Emma inhaled deeply, then let out a gush of hot air from her flaring nostrils, trying to calm her angry self down so that she wouldn’t raise her voice at the queen. The latter was a queen right? She shouldn’t be shouted at right? Emma mused, gritting her teeth, her fists tightening of their own accord. Her anger stemmed from the fact that the queen had known why she had wanted to see Derek, knew that he was in trouble; for fudge’s sake, he had already been possessed!, and she hadn’t told her, worse, she had tried to stop her. What was wrong with all these women thinking that they...