AN: Sorry for the long hiatus. I babied this chapter a little too much. I liked it though, it's a little different. Hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know what you think. I love all the awesome feedback I've been getting.

Dreams of Regret

This might be a memory.

We've found a place in the woods, a rare clearing in the thick wall of trees that looms over us. Our horses are tied to few trees skirting along the open space we're in. Rocinante next to a white stallion that Snow has chosen for the day. She and I are lying on blankets laid out in the sun of an early afternoon. A lunch sits in the grass next to us that was forgotten in lieu of relaxing in the day's warmth. I'm wearing cloths suited for riding, brown leather pants with a casual and loose cream colored blouse, long brown hair braided down my back.

Which is more than could be said for Snow, donning a pristine white dress fit for no one less than a princess, with a corset that proudly shows off her flawless genetics. I find myself tracing the curve of her cleavage with a single finger, watching the rise and fall of her chest and the contrast of white skin against a darker tone, my hands carrying traces of dirt from the long ride. And how she can look so clean—so flawless, without a single speck of filth on her, remains a mystery to be solved another day.

"What if someone sees us?" She whispers, with a sigh of almost contentment, as my hand loses focus and moves lower.

"No one will, I'll make sure of it." Is my soothing response, inching my face closer to her cheek, lips tracing her jaw.

"If—" Snow swallows at my action. "If someone does, will you fight gallantly to protect my honor?" Her tone is playful, causing a smile to reach my face.

I rise up to look down on her, leaning on my free arm, my other hand draped carelessly around her waist.

"What honor do you have left, dear?" I tease, fingers tracing the pearl buttons running down, then back up her stomach. "Where does it hide? Here?" My hand cups her barely covered breast, squeezing gently, while my thumb moves just under the material of her plunging neckline. There's a slight gasp that breaks from her lungs at the movement. "Or perhaps here?" My arm moves lower, fingers roaming under the thick layers of her dress, finding purchase along the smooth skin of her thighs. "I've scorched my name on your body a hundred times over," I kiss her neck as my hand moves higher, feeling her squirm slightly under me. "So protect your honor? I think not." Snow looks at me then, hurt lining her features, causing a smile to reach mine in response. "I will fight to protect what's mine." I finish, catching her lips in a soft kiss. Her legs twitch against my nails that are running up the inside of her thighs, almost reaching the material of her undergarments.

She's laughing now, pulling away from my lips and stilling my hand with her own. Apparently the only affect I'm having is tickling, so I take another moment to move my fingers again, just to see her smile a little longer.

"Stop." She says, squirming and giggling, and I do, pulling my arm away from her and resting it back on her waist as I smile down at her kindly.

This must be a dream.

This playful banter between us, this feeling of contentment, and this place we've never been to, it's something so calm and peaceful, that I know it isn't real.

We lie next to each other for what seems like forever, her eyes closed against the bright rays of the sun, as mine stay on the perfect curves of her face.

"It's beautiful here." She says in a whisper.

"It certainly is." I respond, never breaking my gaze from her.

Snow looks over at me, eyes heavy, as concern lines her features.

"If I ask you something, do you promise not to be angry with me?"

"Of course." I reply instantly, anger being so far from this place, it's a wonder if I could even remember the feeling. She smiles at that, sitting up suddenly, and I rise with her curiously.

"Prove it." And that challenge—that plea—I know it's something I've heard her say before. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she stands, grabbing my hands in hers and pulling me up with her, and I roll my eyes lightheartedly at her playful manner. Then she starts to back away from me with an unspoken dare, going farther into the clearing.

"Ah, yes. I swear on all the lives of every person who crosses me." There's a haughty dramatic flair to my words, as I mock bow to her, before quickly pouncing towards her retreating form, but she's too quick for me, ducking and smiling, running towards the nearest tree. I follow her, as if it is all that I'm meant to do. "I promise on this land and the next—" When we reach the tree, she hides behind it, her face peeking out from the trunk to see me dart around it in hopes of grabbing her, but she slips from my grasp again. "I pledge to you, dear and only you—my undying oath." Snow zigzags around a few more trees, and I follow at a leisurely distance. "My unrelenting commitment." Then she's moving around the horses, but I see the path she's taking, and move to intercept. "My word is bond, just as the bond that ties us together—" I finally get her in my grasp when she runs toward the clearing again, giving a short laugh in pride of what I've caught. Her smile is soft and beautiful while I have her in my arms, our bodies close.

"Forever and always?" She asks, with whispered sincerity. My hand reaches up and rests on her cheek.

"Forever and always." I respond, with as much intensity that such truth can bring. Then my lips are on her, soft and slow as I take my time to taste every inch of her mouth, noting the strong flavor of apples that engulfs my senses. When we break away, her face has all the love in the world written on it, and there's a pressure in my chest that follows it.

"Ask me anything." I tell her with assurance.

With a sigh, the smile on her face fades.

"Do I look like him?"

The pressure inside me starts to grow.

"Who?" There's just the slightest hint of fear lining my voice.

"Do I look like Daniel?"

I know now what this is. Not a memory. Not a dream. A nightmare.

Magic crackles at my fingertips as I strike my hand deep within her chest. A look of surprise and pain twist her features just like—

"You do now."

There's no certainty that it's even my voice that says it, it's tone sounding familiar but distant. I turn my wrist sharply, just to see her choke on the feeling, tears streaming down her face, and I feel the rapid pulse surrounding my fingers. The wetness and the heat.

When I pull my hand back out, grip firm, her heart isn't glowing with the magic I took it with. It's raw and bloody, and real—leaving a gaping hole in her chest. Blood is pooling onto her white dress, as I squeeze the muscle in my hand, and she collapses at my feet.

I don't look down at her. Instead my sight catches our forgotten lunch sitting next to the blankets lying on the ground. In the basket is nothing but rotting apples.

I wake up in a cold sweat, eyes wide, my body still frozen on the bed as I my brain adjusts to the familiar settings of my bedroom. I don't remember going to sleep, but I'm not surprised that it wasn't restful. It never is. What I am surprised about is the shadow that's next me, and the sound of steady breathing. My body jolts a bit as I turn to see Mary sleeping next to me. And I know this can't be real. It must be in my mind, something lingering from the nightmare, so I slowly pull the covers that she's tangled in lower. Fear grips me, expecting to see an empty hole in her chest, where her heart used to be—but there's nothing. My fingers run gently over her skin, feeling the soft heat of things that are very much real and alive.

I'm remembering now, after we had exhausted all of our energy, and we lied next to each other on my bed, her eyes were growing heavy.

I told her to leave. I swear I did.

Or maybe I just watched the blinks of her green eyes get longer, imagining that if I killed her, it would be like this. Just a slow and peaceful slip into unconsciousness. Nothing violent or painful, like a curse, but something more like a gift.

A heavy sigh escapes me as I turn to look at the clock, grateful that the night is still surrounding us. Then I reach over and push her hard, making her body rock before she jerks awake as well.

"What's wrong?" She mumbles, opening her eyes. Then she looks up at me, then at her surroundings, a panicked expression crossing her face. "What am I doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." My hand runs through tangled hair as I sit up and try to clear my mind.

"God, what time is it?" Mary's kicking covers off of her, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her back to me as she puts on her underwear and bra, and I watch her with mild interest.

"Early still." The clock reads 3:36 a.m. when she glances at it, and I hear the quick release of relief leave her lungs. She's getting too close to getting caught, and a far too close for comfort to me. "You know I don't condone sleep overs." I try for a biting tone in my voice, but there is none.

Mary glares at me.

"I must have passed out, what with us fighting and screaming at each other all night."

And her voice is rough when she says it, because she's right. Earlier in the night, it was bad. The fight we had still fresh in my mind, but so was the way she came for me, over and over, until her body was raw and shaking.

That was most definitely still fresh in my mind.

"That wasn't the only thing we did to each other." I say knowingly, as I watch her stand and I see the red scratch marks running down her back, and when she turns toward me to grab her shirt that was caught on the end of my bed, I see the bruised scorches peppered on her neck and chest.

"My memory is still intact, despite your best efforts, my Queen." Those words, oh my those words from her do something visceral to me. She knows it too, looking at me sideways with a smirk lining her cut lip, as she pulls her shirt down over her head. When she moves around the bed to my side to pick up her discarded pants, I stop her by digging my fingers into her upper thighs and turning her towards me.

"It's early still." I murmur, looking up at her as my nails trial up to the waistband of her underwear.

"Stop…" Her hands halt me gently, and I feel pressure contracting around my throat at the protest. Irrational thoughts of my dream come back at me like a wave, and I pull away from her before she notices that my hands have started shaking. "I need to go."

"Well I need to get some sleep so you know where the door is." My words are flippant, but instead of lying back down, I stand up from the bed, going over to the closet door to grab my silk robe. The cold that's settled into my skin is somewhat relieved from the material, and I do wonder briefly at what point she managed to get my clothes off, all except for my underwear. I'm feeling her watch my movements.

"Are you getting forgetful now?" Mary finally says, a little angry, causing me to pause with my back facing her. Then I turn, confused.

"What?"

"My marks?"

Right. There are plenty of those to be had.

"Of course, dear." I say as a sigh, never looking forward to this part. It takes a lot out of me, the magic I use for this, and at this point I wonder if it's even worth leaving the bruises and bite marks at all. But that's only to avoid the more important question of why I even bother to cover them. Why I let her lay down the rules for what we do and how we do it. Why am I protecting her reputation, when she would—without hesitation—string me up if it meant keeping her secrets.

I'm tired though, so such thoughts remain avoided as I close the space between us, moving my hand over superficial brandings, both exposed and covered by her cloths, watching along with her as they each disappear one by one, just like always.

Then she's perfect again, just like always.

"Do you miss them when they're gone?" Not knowing where that came from, it's asked none the less, and she contemplates her answer.

"I wouldn't use that word." She says finally. "I…ache for them."

And that word. That ache. That's accurate.

"I know the feeling." It's a whispered response.

My hand goes up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the once cut lip, and before I think better of it, I lean in to meet her lips with my own. I try to kiss her soft and slow, like in my dream, to see if such a perfect moment could ever exist between us, but it doesn't taste the same—it doesn't feel right—and all it reminds me of is the gaping hole in her chest that follows a kiss like this. My lips jerk back from hers harshly, and her eyes flutter open, looking dizzied in the wake of faux tenderness on my part. My lungs are working to deepen my breath from its shallow state, and there's hesitation on my part that's lasting too long as creases grow in Mary's forehead.

"Go." My voice finally gives way to a raw and broken demand.

After a moment longer, she finally does.