She doesn’t offer more, and Regina honestly isn't interested enough to pry. Instead, the princess considers her newly acquired wishes, an infinity of possibilities opening before her mind’s eye.

If I use them just right...

II. Cora

“Is it a horse?”

“No.”

“A mountain?”

“No.”

“A carriage, then.”

“A carriage?” Regina finally looks up from her painting—one of the few Mother-approved pastimes that isn't tearing out hearts, chopping off heads, or playing croquet with exotic birds—with bared teeth. “It looks nothing like a—” She cuts herself off, finally registering the look on Emma’s face. The corner of her mouth is twitching, the genie drinking in Regina’s ire with playful eyes. “Never mind,” she snaps. “Just be silent, Miss Swan.”

For a blessed moment, her order is obeyed. But only for a moment.

“Hooonk.”

Regina turns, paintbrush in hand, and glares into the beady eyes of... an actual swan. “You’re not funny,” says the princess, turning back to her painting before she starts to smile.

“Is it a ship?” guesses Emma, snapping back to human form. Regina feels the vein in her forehead pulse, any amusement fading fast.

“A tree!” she spits. “It’s meant to be an apple tree—that tree!”

The genie lets out a dubious hum, head craning back to follow Regina’s outthrust brush. The subject of the portrait towers above her, its lowest branches nearly brushing her hair. For a long moment, she takes it in. Then, slowly, deliberately, she looks back at the canvas.

“I’ve got another idea for your first wish.”

Regina silences her with a look. “Stop trying to pressure me. I’ll make my wishes when I’m good and ready.”

“They're just suggestions,” claims Emma, shrugging. “I’ve had dozens of masters and mistresses, and the clever ones are always crap at making up their minds.”

“Hmph.” Regina feels her cheeks warm at the sideways compliment. “Last week you ‘suggested’ that I fritter away a wish for some sugary pastry. What do you call that?”

“An honest opinion,” the genie claims. “And not fritters, bear claws. You’ve obviously never had one of Granny’s; they're totally worth some genie magic.”

Before Regina can retort, the sound of clattering metal enters the courtyard, soon followed by a troop of card soldiers. “The Queen of Hearts!” one of them proclaims, he and his fellows forming into two columns flanking the entryway.

Her Majesty Cora, Queen of Hearts, glides down the aisle of her guards. “Painting, Regina?” she calls. “Good. You could certainly use the practice.”

Emma’s criticism had been irritating enough, but delivered by Cora it cuts far deeper. Today, though, the sting is fleeting; today she has bigger things to worry about. Regina fights to keep her hands steady as she sets down brush and palette, eyes tight with fear. If the queen realizes who Emma is, what she is, then—

But when she risks a glance at the genie, her usual jacket and pants are nowhere to be found. A bland servant’s frock takes their place, its billowing sleeves concealing her bracelets while a bonnet covers her golden hair.

“And who is this?” asks Cora, the words low and sweet. “I thought you’d outgrown nursemaids, dear.”

“Just a handmaiden.” Regina forces her gaze to slide over Emma. “I needed one to fetch water for my brush. What are you doing here, Mother?”

Cora picks her way across the grass, circling her daughter like a shark. “You’ve been awfully withdrawn these past few weeks. Can't a mother seek to spend time with her daughter?”

You never have before, Regina broods, but doesn’t dare voice the thought aloud. “I’m perfectly well,” she deflects. “I’ve just been spending some time with Father, that’s all.”

She hasn’t, but Daddy is sure to back up her story—if Mother even bothers to ask him. Cora always avoids her husband if she can help it. The queen’s narrowed eyes are chilling, but Regina manages to keep a straight face until her mother loses interest and struts away. Her cards-at-arms follow, marching out of the courtyard as quickly as they arrived.

When the Queen of Hearts leaves earshot, Emma lets out a long breath. “So that was Cora.”

Regina doesn’t reply. She managed to keep the genie away from her mother for the past few weeks, but that was never going to last.

“I gotta say,” Emma goes on. “I know what my first wish would be.”

Regina’s fingers twist into her dress. “If I’m not careful, she’ll just track me down and drag me back.” The latter is not entirely a figure of speech, as years of faded marks can attest. “I won't have your wishes to protect me forever.”

“You’ve got them for now, though!” Emma’s voice has changed, growing tinny. When Regina turns to look, she sees a figure in full armor, a swan painted—badly—across the ivory breastplate. “I live to serve, O mistress mine.”

The visor flips up to bare a lopsided grin, and this time Regina can't hide the answering quirk of her own mouth. “Stop that,” she orders, wiping the smile away. “Someone will see.”

Emma’s armor disperses in a puff of pale smoke, but the grin remains as she dips into a wobbly bow.

“As you wish.”

III. Wish

“My last master, Aladdin, was supposed to free me, but he botched something in his final wish. Ended up sending me here instead.”

Regina blinks at the genie floating abreast of Rocinante. “How?” she wonders, nudging the horse into a gallop.

Her companion easily keeps pace, the blonde’s legs replaced by a curl of white smoke. “Believe me,” says Emma, “I’d love to know. I mean, Al can be a bit thick, but he’s a good guy.” She frowns. “Can't imagine how he botched ‘Genie, I wish you were free.’ Something must have happened, but I was in the lamp at the time. Acoustics aren’t great in there.”

The princess lets her hand drift to the saddlebag where said lamp currently resides. She hasn’t let it out of arm’s reach since the day they met. “That’s assuming he truly meant to free you,” Regina mutters. “If I were in his position—”

Something flashes over Emma’s face, and the brunette cuts herself off. She doesn’t want to upset Emma, but she won't give her false hope, either. Escaping her mother will most likely consume all three of Regina’s wishes, and she won't give up her only chance at freedom, no matter how glum the genie’s eyes grow.

Proving herself to be not entirely lacking in tact, Emma doesn’t press the subject. When she lapses into silence, Regina is happy to follow suit, savoring the breeze as they ride around the border of the royal estate. Mother has a guest today, so they’re taking the long route, giving the queen’s hedge maze a wide berth.

“A genie’s life ain’t all bad,” Emma muses several minutes later. “You get to travel the realms, meet new and interesting people—” Regina jerks up a hand, and the genie cuts off, concern twisting her features. “What? What did I say?”

“How should I know? I wasn’t listening. Did you hear that?”

As the genie pouts, Regina hears it again. “Help!” comes a faint voice. “Anyone, please—oh, bollocks—Help!”

Regina urges Rocinante to a nearby thicket of trees, dismounting as they reach the edge. “Someone’s been caught in the Mallow Marsh,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “Trespassers, most likely.”

“Sorry, caught in the what?”

“You’ll see.”

Within the grove is a pool of thick white sludge, and within the pool is a man. Already sunk up to his waist, he waves as they approach, managing a weak grin for the brunette. “Princess,” he gasps. “My, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Again, Knave?” Regina sighs.

“Will? Will Scarlet?” Emma blurts in the same instant.

The knave squints. “Swan? What’re you doing in Wonderland?”

Regina glances between them, lips flattening. “You know each other?” A possessive note threatens to rise in her voice, and she wastes no time in stomping it down.

“We’ve met, yeah. Crossed paths back in Sherwood, oh... three years back?” The knave’s explanation breaks off as he sinks further, now submerged up to his armpits. “More importantly, how’s about getting me free?”

Not waiting for permission, Emma tugs off that horrid jacket and steps forward. Regina clears her throat. “I haven't made any wishes,” she reminds the genie.

“Who needs wishes?” She feels one brow arch as Emma yanks at a hanging vine, tearing the creeper loose and throwing one end to the trapped knave. “Grab on, Will!”

Regina frowns, but stands back, watching the flex of Emma’s bared shoulders with quiet appreciation. The knave is soon freed, and she dons a bored expression when they both turn back to her. “What brings you to my property this time?” she demands. “After the doorknobs again?”

Will stoops to flick chunks of marshmallow from his ragged trousers. “Nah,” he grunts. “I’m here to see an old friend. More than a friend, actually.”

“I’m flattered, but—”

“Not you,” scoffs the knave. “Anastasia. Where is she?”

“The Red Queen?” Regina cocks her head. “She’s with Mother in the maze. But you don’t want to disturb them.”

“That I do not. I like my heart where it is, thank you very much.” He scuffs one boot against the dirt. “Ana and I are on the outs, anyway. But I have to see her. Just for a moment, just to see she’s happy.” His voice drops to a surly mutter. “Then I can leave this poxy nonsense realm.”

Emma shrugs back into her jacket, toned arms vanishing beneath the leather. “Never took you for a stalker, Will.”

“I’m not a—” The knave pauses. “Well, yeah, I am a bit, aren’t I? It’s all out of love, though; that’s gotta count for something.”

“It doesn’t,” says Regina.

Will shrugs, unconcerned. “Whatever you say, Your Highness. You going to let me by or not?”

Emma looks at the princess, and Regina scowls.

“No,” she snaps. “Absolutely not.”

.

.

Minutes later, they’re deep inside Cora’s hedge maze. With Rocinante tied up at the entrance, the trio are all on foot, giving Regina plenty of time to glower at Emma’s back as they plod along. Oblivious, the genie strolls ahead with the knave, thick as the thieves they are.

“Still a genie, eh?” Will is saying. “Bad luck there, Swan. How’s the latest boss?”

The princess meets Emma’s backward glance with an indifferent stare. “She’s not half bad,” the genie replies, grinning over her shoulder. “Taking her own sweet time with those wishes, though.”

“Quiet,” Regina hisses. “We must be close.”

Sure enough, once her companions have gone silent, they hear the clinks and clatters of an afternoon tea party drifting through the thorny corridors. Lips sealed, they creep toward the sound, stepping up to the hedge and finding gaps through which they can eavesdrop. What they hear, though, brings none of them any comfort.

You remind me of myself, Cora says, and Emma wrinkles her nose.

I see your potential, Cora says, and Will’s shoulders slump.

My own daughter’s been a disappointment, Cora says, and Regina feels her nails dig into her palms. Turning away from the hedge, the brunette locks eyes with Emma, whose gaze is so full of understanding that she immediately swings her head in the other direction... and locks eyes with Will, whose gaze is full of plain awkwardness.

“That’s rough, Princess,” he whispers, and she jerks away from the hedge altogether.

On the other side, her mother’s poisonous murmurs continue. The worst part is how the Red Queen just eats it all up. Regina grew up surrounded by Cora’s cruelty, and even she still craves her mother’s esteem. Anastasia, a few years older but with no inkling of Cora’s true nature, is helpless before the more experienced queen and her honeyed words, her promises chained to unspoken prices. Most of all, she has no idea how little Cora must think of her. Regina knows her mother well enough to be sure she’d never teach magic to someone who could prove a threat. Anastasia may be a queen in her own lands, but to Cora she’s nothing but a pawn.

“Fool.” The princess paces, muttering more to herself than anyone else, “I just wish”—Emma’s face contorts in a warning grimace, but Regina doesn’t notice before the damning words slip past her lips—“she knew who she was dealing with.”

Realization strikes a heartbeat too late, and Regina claps a hand over her own mouth. She watches in horror as the genie raises an unwilling hand, flicks it... and sends Will crashing through the hedge.

“My, what have we here?”

“Will?”

Cora and the Red Queen speak over one another as the knave stumbles to a halt before their table. Frantic, Regina starts for the new gap in the hedge, only to be frozen in her tracks by a trembling Emma. I’m sorry, the genie mouths, a slave to her own power.

“Must’ve taken a wrong turn at the Tulgey Wood,” attempts the knave, taking a large step back. “I’ll just be on my—Hurrk.” Through the hole, Regina sees his feet leave the ground, her mother holding him aloft with the crook of a finger.

“Anastasia, do you know this man?”

“He’s no one,” insists the Red Queen, eyes darting away. She’s risen from her chair, hovering by Cora’s side with fretting hands.

The Queen of Hearts smiles. “Is that so?” In the time it takes to speak the words, her hand finds its way inside Will’s chest. “Friends don’t keep secrets from each other, Anastasia. And you're a terrible liar.” Her arm withdraws with a sickening squelch, and the knave’s heart beats in her palm, pulsing Scarlet as he gasps.

“No,” the young queen whispers, and Cora giggles.

“Calm yourself, my dear, I’m not going to kill him.” She turns the heart over in her hand, drawing another grunt of pain from the knave. “No, he’ll make an excellent addition to my collection.”

Regina feels numb even after Emma’s magic releases her limbs, the genie tugging her away as soon as they are freed. As they leave the scene behind, the princess hears a choked noise tear from Emma’s throat.

“Shit,” mutters the genie.

Regina has to agree.

IV. Henry

Emma retreats to her lamp for nearly a week after that disastrous first wish, leaving Regina to seek guidance from her only other ally in the palace.

“Daddy, I don’t know what to do.”

Henry, King of Hearts, looks up at his daughter, one elbow propped on the arm of his throne. Like the man himself, the seat is only a few inches in height, miniscule beside the full-sized but currently vacant seat of his wife. Cora miniaturized the king long ago, and the spell stuck, trapping Regina’s father at his current stature.

“The answer is clear,” King Henry says. “You must use these last two wishes to get far, far away from here—from Cora.”

“What about the Knave?” she objects, guilt gnawing at her heart at the thought of Will’s current state. The man was grating and irreverent, but he never hated or feared her like Cora’s other subjects. She doubts that is still the case. “What about you?”

Her father shakes his head, a solemn expression on his jowled face. “I’ve lived with your mother for decades, my darling. Endured her. Ruled alongside her. Without my pardons, half of Wonderland would be headless by now.”

“The half that’s not already heartless?” Regina points out. “Daddy, you can't control Mother. No one can.”

“I know,” he says, face sagging even further. “Be that as it may, I’m not going anywhere. These were my people, once.”

She turns on her heel, pacing in tight circles before the thrones. One hand dips into the folds of her dress, finding the hidden pocket weighed down by the genie’s lamp. “I just... I don’t know what to do,” Regina repeats. “I’ve dreamed of freedom for so long, but now that I finally have a chance...” She falters, unable to put words to the ache in her breast. “Even with Emma—”

For the first time in days, white smoke billows from Emma’s vessel at the sound of her name. In moments, the cloud congeals into the genie’s sulky silhouette, red jacket drawn tight around folded arms. “Regina, what do you—” She notices the king and stops short, her handmaiden’s disguise springing into place fast enough to give an observer whiplash. “I mean, uh... Who’s Regina? Where am I? Golly, was that magic? Goodness gracious—”

“He knows everything.” Regina’s sigh puts an end to the genie’s ineffective waffling. “Miss Swan, meet my father, the King of Hearts.”

Emma looks at the ankle-high king. Looks back at Regina. Opens her mouth, catches the other woman’s glare, and visibly swallows her words. “Nice to meet you,” the genie mutters.

“A pleasure.” King Henry strokes a hand through his mutton chops. “Although... you certainly don’t look like a genie.”

“Huh. There’s the resemblance.” Emma manages a thin smile. “Regina said the same thing, Your Majesty. I’ll take it as a compliment.” Pleasantries exchanged, the genie wanders off to inspect a nearby tapestry. It’s a clear attempt to dodge further conversation, an attempt that would be more effective if the blonde displayed any prior interest in the castle’s décor... or if the tapestry she chose to peruse wasn't a tablecloth hung out to dry.

Regina’s gaze follows the genie, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Emma shouldn’t feel guilty: Will’s fate was entirely Regina’s fault. And Mother’s, of course, but that can be said about most things in this realm.

As if triggered by the stray thought, the doors to the throne room fly open, admitting the Queen of Hearts herself. Cora is tailed by her usual cadre of animate playing cards, led by her newest toy, the Knave of Hearts. Will’s eyes are dull as he marches in lockstep with the rest of Cora’s guard, his old clothes replaced by a too-crisp uniform.

“There you are,” calls the queen, sweeping toward the thrones. Her eyes barely pause over Emma or her husband, sparing the king just as little thought as the supposed servant. “Regina, I’ve been trying to speak with you for days. It’s as if you exist to vex me.” She flutters a hand as the princess opens her mouth. “No, don’t waste time with excuses. I have come to inform you that we shall be hosting a ball. You will attend.”

Regina feels the hairs rise on the nape of her neck. “Whatever for?” she asks, dreading the answer.

Cora’s red-painted smile curls up at the ends. “Why, to find you a match! I met with the new Red Queen just last week”—Emma and Regina both tense at the reminder, though Cora’s tone remains as light as one discussing the weather—“and if that girl could land a king, a daughter of mine can surely do even better.”

“We’re already royalty, Mother.”

“One can never have too much power, my darling girl,” chuckles Cora, linking her arm through Regina’s. “They will have to be noble, of course, but you are correct: we can afford to widen our net. Someone with military might, I think. Or huge tracts of land. Or—”

Before Regina can screw up the courage to object, King Henry clears his throat. “Dear, perhaps Regina will find love in her own time. Our daughter—”

“Love?” scoffs his wife. “Whoever mentioned love? Love is fickle, fleeting, nothing but weakness. Power is everything.”

“Cora, be reasonable.”

The Queen of Hearts aims a look of ill-concealed distaste at her husband. “Enough, Henry. I will not be interrup—”

A gasp echoes about the throne room, cut short a moment too late. Cora’s eyes snap to Emma, and Regina’s spine turns to ice, the princess locking gazes with the genie over her mother’s shoulder. Thankfully Emma grasps the message in her eyes, shrinking into her disguise with a quivering curtsy. “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. I... lost my balance.”

To Regina’s dismay, Cora looks less than convinced. “You again,” the queen purrs. “Mind your place, serving girl. Don’t think I haven't noticed you trailing after my daughter like a lovestruck duckling.”

Regina stifles a grimace. Her mother has deeply misunderstood the situation, but at least it’s better than the truth. “Mother—” she begins just as Emma attempts a grin and says, “That’s ridicu—”

Knowing Cora, it’s little surprise when the queen thrusts out a hand and pins Emma against the nearest wall. Regina feels a bolt of reflexive terror—until she catches the flutter of a wink just before the genie cries out in mock terror.

“Aaah,” comes the halfhearted wail. “Oooh. Ouch. Aagh. Please, please, no,” she says. “Your Majesty, I’ll do anything.”

Rather unconvincing mock terror at that. While Regina blinks, caught between fear and laughter, Cora’s own teeth flash with triumph. After decades of tormenting her way across Wonderland, the Queen of Hearts is all too willing to accept even this lackluster performance. “Yes,” she coos. “I know you will.”

When her mother turns, Regina twists her almost-grin into a sneer. “Ridiculous.” The word rings cold in her own ears. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’d never dally with someone so... beneath me.”

Hey! Emma mouths, still trapped against the wall.

“Indeed.” Cora strokes her daughter’s arm as she releases her hold on Emma. Unseen by the queen, the blonde drops, catches herself neatly on one foot, then collapses dramatically to the floor. “I raised you well, my dear.”

Regina pastes on a smile.

“Yes, Mother.”

V. Guests

By the eve of Mother’s matchmaking ball, Emma has returned to spending all the time she can outside her lamp, though her antics are now shaded by a healthy dose of caution. For her part, Regina... tolerates the other woman’s presence, suffering through Emma’s buffoonery for the sake of the rare occasions when she almost approaches wit.

The genie still insists on shouldering all the blame for Will’s fate, though Regina knows that it rightfully belongs to her. She made the wish. Her mother did the deed. And even now, she is the one holding Emma back from doing anything to free the knave.

Were it up to Emma, Will would have been sprung from the queen’s clutches long ago. However, Emma can do nothing without Regina’s approval, and the princess has not dared to loosen her leash. She knows that she cannot risk Cora learning the truth, but that makes it no easier to stomach the fact that her selfishness is keeping an innocent man—well, not innocent. A less-than-deserving man, perhaps—under Cora’s thumb.

Dreading this ball has almost been a relief. At least the terror takes her mind off of the guilt.

“Camelot.” Emma lounges on the balcony attached to Regina’s chambers, heckling the carriages that roll up to Hearts’ Keep. The genie’s travels have given her a unique perspective on the various realms, and her commentary is a silver lining on this wretched night. “You wouldn’t believe the gossip passed around that famous Round Table. Did you know that Sir Gawain wears ladies’ underwear?”

“And their king?” Regina watches the genie’s reflection move across the mirror on her dressing table, momentarily distracted from her preparations. “Is he... kind?”

Emma’s wince says all she needs to know. “Nope,” the genie answers honestly. “Bit of a prick, really. He’s married, though, so you won't have worry about him.” A finger taps her chin. “Actually, Arthur might still show up—like I said, a prick.”

Scowling, Regina settles a tiara atop her styled locks, lip curling at the crown’s heart-cut gems. It may be Mother’s motif, but sometimes the incessant branding is just plain tacky. “Wonderful.”

“Hey, hey.” Emma vaults off her perch on the railing, arms swinging loose as she lopes toward the princess. “Lighten up, Your Highness.”

“Lighten up?” Regina sneers. “I’m sorry, have you missed the part where I’m about to become a gold-digger by proxy?”

This only makes the genie snicker. “No you're not.” With a poof, she is standing beside a swinging chalkboard. “Three wishes,” Emma explains, numbers appearing on the board as she speaks, “minus one wish, equals two wishes.” She snaps her fingers, and a circle is drawn around the 2. “The math’s tricky, I know, but I think it works out.”

The princess rises to her feet, unamused. Her dress—a lacy periwinkle monstrosity assigned by Mother—crinkles alarmingly as she stomps forward and shoves the top of the chalkboard, swinging the bottom forward to smack into the seat of Emma’s trousers.

“I’m just trying to help,” whines the genie, rubbing her ass. “You're not marrying any of those vultures, I promise.” She shuffles her booted feet. “Unless you end up liking one, or whatever.”

“Unlikely.” Regina’s instant rebuttal brings a half-smile to Emma’s lips. “I’ll play along, but only until Mother lets her guard down. I’ve...” For a moment she hesitates, mostly out of habit. “I’ve been considering which land I’ll wish myself to.”

“Oh?”

But the princess remains close-lipped. “You’ll see,” is all she says as she rises, finally prepared for her grand entrance. Or at least as prepared as she can get.

Much to Regina’s relief, King Arthur has not deigned to attend. Instead, Camelot has sent its champion, a tall, broad knight named Lancelot that Cora immediately pronounces unsuitable. Nevertheless, the princess finds herself enjoying their conversation, accepting his offer of a dance despite her mother’s grumblings.

After the knight, she dances with a fairy from Neverland, a sheriff from Sherwood, and a dozen interchangeable princes and princesses before a familiar voice brushes her ear.

“I’ve got next.”

Though the phrasing puts Regina’s teeth on edge, her current square-jawed prince bows out gracefully. As Emma takes his place, the princess manages a smile—for a certain definition of “smile,” that is—reprimand already assembling on her tongue.

Then she actually looks at her newest partner, and the scolding dies a quiet death. She’s gotten used to seeing her genie in that awful jacket or the occasional outlandish ensemble that Emma conjures for her own amusement. Now, though...

The other woman is nearly unrecognizable in tonight’s attire. Unlike Regina’s frilly gown, Emma’s dress... clings. Delightfully so. The garment is the same wine red as her usual jacket, but far less concealing, cut to showcase well-built shoulders and a pale neck as graceful as her namesake’s. The genie’s ever-present bracelets are accented by gauzy silk sleeves, and her golden hair is swept back from her face, secured in an elegant twist that adds several inches to her form.

Not that she needs the height; even with both of them in heels, Regina’s eyeline is dangerously low. “Miss Swan,” she manages, feeling the bob of her throat as she swallows. “My, you do clean up... adequately.”

Emma bows, grinning like a fool, and nearly pokes her own eye out on a prong of Regina’s tiara. That, at least, is more like the Emma she knows. The princess only hesitates a moment before taking the offered hand and allowing Emma to tug them into motion.

Over the month or so that she and Emma have known each other, Regina has not been idle. Apart from agonizing over her wishes, the princess has done plenty of research on the djinn and their power. She’s pored over weathered tomes from the Eastern Empire and drab dissertations from the Land Without Color, dusty scrolls from Agrabah and transcribed tablets from DunBroch.

None of them mentioned what terrible dancers genies are.

Or maybe that’s just an Emma thing. Though she looks the part of a noblewoman and displays basic education in the art of the waltz, Emma begins to flounder almost immediately, unable to grasp the timing. The genie is in the lead position, one hand clasping Regina’s while the other warms her waist, but haphazard movements and uneven footwork betray either terrible nerves or an equally terrible sense of rhythm.

“Sorry! Sorry,” is her all-too-common refrain. Only years of practice allow Regina to maintain her bland smile, though her mask is sorely tested as the song drags on. Their feet crash together on every other step, and Emma nearly steers them into the buffet table before the princess huffs out a sigh and takes the reins. With the deftness of long practice, Regina keeps them in motion as they adjust their holds, guiding her partner’s hands with her own. As her grip on Emma’s palm shifts, the taller woman flashes a sheepish smile, slipping into the role of follower without complaint.

This time, there’s much less toe-stubbing, Regina’s steps unfaltering even as she watches the lights dance in Emma’s eyes. Within five beats, their feet are in sync. Within ten, so are their breaths, Emma’s exhalations ghosting against her cheek as the blonde’s lips move in a silent count.

Through their intertwined hands, Regina feels her partner’s pulse throb in time with hers, their twin heartbeats nearly drowning out the band. The music is mere background, anyway, as are the other couples twirling around them; everything else seems beneath her notice with Emma so very present in her arms.

Though the waltz seems endless, in truth they glide around the dance floor for mere minutes before the band finishes their piece. Both women are flushed when they stumble to a halt, but Regina dips in an automatic curtsy and Emma manages to bow without taking out an eye.

“Oh, bravo.” Her mother’s applause is worse than any bucket of ice water, cool tones instantly banishing Regina’s exhilaration. The crowd parts before their host as she stalks forward, masked and gowned in all her dreadful beauty. “Unorthodox,” she coos, eyes flicking from her daughter to Emma, “but delightful. Which land are you from, my dear?”

“Misthaven,” Emma lies without missing a beat. “My parents rule the White Kingdom.”

Cora’s gaze, already hungry, turns practically sharklike. “Ah, I’d heard Queen Snow and King James had a daughter. Which would make you...” her mouth twists in exaggerated consideration “... heir to King George’s domain as well.” Her teeth flash in a bitter smile. “For a couple so set on righteousness, they certainly don’t shy away from conquest.”

“Yup.” The genie leans as far from the queen as she can without causing offense. “That’s Mom and Dad.” Her veneer of courtly manner, already paper-thin, dissolves into a childish scowl. “Plus, George started it.”

Emma speaks of the distant rulers with a contempt bred of familiarity, halfway between fondness and resentment. Regina purses her lips, head cocking as she considers her genie. Perhaps it isn't all a lie. Were they truly her family once upon a time?

“There’s no need to be defensive,” laughs Cora. “I never liked that old windbag. Your parents did well to show him his place. Is it true that your father once returned from the dead? Or that your mother consorts with werewolves?”

With dawning horror, Regina realizes that the Queen of Hearts might actually approve of this pairing. “Mother,” she speaks up, shifting to impose a shoulder between them. “I hardly think she is a proper match.”

“Well you looked pleased enough a moment ago.” Cora dons a warm smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I only want what’s best for you, darling. Always.”

“Oh, no,” blurts Emma. “She’s right. I’m not marriage material. I haven't been home in ages, and I was never good at the whole princess thing. I’m not a leader or a diplomat...” The ersatz princess stares at her feet. “Plus I’ve got a mountain of commitment issues and enough baggage to fill a castle.”

Regina’s mother just chuckles. “And humble, too!” she trills before turning on her heel. “If wedlock is not to your liking, it is not unheard of for Wonderland’s rulers to have... consorts.”

The brazen offer draws a bubble of true amusement from Emma. “I’m flattered, really,” she chuckles. “But my place is elsewhere.” Her smile has gone plastic, her discomfort obvious, and Regina finds herself stepping in.

“If all it took to decide a marriage was a single dance,” she says, “I would be wed already a dozen times tonight.”

In the end, Cora cedes the debate as easily as she began it. “Do as you will,” she sighs. “I can see where my input isn’t welcome. Far be it from me to dictate affairs of the heart.” Their audience chuckles nervously as the queen turns and marches back toward her throne with an airy wave of a hand. “Carry on.”

VI. Soulmate

By the time Regina makes her goodbyes and escapes to her rooms, Emma is already there. The genie is back in her usual garb—which is not a disappointment, not one bit—and sprawled across one of the couches, legs flung out in unladylike fashion.

She also has company.

“I’m telling you, we’re not interested,” is the first thing Regina hears. The brunette is already tugging her heart-studded tiara free, letting her hair tumble loose around her neck, but stops in her tracks when Emma’s rough tones are joined by another.

“And who’s we?” demands the lighter voice. “I don’t know you, lady. I’m here to speak with the princess.”

Sighing, Regina strides away from the door, bringing Emma’s guest into view. The short, slender woman is clad in green, an emerald dress sparkling as she folds her arms. “You’re that fairy from the ball,” says Regina. “Tinkle-something, wasn’t it?” She remembers her actual name, of course—she learned basic name and face memorization by age five—but this fairy stands uninvited in her chambers, and she learned to craft deniable insults even younger.

“Tinker Bell,” her guest corrects, beaming at Regina. “But you can call me Tink.”

“She’s here to sell us something,” adds Emma. “Drugs, I think.”

Aghast, Tinker Bell glares daggers at the genie. “Lies.”

“You said it was illegal!”

“I said I was risking a lot to deliver this pixie dust. Not to sell,” she adds hastily. “As a gift to you, Princess Regina.”

Growing up in Wonderland, Regina has learned to be very wary of gifts. “Why?” she demands. “What does it do? What’s in it for you?”

With a shrug of Tinker Bell’s shoulders, a set of gauzy wings unfurls. “I am a fairy,” the blonde points out. “It’s our job to help people like you.”

“People like me.” The princess pronounces each word with razor-edged relish.

Oblivious, the fairy’s eyes sparkle, hands clasping before her breast. “I sensed a deep sadness the moment I entered this realm. A heart with great potential, smothered by darkness. So, as any proper fairy would do, I came to offer my services!” When neither of her hosts relents, Tink’s beatific expression sags into a pout. “Plus, there’s nothing for a fairy to do back in Neverland. I tried godmothering those hooligan Lost Boys and they stuffed me in a bleedin’ birdhouse! If I do a good job with you, maybe Blue will approve my transfer paperwork.”

“Fairy bureaucracy,” groans Emma. “Look, Tink, we don’t—”

Tinker Bell glowers. “You can call me Green. Or Miss Bell, if you must.”

“Kinky.” The genie unfolds from the couch, seeming to grow in size as she looms over the shorter blonde. “But the position of annoying magical creature has already been taken. Like I said, we’re not—”

“What does pixie dust do, precisely?” Regina ignores Emma’s look of betrayal as she repeats her question. “Be specific.”

With a smug smile, Tink bounces in place, producing a slim vial from behind her back. “It’s simple!” she chirps, giving the vial a shake. The powder within sparkles to life, bottle beginning to tremble in her grasp. “Toss it up, and it will lead you straight to your true love. I’ve done it a million times.” Emma snorts, dubious. “Well, plenty of times.” The fairy shifts from foot to foot. “Well, twice. But it’s standard procedure.”

Despite herself, Regina is intrigued. Since she was old enough to know what the terms meant, she’s never even dared to yearn for a soulmate, a true love. Mother would never stand for it, of course; but now, with freedom in the air and wishes at her fingertips...

“What is the price?” As Regina speaks, Emma shoves her hands in her pockets and slouches off toward the balcony.

“No price,” Tink assures her. “Fairy magic comes free of charge.”

“No such thing as a free lunch,” Emma mutters, breaking from her sulky silence.

“She’s right,” says Regina. “All magic comes with a price.”

“And pixie dust pays its own,” explains Tink. “The toil of collecting it is considered payment enough, allowing us to give freely without demanding anything in return. Go on,” she urges, holding out the vial. “Your future is waiting. Are you ready?”

“I...” As she accepts the pixie dust, the brunette feels her mouth twist. Is she ready? “I am,” she tells herself, forcing resolve into her tone. It’s better to know now, when she has wishes to spare. Maybe her soulmate will be here in Wonderland, and she’ll lose them if she leaves. Maybe they’ll be in a far-off realm, and she can escape into their arms.

Gritting her teeth, Regina uncorks the vial. The glimmering dust spreads into a jade cloud, roiling in midair before drifting toward the open balcony doors... and grinding to a halt.

Emma looks up at the cloud, and for a split second, Regina thinks, Oh. Their dance still sparkles in her mind’s eye, even the memory of Emma’s hands on hers sending her heart into somersaults—

Then the moment passes, and the pixie dust darkens from green to an angry rust red. “Is it supposed to—Ow!” The genie throws up her arms as the seething mass lashes out. “Ow, jeez, ow!” A flyswatter appears in her hand, whipping through the air in vain.

Before Regina can move, Tinker Bell leaps into the air, shrinking to a few inches tall. Wings humming, she zips around the enraged patch of mist, herding it away from Emma and back into its vial.

“You're not human!” she accuses, returning to full size. Beside her, Regina frowns down at the pixie dust in her hand, its emerald glow already fading. Of course, she thinks. Of course Emma would tick off a fairy so badly that even light magic would hold a grudge.

“Genie.” Emma jerks a thumb toward her own chest. “Duh.”

Tink groans. “Of course. Typical.”

“Hey!”

“Your friend is throwing off the pixie dust,” Tink informs Regina, retrieving her vial from the princess with another dirty look at Emma. “Our magics... don’t mix.”

The genie makes a rude noise. “Only ‘cause you’ve got so many rules. And that’s coming from me!” She shoves up one sleeve in illustration, flashing the cuff on her wrist.

“At least we don’t go around granting wishes willy-nilly to anyone who asks!”

“Fairy tightass!”

“Feckless genie!”

“Pipsqueak!”

“Lamp-licker!”

Regina pinches the bridge of her nose. “Enough,” she calls. “I... I think you should go. Please.”

Emma’s whole body droops, the genie’s feet starting to smoke. “As you wish,” she mumbles. “Good luck with the soulmate stuff.”

“It’s sure to work this time,” says Tinker Bell, nodding toward the vial. “Just—”

“No.” Both of them freeze at a word from the princess. “Tinker Bell—Tink. I do appreciate the effort, but... Emma’s right.”

“She is?”

“I am?” two voices squawk in unison.

The roll of Regina’s eyes is not fond, no, not in the slightest. “The position of annoying magical creature has already been filled. No one could possibly be more irritating than Miss Swan.” She gives the dejected fairy a smile. “Maybe we can try again another day, but I think there’s been enough magic for tonight.” Her expression sobers. “Mother might grow suspicious, and none of us wants that.”

After shuddering in agreement, Tinker Bell sweeps them both with a thoughtful eye. “I see.” Without another word, the fairy nods, shrinks, and tinkles away, bobbing a bright farewell as she reaches the balcony doors.

“Stop gawping.” Regina wrinkles her nose at the dumbfounded look on Emma’s face. “Your face will stick that way, you know.” This draws a snort from the genie, letting Regina shift her gaze to Emma’s blistered hands. “Now, let’s get those looked at.”

VII. Proposals

“I’ve sent out several proposals,” Cora announces over breakfast.

In a rare occasion, the royal family is all in attendance. The King and Queen of Hearts sit at opposing ends of the impractically long table, their daughter exactly halfway between them. Emma and Will are against the wall with the rest of the attendants, the pair subdued for different reasons. The former is doing her best to avoid Cora’s attention, while the latter can hardly muster much emotion with his heart in the queen’s vault.

“Proposals?” parrots King Henry. His tiny chair is placed upon the tabletop itself, the shrunken king’s breakfast consisting of several grains of rice, a thimble of porridge, some finely diced vegetables, and a single bean.

“Nothing binding,” sniffs his wife. “Merely... expressions of interest.”

Regina knows better than to protest, but her hands are not so discreet. A screech rings out as her knife scrapes the plate beneath, drawing a tut from her mother.

“Manners, darling. You’ll never impress your princess this way.”

“Mother.” Now her face is heated for an entirely different reason. She can't see Emma, but Regina imagines she can feel the genie’s amusement radiating from behind.

“I’d think you’d be thrilled, Regina. There were far better prospects, after all, but I wrote to her family with the others.” Cora spreads her hands, magnanimous. “With how insipid her parents are, the girl should be easy to control, at least.”

The slightest squeak from behind betrays Emma’s outrage. “Very well,” Regina raises her voice to cover the genie’s slip. “I... look forward to further news.” She takes a final bite, wipes her mouth and stands. “May I be excused?”

Cora just flicks a hand. “Go on.”

Regina’s shoulders hunch as she steps outside, her strides stiff as she marches through the castle. The princess lets her feet take her where they will, Emma following in silence until they emerge into the Wonderland sunshine.

“At least she didn’t suggest I be your side piece this time,” says the genie.

“What do swords have to do with anything?” demands Regina, marching across the courtyard.

Emma doesn’t bother to muffle her laughter. “Your mistress,” singsongs the blonde. “Your kept woman, your harem girl, your—”

“Mantle decoration,” Regina snaps back, producing Emma’s lamp with a threatening flourish. “I know you are wholly incapable of silence, Miss Swan, but must you spout such nonsense? I was rather looking forward to a peaceful stroll in...” She stops herself, finally taking in their surroundings.

“The hedge maze?” Emma scratches her head. “Why’re we here?”

“I’m... not sure,” admits Regina. “I suppose I just wanted to be alone—Stop that!”

The genie pauses, half her body already turned to smoke. “But... You said alone.”

“You’re not—” With a press of her lips, the princess shakes her head. When will Emma learn that Regina isn't going to pack her away at the drop of a hat? “You don’t count.”

Bemused, Emma follows her mistress, silent for a few blissful minutes. Then she gets bored and summons a pair of rolling shoes to skate circles around the princess, wheels clacking obnoxiously on the path. “So, where to?”

Regina ignores her, largely because she doesn’t have an actual destination in mind. They wander on for nearly half an hour, past fountains and statues and patrols of card soldiers, before she decides their stroll has gone on long enough.

“This has gone on long enough,” she announces, pivoting to face Emma. She’s slightly taken aback when the movement brings them practically nose to nose, but the genie doesn’t step away.

“I agree.” Emma clasps her hands behind her back, rocking from side to side on her wheeled shoes. “Ever since the ball, I...” She clears her throat. “Well, it’s about time someone said something.”

“What?”

“What?”

They blink at each other.

“What are you talking about?” demands Regina.

The genie looks suddenly nervous. “Your... wishes. What were you talking about?”

“Our walk?”

For some reason, Emma’s face has gone pink. “Right. Of course.” A skittish bleat of a laugh escapes her. “What else could it be?”

Though Regina spares her an odd look, she doesn’t have time to decipher the eccentricities of Emma Swan. “We should—”

Somewhere amongst the neighboring hedges, they hear the clunk of a stone door.

“What was that?” Emma seizes on the change of subject. “I didn’t think this place had doors.”

“It doesn’t.” A furrow grows between Regina’s brows. “The only building within the maze is...” She pales. “Mother’s vault.”

They rush to the thick stone structure that is the Vault of Hearts, and Regina throws open the doors. “Stop right there!” she booms.

An intruder freezes halfway between the entrance and the far wall, from which hundreds of heartbeats quietly pound.

“Turn around slowly,” Regina orders.

The figure starts to obey, then vanishes, leaving behind an empty cloak that flutters to the ground. Regina’s mouth drops open, eyes flitting about the vault, but can spy neither hide nor hair of the intruder.

Then one of Emma’s roller shoes slips out from under her, sending the genie flopping onto her back with an oof. As Regina sucks in an alarmed breath, she catches a flicker of movement, a speck of color on the floor. Before her eyes, the shrunken shape of the intruder leaps onto Emma’s stomach, then her chin, a sword the size of a needle appearing in their hand.

“Back off!” squeaks a feminine voice. “Or your friend loses an eye!”

“Go ahead,” drawls Regina. “Maybe that will teach her to wear appropriate footwear.”

Her complete lack of concern gives the intruder pause. “Are you mental?”

“You're the one foolish enough to steal from my mother.”

The would-be thief stamps a foot, nearly kicking in Emma’s front teeth. “These hearts were stolen long ago. The Queen has no right to them.”

Regina props hands on her hips, bending to lock eyes with the stranger. “So now what? At your size, I doubt you could even open the drawers.”

“I have another mushroom,” grouches the little woman. “I’ll grow.”

“Then we’ll catch you.”

The thief bares her teeth. “I also have a rabbit.”

“A rabbit?” Emma moans. “Good lord, I hate Wonderland.”

“Shut it!” orders the stranger, shaking her sword. “And you!” she commands Regina. “Fetch me the heart of Will Scarlet!”

Regina blinks.

“Will?” says Emma. “You're here for Will?” She gestures as best she can while flat on her back. “Mouthy guy, short hair, really punchable face?”

The tiny intruder nods, her expression wary.

“Well why didn’t you say so! We won't stop you, will we, Regina?”

“She did order me to fetch,” sneers the princess. “A case could be made for contempt of crown and country.”

Even in miniature, a scowl is clear on their foe’s face. “I have nothing but contempt for your crown or your country!”

“Well, a confession does simplify things—”

“Regina.” To her chagrin, Emma sounds more exasperated than anxious, and more fond than either. “We don’t have time for the ice princess act. We like Will, remember?” And owe him, goes unspoken.

“Ice princess?” spits Regina. “Act?”

Emma meets her fury with an unimpressed stare, then glances meaningfully toward the tiny woman on her chin.

Grudgingly, the princess folds her arms. “You’re really risking the wrath of the Queen of Hearts for that knave?”

The woman nods. “He’s my friend.”

“He must be a good one.” She huffs out an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose, under the circumstances...” Regina takes a step back, and the thief lowers her sword, hopping down from Emma’s face. “What’s your name, friend of knaves?”

Still on her guard, the intruder backs toward the wall of hearts. Not looking away from the princess and her genie, she raises something to her lips, takes a bite, and shoots up to full size. Golden brown hair falls over one shoulder, her sword held close to one leather-clad leg as she meets Regina’s gaze with steely eyes.

“Alice,” she says.

VIII. Plans

Their encounter with Alice is shortly followed by the disappearance of Will Scarlet from Mother’s entourage, and Regina feels an invisible weight lift from her shoulders. Freed from her guilt, the princess is finally able to throw herself fully into plotting her escape.

“It would be best to flee without use of my wishes,” she muses, fingers drumming her desk. “The farther we get under our own power, the more confused Mother will be when the trail goes cold.”

Blonde locks tickle her shoulder as Emma nods, the genie adopting a sage expression. “Right, right. What’s the fastest way out of Wonderland, anyway?”

“We don’t want fast, we want discreet.” Regina unrolls another map. “Alice’s rabbit can dig portals between worlds, but his kind are notoriously easy to intimidate. A little torture, and they sing like sirens. We’d be much better off finding a discreet ship.” She purses her lips. “Though you have a point. The rabbit is such an obvious first step that it could cause Mother to underestimate us.”

“Right. That’s... exactly what I was thinking.”

Deep in thought, Regina traces a finger across the map. “On the other hand, I’ve always planned to chart our escape across multiple realms. In the early stages of our flight, speed may indeed be more beneficial than subtlety.”

A hoarse chuckle fills her ear. “I’m hearing a lot of ‘we’s and ‘our’s and ‘us’es,” Emma teases. “I don’t have to help you, you know. Not without a wish or two.”

Spine straightening, Regina looks her companion in the eye. “As if you’ve been helping so far.” A sneer tugs at her lips. “All you do is dirty my furniture and eat my food.”

“Magic-ed food just isn’t the same,” whines Emma. “It never fills you up like the real thing.” The genie shakes her head. “And I could be less helpful, you know. I’ve learned a lot about inconveniencing my masters.”

“You could be.” admits Regina, though she’s not too concerned. Emma is nearly as invested in her escape as she is. “You won't, though.”

“Well...” The genie’s mouth flaps for a moment before she admits defeat and moves on. “Fine. Maybe I won't. What about travelling by rabbit, then ship?”

It’s not a terrible thought, and Regina reluctantly admits as much.

“Where do you want to sail?” continues Emma, “I have a friend in Arendelle, and there’s always lots to do there.” With a bloom of magic, the genie is bundled into puffy winter gear, the skis on her feet tangling with the legs of Regina’s chair. She nearly faceplants onto the table before catching herself on the poles held in her wooly mittens. “Ever tried to outski an avalanche?”

A hum drifts from Regina’s throat. “Arendelle has a reputation for hospitality, true, but we’ll just be passing through. Glowerhaven has a larger port...”

“No, no, you're scheming again. Where do you want to go?” Skis and snowsuit disappearing, Emma perches on the table, leaning back on her arms as she meets Regina’s eye. “Where have you always wished you could visit?”

“Nice try.”

“Huh? Oh, no. I actually wasn’t—”

“Oz,” Regina almost whispers. “I’ve always been curious about Oz.”

Emma nods, encouraging. “Any particular reason?”

“I once saw a map in Mother’s study. Long ago, when I was a girl.” Regina’s face clouds with memory. “I never did find out why she had it. I remember...” she pauses, feeling her brow wrinkle. “Not much else, actually,” she admits. “Maybe it was just the fever. I was ill at the time—an adverse reaction to some of Mother’s magic.”

Emma’s face hardens.

“It was nothing malicious on her part,” the princess is quick to clarify, because it really wasn’t. Not on that particular occasion. “I merely mishandled a wand of hers.”

“Sure.” Emma doesn’t seem entirely convinced.

“As I said,” huffs Regina, brushing the matter aside, “the realm fixed itself in my mind. I’m not sure why.” She was caught snooping, she remembers that much, and the subsequent punishment was enough to keep her from entering Cora’s chambers uninvited ever again.

“Never been to Oz myself,” is the genie’s input. “Even when I was human, the place gave me the creeps. They’ve got a major witch problem.”

“Well, you asked,” snaps Regina, already regretting baring herself. Emma’s judgement has an unexpected sting.

“I mean, that’s just my opinion.” Emma waves her hands, immediately apologetic. “Maybe we can make a stop.”

The brunette summons a glower, and her companion freezes. “On second thought, perhaps I should keep you safely bottled up as we travel. That will keep you and your opinions out of trouble, at least.”

“You can't be serious,” squawks the genie. “That’s not fa—Oh.” Regina’s lips curl up at the ends, and Emma scowls. “You’re messing with me. Har har,” she grumbles, recovering. “Is it really a joke when you make honest threats like that every other day?”

“No one likes a sore loser.”

“Hah. So that’s the plan?” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “Rabbit, then ship. Sail as far as we can, then wish our way to Oz?”

Regina leans back in her chair. “Not a plan,” she hedges. “But a start. I’ll need some more time for the specifics. Adding a few more detours, covering our tracks. I...”

She doesn’t know why she’s so hesitant. She should be thrilled at the thought of their upcoming departure. Instead she finds herself almost reluctant to put their escape into motion. It’s not fear; she is rightfully wary, of course, but also confident that Mother suspects nothing. It’s not second thoughts; this castle has been a prison far longer than it ever was a home, and with Daddy’s blessing and the knave’s heart rescued by Alice, she has no regrets to hold her back.

“Earth to Regina—er, Wonderland to Regina.”

She’s been silent long enough for Emma to lean in, green eyes filling Regina’s vision. The view makes her smile, but the expression slides from her face as a chilling though occurs: What if it isn't the escape that has her apprehensive, but what comes after? After all, with all three wishes spent, the genie is sure to move on.

“Nonsense,” Regina says out loud, drawing an odd look from her companion. Nonsense, she repeats in the safety of her mind. Emma may have grown into a... a steady presence over the past weeks, but Regina will do just fine on her own.

She always has.

IX. Jafar

Days before their planned escape, a travelling merchant arrives. He’s a dark, bearded man, rings adorning his fingers and black curls spilling from beneath his turban. Crimson-trimmed robes brush the floor as he sweeps across the throne room, ignoring the courtiers to move straight for Cora.

“Greetings, Queen of Hearts,” he says, bowing before the heart-backed throne. “I come from a land, from a faraway place, where the caravan camels—”

“Yes, yes,” the queen interrupts. “Get on with it.”

His smile stiffens. “Of course, Your Majesty. I am honored to brings my wares to your court, and confident that you will not be disappointed. I know Wonderland has magic of its own, but my trinkets come from many realms.” The butt of his snake-headed staff strikes the floor, and a small table appears before him. “Marvel, O Queen, at the Mirror of Souls,” he points out. “The Six-Leaved Clover of Oz. The Ale of Seonaidh.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Cora proclaims, barely glancing at the display. “And what would you ask in return for these parlor tricks?”

From her position beside the thrones, Regina catches a flash of anger on the man’s face as he bows once more. “As you say, Your Majesty, my wares are but baubles. All I seek are artifacts of a certain nature. Old rings, enchanted vases... antique lamps.”

The princess doesn’t need Emma’s urgent prod in the back to feel suspicious. No, this trader is dubious enough all on his own. His items have real power, the trinkets worth far more than a plain old lamp. A genie’s lamp, on the other hand...

.

.

“Him!” Emma exclaims as soon as they return to the safety of Regina’s quarters. “I thought Al and I got rid of him!”

“I take it you two know each other?”

“Jafar,” spits Emma, fiddling absently with her bracelets, “was the sorcerer we fought in Agrabah. He has a weird hard-on for genies, but I don’t think he’ll recognize me. I was bluer back then.”

Regina starts to pace. “But this ‘Jafar’ being here? Now? It can't be a coincidence.”

Right on cue, someone knocks.

“Lamp!” orders Regina, holding out the vessel. As soon as Emma is inside, she stuffs the bronze container behind a cushion and strides to answer the door.

“Ah, Princess.” Jafar offers a sweeping bow. “I’m not interrupting, I hope. I thought I heard voices.”

She slips into a practiced smile. “Not at all. I’m alone.”

“Good.” The sorcerer glances up and down the hall, rolling his staff between his palms. “May I come in? I have an offer that I believe may interest you.”

“I don’t think that would be proper.” One of her arms bars the doorway. “Does my mother know you’re here?”

“Queen Cora has given me leave to inspect the castle,” he claims. “As I was passing, I was drawn to something within your chambers.”

Regina switches to a scandalized expression. “Now that’s very improper, merchant. Begone, before I summon the guards!”

Jafar pales and backpedals, raising a hand in supplication. “Your Highness, wait!” Between his fingers appears a translucent pod, the size and shade of—

“A magic bean,” the princess breathes. With one of those, she could travel anywhere in all the lands.

“I knew you were a woman of knowledge,” croons Jafar. “Now I’m sure a princess of your stature has little use for petty magic, but one of the trifles I seek may have found itself among your ornaments. If you would just allow me to take a look—”

Shaking off the allure of the bean, Regina shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will.” Even if she was willing to sell Emma out—she very much is not, for the record—a single portal is not worth even one genie’s wish, let alone two.

“The power to traverse realms can be yours!”

“Not interested,” says Regina, and shuts the door. As a muffled curse echoes through the wood, she leans against the frame, heart pounding against her ribs. Jafar had begun smoothly enough, but that soon peeled away to bare the desperation beneath. And desperate sorcerers are not to be taken lightly.

“Nice work.” Emma’s whisper, delivered just inches from her ear, makes the princess jump. “Sorry!” says the genie, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. “I thought you saw me coming.”

She leans into the touch for an instant before remembering herself and ripping her arm away. “I told you to stay in the lamp!”

“Well, technically, you just said ‘lamp,’ so...”

“You know what I meant.” Storming back into her quarters, Regina begins to throw open drawers and cabinets. Hands shaking, she tosses mismatched clothing onto her bed, motions growing more and more frantic until Emma appears to clasp her hands between her own.

“Slow down,” she whispers, her palms rough and warm as the desert sands. For the space of a breath, the princess lets herself be soothed.

Only for a moment, though. “Let me go,” snaps Regina, tugging halfheartedly at the genie’s grasp. “I need to pack. If he could sense your presence, so can Mother. We’re lucky she hasn’t noticed yet, but—”

“But it’s only a matter of time.” Emma pales as she finishes the thought, grip loosening enough for Regina to slip free. “We have to go.”

The princess shoves her shaking hands into a drawer of riding clothes. She won't be able to take much, just a small bag and the clothes on her back. The thought makes everything real, and her eyes slam shut, blinking hard before she straightens and shuts the drawer.

“Agreed,” she says. “We leave tonight.”

Chapter Text

X. Escape

Regina makes her escape that very night, riding Rocinante across the palace grounds with Emma flying alongside. The satchel bouncing on her hip holds the genie’s lamp and every gem she could strip from her chambers—all except the heart-cut jewels from her tacky tiara. If she never sees that dreadful thing again, it will be too soon.

The same cannot be said for dear Rocinante. She spends almost as long saying farewell to the horse as she did with her father, scratching his withers one final time as she coos her goodbyes. Another precious handful of minutes is spent ensuring Alice and Will will take adequate care of the steed. Regina presents them with a list of instructions longer than the knave is tall before she feels comfortable leaving her beloved mount in their hands.

Once the outlaws have been thoroughly lectured, their friend the White Rabbit is cajoled, bribed, and finally browbeaten into digging a portal to Arendelle. The northern kingdom is the first step in their escape, and where one of Emma’s former masters resides.

Said master turns out to be the Queen, and a powerful magician in her own right. Apparently Elsa's time with the genie was an amicable one, for she greets Emma with an embrace and a delighted laugh, proving quite willing to point them toward a discreet captain and even fund their voyage.

The young royal is nothing like Cora; though she’s clearly new to her rule, it’s just as clear that her kingdom adores her. So does Emma, apparently—the two spend almost an hour nattering on about the queen’s sister and her magic and something called an Olaf. Eventually, Regina resorts to a harsh clearing of her throat halfway through Elsa’s improbable tale about how she tamed some sort of demon seahorse. A sharp jerk of her head summons Emma to her side, but the genie still turns and waves as they make their exit.

Regina keeps a brisk pace as they leave the castle, eager to put some distance between herself and Queen Elsa, with her adoring kingdom and her ice powers and her easy rapport with Emma even after months of separation. And her magic horse, which is just adding insult to injury. Horses are Regina’s thing.

Jealous? No, she’s not jealous. Just eager to be on her way.

She sticks close to the genie as they board the ship, clutching the satchel that holds Emma’s lamp and eyeing the crew with naked suspicion. In Arendelle, Regina reflects, “discreet” must be synonymous with “pirate.” Their captain is the worst of the lot, practically oozing avarice as he swaggers across the deck to meet his new employers.

“Mister... Beard, I presume?” sniffs Regina.

“Blackbeard!” chortles the man, tossing a hank of hair over the shoulder of his crimson coat. “Aye aye, it is I. Scourge of the Seven Seas! Crown Prince of Plunder! And”—he pauses, remembering himself—“honest sailor-for-hire,” the captain finishes in a grumble. “You’d be the Queen’s booking, then?”

She presses her lips into a rigid line. “Yes. Can you take us where we want to go?”

“Anything for friends of the royal treasury.”

Emma cocks her head as she arrives. “You mean royal family.”

“What did I say?” Blackbeard strides off without missing a beat, pointing out the cabins before taking up position behind the ship’s wheel. “Hop to, men!” he bellows to his crew. “Cast off lines, weigh anchor, and prepare to get underway!”

.

.

Queen Elsa contracted Blackbeard and his ship, the Queen Anne’s Revenge, to transport them to the Eastern Empire, but they don’t get nearly that far. Mere days into their cruise, a shape appears on the horizon, growing larger as it narrows the distance between them. To their credit, Blackbeard and his pirates coax all the speed they can out of the Revenge, but the strange ship continues to gain ground.

“Curses!” the captain curses. “There’s only one vessel that can out-sail my Anne. Only one captain who’d dare to cross me.” He trails off, glaring fiercely at the following ship with one boot braced on the gunwale.

“Being...” prompts Regina.

“Hmm?” says Blackbeard, dropping out of his dramatic pose. “Oh, right. Forgot you two were landlubbers. It’s Hook: Captain Hook, and that damned Jolly Roger.”

Emma joins them at the rear rail. “That the guy who got his hand bitten off by a crocodile?”

“Chopped off, and underestimate him at your peril,” the pirate intones. “Hook and I have tangled before. He’s cunning. Ruthless.” Blackbeard strokes the braids dangling from his chin. “But what does he want?”

While he attempts to puzzle this out, Regina draws Emma aside. “Mother must be on that ship,” she hisses, fingers tightening around one firm forearm. “I don’t know how she got here from Wonderland, but she’s found us faster than I’d hoped.”

“Your mom must really want you back.” The genie’s tone is oddly wistful. “Guess the Queen of Hearts doesn’t give up easy.”

“The who of what?” As Blackbeard’s voice rings out, Emma cringes, remembering too late to check for eavesdroppers. “Your mother is the one who...” Making a face, the pirate mimes reaching into his own chest and pulling out the heart within. It’s an impressive performance, Regina has to admit, the captain’s fingers flexing in imitation of the nonexistent beating organ. “I should make you both walk the plank right now, save us all some trouble!”

A ring of blades appears as his crew closes in, and Emma squares her shoulders, setting herself in front of Regina—who promptly steps around the genie, ignoring the crowd of cutlasses to stare Blackbeard in the eye.

“Excellent plan,” she says, scornful tone covering the tremble of her hands. “Except for the part where my mother catches up, realizes I’m not here, and turns you and your crew inside-out with a snap of her fingers.”

This draws an uneasy rumble from said crew, whose heads swing from her to their captain just in time to see him flinch.

Regina doesn’t pause long enough for him to retort. “You’re in too deep to back out now, Captain. The Queen won't harm her daughter, but your head is definitely fair game. Besides,” she adds with a scoff. “I thought you were the Scourge of the Seven Seas. Is a witch with a scary reputation really all it takes for the famous Blackbeard to lose his nerve?”

The strip of face visible between beard and hat blushes a defensive scarlet. “Of course not!” he blusters, stomping one boot.  Growling under his breath, he slams his sword back into its sheath and waves at the surrounding pirates. “What are you staring at, ye scurvy dogs? Back to your stations!”

As their audience scatters, Regina forces her fingers to release Emma’s arm. “The Jolly Roger is getting closer,” she points out. “Captain, do you have any tricks up those gold-braided sleeves?”

Blackbeard scowls at them both. “A few,” he grumbles, though it’s not a sleeve that he reaches into, but his tricorn hat. From the brim he plucks a magic bean, the pod shining amongst grubby fingers. “This is my last one,” the captain says. “But better my bean than my neck. You are proving a very costly pair of passengers.”

“We know,” says Emma, sounding entirely too pleased with the fact.

“I expect to be well-compensated.”

“Fine,” Regina grits out. Her bag still contains the jewels salvaged from her royal wardrobe, untouched after Elsa offered them aid. If it keeps Blackbeard from being difficult... “I shall double your fee.”

“Triple!”

The runaway princess frowns, pride setting her jaw. “Double and a half.”

“Is this really the time for haggling?” Emma groans. “Just use the damn nut!”

“It’s a bean, and double and two-thirds,” Blackbeard calls over his shoulder, already moving toward the bow of his ship. “Even pirates have self-esteem, and that’s my final—”

He trips over a loose coil of rope, and the bean goes flying overboard. A moment later, the sea drops out from beneath them, a whirling funnel forming in the water with the Revenge balanced on the edge. Blue-green light shines from the portal, giving the crew a ghostly pallor as they scramble for the rigging.

“You imbecile!” Regina has to shout over the roar of the sudden whirlpool. “What were you thinking?”

Blackbeard struggles back toward them, hauling himself hand-over-hand along the rail. “It’s fine!” he cries. “We’ve got a portal, don’t we?”

“No!” she yells, feeling Emma’s arm twine around her waist. The taller woman draws her close almost absently, a warm and solid presence at her back. “When you dropped the magic bean! What were you thinking about? Where is it taking us?”

“Well,” the captain reaches their position and grabs hold of the ship’s wheel, voice dropping to a more conversational tone. “As it happens, I was anticipating the drink and merriment that will follow your departure.”

Regina can practically feel the roll of Emma’s eyes—though that could be because she is tucked into the genie’s chest, Emma’s chin butting against the top of her head with every tip and teeter of the Revenge. “Let me guess.” The words reverberate through Regina’s back. “Rum?”

The pirate smirks as his ship finally overbalances and begins its slide into the thundering portal. “Actually,” he calls, looking far too self-satisfied for their current circumstances, “I prefer gin.”

XI. Color

Lightning splits the sky as the Queen Anne’s Revenge resurfaces, splashing into gray seas as the portal spirals shut behind it.

“Where are we?” Regina croaks, shifting in Emma’s hold to scan their surroundings. “Have we—” She feels her jaw slacken, momentarily lost for words as she finally realizes what has changed.

Every inch of the Revenge is now painted in shades of black and white. From the hull to the crew to Blackbeard himself, all that Regina can see is gray—except, for some reason, Emma. The leather sleeve still wrapped around Regina’s middle has retained its scarlet hue, and when she cranes her neck she spies the gold of Emma’s curls, the flush on her cheeks. Her face tilts down, green eyes widening as her jaw brushes the side of Regina’s face, but the shorter woman can't bring herself to pull away.

“That will do, Miss Swan,” she says instead, and the genie immediately goes rigid, grip springing open.

“Right,” agrees Emma, coughing to cover her retreat. “The Land Without Color,” she chokes out, hands fluttering for a moment before shoving into her pockets. The genie puts several steps between them as she strides to the gunwale, eyes flicking back to Regina once more before settling on their captain. “This is where you come to drink, ‘Beard?” Her chin tilts toward the city sprawled out across the nearby shore, sparkling with lamplight but just as colorless as the Revenge.

“My gold is as good here as anywhere else,” defends the pirate. His eyes narrow as he takes in Emma’s unusual vibrancy, but in the end, greed outweighs curiosity. “And speaking of gold...” Now that the threat of her mother is worlds away, he closes in on Regina, holding out a pointed hand. “I believe we settled on two and three-quarters times my initial rate?”

Once she’s handed over the jewels, the pirates waste no time in delivering them to the closest port. They disembark with equal eagerness, happy to put the nautical portion of their travels behind them.

Emma’s lack of lack of color draws a few odd glances from the city folk, but these fade away once the genie ducks into an alley and conjures a suitably drab cloak of gray. With a hood covering her hair, she and Regina manage to blend with the crowds, seeking a place to regroup.

“Of course you would remain so... vivid,” Regina sniffs, studying her own washed-out forearms. “Far be it from you to accomplish any degree of subtlety.”

“Maybe it’s just my naturally vibrant personality.” Emma’s teeth flash in the shadow of her hood. “You look great in gray, of course.”

Regina pointedly ignores the flattery. She is walking a measured distance from her genie companion, having kept herself aloof ever since they parted ways with Blackbeard—ever since she felt Emma’s arms around her, solid and safe. “More like your natural magic,” she scoffs, only for her breath to catch as warm knuckles brush against her own. When did they drift so close?

She quickly steps away, too rattled to be kind or subtle about it. “You’re too noticeable. Is there nothing else you can do?” The words are sharp, and a confused look flits across Emma’s eyes. Her smile flattens, then fades as she takes in the space Regina has placed between them.

“I’ve been trying to turn all gray-ey,” mumbles the genie. “But I don’t think it’s working.” She’s quiet for several minutes, and then, “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“What?” says Regina, turning to meet her companion’s eye. “Why?”

The genie ducks away, hood hiding her face. “For back on the boat,” she forces out. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just—I couldn’t let my mistress fall overboard, right? I’m sorry,” she repeats.

Regina opens her mouth. Tries and fails to put her mind to words. Closes her mouth. Though the thoughts refuse to reach her tongue, the feeling behind them is all too clear. It’s not that the contact was uncomfortable. No, it was too comfortable, in fact, and Regina should know better. Once all the wishes are gone, Emma is sure to follow suit. Even if she wants to stay, Regina doubts the magic behind the lamp will be content to linger.

Unless, of course, Emma was no longer bound to the lamp, but that would come at a price that Regina still balks at paying. Not until she’s sure her own freedom is secure. No; in all likelihood, Emma will be gone soon, and any comfort gone with her. There’s simply no point to... to getting attached.

“It’s all right,” she says at last, keeping her face blank. “I understand.”

“You’re not... mad, or anything?” the genie asks cautiously. “Because you can be, if you want.” Please don’t be, her green eyes plead. “I’m not going to withhold your wishes or anything—I mean, I literally can't, so...”

“Calm yourself, Miss Swan.” This time, Regina’s words are softened by a fond sigh. “I told you it was fine. We’re... fine.”

Emma doesn’t voice her relief, but it’s obvious in the way her face brightens. She stands a little straighter as they walk on, falling into a companionable silence. For a while, at least.

“Ooh, a bar!”

Turning an exasperated glance skyward, Regina follows her distractible partner into the tavern, passing beneath a painted sign that reads Murray’s. Once inside, they find a table in the darkest corner and attempt to brainstorm a way out of this land.

“We could use a wish now,” suggests Emma, sounding almost reluctant. “Before Cora catches up again.”

“There are other ways to cross realms,” counters Regina, matching her lack of enthusiasm. “Beans, silver slippers, Pegasus feathers...”

“Cyclones, mermaids, magic keys,” Emma adds, beaming as if this is all some sort of game. “Seems like portals are a dime a dozen these days.”

“Focus,” Regina chides, smiling back despite herself, but before they can get much further, the tavern doors fly open.

A troop of gray figures march inside, jingling with gear. “Rejoice, rabble!” announces the woman at their head. “Your days of terror will soon be at an end.” Even without color, she cuts a striking figure. Her bob of hair is split down the middle, one half black, the other white. Skintight leather covers much of her angular frame, and a spotted fur stole is draped over her shoulders.

“Give it a rest, Cruella!” someone calls from the bar. “You’ve been hunting the beast for weeks.”

The huntress wrinkles her pointed nose. “Yes, yes. I will admit, this She-Wolf is a wily one. But this time, we shall have her!” She throws out her gloved hands, hips cocked to one side and lips curled in a sneer. “We have devised a most cunning trap using... book magic?”

“Science,” whispers the man at her shoulder, eyes gleaming darkly through his goggles.

“Yes, using scie-once!” trills Cruella. “The beast will fall this very night, this I vow! The streets will run red with—” She scowls. “The streets will run black—will run dark gray—No, no, no.” The huntress stamps a foot. “This bloody drab realm. No wonder I moved away.

“The She-Wolf will die!” Cruella cries, recovering her train of thought. “Your city will be safe, and more importantly, I shall have a new fur coat. Then I can finally take my leave of this depressing land.” Her painted lips curl in a sneer. “Ugh, only this place could make a hunt boring.”

Emma and Regina exchange a look.

She has a way out, say the genie’s eyes.

Congratulations on grasping the obvious, say Regina’s.

“But wait!” Cruella continues, reclaiming their attention. “There’s more! For one night and one night only, my hunting party is looking for bai—for brave volunteers to operate our snare.” She pauses, expectant.

None of the tavern’s occupants move a muscle.

“Come now, don’t be shy. The reward’s big enough for all of us.”

“If you survive,” her goggled companion adds, not quite in a whisper.

Slowly, and with a shared sigh, Regina and Emma raise their hands.

XII. Cruella

The expanded hunting party makes their preparations at Cruella’s ancestral manor. Known as Hell Hall, the gothic building looms beside the park where the She-Wolf claimed her first—and thus far only—victim, making it a convenient, if ominous, staging ground.

“Our lovely volunteers will wait here,” says the huntress, jabbing her cigarette at the map. “You job, darlings, is to look suitably delicious while Jasper, Horace, and Eye-gor—”

“It’s pronounced Igor,” mutters the bald man.

“—and Igor seal the perimeter.” Cruella pats the cheek of her final compatriot, the pale-haired man in goggles and a lab coat. “Victor and I will be ready to spring the trap as soon as the beast is spotted, zapping the creature with this bottled lightning of his. That should hold it long enough for us to move in for the kill.” Her eyes flash as she finishes, teeth bared in a predatory grin. “Isn't that right, dear Doctor?”

“The electricity should work,” says the man, leering at his partner. “It’s dealt with meaner monsters before. Is the equipment ready, Igor?”

“Yes, master.”

One of Cruella’s henchmen, the pudgy man she called Horace, hefts a crossbow. “We’ll fill that beast full’a holes, Miss Cruella,” he chuckles.

“Idiot!” The acrid smoke of her cigarette billows from her lips, making the man hack and cough. “Arrows will ruin the skin.” As Horace mumbles an apology, Cruella brandishes a long pole tipped with a noose of wire. “The best thing for this She-Wolf is a good strangling.”

Emma, quiet up till now, speaks up with fire in her eyes. “You can't just hunt werewolves for their pelts!” Frowning, Regina recalls the rumors that Snow White has friends among the Misthaven werewolf pack. If the woman truly is Emma’s mother, perhaps the genie’s objection is based on more than mere principle.

But the huntress just laughs. “No,” Cruella drawls. “You can't hunt werewolves for their pelts, my colorful friend. I can do as I please. My family owns half the city, and the other half agrees that the beast has been prowling around long enough. Once it killed that poor woman last month, they were practically begging for me to snuff it out!”

Frankenstein slings an arm around her waist, tugging her close as she purrs. “Oh, yes. Our Lady De Vil is quite the huntress. After the vampire a few years back—”

“Waste of time,” Cruella sniffs. “Barely enough left of that old bat to make a decent brooch.”

“—and the creature from that black lagoon—”

“Now that one made a lovely pair of boots,” the huntress sighs.

“—there’s not a monster you’ve failed to slay, sweetheart,” praises the doctor. “This one shall be no different.”

As Emma opens her mouth once more, Regina jabs her with an elbow. Not the subtlest or most dignified of signals, but it does the trick, sending the genie into furious silence while Cruella turns back to her map. “Play along,” breathes Regina. “Just for now. We need to find out how Cruella travels between realms.”

“For now,” Emma echoes through clenched teeth.

Later, once sunset has turned the scenery from gloomy gray to inky black, they stand on a moonlit path, waiting to be attacked and quite possibly eaten alive. As she scans her surroundings, Regina holds her satchel tight to her stomach, comforted by the weight of the lamp within.

They’ve been standing in silence for nearly half an hour when Emma speaks up. “I don’t like this,” she whispers. “the only reason we’re helping Lady Skins-a-Lot is to find out how she jumps realms, but how are we supposed to do that while being bait?”

“We need to earn her trust,” Regina points out. “She won't let her guard down around complete strangers. Besides, she said she was leaving after this hunt. If all else fails, we can just follow her when she does.”

Emma casts another nervous glance around the park. “Assuming we survive that long.”

“Calm down,” Regina orders her pacing companion. “It’s not like the wolf can harm you.”

“I’m not worried about me,” snaps Emma, then flushes and trips over nothing. “I mean, what if Cruella’s lying about the She-Wolf?” she says. “The werewolves I knew weren’t mindless monsters—maybe this one’s innocent! Maybe it’s just lost and afraid.”

Regina gives the genie’s back a fond look. “I never took you for a dog person.” Emma spares her a look of exasperation, and she relents. “If the monster... well, isn't one, then we’ll just have to deal with Cruella, won't we.” She purses her lips. “Where is Cruella, by the way?”

With a puff of magical smoke, Emma produces a pair of field glasses. “Let’s see,” she mutters, turning in a slow circle. “Let’s—Oh, eugh.” The genie gags, lowering the binoculars to scrub at her eyes. “She and Frankenstein are making out in the pavilion.”

“Emma?”

“Talk about things I never wanted to see.” Emma throws up her hands, the binoculars vanishing as easily as they appeared. “I mean seriously—”

“Emma!” Regina grasps the genie’s chin and forcibly turns her head, pointing her toward the glowing pair of eyes mere feet away.

“Oh.”

They back away, making no sudden movements as an oversized canine emerges from the brush. The wolf’s shaggy fur bears a silver tinge, the muscles beneath shifting with every step the beast takes. It keeps low as it prowls, circling the two women with bared teeth.

Then the wolf paces through a shaft of moonlight, and Emma sucks in a sharp breath. “No way,” she murmurs. “It can't—”

With a snarl, the She-Wolf lunges, tackling Emma to the ground in a silver blur. As Regina snatches up a nearby branch, the pair scrabble in the dirt, fangs seizing the collar of Emma’s jacket and giving her a teeth-rattling shake. Sobs wrack the genie’s shoulders, choked gasps escaping her lips, and Regina’s heart leaps into her mouth. The sight of Emma overpowered is so wrong that she swings without hesitation, branch cracking across the wolf’s furry shoulders. It breaks, splintering into a jagged point, but Regina barely hesitates before raising the makeshift stake and—

“Wait, wait!” Emma rolls onto her back, shoving off the She-Wolf with ease. It’s only then that Regina realizes that her frame is shaking not with sobs, but laughter. “Wait,” repeats the genie, pink face lit up by a smile. “Easy, Your Highness, it’s all right,” she chuckles, throwing an arm over the beast’s thick neck. The canine does nothing to stop her, tongue lolling out as it bares a toothy grin. “She’s a friend! Regina, this is Red.”

Regina squints at the wolf, which is as gray as everything else in this monochromatic land. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Wolf! Wolf!” The cry comes up from one of Cruella’s henchmen, who have finally caught on to the commotion. “Miss Cruella, it’s here!”

As Emma and the She-Wolf scramble to their feet, Regina waves them forward. “Run!” she commands. “Quickly, before they activate the trap!”

And run they do, straight out of the park and into the colorless city with the wolf at their side.

XIII. Red

At sunrise, the She-Wolf fades away to be replaced by a woman with long, dark hair and a dazzling smile.

“Emma!” she yips, throwing herself at the genie. Regina, sitting with folded arms beneath the lone window of the woman’s cramped basement apartment, scowls. “You're here,” Red goes on, looping an elbow around Emma’s neck. “How? After you were cursed, I worried I’d never see you again!”

For her part, the genie grins wider than Regina has ever seen. “Long story,” she laughs. “Long, long story. I’ll tell you later. How’d you end up in the Land Without Color?”

“Well, I never stopped looking for you, Ems,” says Red, and Regina’s stomach twists even further. “Neither did your parents, of course. I was just much better at it. Until I got stuck here, anyway.” Her full lips curl into a frown. “Took a wrong turn in the Land of Untold Stories, ended up in this depressing craphole...”

“So you decided to stop for a snack.” Regina regrets the icy tone as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“Regina,” Emma chides, looking disappointed, but Red just shakes her head, jaw clenching.

“Cruella framed me. She and her mad scientist killed that woman.” The brunette turns her puppy-dog eyes on Emma. “You know I wouldn’t. Never again.” The pair are still intertwined, something about the sight making Regina’s skin itch.

“My apologies,” she bites out, but Red hardly seems to notice, wrapped up in Emma in more ways than one.

“What happened to your cloak?” the genie is asking, fingers absently braiding a lock of Red’s hair.

“Lost it,” mutters the werewolf, glancing away.

“You lost it?” Emma swats the other woman’s shoulder. “Come on, Red. Rookie werewolf mistake.”

Red snaps her teeth, playful. “Shut up. Everything’s gray here. Without color, my cloak just looks like... like...”

“A cloak?” teases Emma, and they both laugh.

Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Regina clears her throat. “So, wolf,” she says, “how exactly do you know Miss Swan?”

“Red’s my aunt,” Emma promptly replies, receiving a smack upside the head for her trouble. “Ow! Fine, more like a... much older sister?”

“I’m Queen Snow’s best and oldest friend,” supplies the werewolf, batting her eyelashes. “I know, I’ve aged terrifically.”

Something unwinds in Regina’s chest, replaced almost immediately by embarrassment. “You certainly have.” She even manages a chuckle.

“Snow will be thrilled to see you again once we get back.” Red turns to Emma, clasping their hands together. “So will Charming, and of course H—” She breaks off, catching the frozen look on the genie’s face. “What is it?”

“I... can't,” Emma mumbles, raising her arms. The cuffs shine bronze on her wrists, symbols of her servitude to the lamp. “I have to follow whoever holds my vessel, which is...” Her eyes dart to Regina’s.

Red’s face sours as she follows the look, turning on Regina with a hand out. “Well, hand it over,” she demands.

“Excuse me?”

“The lamp or bottle or whatever. The genie thingy.” She bares her teeth, some of which are starting to look awfully fanglike. “I’m not leaving here without Emma.”

“With your track record,” snaps Regina, “you’re not leaving here at all. I won't be giving up this lamp until all three of my wishes are made.”

“So make them,” the she-wolf demands.

“You dare command me?”

Red looms out of her seat, fingers curling like claws. “Oh, I dare much more than that. Make the wishes, or I’ll make you.”

“What are you going to do, shed on me?”

“Okay!” Emma leaps to her feet, one hand pressed into each of their shoulders. “Let’s all just calm down.” She forces out a nervous chuckle. “Look, Red, I’ve come a long way with Regina. I really want to see it through.” Red growls, while Regina tries not to look too smug. “There’s only two wishes left. Afterwards I’m sure I’ll... find my way back home. Eventually.” She sounds less convincing with every word.

Regina looks away, lips tightening before she speaks. “In any case, we need a way out of this realm before any of us are going anywhere. Cruella is still our best bet: the way she talks about this land, she must have some kind of portal.”

“Or you could just wish us away,” Red bites out.

A scoff is Regina’s only response. The werewolf’s answering snarl sends shivers through her very bones, but she stands—well, sits—firm, back ramrod-straight as she glares into the older woman’s colorless eyes. Red can't possibly understand how much the suggestion pains her. As proven by the whole affair with Will Scarlet, Regina is not of a selfless nature. She can't afford to be. She doesn’t have magic like her mother or Elsa, claws and teeth like Red. For all her life, she’s had no real power; nothing to hide behind, no allies to fall back on.

Cora may have terrorized all of Wonderland, but none of her subjects was subject to more scrutiny than her own daughter. In the queen’s eye, there were always two ways for things to be done: there was the right way, and then there was Regina’s way. It was impossible for Regina to know the right way until she tried something her way, and by then Cora was already doling out her punishment.

It’s the memory of those punishments that drives Regina to clutch her remaining wishes with both hands. They are a lifeline, possibly the last one she’ll ever get. If she fails, if she is dragged back to Hearts’ Keep, Mother will have her watched every moment of every day for the rest of her natural life. Possibly longer.

On the other hand, Emma is no lifeline. She’s an ally. Even a... Regina’s mind wheels through a dozen potential titles before settling on friend. Part of her want to release the genie from all obligations, while another longs to draw her even closer and never let go.

For security’s sake, that is.

“Talk about heartless.” She snaps back to reality at Red’s words, the werewolf’s tone brimming with scorn.

Regina feels her own lips peel back. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re using my friend,” Red snarls. “That’s all I need to know.”

“I’m playing the cards I’ve been dealt,” retorts the former princess. “It’s not my fault she got herself cursed.” A moment too late, she realizes how that must sound, and forces her gaze toward Emma. “My apologies. I didn’t mean—”

The blonde waves a hand. “It’s fine,” she claims, but the lively green of her eyes has gone dull. “It’s not like you’re wrong. She’s just following the rules,” the genie tells Red. “The wishes are hers, fair and square.”

“I don’t like it.”

I hadn't noticed. Regina holds back the acid words, lips pressed tight as Emma responds in her place.

“You’re telling me,” mutters the genie. “But the faster we get out of this land, the faster we can get through those wishes.” She settles a hand on Red’s shoulder. “You’ve had the most experience with Cruella. Any ideas?”

“Everyone says she comes and goes as she pleases,” the werewolf begrudgingly informs them. “Whatever she’s using to cross realms, it’s either on her or in her mansion.” Still eyeing Regina, Red slips to her feet. “And I’m coming with you. Don’t think I’m letting either of you out of my sight until those wishes are made.”

“Wonderful.” Regina just can't resist. “We’ve gained a mascot.”

“Regina.”

XIV. Runaway

Red’s hovel isn't far from the park and De Vil Manor. On their arrival, the trio skulks around the back of the gothic structure like common thieves until Emma can find a window to jimmy open—with suspicious ease, in Regina’s opinion.

“I thought you were supposed to be royalty,” she mutters into the genie’s ear. Though her voice is as low as she can manage, Red still seems to hear, amusement shining from her face as Emma tries to explain.

“I wasn’t a very good princess,” she defends as they start rifling through the rooms of Cruella’s manor. “Drove Mom and Dad nuts for sixteen years, and that was before I ran off.”

“And were promptly cursed into a lamp?” Thanks to her research, Regina now has a better idea of how genies become genies. It’s surprisingly easy to stumble into.

Emma sighs. “No, that came later. Back then, I... made different mistakes. It started with little things: food, clothes. Then one day I heard my parents were coming to town and tried to steal a coach. I thought I got away clean until I stopped and a better thief popped out of the back.” She sighs again, eyes distant. “Neal was a decent guy. Taught me a thing or two in the years we ran together.”

Red lets out a soft snort. “I’ll say,” she mumbles, tone suggestive in a way Regina strives not to consider too deeply.

“Shut it.” Flashing a rude gesture at her friend, Emma strides away from them both. “Aren’t we supposed to be searching?”

To Regina’s quiet relief, no more time is spent on the subject.

With no one home, they manage to search most of the mansion, though Regina’s mood sours a little further with every lock Emma picks. Despite the genie’s pilfering prowess, the trio finds nothing useful before they hear the crash of the front doors that marks Cruella’s return.

“What do you mean you can't find them?” the huntress’s clipped tones echo through the house. “One of them is a slavering monster, and another is in technicolor! Useless!”

With bated breath, Regina follows her companions to a balcony overlooking the foyer. The three of them huddle behind the wrought-iron railing to watch the huntress berate her henchmen, delivering smacks and prods with her dogcatcher’s pole. Frankenstein and his assistant hang back in the doorway, clearly well-practiced in the art of Cruella-dodging.

“I’m a laughingstock,” she finally moans, tossing aside her stick and collapsing into an armchair upholstered with tiger skin. “The She-Wolf was bad enough, but now she has friends?” One gloved hand gestures limply at the closest minion. “Gin and tonic, Jasper. Mummy needs a pick-me-up.”

As Igor and Horace strain to shut the massive doors, Frankenstein clears his throat, an expression of mild disapproval on his face. “It’s not even nine,” he points out, then clarifies, “A.M.”

“Oh, very well,” sighs Cruella. “Make it a mimosa, then. Two of them.”

The doctor smiles, settling onto the matching sofa and throwing up his feet. “And one for me as well,” he calls after Jasper before reaching for his partner’s hand. “Don’t worry, sugarplum,” Frankenstein soothes. “The beast can't be far.”

Closer than you think, reflects Regina, glancing sideways at Red.

“We’ll have it in our grasp before long,” continues the doctor. “You’ll get your pelt, I promise.” He gives her a ghastly smile. “And I promise to let you watch while I take the creature apart.”

“Oh, Victor,” simpers the huntress. “You always know just what to say.”

As her lip curls with disgust, Regina feels Emma tug her sleeve. “Okay,” whispers the genie. “Cruella must be keeping her portal-maker close, whatever it is. We need to get her alone.”

Red and Regina nod their agreement, but just as they start to shuffle back from the balcony, the main doors are thrown open once more. The unfortunate Horace and Igor are caught behind them as they swing back, sandwiched against the walls as a familiar figure strides in from the gray outdoors.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Cruella demands, springing to her high-heeled feet.

“I—” starts the woman, but her host is already shaking her head.

“Just remembered: I don’t care. Victor, darling, deal with them.”

Drawing a crackling baton from his coat, the doctor takes a menacing step forward, only to freeze as the point of a polished hook appears beneath his jaw. “I wouldn’t, mate,” says the attached pirate. “Always bad form, threatening a lady—and that goes double for royalty.”

“Thank you, Captain,” sniffs Cora, gliding past the pair to face Cruella. Like Emma and unlike her henchman, Regina’s mother has retained her color, the purple of her gown blazing in the monochrome entrance hall. “I am Cora,” she informs the speechless huntress. “Queen of Hearts.”

“Oh, bollocks,” breathes Cruella.

The queen’s mouth twists. “Indeed.” With a snap of her fingers, the other woman is sent flying back into her chair, which folds around her like a tiger-striped fist. “Now tell me, Miss De Vil,” commands Cora. “Where is my daughter?”

“How should I know?” Cruella screeches back, jabbing stiletto heels against her fur-upholstered prison. “I’ve never even met the whelp!”

The Queen of Hearts taps her chin. “That’s funny. My locator spell suggests otherwise.”

On the balcony above, Regina freezes.

“What are you doing?” hisses Red. She and Emma are already several feet back, the latter rising into a crouch as she prepares to bolt. It won't do any good, Regina knows. Mother can't be outrun, not when she’s this close. Not with her magic.

Right on cue, a shimmering, crescent-shaped object bobs over the balcony rail, rising into view like a heart-encrusted moon. The sight of her tiara makes Regina’s stomach turn even before she hears Cora’s sugary tones.

“Ah. There you are.”

Emma darts forward and hauls her petrified companion away just in time. Not a second later, the Queen of Hearts appears, wreathed in purple smoke so dark it’s nearly black.

“And your little maid, too.  I should have known.” Cora’s eyes slide over Emma, snakelike. “Are you truly so desperate, dear daughter?” When Regina stumbles after the genie, her mother merely sighs, summoning her pirate accomplice with the twitch of a hand.

“Take care of the other two,” she sniffs, another gesture making every door in sight slam shut. “Regina and I are long overdue for a chat.” The pirate—the infamous Captain Hook, presumably—starts forward as Cora turns to Regina. “Well?” prompts the queen. “Don’t you have anything to say for y—”

“I wish the three of us were in Oz!” Regina blurts, whirling toward Emma and Red. The former gives a happy bob of her head, pale smoke blooming around their feet as she raises her hand. An instant before the genie clicks her fingers, dark leather flaps across the edge of Regina’s vision and—

And their feet touch down on yellow brick, both women stumbling slightly at the change. A few feet away, Captain Hook arrives mid-lunge and crashes to the ground, tangled in his black longcoat.

Red is nowhere to be found.

XV. Hook

“... so I gave Milah her last rites, replaced my lost hand with the hook, and sailed through a portal to Neverland to plot my vengeance on the Crocodile for the next two or three centuries.”

Regina stares across the fire as Hook finishes his tale. “As any logical person would do,” she mutters under her breath.

“Aye,” the pirate agrees, oblivious to her sarcasm. “So, when the lovely Cora offered me an opportunity to attain my revenge, of course I agreed.” Feet sprawled out before him, Hook slouches against a tree. Unlike his leather-clad legs, the man’s arms are held close to his sides, trapped by the rope binding him to said tree.

“How?” Emma sits beside Regina on their shared log, arms looped over her knees. “Isn't the Dark One supposed to be immortal?”

Hook nods. “Hence the centuries of plotting.”

“And what did your tropical getaway gain you?” Regina asks, not bothering to hide her contempt. She wasn't Red’s biggest fan, but even the werewolf would be a step up from Cora’s unshaven henchpirate.

“Not much,” admits the captain. “I did almost kill the Crocodile’s sweetheart upon my return, but your mother interrupted me.” He shrugs. “No matter. In exchange for my services, Queen Cora has promised me her aid in finding the Dark One’s dagger.”

“The one thing that can control your... Crocodile,” muses Regina. “And you think my mother will just hand it over?”

“Cross that bridge when I come to it, love.” Hook winks, drawling a sneer from the former princess. As he chuckles, Regina swings her legs over the log, turning away from the pirate with a wrinkle of her nose.

Emma follows suit. “Do you think Red’s okay?” the genie whispers.

“She’s a werewolf,” Regina deflects. Red may be a superhuman shapeshifter, but a furious Cora is not to be trifled with. She knows that better than anyone. “And she evaded Cruella for weeks. I’m sure she can take care of herself.” Though not quite a lie, Regina can't meet Emma’s eye as she delivers the reassurance.

Luckily, the genie seems to take it at face value, shoulders loosening as she lets out a breath. “She definitely can. Looks like we made it to Oz after all,” the blonde says a moment later. “Sure is nice to see colors again.”

She’s right on both counts, but Regina can't muster much satisfaction. Their brush with Cora has dealt her confidence a severe blow. Before, she hoped they could lose her mother in a tangle of realms, but the Queen of Hearts seems both able and willing to pursue her daughter to the ends of multiple earths.

“One wish left,” she whispers, more to herself than Emma. She looks down, imagining she can feel the uncanny warmth of the genie’s lamp even through her bag. Regina tried to be specific with her second wish, but the magic seems to delight in twisting her words. She’s now more reluctant than ever to use the third.

“For now,” she continues in louder tones, “we should keep moving. I’ve heard the Emerald City is home to a powerful wizard. If anyone here has the power to cross realms, it will be him.”

“Sounds like a plan.” If Emma has any thoughts about Regina’s final wish, she keeps them to herself. “How do we find him?”

“If what I’ve read is true, we just... follow the yellow brick road.” Regina glances over at said road, then back at their hook-handed prisoner. “But what are we going to do with him?”

“Leaving him here has my vote,” Emma proposes with a shrug. “He’ll get out soon enough.”

Regina feels herself tense. “What? How?”

“He’s a pirate,” points out her companion, chuckling. “They know their knots.”

Regina whirls back to see Hook still trussed to the trunk. “What?” he grunts, face a picture of innocence.

“You’re right,” grumbles Regina. “He’ll slow us down if we bring him along, and I’d rather be far away when he worms his way free.”

“Sorry,” says Emma. “What was that?”

She clambers to her feet, brushing off her trousers. “We should retie his bonds. The more of a head start we can arrange, the better.”

“No, no, go back. I definitely heard something about me being right?”

“Really, Miss Swan, we don’t have time to waste,” sniffs Regina. “I’ll douse the campfire. You see if you can find out how the pirate and my mother jumped realms.” She glances at Hook, who waggles his eyebrows. “Kick it out of him, if you must.”

Emma brightens at the prospect of a good kicking, but duress proves unnecessary. “You can thank the sorcerer for that,” Captain Hook says as soon as he’s asked. They’re lucky he so enjoys the sound of his own voice. “He’s got plenty of tricks up his turban, that Jafar. Beans, potions... I think I saw a parrot?”

“Wonderful,” Regina hears Emma groan. “My two least favorite people are now BFFs. Hey, at least that means we didn’t give anything away when you wished us out of there.”

Hook makes a contrary sound. “Actually, he neglected to mention the bit about you being a genie, love.” A dark smile splits his face. “Oh, the Queen is going to have words with him. Poor chap.”

“But he must have demanded something,” points out Regina. “If not Emma’s lamp, then what?” Mother would have been extremely suspicious of aid offered with no strings attached.

“Oh, he made some song and dance about needing an enchanted heart, but I never trusted the snake,” Hooks confesses quite cheerfully. “Can't put faith in a man with such a pointy beard.”

Emma covers a snort, then leans forward to check his bonds. “You're awfully chatty,” she says. “Why are you telling us all this?”

“Cora’s worlds away,” defends the captain. “You two lovely ladies are right here, and I’m trussed to a tree. I can read the wind as well as any good seaman, and at the moment it seems like it’s gusting due you.”

A sneer tugs at Regina’s lips. “Try again,” she orders. “Without the brown-nosing. You know we’re not letting you go, so what are you plotting?”

“Plot? Me?” The pirate shakes his head. “You’re mistaken, lass.” Stubbled lips pull into a broad grin. “I’m just stalling.”

She feels Emma stiffen at her side. “Stalling,” echoes the genie, slowly pivoting to place her back against Regina’s. “Right.” The blonde says nothing more, but Regina hears her sharp intake of breath a heartbeat later. There’s no need to ask why, for like her companion, she is already looking up.

Above them, dark shapes fill the trees. Before Regina’s eyes, another monkey glides in on silent wings to complete the baker’s dozen, beady eyes and crooked fangs gleaming in each simian face. Their silence is more unnerving than any screeching, for it signifies control. These monkeys have a master—or, Regina is willing to bet, a mistress.

“You should be flattered,” snickers Hook. “The Wicked Witch doesn’t send out her pretties for just anyone.”

XVI. Zelena

It’s a mixed blessing that the winged monkeys seem to have lumped Hook in with Regina and Emma. On one hand, it means he’s just as much a prisoner as they are. On the other, it means they have to put up with his thoroughly undeserved gloating.

“You never light a fire in witch country,” he lectures from two cells down. “Even the greenest cabin boy knows that.”

Doing her best to ignore him, Regina stalks to the opposite wall, the one she shares with Emma. Through the hole left by a missing brick, she can see the genie slouched on the bare bench that is her cell’s only furnishing.

Well, apart from the pot in the corner that Regina is trying quite hard not to think about.

At her psst, Emma looks up, propping her chin on her hands as she grins. “Ready to bust out of here?”

“You can get us free?” she whispers, hugging her satchel to her chest. “Without a wish?”

“Well... no.” Emma tilts her head toward the bars. “Silver. The whole cell is reinforced with it.”

“Ah.” A frown crosses Regina’s face. Genies are... allergic is perhaps the best word—to silver. Being surrounded by the material must be muting Emma’s powers, though they are clearly not completely absent. That much is evident from the genie’s black-and-white striped jumpsuit and the iron ball shackled to her ankle, neither of which was present when she entered the cell.

“Yup,” chirps Emma. “Guess we'll just have to do the time.”

“Then why did you ask.”

That smile doesn’t dim in the slightest. “I was hoping you had a plan.”

Before Regina can do more than scowl, she feels a strangely familiar tingling around her toes. A gasp rips from her throat at the sight of the green smoke winding its way up her legs, billowing up to engulf her face as Emma leaps to her feet—

And the dungeon vanishes, replaced by a gaudy reception hall. The chamber drips with green and gold, tubes of bubbling emerald liquid jutting from the polished floor. A winged monkey perches atop each tank, the minions as eerily quiet as they were in the Ozian forest. Before Regina stands a circular dais, on that dais sits a throne, and on that throne lounges a woman with copper hair and skin the color of a sour apple. A pitch-black dress caresses her legs on its way to the floor, and the matching pointed hat leaves little doubt as to her identity.

“Surprised?” trills the Wicked Witch.

“Well, yes.” Not so much by the sudden summons—Regina knew the Witch would want to see her captives eventually—but by the other woman’s tone. It’s gleeful, with a hint of malice, but more than that it’s expectant. Like this mistress of monkeys expects something from Regina other than disdain. “Can I help you?” she bites out, stiffening beneath the blue-eyed gaze.

“You don’t know me?” The green-skinned woman leans forward in her throne. Is it just her, or does the Witch sound almost hopeful?

Regina peers closer, trying to look past the verdant skin for any familiar features, but sees nothing that strikes a chord. “No,” she answers, folding her arms. “Should I?”

“Not at all?” prompts the taller woman. “A childhood recollection, perhaps?” Patience rapidly waning, she leans forward. “I was less... colorful back then. No? Nothing?” Regina shakes her head, and her captor slumps back, lips flattening. “My name, then. Does Zelena ring any bells?”

“Not a one.” Starting to feel uneasy—well, more uneasy—Regina nonetheless forces herself to meet the other woman’s stare.

The Witch—Zelena, apparently—narrows her eyes, studying Regina’s face for several heartbeats, then frowns. “Bloody hell!” she spits, thumping a fist against the arm of her throne. “Of course you’d manage to ruin this too. Must you always be so difficult?”

“Excuse me?” Regina mirrors her host’s scowl. “Do you have any idea who I am?” she demands. The indignation is feigned, half to cover her cluelessness and half to fish for information, but the witch just barks out a laugh.

“Better than you, I daresay.” Ruby lips curl as a superior sneer twists her emerald face. “Really,” she huffs, “this is just no fun at all. You finally stumble into my domain, and you don’t even—” The witch cuts herself off as Regina leans forward. “No, no, no,” the other woman mutters, rising with a twitch of her skirts. She stalks around the back of her throne, continuing to grumble under her breath as she paces.

“Where’s your mother?” she demands, whirling on Regina without warning. “Is Cora close? Is she here?”

Regina’s feet take a step back without waiting for permission. “I certainly hope not,” she snaps back. “After all the work I did to—” Her lips clamp shut. “But what does that matter to you?”

Instead of answering, Zelena flops back into her chair. “Ran away from home, did you? Of course you did,” she groans. “Ever the ingrate, aren’t you, Regina?”

She doesn’t let herself react to her name, so casually dropped. The woman mentioned Mother’s as well; perhaps she visited Wonderland during Regina’s youth? As good a guess as any, but still just a guess. Regina is flying blind, and she does not care for the feeling.

Even as she opens her mouth to retort, green smoke blooms around the slouching witch. An eyeblink later, she reappears almost nose-to-nose with Regina, one long-nailed hand reaching for her head. She recovers in time to slap away the grasping fingers, but misses the monkey approaching from behind on silent wings. The creature lets out a hoot of triumph as it plucks one dark hair from her nape, then wheels through the air to deliver the prize to its mistress, who has returned to her throne with a look of smug satisfaction.

“Thank you, Walsh,” she coos, then swats the monkey off her armrest. “Now, Regina,” she says with the same sickly sweetness, “Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?”

Regina stays riveted in place as Zelena stands, curious despite herself as the wicked wench conjures a small cauldron. At the crook of one emerald finger, a parade of jars and vials float out of the alcove behind her throne, lining up so she can take a pinch of one, a dash of another. The containers dance back to their shelves as the witch fills her cauldron, her final ingredient the hair from Regina’s head.

“Oh, don’t look so grim,” she laughs at the look on her captive’s face. “I hardly need a hair to harm you. You don’t even have magic. No, this is just for... well, let’s call it diagnostic purposes.”

Right on cue, a tendril of vapor spirals from the brew, wafting to Zelena’s nostrils as she sniffs. “Let’s see. Scale of dragon, blood of wolf... and water of the River Lethe. I knew it!” A look of faux sympathy is levelled at Regina. “You’ve been memory-potioned.”

“By Mother?” scoffs Regina. “That’s—” She stops herself before she can say something foolish like “impossible” or even “unlikely.” Cora is well capable of something like this, and it seems they both know it. “Well, what did she take?” she demands instead. “From that ridiculous look on your face, it has something to do with you.”

The triumph slides off the witch’s features, replaced by a scowl. “It has everything to do with me,” she hisses. “But you can't be bothered to remember that, can you?” The taller woman is still speaking as if this is Regina’s fault—as if she herself didn't just prove the opposite. What were they to each other, that their separation could leave such an open wound? And does this have anything to do with why Zelena’s magic felt so familiar?

Oh, wait. She doesn’t give a munchkin’s backside about what her abductor thinks. “I’d like to return to my cell,” sniffs Regina. “Unless you plan to restore these missing memories you seem to care so much about?”

“Of course not,” sneers Zelena, but the split second of hesitation beforehand tells Regina all she needs to know. The green-faced harridan isn't choosing not to undo the effects of Mother’s potion, she simply lacks the ability. She feels a spark of satisfaction at her discovery, but any smugness is short-lived.

“Eager to get back to your genie, are you?” The witch’s words make Regina’s blood freeze in her veins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denies.

Shrill laughter fills the throne room. “Oh, don’t even try, Regina. I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” She raises one emerald hand, and the monkey Walsh flaps over to deposit a crystal globe in her palm. “Always watching, and you never even knew it.”

“Creepy.”

“It’s not—” Zelena’s face twists into a pout, a foot stomping against the tile. “That isn't—” Regina smirks, enjoying her foe’s frustration... until the other woman tosses the crystal ball back to the attendant monkey and snaps her fingers, summoning something far worse to her hand.

Emma’s lamp! The sudden lightness of Regina’s bag cements her horror. Before her panicked eyes, the last wisps of green smoke disperse, leaving the vessel firmly in the witch’s grasp.

“Don’t know what I’m talking about, hmm?” she gloats.

For a split second, all Regina can feel is panic. “If you lay a finger on her—”

“Calm down,” Zelena laughs merrily. “She’s not my type. Too pasty.” With a wicked grin, she flicks her fingers. “You know, I think I will send you back to your cell. Ta ta, Reggie.”

“Wait—”

But her plea is ignored as the witch’s magic envelopes her once more. When she reappears in her cell, Regina scrambles to the wall, pressing her eye to the hole...

And sees nothing but an empty room.

XVII. Technical Difficulties

Regina is only granted a handful of heartbeats to panic before she feels the tug of the witch’s power once again.

“What have you done with her?” Regina cries the instant her vision clears. To her wary surprise, the throne room is just as she left it seconds earlier, including a distinct lack of golden-haired genie.

“What have I done?” Regina is taken aback by Zelena’s indignant retort. “What did you do to my new genie? The bloody bauble is broken!” In illustration, she gives the bronze lamp a vigorous rub. Then another. And another. All that emerges is a dribble of smoke, the white vapor gradually forming into block letters.

PLEASE STAND BY, they read. YOUR DJINNI IS CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES.

Their mutual baffled silence is broken by a quiet snickering, the amused sound leaking from the nearest of the witch’s simian minions. Copper curls fly as Zelena’s head snaps toward the henchmonkey who holds her crystal ball, eyes narrowing.

“Walsh,” the taller woman grinds out. “What do you know?”

The creature’s wings flutter as it dances out of reach, globe held close to its gray-furred chest. Teeth like needles flash as it grins, one yellowed fingernail pointing to its mouth.

“Oh, very well.”

The witch twitches a finger, and the monkey is transformed. Wings shrivel while shoulders broaden; limbs extending, fur retreating until a man has replaced the monster. His gangly figure stands even taller than his mistress, but past the mushroom of brown hair and knife-sharp nose, his face still has a decidedly simian flair.

He is also just as clothed as he was as a monkey—that is, not at all. To Regina’s dismay, he doesn’t seem to notice until after his luxurious full-body stretch. “Oh my,” the man mutters, frowning downward. “If you don’t mind, Your Wickedness?”

With a snort and a puff of green, she holds out an emerald top hat. “Trade you,” Zelena sneers, chin tilting toward his hands. “Hand over my ball, and I’ll let you cover yours.”

“Yes, please do,” urges Regina. She hears her words drawn tight by concern, both for Emma’s whereabouts and for her own sanity should she have to spend much longer in the company of a naked former monkey.

“That’s my favorite hat,” Walsh objects, but quickly quails before the witch’s scornful gaze. Exchanging the crystal ball for his dignity, he covers himself and sulks while his mistress glowers into the globe.

Regina waits, her spine tight as a coiled spring, but her copper-haired captor lowers the magical object mere moments later. “Nothing,” she snaps. “We’re too late; something’s blocking my view.” Her eyes zero in on her minion. “Walsh! You saw something, didn’t you? When?”

The man presses his lips tight, sullen defiance writ large across his naked form.

“Fine,” huffs Zelena, snapping her fingers. A pea-green corduroy bathrobe appears around Walsh, and though the sight offends every fashionable bone in Regina’s body, he looks delighted. One hand straightening his newly gained lapels, he raises the top hat to his head, pauses, thinks better of the idea, and throws it aside.

“While you... socialized, I was monitoring the dungeons,” the henchman informs them. “As is my duty.” The witch scoffs, but he goes on without missing a beat. “And what should I happen to see but some uninvited guests?”

Zelena’s bitter mirth drains away. “And you didn’t think I’d want to know?”

“You seemed quite preoccupied with your new friend,” he defends. Frowning at the appellation, Regina glances at the witch, sees sapphire eyes glancing back, and frowns deeper. “I would never dream of interrupting you, Your Most Supreme Maliciousness.” Regina catches some malice of his own in the former monkey’s eyes. It seems that this lackey is far from pleased with his lot in life.

The witch’s hands twitch, crackling with green light, but she reins herself in with visible effort. “Did you manage to identify them, you miserable ape, or has that walnut you call a brain finally proven itself to be entirely useless?”

The smile Walsh aims her way sends a prickle of unease down Regina’s spine. “Oh, yes,” he chuckles. “Even a lowly primate such as myself can recognize the Queen of Hearts.”

XVIII. Lost

When she extracted Emma from the witch’s dungeons, Cora did not come alone. She was accompanied by another, who from Walsh’s thorough, if slightly racist, description could only have been Jafar. The monkey-turned-man—or is it the other way around?—is particularly delighted to inform Zelena that the pair of trespassers breezed straight through her magical wards.

“Like they weren’t even there,” he laughs, bringing a glower to her lips.

As she follows the emerald-skinned woman into the dungeons, Regina feels her hands ball into frustrated fists. According to Walsh, her mother and the sorcerer had appeared in an eruption of indigo, thrown open the genie’s cell, bound her in chains of silver, then vanished as easily as they arrived, taking Emma with them.

More’s the pity, they didn't take Hook.

“After all my loyal work,” the pirate moans, pressed to the bars of his cell. Arms hooked through the grating, he slumps and lets out a gusty sigh. “Women. Royalty or not, they’re all the same: only after m’ ship. A man’s worth nothing to them without swift sails at his back or a towering mast between his thi—”

“Oh, do shut it,” snaps Zelena. “You worked for my—for the Queen, didn’t you? Did she tell you of her plans?”

“Worked with,” insists Hook. “But if you think Her Majesty gave me anything more than orders, you don’t know Cora.”

The witch points, and he flies against the back wall, chains lashing around his wrists and ankles. “You’d be surprised. But more importantly, Captain, I’ve heard of you. They say your wits are as quick as your tongue.” Her tone grows honey-sweet, cloying in Regina’s ears. “Surely a man of your experience would have something up his”—she casts a judgmental eye over his disheveled form—“ridiculously puffy sleeves.”

“A magic bean, perhaps,” adds Regina, remembering Blackbeard, but Hook just snorts.

“Do I look like I’m made of money?” he scoffs. “Those things don’t grow on trees.”

“Actually...” starts Zelena.

Rapidly losing patience, Regina slips past the taller woman. “Don’t bother. He probably can't even spell ‘bean.’ What good are you, then?” she demands of the pirate, knuckles going white around the bars of his cell.

“Easy there, love.” Hook grins back. “B-E-E-N, see? I can bloomin’ well spell.”

“Can you?” The witch sounds far too amused by the whole scene, her earlier fury replaced by a calculating half-smile. Emma’s lamp is still clasped in one green hand, but at least she hasn’t sent Regina back to her own cell. “If you have anything to offer,” she goes on, “I suggest you offer it—and fast. I’ll be needing a new genie now that the Queen’s nicked the pretty blonde one. Let’s start there.”

“Giving up so quickly?” Regina can't stop the scoff from escaping. “Finally, a wise decision. You really do know my mother, don't you?” Even as she says it, she realizes that for her, leaving Emma in Cora’s clutches was never an option. Rescue was her first and only thought when she learned of her genie’s abduction. If anything, defying her mother was an afterthought, something both disturbing and unexpectedly satisfying.

The witch sneers in reply. “Our.”

Shaken from her thoughts, Regina cocks her head. “What?”

“Our. Our, our, our. Not yours, you pampered little moppet.”

Regina blinks, words failing her.

“You were never going to figure it out, were you?” says Zelena, glee leaking into her tone. “Oh, the look on your face, sis: that’s what I’ve been waiting all these years to see!”

The more Regina mulls it over, face still frozen into an admittedly slack expression, the more it makes a horrifying kind of sense. The memory potion, the witch’s knowledge of both her and her mother... On the other hand, she only has Zelena’s word for all that. The almost familiar taste of her magic is slightly stronger evidence, but still far from concrete.

“Love a good family drama,” calls Hook. Though still chained to his cell wall, the captain has worked his hook hand free to scratch his stubbly chin. “But I believe we were talking about me.”

With a final gloating look at Regina’s stupefied face, Zelena turns back to her prisoner. “So you do have something for us. Let’s see it, then.”

“If you’d be so kind...” He rattles his limbs against the chains, which the witch dispels with a roll of her eyes. “Much better. Now—”

Regina is yanked out of her stunned silence when he reaches down the front of his leather pants. “No one wants to see that,” she objects.

“Speak for yourself,” leers Zelena. Leers her sister. “I like where this is going.”

“Sorry to disappoint, ladies.” When Hook’s hand reemerges, it’s with a glass bottle roughly the length of a finger. “But I wasn’t exaggerating about the mast between my thighs.”

Despite her disgust, Regina leans forward. Within the pirate’s little bottle bobs a little ship, a little black flag flapping from its little mast.

“My lovely Jolly Roger. Fastest ship in all the realms, and never far from my... heart. I offer it—and my not inconsiderable services—for my freedom.” So saying, he holds out the ship in a bottle. “With a sail sewn from Pegasus feathers, who needs a magic bean?”

“Mmm.” Zelena taps her chin. “You have yourself a deal, dear Captain.” One finger flicks toward the Roger. “You can start by giving that a wash.”

Chapter Text

XIX. Fairest

“Ooooooh, better far to live and die,

under the brave black flag I fly,

than play a sanctimonious part,

with a pirate head and a pirate heart.”

As Hook belts out the words and capers about the stage, Regina watches from the wings, arms folded and toes tapping. Noticing the latter, she scowls downward, stilling the traitorous foot.

“He’s not half bad,” Zelena drawls, fingers drumming along to the shanty’s beat. “I suppose life at sea makes for a good pair of lungs.”

“Let’s hope the judges think so,” mutters Regina, turning away from the pirate’s performance to scan the audience. The crowd seems to loves him, for some reason.

“And that thing he’s doing with his hips...”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Regina snaps, though her words lack the venom they once had. In the weeks since she and the witch joined forces, she’s developed a... tolerance for the green-skinned woman’s more grating traits.

Zelena just cackles. “Our dear captain is being vulgar enough for the three of us,” she snickers. “Look at him go!”

“For I am a Pirate King!

And it is, it is a glorious thing,

to be a Pirate King!”

With a hop, a skip, and a final pelvic thrust, Hook reaches the end of his tune. Basking in the cheers of the crowd, he throws out his arms, bowing to the judge’s table set before the stage.

“Don’t look so grim, sis.” Regina’s face only darkens further at the reminder that she and Zelena are related. They’re practically strangers, after all. She usually does her best to ignore their inconvenient blood ties altogether, and had been succeeding quite handily until a moment ago. “It’s only round two. Only the bloody dreadful acts don’t get past round two.”

“I’m thinking ahead,” she growls back. “There’s plenty that can still go wrong—this was your plan, after all.” For one, the success of their scheme hinges far too much on Captain Hook’s singing voice. Regina wouldn’t have agreed to it if they hadn't already tried everything else. In almost a month of searching, this ridiculous scheme is the first time she has even a hope of reclaiming Emma.

Her arms uncross, fists tightening at her sides as she imagines Emma struggling in vain against Cora’s magic, the same way Regina did time and time again. In terms of raw power, her mother is no match for a genie, but that’s little comfort. Emma shouldn’t even be able to stay apart from her lamp for this long; Mother and Jafar have clearly caged her somehow. With their combined knowledge and cruelty, Regina doubts there is much they cannot accomplish.

My fault, Regina reflects, not for the first time. Her obsession with freedom has cost Emma hers, and she cannot let that stand. She feels like she hasn’t taken a full breath since she arrived in Oz.

While she broods, Zelena just flaps a hand. “My plan is brilliant,” she claims, modest as ever. “The only surefire way to retrieve your genie is with another genie.”

It’s true; Regina learned of the quirk what seems like a lifetime ago, during her research back in Wonderland. With another genie, they can wish Emma back to the safety of her lamp without anything so dramatic as storming her mother’s stronghold. Regina would prefer to avoid setting foot in Wonderland for reasons as numerous as they are obvious, starting with all the trouble she went through to escape that wretched realm and ending with the fact that Cora must be counting on just such an attempt.

“Have you already forgotten what the grand prize is?” continues the witch. “All we need to do is nab first place in this daft competition, and I’ll finally have a genie that actually works. I suppose I can let you borrow it to rescue your defective one. Win-win.”

Regina’s—even in her mind, she hesitates over the word—Regina’s... mother’s other daughter isn't saying anything she doesn’t already know. “Assuming Cora doesn’t come after us,” she mutters.

“Hah! Mother dearest will be all your problem,” laughs Zelena, the sound ringing bitter in Regina’s ears. “You’re clearly all she wants. The only reason I keep you around is to distract her if she shows up. Like a... lightning rod for mums.”

Or so Zelena has claimed over the past few weeks, frequently and vehemently. But Regina likes to think that there’s more to the witch’s continued presence. Despite their continued sniping, Cora’s daughters have more in common than Regina likes to admit. Wit, drive, ill-hidden resentment toward the world at large... She can't completely hide the quirk of her lips as she watches Zelena fuss with her hat. Not to mention a healthy dose of ego.

“Stop that,” orders the taller woman, glaring out the corner of her eye. “You're judging, I can feel it.”

And speaking of...

“I could really feel your emotion,” one of Hook’s judges is saying. The leftmost at their table of four, he is a square-jawed, dark-haired figure with the uneven dustings of a beard. He is also made entirely of wood—including, somehow, the beard. PINOCCHIO, reads the nameplate before him. Beneath the name are the words: Author (Self-Published), in smaller font.

“Love the passion, Captain,” Pinocchio goes on. “Even the simplest of songs can tell quite the tale about its performer, and yours certainly had a lot to say. Now, I’m no musical expert—”

“And yet, you’re still talking.” The center judge cuts him off with pursed fingers, horned headdress wobbling as she rolls her eyes. Her nameplate is engraved with the name MALEFICENT above the titles Mistress of All Evil & Dragon (Part-Time). “Why don’t we let our guest judge handle this one, hmm?”

On the chair to her left, a woman in green nods emphatically, a pair of curling tentacles backing up the gesture. “Music is my thing, puppet. Stay in your lane.” URSULA, her nameplate says, Sea Witch & Vocal Coach. “Now, Hook. First off, great to see you again. How’s the ship? The crew?”

The pirate touches his namesake to his forelock in a sloppy salute. “A pleasure as always, Ursula. Of course, my Roger’s as good as ever!” he laughs, leering at the crowd, who whoop in response.

Regina wrinkles her nose. Really, what do they see in him?

“I’ve had better crews, though. Monkeys, every one of them.” For an instant, Hook’s eyes flick to Zelena, who glares back. “But overall, can't complain.”

“Right,” drawls Ursula, sounding as unimpressed as Regina feels. “Anyway, you didn’t quite hit all your notes, but that energy of yours more than made up for it. Just something to keep in mind. Jiminy?”

The rightmost of the group, perched on the tabletop behind a nameplate emblazoned JIMINY, Freelance Conscience, is some sort of bug. A grasshopper, perhaps, judging by the color. Maybe a locust? Regina doesn’t know, nor does she care.

“I concur,” he chirps, reedy voice amplified by a speaking trumpet. “Not a perfect performance, but certainly an entertaining one. Congratulations, Captain, you’ve made the cut!” Wings unfold from the mosquito’s back as he lifts off to address the audience. “That’s it for our Showing of Song, folks. After a short preparatory period, we’ll be moving onto round three: Wit.”

As Hook trots off stage, he flashes a smug smile. “I’ve got this in the bag, ladies. There isn’t a woman alive”—he pauses, considering—“or man, or puppet, or cricket that can resist the charms of Killian Jones.”

“That’s your name?” sneers Regina. “No wonder you go by ‘Captain.’”

“Save it, both of you.” Zelena struts past, heading deeper backstage. “We’ve got a pageant to win.”

.

.

“You are swept away by a dragon.” Atop the judges’ table, Jiminy reads from a cue card as large as he is. Maleficent and Pinocchio are the only ones seated alongside him—there’s no guest judge for this question-and-answer round. “You are taken to its mountain lair, far from any hope of rescue. What do you do first?”

“I go to sleep,” says the first contestant, a pink-robed princess. “No matter what comes next, I shall need to be well rested with all my wits about me.”

Maleficent cocks her head, arching one elegant brow. “Not really an answer, is it?”

“Ah,” Pinocchio pipes up. “But every story needs a strong foundation. Princess Aurora makes a valid point.”

“True, true,” Jiminy crickets. “Now, our next competitor, same question.”

Regina studies the man with a critical gaze. Sporting bloodshot eyes and a bushy pair of sideburns, he adopts a pensive pose at Jiminy’s prompting.

“A dragon, you say?” he purrs. “Why, simple. I concoct an explosive mixture from cave moss, rainwater, and my own—”

“I think that will do,” Jiminy cuts in. “Mister... Hyde, was it?”

The man waggles a hand. “More or less.”

“Direct and creative, with a high chance of fiery disaster,” notes Maleficent. “I like it.”

“Do I have my sword?” asks the next contestant, standing at attention in worn red armor.

Pinocchio checks the card. “Er... no.”

“I find a sword,” the woman decides, dark-haired head bobbing firmly.

“Is it a lady dragon?” Hook wonders when his own turn comes.

Jiminy looks down, forelegs rasping together. “Actually, yes.”

“I seduce the lady dragon.” The pirate gives the audience a broad wink. “If they can truly change form like the stories say, I’ll have the scales off her in no time.”

Backstage, Regina’s palm meets her face.

.

.

“You are trapped in a labyrinth of thorns,” reads Maleficent. “What do you do?”

“I recharge with a quick nap,” answers Aurora.

“I assemble a rudimentary compass with a rock, a button, and my own—” Once again, Hyde is cut short.

“I find the exit,” decides the armored woman, Mulan.

“Is it a lady labyrinth?”

For a cricket, Jiminy has an impressive sigh. “A labyrinth is a type of elaborate maze.”

“Ah,” Hook hums. “Well, I suppose I've had worse.”

.

.

“A dragon is burning your kingdom’s crops and hunting grounds,” declares Pinocchio. “What do you do?”

Though the crowd is already yawning, Aurora takes a moment to consider her answer.

“I open negotiations with the dragon,” she finally says. “Offering a prohibition on dragon-slaying and a one-year trial lease of selected areas in exchange for the creature’s martial support. With this leverage, I widen our borders in other directions, gaining territory of comparable value to that leased to the dragon. In secret, I also begin training a cadre of elite dragon slayers in preparation for the monster’s inevitable betrayal.”

The judges and crowd stare in flabbergasted silence. Around Aurora, so do the other contestants.

“Looks like that nap is kicking in,” Zelena snickers.

“I construct a fleet of airborne warships from fireproof materia and lay an ambush for the dragon,” says Hyde, still eyeing Aurora warily.

“I slay the monster,” says Mulan. Her laconic answers have been a hit with the audience—and with Regina. The woman’s bluntness reminds her of Emma, though she has a certain gravitas that the genie always lacked. Regina might have admired that once, but now even making the comparison makes her feel vaguely guilty.

Zelena seems to approve as well, but that may have more to do with how the former soldier fills out her armor.

“Still the same lady dragon?” says Hook.

.

.

“You are snubbed from the naming ceremony of a neighboring ruler’s firstborn child,” Jiminy announces. “What do you do?”

“I suppose I deserve it, what with my dragon-mongering,” muses Aurora. “I graciously send my kindest wishes and prepare a declaration of war.”

“I release a specially engineered gas into the reception hall, mutating my enemies into horrific misshapen—”

“I don’t care.” Mulan shrugs.

“I use the distraction of the ceremony to rob the blighters blind,” chuckles Hook.

As the crowd laughs along, Regina’s gaze pauses on Maleficent, who appears to be... taking notes? Lips pursing, she turns to Zelena.

“Do these questions seem oddly specific to you?”

.

.

The Fairest in All the Land pageant has seven rounds, or Showings. Already passed are the Showings of Beauty, Song, Wit, and Goodness—which Hook only survived by lying through his teeth—placing the remaining competitors at round five: the Showing of Grace.

“No self-respecting pirate deserves this monkey suit,” wheezes Hook, worming his hook beneath the band of his bow tie. “I’d rather be in one of those dresses. Bleedin’ heck, that lass isn't even wearing a shirt.” For once, the captain sounds less lecherous than envious. “My chest hair can't breathe in this thing.”

“It’s cultural,” snaps the passing princess, draped in sky-blue gauze with more of her caramel skin uncovered than not.

“Agrabahn, if I’m not mistaken,” Regina adds, sparing her a polite nod.

Zelena looks up from painting her nails with a grin. “If you want a real monkey suit, just keep whingeing.”

“And if you think we’re any more comfortable than you are, keep dreaming,” Aurora interjects from two prep stations over. “Just because we’re not wearing pants doesn’t mean it’s any less horrid.” Her own gown is tight enough to prevent her from sitting, its rings of lace and ruffles making her resemble nothing so much as a pastel-pink wedding cake.

“An aa’m nae exactly mich better aff than yerself,” says the contestant between them, struggling to cram her cloud of orange hair into a wimple. “All these layers an’ suchlike are murrder on ma girls.” One hand pauses in its labors to gesture illustratively toward her chest.

To Regina’s bemusement, Hook actually passes up the chance for a good ogle, instead slumping back and tugging at his belt. “Truer words have never crossed my ears, love,” he groans. “Me old block and tackle are feeling a little cramped themselves.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hyde chortles, strutting by in tailcoat and top hat. “I feel quite at home.”

As Hook mutters a rather uncivil theory as to why that might be, his redheaded partner in misery throws down her brush. “Noo tha’s just no’ fair!” she cries, chin jutting toward the approaching Mulan. “Why dis she get ta weer troosers?”

“Aye!” Hook chimes in, straightening with indignation. “And looser troosers—er, trousers than mine!”

Mulan has indeed merely traded her armor for another, almost identical set. The largest difference is the color of its lacquer, which has gone from dull red to forest green. “Dress uniform,” she defends, backing away. “Not against the rules.”

“She looks good in green.” Zelena doesn’t bother lowering her voice, watching the soldier with heavy-lidded eyes. “Though I bet she’d look even better in nothing at a—”

Regina slaps the hat off the witch’s head. “We’re in the top twelve,” she says, speaking over Zelena’s squawking complaints. “We actually might have a chance to win this.”

Even if they don’t, Regina’s not leaving without that genie. Taking it shouldn’t be a problem: she knows Zelena will be only too happy to seize the prize by force, and she has to admit that the witch’s magic is impressive. Emma probably wouldn’t approve if she were here, but she isn't, and that’s exactly the problem.

“Never fear, love,” Hook blusters. “It takes more than a beauty contest to best Captain Hook.”

“Oh, it had better.”

.

.

“Now, for the evening wear competition, I have the... privilege of introducing our next guest judge.” Pinocchio glances to his fellows, then at the empty seat on his left. “She’s an entrepreneur, a fashion icon, and the reason that the mapinguari is an endangered species. Her memoir, 101 Ways to Skin a Cat, hits stores this winter, but for now, everyone put your hands together and give a warm Enchanted Forest welcome to... Cruella De Vil!”

Regina feels herself stiffen as the huntress sashays up to the judges’ table, festooned in fur and leather. She’s in full color now, but her clothes aren’t much more vibrant than they were in her home realm, mostly blacks and whites with a few flashes of red. A dismissive, scarlet-nailed hand waves to the audience, which seems equal parts thrilled and dismayed at her appearance.

“Yes, yes,” she calls, “I’m incredibly impressive, I know. Do try to control yourselves.” As she sits, the woman produces a lit cigarette and starts to puff green smoke, drawing a nervous look from Pinocchio.

“Why is she here?” Regina seethes, reaching blindly for her companion’s arm. “I thought Mother would at least have dealt with her.”

“Hmm?” Zelena clearly hasn’t been paying attention, but her voice brightens as she finally notices the new judge. “Ooh, I’ve heard of this one. She once made an entire pantsuit out of a single unicorn foal. Can you believe that?”

Stomach lurching, Regina claps a hand to her mouth. Is that a new wolfskin shawl adorning Cruella’s shoulders? She hopes not.

“I know!” enthuses the witch, mistaking nausea for awe. “And including the boots, too! Now that takes skill.”

Regina is safely out of Cruella’s view, but the other woman’s presence still makes her heart race. It serves as a reminder that even with Mother no longer dogging her heels, she is far from free of foes.

“And now,” Pinocchio’s wooden tones ring out. “Our first candidate hails from sunny Agrabah, jewel of the eastern desert. Garbed in the exotic silks of her homeland, this desert flower is shining, shimmering, and splendid. Introducing... Princess Jasmine!”

Stifling a wince at the problematic purple prose, Regina watches the Agrabahn noble sweep across the stage, regal despite her lack of opaque clothing. Aurora is next, receiving another flowery introduction, followed by Hyde, Mulan, and a procession of other men and women until at the end of the parade comes—

“You!” shrieks Cruella, standing bolt upright to jab her cigarette at Hook. After a flicker of surprise, he winks back.

“Sit down, Cruella.” Maleficent lets out a long-suffering sigh, one hand clamping down on the huntress’s shoulders. “If we all took the time to indulge old grudges, we’d be here all week.”

“Yes, yes,” Jiminy is quick to agree, chirping nervously. “We have a strict no-curse policy on pageant grounds, all offenders subject to a hefty fine and several months of community therapy.”

Pinocchio sweeps a hand toward the stage. “Besides, we have a contest to run! The show must go on.”

Still giving Hook the hairy eyeball, Cruella sits back. “Fine,” she huffs, blowing noxious smoke in the puppet’s direction. “Let’s talk fashion.”

“That is why you’re here,” drawls Maleficent. “Now, Princess Jasmine, can you tell us a little about—”

“How drafty you must feel,” Cruella cuts in. “Have you considered fur?”

The princess bristles, eyes flashing. “Of course not!”

“Mmm. I see. Mal, darling,” coos the huntress, glaring right back. “How am I supposed to impart my wisdom if these chiseled lumps of eye candy insist on talking back?”

“Everyone is entitled to their voice,” ventures Pinocchio, earning himself another lungful of green smoke.

“Pish posh,” Cruella rises to pace before the judge’s table, sizing up the row of contestants with professional disdain. “They don’t know what they’re saying. Like this poor block of muscle,” she sneers at one knight. “Too many layers. Try something simpler, something that actually works with that strapping chest of yours.”

“Too pink,” she tells Aurora. “It does nothing for your complexion.”

“Every piece you’re wearing went out of fashion ages ago,” she informs Hyde. “And do something about those eyes next time.”

Not one of the dolled-up pageanteers escapes her appraisal. The armored Mulan is dismissed with a scathing shake of the head, while one unfortunate prince is reduced to tears in moments, the fairy beside him not far behind. The red-haired, thickly accented Merida has to be held back by her fellow competitors, while Hook grows ever sweatier as judgement moves down the line.

When she finally reaches the pirate, Cruella studies him with curled lip and cocked brow. “And you,” she pronounces, flicking aside her cigarette, “clearly have no business being anywhere near formal wear.”

“That’s what I sai—urrk.”

Fingers twisting into the captain’s bow tie, Cruella swivels to stare down the other evaluators. “There. Are we finished? Jolly good.” Not waiting for a response, she stalks off with a wheezing Hook in tow. “I’ll be in my trailer.”

.

.

“Is she... torturing him?”

Regina truly hopes that that’s what Cruella is doing to Hook in her luxury carriage. The alternative is far too revolting to even consider.

As the trailer rocks on its white-rimmed wheels, Zelena’s grin widens. “No, sis. I don’t think that’s what they’re doing.”

“Why?” She feels her nose wrinkle. “Ugh, just—Why?”

“Well, when two villains feel a particular itch—”

“Don’t you even start.” When the sound of breaking glass echoes through the carriage walls, Regina has had enough. Shaking her head, she strides away, dragging Zelena by one arm. “What I meant was, she looked ready to skin him alive ten minutes ago.”

Her foul mood is not helped by the sophisticated expression Zelena adopts. Do siblings usually come with this much condescension? “Well obviously, anger is just passion in different clothes. You should know that as well as anyone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zelena’s look turns knowing. “Oh, drop the act. You know I’ve been watching you and your lovely little genie for ages.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Relax,” laughs the witch. “I’m no stranger to a spot of slap and tickle. And she certainly looked fit enough.” Regina’s horrified expression must speak for itself, for Zelena snickers and goes on. “I wasn’t watching all the time, but I saw enough to guess. Really, the way you two carry on...”

“Nothing,” says Regina, enunciating carefully, “has ever happened between Emma and I.”

“You can't expect me to believe that!” Zelena’s face is as aghast as her words. “For three blooming weeks, it’s been Emma this, Emma that. And now you’re telling me you haven't even—” The pitying shake of her head is worse than the condescension. “Oh. Oh, Regina.”

It takes great effort for Regina not to throttle the witch. “Emma has become... a dear friend.” She relishes the ice in her tone. “A beautiful one, true, but I do not have so many allies as to risk one for some paltry attraction.” Zelena opens her mouth, but Regina barrels on, voice rising. “In any case, as long as I held her lamp, she was not an equal. What kind of message would that send?”

“And what about now?” probes the witch, producing Emma’s bronze vessel in a bloom of green smoke. “Once we get your Emma back, will you think of another excuse?”

“I—” She has no idea. “I don’t make excuses,” she denies. “And I didn’t see any suitors knocking at your door—the door to your castle full of flying monkeys.”

Zelena bristles, blue eyes narrowing. “I’ve had many a dalliance,” she insists, nose turning up.

“I’m sure.”

“I have. Just... not since Glinda.” The witch’s gaze drops from Regina’s, her usual posture sagging to match.

After a stilted moment, Regina clears her throat. “What happened?” she forces out. This is what sisters do, isn't it? Listen to each other’s whining?

“She traded me in for a younger model,” spits Zelena. “I don’t like this. Can we go back to talking about your failures? I rather enjoyed that.”

“Why do you even want a genie?” Regina asks, meeting her in the middle by changing the subject entirely. “You already have Oz under your thumb.” One domain seems like plenty to her. Despite Cora’s best efforts, ambition has never been one of her vices. Perhaps Zelena hogged all of that particular quality for herself.

Straightening, the witch hitches one shoulder. “Means to an end,” she claims, flashing her teeth in a brittle grimace.

“And what end might that be?”

“That’s my business.” What was I expecting? Regina sighs internally. “But,” Zelena continues, “I’ll tell you this much. If—When I succeed, you will be the least of Mum’s problems.”

Ah. Spurt of familial warmth or not, Regina isn't touching those issues with a ten-foot pole. She’s gotten the tale of Zelena’s abandonment in drips and drabs over the past weeks, and it was... clarifying. It’s not exactly a surprise that Mother would discard her own child; she had little enough love for the one she kept.

Regina spares her sister an awkward nod. “Well—”

“Don’t you dare stop now, Captain! All hands on deck!”

She’d thought this would be far enough from Cruella and Hook’s carriage o’ love. She was wrong. Even Zelena balks at the outburst.

“We should—” the older woman starts.

“Batten down the hatches,” they hear Hook gasp. “Thar she—”

“Yes,” Regina agrees. “We should.”

.

.

The less that is said about the Showing of Dance, the better.

.

.

“Our final challenge,” chirps Jiminy, “is the Showing of Talent.”

Sitting ramrod-straight in her seat, Regina eyes Cruella. Though the huntress is now lounging among the audience rather than at the judges’ table, the ring of empty seats around her makes her easy to find. Regina has to force herself not to flinch when the horrible woman’s eyes snap up without warning, a black look crawling across her painted features.

Apparently, Cora and Red wrought enough destruction between them to render Cruella’s manor unlivable. Adding insult to injury, the latter fled the Land Without Color with a vial of kraken’s blood snatched from Cruella’s person, shredding her second-best coat in the process. The huntress seems more incensed by the ruined clothing than the loss of the realm-traveling substance—she clearly possessed more, to be here now.

Regina was surprised to feel a mild glow of relief at news of the werewolf’s survival. She and the she-wolf were hardly fast friends, but Emma is sure to be pleased when she learns of Red’s escape. Which, if all goes well, should be soon.

“Top five, line up!” orders Maleficent. “Each of you will have seven minutes to demonstrate your talent, order determined by current ranking.” That means Hook is third, ahead of Hyde and Aurora but behind Jasmine and Mulan.

The desert princess is accompanied by a tiger when she steps onstage, the great cat prancing at her heels like a well-trained poodle. With a nod to the judges and a glare at Cruella, Jasmine launches into an acrobatic dance, the tiger following suit as she twirls across the stage. The pair are two parts of a whole, beast and beauty weaving in and out of each other’s orbits in patterns that never seem to repeat. From first step to final bow, they hold the audience spellbound, then make their exit to roaring applause.

Mulan’s act is no less impressive. After acquiring an assistant from the audience—Zelena, thanks to some vigorous arm-waving and surreptitious hexing of anyone who so much as scratches their nose—Mulan draws her sword and invites the witch to hit her with the best she has.

It’s at this point that Regina begins to regret sitting so close to the front.

By the time Mulan and Zelena’s “demonstration” has run its course, green embers lick at half the stage, steam rises from the warrior’s blade, and Jiminy has to be rescued from the paws of a flying monkey. The first few rows are a wasteland of shattered seating, but the crowd cheers riotously from the back of the room.

Sheathing her blade, Mulan bows and leaves, gaze lingering on Zelena with a new appreciation.

Once the stage is extinguished and patched up, Hook’s turn is nigh. As the judges vetoed bringing the Jolly Roger into the theater, he... juggles. Not an easy task with his hook, especially when he starts juggling with his hook. It’s a respectable showing, but not nearly enough for Regina to feel assured of their victory.

At least it’s not as bad as Hyde’s botched chemistry exhibition, which nearly reignites the stage. Even when he manages to extinguish the multicolored flames, an acrid cloud drifts over the judges, no doubt securing him a fifth-place finish.

Far less inflammatory is Aurora’s display of talent. The princess takes the stage behind a spinning wheel, perches daintily on a stool, and... spins. That’s it. As the minutes of her performance drag on, Regina has to fight to keep her eyes open. Beside her, Zelena doesn’t even bother, orange hair tickling Regina’s cheek as the witch nods off.

The judges, for their part, seem oddly awed by the demonstration.

“Impeccable form,” Regina hears Pinocchio murmur. “That’s a woman who knows her way around a spindle.”

“On a regulation wheel, too,” crickets Jiminy. “That takes skill; those things have terrible handling.”

Even Maleficent appears grudgingly impressed. “She hasn’t even fallen into everlasting slumber,” she points out, sounding disappointed. “Not bad.”

Aurora takes her bow and prances offstage, and with that, the contest concludes. As the curtain goes down, Regina’s nails dig into her palms. All that’s left is to tally scores, and then they’ll learn whether they’ve won, or if this has all been a waste of time and effort.

.

.

They don’t win.

It’s the scantily-clad princess of Agrabah that is pronounced the victor, a sash draped over her copper shoulders and a golden bottle plopped into her eager hands. The remaining contestants offer halfhearted congratulations, casting jealous glances at the prize until Jasmine departs to lock it away on her ship.

“Plan B,” Zelena says, wasting no time. “We steal it.”

“Of course we’re stealing it,” hisses Regina. They’ve spent far too much time to leave empty-handed. Behind a cloaking spell, they watch Jasmine disembark from her ship and stride back to the tavern for her victory party, tiger padding at her heels. “But how? You wouldn’t happen to have any actually useful suggestions, would you?”

“Temper, temper,” tuts the older woman. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Ruby lips twist in a superior sneer as she pauses, no doubt for dramatic effect.

“Well?”

“I suggest... that we make the pirate do our dirty work.”

Regina feels her lips purse. “It’s not the worst plan,” she mutters. “There are issues, naturally, but nothing we can't amend.”

“Do tell, sis.”

“First, we can't trust Hook. One of us will have to go with him.”

“Both of us,” Zelena corrects.

“Both?”

“Do you trust me to come back once I have that bottle? I’m certainly not letting you out of my sight with it.” The witch pulls a face. “Even if I abhor boats. All that rocking and bobbing.”

“Very well. Both,” Regina agrees. “Second, we need to be subtle. If we merely take it and run, we’ll have half the contestants on our tail.”

“What’s that look for?” demands the witch. “I can do subtle!”

“Right. And third...” Eyes rising over the taller woman’s shoulder, Regina resists the urge to groan. “It looks like we can't count on Hook after all.”

Zelena frowns. “Whyever not?”

“Because he appears to be leaving.”

The witch’s cloaking spell shatters as she whirls toward the ship currently lifting off from the docks. The Jolly Roger’s feathery foresail flutters in the wind, the power of Pegasus pulling the ship through air as easily as water. Cruella lounges beside Hook at the wheel, and Walsh issues orders to the crew of winged monkeys, several of which lean over the railing to hoot at Zelena as they pass overhead.

Regina watches with no small amount of amusement as Zelena dashes several furious steps after the flying boat, shaking one emerald fist. The witch is forced to stop when she reaches the end of the pier, returning to Regina with a face like green thunder. “Those manky monkeys,” she snarls. “Next time, I’ll turn them into toads. And not flying ones, either, just plain old disgusting—”

So all the monkeys were transformed humans, not just Walsh. “I think I see your problem,” says Regina. “Perhaps your minions would be more loyal if you hadn't—”

“Oh, shut it.” The witch throws up a hand, and smoke billows up around their feet. “Who needs them? We’re still getting that bottle.”

XX. Bottle

When they reappear in the cabin of Jasmine’s ship, the bottle is in plain sight, placed almost carelessly on a table crammed between the four-poster feather bed and the full chest of drawers.

“Typical princess,” Regina hears Zelena snort. It’s impossible to miss the pointed look the witch sends her way, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she crosses the cabin and plucks the genie’s vessel from its resting place, the knot of tension loosening in her chest.

Finally. She can feel the power thrumming through the metal, but that’s nothing compared to what the bottle represents: freedom. Hers, Emma’s, both or neither; Regina’s thoughts on the subject are all a tangled mess, but at least now she can—

“I’ll take that.” The words brush her ear an instant before Zelena plucks the bottle from her hands. As Regina turns on the witch, Zelena holds up the golden vessel, studying it with pursed lips. Her height places the prize out of the younger woman’s reach unless she jumps for it, and Regina settles for a glare rather than subject herself to such indignity.

Her wrath abates when Zelena produces Emma’s lamp, passing it over without comment. Somewhat mollified, Regina gives the vessel an absent stroke before turning to her partner in crime. As she watches, Zelena rubs the bottle with one green hand, and...

Nothing happens.

Regina looks on with a mixture of unease and amusement as her companion polishes the golden vessel to no effect. Face contorting, Zelena’s attempts grow more and more frantic until she is just short of bashing the bottle open against the cabin walls.

“Again?” the witch shrieks. Regina backs away from her crazed expression, Emma’s lamp cradled protectively against her chest. “What’s wrong with the blasted thing this time?” After another fruitless rub, Zelena glares at the bottle and slams it down onto the deck. “Fine. If that’s how it’s going to be...” She takes a step back, shoves up her sleeves, and winds back an arm.

Regina pales. “I don’t think that’s going to—”

The witch’s bolt of viridescent lightning ricochets off bottle, wardrobe, mirror, and several walls before escaping through an open porthole. A long, cautious moment later, Regina’s head rises from behind the bed, her gaze falling upon a panting Zelena.

Gradually, the redhead droops, face sagging beneath the brim of her hat. “Another dud,” she mutters, almost out of earshot. “Those judges,” she decides, head snapping in the direction of the competition hall. “Their bottle is a fake—the whole poxy pageant was a scam!”

But Regina shakes her head. “That can't be,” she says. “Someone would have noticed if it wasn’t a genuine genie vessel.” After all the time she spent studying Emma’s lamp, she likes to think she, at least, would have known.

“Then it’s empty,” tries Zelena, reluctant to give up her grudge.

Another shake of the head. “If it were vacant, we’d definitely know by now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nature abhors a vacuum,” Regina says, savoring her sister’s confusion. “And so does magic, this breed more than others.”

“Piffle.” Zelena flicks a hand, dismissing the trivia. “So you don’t know anything useful. Surprise surprise.”

Reginal gives her a flat look. “Right, because you’ve been so successful.”

“Shut it,” the taller woman moans, sneering down at the bottle. “What is wrong with you?”

“It’s sealed.”

“You don’t say,” the witch says, then stiffens, head whipping toward the source of the words.

Princess Jasmine of Agrabah stares back from the cabin’s entrance, victor’s sash still hanging from one shoulder. “It’s under a seal,” she clarifies. “Only the rightful winner can use the djinni’s bottle, to stop people like you from doing exactly—”

Zelena flicks a hand, and green smoke fills the doorway. When it clears, the Agrabahn princess is gone. In her place is something far smaller, far hairier, and with considerably more tail.

It’s a monkey. A monkey with an expression of pure shock on her furry little face and a sash proclaiming her the FAIREST OF THEM ALL hanging from one furry little shoulder.

“You really need a new trick,” sighs Regina.

When Zelena turns to retort, the primate formerly known as Jasmine is broken out of her stunned stupor. Sash dragging on the planks, she gallops forward on unpracticed limbs, screeching all the way. The noise seems to be the metaphorical last straw: Regina can hear footsteps pounding on the decks above, the ship’s crew finally alerted to their intrusion.

Before she can order Zelena to grab the bottle and magic them to safety, the golden vessel is scooped off the deck. Holding the bottle with one foot, Jasmine scales the bedpost like a—well, you know—only stopping once she’s well out of reach.

The drum of approaching footfalls grows closer, and Regina throws herself across the room to shut and lock the door. As fists begin to slam against the other side, she rejoins Zelena beside the bed. From above, Her Royal Chimpness bares dainty little teeth down at them, raising one of her free paws to the side of the bottle.

“Don’t you dare,” cries Zelena. “It probably won't even—”

Jasmine rubs the bottle, filling the cabin with saffron smoke. Apparently, the vessel doesn’t discriminate. The cloud of magic soon condenses into the shape of a young man, golden cuffs flashing on his wrists. The monkey wastes no time in leaping onto his shoulder, paws petting at his dark locks as she chatters out her first wish. Lips tightening, Regina edges closer to her partner in crime, bracing for the worst.

Nothing happens.

“I’m really sorry,” winces the genie. “I don’t speak monkey.”

Regina feels more than sees Zelena’s grin. “Well, well, well,” cackles the witch. “Having some communication issues?” The primate princess bares her teeth. “I suppose I could be convinced to fix that... after you hand over the bottle.”

Not being a complete imbecile, Jasmine’s response is a vigorous shake of her head. Zelena grinds her teeth at the flat refusal, green sparks skittering across her hands. A master negotiator she is not.

“We’ll let you make your wishes first,” proposes Regina. A particularly energetic thump from the door behind her leads her to add, “Once you call off your guards.”

A calculating look crosses the monkey’s simian features before she nods.

“Zelena?”

“She’s lying,” hisses the witch.

“You can always transform her again,” Regina hisses back. “Mid-wish, if you have to.”

Brightening at the chance to employ her favorite spell, the witch waves a hand. With an understated puff, the monkey vanishes from the genie’s shoulder, replaced by a princess cradled in his arms. Under Regina’s wary gaze, the boy’s eyes go wide.

“Jasmine?” he chokes out.

“Aladdin!”

What follows are several uncomfortable minutes, during which Regina studies the walls, Zelena grins lecherously, and the princess and her genie attempt to devour each other mouth-first. As this goes on, the pounding on the door intensifies, climaxing in a splintery crack that prompts Regina to clear her throat.

“The guards,” she reminds the lovers. “Unless your boyfriend likes the taste of fur, I’d suggest—” Her mind catches up to her voice halfway through the threat, a distant memory dragged to the surface by Jasmine’s exclamation.

“Did you say Aladdin?”

XXI. Found

“Off! Down, you drooling ball of—”

“Rajah likes you,” Jasmine chuckles from her perch on the bow. As always, Aladdin is glued to her side; the pair have been wrapped up in each other ever since their reunion.

Zelena’s response is a poisonous glower. Rajah has taken a shine to the witch, following her about the boat to nip at her impractical boots and shed orange and black fur all over her robes. Ignoring Zelena’s protestations, the tiger attempts to clamber onto her lap, and Regina has to stifle a smile as her the witch shoves Rajah away for the fifth time in as many minutes. Her sister is also looking even greener than usual; true to her word, she does not do well with boats, especially in the middle of the ocean.

“I think it’s the hair,” offers Aladdin.

“Let’s get on with it, sis,” the witch moans. “Before I shrink this overgrown housecat down to size.”

Regina’s eyes meet Aladdin’s as she pushes off the railing, and he nods. Face going solemn, the genie disentangles himself from his princess, shaking back his sleeves to bare his golden shackles. “Ready when you are,” he says.

Jasmine’s hand trails down his arm as he rises. “Are you sure you want to do this? I miss Emma as much as you do, but I only just got you back.”

“She needs us,” Aladdin simply states. “After everything we went through together... Emma’s worth a few more days as a djinni.”

A fond smile grows on Jasmine’s lips. “That’s the Aladdin I fell in love with,” she sighs. “Oh how I’ve missed you, my—”

“Touching words,” sneers Regina. “But it’s time for action, if you're quite done.” After weeks of anxiety, travel, and that monumentally pointless pageant, she’s not leaving Emma in her mother’s clutches for a second longer.

“Of course.” Clearing his throat, Aladdin joins her at the center of the gently rolling deck. “Where do you need me?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Regina hands him Emma’s lamp. “Hold this,” she orders, then points. “Stand there.”

“Whatever you—”

“And shut up,” she finishes, striding over to Jasmine and holding out a hand. “The bottle. Please,” she adds after a terse pause.

To her credit, the princess hands it over without complaint. Cradling the precious vessel, Regina crosses the deck until she faces Aladdin once more. Her palms grow damp around the warm metal, a lump forming in her throat before she swallows it down. All she has to do is say the words, and Emma will be f—Well, not free. Slightly less imprisoned, maybe, but not free.

It’s something that’s been weighing on her ever since her genie’s abduction. Before, even. It’s no fault of Regina’s that Emma is what she is, but it’s just as certain that she’s benefited quite handily from the other woman’s curse—and that she has the power to end it. Which is not something Emma has ever asked for, not something she’s even hinted toward. That, somehow, only twists the knife; it’s as if the woman has accepted her lot in life, utterly and forever.

Now that Regina knows the whole story of Emma’s time in Agrabah, she’s painfully aware that genie’s freedom was moments away before Jafar interfered. The defeated sorcerer had struck back at the worst possible moment, reappearing to bind Aladdin to a djinni’s bottle before he could make the liberating wish. The boy’s final free act was to wish both Emma and himself out of Jafar’s reach, scattering their vessels across realms. His landed in the Enchanted Forest, hers in Wonderland, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The deck creaks beneath her boots, and Regina blinks herself back to the present with a sharp breath. Aladdin is watching her with patient brown eyes, Jasmine and Zelena with slightly less tolerant ones. All waiting, all expectant.

She says the words.

In Aladdin’s hands, Emma’s lamp blazes to life, warm yellow light pouring from its mouth. A brilliant column shoots into the sky, vaporizing a stray cloud on its ascent to the heavens. As Aladdin steps back, Regina squints into the brilliance, watching a shape form within. It starts as a thin shadow, gaining substance until the deed is done and the light winks out as quickly as it arose.

Chains rattle as Emma materializes at the center of the deck. Regina drops Aladdin’s bottle in her rush to steady the taller woman, catching her by the shoulders before she can topple. Her face draws tight as she takes in Emma’s haggard features, the exhaustion in her eyes. Her usual jacket is missing, the singlet beneath revealing muscled arms, but Regina can't appreciate the view. The chains sort of get in the way.

“Regina,” the blonde croaks, then winces, doubling over.

“Silver,” says Aladdin, frozen with one hand hovering over Emma’s bonds. “It’s hurting her.”

Emma’s head whips toward his voice, rocking her unsteady form in the same direction. “Al? What the hell—”

“Don’t strain yourself,” orders Regina, meeting Zelena’s eye over the blonde’s shoulder. At a pleading glance, the witch clicks her fingers, and the chains burst into a cascade of silver links. Color floods back into Emma’s face, the haze clearing from her eyes as her fetters fall away.

“Regina!” she repeats, voice stronger but still hoarse. The relief in her gaze is short-lived, flickering to horror as she staggers out of Regina’s arms. “No. You shouldn’t have—”

Thunder rumbles from on high, the blue skies above their ship suddenly full of gray. The darkness is most intense just a few feet away, hovering over the very spot where Emma made her appearance. There, a shadow forms with sweeping robes and pointed shoulders, rings flashing on his hands and a crimson jewel glinting on his brow.

“Jafar!” Jasmine has to shout to be heard over the wind. The revulsion on her face is mirrored on Aladdin’s as he rushes to her side, and on Emma’s as she twists to place herself between Regina and the sorcerer.

“Princess,” laughs Jafar, revolving in midair to face the Agrabahn royal. “Street rat.” A sneer bleeds into his tone as he greets Aladdin. “I didn’t dare to hope you would be so stupid.” His turban shakes with laughter, cruel and triumphant. “Who do I have to thank for leading me straight to my prize?”

A glowing green hammer slaps him to the deck, sending him tumbling head over heels until he hits the rail. “That would be her,” cackles Zelena, pointing a gleeful finger at her sister.

The sorcerer’s gaze locks with Regina’s as he oozes to his feet. “Your mother misses you dearly, Princess of Hearts. It’s not too late for you to return.”

“I think not.” She answers with the distaste the offer deserves. “Tell her I’m quite happy where I am.”

Jafar laughs aloud once more. “You can tell her yourself, girl. You’ll be seeing the Queen soon enough.”

“Over my dead body,” snarls Emma. Her shoulders are rigid, her stance as brittle as her words. Though her health is improving before Regina’s eyes, the genie is still visibly drained, sheer pigheadedness keeping her upright. Dotted lines stand out livid red against her pale skin, her burns from the silver chains proving slow to fade.

“Why would I want that?” purrs Jafar. “I need you, after all.” One ringed finger swings back to Aladdin. “Both of you.”

“You’re outnumbered, Jafar!” Aladdin braces himself as the ship bucks, the seas growing choppier with every minute. “You won't get away this time.”

With a black look, the sorcerer raises one beringed fist. “Count again. Djinni of the ring!” he booms. “Come forth!”

At his command, a man appears. Bearded, bare-chested, and clasped in bracelets of silver, he stands in a defeated slump. “What is your wish, master mine?” he practically spits the words.

“No wish,” Jafar grins. “Just some pests for you to take care of.”

The bearded djinni sags even further. “You have but one wish remaining,” he mutters, the reminder given without much hope.

“Are you questioning me?” At a gesture from the sorcerer, the cuffs on the genie’s wrists being to glow. He cries out as the silver contracts, a sickening hiss rising from the flesh beneath.

“No. No, master,” he gasps out. “I hear and obey.”

The djinni flings out his hands, bolts of lightning shooting from each palm. Emma intercepts one, Aladdin the other, and all hell breaks loose.

XXII. Ring

Despite—no, because of—her mother, Regina has never particularly longed for magic of her own.

She can see the appeal, naturally. Security. Control. Power. Her mother and sister obviously reaped the benefits, but so too do they display the costs. Cora is covetous, cruel, closed-off even from her own family. Zelena is... green. And erratic on a good day, and so painfully isolated that she kidnapped her own sister. Both women have entire realms under their thumbs, but the people they rule despise them barely less than they fear them. Even if Regina was the ambitious type, she can't imagine herself ever wanting that kind of reign.

All magic comes with a price. She’s known that since she was a girl, since the first time Mother turned her powers on her daughter. She’s watched Cora stride down that path for decades, and it terrifies her. So no, Regina has never particularly longed for magic of her own.

At times like these, though, she can see the appeal.

Jasmine’s ship pitches back and forth beneath her feet, at the mercy of the raging waves and the combatants on its deck. None of the three genies are driven by a wish, making them more or less equally matched, but Jafar’s slave fights with reckless desperation and an utter disregard for his own wellbeing. Their magic splits the air, shockwaves of raw power erupting where the colorful blasts collide.

Elsewhere, the sorcerer himself clashes with Zelena, conjuring snakes from his sleeves and flinging them at the witch. She sucks the hissing missiles into a localized tornado, then launches them back at her foe, only for Jafar to reduce them to ash with the twitch of a finger.

The Agrabahn sailors scramble around the fringes of the fight, doing all they can to keep the ship above water. They don’t attempt to interfere; they learned their lesson when the sorcerer turned half their number into staves, each walking stick topped by a wooden face frozen in agony. The other half have been turned into flying monkeys and commandeered by Zelena, which is... possibly a better fate. Regina will have to make sure the witch changes them back.

Jasmine and Rajah have found shelter in the bow, anything that gets too close to the princess intercepted by several hundred pounds of overprotective tiger. Meanwhile, Regina flings herself aside to dodge a stray monkey, and her feet lose purchase on the storm-slicked boards. Emma reaches back to catch her, the touch sending a tingle of heat up her arm—probably just from all the lightning.

“Are you okay?” The genie’s brow gleams with sweat, a stray curl of golden hair stuck to her jaw. Regina swallows. No, she privately admits. It’s not the lightning.

“I’m fine!” she snaps. “Worry about yourself.”

Emma laughs. “I missed you too.” A swarm of bats flaps toward her face, and she freezes them out of the air with a flick of her wrist. “We’ve got this,” she claims. “It’s two against o—uh oh.” For a split second, both of them stare at the fiery chain wrapped around Emma’s ankle. As it snaps taut, the genie meets Regina’s eye, grimacing. “I may have spoke too soon.”

Their faces are excruciatingly close. “It’s ‘spoken,’” Regina murmurs.

“What? I mean—” Emma is yanked off her feet, trailing smoke as she starts to change form. “Be right back!” she calls over her shoulder.

Despite the blonde’s confidence, things aren’t going as well as they should be. Zelena’s seasickness is hardly conducive to a magician’s duel, and Jafar’s djinni seems to possess something that Emma and Aladdin lack. Age, experience, fear of his master... whatever it is, the mustachioed spirit is proving to be more than a match for both his counterparts combined. All three genies now float high above the deck on tails of colored smoke, weaving through the masts as they trade blasts of fire and lightning and bees.

Watching Emma loop frantically around a buzzing cloud, Regina feels something glance off her foot. Her eyes snap down to see Aladdin’s bottle skidding across the deck, and she drops to her knees to lunge for the golden vessel. She can't remember dropping it; she’s just relieved it hasn't slid right off the side of the ship.

Regina still has two wishes left from Aladdin, and unlike Emma’s final one, she has no reason or desire to hold onto these. She makes them both in quick succession, keeping her wording simple, her goals direct.

The difference is immediate. With the force of two wishes behind him, the young genie practically glows with power, bowling past Jafar’s djinni with ease. As the older spirit tumbles through the air, Aladdin beelines straight for the sorcerer himself. This wish is one he is eager to grant.

Distracted by Zelena magically tying the laces of his slippers together, Jafar doesn’t see Aladdin coming until the boy is practically on top of him. “Djinni!” he cries, but Emma intercepts his slave, abandoning all magic tricks in favor of simply tackling him into the ocean. Aladdin grapples with the sorcerer as his fellow genies thrash about in the surf, landing several thunderous blows before Jafar manages to slither out of reach.

“Djinni!” he booms once more, and the bearded spirit heeds his call. Summoning an anvil to drop on Emma’s head, he flies to his master’s side as the blonde takes a nosedive back into the waves. Turban askew, Jafar thrusts a finger at Regina, a fresh crook in his nose and murder in his eyes. “Enough,” he spits. “Slave, bind her!”

The djinni is already moving, face sinking into an instinctive wince, when he realizes what has changed. Slowly, gingerly, he comes to a stop, swiveling to face his master.

“No,” he says.

Jafar goes purple with fury. “Is it more pain you want? I’m happy to—” His fingers flex in and out for a moment, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his brow. “What?” he almost whispers.

“He said ‘No.’” Aladdin ambles away from the sorcerer, tossing a silver ring from hand to hand. “Looks like he's done being wrapped around your—Ouchie!” The young genie yelps as the ring hits his palm, the metal scorching his skin as it touches. Regina’s second wish has already worn off, but the immunity lasted just long enough for him to lift the djinni’s vessel right off Jafar’s finger.

Dropped by Aladdin, the ring bounces across the deck until Zelena traps it beneath her boot. One orange eyebrow arches at the sorcerer as he starts forward, hands spasming helplessly. Regina holds her breath as Jafar’s eyes dart from Aladdin on his right to his former slave on his left, taking in their cold expressions. Zelena and Rajah step in to complete the encirclement, and he grits his teeth as he realizes his gambit has failed.

As he weighs his options, Emma erupts from the sea, landing on the ship with a wet slap. Soaked to the skin, she takes in the situation with a slow blink and a toss of her drenched hair.

“Aw, did we win already?”

XXIII. Sidney

“So what should we call you?”

The bearded djinni looks taken aback at Emma’s question. “I... Sidney, I suppose.” He lets out a baffled sort of chuckle. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone asked me that?”

“I can imagine,” sighs the blonde, sympathetic. “I’ve only been at this for...” She pauses, pushing back one leather sleeve to squint at the miniature sundial that appears upon her wrist. “Ten years, give or take, but I’ve had my share of lousy masters.” Though she doesn’t so much as glance toward Regina, she feels a spike of guilt. She’d never asked for Emma’s name, and didn’t exactly welcome it when it was offered.

“How long have you been bound to the ring?” Aladdin asks Sidney, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the small table he shares with the other genies.

Sidney opens his mouth, pauses, then shakes his head. “I can't remember,” he murmurs. “Too long.”

Across the room, Jasmine and Regina perch on the edge of the Agrabahn princess’s oversized bed, Rajah sprawled across the mattress behind them. Though the unnatural storm dissipated with Jafar’s surrender, their motley band has relocated to the privacy of Jasmine’s cabin—with the exception of Zelena, busy securing and interrogating the sorcerer.

Regina was tempted to join her sister, stomach twisting at the thought of what Emma must have suffered at the hands of him and her mother. Her genie insisted that the worst part of the ordeal was the boredom, but Regina doubts the other woman was entirely forthcoming. In the end, though, Emma’s presence was a better lure than the prospect of petty revenge.

In the present, Aladdin continues to pester the older genie, each question more tactless than the last. “Who’s the worst master you’ve ever had?”

“Do you have to ask?” Sidney glares down at his wrists. Without Jafar’s influence, his cuffs and vessel have changed color, now shaped from warm brass rather than poisonous silver. “I was under his thumb for decades,” he croaks. “I thought I’d never be rid of him.”

“Decades?” Emma’s face crinkles with thought. “Then why was he after me in Agrabah?”

Regina feels her brow furrow. “He wanted more,” she says, recalling Jafar’s words. “All of you, he said.”

“Three djinn,” confirms Sidney. “The madman spoke of it often. He believed that with three of us, he could break the very laws of magic themselves. Phenomenal cosmic power, none of the limitations.”

“Only three?” wonders Jasmine. “Why not more?”

This, Regina can guess. “It’s a powerful number, symbolically speaking,” she recites. “Three wishes, three Fates—”

“Three bears, three pigs, three billy goats Gruff,” Emma adds.

Regina spares her genie a fond roll of her eyes. “Yes, Emma, them as well.”

“So it’s possible.” Aladdin sounds oddly nonchalant about the prospect. “Good thing we stopped him, huh?”

“Indeed,” Sidney intones, sending Regina an approving nod. “You truly are as knowledgeable as you are lovely.”

“That’s old news,” scoffs Emma, smile vanishing. “Anyway, Al, you get any good stories out of the genie thing?”

“I was found by the puppet-man right away,” says Aladdin. “The hardest thing I had to do was sit through that awful pageant. You were great, of course,” he rushes to add, craning back to grin at Jasmine. “But the rest...”

“It was worth it,” laughs the princess. She gives the bottle in her lap a fond pat, Aladdin shivering at the touch. “Once I found out where you were, there was no stopping me.” With a firm nod, Jasmine pushes to her feet. “And now I can't wait any longer. Shall we?”

The boy hops out of his chair. “Ready when you are, Princess. Wish away.” He nods back at his fellow genies. “The life of a djinni has been... interesting, but I’m ready to be human again.”

As Jasmine beams, the shame twisting Regina’s gut redoubles. Her eyes drop to the lamp in her hands, lips pressed tight. When she looks up, she finds Emma staring back, face carefully blank.

The lack of plea in her genie’s gaze tips the scales. Emma has been nothing but selfless since their meeting, even when she did not have to be. Regina, meanwhile, has been the opposite. Her first wish threw Will on her mother’s nonexistent mercy, while her second did much the same to Red. All the while, she’s been wrapped up in herself; her escape, her lack of power; her need for Emma at her side.

“You okay?” Even now, Emma is nothing but concerned, leaning out of her chair with a frown.

Fingers tightening around the bronze vessel, Regina opens her mouth.

“Wait!” Sidney’s cry fills the cabin. The bearded djinni isn't looking at her, his wild eyes jumping between Jasmine and Aladdin. “You—You're planning to free him? With a wish? You can't do that!”

“And why not?” demands Jasmine, bristling. “Are you going to try and stop us?”

“Not me,” the djinni sputters. “It’s the magic. It doesn’t like a vacant vessel, and it hates losing one of us. You can't free him,” he repeats. “Not unless you plan to take his place.”

Regina forces her mouth shut, mind whirling. That can't be true, she denies, but her heart is already sinking in her breast.

“That can't be right,” denies Emma. “How do you know?”

“I learned much while enslaved by Jafar,” says Sidney. “Most of it about our kind. In all but one case, the freeing of a djinni resulted in their liberator taking their place.”

Aladdin raises his hand. “And the last case?”

“They died.”

“The djinni or the one who freed them?” asks Jasmine.

“Both.”

“Ah.”

Sidney’s information sucks any sense of victory out of the cabin, a somber blanket of despair falling over its occupants. Aladdin slumps back into his seat, chin drooping until it butts his chest. Jasmine sinks to her knees halfway across the room, overcome by despair. Even Emma—

Hold on. Regina fights to blink with suddenly heavy eyelids. Sidney and Aladdin are now facedown on the table, Jasmine curled up on the floor. Rajah’s snores shake the bed, while Emma barely manages to flop her drowsy head toward the door as it creaks open.

Black boots clump against the deck. Green hands pry the bottle from Jasmine’s arms, pluck Sidney’s ring off the table. A moment later, Regina feels Emma’s lamp slip out of her grasp, a hazy shape guiding her to the mattress as she falls limp.

“Genies three, all for me.” Zelena hums. “Sorry, sis, but this is all for the best. You’ll see when you wake up.” She hears the witch step away, voice fading as Regina loses consciousness.

“If you wake up.”

XXIV. Wish (Redux)

Regina, Princess of Hearts, wakes up in an unfamiliar bed.

She sits bolt upright, half-formed thoughts crackling across her brain. Brown eyes dart about her bedchamber, taking in the rich furnishings, the coat of arms above the mirror. Hearts, she registers dully. She's in Mother’s palace.

A moment later, the princess relaxes into a luxurious stretch. Of course she’s in Mother’s palace. Where else? She’s woken up in these familiar rooms every morning for as long as she can remember. By the time she slips out from beneath the covers, her racing heart has calmed. There’s nothing out of the ordinary after all. Silly her, to be startled by a mere change of sheets.

She prepares for the day with a skip in her step—until she remembers.

Zelena.

Today is the day her elder sister is set to return from Oz. Regina scowls, fingers tensing around her tiara. Mother will be absolutely insufferable until Zelena’s gone. She always is. The princess completes her morning routine in a rush, unwilling to give her mother any more ammunition, and makes her way to the courtyard. There, she finds Cora, Queen of Hearts and mother of two.

“Darling,” she greets Regina. “You made it in time.” After a brief nod, the queen returns to squinting at the sky. “Barely.”

“She’s early,” King Henry points out from beside his wife. The man gifts his daughter a smile and a pat on the shoulder, taking the edge off Cora’s dismissal. “Nearly half an hour early. Zelena’s not due for some time still.”

The queen tuts, still gazing upward. “And yet...”

As she trails off, the wind whips into a frenzy. Regina clutches her skirts as a stormy funnel forms overhead, any hope of conversation drowned out by the tornado. It corkscrews down into the courtyard, buffeting the hedge sculptures and tearing at Regina’s hair until, as abruptly as it began, the gale ceases.

“I’m home!” trills Zelena, throwing out her arms. Cora glides forward to greet her, leaving her younger daughter to smooth down her hair and scowl at her sister. Leave it to Zelena to steal the spotlight.

Not that it was ever Regina’s to begin with. She’s been overshadowed by her sister for all her life. Possibly longer. Years before Regina was even born, Cora pinned all her hopes and dreams on her eldest daughter, and Zelena... achieved them. Every. Single. One. Ambition and immense magical talent are just two of the qualities she shares with their mother. Others include a wicked streak a mile wide and flawless ivory skin. Regina has none of the above, and Zelena never lets her forget it.

“There’s my little sister.” The sound of her sister’s approach jolts Regina from her moping a split second before her face is cupped in two cool hands. “Gina, how have you been?” Zelena nudges her chin from side to side, a searching look in her eye. Unlike Mother, at least her sister respects her enough to treat her as a rival.

After a moment of inspection, blue eyes widen just a fraction. “You have magic now.”

Regina pulls away, feeling her expression twist. “There’s no need to rub it in,” she hears herself whine. “Was I really so hopeless the last time you visited?”

“No—No, you’ve always had it, of course. Now it’s just... so much stronger.” It’s a rare treat to see her sister stumble, almost enough to take the sting out of her initial surprise. “Not as strong as mine, of course.” Zelena returns to form in a flash, casting a smirk at her sister before she clicks her fingers and summons a mountain of luggage from thin air. “How are the lessons coming along?”

“Adequately enough,” Cora answers in her place. “Naturally, she’s not quite where you were at her age.”

“Naturally,” Regina echoes dully. “It’s good to see you, Zelena. How are things in monkey country?”

“Oh, Oz has much more than monkeys to offer,” her sister laughs. “Terrifying the Nomes is great fun. Who have you terrified lately, sis?”

The barbed pleasantries continue as they head indoors for breakfast. And when they gather in the hedge maze for lunch. And when they join some of Mother’s nobles for an afternoon game of cassowary croquet. By the time dinner has been eaten and conversation turned to the upcoming festivities, Regina is counting the minutes until Zelena’s visit will be over—perhaps permanently this time. After all, her sister is getting married.

Regina wonders if she’ll meet anyone interesting at the wedding.

Chapter Text

XXV. Guests (Redux)

Regina can feel her sister watching her.

Even with mere days until the wedding, Zelena continues to give more attention to her sister than her rapidly approaching nuptials. Today, at a ball held in her honor, she’s spent most of her time shepherding Regina through a seemingly random gauntlet of guests.

“And here’s Anastasia.” Zelena presents the young Red Queen with a flourish. “I believe you’ve met?”

“We have,” manages Regina, hiding her suspicion behind a smile. Her sister doubtless has some ulterior motive, but as of now she has no idea what that wicked scheme could be. Thankfully, Anastasia is more straightforward. Regina's family is on good terms with the neighboring queen; though she and Anastasia have never been close, they get along well enough. As she approaches, Regina nods to the older woman, setting aside her sister’s eccentricities for the moment.

“Welcome—”

A spike of vertigo hammers itself through her brain as she greets the noblewoman. For a split second, a different Anastasia flashes before her mind’s eye, her smile colder, more brittle. In her vision, the Red Queen stands frozen beside Cora, watching with helpless eyes as a strange man struggles in midair.

“Princess Regina?”

She breaks from the vision with a shake of her head. “Yes?” she says, smile stretching uncomfortably. Beside her, Zelena’s eyes bore into the side of her face. “I’m sorry, you were saying...”

“It’s quite all right.” Waving aside her apology, the young queen beckons her partner into view. “I was just introducing you to—”

“Will,” breathes the princess.

It’s not until Will and Anastasia exchange quizzical looks that Regina realizes that she has no idea who he is. A frown tugs at her lips as she is towed away, Zelena smoothing over the exchange with an airy laugh that only makes Regina’s scowl deepen.

Deep down, she knows this must be Zelena’s fault. The how is a mystery, but there’s no denying that the days since her sister’s arrival have been confusing, irritating, and slightly painful—the classic Zelena triple-whammy.

.

.

She eventually manages to escape her sister’s supervision, but that does nothing to stop her suffering. Another flash of not-quite-memory comes when Regina meets the delegation from Camelot, and yet another when she welcomes the queen of Arendelle. She manages not to let anything show until she runs into the princess and prince consort of Agrabah, which brings on a veritable wave of images and, for some reason, seasickness.

Is this what going mad feels like? Maybe she should ask the Hatter.

“Are you all right?” asks Princess Jasmine, honest concern crinkling her brow. “Aladdin, she needs water.”

Zelena appears as the prince consort hurries off, slipping a pale hand around Regina’s shoulders. “Feeling poorly, sis? Probably just nerves,” she tells Jasmine. “She’s always been so dramatic.”

“You’re one to talk.” Regina shrugs out of her sister’s hold, wobbling only slightly. “I know what you did.”

Unexpectedly, Zelena’s expression brightens. “Do you?” she murmurs, guiding Regina toward the relative privacy of an alcove. “That would be a pleasant change. Honestly, seeing you like this is just embarrassing for both of us.”

“I—” Regina clenches her teeth, glaring at the tiled floor. “I know you did something.”

Zelena sighs. “Well, sis, you’re not wrong.”

“Don’t call me that,” snaps Regina, suddenly sullen. “It’s not—You’re never here. Sometimes I feel like I barely know you.”

Her sister’s face hardens as she deposits Regina onto a padded bench. “Maybe. But we are sisters. You can’t brush that off.” Zelena’s words strive for their usual ironclad arrogance, but for once, she sounds less than certain. Who exactly is she trying to convince?

Regina is starting to think she had it right the first time. Sometimes it feels like she and Zelena are practically strangers—

“My head,” hisses Regina, clapping both hands to her temples. She doubles over, drawing a hum of concern from her sister.

“All right.” Zelena seems to decide something. “Come with me. This clearly isn't doing the trick, so I’ll just have to—”

“And here’s the bride!” trills a new voice. Sugary-sweet and insufferably earnest, it drills into Regina’s ear to tap an instinctive well of loathing.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Zelena hisses. “Now?” Pasting on a smile, the redhead rises and turns in one graceful motion. “Queen Snow!” she greets in a louder tone. “I’m so... happy you could make it. And I see you brought the whole family.”

When Regina looks up, the back of her sister’s dress is all she can see. It’s a relief, really; she’s not sure how many more meetings she can take. As Zelena exchanges pleasantries with the rulers of the White Kingdom, Regina shuffles along the bench, rises to a crouch, and seizes her first chance to slip away.

She doesn’t make it five steps before something slams into her knees, nearly toppling them both. Looking down, Regina finds herself facing a well-dressed little boy, his guilty expression a match for her own. In unison, they glance back at Zelena and the Whites, who are fortunately distracted by an impromptu song from the Camelot lot. When their gazes meet again, they exchange a look of silent understanding, agreeing to leave introductions for after their escape.

A minute later, the pair takes shelter behind an ice sculpture of a bandersnatch, both panting slightly.

“I think we’re safe,” whispers Regina. The pressure between her ears is blessedly absent, no inexplicable knowledge triggered by this child. “If I know my sister, she won't even notice I’m gone.”

“My mom probably will,” admits her partner in crime. “We usually watch each other’s backs at these things.” He peeks around their icy cover, and Regina follows his gaze to Zelena. “That’s your sister?” he asks. “The bride?”

“One of the brides,” she absently corrects. “And yes. Unfortunately.”

“She looks beautiful,” the boy breathes, a little bashful.

Regina rolls her eyes. Objectively, yes. Zelena is stunning. Right up until she opens her mouth. “I suppose,” she says, noncommittal.

“You’re pretty too,” adds her loyal companion. “I guess.”

“Such a gentleman.” She offers the boy her hand with a smile. “I am Regina.”

After a moment’s staring at the extended hand, he high-fives it.

“Nice to meet you,” he chirps. “I’m Henry.”

XXVI. Henry (Redux)

“It is a true pleasure to meet you, Henry.”

“You too, Henry.”

Regina watches her father and her new friend giggle like schoolboys, feeling a smile of her own start to grow. After hearing his name, she couldn’t not introduce him to Daddy. Henry—Henry the younger—is a lively child, frank and unafraid in the manner reserved for the very young. Regina’s boldness was wrung out of her by the time she was his age, but the boy’s parents are clearly far more lenient than Cora—not a high bar, to be fair.

He’s also far too trusting. The offer of more snacks and a better view had him following Regina without a moment’s hesitation, all the way out of the ballroom and up a servants’ passage to her father’s favorite nook. Now, the pair of Henrys huddle together by the balcony, munching on Daddy’s stash of finger foods and pointing out the most ridiculously dressed of the nobility below.

Smiling, Regina slips out of the side chamber and closes the door silently behind her. Henry will be safe here for as long as he likes, but she’d better show her face back in the ballroom before Mother realizes she’s gone. Picking up her pace, Regina strides down the hall, rounds a corner—and nearly collides with a stranger for the second time today. It’s certainly not her fault; the other woman is the one running indoors, bellowing at the top of her lungs.

“HENRY?” the blonde continues to caterwaul as she barrels past. “HENRY!” Stumbling to a halt, she braces her hands on her knees and takes several gluttonous breaths before finally deigning to acknowledge Regina. “Hey, have you seen a kid go by here? Brown hair, cute nose, goes by—”

“Henry?” the princess says, her voice bone dry. “Yes, I heard.” She gives the other woman a slow once-over, from tight trousers to sharp green eyes. Her gaze lingers on the vest of blue leather, something striking her as thoroughly wrong about the color.

The blonde clears her throat, and Regina snaps her eyes up to meet an amused—but not unwelcoming—smile. “And who are you?” the princess demands, fighting the flush that prickles her cheeks. “His maid?”

“His mother,” snorts the stranger. “So... yeah, pretty much.” Grin turning self-conscious, she thrusts forth a hand. “I’m Emma, by the way.”

Regina ignores it. “How long have you been here?” she drawls. “An hour? Two? And you’ve lost him already. You really should be more careful with your offspring, Emma.”

Halfway through a sneer, she feels her features freeze as she says the name. Emma’s own face has gone just as stiff, both women thrown askew by a sensation neither can name.

“Uh. Yeah.” Emma blinks hard. “I’ll... do that.” Shuffling her feet, she casts her gaze around the hall. “Hey, have we met before? Just got a major sense of déjà do, or whatever it’s called.” She pauses, wincing. “I swear that’s not a line.”

Still reeling, Regina’s first instinct is to deflect. “I’m sorry?” she asks, the confusion in her voice only partially feigned.

“Don’t be.” The lopsided grin returns. “I don’t always think before I talk. Just ignore me.”

“Gladly,” Regina absently retorts.

“Ma!” They both jump as Henry materializes, squeezing past Regina to hug his mother’s legs. “You met Regina! Isn't she nice?”

She and Emma trade looks. “Regina, huh?” says the blonde, absently stroking his head. “Sure, kid, she’s a real barrel of laughs.” The two of them start to amble back toward the party, leaving Regina no choice but to follow.

“She’s not like the other royals,” Henry chatters on, oblivious to Emma’s wince. “She talks normal to me, not like I’m a kid.”

“You’re ten.”

“I’ll be eleven in eight months!”

“Can't argue with that.” Emma chuckles, glancing away. She grins as her gaze catches Regina’s, and the subsequent tingle up her spine makes the princess tear her eyes away, finding a safer view in Henry’s adorable little suit.

“Do you often attend these affairs?” she asks the boy. “I’ve seen few guests your age; aren’t you bored?”

“I always have Ma,” he says, beaming upward.

“And your father?” she probes, then bites her tongue. She’s usually less nosy. Or at least more subtle about her prying.

For a moment, Henry’s spirit dims. “He’s... gone.”

“My condolences.” Even as she gives his shoulder an awkward pat, Regina’s gaze is inexorably drawn back to Emma’s. She finds the other woman halfway to a glare, ready to leap on the defensive. “Still,” she goes on, meeting his mother’s stare with steady eyes. “A bright young man such as yourself deserves a higher quality of conversation.”

His grin springs back into place, and Regina basks in its warmth while Emma grumbles about her traitor of a son.

“I talk to other people,” says Henry. “Like—”

“There you are!” Regina misses a step as Emma and Henry are suddenly surrounded by a whirl of scarlet cloth and the smell of wet dog. As she leans back, wrinkling her nose, the blur resolves into a dark-haired woman, one arm slung over each of their shoulders. “Snow’s looking for you,” she tells Emma. “There’s someone she wants you to meet.”

“Another one?” sighs the blonde, a shadow passing over her features. For some reason, she casts an apologetic glance back at Regina, who arches an eyebrow in response. “Fine. Where to, Red?”

Red points, but doesn’t lead the way. Instead, she slips back to walk beside Regina, who studies her out the corner of her eye until Red catches her in the act. “Sooo,” she says, drawing out the word with a predatory grin. Though conversational, something about her tone makes Regina want to flee. “Are all the hearts just for the wedding, or is that a year-round kind of thing?”

“You do know what my mother is the queen of, don’t you?” the princess retorts, keeping her eyes trained forward to where Emma is describing something to her son. The blonde’s hands move as she speaks, elbows swinging wildly with her spirited gesticulations.

Red’s grin grows even more wolfish. “Just saying, it’s a bold decorating choice,” she says. “Good on her for sticking to the theme.”

“Tell her yourself,” Regina mutters, sparing a cool glance for the werewolf. “I’m sure your praise is just what she’s been waiting for.”

Her companion’s full-bodied laugh shakes the folds of her gown, sending intricate patterns dancing across the crimson cloth. “I don’t like you,” she states, mirth still twinkling in her eyes.

“May I ask why?”

“Not sure.” Red shrugs as if she didn't just insult one of her hosts straight to her face. “Just a gut feeling, I guess.”

“I’ve never been much of a dog person,” snips the princess. “Perhaps that’s it.”

The werewolf gives her a sharp look, but shakes her head. “Nah. It’s probably all the eye-fucking.”

“The what.”

Red makes a gesture that Regina can only call gleefully obscene. “Eye-fucking,” she repeats, not the least bit ashamed. “Ems may be as thick as two short beanstalks, but I know it when I see it, and I’m telling you to back off.”

“On what grounds?” Regina doesn’t know why she’s fighting this. There’s absolutely nothing of note between her and the woman who she’s slowly realizing can be none other than Snow White’s elusive daughter. “You’re not her paramour,” she finds herself saying.

Another sharp look. “I could be.”

“But you’re not.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about us.” Being on the receiving end of Red’s full carnivorous attention is extremely unpleasant, but Regina can't bring herself to back down. “Don’t think I missed that dog joke—uninspired, by the way.” The werewolf purses her lips. “Did your mother brief you? What’s her game?”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Trust me,” Regina says instead. “I have no interest in worming my way into your charming little kingdom.”

“Hmh,” Red growls, eyes narrowing. “I’ve got my eye on you, Cora Junior.”

Regina feels her jaw clench at the nickname. “Regina,” she corrects.

“Don’t really care.”

“You—”

“Ah!” Snow White’s dulcet tones ring out as the queen descends on their party like a kindly hurricane. “Red, you found them!” Her gaze zeroes on Regina with disturbing speed, nearly bypassing her daughter and grandson entirely. “All of them. Emma, sweetheart, I’m so glad you two have already met.”

“What?” The blonde turns a full circle, as if expecting someone else to step from thin air. “You don’t mean—No, Regina?”

“Princess Regina,” her mother softly chides, “is the one I wanted you to meet, but you two have already found each other! What a twist of fate!” The White queen exchanges a sickening glance with the square-jawed husband that appears on Emma’s other side.

“Fate,” Regina echoes. She doesn’t like the sound of this one bit.

“Yup,” agrees Emma’s father, reaching down to muss Henry’s hair. For his part, the boy glances wide-eyed around the circle of adults, as bewildered as he is fascinated. “Emma, you remember your fairy godmother’s visit last week?”

Emma’s face broadcasts all the apprehension Regina refuses to show on hers. “What’s Tink up to now?”

“You know she means well,” Snow sighs. “That time with the frog was... probably an accident.”

“Besides,” her husband adds. “She says she’s absolutely certain this time.” He gives his daughter—and for some reason, Regina—a slightly sheepish smile. “She seemed very sure.”

“Sure of what?” Regina asks, voice heavy with suspicion. The back of her neck prickles as Red prowls behind her, the werewolf glaring daggers into her back.

“Emma, Regina,” Snow addresses each of them in turn. “I’m so happy to give you the news...” She pauses, vibrating with such enthusiasm that Regina half expects her to burst.

“You’re soulmates!”

XXVII. Soulmate (Redux)

“This is... unexpected.”

“No shit,” Emma blurts, then looks guilty. “Sorry. No offense.”

They’ve retreated to a corner of the ballroom, followed by indulgent gazes from Emma’s parents. Snow White and Prince Consort Charming were more than willing to allow the—ugh—soulmates privacy to “digest the momentous news.”

Regina fixes the taller woman with a withering look. “Clearly, your godmother is mistaken.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Emma heaves out a groan. “Look, Regina, I’m sorry. Snow has been trying to land me a ‘true love’ ever since... well, Henry. She’s been nudging me for ages, and...” She gives Regina the shadow of a grin. “Well, I know I don’t need to tell you about demanding mothers.”

“Excuse me.”

Regina can actually see the moment when Emma’s brain catches up to her lips. “I don’t know why I said that!” she blurts. “I don’t know anything about you or your terrifying mom, I swear. It’s just—Look, this has been happening all day. I... I dunno, it’s like there’s something weird about this place. No offense.”

For a long beat, Regina just stares. Long enough that Emma begins to shift, fingers twisting together before her waist. “Honest,” she promises. “I think I might be going crazy.”

Regina’s been having flashes of impossible knowledge ever since the guests began to arrive, but this is the first time they’ve been mutual. Maybe there’s something to this soulmate nonsense after—

Wait. A scowl darkens her face as she remembers that something else has been plaguing her all day. Or rather, someone else.

“You’re not going mad,” she tells Emma, surprised by the wave of relief that rolls off the woman. Is a stranger’s word all it takes to reassure her? “Find your fairy,” Regina continues. “Maybe she can help us get to the bottom of this.” Maybe, but she’s not holding out too much hope on that front, Regina has a curdling suspicion she already knows who’s to blame for this mess.

“Oh, she’d better.” Emma smacks one fist into the opposite palm. “Tink has always been a pain in my ass, but this time she’s gone too far!” Once again, the blonde’s face softens as she turns to Regina. “No offense.”

“So you keep saying.” She’s taken aback by the teasing note in her own voice. “I’m not sure that phrase does what you think it does.”

“It’s kept you from biting my head off,” Emma fires back, life creeping back into her words. “So I think it’s doing just fine.”

“Think? You?” Why can't Regina stop herself? There’s no need for her to... to banter with this stranger that fate has seen fit to shackle her to. “I see where the problem lies.”

Snorting out an unladylike laugh, Emma waves her off. “Where are you headed?” she asks before they part ways.

“Me?” Regina clenches her fists so hard she feels her knuckles pop. “It’s time I had words with my sister.”

.

.

When she finds Zelena, the redhead is with her bride-to-be, leaning happily on the shorter woman’s armored arm.

“General Fa,” Regina greets before shooting Zelena a poisonous look. “May I borrow my dear sister?”

Mulan glances between them, taking in the murder lurking in Regina’s eyes and the amusement sparkling in Zelena’s, then excuses herself and beats a strategic retreat toward her trio of bridesmen.

“So rude.” Zelena doesn’t resist as Regina drags her toward the nearest door. “Slow down, Gina. Think of our guests!”

“Soulmates?” She barely waits until they leave the ballroom before whirling on her sister. “What have I done to deserve this, Zelena? You already have everything! You always have. You won our rivalry before I was even born, so what can you possibly gain by—by torturing me like this?”

Something clicks in her sister’s expression, and she bundles them into a nearby room. It’s a small parlor, its most notable feature the carven archway—heart-shaped, naturally—that frames an open-air balcony. Zelena nudges Regina into a chair, then begins to pace, dragging one hand down her face.

“Always so difficult,” she sighs. “Have you ever considered I might be doing this for you?”

“No.” Regina answers flatly.

“Fair enough.” Zelena leans against the back of an armchair, eying her sister for several moments. “I’ll admit, it’s nice not to be the envious one for once.”

“For once?” Regina nearly wails. “It’s been like this as long as I can remember!”

Her sister just rolls her eyes. “Oh, this is just getting sad.” With a flick of her wrist, she summons an emerald globe of magic. “Really, sis, I’d hoped you could figure it out on your own.”

“What is that?” Regina leaps to her feet, resisting the urge to sprint for the door. Showing weakness to Zelena is as good as asking to get hexed in the back.

“Don’t worry,” says her sister. “This won't hurt.” A pause. “Probably.”

It should be noted that when the magic surges for her face, Regina at no point fears for her life. Instead, she remembers one spring afternoon in this very palace, when Zelena—in an act she swears to this day was an accident—transformed her head into that of an elephant. She can't recall why; they quarreled often as girls. But afterwards, she was forced to stew for nearly an hour, listening to Mother praise her sister for “an impeccably executed partial transmogrification.”

Listening was easy. You know, because of the elephant ears.

This memory fueled her through many a magic lesson with Cora, and now it spurs her into action. Moving on instinct, her hands rise to summon power of their own. Against Zelena’s raw strength, a shield would be less than useless, so she aims a fireball at the missile itself. It intercepts the green orb, the combined energy erupting harmlessly halfway between them.

Her form is impeccable—under Cora’s tutelage, it would have to be. Her counterstrike is well considered and deftly delivered, the product of years of study and practice. This all comes as something of a shock to Regina, who has never used magic before in her life.

With a gasp, she collapses to her knees, mind finally tumbling off the wire it’s been balancing on all day. She doesn’t know magic. She’s never known magic, because... because...

Because Mother didn't teach her. Mother would never, because...

Because she never wanted a daughter with the power to defy her. But that isn’t true, not anymore, because...

Because that hope died in its infancy—or rather, Zelena’s—when a tornado conjured by the babe demolished an entire wing of Hearts’ Keep. Which never happened, not truly, because...

Because Mother chose a crown over a daughter.

Choking on nothing, Regina snaps back to the present. Her eyes are stinging, her heart pounding, but between her throbbing temples, her mind crackles with new clarity.

“There you are,” says Zelena. “Awake at last.”

XXVIII. Fairest (Redux)

“Why?” Regina murmurs through clenched teeth. “Of all the matches in the all the lands, why her?”

“Don’t stop smiling.” Zelena—her sister—the Witch—the bride—hisses back through an equally fixed expression. “Or Mother will skin us both.”

Regina has two sets of memories swirling through her skull, and at the moment, both are in agreement. “Oh,” she grits out. “Is being the favorite not everything you wished for?”

“I didn’t say that.” Her sister waves as she speaks, keeping up a smile for their cheering audience. Beneath their feet, the carriage continues to inch forward, rolling past the onlookers at an excruciating pace. “I’ll be honest, all those times you groaned about our mum, I thought you were just soft.”

Shifting ever so slightly, Regina spears a stiletto heel into Zelena’s foot. “So much for your perfect world.” As her sister stifles a yelp, she lets her gaze drift to the carriage in front of theirs. “But again, why her?”

Mulan turns back, eyes dancing with a smile that doesn’t need her mouth, and Regina watches her sister melt. “If you must know,” sighs the older woman. “It was a surprise to me as well. When I made my demands of the magic, I didn’t exactly... specify.”

“Apart from making sure you were the apple of Mother’s eye.” Regina won't be letting that one go anytime soon. Her second set of memories has already taken a backseat, but a childhood spent stewing beneath Zelena’s smug superiority still lingers in her mind’s eye.

“Yes, obviously.” Zelena gives the adoring Wonderland citizens another wave. “But mostly I let the magic fill in the blanks. Can you blame me for requesting a partner of my own? After all, I did my best for you and your Emma.” The taller woman lets out a happy hum. “I have to say, I’m not disappointed. She may be a woman of few words, but Mulan knows what she wants. I like that in a lady. And she was never scared of me, not even in the old world...”

Though her sister rambles on, Regina stopped listening after “Emma.” Her Emma, Zelena said, and though Regina tries to deny it, dozens of new-old recollections are eager to prove her sister right. From their first meeting to their separation to their all-too-brief reunion, memories flood her mind, Emma starring in every one. The scenes clash and overlap until Regina feels about to drown, but she hangs on, letting them wash over her without complaint. Anything for another glimpse of the comforting, inspiring, infuriating woman she loves.

She blinks. The woman she...

Oh, no. Regina feels the sudden urge to bury her face in her hands. Zelena was right.

Minutes later, when she finishes clawing her way out from her epiphany, her sister is finally concluding the list of her betrothed’s best features.

“—she terrifies Glinda, and she absolutely loathes Mother,” Zelena finishes, sounding quite satisfied. “Nearly stabbed her when they first met a few months back. It was terribly romantic.”

Dragging herself from thoughts of muscled shoulders and clumsy words, Regina frowns. “No she didn’t,” she objects. “She couldn’t have. This world has only been here for a few days.”

“We’ve only been here a few days,” her sister corrects. “The world has always been like this.” She seesaws one hand. “Well, ever since I changed the past.”

“Impossible.” The denial is automatic. “Even genies can't change the—Ah.” Regina sags with comprehension. “Jafar’s theory. That’s why you stole all three.”

“They’re not genies anymore,” defends Zelena. “Isn't that what they all wanted? Aladdin can be with his princess. Sidney is in Arendelle drooling after some ice queen. And Emma...” She waggles her eyebrows at Regina. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“She doesn’t remember. It wouldn’t be... real.”

Zelena flinches at that, eyes darting toward Mulan. “This is how the world is now,” she insists. “We may not have lived through all our memories, but they are real.”

“Then how did you meet?” Regina’s not sure if she’s asking to poke holes in Zelena’s theory or out of plain curiosity. She feels like she’s looking at two sisters; the one she never knew existed and the one whose shadow she's lived in for years. In one life, their relationship had been short and ended in betrayal. In the other, it had been lifelong and ended... well, the jury’s still out, isn't it?

Either way, Regina doesn’t know what to expect of the witch. On reflection, she supposes she never really did.

“We met in Oz, of course.” It’s odd to see Zelena’s features soften, more peaceful than they’ve been in both the lifetimes Regina’s known her. “She was on a ‘heroic quest’ or some such piffle.” She pauses. “Did you know, in this world they call me a good witch? Apparently, not being thrown away like yesterday’s rubbish does wonders for one’s character.

“Anyway,” she goes on, tone airy. “Glinda and her posse were too gutless to help her, but not me. Saving a dragon from the Nome King was quite the first date.”

“Talking about me?”

Both sisters jump at the quiet question. Looking down, Regina finds Mulan standing by the now-open door of their carriage, hand offered in assistance. The glittering shape of the wedding venue stands some distance away, behind a plaza packed with guests.

As Zelena takes her fiancé’s hand and climbs down, Regina catches a flash of something on her sister’s face. Not regret, exactly, but... guilt? It could be. She hangs back as the couple passes through the crowd, unable to stop her eyes from following every flash of golden hair. Regina doesn’t find who she’s looking for, but someone else finds her, appearing at her side with even less warning than Mulan.

“What a happy day.” Of all the tones she’s heard in Cora’s voice over the years, sincere is perhaps the most unnerving. “Your sister deserves this, don’t you think?”

Regina doesn’t dare look directly at her mother. She can't shake the feeling that Cora will know something has changed the instant she looks in her eyes, so she keeps her head down and back straight, frozen like a sheep beside a wolf. It’s as if she’s a girl again, doing all she can to avoid Mother’s disappointment. The defiance she clung to while searching for Emma has fled in Cora’s presence, and it’s all Regina can do to keep her voice calm.

“I... do,” she says, not entirely sure if she’s lying. To be fair, Zelena won. She planned, acted, achieved her goals, and doesn’t that deserve some reward? “Do you truly approve, Mother?”

“Why wouldn’t I? A general is a fine match, and the Fa name is held in high esteem across the Eastern Empire.” It’s not quite an answer, and from the curl of Mother’s lips, she knows that Regina has noticed. “Although,” she continues, “from what I’ve heard, Zelena isn't the only one who’s found her missing piece.” Cora graces her daughter with her least sharklike smile. “Soulmates. How delightfully quaint.”

“I can't believe it,” Regina admits with complete honesty. “It just doesn’t seem real.”

“You’ve always lacked confidence, darling. I think you and the White princess make a very fine match indeed.”

Her daughter blinks. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. I always have. Don’t you recall?”

Regina doesn’t catch the implication until after Cora has left her side. “I always have,” her mother said, but as far as Regina knows, her family had no contact with the White Kingdom before today. They hadn't in the old world either, not until—

Her blood runs cold. Not until the ball where she and Emma had danced, where Cora almost seemed to approve of their pairing.

Her mother remembers.

XXIX. Zelena (Redux)

“That’s impossible,” scoffs Zelena, preening at her own reflection. “Mother can't remember.”

“Why not?” Scowling, Regina paces across the dressing room as she assembles her thoughts. “I was starting to. All your attempted assault did was help the process along. What was that, anyway? Mother’s lessons never mentioned any magic that looked like that.”

She’s experimented—played, honestly—with her magic several times since she regained her memories. It came to hand just as easily as the first time, her body remembering the steps even if her mind does not. Just another thing blurring the lines between her twin selves.

In the mirror, Zelena’s gaze flicks to hers, then away. “If you must know, I’ve been working on a way to restore memories of the old world,” she confesses. “I’m positive—mostly positive—that it would have worked, but you just had to show off and remember on your own. Typical.”

“You were planning to help me?” says Regina, touched.

She sees Zelena’s reflection blink. “You? Oh, yes, right. For you, of course. Who else?”

Who else indeed? Regina’s eyes widen as the clues come together. “You were planning to mend Mulan’s mind!”

“Of course not!” Her sister lets out a nervous laugh. “I’ve told you, there’s nothing to mend. What we have is real!” Throwing up her hands, she jerks away from the mirror in a flurry of veils and lace—all green, of course. “Anyway, Mother can't possibly remember,” she repeats, sounding less certain with each syllable. “I suppose she has magic as well... And she’s certainly a stubborn hag in any reality, but...” She lets out a strangled groan. “Must you bring this up at my wedding?”

“Well I am your maid of honor,” retorts Regina, gladly accepting the change of subject. This whole exchange has left her the opposite of reassured. Perhaps Zelena is on to something with her stubborn denial. “For some reason.”

Zelena spares her a fragile scoff. “Of course you are. Who else?” This time, Regina almost believes her. “Now, come lace me up.”

When Regina finally leaves her sister’s dressing room, she doesn’t last three minutes before she slams into a familiar form. Now doubly familiar, in fact, old and new memories swirling together as she stares into pale green eyes.

“When I heard soulmates were drawn together by fate,” grumbles Emma, catching her by the elbow, “I didn’t think they meant literally.”

Regina can only nod. This may not be the Emma she knows, but there are enough shared qualities to electrify her newly enlightened heart. At the same time, this Emma is lighter, softer, less guarded. It stands to reason: in this life, she isn't bound to serve Regina’s every whim just because she holds her lamp. In this life, she’s free, truly free—or she was, until fate contrived to bind her to Regina once more. Fate and Zelena. If this Emma is drawn to her, it’s only because her sister made it so.

“Regina?” Emma waves her free hand before her face, and Regina recovers enough to swat it away. “There you are,” the blonde grins. “So, what’s the word?”

“Wuh?” The ineloquence is mortifying, but it’s hardly her fault. How is she supposed to concentrate with the gentle press of Emma’s fingers burning through her sleeve?

“About our...” Emma shuffles her feet, cheeks darkening. “You know, soulmate-ness. You seemed pretty sure you were on to something. And I haven't been able to track down Tink, so...”

Her tongue feels leaden, clumsy, unable to form any but the most basic of words. “I... I’m still working on it.”

“Oh.” The taller woman steps back, hand leaving Regina’s arm to run through her hair, and the hall is suddenly much colder. “Okay. Guess your sister wasn’t much help.”

“When is she ever?”

“At least she’s not turning people into flying monkeys,” Emma laughs, then nods back down the hall. “Well, I’d better be going. Henry’s probably already escaped my parents.”

She says something else before rushing off, but Regina barely hears it.

Henry.

The boy is ten. Emma once said she’d been a genie for about a decade, ever since she’d stolen from a wishing well to save someone she loved. Though Regina still has questions, it’s not hard to piece together the essentials. But in all their time together, Emma never even hinted toward a child. Well, of course she wouldn’t, would she? It was bound to be a painful subject, not something you’d share with your lamp-bound mistress. Not something you’d share with a stranger.

Not even after the two of you were past titles like mistress or stranger, apparently. Not even after you fled hand-in-hand through multiple realms. Not even after dealing with pirates and witches and beauty pageants—

Regina reins herself in with a short shake of the head. She’s not being fair. She likely would have done the same thing in Emma’s position. She’s already been thoroughly charmed by the boy, and they’ve known each other for a matter of days. She can only imagine what a mother would do to keep him safe.

XXX. Proposals (Redux)

Zelena calls the whole wedding off.

It’s a mild shock to Regina when she finds out. She didn’t think Zelena had it in her to be so selfless. For a given value of selfless, anyway. Some might argue that cancelling your wedding five minutes before the ceremony is still a kind of selfish, but Regina doubts that even occurred to her sister. No one ever accused Zelena of being overly considerate.

Naturally, Cora is livid, which is probably why Zelena vanished immediately after making her grand announcement. Mulan is also nowhere to be found, and Regina isn't sure what to make of that. She lingers on the outskirts of the gathering crowd, watching her mother fume from a distance.

“Is it really cancelled?” Henry appears without warning, popping out between two guests with Emma on his heels.

“It appears so,” murmurs Regina, still keeping a wary eye on her mother. She only looks away when Emma’s hand brushes her arm, the taller woman leaning to whisper in her ear.

“This didn’t have anything to do with...”

“No. This is all Zelena.” Regina fights not to react to Emma’s proximity, yearning to both lean in and shy away all at once. She’s not sure which would win out if she let herself move. Not my Emma, she reminds herself, nails digging into the meat of her palms.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Emma leans into her eyeline, head cocked to one side. “You all right?” she asks, not so oblivious after all. Warm concern radiates from her eyes, rapidly eroding the wall Regina is struggling to build between them.

“I’m fine,” she forces out, letting her hands fall loose. Emma smiles in response, and she feels the last of her flimsy barricade crumble away. “Emma, I—”

“Honored guests. Beloved subjects.” Cora’s smooth tones cut across the assembly, making Regina’s spine straighten on instinct. Emma flinches as well, then frowns, a puzzled expression crossing her face. Onstage, the Queen of Hearts continues. “It appears my daughter and her bride grew tired of all this pomp and ceremony. Ah, the impatience of young love.”

She lets out an only slightly bitter laugh, and the crowd chuckles with her. Regina spies Snow White and her husband near the front, the former beaming insufferably despite the day’s unexpected turn. Unfortunately, the reason for her joy becomes all too obvious when Cora goes on.

“But all is not lost,” announces Regina’s mother. “The planned festivities shall not go to waste. It is my pride and pleasure to reveal another grand romance, one endorsed by the fates themselves.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Emma moans as Snow White steps up beside their host.

“Emma!” she trills. “Darling, where—Hah! Of course!” Her maddeningly earnest moon face settles on them like a saccharine searchlight. “Of course you two have already found each other.”

Cora waves a hand, and Regina and Emma are suddenly between their mothers, blinking into the collective stares of the crowd while wisps of indigo smoke dissipate around them. As her face springs into a well-trained smile, Regina spares a moment to search out Henry, relieved when she finds him in his grandfather’s arms. Beside Charming, Red meets her eye with a suspicious glare, one that only intensifies as Cora concludes her address.

“Though we have all been sadly deprived of my daughter’s wedding, I invite you all to stay and enjoy my daughter’s engagement.”

XXXI. Plans (Redux)

Someone grabs Regina’s arm as she turns the corner.

She doesn’t even have time to scream before she’s yanked into a tiny, windowless room, something that feels suspiciously like a dustpan digging into her back.

“Really, Emma,” she hisses. “We could have just met in your chambers. Dragging me into broom closets; whatever will people think?” With a flex of will, she summons a globe of flame in one hand, just large enough to fill their cramped quarters with orange light.

“Ooh, that’s new.” Emma stares at the fireball, childlike wonder reflected in her eyes.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” While the blonde stares at her magic, Regina stares at her. Emma—this Emma—is well aware of Regina’s powers. Her surprise only makes sense if viewed through the lens of their past lives, another remnant bobbing to the surface of Emma’s blissfully ignorant mind.

“I... I don’t know. What were we talking about?”

Over the past few days, Regina has prodded at these soft spots whenever they appeared, but thus far she has little to show for her efforts. After a moment or two of bewilderment, Emma always bounces back to her new self, the cherished daughter and beloved mother with no experience living in a lamp.

Though the corners of her mouth tighten, Regina lets it go. “I was suggesting we find more a dignified location for this discussion,” she snips. “Such as the entire wing of the palace set aside for you and yours.”

It’s been little more than a week since their surprise betrothal, and the Whites are already putting down roots at Hearts’ Keep. While the rest of the guests departed days ago, Snow White insisted on extending their stay for soulmate-related reasons. Cora was all too happy to oblige, eager to get a head start on manipulating her future in-laws.

Emma grins, teeth flashing in the uneven light. “Like we’d have any privacy there. My parents are both wedding-crazy, and they’ve even sucked in Henry.”

“But you’re still opposed,” prompts Regina, hoping... Well, she’s not sure what she’s hoping. Apart from Emma’s stray flickers of memory, she stubbornly refuses to have an epiphany like Regina’s. At the same time, she’s noticed that this new Emma seems to be coming to terms with their supposed soulmate-ness. She's even stopped laughing whenever their “fated love” comes up.

Between Cora’s hunger for this marriage and Snow unhealthy fixation on romance in general, it comes up a lot.

“I... guess?” Emma draws out her response. “I’m not... not opposed.” There’s an odd note in her voice that immediately puts Regina on edge.

“What is it?” she demands.

“What? Nothing.”

“Emma.”

The taller woman melts like chocolate in the sun, slumping down the wall until her knees bump Regina’s. “Look, I actually really like hanging out with you.” The words send a flutter through Regina’s ribcage, only dampened by the but sure to follow. Emma sighs. “It’s just... They’re all so serious about this,” she says, panic rising in her tones. “It’s like we don’t even have a choice!”

“Oh, I’m sure Mother would rather we didn’t,” mutters Regina. “And it seems even destiny is on her side.”

When she says “destiny,” she means it. Whenever Regina’s not dodging Cora and Snow, she’s in the library, studying the differences between this world and the one before. As far as she can tell, not much has changed other than the events directly surrounding her own family and the genies—the events Zelena paid specific attention to.

If only that was all her sister had done. Zelena mentioned “doing her best” for Regina and Emma, and while she may have meant well, it seems all she accomplished was taking away their agency. Their repeated chance encounters, their meddlesome mothers, their being soulmates... it seems fate will stop at nothing to force them together.

A callused palm settles over her hand, and Regina tunes back into the present with her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“Hey.” Still slumped on the floor, Emma gazes up into Regina’s eyes. “We’ll figure this out,” she soothes. “Tink is still ignoring my messages, but we’re in this together.” A low chuckle drifts upward. “I know I’m hardly the ideal soulmate, but if worse comes to worst, we can always just elope like your sister. Henry’s always up for an adventure, and I’m pretty good with a sword, y’know.”

The half-serious suggestion is bittersweet, knocking a rough laugh from Regina’s throat.

“You’re not the issue.” She can't help herself. At moment like these, moments when her Emma peers through, steady and sympathetic and always supportive, it’s all she can do to stop herself from throwing subtlety to the winds and spilling the entire tale. “You’re... adequate.”

Something flashes behind Emma’s eyes, her face twisting in thought. Regina’s breath catches in her chest, but once again, any sliver of hope is dashed when the moment passes. Emma’s expression smooths over in a blink, features open and guileless as she wriggles her way to a standing position.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she grins. “Now, how do we stall this wedding?”

XXXII. Cora (Redux)

“You can't put this off any longer, my dear.”

Regina blanks her face as Cora circles, altering her dress with flickers of magic. “I don’t know what you mean, Mother.”

“Oh, don’t try to lie to me. You were never any good at it.”

“In this life, or the last?” Regina challenges, turning to scrutinize the queen’s face.

It betrays nothing. “I don’t know what you mean,” Cora replies in the precise tone her daughter used seconds ago. She was right: it isn't convincing at all. “I’ve only ever known one life, a life in which I gave everything to my strong, brilliant, beautiful daughter before she abandoned me.” She holds Regina’s gaze until one of them blinks. “But Zelena never could be happy with what she had, could she?”

Regina feels a muscle twitch in her jaw. By now, she really should know better than to spar with her mother, verbally or otherwise. Turning back to the mirror, she changes tack. “Emma and I are just taking our time getting to know one another.”

“What’s to know?” Cora scoffs. “You’re a powerful sorceress, heir to my kingdom. She’s a veritable knot of connections to the Enchanted Forest, and I know you’ve always favored blondes.” A pause. “And you’re soulmates, which seems important to that sanctimonious Snow White. There’s really nothing for you to complain about this time.”

Apart from the fact that this is all a sham. The current Emma isn't the woman she fell in love with, and even if she was, who’s to say that Regina’s affections are returned? This Emma seems fond enough of her, but her understanding of her Emma’s feelings are muddled at best. The more Regina thinks back on the whole genie situation, the less sure she is. That Emma might have seen her as a mistress to be served, or a victim to be protected, or even a friend to be aided—all three possibilities more likely than her falling for someone as selfish, as helpless as Regina.

And most of all, whatever might have been between them is meaningless unless—no, until the other woman regains her memories. Regina clings to that hope with all her strength, though it frays a little more every time she sees this new Emma, with her lively son and her proud parents and her face that lights up whenever Regina enters a room.

“There’s no need to rush—” Regina starts.

“No.” Cora clenches a fist, and the laces of Regina’s dress tighten with it, turning her words into a pained squeak as the queen goes on. “I won't let you sabotage yourself any longer, darling. I’ve set up everything; all you have to do is play along, and our rule will be secured across two realms. Wonderland and the Enchanted Forest will bow before us, so long as you do as I say.”

“Mother—”

“Please, Regina. Don’t force me to resort to... cruder persuasions. Your Emma can't hope to stand against my magic, can she? Not anymore.”

“It sounds like you don’t need much forcing at all,” Regina grumbles. “Threats, Mother? Really, you could have at least pretended to—” She breaks off, mind replaying Cora’s last words. “You do remember.”

“Of course I do,” her mother sighs, dropping the charade altogether. “A strong mind is harder to fool than one might think.” Her teeth flash at Regina’s sinking expression. “You remembered on your own, didn’t you? And now you're trying to think of why your broad-shouldered blonde hasn’t.”

“I... That’s not—She could still!” Regina gives up on dissembling, mustering a spark of defiance to stare down her mother.

It’s a mistake.

“Oh, darling.” Cora’s eyes flash as she stops circling and goes for the kill. “You know better than that. Your Emma’s memories are as good as gone,” she murmurs, false sympathy in every syllable.

“You can't know that,” Regina objects, but the words are feeble even to her own ears.

“But I can. It’s simple, dear daughter: She’s never going to remember, because she doesn’t want to.”

Without another word, Regina gathers up her skirts and runs for the door. She’s been waging this same debate in her head for the past week, but hearing from Cora’s lips makes the possibility all too real. She can't—she won't—Emma, her Emma, can't be beyond reach. She just has to find her, and then...

And then she’ll think of something.

Cora doesn’t bother to stop her, and that scares her more than anything else.

XXXIII. Technical Difficulties (Redux)

“Getting cursed into a lamp does sound like something I’d do.”

“Yes.” Regina tangles her fingers in her dress as she studies Emma’s face, desperate for any hint of recollection. Her pulse is racing, Cora’s self-satisfied expression burning into her mind’s eye.

“I was really a genie?” At least Emma hasn’t dismissed the idea altogether. She seems to be turning it over in her mind, face thoughtful.

“Yes,” Regina repeats. “With a magic lamp and three wishes and that terrible jacket.”

Her companion barks out a laugh. “Is that last one related?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” huffs Regina, eyes drifting down to Emma’s royal blue doublet.

“Speaking of...” The blonde’s eyes dart downward, cheeks gaining a touch of pink. “Isn't it bad luck for me to see you like this?”

“Like this” being in her wedding dress, which she’d honestly forgotten about until half a second ago. Regina feels the flush crawl up her chest, warming her bare collarbones before it sets her own cheeks ablaze.

“That doesn’t matter,” she manages, bringing a hand to the bridge of her nose. In her already anxious mind, embarrassment mingles with fear, the two birthing a splitting headache that does nothing to help her frantic thoughts. From this fog comes an idea. Not a good one, she can already see that, but the only one she has left. “I—” she starts, then presses her lips together.

Emma just waits, perfectly at ease. When Regina’s eyes dart back to hers, she gives her an encouraging nod.

“I’m going to try something.” Regina’s words may be firm, but the confidence behind them is paper thin. She inches forward, moving slow enough for Emma to stop her at any point, but meets no opposition.

“Sure, go ahead.”

Regina nearly shakes her head. So quick to trust. She wants to believe it’s a holdover from their old lives, a part of Emma that’s held on to what they’ve been through for each other—what they are to each other—but the attitude is more likely a consequence of her altered memories. This Emma was never slave to a lamp, never torn away from her family. Instead, her last decade has been peaceful, if not idyllic. It’s no wonder she’s so naïve.

Mouth tightening, Regina drags her drifting mind back on track. What she’s about to try... it’s pure wishful thinking, a long shot based on an assumption piled on top of a guess built off of rose-tinted recollections.

She loves Emma. A week of quiet agonizing has left her more certain than ever of that. At the same time, her understanding of Emma’s feelings is on far shakier ground. Between Cora’s pursuit, Jafar’s machinations, and Zelena’s cheerful shattering of reality, she and Emma barely ever had a moment to think in private, much less exchange heartfelt declarations of affection. But the more Regina pores over her memories, the more she dares to think that Emma might feel the same. Or felt the same, before that version of her was buried under a happier lifetime. If that truly is—was?—the case, if Regina’s not just deluding herself even more than usual, then maybe, maybe this could actually work.

Enough stalling. Glancing back up, Regina steels herself. “Please,” she murmurs. “Remember.”

Mouth still open around the plea, she rises up on her toes, hands finding Emma’s shoulders a moment before their lips meet. Leaning into her solid form, Regina pours all she has into the kiss. Hopes, fears, memories; each so vivid she wonders if Emma can taste them. She’s imagined this more times than she’s willing to admit, but she can't enjoy it, not like this. Even as she presses on, deepening the kiss, she feels something twist deep in her stomach.

It’s not working.

This is their first kiss in any reality, but it’s a sorry one, born of panic and desperation. How could Regina have expected it to prove anything? She can barely resist the compulsion to scrub her mouth as she tears away, taking a full two steps back from Emma before the blonde’s eyes flutter open.

“Wow,” she murmurs, and then, quieter, “About time.”

“What?”

“I...”

Regina isn't disappointed, because she never let her hopes rise high enough. No, that’s a lie. She is disappointed, sickeningly so, but because she tempered her expectations, it’s only excruciating to watch the familiar light slip from Emma’s eyes, rather than completely soul-crushing.

This time, even Emma doesn't miss the touch of her past self. Face twisting, she curses, the heel of her hand, thumping one temple. “I felt that,” she cries. “Ugh, my head hasn’t hurt this bad since... since I met you.”

An oddly flattering statement, but Regina can't muster more than a flimsy half-smile. She’d tried, she failed, and now she just needs to accept the knowledge gained by her actions.

“It didn’t work.”

Emma sags. “First of all, zero complaints about... what just happened. Feel free to try again anytime.” A grin flickers across her lips, but the cheer is short-lived. “Look, I definitely believe you. The whole genie thing feels... it feels right, it really does. It’s just... it just doesn’t feel real. I believe you,” she repeats, eyes pleading. “And I’m sorry I’m not her.”

“It’s all right,” Regina forces out. Mother’s words curl around her thoughts, and this time she can't quite manage to cast them off. Why would Emma want to remember?

Regina had no such problems, but to be frank, there wasn’t much to her in this new world of Zelena’s. Regina’s other self was perpetually in her sister’s shadow, which spared her the attentions of her mother but did no favors for her backbone. She may have had magic, but this Regina had no drive, resigned to following Cora’s whims for all her life. She was quietly miserable, but never acted, merely bided her time as if waiting for motivation to drop from the sky...

A bolt of unpleasant realization flashes across Regina’s mind. Perhaps her two selves aren’t as different as she’d like to believe. She hadn’t exactly been a woman of action in the old world, not before Emma came along and annoyed her into taking charge of her own life—

Emma. Right, she’s supposed to be worrying about Emma.

The point is that Emma’s new life is objectively superior to her old one. Here, she has everything; freedom, friends, family. There, she had none of the above, only the feeble replacement that was Regina. Who would ever trade one for the other, and what pitiful soul would push them to make that choice?

Regina would. She curses herself, curses her selfish hopes and the arrogance that birthed them. She doesn’t have some right to Emma’s love, or even her friendship. Perhaps... perhaps this is all for the best.

Emma steps closer, hands hovering with gentle worry. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I know this means a lot to you, and I wish I could remember, but it’s just not working. Could something be... I dunno, in the way?”

“Interesting.” hums Zelena.

Wait, Zelena?

“I really thought your ex-genie would have caught on by now,” she continues as Regina whirls to face her. Behind the witch, Mulan still straddles the windowsill, giving them a curt nod as if she hasn't been caught clambering through a sixth-story window.

“Oh, now you finally decide to show back up.” Regina demands, welcoming the flare of irritation. Her anger with Zelena burns hot enough to drive back the gloom fallen over her mind, at least for the moment. “Where have you been?”

Her sister tosses her head. “Well, that’s really none of your—”

“Oz,” Mulan supplies, earning herself a look of betrayal.

“Thank you.” Regina pauses, eyes flitting between them as Mulan swings her other leg into the room and strides to Zelena’s side. “You two seem... cozy. Decide to go through with the wedding after all?” Criticizing her sister’s runaway train of a romantic life is far more appealing than dwelling on the twisted wreck of her own. “Mother will be furious she missed it. Thanks for that, by the way; with you two gone, she’s decided to marry me off in your place.”

“Oh, what a terrible fate,” scoffs Zelena. “Don’t even try to pretend you’re upset about getting hitched to your old squeeze.”

“Her old what now?” Emma asks, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

Regina scowls at her sister. When she told the story of their past, she gave only the barest details on their relationship—and for good reason. Delving into their tangled web of attachments and obligations would only confuse Emma and torture Regina even further.

It’s no wonder Zelena brought it up.

“We’re not married,” interjects Mulan, though the denial comes with a sidelong glance at her onetime fiancé. “We’ve decided to take things slow.”

“Yes,” Zelena sniffs. “Nothing like a little adventure to rekindle the romance.”

“The romance we may or may not have had, you mean?” Despite the words, Mulan’s tone is almost playful, absent any hint of a grudge. “You know, you could have just asked instead of wishing me into your arms.”

With disbelieving eyes, Regina watches her sister go pink. “I’m a busy woman,” Zelena claims, flapping a hand. “Sometimes I have to multitask.”

“Why were you in Oz?” prompts Regina. “Planning on taking another swing at reality?”

Zelena glares, but shakes her head. “Oh, admit it, sis, I didn’t do a half-bad job. The only reason you’re still miserable is—” She breaks off, frowning at Emma. “You. And herself, but what else is new?”

“Zelena,” warns Mulan.

“Fine, fine. Look, sis, your genie was part of the magic that created this world. Maybe that’s why she’s being slow—or is she always like this?”

“Sorry,” says Emma, bristling. “Have we met?”

Zelena opens her mouth. Pauses. “You know, I don’t think you’ve ever had the pleasure of an official introduction. I’m Zelena.” She holds out a hand. “Regina’s older, wiser, more ravishing sister.”

“Emma,” grumbles Emma. “Apparently you’re also the one who stole my memories.”

“It’s not like I didn’t replace them! Glad to see you found someone as touchy as you, Reggie.”

Mulan digs an elbow into her ribs. “Zelena.”

“Regina’s not touchy!” Emma objects in the same instant. “But if she grew up with you, she’d have every right to be.”

“Oh, this one has teeth, sis!”

As her sister and her—and Emma squabble, Regina stands back, dread creeps back up her spine. Zelena has provided a convenient explanation to Emma’s memory issues, but in the end, the why doesn’t matter. The simple fact is that the former genie may never fully remember their time together. She could continue to have flashes, drips and drabs like the ones she’s had so far, but will those bring her back to who she once was?

More importantly, even if they’re lucky and Emma awakens at some vague point in the future, what world will she wake to? If Cora has her way, Emma will be shackled to Regina, just another of her mother’s pawns. The Queen of Hearts will sink her claws into anything, anyone she can reach. Emma’s kingdom, her parents, her son...

XXXIV. Lost (Redux)

“I’ll do it,” Regina tells her mother. “Whatever you want, I’ll play along.”

“Excellent!”

“So long as it doesn’t involve Emma.”

Cora’s lips purse. “Inconvenient,” she pronounces. “And why, if I may ask, the sudden change of heart? Not so long ago you were clinging to that girl like a security blanket.”

It’s true, even more than her mother knows. From the moment they met, Regina was loath to let Emma go. At first because of the power she represented, but eventually for less pragmatic reasons. As her wishes dwindled away, as she and Emma stumbled from realm to realm, that resolve only grew—until Emma was taken and Regina realized exactly what she was willing to do to find her again.

Perhaps it is no surprise that when they were reunited, her old resolve finally crumbled. Regina was a breath away from using her final wish to release Emma, and in a way, this is no different. She’s still making a choice, a choice that ensures Emma will be free, free at last. Free from the lamp, from Cora, from Regina herself. She’ll be able to enjoy her new life with her old family, the one she should have had in the first place.

“Those are my terms,” Regina says, voice firm. “I’m sure you can conjure some excuse for the... soulmate issue.”

Cora is still studying her, eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I can. And you’ll cooperate? Whatever I deem necessary for your future, you’ll accept?”

“I will.” The answer come out steadier than Regina expects.

“No, she bloody well won't!”

“Ah, Zelena.” Cora spares a thin-lipped smile for her eldest daughter. “Did you have a nice honeymoon? My postcard must have gotten lost in the mail.”

“I’ll get to you in a moment,” Zelena snaps before turning on her sister. “Regina, what are you doing? So your gal is having some memory problems. That’s no reason to throw the rest of your life down the Mum-shaped drain.”

“Zelena...”

“Are you really just going to run back to her with your tail between your legs? You won't even have your precious Emma! If you’re going to take this terrible offer, at least take the good parts with it. I—”

“I know you would,” spits Regina. “But I can't be that selfish. Not with Emma. Not again.”

Her sister flinches, but doesn’t back down. “And you think this nonsense will make her happy? You should know your soulmate better than that.”

“If we are soulmates in this world, it’s only because you twisted things. If this Emma cares for me, it’s only because you made her. How can anything possibly grow from that? You might be happy to fool yourself, but I’m not.”

This time her sister rocks back, speechless for once. Hurt blazes across her face, only to be replaced by rage as she finds another target in their mother. “Are you really so heartless?” she demands, then exhales a bitter laugh. “What am I saying, of course you are. We’ve always been tools to you, things to be used until we break.”

Face impassive, Cora meets Zelena’s accusation with a slow shake of her head. “All I’ve done is give you both your best chance, even when you were too blind to see it. I’ve told you a thousand times: Love is weakness. Look where it’s gotten your sister.”

Regina feels her shoulders sag even as Zelena’s go up. “No,” her sister spits. “You never told me that, not once, because you threw me away.”

“And look what it made you.” Cora glides forward to cradle her daughter’s cheek. “You earned your power, bent reality itself to your whims. I couldn’t be more pr—”

“No!” Gasping, Zelena jerks from her mother’s touch. Regina catches her as she stumbles, earning a tight look before her sister finds her feet and steps away. “You want to stay with her? Fine,” she snarls with the eyes of a wounded animal. “Don’t let me stop you.” Raising a hand, she vanishes in a column of emerald smoke.

For a long moment, both Regina and her mother are silent. Then Cora clicks her tongue and moves to her daughter’s side.

“Short-sighted,” she dismisses. “But you, Regina...”

“Enough.” Regina turns to the queen with a face like stone. “You know what I want. Do we have a deal?”

Cora smiles.

Chapter Text

XXXV. Lamp (Redux)

Time passes.

Spinning a tale of dark magic and incompetent fairies, Cora dissolves her daughter’s engagement with their sincerest apologies to the White Kingdom. Regina keeps to her rooms as her would-be in-laws are sent packing, watching from afar when they ride out from Hearts’ Keep. It’s a blessing and a curse that their carriage has no roof, making it all too obvious when one particular passenger keeps looking back.

After the wedding is called off, the Queen of Hearts lapses into a period of unusual calm. While she plots the next move for her youngest daughter, said daughter falls into old routines. Regina strolls the halls, plays chess with her father, rides Rocinante in aimless circuits across the palace grounds. Cora seems indifferent to how she spends her days, rarely seeking her out save for their lessons in magic.

These, Regina almost enjoys. Her newfound power is foreign yet familiar, new-old memories easing her into her studies. Wielding it is far from easy, but she dives into the work with the closest thing to enthusiasm that she can manage.

There are no reminders in her magic, nothing but a blank slate, an empty pit that greedily accepts every scrap of pain and loss she pours into it.

Healthy? No. But it’s all she has.

.

.

Time passes.

Slowly, the days drip into weeks, months, but Regina barely takes note. Why bother? Nothing changes, and nothing will until Cora commands it.

The queen, for her part, seems in no rush to marry off her daughter. She’s tried and failed twice already, Regina notes with bleak amusement. Perhaps the botched attempts have made her cautious—or perhaps she simply means to ensure that the third time will be the charm.

Either way, it makes little difference to Regina. There’s a serenity to finally giving in to her mother’s machinations, a heavy curtain slowly smothering her heart. It numbs her, provides a lifeless sort of peace. When Cora finally takes action, Regina will adapt. Survive, no matter the fate her mother assigns her. Until then, the princess reconciles herself to whiling away the days, lacking the energy even for dread.

.

.

Time passes.

Then one day on her morning ride, she stumbles across a lamp.

Regina’s breath stutters as she urges Rocinante closer, eyes fixed on the familiar vessel. It’s half-buried amongst the roots of a lonely tree, almost hidden from view, but she’d know it anywhere. She dismounts and stumbles forward, making no move to pick it up.

The way the dull bronze gleams is a mockery. Worse, a reminder. Of freedom she’s done her best to forget. Of experiences she aches to recall. Of people she’ll never see again—one person in particular.

Emma.

Months of smothered sentiment burst free in the time it takes to blink. The shroud around her heart is shredded in an instant, and Regina feels her knees buckle. She barely catches herself by clinging to Rocinante’s saddle, burying her face in the solid warmth of his flank. Her shoulders hitch with a gasp, eyes stinging. Not from the stench of sweaty horse—well, not just that—but from the knot of raw longing rising in her breast.

All she’s been doing over the past months is fooling herself, and not very well at that. Here and now, no longer with anything to lose, she forces herself to admit that all those hours trying to forget Emma, all those months refusing even to think her name, were nothing but wasted effort. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, she’s never really been able to stop thinking about her.

Emma, whose first suggestion was—well, it was a trick, but after that one, she offered Regina a way out. Whose mere presence made Mother’s palace feel almost like a home. Who never hesitated for a second when it came to offering a helping hand. Who—

Who is standing not ten feet away.

Regina’s eyes dart to the lamp, but the vessel hasn’t so much as trembled, not a wisp of smoke leaking from its spout. Frowning, she pushes away from Rocinante, wiping her face as subtly as she can.

“Were you hiding behind the tree?” she demands.

Emma winces, but quickly recovers, jaw setting mulishly. “Yeah, for hours,” she fires back. “What took you so long?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t usually schedule my days around my stalker.”

Emma’s scowl wavers, then gives way to a blinding grin. “I missed you too,” she laughs. “Come on, I don’t think I tied up my horse very well. We should get going before he wanders off.”

“Going?” Regina parrots, mind still reeling. “What—Emma, I can't.”

“Because you promised your mother? Zelena told me,” explains the blonde, face darkening. “Why the hell would you do something so... so stupid?”

Regina feels her mouth flap furiously for several seconds before her tongue catches up. “For you, you idiot!”

Emma snorts. “Oh, sure. If we had it your way, we’d both be miserable for the rest of our lives. But I’m the idiot.” She’s closer now, one hand held out, and Regina’s skin seethes with the urge to reach back.

She resists. “You don’t know what Mother would do to you.”

“I do, actually. Really, really well.” The claim makes Regina pause, eyes narrowing. She studies Emma, lingering on her stubborn expression before snapping down and back up. Her gaze sweeps from the scuffed toes of her boots to the sword belted at her waist to the familiar profile of her leather-clad shoulders...

She blinks.

“You’re wearing red.”

“What?” Emma glances down at herself. “Oh, yeah. Haven't felt like blue in weeks.” She shakes her head. “Why does that matter? Regina, please. I know your mother is terrifying, but we can get away from her.” A pause, her mouth twisting. “I mean it, this time.”

“No!” Regina jerks away. “We can't, and I won't put you in danger again. You have a family to think of—you have Henry.”

Finally, Emma’s face shutters. “She’s not getting anywhere near him.”

“Exactly.” Regina nods. The former genie is finally starting to understand that this is all for the best.

“But that doesn’t mean she gets to have you.”

Or maybe not. Regina resists the urge to throw up her hands. “And what will you do when she finds us? Even if we find a hole to hide in for the remainder of our pitiful lives, what about the rest of your obnoxious family?”

“I have a plan,” Emma insists.

“Oh?” Cora’s amused breath tickles the back of Regina’s ear. “Please, do tell.”

Regina whirls to place herself between Emma and her mother, the maneuver complicated when Emma attempts to do the same. Her heart, already pounding, beats even faster when her limbs tangle with Emma’s, but she forces herself to tear away and face Cora alone.

“Mother—”

“I can give you something better,” Emma announces. Out of Cora’s view, a hand brushes Regina’s back in apology.

The Queen of Hearts scoffs. “Better than the love of my daughter?”

“I dunno.” The lamp is suddenly in Emma’s other hand, catching the sun as she swings it idly by the handle. “That’s up to you.”

Regina watches Cora’s eyes flick down, then back to Emma’s. “Three wishes? A pittance compared what Regina can provide.” It’s probably the nicest thing her mother’s said about her in two lifetimes. “Besides,” the queen goes on. “What is to stop me from simply killing you and taking the vessel?”

“Mother,” Regina warns.

“Oh you could,” Emma says, quite cheerfully. Regina is beginning to have serious doubts about the existence of her plan—and her sanity. “But then you wouldn’t know where to find the other two, and we all know that three lamps are better than one.”

Greed flashes in Cora’s eyes, brief but incandescent. “Zelena,” she murmurs.

“Yup. She and Mulan tracked them down, hid ‘em away. I know where they are now.”

Regina can only watch with mounting horror as Cora’s expression turns shrewd. “I was under the impression you are no longer bound to the lamp.”

“Exactly.” Emma taps a finger against the bronze. “So there’s no skin off my back. Not sure who the thing found to replace me.” Her finger twitches. “Want me to—”

“I don’t think so.” With a flick of her hand, Cora freezes the blonde in place. Regina only has time to gasp before she is immobilized as well, her mother’s magic suffocating and familiar. For a long moment, Cora paces before them, eyes never leaving the lamp in Emma’s hands.

“I accept your offer,” she says at last. A sliver of Regina feels the stab of disappointment. The rest of her knows better. “Oh don’t look like that, dear,” Cora coos as she pries the lamp from Emma’s grasp. “It’s not as if you’ve been enjoying the current state of affairs. I truly hoped you’d improve with time, but you’ve been sulking for months. There really is no pleasing you.”

The queen’s spell releases as she steps back. “Now,” she says. “Tell me where the others are.”

“Once we’re safe,” retorts Emma, fingers curling gently around Regina’s wrist. “Safe and very, very far away. For now, we’re going to leave, nice and slow...”

Cora barely spares them a glance as they back away. Regina holds her tongue and lets Emma tow her to the treeline, then rips her hand away. “What were you thinking?” she hisses. “Do you really believe my mother will let us—”

But while she levels her best glare at the taller woman, Emma’s eyes are riveted to Mother, her gaze intent. “Wait for it,” she murmurs. “Wait for it...”

Back in the field, Cora runs a hand over the lamp, and smoke pours from its mouth. “Genie!” she booms. “I command you—” Through the rising cloud, Regina sees her mother choke on her words, face twisting. “I wish—”

Something’s wrong. Instead of forming its own silhouette, the smoke curls around the queen. It encircles one wrist, and a cuff coalesces from thin air, bronze to match the lamp that falls from nerveless fingers.

“No,” she whispers. Then, louder, “NO!” Her other hand tears free of the grasping smog, jerking high as it gathers purple-black sparks. When it swings back down, the lamp is blasted across the plain, the tendrils of smoke stretched thin as it bounces away through the dirt.

Regina feels Emma tense at her side. “Ah, crap,” she murmurs. “Okay, Regina, time to ru—No, other way, other way!”

The grass rasps against her boots as she leaves the trees. Emma curses and scuttles after her, still half-turned back toward her escape route. Regina barely hears her hissed objections, feet carrying her forward until she’s a pace away from her mother’s bowed back.

“My daughter,” pants Cora, looking over her shoulder with wild eyes. “Good girl; I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” One arm is trembling, stretched toward the lamp at an uncomfortable angle, while the other still struggles, throwing out waves of magic to keep the smoke at bay. “You must take hold of the vessel! Quickly! It’s the only way to...”

She trails off at the look on her daughter’s face. Regina may not have Zelena’s power or her mother’s experience, but when it comes to genies and vessels, she knows more than either. More than enough to see Cora's desperate words for the trap they are. She’s not even surprised that her mother would try to trade Regina’s freedom for her own, just resigned and disappointed and so, so tired.

She’s tired of soulmates, tired of wishes, tired of being tired. These past months have been awful in their familiarity, a return to how Regina had lived for too much of her life—both her lives. She was only stirred into action when she found Emma’s lamp the first time, and even then she dawdled until the risk of discovery grew too great to ignore.

During the travels that followed, Regina felt alive. Not just due to Emma’s presence—though that definitely didn’t hurt—but because she was finally in motion. Finally doing instead of just hoping. She had ample reason to hoard Emma’s wishes, true, but now Regina wonders if something else was behind that choice. A desire to earn her freedom, to escape by her own means, not just the magic of the lamp.

That spark was dampened when Cora found them in the Land Without Color, then stoked to new heights at Emma’s abduction. Her time with Zelena may have been one long annoyance, but at least Regina was moving forward.

Then her sister cracked reality open like a crystal ball, and any growth was drowned beneath a flood of conflicting memories. Regina has been so worried about Emma’s dueling selves that she barely considered her own, but she has been affected. Even after her past self came to the fore, she’s been hesitant, fearful, ready to sink back into her previous passivity. She’d managed to stand against her mother for Emma’s sake, but after that, it was far too easy to return to old habits, to become a passenger in her own life.

Time goes still as she stares into her mother’s face. Cora’s hair has slipped free of its usual coif, her face drawn tight in a way Regina’s seen many times before but never quite understood. She understands it now.

Fear. Her mother is afraid. Not of her, not exactly, but of losing her. Of losing her control. She’s been afraid of it for a long time. For a moment, it almost doesn’t make sense. All her life, Regina has known that her mother’s power is absolute, that it’s pointless to even try to break free. When she tried, Cora followed, always catching up, always dragging her back for punishment.

Because her mother doesn’t just need her, she needs her obedient. It's not enough to just keep her close. She wants a daughter who’s loyal, body and soul, and to Cora that means a daughter who will never say...

“No, Mother.” Cora stumbles, falling first to one knee, then both. Regina crouches to keep their eyes locked. “Zelena was right,” she says. “We were only ever tools to you, weren’t we?”

“No, no,” gasps Mother. “Everything I did, it was all for you!” The lamp belches out another cloud of indigo smoke, engulfing Cora up to the waist. One arm falls to the ground while the other reaches out, grasping desperately at Regina’s dangling hand. “You are meant for great things, Regina. Wonderful things! I only wished to show you the way!”

“Your way,” Regina murmurs, and stands. Her hand slips easily from Cora’s weakening grip. “No one decides what I’m meant for,” she tells her, voice barely above a whisper. “Never again.”

The smoke creeps further until only Cora’s face is left bare. It’s twisted into an expression Regina’s never seen, a horrible blend of terror and pride. “My daughter,” she forces out, the words almost a laugh, and then the cloud swallows her whole.

For a time, Cora struggles, her fight marked by indistinct cries and flashes of magic within the dark mass of smoke. All the while, Regina doesn’t rise from her crouch, staying silent and motionless on one knee until the commotion fades. Slowly, the smog returns to the lamp, swirling into the spout in a long, curling stream. When it clears, the Queen of Hearts is nowhere to be found.

XXXVI. Found (Redux)

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles, several frozen minutes later. “I mean, not for her, because she was the worst, but she was still... yours.”

“I—Yes.” Regina’s not sure which part of Emma’s statement she’s agreeing with as she stares out over the field, now empty except for themselves and the unassuming shape of the lamp. “It’s not as if she’s gone,” she hears herself say.

“Right.”

Every few heartbeats, Regina feels the shy brush of Emma’s eyes on her cheek, but she doesn’t let her own gaze drift sideways. It’s easier to avoid eye contact as she lets her hand meet Emma’s, touching warm fingers that eagerly twine with hers. They’re both silent for what feels like an eternity until the other woman clears her throat.

“Guess you don’t have to come with me anymore,” she says. “Not that you did before! I mean, it’s not like I would’ve forced you—”

“Could have fooled me,” Regina murmurs.

Emma bristles, hand twitching in hers. “I was convincing you!”

“Not very well.”

“My point is, you can do whatever you want. I’ll let Zelena know what happened once I get back home.” A short laugh bursts from the blonde. “Maybe then she’ll stop tornado-ing into my parents’ castle and bother you for a change.”

When there’s no reply, Emma slumps. Face falling, she takes a step back. then another before Regina’s grip on her hand stops her short.

“Regina?”

“How much do you remember?” The words travel straight from her heart to her lips, bypassing her brain entirely. It’s probably for the best. She’s in no state for any thinking.

“Regina,” Emma sighs. “Come on. I could never forget you.” She hesitates, grimacing. “I mean, I could—I did, but not, like, forever. Maybe it took me a little longer to catch on, but you’ve always been the smart one.”

“True,” Regina answers reflexively, earning a fond snort. She can feel her free hand trembling at her side, hope rising in her breast at a dizzying rate. With every word from Emma’s lips, every familiar tic, every shift of her palm against Regina’s, she finds it harder and harder to temper her expectations. More and more impossible to deny the evidence before her.

Really, she knew from the instant she saw that hideous jacket.

Emma clears her throat, a sheepish grin growing on her mouth. “Plus, your crazy sister has been chucking memory magic at me nonstop. She really cares about you, y’know? And she’s, uh, not the only one.”

Her heart leaps, but Regina forces her voice to remain level. “Ah, yes. We are soulmates, after all.” Bound by fate and destiny and all the other forces that so enjoy toying with both their lives.

“Uuuuugh.” Emma’s head flops back as she groans something that sounds a lot like fairy bullshit. “Regina, I didn’t cross four and a half realms on a complete asshole of a horse because the universe told me to. I’m not here because of my parents, or your sister, or frickin’ Tinker Bell...” She frowns, trailing off. “There are way too many people invested in our relationship.”

“Our—” Regina’s not sure what she says after that—it’s a little hard to hear with all the blood rushing through her ears—but when she regains control of her tongue, Emma is fighting a smile.

“I’m here because I want this, Regina,” she says, adamant and pleading all at once. “In any world, I want you. I’m here because I don't want to imagine a life without you in it. I’m here because I’ve fallen in love with you twice, and I won't let anyone tell me that’s not real. I’m here because someone needs to tell you when you're being stupid, and because someone needs to tell you how amazing you are.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Emma stops even trying to hold back her grin, and it spills forth like a sunrise. “See, this is one of those ‘being stupid’ times I was talking about.”

“You’re one to talk,” Regina grumbles, hearing the petulance in her own words—and the anticipation barely hidden underneath.

“But most of all,” says Emma, half laughing, “I’m here because I’ve been waiting months to pay you back.”

“Pay me back for—oh.”

Regina’s cheeks warm, her gaze shying aside as she remembers what she’d done the last time they were face to face. She hears the crunch of fallen leaves, and Emma is suddenly right before her, the toes of their boots touching. Their faces are inches apart, close enough for her breath to ghost across Regina’s lips, but Emma comes no further, leaving those scant final inches up to her.

Her green eyes are soft and hopeful, the steady warmth of her form radiating across the sliver of distance between them. The hand holding Regina’s is feather-light, trembling slightly despite her bold words, while the other hangs at her side, balled in an anxious fist.

In the space between heartbeats, Regina drinks this all in. One by one, she feels her doubts crumble until she finally gives in to herself and reaches out. Her free hand finds Emma’s, and a smile creeps across her lips, growing and growing until it feels like her cheeks can stretch no farther.

“Well?” she challenges. “What are you waiting for?”

XXXVII. Escape (Redux)

Regina makes her escape the very next morning, riding Rocinante down the open road with Emma’s stocky steed trotting alongside. The satchel bouncing on her hip holds her favorite spellbook and all the gold her father could convince her to take—Daddy would have sent a wagonful of luxuries if she let him. Instead, he settled for seeing them off at the front gates, Mother’s lamp cradled in one arm. Regina already misses him.

Mother, not so much. Daddy had let her out of the lamp once before Regina left, and Cora immediately tried to shrink him in a fit of pique. The vessel hadn't let her, of course, but it had been disappointing all the same.

But that's enough about the past. Regina glances sideways and down to see Emma already looking back. Her steed is a stout, golden packhorse that stands several hands shorter than Rocinante, giving Regina the height advantage for once. Emma wears the same grin that’s been in place since yesterday, spirits high no matter how many times her inexperienced form bounces in the saddle. She seems perfectly content to ride side by side in silence, even with their destination still up in the air.

In the end, it’s Regina who speaks first.

“Thank you.”

Blonde curls fall to the side as Emma quirks her head. “For what?”

“For giving me a push.” Regina turns to her with a thin smile. “I’d almost—no, I did give up hope. I don’t know how long I would have lasted like that.”

Emma rubs the back of her neck. “It was a team effort,” she deflects. “Zelena gave me the lamp. Tink helped me cross realms. Even Jafar—”

“Jafar?”

“Yeah, Zelena kept him in one of her dungeons in case she needed to pick his brain on the whole three-genies thing. He gave us the idea of trapping your mom in an empty vessel.” She winces. “Well, he tried to trick me into trapping myself in an empty vessel, anyway.”

“Tried?” Regina parrots dryly.

“Mulan stopped me in time!” cries Emma. “That doesn’t count.”

A laugh bursts from Regina’s throat. As her mirth subsides, she extends a hand that Emma sullenly takes. “It was you,” she says, quiet but firm. “The others may have gotten you here, but none of them could have shaken me out of the state I was in. You’ve always been good at that,” she muses, squeezing the blonde’s fingers. “Getting a rise out of me, for better or worse.”

“Heh. I guess you’re welcome, then,” Emma mumbles, cheeks pink.

The difference in their horses’ heights makes the grip awkward, but they keep their hands clasped for several more minutes before Emma clears her throat and slips her fingers free, straightening in her saddle.

“So what now?” she asks.

What now indeed. For the first time she can remember, there’s nothing weighing on Regina’s mind. No fear of her mother, no worry she’s about to be dragged back home, no inconveniently kidnapped genie...

Instead, she has Emma and their relationship of ill-defined status. They’re together, of course, but what does that mean when they’re not dealing with pirates and poachers and sorcerers? Will they go straight to Emma’s land, or perhaps Zelena’s? What will they do when they get there?

Regina smiles into the morning sunlight. She doesn’t know the answers, but somehow, that doesn’t worry her in the least. If there’s one thing that she’s learned, it’s that between her and Emma, anything is possible.

“Henry will be missing you,” she decides. “We’d better hurry back.” And after that, who knows?

“You sure?” Emma’s grin turns teasing. “You know my mom will be there, too.”

She can't quite stifle her soft “Ugh.” How someone as... soggy as Snow White raised a daughter like Emma is another answer Regina may never know. “As long as she doesn’t launch right back into wedding plans, I can endure.”

“Sorry, no promises,” sighs her companion. “But we don’t have to stay long. I’ve been promising Henry a vacation, and his birthday is coming up. As good an excuse as any, right?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call our experiences a vacation,” Regina points out. “Trouble follows you like flies follow—”

 “Follows me?” scoffs Emma. “At least half our problems are yours.”

“Yes, and they all started after I met a certain idiot genie,” Regina counters with an exaggerated sigh. “Ever since then, it seems like most of my time has been spent saving you.”

The former genie, current idiot, scowls. “Get kidnapped once and you never hear the end of it. What about—” She hesitates, squinting into the sky. “Captain Hook?”

“A wish saved us from my mother and Captain Hook. I’m not sure you can take credit—”

“No.” Emma points. “Is that Captain Hook?”

Regina looks up to see something large, wooden, and atypically airborne. The Jolly Roger careens through the clouds on a decidedly downward trajectory, its sail shedding feathers at an alarming rate.

“So it is,” she says.

Emma pulls a spyglass from her saddlebag and peers upward. “And... Cruella De Vil?”

“Ah, yes. You missed that... lovely development.”

“Okay.” The blonde continues to study the descending ship. “Now explain the flying monkeys.”

Before Regina can, the voice of their piratical acquaintance echoes down from above. “There!” hollers the captain. “That’s her! The genie! Ours for the taking, ye scurvy dogs—er, primates. With that magic in our hands, this new world will be ours!”

A shrill cackle from Cruella accompanies his words, drawing a long-suffering sigh from their would-be victims.

“A little behind the times, aren’t they?” notes Emma.

Regina nods. “Yes. Curious.”

They dismount, watching the Roger make its circling descent. Regina, experienced rider that she is, discreetly stretches her legs, while Emma rolls her shoulders and flexes her knees with a disgusting chorus of popping joints.

All limbered up, the blonde draws her sword. “Trouble,” she sighs.

Regina summons a fireball, trying not to sound too smug. “So it seems.”

“Just because you don’t actually say ‘I told you so’ doesn’t mean I can't hear it,” grumbles Emma. “You were right, okay? Jeez.”

They share a smile, then ready themselves as the first wave of monkeys dives from the rigging. The creatures descend in a flapping, hooting mass, but even their stench can’t dim Regina’s mood.

“Yes,” she hums. “There’s always going to be something, isn’t there?” Emma’s free hand brushes hers, and she takes it without a second thought.

“Yup,” the former genie agrees, sounding far too pleased at the fact. “But nothing we can't handle.”

The End