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I was born to be a shepherd. Then King George made me his imposter prince. When I eventually married the queen I loved I became a true prince consort. So there was a time when I thought my humble origins and rare ascendance to the palace gave me unusual insight into human needs and motives. I thought that knowing both the simple cares of a peasant and then the burdens of privilege made me uniquely perceptive.

Of course it didn't. How could it? It only taught me what it's like to be a shepherd and a prince. I never knew what it's like to be a child who grows up without parents; to be a daughter whose mother put away her heart; to be a boy who misses his mother; to be a girl forced into a loveless marriage. The early decades of my life taught me no piercing insights into love and loss, and nothing that qualified me above others to determine their truth. By the time I understood the depths of my mistake, Snow White could not be consoled and Emma had forsaken us.

Perhaps things would have been different had we not left Storybrooke and returned to the Enchanted Forest; but after Snow killed Cora there seemed little value in that grey world we inhabited, and less to fear in going back. Storybrooke after Emma broke Regina's curse was not safe from wraiths and interlopers, nor from portals through which such enemies could surprise us. We thought it safer to be in the land we knew, whose dangers we understood. So we decided to go back.

I didn't understand the magic that accomplished it, but then I'm just a shepherd and a prince; only that Gold had nothing to do with it. The Dark One's agenda must have lain elsewhere because he would have no part in it. Regina and the Mother Superior forged us our portal back, at the well where the veil between the two worlds was at its thinnest. Somehow Emma participated. More than participated. Regina said she was critical to their success. Much later the Mother Superior - or Blue, as we would revert to calling her - described Emma's role as "like an amplifier to Regina's tuner. If we'd been indoors that ghetto blast would have blown the roof off. " I smiled at her metaphor, so anachronistic on a fairy's lips, but Blue's eyes held a look of wonder when she said it, and I should have paid more attention to what that meant.

So we returned to the land we'd lost, and Snow and I took it back. We drove back the ogres and restored the forest. We rebuilt the market towns and re-equipped the farms for tenants. We repaired the mills and inns and bridges, collected tolls and raised new taxes. I garrisoned our borders while Snow appointed magistrates and issued licences to crenellate. We consolidated our kingdom, and ordered everyone's place in it. We did all this without Regina's help, without her magic; because as we knew from the start - as I made clear to Snow and to Emma when we chose to go back - Regina could never be trusted.

"She won't kill me," Snow said. "Not now. Not after what I did."

"You can't be sure of that," I said.

"I can. I asked her to, and she wouldn't. She showed me my darkened heart instead."

Emma said nothing at the time, and though I tried to read the emotions that battled across her face I couldn't make any sense of them. Yet there was so much more for Emma to think about that this did not concern me much. Our old world would be alien to her, and I could see that she was trying to get to grips with leaving the one she had grown up with. At the time I felt confident that she would.

"We can't give Regina the freedom of our kingdom, Snow," I said. "We can't risk it."

"I won't try to banish her, David. I already made that mistake once."

"Then we have to lock her up."

So that is what we did. I would have chosen Rumplestiltskin's cell, but Snow recoiled at that and Emma provoked our first real argument. I understood Snow's reluctance to imprison Regina in the grim depths of the palace. She was feeling guilty for murdering Regina's mother - or rather for deploying Regina's need for her mother's love in such a cruel ruse to accomplish it. As for Emma - I was startled by her vehemence against it. There was no convincing her and she was not shy about telling us.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Her eyes flared green and gold in the firelight. Our great hall did not yet have furs on the floor nor the tapestries and drapes which could soften the echo of her voice. Her anger sang harshly on the stone walls and I grimaced.

"You shouldn't demand one," I said. "Your mother is queen of this realm, and I am her prince by marriage. I help her make a decision like this, and together we enforce it."

Emma stood with her hands on her hips. She was beginning to look like a princess. Not one who favoured tiaras or gowns of silk - although she promised Snow that when we held our first summer ball she would not rule them out; but the clothes she'd worn in Storybrooke had gone now in favour of brown linen pants and a green suede surcoat. There was even a laced bodice underneath. Only the watch on her wrist and the gun on her hip reflected the world we'd left, yet Emma had a way of wearing those that rendered them familiar and not out of place.

"Well it's nice to know where I stand in the government," said Emma. "Nowhere, because it doesn't exist. Your word is law, right?"

Snow tried to explain. "Emma, that isn't entirely how it works. We will have councillors, drawn from our most powerful supporters. That means you'll be among the first. In this world, politics is dynastic."

"So let's start." She inhaled sharply. "This is my counsel. Don't lock Regina away in the dark."

So I enlisted Blue's services beside those of the masons and locksmiths, and we made a secure place high in the sturdiest tower of our increasingly busy palace - a prison not unlike the one Snow and I held Regina in once before while deciding her fate. Yet this one was more isolated and designed to last, with the most powerful enchantments cast into its walls and beams and ironwork, and even in the stone lintel above a small window which faced east.

"She can watch the sun rise," I said.

Emma looked at me across a colourful expanse of fruit and barely fermented cider which was our typical breakfast. "But nothing else."

"This is how it must be, Emma. We have spared no comfort. She has warmth and light." I gestured with my open hands. "A lifetime's worth of books."

"Sure." Her tone grew sarcastic. "Now all she needs is better bandwidth."

Though the strength of Emma's objections surprised me I thought I understood my daughter's discomfort with the arrangement. She had known Regina for little more than a year, and the woman she knew was not the one Snow and I had fought. True, Emma and Regina had their battles, and came to blows at least once, but they also worked together when needs demanded. It was too easy for Emma to see that as proof that Regina did not warrant such precautions and confinement. Emma had never met the Evil Queen. She never came upon a massacre and recognised the darkest results of Regina's malice.

"And what about Henry?" Emma asked.

"What about him?"

Emma tossed an apple core into the grate and reached for a handful of blackberries. Our orchards and woodlands had done us proud - the first harvest our land provided since we took it back. We would all need to hunt and forage to see ourselves through the winter, but next year with good weather the newly-tended fields would offer up barley, rye, peas and wheat. I foresaw few troubles ahead.

"Don't you think he should see her? Don't you think she should see him?"

This was the only thing I was uncertain about. Was it unfair to keep a boy from the woman who raised him from birth? It didn't occur to me to wonder whether it was cruel to keep Regina from the son she loved. I didn't believe she was capable of love.

"It is kinder to enforce a clean break," I said. "No good can come of her influence, and now he has us. Henry will grow into the better man for being protected."

I was concerned when Emma's expression revealed she did not believe a word of that, but not enough. I still thought that all would be well, because that is what happens when you make the right decision, isn't it? That is the predictable outcome when you are right.

Later I would kick myself for not realising how devious and manipulative Regina still was, even from a tower whose walls and locks she could not break. Later still, I would curse myself for not believing that she wasn't.

Oddly, it was only the day before it all went wrong that Henry spoke to me about his mother, just the once. I didn't know at the time that he'd been asking about her a lot. Later Snow told me how she explained to him every day that we were keeping him safe; that Regina was dangerous and a bad influence. Then as the days turned into months, and the first light snows came and she took him hunting in the forest, his questions suddenly stopped. She thought he'd finally come to terms with it, as he turned his attention to learning to track deer and rabbits, to fletch arrows, and to shoot. She was mistaken, but it turned out he wasn't the one we should have been most worried about.

"So what's your target?" I called out.

On the far side of the courtyard Henry jumped at the sound of my voice. A second later he looked away, as though I'd caught him doing something he shouldn't. I crossed the empty ground slowly, casting my gaze over the new repairs that I'd come to inspect. My boots creaked on fresh snow that had yet to be cleared, but I was pleased with the progress of our masons and carpenters. Today I'd called an unscheduled halt to their efforts because we heard reports of a troll incursion in a distant quarter of the forest. I despatched a force to deal with them, which left our patrols at home reduced and fewer guards at the gate. I decided it was safest if Henry stayed inside the walls until the threat was dealt with.

Henry lowered his bow as I approached, an arrow still nocked. I looked up to where he had been aiming moments earlier. The branches of a sapling peeked above a stable roof. When I shielded my eyes against the low winter sun I could make out small skewered corpses on the slates beneath. The snow was spotted with red.

I felt my mouth fall open. I lowered my hand and looked at him.

"Henry..."

Snow must be an excellent teacher, because he was already a good shot.

"You're shooting squirrels for sport?"

His gaze was steady now, despite his earlier signs of guilt. "Why not? I have to practise."

"But Henry-"

"And moving targets are best."

I knew Snow would not have told him to do this. She couldn't abide unnecessary suffering. But perhaps she had not realised she needed to tell him not to. It struck me then that so much must be different for Henry in this world. In his old one this context had never presented itself. His meals appeared on the table straight from the store, not from the forest. Here hunting was a necessity, especially after the fields lay fallow for so long. Perhaps in Maine he could see such killing only as a blood-sport, so in his eyes that was still what it was.

I tried to speak gently. "Has no one taught you that it's wrong to hurt animals for fun?"

"Of course. My Mom taught me that. But she was a bad influence."

His words were like a punch to my chest. Freezing air seared my lungs as I caught my breath. I searched for a response, but he turned away before I had a chance to speak.

"I miss her," he said quietly as he left. He hardly spoke a word at supper that night, and went early to bed without being asked.

The sun had barely risen the following morning when the alarm sounded. Urgent shouts from the ground below our window woke us, then a distant bell that signalled the guards' alert. Rapid boots grew in volume in the corridor outside our chamber, then a heavy fist thudded against solid oak. I leapt out of bed, grabbing my sword from where it lay beside its scabbard, and crossed to the door to open it. The captain of our palace guard stood on the other side, breathless from his sprint up the staircase.

"The queen has escaped!"

For a moment I almost forgot which queen he meant. But she would always be a queen, of course, as long as she lived.

"Regina?"

"Yes."

"How?"

The shadow that crossed his stubbled features was defensive. Captain O'Rourke was not really my man. He had been one of Leopold's sergeants, before Regina had the king murdered. During those dangerous times when Regina controlled the kingdom, O'Rourke seemed to vanish. He no doubt resented losing his place, and his prospects for promotion, when Regina replaced Leopold's senior guards - her virtual jailors - for new men she could better trust. While Snow was running for her life a few of those exiled soldiers appeared and offered assistance, but not O'Rourke. Only when Snow and I were reunited to battle the Evil Queen's forces did he surface. Yet he was disciplined and a natural officer, so I thought him a sound choice to take charge of the palace's security when we returned to the Enchanted Forest.

"Magic?" he said. Clearly he didn't want to take the blame for this.

I held my anger in check. In recent days we had all been less concerned with keeping people inside the walls and more mindful of threats from without. Perhaps this was not his fault.

"You've despatched men to search?"

"Of course."

"Not just beyond the walls. Scour the grounds and inside the palace. She could still be hiding under this roof."

"Yes, sir. Every man is drafted to search. Every patrol will be alerted."

I turned briefly to gather my clothes. I saw Snow peering through the curtains that surrounded our bed.

"Charming? What is it?"

"Regina's loose." I turned back to O'Rourke. "Show me."

Minutes later I stood with the captain and the Blue Fairy in the open doorway to Regina's empty cell. A shaft of dawn sunlight from the narrow window pierced the tower's grey ambience. It wouldn't last long, and I knew that as the winter months approached the periods when Regina could see that sunlight must have been growing shorter. I couldn't help noticing what a lonely place this tower was.

"So how did she do it? How did she break the spells?"

Blue shook her head. "She didn't. The enchantments are still in place, as strong as ever."

I turned to O'Rourke, a similar question on my face.

"Sir, the locks are intact. Nothing's been forced..." He faltered. I could see that an explanation was forthcoming. I could also see that I wouldn't like it.

"Tell me," I said.

"I found two of my men sleeping at their post. They were the ones on duty by the postern gate last night." O'Rourke held up an empty flagon. "This contained a sleeping potion. We have drenched the men in icy water but still can't rouse them. It's strong magic."

Blue took the flagon from his gloved fist and sniffed the top. She was dismissive. "There's no magic in this. I would detect it. This contained a powerful sedative, but anyone could make it."

"Then someone did," said O'Rourke.

"But no guards have the keys to these locks," I said, running my fingers over the heavy bolts and still-smooth iron plates. The thick, studded door to Regina's cell bore no scratches or recent tool-marks. But for the small shuttered hatch through which meals could pass it remained solid.

"So who does have the keys?" asked Blue. 

"I do," I said. I could feel my breath grow shallow. "They're hidden in my private chambers."

"Then someone close to you is a traitor," said O'Rourke. His pale eyes were unblinking under the rim of his helmet.

My tongue seemed to desiccate in my mouth. I asked my next question of them both, not because I believed the captain's assertion, but because a cold fear for my family coiled inside my gut like a snake.

"Where's Emma?"

"What's missing?" I asked.

Snow and I were standing in Emma's chamber. There was no sign of our daughter and her bed was undisturbed. No one had slept on those sheets and pillows last night. I had already torn through the alcove in my own dressing room where I kept the keys to Regina's cell. The hinges on the bronze box that contained them were shattered and it was empty. I realised now that I should have hidden them with more care; better yet, thrown them into the blacksmith's furnace. It wasn't as if I ever intended to let Regina out.

The senior maid in charge of Emma's quarters proved to be a swift and crucial mine of information. She was a rotund woman, but very nimble on her feet.

"Two sets of clothing," she replied as her hands swept through the wardrobe, as though reading some instrument of divination. "Suitable for travelling - leather trews, sturdy boots, linen shirts and leather coats." Her broad fingers danced through an open drawer next. "Two pairs of calf-skin gloves, and fur-lined cloaks with hoods." She turned to face us. "No bright colours. She doesn't want to be spotted."

Snow looked at me, aghast. "Emma thinks she'll be a fugitive."

I swallowed the dreadful conflict that was building inside me. I had to focus. "What else?"

The woman spun about again briskly. "There is some jewellery gone. They're all small items - rings, necklaces, a few discreet brooches. They're valuable but they won't attract attention if sold or given as bribes."

Snow ran her hand feverishly through her uncombed hair. "Gods..."

"What about weapons?" I asked.

The maid shrugged. "That I can't say. Other than that firearm she wears every day? You would do better to ask your quartermaster if any swords and bucklers have vanished."

At that moment O'Rourke reappeared, dragging a young woman half his size behind him. From her simple apron skirt and scrubbed appearance I guessed she must be one of the kitchen workers. Her eyes were wide with fright.

"Sir!" O'Rourke announced his presence. "This girl has much to tell us."

Snow stepped towards them. "Let go of her, Captain."

O'Rourke released his bruising grip on the girl's upper arm and pushed her into my path, where she froze like a terrified lamb that's just come face to face with a wolf.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, and then struggled to find further words. I grew impatient as her voice choked behind dry lips.

"What do you know about this?"

"She swore me to secrecy!" The girl stilled again, afraid to speak.

I could feel my anger building, and I would have shouted at her if O'Rourke had not spoken first.

"Sir, this is the servant charged with bringing the prisoner's meals to the tower. She is supposed to ascend alone once the guard at the foot of the stairwell has searched her basket." His gaze left mine and lowered to the girl between us, boring into the back of her head. "But that has not been the case, has it?"

The girl swallowed and stared up at me, fearful. Brown curls barely trained by a mob cap fell loose when she shook her head.

"You had better tell me what has," I told her.

"The princess accompanies me," she said at last. "She slips behind the guard while he is distracted. I ensure he faces away from the gate."

"You do what?"

Snow put a gently restraining hand on my arm and moved in front of me. She took the servant's hand and led her away from us, and I saw the girl's instant relief at a woman's intervention. I must have been intimidating.

"Emma has been visiting Regina?" Snow asked. "How often?"

"Every day, almost."

"For how long?"

"These past two months."

Snow gasped. She glanced at me, and I knew her shock was mirrored in my own features. My guts knotted.

"To do what?" asked Snow.

The girl seemed uncertain. "To keep her company? She sits beside the locked door and they talk."

"About what? How much time does Emma spend in the tower?"

The girl spoke more easily now that Snow had her attention. "I don't really know. It depends. At first she visited for just a few minutes at a time, because she came down again with me as soon as I left. But lately she has stayed up there longer, waiting until I return with the next meal to leave undetected."

The twisting in my belly intensified. "You're saying Emma has been up there with the queen for hours at a time?" Why would Emma do that? What could she gain from it?

The girl nodded. She kept looking at Snow and repeated her apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't know the harm in it. I was doing as the princess asked."

Snow shook her head to reassure her and gripped the girl's shoulders. "It's not your fault."

I saw O'Rourke bristle at that, but he kept his opinion to himself. I was inclined to side with his assessment, but taking out my anger on the servant was pointless. She was a trivial pawn, unimportant.

"The stables are missing just two horses," said O'Rourke, "so it seems there are no other conspirators. But be sure, sir, I shall be thorough as I investigate, in case there are more traitors still among us."

Snow rounded on him sharply. "Emma is no traitor!"

The captain kept his tone respectful, but there was no mistaking his distaste for what, to him, must seem her defence of the indefensible. His jaw grew rigid. "I don't see how she is not."

I couldn't have this. We needed to re-capture Regina, and we needed to find Emma and bring her back. Clearly those two goals might require the same pursuit, but I wouldn't have the soldiers think that the search for Emma was anything other than a rescue. She was not the enemy. She was our daughter above all else.

"Now listen." I raised my finger to command O'Rourke's attention. "Regina is a sorceress. Don't forget that. Whatever Emma has done... whatever that Evil Queen has made her do... Emma is not to blame for it. Do you understand that?"

I saw the muscles in his face relax. This was a rationale he could readily accept. He inclined his head towards Snow. "My apologies, your majesty. You're right, of course. I'll instruct the search to that effect."

I heard Snow's sudden intake of breath.

"Has anyone checked if Henry's all right?"

She dashed between us, knocking me aside and causing O'Rourke to step back. She broke into a run as she reached the corridor beyond and disappeared. We hurried in her wake.

Henry was already out of bed and standing near the hearth when we burst into his chamber without knocking. He was barefoot and wearing his soft pyjamas - one of few items he was able to bring with him when we left Storybrooke. He was growing fast and soon those comfortable pyjamas and his favourite pair of well-worn trainers would be too small and tight, but for now he wore such familiar clothes as often as he could.

Snow was first into the room and almost blocked my view of what Henry did as we entered. My relief at finding him safe slowed my reactions, but O'Rourke was quick enough. As a crumpled piece of linen paper dropped from Henry's hand into the grate, O'Rourke leapt forward and bent to retrieve it. The fire's embers were low and the paper didn't have time to catch alight. O'Rourke straightened, snuffing out sparks from its rough edges with his gloved fingers.

I took the note when he offered it to me and smoothed out the creases. I recognised Emma's hand, written in haste:

Henry, this troll thing gives us our best chance and we've got to take it.
Sorry I don't have time to get you right now. I'll be back for you I promise, as soon as your Mom's safe.
Keep a bag packed (small!) and stay sharp. We love you, kid. Now burn this.

I read it twice. When I raised my eyes and looked at Henry his face was expressionless. It was as though he didn't see me. I held up the note in my fist.

"When did you get this?"

He didn't reply, or make a move. He just stared through me.

"What does it say?" asked Snow.

"Henry!" I ignored her and took a step towards him, close enough to grab his shoulder and give him a brief shake. "When did you get this note?"

His eyes focused on my face at last. His tone was too casual. "I found it when I woke up. Someone slipped it under my door." His eyebrows raised slightly, and I wasn't sure whether he was trying to hide the tiny smile that curved one corner of his mouth. "Could've been there all night."

I looked at Snow. She didn't need to read the note herself to figure it out. "So they've been gone for hours," she said.

"And they're on horseback," said O'Rourke sourly. "Forget hot pursuit. We must organise a methodical man-hunt. It could take days to track them if we don't get an early break."

"Weeks, more like," said Snow. "If you really want to, you can disappear in the forest. I've done it."

"Go," I told O'Rourke. "Get it started."

After the captain left I watched Snow sink down onto Henry's bed. In that moment she looked more perplexed than upset, as though she really could not understand what had happened.

"Why, David? Why did Emma do this?"

Henry answered her, but his response sounded more like an accusation. "Why not? I would have if I could."

I was glad we had not let Henry anywhere near Regina. Events had proved us right. If Snow had listened to his pleas and allowed him to visit his mother in the tower, I could only imagine what poison Regina would have spilled into the boy, given such access. It was bad enough that the queen had snared Emma with her devious magic. Clearly Emma had been talking to Henry about Regina over the past months, and some of that seditious influence had seeped across.

I didn't know what malign spell Regina cast, but I realised we had been short-sighted in focusing our precautions on the stone and structure of her prison, and not enough on the woman herself. The many enchantments with which Blue and her sisters imbued the tower were powerful enough to keep Regina locked up, but for all their interwoven strength they were no defence against human kindness. Now, in my mind's eye, I saw Emma approach Regina's cell at some undisclosed time during the past months - perhaps with a question, or an unwitting offer of company like the kitchen girl surmised - and somehow Regina bewitched her. It must have been an insidious spell; one that took its time to fully infect its victim, growing more toxic with each visit that enticed the next. It was a slow and unrelenting venom which worked its way through Emma's blood towards her soul. My own blood heated when I thought about it. My fingers clenched against my palms as I imagined them closing on Regina's throat. I cursed my failure to protect my family. I'd let a viper live beside us, and now Emma was paying the price.

I posted a guard on Henry's chambers with orders that the boy must stay inside. I told myself I feared he would try to join the search and put himself in danger, and that was an extra concern I could do without. O'Rourke returned to the hall after an hour with his first report. The palace and its surroundings were clear, and no one had found a corpse.

"A corpse?" Snow repeated, startled by his mention of it.

"Your daughter's." O'Rourke looked like he wanted to remove his helmet to wipe his brow, but his adherence to protocol in Snow's presence forbade it. "If the queen cast a spell to coerce her into freeing her, why take her with her once she escaped the walls? Why not simply kill her instead?"

"Emma has magic," said Snow.

"That's right," I said. "Emma's magic is powerful, but as yet untapped. Regina must want to use it."

"That is very worrying," said O'Rourke.

It was. Regina was clever and resourceful by herself. With Emma under her spell she could prove exceptionally dangerous. I decided then that nothing else mattered.

"Emma's rescue is our top priority. Recall the troops we sent to deal with the incursion. The trolls can wait. Despatch riders to the garrisons with Regina's and Emma's descriptions, and fresh orders to patrol our borders. We can't let them cross out of our kingdom, or we may never find them."

O'Rourke's efficiency increased my confidence. He unrolled a vellum map on the trestle between us and pinned the edges with wooden cups. He pointed. "The snows have already sealed these mountains to the north, sir. But searching the forest will be difficult. Perhaps your ally from among the fairies has magic that can aid us?"

I nodded. "Yes. Blue will help us."

In the days that followed our kingdom knew more scrutiny and turmoil than at any time in living memory. Even those months when the Evil Queen pursued the fugitive Snow White did not compete. No farm nor barn escaped the search. Men scoured the mines and combed the forest, finding every last cave and coppice. Our soldiers invaded the towns and villages, and soon we heard of taverns and private dwellings ransacked. Snow urged more care after those reports, but I was loath to curb our army's enthusiasm for the hunt.

In the end Blue found their tracks. "They're still in the kingdom," she said.

I was relieved. Given the time that had passed, I feared they'd travelled beyond our reach. "Where?" I asked.

Blue peered into the scrying bowl in front of her. It was a surprisingly simple instrument - clear water in a bronze dish. She waved her hand across the water's surface, seeing something through a sapphire mist which I could not possibly make out.

"Regina has cast concealing spells which hide them from the searches. But each time they move on the magic leaves a remnant. It's subtle, and even I couldn't detect it at first. I can't see them, but I can see where they've been."

"And this helps us?" I knew I sounded impatient.

Blue didn't alter her posture but she spared me a glance. "It suggests where they're headed."

That was the breakthrough we needed. We plotted their course across the map. It skirted towns and wound through the forest, once doubling back to avoid a trap we set at a likely crossing where a swollen river blocked their path. Regina was cunning. She twisted and writhed across our kingdom like the snake I knew she was, but she always resumed a general direction. They were headed south-east, towards our border with the sun, seeking escape and foreign warmth.

"Are we to kill the queen on sight?" asked O'Rourke.

"No!" said Snow.

O'Rourke looked at me for confirmation, and I noticed Snow's irritation at that in her face.

"You heard your queen," I told him sternly. "We must take Regina alive."

"Besides, we don't know how the curse she cast on Emma works," said Snow. "Just killing Regina might not break it, or could trigger something worse."

I was careful to avoid sending our men into an ambush. Instead I took the time to surround our quarry with patrols and checkpoints. It was a strategy I designed to narrow the fugitives' options and slow their pace. It also afforded us time to devise a way to capture Regina when we finally caught up with her face-to-face.

"Iron," said O'Rourke, in a near-whisper as though he feared being overheard by lurking demons and familiars. "Iron is the best defence against evil and witchcraft."

Blue raised her eyebrows at his assertion, but to my surprise she didn't scoff. I had long known that iron featured strongly in common folk's beliefs concerning magic. Children kept small pieces of iron meteorite as amulets to ward off curses. Midwives placed something made of iron in the bed to drive evil spirits away from childbirth.  Old men in taverns dropped bent nails into their ale cups and muttered charms against unseen witches before taking a drink. Routinely, we touched our iron belt buckles for luck before starting a day's work. I remembered now that even King George had turned to the base metal when dealing with a sorcerer he suspected of plotting against his life. He had a chair made of iron rods, and tied the man to it in front of a furnace. As the iron heated the sorcerer screamed and pleaded, and apparently relented.

I had shared these simple beliefs in iron's properties against evil magic. Only later I discovered how sophisticated and beyond my defences the practise of magic really was, when I was truly threatened by it; by the likes of Regina herself. So when Blue and O'Rourke aligned in a plan to bring down the Evil Queen I was genuinely taken aback. I could not imagine two people more different - the fairy with her refined knowledge and the soldier with his prosaic strength. Yet in a strange way it made sense that subduing an enemy of Regina's power would require such an unconventional alliance.

O'Rourke and I warmed ourselves by the low fire in the middle of the great hall while we made our plans. Thin smoke drifted above our heads and disappeared into a haze below rafters lost in darkness. The nights were early now and we were getting reacquainted with the loss of natural light. But the smell of tallow and rush lights was less easy to get used to, and beeswax candles were still scarce. Snow made our hall comfortable, filling it with silk-covered couches, thick furs, and soft rugs; but she didn't spend much time in here enjoying the results of her efforts. She preferred to keep Henry company in his guarded chambers instead.

So Blue, O'Rourke and I were alone in the big room, our voices low like conspirators. Blue was standing a few feet away from us, wrapped tightly in a dark blue cloak, one side of her face in shadow. She had an air of reluctance about her, like the furthest point of a triangle, unwilling to complete our circle of intent. She kept her eyes averted when she spoke.

"If iron is specially forged for the purpose, I can imbue it with the necessary binding enchantment," she said.

"It will need to be a much stronger spell than the last one you cast," I said. "Regina tossed that one aside like waste paper into a basket."

Blue looked solemn. "It will be." She turned to O'Rourke. "You'll need to design a sturdy shackle. Something very solid."

O'Rourke looked like he relished the challenge. "I'll speak with the blacksmith." He bowed briefly in my direction and left.

Blue's demeanour troubled me. "How are you going to do this?" I asked.

She looked straight at me then, and her sigh was both resigned and wary. "With dark magic. I have the wand which belonged to the Black Fairy."

I had no idea what she was talking about. "Who?"

"She was... a problem I once dealt with. I banished her, but I kept her wand. It's a dangerous artefact, but it will lend me the power to do what's needed."

"Good," I said. "If it must be dark magic, so be it. Capturing Regina and rescuing Emma is all that matters."

Blue wove the magic through every part of the process: into the charcoal that fired the furnace; into the raw lumps of metal the blacksmith worked, and into the cold water he used to quench it. A team of boys worked the bellows through the night, and before long O'Rourke had an instrument he could be proud of - a single rod of rigid iron, a foot long and an inch thick. It had no locks or links, just a curved manacle hinged at each end that could be bolted to its length. Blue gathered hair from Regina's pillow in the tower and used the dark wand to work further enchantments into it. When she was done she turned away and leant on an anvil for support. She looked tired and nauseous.

"It's done," she said.

"You're certain?" I asked. "This will prevent her from using magic?"

"As long as she wears it."

I delayed no further and set out with men I handpicked. We travelled light on horseback, taking a minimum of supplies to maximise our pace. After a day's ride we left the early snows behind and crossed into land that was still cold but drier. Leafless woodland gave way to winter hazel and gorse. By now I had a clear idea of the area where Regina was hiding. My tactic of containment had worked, and my spies reported local knowledge of an abandoned mill which was the only plausible bolt-hole yet to be searched.

We stormed it before dawn. I broke down a battered door that had a new bar across it while my men smashed through old shutters at the windows. The ground floor was empty so we charged up wooden stairs to a single room above. Our torches lit up a space devoid of furniture, but there were fresh supplies in a satchel by one wall, a dropped coat I recognised as one of Emma's, and on the floorboards a recent bed made of rushes and two fur cloaks. I swore under my breath. Regina was here, but somehow she'd been alerted to our approach. I knelt on one knee and put my palm against the fur. It was still warm.

"They're close. Get back out and search," I ordered. I stood up again. A fury rose inside me when I thought of Regina holding Emma while she slept. "Find me that witch!" 

Seconds later O'Rourke appeared beside me, excited. "We've found their horses, sir. They didn't have time to get them. Now they're on foot."

After that it was just a matter of relentless effort. There were only so many times Regina could deploy her magic to evade us; only so long that she could sidestep all the patrols that converged around her hiding places. As early daylight crept across the landscape, ever-tightening rings of white-caped soldiers descended, some on foot to block escape routes, some on horseback to run down the fugitives. I saw Emma first, making a break for it against a skyline of sparse blackthorn. Her blonde hair was loose down her back and she had her gun held high in her fist. She fired it. 

Emma's tactic had the desired effect. Several horses reared and bolted, unused to a sound so sudden and violent. I managed to keep my own mount under control and kicked my heels against its flanks, urging it towards Emma and shouting her name as I neared the ridge.

A sudden vortex tore me from the saddle and spun me yards across the dry heath. I caught sight of my assailant as I landed hard on my back. Regina was a flash of dark brown leather and pale linen, appearing out of nowhere to speed past me. I rolled and regained my feet, and I saw her raise her arm as she ran and cast towards the nearest soldier in her path. He too spun backwards, limbs flailing, caught in a powerful blast of magic.

I realised that Regina and Emma were running from different angles towards the same fixed point in the distance. I shouted orders to my men to pursue them and cut them off. My voice was hoarse as I tore up the hill and my breath expelled in short bursts of mist. Emma fired another shot into the air,  but this one had less effect than the first. I saw a mounted soldier's silhouette circle towards her and she leapt across a limestone outcrop to switch direction. She landed badly and her ankle rolled underneath her weight. She fell, and her sudden cry of intense pain told me she would not get up.

Regina also heard it and reacted. She altered her course and ran towards Emma instead. An orange glow formed in her palm and an instant later a fireball surged at the rider who bore down on Emma. His mail armour took the brunt of it but he crashed down from his horse, landing with his cloak smoking and his leather scorched.

I could not let Regina reach Emma. I could not let her touch Emma's raw magic. My anger and desperation lent my legs strength and pace. I barrelled into Regina and knocked her off her feet. We rolled together several times through rough heather and I held onto her tight. We came to a sudden stop on my back. A few yards away Emma screamed at us.

"No!"

I remember being surprised at how light Regina was. My arms were tight around hers, pinning her back to my chest. She felt small through her thin shirt as she struggled against my fierce grip. Her soft dark hair fell across my face, obscuring my view of the dawn sky above us.

I heard more than saw my men surround us in the seconds immediately afterwards. Their boots hit the ground with dull thuds and leather creaked when they knelt down. O'Rourke forced Regina's hands into the iron shackle. I felt her resistance weaken suddenly as he twisted the bolts tight. A tremor coursed through her limbs, and then her weight left my chest as they hauled her up.

I rolled onto my side and looked across to check on Emma. I could hardly see her through a wall of glinting mail and white capes, but I could make out two soldiers with their hands on her arms, half restraining her and half supporting her as she climbed up their limbs to balance on one foot. One of them wrenched her weapon from her hand. Her face was anguished, and I didn't know whether her ankle was badly sprained or broken. She was yelling at me now in angry protest, but on seeing she was safe for the moment I chose not to heed her. I stood up and barked more orders, knowing that between them my men would carry them out.

"Make splints and bind her ankle. Go to the nearest homestead and fetch a cart to carry her back. Remember she is under a spell, so take care that she can't hurt herself or anyone else."

Then I turned my back on Emma and focused my attention on Regina instead.

Long ago, when I was a small boy, I saw a man strike a woman and resolved that I would never do it. He was her husband and she was his wife, but his violent temper cracked her eye socket and broke the bones in her cheek. I told myself then that when I was a man I would never be like him, and until now I had not needed its reminder to hold myself in check. As Regina knelt in the coarse grass, shackled, with the blade of a sword near her throat, her eyes found mine and filled with contempt. Violet flickered briefly in the brown, and a wave of pain crossed her face as the enchanted iron did its work. She recovered her composure fast and her defeat turned to open defiance. Only the promise I made to myself as a child kept the back of my gauntlet from striking her face.

I wanted to, but I would not do it. Especially not in front of Emma.

I spoke to O'Rourke. "I'm putting you in charge of this prisoner. If she escapes again, your life is forfeit."

O'Rourke nodded sharply. He expected no less, and he seemed more than satisfied with the responsibility.

I should have been satisfied too, but I wasn't. Perhaps it was because Regina looked up at me with such scorn, or because I'd restrained my urge to violence. Perhaps it was because now that she was captured I could feel the extent of my outrage at what she'd done to us. I had treated her with respect, I thought, and she had used that against us. I had followed the code - the one I learned at King George's court when he made me his prince - the rules of conduct through which nobles and rival monarchs treat each other when captive: spare no comfort. It is a code we use to distinguish ourselves from the commoners, especially from common captives for whom no ransom is expected. It is a courtesy we reserve for ourselves and share with few others, ensuring we will reap the same consideration should the roles become reversed. It requires care and expense to treat a prisoner of rank well. So it is not to be betrayed. It is not to be exploited.

Yet Regina had exploited it. She'd seen the opening our courtesy afforded and plotted her escape, injecting her corrosive venom into my own flesh and blood. So as I stood there on that heath, looking at my defiant enemy bound and surrounded by my soldiers, I remembered the code's alternative: an opposite instruction - three similar words I'd heard spoken, rare and sinister, through gritted teeth by a cruel king. It is a code which quietly instructs a prisoner's jailors - this one's offence is great. My wrath will not bide formal justice. I will find no fault in you if this one suffers...

So, gods help me, I added the three word code to O'Rourke's orders.

"Give no comfort."

I could pretend I didn't see the sadistic flicker in my man's eyes that showed he grasped its meaning, but I could hardly avoid the cold in Regina's as she also understood my words. Nor could I find the moral courage to take them back.

~~

The moment Snow saw Emma she tried desperately to hug her, but Emma would have none of it. She pushed her away, and I couldn't miss the resulting look of hurt on Snow's face. But I could also see that Emma's rough dismissal wasn't really aimed at her mother. She was completely focused on her thoughts of Regina, unable to consider anyone else at that moment.

Emma seethed on the couch where the soldiers had deposited her. Her coat was grimy from her time on the run and her long hair tangled. A middle-aged woman was removing the splints and rags from her raised ankle to inspect it.

"What have you done with her?" Emma demanded when I entered the hall. "Where is Regina?"

"Don't concern yourself with the witch," I said.

"With the what?"

"You're under Regina's curse, Emma," said Snow. "Do you remember breaking into your father's rooms and stealing the keys to the tower? Do you remember drugging our guards? She made you do it."

Emma's expression grew incredulous. "Of course I remember. And she didn't make me. It was my idea."

Clearly she had no comprehension of what had been done to her.

"You only think that," I said, "but those acts of treason were planted in you by evil magic."

"Treason?" Her jaw dropped. "Are we in the Middle Ages now?"

I barely registered the servants who took my sword and gauntlets and helped me pull off my mail coat. Someone presented me with a leather tankard full of weak ale and I drained it fast, washing the taste of the road from my mouth.

"That is exactly how your actions are seen here," I said. "But calm yourself. You're not to blame, and we'll find a way to lift the curse, or spell, or whatever Regina's vile sorcery is."

"Oh god," said Emma, staring through me, "this is all my fault."

"None of this is your fault," said Snow, determined to make her understand. "This is Regina's fault."

"And partly mine," I said. "I do blame myself. I should have followed my instincts when I wanted to lock her in Rumplestiltskin's cell, where she couldn't reach anyone. But I let myself be swayed by your soft sentiments. If I'd been as firm then as I am now, the Evil Queen could not have snared you with her magic."

Emma swore at me. Her vehemence made the physician start, and Emma yelped angrily as the woman's fingers pressed too hard into the bruised swelling on her ankle. She lashed out, almost knocking the physician back when her forearm struck her chest.

"Emma!" Snow cried out in reproach.

Emma ignored her. Her furious eyes fixed on me again. "When did you turn into such an arrogant, pompous jerk?"

I chose to ignore that and addressed the physician instead. "Well?"

"No bones are broken," the woman said, straightening up warily, "but it's a bad sprain. I will strap it up, and she must not put any weight on it."

I nodded my thanks and the physician turned to her bag for ointment and bandages.

Emma's jaw tightened and she glared at me, refusing to be denied. "Where is she?" she hissed.

"She is chained in the dungeon; and this time she will not escape."

I saw a shudder pass through Emma's body. She paled before my eyes and her voice weakened. "No. Please don't do this."

I turned on my heel and strode to the door.

"Where are you going?" Snow asked.

"To make Regina lift the curse," I said, without looking back.

The kindest thing to be said about Leopold's dungeons is that they were not damp. The footings of our palace were located on a well-drained rocky outcrop, and even the lowest floors beneath the store rooms were flagged with dry stones rather than left to bare earth. Other than that, though, those deep cells were as grim a prison as any of the worst I'd seen. The air was stale yet permanently cold, and of course no natural light reached this far down. Anyone held here would soon know the despair of the forgotten and desolate.

A nameless soldier led me along a narrow passage to show me where the prisoner had been taken. O'Rourke had reached the palace a day before I did, unencumbered by the slower pace of the cart that Emma rode. I wanted Regina locked up without delay, and I wanted to accompany Emma, hoping we could talk on the way. When it soon became clear that any words she had for me were only recrimination and rage I steered my mount to the rear of our troop and we rode the rest of the journey in silence.

The soldier showed me into an alcove where two guards sat at a table playing dice. They stood quickly when I appeared and lifted a heavy trapdoor, then lowered a rough, single pole ladder down into the darkness. The soldier handed me his torch and I twisted to climb down.

My eyes were already accustomed to the lack of light, so I saw Regina as soon as I reached the ground and raised my torch. She hung motionless in the middle of an otherwise empty cell. A dull chain coiled around the bar of her shackle and then rose through an iron loop in the vaulted stone above, holding her upright by her wrists. Her head was down and the dark hair which usually framed her face hid her features, but I could see her chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. When I looked down I saw that her bare heels hardly brushed the floor, and I noticed that the flagstones under her feet were darker than the rest. Her clothes were damp as well. Someone must have drenched her in cold water before leaving her like this.

I didn't bother to count how many hours she might have hung alone and shivering in the pitch darkness. I circled her instead, and the way her shirt hung too loose alerted me to something else. I moved the torch closer, guessing in the moment I stepped behind her what further evidence I would find of O'Rourke's diligence.

He must have used a whip. Her shirt was torn open from the collar almost down to the hem, and between its frayed edges brutal welts marred her skin. There were many, criss-crossing her back and shoulders. Where they intersected they had bled. Dried blood stiffened the ragged linen at her waist like rust.

I regretted what I'd told O'Rourke on the heath then. Not because I pitied Regina. I didn't. She deserved to suffer, I thought. She had earned every stripe with her scheming and betrayal. But I regretted it because this was not how we were supposed to be. Snow and I - we were the benevolent masters of my bride's kingdom. Snow was just and kind, and I was the wise guardian at her right hand. We were not cruel or spiteful. Yet there was a beaten woman hanging in our dungeon, and no one... no one... must ever know of this. It wasn't who we were.

The torchlight or the scuffing of my boots on stone must have woken Regina to my presence, because she raised her head when I moved round to face her again. There was a pause as she swallowed. Then she sneered at me.

"Your Highness. King George would be so proud of his son."

"I'm not George's son."

"Today you are; and hardly you mother's. It's fortunate she's dead and can't see what a fine man you've become."

My voice rose in anger. "You will not speak of my mother!" I took a deep breath to steady my temper. "The only words I want to hear from you are those which lift whatever evil curse or spell you've cast on Emma."

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then she looked away, her expression contemptuous. She said nothing.

"You will lift this enchantment," I said.

"I cast nothing. There is no enchantment."

"Liar."

She met my accusing glare with derision and looked me up and down. "You need a bath, prince. If you approach your precious Snow's bed tonight like this, you'll have to force yourself on her."

"Shut your vile mouth!"

She laughed at me then. It was a mocking sound that came from a dry throat, laced with pain. "You need to work on your banter. Torment your prisoners by all means, but don't bore them. That will ruin your reputation."

"I'm sure you can teach me something about torture."

"Better."

My fists clenched at my sides. I itched to strike her. Instead I reached for the chain where it was bolted to a wall and prised its links from the hook beside it, releasing the tension. As the chain rattled down through the loop at the ceiling Regina dropped to her knees. For a moment I thought that she would hold that position, but then she slipped down onto her side with a moan and took the rest of her weight on one forearm.

"You will lift your curse," I said, satisfied. "And you will not see the light until you do."

"Idiot," she said as I turned away.

I climbed back up the ladder and instructed the guards. "Give her some water. And from now on let no one in to see her but me."

I had Emma carried up to her chambers and then posted guards on her door. Straight away she asked to see Henry, but I refused. I discussed the danger with Snow.

"We can't risk it. We'll tell him that she's safely back, but that she needs to rest. If they get the chance to speak to each other, he might believe her misconceptions."

Snow agreed with me, but I could tell she was very worried about him.

"He's becoming more withdrawn," she said. "He won't play games with me any more, or read the books I bring him. For the past three days he's hardly spoken a word to me."

"He'll be fine once we cure Emma and can reunite them," I said, trying to reassure her. "He's a resilient boy." Secretly I was just as concerned. This didn't bode well. "He's also resourceful. I'll have a watch put on his window outside, in case he tries to slip out to find her."

"What? It must be forty feet off the ground!"

"At least. But I don't want to have to strip his rooms of sheets and drapes."

Snow sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Very well." A shadow crossed her face and she peered up at me. "Charming, how many more prisoners do you think we'll make in our palace before this is over?"

I stroked her cheek with my thumb, anticipating the tear that fell. "No more. It will be over soon." 

But Emma showed no sign of it being over. She snarled at me like a caged wild animal when we entered her chamber. She looked better now in fresh clothes, with her recently washed hair brushed smooth over her shoulders, but that only made her seem more ready to engage me in battle. There was a tray of untouched food on a table beside her couch and her leg was raised on a cushion. Part of me was quietly glad now of her sprained ankle. It meant we didn't have to endure the embarrassment of putting a chain on it to keep her from running.

"So you really think I'm bewitched, do you?"

"We know you are," I said.

"Emma, think back to when this started," said Snow. "You visited Regina in the tower at some point, and that's when she cursed you. Since then you've been increasingly under her spell... literally."

"Think about it," I said. "You're sworn enemies. You just don't know it."

"We are not enemies!" Emma struck her fists against the couch in frustration. "Not any more."

"Since when?"

"Since I asked her to forgive me."

Snow and I were both silent for long moments. I could not begin to imagine what she meant by that. What could she think she'd done that Regina should need to forgive?

"For what?" Snow asked at last, more a gasp than a question.

Emma stared, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Snow as though she couldn't understand why we didn't know. "We lied to her son. We lied to him about her. We told him she'd murdered Archie... and the guy wasn't even dead!"

I watched Snow's jaw drop, and I shared her shock at this reminder of something that happened months ago and a whole world away. How could this possibly be relevant now?

Snow made a helpless gesture. "Emma... we didn't know she hadn't killed him-"

"I knew!" Emma's face grew fierce. "I knew. And I told you." Her anger seemed to turn as much on herself as on us then. "I've always been so proud of knowing the truth from a lie... of being able to tell one from the other. And I could tell then, but I let myself be duped by magic. By a parlour trick."

"That was no parlour trick," said Snow sourly. "Cora's magic was very strong."

"But I still knew in my heart, deep down, that Regina was telling the truth. It was just too easy to deny it. Too convenient to not have to think about sharing Henry. So I went to her afterwards, when it was all over, and I asked her to forgive me. And you know what? She did. How about that? Did you bother?"

"We apologised," said Snow, and I wished she didn't sound so defensive.

"Not the same. And did you even do that much? The way I heard it, she came to see you and you mouthed some platitude about being 'so sorry', because with your next breath you told her she had no say in what became of her son."

Snow looked utterly stricken by the bitterness in Emma's tone. She was speechless. It would have made no difference if she'd tried to respond because Emma continued her angry flow of words.

"Want to know something else? We're lucky she didn't contact the NYPD and have us arrested for child abduction. Because she could have done, easily, and Gold would be locked in a ward with psychotic amnesia and I'd be sitting in a federal prison. And there would be nothing any of us could do about it. Try telling the authorities back home that they should bring the Evil Queen to justice for ripping out hearts and casting curses..." Her sarcasm grew harsh and mocked us mercilessly, "... yes, your honour, the mayor with the right paperwork and a spotless record isn't fit to be a parent, so hand her kid over to this ex-con and her fellow kidnappers who are all delusional anyway."

"Enough!" I said, loud and angry. "Now it's all clear to me. This is why you argued against putting her in Rumplestiltskin's cell. You were already under her spell. You succumbed to her evil magic in Storybrooke, before we even left that world."

"I didn't succumb to anything, especially not to evil. I started to fall in love, that's all."

"No! You can't love her," said Snow, anguished. "She's our family's sworn enemy."

"She is our family. She's Henry's mother. She loves him, and she loves me."

"She can't love you," I said. "She isn't capable."

Emma turned her accusations back on Snow. "You know you're wrong about her, don't you, mother, because you went to see her after you killed Cora. And she wouldn't take revenge, would she?" Something too scornful and unkind seeped into Emma's manner. "Strange how you didn't think to give Cora's heart to Regina to restore before burning Gold's lethal candle over it. I've learned some things about your blood feud since we came to this land; about your mother's treatment of Cora when they were young, and Eva's sense of moral superiority. Did it occur to you that watching her enemy's daughter darken her own heart with murder was Cora's ultimate victory? Maybe even a vindication?"

Snow spun away, unable to face Emma any longer, crumpling into tears. I'd had enough. The heat of my anger chilled suddenly into something more cold and dangerous.

"Your cruel words prove us right, Emma. They're not your own."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Because if you were in your right mind, you wouldn't say such things to cause your mother so much pain."

I turned to leave, and managed to side-step the silver dish that Emma hurled at me seconds later. Fruit and walnuts scattered across the floor.

"You only caught her because she came back for me!" Emma shouted. "Because she wouldn't leave me."

I signalled a servant to clear up the mess, then summoned another. "Send for the Blue Fairy. Perhaps her magic can do something about this malevolent possession."

But Blue could do little. She stood over Emma with her pale wand, speaking delicate words I didn't understand, all to no avail. Emma mocked me again.

"Is this an exorcism? Are you waiting for my head to spin round?"

Blue stopped her incantations and stepped away from Emma's couch. "There's nothing I can do here."

"You must," I insisted.

"I can't." She spread her hands. "I can't even detect an enchantment. There may not be one."

"Of course there is. Regina's magic is strong but she's also devious. Look harder."

Blue shook her head at me. "I've done all I can. I can't find the source of a curse here." As we moved away towards the door her voice lowered. "Perhaps you should face the possibility that Emma chose to do what she did of her own free will."

"That's not possible," I said. "If the source isn't here, that's because it's with its maker. Do you have something which will force Regina to reveal it?"

Blue sighed. "Perhaps. Something more adversarial. The dark wand should work on her."

"Then follow me."

I led Blue down into the dungeons. The fairy looked more uncomfortable with every step of our descent into the grim passages below. By the time we reached the small guardroom above Regina's cell she was shivering, and apparently not just from the chill. When the men raised the trapdoor Blue peered into the dark space it revealed with apprehension that bordered on fear. She shuddered once before she followed me down the ladder.

We found Regina sitting by a wall, leaning sideways against the stone, favouring her back. She blinked against the torchlight. The cell felt bleaker than ever. There was some water in an earthenware jug beside the prisoner, but only the naked flagstones to sleep on, and no light except that which I brought with me.

Regina peered up at Blue and raised her shackled hands briefly. "Blue. Do I have you to thank for this masterpiece?"

"On your feet, witch," I said.

Regina ignored me so I strode to the opposite wall and pulled hard on the chain. It ground harshly through the iron loop above us and dragged Regina up. I drew it further and secured it, forcing her to stand in the middle of the room with the shackle at her chest. 

"Begin," I told Blue.

Regina's eyebrows raised when Blue brought the dark wand out from under her cloak.

"Ah, that wand. I wondered how you did this. Impressive, dear."

"Be silent," I said, earning no more than a sneer from her.

Blue raised the wand and waved it slowly in front of Regina, breathing steadily through her concentration. The cold air shimmered between them, and it must have had some kind of effect on Regina because she stiffened and closed her eyes. Blue frowned as she passed the wand back and forth. My skin tingled, somehow registering the power being deployed in that room. Regina winced and I saw her knuckles whiten when she clenched her fists.

"Is she resisting?" I asked.

Blue lowered the wand and the strange disturbance in the air dissipated. "No. She's not resisting. I just didn't find anything."

"Do it again. And do it like you mean it this time."

"No," said Blue, firmly, looking me in the eye. "I won't torture her."

I took a step towards her. "You know how powerful her magic is. She's deceiving you. Make her show us."

Blue stood her ground. "No."

"Just do it," said Regina, quietly.

Blue looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Prove it to him."

The fairy looked sickened. She swallowed hard. "It will be painful."

"I know."

Blue took a deep breath, and then another. She raised the dark wand towards Regina again. This time the air in the cell seemed to tremble, stale yet quivering, as though spoiling for a hurricane that would not come. My skin crawled and I took a pace backwards, putting some distance between myself and the two women. Blue's hand shook slightly around the wand and Regina's limbs grew tense under its power. She grimaced and her bent arms stiffened, holding her body tight against the rigid bar between her wrists. As the wand's effect intensified she gasped and her knees buckled. The iron shackle kept her standing for a few more seconds, but then her arms gave way too and she sank to the ground as far as the chain would allow.

Blue dropped her arm and the air cleared. "There's no curse on Emma," she declared. "There's no enchantment between them."

"No!" I rounded on her. "You've failed."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because that would mean that Emma chose to betray us. She wouldn't do that. Not to her family."

"Did you ever think that you left her no other option?" Blue turned abruptly and reached for the ladder, swaying as she grabbed for the rough wood. She recovered enough to find the first rung and began to climb. "Don't summon me to this hellish place again."

I watched her disappear. Then I heard a low, morbid laugh from Regina.

"Dissent in the ranks, prince?"

I stooped to where she knelt and seized her hair in my fist, forcing her head back between her taut arms.

"You might have fooled her, but you don't fool me," I said.

Regina looked up at me. She seemed drained by the ordeal. "You have to make a decision, prince."

"Is that so, witch?"

"Yes. Forgive Emma, or kill me."

My grip in her hair tightened. "What do you mean?"

"Decide whether you can forgive Emma for choosing me; because if you can't, you've got nothing to lose by killing me for her crimes against you."

"You choose death?"

"I choose nothing. You have the power in this palace. You claimed it the day we arrived."

That was when I knew what I must do to break the curse that Regina had cast on Emma. I knew how to prove to Emma that all she felt for this snake that coiled around her heart was a twisted evil spell.

"You're right," I said. "The time for games is over. Tomorrow you will burn at the stake."

Snow shook with horror when I told her my plan.

"There has to be another way!"

"She won't die in the flames," I said. "I'll release her from the iron and she'll save herself. She won't burn."

"And what will this prove?"

"That she's not prepared to die for Emma as she claims."

"I don't like this." Snow was pale with worry. Her fingers twisted together, like small writhing creatures that had no connection to the rest of her body. She looked trapped.

"Blue will be there to anticipate Regina's magic," I said. "She'll alert us to the first sign, and I will post archers on the surrounding walls. They will train their arrows on Regina, and the moment she tries to turn on us they will shoot her."

"You think she will? Turn on you, I mean? You think she'll try to kill you?"

"It's likely. But I'll be ready."

Snow looked up at the shadowed ceiling of our hall. "I want this to be over," she said. "I want us to be free; to be a family again... to enjoy our kingdom."

"We will, my love," I said. "Just one more day."

"I can't watch this."

"You don't have to."

"But you're going to make Emma watch, aren't you?"

"That's the key to the plan. She must witness Regina's lies and treachery with her own eyes."

Dawn was hidden behind clouds the next morning. Heavier snows were on their way, signalling the deeper part of winter that would soon swallow most of our kingdom. The previous day I ordered a pyre built in the palace courtyard. It was to be a small one - it doesn't take much dry wood to burn one person. I'd seen it happen before, when King George ordered a man who poisoned a fellow servant to be thrown onto one of the kitchen fires. I was appalled by the method of execution, but George declared it more merciful than the poisoner deserved. He could have been spitted beside it and turned slowly, after all.

I positioned the archers carefully so that they would not be obvious to anyone below, but still with a clear line of sight to the stake. More soldiers guarded the main gate and the snow-cleared path to the pyre, but other than these men there were few on-lookers assembled. This was not like the execution Snow and I once planned and almost carried out for the Evil Queen. It was not to be a public display for the people to see our justice done. If magic could not break the curse on Emma, I would at least reveal it to her, before killing Regina if necessary.

I waited on a low terrace that overlooked the pyre, my gloved fist resting on the hilt of my sword and a fur around my shoulders. Blue stood to my left, wrapped against the cold in a dark hooded cloak that reached almost to the ground. Her expression was sober, and it struck me how much more she still resembled a convent mother from Maine than a magical fairy.

Emma was on my right, perched on a stool to keep the weight off her tightly strapped ankle. She looked ashen. O'Rourke stood on her other side. He was the soldier I trusted most to be immune to her demands, so I had chosen him to wear a cuff that chained his wrist to hers. A soft cloth wound around her arm to protect her skin from chaffing, but I believed the manacle was necessary to stop her intervening in what was to follow.

I heard Emma's sharp intake of breath when Regina appeared just a few yards away. Someone had given her a fresh shirt in place of the torn and bloodied one, and its whiteness was stark in the grey-blue morning light, appearing almost fluorescent. The iron was struck off her wrists and a simple rope bound in its place. Blue assured me that Regina's powers of magic would return as soon as the enchanted iron was removed. They might take hours to reach their full strength, but she would have their use immediately.

Soldiers led Regina barefoot towards the pyre. She kept her gaze straight ahead, not looking round. I felt the tension build in my limbs as I watched for any sign that she was about to attack or try to escape.

"Stay alert," I told Blue.

But they reached the low pyre without incident and two men pulled Regina up a rough-hewn plank that was balanced over the branches. They pushed her back against the stake and loosened the rope to rebind her arms behind it. Then they descended and hauled the plank away.

Emma shook beside me. "No," she said, "no, no..." She tried to stand, levering herself up from the stool, but O'Rourke tugged on the chain and her manacled hand slipped to the side so that she dropped down again. She turned to me. "Please stop this!"

I looked down at her. "Emma, if your treason were your own, consequences would be inevitable. You are Snow's daughter but she is the Queen, and what message would it send if she did nothing?" I looked towards the pyre again. "But those crimes are really Regina's, not yours. You will soon see that."

A soldier stood in front of me with a torch. I nodded to him and he approached the pyre. He lowered the torch and thrust it under the closest twigs. Grey smoke appeared and curled up through the sticks. He circled round, igniting the edges evenly.

Regina didn't look anywhere but straight ahead, her face in profile. She made no move.

As the soldier reached the far side, thin orange flames appeared and began to flicker among the smaller branches of dry hazel. They brightened and grew quickly, chasing the smoke which rose into the still morning air. Dry wood started to crackle intermittently.

Regina only closed her eyes.

"No, no!" Emma repeated next to me, sounding breathless as she struggled. Somehow she managed to get up onto her feet. "You can't do this!"

I reasoned that it would have been easy for Regina to put out the torch with a mere thought, but now the fire was much bigger and gaining pace. Sparks rose and danced as it took hold. I ignored Emma's protests for the moment and focused on Regina, watching for her to make a move. She opened her eyes again but refused to look at me or anyone else present in the courtyard. Instead she stared at the sky beyond the walls. Flames started to lick in a circle around her, just inches from her toes.

And still Regina did nothing.

Steel flashed in my peripheral vision. I heard a dull wet sound and I glanced to my right. Emma was gone, and in her place I saw O'Rourke almost doubled over, his scabbard empty and his face a mask of disbelieving horror. I spun forward again to see Emma charging towards the pyre, heedless of her injury, her pace barely slowed by the strapped ankle. She had O'Rourke's sword, and I only fully understood what she had done when I saw his severed hand bouncing in the chain behind her. As she reached the pyre it slipped from the manacle and thudded onto the ground, staining the snow.

"Regina!" Emma cried.

At that Regina turned, and there was a sudden look of terror on her face when she saw what was happening. But that was the moment when I realised – the terror wasn't for herself; it was all for Emma. She screamed.

"No, Emma, go back!"

I could feel the fire's heat now as Emma leapt into the flames. Fierce flurries of sparks rose around her as she climbed towards Regina. The crackling intensified. My heart seemed to stop in my chest, and for a moment I was paralyzed by the danger. I saw Emma reach the back of the stake and drive the upturned sword down between the wood and the rope which bound Regina's arms. Emma sawed at it desperately, but a sword's blade is not efficient for that purpose and the fire was licking at their clothes.

I yelled at Blue. "Put it out!"

Blue anticipated me, as she once anticipated Snow and stopped the arrows which I ordered my archers to shoot at Regina. Her wand struck a swift arc towards the fire and the smoke above it churned and turned to vapour. It misted and thickened in the air, then descended as a sudden flood onto the flames. They were extinguished instantly, hissing and steaming like a blacksmith's ironwork plunged in quenching water.

Emma cut through the rope and grabbed Regina the moment she was free. She hobbled down through the soaked branches, half carrying Regina with her. When they reached the safety of clear ground Emma pulled Regina into her arms. She buried her face in her hair and held her as though she could never let her go, her whole body shaking with emotion. I watched as Regina's hands circled around Emma and clutched her tight, the frayed ropes still hanging from her wrists down Emma's back.

An enormous weight lifted from my heart as another, terrible one descended. Their love was real and true. Emma was free. There was no curse. I was wrong and Blue was right.

I remembered the archers. "Stand down!" I shouted at the walls.

Beside me the soldier with the torch placed his boot on O'Rourke's arm and lowered the flames to his bleeding stump. As the heat seared the ragged flesh, I heard more rage than pain in the captain's bitter cries.

I looked at Blue. She returned my gaze, but there was neither reproach nor pity in her face, merely sadness. She alone was close enough to hear my question, though it was meant for the whole world and my conscience.

"What have I done?"

Emma would not spend another night under our roof. Snow was distraught and pleaded with her not to go. When she realised she couldn't dissuade her she begged her to wait at least until her ankle fully healed, but Emma would have none of it.

I couldn't blame her. The depth of my mistake took some time to sink in, but only because it was so great. I knew I had let my family down in a dreadful way. By assuming it was my right to protect them instead of a privilege, I'd become the wolf in the fold. Regina wasn't the threat. I was.

Snow turned to me in tears when she couldn't make Emma listen to her. "Say something!"

But I was silent. I had said enough already, and done far too much. I thought it was no longer my place to have any kind of say.

I put all my effort into arranging mounts for them and gathering supplies. We didn't know where they were going, so I loaded one sturdy packhorse with as much salted meat, cheeses, nuts, dried fruit, and rare wild honey as it could carry, then another with furs and extra warm clothes. I picked our finest young stallion for Regina, then a quiet mare for Emma, and a smaller but well broken one for Henry - because of course they were taking him with them.

That brought more tears from Snow. I had returned to the hall and was feeling helpless at my newfound inability to comfort her when I heard Emma's feral snarl behind me.

"How could you do it?"

I turned and met her closed fist with my jaw. Pain shot up into my skull. We both staggered - me under the blow and she because she was still favouring her injured ankle. We regained our balance and faced each other. Her knuckles must have hurt almost as much as my face but she showed no sign of it.

"I saw her back," Emma spat, furious at me. "She didn't want me to know but I could see she was in pain so I looked."

"I didn't mean for that-" I began, but stopped myself. It only added to my shame if I shirked the responsibility now; and it was pointless, because what did it matter whether Emma knew, or even believed me? I had meant for Regina to suffer, one way or another. I'd given a cruel man licence to distance myself, and couldn't protest when he'd proved as efficient as I knew he was.

Snow was shocked and confused. "Emma..."

Emma turned on her. "Did you know?"

"What?"

"No!" I said. "No she didn't."

Emma looked at me again with outright scorn. "I don't care. We're leaving now. If you send anyone to follow us, I'll kill them."

When they had gone Snow and I sat alone in that big, lonely space for hours. No one disturbed us. Our guards and servants knew better than to come near unless we summoned them, and we didn't. Snow wept until she had nothing left and her eyes dried, reddened and sore. She spoke at last, her voice cracked and resigned.

"She was never really ours, was she? Not after we threw her away."

I looked across at her. The flesh near my mouth felt swollen but I took no steps to ease the throbbing. Perhaps I didn't want it to go away.

"What do you mean?"

"Emma. We threw her away at birth. That didn't just cost us her childhood. It cost us our future with her."

"That's not true. Regina's curse cost us Emma."

"No. Regina's curse cost us this." Snow gestured at the walls around us. "Our palace, our kingdom, for those twenty-eight years. The curse didn't cost us our child. We did that ourselves."

I looked down at my hands - the same that once placed a baby in a small dark space and closed a door on her. "We thought we were doing what was best."

"Because Blue told us so," said Snow. "But what did she know? She's a creature of magic. She's an expert in magic and enchantments, but what does she know about humanity? About the relationship between a parent and child? About a human child's needs?" She shook her head sadly and wiped dry saltiness from her cheeks with her fingers. "Emma didn't have to grow up alone. We could have kept her with us, even in a cursed land. Time would have stood still for her too. She wouldn't have known that abandonment, that loneliness. Regina didn't do that to her. We did, when we chose to burden our newborn with the task of saving us."

I had no answer for that, except for my now shaken belief in our best intentions. Snow continued.

"And she did. She got it back for us." She waved her hands at the palace again. "Our kingdom, our restoration. Here we are."

"Yes," I said. "But it's no comfort to know we listened to the Blue Fairy when we shouldn't have, and failed to heed her when we should. We can't say she failed us this time."

"No. We failed Emma. And we failed Regina too. We only saw the queen who cursed us. We forgot the woman she was before, so we didn't believe she could be her again."

"Stop blaming yourself, Snow." It was too much for me to hear Snow sharing what I knew was mostly my fault, if not all. But she wouldn't have it.

"You didn't know Regina before, Charming. Not before she had her own agenda. But I did. I knew her when she was loving and kind. I should have listened to Emma, and remembered."

"It's too late now," I said, believing my words.

"Ironic though, isn't it? On the day Regina met us, separately, she saved our lives. She rescued us both." Snow sighed then, heavily, and I knew it would be a long time before she could cry again. "There's one more thing..." Her hands dropped to her belly and her palms rested there protectively. "We're going to have a baby."

And it broke my heart to hear her give what should have been happy news with such melancholy.

Our son was born in late summer. News of the joyful event spread rapidly through the land. There were holidays to mark his safe arrival and feasting in the towns. Our kingdom had flourished as the days lengthened and the warmer months came. Animals produced their young and crops grew well in the fields. By the time I could order fireworks into the summer night's sky in celebration, no one in the palace talked about the grim events of the previous winter. But I never stopped thinking about them.

At first I dwelled only on my own actions; on my wilful blindness and arrogance - cruelty even. I wallowed in self-loathing. But as time went by I began to think more about Snow and Emma and Regina. I wondered how different things might have been if I had only seen then what I saw so clearly now: they were at the heart of everything. Snow and Regina should have been destined to be friends, but they were fractured by a feud which began before either was born. Then came Emma, the daughter, the saviour, the lover. She could have healed it if only we'd let her. I saw the three of them in my waking dreams - Snow and Emma and Regina - the triptych around which the rest of us revolved. I knew that Snow and Regina could have reconciled through Emma's love for them both.

More months passed and our baby boy grew, attracting an abundance of smiles from all who saw him. Very few people chose to broach the matter of our estranged daughter. Many just assumed that Snow had banished Emma from the court for what they viewed as her treachery, and it suited us to let them think so. Then one day, almost a year later, a messenger arrived with a letter from Henry. He asked if he could visit us, to see his baby uncle. He couldn't think of someone so young as his uncle, he added, so would it be all right if he called him his cousin?

Snow was ecstatic. Our boy had single-handedly restored much of her joy in life, but now and then I saw her look sad or wistful, when she thought no one was looking, and clearly she dwelled on the daughter she'd lost.

"He didn't need to ask us," she said after showing me the letter. "He could've just arrived. He must know he's welcome."

"Henry's still too young to travel alone," I said. "Perhaps it's Emma who doesn't know how welcome she will be."

I thought it more significant that she was letting us know where they were. On the other side of the broken seal were instructions on where to deliver a reply. They were east, somewhere isolated, but not far beyond our kingdom's border.

"She could have relied on the same messenger to bring our response," I said. "She didn't have to tell us."

Snow wrote back to assure them that they were welcome, even begging them to make the journey as soon as they received word. She took to standing by a window in a high tower with our son growing heavy in her arms, scanning the road east for any sign of them. I believed she would have stood under the midday sun on the battlements for a better view if not for the child.

And they did come, many days later. I expected them on horseback, but instead a coach arrived. It wasn't elaborate, but polished and sturdy, with a coachman and an outrider who both wore livery of red and purple, white and gold.

Their colours, I thought. Regina's and Emma's.

The coachman had hardly reigned in the grey horses when one door flung open and Henry spilled out. He jumped down to the cobbles before the steps could be lowered, and I was startled by how tall he'd grown. He looked like a young nobleman, in a fine purple tunic with black hair touching his shoulders. He ran forward to greet Snow and the delight on her face at seeing him brought a smile to my own. She showed him our son and he grinned and laughed as the baby reached for his hair with curious hands.

I turned back to the coach, looking for Emma, but only one woman appeared and climbed down, and that woman was Regina.

Snow was better at covering her surprise than me. She even said hello to Regina, before grabbing Henry's arm with her free hand and ushering him into the palace's shade. That left me standing with Regina in the courtyard, on almost the very spot where I'd nearly burnt her at the stake. She took the awkward moment in her stride.

"Close your mouth, prince. There may be some flies about."

They stayed for the rest of the summer. Henry played with his young 'cousin' for much of every day. He delighted him with simple games that he devised, and wore him out so that he slept through each night without waking. Snow was impressed. Many times she joined them on the wildflower meadow that I encouraged within the palace grounds to sustain our beehives. They laughed and rolled through buttercups and royal blue speedwell, and then the thick white clover which took over through soft grasses.

Sometimes I sat and watched them from a wooden bench in the shade, my back resting against a stone wall. I would carve the top of a shepherd's crook from hollow cow horn. It was simple, calming work, and the crooks came in useful. I was there one late afternoon when O'Rourke appeared. He placed a pitcher beside me on the bench and then produced some tall cups from inside his jacket.

"The new ale, sir."

O'Rourke was no longer a soldier. Where Emma had taken his hand the wound had festered and turned gangrenous. Our surgeon had to amputate high above the elbow to save his life. There was not enough left to strap on a shield.

I thanked him and he left silently. I put down the knife and horn and poured ale into one of the cups, my mouth watering with anticipation. This was the first of our malted barley. I could smell the elderflower and honey the brewers used to flavour it.

"Didn't you get Blue to restore his hand?"

I almost dropped the cup. Regina appeared on my other side as if she materialised out of thin air. I wondered then whether that was exactly what she'd done. I took some moments to recover, during which Regina walked in front of me and sat down on the bench. She crossed legs that were dark in embroidered pants and thigh-high boots. She'd taken to wearing more black again, and I was sure it was only because everyone else avoided the colour in summer. But her flared silk surcoat was the deepest crimson.

"She told me she can't," I said.

"Really?" A knowing smile tugged at the corner of Regina's mouth. "There's hope for her yet."

We both stared straight ahead, as though looking at each other would shatter the pretence that nothing terrible had happened between us.

"Noble of you to keep your man on, though," she said. "But then you should. He was an efficient soldier and your loyal servant in every way our world thinks matters."

That was certainly true.

I filled my cup. "Do you want some?"

"I'd rather not." She waited until I raised the cup to my lips and took a mouthful. "He spat in it."

Ale sprayed out of my mouth, a shower of countless amber droplets sparkling in the sun. I spluttered and wiped my jaw on the back of my sleeve. I couldn't put it past her to lie, but I couldn't put it past him to do it either. A smirk played on her lips at my obvious quandary. I looked at the pitcher between us, discouraged.

"You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to that brew," I said. "Now you've ruined it."

"Excellent. Consider it your penance for having me strung up and flogged like a common criminal."

My eyes closed tight. Gods...

I couldn't speak then. It wasn't my pride that prevented me, but the inadequacy of any words that I could muster. Perhaps she took pity on me, which I doubted, or simply grew bored with my shameful silence.

"Anyway, I brought my own refreshment," she said. I opened my eyes to see her pull the cork on glazed earthenware. "From Jasmine's cider stash. She very kindly furnished me with a bottle." Regina took a delicate sip. "It's rather good, despite there being nothing special about the apples she uses. It could be stronger. I've given her some pointers."

"Jasmine?" I asked.

Regina turned her head to inspect me properly for the first time. "Your kitchen wench. The one who brought me my meals when you had me locked in your tower."

I remembered the frightened girl that O'Rourke dragged before me.

Regina seemed genuinely annoyed at my slow comprehension. "Idiot alpha male. You're so distracted by your fellow thugs you don't notice the quieter mortals in your court." She shook her head in irritation. "Reward them or punish them on a whim, but learn their names for heaven's sake. They all know you, so you'd better be sure you know them."

"You're giving me advice on how to rule?"

"Someone has to."

I looked away, scornful, and she chuckled, apparently pleased by my reaction.

"Do you know why you feel all this shame?" she asked, more quietly. "It's because despite everything, despite what you've done, you still believe you're better than me. You think you're above the vengeance and cruelties you're capable of. But you're not. Not you, not Snow... so learn to own them, as I have done, and your past sins won't eat you alive."

I let her words sink into my soul. I didn't like them, but there was an honesty in her voice that I couldn't dismiss.

"Emma wouldn't come," I said.

"No. She hasn't forgiven you."

It was a harsh truth, but not a fatal one; not doesn't or won't or can't - there was an unspoken 'yet' on Regina's lips which told me that it need not always be so. My spirit soared.

I looked at Snow and the two boys playing. Snow's white summer dress was stained with grass but she looked carefree. I caught Regina's smile out of the corner of my eye when Henry suddenly laughed loudly.

"At least some of us know how to be happy," I said.

"Better watch that. Your delicate bride will grow content and matronly before you know it."

I wondered if Regina could give a compliment that wasn't barbed like a thorny thicket. I took a deep breath, searching for the courage to ask a much more searching question. It took every last ounce of my fortitude to say the words, and they didn't really emerge as a question; more of a new and strangely troubling certainty.

"But you've forgiven me, haven't you? For Emma's sake."

Regina took an unusually long drink of cider and licked her lips afterwards.

"Oh do get over yourself, shepherd."

And I could almost believe she meant it kindly.

~~~