Warning: domestic violence, marital rape

Groggy, in pain as if from far away, a step away from the throbbing of her head wound, the burning of the blade between her ribs is distant, but sharp at once, and all the other aches and bruises, they build and build, under a thin as silk barrier around her mind, protecting her maybe, from the hurt, her whole body is nothing more than agony, agony she can only feel a little bit. Each breath is terrible strain, she realizes, her eyes closed.

Her throat bobbles, she tries to speak, but words won't come, she can hardly get her lungs to fill with air.

She's tired.

Garbled, soft and too difficult to understand, a voice, a man's voice, speaking so low, but near, Regina's mind can't make sense of it, with the voice comes a wave of dizziness, even though she lays on her back on some hard surface, but Regina focuses, focuses on the voice that is familiar, John, '-witch, we had no inkling, she's been among us for months, and we knew naught.'

Little John, Regina thinks, his voice a deep rumble, but even with the words flowing in her ears, the meaning to them, it's only half clear, her mind clouded in a haze of pain, thoughts fuzzy and slow.

She falls softly into delirium, into torment-

"Wife," he said, that quiet voice, gentle voice, as terrifying as any yell, rage hid in his quiet, Regina did not flinch, had to stop herself from doing so.

"My King," she greeted instead, turning and bowing her head to her husband, her heart beginning to pound at the look on his face, no smile there, Regina was entertaining the Lady wife of a very rich Lord that day, showing the simpering fool the gardens of the castle, all the beautiful sprawling gardens, filled with seasonal flowers all year, but for winter, when it was a blanket of white, the terrible woman was at her side, bowing her own head, but even with an audience watching Leopold did not smile, his face hard, his eyes glaring.

"Please," Leopold said, regarding the Lady at Regina's elbow, a woman near two decades older than Regina, "might I interrupt your afternoon, I have need of my Queen."

The woman bowed once more, her knees and her head both bending down, bowing with a smile, mousy hair turned golden by the sun, easy acquiescence to her King, the face she made when Regina clutched at her elbow, fingers digging desperately, was one of utmost confusion, her smile turned questioning. "My King," Regina said, desperation hidden well in her voice, holding to the woman's elbow, the fine plum silk of the Lady's gown wrinkling against her fingers grasp, "Snow expects us both in the east flower garden, already we run late."

He blinked, his head tilted, his crown secure upon his head, it did not wobble, "She can wait," he said pleasantly.

Regina's heart nearly stopped, a slow breath blowing through her lips, surprise and dread slacking her grip upon the Lady, who stayed near, even without Regina's hand on her arm, the Lady's wide brown eyes confused and concerned, looking from King to Queen and back again.

Regina's breath was growing short now, panicked, she tried to quell it, but never in the years of her marriage to the King had Snow been forced to wait. Even in the middle of the night, when Regina had been led to Leopold's chambers, when he stripped her bare, even with Leopold atop her, grunting as he fucked her, if a guard knocked upon the door and said the Princess bid the Queen, even then the King would roll off her and let her go.

"But-" Regina started, for naught, the King cut her off with only a hand gesture, concise, his pointer finger raised toward the sky, be silent, that gesture said, she had seen it and heeded it a hundred times before.

Leopold turned away from Regina, eyes narrowing only slightly, before he looked to the Lady, genial once again, "Please," Leopold urged the Lady down the path, gentle persuasion and all his charm, and he could have much charm, when the mood struck him, could charm a smile from the most cantankerous of Nobles. He had never used this charm on Regina, where was the need? She was his, bought and paid for.

The Lady looked over her shoulder once, only once as she gathered her layered skirts and made haste down the garden path that would lead her to Snow White, she looked over her shoulder at the exact moment Leopold grabbed at Regina's arm, just above her elbow, his large hand, because he was a large man, strong, not yet ravaged by the old age that dogged at his heels for decades now, his grip was bruising, he tugged at her, forced her to walk.

They made eye contact, Regina and the Lady, a fleeting thing, whatever the Lady saw on Regina's face had her frowning, brows drawn together in concern, her steps growing faster, the soft patter of her feet getting farther away, turning her eyes away.

Time has passed.

Regina cries out, there is a new pain, near her ribs, it cuts through the fog, through the layers of confusion. Her eyes open, but it is a blur of colors, of motion, things move too fast for her to comprehend.

"Hold her down," a voice says, with care, but she does not understand, and only fights ten times harder when hands are on her, restraining her, holding her down on the hard surface.

"NO," she screams, she doesn't recognize her voice, doesn't recognize the fact that she has screamed at all, "I'm sorry!" she's screaming, babbling, high and nearly incomprehensible, "Please," she fights against the hold, recoils when she feels something searing against her flesh, against her aching ribs, can smell her skin burning in her nose, she bucks wildly, "My King please! PLEASE! I'm SORRY!" she bucks to and fro, panicked, in pain, burnt. She doesn't understand. The pain lasts an eternity.

"My God, Tuck," a booming voice, desperate and afraid, John, "there must be some way to-"

The searing agony lifts, her body droops back to the hard surface, she's panting, her lungs can't seem to fill, muscles exhausted, every muscle in her body trembling, hands still hold her, she is still restrained, sweating and exhausted, a hand pets hair off her forehead, sweaty hair that sticks and needs to be coerced.

"She's drifting now," another voice says, before darkness swamps back-

"Sit," he ordered.

He'd marched her to his chambers, marched her in silence, past guards who did not waver at their posts and past servants who averted their gazes, looked to the floor before scurrying off once the King had passed. They had passed her father, Regina's father looked at the grip the King had on her, questions in his eyes but they did not reach his tongue, Regina turned her head to keep her father in her sight for as long as she could, until they turned down a different hall, he would not help her, had never saved her from his wife, and he would not save her now, shame had his eyes pointed to the floor even before she turned the corner, the King held her with that bruising grip the entire way.

He ordered her to sit, so she sat on the edge of the chair he indicated, a hard backed thing, solid wood with carved arm rests, she gripped the arm rests in white knuckled grip, breathing controlled, looking up at him as he paced slowly, his hands grasped behind his back, a contemplative look a mask over his face, under that mask she could see anger, a handful of times he had been angry with her, really truly angry, wrathful, anger easily abated by her begging at his feet for forgiveness, she was not a stupid woman and her pride was sacrificed when need be. Would such a tactic work now?

She doesn't know what offense he has discovered.

"You are a lying snake of a woman," he finally hissed, turning, sunlight glinting off his crown, sending reflections of light all about the dark room, the only light in the room came from his huge windows, at midday, the servants had not known to light any lanterns, had thought the King would not return to his chambers till well into dark, the windows were east facing to catch the dawn, he was an early riser, but it was near midday, and the light that came through the windows did not fill the room's shadows.

"My King," she started to placate-

"Undignified and common, like your lying mother," he seethed, she flinched back, from the venom in his tone and the mention of her mother.

Her eyes must have showed her confusion, she looked up at him, met his eyes, man and wife were equals, what a silly notion for silly commoners, she met his eyes and promptly looked down, "My mother? Wha-"

He stomped to her, his bulk nearing her so quickly cut off her words as she flinched back without thought, he looked about to strike her, his face set in stone, his features twisted in rage, he stopped before the chair, stomped scant inches from her softly trembling knees, adrenaline making them tremble. He stared down at her for one beat, two, before he huffed to the table not far away, grabbed at a goblet and a pitcher, poured dark red wine, filled the golden goblet, spilling wet droplets on the table. "Do you have nothing to confess to me?" he asked, "Nothing to ask forgiveness for? Does it not weigh on your soul, Regina?"

Regina took in one long breath, made her fingers unclench their grip, the things she could confess to him would fill books upon books, affairs, little tromps with guards and visiting dignitaries, murders, lowborn and high dead at her hand, magic, lessons with Rumple in secret for so long, he knew something already, and to admit to some new debauchery would surely-

She took too long to answer. He spun back again to face her, his lip sneered up in disgust. He forced the goblet into her hand, spilling dark red stain over her hands, it would dry sticky, spilling it over her white dress, a gauzy thing, light and white, expensive with pearls at the waist, he liked her to look innocent, liked her in light colors, liked her to look as young as she truly was, the dark red stain spread.

Indecision held her in a vice grip, he stared at her, enraged and disgusted, throwing herself at his feet would not work, a terrifying thought, he thought himself a forgiving man and he felt particularly forgiving when she kneeled before him, when she crawled on hands and knees to place her hands on his thighs and beg, while crying, that he was her King, beg that she would do anything to prove her devotion. Crying as she undid the laces of his breeches, promising that she was a faithful and good wife, crying as she took him in her mouth-

She shuddered for a different reason; glancing down at the wine he had given her.

"Drink it," he growled, still so close, "and we will discuss your punishment."

She took a swallow; it tasted bitter on her tongue. Triumph grew in his eyes; she did not understand its presence. She took another swallow, held the goblet gingerly. "My husband," she said, her throat suddenly dry, scratchy, she cleared her throat, brought the hand not holding the goblet up to her neck, "whatever ill deed I have been accused of is false," she pleaded to him, wondering what he knew, who she needed to kill for telling him. She took another swallow of wine to try ease the dryness of her throat.

He took her goblet from her then, his actions gentler; he swept the gold from her grasp and deposited it back on the table near the pitcher. "Regina," he said, a sigh, still angry, he grabbed another high backed chair, lifted it and carried it before hers. He sat, a regal action with a straight spine, his eyes were cold, "I am a kind King," he told her, gathered her hands, her hands felt suddenly heavy, clumsy. Her thoughts muddled. She narrowed her eyes and watched him run his thumbs over her knuckles, "and because of that I spare you your life."

She gasped out a ragged breath, out of her control, her lungs jumping, her thoughts fuzzy, she knew suddenly that something was wrong; she looked over his shoulder to the wine pitcher, betrayal stung its way behind her eyes. "What have you done?" she asked, tried to tear her hands away, but he held them tightly.

His blue eyes were cold, seething but the heat had gone away, he looked resolute, his grip on her hands began to hurt, "You killed my children in your womb, treason worthy of death," he told her, patiently, almost, squeezing her fingers, her knuckles grinding against each other.

Regina shook her head, even though he was speaking the truth, "no," she gasped, her thoughts spinning, Rumple told him, he- he promised- why would he- her mouth opened in horror, the King was never meant to know, her eyes wide, she succeeded in taking one of her hands back from him, held it to her head, a head heavy and feeling filled with cotton, she couldn't think. Rumple why, why would- She tried to figure what poison was in the wine, she could find it in her body and change it, Rumple had told her it was possible once, she would do it now. The poison was fast acting, absurdly fast, but not lethal, he was going to spare her life, god she was dizzy, it must be a magical plant, but what-

"I will not permit such a thing to happen again," he grabbed her chin, forced her gaze up to look at him, "you will bear me a child, and if it is not a son," he tilted his head, his eyes drawn to her lips, parted and trying to breath, "then we will try again and again and again until a male heir is gifted to us, you are still young enough to bear, and bear you will."

"No," she breathed again, desperate, feet scuffling against the stone, kicking out, knocking her chair back with a screech of wood against stone, tearing her hand from his, tearing her face from his vile gaze, she stumbled to standing, and promptly fell when her legs would not hold her up. She crumpled to the ground, scratched her palms against the cold stone.

"You are my wife, and you will fulfill your duty," he stood from his chair also, standing over her as she tried to crawl away, "if I must chain you to the bed for the duration of your pregnancy to safeguard my child, so be it, but you will do your duty to me, Regina," Leopold said, standing over her, watching her feeble attempt at escaping him.

When he tried to touch her, hands on her upper arms to ply her off the floor, he was thrown back violently, a force tugging on the back of his bejeweled jacket, the material ripped at one shoulder, he flew a few feet, all her poisoned state could manage. He landed on his ass with a whump, all his rage, the heat of it, swamping back in, the coldness left his blue eyes, replaced with anger and rage so great that Regina, even after he said he would spare her life, was afraid he meant to kill her.

She'd never seen him so angry.

He jumped up, fuming, stomped to her, "Dirty witch, you nasty little-" kicked her right in the ribs, "bitch, use your magic on me again and I'll-" the pain and the surprise both had her gasping, curling on the floor, mouth open, gasping in pain.

So he knew, she found herself thinking in some small part of her brain, he knew she was a witch. He never said anything.

He kicked her again, savage and quick, it forced all her air from her lungs with a wail of pain. His rage had him sweating, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed at her.

The poison had her heavy, she couldn't think, she lay on the floor, white dress stained from his shoes, from the wine, from blood, she was bleeding somewhere, she didn't know where, she lay there sobbing pitifully, unable to rise, unable to call her magic now as well, it was blocked.

He bent down, grabbed at the front of her dress to lift her, the neckline tore in one long segment, the sound of ripping materiel loud in Regina's ears. He grabbed her arm instead, wrenched her sobbing form up.

He threw her on the bed.

"Your Majesty?" a woman's voice.

Regina groans.

Opening her eyes takes a long time, she nearly gives up, but then she hears screaming. The sound forces her eyes open.

"Wha-" Regina slurs, opening her eyes at last, she looks up at rock, a cavern ceiling lit by flickering candle light, her face twists in confusion, her pain is distant. But it's there waiting.

She turns her head, licking her dry lips with a dry tongue; she turns and sees Marian at her side.

Marian smiles, a small thing, it does not look happy, "You're awake," Marian says softly, "I'll get you something to drink," she shifts, prepares to stand.

"No," Regina says, she moves her arm, gasps when the pain that was far away comes at her from everywhere, her whole body in pain.

Marian grasps her hand, "Take shallow breaths," she instructs.

Regina heeds her, whimpers out a few breaths, shame colors her face, her pain does not lessen, but her pride won't let her sniffle like a child. She clenches her jaw, squeezes her eyes, and wills herself to be strong. It works, Regina convinces herself that it works.

"What is that?" Regina chokes out, she pulls her hand from Marian.

Marin's smile turns genuine, she looks over her shoulder, where the screams come from, "Wahiba is having the baby," she says when she turns back, another scream, frustration more than pain, comes from somewhere behind Marian. Echoes down a tunnel.

Regina tries to think, closes her eyes again, "It's too early?" she asks, there's sweat at her brow, sweat all over her, dried and tacky, she smells awful, wonders how she looks as she tries to lift a hand to her hair.

Marian's smile does not dim in the slightest, but she nods, "Just a bit, but it's going well."

Perfect timing, the wail of a newborn fills the space all around them, echoing and echoing, shrill wail after shrill wail, and cries of congratulations ring out too. Men's voices loud and boisterous. Marian's smile is very wide, she looks over her shoulder once more.

"Go see the baby," Regina urges, too tired to smile, too tired to do anything but blink blearily.

Marian shakes her head, a crease developing between her brows, "I've come to check on you, Your Majesty."

"I'm alive," Regina tells her, licking her lips again, dry tongue against chapped lips, I am alive, Regina thinks, being alive is not living, and she feels cold, the memories of what had gone on before she lost consciousness clearing up in her mind. She'd torn out a heart for Robin and Marian to see. She'd shown who she truly was.

Regina wonders if they will burn her at the stake. She wonders if she cares.

Marian nods though, but doesn't move away, she sits there until Regina falls back asleep, an hour at least, she speaks of where they have hid themselves, tells Regina of the wounds she suffered, apologizes again and again for the accident that left her stabbed, she tells of treatments given, she says Matteo is alive and well, and when Regina starts to cry, silent tears coursing down her temples and into her hair, Marian says nothing, looks away.

"We have that Knight in the lower caverns," Marian says, swallowing and glancing back at Regina.

"So everyone knows," Regina mutters, well back into sleeping, "they know…"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Marian says, lifting a blanket around Regina's form, the new baby cries and cries in the background, and Regina sleeps, she sleeps terribly.

She has nightmares of screaming infants,

of children with her eyes, her dark eyes and their father's face, Leopold's face, nightmares of blue eyed babes too, cold blue eyed babes, with her dark hair, she imagines Snow holding a child and delighting in a sibling,

she seethes and bubbles in sorrow and anger as she is chained to a bed, to a wall, new child after new child produced, Leopold coming to her bed, poisoning her, hurting her, grunting, grunting, his disgusting skin against her skin, planting seed in her again and again, seed catching, seed growing, babies born in blood and gunk,

ugly mewling things that drink her milk until she is dry, until she is dried and empty and hollow, her life and her love and her everything given to Leopold's spawn, she wakes up screaming once, wakes alone, and falls back asleep soon after.

Awareness comes again, there is no way to tell how much time has passed, not in this rock dwelling with the only light a flickering candle, but Regina feels…better.

She tries to sit up. She knows her mistake instantly. Nausea burns her throat, she teeters on the edge of the rock ledge she's been laying upon, a rock ledge cut into the wall, a nest of blankets and pillows under and around her, she has no equilibrium, she sees Matteo nestled on a similar ledge not too far away, but that is all she has a chance to observe before she is headed swiftly to the ground. She's going to fall on her face.

She is caught.

"M'lady?"

Regina clutches at Robin's tunic, fistfuls of the course fabric as she scrambles to right herself. His hands are about her waist, holding her securely, she's disoriented, and in so much pain she can barely breathe. Her head is pounding, her chest burns.

He puts her back on the ledge, frantic too as she can't speak to reassure him, he cups her cheek with one work roughened hand, "M'lady?" he asks again.

"I'm alright," she chokes out, pushing her face against the warmth of his hand, his touch is soothing. He frowns deeply, concern written in every feature of his face, "I'm thirsty, please," she manages to say, chokes it out, dehydrated and dizzy, she knows she needs water.

"Of course," he says immediately, nods his head and settles her sitting with her back against the rock wall before he steps away from her, her dress rumpled, her legs folded partly under her, they are uncovered, and she does not have the strength to move them, or to untangle her dress from her around her thighs, his hand leaving her face has her swaying. There is a canteen only steps away, he snatches it and returns to her.

She takes it into her hands, rests it on the rumpled fabric adorning her lap while she tries to decipher if she can lift it to her lips. "May I help you?" he asks her quietly, waiting for her nod before his hands cover hers, he helps her lift it to her lips, helps her pour the warm water into her mouth, the liquid she accepts greedily, not once afraid that he has tainted it, she'll wonder at that later, how easy it was to trust the drink he gave her. She sputters after a moment, unprepared, water splashes down her chin as the canteen is nearly dropped, drips down to splatter over her stained dress.

He apologizes, hand on the back of her neck after the canteen is placed in her lap, her hands still idly holding it, he produces a cloth from his pocket, wipes gingerly at her face, at her chin and around her mouth, wiping away the water, he apologizes again.

"Thank you," she sighs, after another sip, a slower sip, he is more careful about how far up to tip the canteen the second time.

"No need for thanks," he says, his eyes intent on her face, staring at her in a way that would be uncomfortable from anyone else, but she is unwell still, and him so close does not seem wrong to her in that moment, him staring at her does not seem strange, when she slumps to the side he helps her down, she curls on her side, and breathes with her eyes closed, not sleeping, he stays next to her. His hand carding through her hair, first pushing it behind her ear and then down the entire length of the tresses, it does not feel wrong, it feels comforting and lovely.

She hums out a long breath of contentment, blinks her eyes open when she feels well enough to speak to him unencumbered.

"Robin," she says, looks up only to see him staring down, he smiles softly at her. The smile remains as she asks her question, "am I in danger?"

His smile does not go away, but he does shake his head, his hand still traveling through her hair, "You've been among us for many months, you are in no danger."

Regina blinks, contemplates sitting up again and promptly disregards the idea as foolish, "I tore out that man's heart," she nearly whispers, "I killed that boy-"

"Nothing will touch you," he promises her, his hand leaving her hair, only to grasp her hand, threading their fingers together, "I promise you with all that I am, nothing will touch you."

His gaze drifts to her lips, she sees it happen, his handsome eyes drawing down, lingering there, she gasps in mute shock, in surprise, staring at him staring at her lips, and wonders if he will kiss her. Wonders how his stubble will feel against her. His grip on her hand tightens.

A loud groan from across the room breaks them apart, has Robin straightening.

It is Matteo, groaning and angry.

"That hedge knight got me well," he croaks, not looking at anything in particular, not speaking to anyone but himself, he chuckles, pain filled and dry, "I'm must be getting old and slow."

Regina's heart thuds against her aching ribs.

She would have let him kiss her.

DISCLAIMER: not mine yo