She dreams of him. Barely a night passed now when her dreams were not filled with him, him with his obnoxious, maddening, yet so attractive, behaviour. Her dreams either take the form of memories - glances passed in the corridors, brief conversations exchanged, the best kiss she had ever had - or wistful daydreams.

Tonight, in her dream, she was seated on her chair. A hand - his hand - was on her waist, his blond hair tickling her chin as his soft lips brushed her cheek. She shivered in anticipation, placing one hand over his, running her other hand through his hair as his kisses moved down her neck. She was filled with nothing else but love for the man beside her - but love didn't even begin to describe her feelings towards him. She lusted him, she longed for him. If he was to leave, her life would be empty, unnecessary.

He gently pushed her sleeve down her arm and touched her shoulder with his mouth. She smiled, turning and pressing her chest against his body. He responded by nuzzling her hair, whispering her name like only he could as he pulled her closer. "Guinevere..."

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He dreams of her. Of a young woman, so beautiful, so graceful, and yet so lost to him. Her. Even as he slept, his lips moved as he remembered how they had felt as they moved with hers. That kiss had been a gamble, and it had paid off. She had kissed him back. She returned his feelings.

But his dreams of her were not all of simply love. Sometimes they were nightmares, horrid nightmares that made him wake up in a cold sweat, afraid to close his eyes again as he remembers the fear in them. Scenarios where his father discovers their love. In which his father orders her imprisoned, banished - or, in the worst nightmares, executed. Then he cries out, thrashing in his sheets, waking only to find his manservant's worried face inches from his. Those are the worst.

It is the gentle dreams of love that he longs for. Many times he has dreamt of kissing her again; often too of going just that bit further with her: running his hands over her soft skin, curling her dark hair between his fingers, gently untying the strings that hold her dress together while she holds her hair to one side out of the way. It is dreams like these that he lingers over the following day, wondering wistfully if she would object. He has a feeling that she might not.

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The worst is that they can't be together. The two lovers, tied up in their dreams of each other, are unable to do anything about it. Fear of rejection from each other and the society they live in haunts them, forcing them to avoid each other.

Yet they are continue to seek each other in memories, in dreams. Every night each dreams of the other.

Perhaps, one day, they will be able to love openly, without any fear hanging over their heads, able to turn their dreams into reality.

Perhaps, one day, things will be different.