She hardly slept.
The next morning, a knight — one of Regina’s guards? — awaited her in the gardens. He offered to escort her on a walk through the forest.
Snow White looked at him. He wore a helmet, and she couldn’t see his face, but she felt uneasy, and couldn’t place his voice.
She nodded at the man, and he nodded back.
— M’lady? — he said.
— I keep a brisk pace, — she said, consenting. A walk would do her good. — Please try to keep up.
He nodded again, and they set out toward the woods.
They walked in silence for some time. She had seen that the man was uncomfortable in the heavy armor.
The forest was calm. Her thoughts went again to her father — this time, to the man whom she had watched fall in love with Regina, all those years ago. He was still kind and still compassionate then, but Snow — young as she was — had seen how loneliness had worked away at his spirit. Even the wisest man could become… something else. After heartbreak, anything was possible.
When they were far from the castle, Snow White began to speak.
— When I was a little girl, — she said, — the summer palace was my favorite place. The mountains surrounding it were like a cradle. They always made me feel safe. I look forward to returning there, I do. — She paused in her speech but continued to stroll. — But I wonder now whether that feeling of safety didn’t come from my father, not the palace itself.
The strange knight studied her through the slit in his helmet. She stopped walking and turned to face him, studying him right back.
— Go on, — she said. — You can take it off.
The man did as he was told and pulled the helmet from his head.
She studied him. He was handsome, gaunt, and stern-looking. A ragged beard covered his jaw. He said nothing.
— Much cooler this way, isn’t it? — she said.
He nodded, tucked the helmet under his arm.
— And you are not a royal knight, are you? — she asked.
— How would you know that?
— Because without fail, whenever I mention my father, I receive condolences from a knight. But you are someone else, aren’t you? — she asked. — You are who she chose. To take me. To get me out of the way. — She took a deep breath, readying herself.
— You have good instincts, — he said, dropping the helmet. He reached for his sword.
— And you have too much armor, — she said.
Before he could react, she coiled up and exploded toward him, both arms out. She caught him in the stomach, enough to send him stumbling backward. Not used to his center of gravity being so high, the stumble turned into a crash. She had a good hundred-yard head start before he was on his feet again, chasing her.
— You know that I’m a good person, don’t you, Mary Margaret? — Graham was at the school. Class was over. He and Mary Margaret stood outside of her classroom, the trickle of remaining students whispering through the halls. She was looking at him with tender concern in her eyes. Apparently, he’d been a mess since this «incident» with Emma last night. Mary Margaret couldn’t tell what was going on with these two, but she wanted to help. Somehow.
— Of course, Graham, — she said. — Of course. And you — are you okay? You’re covered in sweat and white as a sheet. Have you not been sleeping? — She felt his cheek. — You’re burning up. What have you been doing all night?
— I’ve just been having this sense that you and I used to know one another, — he said. — In some kind of — in some kind of other life. I don’t know. It sounds crazy. — He shook his head, looked down the hallway. — I’m sorry for coming here. I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish.
— Why do you think that?
— Last night, — he said, — when I kissed Emma, I saw this whole vision. Of… of something. Another world. And you were there, and we knew each other. Somehow. I was — I was attacking you. With a knife. I think? I don’t know. I don’t know why I would be doing that.
— You sound like Henry, actually, — she said.
— Henry?
— He thinks that we’re all characters from his storybook, — she said. — And that we just can’t remember.
— What kind of storybook? — Graham asked.
— Fairy tales, — Mary Margaret shrugged. — Snow White and the dwarves, that kind of stuff. — She rolled her eyes.
— Yes, I know, — he said. — That boy. How insane.
Emma Swan was sitting with her feet up on the sheriff’s desk when Regina stormed into the office. Emma glanced at her and didn’t move.
— So wonderful to see you, Regina, — she said.
— Wonderful, — Regina said with disdain. — Doing your civic duty, then?
— I’m on break, lady, — Emma said, scowling at her. — What do you want?
— I want to make things clear, — Regina said. — To you. About Graham. Stay the hell away from him.
Emma absorbed this, wondering what Regina must have thought was true. Had word gotten out about the kiss? Maybe. Or maybe Graham had said something to her.
— He’s my boss, — she said finally. — And so I can’t. If you’re talking about what happened last night, — she added, — that was unsolicited. So I don’t know what to tell you other than telling you I’m not interested. You can have him.
— You’ve been disruptive since you got to this town, Ms. Swan, — Regina said. — If I were you, I’d be very careful that you don’t paint yourself as the town slut.
Okay then, Emma thought.
— Do me a favor, Regina, — Emma said flatly. — Get the hell out of my office. And don’t ever talk to me that way again.
Regina seemed satisfied that she’d hit a nerve. She smiled and left without another word.
Emma watched her go, locked the door, and did some paperwork for a few minutes, letting the irritation cool down. She was used to Regina barging in on her and saying incendiary things — that was apparently part of the job — but this time it was a little different. This time it was about her romantic life, not her son. Emma could see that Regina’s anger had a new edge to it this time around.
But it wasn’t just that. She felt something, too. Maybe Mary Margaret was right. Maybe she did have some kind of wall up. One so seamless that she didn’t even know it was there, much less see over it. Did she have feelings tor Graham?
She was shaken from her reverie a few minutes later by the sound of her son calling her name.
— Emma! Emma! — cried Henry, running into the station, his backpack flopping behind him.
— Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid, — she said, standing. — Calm down. What’s wrong?
Henry, panting pulled the backpack from his back and dumped it on the floor. — It’s Graham, — he said. — I think he’s starting to remember!
— Remember what, kid? — she asked. — Sit down. Catch your breath.
She got him some water, and Henry eventually sat down at her desk and gathered himself. Graham had been to see him, he told her. Been to see him to ask about the storybook and ask about the fairy tales.
— And what did you tell him? — Emma asked.
Henry looked down.
— Henry?
— I told him what I thought had to be true, — Henry said. — I told him that he was the Huntsman, and that those flashes he saw when he kissed you were flashes of him remembering that time.