"She got away!" snarled Snow White. Her eyes were bulging, and she was choking on her own spit. "She got away," she seethed in midst of unladylike coughs.

Then she lunged at the axeman who'd missed Regina's neck hair. His eyes grew wild. He ducked to her jewel-sandaled feet, tossing his axe to the side and just missing another palace worker. "Please, my queen, I promise I won't miss next time." He brushed his lips against her bare toes, thinking to himself she was sexy with that wild black hair full of white roses. What a beautiful queen!

"That's okay," she said, no longer sounding furious but quite amused. "There won't be a next time."

He lifted his head to arch his brow at her. Still crouched, he began to caress the exposed parts of her feet in the way a masseur would. "There won't be a next time?" he parroted, thinking he knew exactly what she meant.

She was going to strangle the poor lass in her sleep! And yet, he couldn't bring himself to be afraid of this violent queen. Axemen were brought up to stir fear in people, not to be afraid themselves.

Smirking beatifically, Queen Snow asserted, "Wrong!" Then she lifted her crossbody and rummaged within. She withdrew a heart box and opened the lid. A glowing red heart was exposed.

"David!" she trilled. She reached down and touched the axeman on the shoulder with a loving caress. "I need you to come here so we can arrange a nice, tasteful funeral for our wonderful axeman."

The axeman cocked his head, confused. Red curls flanked his ears. He frowned deeply, trying to process her words, but they made no sense. Gallantly, he pointed out, "But I'm not dead."

"That can be altered," the evil queen informed him with a deadly stare.

He gulped, slowly working his way from A to Z. "You mean…?"

"There are other axemen," she informed him coolly before grinning catlike in his face. "Any last words?"

It was then that the meaning of what she was saying stopped cramming itself furiously into his head, demanding to be comprehended. It was then that he realized precisely what she intended to do.

Fear stole into his eyes. For the first time in his life, he was afraid. Not just afraid but terrified. He wasn't ready to die; the choice was being ripped from him faster than someone with an arrow stuck in their heart.

Still crouching, he tried to run while ducking his head.

The Queen made gestures with her hands; her well-trained axeman turned to sand.

It was actually pathetic that she was punishing him for Regina getting loose because he was her best axeman. There wasn't an axeman alive who could have stoppered Regina's purple magic. Yet, the spoiled brat of a queen had felt the need to destroy him for something that was out of his hands.

The puppy dog appeared at her shoulder with a shovel in both hands. He was nothing next to his twin. Yet, this brainless twit was all she had.

"I need an urn before we start digging," she told the pretty face.

David didn't protest. He galloped back the other way, spinning his legs in circles like a wheel. He was desperate to get away from her, she could see that. But because she had his heart, he was also eager to please her. He knew what she might do if he gave her a proper dose of frown lines.

Far as their time in the bedroom went, she knew he enjoyed it less than she did. It made her feel empty. It made him feel trapped. But because she'd taken his brain and blew out several slats of personality, she didn't have to worry about him losing his mind and trying to do something drastic to get away from her…or worse, listen to a dull lecture. A rant of how-can-she-like-forcing-someone-to-be-with-her-when-there-were-tons-of-guys-who'd-give-an-arm-for-half-a-kiss. Him getting bent and anxious over his predicament as a slave. Begging her to let him go, "Both of us know you don't love me."

Of course she didn't. She found love an impossible task. The only person—besides herself—she'd truly loved was James.

And stupid Regina had taken him from her.

She scowled.

When David brought the urn to her, she told him to start digging while she swept the sand into the hungry urn. Big friendly mongrel the son of a shepherd was, he got right to work.

A pretty face could be for a pretty lady, and none as pretty as thee. Yet what a loathsome couple they made.

After she got the sand where it belonged, she sat on the lowest branch of a tree, feet touching the ground, one knee thrown sexily over the other. Her elbows on her knees and back leaning forward to press her chin in her hands. Squinting, she watched him. Dressed in black, her breath still smelled like the popcorn she'd been crunching into.

The urn sat uselessly on the ground near her feet but thankfully not touching them.

Those biceps were attractive, if only she could pretend he was James. Just for a moment…but sadly she didn't have the imagination to lie to herself about such matters.

When he'd dug a decent-sized grave, he turned to her with the sweetest expression on his face. It seemed to her he was trying to make the best of his predicament, perhaps trying to force himself to love her and accept he was her slave. Holding the shovel in one fist, he grabbed one of her hands out from under her chin and brought it to his mouth. Even with the sweetness of the gesture, she caught a whiff of wariness about him. Waiting on her to praise or rebuke him.

She did neither. Slowly stretching, she took her hand back and stood off the tree. "Go gather the people in the castle and tell them to come and watch me bury a man who let the wench sail away into a purple sunset."

Nodding swiftly, he made off, vanishing into the shadows more like a wolf than a wheel of a cart this time.

And what a funeral it was. She made a show of sobbing heartbrokenly and calling out to everyone who was listening, "I didn't want to do that." Of course not. His service was highly valued. "But I don't know how else to stress that we mustn't let her escape…besides making an example of someone who should not have let her go."

She took a handkerchief a maid offered her and mopped her tear-streaked cheeks before burying her face behind the white linen and blowing her nose dramatically.

The fact was Queen Snow White wasn't crying for the hard worker of hers who'd never failed to do her duty until now. She was crying for herself. Losing Regina, and losing the man who'd all but broken his back to be indifferent to any person suffering because he killed their loved one who committed treason against her.

Some of her other axemen had a tendency to let compassion crawl on their faces, but he had never once done such a thing.

Inside, she harbored no remorse for what she'd done. The only remorse she had was that he had finally done the human thing and failed her.

And to her he was but a broken robot the moment he failed to fulfill her wishes.

Glancing with a hidden smile at David, she knew she'd never have to worry with that one. For his heart was in its box, and as long as that were true, he was her robot through and through.