Clean [Outlaw Queen]
Based on this prompt: “Roland refuses to get out of the bathtub.” Enchanted Forest, missing year. Heavy on the dimples. Also here on ffn.
Even in its recent state of disuse, the castle is not wanting for much. The pantries are stockpiled with enough food to feed fifty for five winters straight—colossal bread pyramids, spreads of dried meats and fruit, a variety of cheeses, wines and mulled ciders crammed in from cellar to ceiling. The linens are bountiful, and the number of beds with which to adorn them enough to accommodate ten times the size of their party.
Still, most of the four-poster canopies with their elaborate, hand-carved mahogany frames go unused, too soft and supple for backs accustomed to sleeping on solid ground. Something Regina had discovered the hard way one evening, when she’d tripped over someone’s ankle and nearly broken her own; the man who smelled like forest had elected to doze off on the floor of the armory, directly in the path that her sleepless nighttime wanderings had taken her.
(She usually spends these walks in solitude, thinking of Henry, always thinking of Henry; that night, she’d thought instead of all the thousand and three ways to live up to the evil in her name and make the man’s life a living hell, as she’d hobbled back to her bedchambers. Never minding how immensely apologetic he’d been, the sorry excuse he’d given for having gotten back late from washing up and not wishing to wake his son. Regina hoped the boy at least had the good sense of sleeping in his bed, rather than at the foot of it.)