#squints in the direction of ch8 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cookiescraze · 2 years

Text

Marital Love - Chapter 7

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, SFW, Cold!Jungkook, Arranged Marriage AU, Jungkook-centric, CEO!Jungkook, Workplace AU

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9 (Completed)

Jungkook groaned as the cold air hit his skin like cold knives, disturbing his peaceful sleep. Snuggling closer to the sleeping body next to him, he relaxed at the warmth embrace him as he rested his head on her chest, his arms tightening their hold around her waist. He sighed in her hold, feeling utmost comfort as she wrapped a protective arm around his head, making him nuzzle into her enfold. He puckered his lips lazily as he placed a nonchalant peck on her skin, merely enjoying her presence as he slowly drifted back into sleep, a peaceful smile present on his face.

However, as someone cleared their throat, Jungkook whined at the disruption, wanting to sleep a little bit longer. Choosing to ignore the interference, he settled into Y/n's embrace, wanting to drown in comfort for longer.

Unfortunately, the individual had different plans as he cleared his throat once more, louder and more sternly than last time, annoyance evident in the tone. Y/n grumbled as she started to wake up, moving from her previous position, making Jungkook tighten his hold around her, begging for her to stay for a little more time.

After the individual tried for the third time, Jungkook groaned as he reluctantly moved away from Y/n, annoyance tangible on his face at the unwanted visitor. With his furrowed eyebrows and a frown, he squinted an eye open, trying to see who was disturbing them through the blinding lights of the early morning. He scowled as a blurry silhouette of an individual appeared in front of him, clearly making their presence unwanted.

Nevertheless, as the sleep wore off and his sight became clearer, his eyes widened in horror before frantically sitting up, an embarrassed look on his face.

"Mr. H-Hwang! What are you doing here?" He stuttered as he tried to shake off the sleep, trying to make a good impression.

His father-in-law merely looked at him with crossed arms and a displeased expression present on his face as he took in the scene in front of him frowning with annoyance as the half-naked boy subtly tried to cover himself with the blanket.

Sure, Mr. Hwang was the one who chose Jungkook for his daughter, but that never meant he stopped treating Y/n like the 5-year-old who loved to sing Barbie Girl by Aqua. His gaze hardened with a protective glare making Jungkook squirm in his place.

"Merry Christmas to you too." He replied sarcastically as Jungkook smiled awkwardly, rubbing the nape of his neck shyly, before muttering a sheepish greeting back.

Y/n groaned at the disturbance, sleep slowly diminishing, making her flutter her eyes open slowly, as she adjusted to the bright light surrounding her.

"Oh, Appa! Why are you guys late?" She questioned as she slowly got up into a sitting position next to Jungkook, looking up at her father with a sleep-induced expression laced with confusion and curiosity.

"The snow blocked the road, honey." He broke his glare that was directed towards Jungkook to softly smile at his daughter. "We came yesterday night, but the two of you were already sleeping."

"Oh no! You should've woken us up. Merry Christmas, by the way!" Y/n smiled cheerfully at her dad as she stretched her back before leaning against Jungkook's chest, finding comfort in his warmth.

"Merry Christmas." Mr. Hwang replied with a gentle smile before giving a stinky eye towards Jungkook at their close proximity, making Jungkook gulp nervously. "Anyways, you guys should get ready. We'll be opening the presents." He mentioned before leaving the room, allowing Jungkook to release a breath that he didn't know he was holding.

"Your father scares me," Jungkook muttered under his breath as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders before pulling her closer, snuggling closer to her.

Y/n giggled at his words, unable to find the truth in his words, before escaping out of his hold to get ready for the day, making Jungkook pout.

***

"Morning Mrs. Hwang," He politely greeted his mother-in-law with a professional smile on his face. "I hope the journey wasn't too difficult."

"Nonsense! Don't be so formal with me." She dismissed his worries with a joyous glint to her eyes. "I'm just glad we made it in time to celebrate Christmas."

As she picked up the stack of ceramic plates, Jungkook quickly et respectfully intercepted.

"Oh, let me do that for you." He swiftly carried the plates from her hands, making his mother-in-law smile at how gentleman-like he was.

As Jungkook returned the plates back to the kitchen, Mr. Hwang walked up to his wife with a suspicious look on his face, staring at the disappearing figure of Jungkook.

"I don't like him one bit." He stated, disgust laced in his voice, making Mrs. Hwang scoff at her husband's behaviour.

"You're just jealous he's much more of a gentleman than you'll ever be." She turned towards Mr, Hwang with a playfully annoyed expression before she continued. "Don't be so protective over Y/n, she'll be fine. Plus, I think he treats her like a princess." Mrs. Hwang laid a comforting hand on his shoulder with all seriousness as she relayed the message.

"Y/n is in safe hands."

***

"Can you open my present last?" He mentioned as Y/n reached out for the large beautifully wrapped box that had her name written on it.

Everyone was sitting around the tree, with torn wrapping paper surrounding them as the majority of the presents were already opened. Smiles were prominent on everyone's faces at the festive event as they sat in front of the warmth of the fireplace, wrapped in their thickest clothes, celebrating around the magnificently decorated Christmas tree.

"Okay?" Y/n replied in confusion before reaching out for another present, not questioning Jungkook any further.

With only two more presents left, Y/n reached for the small present wrapped in the signature baby blue paper that her dad had used every Christmas like tradition.

"Oh my!" Y/n gasped out loud with excitement twinkling in her eyes as she recognised the familiar front cover of the latest book that was released a couple of days earlier. "How did you even get this?! This was sold out!"

"Your father knows how much you wanted this, so I had to get it for you." Mr. Hwang gently stated, smiling at Y/n's reaction.

"He means he tortured his poor secretary until he got the book." His wife revealed playfully, causing an eruption of laughter amongst the others as Mr. Hwang sheepishly admitted.

"Anyways, thank you appa." Y/n honestly expressed her grateful feelings before reaching out for Jungkook's gift. "I don't know why you were so secretive about this gift. You didn't even bring in the present until a few minutes." Y/n muttered under her breath with faux annoyance as she tried to hide her curiosity.

"Just be careful," Jungkook warned, nervousness palpable in his tone.

As Y/n quickly yet carefully unwrapped the present, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at the sight of the box poked many times to create small holes. Hesitantly, she lifted the box slightly before peaking at the content of the box before gasping dramatically, a hand covering her mouth causing the lid to drop back as she stared at the box.

"You didn't…" She muttered, joyous tears already pooling at what she saw. She looked back at Jungkook, almost asking him if everything was real, making him nod with an anxious smile on his face.

Y/n, with trembling hands, slowly lifted the lid completely as her eyes rested on a small white angora kitten sniffing around the box, curious of its surroundings. Gasps of surprise and awe were heard as the rest of the audience realised what Jungkook's present was.

Y/n carefully picked up the tiny creature like it was the most fragile thing in the world before keeping the kitten on her sweater, watching in amazement as she saw the kitten immediately snuggle up to her, craving the softness of the woolen material.

"Is this for real?" Y/n questioned with a wavering voice as her eyes followed the wandering kitten jump from her lap onto the smooth carpet.

"Yeah, I heard you talking to your friends about wanting a cat and I've always seen you feed the stray cat. So, I figured I should get one for you." He explained warily, unsure about Y/n's reaction. "If you don't like her, we can always return-" He abruptly stopped when a lone tear escaped and trickled down her cheek.

"No, No, don't cry!" He pleaded, kneeling up to get closer to her before wiping off her tears hastily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- oof"

He let out a grunt as Y/n hugged him with such momentum that Jungkook fell back onto the carpeted floor with a soft thud as his arms automatically wrapped around her waist, ensuring her safety.

"Thank you so much!" Y/n whispered between choked sobs filled with happiness. "I love it a lot." She snuggled against Jungkook, as he sighed in relief.

"Shh…" He softly rubbed her back as he softly got up with Y/n still attached to him. "Don't cry…" He gently pulled away to wipe away her tears carefully.

Y/n looked up at Jungkook with a loving yet grateful smile before hugging him once more which he gladly accepted, snuggling in the crook of her neck, forgetting about everyone else in the room.

"Jungkook… You should probably let her go before her dad kills you." Jangmi spoke up, ruining the moment, making Jungkook separate like he touched something burning hot, causing everyone to laugh teasingly at his frightened demeanour.

Y/n giggled as she rested her forehead on his chest before looking up.

"Thank you." She softly muttered while chatter filled the house making Jungkook down at her with a kind smile.

He merely leaned down to press his lips against the crown of her head, eyes fluttering close, enjoying her mere presence.

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9 (Completed)

#jungkook ff #jeon jungkook #bts ff #bangtan boys #bts #fanfic #fanfiction #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x everyone #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc

83 notes · View notes

wotzup · 6 years

Text

CH11-Scrolls and the Bandit

Yeah I know I haven't updated in a month. Things have been rough for me in irl so I really couldn't focus on this, or for that matter anything really. I hope this chapter was good enough for that month break. I actually split this chapter into two for convenience and this is the first part(duh). See ya later...

"Your Highness a seagull has arrived with a scroll." the soldier said standing tall holding his spear in his hand. A tall skinny man, who was polishing his wonderful sword stopped his motion abruptly turning around, "Bring me to it.", the soldier bowed, turning around directing the King to its location from the King's quarters on the ship. Placing the sword in its sheath he followed the soldier moving swiftly across the ship. The ship rocked slightly due to the waves but the King had grown used to it. He had been sailing the seas for months now, his daughter sitting on the throne in his absence. Not only would he be able to look at his other colonies he would be able to give his daughter practice on running the kingdom.

As the King passed by the soldiers, ship mates and maids who were present on the way bowed; he was unlike his daughter who really didn't care about these formalities. On starboard, there was a place concentrated with soldiers. The soldier screamed an order to the others and they all stood in a two lines facing each other, creating a path for the King to access the bird, with a loud clank as they slammed the butts of the spears on to the deck. On the other end was the seagull carrying a scroll in its mouth. It seemed to be unfazed by the amount of people and noise. "Here your highness, is the bird."

As if the path was made for it, the bird him hopped down the path the soldiers had formed, dropped the scroll in front of the King and flew away. The scroll looked like it went through a lot, there was splotches of sea water on it making some parts soggy, some seaweed hanging around and torn in some places. It really didn't look like a scroll.

The soldier bent down to pick it up but was stopped by the King himself. He picked it up, cringing as he did so. It looked filthy but whatever the information was, it must have been for him, it had the royal symbol stamped on the outside, now smudged by the water. He opened it carefully, reading the slightly smudged handwriting line by line.

Never did he imagine that he would read such a news. Blood from his face rushed out, his eyes wide open with his mouth agape. He gulped, tears brimming in his eyes. "Captain," he hollered, storming up to the cockpit. "Yes sir." "Turn back home immediately." "But your highness we haven't reached-" "This is a command captain." he snarled.

He needed to go back home, before it was to late.

The trees swayed to the gentle breeze of the nice hot day. The sky was blue as ever, little cotton like clouds dotting it, perfect to gaze at and guess what it looked like.

"Ah this feels so good." Chika stretched as she walked, enjoying the feel of the cold breeze hit her in her sweltering robes. Riko hummed in response. Though their robes weren't black, except for Yoshiko's because she insisted it to be that way, it had layers of lightweight yet durable armor to protect them. "I guess no matter how heavy armor is it is always hot inside." Riko said.

"How long do we have to go?" Chika whined trying to fan herself with her robes. "Chika chan we haven't even travelled for an hour and you're saying this. Don't you want to find You chan?" "Of course I do but... its so hot." she groaned. "Why does the sun have to be so cruel?" "C'mon Chika chan if we don't go faster we won't find their lair."

The quest required them to search for the lair of the bandits so that they could preform a strategical attack on it. Most of the land had been scored by them and Ruby's bird friend from the Forest of Birds- Pinkie, a robin whom Ruby could only understand due some reason(Riko hadn't paid much attention when the younger girl was explaining). There was suspicious activities going on in that forest like there were no attacks on any village by the bandits ever since You had been kidnapped. Maybe Mari thought it was connected (which was obvious) but something just didn't add up. Riko had no clue what but something felt off. It was not only because of Mari's odd behavior but also the soulmate mark on her back. It was fading. It freaked her out. How could it fade so quickly? It wasn't that long ago that You was captured and it had already begun fading.

She had immediately asked Yoshiko about the fading of her tattoo. This was for sure that these tattoos don't fade very easily as usually they are connected deeply in some way or the other. The truth had hit her hard. It made sense. They barely talked to each other unless Chika was there. The tattoos would fade according to how close they were and this meant that they were... it made sense but it hurt her already aching heart. If only she wasn't so awkward, maybe she'd still have a completely colored tattoo. It wasn't this that was odd but the nightmares that accompanied this. She didn't even want to think about them, as they only terrified her. They were so vivid and it scared her, especially what Hanamaru said grimly, "Sometimes the pain of your decolorizing tattoo gives you nightmares, depending on the pain. And sometimes they come true.", and that was something she didn't want at all cost. And it all connected to You in some or the other way. Like the muscular guy who they saw kidnapping You, who again in her dream was towering over her with a sword in his hand, murderous look and Riko had no clue how it ended. It scared her and that guy wasn't helping her.

"Riko chan," Riko came out from the depths of her mind back to the real world. "Huh? What?" "I've been calling you for sometime ya know?" "Really?" "Yup."

"I've got the best idea!" Chika almost squealed in delight, almost jumping up and down. "What about this, if we find the lair of the bandits and if You chan's there we could use a crate of mikans to distract the bandits and we could release You chan and go back home." "Chika chan not everyone likes mikan." "I know, but the ones who like it would eat it and the ones who hate it would run away in fear." Chika claimed with a proud smile. It was a childish yet dumb idea. "Chika chan I don't think that would work." "Aww... I really thought it would." "Maybe not as much as you mikan catapult." "So let's go with the mikan catapult." "No Chika chan we're not!" "Aww..."

Chika had been working on some ideas for saving You some being absolutely ridiculously childish and somehow involved mikans all the time. Some were kind of funny, some were innovative but easily defeatable but some just made Riko want to bang her head on the stone walls of the castle and die wondering why she knew Chika. Yet it made Riko feel guilty for being useless. All Riko did was be depressed, play some instruments to lessen her agony of the nightmares haunting her in the day and to lessen the guilt not being able to save You, practicing combining instruments specifically the viola and the piano with her powers and be depressed once again.

"Hey Riko chan is that an arrow?" Chika squinted, pointing at a tree in the distance. Riko took a closet look and yes, Chika was right. Riko shook her head at Chika in approval. They had to be on their toes now.

Chika pulled out a tiny disc, about the size of a coin, from beneath her robes and threw it into the air. With a click, the compact disc had enlarged into a sharp spear, ready for battle. Chika caught it, expertly, looking around her for any sign if a bandit. It was a technology that Nozomi had borrowed from a friend.

Meanwhile Riko pulled out a tiny viola from her robes about the size of her palm and with a pluck of its tiny string it grew into a normal viola except this was armed and it was designed to not go out of tune nor break very easily. This would be the perfect chance to test her skills with this new way of using her powers.

"Wait, is it a bandit arrow?" Riko asked after looking around the surroundings along with Chika for sometime like idiots trying to look cool. "Uh, I don't know." "Ugh." "Hey even you don't know!"

Carefully they made their to the tree hoping it won't explode, because there was a chance that it could be those explosive arrows. Luckily they weren't as they didn't explode when Riko's "flower arm" touched it but by the design on the arrow- green and sky blue stripes towards the tail of the arrow did indicate that it was indeed the arrow of a bandit.

"They were here." Chika said steadying her spear. "Maybe we should go a bit farther." Riko said, Chika agreeing to the idea. Carefully, watching their surroundings intently, they ventured ahead. Any moment a bandit could attack them; they could feel a presence in the area.

Whoosh. Riko froze cold in her tracks, terrified. She held the viola tighter and almost began playing. Her heartbeat became erratic as she saw what had passed right in between the two. It was a regal double edged dagger. A sharp blade that seemed to cut through an inch of the bark of the tree it hit, attached to a fine hilt that seemed to be worn out due to repeated usage and topped off with a golden guard that sparkled in the sunlight which had a shiny green gemstone in the shape of a dolphin embedded in it.

Gulping thickly, she turned around. She could hear her heart in her ears beating loudly like a drum. Behind them stood the thrower, standing casually as if nothing happened, her hands behind her head. She was wearing the normal attire for a bandit- brown lightweight armor with green and sky blue stripes on the shoulders, their faces hidden with a black bandanna tightly tied onto their faces, only revealing their eyes and the top of their heads.

"Ah, its you again. Long time no see." the bandit sneered. 'Wait we've seen her before?' Riko thought, shifting in her place preparing herself. "Seems like your princess sent you again." "Of course she did. You bandits have been causing trouble to everyone." Chika told her. The bandit let out a howling laughter, "Wait, give me a moment," she said between laughs, the other two looking at her confused. "Us, causing trouble. Wow, that sounds more of a joke the princess would make." she laughed again, "Are you sure about that, knight? Cause I think we are doing the right thing."

"People have gone missing, towns have been burnt to ashes and supplies have been running out, not just in this kingdom but many others." Riko said with a tinge of pain in her voice. "Do you know why that is being done?" the bandit asked, her eyes curiously looking at them. Chika lowered her spear, as realization hit her, "No but it's wrong. All of it." Chika held her spear tighter now, lifting it up in a fighting stance. Riko agreed to every word. "Where is You chan!?", she bellowed.

"What happened to- I mean- we don't have this You chan." Riko could have sworn the was a some sort of concern on her face before reverting back to the cold look she had on her face. "Where is You chan, you sneaky-" Riko was interrupted, "Like I just said there is no You chan with us."

"We're not going to leave without her." "Well too bad you might have to, you're standing on bandit territory." "This is not the territory of the bandits it's a part of Uranohoshi." "Let's see about that." the bandit threw a wave of daggers at them, waved her arm diagonally, creating wave of water over her, that fell in making her disappear. Chika dodged them albeit skillfully, some did graze her, spinning her spear like the blades of a fan, the dagger bouncing off of it. Chika remained almost unscathed unlike Riko who seemed to struggle. She played a piece of music but it's intensity was a not enough to match the power of the daggers. The petals only made most of the daggers scrape her each one burning. Riko felt so much pain but she was going to get You, even if she's just to normal to help. "Where did she go?" they looked around them searching for the blue haired bandit.

Whoosh. Another dagger had flown past them from behind, this time almost impaling Chika. "Yikes." Chika spun her spear and both of them turned around.

It was a mistake they committed. Chika shrieked and before Riko could digest what had happened Chika had been kicked into a tree with such a force she heard a sickening crack. "Chika chan!" she yelled and darted to Chika. This time two daggers were thrown at her but she stopped and turned to the bandit who was standing in front of her, a few yards away twirling her dagger. She could see Chika trying to get up onto her feet but was immediately pushed down onto the ground, painfully hard by a gush of water from the bandit’s free hand. She pointed the dagger to her then to herself, "This is between me and you."

Riko played the viola, petals rising beside her now flying at high speeds at the bandit. Riko knew they were deadly unlike before when she used her crossbow, they weren't soft and delicate they were now as sharp as needles, only in this case enough to kill you. They were the petals of a red anemone, a symbol of death.

But Riko wished she had enough skill or experience or maybe if her powers weren't so normal and stupid. The bandit dodged each one skillfully, not one even grazing her. "My turn." she charged towards Riko, at full speed. Riko tried to create a flower tornado or flower hand to pick her up and throw her away but the bandit was quick on her feet and muscular too.

The bandit had dropped her daggers and before Riko could react she was punched in the gut. Air was thrown out of her lungs, struggling to breathe. The viola dropped from her hands and hit the grassy ground. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she stumbled back to be again punched in the gut, throwing her back even farther. Punch after punch, Riko stumbled back, at one point blood flower from her mouth and her body bruised from each power packed punch, till she fell on the ground, nearly about to faint from pain and fatigue. Her eyes were barely open at this point.

The bandit hovered above her. She placed a foot on Riko's chest and kneeled down so that her lips were by her ear. Riko winced, not even able to make a sound from the aching of her body in more than one way. The bandit placed the cold blade of a dagger she pulled out on Riko's bruised cheek, the only thing that made her not fall unconscious. "Listen to me knight. You're just a weakling with powers so ordinary, I can just kill within an instant if I wanted to." Riko felt the remains of her self-confidence crumble. "Let me tell you something, not every thing is what it seems. You might not get it now but you will. And this, tell your princess that time's up. There's no use in trying."

The bandit made a cut with a dagger on Riko's cheek making her squirm as blood flowed from the wound along with many others all over her body. The bandit removed her foot and walked away as if there wasn't a fight here.

Riko was emotionally, mentally and physically drained. If what she said was right, where was You? Who could have taken her? Those dreams did they have anything to do with this? She didn't know. Why was she You's soulmate? She was a person who couldn't even make a mark in her life. At this point she wanted to sleep and forget everything that just happened. She closed her eyes and drifted into the land of torturous nightmares once again.

#love live sunshine #love live kingdom au #love live school idol project #riko sakurauchi #chika takami #you watanabe #the mysterious bandit that no one knows #except for me #king #and a bunch of soldiers #nozomi tojo

7 notes · View notes

swanslieutenant · 6 years

Text

If the Stars Align - Chapter XIV

Summary: The Musketeers AU. Danger lurks around every corner in the French court and as a Musketeer in service of the royal family, Killian’s duty is to protect them from any and all threats. As his relationship with Queen Emma develops into something more than just friendship, threats against the queen escalate and put everything they hold dear into jeopardy.

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Chapter warning: Even more violence ... my apologies in advance.

Art by @hook-and-star-ink , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

AO3: ch14

Hours go by.

Emma paces the length of her bedroom at least a hundred times, hating every moment she’s kept here without any knowledge of what’s going on. She has no idea what Henry’s been told nor what has happened to Killian nor what has happened to the rest of the Musketeers.

She railed against the doors for a long time after the guards first brought her here, yelling and calling for Neal to be brought to her, but to no avail. The guards keep telling her he’s too angry to speak with her right, but Emma isn’t fooled. Either Neal isn’t here or he doesn’t even know she’s been placed under arrest. Though they have grown apart this past decade, there’s no way he could have sanctioned something like this ... right?

She yelled for Henry too, knowing for certain that her son is at the palace, hopefully still in his lessons and unaware of what is going on. She wants to tell him herself, not for him to hear biased lies or the twisted truth from anyone else. When the guards refused her yet again, Emma threw a vase against the door, shattering the crystal and scattering shards of glass and ripped flower petals all around the room.

It has no effect.

As the sky darkens, Emma thinks about scaling the walls down from her room, being three storeys up notwithstanding. She throws open the windows, leaning out and peering down into the dark garden. To her annoyance, there are several Red Guards down below, and they look up.

“Don’t even think about it, Majesty,” one calls up to her, and the others guffaw in laughter.

Emma swears at them, but shuts the window angrily upon their laughs, clenching her hands. If only she had a weapon ...

She returns to her pacing, even more furious now, when she hears movement outside her door and she freezes in place.

“Stop where you are!” one of the guards shouts, and Emma bolts over to the door. She presses her ear against the wood, straining to hear. She can hear the clack of footsteps growing louder, and a woman’s voice responds to the guards.

“I am the Queen’s lady-in-waiting! You have no right to deny me admittance to see her. It’s dark outside; have you even brought her something to eat?”

Relief swells over Emma; it’s Mary Margaret.

The guards mutter amongst themselves for a moment, before, to Emma’s supreme surprise, the lock in her door twists and the door swings open. Mary Margaret steps in, a tray of covered food in her hands, and Emma nearly knocks it out of her hands as she wraps Mary Margaret into a tight embrace.

“I’m so glad to see you! They won’t let me see Neal or Henry. Do you know what’s going on? Where are the Musketeers? Where’s Killian?”

Mary Margaret glances behind her to the closed doors, and sets down the tray of food, and directs Emma to have a seat on the bed before saying anything. She grasps her tightly, and Emma knows the news can’t be good.

“Henry’s heard you’re in trouble, but he doesn’t know the whole story. He’s upset, but I put him to bed and he’s asleep now.”

Emma nods, though her heart squeezes in pain. She wonders if the guards left the door unlocked, if she could run out there and comfort Henry herself, to reassure him that everything will be alright.

“Neal is out hunting, and he’s gone all day and will be away until tomorrow, so I don’t know if he’s aware of what is going on.”

“He must not be,” Emma says, desperately trying to believe the man she once loved wouldn’t do this to her. “He would never allow Gold to arrest me in such a manner.” She braces herself to ask the next question: “And what about Killian?”

Mary Margaret takes a deep breath. “I only know that after the Red Guards arrested him, they took him to the Bastille. They made a big show of it, him being a Musketeer and English. I think he’s still there, but I – well, they won’t let me anywhere near the prison.”

Emma refuses to let herself fall apart, though her heart skips a beat at the word Bastille. She rises to her feet, beginning her pacing again.

“Okay, well, we’ve still got the trial, Gold can’t do anything to him in the meantime, and Neal will be back soon –”

“I don’t think there will be a trial,” Mary Margaret whispers, and Emma freezes.

“What? There has to be a trial, Gold can’t –”

“You know what he did with those Bastille guards,” says Mary Margaret darkly, and a shiver of fear runs down Emma’s spine. She remembers all too well – the rogue guards sent to the gallows without a trial, without a chance to defend themselves.

She needs to get out of here and get Killian out of Gold’s grasp.

She says as much to Mary Margaret, and her friend nods. “I was just with the Musketeers. They’re coming to get you and Killian tonight. With Neal away and Gold in charge … it’s not safe for either of you to remain under his control.”

Emma pesters her for more information, but Mary Margaret doesn’t know much about the plan, as she’d left to return to the Louvre before it got too dark. Knowing they are coming makes Emma more anxious to get out of here, and she returns to pacing, every sound from outside her doors raising her hopes and dashing them just as quickly when it turns out to be nothing but the guards shuffling around.

After a while, Mary Margaret tries to make her eat and to sleep for a few hours. Emma’s stomach is twisted in knots, and when she does manage to lie down for a few hours, her dreams are restless and even darker than reality. She wakes up screaming, the images of a bloody Killian burned into her mind, and though Mary Margaret hugs her and reassures her it was just a dream, Emma can’t fall asleep again.

Emma is hardly ever awake this late at night, and the palace is eerily quiet all around them. The guards outside are scuffling and muttering to themselves, but that’s it. No servants chattering, no courtiers plotting, nothing. Emma and Mary Margaret don’t say anything either, just sitting up in the dark room, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Around four in the morning, Emma’s moved from her bed to sit on the window sill, staring out at the stars and wondering if Killian can see them from whatever cell they’ve put him in. The night is cloudy, only a few stars visible, and to Emma’s dismay, Polaris is entirely hidden from view. She’s not one for signs from the heavens, but that’s a bad one if there ever was, and she pulls the curtains shut.

Two heavy thuds sound from outside her door, followed by grunts and muffled yells and whispered voices. Mary Margaret scrambles to her feet and Emma jumps up, heart leaping into her throat. Beside her is another vase, and she picks it up, ready to attack lest it’s another set of Red Guards, here to take her to God knows where.

Her door eases open, a shadowy figure peering in. All Emma sees is a flash of a scarlet cloak, and she raises the vase.

“Get out!”

The figure turns in surprise, and recoils, hands over his face, when he sees the vase. “No don’t, throw it, it’s us!”

Emma pauses, and squints into the darkness as the figure moves closer. To her relief, it is not a Red Guard at all, but David Nolan, the scarlet cloak pulled up over his uniform. He steps into the room now, Lancelot behind him. He’s dressed as a Red Guard too, crimson cloak gleaming in the moonlight, but Emma thinks she’s never seen such friendly faces before.

“Interesting choice of clothing, gentlemen,” she says, setting the vase back down with shaking hands.

Lancelot looks down at himself, wrinkling his nose. “I much prefer blue.”

Another figure slips into the room, much smaller and slimmer, and to Emma’s surprise, it’s Aurora. She steps forward, sidestepping the broken vase, and wraps her maid up in a hug.

“What are you doing here?”

Aurora smiles bravely. “The Musketeers saved my life at the convent. The least I can do is try to help them save Sir Jones.” She holds out a bundle of clothing in her hands to Emma, and continues, “I’m going to be you for the next couple of hours.”

Emma wants to protest – it’s too dangerous to have anyone pretend to be her right now – but Aurora’s expression is firm, so Emma accepts the clothing. She changes into the looser dress, simple and dark grey, and Aurora herself changes into one of Emma’s nightgowns.

When Emma emerges from behind her changing screen, Aurora has dropped onto Emma’s bed, letting out a loud, satisfied sigh.

“Your bed is so soft,” she says, sinking back into the pillows, and Emma laughs at the blissful expression on her face.

David and Lancelot had stepped outside again while they hanged, and David re-enters, holding out a large brown cloak to Emma.

“Come on. We’ve got to get you out of here before anyone notices the unconscious Red Guards outside.”

She swings the cloak on, tucking in her skirts under the rough spun material and pulls the hood on, enough so it covers her face. On a spur of the moment thought, she bends down to run her fingers through the dirt on the floor from the broken vase, smearing it over her cheeks. Her face is pretty recognizable, but she hopes having dirt over it will help disguise her.

Lancelot is waiting by the doors, and David and Mary Margaret are speaking quietly. Emma looks away, swallowing down the rush of pain she feels at the sight.

(She never got to say goodbye to Killian like that).

David presses a kiss to Mary Margaret’s cheek and squeezes her hand before he steps away, smiling gently at Emma.

“Ready?”

Emma nods and she looks back to Mary Margaret, expecting to see her following, but she hasn’t moved at all.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“No, I’ll stay here and make sure Henry is okay.”

Emma steps back to hug Mary Margaret again. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Tell him I love him.”

Mary Margaret had packed a small bag for Emma while she slept, containing a change of clothes and other small necessities, and Emma takes it from her, pulling in her for one last hug.

“Be safe,” she whispers, and Mary Margaret nods.

“You as well.”

The urge to cry is strong then, Emma feeling overwhelmed at the risk all her friends’ are taking. She pulls away before she can let herself fall apart, heading out into the hall and stepping over the unconscious Red Guards with the Musketeers at her back.

Out there, her emotions quickly stifle; the corridors are quieter than Emma’s ever seen them, and goosebumps raise on her arms. She thought it was quiet in her room, but it’s nearly deafening here, the loud roar of silence hurting her ears. Even though it’s the middle of the night, Emma knows the servants are usually already awake at this hour, but there’s no one in sight.

She comments as much to Lancelot, who grimaces.

“Gold doesn’t trust anyone but his own guards. The servants have all be sent away until ... well ...”

Emma swallows hard, not wanting Lancelot to finish his sentence. “Right.”

David and Lancelot lead Emma towards the eastern wing of the Louvre, to the servants’ entrance. There are several Red Guards stationed at those doors, sitting there and playing cards, and Emma stiffens.

David lays lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Play along, okay?” he whispers.

She nods, and his grip tightens on her shoulder, pushing her ahead of him roughly, so suddenly Emma almost trips.

The guards drop their cards, and look around with narrowed eyes. “What’s this then?” one of them calls, rising.

“A servant who remained behind,” David says gruffly. “She was trying to see the queen.”

One of the seated guards snorts and rolls his eyes. “Don’t waste your breath on that bitch, sweetheart. She’ll be dead before you know it.”

Emma stiffens again, as do Lancelot and David at her side. The Red Guards don’t notice, and the guard who rose opens the servants’ door, gesturing them out. David pushes Emma towards it, and they’re almost outside, Emma tasting the free, fresh air, when the guard reaches out and grabs Lancelot’s arm.

“Wait a moment.”

He stares at Emma with narrowed eyes, and she hopes desperately her disguise has worked. She looks down to the ground, schooling her features into that of an ashamed maid, and hopes it fools him.

“What?” Lancelot says gruffly, and the guard frowns.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, still squinting at Emma. But then he shrugs, and releases Lancelot’s arm. “Nothing. Just make sure she’s off the premise. Cardinal doesn’t want anyone around.”

Lancelot nods, and then they’re out the door, it slamming shut behind them. It’s nearly impossible for them to not take off running and they force themselves to walk calmly away from the Louvre. The large palace looms ominously behind them as they slip into the dark Parisian night, into freedom, and Emma hopes that the next time she sees this place, it won’t be in such a dangerous situation.

The night is pitch black, the bright moon hidden by thick, rolling clouds. Torches light the bridge leading up to the towering walls of the Bastille as Robin and Will creep towards it through the dark, silent streets. Behind them, Regina brings up the rear, crouching down behind Will as they all pause at the base of the bridge.

No one wanted Regina on their rescue team, but they’d set up for the time being at La Lune and Ruby didn’t want to be left alone with her. No one trusted her to not to run off back to Gold if she wasn’t watched either and there was no way she was going to go with Lancelot and David to the palace. So, here she is, with Robin and Will, on the way to try to break out Killian from the Bastille.

To say she is furious would be an understatement.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” she mutters, interrupting Robin and Will’s muttered conversation of their next steps. “Even I wouldn’t attempt to break into the Bastille.”

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you!” Robin snaps.

Regina raises her eyebrows. “I think you’ll find we’re only in this situation of rescuing your friend because of me –”

Will lets out an exasperated sigh, and glares at the two of them. “Will you two stop it? We’re trying to save a man’s life here. You can argue later.”

Robin and Regina glare at each other in silence and allow Will to continue on with his quick mutterings of a plan.

From her stint working with the rogue Bastille guards – who, it turns out, were another of Gold’s plots to try to kill Emma – Regina has a good understanding of the layout of the prison, another reason she was brought along. The highest-level criminals are kept in the northeast tower, cloistered in interior cells without windows and a single barred door. The plan is to have Regina lead the way up, Robin and Will pretending to have been captured by her, spouting a story that she heard the Musketeers were wanted by the Cardinal and she’s brought them to justice.

It’s a pretty flimsy plan at best, and Regina doesn’t hide her displeasure with it. She wants to just kill their way through the prison to find Killian, but both Robin and Will kyboshed that plan early on at La Lune. Not only would that make them as bad of criminals as Regina, these are just men doing their jobs and they don’t deserve to be slaughtered to save Killian.

So, with Regina rolling her eyes and muttering about how they’re all going to die, Will and Robin hold their hands behind their backs as if they’ve been tied up. They trudge up the drawbridge after Regina, heads bowed as if in shame but eyes alert and watchful.

There are two guards outside the doors to the prison, and they jump to attention as Regina leads them up the stone bridge.

“Halt!”

“Peace,” Regina says, putting both hands up in the air in surrender but not stopping. “I’ve brought two prisoners for you.”

The guards squint at her, clutching at their weapons tightly as they look from Regina to the two Musketeers with suspicious eyes.

“You what?”

Regina sighs, a twinge of annoyance in her tone. “They’re the Musketeers. The Cardinal wants them arrested.”

The guards exchange a look, and one of them smirks at Regina. “You expect me to believe a thing like you caught two Musketeers single-handedly?”

The other one snickers, but Regina just smiles.

“You must be new here.”

She darts forward, so fast Robin and Will have no time to react. Seemingly drawn from nowhere, she’s now holding a thin, rod-like cane in her hand, the end decorated with a steel apple, and she wields it like a club, swinging and slashing at the guards. They shriek as she makes contact, hitting them both hard across the face, sending them flying backwards.

The one nearest stumbles forward, furious, but Regina hits him again, driving the cane straight into his gut before twirling around and hitting him in the face once more. As he slumps to the ground, groaning, the second guard moves forward, but Regina deals with him in quick succession too.

When they’re both on the ground, unmoving and unconscious, it’s only been a matter of minutes. Robin and Will gape at the guards, but Regina just sniffs, wiping the edge of the cane on one of their uniforms, and steps over them.

“I don’t like it when people underestimate me.”

Robin snaps out of his daze first, and he glares at her. “We said no killing!”

“I didn’t kill them,” Regina argues. “They’ll be fine in the morning. Headache from hell, yes, but they’ll be fine.”

Robin mutters in disgust, but they don’t linger by the unconscious guards any longer. Will finds the key ring in one of the guard’s pockets, and then they’re inside the prison, the steel doors screeching on their hinges as they open.

Once the doors are shut again, an eerie silence falls over them, and their footfalls echo almost sinisterly as Regina leads them up to the top tower. The corridors are long and empty, lit by low torches that cast spooky shadows all along the stone walls, and makes the hair rise on the back of both Robin and Will’s necks.

They don’t run into any guards on their way up the numerous flights of stairs, which, looking back, should have been a red flag. But they’re all so anxious about getting to Killian and getting him out of there without any more trouble, none of the three even notice.

At the top of the northeastern tower, there is a single cell at the end of the corridor with a flickering candlelight in it. They all approach it, anticipation growing and triumph so near and –

The cell is empty.

They stare at the empty room, the single candle flickering and illuminating the emptiness. Will is about to step into the cell, as if to check the shadows for Killian, when there’s a cool chuckle from behind them, and they whirl around, weapons drawn.

Four large guards are standing there, all armed to their teeth with swords and clubs and pistols. The one at the front, a big brute with a nasty scar across his face, grins.

“Would you look at that? Seems you lot have come to the wrong prison.”

Robin points his sword right at the chest of the guard. “Where is Killian?”

The guard snorts, and swats away the sword as if it’s nothing but an errant fly. “Can’t you tell, mate? He’s not here. He’s at the Louvre.”

The Louvre.

It had been all over Paris that the Red Guards had arrested a Musketeer accused of being an English spy, and he’d been taken to the Bastille to await his execution. None of the Musketeers had thought to double check that, because the Bastille is where traitors go after all, and its with a horrifying lurch to the gut that the three of them all realize at once –they’ve been tricked.

Robin almost expects Regina to turn and say I told you so, but instead she sneers at the guards, and crosses her arms over her chest.

“So, you let us come all the way up here to discover he’s not even here? How lovely.”

The guard smirks at her. “The Cardinal wants you lot arrested too, milady, and it’s much easier for you to herd yourselves into cells than make us do it.”

Will spits at the man’s feet, and glares at him. “We saved your life a few months ago. What a way to repay us.”

The guard grins and draws his sword, the guards behind him mimicking it, and he points his sword at Will.

“Way of the world, mate.”

There’s a moment of quiet, the calm before the storm where everyone is sizing each other up. Then they burst into action, Will and the guard who had done the talking jump at each other, words clanging and banging as they collide.

The hall is narrow, and in the course of the fight, Regina and Robin end up backed into the cell by the other three guards. Robin has his sword out in one hand, slashing at the guards, and Regina has her apple cane and a lethally curved dagger the length of her arm, fighting with both of them as easily as anything.

The guards soon realize that while Robin is a skilled fighter, thrashing at them with ferocity, Regina is the true threat here. Two of them focus on her, circling her like prey. But Regina is unfazed, swinging and slashing out at the guards as if they were nothing more than practice dummies, looking bored.

She knocks one of them back, swiping his legs out from under him with her cane, and he falls to the ground, winding himself and gaping like a fish out of water. The other one charges forward, making Regina twist out of the way, and she ends up with her back to the first guard, who has started to rise again. He’s furious, eyes flashing with anger as he stalks back towards Regina.

Robin, fighting his own guard, sees the man raising a club and realizes what he’s going to do, and a surge of panic rushes through him. Though he almost killed Regina a few weeks ago, suddenly confronted with the idea of seeing her die right in front of him sends a surge of terror through him and he acts without thinking.

He slams the guard he’s currently fencing with into the wall, hard enough to rattle his own teeth as the man slumps to the ground with a moan. Regina disarms her second attacker, sending him to the floor as well, and Robin charges at the guard sneaking up behind her, tackling him right around the waist. The momentum ends up knocking him, the guard, and Regina all to the ground, crumbled in a heap of tangled legs and arms.

Robin disentangles himself first, grabbing the guard’s leg and hauling him away from Regina. The guard, winded again, stares at him with wide eyes, pleading for mercy, but Robin’s running purely on fear and adrenaline now, and there’s no chance for mercy now.

“If anyone is going to kill her, it’s going to be me,” he says breathlessly, and he slams the hilt of his sword onto the man’s head, knocking him out instantly.

He turns around, breathing hard. The guard he hit into the wall is gone now, and his heartrate jumps another few levels – one of them has gotten away, and now they have even less time to get out of here than before.

Regina is still on the ground, trying to right herself, and Robin almost offers her a hand up, but steps back at the last moment. The rush of panic he felt at seeing her about to be killed has dissipated now, leaving behind an unsettling feeling that he doesn’t want anything to do with.

“Are you – are you okay?”

Regina doesn’t look at him as she rises to her feet, brushing off the dust on her skirt and straightening her jacket. “I’m fine.”

He stares at her, still breathing heavily, and Regina glances to him, and though her eyes remain guarded and cool, she says, “Thank you.”

He clears his throat, and crosses his arms, looking away.

“Yes, well. You’re welcome.”

Regina steps forward after a few seconds of uneasy silence, a hesitance to her step Robin hasn’t seen before.

“Robin, I know you can never forgive me, but I wanted to say –”

An ear-deafening bell reverberates through the room, making both Robin and Regina jump and clasp their hands over their ears, her sentence unfinished.

“That’s the alarm,” she shouts over the sound, clutching at her ears. “They know we’re here.”

Will leans his head into the cell, a nasty gash across his forehead dripping blood onto the rest of his face, and he looks them up and down.

“You done? Let’s go. We have to get out of here.”

Getting out of the Bastille is not as easy as getting in was. Guards are swarming out of their offices, and it’s a bloody fight that leaves all three of them injured and limping. They only survive because Regina knows the layout of the prison better than some of these guards, new since the Bastille attack a few months ago. They sneak through an old passageway used by guards to circumvent the prison quicker, and Regina leads them to a side door. It’s locked, but after a few good shoulder rams by Will and Robin, it cracks open, enough for them to slip out, and then they’re free, running into the main streets as fast as they can.

They don’t stop running for a long time, the gonging alarm following them through the streets, and when they finally do come to a stop, shadowed in an alleyway, the adrenaline passes and the absence of Killian with them hits them all at once.

They failed.

Robin throws his sword onto the ground, the dirt rising in a puffed cloud around it.

“Damn it. Damn it.”

“It’s not over,” Will protests stubbornly. “We’ll meet David and Lancelot at the Louvre. Get Killian out while they’re getting the queen. We can still do this.”

Robin leans against the wall, running a hand over his face in anger, breathing out hard. “It’ll be too late, Will. They’re long gone from the palace by now. The moment they know Queen Emma is gone, they’ll increase security around Killian.”

“No, we can still –”

“Let it go, Musketeer,” Regina snaps. “We failed. Jones is still in the Cardinal’s grasp.” She shakes her head, and casts an angry glare back the way they came, to where the prison bell is still ringing, faint now at this distance. “He played us, and we fell right into his trap and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

The day after the queen and the Musketeer’s arrest, Gold takes his time getting ready, savouring every moment of washing and dressing. The scarlet of his robes is somehow wrong this morning, as if he should already be wearing the pope’s white cassock, the French ring of state on his finger replaced with the Fisherman’s Ring instead.

Even the day is beautiful, a sure sign from God that he has acted in line with the Divine’s wishes. Everything is falling into place perfectly. The heretic queen arrested, the traitorous Musketeer jailed. By the time Neal returns, Gold will have all the evidence he needs against the queen and her lover, enough evidence to convince him the only way forward is a clean slate, both the traitors safely executed and buried so no further threats of scandal remain.

Breakfast is a humble affair, as always, but it tastes like a feast to Gold. He’s enjoying his meal, savouring each bite, when the door to the dining hall opens and his maid Belle enters, curtseying slightly.

“A messenger for you, from the palace. I told him you were having breakfast, but he was insistent.”

Gold narrows his eyes, not liking from the palace. He’d already been briefed that the Musketeers (and Regina, to his surprise) had attempted to break out Jones last night from the Bastille – the fools – but as far as he’s heard, nothing occurred at the Louvre.

“Send him in.”

Belle gestures to someone outside the door and a young man, about fifteen or so, enters the room. He’s absolutely terrified, and he splutters, “My apologies for interrupting you, Your Grace –”

“What is it?”

The boy hesitates, exchanging a fearful glance with Belle, and he gulps. “It’s – it’s the queen, Your Grace. She’s gone.”

He stares back at the boy, and fury, hot and boiling, flows through Gold’s veins. He gets to his feet, the chair falling down behind him, and both Belle and the messenger flinch.

“How? How did she escape?”

The boy squeaks in fear as Gold stalks closer towards him, and he takes several steps backwards, nearly hitting the wall.

“It – the Red Guards outside her quarters were knocked out and ... two more were found without any of their clothes in another part of the palace. And ... when the guards went to see about the queen, one her ladies ... well, one of her ladies was pretending to be her, so no one noticed until this morning she was even gone –”

Gold snarls, and the boy backs right up into the wall now, the portraits rattling above him.

“And the Musketeer?”

“He’s – he’s still in the dungeon, Your Grace. They – they must not have known he was there –”

At least there’s that.

“Bring me the lady in waiting, the one who pretended to be her. She’ll know where the queen is now. And then get me the executioner.”

Belle steps forward now, brow furrowing in confusion. “Your Grace, the execution for the Musketeer is not scheduled until Thursday –”

Gold laughs, dark and cold, and Belle falls silent.

“The queen may think she’s gotten away, but I know her weakness – love. So fetch the executioner, boy. I told her I’d hurt him if she attempted anything. I won’t kill her Musketeer yet ... but that doesn’t mean I can’t still hurt him.”

As morning turns to afternoon, Emma gets more and more anxious. She’s been sat inside the hot kitchen of La Lune for hours now, the Musketeers sitting around her in equal uncertainty. Her arrival at the small pub was one initially of glee, but when the other rescue party returned empty handed and furious and injured, the mood quickly soured into one of despair.

No one knew what to do next. When Emma was discovered missing, they knew Killian’s security would be increased, making another rescue attempt nearly impossible.

To Emma’s dismay, they’ve decided to wait until the evening, when the king is scheduled to return. Everyone is hopeful he’ll put a stop to things, and as Killian’s date of execution isn’t until Thursday, they do still have some time.

But Emma can’t feel the same hope. She’s had a bad feeling since arriving at La Lune, even before Robin, Will and Regina returned without Killian, and she hasn’t been able to shake it. Even if Neal returns tonight and Killian isn’t scheduled to die until Thursday, so many things can happen between then, so many things can go wrong.

Aurora’s simple grey gown is itchy and too tight in some areas, and Emma’s irritation with the entire situation has transformed into an annoyance with the dress. Halfway through the morning, she changes back into one of her own dresses Mary Margaret packed for her. It’s too conspicuous, and if they ever do have to venture out, she’ll have to put the grey dress back on, but for now, it’s a piece of comfort to wear the dark blue gown, embroidered and soft.

A sharp knock at the door on the pub makes them all jump nearly a foot in the air. The Musketeers reach for their weapons at their belt, and Ruby gets to her feet, holding out her hands calmly.

“It’s probably just someone wondering when we’re open again. This happens a lot.”

Tense silence falls as she leaves the room. Emma feels like she’s gone forever, her stomach twisting into knots, but it’s only a few moments before she returns, a wooden chest about the size of a jewellery box clutched in her hands.

Emma automatically hates the sight of it, and she’s not the only who one recoils as Ruby sets it down on the table.

“It was just on the steps. With this.” She drops a piece of parchment, folded and sealed with red wax, on the lid. “No seal, no name, and there was no one around that I could see.”

Everyone stares uneasily at the box. Emma’s bad feeling worsens, a heavy dread settling like lead in her stomach. She wants to throw the box out of the tavern, right into the Seine so she’ll never have to see it again.

“It’s got to be from the cardinal,” Robin says into the silence.

“How could he know the queen is here?” David demands. “We came here in the middle of the night!”

“He has spies everywhere,” Regina replies, shooting David a withering glare. “It was naïve to think the queen would be safe anywhere from him.”

“How he knows doesn’t matter,” Emma says before David can send a biting remark back to Regina. She gestures to the unmarked letter, clenching her jaw and swallowing down the bile that’s started to rise in her throat. “What does that say?”

Ruby, exchanging a nervous glance with Robin, picks up the letter and breaks the seal. She reads in silence, her eyes widening in horror and the parchment shaking in her grip.

“What? What is it?”

Ruby swallows, and with a quivering voice, reads: “‘Tell the queen to return to the palace or I’ll keep sending body parts.’”

Emma’s heart drops into her stomach, and she zeros in on the box. She’s on her feet before she realizes it, leaning over to lift the lid of the box, but David and Will move in unison to pull her back.

“No, don’t look,” David murmurs, shifting to push her further away from the table.

“Don’t tell me what–”

But Ruby’s sharp inhale cuts Emma off. She had opened the lid only partway before dropping it, stepping away with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide in horror.

“What is it?” Emma demands, trying in vain to get around David.

Ruby shakes her head, unable to speak, and Regina steps forward. She opens the lid again, and recoils just as Ruby had.

“What?” Emma repeats desperately. “What is it?”

Regina shakes her head, and locks eyes with Emma. When she speaks, her voice is flat, devoid of any emotion.

“It’s a hand.”

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #captain swan big bang #cs mc ff #fic: if the stars align #*hides in advance*#i'm so sorry but i had to do it

46 notes · View notes

swanslieutenant · 7 years

Text

If the Stars Align - Chapter VIII

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Art by @hook-and-star-ink , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7

AO3: ch8

A few days later, Emma and the Musketeers leave Paris on the journey to Nantes. The quiet of the French forests is a far cry from the bustle of Paris, and Killian can feel the tension and stress of the city ebbing away with every step they take away from the capital.

The journey has so far been pleasant. They’ve been on the road for three days, riding hard during the cool hours, and resting in shaded gloves when the heat becomes too unbearable.

Though perhaps resting isn’t the right word for it.

True to her word, the moment Paris was a smudged feature on the horizon, Emma announced she wanted to get started with her fighting lessons. The other Musketeers were surprised, but true to his word, Killian set about teaching her, no matter what they thought.

So far, they’ve started with the basics of sword fighting and other defensive skills. Like Killian was a quick study at dance, Emma is a natural at sword fighting, her determination to be able to protect herself driving her forward.

She’s determined and focused, talking to him only of strategy and technique, and it allows Killian to focus on just that too. Though the memory of the other night is burned into his mind – the darkened hall, the moonlight illuminating her beautiful face, the press of Emma’s soft lips against his – he’s trying very hard to remind himself it was a stolen moment. Though he sees and feels the memory every time he closes his eyes, that will have to do; it’s nothing he’ll ever get to repeat.

A one time thing, as she said.

On her part, Emma treats him no differently than before, smiling and polite and just as courteous as ever. He almost starts to believe that she is truly unaffected by what happened, but sometimes he can feel the heat of her gaze on him when she thinks he’s not looking, and he knows she’s not as cool as she makes it seem.

And selfishly (stupidly) that gives him hope.

On this third day of travel, they’ve stopped for lunch near a small stream, letting their horses rest and drink to cool off from the heat of the day. The only sign of civilization is an old stone convent on a hill top several hundred feet to the west, towering and impressive and casting a wide shadow over the glade.

Will and Lancelot are seeing to the horses while David fills the group’s water skins from the stream. Robin is picking some nearby berries, inspecting the bushes closely to ensure they’re safe, and Emma’s maid, a young woman named Aurora, is sorting out the day’s rations of hard cheese and even harder bread.

With most of her household gone ahead already, their trip taking more time with all the people and items and clothing that has to be transported too, Emma has only brought Aurora with her. Her explanation was that it was easier to travel lightly and that she only required one maid for help anyways. And that may be true, but Killian understands her reasoning is for another reason too – she only wants one witness to see her learn how to fight.

And Aurora has no problem with it. Aurora told the story of how she grew up with three widowed aunts in the middle of a forest, and with no one else around to protect them, Aurora had to learn her way around a weapon to protect them all.

When their respective tasks are complete, the Musketeers and Aurora spread out on some large boulders nearby, munching away on today’s lunch while Killian returns to the group, having set up a small log he found nearby on a boulder across the small glade as a target.

The last few days they’ve focused on sword fighting, a skill Emma has quickly excelled at. In Denmark, the guards taught her how to use a dagger and they’ve brushed up on those skills as well. But, today, they’ve scheduled themselves a longer trek, trying to make up for the time they’ve lost in the past few days from Emma’s lessons, and so Killian’s decided to teach Emma a less exhausting form of defense – the pistol.

“A pistol,” Killian says, holding out his own towards Emma as he walks back over to her, “is one of the most important weapons in a Musketeer’s arsenal.”

Emma nods seriously, but there’s a twinkle in her eye as she accepts the pistol from Killian. “Not the musket?”

Killian chuckles and gestures for Emma to turn around so they’re facing the target. “The musket is the weapon of the battlefield. The pistol is for closer combat.”

He explains how the gun works, how to fire it, and that after she fires, she’ll probably feel quite the kickback on her arm. She listens studiously, and when he’s done his explanation, the audience behind them quietens as Emma raises the pistol, anticipation growing and crackling in the air.

Killian steps closer to her, and presses gently on her elbow. “Don’t hold your arm so tight, Emma,” he says, quiet enough so only she hears him use her name. “But hold the rest of yourself still, and try to relax.”

If they didn’t have an audience, he would feel bold enough to put his hands on her waist to encourage her to relax her stomach muscles too, but as it is, he just tells her what he would rather show her. When she’s more relaxed, arm tense and core muscles strong, Killian smiles.

“You aim by staring down the barrel and, when you’re ready, pull the trigger.”

He steps back, and there’s a quiet silence, everyone holding their breath. Emma winks one eye closed, aiming across the glade at the log. There’s a few moments of silence until she pulls the trigger, the gun nearly deafeningly loud as the bullet explodes out of it. The log shatters as the bullet blows through it, sending pieces of bark and woods flying through the air and showering the ground around with debris.

The Musketeers and Aurora burst into applause, and Emma’s mouth drops open in shock.

“I hit it!”

“I knew you could do it! You’re a natural.” Killian takes the gun from her with a broad grin. “I’ll reload it, and you can have another go.”

Emma nods eagerly, grinning widely, but before Killian can re-load the gun, Lancelot gets abruptly to his feet and holding out his hand for quiet.

“Wait, wait. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Will asks through a mouthful of bread, squinting in the same direction Lancelot is looking.

He’s hardly finished asking the question when there’s a loud crunching of leaves, and to Killian’s horror, a dozen men emerge from the trees, swords and clubs and maces in hand.

“There you are,” one of them says pleasantly, but his hands tighten around the heavy club menacingly. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

He’s staring straight at Emma, a lopsided grin on his face and a dark gleam to his eyes, and fear grips Killian’s heart. Emma has already paled, eyes wide at the approaching thugs, and Killian can sense her thought as if she said it out loud – not again.

On instinct, Killian moves to stand in front of Emma while he surveys the thugs. His heart sinks – they are far too many of them, more than double their numbers.

Robin’s done the same calculation, and all pretense of trying to fight them off disappears as he shouts, “To the horses!”

Killian grabs Emma’s hand, pushing her ahead of him as they run in the opposite direction, racing back towards the horses. But some of the bandits are fast, and before everyone can mount their horses, they’re there, having cut through the heavy brush to end up between their little group and the horses. They all have weapons drawn and manic glows to their eyes, and one of them even lets out a deranged little laugh.

Behind him, Emma tenses, her grip on his hand tightening as two brutes step towards them. He’s loathe to step away from her, but he has no choice.

The first is surprisingly easy to dispatch, a blundering oaf who runs at Killian with a club and an astounding lack of grace. Killian ducks, feeling the wind whistle over his head, and sticks his leg out to catch the man’s feet as he charges forward. The man stumbles and as Killian’s rising back up, he shoves his weight into the man, feeling the satisfying crunch of the man’s nose breaking as Killian’s elbow contacts it.

The man drops, howling in pain, and Killian kicks him in the gut too for good measure before stepping over him, twisting as he goes so he’s out of reach of the second brute’s sword.

The second’s momentum is now off balance, the arc of the sword sending him forward, and Killian takes advantage. He reaches out, grabbing the man’s sword arm, and twists it, the man yelling out in pain as his elbow joint strains against its socket. Killian twists his arm even more, forcing the man to his knees.

“Get away!”

The female voice shouts loud from behind him and he risks a glance over his shoulder; for what seems like the tenth time in two minutes, his stomach drops.

A third bandit has sidestepped passed Killian, approaching Emma and Aurora with a heavy, purposeful stride. They’re backed up against the edge of a small slope leading down to another arm of the stream with nowhere else to go. Though Emma’s the one with the pistol, Aurora has stepped in front of her, protective and fierce, and she shouts again, “Get away from us!”

The man doesn’t even blink, swinging out at Aurora, hitting her across the face with his fist. Killian shouts and Emma screams as Aurora stumbles, falling right into her and knocking her off balance. With all Aurora’s weight pressed upon her, Emma loses her footing, falling backwards over the slope and disappearing from sight.

Killian lets out a roar as her blonde head disappears, and kicks out at the man he’s fighting with enough ferocity to knock him off his feet. He slams the hilt of his sword down on the man’s head, not pausing to check if he even knocked the man out before he’s running to where Emma fell.

Aurora is on the ground now, moaning and clutching her head, and the man who hit her is looming over her now, drawing back a brutal club. Killian yells out in alarm, but Lancelot gets there first, running the man through, back to front, with his sword in a fluid, single motion.

He chokes, dropping his weapon that, by chance, just misses Aurora. The man clutches at his stomach as Lancelot pulls his sword out roughly, a scattering of blood spraying the trees in a wide arc.

The man collapses to the ground, dead, as Killian reaches them, skidding to a stop next to Aurora. She’s still conscious, an ugly welt in the shape of knuckles forming on her right cheek and temple, and before Killian check her any further, Lancelot is there, pushing him to the side.

“Get the queen. I’ve got her.”

He doesn’t need telling twice; Killian approaches the slope Emma tumbled over, and to his immense relief, she’s at the bottom of the hill, getting to her feet and untangling her legs from her dress. He slips and slides down the slick hill, loosing his grip on the leaves and colliding right with her, nearly knocking them both down this time.

He stabilizes her, hands gripping her shoulders tightly, and quickly surveys her for any signs of injury.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She wipes away the leaves and dirt from her face, pulling branches that have become entangled in her hair. “Where’s Aurora?”

“Lancelot got her. She’ll be okay. Come on. We have to get to the horses.”

With the sound of swords and screaming going above where they came from, Killian and Emma hurry along the base of the slope, clambering up to the higher level several feet further down. They’ve gripped hands again, and when they try to ascend the hill, they nearly slide back down the slope several times, resorting to half-hauling each other forwards. At the top of the slope, the horses, neighing and screeching, are kicking out at the bandits, creating a wide berth around them and somehow the Musketeers have mounted them, slashing out with swords at the bandits who are brave enough to step closer and try to pull them off.

“Go, go!” Robin cries, catching sight of Killian and Emma merging over the edge, dozens of feet away from the fray. “Let’s go!”

Lancelot, with a dozy Aurora seated in front of him, thunders by Killian and Emma, so close they both have to step back out of the way and nearly end up slipping down the slope again.

Robin gallops right up to them, reining in his horse and leaning down at the same time to beckon Emma forward.

“Quickly, quickly.”

Killian helps Emma onto Robin’s horse, boosting her upwards, and the moment she’s seated behind him, they’re off, racing after Lancelot and Aurora. Will, on a separate horse, doesn’t slow down as he approaches Killian and he is forced to grabs his outstretched arm, jumping and using every muscle in his body to twist in the air enough to land behind him, landing hard and painfully on the horse.

The bandits are shouting in anger, but they don’t have horses, or at least they’re not nearby. For a few moments, it appears they’ve lost them, but the Musketeers keep their pace steady, all the horses galloping at full speed up the hill towards the convent. It’s their only hope for sanctuary at this point.

Up close, the building is more like a fort than an abbey. Three storey stone walls surround the internal building, the walls of both dripping with overgrown moss and ivy. A heavily fortified wooden door bars their entrance to the convent, and Robin jumps from his horse, banging on the door with as much force as he can muster.

“Open the door!”

It feels like forever, the horses pawing nervously at the ground and Killian glancing behind him every time the wind so much as blows, but a small slot in the door slides open. A young woman peers through it, her pretty face framed by a nun’s habit and she narrows her eyes.

“State your business.”

“We seek sanctuary,” Robin says, the urgency in his voice palpable. “It’s an emergency.”

The nun surveys him, suspicious, and her eyes flicker to his uniform. Her frown deepens.

“You are soldiers,” she says, disdainfully. “This is a house of God, for the brides of Christ. What type of sanctuary do you want?”

At once, Killian understands her caution – all the young nun can see is a group of men, trying to get into a convent of women, and Emma must too. She dismounts from the horse, sliding off and striding to Robin’s side so the nun can see her.

“Please, Sister. We need your help.”

The nun stares at Emma, clearly not having realized a woman was among the men, and then realization dawns in her eyes. She glances back to Robin, to the fleur-de-lis pauldron on his shoulder, and her eyes widen.

“You are the queen,” she blurts, and Emma nods.

“We need sanctuary. There are men after us, trying to kill us, and my maid is injured. She needs someone to look at her.”

The nun stares at Emma for a long moment, an unreadable expression crossing her features. For a terrifying moment, Killian thinks she’s about to slide the slot closed, but then she nods.

“Give me a moment.”

Like before, it feels like an eternity before there’s any progress. Killian is about ready to scale the walls when with a large creak and groan, the large wooden doors slowly swing open, welcoming them into the safety of the convent’s courtyard.

They bring the horses in with them too. When they’re safely inside the gates, the heavy doors locked and sealed behind them, everyone dismounting and taking a deep breath of relief, Killian realizes one Musketeer is not among them.

“Where’s David?” he demands, instantly fearing the worst.

“I sent him back to Paris,” Lancelot explains, helping a woozy Aurora to stand. “We need reinforcements.”

Relieved, and though he’s not religious, with the symbols of God all around him in the courtyard, he can’t help but send up a prayer for his friend’s safety on the journey and hopes he’ll return soon.

The nun who welcomed them disappeared into the building when they entered, but now she reappears, leading a trail of other women into the courtyard. More than a few of them cast the group hostile glances (some, Killian notes with a touch of annoyance, directed purposefully at Emma), but they all curtsey to the queen and murmur a welcome. An older woman takes one look at Aurora, swaying on her feet even with Lancelot’s arm around her to steady her, and ushers them away, muttering about the brutality of the outside world.

Another nun appears from the main building, and though Killian doesn’t know much about how nuns rank themselves, it is clear she is the one in charge, with the way the others quiet and move out of her way.

“Your Majesty,” this nun says, curtseying. “Welcome. I’m the Mother Superior of this convent, St. Meissa.”

Emma smiles. “Thank you for offering us sanctuary, Mother Superior. You have saved our lives.”

She inclines her head. “Of course. It is our duty to provide sanctuary to any traveller in danger.”

A couple of the nuns shuffle their feet, nudging each other at her emphasis, and Killian narrows his eyes. He reasons it could be that they simply see them as a threat to the entire convent, but he’s abruptly too aware of the politics of the situation; the Protestant queen in a Catholic nunnery seeking their help.

The others sense it too, shifting their weight to stand closer to Emma. Mother Superior notices, of course, and plasters a welcoming smile on her face.

“Come along. I’ll show you around.”

She gestures them all to follow her back inside the convent, and once they’re in the cool stone hall, leaving the other nuns behind, she speaks again.

“I apologize for my sisters’ ... surprise. It is not often the queen herself appears on our doorstep.”

Emma nods politely. “I understand.”

“But you are most welcome here,” Mother Superior assures. “And you will be safe. Our convent is one of the most fortified in all of France.”

“Thank God for that,” Emma murmurs, and Mother Superior smiles.

“Indeed.”

Ever the worrier, Robin inquires about the safety of the abbey, and Mother Superior agrees to show him around, but not before turning to Emma and saying, “You may have my room, Your Majesty. It’s on the east side, facing the cliff side. I’ll send a sister to take you up.”

Mother Superior leads Robin and Will away, already explaining the thick stone walls and fortified door, but Killian doesn’t move to follow them.

“Are you sure you are okay?” he asks, looking Emma up and down. The bottom of her riding dress is soaked in mud and ripped, the rest stained with dirt.

“Yes,” Emma replies, and she smiles gently at the concern on Killian’s face. “Really, I’m fine. All those leaves broke my fall.”

Killian chuckles as footsteps begin to echo through the halls. A young woman appears in a doorway off to the side. Her steps falter and she lets out an exclamation of shock.

“Killian?”

He turns, and all he sees is a nun, petite and blonde and blue-eyed, until his brain sorts through her features and his mouth drops open.

“Tink?”

He steps forward as she does too, meeting her halfway for a tight embrace.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, releasing her and holding her at arm’s length to survey her in the nun’s habit with raised eyebrows. “I thought you were going to a convent in Bordeaux!”

Tink waves away his questions. “What about you? You’re a Musketeer? I thought you were going to join the English –” she cuts off abruptly, realizing Emma is there too, and she smiles brightly at her. “Excuse me, Your Majesty. It was rude of me not to greet you first.”

“Don’t worry.” She pauses, looking at Tink curiously, and continues, “Did he say your name was Tink?”

Tink sighs dramatically, and Killian grins. “A nickname I gave her,” he explains at Emma’s bewildered look. “Because of the sound of her laugh.” He looks to Tink and frowns. “I can’t recall what your actual given name is.”

“Something unpronounceable,” she replies cheerily. “It’s Sister Rose now anyways.”

A teenage girl carrying a pile of bedsheets and blankets enters the hall, curtseying low to Emma and nodding her head to Tink.

Tink nods back at her, and turns to Emma. “I’ll show you to Mother Superior’s room, Your Majesty. This way.”

She leads Emma out of the room, sweeping up the bedsheets from the young girl in the doorway. Killian follows them out of the room and a few steps down the hall, Tink pauses, looking back to him with a questioning eyebrow.

He shrugs, hand moving to his sword at his belt. “Constant protection.”

Tink rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and she thrusts the heavy pile of sheets and blankets at Killian with much more force than necessary. “You can carry the bedding.”

Their footfalls echo through the old abbey, Tink leading the way to the back of the building. She pauses at the end of the hallway to pick up a candle, sending dancing shadows up along the stone walls.

“Careful,” Tink warns, lifting the candle higher as they approach a set of old stairs. “There’s a gouge in one of the stone steps we haven’t had a chance to fix yet; Sister Astrid dropped a case of jarred peaches on it two weeks ago.”

Mother Superior’s quarters are at the top of the short eastern tower. There’s a small receiving chamber at the top of the stairs, a half-ajar door leading to a small bedroom. A neatly made bed is pressed up against the far wall beside a tiny end table littered with religious artifacts. A rickety wooden dresser stands opposite the bed, with a table and chair in the other corner, a single square window letting in filtered sunlight through a thin cotton curtain.

“It’s a bit small,” Tink says, almost apologetically, “but –”

“It’s perfect, Sister,” Emma interrupts, smiling. “Please send my thanks to your Mother Superior for her kindness. I understand what risk all of you are taking by allowing us sanctuary, and I want you all to know I am very grateful.”

Tink smiles in recognition, and plucks a simple, pale pink dress off the pile of bedding in Killian’s arms.

“This is one of Sister Astrid’s dresses from before she joined the service. I think she’s about the same size as you.” She places it on the top of the dresser, and retreats to the doorway, standing beside Killian. “Dinner will be in several hours. You are welcome to join us all in the Great Hall, or I can have Sister Olivia bring your meal if you feel safer here.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, I would be honoured to join you all. Thank you, Sister Rose.”

Emma drops into the rickety chair, beginning to unlace her boots, and Killian steps out into the hall with Tink, closing the door behind him to give Emma some privacy.

“Thank you, Tink. Really.”

She inclines her head. “Of course. It is our duty to protect anyone who seeks sanctuary with us. Especially the queen.”

“Even though she’s a Protestant and you’re Catholic?”

Tink levels Killian with a cool glare, lifting her chin, but Killian can’t find it in himself to regret the question. He saw the looks nuns gave her when they arrived, when they realized who they’d be giving refuge to. For the most part, Emma’s background as a Protestant is quietly tolerated in the rest of France, but it’s not as simple as that for these nuns.

“Our sanctuary is for everyone, Killian,” Tink says shortly. “Even the Protestant Queen of France. And,” she adds, with a pointed nudge to his chest, “her Protestant Musketeer.”

He nods, chastised. “I know. I’m sorry, Tink. Thank you for offering us shelter.”

She looks down to the pile of bedding in his arms and her coolness disappears, a spark of mischief appears in her eyes instead. “Now can you change the bed or do you want me to send up one of the novices to do it?”

He grins back at her, and shifts his arms out of her grasp. “I know how to change bedsheets.”

Tink smirks a very un-nun-like smirk. “I’ll bet you do.”

He chuckles, and shakes his head. “It’s good to see you, Tink. Even if it is under such troubling circumstances.”

She smiles. “It’s been too long, Killian. We’ll have to catch up later when she’s settled in.”

Killian tenses; catching up with Tink will mean talking about his past, and he has no desire to do that. But he just smiles tightly and nods. “Of course.”

He glances back to the closed door then, and Tink must mistake his discomfort with the idea of talking about his past for worry, because she rests a hand on his arm in comfort.

“Don’t worry, Killian. She’ll be safe here. This convent is one of the most fortified buildings in all of France.”

He nods, and she leaves with another pat to his arm. When her footsteps disappear, Killian knocks on the bedroom door.

“I have your bedsheets, milady. May I put them down or should I wait a moment?”

The door swings open; Emma is still fully dressed, save her riding boots, and she gestures him in.

He enters the room, placing the bedsheets on her bed, and Emma watches him closely. There’s an edge to her eyes, guarded and apprehensive. “How on earth do you know a nun?”

“She’s an old friend. She was my neighbour when I lived in Calais as a child.” He catches her gaze, and at the look in her eye, he smirks, unable to help himself. “Just a friend.”

Emma’s smile in return is smug, lightness returned to her now and all traces of guardedness gone. “Good. I wouldn’t want rumours about you and a nun to start circulating; think of her reputation, Sir Jones.”

He shakes his head in amusement. “Yes, that would be damaging. A woman married to God and having an affair with a Musketeer, what would the Parisians think.”

Emma laughs, removing her riding jacket and dropping it onto the small table. “I’m glad you can joke about things like that.” She picks up the pink dress, unfolding it and holding it up against herself. “I haven’t worn a plain dress like this in years. I don’t even think it has a corset.”

“I should have asked Tink to send up one of the younger sisters to help you change,” Killian says, looking back to the doorway as if she was still lingering out there. “I bet one of them used to be a lady’s maid –”

“I’m sure you can be of assistance.”

Killian turns back to her so sharply he hears all the vertebrae in his neck crack. Emma has turned to face the opposite wall, unhooking the matching layer of vest to her skirt from around her torso. She looks pointedly at him over her shoulder as she tosses the vest onto the bed.

“I can’t do the rest myself, Killian.”

At the use of his first name, he nearly stumbles, a thrill shooting right through him. Whatever Tink’s insinuations about him, when he approaches Emma, it feels like he hasn’t done this in years. He’s undressed women before, usually with far less care and more urgency, and never like this.

The fabric of Emma’s clothing is one of the finest he has ever felt, even considering she is wearing sturdier riding clothing than what she’d normally wear. The gown is also simpler in and of itself, slimmer and worn without any large hoop under the skirt and just over a plain chemise.

Its laced expertly up her back, the ribbons wiry and sturdy, and Killian unthreads them carefully, his fingers moving slowly over the ribbons. The heavy outer gown falls away when he’s done, Emma stepping free from it, and he sweeps it up before it lands on the floor, laying it across the bottom of the small bed. Emma is now only in a simple white shift, her waist still bound by the tight boning of her corset.

His mouth feeling dry and blood pounding in his head, Killian sets to work on the laces of that too, far too aware of how intimate this is. It takes a few moments for him to loosen it sufficiently and Emma breathes out a heavy sigh relief, wiggling slightly to loosen the corset even more.

“Thank you,” she says, holding the corset against herself and turning to face him.

He ducks his head in recognition, and steps back, trying to force some formality into his tone and failing miserably. “You’re welcome.”

Emma reaches out, grasping his arm to pull him back towards her, her eyes intense and earnest. “Not just for helping me with this. For teaching me how to fight these past few days on the road. I know – you didn’t have to.”

Killian scratches behind his ear, and abandons all pretense of correctness. They’re alone, for the first time in days, and he wants to speak freely.

“I have to admit ... it wasn’t a purely selfless. It gives me an opportunity to spend more time with you.”

Emma smiles, an edge to her eyes now, and she steps even closer, running her hand up his arm, hooking her arm around the back of his neck.

“We have some time together right now.”

“Aye,” he replies, voice dropping an octave as he stares at her, and he knows he couldn’t stop this even if he wanted to.

He lifts one hand to Emma’s cheek, cupping it and pulling her face closer to his. His eyes close and this time it’s Killian who presses his lips to hers first, feeling her mouth curve into a smile before she’s kissing him back.

(A smug part of him wants to point out her one time thing hadn’t even lasted a week, but a stronger part of him shouts at him to shut up and just enjoy the moment.)

He wraps one arm around her, tugging her closer to him, and his other hand runs through her hair, fiddling with the clasp that kept her hair up until it comes loose. Her hair cascades down around her shoulders, tickling his hands where it hits him, the smell of her perfume floating around them in an intoxicating cloud.

He walks them backwards, and they end up pressed against the wall near the door, Emma’s clothing held up by the wall. Her motions are identical to his, one hand around his lower back and the other in his hair, pulling him closer and closer. She nips at his lower lip with her teeth, demanding and wanting, and Killian groans into her mouth, the sound more a growl than a moan. Emma smiles again, a pleased moan escaping her as Killian presses himself fully against her.

Down the hallway outside the larger chamber, there’s a loud clattering and thudding, followed by a string of swearing. Emma and Killian spring apart as if burned, Killian nearly stumbling over the corner of the small bed and Emma jumps to the side, eyes wide.

“Out,” she whispers, one hand back to grasping her corset around her, the other on his chest as she shoves him towards the door.

He half-stumbles out into the receiving chamber, the door swinging shut firmly behind him. He is just leaning himself against the wall outside her door as if he was there the whole time when Will emerges from the staircase, muttering to himself.

“Hey,” he says, upon noticing Killian. He waves a hand airily in his direction, and then back down the stairs. “I, uh, tripped on one of the steps.”

Killian purses his lips to suppress a smile, thanking whatever God is looking over them for making Will clumsy. “You’re a constant show of grace, Scarlet.”

He snorts, and mutters another curse, before tilting his head towards the closed door. “How’s the queen?”

His heartbeat jumps again. “She’s … uh, resting. Long day and all.”

Something about Killian’s expression must’ve alerted Will, because he cocks his head to the side, peering suspiciously at him.

“You alright, mate?”

“’Course,” Killian replies, gruffly. He steps away from the wall, and runs a hand through his hair, hoping it doesn’t appear too messy from Emma’s hands. “I’ll go talk with Robin and Lancelot about the plans for tomorrow and you’ll take the queen to dinner later?”

Will frowns. “Sure, but Killian, what –”

Killian doesn’t wait any longer, brushing by Will and down the stairs. He himself nearly trips on the gouge from the jarred peaches, so distracted that he didn’t even see it. When he’s alone at the bottom, with the silent walls around him, he leans against one of them, pressing his head against the cold stone, willing his racing heart to steady and failing spectacularly.

He is in so much trouble.

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #captain swan big bang #cs mc ff #fic: if the stars align

44 notes · View notes