#wolves of misthaven | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artistic-writer · 5 years

Text

Alii dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 21

Title: Alii dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh - Graham - Liam - Brennan - Ruby

Chapter Art by @cocohook38 - Ch1 - Ch2 - Ch3 - Ch4 (NSFW) - Ch5

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Werewolf sunday! And oh look, Emma’s heat is over ;)

Massive thanks to my wonderful betas, @hookedonapirate who is one of the best beta’s this fandom has to offer - I seriously love her guys, and she deserves all the good things <3 <3 and @kmomof4 to whom this fic is also gifted for her birthday and for creating the @cssns Thank you to my crew, @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @courtorderedcake @doodlelolly0910 and special thanks to @killian-whump @killianmesmalls and @sherlockianwhovian for how they helped with the last few chapters. And to @flipperbrain who drew THIS piece of art for this fic in December, before it was even written!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight@ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife

Want to be tagged/untagged? TELL ME HERE

——————————————————————————————

There was a storm when Emma awoke the next day, the grey skies stopping any light from penetrating the windows of Liam’s loft and the sound of hailstones bouncing off the panes of glass in each window. The room was dull, an invisible fog making every colour muted, which heightened the ambience of the storm raging outside. Emma’s eyeballs rolled under her lids, tiny white specks dancing around in the blackness, her brain trying to catch up to the sound she was hearing, processing each tap against the glass, one after another.

She shifted her weight, one leg rubbing against the hairy calf of the man who was asleep next to her, their legs entangled under the thin sheet that covered them as they lay awkwardly askew. They had spent most of the night making love, holding each other after each euphoric release that had left them both exhausted and wanting more. Neither had wanted to sleep, unable to accept the fact that they might be holding each other, feeling each other, for the last time. Neither had wanted to stop gazing upon the other.

Each moment was precious, the night turning into day quicker than they had realised. Emma swallowed a thick lump down her dry throat and curled her body closer to Killian’s, the warmth from his naked form enveloping her and making the hair under her hairline flush hotter than usual. Emma peeled one eye open, the smile on Killian’s face even in sleep, catching her eyes immediately as he slumbered on his front next to her, his face pressed into the pillow and Emma resting her head on his forearm.

His hair was a mess, likely from how many times she had raked her fingers across his scalp the night before and the ear she could see still bore the light bruising inflicted by her teeth when she had bit down on the tough, pointy flesh. Emma smirked, recalling the noises he had made, the way he had sighed her name time and time again like it was his last earthly breath, and her name was all he could say.

The gentle rise and fall of his lungs made his muscles ripple across his back, a soft rumble vibrating in the back of his throat as he exhaled into the pillowcase. There was a slight flush in his cheeks, still, and Emma couldn’t help but reach over and push a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Killian’s nose wrinkled but he stayed asleep, his lips sucking in as he heaved a sigh and relaxed back into his dream state.

Not even the rumble of thunder outside woke him, and when a flash of lightning illuminated his face, it caused no stir. Emma smirked, watching him sleep and getting lost in his visage, each feature of his face as enticing as the last. Emma couldn’t help herself and let her hand slip along the side of his face, her thumb gently caressing the raised, reddened scar on his cheek so softly he probably couldn't feel it.

Emma knew Killian had fought to get to where he was. A mongrel life would not have been easy, especially if he had crossed paths with other wolves along the way, and it warmed her heart to know that he would fight for her. Emma knew he had fought Walsh at least once before, and an unsettled pang dug itself into her gut as she recalled the horrific sounds he had made when he had been tortured. Forcing a change as Walsh had was barbaric, the stuff of nightmares, and Walsh would pay for what he had done.

Emma let her hand skim down Killian’s neck, the slow pulse there thrumming against her fingertip as she brushed over the new scars under his jawline. She traced the curve of his shoulder, outlining it with her palm, before pushing herself into a sitting position and watching the movement of her hand as it explored his trunk. Emma had never really looked at Killian’s back before now, unless in wolf form, and she gulped hard at the sight of it. He was littered with scars, most of them clearly from bites and scratches, the jagged edges always healing to leave a distinctly shaped scar she had seen many times before.

She tentatively brushed her fingers over the skin between the since healed wounds, skirting her fingertip over the bumpy flesh of each scar in case she woke him. He groaned a little in his sleep, his whole body vibrating with the sound, raspy and deep in his chest, and Emma noticed his brows furrow when she touched a particularly thick line of scar tissue towards his liver. A row of distinctive puncture holes had healed at his side, the arrangement of scars clearly a bite mark that gave Emma more questions than answers.

“Please,” Killian rasped suddenly and Emma pulled her hand away from his skin with a gasp. His eyes were still firmly closed, crinkling at the edges as he pinched them even more tightly closed, his lips parting slightly as his breath became shallow. He shifted his weight, rolling over onto his back in one fluid movement and letting his head flop to one side, facing away from her. Emma waited, holding her breath, but he was definitely still asleep.

The rain increased outside, crashing into the windows and making the room deafeningly loud. Streaks ran down the panes, flowing like tears along the edges of the frames and Emma had only looked away for a second when she heard Killian take a sharp intake of a catching breath. She looked back to his slumbering figure, new scars glowing a silvery white along his sides as he gasped for more shallow breaths.

“Don’t,” Killian stuttered weakly, his head twitching on the pillow and his hands closing around nothing, grasping out at anything he could. Emma leaned forward, planting her hand to his chest, the scars warming under her hand immediately and Killian’s body relaxing into her touch. He sighed, soothed but the sadness still etched on his face as Emma skimmed her hand across his torso and inspected the other half of the bite mark she could see.

Without warning, Killian’s arm shot up and he wrapped his hands around Emma’s arm in a crushing grip, the skin around her wrist turning white. She contained a cry, the silent sound of pain leaving her mouth in nothing more than a squeak and Killian held her hand in place, his jaw clenching in anger as he held her hand from his skin. Emma covered her mouth with her other hand, pinching her eyes closed and swallowing hard, before blinking back tears and peeling her eyes open to see Killian staring straight at her.

“Don’t,” he repeated, his glassy stare fixed on her and his voice laced with a pleading sorrow that broke Emma’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered quickly, tugging against his hold. Killian relaxed his grip and Emma’s hand immediately went to his face, soothing his panic inducing nightmare that had clearly tumbled over into reality when she had touched his scar. It meant something, she could tell, and when she saw his expression soften, she gave him a warm smile.

“Emma, I-,” Killian began sheepishly, licking his lips nervously and blinking himself awake. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He worried quickly, eyes flickering over her arm.

“It’s okay,” Emma told him softly, her thumb caressing his cheek in smooth, rhythmic strokes. It wasn’t much, it was just two little words and a few light touches, but they both felt like it meant so much more at that moment. Finally, Killian’s lips twitched into a shy smile. “Want to talk about it?” Emma cocked her head sideways, her hair falling to cover her knees.

Killian shook his head and found her hand with his, turning it upside down and turning his face to kiss her palm. Emma felt a tingle shoot through her arm right down to the pit of her stomach, the supple, kiss bruised flesh of Killian’s lips setting her skin on fire instantly. When he was done, he pulled her sideways and Emma followed his lead, settling herself across his torso and letting the sheet fall from her naked body.

“Was it a nightmare?” Emma asked him, shuffling her weight until she was practically sitting across his chest, legs tucked up under his armpits and her hands finding the length of his beard. Her digits smoothed through the growth, each twisted, coarse hair tickling her fingers and Killian humming in appreciation of her touch.

“Nothing to worry about,” he assured her, letting his eyes fall closed as Emma scratched through his facial hair. “Just one from a long time ago.”

“You’ve had it before?” Emma asked softly, feeling Killian’s skin tighten under her assault.

Killian nodded limply. “An old childhood trauma, that’s all.”

“Like my shifting accident in the lake?” Emma smirked, feeling much more at ease about telling her story. She knew Killian would never keep anything from her, but she also recognised his reluctance to relive the memory in his own mind. He wasn’t hiding things from her, he was just not ready to face it.

Her reference made Killian smile a toothy grin and his eyes reopened to meet hers. “Aye, something like that, love.” He said no more, and Emma understood.

“But you’re okay?” Emma asked softly. “Last question, I promise,” she giggled, flattening her body to his and kissing his cheek. Her hands held his head in place whilst her lips assaulted his face, exaggerated kiss sounds echoing into the room and drowning out the sound of the rain.

“I am now,” Killian smirked with a chuckle. His hand smoothed over her back, fingertips dancing over the ridge of her shoulder blades and over each bump on her spine. Emma sucked in a breath and Killian grinned against the side of her face when she buried her face in his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be so easily distracted, Mr Jones,” Emma cooed salaciously, the heat in her core beginning to burn at her insides. She was raw, still swollen from the night before, but she couldn’t help but want Killian, even with the day marking the end of her heat. She had felt it start to fade away during the night, her core temperature returning to normal and the slickness between her thighs less every time Killian had brushed her body in his sleep.

“You shouldn’t be so distracting, Miss Nolan,” Killian growled, planting his hands firmly on her bare behind and pulling her higher up his body. Emma squealed, unable to stop him as he caught one of her nipples in his mouth, making her arch her back towards him and dig her nails into the headboard. Killian sucked hard against the rosy flesh, pulling it into a stiff peak and humming against Emma’s skin, the twitch of his erection not going unnoticed below his waist. “Your heat is ending,” he said idly, dragging his tongue between the mounds that hung just in front of his face.

“You can smell that?” Emma blushed, sitting back to look down at him. Killian let her move, reluctant to let go of the globes of her ass, he held her so she had no choice but to arch her back away from him and rest her hands on his hip bones.

“Amongst other things.” Killian smirked and raised an eyebrow at her, pulling her even higher up his chest with little resistance until her thighs sat over his shoulders and her sex was almost touching his lips. He nuzzled her folds, inhaling her enticing scent that was a little more muted than it had been, but no less aromatic. Emma watched him, her breath catching in her throat and her heart pounding beneath her ribcage, the blood pounding in her ears and between her now open legs.

Emma’s hand found his head and her fingers scrunched his hair, pulling gently with a sexual frustration she thought had left her. It seemed Killian could draw pleasure out of any part of her, at any time, and like an addict, she would gladly take her next fix. There was a pause, his eyes meeting hers, the blue that she had always found so warm and comforting long since replaced by a dark grey that rivalled the storm clouds above them.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma teased with a coy smile. She snaked her hand down the front of her own body, purposely brushing her nipples into much harder buds than before and settled her hand between her thighs. Killian watched her nimble fingers part her outer lips, the glistening treasure that lay beneath flooding his senses with the smell of her arousal. He nibbled his bottom lip and felt himself grow even harder at the sight before him. When he looked back up to her, swallowing hard, Emma smirked, rolling her own bottom lip between her teeth innocently. “Do you need an invitation?”

“Absolutely not.” Killian gave her a wicked grin, his lips barely moving before he closed the gap between his lips and Emma’s sex and pressed a kiss to her clit. Emma moaned instantly, her back curving and pushing her hips harder into his ministrations, the breath leaving her lungs on a heavy, relieved sigh. She hadn’t even known how wound up she was until she had opened her eyes and seen Killian beside her, the memories of the night before coming back to her in a flood of emotions.

Emma rolled her hips a little more, hissing through her teeth when a tingling sensation rippled through her lower abdomen. Killian flicked his gaze up to meet her eyes again, giving her a heavy lidded, sly smile as he tortured her clit with his tongue, circling the throbbing nub with just the tip of his talented muscle.

“Fuck, Killian,” Emma hissed, her cheeks tingling with a blush. She rolled her hips again, her free flowing juices coating Killian’s chin. He let out a breathy laugh at her state, swiping his tongue around her entrance and along the inside of her fleshy lips, teasing her with the prospect of tasting her more intimate areas. Emma groaned in frustration, glaring at the man between her thighs.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian offered between licks, Emma’s arousal coating his tongue and sliding pleasantly down his throat when he swallowed. “You just taste so-,” he began with a dreamy tone, but Emma’s hands pulling at his haircut him off. Killian stopped, wincing slightly at her sudden aggression and looked up her body once more.

“Touch yourself,” Emma commanded darkly. “Touch yourself and fuck me with your tongue.”

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Killian, more blood impossibly rushing to his rock hard erection at Emma’s words. He grabbed her behind again, holding her to his face as he plunged his tongue inside of her and let out a hum of appreciation at the taste that coated his mouth. Emma went heavy, leaning back on his chest, her entire body overcome with pleasure, each nerve ending firing at the same time and rendering her almost completely helpless. All she could do was cry out, his name on her lips like a prayer, her nails digging into where her hand lay flat on his torso behind her.

When he was happy with the agonizing rhythm he was setting, Killian slipped his hand from her fleshy globes and slid it down his own body and took himself in hand. He was like marble, solid and heavy in his hand, a light drizzle of pre-cum already having oozed onto the thatch of hair covering his stomach. Emma ground down on his tongue, riding his face wantonly and Killian increased the speed of his masturbation when Emma began tugging at her nipples.

The sound of the rain blended into the sound of blood in her ears as Emma felt the coil in the belly begin to tighten, her inner muscles flexing against Killian’s tongue each time he was inside of her and her clit begging for his attention when he was not. Killian lathed her nub, gently scraping his teeth over the ultra sensitive bud with a cruel smirk, watching the way Emma’s face contorted with her impending orgasm.

“Are you going to come on my face?” Killian growled as he took a breath, thrusting his hips up into his hand, his velvety soft skin shifting over his erection and building his own release low in his belly.

“Fuck, yes,” Emma hissed, throwing her head back.

“Am I going to make you come hard, love?” Killian was almost shaking underneath her, his words earning him a whine from the goddess currently straddling his face. He focused on her clit where he knew Emma had been building the most powerful orgasm, the steady throb of blood to the nub so obvious, he had felt it on his lips each time he gave it a gentle kiss.

“God, yes,” Emma cried with a pained sound. She was so close her thighs had begun to quake and her breathing had slowed to a pant, a heat creeping up her spine. “So hard. Killian, don’t stop, right there.”

“Like this?” Killian purred, increasing his speed over the hardened nub.

“There!” Emma gasped, looking back down between her thighs. She felt a rush of arousal at seeing Killian eating her out, his eyes pinched closed in his own pleasure and his hand furiously pounding his length behind her, and without warning, her orgasm hit her suddenly. She squeaked, covering her mouth quickly and she began to shake through Killian’s licking, each flick of his tongue like a new kind of torture against her clit.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, Killian sat up, and in one swift move she was sliding down his torso and being impaled on his hot, hard length. She cried out, the sudden intrusion of his girth heightening her already fluttering orgasm to a new level, the spots behind her eyes never ceasing as she bumped her clit on his pubic bone and came again.

“My, my,” Killian teased darkly, watching her face contort and her eyes roll back in her head. She was a blubbering mess, in a daze from back to back orgasms that had left her incoherent and limp in his arms, weakly grinding herself against him to extend her pleasure with a whimpering groan. “Such a wanton thing.”

“Don’t fucking tease me,” Emma panted, her forehead sticky with sweat. She rocked her hips harder, desperately needing him to move inside of her, anything, the lack of friction too frustrating to bear. “Please.”

Killian was close too, his own orgasm slowly being coaxed out by the ripple of Emma’s muscles and the sopping wetness that had dribbled out as she came, whimpering her pleas. It had been too long, their need to use protection now extinct because Emma’s heat was over, and Killian’s couldn’t wait one more second to feel her wet, slick heat around his unsheathed length. He smoothed his hands through her hair, brushing it from her flustered face and seized her lips in a ferocious kiss. All Emma could do was moan into his kiss, begging against his mouth to stop in almost a cry as his length rubbed a new pleasure point inside of her.

“Killian, please,” Emma whimpered, her body teetering on the edge of euphoria again, her entire being shaking in his lap.

“I’ve missed this feeling,” Killian panted, kissing her eyelids. “I can’t take those blasted condoms any more.” Killian smirked wickedly, the sweat along his brow running down his temple as he slowed his assault and let her still on top of him. Emma whined, but she was glad for the respite, her nipples like pebbles against Killian’s chest as she sagged into his arms.

“No more,” Emma sighed in agreement, her chest heaving for breath and her insides throbbing painfully. “God, you’re amazing,” Emma panted, the fluttering sensation between her thighs begging for him to move again. Killian let out a breathy laugh, kissing the underside of her jaw in a hungry, open mouthed kiss.

“You’ve got one more in you, love,” Killian purred. “I can feel it.”

“Please,” Emma gave him a salacious smile and a raise of her eyebrow, carding her fingers through his hair. “Make me come.”

“Aye,” Killed panted, his cock twitching inside of her. “I think,” he said smoothly, plucking her arms from where they rested on his shoulders and gently moving them behind her back. Emma gave him a broad grin, her excitement intensifying as she complied, crossing her wrists over each other behind her back and letting him gather them up in his hands. “Slow and shallow should do the trick.”

In a sitting position, Killian could only thrust shallowly, but he rolled his hips against the mattress to make sure to cause enough friction against every detail of Emma’s inner core. Her eyes rolled back in her head again, the sheen of sweat over her body beginning to cool her in the chill of their room, and she ground her clit down against his body on each thrust.

It was agony, a delicious torture that only Killian could provide, but he was right. She had one more in her and when Killian felt her tell tale pull at his length and heard Emma’s breath hitch in her throat, he knew he would come too. Seeing Emma come undone was one of the most erotic things for him and he loved the way she chased after every last drop of her pleasure. With a grunt he came at the same time she did, pulling hard on her wrists to keep her body still as he emptied himself inside of her with a few short, hard thrusts.

Emma finally wiggled her arms free when she felt him relax, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing his mouth awkwardly, most of her attention at the corner of his smile as he wrapped her up in his arms protectively. He gave her a squeeze, his muscles bulging against her skin as he kissed her back, lips smacking and lingering against each other as the storm continued outside.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” Killian promised softly, his words a breath against the skin of Emma’s bosom. He had shifted their position and they were now laying back in bed, his head resting sleepily against her chest, her fingers stroking through his sleep and sex messed hair in a slow, soothing motion. Emma kicked out the sheet that was wedged beneath them and shook it loose, letting it flutter to cover them both once more.

“I know,” Emma said with a nod and a hint of sadness. She didn’t know what returning home would bring, no one would, and the longer they waited the more anxiety built up inside both of them.

Killian brushed his thumb over her ribcage, staring at the wall beside the bed. “I wish I could tell you what the dream means. The longer I don’t know, the more I’m starting to think that the headstone is for me.”

“Don’t say that.” Emma stopped her stroking and let him tilt his head up to look at her. She caressed his cheek, her heart cracking in her chest at the sorrow she saw in his eyes. “And the other is not me,” she told him firmly. “So you can stop thinking that right now.”

Killian gave her a warm smile. “How do you know me so well?” He teased, echoing her question from a while ago.

“Fate,” Emma told him firmly. “And that can be changed, so even if the names are ours, we’ll make sure they don’t become our reality.”

The smile that Emma gave him was weak, partly forced, but genuine all the same. She leaned forward, cupping Killian’s cheek in her palm as she kissed him, his hands still against the sides of her body. His touch was electrifying on her skin and Emma felt the skin around her nipples prickle again, her lips curving into a smirk against his when Killian’s hand slid to the pebbled nub.

“Fate has other ideas for us right now,” he growled, pulling his lips from hers and giving her one last dark, lust filled stare before taking the bud in his mouth and rolling his tongue over Emma’s nipple. She arched her back instinctively, watching him suckle her breasts like a hungry babe, a groan tumbling from his lips as he shifted his weight to accommodate his now growing erection.

“Killian!” The room’s ambience was shattered instantly as the door flew open and Liam barged over the threshold, unable to stop himself from looking directly at his younger brother and Emma’s breasts. “Oh, shit!” he screeched, quickly turning away from the scene before him, pinching his eyes closed and trying to erase the images from his mind.

“Bloody Hell, Liam!” Killian spat, annoyed. He hastily covered Emma with his body, tugging the sheet up higher over his shoulders so she could hide in the darkness it cast over them.

“I am so sorry, lass,” Liam stammered to Emma, rubbing his temples nervously.

“It’s okay, really,” Emma assured him from under his brother, stifling her laugh against Killian’s forearm beside her head.

“What do you want? We’re busy.” Killian ground out through clenched teeth, Emma’s slender figure writhing against his length beneath him. She gave him a coy smirk that she knew Liam couldn't see, and proceeded to suck her finger salaciously.

“Might I remind you that is my bed, Killian,” Liam countered angrily, waving his arm behind him towards the bed that he was one hundred percent sure he would have to now burn.

“Get to the point then,” Killian spat, mesmerized by Emma’s tongue as it licked up and down her finger tantalisingly slowly.

“Fine,” Liam grunted, bending over and hurriedly grabbing at Killian’s jeans. They had been his, borrowed after Killian’s clothing had shredded during his encounter with Walsh, but now he was sure he wouldn’t need them anymore. He tossed them at the bed, making sure the denim bundle hit Killian square in the back. “Get dressed.”

“Why?” Killian grumbled with a wince. Emma bit her bottom lip and he cocked his head to the side, begging her with a silent glare to relent her teasing.

“I just got a call from Father,” Liam said hurriedly, retrieving a nearby shirt and throwing it at his brother.

“What did he say?” Killian’s cheeks went pale, even though he was leaning over Emma’s body, and she placed a palm to his cheek to help him remain calm. Any mention of his father sent him into a state but she could always keep him grounded.

“Just get dressed,” he said firmly. “I’ll tell you in the lounge.”

Ten minutes later, Killian and Emma had joined Liam in the lounge. He avoided Emma’s gaze as they exited the bedroom, a pink tinge flushing his cheeks which made her lips twitch up into a knowing smirk. Emma was not embarrassed by her body, she never would be, but it seemed living in the fringes of werewolf society had given Liam a complex about seeing another person naked, especially a woman, in his bed, having her breast sucked by his brother.

Liam cleared his throat, motioning for them to sit down on the couch. Killian sat down first, positioning himself sideways so that Emma had no choice but to slide into his lap, his strong arms wrapping themselves around her body and hugging her tightly, almost possessively. The mention of his father had triggered his need to hold on to the ones he loved, both Emma and Liam, and Killian would be lying if he wasn’t apprehensive about what Liam had to say.

“I’m sorry again,” Liam told Emma softly, rubbing his hands together to try and eradicate some of the sweat from his palms. Emma simply nodded at his apology, her arm looping around Killian’s neck and her hand flattening to his bare shoulder. He was in only his jeans and Emma had put on her bra and panties, deciding to dress in Killian’s tee because the smell was comforting.

“What did Father say?” Killian prodded impatiently, his bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor and his toes flexing against the grain of the wood.

“Neverland is ready,” Liam said sadly, watching the floor between his feet. “Father says they have begun preparations for the attack.”

“So, it’s today?” Emma asked quickly, her fingers gently idling in the hair that grew on the back of Killian’s neck.

“Aye,” Liam nodded, lifting his gaze and looking between the both of them. “It seems that way.”

“Then we have to go,” Emma looked at Killian, the lump in her throat suddenly too hard to swallow comfortably. “My family could be in trouble.”

“I don’t like this,” Killian said concerned. “It feels like a trap.” His eyes met Liam’s across the low coffee table between them and he felt Emma’s hands still on his neck, the tension there clearly interrupting her lazy massage. He still didn’t know if he trusted his father, he barely knew the man, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to risk his or Emma’s life to find out if Brennan was telling the truth or leading them into a trap.

“Do you really think our father would lie to us?” Liam’s head flopped to one side, sympathetically pleading with Killian to trust him.

“I don’t know. Would he?” Killian asked his brother with a bite to his words.

“I think what Killian means,” Emma began, looking between the brothers, “is this information has been handed to us very conveniently.”

“Father said you wouldn’t trust him,” Liam scoffed, shaking his head.

“Would you?” Killian spat, raising his eyebrows at his brother. Emma could feel his rage bubbling beneath the surface, his leg muscles underneath her growing more tense by the second. His fist clenched where it rested on her naked thigh and she shot him a glance, flattening a placating hand to his hairy chest.

“Hey,” Emma said soothingly, drawing his attention to her face. He looked up and she gave him a warm, comforting smile, her fingers gently scratching through his chest hair. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and I wish more than anything that I had stayed in that alleyway to help you fight-,”

“They would have done worse to you,” Liam interrupted and Killian flashed him a dark stare.

“You’re right,” Emma nodded in agreement. “And I will live the rest of my life knowing that you saved me.” She looked back to Killian who had dropped his head to watch his balled fist turning white on her lap. He flexed the muscles, watching his forearm ripple this way and that, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth. “I would give anything to trade places with you, to take away the nightmares,” Emma soothed softly, watching her hand as she ran her nimble fingers over Killian’s furrowed brow. “We can’t change what happened, but we can make them pay,” Emma said sadly, looking back to Liam who wished more than anything he could take away the pain his brother was feeling.

Killian, despite putting on a strong facade, was still hurt, damaged by what Walsh had done to him in the forest and he had been letting his anxiety overshadow his ability to see clearly. Emma knew as well as Liam did that Killian would never fully heal unless he expressed his anger, and as much as she enjoyed his attentions, fucking and running through the forest was never going to fix the broken parts of his mind. Killian needed to face his abuser head on.

Killian needed closure. He needed revenge.

“Brother, I’m not asking you to trust him,” Liam began. “But you trust me, don’t you?”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet his brother’s and he gave him a confused look. “Of course I do.”

“Then trust that I know our father is telling the truth,” Liam said firmly. “Please.”

Emma’s hand found his face, cupping his jaw in her palm and chasing away the knot in his gut. He looked up to her beautiful face, the soft wisps of her golden hair sticking out in all directions, untamed but no less lovely, and she gave him a gentle smile. Her lips were soft and inviting, pink from slight bruising, and the serenity Killian felt was overwhelming. He let his head drop to her chest and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tenderly as she placed a soft kiss to the back of his head.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she told him compassionately as if she had forgotten Liam sitting opposite them. “I’m scared too.”

“I’m not scared of dying,” Killian said finally, lifting his head. He gave her one last fleeting glance that broke her heart in two before looking over to his brother. “I’m scared of losing myself.”

Liam knew exactly what Killian was talking about. The night they had fought Walsh might have been over a decade ago, but Liam would never forget the look on Killian’s face when he thought he might have taken a life. He was elated, a darkness rising to the surface behind his previously kind eyes and showing Liam the true nature of his wolf side. Killian was a fighter, his scar littered body attested to that, and Liam knew that it wouldn’t be long before Killian finally couldn’t hold back the canine urge to kill any longer.

“You won’t,” Liam told his brother firmly. “I swear it, brother.”

“He needs to pay,” Killian growled darkly.

“And he will,” Emma chimed in softly, her hands running through Killian’s hair and bringing him back to the light. He looked up to her with an apologetic look, blinking away the darkness behind his blue eyes and feeling the warmth of her smile wash over him. “If he survives the attack, my father will make sure of it.”

Killian sobered a little at the mention of David Nolan, the Misthaven pack leader who had put a bounty on his head. He knew she was right. For what he had planned for his daughter, David would make sure Walsh suffered, but what would he do to a mongrel who had fallen in love with his daughter?

“I’ve called Graham,” Liam announced to both of them. “I am going to stay at the cabin with Ruby and Davin, just in case any Neverland wolves have followed their scent there. He is going to meet you at Misthaven.” Liam stood, flattening down the wrinkles in his shirt and heaving a sigh as he made his way around the coffee table. “Make sure you keep the Neverland wolves occupied at Misthaven. I’ll protect Ruby and the babe.”

Killian helped Emma to stand and mirrored his brother, both of them facing each other and speaking with the unspoken bond that they had always had. They didn’t have to say anything; they just knew what the other was thinking. “Good luck,” Liam said, giving him a tight lipped smile and extending his hand to his brother.

Killian looked at Liam’s hand between them briefly, before taking his brother’s hand in his and holding on hard. He shook it once, his knuckles turning white, before yanking hard and pulling his brother into the tightest embrace they had ever had. Liam wrapped a strong arm around his brother, his hand finding the back of Killian’s head and holding him tightly, neither saying a word.

Liam was petrified of losing his brother but he had to stay strong. He was the older sibling and had always needed to carry the weight of sorrow. Killian was too fragile to cope with loss, but damn if he wasn’t the bravest wolf Liam had ever known. Liam knew what would happen if Killian were to lose Emma, he could see it now as clear as day, and he finally understood his brother’s need to protect her, even if it was from her own family and could mean his demise. He didn’t hate Emma at all. How could he? She was the light that drove away the darkness within his brother’s soul.

They parted, Killian hastily wiping away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyelids during the embrace. Emma placed a hand to his back, just to let him know she was there, and that she always would be.

“Good luck, Emma,” Liam told her with all of the sincerity he could muster. “Maybe when this is over, we can get to know each other a little better? I’d love to get to know the woman who has tamed my little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian huffed, feebly landing a punch on Liam’s arm.

“I’d like that,” Emma smiled warmly, lacing her fingers with Killian’s and resting her face to his bicep.

“Graham said he would be at Misthaven within two hours,” Liam told them quickly, checking the time of his watch. “That gives you guys a little over ninety minutes to prepare.”

“We’re ready,” Killian said firmly, looking down at the she-wolf beside him. Emma nodded, pressing her lips to his shoulder with a nod. “I’ll call you when it's over,” Killian promised his brother.

“Thank you,” Liam sighed, relief flowing from his every cell as he made his way towards the door of his apartment. He paused, hand on the door handle before turning back to the half naked couple in his lounge. He fixed his stare on Emma, licking his lips nervously. “Bring him back to me,” he said in a broken voice that cracked in his throat. Emma had no time to answer before Liam was gone, the faint echo of his footsteps as he made his way down the stairs the only sound in the loft.

#alii dimidium lunam #ch21 #cs fic #cs au #cs werewolf au #temporary dog au #angst #smut #wolves of misthaven

52 notes · View notes

wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

The Eternal and Unseen (1 of 3)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns

a/n: Thanks to @spartanguard and @optomisticgirl for the prompts that planted the seeds of this idea and to my TERRACE-mates @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub, without whom I might never have found the right way to encourage them to grow, and of course INCOHERENT GIBBERING NOISES OF DELIGHT to @carpedzem for the absolutely stunning art about which I cannot possibly say enough good things. Please zoom all the way in and appreciate the perfection of all the little details she included. The tiny wee fronds on the plant! The shape of the light! Emma’s feather earrings! Her red cloak! Her hat! (the hat you guys, the hat!!). Everything about it is so, so gorgeous and Nat is so talented and creative and such a joy to work with ❤️❤️❤️.

On AO3 Rating: M Words: 3.9k (first chapter)

CHAPTER ONE:

David Nolan was always surprised by people’s reactions when they learned he was the Resident Assistant for H.C. Andersen Hall at Misthaven University. Sure, it was the oldest dorm on the campus, built of dark stone in a high Gothic style, with tall towers and pointed arches, way back when Misthaven and her people still believed in magic. And sure, the heavy wooden doors had a way of creaking on their iron hinges and the windows rattled in their frames when the wind was high... sometimes even when it didn’t blow at all. But this was merely rust and weather and David was a practical man, not one to be troubled by such things as can be plausibly explained away.

And yes, Andersen did have that reputation, though David was certain it could be no more than simple silly student gossip. As an upperclassmen dorm its occupancy was by request only, and over the years it had come to be known as the place where some of the more… unique students tended to convene. But that was surely no reason for people to give that startled twitch or to take a wary step back from him when he told them about his job. Or for the other candidates to look so relieved when they learned it was he and not they who’d be taking over from the last RA, a guy called Walsh who had, in the words of one, “Still not recovered from the trau—er, the experience. But hey, good luck, man.”

A thousand years ago when it was known by another name, Andersen alone had been the university, a haven for scholars of every kith and creed and a place where learning took precedence over any rivalry, however ancient. The building had both schooled and housed them, fed them in its great dining hall with food cooked in the basement kitchen, tutored them in the tower classrooms with books procured from the vast library. When lessons were completed the scholars found repose in the common room, a comfortable space with an enormous fireplace, large, overstuffed chairs, and carved wooden tables where lively debates were had each night until the fire died and they withdrew to their rooms to sleep. (Rooms which, David observed to his delight, were twice the size of those in the other dorms and always single occupancy—no roommate squabbles for him to contend with.) As the university grew and newer dorms were built, as the ancient covenants were forgotten and magic faded from the land, fewer and fewer students chose to reside in the newly christened Andersen Hall. At present there were only eight, plus David, who despite the strange reactions he encountered was thrilled to be the RA there. Eight residents, and all upperclassmen, he thought to himself. Andersen had to be the easiest gig on campus. How odd that no one else had seemed to want it.

The hall itself stood just at the edge of the modern campus, tucked against the so-called enchanted forest that marked the border of Misthaven on three sides. It was an ancient forest, whether enchanted or not—a forest of twisted trees and clinging moss and the shrouding mist that gave their country its name. Very little sunlight survived to reach its floor and thus such things as grew there fed on decay, most digging their roots deep into the soil to wrench what nutrients they could from it and barely peeking the tips of their grey-green leaves above the ground. Other valiant species reached out for whatever light could penetrate the dense canopy, stretching upward into vines that curled around the trunks and branches of the gnarled trees to unfurl their broad leaves hopefully as close as they could to the sky. And so it was of course these very leaves and vines and branches that crept up Andersen’s stone walls and scraped against its windows, and cast deep and shifting shadows that fell both outside the hall and in.

So yeah, David reflected, Andersen Hall was old. And dark. And with each successive year it sank a bit more deeply into the forest’s embrace—a perfectly benign embrace, most of the time, although perhaps not ideal when you found yourself alone in your dorm with the music in your headphones never quite as loud as the branches across your windows, or the distant howls of wolves, or the much less distant scrabblings of other creatures to which it was not always wise to put a name. So, yeah, there was that.

And the students who chose to live in Andersen were characters, that was for sure. Even David had to admit that he’d never met anyone quite like them before. But, he reminded himself, at the end of the day they were just students. Just kids like all the others, despite the sometimes unnerving focus of their attention and the surprising depth to their eyes. Just college kids discovering themselves, exploring their quirks and hobbies and interests.

Take Emma, for example. Emma Swan, as graceful as her name implied and even more beautiful, with her warm smile and wry humour and the spark of mischief in her green eyes. One of the nicest girls David had ever met, tough and smart but with a kind and generous heart and a tender vulnerability that made him wish it were still fashionable to slay dragons. He’d gladly slay one for her—or anything else that might threaten her. His urge to protect Emma at all costs—though from what dangers it was never quite clear—surprised him with its persistent and overwhelming strength.

Also surprising was Emma’s choice of dorm-room decor; the space in her room not occupied by the bed, desk, television, and mini-fridge that were standard even in Andersen rooms, she had filled entirely with plants. Plants the like of which David was certain he had never before seen, long and twisted vines that clung and crept across the stone walls, broad leaves and pointed ones and flowers in unexpected colours. He’d examined them with a frown the day she moved in, mildly unnerved by how comfortably they already seemed to inhabit the space but convinced by Emma’s soothing reassurances and the evidence of his own eyes that none of them were anything college kids might wish to dry and smoke. And while keeping what was essentially a greenhouse in a dorm room may be a bit unorthodox it wasn’t strictly against the rules—David had even made a special visit to the Chancellor to ensure Emma wouldn’t run into any difficulty later on, if another student made a complaint, for example. The Chancellor’s eyes had widened to an alarming size, but he’d confirmed that yes, students were allowed plants in their rooms, and there wasn’t technically a limit on their number, then hustled David from his office with the rather thin excuse of a dentist appointment he suddenly remembered he had.

And as for Emma’s habit of chatting to her plants as though they understood her words, or chuckling to herself as she did so, or singing as she watered them—a low and haunting tune in a language David felt he really ought to recognise—all while wearing a pointed hat made of green straw with flowers round the brim which she called her ‘special gardening hat’… well, she wasn’t bothering anyone and David really didn’t think it was his place to judge.

And actually, Emma’s plants weren’t even the most unusual things that could be found in the rooms of his residents. Victor Whale, a slender, pale young man who gave the impression of feeding off his own nervous energy, had what looked to David’s admittedly untrained eye like an entire laboratory set up in his room—tall shelves lined with specimen jars and long tables loaded with Bunsen burners under simmering beakers of… substances in which David felt it might be wisest not to invest too much careful thought. He had not spoken to the Chancellor about those burners and didn’t intend to, both because he didn’t wish to draw attention to them and because Victor with his wild hair and wilder eyes, the sardonic smirk he nearly always wore and the barbed comments he loved to make, did not rouse quite the same protective instincts in David as Emma did.

That, and he wasn’t entirely certain the Chancellor would agree to meet with him again.

Of all his residents, the one David felt he could relate to most was Graham. They shared a similar taste for plaid shirts and brown leather jackets, and a similar appreciation for the simple joys that could be had in the great outdoors. Graham had an deep, instinctual understanding of nature that David envied; several times he’d caught the younger man in conversation with the dogs he met on the walks he liked to take or the squirrels who paused to chatter at him from the branches of trees, even the deer and other creatures that crept out from the forest to scratch at his window, serious conversation that did not appear one-sided. Graham spoke to animals as Emma did to plants—in the manner of folk to their brethren—but the connection went deeper even than that. Every few weeks he went out to spend all night in the woods, generally, David couldn’t help noticing, around the time of the full moon—and when David inquired why Graham simply replied “The animals need me.”

If animals of the furry variety had need of Graham, the feathered kind flocked, quite literally, to Snow. There never seemed to be a time when she wasn't accompanied by some feathered friend or other, and her dorm window was always open so they could come and go as they pleased. She kept bowls of seeds on her shelves and handfuls of them in her pockets and had been delighted when Emma gave her a tree so the birds would have somewhere in her room to nest—a tree that within a week had overgrown its pot and sunk roots into the stone floor of Snow’s room in a way David again found himself opting not to examine. He himself passed many a pleasant afternoon with Snow in that room, listening to her talk about—and to—her birds. It amazed him now how little attention he’d paid to birds before. They were astounding, beautiful creatures, and the sound of Snow’s voice, melodic and soothing as she stroked their feathered heads, was… well, it was… it was something he sometimes felt he could listen to forever.

Snow’s best friend in the dorm was Ruby and though David liked Ruby perfectly well he had to admit he was a bit baffled by how close the two were. They didn’t seem to have a whole lot in common. All but the bravest of Snow’s birds fled when Ruby approached, and the ones that stayed eyed her warily and stuck close to Snow as she flashed them a grin and licked her chops. Er, her lips. She licked her lips and it made the birds nervous, and… and at any rate, Ruby was bold and charming but just a bit wild. She liked to party and to stay out late, often not returning to her room until the early hours of the morning. Andersen had no curfew so David said nothing, though he couldn’t help noticing that in sharp contrast to Ruby’s habits Snow was usually in bed by 10 o’clock. Not that he paid her or her sleeping habits any particular attention, certainly not, just that he happened to notice she always left her room at around 9.45 to go wash her face, always wearing such cute pajamas and trailed by a flock of bluebirds—and it wasn’t like he made a point of being out in the common room when he knew she’d be walking by, he just… well, he happened to be there sometimes. That was all.

Yet despite these differences Snow and Ruby were the best of friends, and while Emma was more solitary and a bit distant until you got to know her, she also got along well with them. Ruby got along with just about everybody, including Belle, who David sometimes forgot was even among his residents. Belle had an unnerving way of appearing very suddenly where she was least expected and of disappearing without warning from places she’d been moments before. She was a quiet, studious young woman who moved as though her feet didn’t quite touch the floor and was so pale he sometimes fancied he could see through her. She was hardly ever in her room or even the common room, preferring to spend her time in the library.

“You might say she haunts the place,” August had remarked with a wry note in his voice that David imagined was significant, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Feeling at something of a loss, he had simply nodded. “She certainly does spend a lot of time there,” he’d agreed, then frowned when August laughed.

August was a bit of an odd one, the only person in the dorm whom Ruby actively disliked, so much that she actually snarled at him whenever their paths crossed. He took only evening classes and was never anywhere to be found during the day. At least once a week he returned from his classes accompanied by a young woman—always beautiful and rarely the same one twice—and David observed that while August preferred to sleep the day away those women would stumble from his room quite early the next morning and looking awful—pale and drawn and thoroughly exhausted. Before leaving they all would go to Emma’s door, knock three times slowly then three times fast, and when it opened they all smiled the same sheepish smile and stuttered the same apologies as they slipped into her room. When they emerged from it they were as new women—pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, glowing with health and quite pleased with themselves, wreathed in satisfied smiles.

David felt uncomfortably as though he ought to do something about this, though he had no idea what. The women always seemed so thrilled when they arrived—clinging to August’s arm and chattering brightly as he smiled at them with a peculiar sort of fond disinterest—and so contented when they left, after they’d seen Emma, at least, and as no formal complaints were ever lodged David was left with nothing more to go on than a feeling of vague discomfort.

He’d attempted to broach the subject once with Emma but she had simply shrugged and said “Groupies. What can you do?” and so he’d let it go.

So those were his residents. Four women—Emma, Snow, Ruby, and Belle, and four men—Graham, Victor, August… and Killian.

Ah, yes. Killian.

David liked Killian, he truly did. It was a point of pride with him to find something to like about every one of his residents, though he had to admit that finding that thing for Killian posed something of a challenge. It wasn’t just that Killian preferred his leather black or opted for dark button-downs or obscure band t-shirts instead of plaid. It wasn’t even that he was mouthy and arrogant, smarter than most everyone he met and not afraid to let them know it. No, the challenge for David when it came to liking Killian was Emma. Or more specifically, the way Killian looked at Emma. And the way she very much looked back.

“I suppose that’s one way to ‘guard’ her,” Victor remarked one evening as they sat around the fire in the common room, Emma laughing with Graham in one corner while Killian glowered darkly at the pair of them from the other. “Very dramatic, you know. Very Charlotte Brontë. Or is it Emily, I always get them mixed up.”

“Piss off,” Killian snarled, returning his attention to his textbooks just in time to miss the glance Emma shot him from the corner of her eye.

“‘Course I suppose she doesn’t make it easy for you—” Victor began, then smirked when Killian slammed his book shut and got up. “I’m going to bed,” he declared and stalked from the room, Emma’s eyes following his every move as he went.

“Enemies to lovers slow burn, 100k,” Belle whispered to Ruby on another occasion, a rare instance when she left the library to join them for breakfast. Ruby nodded sagely and both of them sat back, observing Emma and Killian’s heated argument about the best way to make a cup of tea with all apparent enjoyment. David wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, or that he liked the way his residents seemed to find the pair’s squabbles so entertaining. He knew only that if Emma and Killian really thought anyone believed they hated each other the way they both so loudly and frequently proclaimed, they were seriously deluding themselves. Their little snarky comments and defiant challenges were some of the most obvious flirtation David had ever seen, especially when combined with those damned looks. Looks that all but screamed how much they would prefer to resolve their differences with physical action than with words, and that they had already imagined how those physical dispute resolutions might go—frequently and in great detail.

David did not approve of those looks.

Nor did he approve, as the summer heat faded into the cooler air of autumn and the green leaves of the forest’s trees took on brighter hues, of the way Emma and Killian’s snappish words began to lose the battle with that oh-so-evident longing to touch. Slowly at first and tentatively, small brushes of arms and fingers that before long began to linger… In principle he supposed there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, or with the budding feelings they continued to deny. He would be one hundred percent in support of it, in fact, were it not so damned blatant—those sparks of tension that turned the air electric, the raw hunger in Killian’s eyes as he watched her, the answering ache in hers when she watched him—David had come to think of Emma as he would a little sister and he did not appreciate being slapped in the face, so to speak, by the evidence of her active sexual interest in a man whom David was not at all convinced was good enough for her. It annoyed him so much that he almost—almost—found himself agreeing with Victor, who had taken to rolling his eyes and muttering “I wish they’d just fuck already” a bit too loudly whenever Emma and Killian got into one of their ‘disputes.’

He would have been able to officially disapprove the night he caught them doing tequila slammers in her dorm room—alcohol was discouraged in the dorms, even for students of legal drinking age—except that had turned out to be nothing but a very bizarre dream… although… had it been a dream? It must have been, though it had seemed so real at the time… but he remembered only catching sight of them through her slightly open door and reaching up to knock… the next thing he knew he was groaning as he woke in his own room, his head aching and feeling full of cotton wool, Emma sitting by his bedside with her ‘world famous hangover cure’ in one of Victor’s beakers explaining that he was the one who’d overindulged... “So unlike you, David, I’m really very shocked,” she’d said with that glint in her eye… and when David confronted Killian about the incident he’d merely scoffed and said “Tequila, mate? You were definitely dreaming. You know I only drink rum, and that in the company of ladies more… amenable than Swan.”

Of course, on the late October afternoon when David accompanied Graham on his walk and they stumbled upon Emma and Killian beneath a tree in the forest, wrapped around each other and kissing so deeply that he wondered how they could also be breathing—well, that was most definitely not a dream. It was also not in the dorm and therefore not technically within his jurisdiction, so he simply caught Graham by the arm and turned back the way they came.

The energy had shifted between Emma and Killian, he realised with a curious sort of bittersweet thrum in his chest. An unmistakable shift yet hard to define, as though they were hovering just on the cusp of something both nebulous and truly extraordinary. And despite them being right out in public—seriously, right off the footpath—the way they’d held each other was so intensely intimate that interrupting them, even to ask them to move to a more appropriate location, would have felt like the worst kind of intrusion. Plus of course there was no telling what uncomfortable circumstances David might find himself waking up in if he dared to cock-block Emma Swan.

Now where in hell had that thought come from?

A few hours later Emma and Killian returned to the dorm, flushed and mussed and with leaves in their hair, buzzing with that newly shifted energy—and holding hands, though they let go both reluctantly and immediately upon realising they were being eagerly observed.

“Well well well,” smirked Victor, elbowing David in the ribs. “Looks like August owes me twenty. I should probably thank you, Jones.”

“Bugger off, mate,” muttered Killian, entirely without his usual snarl, and then with a defiant glare and a flush high on his cheekbones, he sauntered after Emma into her room and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Well, I think I’ll go put on some very loud music,” Victor remarked, and retreated into his own room, leaving David alone in the common room feeling vaguely unsettled.

The next morning Killian and Emma arrived at breakfast together, radiating happiness and unable to stop touching, and, David would swear to it, with actual stars in their eyes. They left for their morning classes with their arms around each other, returning in the afternoon in the same manner, and when Victor and August tried to mock him about it Killian just laughed.

“We’ve worked out our differences, mates,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I’m certain you know what I mean.”

“It’s sweet, really,” August observed one evening a week or so later, in that dry, supercilious tone of his that grated on David’s nerves. “Though possibly not the wisest move, sleeping with the woman under his protection. I’ve seen the vows they have to take, you know, and they are intense. It could literally be the death of him.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Ruby snapped, baring her teeth as Snow placed a soothing hand on her arm. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You’re right of course,” August agreed, his eyes flashing red in the firelight. “What would I know about love and loss, I’m only three hundr—”

“Well, I think it’s great they’ve finally gotten together,” said Snow loudly, glaring first at August then Ruby then August again. “I hope they’ll be happy.”

David hoped so too, genuinely. Even he could see how good the two of them were for each other. She smoothed his rough edges and he drew her out from her shell, and the dangerous sparks of their attraction settled down into the far gentler flame of new love. It was sweet, and he did approve, and yet—still he felt unsettled, a vague sensation of unease twisting deep in his gut. He’d call it a premonition, if he believed in such things. But he was a sensible man, a man of science and the twenty-first century, and so he firmly ignored it.

Two days later Emma Swan disappeared.

___

#cssns20 #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #witch!emma #captain swan #college au #sort of #there's a university #and magic #and a sword #that's magic #and a creepy forest #because of course there is #there has to be #where else would the magical battles take place #the eternal and unseen #profdanglaisstuff

99 notes · View notes

writingrage · 3 years

Text

What Fate Had Wrought (4/4)

A Mulan/Red Riding Hood|Ruby Fanfic. Also known as Mulan Rouge/ Red Warrior/the best pairing that never was.

Summary: After finding Red’s One True Love, Mulan returns to the village of her childhood, heartbroken twice over. However, the threat of a new beast and an army with unknown intentions looms over the village and disrupts the peace that Mulan tries to cultivate. Red visiting really doesn’t help matters either.

Set a few months after the events of Once Upon a Time 5x18 “Ruby Slippers”

AO3 / Fanfiction.net

CHAPTER 4 - No Escape

The meeting was set for sundown, when most soldiers had retired after a night of drinking and singing in the pub. They smashed open the door of the establishment and stumbled out with rosy cheeks and high spirits. The people of Guifei paused in their toils to watch these soldiers make a spectacle of themselves, but they made sure to avert their gazes before they could establish eye contact. The soldiers were more like ravenous wolves than men; they were so easily provoked, to the extent that even looking one in the eye would invite trouble.

Mulan was all too familiar with this feeling of trepidation. Her empathy was amplified when all she could do was watch them instead of reprimand them like instinct demanded. She had gone many nights bustling the drunks out of the street so they could leave the people of this sleepy village in peace. However, since she had been formally dismissed from duty, she had no choice but to clench her jaw and glower silently at them from the sidelines.

She had come to the village early partly to watch the fools slobber booze over themselves but also to keep an eye on their antics. The sounder part of her that remained after the trials of the past month screamed at her to stay out of sight, but she supposed that old habits had a way of tethering themselves to older bones.

She also greatly cared for the people of Guifei and wished for them to be safe. She would not be able to tolerate them coming to harm just because she assumed that her being seen in the village would arouse suspicion.

“Oh!” said a soldier. Mulan blinked out of her ruminations and belatedly noticed that one of the men in the group had spotted her. It wasn’t as if she was hiding—her pride wouldn’t allow her to take to the shadows—but she still hadn’t expected them to pick her out from the crowd so easily. After all, she was squatting with the rest of the village wives and helping them with cleaning the laundry. Gone was her regal soldier’s uniform, replaced by plain clothes the colour of dry soil. She had even wrapped her hair with a rag so that she may better blend in.

“Look who it is!”

“Aiya…is that the bitch who’s been bustin’ our balls all winter?”

They stopped in their stumbling and stood in the middle of road, heckling her so loudly that all eyes gravitated toward her. Mulan pursed her lips and scrubbed harder at the underclothes in the basin before her. She could not give them the satisfaction of acknowledging their ghastly manners. Eventually, they would bore of yelling at her and leave.

At least, that was the expectation. Instead, they came up with new taunts to goad her into reacting.

“General Mulan! At your command, sir!” they would shout with rounds of laughter. It seemed that the news of her dismissal had eagerly made the rounds and, only now when Mulan was dishonoured and downtrodden, they used the appropriate title when speaking to her. There came a bitter taste with being so openly mocked with a title that she had so valued, both during and after the war.

“They shame themselves,” muttered an older woman next to Mulan in disgust. “Pay them no mind.”

Mulan hummed in acknowledgement. She knew that, in the eyes of the villagers, this was akin to watching a pack of wolves feasting on a weak buck. Regardless, it still stung to be the one who was victimized in front of the very people who used to look to her for protection.

As she thought, the soldiers eventually left, with one of them spitting near Mulan’s feet as a farewell gesture. For a moment, Mulan almost lost herself and swung her basin at his head but barely caught herself. Instead, she scrubbed at the clothes until they tore and her hands were raw and cracked.

By the time of the meeting at Ho Li’s place, she was tense with the desire to take action. Her fingers and toes ached with cold and her neck was stiff, but she arrived with her energy and tenacity. She had made sure that the soldiers had retired for the night before she headed to Ho Li’s house which squatted behind the local pub. It was a small place, only a few paces wide, and it was filled to capacity with the whole village squishing themselves in for sitting space. Ho Li sat near the center and next to him was the chief, sweating through his robe and dabbing at the moisture collecting upon his forehead and neck.

When Mulan showed herself, dwarfed in a coat that was one size too large and smeared in dirt, the people of Guifei gave her a boisterous welcome. While she had resigned to working with the women in the market square and she had made fleeting contact with the men, the atmosphere here had a gravity that the marketplace did not. It hinted at novelty and brought with it the electric atmosphere beholden to the smell of change. Seeing Mulan awakened in them a renewed sense of purpose and Mulan was happy to inspire them.

Red was among the attendants, flocked by children as they marvelled at her red cape and her strange dress. She entertained them until she saw Mulan walk in. The sheer radiance of her smile only fed the joy that quickened Mulan's heart. She returned the smile before she looked towards the chief and bowed.

“Chief Yao,” said Mulan once she straightened into a neutral position. Chief Yao nodded his head in return with a tame smile on his face.

“I suppose that I could not resist joining this gathering,” said Chief Yao. He raised a cup of tea and added, “Ho Li’s wife is a fantastic brew. It was hard to stay away.”

“It is good to see you, in any case,” said Mulan. She looked round the room and saw the looks of expectation and hope around her. She supposed that this would be the best time to come out to them about the details of her discharge.

So, she cleared the air and filled the gaps as best she could. She told them about the dark wolf, about the fact that she didn’t kill it, and the insidiousness of General Zhang. She offered no explanation for not having slain the beast as she originally said she did, but she was happy to see that they would not be probing into that particular detail. What they did hone in on, however, was the conduct of General Zhang and his “orders” from Commander Song.

“They intend to defect,” Chief Yao said after Mulan’s explanation. He dabbed at his forehead delicately, his paled skin glistening more than was normal for him. “This is…bad. Very bad.”

“Especially if we are caught in the middle,” added Ho Li. A steady hum of agreement followed his words as men and women looked round to gauge the atmosphere. It seemed to have dawned on some already that this arrangement they’d been wrangled into by General Zhang was of a far grander scale than they had originally believed.

As if sensing the jarring shift in tone, Ruby spoke for the first time since Mulan walked in. “I come from Misthaven. We’ve had our share of villages caught in the middle of personal struggles between rulers. It looked a lot like this, in fact.”

“And what happened to these villages?” asked Chief Yao, though his expression spoken of an uneasy resignation to Red’s answer.

A toddler of one of the village women gurgled and swathed itself in Red’s red cape, blissfully unaware of the tension that choked life out of the air. Red’s eyes flickered to the ground before she said, “Most villages…were destroyed.”

A terrible silence rolled in on the heels of Red’s admission. Mulan shut her eyes and took in a deep breath, just so she could center herself. Then, she stood so she towered over the village people, many of whom her father knew dearly. Indeed, she didn’t recognize a good lot of them since her stint in the war and her parading through Misthaven took up almost two decades of her life, but they were still her countrymen who looked to her for inspiration. It would feel wrong to not say anything when they needed guidance the most.

“I have spent my years as a child in this very village,” Mulan began. “While time has weathered my memories, the energy of this village has etched itself into my bones. I could not have been General Hua Mulan in the Fourteen Year War had it not been for my upbringing in this very place.”

All eyes were on her. Mulan swallowed past the marble in her throat when she glanced over at Red who gazed upon her like she was the brightest thing in the room. This look alone was what loosened Mulan’s tongue so that she could continue her speech.

“I cannot promise that Guifei will see the end of this struggle,” Mulan said, her voice low and grave. “I can only promise that, whatever choice you come to, I will be there to serve until my final breath. This, I swear: as the people of my father, this is the one and only thing that I can offer you in return.”

In the war, speeches such as these were bittersweet. The misery that came from being trapped in a perpetual struggle with the enemy curiously mingled with the euphoria of serving one’s country and bringing honour to their families. It churned out the capacity of human emotion and made for the most fearsome soldiers whose fear of death was minimal and lust for glory rang high.

Speaking to villagers, on the other hand, Mulan didn’t know how they would take it. Would they walk out on her or would they stay? Would they weep or would they celebrate? These unknowns made Mulan’s spine tingle, for she wasn’t sure how she wished for this to be received. Railing against trained soldiers was a fight that saw very few outcomes, the majority of which were miserable. On the other hand, who was she to stop the people of the village defending their rightful land? She had to fight with them, no matter the consequences.

The silence that followed was grating on the ears. Other than the whimpering of a baby, the uneasy cough of an elderly woman, and the disgruntled humming sound Chief Yao was making, this spoke of a bad reception.

Finally, Chief Yao said, “We shall put this to a vote, then—”

“We are past the point of votes,” Ho Li cut in, to which Chief Yao cleared his throat and nervously wiped at his brow. Ho Li turned to the rest of the people in the room and said, “Those who are here are willing to fight. If you have no such intention, leave.”

Mulan looked around, only for her eyes to find Red who offered a radiant smile that made Mulan’s chest ache so profoundly. It really was her luck that something as grim as a brewing war was what pushed Mulan to pursue this—thing with Red, whatever it was.

Since yesterday and the night before when they had stayed wrapped in each other until the odd hours of the morning, they did not try to talk about what their relationship had developed into. Mulan was more than willing to try something new with Red, but she feared labelling it, lest she cursed the precarious balance they’d struck the moment they kissed. More than she wanted to spend every night with Red, she feared losing her altogether.

There was not a stir in the room. Everyone remained seated and looked to Mulan for leadership. Her resolve hardened and her heart heavy with emotions both familiar and forgotten, Mulan nodded and said, in her strongest voice, “Then we plan our offense.”

“Are you comfortable?”

“For the hundredth time…yes. I’m comfortable. I’m fine.”

“Are you—?”

“I’m sure, Mulan.”

Mulan hummed, doubtful. She didn’t wish to irritate Red any more than she already had though, so she lied back down in the cot provided to her by Ho Li. Red lied next to her, her back turned. It was a small place, Ho Li’s abode. They couldn’t so much as clear their throat without everyone else in the house hearing it. And Ho Jian was a curious boy, quite delightful really, but he was far too forthright for Mulan’s liking. Before everyone had retired for the night, he had wandered over to where Red and Mulan rested and demanded he sleep with them.

And Red, because she was such a kind spirit who loved children, very happily agreed. To Mulan’s silent disapproval. She really would have preferred to have spent the last night of peace alone with Red, but Ho Jian was far more persuasive. He was wedged between Red and Mulan, his cold foot digging into Mulan’s thigh and sprawled out in his sleep.

“This is why I can’t stand children,” Mulan hissed. Red turned over to throw Mulan a disdainful look, to which Mulan felt a sudden shame at having been overheard complaining. “Ah…sorry. It’s just—”

“I know.”

They laid in thick silence. Between them, Ho Jian snored lightly. While Mulan could not see the moon from within this small hut, she felt she had been lying in bed for several hours, waiting on the sun to rise one more time on a brewing battlefield.

When Mulan was fourteen and she’d first stepped into uniform in her father’s stead, there had been many nights where she could not sleep. Whether she was haunted by the impermanence of life—a rather common notion, especially for someone such as her who lived in the rural countryside where life was never guaranteed—or the screams of the dying, she would be anchored to wakefulness with no possible reprieve from her conscious nightmares.

And when she did sleep, she was tormented by the actual nightmares that followed once she let her eyes rest. It had been better off, then, to stay awake.

Only, it got easier surprisingly quickly. The more she had seen and dealt death, the less she feared it. By the end of her fourteen years of service, she slept rather soundly. Although, the nights before a battle were always the hardest to sleep through, mainly because her head was so crowded with formations, plans, strategies. How many men she had led this whole time who would no longer be there by the end of the battle.

Drinking helped. Mulan stopped drinking when she’d met Red, though, so she no longer had anything to dull the sharpness of her nerves.

That night, lying next to Ho Jian and Red, the anxiety was especially pronounced. There were many factors that lent to this, among them the fact that she was about to lead innocent villagers into a conflict that they barely understood. It was not everyday she was given the opportunity to direct a civil uprising, but she was by no means enthused by her new role.

The worst of it, however, was knowing that Red would be staying to see this through. They had fought, quite fiercely, in fact, about whether or not Red should head back home. They were perhaps a hair away from escalating the shouting match, but Mulan lost the moment Red said, “I’d rather be dead than think of what I could have done if something happened to you.”

What was there to say after that? Mulan kept her mouth shut on the subject, but her stomach churned, her limbs buzzed, and her head was filled with lead all the same. Because she would rather be dead than think of what she could have done to keep Red safe. The moment she sensed the parallel, she relented, though with a quizzical bitterness she could not describe.

“You have loud thoughts,” Red stated. She said it like it made sense.

“I—what?”

“Loud thoughts.” Red looked at her expectantly. Mulan stared back, blank. “You know? Like, I can hear what you’re thinking.”

What an odd thing to say. Mulan’s brow furrowed and Red cracked a small smile.

“It’s something people in the other world say when you look like you’re thinking very hard on something,” Red explained, though she said it with the same voice she used when Ho Jian asked to sleep in their cot or when she’d unravelled a baby from her cloak. “Get some sleep, Mulan. Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll be ready for it.”

“I know,” Mulan said, her tongue thick and dry. She swallowed and said, quieter, “I wish that you would keep yourself safe.”

“We already talked about this.”

“I’m—” scared. Mulan was scared. Of course, she couldn’t say that. She had some dignity. Instead, she said, “I’m worried about you. I wouldn’t want anything to happen. Dorothy—”

“What about her?”

Mulan clicked her tongue and shut her eyes in order to rebuild her patience.

“I told you, I’ll talk to her when this is over,” Red said. Mulan tightened her jaw.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you and you leave Dorothy alone,” said Mulan. For while she pined for Red, she had never felt bitterness toward Dorothy. Much like Prince Philip when he’d claimed Aurora’s heart, Mulan could not find it in her to be upset with Dorothy for claiming Red’s. All Mulan could stand to do was walk away.

“What do you think is going to happen when we both make it out alive?” Red asked. “Things can’t go back to normal. I’ll have to leave Dorothy. You know this.”

To be honest, Mulan really didn’t know that at all. After all, they had dissuaded each other from talking about what their relationship was, preferring to live in the blissful moment of their mutual bonding. Mulan didn’t ask anything of Red and Red hadn’t offered. When the fighting was over and the dust settled, what would their relationship be? Would it be long-lived and lasting or as fleeting as the dispassionate flings between soldiers on the eve of battle?

Even at this point, when they were so close to confrontation, Mulan didn’t dare ask. Red could proclaim all she wanted that fate was wrong, but fate had never lied to Mulan before.

When this was over, they could talk about it. Or not.

The plan was this:

Work as one normally did, if only to offset the suspicion of the soldiers squatting at the outpost. The men would toil in the field and tend to the livestock while the women would wash clothes, cook their food, sew their clothes. Yet another day of mortal drudgery.

If the soldiers grew restless and wished to act on their basic instincts, persevere the abuse. The success of the plan would rely on the rate at which their arrogance inflated. The surer they became of the villagers’ subjugation, the less likely they were to expect what the night would bring.

When the night would sweep in and the soldiers would go to rest, the villagers would mobilize. Women and children would wait in Chief Yao’s house which stood apart from the cluster of buildings at the center of the village. The men, Mulan, and Red would get into formation. They would bring torches to set fire to the outpost and smoke out the soldiers from their tents.

Upon scattering, the soldiers would know nothing but the unfolding chaos around them; an ideal time to pick them off while they were harried and blind. Mulan would cut them down and those she let through, Red would vanquish.

The plan was hasty, but it relied on at least two tenets of Mulan’s strategy as a general: fight smart and fight quickly.

Only. That wasn’t what happened.

All it took was a blink. The moment Mulan’s eyes finally slid shut with the promise of sleep, she awoke to the sound of the world exploding around her. Yelling, the roaring of flames, and the creaking of wood caving and splintering. Her eyes flew open and she felt nothing but pain, her surroundings bright with white-hot flames.

She heard her name being called. When she looked over, she saw Red by the eastern wall which was conspicuously missing, blown out from a blast unseen. Some of the hot cinders had fallen upon her hair and shoulders. Gathered in her arms was Ho Jian, head bleeding and face slack. His father was nowhere to be seen.

She didn’t have to think too hard on what came next; she jumped to her feet and grabbed her sword, her helmet. The rest of her armour she tucked under her arm and quickly sprinted out of the building, following after Red, just before another explosion rocked the village, this time from some houses away. Screams and shouts for help rang through the dark night air, suffocating Mulan’s senses.

Perhaps her days as a general were more behind her than she had realized. She’d been blindsided on the eve of her own planned attack. Much worse was that she’d been blindsided by her very attack.

The houses that surrounded them burned bright, the fires that raged around them greedily devouring the dry wood skeletons and foundations of these quaint houses. People flooded the streets, coughing, yelling. Some were hauled out by loved ones, while others called out to their friends, their neighbours, their family. Already, the wails of loss crowded the sky and Mulan thought this was too much, far too much.

She grabbed a random villager by the shoulder and yanked him close. She did not mind her modesty, despite being dressed in a simple tunic without her bottoms. It didn’t quite matter at this point, anyway, especially not to this squirrely man who was wide-eyed and visibly shaken. His hair had unraveled from its braid and his own tunic was askew.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. The man spluttered and Mulan shook him. “Answer me!”

“I-I don’t know,” he said. “I was awoken by a loud blast and to everything on fire. I just barely made it out of my home, but my wife—my sons—!”

He motioned to the house before him that had since collapsed into a smouldering mess. It was barely visible through the thick clouds of smoke that threatened to pull the air out of Mulan’s lungs.

“God,” Red muttered. Mulan unhanded the man and glanced at Red, only to see her staring down the street, eyes wide. Mulan’s eyes darted to where Red was looking and witnessed it. The bringers of wholesale terror. Each on horseback, men draped in dark armour and with faces wrapped in black cloth rode down the street, swords flashing silver and crimson in the glimpses of fire. Behind them, a trail of bodies torn open and laid bare for the moon to witness.

It was like the Yaoguai all over again.

It was worse than the Yaoguai.

Something consumed Mulan, she didn’t know what—but it rushed from her belly and came out as a desperate, raw scream. She brandished her sword, sheath carelessly shed, and ran headlong into the fray with the sense of abandon familiar to a woman who had lost everything.

Only, she had almost forgotten that all was not yet lost. She was reminded when a hand grabbed her by the back of her tunic and had her kicking up dirt and hissing. She whirled on who dared to keep her back, then saw a flash of red, a shimmer of gold.

“Unhand me!” Mulan was beside herself. She barely registered that she was yelling at Red.

“Mulan!” Red snapped. “Mulan. Mulan, please!”

Her heart rattled hard against her chest, like the bars holding back a woman starved and beaten. So badly did she want to throw herself into the chaos and drag them into the afterlife with her. However, there was something in the pleading voice of Red, one that trembled with shared grief and fear in equal parts.

Mulan barely had a chance to think too hard on it. Red, instead, pulled her out of the way just in time to avoid the swing of a blade, followed by the mocking laughs of the bandits as they thundered down the street on horseback. One cut the man Mulan was just speaking with and he crumpled to the ground, clawing at his open chest. Mulan cried out, her voice hoarse, but Red was too strong; she was hauled away from the battlefield, away from the dead and dying, their voices reaching out but Mulan unable to answer.

Nowhere was safe, but Red managed to find a tight alley between two houses that had yet to be set ablaze. Just a few steps away, she could continue to hear the echoes of the villagers being hunted and slaughtered like sport. Mulan fought her way out of Red’s loosened grip and turned on her, absolutely feral.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mulan gestured wildly to the street beyond their alcove. Red squatted on the ground, her body heaving for breath. She didn’t look at Mulan. “They need me! Don’t you understand that?”

“They need you alive,” Red said.

Mulan slammed the side of her fist against the wall, muscles wound tight, and cried, “They need me to fight!”

“Not by throwing your life away.” How Mulan hated the levelness of Red’s voice, especially in the face of Mulan’s near frenzy. It made her skin itch.

Red stood her ground by rising to her full height. Belatedly, Mulan noticed Ho Li draped over Red’s shoulder, his body limp. A flash of panic gripped Mulan’s throat shut.

“He’s breathing,” said Red. Her voice was still low, almost submissive. The tension seeped out of her and, with it, the blinding fury, the bloodlust that had saturated her every thought. She was left cold, drained of energy. She barely caught herself before collapsing against the wall. The hand still gripping her sword loosened and let it clatter to the cobblestone underfoot.

“Red,” Mulan said, her eyes drifting skyward. “I’ve failed.”

“No, not yet,” said Red. She truly sounded hopeful, which only served to further cleave Mulan’s chest in two. “You can’t just give up, Mulan! Just—just put your armour on. We can still fight.”

Mulan shook her head before Red could even finish. “You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Mulan paused for a moment, snagged on the odd phrasing. With an impatient motion of her free hand, Red added, “What I mean is, try to make me understand.”

“I have seen situations like this before,” Mulan said. “In the war. When a village is overwhelmed like this, there is no saving it. There isn’t…”

The smell of bubbling fat, boiled flesh. The cries of the dying, the newly orphaned. The sickness that seized Mulan and made her cramp up with nausea. Villages when they were raided, pillaged, razed to the ground, there were sometimes remains left behind for the enemy to find, to strike terror into their hearts. The disembodied heads of their victims, the gutted corpses of people who had no chance of fighting back.

Just to think that this would be the fate of Guifei. The thought paralyzed Mulan.

“Those villages never had you.” Mulan looked at Red, incredulous. By the look in her eye, she believed all that she was saying. “You are the bravest warrior I’ve ever met and the strongest. Only you would try to face a big bad wolf by yourself.”

Red grabbed one of Mulan’s cold hands and rubbed her thumb into the pad of Mulan’s palm. The soothing circles brought Mulan’s mind to a place of trepidatious calm, where the screams for help did not ring so loud.

“Look at me.” Red’s voice was commanding. Mulan took in a deep breath and met Red’s fierce gaze, her eyes glowing amber. “Those villages didn’t have you and they didn’t have your wolf.”

‘Your wolf’. At another place, in any other time, Mulan would have flushed with embarrassment at the term. The relationship was still new, tender in its infancy.

Despite herself, Mulan risked a small smile. Devastatingly, her voice cracked when she said, “My wolf?”

Red only nodded, her expression solemn but determined.

“As long as you’ll have me.” She spoke like she was a hundred years old. It broke Mulan’s heart to hear it, but she mended it upon processing her words.

A shaky sigh escaped her before she rocked forward to press her lips to Red’s. Only after a startled moment did Red respond, their lips moving against each other, already fully acquainted and relishing in their shared familiarity. There was a small smack when Mulan pulled away. The air was scorching between them.

“Always,” said Mulan, then turned away to get dressed into her armour. As she changed, she said, “Get the boy to a safe place. I will take care of these bandits.”

“I’ll come find you as soon as I can.”

“I know,” Mulan said. Shamelessly, she hoped for it. Without another word, she slid on her helmet, and ran out of the alleyway and into the fray once more.

Time had not stood still when Mulan was in that alley, however; the fire continued to spread from house to house, ever-hungry and raging so bright that it threatened to swallow the light of the stars above. The smoke was thick and sunk into Mulan’s pores, but Mulan pushed forth, eyes closed, sword held before her, and ears straining for sound.

The first thing to attract her attention was the beating of hooves, the hollering of degenerate predators who openly revelled in the blood of the weak.

“There’s the bitch!” hollered a voice. “Kill her!”

Mulan’s ears guided her to face the goading and, in turn, her blade moved like the extension of her arm that it was. Mulan stomped her feet into the dirt, twisted her blade into the air, and caught the throat of the horse. She felt the nick of a blade along her arm, but that was all.

The horse crumpled with a whinny and the rider fell with it. Trapped under his horse, he barely managed a croak for help before Mulan silenced him with the swish of her blade that slit his throat. He gurgled, convulsed, pawed at the horse, before going still.

His friend came for Mulan next, but she stood ready, breath bated.

“You’ll die for that!” he cried as he galloped towards her in a storm of hooves and ash. Between the black cloth covering his face, his eyes glint with the malice of a true killer.

However, more seasoned than him was Mulan who moved out of the way in time, but not before slicing the belly of his beast. It, too, gave a shrill whinny and abandoned its rider with a fierce buck, before sprinting into the smog around them. The rider scrambled, blindly reaching for the sword he had dropped in his tumble, but Mulan was faster to throw herself on him and glided the tapered edge of her sword against his jugular.

Two down. Mulan ran further into the belly of the village where the flames were hottest. Around her, she could hear the hooves of horses, but she could see little of them. Much of the time, she shut her eyes and allowed her instinct to drive her.

A crucial split second stood between her and being gutted by a maddened bandit, but Mulan was always quicker, smarter, stronger. Whether on horseback or on foot, Mulan was the one to lay the blow that fatally crushed her opponent. They would get a couple of good cuts in, one of them slicing at the side of her neck, but Mulan did away with them with the efficiency she was known for. The same that had made her general in the first place.

But the smoke took its toll on her lungs and it stung her eyes. She was weakened by the stamping of her heart, the soot that clung to the lining of her throat, the blood that flowed from her open wounds, and was unprepared when the next attack arrived from the rear.

She heard the hooves and barely stumbled out of the way, but not before she was clocked in the back of the head hard enough to send her off her feet. She crashed against the stones beneath her, her helmet clattering down the road. Hastily, she moved to rise to her feet, only to once again roll out the way of the horse that had turned back to trample her. However, she thrust her sword up and into the belly of the horse just as it passed.

The sword was yanked from her grip, but the horse wailed and bucked its rider who went flying and slammed into the stone beneath. He was quick to recover by rolling to his feet as his battle horse fell, whinnying in agony.

Mulan rose to her feet, slowly, as her eyes remained on the rider who tried to kill her not a moment ago. They faced each other, silent save for the crackling of the flames, the barking of villagers as they fled.

“Hua Mulan!” boomed the rider. Mulan’s jaw tightened when she recognized the voice.

“An Jie,” she said, shoulders squared. “You will die with the rest of your men.”

A laugh of disbelief bubbled to the surface as An Jie stepped to the side. Mulan mimicked him. They paused, trying to read the other, then fell into step as they circled each other.

“You always did speak far beyond your station,” said An Jie. “I have waited for the moment I could see the smugness fade from your eyes.”

Mulan stopped their mindless dance and twisted her feet into the stone until she was locked where stood. She raised her fists, angled her body, and was ready to bring an end to this. No more words to delay the inevitable.

An Jie was a fool, but he was also a fighter. He sensed the fatalistic thirst in the air and eagerly wished to deliver blood. He surged forward with a remarkable speed and he tackled Mulan to the ground. They thrashed against each other, desperately grappling for supremacy as they kicked up dirt and ash. The blood that flowed between the stones stained their armour as they rolled and tried to beat the life out of the other with a stray elbow, a restless knee.

Mulan scratched An Jie’s face when he finally got to mount her and shoved her thumb right into the socket of his right eye. There was give and a squelch, triggering an animal roar of pain from An Jie. Mulan kicked him over and got on top of him, her hands finding his neck and squeezing with all the strength that was left in her trembling arms. He kicked fruitlessly beneath her, squeaked for help that would not come. Mulan bore her weight on his throat and waited for his body to slow in its movements.

Ideally, that was what would happen. Instead, she did not see the blade that he had procured from his boot until it was deep in her side, reaching for the lining of her stomach.

There was a dire pause that stretched between them. An Jie flipped Mulan onto her back and the dagger exited her body only to hit the same spot, over and over and over, until she was gagging and coughing blood.

The pain was unlike she had ever felt. It was deeper, richer, fuller than any other stabbing she had suffered. It encompassed her entire body like her nerves had been set on fire. It was enough to rob the voice from her throat, the breath from her lungs. She could only grit her teeth and stare into An Jie’s remaining good eye, the other a leaky mess that dribbled onto the front of her chest plate. So overpowered, she could manage nothing but a gargle, a feeble yelp.

Then, An Jie was swept away by a dark and virulent force. Mulan strained to look as An Jie was pinned to the ground as a great, dark beast clamped its long, sharp teeth into his neck. It shook him so hard that an audible crack and pop hit the air. An Jie sagged in the grip of the creature, his eye wide open and his limbs held aloft, lifeless. The animal flung his body aside like one would throw away garbage before it bounded toward Mulan, its golden eyes wide. It almost looked…panicked.

Mulan raised a hand to its snout to soothe it, but it whimpered and poked its nose at the wound in her side. It tried to raise Mulan by gingerly clasping onto her arm and trying to drag her off, but Mulan felt like she was being torn in two. A scream ripped from her throat before she could smother it and the beast dropped her arm as if burned.

“Stop,” Mulan gasped when the wolf shuffled, its eyes wide with what Mulan thought was terror. “Red. Just stop. It’s okay.”

Red whimpered and barked her protest. Mulan forced a grin and passed a hand over Red’s head, finding comfort in the feeling of fur between her fingers. It occurred to her only now that she had never dared tried to pet Red like this while she was in wolf form. It was almost liberating to do so in that moment.

“This is…what it was meant…” Mulan paused to produce another wet cough. She shook, but the pain had become something else, had elevated her to a level where she was aware of it, but no longer felt it. The colour faded from her vision. She gripped Red’s fur, as if trying to anchor herself for a while longer. “Go back, Red. To Dorothy. Please.”

Red stared, as if she didn’t understand, though Mulan knew better. Whatever connection they shared, however tenable, was manifested through Mulan’s restlessness when Red was near, the consolidation of their feelings for each other in the last couple days. But nothing would change that their connection was not meant to last.

“I will…join my father,” Mulan said. Her eyes glanced skyward and she was fleetingly delighted to see that the birds had begun their migration. An arrow of them flew above, unaware of the disaster that had befallen the beautiful village of Guifei.

Her gaze fell back on Red who continued to whimper, loud and clear. Well, that wouldn’t do at all. Mulan shook her head slightly. “I don’t want you to despair. Please. Don’t…mope like I do.”

Even when she attempted to joke, she could not help the stinging in her eyes, the bubble in her throat. Her hand tightened on Red’s fur and she wrestled with herself before she succumbed to one final, selfish act. Her voice rattled when she said, “If you could just…stay with me a while longer…”

Red rubbed her head into the side of Mulan’s neck, the whimpers growing all the louder. Perhaps the tears that were falling down the sides of Mulan’s face were not quite hers, but Red’s. Because there, in that second, she was ultimately at peace. She was in the embrace of her lover and she would soon see her father again. A soldier could not ask for a better send-off.

The stars twinkled at her from above. The cry of a bird was the last thing she heard before she fell up, up, up, until the stars folded her into their warm light.

It was an understatement to say that Dorothy was surprised to see Red return to their cottage with a boy clinging to her back. She was right floored by the boy’s presence alone, not to mention the smell of smoke and blood wafting from them both as Red drew closer to the front door.

“Red!” said Dorothy. At the mention of the familiar name, Toto barked and ran out the door to greet Red. Usually, Red would try to entertain Toto by making strange kissy noises and speaking to him in a baby voice, but she was clearly travel-weary. Judging by the tears in her clothes, the crusted blood on her face and neck, and the superficial cuts on her skin, she had gone on something more exciting than a hunting trip.

And when Red’s eyes met hers, Dorothy sensed that something was greatly shifted out of place. Without a word, Red collapsed to her knees before Dorothy and pressed her face into her dress. With her free hand, she took Dorothy’s leg into a death grip and did not show signs of letting go. Her shoulders heaved, but she made no sound.

Dorothy was never sure where Red went every few months, but she always came back all out of sorts, one way or another. This was just about the worst of it, Dorothy figured.

Now was not the time to ask questions. She ran her fingers through Red’s matted hair, trying to gently undo the tangles she found. It was sooty. Patches of it were crusted over with old blood.

Dorothy huffed. Her eyes found the boy who had since climbed off Red’s back and looked into the arcades of trees that lurked beyond the secluded cottage, his stare longing and vacant.

“Oh, honey,” Dorothy murmured as she sank down to Red’s level. She enveloped her in a hug and Red returned it, her grip unyielding. It was not even wolfstime anymore and she was still this strong. “Let it out. Let it out.”

It took a while for Red to squeeze all the grief out of her and, when she was finished, she looked a shell of herself. The boy did not speak when spoken to, but Dorothy offered him some food she had saved for Red. He picked at his food, reconsidered, then sat with that same long stare. He would not let another morsel pass his lips, ignoring Dorothy’s gentle prodding.

It took a bit, but Red finally talked, after she had eaten, washed, and tucked the boy into bed. He slumbered in their shared bed, but his rest was fitful and violent. His whines and sobs echoed from the other room, serving as background noise when Red sat Dorothy down and spoke.

She told her a very long tale, its path starting with the warrior Dorothy only met fleetingly before moving in with Red. She didn’t speak the name—Red could not seem to bring herself to do it—but she admitted to some things that, frankly, made Dorothy’s stomach churn.

When Red finished, Dorothy couldn’t look at her. Even Toto had gone silent, sequestering himself in some corner of the house to take a nap, undisturbed. A couple of minutes passed. Dorothy parted her lips. “Well then.”

“I’m—”

“I suppose the boy—Ho Li, was it?—will need a home now that his old one’s been destroyed,” Dorothy said. “I know what it’s like to lose my parents at a young age. It’s not easy.”

Red nodded, her eyes red-rimmed and watery. Thankfully, no more tears fell. Dorothy wasn’t sure if she could comfort her after what she had heard.

“And, for what it’s worth,” Dorothy added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Once more, Red nodded. Dorothy heaved a sigh before rising to her feet and striding out the front door, leaving Red to reflect on a year of secrecy, of detraction, and the violence with which fate wrought itself upon her life.

-End.

---

I would like to thank those who remained with this story. Your kudos and verbal support were incredible incentives for me to finally bring Mulan and Red’s story to a close. I started this in 2017 and only got around to finishing it last year but didn’t have the confidence to publish this last chapter until now.

When I first wrote this, it was an angry response to the conclusion of Mulan’s story in OUAT. Not really a fix-it, but a "fuck-it" sort of fic. A scathing criticism of the shoehorned True Love trope that had so easily wedged itself between Red and Mulan’s relationship, if you will. Obviously, the anger has subsided into a vague disappointment. I'm just happy to finish "What Fate Had Wrought" with its intended ending.

Cheers. Thanks again! :)

#red warrior #mulan #red riding hood #mulan rouge #ouat #once upon a time #fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

imlaxdris71 · 4 years

Text

The Price of Blood

It’s finally here! I’m so incredibly excited to drop the first chapter of my Once Upon a Time/Shadowhunters AU fic for @cssns this year. Thank you so much to @ultraluckycatnd for being my beta and being patient with me and my inability to stay in one tense while I write. Thank you to @kmomof4 for her beautiful artwork for this fic. And thank you to everyone from the discord chat that encouraged this idea. So here is my first chapter of The Price of Blood, please let me know what you think! You can find it on ao3 too! First chapter is under the cut.

What’s Past is Prologue

Killian storms down the steps of the Institute in a fury. Once again, Aldertree has benched him and he was taken off the murder of the Werewolf girl, citing that he was too close to the case and was needed to help train the younger kids.

Too close his arse; the only reason they pulled him off was because he pointed out that the scene showed no sign of it being a Werewolf-on-Werewolf attack, but rather that it seemed more like the work of a rogue Shadowhunter. Aldertree had taken great pleasure in reminding him that just because his old fling was killed by a rogue Shadowhunter didn’t mean that every dead Werewolf girl was killed like that. Liam had had to hold him back from decking Aldertree across his smug face for that comment.

If Aldertree won’t actually investigate the poor girl’s murder, he will. But that means asking questions in such a way that he doesn’t rile up the Downworlders so the news makes it back to Aldertree. With the recent surge of Downworlder deaths, however, asking questions without stepping on toes is going to be difficult.

Although , Killian thinks, the best way to get information is to spend time among the Downworlders and try and overhear something . With that thought in mind, Killian heads to Swan’s Spirits , hoping to multi-task and get his mind off the images of Milah’s body flashing through his mind while finding out who exactly murdered the young Werewolf.

Stepping into the bar, Killian feels some of the tension leave his body. Despite being raised a Shadowhunter, he often felt more at home amongst his mother’s people. And Swan’s Spirits was known for being a bit more friendly to all members of the Shadow World, unlike the Vampire bar Plasma or the Werewolf restaurant Bisclavret . Killian slips onto one of the stools near the bar and waits for the blonde Faerie, Ashla, working behind the bar to come take his order. When Ashla notices him, her eyes widen and she darts over to take his order.

“What are you doing here, Jones?” she hisses at him. Killian raises an eyebrow at her tone. While certainly not the best of friends, he has worked with Ashla enough for her animosity to be surprising. She must see this in his face because she sighs. “The wolves are fired up tonight and some of them are out for blood. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that that poor girl was the victim of a rogue and the Shadowhunters brushing it off as Downworld-on-Downworld violence has brought out the worst.” Killian grits his teeth in anger, jerking his head in a short nod.

“Aye, I know. That’s why I’m here. Aldertree benched me from the case by pointing that very fact out. I’m here to see if I can find out who the actual murderer was.” Ashla softens a bit more, nodding in appreciation.

“Well, I know that she was a member of the Misthaven pack, and that whoever killed her has to be particularly devious.” That roused Killian’s interest. He had already figured that the poor child had been a member of the Misthaven pack, but that last tidbit sounds interesting.

“Oh? How do you figure that?” Ashla glances around the bar for a second before leaning forward.

“Snow has been cracking down hard on her pack, instigating a curfew and a rule that no one travels alone. And the pups are always supposed to have at least two adult pack members watching them. So, whoever this was had to somehow lure her away from the protection of the pack.” Killian frowns at this information. What on earth would convince a 13-year-old girl that it was safe to leave the safety of the pack when it’s clear that the Alpha had explained the danger? Werewolves didn’t disobey the Alpha for any old reason. Before he can question Ashla further, however, a strong hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“And what do we have here? An angel all by his lonesome? Just come back from murdering more little girls?” A low voice laced with the strong smell of liquor growls in his ear. Killian closes his eyes. Shit . This was going to get ugly fast. Ashla opened her mouth, maybe to defend him, maybe to institute the bar policy that everyone was welcome, no matter what species, but the voice continues before she could interject. “We don’t need your kind here, especially not half-blood Fairies that can’t figure out whether they like boys or girls. I know all about your reputation, Jones. You’ll go after anything with two legs. That extend to little girls now, too? Get your rocks off on killing them? Huh?” Killian snarls in anger, whirling around to shove the wolf off of him.

“Go chase your own tail, why don’t you? I’m no murderer. And find a better damn insult than half-blood, you mangy mutt.” Killian barely finishes his sentence before a meaty paw is flying at his face. He barely managed to duck the fist, but before he could recover, the wolf’s left hook catches him square across the jaw.

Plain explodes in Killian’s face and he has to grit his teeth and blink the stars from his eyes, already dropping down to get out of the way of more fists. Backing away from the wolf, Killian sees two other Werewolves backing the ringleader, all three looking very eager to spill his blood. Killian reaches for his stele, but before he can snag it to activate his runes, the angry ringleader leaps the distance between the two of them, shedding his human skin along the way and landing an agonizing slash across Killian’s abdomen. Killian punched the wolf in the nose, throwing him off, but before he could stand back up, the two other wolves have closed the distance and decide that stomping their heavy boots down on his face and ribs would be an effective method of keeping him down. Killian finally manages to grab one of their boots and uses it to upend the wolf, sending him sprawling into the other one, knocking them both back.

Killian groaned as he got to his feet, reaching again for his stele, hoping to activate his iratze rune so that he could at least begin to heal, when he hears that low growl again. By the Angel, could he not get a break tonight?! Killian turns carefully, keeping one eye on the two downed wolves and the other on the gray wolf that was clearly ready to pounce and rend him limb from limb. But just as the wolf leaps, he froze in midair.

Killian’s eyes dart around, trying to find the Warlock that had just wonderfully aided him from being ripped apart. His eyes widen when they settled on the woman emerging from the crowd, one hand held up to hold the wolf in place. She is gorgeous with shining, golden hair and ridiculously green eyes. She’s clearly dressed for the comfortable atmosphere of the club in a simple white sweater and jeans, but the clothes didn’t hide the white, almost tiger-like stripes that marked her as a demon-blooded Warlock.

“Are you quite done, Leroy?” she asks the gray wolf shortly. Killian is shocked when the wolf actually looked abashed, as did the other two who had accompanied the ringleader. The woman lowers the wolf to the ground, releasing the spell. “I don’t stand for people causing trouble in my bar, is that understood Leroy? I think you, Walter, and Tom should head back to your pack and sober up.” The woman’s voice makes it clear it was not a suggestion. Tom, one of the unshifted Werewolves opens his mouth, outrage clear, but snaps it shut when the Warlock sends an unamused glare his way.

Leroy snarls lowly at Killian before turning around to leave the bar, with one of the wolves muttering a last parting shot. “Good luck, half-blood. She’s going to rip you apart worse than us.” Killian shifts, feeling slightly uneasy before turning his eyes back to the woman who apparently owned the bar. He opens his mouth to thank her for helping him, but closes it just as quickly when she sends that same unamused glare his way.

“Come with me.” It was very clearly an order, so Killian nods and limps his way after her, feeling with sudden alacrity every bruise, broken rib, and cut that adorned his body, his stomach hurting the worst where the wolf had slashed him. Once they were ensconced in the woman’s office, Killian faces her once again, intent on thanking her and apologizing for causing trouble.

“I’m sorry for disrupting your bar, but thank you for your help.” The woman snorts at him, narrowing her eyes.

“I did not do it for you, little nephilim. I did it because your kind are already murdering us; we don’t need a reason for a sanctioned hit.” Killian opens his mouth to protest, not doubting that Aldertree would take any reason to bring the Accords down on the Downworlders, but that he would rat them out, but the woman cuts him off first. “You made a very unwise decision to come here tonight, especially considering what happened last night.” Killian jumps on that opening.

“That’s why I’m here. The girl, she was killed by a rogue, but Aldertree kicked me off the case to declare it a case of Werewolf-on-Werewolf crime. But I want to find the real murderer.” The woman narrows her green gaze further. Surely that color can’t be natural, another mark perhaps? Killian shakes his head, trying to dislodge the distracting thoughts.

“Why would you care about whether or not the true murderer is found? What could you possibly hope to gain by going against your precious Clave to discover a “rogue” Shadowhunter who’s doing the work your Clave wants done anyway?” The bitterness and rage in the woman’s voice is clear, clouding her eyes, and darkening her expression. Killian swallows and grits his teeth, flinching when it makes the wounds on his face flare with pain.

“I am well aware of how unseriously members of the Clave take events like this, but the Law is the Law and Downworlders are protected by the Accords. Whether or not the Clave is willing to turn a blind eye, I am not. Innocents, children or otherwise, being murdered is supposed to be fully investigated, not written off. I refuse to stand by and neglect my duty.” Killian catches a slight flare of surprise, followed by admiration in the woman’s eyes before it is covered up again. Her Warlock stripes pulse slightly.

“It’s not just that, is it? You have a personal stock in this.” Killian sighs at the accusation in the woman’s tone. But, for all his frustration with constantly having his motives questioned, she has several centuries worth of reasons not to trust him.

“My mother is Alycia, a handmaiden to the Faerie Queen. I am well aware of the prejudice that the Clave holds against Downworlders, and the way it treats half-bloods like myself. And-” Here, Killian hesitates. It would be easy to present this woman with the same reason he gives everyone—he’s a half-blood and the Clave only tolerates him and Liam because their father is a member of one of the old-blood Shadowhunter families. But the respect he had seen in the woman’s gaze, her willingness to help him against other Downworlders—he wants to tell her. Tell her about Milah, and seeing her body ravaged, tortured, broken by a rogue Shadowhunter—a Shadowhunter that the Clave never caught because they didn’t try, because Milah was just a Werewolf.

Killian closes his eyes against the rush of memories, struggling to keep his breathing and rage under control. Once he feels moderately under control, Killian opens his eyes again, not entirely unsurprised to find something like concern in the Warlock’s gaze. “And because a rogue Shadowhunter murdered the woman I loved and the Clave did nothing to bring her murderer to justice. I won’t let another case be swept under the rug. I can’t .” Killian knows that the woman can likely see the fury and the anguish that he can’t hide when he speaks about Milah.

“Emma Swan. My name is Emma Swan. I am the High Warlock here. You want justice for the Downworlders being murdered? So do I. But you can do something about it without starting a war. So I’m going to make a deal with you, Shadowhunter. You help me find out who is murdering Downworlders in my city and I’ll keep the other Downworlders off your back.” Killian starts slightly at the woman’s words. She—She’d really be willing to help him? And she isn’t just any Warlock, but the High Warlock. She could get him information that he could never dream of having access to.

“Aye, you’ve got yourself a deal, love. My name is Killian Jones, since we seem to be exchanging names. Although I was rather fond of calling you enchanting Warlock in my head. But, Emma, it suits you.” For the first time, Killian sees something like a smile at the corner of the woman’s lovely mouth as she rolls her eyes at him.

“Alright, loverboy. I’ll get you an audience with Snow and David to see what they know. If you went to them by yourself, they’d never speak with you. But I can get you in.” Killian nods, having already figured that out when they went to ask the Alpha and her mate questions in the first place.

“With your permission, I’d like to speak to Ashla about keeping an ear open at the bar for any other information that might be useful.”

“I thought you looked friendly earlier. Friend of yours? Or an ex-lover? Leroy was right about one thing, you do have quite the reputation.”

“Jealous, love? But no, Ashla is a friend through my mother and another Faerie scout. She has her eye on a human, I believe his name is Sean? But us Fae, we have to stick together, you know.” Emma snorts.

“Get out of here, Shadowhunter. I’ve got a bar to run and after that display, I doubt anyone will talk to you tonight.” Killian nods and turns to leave, but a wrong step sends him to his knees in pain. “Are you alright?” Killian grits his teeth and nods.

“I’m alright, I rather think they knocked the handsome out of me, though.” Suddenly, the pain is chased away by a feeling of warmth and Killian opens his eyes to see Emma kneeling beside him, hands out, white light encasing his body as Emma heals him with her magic. Killian stares at her face, entranced by her eyes and the intense focus there, watching as the stripes on her face seem to shine and pulse with her magic. He barely notices as she finishes healing the wounds inflicted by the Werewolves. Her eyes shift from his body to his face.

“I don’t think anyone’s powerful enough to do that.” Killian blinks before coughing, trying to hide the fact that the tips of his pointed ears are turning red. He can flirt with anyone for hours without getting even the slightest bit flushed, but one compliment from this stunning woman and he’s speechless.

“Right. Well, I should be on my way, I wouldn't want to keep my patrons waiting. Take care of yourself, half-blood.” As she leaves, Killian manages a smile because coming from her, half-blood sounded rather like an endearment instead of a curse.

#cssns

18 notes · View notes

cssns · 4 years

Text

Hello again, everyone! Please help me welcome back to the CSSNS @artistic-writer!!!

Tumblr Name

@artistic-writer

How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

since June 2017

When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

Oh I don't know and exact time, but a knife to a throat goes a long way ;)

What drew you to this event?

If this is going to be the last CSSNS then I need to be a part of it :)

What inspired your topic?

A random thoguht one day, as all plot bunnies start out. I know lots of people are probably expecting me to have the next Wolves of Misthaven ready for this event, but it probably won't be, so I am hoping to participate with a little one/two shot instead.

If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below.

'Killian is an angel who fell from heaven, giving up his wings and immortality for a woman, but retains some abilities, such as healing others. He can only be seen by those he wishes to see him following the death of his love, because he wasn't there to save her, so he has sworn off love and all humans and is miserable in the world. He gets by, fleeting in and out but no one remembers seeing him because of his memory masking ability, until one day he is in a line to get a coffee, nothing out of the ordinary, except a woman starts talking to him. He is confused, because he has an active memory mask and only the people he chooses to talk to should be able to see him, but here she is, able to see right through his memory mask and her name is Emma.'

What kind of art do you like to do? Picsets, painting, digital, etc? Feel free to give as much info as you like.

As an artist, i will be working with the lovely @shardminds and @darkcolinodonorgasm. I will most likely be creating digital manips for them both, but how many depends on how their words speak to me when I read their pieces :)

Who/what have you beta'd before, or is this your first time? Feel free to give as much info as you like.

I will be betaing @shardminds story and I just hope she is prepared for me

What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event?

Seeing all of the lovely flailing we will undoubtedly give each other in support! Community events are so important for friendships and fandom, so I hope to make lots of new friends this year! :) I may be sad about having to wait for the continuation of The Wolves of Misthaven, but Salem is an incredible writer and this summary sounds lovely!! She’s gonna hate me for saying that, but it DOES!!! I can’t wait to see what she has for us when her fic drops on August 12! And as she mentioned, she is arting and betaing for @shardminds in the second wave and arting for @darkcolinodonorgasm in the third wave. So everyone go welcome Salem back to the event and be sure to give her lots of love!!!

#CSSNS #GTKM #gtkm20 #artistic-writer #gtkm interviews

23 notes · View notes

mrsarnasdelicious · 4 years

Text

Once Upon A Jungle Book

Avan Jogia as Mowgli

Toby Stephens as Shere Khan

Jason Isaacs as Bagheera

Mikael Persbrandt as Balloo

Joseph Mawle as Akeela

Jonathan Tucker as Rama

The Jungle is a Kingdom far away from Misthaven, only reachable by magic bean

It is not really a kingdom, more a sovereign state

It is lead by Shere Khan

Shere Khan is definitely a corrupt leader

Aaaand also ex fiance to Bagheera

And he wants Bagheera back!

The Jungle is part of a realm in which the majority of the people can change into animals.

Mowgli is an Orphan

He’s been fostered by Rama and his family before Bagheera and Shere Khan officially adopted him

Mowgli went with Bagheera when he and Shere Khan split

Though Bagheera and Shere Khan have joint custody

Mowgli is not very fond of Shere Khan

And much fonder of Bagheera’s new partner Baloo

And Shere Khan is hecka jelly

Mowgli is one of the only in the family that does not have an animal form

But he is loved and he loves his family

But then he curse comes

The curse cast by Scar

Scar is a friend of Shere Khan’s

And The Jungle’s people are trapped in their human forms and scattered to the four winds

Shere Khan turns up in Storybrook

The Wolves are nowhere to be found

Bagheera and Baloo are left looking for Mowgli

But Mowgli has found Kovu, the savour of their realm

Mowgli and Kovu travel to Storybrook to ask Emma for her help

There Mowgli encounters Shere Khan and the Tiger GLOATS

And so Mowgli gets the idea to snoop around Shere Khan’s place

And he gets in trouble!

The heroes have to save his ass from Shere Khan and Scar

And the game is afoot

After training, Kovu and Mowgli set out back to their realm

They set to finding not only their friends and families but to make sure everyone in that realm is save

Mowgli finds first Rama and Akella and his foster siblings and helps them to Storybrook

He finds Bagheera and Baloo after a longer while

Kovu sends him back to Storybrook to help settle his fathers in, not wanting the young man in more danger

And Mowgli stays put for a while

He however joins the heroes in defeating Scar

Shere Khan, though, manages to get away scott free

To maybe return another day

#Once Upon a Time #Jungle Book #Disney #Bagheera x Baloo #headcanons

8 notes · View notes

everlastingcaptainswan · 4 years

Photo

Contractual Attraction (8/?)

Enchanted Forest AU

Summary: The war had raged on for many years, the people of Misthaven would say too many, and there was only one way to end it, only one way to quiet talks of rebellion. Princess Emma of Misthaven would have to marry the enemy, Prince Killian of Montave.

Notes: Hope everyone is having a good week!

FF Ao3

Chapter Eight: There’s No Place Like Home

The cold winter wind seemed to cut through Emma and Killian harsher than it did in Arendelle. Their heavy cloaks helped, but not by much. Ruby approached them with a wolfish smile that Emma saw falter for one moment, her quasi aunt had to hide her surprise when she saw Emma and Killian’s arms linked together. The war had aged her aunt significantly in looks, just as it had done to Emma’s parents. Her dark brown hair had subtle streaks gray throughout, and she had wrinkles as well. While she may look older in appearance, it was her attitude that gave her a youthful glow and energy.

“Well aren’t you two cozy?” Ruby said in a husky voice, playful as ever.

“Gotta stay warm somehow. Ruby, this is Prince Killian, and this is Ruby, basically my aunt.” Killian extended a hand; which Ruby took and shook hard.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Ruby.” Killian withdrew his hand from hers. Emma and Ruby practically doubled over with laughter. Ruby wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Emma’s hand left Killian’s arm to hold her side.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Ruby just smiled and brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder.

“Well you certainly have a charmer there, Emma.” Killian’s confusion intensified and he looked to Emma, who finally collected herself.

“While Ruby is considered family and has been offered Ladyship numerous times, she has never accepted. Ruby is not a Lady, although she is flattered you think so.” Understanding finally dawned over Killian, and he blushed for his blunder.

“I have a seat on the council, that’s all that has ever mattered to me. Lady would involve much more responsibility than I have ever wanted. Not to mention I could hardly help Granny in the kitchen being a Lady.” Ruby shrugged, “Now, let’s get out of the cold. Horses await both of you.” Ruby stepped aside and gestured to three beautiful horses patiently waiting for them. Emma smiled and walked up to her horse Buttercup, whispering sweet words of praise. After being at sea and in a foreign country for weeks she had missed her horse dearly. Ruby and Killian walked toward their own horses and mounted them. They made their way inland toward the castle with the knights trailing behind them, Graham and August leading the group. Emma was able to break away from Killian and spoke to her aunt in a hushed tone.

“Did father make all the knights accompany you for a reason, or...?”

“He’s been worried, so has your mother. You were supposed to be home almost a week ago. We figured; well the worst was feared. Scouts saw the ship yesterday and those fears dissipated, but you know how protective your father is. He’s convinced the Prince is up to no good,” Ruby said quickly. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Of course, he does. We ran into two storms; they know the channel is dangerous this time of year.” Bringing Killian home was going to be much more difficult than imagined.

“We tried to tell them, but you know how your father can be. No one ever mentioned how handsome the Prince was. If I weren’t with Dorothy well…” Ruby practically licked her lips at the thought.

“Oh yes we all know what you would do,” Emma chuckled.

“He certainly knows how to pick out jewelry, I’ll give him that.” Emma looked down to the ring, the jewels glistening in the sunshine. When Emma doesn’t respond Ruby moves on.

“What do you make of him?” Ruby glanced at Emma, reading her expression.

“He wants this to work as much as we do. I don’t think he has an evil plot to overthrow Misthaven and burn it to the ground. He knows what’s at stake.” Emma said coolly, not making eye contact with Ruby.

“Hmm, that’s reassuring, but not what I was referring to at all,” Ruby turned her gaze toward Killian, not giving Emma anytime to answer her, “Your Highness, have you ever seen such beautiful mountains as those in Misthaven?”

“I can’t say I have. Montave is rather flat, we are a seaside kingdom. No mountains I’m afraid,” Killian raised his voice slightly to be heard by them.

“There’s nothing like it,” Ruby smirked. Ruby trotted her horse ahead and led the way to the castle. This left Emma alone with her thoughts and she was trying to figure out the best way to approach her parents. Killian strode up to her.

“Should I be worried?” Emma raised her eyebrow, “For my life.” He stated plainly.

“No, my parents wanted this treaty more than I did. They know better, but I fear you’ll get a rather cold reception from them.” Killian’s jaw clenched, but he looked ahead. They could just barely see the castle in the distance, they would arrive just after midday.

“I was prepared for that.”

“Like I said on the ship just look to me when you’re lost.” Emma tried to reassure him as much as herself.

“Why do this for me? You could let me drown and be swept up in mistake after mistake. You don’t owe me a thing.” Killian’s brows furrowed together. It was something that had been weighing on him.

“Because like it or not we will be married in a few months’ time. I could allow you to flounder and drown, but you’ve been kind to me. I do owe you; you saved my life on the ship. I’d like us to have a partnership of sorts and it does me no good to throw you to the wolves. It’d hurt me in the end,” she said, not sure of how he would react to this. A small smile crossed his face.

“I see, Princess.” Her answer made him hopeful that one day she would view him as a friend at the very least. He knew it would be foolish to hope she would ever love him. Killian glanced at her and noticed her face was as grim as he felt.

“Shouldn’t you be happy you’re almost home, you haven’t seen your family in weeks?” he asked, curious.

“I am happy to be home. I love my family, but…” she shook her head, “They will want to know everything that’s happened and well they won’t be pleased.”

“Well, when you’re in trouble you can always look at me.” She smirked at his response.

“My my Your Highness, what will they think of us staring at each other?” She teased him.

“I’m sure your court will think of something scandalous,” he chuckled. She simply smiled and shook her head; he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. How comfortable and at ease she looked astride a horse. They rode the rest of the way to the castle in comfortable silence.

They first approached the small village that surrounded the castle, and Emma could see that the village had pulled out all the stops for her homecoming. Flowers and banners covered every available surface. Her name was painted on the banners with the villager’s thanks. Several mothers and wives reached out to her, some even managed to reach her hand in time. She allowed them to and waved Graham off, who got nervous with Emma in a crowd.

“Thank you, Princess. We know everything you have given up for us, for our men to come home,” One mother whispered before her eyes cut to Killian. Emma nodded and they slowly made their way through the village. There were many other cries and shouts from mothers and wives echoing the same sentiment. It was clear to see the love people had for Emma.

When their group pulled up to the castle gates, they swung open for the group and Emma noticed new flowers were everywhere, the guards were in their finest gear, and there was a literal trumpet playing. Her parents were pulling out all the stops for them, just as the village had done.

Leo was waiting for them at the castle doors, a smile on his face. Emma had missed him dearly. Leo was just taller than Emma with ebony hair, just like their mother. His eyes were their father’s, however. He had a slim build, but knew how to wield a sword even though he preferred a bow and arrow.

They dismounted their horses and servants walked up, leading their horses back to the stable. Emma hugged her brother tightly.

“Hey, Ems,” his eyes widened when he noticed she wasn’t wearing the gloves she was sent away with, “Why do I have a feeling a lot has happened since you left?” He asked as she pulled away. That’s when he noticed the ring sitting on her finger. He blinked quickly, but didn’t have the chance to say anything.

“You have no idea, anyway. Prince Killian, this is my brother, Prince Leo.” Emma stepped aside making the introductions. Killian and Leo shook hands.

“Welcome to Misthaven,” Leo nodded before turning to Emma, “We should get moving, mother and father are anxious to see you.”

“That’s what I heard, let's not keep them waiting.” Leo chuckled and led the way with his arm linked with Ruby’s. Without thinking about it Emma linked her arm with Killian’s once more, he couldn’t say he really minded being this close to her.

Killian couldn’t help, but to admire the beauty of the castle, it was so different from Montave. When they reached the throne room, Killian sucked in a deep breath. Emma gave his arm a little, reassuring squeeze.

While outside of the castle there had been plenty of fan fair for them, inside the throne room only sat the King and Queen of Misthaven. King David fixing Killian with a cold, menacing stare. He expected no less. While Killian was looking at David, Emma was more focused on her mother, who had to hide her momentary shock of finding Emma willing touching the Prince from Montave.

Ruby and Leo bow before the throne momentarily before moving to the side. Emma takes her arm away from Killian and oh how he wishes she hadn’t. He missed her touch already. Emma curtsied and Killian bowed. The King and Queen looked relieved to see their daughter home once again.

“Mother, Father may I introduce Prince Killian of Montave, Chief Commander of their Seven Fleets. Your Highness, my parents Queen Snow and King David.” Snow’s gaze drifted to Emma’s hand and landed on ring that sat there, glistening in the sunlight streaming from the high windows in the throne room.

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” Snow nodded politely, dragging her gaze away from Emma’s hand. David didn’t fail to notice the ring either.

“Can’t say we have much need for Chief Commanders of Naval forces around here,” King David mutters. Emma narrowed her eyes at her father and Killian swore he saw Snow stomp on his foot. Killian nervous, glanced at Emma, grateful for her presence.

“But Welcome to Misthaven.” Queen Snow said sweetly, “Now you two had a long and tiresome journey, why don’t you get cleaned up and meet us in the council room?”

“Of course, Your majesty. Thank you for your kind hospitality,” Killian said before bowing once more.

“Naturally, Your Highness. After all, Misthaven is your home, now. Emma, I hope you don’t mind I gave him the suite next to yours.”

“Of course not. I’ll show you the way,” Emma nodded, knowing her mother was dismissing them. Killian offered his arm again and Emma took it, aware of all the eyes on them. When the throne room doors shut behind them Emma released a sigh of relief.

“That wasn’t terrible.”

“No, but it is only the beginning. The hard part is next, come on,” she told him. She gave him a brief tour of the castle as they made their way up the grand staircase and toward the Royal Family’s suites. He listened intently, happy to let her ramble on since she was clearly nervous. She came to a halt in front of a door, disentangling herself from his arm. Emma opened the door leading the way into a suite. There was a fire already roaring, warming the room. There was a large bed and a small table and chairs in the corner, along with an armchair near the fireplace. There was a small balcony that looked out over the village they passed through and to the harbor. His trunk was waiting for him at the end of the bed.

“I imagine this will be all yours until we marry, I hope it’s to your liking.”

“A fire, a view of the ocean, and a bed. What more could a man ask for?” He joked.

“Oh, I’m sure you could think of something,” she teased, “Well, I’ll let you freshen up and then we’ll head down?”

“I’m invited into your council room, to this meeting?” He asked surprised.

“Oh yes. My mother will likely use the opportunity to size you up. Don’t worry you’ll do fine.” Emma turned and left the room, leaving Killian a little shocked with his mouth wide open. The door shut behind her and Emma slipped into her own room. She leaned against the door, giving herself a minute before she changed into a simple white dress, she took off her tiara and left her head bare. Her family had never placed a huge importance on jewels when it was just them. She sat at her vanity and let her hair out of its elaborate up do, letting her curls cascade over her shoulders. She splashed some water on her face, attempting to get some of the grime from traveling off of her. Emma stood up when there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find Killian waiting for her, in a long, black leather jacket and red vest. It almost took her breath away because he looked so good in it and at ease. She had seen the jacket on the ship, especially during the storms when he wore it as another layer, but the red vest was new and well he looked damn good.

“Are you ready, love?” he asked, slightly breathless. Her beauty stunned him slightly. He had seen her in ceremonial dresses of elaborate silk and jewels, but something about the simple, white dress let her natural beauty shine bright. Not to mention that his mother’s ring still sat on her finger and that affected him more than he cared to admit.

“Yes, let’s go.” Emma led him down a series of back staircases to the council room. A fire roared in the room, both her parents whispering at the fireplace, Leo and Red drinking some wine at one end of the large oak table, and Graham and August at the other end of the table. All eyes landed on Emma and Killian when they entered. Snow looked absolutely livid and Emma’s eyes darted to Killian, he longed to reach out for her, but feared that would not do either of them well at all.

“Graham has been filling us in about everything that has been going on since you left. Emma, how could you be so reckless?” Snow snapped.

“You told me to go there and do whatever it took to get the treaty signed and well I did just that. Certain sacrifices had to be made.”

“Emma, we are just worried about you. If those scars get higher,” David shook his head.

“I am acutely aware of what will happen. The Dark One was all too happy to remind me of that.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest.

“He showed up in Arendelle?” Leo asked shocked.

“What did he want?” David asked.

“He wants Regina to stay powerless as much as we do. If I die that spell will be revoked and she’ll be back.”

“I won’t have you dying, you need to stop trying to use our magic!” Snow raised her voice.

“Why because Regina would be back and out for you?” Emma snapped, shaking her head.

“No, because you would be dead! I don’t give a damn about Regina; I care about you.” Snow threw her arms up, exasperated with her daughter.

“I haven’t tried to use my magic in years! It’s not a particularly fun experience if you recall. You weren’t there, I had to do it,” Emma raised her voice.

“Had to?” David asked, eyebrow raised. Killian cleared his throat and all eyes snapped to him.

“If I may, Emma’s right. My brother was being a horse’s ass it put it nicely, which both Elsa and I berated him for. There wasn’t much choice in the matter, he wouldn’t have rested until he saw her magic was gone.” Emma smiled softly at him. Finally feeling like someone in this room was on her side, that not everyone was attacking her.

“No offense, but your brother sounds like a dick,” Leo scoffed causing Emma to laugh. Red smacked Leo’s shoulder and muttered something along the lines of not helpful.

“You’re not entirely wrong.” Killian shrugged.

“Fine, just don’t do it again,” Snow ordered Emma.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Snow turned her attention on Killian, “The treaty stated you require a ship, I am assuming you want a naval ship?”

“I would prefer one, yes.” Killian maintained eye contact with her never breaking for a moment, not backing down.

“We only have passenger and trade ships at the moment and after the war many of our naval ships have been destroyed, so we would have to commission one.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can have my flagship sent over. I wouldn’t want to ask so much of you.”

“King Liam would part with it?” David asked, shocked.

“He would, he promised it to me when I left Arendelle. It is just a matter of sending word to him.”

“Who would bring it over?” Emma asked, warily.

“My crew,” Killian said as if that were the most natural thing in the world. Leo spoke up this time, “That might not be the best idea, Montavians aren’t well liked around here. You would be putting them in danger.”

“We can arrange a safe house for them. We all have pieces of the treaty to fulfill. Will that work for you, Your Highness?” Snow asked in her most diplomatic voice.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I thank you for your generous hospitality. Now, I should be off to tell my brother we arrived safely,” he nodded at Snow and his gaze drifted to Emma one last time before he left. Once the door shut Snow and David immediately relaxed.

“Now that he is gone, Emma, what on earth do you think you’re doing sleeping with him?” Snow confronted her.

“Excuse me, I have done no such thing!” Emma snapped back.

“Honey, your scent is all over him and his is on you as well,” Red gave her an apologetic look.

“We had to share a room, which wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t send me on the Snowbell with it’s one private room. Also, why are you so outraged, I am going to have to marry him anyway!”

“There is a time and a place, you know that.”

“Please just continue to attack me, I thought you’d be pleased I was home. Why the hell are you so angry?”

“We aren’t mad, we’re simply frustrated by this situation. None of this is ideal, we didn’t want this for you,” David interjects.

“You’re not the one who has to marry him. I’ve come to terms with it over these few weeks why haven’t you?” The questions stuns her parents into silence, “I’ll leave you to think on that for a while.” Emma stood from her chair in one swift move and stormed out the door.

David turned to Snow, “That could’ve gone better.”

#cs #cs au #cs au fic #cs au ff #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #captian swan #royalty au #cs royalty #Enchanted Forest AU #enchanted forest #emma swan #Princess!Emma #killian jones #Prince!Killian #I hate you but I have to marry you #enemies to lovers

25 notes · View notes

shireness-says · 5 years

Text

CS JJ Day 22: The Queen’s Librarian

Summary: As the palace librarian under Queen Emma's rule, former Lieutenant Killian Jones gains a reputation for knowing not just what books his monarch wants, but those she needs. Perhaps when all is said and done, she'll need the man himself as well. ~ 11.6K. Rated M for smut-adjacent stuff and language. Also on AO3.

A/N: Here it is - my contribution to @csjanuaryjoy 2019! I had a lot of fun playing with this idea - librarian!Killian is a real weakness for me - so I hope you enjoy it too. Fun fact: Belle and Liam’s kids in this fic are named after children’s book characters, because that’s the kind of thing I think is funny.

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services. Thanks for brainstorming the last half of this with me, babe!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

His nieces and nephew cry when they’re told Uncle Killy is going to work in the palace.

“But Uncle Killy, the Queen is mean!” his older niece, Sylvie, tries to tell him, like that explains everything. Killian understands where she’s coming from; Sylvie may not truly remember what life was like before young Queen Emma, but she’s heard tales of festivals and peace and a Queen and King who were regularly found mingling with their subjects. At only 2, 4 and a half, and 6, all the little ones know is that there’s a tension in their world now, a current of fear everyone is aware of even if they’re not yet acknowledging it. It doesn’t help that the new Queen is the reason their Papa is gone, off on his ship serving Misthaven in their war against King Arthur and Camelot.

Killian, however, is a quite a bit older than the kids, and can vividly remember the years in which Queen Emma’s parents ruled. Queen Snow and King David had been benevolent rulers, the kind of monarchs you felt cared deeply for each and every one of their subjects. The then-Princess Emma had never displayed the same optimistic exuberance her parents had - Killian always remembers her looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than waving in various public functions. Still, he had never gotten the impression she was unpleasant, but rather that she was impatient, anxious to be doing things instead of just acting as a pretty smiling face to be paraded about. Something about the crane of her neck, or the set of her shoulders. Killian could understand that, on a certain level, that desire to prove oneself. But now, with that opportunity placed firmly in Her Majesty’s hands, there’s no denying that the public persona she displays is of a stiff back and firm jaw, a woman focused on important matters with little time for frivolity.

Killian understands that too; there’s a war on, something her parents hadn’t had to deal with in many years. Sure, they’d maintained an army and navy, like any responsible country - Killian had served in the Royal Navy himself, alongside his brother, before a pirate attack and subsequent medical discharge had left him land-bound and minus his left hand. But they’d been a nation at peace for many years, ever since the ultimate defeat and banishment of the Evil Queen, respected and respectful in their dealings with their neighbors. Unfortunately, when the late Queen and King had died, their shared heart connecting them even in death, the proverbial wolves that had likely always been prowling at the door had pounced, taking advantage of the new Queen’s youth and inexperience as the ideal time to make their aggressive move. King Arthur of Camelot had always been power hungry, fancying himself far more important and deserving than he truly was, but it had still been a shock when mere weeks after Queen Emma had ascended to the throne of Misthaven, he had declared war over some supposed breach of trading agreements. More likely, that was a convenient front for his greedy desire to annex Misthaven’s lands as part of his own kingdom. And so, Misthaven had suddenly been thrown into a conflict it hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t fully ready for.

Killian’s brother had been called back to sea with the outbreak of conflict, leaving his little brother to look after his wife and their three children at the specialty bookshop Belle owned. Liam was a career military man, a Captain in the Royal Navy with his own ship and own command, but one who had scaled back considerably upon his marriage and fatherhood. During the peacetime, Liam had been able to ask for shorter assignments, trips where he could serve his monarchs while still being able to return to his family in a matter of a few short weeks - mostly diplomatic assignments, carrying envoys and messages between the nearby kingdoms. But Liam is gone on a semi-permanent basis now, called to defend his country from the sea, back every few months - if they’re lucky - for only a few days at a time for the past two and a half years.

Killian’s injury, that devastating loss of his hand, means he’s unable to serve his country in the traditional way like he might have if he had still been a full-bodied man. Perhaps that’s why he accepts when he’s offered the job as the new palace librarian after the position’s previous holder had retired; despite his inability to fight, Killian still wants to assist the cause, even if this is the only way. It’s not as if this will be a hardship, anyways; quite the contrary. He’d go so far as to call it an honor. He started his second career in bookselling just as a way to help out his sister-in-law and keep himself from going mad with boredom, but he’s found it suits him well. He’d always been a voracious learner, and working in the shop gives him an excuse to read anything that strikes his fancy on the pretense of needing to provide reviews to their customers. The exactitude of the work appeals to him as well, the strict system required to maintain an organized and functional bookseller’s playing well with the ship-shape mentality so fostered in the Navy. He’s even picked up some of the minor binding repairs, though Belle is still better at those; there are certain tasks you really do need two hands for.

Killian knows, in his heart of hearts, that they probably would have preferred Belle for the job; between her pair of hands and her lengthier experience, having grown up in that very shop and taken it over from her father, she’s the better choice. However, she also has her own business, three small children, and a husband away at sea, all things that keep her from being able to accept the job, even had she wanted to. Thus, Killian is the more practical choice, a bachelor more able to switch jobs at will. Belle can always hire more help, and besides, with the on-site housing the position provides, he’ll be able to send money back home to her and the children.

So he reassures his little gaggle that things will be fine, just fine, nothing to worry about, and packs his bags for this new opportunity.

As he approaches the gates, however, he thinks that the kids might have a point. There’s something about the towers and sturdy stonework that, while elegant from afar, seems so intimidating up close, more fortress than grand home. Killian tries to tell himself that he’s just being silly, but it kicks his nerves into high gear. Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

Courage, man, he scolds himself. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

It helps that there’s someone already waiting for him when he gets closer, an older gentleman with a serious face but smiling eyes. He holds his tall frame like a soldier, like someone always waiting for some threat to pop out from around the corner; Killian wonders which branch he’s served with, if he’s still serving or working at the palace in some other capacity.

“Lieutenant Jones?” the man asks, before Killian’s thoughts can run away any further. His voice matches his appearance, somehow; firm and sure, yet not particularly loud. It’s been a while since Killian was referred to by his rank, but there’s something almost comforting about the title. It’s able to snap him out of his nerves and back into the job at hand.

“Aye, sir, that’s me,” he replies smartly, barely resisting the urge to salute. It’d look silly anyways; he’s only got the one hand, and it’s filled with the little bag packed full of his clothes. It probably would have been more practical to wear his hook, at least for carrying his stuff, but he knows how the damn thing looks and had wanted to make a good first impression. The wooden hand is damn near useless, but it tends to set people more at ease.

“Captain Graham Humbert,” the other man introduces himself, wisely choosing to nod in Killian’s direction instead of the more common handshake. A perceptive man, too, Killian notes; though maybe it’s others who should feel embarrassed about trying to shake the hand of a one-handed man, he’s always the one who feels off-kilter as he’s forced to juggle around everything he’s carrying to appease other people. “I’m one of Her Majesty’s advisors, and have been tasked with getting you settled.”

“A pleasure,” Killian nods in return. It may be too early to make any real judgements, but so far, he likes Captain Humbert and his direct manner. He seems like a calm man who you always know where you stand with, and there’s a lot to be said for that.

“Now, if you’ll follow me?” Humbert gestures, opening the gate and sweeping an arm wide in invitation.

“I’ll show you to your room, and the library of course, as soon as possible,” the older man explains as they walk across the grounds, following the neat cobblestone path, “but there’s the formalities to take care of first. Namely, meeting the Queen. As for your room, it’s right next to the library itself where you’ll have a office as well —”

“Meet the Queen? Now?” Killian sputters out as his mind catches up with his companion’s words.

“Yes, meet the Queen,” Humbert repeats as if it’s obvious, raising his eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem at all,” Killian rushes to cover. “I just… er…” There’s the strongest urge to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tic he’s never quite broken, but his hand’s not free for that particular maneuver. He can’t quite put into words why the idea of meeting his monarch makes him nervous, mostly because he can’t put his finger on it himself. Obviously, he’d known that he’d be interacting with officials in his new position, but this feels a little bit like tossing him to the wolves straight away to see what he’s made of. He shouldn’t be so nervous; it’s not the first time meeting his monarch, that occasion happening years and years ago in the ceremony when he was first promoted to Lieutenant, back when the late Queen Snow and King David were still alive and he’d had good reason to be nervous as a young and clueless lad.

Humbert is good enough to smile and clap him on the back reassuringly. Killian’s really warming up to that man. “It’s just a formality - nothing to worry about,” he reiterates. “She just likes to be kept up to date and meet the staff. Put a face to the new names, if you will. I promise, she’s not nearly as intimidating as you’d think.”

“Well that’s… good.” What else is he supposed to say?

Killian had expected to be led to the throne room for the introduction, much like he had all those years ago, but Captain Humbert leads them through a maze of hallways, deeper and deeper into the palace, before stopping to knock on one of the doors. It must be a private wing; the carpets and sconces are still elaborate and expensive, but he somehow feels like it’s seen by few.

“Come in,” a voice sounds, faintly. It’s a female voice, so Killian supposes it must belong to the Queen, but he didn’t expect Her Majesty to sound quite so… distracted. Maybe the voice is from some sort of secretary or assistant, instead? Regardless, Killian braces himself for the introduction to come, posture snapping to attention in a way he’d never quite forgotten even after his discharge from the Navy.

When Humbert opens the door, however, it’s not a harried assistant waiting for them, but the Queen herself, bent over a stack of papers at her desk and clearly paying more attention to the words on the page than anything else going on around her. Killian almost expects to see little spectacles perched on her nose to complete this picture of fierce concentration before remembering that the Queen is still just a young woman, a few years younger than himself, even. She likely has several more years yet before she’ll need reading glasses. The room itself is much less grand than he expected - filled with well-made and doubtless expensive furniture, he’s sure, but it doesn’t feel like some display piece on a grand scale. It feels used, lived in. You can’t fake that homey air or items set down absent-mindedly as new matters demanded attention.

She pops her head up quickly enough, eyes wide with surprise and anticipation, when the Captain clears his throat to get her attention. “I hope we’re not interrupting, Ma’am,” he cautions.

“No, of course not, it’s fine, Graham,” she excuses. “I needed to take a break from these reports anyways. Is this the new librarian?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the other man replies, surreptitiously nudging Killian to prompt him to respond on his own - a necessary measure, considering Killian would have been more than happy just to let the Queen’s advisor lead this conversation.

“Killian Jones, Your Majesty,” he introduces himself, stepping forward to sketch a little bow as well as he can with his bag still in hand. “It’s an honor.”

“You were in the Navy, were you not?” she asks. Killian tries not to be too flattered that she knows that; if the stack of reports on her desk is any indication, she must be briefed about everything, no doubt including changes in her staff. Still, it’s nice that she remembered.

“Aye - I mean, yes, Ma’am,” he hastens to correct. ‘Aye’ feels just a little too informal for an audience with his sovereign. “I was a Lieutenant on the Jewel of the Realm before my injury.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Queen smiles, but it seems more a perfunctory gesture. Then again, with the weight of this war no doubt hanging over her head, her ability to find joy in things must be hindered. “If you need anything as you assume your duties, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let either Captain Humbert or myself know. I’m sure you have quite the task on your hands - the previous holder of the position was… a little set in his ways.” Killian assumes she means old and eccentric. Gods willing, the task ahead of him will be a manageable challenge.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Queen Emma’s already turned her attention back to her paperwork, which Killian assumes is his cue to leave.

“Nothing to worry about,” Humbert smiles and says again once they’re back in the hallway and presumably moving towards the library and Killian’s chamber. “I’m afraid most of your interactions with Emma will be like that - she’s a bit too busy for much else these days,” he continues fondly.

The clear affection in the other man’s tone throws Killian off. There’s obviously some piece of Captain Humbert and the Queen’s relationship that he’s not quite grasping. “Pardon me, but you said you were one of Her Majesty’s advisors?” Killian cautiously asks.

“Yes, but I was her godfather first,” Humbert explains, correctly guessing where Killian’s question is leading. “Advisor sounds a bit better now though, considering she’s a grown woman in charge of a country.”

“Aye, I can see where that might be the case,” Killian chuckles.

They continue in silence only a few minutes longer down the corridors before stopping in front of a beautiful pair of glass-paned doors, the library just visible behind the decorative ironwork supporting each frame. Killian takes a moment just to marvel as his guide holds one of the doors open - it’s truly a wonder of a library that he’s faced with, and it’s about to all be his responsibility.

“Are you coming in?” Humbert asks, smiling at what must be an expression of childlike awe on Killian’s face. “I promise, you’ll get plenty of time to look your fill.”

“My sister-in-law would love this,” Killian explains as he finally crosses the threshold. “My nieces and nephew, too.”

“They’re welcome to visit. Perhaps once you’ve gotten a little more settled in?”

Killian grins at the thought. “They’d love that. I’d love that. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” the older man says. “Truly, we want you to be as comfortable here as can reasonably be arranged. Just say the word. Now, you’ve got an office through that door —” he gestures towards the right-hand side of the room, where another ornate door is nestled between arching staircases to a second balcony-level of shelving — “and the librarian’s quarters through the other.” The door on the left-hand side mirrors its pair in placement, but doesn’t feature the same glass and ironwork as the main doors and office door do - likely to provide greater privacy. “There’s a lower level too, down a short staircase in the office, where the older and more fragile documents are stored away from the light. Would you like to go straight to the catalog, or would you prefer to deposit your bag first?”

“The bag first, if you don’t mind.” At Humbert’s acquiescent and friendly nod, Killian quickly crosses to the door leading to his rooms, briefly switching his bag to hang from his prosthetic to open the door. The room inside is reasonably sized, containing both a small sitting area and a bed with a dresser, all in warm woods and soft green fabrics that make the whole space feel comfortable. The two windows overlook a lovely view of the gardens, and if he’s not mistaken, the room is positioned to catch the light for as late as possible in the evenings, with a view of some beautiful sunsets to boot. It’s easy for Killian to imagine himself spending time in these rooms, doing his own private reading and spending his off hours.

It’s easy to tell Captain Humbert as such when the other man asks how he found his accomodations once he emerges back into the library.

“Excellent,” Humbert beams. “Now, as for the catalog,” he segues as they move instead towards the office, “I’m told it’s a very thorough compendium. However, Mr. Bradford’s organization system is… truthfully, a bit hard to follow. It made sense to him, but not to most others. I’d call it archaic, but I really don’t have enough knowledge of any other library system to make that judgement. If you will?” He gestures again through the doorway. The office proves to be neat and organized as Killian walks in; a sturdy wooden desk occupies the center of the room, with storage cabinets, presumably containing item records, lining the walls, leaving only a gap for a downwards twisting staircase. Killian assumes that’s for the fragile storage his guide had earlier described.

“The item records are organized alphabetically by title, we’ve discovered,” Humbert continues, “but the shelving itself is a bit of a mystery. As far as we can tell, they’re organized alphabetically by author, but in several different sections that we haven’t been able to really deduce the method of. Personally, I think Bradford was trying to ensure his own job security by making us dependent on his knowledge,” he jokes.

Taking a quick look at one of the cards in the nearest cabinet, Killian is relieved to see that not only is each one neatly written, but he can readily discern what this system is. Humbert had hit the nail right on the head in calling it “archaic” - the previous librarian had evidently been ordering sections by who had printed each volume, an organizational system previously preferred almost a century ago before printing had become easier and more widespread. Belle’s father had actually been one of the devoted hangers-on to that system, before she had taken over the shop and reorganized by subject matter.

“I am familiar with this system,” he assures Captain Humbert, “though I do agree, it’s rather… unwieldy. Is there perhaps someone I can borrow to help reorganize? I think that will be the first priority here.”

“Yes, of course, I’m sure a couple of page boys could be spared. I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow,” Humbert assures him, his friendly face visibly relieved. The old system must have been giving them quite a lot of problems to elicit that reaction. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I think that’s all. It’s a lovely library you all have here - I’m excited to start exploring it.”

“Then if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to get settled in - here are the keys. The larger one there,” he indicates on the ring as he passes them over, “is for your office and the archive downstairs, and the smaller for your room. There should be desk keys in one of the drawers as well. As Her Majesty said, if you need anything, just let me know and I’ll see if we can’t do something about it.” With that, Captain Humbert inclines his head in a little bow and leaves Killian to his own devices.

He could get used to this, Killian ponders as he wanders back out into the main library space. There’s obviously a gorgeous collection here, one he suspects covers an enormous breadth and no doubt countless rare volumes he’s only heard rumor of until now. There’s quite a lot to be done as well, of course - the current organizational system truly is a counterintuitive mess, one he plans on revising first thing - but he’s never been opposed to hard work, and with the promised help, the whole thing should go quicker than he expects.

With that in mind, he turns back to the office to buckle down and begin sorting through the existing card catalog.

———

A week and a half later, Killian’s pleased to note that progress is being made. True to his word, Captain Humbert had sent a bright young page by the name of Henry to help with the reorganization effort. Killian initially just had the lad clearing off shelves onto carts, but he’d attacked the task with an unexpected enthusiasm and finished with the prescribed section much sooner than Killian had anticipated. From there, after a morning teaching Henry how to navigate the current organizational system, he’d set the boy to work weeding out and reshelving fiction works, the easiest portion of their reorganization. The lad is happy and eager to help - Killian is seriously considering seeing if he can be made a permanent librarian’s assistant or something, even after they’re through with this project - and it leaves Killian with plenty of time to work his way through the extensive card catalog, sorting entries into their new categories and noting the change on the card. It’s repetitive work, to be sure, but there’s something rewarding about watching the crates he’s borrowed as a temporary catch-all fill up as he sorts each to his satisfaction. He’ll make a second pass through each category later, but for the moment, he’s pleased with the progress.

The thing about the task at hand is that it’s wholly engrossing when he’s in the midst of it; ten more minutes becomes one more drawer becomes half the night if he’s not careful, Henry long since sent away for the evening and Killian left with only the company of a few candles and the sandwich the kitchens sent up for him. That’s how he sees the Queen again, as it turns out - creeping into the library at an ungodly hour of the night.

She visibly startles when she spots him in the glowing candlelight emanating from his office. For good reason, too; when Killian glances at the clock in the corner, it reads a quarter past one in the morning, well past time for him to call it quits and get some rest. Still, it seems wrong to not at least check and make sure that Her Majesty doesn’t need something before he retires, so after standing and stretching out his hunched back, Killian moves to do just that.

“Is there anything you need, Your Majesty?” he calls as he crosses the room. She doesn’t appear to, settling elegantly on one of the soft green couches and reaching for a book on the end table, but he’d hate to be rude and just cross the room without any acknowledgement. Spotting that she appears to be dressed in her nightclothes and a dressing gown, Killian stops himself from approaching too closely; bad form. Still, he waits patiently at a slight distance for her response, if any.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” she dismisses. “Just a bit of late-night reading to lull me back to sleep.”

Killian can’t help but smile; he understands that urge well, having succumbed himself many an evening. “I’m about to retire, myself,” he offers, “but if you need anything at all, just knock on the door. We’re halfway through assembling a fiction section along that wall, if stories strike your fancy tonight.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

(He can’t help but notice that she doesn’t acknowledge his offer of assistance. Then again, that’s really none of his business.)

(Regardless, she doesn’t knock on his door that night, and he writes the incident off as an unexpected encounter with his Queen - and something he may have to get used to in the future, living under the same gilded roof.)

———

Item requests trickle in right from the beginning, but pick up over time. Though Killian expects to eventually be asked for specific government records, most of the requests are fairly trivial; one of the dwarves wants facts to back up his argument with a friend, the cook has a particular fondness for sickly-sweet romances.

The first official document request he gets is incredibly routine - the records of a particular land battle for the queen and her advisors to study. They’re easy enough to locate down in the archive, but on instinct, he grabs the official reports on four other battles and skirmishes that utilized a similar technique. They weren’t strictly requested, but it feels incomplete not to send the whole picture.

When Her Majesty shows up that night to peruse the library - not an uncommon occurrence, he’s learning - it’s with questions for him as well.

“Why did you send those extra reports today?” She asks, browsing the section he’s begun to devote to life sciences - botany, zoology, and anatomy. It isn’t phrased as an interrogation or a demand, just a question, but Killian still feels put on the spot.

“I didn’t mean to presume,” he replies, “but it seemed like the Council would benefit from the fullest picture available. That battle you requested may be most notable for a certain tactic, but I thought it might be prudent to send records of how that tactic could go wrong as well as its most famous success. Illustrate some of the factors that could affect a modern attempt, if you will.”

Queen Emma nods thoughtfully. The silence as he waits for her response is filled with a palpable anticipation. “Thank you,” she finally says. “You had the right instinct. We ultimately decided not to move in that direction after your very thorough offerings.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Killian replies quietly, modestly, but inside he feels a surge of relief, with no small amount of pride mixed in.

“If you can keep it up with that kind of instinct,” she replies, still looking at the shelves, “I think you’ll do very well here.”

———

Really, Killian should just stay out of it. Keep things professional, ignore the fact that the Queen spends half her nights in his library whiling away the hours during bouts of insomnia and just get his own sleep.

That’s not how it works, though. There’s a little niggling instinct that keeps him working until Her Majesty arrives each night, making sure she doesn’t need anything from him before turning into bed. And it’s that same gut instinct that tells him to leave out the adventure tale he runs across while shelving - a tale of pirates and dashing rescues and high-seas capers.

She seems so often to come in and read histories and dry manuals, he’s noticed. Not that there’s anything wrong with her choices; that’s some people’s preferred reading materials. Her Majesty doesn’t seem to take that same enjoyment, though, and he suspects she’s just reading as an extension of all the reports she absorbs over the course of the day. Regardless of her reasons, the frustrated expression on her face certainly suggests she’s not enjoying her reading. If there’s one thing he’s picked up from Belle, it’s that reading should be a happy pursuit, if not the outright passion she herself finds in it; Killian can’t help but want to bring that enjoyment back to the Queen’s face.

When she tiptoes back in the next night, Killian takes a deep breath to fortify himself before crossing to her customary spot on the couch with the slim red volume in hand. “Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you might enjoy this,” he tells her, thrusting the book in her direction, likely more rudely than he intended.

Carefully, she takes the book from him, a look of confusion gracing her lovely face. “Oh?”

“It’s an adventure tale,” he explains. “Pirates and princesses and daring escapes and True Love. It’s not a particularly serious book, but…” he trails off, suddenly feeling silly.

The Queen takes a careful look at the first page before nodding briskly. “Thank you for the recommendation, Lieutenant.”

Killian can’t tell what that tone means, but it’s not his place to press further. “Of course, Ma’am. As always, just knock if you need anything.” Maybe she thinks he’s being ridiculous, and maybe she won’t read it after all, but it’s gratifying to see Her Majesty paging through the novel with her feet tucked up underneath a couch cushion as he closes his door.

(It’s even more gratifying when a few days later, she asks where she can find other books by the same author. Maybe that gut instinct was right after all.)

———

He wasn’t watching, really, not on purpose. It’s not like he waits by the library windows, just hoping to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty in the gardens. Killian can’t help it, though, if he just happens to spot her as he crosses past the windows as he moves from shelf to shelf.

He can’t bring himself to regret it, though.

From where Killian stands, he can look down over the green lawns where the Queen is practicing archery, shooting arrows at flying targets tossed by an assistant with unerring, deadly accuracy. He didn’t know this was one of her many talents, but he supposes it makes sense; her mother, the late Queen Snow, was famously proficient with a bow. It stands to reason her daughter would inherit that talent.

Killian already knew from his interactions with Queen Emma that she’s a marvel of a woman - brilliant and strong, not to mention breathtakingly beautiful - but this demonstration of her fierce side is something else, something new that leaves him watching in awe. Watching her like this reminds Killian of the warrior queens of legend, women who led armies and charged headfirst into battle alongside their soldiers. With such a fragile line of succession in Misthaven, Killian knows Emma would never be allowed to do the same, but that picture is still in his head. He’s certain she’d make a glorious sight and be absolutely brilliant in that role.

Killian watches for a few minutes longer as Emma shoots down target after target before turning back to the library, this time with a specific quest in mind. If he remembers correctly, they’ve got a biography of Queen Elendrea around here somewhere - he’ll have to pull it and set it aside for the next time insomnia brings the Queen to his little corner of the world.

Sure enough, she’s down in the library the next night, 12:30am, right on time. When she sees the book, she smiles wryly, turning the leather-bound volume back and forth in her hands. Her Majesty isn’t much of a smiler, Killian’s noticed; she makes the motion just fine, but it rarely seems genuine, more just a reflex than anything else. He hopes that maybe, one day, he can coax a real one out of her - or at least that one of his books can.

“I suppose you saw that earlier then,” she comments. She doesn’t put the book down, though, he’s pleased to note, instead fiddling with the edges and running her thumb down the pages.

“Aye,” he replies, somewhat bashful. “I didn’t mean to, of course, I just looked out the windows —”

“It’s fine, Jones, no need for excuses.” That smile is almost real, even if it’s small - probably because he’s scratching at his ear like a dog, a nervous tic he’s never been able to shake. Damn thing.

“It was very impressive,” he offers in response. “Very… fierce. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that.”

“Just working off some frustration,” she shrugs. “My mother used to bring me out when I was upset. It’s not the same without her, but I still enjoy it.”

“I was wondering,” Killian smiles back. “Is that your weapon of choice, then?” The words are teasing, but he’s genuinely curious as well; King David had been a legendary swordsman, and Killian had grown up on the legend of how he slayed a dragon.

“Just the bow, I’m afraid. My father tried to teach me to sword fight, but it turns out I’m not very good.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Killian smiles. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a very capable woman. I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“That’s very kind, but really, I’m not very good at it,” she assures him, looking amused that he’d even think otherwise. “There’s too much footwork, and I’ve never been very good at keeping track of my feet - especially not while having to focus on my arms at the same time. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to learn how to dance, and I’m still not very good,” she confides.

I’d love to dance with you, all the same, he wants to say. That’s crazy talk, though; he can’t say that to the Queen. Where did such a crazy thought even come from? He veers towards safer territory instead. “I haven’t picked up a sword, myself, since my injury,” he says, waving his stump as if in illustration, “but if you’d ever like to spar, I’d welcome the opportunity. Without a second hand, we might be evenly matched,” he jokes.

“What, in here?”

Killian shrugs, almost exaggerating the motion in an effort to seem casual. “Why not? There’s plenty of space in here, enough not to have to worry about injuring the books as long as we stay towards the center. And who knows, it might tire you out enough to sleep.” The Queen adopts a thoughtful expression at that point, but Killian is wise enough not to press it further. Bad form. “Just a thought.”

They retreat to their separate corners, as is customary, but Queen Emma does so with a pensive look on her face - and with the biography in her hand, Killian is pleased to note.

(He’s even more pleased when she returns the next night with a pair of blunted practice swords. As it turns out, she’s just as mediocre with a sword as promised, but he’s very out of practice himself. It’s worth it, anyways, to watch her work up a sweat bouncing across his stone floors.)

———

The moment Queen Emma walks through the doors one evening, maybe three months after their late-night sessions in the library began, Killian can tell something is wrong. Though glimpses of happiness on her face are nigh-on unheard of, that’s usually replaced instead by determination, the undeniable sense that though exhausted and often frustrated, she’s got a spine of the strongest steel underneath that pristine skin. Tonight, though, she just seems listless, a bit lost, picking up a stray book from the table but making no move to page through it. Not that he can blame her - it’s a very dry volume about agriculture techniques that he’d set aside for one of the advisor’s reference earlier. Still - he can’t help but be concerned.

“Pardon my presumption, Your Majesty,” he broaches cautiously, “but are you alright?”

“I don’t even know,” she mutters, seemingly to herself as she stares off into the middle distance. As she realizes her words were audible, she quickly snaps back to attention, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to listen if you need an ear,” he offers in return. Personally, Killian thinks the Queen needs that; she seems to spend so much time performing for others, without taking any for herself. He won’t wheedle or force her to say anything - lord knows he doesn’t have that standing, even if he’s eager to help her in any way she’ll allow.

He doesn’t need to wheedle though, it turns out, as Queen Emma sighs heavily and turns to face him. “I just wonder what I’m doing some days is all. My parents prepared me as best they could, but there’s no way to really know what to expect until you’re sitting on that throne. Especially with a war. Men are dying every day on the borders, and the citizens are terrified, and maybe I try my best, but how good is that? Most days, I feel like I’m making this up as I go along,” she confides with a dark chuckle. “My parents… they were supposed to be here for so much longer. I crave their advice every day, while at the same time, I feel so bitter about the fact that they left me here without their counsel. I know they couldn’t help it, of course, but… they shared a heart. They made that decision, and they did it out of the truest love, but most days, as the one left behind, it feels like they chose each other over their only daughter. And it’s stupid, and irrational, but it hurts, especially when I still need them so badly. My mother was pregnant with me, you know, back when she gave half her heart to my father. And I’m so grateful every day that I got to grow up knowing him, and loving him, and being loved by him, but she didn’t know it would work. She didn’t know that the fairies could bring him back to life with half her heart after Regina crushed his. She could have died, attempting that, and me along with her, but she made that decision. And I’m grateful for it, but on days like today when I feel so lost and unsure what to do, it feels like they’d rather be together and dead than alive - without the other, but with me. Their daughter. Who needs them, so badly. Because I don’t know what to do.” By the time she finishes her speech, one he suspects has been bottled up for far too long, there’s tears trickling down her cheeks.

Maybe it’s overstepping, but Killian carefully reaches out a hand to brush the tears away. She needs that right now more than any propriety, he thinks. “You’re doing the best you can,” he assures her gently. “And maybe that doesn’t always feel like enough, but it’s the most anyone can ask of you. You are the fiercest, most brilliant woman I’ve had the honor of meeting, and I can’t tell you how much I admire what you’ve managed to do. It’s no small feat, leading a country through a war,” he reminds her gently with a smile.

“You really think so?” She asks in a small voice, looking up at him with those big, sad, scared eyes.

“I do. One hundred percent.” An idea strikes him suddenly. “I’ll be right back,” he assures the Queen as he moves to grab the volume he has in mind, one Henry had stumbled across earlier and spent half the afternoon entranced by. Returning to the couch, he carefully places the brown leather tome in Her Majesty’s lap.

She chuckles a little. “A book of fairytales?”

“A book of fairytales,” he echoes. “My sister always says that fairytales teach us to have hope, even in the darkest of times, and I think you could use a little of that right now. I have full faith you’ll find a way to bring us through this.”

“Thank you,” she smiles through the residual tears - the first real smile she’s directed just at him.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You know, after all this tonight,” she laughs, “I think you could just call me Emma. I’d like it if you did.”

“As you wish, Your - Emma. As you wish, Emma.”

———

“I’ll be leaving for a few days,” she tells him one night, almost offhandedly, sitting on her favorite couch as Killian adjusts some of the shelving spacing. “Do you have any recommendations for me to take with?”

Killian’s heart lurches a little bit at that, but he tries to school himself and his traitor heart back into neutrality. The announcement shouldn’t mean anything to him; she’s his Queen, after all, and he’s got no right to harbor any fonder feelings than loyalty, maybe comradeship after all these nights amongst the stacks.

“Well, I suppose the materials I’d send with you to prepare would depend on what you hoped to achieve from this journey,” he replies carefully, making a point to keep his gaze focused on the shelves, lest his gaze give anything away. No doubt, if she looked closely, she could spot his very heart shining out through his eyes, and he’d prefer not to be that obvious, thank you very much.

“I can’t really tell you that,” she replies apologetically. “That doesn’t matter anyways, though. I meant something to read for myself. You know, one of your famous recommendations.”

Killian falls silent at her words, crossing over to peruse the fiction section. Something for her to take with her… the obvious choice would be an adventure story, something to while potential hours in a carriage and make whatever this journey is seem akin to whatever quest for glory she’s reading about. However, Killian’s mind keeps being drawn instead towards the poetry section. It’s riskier, for certain, but his instincts have served him well thus far, so he continues to go with his gut in selecting a collection of love poems. It’s a little too close to how he feels inside, but when has that ever stopped him?

Quickly, he finds a small box to put the volume in before moving to hand it off to the Queen. “Promise you won’t peek, not until you’re on your way,” he warns, smiling teasingly at her and holding the parcel just out of reach.

Queen Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles too as she reaches for box. “I promise.”

(It’s a moment that could make or break his fledgling affections in her hands, but that’s a risk he’s chosen to take. After all, his intuition when it comes to books has served him well thus far.)

She’s gone for almost a week, and Killian feels like he spends half that time just watching his doors to see if she’s about to walk back through. Gods above, he’s pathetic, pining after a woman so wildly out of his reach. That awareness still doesn’t keep his heart from leaping with excitement when Emma walks back into his library, flopping dramatically - or maybe just exhaustedly - into a chair.

“It’s good to see you back,” he smiles. “Did your trip go well?”

The Queen - Emma raises a hand above the chair back to wiggle it in a so-so motion. “It was… eventful,” she finally settles on.

“Is that so?” He doesn’t want to push too hard, knowing she couldn’t tell him even her destination before her departure, but he’s curious, and a willing ear if she wants it.

“Yeah.” She pauses, leaving a stretched silence in her wake before she breaks it again. “What I’m about to say… it’s just between us, alright? Not that you’re a gossip or something, but really, this doesn’t leave here.”

“Of course.”

“I went to the border to meet with one of Camelot’s generals,” she confides. “Lancelot. Good man. There’s apparently a lot of anger and unrest in their country about this war as Arthur keeps conscripting men and diverting more resources than can be spared to the army. He wanted to speak with me about whether we’d back a new government if it came to power. That’s what’s been keeping me up a lot of nights lately - the messages we receive from him.”

“Understandable.”

“He wanted us to meet to talk about a potential successor. Some noblewoman, he said. He maybe forgot to mention that the noblewoman was Queen Guinevere.”

Killian snorts - with that tone of voice, he can’t help it.

“I know, right?” Emma smiles back. “That was a bit of a shock. Apparently, not only has her and Arthur’s marriage been rather on the rocks for a while, but she privately suspects that he’s gone mad and thinks a change in leadership is in order. She’d make a good Queen, I think - she seems genuinely concerned about their subjects.”

“So what did he want to talk to you about then?”

“Support, mostly. If they manage to replace Arthur will we support the new government in return for a mutual peace treaty, blah blah blah. I agreed, of course.”

“Sounds like a successful journey then,” Killian smiles.

“Tentatively, yes,” Emma agrees. Killian is about to turn back to his sorting when she broaches the silence again. “Thank you for the book recommendation. It was lovely.”

Ah yes. That. Killian’s been torn between anxiety about wanting to know what she thought and never wanting to hear about the love poems again, and now is the moment of truth. “I’ve always found those verses to be particularly moving,” he replies carefully.

“I agree. Completely.”

There’s probably more to unpack from that statement, but for the moment Killian lacks the courage to do so. Instead, he flashes a shy smile before turning back to his own distractions.

That’s more than enough to tide him over for tonight.

———

A visit from Belle and the children was probably overdue.

It’s not that he hasn’t seen them at all - he’s been home, of course, for dinners and Liam’s shore leaves and Max’s seventh birthday, but despite being assured from the very first moment by Graham that they’d be more than welcome to come see him, Killian’s just never arranged for it.

Belle’s been pestering him to see his library, though, and he does miss seeing the children, so he finally sets things up for them to come for a visit. It’s worth it just for the massive hug he gets from his little bookworms, but seeing the awe on his sister-in-law’s face is an enjoyable bonus.

“This is amazing, Killian,” she tells him, spinning around in a slow circle. The true testament to her awe is how she barely pays attention to how her three rascals dash off to explore. Not that there’s much they can really get into - the archives are locked up tight, and Killian keeps a tight ship he’s more than willing to adjust if anything is left out after little hands pull them off the shelves. Still, Belle’s always been concerned about maintaining a very precise shelving system, so her lack of concern about possible impending disarray is a real testament to her distraction.

“This is yours, Uncle Killy?” Sylvie yells from across the room, the excitement obvious on her face. Her mother’s daughter, that one.

“I’m taking care of it, little love,” he explains. “The library is the Queen’s, but I get to use it. And that means that all you ruffians get to use it too,” he smiles, bending down to bop Harriet gently on the nose - the only one who hadn’t gone running off immediately.

As if on cue, the doors to the library open, the one squeaking slightly on its hinges. “Jones, I’m looking for —” Emma begins before drawing up short. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” he smiles. He does remember her permission to call her by her given name, but it seems more appropriate to stick to formality with his family present. They’re actively trying to instill good manners and good form into the little ones, anyways. “Just taking a moment to show off the library to my brother’s wife and children.”

The aforementioned wife and children are clearly startled by the interruption, their expressions ranging from mild fear from the young ones to awed surprise from their mother. Quickly, Killian stoops to pick up Harriet from where she’s trying to hide behind his legs, gesturing to Belle to herd the other two closer for an introduction.

“Ma’am, may I introduce my sister, Belle —” she drops into a slight curtsey, likely straight out of some half-remembered etiquette book — “and her children, Max, Sylvie, and Harriet. And this, of course,” he gestures back at Emma, “is Her Majesty, the Queen.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Emma tells them. He can tell that she’s making a concerted effort to exude warmth, her smile one of the rare, genuinely happy ones he’s so rarely seen. She even makes a point to engage his nieces and nephew. “Thank you for letting your uncle come work for me. He’s very good at his job.”

Max and Sylvie still look wary, but little Harriet nods sagely in his arms, like that’s all she needs to hear to like the Queen. Who knows; she’s not yet three, maybe that’s true.

It doesn’t take much to sway the other two, though, especially when Emma leads their mother to her favorite couch to talk about Belle’s recommendations for stories of suspense. At some point, Harriet even ends up standing on the cushion next to the Queen with Emma’s arm bracing her upright as her little fingers play with the few golden tendrils escaping from Emma’s updo.

“See? Not so scary,” Killian murmurs into Sylvie’s ear where she’s curled against his side, paging through some zoology book with beautiful illustrations of fish.

“Of course she’s not scary, Uncle Killy,” Sylvie replies, her brow furrowed in stubborn insistence. “Don’t be silly.”

How easy it is for children to forget and change their minds.

———

“I’ll bet you never imagined this, the first time we met,” Emma pants after a round of sword fighting. She remains slightly terrible at the art, but had actually managed to put her sword to his throat tonight, so maybe there’s hope yet. “Can you believe that was only a few months ago?”

“I really can’t,” he assures her, and it’s true - their dynamic feels so natural that it feels like he and Emma must have been spending their nights together in the library for an eternity. “Granted, that wasn’t the first time we met,” he adds as an afterthought.

Emma frowns at that. “It wasn’t?”

“No. You remember how I was a Lieutenant in the Navy, of course?” he asks. Emma nods in return, though her brow is still furrowed in confusion. “And you remember how such a promotion usually warrants a ceremony here? Especially when one’s brother is made a Captain at the same time?”

“I suppose we would have met then, wouldn’t we?” Emma realizes. “I’m sorry that I didn’t remember.”

“It’s quite alright, love, you’ve doubtless had to do a good many of those ceremonies.”

“It sounds like you remember me, though,” she comments.

Killian bashfully reaches for his ear, only to realize that with the hook, that’d be a terrible idea likely ending in injury. “Aye, well, I was a 23 year old lad, still wet behind the ears, and quite smitten.”

“Oh really?” Emma laughs back, clearly amused by the idea.

“Oh, aye. Absolutely smitten. You were all lightness and smiles and grace, and I was lost. Liam gave me a good bit of grief about it, actually.”

Something about that makes Emma go quiet again. When she finally speaks, it damn near breaks Killian’s heart to hear. “I’m sorry I’m not that girl anymore,” she tells him.

“I’m not that man, either. It’s been eight years; we both grew and changed. I don’t think the younger Emma and I would get on well, not with the man I’ve become,” he replies. He should stop there, but dangerous words bubble on the back of his tongue, and he can’t help but let them spill out. Oh well; instinct has served him well thus far where Emma’s concerned, anyways. “Just because you’re not that innocent, lighthearted girl anymore doesn’t make you any less enchanting. You’ve become so much more in the ensuing years - a strong, capable woman who’s all the more beautiful for it. Any man who doesn’t prefer the woman you’ve become over the girl you were is a fool.”

“And are you a fool, Lieutenant Jones?” Emma asks, stepping into his space to rest her delicate hands on his chest.

Killian swallows, working up his courage again; this feels like a major moment. “Not in that regard.”

She smiles, one hand gently stroking over his heart. “Enchanting, huh?”

Killian finds himself moving once more on instinct - his stump to rest lightly on her hip, and his hand to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “Utterly enchanting,” he whispers, before finally leaning down the last little distance required to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. Maybe it’s improper to be kissing his Queen, but in truth, Emma’s stopped being his Queen long ago to become just Emma, his love.

He’d be more than happy just to spend an eternity on those gentle brushes of their lips, but when Emma starts brushing at the seam of his lips with her tongue, seeking to deepen the exchange… well, he’d be a fool to deny her. And as he said before, Killian Jones is no fool.

The kiss is everything he could want, everything he’s dreamed of in weeks and months of pining. Emma’s hair is indescribably soft between his fingers where his hand has made its way into the strands, as is her hand where it grips at his neck. Her fingers playing with the ends of his hair are enough to make him shudder, ultimately breaking their back and forth of tongues and lips and teeth. That’s probably ultimately a good thing; he’s been told that breathing is important, though it’s never seemed more overrated than in this moment.

As Emma steps away, his stomach plummets - did she not enjoy that the way he did? Did he overstep? - but she just smiles, bending to pick up her discarded sword and twirling it around in an elaborate arc.

“What do you say, Lieutenant?” She smirks. “Up for another sparring session?”

(If that wink at the end is any indication, Killian doesn’t think she means swordplay - at least, not in the traditional sense.)

Laughing - laughing! Emma laughing! - she makes a dash for his private quarters, Killian eagerly giving chase and making sure to shut and bolt the door behind them. Even if no one usually comes to the library this time of night, he’s not taking any chances. Killian turns back around just in time to see Emma drop the sword and toss herself onto the bed in a fit of giggles, bouncing a little as she attempts to arrange herself. He’s only too happy to join her, tackling her back onto the pillows before bracing himself above her.

It’s been a while since he’s done this, the years since he lost his hand and spent living with his brother’s family not exactly conducive to an active sex life, but he remembers well enough to manage. It helps that Emma’s got her loose nightdress and underdrawers for him to deal with, having left her dressing gown outside. He draws the garments off her body in between hungry kisses and Emma seems only too happy to help him do the same, working on the laces of his pants as he tosses his hook Gods-only-know-where and whips his shirt over his head. Her fingers seem to trace over his erection more than they strictly need to as she loosens the laces, the devious little minx. Then again, once her self-assigned task is done, she does reach inside to grip and stroke him with one hand while the other works his pants down his thighs, so complaints seem a little ridiculous.

He has to pull away briefly to finish removing his pants, but that’s probably a blessing in disguise; not much longer and he would have lost all reason and control. As it is, when he returns, now able to lie flesh to flesh, he can return the favor.

Certain things, as it turns out, are still buried in his memory, like that thing with his tongue that always drove the ladies crazy back in the Navy. It has much the same effect on Emma, especially when paired with fingers plunging, stroking inside her as his tongue and lips go to work on her sensitive nub. In contrast, he thought he remembered exactly the way it felt when a woman clenched in climax around his fingers, that surge of masculine pride to match the cresting of her ardor, but with Emma it seems sweeter, better earned.

(That may just be the taste of her release on his lips, however. He’s more than satisfied, either way.)

The sex itself is, not to understate the matter, glorious. There’s always some adjustment with a new partner, learning a rhythm both can follow, but with Emma he falls into sync quickly in a perfect balance of her hips arching upwards and his driving forward on long, delicious thrusts. It’s probably a miracle he’s able to bring her to completion again along with him, the time it’s been since his last encounter bringing him close in an embarrassing amount of time, but he’s able to brace himself on his left arm and reach down to rub just above where they’re joined while mouthing at one of her breasts and somehow, some way, it’s just enough to get her there, the tight clasp of her flesh quickly pulling him after her.

It’s easy to pull her into his arms afterwards, tucking her lithe body against his side and letting their legs tangle together. Maybe there will be a second round later, but for the moment, sleep is calling. Anything else can wait.

“Those are some impressive sword skills you’ve got there, Lieutenant,” Emma mumbles, voice somewhat muffled by the way she buries her face in his still-naked chest. “I insist that we continue our dueling later.”

Killian chuckles tiredly, letting a content little smile appear on his face. “As you wish, milady.”

———

It’s hard to pull himself out of slumber’s grasp, but years in the Navy mean that Killian is dragged back to awareness by the distant sounds of shouting. There’s an urge to just ignore it, to not open his eyes, to let himself slip back into sleep; the events of the night prior were so wonderful he’s frankly afraid they were all a dream, and he’s not anxious to wake up and discover that for certain. Emma stirs a little in his arms, though, and it’s suddenly easier to open his eyes when faced with that proof. He’s eager to see what she looks like in the disarray of the morning anyways.

Beautiful, as it turns out - exquisitely rumpled, with her hair tumbling every which way on the pillow and a peaceful little smile on her face. Killian would be happy just to watch her all morning, but the shouting sounds again, and he’s on instant alert. Not a dream, then.

“Emma,” he hisses, shaking her by the shoulder. “Darling, wake up.”

“Don’ wanna,” she mumbles, trying to turn her face into the pillow.

“Emma, something’s wrong,” he insists. “You’ve got to get up.”

Just at that moment an almighty clatter sounds in the hallways, snapping her to awareness. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. Let me find out.” Quickly, Killian grabs his trousers off the floor, quickly sliding into the legs and tying the laces in a sloppy knot. His first instinct is to walk out into the library, but instinct tells him to check first. Sure enough, as he peeps through the little peephole in his door, they’re not alone. Killian’s blood suddenly runs cold; standing in his library is a strange man holding a sword and wearing a cloak emblazoned with the emblem of Camelot.

“We’ve been infiltrated,” he calls back to Emma as quietly as he can. It’s unnecessary; she’s wiggled into his shirt and crept right up beside him. Killian would take more time to marvel at the sight of her lovely long legs poking out the bottom of his shirt if it wasn’t for the circumstances. As it is, she’s already pushing him aside to take her own peek, just as the man outside cackles with glee.

“I know you’re in here, Your Majesty!” he calls. Emma’s face blanches at the taunt, abruptly swinging away from the little peephole.

“Do you know him?” Killian asks urgently.

“It’s King Arthur,” she hisses back, “though Gods only know what the hell he’s doing here.”

“I know you’ve been speaking with my wife, corrupting my wife,” the intruder continues, conveniently answering Emma’s question. “I know you’ve been trying to steal my country out from under me, you and that traitor Lancelot. I know!” The more the enemy king speaks, the more manic his voice becomes. Killian is suddenly reminded of Emma’s summary of her meeting - that Queen Guinevere feared the King had gone mad. It certainly seems like that’s the case, if the ranting man in the other room is any indication.

“How does he know you’re here?” Killian whispers in question. Arthur shouldn’t have that information.

“My robe,” Emma explains. “It was a gift Guinevere gave me at the meeting, one of a collection of peace offerings. It’s made from very distinctive Camelot silk.”

That would explain it. The how is somewhat irrelevant though, as they’re forced to deal with Arthur’s presence regardless. Killian does his best to tune out the raving as he attempts to come up with a plan. No one knows Emma is here; realistically, no one is coming to save them. As it is, they’re two against one. He’s got his old officer’s sword in his wardrobe, and if worst comes to worst Emma’s blunted sword can be used as a distraction, maybe convince Arthur they’re better armed than they actually are. Play this right, and they might just survive.

“We’re going to have to take him,” Killian tells Emma, as seriously as he can manage.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Emma hisses back.

“We can have the advantage right now - two against one. Eventually others are going to show up to help Arthur, or he’ll figure out how to swing around and through the bedroom window, and we don’t want either of those things to happen. It’s better for us to fight now, while we’ve still got the best chance to take him out.” As he talks, Killian searches for his hook, finally spotting it underneath his chair.

“What do you want me to do?” Emma asks as he clicks the instrument into his brace. Every weapon could prove a crucial advantage.

“Stay behind me, try to get to some other weapon. I think there’s some historic rapier down in the archive, if you can make it,” he instructs, tossing Emma the blunted sword and moving to retrieve his own weapon. He’s the better swordsman, but it’s better for her to have that than nothing at all. “Ready?”

Just then, Arthur pounds on the door. “Come out and face me, bitch!”

Emma nods in determination. “Ready.”

Killian counts down under his breath, before nodding at Emma to open the door. She shoves it back with force, managing to catch Arthur in the face; the idiot had still been standing right there. He reels back with a sudden gush of blood from his presumably broken nose. That’s good for them; he’s already at a disadvantage.

“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, lunging forward towards Emma, but Killian blocks the way, raising his sword and forcing the other man to either engage or get slashed.

From there, it’s a furious battle. Killian knows he’s in a fight for both their lives, this spar more important than even any battle he was part of in the Navy, and pours every ounce of his energy into the duel. His arms ache and he’s drenched in sweat, but there’s no quitting, no resting, because Emma’s life is in his hand - his Queen, his love - and failure is not an option.

Killian’s got Arthur firmly on the defensive, but he’s tiring quickly, and the other man could certainly turn that into his advantage. He’s lost track of Emma, which scares him to pieces, but he’s got the madman in front of him on tenterhooks and he knows Arthur hasn’t been able to reach her. That’ll have to be enough.

It’s almost not, though, because Killian makes a stupid mistake, glances his hip off of one of the tables scattered around the room. He’s distracted only for a moment, trying to make sure he doesn’t trip over the table leg, but Arthur takes that advantage, pressing forward with a crazed look in his eyes. Suddenly his strikes are coming faster and faster and Killian feels the panic rise as he suddenly knows the tides have turned, and not in his favor -

And then, by some miracle, Arthur crumples. Casting darting eyes around him, Killian spots Emma, still poised with a heavy book held aloft where she struck their enemy into unconsciousness.

“Are you alright?” she asks urgently.

“Aye, love,” Killian wheezes back, “just a bit winded. Well done.”

“Thanks,” she replies, tossing the tome aside and making Killian wince. Luckily, when he catches a glimpse of the title, it’s an out-of-date atlas; that probably needs to be removed from the collection anyways. “Now, I don’t suppose you have any rope around?” Killian shakes his head, still too out of breath to speak more than strictly necessary. “That’s fine,” Emma replies. “I’ll just use the belt from that damn robe.”

Gods, he loves her. Killian silently blesses whatever actions of instinct have brought them here, because he’s never encountered any woman more fascinating and magnificent.

A couple of guardsmen, fresh off subduing Arthur’s soldiers, passes by soon enough and is happy to carry the disgraced King down to the dungeons. Thankfully, Emma finds a way to close her robe even without the belt; as keen as Killian is on her excellent arse, he’s not quite as fond of the idea of everyone else catching a glimpse. Graham still seems to know what’s going on anyways as he comes by to check on his goddaughter, rolling his eyes when he spots Killian’s stump arm draped around Emma’s waist, but that’s probably the best outcome they could hope for.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay here the rest of the night,” Killian murmurs in her ear as the mass of worried advisors and guardsmen and seemingly everyone else in the damn palace who needed to check on her begins to disperse. It’s obvious that she’s loved by everyone around her, but for the moment, Killian’s more interested in indulging the fledgling affection between just the two of them.

Luckily, Emma smiles back up at him through heavy-lidded, exhausted eyes. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Lieutenant.”

He’s the luckiest bastard alive.

———

Lancelot is more than happy to take Arthur off their hands, meeting the carriage at the Misthaven-Camelot border after freeing Queen Guinevere - soon to be Queen Regnant Guinevere - from the dungeon of Avalon Castle, where the deposed king will himself await trial. Liam and Graham are even happier to be relieved him, however, after being treated to several days of the king’s raving, the speech impediment caused by his broken nose doing nothing to rein him in.

(It probably doesn’t help either that Arthur keeps shouting about sees fugging da buhworm! Killian had tried to convince his brother that he didn’t need to be the one to volunteer to see this through, but Liam had some idea in his head that after Arthur endangered his younger brother, it’s his personal duty to see this through. So really, it’s his own fault that he’s forced to hear about Killian’s love life from a madman.)

(Killian does find himself wishing they had gagged the crazy bastard when Liam goes off on his own rant about bad form and defiling the Queen. Especially since if anyone’s doing the defiling, it’s Emma herself, at least if the nail marks down his back and the lovebite barely covered by his shirt are any indication.)

Killian’s tenure as the palace librarian ends up being a relatively short one, but he’s fine with that. He accomplished a lot while he was in the position, and he’s sure the next occupant will bring their own remarkable skills.

His own excellent instincts tell him he’d be an idiot to turn down the promotion anyways. Prince Consort really does have a nice ring to it.

#cs ff #cs january joy #csjj #captain swan #my writing #The Queen's Librarian #librarian!Killian #queen!Emma #lieutenant swan #is that a thing?#it is now

145 notes · View notes

elizabethgoldlokidottir · 4 years

Text

Something Precious Act I Ch.2-The Seer

ACT I, CHAPTER 2 THE SEER "Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering."-Yoda, Star Wars: The Phantom Menace It was autumn in the enchanted forest and near the province of Dunbroch. Of all the lands in Vanaheim, the Enchanted Forest(or Misthaven depending on which class of person you came across) tended to have the most beautiful and cold fall weather. In this land, the very air itself was filled with magic. It existed within proximity of every being in this land, whether or not magic was within them or whether it surrounded them. Like a spirit, it lived within every plant and animal, for it permeated all things. This constant flow of magical energy created the beauty of the forest. It gave the falling leaves on the trees their beautiful hues, bright and neon shades of red, yellow and orange, glowing within the wintering trees like fire. There were certain plants that were magical within themselves whose leaves gave a faint glow like the morning sun as they became ready to fall upon the ground. The birds became ready to migrate to warmer parts of the land, warmer kingdoms. The sound of wildlife verberated through the forest just like the magic within it. The usual quarry, the deer, rabbits, wolves and all the small creatures who lived within the forest were looking for places to hibernate or moving towards more bountiful hunting grounds. The magical creatures were no different. Dragons had already found the caverns where they would bed down for the winter. Herds of unicorns followed their migration paths in order to avoid their wild equine cousins in the cinmarron. Winter was coming. As a hush flowed over the forest and mist began to cover the trees, a quiet padding of high heeled boots fell upon the forest floor. Out into the woods, a figure stepped. Of all of the strange creatures roaming these wilds, he was perhaps the strangest of all. He took the shape of a man, but his appearance was not of a normal man. His most outstanding feature was his skin. Where the pale skin of the Scotsman should have been, there was instead glittering golden scales that sparkled in the light. The small glittering scales covered his body just as they covered the body of a reptile. He had unusual amber eyes that glowed within his eyes like smoking embers, grey and yellow all at once. In the place of fingernails, this man had claws. The talons extended half an inch above his fingertip and were a sort of greenish brown, like the woods that surrounded him. Whenever he would come across an obstacle, he would sneer, showing that his canines were just a hint sharper than the average human being. He kept his red cloak wrapped tightly around him as if to ward off the imaginary cold that had not yet settled in. A mop of brown hair existed upon his head that extended nearly to his shoulder. For all of this inhuman appearance, there was some humanity within him, for it could be seen in the raw rubbing underneath his eyes and the few despairing sighs that he let loose now and then. This so called beast, so feared by all of the land, was grieving. He moved out into a clearing. It had been a campsite. He walked over to the fire that had once been set up. Moving closer to inspect it, he had found that it was still smoldering. A litter of dirty blankets and pillows had been stacked near a pathetic looking patchwork tent. He smirked to himself. She was around here somewhere. “Show yourself, dearie.” He spoke in a high pitch voice laced with a Scottish accent. Out of the woods came another figure, another strange creature. This one looked to be a human young woman, with shocking red hair. Yet when one searched out her eyes, only stitches remained. They were stitched closed, almost as if her eyes had been taken out. Instead, she held up her hands and out from each of them a glowing blue eye looked out. This strange creature was cloaked in peasant clothing. She spoke in an almost echoing voice, her voice reverberating through the air like waves through the mist. “Rumplestiltskin. I’ve been expecting you. As you see all that I have told you has come to pass.” The imp smirked as he circled around the seer like a lion stalking around his prey. “Ah...yes...it all came to pass…” His voice grew with intensity as he circled her, his amber eyes settled upon her. Whenever he spoke, he used his hands in animated gestures. The madness within his grieving and jumbled mind had led to certain unstable behavior, or was it just that he no longer cared about his appearance? “You spoke that my actions on the battlefield would leave my son fatherless. And like an imbecile I chose to follow you. So...in fear that I might die, I hobbled myself…” he gestured to the leg on which he used to limp before his powers had come to him. “I returned home to a wife who couldn’t stand the sight of me because of cowardice. She ran off with the damn pirate. Oh...and then to save my son from the wars I became the dark one. Because of them I let my son go to the land without magic and being the coward I am...I didn’t follow. So yes...because of my actions on the battlefield my child did become fatherless. But….” he came closer to her and snarled, his voice holding the edge of sarcasm. “It would have been nice to know all the pesky details!” He tried to tell himself not to be harsh with the woman, for if Baelfire was here with him that wouldn’t be what he wanted. After he swallowed his anger deep down, producing an unpleasant taste akin to bile in his throat, he gave her an intense stare. “I want you to tell me one last thing. I have one last question for you. And seeing as you ruined my life I should think you owe me at least this one.” He stood there, his small figure compared to ordinary men still carrying the power of the darkness coursing through his veins. “Will I find my son?” and for a moment, there was the desperation of a father in his voice, for it shook and trembled as the true grief and devastation threatened to show. The seer held up her hands, not to see into the future but to stop his speech. “Wait. There is one price you must pay.” She held out her hands. “Take this burden from me.” He stood there, comprehending it for a moment. After all, if she wanted this gift taken from her, surely it must have been painful. Yet he knew he had no choice. To get his son back he would do whatever it took. Seeing into the future just might point him to where he needed to be to find him. He could finally see what fate awaited him. Future was the specter that all men feared, and he would be able to tear off his black robe and look into the phantom’s eyes. “Erm...alright.” he said in his high pitched, almost playful voice as he grabbed her hands. Out of the fog and the mist, a bright light burst forth from the two figures, as power flowed from one to the other. The female screamed in pain as the magical energy flowed from her to the imp who had taken a hold of her hands. The surrounding animals ran away in fright, both the predatory creatures and their prey. Rumplestiltskin stared into the air in front of him, his eyes giving him the appearance of being in a trance. He looked around frantically as if he was trying to find a figure in front of him, as if he had suddenly become blind. “It’s all a jumble!” he said in alarm. “I can’t make it out!” “Focus…” the seer hissed, her voice becoming weaker and weaker as the imp in front of her began to rapidly breathe, the panic ensuing within him. “Over time, and practice, the pieces will fall into place.” all the sudden the all powerful dark one felt weak...vulnerable...like a beginner just learning how to work his magic. That was not desirable for him. For even though he still had much to learn about the dark arts he would never admit it. Yet he listened...in desperation to find his son, he swallowed his pride and accepted the seer’s teachings. He focused himself like one would focus their vision. There was only one vague vision that presented itself. He was in the same wood that he was now, but it was eerie and dark. He could smell blood. A paddock remained nearby as well as a series of shacks. In the middle of the clearing, a work horse was tied up, latched to a post. The creature was mangy, the equine covered in old wounds that had tattered it’s fur. The poor horse’s eyes were wide in panic, and he could see tears within them. There was a bloody bandage around it’s right hind leg, extending down to the fetlock from the cannon bone. The pack animal shook from fear and crossed it’s legs now and then as it struggled to gain it’s footing, having little to no coordination. Rumplestiltskin, having always had a sympathy towards animals(far more than he did for people), felt his heart breaking towards the creature. He knew what it was like to be lame, to be friendless. Out of the smokehouse came the drunk owner, filthy, dressed in peasant clothes and obese, he came staggering out towards the mare that was tied up. There was a whip in his hand, and the mare was trying to release herself from the post. The equine neighed in fear and tried to strike out with her hooves, but she could not rear up on her hind legs. She backed away, limping harshly as she did so. As the brute came closer and closer with the whip, Rumplestiltskin held out his hands to try to choke him with his dark magic, but it wasn’t working. As the abuser approached, the horse looked right at the imp, her eyes wide in panic. And then...she spoke within his mind. “FATHER! HELP ME!!” As he woke up from the vision in a sheer panic, he quickly let go of the seer’s hands, staggering backwards. “A dirty trick!!” he snarled. “You only wanted to release yourself from this torment! And that vision! It is wrong! First of all, how the hell would I give birth to a horse! Second of all, I only have one child and he is a male! Do you actually think that any woman would lay with me long enough to produce another?! Me?! The monster?!” Well! Explain yourself!” he tried to look to the seer’s stitched face, but instead she now lay as a lump on the ground. The transfer had taken too much out of her. Her breathing was shallow and harsh. The young woman was dying. He had to get his bargain before she passed away. He leaned over her. “Now I have taken this burden from you. If you cannot explain what I saw...fine. I will find out for myself. But I wish to know one thing, and I pray you do not make me wait. I cannot spend years trying to focus my vision when there could be a way to find him once more. Now tell me…” his voice was dangerously low, a hint of an animalistic growl within it. “Do I find my son..” The seer, speaking in a weak and gasping voice answered him. “Yes…” At that simple answer, a wave of relief broke over him as well as excitement. His boy...he knew that he was somewhere out there. His features for once grew soft, as he thought of the day that he was born..and that he would once more hold his darling son within his arms. “How.” he stated with some impatience...and excitement..as he looked to her. “You will form a curse that will lead you to him...but you will not cast the curse…” a ragged breath came from her as her hands shook. “Someone else will. And you will not break the curse...someone else will…” at this point, she struggled to breathe. “Yes, yes!” his voice grew impatient. “Go on!” “A young boy will lead you to him. But be warned...the boy will be your undoing. And yet there will be another who can save you from this fate. There will be the young boy, but there will also be a young girl. The girl will be your salvation…” She could not hold her breath anymore. She gave a sharp exhale and then fell back upon the ground, her body growing limp. As she passed away, the dark one leaned in to inspect her. He placed his finger to her throat. No pulse. He sighed to himself, running his clawed fingers through his brunette hair. “Rubbish..” the imp growled under his throat. “Absolute rubbish.” But there was a part of him that knew she was right deep down. But about that child...now that had to be ridiculous. No one could ever love him. Or could they?

#rumbelle #rumbelle child #OUAT Crossover #marvel crossover

1 note · View note

hookedonapirate · 6 years

Note

I follow you for a while now and I wondered if you can tell me your favouite fanfic authors and why? what kind of stories do you follow and which tropes are you avoiding? I am always looking for stories to read and authors to follow. love yor stories so much. thank you for answering the question and being a wondeful person

Hi Nonnie, thanks so much for your ask and kind words! I’m so sorry it took me so long to post this, I feel awful, but it was a terribly busy week/weekend.

So, I know you are not trying to get me in trouble here, but I don’t like to exclude authors by naming my favorites because honestly there are so many talented authors on here who all have their own writing style and many different ideas, so to only name a few would not cut it I think. There are a few Tumblr blogs that always post fic rec lists and I would like to call them out.

@timeless-love-story

@onceuponaprincessworld

@cat-sophia

@yayimallamaagain posts fic rec lists every Sunday, and if you’re looking a specific tropes @shady-swan-jones has many lists organized by particular tropes.

There are also fic events going on where you can find some wonderful stories:

@cssns has a cs supernatural event with stories about wolves, vampires, ghosts, ect.

@searchingwardrobes has an event for authors to post stories based on romantic comedies.

@captainswanbigbang will be posting some amazing MC stories starting in September, and there are also stories from previous years too.

The stories I’m following are older fics that haven’t updated in a really long time because I haven’t been reading much lately. I would say a trope that I try to avoid is fake!dating, which I know everyone loves, but I’ve just never cared for this trope unless the story very mildly includes it.

Here is a list of some recently updated MCs that deserve some more love and recognition, but I’m not sure of all of the author’s Tumblr blogs so some of them I mentioned their AO3 accounts. Anyone can feel free to any stories to the list!

Lessons in Music by @fedupwithfairytales - When Killian Jones, teacher, receives a drunk text from Emma Swan, aspiring musician, he discovers that even he still has a few lessons to learn about life and maybe even love.

Wedded Bliss and Asterisks by @seriouslyhooked - Emma Swan is a self-proclaimed enemy of love who just so happens to be an up and coming wedding dress designer. She’s convinced that true love is nowhere in her future but then she meets Killian Jones, a handsome and charming man whose magazine is covering the opening of her new boutique. Suddenly Emma finds herself drawing up new plans for her life, ones that seem to all be leading towards her own form of wedded bliss. Includes falling in love on trains, lots of friend fun, and all the CS cuteness your heart could ever want.

If Looks Could Kill by @wellhellotragic - Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises. Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down. Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor.

Ugly Duckling by @Sabstar - Emma Swan is the opposite of a beauty queen. She likes her hair up and her shoes comfortable and couldn’t care less about the Storybrooke Beauty Pageant, run by her mother and former contestant Mary Margret. The pageant happens annually in her town and Emma avoids the mob scene of makeup like the plague. Things start to turn upside down when Emma decides to write an expose for her school newspaper about the superficial scandals that happen within the pageant. Emma may be competing undercover but will she learn that the world of beauty is less superficial and a little more beautiful than she originally thought?

Against the Current by @sounni - Agent Emma Swan is as tough as nails, using her job to fill the void being abandoned had left. Sent undercover to investigate Arms Trafficking her world is thrown into complete chaos by her boss. Killian Jones is the playboy CEO and her main suspect. Fighting an attraction to a man more closed off than she is may mean that the only way to get answers is to break her only rule - Never let people get close!

Far Across the Land and Sea by @liliumweiss - When he followed the woman in blue in that dark alley, Killian Jones didn’t expect to sail the high seas with a princess on the run. When she found herself near Misthaven, Princess Emma didn’t expect to to partner up with a pirate who wanted revenge on the man who had ruined her life. Only sailing the high seas and traveling far, far away from home Emma will be able to live again, fighting evil witches and curses, making new friends and, maybe, even falling in love.

High Rollers by @librarybelle - Princess Emma Swan has always been a gambler. Tired of mundane castle life waiting to be married off, she chases every thrill she can, her adrenaline fulled curiosity finally leads to her sneaking out the castle to join the sailors and punters gambling in the seaside village’s seediest tavern. It’s there she sparks the interest of a devilishly handsome pirate and their whirlwind affair leads them on misadventure where Emma learns that things aren’t always as they seem. In a quest to learn the truth they raise the stakes for both of them gambling with their hearts and their lives.

#anon asks #cs ff #cs fic rec list #cs ff rec #captain swan

88 notes · View notes

artistic-writer · 6 years

Text

Alii dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 19

Title: Alii dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh - Graham - Liam - Brennan - Ruby

Chapter Art by @cocohook38 - Ch1 - Ch2 - Ch3 - Ch4 (NSFW) - Ch5

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Werewolf Sunday! Here is ch 19 guys - sorry it’s late but I am back at work now, and I forgot to queue it up!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife

Want to be tagged/untagged? TELL ME HERE

——————————————————————————————

“To Graham and Ruby!” Brennan declared loudly, arm raised above his head and a small, glass tumbler in his hand. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, and the sound of ice cubes clinking the side of glasses echoed in their corner of the pub as Liam and Killian joined him in his toast.

“Graham and Ruby!” Liam echoed gleefully.

“To Graham and Ruby,” Killian repeated quietly, his voice a soft whisper next to his brother’s. He was happy for his friends, he really was, but he was also now sitting in a public place with his brother and his father, so his anxiety was a little spiked. He gave his father a suspicious sideways glance as he threw his head back and swallowed the rum in his glass, the burn of the liquid causing a warmth in the pit of his stomach.

Three glasses hit the dark wooden table together, years of grime evident in the thickness of the lacklustre varnish coat. It was patchy, shiny in places where others were dull and Killian tapped his outstretched arm at the spot next to his glass. His focus was on his fingertip, the nail digging into the soft table top where it really shouldn’t, and he ground his back teeth a little as a silence fell over their table.

“So,” Brennan began, twisting his body in the chair next to Killian’s so he was facing his son.

Killian knew what was coming and he held up his hand to cut him off, his pointed finger turning into a balled fist instantly. “Please, don’t apologise again,” he bit out.

“Killian,” Liam admonished, a frown on his face. “Not here,” he warned gently, scooting his chair forward under the table when a gaggle of humans sauntered past laughing.

“Look, Killian, you asked me here, remember? I can just as easily not be here.” Brennan looked to Liam for help with his wayward youngest, but neither had time to say a word before Killian snapped again.

“Oh, that’s what you are good at, isn’t it? Running away.” Killian slumped back in his chair, fist balling even harder on the table, leg twitching under the table and bobbing up and down on the ball of his foot.

“Okay, let’s all just calm down for a second. Shall I get us some more drinks?” Liam pushed himself to his feet, pausing to await Killian’s response. He was met with silence, his brother clearly haunted by not only his past but also more recent events.

“I’m not sure that would be wise.” Brennan shook his head, pointing at Killian accusingly. They had been in the pub some hours, firstly to celebrate the birth of Davin and then, once the excitement had dissipated, to talk over Kilian’s plan.

Killian had wanted answers. He was convinced his father’s mistakes could change his future, teaching him how to avoid the council and allow him to be with Emma. Only, his father had given him nothing more than the cold, hard realisation that the more he tried, the less likely it would ever be that he could be with Emma. Maybe if she was a lesser wolf, but the heir to Misthaven would never be able to simply disappear. “I think your brother has had enough,” Brennan whispered low, his words directed at Liam.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough!” Killian’s voice boomed over the table and the barman shot them a look. “Maybe you should get some more drinks, Liam,” Killian spat, waving an arm towards the bar. “Father might not return if he goes.” Liam sighed, rolling his eyes at his brother’s childish antics and gave his father a knowing nod before making his way to the bar. Brennan watched him go, his demeanour and patience for Killian wearing thin.

“Now, see here, boy,” Brennan growled, leaning over and grabbing Killian by the head. His hand splayed out over the younger wolf’s skull, fingers digging into the thin covering of flesh painfully, and Killian tried to pull away uselessly. “I’m sorry I don’t have the answers you want,” he growled into Killian’s ear, eyes flicking around the pub in case anyone was watching. “But if you want to play this little dominance act, then I would be more than willing to take this outside.” Killian gave his father a sideways glance, their ears touching, and Killian turned his head away from his father’s stare as best he could in his position. “Better,” Brennan said softly, loosening his grip.

“Get off of me,” Killian spat through clenched teeth, wrenching his head from his father’s grip.

Brennan cocked his head sideways, taking in his broken son. Scars, fresh and old, littered Killian’s body from what he could see, and his heart softened instantly. Brennan had known bigger, pureblood wolves with less marks than his son. Killian’s fury was justified, his frustrations even more so. Brennan understood how he just wanted to be with the woman he loved, he had known that feeling, but he also knew Killian was trying to distract himself from the mental scars of being tortured.

It wasn’t his fault. He was half human after all.

“Killian, I can help you be a better wolf,” Brennan coaxed. “Faster and stronger. You can protect yourself, for next time.”

Killian stifled a laugh. “I don’t plan on being tortured again any time soon.”

“Of course not, but…” Brennan didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Killian cut him off anger, his words venomous and spiteful.

“It’s clear you cannot help me with what I need, so stop trying to find ways to bond with me. We are not the same, we never will be. Liam might have forgiven you for breaking our mother’s heart, but you would have to really sacrifice to win my trust.”

“Is your hatred for me or Neverland right now?” Brennan asked gently, trying to pull his son out of his rage. “Or do you just hate wolves?” he suggested, watching Killian flinch at his words.

Killian looked up at his father, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth once more. He was void of expression, the cold, dark stare he was giving his father full of resentment that he couldn’t control. Killian’s inner wolf was channelling his rage and Emma had unlocked the beast, paving the way for his true nature to reveal itself, and whilst it was a human-like wolf for her, he seemed unable to contain his wolfish humanity right now. Killian had thought he was okay with his father, had thought he understood the reasons behind his departure, but as it turned out, he was no closer to being able to welcome him with open arms than he had first thought.

“The only pureblood I’ve seen you tolerate is Humbert,” Brennan sighed, waving a hand at Killian.

“He saved my life,” Killian growled defensively.

“He’s still a purebred, Killian. A big, bad wolf who has done his fair share of killing for his pack. He might have been your savior, but tell me,” Brennan pried, leaning forward until his elbows were resting on the table. He laced his fingers and licked his lips, eyebrows arching on his forehead. “Do you not see how we are all the same?”

“I’m nothing like you. You made Liam and I without a second thought. If you had cared, you would have just left our mother alone and not forced us into this life.” Killian’s cheeks flushed with his anger, pricking pink under his assaulting words, his voice low and even so only a Were could hear.

“So we’re all monsters,” Brennan surmised sarcastically.

“No, not all pureblood wolves are monsters,” Killian grumbled with a shake of his head.

“Of course,” Brennan nodded with realisation. “The Nolan wolf. Emma.”

“Don’t you say her name,” Killian challenged, looking his father up and down from across the table, sizing up his potential opponent for battle. “Blood doesn’t matter with us…”

“And it didn’t with your mother and I,” Brennan interrupted. “And yet, we were ripped apart. Forced apart by the powers that be, the powers that govern our kind.” Killian shot him another look, nostrils flaring. “Her kind, Killian. She is a pureblood.”

“We’ll find a way to be together,” Killian said defiantly. “I will not fail where you have. I will fight for love.”

“Listen to you. You think Nolan will accept you because his daughter loves you? You’re wrong, Killian, and you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’m willing to die for love,” Killian said in a shaky breath, swallowing hard when his own words took him by surprise. “For some of us, love is more powerful than fear.”

“Is that what you think me leaving you, your brother and the woman I loved was?” Brennan snorted a laugh, slamming his hand down on the sticky table surface. “It wasn’t fear, my boy, it was sacrifice. I sacrificed my love, so that you could all survive.” Brennan’s ear tips turned red, something Killian knew that his own did when he was riled. “You may not believe it, but I love you, Killian. You are my son, and I love you.”

Killian was taken back by his father’s words, the air leaving his lungs and his face paling. He had waited his entire life to hear those words from his father, hear them actually spoken to him rather than in a general passing comment from his mother or brother. It shook him. He wasn’t ready to hear it. “Prove it,” he whimpered, his gruff voice shaking as tears pricked at his eyes. Brennan’s silence spoke volumes and Killian licked his lips, sucking in a defeated breath.

Killian pushed himself to his feet, stopping to look upon his father who was staring at his empty glass in contemplation. Of what Killian didn’t know, but he had given him enough of his time. He needed to get back to Emma, back to Liam’s loft and be with her, to make sure she was safe. He felt like only he could keep her safe but before he could make a move to exit the pub, his father grabbed his forearm and halted him in his tracks.

“Wait,” Brennan said desperately, flicking his gaze up to Killian with pleading eyes. The conflict on Brennan’s features made him frown and Killian titled his head curiously. “There is a plan,” Brennan began, his voice hushed. He tugged on Killian’s arm until his son sat back in his chair, just as Liam arrived back to the table with three fresh rums.

“What plan?” Liam asked dumbly, repeating the tail end of the conversation he had just walked in on.

“Hush, boy,” Brennan whispered gruffly, pulling Liam into his seat too. He leaned forward, chin inches from the grimy table top and both Liam and Killian mirrored his actions. “There is a plan to attack Misthaven,” he admitted, casting a glance around the bar in case they had been followed.

“What? When?” Killian demanded, sitting back up with panic in his eyes. If Misthaven was to be attacked, Emma had to know.

“Soon,” Brennan told him. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”

“And how can we trust a Neverland wolf?” Killian growled, wrinkling his nose in disgust and shooting Liam a glance. “After everything.”

“Killian, I didn’t know! Do you think I would have let him do those things to you if I had known you were his target?” Brennan bellowed, exasperated. “Walsh’s orders were to find the Nolan bitch but he got caught up in revenge. He has never stopped talking about how he would kill the wolf who gave him that scar.” Brennan's lips twitched into a proud smile that quickly faded away when he realised what he had said, and to who. “I didn’t mean…”

“Emma should know,” Liam insisted, distracting Killian from berating his father for his choice of words. Liam’s hand on his shoulder shook him roughly and he was confused for a second at Liam’s words. “She should go back to Misthaven.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “You’d both like that, wouldn’t you?”

“To warn her family!” Liam told him, irritated. “Family is important, Killian.” Liam stared at him, his blue eyes flecked with grey that spoke to years of knowledge that Killian would only hope to acquire. Liam was older and he had lived more, loved more and lost more than anyone he knew. “It’s why you can’t go with her,” Liam shook his head defiantly. “You have to warn her and then stay away, lie low.”

“Like hell I will!” Killian barked.

“He’s right,” Brennan piped up. “You will not be welcome at Misthaven. The alpha will kill you because of what you are. You’ll never be accepted.”

Killian looked between the two men, both fatigued and haggard, the lines on their faces from a combination of the sun and long years of worrying. Brennan most likely always worried about Killian, always wondering if he had survived his first change as Liam had. Wondering if he was as strong. Liam had aged through worrying for his brother, watched him try to find out who he was through fight after fight until his brawl with Walsh opened his eyes to his true nature. Killian had nearly killed Walsh that night, teeth stained red with blood as they had fled and Killian simply smiling with an arrogance that showed exactly how close his wolf nature was to taking over. It had chilled Liam to the bone at what his brother was capable of.

“I’ll take my chances at Misthaven. Can’t be as bad as what Neverland did to me,” he said sadly.

“Jesus, Killian,” Liam scolded. “Now is not the time to be stubbornly blinded by love, or lust, or whatever Emma’s heat is doing to you.”

“I’m not,” Killian bit out again.

“Then drop the hero complex and see sense!” Liam pleaded.

“This isn’t about being a hero, it’s about doing the right thing.” Killian pushed himself to his feet once more and straightened his jacket. “If you want to help, you’ll find out exactly when the attack is,” Killian said to his father, who nodded in agreement. “And help Graham get Ruby and Davin to a safe place,” he said to Liam. “If we can warn Misthaven before the attack, we could be spared.”

“This is madness,” Liam sighed into his hands, dragging his hands down his face. “David Nolan will never spare a mongrel. He exiled his own brother!”

“I have to try,” Killian said sadly, giving his brother a tight lipped smile.

Emma was beginning to worry. Killian had been gone for over three hours, talking with his father and Liam in a nearby pub. It was within walking distance but anything could’ve happened to him on his way back. Were they ambushed? Had Walsh finally found them? And why, after so long, had her lust not dissipated? Wolf heats were only supposed to last a few days at most, but it seemed Emma’s was hanging around.

And this time it was more intense than any before. It was definitely because of Killian, Emma had no doubt. From the second she had laid eyes on him in the bar, she was smitten. Using alcohol to lower their inhibition enough to fuck on his car was nothing, something she had done many times before, only this time it felt different. It felt real, warm, and she never wanted to feel any other way.

They were connected, Emma knew it and so did Killian. Whether they believed in the fates or not, there were just too many coincidences to prove their souls were anything but entwined. Emma could feel Killian all the time, his presence forever there, even when he was not. It calmed her a little to know she still felt him in the world, her heart beating in time with his wherever he happened to be, but her anxiety had been steadily growing as she awaited his return.

And it didn’t help that she was horny as hell.

When she finally heard the click of the door latch, Emma was on her feet and running to the door as fast as her legs would carry her. Killian had barely closed the door behind himself when he turned and was slammed into full force by Emma, all of the breath leaving his lungs from the impact as she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hands were in his hair, her mouth sliding against his as he walked them back into the loft, hands cupping her behind and holding her aloft. There wasn’t an inch between their bodies, Emma flattening herself to his chest and moaning against his mouth when her nipples pebbled against the fabric of her blouse, her back arching for more friction and her mouth parting to invite his tongue inside of her own.

Killian’s mind was in a fog. Everything he had meant to tell her had disappeared the second he opened the door and was overpowered by her scent. Emma was everywhere, in every room and he was immediately turned on, his thoughts invaded by their antics earlier that day. He knew his anger from talking to his father would evaporate with her love, love he craved like the air he breathed. He had needed to touch her, needed to feel her, needed to see her, and now she was all over him, saying everything all at once without uttering a single word.

Killian’s legs hit the edge of Liam’s couch and he fell forward, dropping Emma from his grasp, her fingers scraping through Killian’s scruffy beard and her lips tearing from his. She just had the foresight to grab onto his belt, looping her finger behind the leather strap and pulling him with her, his arms flying out to stop his descent so he didn’t crush her. Killian clambered over the couch arm, a sly smirk across his lips as he captured her mouth once more, tongue begging for entry immediately. His hands found the edges of her blouse, buttons flying in all directions when he pulled the opposing sides apart. Emma squeaked in delight.

Eyes closed, her hands threaded through his beard once more; it was longer than when they had met, but not distracting from his stunning good looks one bit. Her fingers itched to touch his skin, but from her current position she was helpless, only able to find his elfish ears and give them a playful tug, her open mouth smile letting a short, salacious laugh escape against his. Killian raised an eyebrow, not breaking the kiss or opening his own eyes, not an ounce of distaste towards the way Emma was abusing his ears. In fact, he kind of liked it.

Killian awkwardly kicked off his boots, letting them fall to the floor beside the couch with the dull thudding sound of rubber against wood. Emma let her hands roam over his skull, fingertips dancing over the chords of his neck and across the width of his shoulders, his eager panting turning her on more than she had ever thought possible. Killian’s hands kneaded her bra clad breasts roughly, thumbs brushing over the hard buds beneath the padded lace and Emma hooked her bare feet into the back of his thighs in response.

Her hands found his belt, the clatter of metal the only sound they could hear other than their breathing, but as she tried to pull it open, Killian grabbed her hands. Emma was confused for a second, about to pull her mouth from his when, with a smirk, Killian raised her arms above her head and crossed them at her wrists, holding them both against the couch with one, powerful hand. Emma let out a little appeased sigh, her lungs screaming for the oxygen that invaded her chest when Killian slid his mouth from hers and began kissing her face.

He kissed her cheek, flushed red from her arousal, the flesh like lava under his lips. His kiss-swollen lips found her ear lobe and when he latched his mouth onto the bulb of flesh, all of the hair on Emma’s neck stood to attention and she arched off the couch with a moan. Her hands grabbed at his, trying to be free but not really at the same time because the sentiment it gave her to be controlled by a more dominant wolf was intoxicating. She bit her bottom lip, hips bucking up into his as he teased his lips down her neck and slid his searing hot tongue across her collarbone, gobbling up her bra strap with his teeth and pulling it over the curve of her shoulder.

Emma gasped, her nipples hardening even more in their padded confines, the material of her bra chafing against the peaks as she writhed and strained against his grip. She whimpered in her throat, swallowing a hard lump down that she had forgotten to until now. Her mouth tasted of Killian, the burn of second-hand rum hitting the heat in her stomach like a firework and igniting the throbbing sensation between her legs.

Finally, with his own guttural growl, Killian rolled his hips and ground his hardening length into the apex of Emma’s thighs. It was like a paradoxical relief for both of them, sating their needs only temporarily, both of them taking a second to let out a breathy sigh. Killian’s grip on Emma’s wrists tightened, his forehead resting against her shoulder as he fought to compose himself with a shudder after inhaling the smell of her skin.

“Exquisite,” Killian hummed, the taste of Emma dancing on his tongue.

Emma turned her head and pressed her lips to his forehead, the only part she could reach and Killian offered her a quick, wolfish grin as he followed the curve of her breast with his mouth, planting delicate kisses to her skin with each of her heaving breaths. He smirked against her skin when she whined in frustration, his nose dipping into the valley of her breasts and inhaling even more of her strong musk, the perspiration that had begun to form there transferring her pheromones directly to his senses.

“I am helpless when you are around, Emma,” Killian told her tenderly. “I could savour you forever.”

He took his time, dragging the tip of his nose across her breasts, from one to the other and back again, inhaling her, tasting her in his mouth from smell alone. He thrust his hips at her again, his other hand skimming down the side of her body until it reached her hip, pushing her into the cushions of the couch when she tried to buck her hips back at him. Emma pouted but then a devilish grin erupted on her face when Killian’s hand found his jeans and popped open the button, pushing his fly down and sighing with relief when his erection finally sprang free from the fold in his boxers.

“There’s my big boy,” Emma purred, tilting her head back up to meet his gaze and biting her lip hungrily. “So much for savouring,” she purred. Killian grinned, his tongue skimming over the ridges of his canines before he surged forward once more and kissed her hard. Emma felt her neck spasm from the force and she could feel the tingle of pins and needles down her elevated arms. Killian must have read her mind because no sooner had she shifted her weight beneath him to relieve the ache, Killian released her arms and moved both his hands to the waistband of her leggings.

“Mine,” he muttered against her lips, his tone dark and feral. It set Emma’s blood on fire and she was lifted effortlessly as he tugged her leggings and her underwear down in one go, his fingernails scraping the skin on her hip and making her cry out.

“I was getting worried,” Emma smirked playfully. “I was scared something had happened.”

“Hmm?” Killian hummed through a daze.

“You were gone so long,” Emma panted, frowning when she realised he had stopped undressing her.

In the next second, Killian was hit with a sudden remorse, remembering the information he had come back to relay to the half naked woman in front of him. The smell of Emma’s arousal, the sweetness like a refreshing, thirst quenching drink, pulled him in, clouding his mind. He was dizzy, drunk on the temptation between her legs already and with a frustrated growl and a last inhale, he stood and tried to ignore the pounding blood in his engorged member.

“What?” Emma asked quickly, concerned, propping herself up on her elbows. Her hair was a mess, wisps of flyaway blonde sticking out in all directions from static and her blouse hanging open loosely. “Killian, what is it?”

“I can’t,” Killian growled to himself, righting himself to his feet and turning from her with a blush. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, tucking himself back into his jeans and ignoring the way his erection still strained against his fly as he rebuttoned them.

“What happened?” Emma pried, pulling the edges of her blouse together to cover her bra. Her skin still buzzed from his touch, but something was wrong, something had happened and for a second she felt guilty about putting her own urges before anything else.

“I…” Killian began, his face turning into a grimace as he tried to will away Emma’s scent. It was everywhere, invading his nostrils like a temptation he feared he could not resist much longer.

Emma lifted her legs and moved to a sit, scooting to the edge of the couch cushion and reaching to the floor, pulling her leggings back on. They would never get any conversation finished like this, her so tightly wound and him even more so. She stood, raking her fingers through her tousled hair and shaking it over her shoulders, moving to him, feet silently padding across the wooden floor.

“Killian?” Emma whispered gently, her hands smoothing over the material of his shirt that covered his back. He gasped, tensing momentarily before he relaxed into her touch, her talented fingertips kneading the ripple of muscles on his shoulders. Emma pressed her lips to his back, the material of his shirt tickling her lips as she kissed his spine, her hands sliding down his arms and her fingers lacing with his. “It’s okay.”

“I can’t think straight,” he grumbled.

“It’s okay,” Emma repeated, soothing his self-directed anger as she wrapped her arms around his slender waist. “Have I worn you out?” She teased, pushing herself onto her tip toes and tucking her chin into the curve of his shoulder.

Killian’s laugh vibrated through her chest as she embraced him, his hands finding hers and holding her to him lovingly. “Not a chance,” he quipped. “I have something to tell you and I think it would be better received if we were clothed.”

“Oh?” Emma pulled back a little, heels hitting the floor with a thump as she arched her brow. “Will it lead to more enjoyable activities?” Emma teased, her smile lighting up her face only briefly before Killian turned in her arms and she felt the pang of sadness he was emitting.

“Not this time, love,” Killian admitted sadly. He took her hands in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and watching the motion of his digits intently.

He was nervous, but more than that, he was petrified of the words he was about to say. Emma would want to return home to warn her family, he knew that much was a fact, but he wasn’t sure how she would react to the news that he had already decided to go with her. He knew it was a death sentence, his brother’s warnings had not fallen on deaf ears, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Emma, his half of the moon, and making sure she stayed shining as bright as she could.

Killian knew, with all his heart, Emma’s light would burn out if her father died. It was why he was willing to sacrifice his own life for hers. His life for her happiness. Killian knew he would never forgive himself if he didn’t tell Emma about the plot to attack Misthaven. She had a right to know, to be given the chance to stop it, and he would be there, fighting at her side, regardless of if he were welcome or not.

“What is it?” Emma asked worried, searching his face. “Killian, you can tell me anything,” she assured him softly, her hand reaching up to trace the outline of his brow, easing the tension.

He let out a nervous laugh, avoiding her gaze again. “I’m not sure there is any easy way to say this,” he faltered, swallowing hard.

“Killian, you’re scaring me,” Emma said, her face paling.

“It’s Misthaven,” Killian said, the word on his tongue already like the seal on his fate. “Neverland plans to attack Misthaven. James means to kill your father, Emma.” Killian looked up finally, Emma’s pupils wide and the edges of her eyes watery with tears that threatened to spring from her eyelids.

“How do you know?” She managed weakly.

“My father,” Killian told her with a slight hint of aggression. “He is trying to make amends, prove he loves me,” Killian bit out, the term of endearment striking anger into his heart. Emma gave him a confused look, her head shaking a little as she tried to fathom his words. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian dismissed his rant with a shake of his head. “I came to tell you as soon as I found out.”

“When?” Emma managed, dazed with anxiety.

“We don’t know,” Killian admitted sadly.

“You don’t know?” Emma screeched, stepping from his embrace and running her hands through her hair. She paced away from him, Killian’s heart-shattering.

“My father is trying to find out,” Killian assured her, trying to appease her stress.

“Can we trust him?” Emma spun back to face him and he answered her with silence. He had been asking himself the same question all day. “He is a Neverland wolf, right? Why would he tell us something like this?”

“I can only assume he feels guilty,” Killian shrugged, moving towards her and catching her as she paced past him. He wrapped her up in his arms, holding her to his chest and that was all Emma needed for the dam of sorrow to burst, hot, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face against Killian’s chest, clutching the material of his shirt, her hands shaking as sobs wracked her body.

“This is my fault,” she cried.

“What? Absolutely not!” Killian told her firmly. “This isn’t and will never be your fault, Emma, you hear me?” He pulled her from his chest, clutching her face in his hands and dipping his head until he caught her gaze. Emma clutched his hands to her face, suddenly child-like and weak, and Killian titled his head sideways sympathetically. “You hear me?” He repeated softly, offering her a twitch of a smile when she finally met his gaze.

Emma nodded. Killian had the ability to calm her instantly, smoothing out the tension in her bones with a single action. It could be his touch, or his smile but it was always him. Part of Emma’s sadness was the realisation that their romance was now no longer fun, the true nature of their dangerous liaison hitting her like a truck. If she wanted to stay with Killian, she could, but they would forever be looking over their shoulders for Walsh or the Neverland pack. If she returned to Misthaven she would have to do so alone and she wasn’t sure which option scared her the most.

“I can’t lose you,” Emma sniffed, her hand sliding from his and flattening over his chest. Killian’s heart was racing in his chest, she could feel it thundering against her palm, because he was thinking exactly the same thing.

“You won’t,” he said softly, his voice cracking.

“I have to go home,” Emma whimpered.

“I know,” Killian barely whispered back, his forehead resting against hers. She let out another heart wrenching cry and his closed his eyes, fighting back his own tears that would stain his face at any second. He took a breath, the air between their faces minimal and with shaky lips, tilted his head and planted a soft kiss to Emma’s lips. “I’m coming with you.”

“What? No!” Emma cried. Killian nodded, holding her forearms as she tried to step back away from him once more.

“I’m coming with you to help your father,” he told her, affirming the fear on her face.

“Killian…” Emma began, shocked.

“I know,” he said softly, licking his lips. “But I can’t let you go alone. When the time comes, I have to come with you.”

“But, my father.” Emma didn’t have to say anything else because they both knew what it meant for him to even set foot on Misthaven land, let alone show up with the heir on his arm.

“It will be okay,” Killian lied, forcing a weak smile. “Family is important. I can’t in good conscience risk yours knowing I could have done something.”

“So is love,” Emma said on a breathy sigh. “Our love is important.” Her lower lip trembled as she looked up to him with wide eyes, blurry and filled with tears that never seemed to end. Dark lines stained her face and Killian cupped her cheeks in his hands, brushing away the fallen droplets with his thumbs.

“Our love is the most important thing in my life,” Killian told her tenderly, fingers tucking some stray hairs behind her ear.

“So stay here,” Emma pleaded. “Please. I’ll come for you when I’ve warned my father.”

Killian appreciated her attempts at trying to find a solution, but he had already been over the scenarios a thousand times in his head, and there was no situation he could think of where David Nolan accepted him. Not a single one.

“We both know your father will never let you return to me,” Killian sighed sadly.

Emma’s sobs began again and she threw herself into his arms, hand finding the back of his head and pulling his face to hers. She crushed her lips to his fiercely, kissing him desperately as even more tears fell down her face. He kissed her back, his despair etched into his cheeks by his own tears, lips quivering against hers. There was so much emotion in their kiss but they moved slowly, lips sliding gently with passion, breaths hitching from their sobbing like they might never get another chance.

“He’ll kill you,” Emma whimpered, her voiced lace with the most sadness Killian had ever heard.

“He can try,” Killian teased lightly, his lips curving into a small smile. Emma pressed her mouth to his again, tongue tasting the seam of his lips, memorising the texture and feel of them against her own.

“Is this what the dream means?” Emma cried, breaking the kiss but pressing her face to his. “The names on the tombstones? Are they ours?” Killian brushed his knuckles down the side of her cheek, shaking his head.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Killian promised faithfully. “And I’ll be with you. Forever.”

“I love you,” Emma whispered on a sigh.

“And I you.” Killian kissed her again, long and slow, but he hated the fact that whilst he had promised he would always be with her, he didn’t know if he would be alive or just a memory in her heart.

#cssns #cs fic #cs au #cs werewolf au #cssns fanfic #Alii dimidium Lunam #the other half of the moon #killian jones #emma swan #wolves of misthaven #artistic-writer #temporary dog au #ch 19

55 notes · View notes

idristardis · 6 years

Text

CS Fic Formal: “I Found a Love”

A/N: At long lonnnnnng last, I can reveal that I am your CSFF Anon @branlovesouat !! I’m so very sorry that this gift is (literally) a month late, but between juggling two different jobs and my muse taking your prompts and deciding to write roughly thousands upon thousands of words, it...took a while to come together. I thank you infinitely for your patience - it has been wonderful getting to know you over this process - and I only hope that this fic lives up to your expectations and hopes!!

In addition to CS banter and sass, you asked for Ruby and Emma friendship and Belle and Killian friendship, romance that was paced at a “medium burn,” a story more driven by plot than atmosphere, and some way of incorporating Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect.” I hope I delivered on all of those fronts to your liking dear!! The fic’s title is taken from that song, and there are a couple of other ways I wove it into the fic (including the vibe of the next to the last scene) without making it a song-fic, per se.

I also want to give a huge thank you to the @csficformal mods for hosting such a wonderful event and for putting up with me when I kept asking if I could push my deadline back a bit because there were just more words spilling out of my brain. You guys rock!!

Now, without further ado...here are approximately 22K words of modern royalty Lt. Duckling AU. Hope you all enjoy!!

P.S. Rating is low-to-mid T for some swearin’ and some kissin’. Also, I borrowed one line from 10 Things I Hate About You - see if you can spot it. :D :D

“You’ll never guess the news I just received, little brother.”

Killian sighed, automatically muttering younger under his breath before pushing his half-finished lunch to the side and tossing down the report he’d been skimming through while he ate. Looking up, he met Liam’s gaze expectantly. His brother stood next to Killian’s chosen table in the corner of the officer’s mess with a grin on his face that – given his usually serious demeanor – bordered on disturbingly giddy.

When Liam dropped into the seat across from him, practically vibrating with pent-up energy, and yet didn’t immediately speak, Killian sighed. “You’re literally going to make me guess, aren’t you?”

Liam nodded, his grin growing impossibly wider. “Absolutely.”

“Why?” Killian groaned.

“Because this news is amazing, and it’s more fun to have you guess. It draws out the suspense,” Liam replied, leaning over towards Killian’s abandoned lunch and snagging a French fry off his plate. “Besides, you’ll never get it right, and then I’ll get to tell you anyway. Best of both worlds, really.”

“That makes almost no sense,” Killian said exasperatedly, reaching out and pulling his plate back towards him before Liam could pilfer any more of his food.

“Ah, but there’s a vast difference between something almost not making sense and actually not making sense,” Liam said, leveling his gaze on Killian before continuing. “Besides, you’re just stalling while you try to think of whatever invariably incorrect answer you’re going to come up with. So,” he rapped his knuckles on the tabletop for emphasis, “guess.”

Killian stared at Liam in silence for a long moment. He really was at a loss for what the mysterious news could be, but he stubbornly didn’t want to admit as much to his brother. Finally, just as he was about to give in and hazard a ridiculous – and almost certainly incorrect – guess just to get Liam to move the whole process along, Killian’s eye landed on the discarded report he’d been reading when his brother had arrived. The neatly typed date in the corner of the document triggered a realization and he chuckled as a flash of insight raced through him.

Suddenly, he knew.

In fact, it was so obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t put two and two together immediately.

Sitting up straighter, Killian regarded Liam with a wide smile of his own. “Alright, let’s see it then,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly.

“What?” Liam said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“The list of new appointments to the Cadre,” Killian replied easily. “That is what you came here to tell me about, isn’t it?”

Astonishment, irritation, and frustrated resignation flickered across Liam’s face in quick succession before he slumped back in his chair. “Y’know, you are bloody infuriating sometimes. How did you do that?!”

“Once I remembered what day it was, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out what had you so fired up,” Killian said with a smirk. “There are only a few things in life that can get you that excited.”

“Oi! Don’t act like you aren’t just as eager,” Liam retorted, digging in the pocket of his uniform coat and pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to Killian. “You know as well as I do little brother that getting appointed to the Cadre can be career-making.”

Killian let the nickname slide this time, as he was too busy opening up the paper that could very well change his life. “Did you look yet?” he asked Liam, his eyes flicking upwards to meet his brother’s.

Liam nodded, his smile a bit sheepish. “Sorry, Kil. I just couldn’t wait. But why d’you think I was so damn eager to talk to you?”

Any response Killian was about to make died on his tongue as his eyes fell on the list of nine names marching in a tidy column down the left hand side of the paper. He’d only made it about halfway down when he spotted the names he’d been fervently hoping to see.

“Bloody hell.”

-/-

Misthaven Star-Herald

COMMANDING RESPECT: NINE ELITE OFFICERS SELECTED FOR APPOINTMENT TO CADRE 2018

By Sidney Glass

Star-Herald Royal Reporter

SPERO, MISTHAVEN, APRIL 30, 2018 – Reports from the palace today have confirmed what was long-suspected to be true: Queen Mary-Margaret and King David, in consultation with the Prime Minister and the most trusted members of their Privy Council, have at long last completed the selection process for Initiates to the newest Cadre.

The Cadre, an elite squadron of officers comprised of members from all branches of Misthaven’s military, is personally selected every three years by the King and Queen. The newly chosen members of the Cadre will arrive in the capital city of Spero next week, at which time they will enter into a rigorous training boot camp designed to ready them to serve both as personal guards to the entire royal family and emissaries of the country’s armed forces when they accompany the royal family abroad.

Candidates selected for this rarified group have proven themselves in a variety of ways. They must have graduated in the top third of their cadet class, possess an exemplary service record in their branch of the military, show an aptitude and inclination for officer training, be in peak physical condition, and conduct themselves with honor in their everyday service. Having exhibited extraordinary valor in combat scenarios is also taken into account, but is by no means mandatory.

In addition to boot camp, when each new Cadre is selected, one member of each service branch from the previous Cadre remains in place for the first year of the new Cadre’s term. They are intended to act as mentor and training officer for their service branch within the Cadre and may be called upon to perform Cadre functions from time to time – though their main purpose is to train the newly selected members of the squadron. During the first year of each Cadre’s tenure, the presence of these training officers cause the group to swell to twelve members rather than its typical nine.

The existence of the Cadre dates back almost to the founding of Misthaven. Though its exact origins have been lost to time and the great fire of 1860, which destroyed much of the contents of the Hall of Records for Misthaven’s military, anecdotal evidence traces its beginning back to the kingdom’s fledgling days. Formed to protect the leaders of the small, newly-formed kingdom against the outside forces of its larger and mightier neighbors, over time, the Cadre has also come to serve other purposes – these include fostering community, partnership, and mutual understanding between members of different service branches. Members often maintain close professional ties long after their Cadre years are over. These bonds help to strengthen Misthaven’s military in tangible and intangible ways.

Of course, the Cadre still adheres to its original purpose – providing the highest caliber of protective services to Misthaven’s royal family. This year, the twelve servicemen and women appointed to the Cadre are:

Royal Misthaven Army

Captain R. Locksley

Lieutenant B. French

Warrant Officer W. Scarlet

Lieutenant G. Humbert – training officer

Royal Air Force of Misthaven

Wing Commander A. King

Flight Lieutenant E. Merlin

Flight Lieutenant M. Fa

Flight Lieutenant L. Dulac – training officer

Misthaven Royal Navy

Commander L. Jones

Lieutenant K. Jones

Sub-lieutenant W. Smee

Lieutenant-Commander K. Nottingham – training officer

-/-

Emma sighed with relief as the back door of Two Wolves Tavern swung shut behind her, effectively muffling the noise from the street outside. Thankfully, this part of Spero was a good distance from the bars and clubs that lined the streets of the capital city’s small, yet bustling, nightclub district. Two Wolves would get busier as the night went on, but it would be nothing like the sort of chaos that could be found downtown.

The tavern was old – having been in the same family’s ownership for multiple generations – and the inside was a blend of cozy restaurant, warm and inviting bar, and a small space where those who were so inclined could dance. The wood paneling was dark and burnished to a shine, the lights low and soothing, and the furnishings were on the rustic, lived-in side. All of those elements combined to give the tavern itself an uncanny ability to project a sense of comfort and safety every time a person stepped through its doors.

It didn’t hurt that its owners – Elizabeth Lucas and her granddaughter Ruby – were friendly and yet fiercely protective of their clientele. Not to mention that they had been friends of Misthaven’s royal family since the current queen was a young girl. Privacy and discretion were as guaranteed at Two Wolves as they could ever be in a city as infamously gossip-riddled as Spero.

In short, it was perfect.

It was the ideal place for a princess to hide away from the world for a few hours, which was exactly what Emma was determined to do.

She straightened, pushing up from where she’d slumped against the now-closed door, and took a deep breath. Slipping inside the nearby ladies’ room, she took a moment to look at herself – truly look – in the mirror above the tiny sink. Beyond the crack running up one edge of the glass she saw a woman who, while appearing slightly tired, had an invigorated sparkle in her eyes. She loved her family and – most of the time – she loved the life she got to lead. But there were some occasions when the expectations and pressures of being a princess just got to be too much and she needed to get away.

Tonight is definitely one of those times, she thought to herself with a grimace. Especially if the Privy Council is going to be so ridiculously archaic–

Emma cut off her own line of thought with a shake of her head. The situation with the council was exactly what she’d been coming here to avoid. She was hardly about to ruin her own evening by thinking about it now. If she got going, she knew she’d only end up stewing about it for hours and that was not what she wanted out of tonight.

She glanced at herself in the mirror again, pushing a strand of auburn hair from her bobbed wig back behind her ear and straightening the square black frames on her glasses (a relic from her life before contacts). Happy with what she saw, she grinned widely at herself. She was under no illusions as to what would happen when her Cadre guards discovered her missing from the palace. No doubt they’d assume she was at Two Wolves and follow her here. It’s not like it was the first time she’d come here after all. Her parents were (relatively) at peace with her choice of “escape” location, and she always was careful enough to wear a different disguise each visit – though usually, she did bring her guards with her.

But, she’d reasoned with herself as she’d slipped out of the palace unseen, even if she hadn’t brought Humbert and Dunbroch with her, it’s not like Two Wolves wasn’t known as an off-duty Cadre hang out. Surely she’d be safe enough there – and she really needed out of the palace for just a night.

After fussing with the set of her wig a bit more, Emma was finally satisfied that she looked innocuous enough and left the ladies’ room. Entering the tavern’s main room, she immediately spotted Ruby behind the bar and moved to take a seat at the far end – the dark, weathered wooden bar-top curved around there to meet the wall, creating a cozy little nook where Emma hoped she wouldn’t be overly bothered.

Ruby finished with her current customer and headed in Emma’s direction. “Heya, so what can I get–“ the question died on Ruby’s lips as she caught sight of Emma. Narrowing her eyes and darting a furtive glance around the room, she hissed “Emma?!” almost under her breath. “That is you, isn’t it?”

Emma nodded, grinning back at the woman she’d come to consider a true friend over the last several years. “Yep,” she replied brightly. “Though I really do hope no one else will be able to figure it out so easily.”

Ruby shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You look completely different with that hair. It was just…the glasses, I think. You’ve used them before with a different wig and they looked a bit familiar. But I’m probably the only one who would pick up on that.”

“Hopefully you’re right,” Emma sighed. “I really can’t deal with my cover being blown tonight.”

“Uh oh…that doesn’t sound good. Everything okay?”

“Not really.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Ruby asked, a concerned frown stealing across her face.

“Not really.”

Her friend laughed at that. “Understood,” she replied. “Let me get you something to ease your troubles then. What’ll it be?”

She ordered a glass of rum – something she’d picked up a fondness for a few years ago, much to her mother’s chagrin – and settled in, spending the next hour or so chatting with Ruby when the other woman didn’t need to take care of her other customers. She also got into a spirited, yet good-natured political debate with some of the local regulars – thankfully none of whom recognized her – pleased to find that she held her own even when the discussion delved into some of the more intricately nuanced topics.

This had been exactly what she’d needed tonight. A chance to get away and just be Emma, not a princess, not someone who had to weigh and consider each and every action against some grand standard of courtly behavior. Honestly, she loved her family, and she knew she was incredibly privileged to live the life she led – but there were times when it just felt like no one truly knew the real person she was underneath her title.

Emma just wanted to be seen.

No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she became aware of a presence settling onto the barstool a couple of seats to her left. Ruby came over to drop off Emma’s second rum and take the newcomer’s order. Before she moved back towards the other end of the bar, she caught Emma’s eye and gave a slight nod in the direction of the stranger, a wicked grin curling her mouth.

When Ruby got that look, it usually spelled trouble – and as much as Emma might want to cut loose and spend a night free from the constraints of her royal duties, she still knew that there was a line that she simply could not cross.

At least not anymore, she thought. She might have been more reckless when she’d been younger, but she’d learned long ago – the hard way – that there were certain things, normal-people things, that simply weren’t in the cards for her.

Getting pulled into one of Ruby Lucas’ madcap adventures definitely qualified as one of those things.

She’d just made her mind up to take her drink over to a quiet table in the opposite corner of the tavern and leave the end of the bar in possession of the new arrival, but she made the mistake of looking in his direction as she moved to stand up.

Sitting next to her, with nothing but one empty barstool in between them, was – quite simply – the most unfairly attractive man Emma had ever seen in her life.

It’s like the universe must be laughing at me, she thought to herself grumpily. Dropping someone who looks like that in my path when there’s no way I can do anything about it. Or, at least, no way that I should.

He was dark-haired, with a slightly lighter scruff dusted along his sharp jawline. From where she sat, it wasn’t hard to discern his broad shoulders, leanly muscled arms, or narrowly tapering waist. His eyebrows seemed to dance expressively along his forehead when he turned to face her, and they hovered over what had to be the mostly unfairly blue pair of eyes Emma had ever seen.

“Lass?” the stranger asked softly. His voice bore the lilting accent typical of those from Misthaven’s southern coastal region. “Are you quite alright?”

Shit!

She must have been staring when he’d looked in her direction. Moving to pick up her drink and take a sip to distract herself, her hand fumbled slightly and the tumbler toppled over, sending rum rippling across the ancient bar-top.

“Dammit,” she muttered, before looking back up at him. “Oh, yeah…yes. I’m fine – just…”

“Here,” he offered, sliding over to sit on the barstool directly next to her and handing her his napkin to help mop up the spill. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked again, his voice filled with more concern than she would’ve thought possible considering they’d literally just met and she didn’t even know his name – and he couldn’t come to know hers.

Not her real one, at least.

She shrugged, looking away from him and concentrating on swiping at the alcohol that had finally stopped spreading and now lay in a thin sheen over the bar top. “Mostly,” she murmured. “I guess I’m just having one of those days, you know?”

He chuckled, and she glanced up to see an understanding grin work its way across his face as he nodded. “Aye, I can sympathize. I feel like I’ve been having one of those days for most of the past month.”

“Oh?” she asked, even as she mentally scolded herself for prolonging the conversation. She knew she should just cut things off – find a quick, polite way to excuse herself, pay up and say good night to Ruby, and make her way back to the palace. If she did that, maybe she’d even make it back before her Cadre guards made it here tonight. But she couldn’t seem to help herself – something about this stranger captivated her.

It wasn’t just his obviously good looks, either – he had a quiet earnestness about him. That, coupled with the fact that he hadn’t immediately tried to hit on her – at least not overtly – made her want to stay in his orbit at least a little bit longer.

“Mm,” he nodded, though Emma had almost forgotten she’d asked him a question. “I moved to the city at the start of the month for…a new position with a heavier workload. I knew it was going to be different, but let’s just say it’s been more of an adjustment than I was expecting.”

She noted the slight pause partway through the stranger’s answer, but when she caught his gaze, he was looking at her with nothing but sincerity. Emma had always had a sixth sense as to when people were being untruthful – her parents and brother always teasingly called it her “superpower,” but it had rarely steered her wrong. Her instincts about people were usually pretty spot on, and this guy, whoever he was, didn’t ring any alarm bells for her.

“That sounds like a lot to take on all at once,” she said sympathetically. “I hope it’s been worth it…” she trailed off, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

He caught on quickly and supplied his name at last. “Killian,” he said with another smile. “And yes, so far it has been…” he said, tilting his head in her direction, clearly waiting for her to reciprocate with her name.

“Anna,” she murmured, hoping if she lied softly it somehow wouldn’t feel as bad as she feared it would. It did though. Emma hated being lied to, and she really hated doing it to someone else – but she really didn’t see any other way to stay there and keep talking to Killian. Which, apparently, is something I really want to do, she realized suddenly.

“Anna,” he repeated, the syllables sounding lovely as they rolled off his tongue, yet making her stomach twist all the same with their falseness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She smiled at that, small but genuine. “You too, Killian,” she said, only slightly surprised to discover how much she meant it.

With that, they fell into an easy conversation – or, at least, as easy a conversation as Emma could have with anyone who didn’t know her real identity. But unlike the political discussion she’d been having with the locals earlier in the evening, the longer she spent talking with Killian, the more she wished she could tell him who she was.

Just when she was thinking that she really had to find a way to extricate herself and sneak back home, marveling that she still hadn’t seen any sign of the Cadre, her luck ran out. Killian was in the middle of a rather absurdly charming story of some childhood shenanigans involving him, his older brother, and a stray dog they’d smuggled home and tried to hide from their parents – but just as he was reaching the heart of the story, Emma caught a flash of red hair over his left shoulder.

It could have been someone else – Lieutenant Dunbroch wasn’t the only person in Spero with bright red hair, not by a long shot – but considering the speed with which said hair’s owner was moving, and the taller figure that had slipped inside after her and lingered in the shadows near the front door, the odds were good that she and Lieutenant Humbert had finally caught up to her.

Keeping her attention on Killian, Emma held out her hand where he couldn’t see it and signaled for Lieutenant Dunbroch to stop. She knew the other woman would no doubt be extremely irritated, but she hoped that she would at least give Emma a moment to say goodbye to Killian without giving away her identity.

“-and then he licked Mum’s nose and cuddled right up to her and she just…melted,” Killian said, huffing out a laugh. “In the end, the joke was on Liam and me – that blasted dog loved her more’n either of us.”

Emma chuckled softly. “Adorable, but apparently fickle,” she teased, before signaling to Ruby to put all of her and Killian’s drinks on her ongoing tab and shifting to stand. She paused for a moment, unsure how to extricate herself smoothly – looking over at Lieutenant Dunbroch, she estimated that she had mere moments before her guard broke up the conversation. The other woman would never cause any scene that would attract more attention Emma’s way, but the Lieutenant would undoubtedly take a much blunter approach to ending Emma’s conversation with Killian than she’d prefer.

While she’d been lost in her thoughts, Killian’s gaze flicked over her, landing on her face. He seemed to notice that she was preparing to leave, and reached out to lay his hand over her free one where it still lay on the bar. “You’re leaving, lass?”

She returned his gaze, a feeling of true regret washing through her. It was something she’d not expected when she’d first met him, thinking him then to be just a handsome stranger – someone good to waste an hour in a bar with, but that’s all. But the conversation they’d fallen into over the course of the evening had shown her that there was much more to him than met the eye.

He was kind, smart, funny, and opinionated – and, she realized with a start, he was shockingly good at putting her at ease. Once they’d started talking, she’d barely given a thought to getting back to the palace or worrying about the Cadre catching up to her. She’d even forgotten about the matter that had originally driven her outside the palace walls that evening.

That’s dangerous, she thought. I can’t afford to be unfocused right now.

Not that Killian knew anything about that – not with the tale she’d spun him of being a scholarship student at the University of Spero, in the capital city from her home in the far northern reaches of the country. And not that he’ll get a chance to know, either – it’s not like I’ll ever see him again.

“Yes, uh…sorry, yeah. I have to go,” she murmured, sliding her fingers out from underneath his, a wave of longing washing over her as the heat of his hand leeched from hers. She ducked her head down and avoided his eyes, afraid of what she might find there, glancing instead at Lieutenant Dunbroch out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve got, um, an early morning tomorrow,” she said. It wasn’t a total lie – it was just that she would be spending yet another day in a rotation of royal duties, which she found beyond mind-numbing, rather than in academic arguments with some university professor, which is no doubt closer to the assumptions Killian must have been making about her plans for the following day.

“I understand, Anna,” he said with a refreshing sincerity. “In fact, I have a rather early one myself – didn’t realize it had gotten so late. It was just very easy to talk to you,” he said, biting his lip after the words escaped. Emma smiled to herself – his slightly flustered reaction was actually really adorable.

And that kind of thinking is even more dangerous.

Emma saw Lieutenant Dunbroch take a step in her direction and knew she had to do something now if she had any hope at all of salvaging a smooth exit. She stepped to the side, putting a bit more space in between her and where Killian sat. “I had a great time too,” she said honestly. “I just have to go-”

“Can I see you again?” he interjected, standing and taking a step forward into her space. She stiffened in surprise – wanting to say yes but knowing it would be playing with fire. Killian seemed to mistake her shock for disinterest though, as his face fell slightly and he started to backtrack. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just thought that-”

“Yes,” she breathed. It seemed as though it was her turn to shock him, if the dazed smile spreading across his face were any indication.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed, feeling her own smile get bigger. “When?”

“Uhm,” He blinked for a moment, as if still startled that she’d agreed, which Emma found just as adorable as his earlier flustered state. “I hate to wait this long, but a week from tonight? Work is going to make the rest of this week kind of impossible, I’m afraid.”

Emma internally breathed a sigh of relief. A week would give her time to figure out exactly how she was going to get away with sneaking out of the palace again so soon after this adventure. “That’s okay. A week is perfect. I’ll meet you here? Maybe at seven?”

He nodded. “Sounds perfect, lass.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” she flashed him a bright smile and turned away before she could say or do anything else impulsive, like kiss him goodbye or something. She thought she heard him call after her as she walked away, but by that point she was bypassing the spot where Lieutenant Dunbroch was waiting, the other woman falling into step behind her, and her attention shifted to planning out how to get out of the trouble she’d be in for slipping away from her guards for the evening.

Still, she thought, it was definitely worth it.

-/-

“Lass! Anna! I don’t have your number!” Killian called after the retreating figure of the woman who’d enchanted him since he’d sat down next to her earlier that evening. Unfortunately, she must not have heard him over the music and chatter of other patrons that filled the tavern because she kept on moving, never breaking stride.

The fleeting thought entered his head that maybe she hadn’t actually been serious when she’d agreed to see him again, and that maybe now she was just trying to put as much distance between them as possible. But he didn’t want to believe it – the connection between them that night had felt so easy, so natural, so real. He couldn’t believe that it had been one sided.

He sighed, sinking back down on his barstool and running a hand through his hair. There was nothing for it – he’d just have to show up at Two Wolves next week and hope that she’d be there. He’d hated having to ask her to wait that long, but in Cadre training, he and his fellow Initiates only received one night off each week – there was nothing else he could have done if he’d wanted to see her again. And he definitely did.

Resolving to put the uncertainty over whether he’d really see Anna again out of his mind and focus on his training for the next week, he moved to flag down the bartender so that he could pay and get back to base. She came over but waved him off when he tried to settle his bill. “Already taken care of,” she said with a wicked grin. “By your lady friend there,” she gestured to the seat where Anna had been with a flourish. “Thought you knew.”

Killian shook his head slowly, putting his wallet away as the brunette sauntered back down to the other end of the bar, not waiting for him to respond. He felt a grin pull at the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, it seemed like there was a much better chance that Anna would show up next week.

-/-

Emma fidgeted in her seat, twisting the hem of her sweater absently between her fingers as she tried – with little success – to pay attention to Elsa, her private secretary, as the other woman ran through the calendar of Emma’s upcoming public appearances and social obligations. Though she knew it was expected of her to absorb as much of this information as possible and engage in making decisions about how she would participate in each event, she just couldn’t seem to focus today.

If she were being honest, for the last three days it had been a struggle to concentrate on her royal duties – she found herself staring off into space more often than not, having an unusual amount of trouble banishing a certain pair of blue eyes and a deep, rich laugh from her memory.

It was ridiculous – she should never have gone to Two Wolves in the first place, and she certainly shouldn’t have gotten into such a deeply engaging conversation with someone she’d never met before, and she absolutely should not have agreed to see him again.

But…she had done all of those things.

Moreover, she was actually plotting ways to follow through on her promise to meet Killian again without arousing suspicion from her Cadre guards – or, worse, her family.

Thankfully, the guard detail changed every week, and Lieutenants Dunbroch and Humbert had already handed off to Lieutenant MacIntosh and Flight Lieutenant Dulac. Though the Cadre members of course informed each other routinely of any issues with their royal charges, Emma hoped that the change of guards would at least give her more of a chance to elude them when the time came. Surely, they wouldn’t expect her to sneak out two weeks in a row – whenever she’d had one of her “normal Emma” nights in the past, they had been spaced months and months apart.

She’d never dared to be so brazen before, and she wasn’t quite sure why she was risking it now.

There was just something about Killian she couldn’t shake.

More to the point, she didn’t want to.

Emma was pulled from her thoughts by the noise of a throat clearing, and from the tone of the sound, it wasn’t the first time. She looked up, a sheepish expression on her face, to see Elsa staring at her, one eyebrow arched inquisitively. “I’m sorry, your highness. Would you prefer to resume at another time?” Her words were proper and correct, but her tone was slightly pointed, as though there were something she wanted to say but was holding herself back.

It was a more appropriate tack for a friend to have taken, rather than an employee, but Emma never had been very good about keeping firm boundaries between herself and her staff. She’d always treated them more like friends and colleagues than employees, and encouraged them to do the same. (Out of public view, at least – her parents took a similar stance in private but of course royal propriety had to be observed in front of the masses).

“Oh…no,” she said, shaking her head in an attempt to dismiss the last of her wandering thoughts. “I know I drifted a bit there, but I promise I’m with you. Where were we?”

Elsa smiled sympathetically at her. “The ribbon cutting for the new equestrian center in Norton on Friday, followed by the christening of the Royal Navy’s new ship in Fair Isle Bay Saturday morning.” Emma sighed and, while she didn’t exactly roll her eyes, something of her displeasure must have shown in her expression because Elsa chuckled softly. “I know how you feel about these events, your highness. But you know that-”

“It’s all part of my duties,” Emma cut in. “Yes, I do. I just wish that sometimes those duties could include something more meaningful than standing around in a pretty dress and waving at the crowd as a ribbon is snipped or a bottle of champagne is flung against a ship. I want to do something with my life. What good is the power my position grants me if I can’t do anything useful with it?!”

Elsa looked at her like she didn’t quite know what to say. This was a conversation they’d had often enough since Elsa had become her private secretary, but they’d pretty much exhausted the topic long ago. Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said, her tone softening. “None of this is your fault…I just. The Privy Council has been especially tiresome recently.”

“Ah,” Elsa’s expression morphed from slightly shocked into something much more understanding. “Minister Gold still harping on the same old things?”

Emma nodded, slumping down in her chair and leaning her head back against the overstuffed upholstery. “With a few new bits,” she replied. “He’s still very much of the opinion that my parents wasted both Misthaven’s time and resources by allowing me to go to college, let alone grad school, and that my efforts would have been far better spent courting the attentions of one of Europe’s eligible princelings. In the last council meeting, he actually said that if I were so bound and determined to make a contribution to Misthaven’s future, I ought to speed up the husband-hunt so that I could get down to the business of producing the next heir. He didn’t actually add the phrase ‘before you’re no longer of child-bearing years’ but the meaning was clearly implied.”

Elsa looked aghast. “He’s a pig,” she declared (triggering a surprised snort of laughter from Emma), before continuing. “Besides, you’re the next heir. Has he somehow forgotten that?”

“Oh no,” Emma replied, the edge in her tone belying the false brightness of her words. “That’s the fun new twist to his ravings. He’s putting a bill before the council promoting the revocation of the reformed succession laws. He’d have it so that he’d reduce my father’s standing due to his so-called ‘common’ birth status, and bump Leo up the chain – until and unless I had any male children.”

“But, but, but,” Elsa sputtered. “There’s just so much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to begin!”

“Trust me, I know,” Emma sighed as Elsa started to pace back and forth. “But I doubt that pointing out his logical flaws would slow Gold down.”

Elsa’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. “But your father isn’t of common birth! He was a Prince of Glowerhaven-”

“A title used only ceremonially for the past century, despite its connection to Glowerhaven’s ancient royal house,” Emma pointed out.

“And Leo’s eight! Even if Gold succeeded, your brother wouldn’t be of age for another thirteen years – what’s the country supposed to do in the meantime? Wait?!” Elsa was working herself up into a state the likes of which Emma had rarely seen from the usually cool and composed blonde. “These laws have been on the books for nearly thirty years! He cannot possibly think that he’ll get this out of the council, much less to the floor of the parliament.”

Emma laughed, but it was a short, dry sound. “No, not even he’s that crazy – but he’s plotting something. I just don’t know what.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is too obvious. You said it – it’s not something that will pass the council’s vote, and the parliament will never even see this bill. But before it’s all over, the news of his ideas will leak out and he’ll be able to create enough of a controversy that public opinion will be whipped up and debating it all for months. He then gets to back off and make his real play while everyone is distracted with the succession issue, even though that’s just white noise.”

Understanding dawned on Elsa’s face. “But you don’t know what it is he really wants,” she replied. It wasn’t a question.

“Not a clue,” Emma said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. “But whatever it is, it won’t be good.”

-/-

All things considered, she really shouldn’t have gone back to Two Wolves the next week to meet Killian.

The situation with Minister Gold continued to be tense, and Emma’s parents hadn’t exactly been thrilled when her Cadre guards had reported her previous week’s adventure. But despite spending most of the week twisted with indecision over the matter, she found herself slipping out of the castle yet again the following Monday evening, heading for the stables.

Her auburn wig and glasses were tucked into a small satchel that bounced at her hip. She’d slip them on once she was behind the stable and before she scrambled over the wall separating the palace grounds from the quiet road that ran in one direction towards the forest and the other down into Spero.

She really shouldn’t have gone, but when she got to the tavern and caught sight of Killian’s face – he didn’t see her at first and she spied him scratching nervously behind his right ear before checking his watch and glancing around – she knew she’d made the right decision. The brilliant smile that bloomed across his features when he caught sight of her didn’t hurt either.

By the time the end of the evening rolled around, they’d spent several hours wandering hand in hand through a street carnival in the heart of downtown and sitting and talking over coffee and pastry at an out of the way café Killian had spotted. The conversation had flowed easily between them, as had the teasing and laughter, and every moment made Emma more and more certain she wanted to see him again, damn all the risks.

When he walked her back to the spot where they’d met earlier in the evening and pressed lingering kisses first to the ridge of her knuckles and then to the inside of her left wrist, she was absolutely sure of it.

Pressing up on her tiptoes and gripping his shoulder for balance, she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Give me your phone.” He handed it over with a quirk of his eyebrow and she programmed her actual, private number into it and sent herself a text before she could think better of her actions. Brushing a whisper of a kiss along his jawline, she pressed the phone back into his hand and stepped back. “I had a great time, Killian.”

“Me too, lass,” he breathed, looking at her with a kind of intense wonder that made his eyes seem lit from within.

Emma had the sneaking suspicion she was looking at him in much the same way, but she also needed to take a literal and metaphorical breath – this was all rather a lot to process – and she really needed to get back to the palace before she was missed. (She was kind of marveling at the fact that her guard detail hadn’t caught up to her tonight – although she supposed it was because they’d moved around so much at the street fair that they’d been hard to find, especially if the Cadre would have put their focus on Two Wolves. Still, she wasn’t going to take her luck for granted – the last thing she needed was another lecture from this week’s detail about the perils of sneaking out).

“I’d better get going,” she murmured, glancing up to find him still gazing at her with that semi-awestruck expression. “But, uh, text me, yeah?”

He smiled slowly, and leaned closer, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. “You can bet on it, love,” he whispered as he drew back.

Emma smiled all the way back to the palace.

Neither of them took any notice of the camera snapping photos from the shadowy corner across the street.

-/-

The sun shone brightly and the sky was an endless blue expanse, broken only rarely by the puffiest white clouds. A cool breeze blew inland off of the water, and off in the distance – perhaps on one of the public beaches further down the coast – several kites in an array of vibrant colors bobbed and wove their way through the air.

In short, it was a perfect day – made even more so by the warm weight of Anna’s head where it rested against his shoulder. They were sitting on a blanket on a grassy hill overlooking the bay, sharing the remains of a picnic lunch he’d brought. When he’d texted her earlier in the week to propose their next meeting (Or were these, officially, dates by this point? Killian knew what he wanted them to be, but still wasn’t completely sure of what Anna was thinking), he’d suggested doing something a bit different and had been thrilled when she’d seemed excited about a mini-break to the seaside.

He’d met her at the train station closest to Two Wolves at mid-morning and they’d spent the railway journey once again in companionable conversation – with the notable addition of a bit of hand-holding and, for the latter part of the ride, Killian’s arm slung round her shoulders. They’d played at sight-seeing as the Misthaven countryside had slipped by the windows – though, he noted, they were both fairly well versed with the route. It made sense for him, having spent most of the years of his naval training and service based in Fair Isle Bay, but he made a mental note to ask Anna later if she’d spent much time by the coast, given her northern upbringing.

They’d arrived at the coast just before noon, spending the first hour or so poking into the little shops up and down the boardwalk of one of the small villages not too far from the naval base. He knew he was taking a risk bringing her here – anyone from his old detail who was off-base on liberty could spot him. That wouldn’t please his Cadre training officer one bit, given that Cadre members weren’t meant to broadcast their status as such – it was one of the first things that was drilled into every Initiate during boot camp.

(It was part of the reason why the newspapers only published the Initiates’ rank, first initials, and last name when the new Cadre was announced – and didn’t use any photos. From the point they entered Cadre boot camp, new Initiates were meant to keep as low a profile as possible – bringing a date (if that is what this was) to the Royal Navy’s backyard was just tempting fate. But Killian had to show her the coast – it was so much a part of him, of who he was. He needed to share such an intrinsic part of him with this woman who was – with startling rapidity – coming to mean a great deal to him).

After having some ice cream at a quaint little place on the edge of the town – Anna’d bargained quite convincingly with him that they should get dessert before they had their lunch – Killian beckoned Anna to follow him up one of the public walking trails that snaked over the low hills separating the town from the beaches and the coastline proper.

They’d found a relatively flat spot with a brilliant view of the water that wasn’t too far off the path, but was sheltered enough for a bit of privacy, and had set about enjoying their lunch. Now, bellies full and conversation – for the moment – exhausted, they were simply enjoying the moment. Sitting together, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. Every time the wind shifted in a particular direction, Killian smelled the enticing apple and cinnamon scent of Anna’s shampoo over the salt in the sea air. He curled his arm around her shoulders again and tugged her ever-so-slightly closer. She hummed in contentment and nestled ever further into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He wasn’t quite sure how this had happened – wasn’t even sure exactly what to call what they were doing – but Killian had never expected to find anyone like Anna when he’d gone to Spero for Cadre boot camp. She was passionate, brilliant, funny, and could argue politics with him until they both needed to catch their breath. She challenged him, and seemed to delight in their verbal sparring matches as much as he did – but that was far from all. When she spoke of her studies, and her desire to help those who were less fortunate in life, her compassion shone so brightly it nearly took Killian’s breath away.

Not to mention she was beautiful – her physical attributes were…captivating…and he couldn’t pretend they’d gone unnoticed – but her gently dimpled cheeks, alabaster skin, deep green eyes, and lustrous auburn hair meant less to him than the beauty he could see in her heart.

“I wish I could have this all the time,” she murmured, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

“Hmm?” Killian hummed, pulling himself out of his wandering thoughts and tilting his head so that he could look down at her.

She peered up at him, blinking slowly as if she’d been nearly on the brink of falling asleep on his shoulder. “This…this kind of day. It’s so peaceful, and calm…and just…real.”

He chuckled at her turn of phrase. “D’you have many days that aren’t real, then?”

She huffed out a dry laugh. “You’d be surprised,” she muttered. He waited for her to explain, and after a moment she shrugged. “It’s just…a lot of the time, I feel like I’m not fulfilling my…true purpose, I guess. Or, well…I’m following the path that was laid out for me, and I don’t really have a lot of input into how to make it a better path. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. D’you know what I mean?”

Her words make him think of his own youth, and the choices – or lack thereof – that had been offered to him and Liam. Sitting up a little more fully, he looked away from her, out over the water, and began talking. “My Mum died when I was barely ten, Da left a year later – couldn’t hack tryin’ t’raise two boys on his own. Liam – my brother – worked and scraped and saved and did everything he could to give us a better chance-”

“Killian, you don’t have to-” Anna tried to cut in.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I want to.” He took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly. “He worked, he got into the Royal Naval Academy, and then when I was old enough, I followed him. I’d follow him anywhere – he saved me when our family fell apart – and I really have come to love the Navy. I love the sea, and the structure and purpose of the work is fulfilling…”

“But?” this time Anna prompted him when he trailed off.

“But,” he said, glancing back at her, smiling genuinely at the concern he saw on her face. “Much as I’ve come to adapt to it and find meaning in it, it wasn’t my own dream. It was really Liam’s. But it’s where I’ve found myself, and I’ve tried to make the most of it that I can – I’ve found ways to make that dream mine and I work hard at making it meaningful to me every day. I’ve found parts of it that I can latch on to and really connect with. Then, my finding purpose in it makes it possible to do something meaningful for others.”

“And does that work? Is it enough for you?” she asked him, a genuine curiosity flickering over her features.

He caught her gaze and held it earnestly. “I think so,” he said honestly. “Some days, I feel more connected, more purposeful, than others, if I’m being honest. But even on the days when I feel like I might be slacking off on the whole ‘fulfilling my maximum potential’ thing, I do feel like I’m making a positive difference for my country,” he ducked his head, feeling a flicker of embarrassment. “Sorry, that sounded a bit overly patriotic and rah-rah, I know.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “It makes a lot of sense. Thank you for sharing all that with me,” she said with an earnestness that made him smile softly at her.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he murmured. “I guess I’m just trying to say that even if you don’t have a lot of options in terms of choosing the actual direction your life is headed in right now, you still have the power to shape the path that lies ahead. You still have choices you can make and ways you can focus on the things that are important to you. You just have to be patient – pick your moments and your metaphorical battles and before you know it, you’ll have wrestled this challenge into submission and be on to conquer the next one.”

She chuckled wryly. “You really think so?”

“Aye,” He replied. “I know I’ve not known you long, Anna, but as it stands I think you’re brilliant, and believe you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. To hell with anyone who says you can’t.”

Her eyes flicked up to his and he was caught in the fiery determination he saw in her gaze. Before he could say anything else – in fact, before he’d really processed what was happening – she’d circled one arm further around his waist and her other hand had slid into the hair at the nape of his neck and she’d pulled him into a kiss that rivaled any he’d ever had in its sheer intensity.

Cliched as it might have sounded, time seemed to stop in that moment.

The muted sounds of the seashore – gulls crying in the distance, waves breaking on the beach far below them, the far off strains of another tourist’s radio playing what Killian was fairly sure was an Ed Sheeran song – melted away the instant Anna’s lips met his. His own arms wound around her back, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap – a move that pulled a low moan from her that Killian felt as much as he heard it.

He turned his head, the tip of his nose pressing into the apple of her cheek as he deepened the kiss. She mirrored him, parting her lips readily and making a happy little noise Killian swore he’d remember the rest of his life when his tongue darted inside and curled around her own. They spent endless minutes getting progressively lost in each other – hands wandering, breath stuttering, hips shifting restlessly – until Anna finally pulled back, a ragged chuckle tumbling from her lips as Killian instinctively followed her movements. “Wow,” she breathed.

“I heartily agree, love,” he mumbled, his eyes dropping shut as he leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. “Not that I’m complaining in any way – but what brought that on?”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied. “You believed in me, Killian…Killian…Killian?”

“Killian!”

He sat bolt upright in his chair as his attention snapped back to the present moment and he realized Anna was nowhere to be seen and he wasn’t on a mini-holiday to the coast. Rather, he was in one of the Cadre’s briefing rooms and the person who’d been calling him – for quite some time judging by her slightly irritated yet concerned expression – was one of his fellow Initiates. “Lieutenant French…er, Belle,” he said, “I’m sorry. I must have been lost in thought.”

Belle just arched an amused eyebrow at him and moved past him to take the seat next to him. “I’ll say,” she replied dryly. “You were staring off into space when I came in – you’re just lucky the rest of the group is running late. Is everything alright?”

Killian nodded sheepishly. “Yes…more than, actually.” He hesitated for a moment, wondering if – without getting into the more personal details – he could share any of his happiness with Belle. Since the beginning of boot camp, they’d been paired together on several training exercises and instructional projects. Their training officers had indicated that they’d been paired because they had complimentary skill sets and aptitudes and would likely be detailed together within the Cadre once boot camp was complete – beyond that, though, Killian had grown genuinely fond of the diminutive yet fierce woman and as she seemed to feel the same about him, a warm friendship had sprung up between them. If he could tell anyone about Anna, he could tell Belle – Liam would likely warn him against getting “distracted” during his training, and what he needed right now was a listening ear, not his brother’s well-meaning but sometimes rigid stance on the rules. “I met someone a couple of weeks ago…”

“Oh really?” she asked, a note of interest coloring her voice. “Must be a really special someone – you were completely somewhere else when I walked in here.”

“She is,” he nodded, unable to keep the smile off his face even though he felt slightly like a teenager talking about his first crush. “I’ve seen her on every off day we’ve had so far, and I can’t stop thinking about her-”

“Clearly,” Belle interjected with a laugh.

“Ha ha…I’m serious, Belle. I feel like I’ve been knocked off my feet by her. I never expected this, much less that it would happen during boot camp – it’s getting harder and harder not to tell her what I really do. I know I can’t,” he rushed to say when Belle looked like she wanted to remind him of the Cadre’s need for secrecy. “But I don’t know how much longer I can go on seeing her and not tell her – it’s a big thing to keep hidden.”

“And you definitely want to keep seeing her?” Belle asked.

Killian shot her a look. “Clearly. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you might want to-” Belle began, but was cut off when the rest of their Initiate class began to file into the room, followed by Flight Lieutenant Dulac. She looked over at Killian, chagrined. Later, she mouthed and he nodded.

“Good morning Initiates,” Lieutenant Dulac’s booming voice greeted them. “Thank you all for being so punctual this morning,” he paused to stare pointedly in the direction of another Initiate, Warrant Officer Scarlet, who had barely made it through the door before the class had begun. “Welcome to the beginning of your Surveillance and Reconnaissance unit.”

Killian forced himself to stop thinking about anything but the class, pushing both Anna and his conversation with Belle to the back of his mind as he listened closely to Dulac’s lecture. Of all the officers who were guiding the Initiates’ training, Killian had quickly grown to admire Dulac the most and had gotten a great deal out of any session he led.

“…now, as we see here,” Dulac clicked through several slides in the PowerPoint presentation he was using for this class session until he found the one he wanted, “low-light photography can be a challenge even in this digital age. This photograph,” he gestured to the slide up on the screen, “was taken last week and though you can see Princess Emma quite clearly under the streetlight at the left of the image, her companion is unfortunately cast in shadow and it’s not possible to make out enough of his features for facial rec.”

“Not even with enhancement, sir?” one of the other Initiates – Locksley, an army Captain Killian had come to like and respect – asked from the far corner of the room.

Dulac shook his head. “No. The officer doing the recon work here was, by necessity, too far away to get a shot that would give us the right angle.”

“Well he shoulda got closer then, shouldn’t he?” this was from Scarlet, before Locksley elbowed him in an attempt to keep him quiet.

Dulac kept his cool. “Officer Scarlet, while it would have been ideal to get closer, one also must think about whether one has adequate cover to do so – it does no good to get the right photo and reveal yourself in the process. Showing that you are shadowing one of the royal family too closely tips off onlookers to the fact that they are the royal family, which immediately increases the dangers – especially in situations like this where the princess has ventured out incognito.”

Killian’s head snapped around at that, and, for this first time, he took a good look at the photo in Lieutenant Dulac’s slide – and all the breath seemed to rush from his body.

He recognized that street, and the tavern in the background.

Moreover, he recognized the man that Dulac said couldn’t be identified. Killian could identify him easily and immediately – because he was the man.

But what didn’t make sense was Dulac’s statement that this was a photo of Princess Emma, because this photo clearly showed his Anna kissing a mystery man on the cheek – you, his brain helpfully supplied – outside Two Wolves a week ago. For a moment, Killian simply stared at the photo, his brain refusing to fully process the information.

When the truth finally clicked in, he realized that he had far bigger problems than having to keep his place in the Cadre a secret from the woman he’d rapidly been falling for – she’d been keeping a far bigger secret of her own.

-/-

“Emma, a word,” her mother’s voice – soft but commanding – came from the other end of the corridor just as Emma was stepping out of her bedroom. She’d not seen her mother standing there and jumped at the unexpected sound of the older woman’s voice.

“God, Mom, don’t do that,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “You nearly scared me to death.”

“I’m sorry,” the queen said, her tone softening a fraction. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I do need you to come with me.” Without further explanation, she turned on her heel and began walking towards her private offices.

Emma fell into step behind her, as she knew was expected, hurrying to catch up before her mother got too far ahead. “Is everything alright, Mom?” she asked after a few moments of walking in a somewhat stilted silence that was far from their usual easy camaraderie.

Her mother didn’t answer immediately, waiting instead until they’d reached her private offices and slipped inside. The queen shut the door behind them and moved over to her desk before responding. When she did, her words were not at all what Emma was expecting, and they caused the bottom to drop out of her stomach.

“Have you been to Two Wolves recently?” her mother asked, shuffling through a few papers on her desk before looking up at her expectantly.

Emma considered – for the briefest of moments – denying it outright, saying that it must have been someone who looked uncannily like her. But she knew that that wouldn’t hold up – particularly if, as it seemed, Queen Mary-Margaret already knew the answer to the question she was asking. Sinking down into one of the plush guest chairs that were placed in front of the desk, Emma nodded. “Yeah…a couple of times,” she muttered. “But you and Dad have never had a problem with it before.”

Her mother sighed. “We don’t have a problem with it now…not exactly. It’s just…it’s a little careless, Emma. The timing is not ideal.”

She sat up straighter in the chair, a wave of indignance flowing over her. She knew that perhaps she hadn’t made the best choice given the political climate of late – and maybe you’re feeling a bit defensive about that, she thought to herself – but she didn’t think it warranted her mother treating her quite so much like a child. “It’s not like I went out clubbing and got blitzed – Two Wolves is just about the safest place I could go, Mom. That’s been true since you were going there when you were my age,” she finished, crossing her arms over her chest and staring up at her mother with determination and a small touch of defiance. She hoped her mother didn’t have any further information about her evenings at the tavern – but just in case, deflecting her attention couldn’t hurt.

“My youthful indiscretions, such as they may be, aren’t the issue right now Emma,” her mother replied calmly, taking a seat behind her desk and sorting through yet another pile of papers until she pulled out a slim manila folder. “You know that this kind of behavior is against protocol – and while your father and I might have been inclined to turn a blind eye in the past-”

“So did Grandma, thankfully, or you might not have met Dad and Leo and I wouldn’t be here right now,” Emma cut in, refusing to feel bad about taking just a small bit of precious time for herself when her mother had done exactly the same thing when she was young.

“Be that as it may,” her mother carried on almost as if Emma hadn’t spoken. “We’ve got to enforce every bit of protocol right now. With Minister Gold picking at us and scrutinizing every choice the monarchy makes we can’t afford to give him any more ammunition for his schemes. So for a while, I am going to need you to put a halt to this kind of adventure,” she said briskly, opening the folder and pushing it across the desk towards Emma. “And, whoever this may be,” she gestured in the direction of the contents of the folder, “it would be best if you ended it for the time being…at least.”

The sinking feeling that had invaded Emma’s stomach at the beginning of the conversation only got worse – it now felt as though her heart were somehow simultaneously in her throat and on the floor somewhere near her shoes. Even before she looked where her mother had pointed, she had a good idea of what she’d see.

Closing her eyes in resignation, she sighed. It was completely stupid of me to think I wasn’t followed that second night. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Even as she reprimanded herself for not suspecting her Cadre guards had caught up and surveilled her on her return trip to the tavern, she bristled at the constraints her royal duties were once again placing on her.

(But all the same, she repeatedly and silently thanked whatever divine influence had kept them hidden – both from photographers and that week’s Cadre detail – when they’d gone to Fair Isle Bay).

All I’d wanted was something normal. Something just for me. Just for once. Looks like I was just fooling myself – God, I’m an idiot. How did I ever think this was going to work?

As she opened her eyes, they landed on a photo in the manila folder – the image was dark, and a bit blurry. If she had to guess, she’d say Lieutenant MacIntosh was the photographer – his handiwork was always a bit unfocused when he took long distance shots at night – but whoever had taken them, the photo was clear enough to show her pressing a kiss to Killian’s cheek before bidding him good night.

The only saving grace was that it was nigh on impossible to tell who Killian was, given the angle and distance of the shot. Even if her chances of seeing him were imploding with every minute that went by, she didn’t want him to get drawn into a messy background investigation by the Cadre for getting so close to her or, worse, pulled into the public eye by Misthaven’s rather voracious paparazzi.

“Emma?” her mother prompted, and she realized that she’d been silently staring at the photo for longer than was probably reasonable. She looked up at her mother, catching the older woman’s eye – her mother’s regal mask slipped for a moment and a flicker of understanding and empathy crossed her face. She smiled softly. “Believe it or not, I do understand the predicament I can sense that you find yourself in right now…but you need to end it. Now. Or at least find a way to pause things until Gold has settled down and backed off. Understood?”

Emma took one more lingering glance at the photo, thoughts of bright sun, warm breezes, and comforting embraces running through her mind. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and nodded. “Understood.”

-/-

“You did what?!” Belle’s incredulous question echoed down the long corridor they’d found themselves in after their class had finished. They were tucked at the end, in an alcove, but her voice had risen enough that if someone were passing by, they’d be overheard. He didn’t immediately respond, simply looked at her for a moment, until she seemed to understand that she hadn’t misheard him. Her eyes widened until they looked impossibly large. “Killian, please tell me you’re joking.”

“Sshhhh,” he hissed, making a keep it down gesture with his hands. “In my defense, I didn’t know.”

Belle laughed – it was a sharp sound that seemed to burst from her almost involuntarily. “How could you not know?!”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, not wanting to lash out at one of the only people he felt he could confide in about his predicament. Besides, he understood. If he were in Belle’s position, he’d probably be reacting the same way to hearing this kind of news. “I’ve only been out with her a few times, and she was wearing a bloody disguise – if you’re not actively expecting someone to be doing something like that, it’s a little hard to catch,” he retorted, not entirely successful at keeping the self-loathing edge out of his tone.

The truth of it was, he realized as he spoke, he’d been very free with his heart and he’d not known the woman he’d thought was Anna for very long. Or very well, apparently, he thought with a touch of bitterness. He was angry at the princess for the deception – and at himself for not seeing through it. Observation and deduction were part of his training – he was supposed to be good at them. What kind of Cadre guard would he make if he got fooled as easily as this?

It’s not the same thing, and you know it, his inner voice tried to reason with him. You weren’t on duty, you were just spending time with someone you cared about and who you thought cared about you. You weren’t expected to be on your guard. He didn’t know if he believed his own reasoning, telling himself that a better officer would always be on his guard – but before he could fall further down the rabbit hole of his own internal debate, he realized that Belle was asking him a question.

“I can see your point,” she said, her tone gentling a bit, though Killian felt he didn’t truly deserve her kindness. “But what are you going to do now that you do know?”

He shook his head and exhaled harshly. “I don’t bloody well know, do I?”

Just then, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it at first, but it continued to go off, buzzing three more times in quick succession. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen and was startled to see four texts from Anna’s number. He let out a noise of surprise and showed Belle the phone. “Interesting timing,” she murmured. When he made no move to open them, she pointed at the phone. “Aren’t you going to read them? They might help you decide what to do.”

He felt like he was moving underwater as he nodded, everything slowing down as he swiped his thumb across the screen and brought up the message string he’d been sharing with Anna. Emma, he mentally corrected. The princess.

Killian, I’m so sorry to be doing this at all, but especially in a text.

I got news very suddenly, a family emergency – I have to go up north for a while.

I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be able to come back. I’ve enjoyed our time together more than you will ever know, but it’s not fair to ask you to wait around for me.

I’ll treasure these few weeks forever…goodbye, Killian.

He stared at his phone, disbelieving this latest turn of events, for so long that Belle finally jerked him back to the present moment with a gentle shove to the shoulder. “Well?” she asked expectantly.

“Here,” he mumbled, thrusting the phone into her hand so she could read the messages for herself. He scrubbed both hands over his face and back into his hair, trying to think of anything but the way that the princess’ fingers had felt as they’d traced the back of his neck, or the warmth of her as her mouth had opened easily under his. He wanted to hold onto the anger he’d felt at her deception, but her texts had reeked of sadness and he couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same.

Despite all the things they’d kept from each other, what they’d felt for each other was real. They’d each seen the truth of the other’s heart underneath everything else – he was sure of it. But he didn’t have any idea what to do about it now. He just felt hollow and tired.

“Well,” Belle said when she finished reading the messages. “I guess that answers that.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” he agreed.

“It still sucks though,” she said, slipping her arm through his and pulling him down the corridor in the direction of the mess hall. He’d been so engrossed in his revelation and subsequent meltdown he’d not realized they’d almost missed their chance at lunch.

“Yeah, it really does.”

-/-

In the week that had passed since Emma had, effectively, put an end to things with Killian via text, she’d been fairly miserable – and that had been putting it mildly.

The depth of her disappointment had taken her by surprise – she’d only gone on a few dates with him, after all. They’d barely begun to be something, but so abruptly losing even the possibility of figuring out what they could have been still hurt.

Even if you have no idea if you could have made it work once you’d revealed who you were, it still would have been nice to have the chance to figure that out on your own, she thought to herself bitterly. She was angry with Minister Gold for his ridiculous political intrigues and irritated with her mother for bowing – even temporarily – to the pressure he was putting on the monarchy. But most of all, she was upset with herself for putting herself in this position in the first place. She knew better than anyone the pitfalls of opening your heart up too soon.

This isn’t like that, she chastised herself. Killian didn’t turn out to be some foreign diplomat’s secretly skeezy son only looking for a good time with ‘rebellious royalty,’ and he isn’t a self-important Duke who just wanted to use my title to advance his own social status.

As she thought of her unfortunate prior romances – if you could have even called them that – she continued to argue with herself about whether trusting Killian, and starting to have real feelings for him, had been a mistake.

Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t matter, she realized. It’s not like you’re ever likely to see him again.

After a couple of days of wandering around the palace, thinking over the same internal argument again and again, she decided that the best thing she could possibly do would be to get away for a little while. She decided to go to Glowerhaven. It was north of Misthaven – at least then your messages to Killian would be less of a lie, she thought – and spend a few days at her grandmother Ruth’s country estate. It would do her some good to get away from the city, and she always enjoyed the chance to spend some time with her grandmother in the place where her father had grown up. If anyone could put her current predicament into perspective and give her some much needed good advice, her grandmother would be able to.

With one last thought spared for what might have been, she retreated to her rooms to call her grandmother and pack.

-/-

Killian didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous in his life.

Even when he’d been waiting to find out if he’d gotten into the Naval Academy and if he’d be able to join Liam in the service he’d not been this twisted up inside.

But when the morning of the Cadre Installation Ceremony arrived, and there had been no further word from the Princess after her texts ending the whatever it was that had been brewing between them, Killian realized that he’d stalled for as long as he possibly could on deciding how to handle the little matter of having secretly dated the Crown Princess for a few weeks.

(And snogged the hell out of her on a hillside in Fair Isle Bay, but no one else would learn about that anytime soon – or ever – if he could help it).

When he’d had the realization in the middle of surveillance training that his mysterious “Anna” was actually Princess Emma, his first impulse had been to confess absolutely everything to the officer in command of all Initiates and throw himself on the mercy of his superiors. Belle, however, had convinced him that he should keep quiet about it – at least for the time being. He cast his memory back over the rest of the conversation they’d had that day the week before when everything had gone sideways.

“Listen,” she’d said, a determined look crossing her face. “As far as we know, the only three people who know about this are you, me, and the Princess, correct?”

“Yeah,” Killian nodded, his shoulders slumping as the weight of everything that he’d done settled over him – even though he’d been unaware of “Anna’s” real identity, he still felt a responsibility for what had happened. He should have been more aware, been more on his guard – despite Belle’s protestations to the contrary. “Well, and the entire corps of Cadre Initiates who saw Lieutenant Dulac’s presentation just now,” he continued, a weary resignation creeping into his tone.

“Ah ah ah, no,” Belle said, pointing her finger in his direction with each syllable she uttered. “They know the Princess was with someone – not that it was you.”

“I fail to see how that’s going to help me in the long run,” he retorted. “Despite what Dulac thinks, someone will probably be able to clean up that image enough for facial rec, and even if not, Emma knows and she’s going to have me booted out of the Cadre – if not out of the military altogether – the next instant she lays eyes on me. You want to be entertained by the sight of me being hauled away by the palace guards? Just wait for the Cadre Installation and you’ll see.”

Belle shook her head decisively before he’d even finished speaking. “I don’t think so, Killian. I think you’re reading the situation the wrong way round – she’s not going to want to say anything about it any more than you do.”

Killian wasn’t sure about that – he wasn’t sure about much of anything at the moment – but the stress of the situation was making him blank out on finding a solution, and he trusted Belle. He nodded for her to continue. “Why d’you think that?” he asked, a seed of optimism cautiously taking root in his gut. Belle seemed so certain of everything – he could only hope that that confidence came from some viable insight into how to fix this mess.

She sighed, moving off to his side so that another group of Cadre Initiates could pass by them as they made their way out of the mess hall. She waited until they were out of earshot to turn back to him, diving right back into their conversation as though there had never been a pause. “Because,” she said firmly, “if she did anything to get you kicked out of the Cadre, she’d have to attest to why…and she’s not going to want to admit that she was sneaking out of the palace to run around with a strange man-”

“Oi!”

“-in downtown Spero all the while intentionally trying to evade her guard detail. It would be difficult enough for her to admit to that kind of recklessness under any circumstances, but now? With Minister Gold scrutinizing everything the royal family’s doing – trying to make some case for changing the order of succession or some other nonsense – she’s really going to be following protocol to the letter, and she’s going to want to give off the appearance that she’s always done just exactly that. So…do you see why she wouldn’t say anything about you to anyone?”

After a moment of thought, Killian nodded slowly. It was a slim chance, but it was better than nothing – admitting his entanglement with the Princess would be a sure way to get kicked out of the Cadre, and losing the chance to be part of this elite group was simply not an option. Saying nothing and hoping that Belle’s assessment of the Princess’ mindset was correct was a bit dicey – it didn’t give him the chance to get out ahead of the story if it ever did come out – but he couldn’t see any other way to proceed. At least this way, he’d have a chance of things working out in his favor – a small one, to be sure, but that was better than nothing.

Killian snapped his attention back to the present when a trumpet flourish sounded and the heavy doors at the opposite end of the throne room were pulled open. Queen Mary-Margaret and King David entered, following a few steps behind by Princess Emma. They proceeded to the raised dais at the front of the room and stood facing the row of soldiers and sailors who awaited them – the nine new Cadre Initiates and three training officers – all in their dress uniforms, pressed and polished to a shine.

He knew the precise moment during the installation ceremony when the Princess became aware of him. Her gaze landed on him while her mother was giving a speech of welcome to the group and when their eyes caught, Emma’s widened noticeably and her entire posture went rigid. She looked away almost immediately, and though Killian kept his gaze on her for quite some time – until he was forced to turn his attentions back to the ceremony for their individual inductions into the Cadre – she never looked at him again.

He’d known that this was the likely outcome – in fact, it pointed to Belle’s being right about how the Princess would react to the entire situation – and yet his heart sank. This should have been one of the best days of his career, and, to tell the truth, he was still ecstatic about officially joining the Cadre – but what should have been a purely happy day now had something of a cloud hanging over it. He didn’t know until precisely that moment how much he’d still been hoping that she’d look at him the way she had that day in Fair Isle Bay. The fact that she couldn’t bear to look at him at all made him feel like a knife was twisting in his gut.

If this was how it was going to be, it was going to be a long three years.

-/-

For the next week, they barely saw each other.

After the installation ceremony, Emma’s first guard detail had been a friendly, sandy-haired army captain named Robin Locksley and a quieter, more reserved air force flight lieutenant named Mulan Fa. Emma had breathed an internal sigh of relief when Killian hadn’t been immediately assigned to her detail, though an almost equal pang of disappointment had twisted in her gut.

Make up your mind, Emma – you either want to see him or you don’t. Either you’re angry at him for hiding who he was or you understand since you did the same thing. You miss him or you can’t deal with being around him. Pick a damn feeling and at least try to stick to it, she chastised herself. All this emotional back and forth isn’t getting you anywhere productive, and it’s absolutely exhausting.

But despite giving herself several rather stern pep talks over the course of the past week, she hadn’t been able to figure out what to do about this thing with Killian other than just make herself scarce and avoid him whenever possible. Even though he wasn’t on her personal detail, she still did see other members of the Cadre from time to time in the palace – she simply learned which detail he was on and crossed paths with it as little as possible.

Very mature, Emma. Real leadership material you are if you can’t even take charge of your own love live, barely existent though it is.

Rolling her eyes at her own inner monologue, she stepped out from underneath one of the porticos that ringed a small courtyard on the residence wing of the palace. It was one of her favorite places in the entire royal dwelling because of the fountain and the small row of rosebushes tucked at one end of the neatly trimmed green lawn. They were abloom with a pale pink variety of rose that had some complicated Latin name, but that the people of Misthaven had long ago dubbed “the Middlemist.” They were Emma’s favorite flower, and this spot – part of the palace, but still semi-secluded – was often the place where she’d go to get time alone when she needed to think.

This morning, she was supposed to meet her new detail – since the guard details changed weekly – and then head out for her daily morning run in the royal park. It was something she was really looking forward to – her morning exercise routine was usually the only time she got during the day where she could fully clear her head. Her detail was usually already there when she came to the courtyard, so she was more than a bit surprised not to see anyone when she arrived there that morning.

Checking her watch, she saw that it was only a few minutes past the time when she was meant to meet them, and decided to stretch while she waited. If they weren’t here by the time she finished, she’d have to go and let someone know, but with the new Cadre so recently installed, she didn’t want to have to get anyone in trouble for something so insignificant.

After a few quiet moments of stretching and planning her route for that morning’s run, she heard footsteps and muffled voices at the other end of the portico. She straightened up and glanced in the direction of the noise, and it suddenly became crystal clear why her guard detail had been late that morning.

A petite, dark-haired woman who Emma was fairly sure was an army lieutenant – though she was a bit fuzzy on the woman’s name – stood next to one of the portico’s columns, dressed in running clothes and doing her own stretches. She was – very pointedly – not looking at the other member of Emma’s new detail for the week, but Emma herself couldn’t look away.

It was Killian.

Of course it was Killian.

Because, clearly, the universe hated her and she couldn’t catch a break.

They stood there for a moment, an awkward silence billowing between them, before Emma shook her head as if to clear it. Addressing them both, but looking more directly at the woman, Emma said the first thing that came into her mind. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, “but can you remind me of your name, please? The installation ceremony was a bit of a blur.”

The other woman smiled softly and bobbed her head in a brief nod. “Understood, your highness. Lieutenant Belle French, Royal Misthaven Army, and this,” she gestured to Killian, “is Lieutenant Killian Jones, Misthaven Royal Navy.” Emma’s eyes flicked over to Killian and he nodded at her as well, but unlike when Belle had done it, the motion seemed stiff and slow. He continued to gaze at her intently – the blue of his eyes boring into hers as though he wanted to say something to her, but didn’t quite know the right words to use.

I know exactly how you feel, she thought grimly.

“Are you ready, your highness?” Belle asked, pointing towards the end of the courtyard nearest to the exit they would need to take to get outside of the palace walls and into the royal park.

“Um, yeah…yes, I guess,” Emma replied, before a thought occurred to her. “But why are you both dressed like that?” she pointed towards the workout gear that Belle and Killian were both sporting. “Usually, I run and my detail follows a little bit behind in a golf cart.”

Belle and Killian looked at each other for a moment, before Killian turned back to her, his face serious. “We know…your highness,” he said, and hearing his voice directed at her for the first time in weeks caused a traitorous swooping sensation to spring to life in Emma’s stomach. She tried to tamp it down as she listened to what he was saying. “But Lieutenant French and I thought it might be beneficial to try something a bit different.”

He paused expectantly, and she nodded for him to continue.

“Well, we think we should run with you your highness. One of us out in front and one just behind – it keeps us closer to you, should any threat surface, and lets us respond more quickly. We’ll have means of contacting the rest of the Cadre should there be a need, and, of course, we’ll be armed.”

It made perfect sense – though none of Emma’s previous details had ever taken the time or initiative to think of it. They’d always just used the cart and carried on with the task exactly as it had been done before. She thought about it carefully for a moment. On the one hand, it would be very awkward to go running with Killian (and Belle – her mind supplied helpfully – which could make things even more awkward) after everything that had happened – on the other, if she were being honest, she missed him. Besides, the idea made too much sense to disagree with.

Nodding, she turned and headed for the exit Belle had previously indicated. “Sounds fine to me,” she tossed back over her shoulder in an attempt to keep her inner turmoil over the entire exchange concealed – now is not the time to deal with what happened between us, she reminded herself. She moved quickly, itching to just be outside and underway. “Just try to keep up, okay? I like a certain pace.”

-/-

The first part of the run sped by in uneventful silence.

Belle – the traitor, Killian thought mutinously – had taken the advance position. Her discreet, grey and black patterned running outfit was visible about ten yards ahead of where the princess was keeping a steady, but not punishing, speed. He was close behind the princess, only about three feet back, and he’d been making a valiant effort not to let his eyes skim down to where her leggings clung sinfully to her trim form. It was extremely difficult – in no small part because he remembered what it felt like to hold her, and to have her lithe hips pressed into his as she maneuvered herself closer and urged him to wrap his arms around her more tightly – but instead, he watched her sleek ponytail swing back and forth for a few strides before tearing his attention away to scan the countryside. Nothing seemed amiss, but one could never be too careful – that’s literally why he and Belle were present.

After roughly twenty minutes, though, the princess broke the quiet hush that had fallen between them. Though she was just far enough ahead of him, and had spoken softly enough, that he had a bit of trouble making out what she’d said.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, finally tearing his gaze away from scrutinizing the expanse of low, rolling hills that faded off to their right and speeding up slightly to fall into step beside her.

After a brief pause during which the princess continued to stare straight ahead and Killian began to think he’d hallucinated her ever speaking to him, she repeated herself. “I’d imagine you have questions,” she said, her tone surprisingly matter-of-fact given the situation they’d found themselves in, and he couldn’t help but allow a snort of surprise to escape him.

“I might,” he replied swiftly, trying to keep his tone light, though he felt a bit taken aback that she was actually addressing – even obliquely – what had passed between them over the last several weeks.

“Well, go ahead and ask, then,” she said, a touch of tartness creeping into her voice. “I can feel you staring at the back of my head as we’ve been running – it’s incredibly distracting.”

They continued for the space of a couple of heartbeats in near total silence before he found his voice. She’s giving you an opening – you might not get another one, and you have to know, he told himself while looking off to the other side of the path to examine the area for any unexpected threats. Taking a deep breath, he decided to just start with the thing he was most curious about. “Did you know I was in the Cadre? Did you know who I was?”

He was watching her carefully when she responded. The shake of her head was almost immediate. “No,” she replied, her breaths coming a bit faster as they picked up their pace a bit. “My mother and father always pick the new Cadre Initiates, in consultation with the Privy Council only. The full names aren’t shared with anyone in the palace, not even me, until the installation ceremony.”

Killian thought over the newspaper article that had come out at the start of training, and what he knew of the Cadre’s privacy policy in relation to the general public. It made sense, he just was a bit surprised that the same thing went on inside the palace walls. “I see,” he murmured, pondering what that might imply about the princess’ actions towards him.

“Yeah,” she said, more than a hint of bitterness in her voice. “It’s tradition that only the King, Queen, and council may choose – just another case of clinging to the old ways even though it’s the twenty-first century.”

He couldn’t help it – he chuckled a bit at that. Her fire now reminding him of when he’d thought she was Anna and that day at Fair Isle Bay – her desperation to find her own way, and the intense way she’d looked at him when he’d told her he’d believed in her, were being echoed in the here and now. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to realize that maybe there was some of that spark still between them even though their circumstances had changed so radically since they’d last had time together one on one.

But she seemed to take his laughter the wrong way, looking at him sharply and biting out a question of her own. “How about you? Did you know who I was? Were you thinking that you were so smart, seeing past my disguise and having a bit of fun with the princess when no one else knew?”

Killian felt as if the breath had been knocked from him, but was opening his mouth to answer – though, truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he would have said – when she leveled yet another pointed question at him.

“And if you did know, were you going to…” here she seemed to falter for a moment, but she regrouped, steeling her expression as she turned to look at him. “Were you going to do something with that information?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, partly insulted by the insinuation but even more than that, he was shocked that she could think that he was capable of something like that. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together, it was true, but he’d believed that in that short time they had truly known one another.

Apparently not.

“Your highness, if you are implying that I was intending to blackmail you in some way,” he replied, his words clipped, “I must assure you most vehemently that I was not.” She’d stopped running a moment after he had, and he quickly closed the small distance that had opened up between them. “We might not each have known who the other really was, but I know that what I was starting to feel was real. I had thought – I’d hoped – that you’d felt the same.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open but she said nothing for a long moment. When she finally found her voice, she’d barely breathed a remorseful-sounding “Killian,” before he cut her off. He needed to step away before he completely imploded and said something he’d regret.

“If you’ll excuse me, your highness, since we’ve stopped I’m going to take the opportunity to switch out positions with Lieutenant French. She’ll be with you in a moment and I’ll take point up front until we return to the palace.” He inclined his head automatically – the training to show respect to the royal family still deeply ingrained even though his own personal feelings were in complete turmoil – before stepping away and jogging up to where Belle was waiting.

Though his better sense knew that Emma wouldn’t call after him, it still stung a bit that she didn’t.

-/-

She watched him cover the short distance up the road to where Lieutenant French had paused, unable to hear what they were saying and grateful for the few moments alone – before the other Lieutenant reached her, she needed to have pulled herself together.

What had she been thinking, practically accusing Killian of setting her up for blackmail? He was right – she might not have known everything about him during their short time together, but she did know what kind of person he was, and it wasn’t the sort who would sell someone out for their own gain. He wanted to earn everything he was given, and his code of honor was far too strong. With a sharp pang of longing, she remembered teasing him about what he’d called his “good form” during one of their earlier conversations.

You should have known better, Emma, she chided herself. Though, really, that seems to be true of everything you’ve done lately.

She knew she was careful, guarded – the paparazzi had dubbed her Misthaven’s “Prickly Princess” for her notoriously tough attitude – but she’d had to be. One mistake, and the court of public opinion would eat her alive, and by extension, have ammunition to use against her family – which could then be picked up by opposition politicians and used to leverage anti-royal sentiment in the parliament and Privy Council.

She’d learned that the hard way several years ago when the son of a visiting dignitary had seemed to take an interest in her. She was young and – though she hated to admit it – more naïve than she was now. He was a few years older than she was, and he’d seemed charming, experienced, exciting. She’d thought he’d been serious about her, that he’d actually wanted to get to know her, and so she’d let him woo her a bit – gone on a few public dates with him, which had all been fine and respectable and aboveboard. Her parents had been cautious, but as nothing had seemed amiss, they hadn’t objected when she’d wanted to keep seeing him. They’d stolen a bit of time together every time he’d accompanied his father when the older man traveled to Misthaven on political business, and he’d even flown in a few times just to spend time with her.

But then, after dinner one evening in the restaurant of one of Spero’s best hotels, he’d gotten on the wrong side of tipsy and tried to take her up to a room he’d rented. She’d not been ready for that step in their relationship and his rather aggressive attempts to change her mind had been ended quite abruptly. He’d proven himself to be either brazen, an idiot, or both, because her Cadre detail had been surveilling from a discreet distance but were still there, witnesses to everything that happened. But when he’d grabbed her by the arm and attempted to haul her into the hotel elevator, the Cadre guards hadn’t even had time to intervene before Emma had taken matters into her own hands – in a manner of speaking.

It was a very good thing that all the paparazzi photos had been confiscated immediately by the crown. It would have been an extreme scandal, after all, for the Princess of Misthaven to have been photographed kneeing her otherwise well-esteemed date in the crotch. Her parents, backed by the most trusted members of the palace staff, had made absolutely sure that every copy of every photo – along with every digital file and print negative – disappeared.

But despite their best efforts, when her former suitor and his father were suddenly persona non grata at the palace, the story had come out – even if not in full detail. The palace’s official press statement had given just the bare bones, and kept the focus on Emma’s companion’s bad behavior and downplayed their budding relationship as much as possible. There had been whispers of the more salacious details of that final date – rumors, nothing of substance, but just enough to fuel the tabloids. They’d run headlines like “Royal Rebel” and “The Highness’ Hijinks.” The scandal had been fairly limited, and had blown over quickly, but it had given just enough material to the opposition party at the time to create difficulties between her parents and certain members of the Privy Council.

That was difficult enough for the royal family to deal with, but what was far worse for Emma was feeling like she’d let her parents down. They’d assured her that it wasn’t her fault, and had nothing but anger and disdain for the former object of her affections. They placed the blame squarely on his shoulders, but Emma saw herself as responsible for letting him fool her into thinking he’d cared in the first place and had retreated into herself for a long time, becoming the “Prickly Princess” instead of the “Royal Rebel.”

Until Killian, her thoughts traitorously reminded her. He got right through those walls of yours without even trying at all.

She swiped away the frustrated tears that had slipped from her eyes after he’d walked away, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly in an attempt to pull herself together. She was mostly composed by the time Lieutenant French joined her, but the other woman still regarded her quietly for a moment when she stepped into place next to Emma.

“Is everything alright, your highness?” she asked politely, scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble while waiting for Emma’s response.

“Fine,” Emma managed, though her voice sounded rough and choked up to her own ears – Lieutenant French must have heard it too, for her attention quickly snapped back to Emma, her eyes sharp and her mouth pulling into a tight line, but she made no comment.

“As you say, miss. Do you wish to continue or turn back?” she asked, her tone slightly flatter than it had been a moment earlier, as if her thoughts were elsewhere – or, perhaps, as though she’d judged Emma and found her lacking somehow. The idea was disconcerting and Emma wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Uh, um…let’s go just around the next loop,” Emma said, gesturing towards the road beyond where Killian now stood. It twisted through Emma’s favorite section of the royal park before turning back to connect with the road they were currently on at a point that was closer to the palace. She hoped running in one of her most loved places would soothe her, but she wasn’t too optimistic.

“Yes, miss.” Lieutenant French replied in that same flat tone before signaling to Killian, who set off at a jog before slowly picking up the pace. They fell in step behind him, Lieutenant French keeping up with Emma easily as they regained their earlier speed.

For a few moments, the two women ran together in an awkward silence. Somehow, Emma thought, it was even moreso than the one she’d just been sharing with Killian before their fight. After several minutes of this, Emma found she couldn’t take it anymore. “Lieutenant, can I ask you something and will you answer me honestly?”

“Of course, miss,” came the immediate and brusque reply, though the lieutenant didn’t look in Emma’s direction.

“How well do you know Lieutenant Jones?” she asked as quietly as she could, given that she was mid run and didn’t want to break stride again.

Lieutenant French’s head turned swiftly in Emma’s direction, the woman’s gaze catching Emma’s own briefly before she turned back and focused on the road. “We were training partners, and now we’re detailed together, miss.” She said before glancing back at Emma again with a hesitant look on her face. She seemed to want to continue, but didn’t move to speak, so Emma gestured for her to go on. “But, what I think you’re really asking me is…what kind of person is he?”

Emma nodded, taking her own turn to stare down the road and avoid her companion’s gaze.

Lieutenant French remained quiet for another moment before speaking softly yet intensely. “He’s honorable and kind. Brilliant and funny. Everything a good officer and a good person should be,” she waited for Emma to look back at her before she continued. “I trust him completely, and you can too,” she said. “Is that what you wanted to know, miss?”

Breathing hard, and not just from the exertion of their run, Emma managed another nod.

They ran the entire rest of the way back to the palace in silence.

-/-

Emma went straight to her rooms immediately after they returned to the palace – she took a shower and pulled on her most comfortable pair of pajamas, curling up among the soft pillows on her still-made bed. She knew she should put in an appearance at dinner – there were no formal state events on the calendar for the evening, but her parents still expected her to dine with them in the private family dining room – but she wasn’t hungry and she couldn’t bring herself to go down and go through the motions of acting like nothing was wrong.

So she called Elsa and asked her to send word to her parents that she was tired and that she’d be having dinner in her rooms that evening, and that she’d call the kitchens herself if and when she was ready to eat anything. After hanging up, she sank further down into her pillows and drifted into a haze of memories. She mentally sifted through everything that had led her to this current moment – all of her interactions with Killian, certainly, but everything else as well. Her romance with that diplomat’s son, her habit of sneaking out and visiting Two Wolves incognito from time to time, the whole “Prickly Princess” reputation, Minister Gold’s latest power-hungry schemes, and the deep desire she had to carve her own path and be more than a royal figurehead. She wanted to be able to lead her people in a way that would truly make a difference to them, but – given Misthaven’s somewhat traditional stance on “appropriate” roles for a Princess to play in matters of state – she wasn’t sure how to begin, or even if she’d be able to.

She wasn’t really aware of time passing, lost in her thoughts as she was, until a soft knock pulled her out of her reverie. She sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears and leaning back against the small mountain of pillows behind her. “Come in,” she called, a bit surprised by how scratchy her voice sounded.

The door swung open slowly and her mother’s head peeked through the gap. Concern flickered across the queen’s features when she took in Emma’s rumpled state, and she quickly stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?” she asked as she came over to sit on the edge of the bed near Emma’s feet.

Emma sighed, a somewhat nasal sound. Must be left over from crying earlier. “That seems to be the question of the day,” she muttered.

The queen quirked a curious eyebrow in Emma’s direction, her gaze so penetrating that it seemed to peer directly into Emma’s heart, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. They were quiet for a moment – Emma making at least an attempt to pull herself together and look a little more composed – before the queen spoke. “This is about that young man, I’d gather. The one in the photographs?” It sounded like a question, but Emma knew that it wasn’t.

She nodded anyway. “Yes,” she murmured, her gaze shifting down to where her hands were playing with the edge of her duvet. “I know you told me to end it…and I did…but…” she trailed off, searching for the right words to explain. “I just…” she petered out again, emotions choking her and rendering her unable to speak until her mother’s fingers laced with her own and squeezed tightly.

She looked up, finding the queen’s gaze and seeing no trace of the formal monarch, but only her mother – the woman who’d hugged her tight whenever she was hurt or upset as a child, who’d always encouraged her to follow her dreams, who was perhaps the only other person Emma knew who had experienced the pull between public duty and private emotions in quite the same way. She wasn’t sure if it was the wisest idea to tell her mother all the details about Killian – she wasn’t sure how the queen would react, especially since she’d not seemed keen on Emma seeing someone when the surveillance photos had surfaced – but she had to tell someone. She couldn’t take bottling everything up anymore.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stop talking – the entire tale spilled out easily. The feelings of frustration at Gold’s latest political intrigue, her hopes to do something meaningful with her position and despair that she might never really be allowed to, sneaking out to Two Wolves, meeting Killian, being charmed unexpectedly, getting to know him better over the last several weeks (though she thought it prudent to leave out the mind-boggling kisses from their picnic), then breaking it off only to find out he was part of the Cadre. She told her mother everything, all the way up to their fight earlier in the day, and when she’d finished she felt oddly better and lighter. A calm settled over her – no matter what happened next, at least she’d been honest with herself about all of her feelings.

The queen was quiet for the space of several heartbeats, and Emma cautiously raised her eyes to meet her mother’s gaze, unsure of what she’d see. The look of compassion and understanding that was shining back at her was an incredible relief for Emma – also a bit of a surprise, if she were being honest.

“Oh, Emma,” her mother started, her voice clearly laced with deep emotion. “I’m so sorry that you ever felt as though you didn’t have a place in leading Misthaven – your father and I have been so focused on strategizing how best to hold our own against the more aggressive members of the council and the more discontented factions in parliament, that I fear we’ve fallen back on relying only on each other out of habit.”

“It’s alright, Mom, I understand,” Emma murmured – and, on some level, she did. She’d been raised on the stories of her parents’ epic love match and brilliant political partnership. The most memorable tale had been the one in which they’d defeated a coup attempt shortly after their wedding. It was a sometimes daunting legacy to live up to.

“No, my darling girl, it’s not – and you shouldn’t have to.” Her mother leaned closer and brushed a strand of Emma’s hair back behind her ear before cupping Emma’s cheek with her free hand. “We’ve been so wrapped up in handling current issues the way we would have in the past, that we haven’t been thinking of the future – of you – as much as we should have. We’ll be fixing that immediately.”

“Really?” Emma asked, a note of hope creeping into her voice. “I have so many ideas-”

“And your father and I would love to hear them,” her mother replied. “I’ll clear our calendars tomorrow morning and we’ll start the conversation, alright?”

Emma nodded, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Absolutely.”

“Now, as to the other matter,” the queen said briskly. “We need to discuss what to do about-”

“Killian,” Emma finished for her mother. She chuckled dryly, a sound with no humor in it. “I didn’t think that anything could be worse than what happened the last time I let myself open up to someone – at least there were no paparazzi this time around, or else it would’ve been an even bigger mess.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened with that diplomat’s son, sweetheart,” her mother said firmly. “He was an entitled, arrogant braggart who brought every bit of that shame on himself, and, frankly, I’d probably have kneed him even harder than you did if I’d been in your position. I really wanted to do it anyhow,” she finished matter-of-factly.

“Thanks, Mom,” Emma said, a small smile finally causing the corners of her mouth to twitch upwards – it was a very brief thing, but it made her feel better nonetheless. “But as I told you that night, I still contend he kneed himself in the balls.”

The two women stared unblinkingly at each other for a moment before both breaking out into soft, but uncontrollable, laughter. “That should have been the official press statement,” chuckled the queen. “Why didn’t we think of that at the time?”

Emma shrugged. “Don’t know,” she replied with a laugh before her current predicament sobered her mood once again. She squeezed the hand that still held her mother’s. “But it doesn’t really help me to figure out what I do now.”

The queen regarded her for a few moments, and though Emma’d tried to guess at exactly what her mother might say, she wasn’t able to predict the words that the queen actually uttered in that moment. “Emma, you’re the only one who can make that choice.”

“But what about the council’s reaction? And Gold? And-”

“Sweetheart,” her mother said firmly, now squeezing Emma’s hand in return. “None of that matters. The only important thing is how you feel. I know now that the burdens of your royal position have been weighing on you rather keenly lately – and I am so very sorry that I hadn’t realized how much – but nothing that’s going on with that changes anything about this. What’s important is what you want.”

“I want to fix things with him, but I don’t know how,” Emma murmured, slightly stunned at the fact that her mother seemed to be advocating for her pursuing some sort of relationship with Killian. Not that there is a relationship to advocate for right now, given the way that we left things the last time we saw each other she thought regretfully, flashes of their fight replaying themselves in her mind.

“Oh, I have no doubt that you can,” her mother said, a note of mischief entering her voice. “If he’s half as taken with you as you are with him – and given what you’ve told me, I think he is – I don’t think it will be a problem.”

Emma shook her head slowly, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that her mother wasn’t more concerned. She’d expected more skepticism, or caution, or something – not this rather unabashed positivity and upbeat attitude. She’d thought she’d have to work a lot harder to convince her mother that a relationship with Kilian was a good idea, and the fact that the queen had gotten on board so quickly was kind of throwing Emma off-kilter. “I don’t know…it’s going to be really complicated. Maybe it’s simpler to just let it go.”

Her mother shook her head decisively. “It is simpler to do that, but that doesn’t mean it’s better, sweetheart. Anything worth having – really worth having – must be fought for. And you, my dear, have always been a fighter. Besides, fighting for love is the most worthwhile thing of all.”

She sat up straight, nearly dislodging several of her pillows with the sudden speed of her movements. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa, Mom. Who said anything about love? Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?”

“Not really.” The queen leveled a knowing look at Emma, squeezing her hand once more before letting go and standing up. “Not if those surveillance photos are anything to go by, at any rate.”

Emma sat speechless as her mother brushed off her skirt and headed across the room. The queen had swung open the door and was about to step through when Emma finally found her voice. “You’re not worried I’m making a bad decision?”

Her mother shook her head and turned around, locking eyes with Emma when she did. “Emma, one of the things I’ve always admired about you is your instincts and how they lead you to make good decisions – most of the time, at least,” she said with a teasing arch of her eyebrows. “Trust your gut – listen to what it’s telling you. You’ll do the right thing for you, and whatever that is, your father and I will support it,” she promised, turning and stepping out of the room.

“You don’t think Dad will object?” Emma asked incredulously. “He took the last guy I was even remotely interested in down to see the royal armory and made vaguely menacing comments to him the whole time! I never heard from the guy after that! And what about the council?!”

Emma was still staring at the quickly closing door when it suddenly swung back open part of the way and her mother’s head popped back into view. “I’ll handle your father, don’t you worry. And don’t you worry about the council – your father and I have just figured out a few things that should put a halt to Gold’s machinations for the foreseeable future. Now,” she paused and pointed a finger at Emma as if to underline her final point. “You just try to be discreet while the lieutenant is finishing his Cadre cycle – I’m not saying put a halt to…things…” at this, she thought her mother blushed slightly before recovering. “…just try your best to keep the press from getting too interested in you both as a story, alright?”

Emma nodded. “I think I can manage that,” she said, a small seed of optimism taking root, despite her very real worry that Killian wouldn’t forgive her.

“Oh, and one more thing,” her mother said casually as she turned again and began to leave once more. “I meant what I said about the way you make decisions, Emma, but don’t forget, proposed Cadre Initiates each receive a thorough background check as part of their selection process. Your father and I have read enough about your Lieutenant Jones to know he’s as honorable as they come. I think I can speak for us both when I say the only concern we’d have would be if he’d care well for your heart.”

“He would,” Emma said softly, but with conviction, the tears from earlier threatening to make a reappearance. “That is, I haven’t ruined things between us.”

Her mother shook her head, a fond smile on her face. “Oh sweetheart, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Emma to try to process everything that had just happened. She couldn’t deny that she felt better than she had when she’d initially come back to her rooms, but everything she’d been sure of had just been turned upside down yet again. Her mind was whirling and she was torn between thinking about which of her plans and projects she wanted to cover with her parents during their strategy session the following morning and trying to come up with a way to fix things with Killian.

An idea for the latter began to take hold in her mind – it was a simple plan, so hopefully it would have the best chance of working. A grin spread across her face slowly.

Now she just had to wait for the perfect moment to set it all in motion.

-/-

Three days.

It had been three bloody days since he’d fought with Emma – with the Princess, he mentally corrected himself – and continuing on her detail had been nothing short of torturous. They’d been near each other constantly over the past several days, but without any opportunity to speak to each other beyond basic pleasantries.

Though you’ve got no idea what you’d say to her anyway, so maybe that’s for the best, he thought, a frown stealing across his face in response to that realization.

The princess had been extremely busy in the last three days – starting with a meeting with her parents the morning after their fight. When the door to the queen’s private rooms had opened after the meeting, he’d been sure that he was about to be dismissed – the king was looking at him with thinly veiled suspicion, he’d been sure of it. But the queen seemed to be regarding him with an inexplicably fond look, before she’d threaded her arm through her husband’s and drawn him away down the corridor. Emma had flicked the briefest of looks in his direction before she’d taken off at a brisk pace in the opposite direction and he and Belle had fallen into step behind her.

Since then, Emma’d been embroiled in a succession of meetings and other palace business practically non-stop. In her few free moments, she’d been eating, sleeping, or deeply engrossed in research – though on what, he couldn’t say. It had made the idea of approaching her to apologize for his behavior very difficult to put into practice, and the further they’d gotten from their fight, the harder it was to bring it up again at all. Not to mention that she’d been so busy that she’d been skipping her morning run, eliminating one of the best opportunities for him to speak to her alone.

They’d settled into a sort of uneasy half-truce, or at least that’s what it felt like to him, where they didn’t really avoid each other – though given that he was assigned to her detail, she couldn’t very well avoid him altogether – but they didn’t interact very much unless it was absolutely necessary.

Which is why hearing her voice at nearly midnight, coming from the shadowed expanse of the courtyard to his left, was a bit of a surprise.

“Killian?” her voice calling his name floated towards him out of the near-total darkness. “Can you…can you come here…please?”

He hesitated a moment before stepping onto the grass, recognizing it as the same space where he and Belle had met Emma the morning of their fateful running session. She was seated at the far end with one leg tucked underneath her on a low, raised stone wall that encircled a small fountain. In the corner, near a line of Middlemist bushes, an old hanging lantern that had been retrofitted for electricity dimly illuminated that she was playing absently with the cuff of her left sleeve as he approached.

She looked up at him as he drew closer and opened her mouth to speak – but suddenly, he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear whatever it was she had to say. “Princess, I do hope you’re having a delightful evening,” he began, falling back on hyper-formality to cover the insecurity that had flared to life in his gut. “But if you’re not in need of anything, I’m going to go consult with Lieutenant French about a few matters.”

He’d taken only a couple of steps towards the covered portico that ran along one side of the courtyard before Emma’s voice brought him up short. “You can’t.”

“Pardon?” he sputtered, his reply far less eloquent than he’d have preferred. “Why not?” he asked – he couldn’t think of a single reason Emma would have for barring him from speaking with the other member of his detail.

Emma stood up and crossed the grass to where he was standing. She looked up at him, her beautifully green eyes seeming even larger when they caught and reflected the moonlight. “She’s not here – I sent her back to Lieutenant Humbert to make the nightly report.”

“She agreed to leave you alone?” He knew that they were on the palace grounds, and there were likely no immediate threats to the princess’ safety, but he was still stunned that the normally rule-abiding Belle would have broken protocol so blatantly.

“I insisted, and I can be pretty persuasive when I need to be,” Emma said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I knew you’d be along shortly for shift change, and I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“Oh?” Killian’s pulse kicked up a notch and the sense of trepidation he’d been keeping at bay for the last several days increased. Perhaps he was going to be dismissed, and the princess just wanted to do it herself. He kept his face impassive and his words formal as his gaze fell to hers. “How may I be of service, your highness?”

Emma simply looked at him for several long moments, her eyes searching his and her expression far too soft for someone about to make a pronouncement that would ruin his career. She opened her mouth a second time as if to speak, but closed it again before stepping closer to him and starting over. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low and tinged with regret, “for everything I said to you the other day. Killian, I…you were right. What was starting to happen between us was real, but you have to understand,” she looked up at him pleadingly, “it’s not easy to know who to trust when you’re in my position, and I’ve…I’ve been burned before by exactly this sort of thing. I got scared when we discovered each other’s real identities, but I shouldn’t have been…in my heart, I always knew what kind of person you are, and you didn’t deserve my suspicion, or my accusations. I’m so sorry.”

She finished and took a step back, her eyes flitting away from his while he stood staring at her, dumbfounded. Of all the things he’d expected when he’d found her alone in the courtyard, this turn of events wasn’t anywhere on the list. It took him a few moments to find his voice, and even as he began speaking he wasn’t entirely sure of what he was going to say. He wasn’t at all surprised, though, when he heard himself saying, “It’s alright. I owe you an apology as well-”

Her head whipped up and she shook it vehemently. “You really don’t-”

“I really do,” he insisted, taking a deep breath and scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. “I was being selfish – I knew I couldn’t tell you who I was because of protocol and I kept seeing you anyway. I put you in a difficult position and when the truth came out, I spoke very harshly to you – and I was more than a bit of a hypocrite about it all. I’m sorry, Emma.”

He’d barely realized that he’d used her given name for the first time since he’d found out she was the princess when the air between them seemed to take on an electric charge. “Say that again,” she whispered, stepping back closer to where he stood.

“What? That I’m sorry?” he said, a note of teasing creeping into his voice as he mirrored her, moving close enough that they were almost touching. “Because I am, you know.”

“No,” she shook her head, smiling at him as she pressed up on her tiptoes and her arms crept around his neck. “Say my name again – please.”

A slow grin spread across his face as he leaned down, murmuring Emma against her mouth before his lips covered her own. This kiss was so unlike the previous ones they’d shared on the day of that fateful picnic – those had been filled with the urgency of newness and, he realized now, it was more than likely that Emma had thought it might have been the only one they’d ever share. By contrast, this one was slow, languorous, unfolding as lazily as if they had all the time in the world and intended to spend it solely with each other.

When they finally pulled back, his arms had wound fully around her waist and her hands were firmly entangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. He imagined that his expression mirrored hers, dazed but so very happy.

“Well,” she said on a laugh, sounding delighted and far more carefree than he’d ever heard her in the short time he’d known her. “That makes this next part easier.”

“Next part?” he asked absently, more focused on trailing one hand slowly up and down her back, tracing random patterns as he went. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment at the sensation before she blinked and focused on him again.

“Yes,” she nodded decisively. “The part where I ask you out on a date – where we both know who the other person is, Killian.”

“A date?” he repeated, feeling as dizzy as though he’d been whacked over the head with something rather large and heavy. He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. “How would that even work? With you being…well, you and me being in the Cadre. What would it even look like?”

She grinned – brightly enough to light the whole courtyard without electricity – in response. “Well,” she murmured, scratching her fingernails lightly against the back of his neck in an extremely distracting way. “I don’t exactly know yet. I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to help me figure that out.”

He looked down at her, mind still reeling with everything they’d said – not to mention getting to kiss her again – and fully aware of the challenges that would lie ahead for them both if he accepted. But as he stared at her happy, hopeful expression, and felt a similar one on his own face, he knew there was only one answer in his heart. “With pleasure, Emma.”

Her happy laugh rang through the courtyard for a moment until they lost themselves in each other once again.

-/-

Misthaven Star-Herald

ROYAL REBEL WITH A CAUSE: PRINCESS EMMA SET TO OPEN NEW CHARITIES TO PROMOTE ADVANCEMENT OF MISTHAVEN’S WOMEN AND SUPPORT AT-RISK CHILDREN

By Sidney Glass

Star-Herald Royal Reporter

SPERO, MISTHAVEN, MAY 30, 2023 – Today, Princess Emma of Misthaven finally realized a long-held dream. With her husband, Commodore Killian Jones, at her side, the princess – who is expecting the couple’s first child late this summer – presided over the openings of two new organizations of which she will serve as patron.

The first, Move Forward Misthaven, is a group dedicated to supporting the advancement of women in all industries and areas of study, but with a particular focus on the fields of business, political science, and education. “The goal with Move Forward Misthaven is to elevate talented women in all fields and cultivate them for the leadership roles they are eager to inhabit,” the princess related when asked about her reasons for founding the organization. “We are dedicated to broadening Misthaven’s horizons as we look to the country’s future as a player on the world stage.”

The second group, Stand Up Misthaven, will tackle the much-needed task of providing aid and resources for at-risk children – ranging from educating teachers on how to prevent bullying in schools, to coordinating with youth shelters to provide better care for homeless teens, to evaluating the Misthaven foster system to overhaul its quality of care. “We must speak, we must stand up, for those who cannot do so for themselves – and there are few who are more in need of aid than children, those who look to us for care, for love, and proper direction.” The princess stated in an impassioned speech she gave at the organization’s opening. “Stand Up Misthaven will advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves.”

Princess Emma has long been an unusual figure in the Misthaven royal family, far more concerned with active public service than traditional diplomatic endeavors, though it is only in recent years that the royal protocols have been altered to allow her a more hands-on role in public leadership. This personal approach will continue with both of her new organizations – the princess will serve on the board of both, but will also make use of her graduate degree as a political science course leader for Move Forward Misthaven. She is also set to speak in front of parliament next week on behalf of improvements to the Misthaven foster system in support of Stand Up Misthaven.”

Ever marching to the beat of her own drum, the princess likewise bucked tradition with her marriage to the common-born Commodore Jones just over a year ago. Jones, who had been a member of Cadre 2018 – and who declined the offer to stay on as training officer for Cadre 2021 two years ago in favor of returning to Misthaven’s Royal Navy – has gained distinction at every turn and has accumulated a service record littered with honors and promotions, starting well before his romance with the princess began.

It is too early to speculate on the potential success of either of the princess’ new organizations, but with her clear determination and boundless energy, and the obviously mutually supportive bond shared between her highness and the Commodore, it isn’t an exaggeration to say that far from the “Royal Rebel” or “Prickly Princess” she was once deemed to be, Princess Emma is the face of Misthaven’s future.

#csficformal #branlovesouat #cs ff #captain swan #my fic #lieutenant duckling #modern royalty au #i can't believe it's finally finished!!#i hope you enjoy it dear #i'm so sorry it took so long!!

74 notes · View notes

foxofthedesert · 5 years

Text

RQ OUaT FF | OGA: Ch. 3

Chapter 3 - Motherhood, a Frightening Prospect

Regina awakes to a twitching at her side. Groaning in protest, she shifts slightly, shoulders brushing against the soft, wavy hair tumbling down her bed partner's back. Red is sleeping soundly, facing away yet pressed as close as her body will allow, her back flush to Regina's arm and firm rear nestled against her hip. The soothing contact is further enhanced by the cozy heat radiating from a werewolf whose skin is often akin to a small furnace. Good thing, too, as the room has grown chilly in the absence of a roaring flame, the fire they refueled and stoked before retiring having petered out to dull orange embers.

Yawning so hard her jaw creaks, Regina rubs at her bleary eyes as she sits up slowly, careful not to wake Red, which is not an easy feat seeing as Red's heightened senses are capable of picking up a pin dropped on carpet from down the hallway. Fortunately Regina has a lot of practice at this, so with smooth movements that barely jostle the mattress, she maneuvers her torso upright and then props herself up by extending her arms out behind her, splayed fingers facing the headboard and palms flat upon the downy mattress. Once firmly anchored, she casts a weary, and wary, glance about the room – an old habit from the Dark Days when she had ample reason to entertain notions that some suicidal assassin might infiltrate her chambers in the night to stick a knife in her throat while she slept. That never happened, of course, but vestiges of the old paranoia remain, only now she is less concerned over her own safety as Red's.

Regina heaves a sigh of relief. Tonight there is not a hint of movement outside of her own within their chambers other than the steady rise and fall of Red's chest as she breathes. The only sound Regina can detect is the faint crackling and popping of the dying fire and a brisk autumn wind scratching and howling at the window panes of the great bay window jutting out of the northrn wall of the castle. With no cause for alarm to be found, she relaxes her study of the intimately familiar environment.

The chambers are still shrouded in shadow, sunrise not due for some hours yet, though she can make out details through the darkness. An antique dresser is pushed against the wall opposite their huge four-post bed, boasting storage enough to accommodate the undergarments, casual and sleepwear, and various sartorial accessories of two women – one of whom owns more clothes than the combined possessions of many modest villages. Upon the surface are an array of boxes containing their personal jewelry, some large and some small, along with an assortment of perfumes and oils, the latter of which are mainly for skincare, though a few are for Regina's hair, which requires more attention than Red's ridiculously perfect mane. Next to the dresser is a vanity, a tall adjustable ovular mirror held atop an oaken desk, padded chair with intricately engraved surfaces pushed beneath. Every night they are able, they brush one another's hair at that vanity, one hundred fluid strokes given while holding the other's eyes in the glass as they talk about the happenings of the day or the plans of tomorrow or their various hobbies and interests outside of ruling a kingdom that is growing nearly beyond the scope of comprehension.

To the left of the vanity and dresser is a long arched corridor leading to the balcony overlooking the eastern courtyard, the same balcony Regina once plummeted over and would have died had she not been 'rescued' by the most incompetent fairy to ever flit across the skies of Misthaven. To the right is the long wall common to the hallway of the Royal Wing, surface lined with paintings, three commissioned by Red and the others by Regina, all of which depict things or people they don't wish to forget. A portrait of Daniel is there amongst them, description of him supplied by Regina's memory, along with an image of Peter as he was remembered by Red. Red's grandmother Is also honored with a spot upon that wall, depicted as seated in a rocking chair, glasses perched low on her nose as she weaves a patchwork blanket. A painting of Perrault, Red's hometown, is also to be found there, portrayed as if viewing the quaint village from a vantage point upon the young, modest mountain range nearby. There is other art in the room as well, lush carpets from halfway across the known world, uniquely decorated drapes crafted from material Mulan called silk, figurines of horses and wolves upon wall mounted shelves, marble statues of Artemis and her fellow Olympians in the alcoves of the arched hallway leading to the balcony, and, of course, the most precious of all, the Crown Jewels – a magnificent collection of opulent golden diadems, tiaras, scepters, and ornate rings to adorn fingers and ears. Unless worn by one of Misthaven's Queens, the Crown Jewels remain on display against the inner wall within glass cases that are protected by defensive wards Regina painstakingly designed to resist virtually all forms of dismantling.

After ensuring her most favorite piece – a diadem called The Midnight Crown – is undisturbed, Regina settles back down in bed. As she heaves a long, tired sigh, Red whines in her sleep, not so much distressed as irritated by Regina having disturbed her, and then scoots even tighter against Regina's side. Honestly if Red were to get any closer, she would be on top of Regina. Not that such an outcome would be unpleasant.

There was a time Red's subconscious need for proximity was bothersome. Over the years spent as Leopold's wife and Snow White's step-mother, Regina developed an acute allergy to physical contact initiated without her consent. She had endured groping fingers and invasive appendages more nights than she cares to recount, and by day the constant, irritating pawing of a child she was forced to care for against her wishes. Upon seizing the crown, her lovers were privately taught through threats and acts of violence alike that she was in control of their trysts, while in public those foolish enough to so much as disturb the fabric of her dress without permission were met with swift reprisal. Many wayward digits were either broken or altogether removed before people learned to keep their grubby hands to themselves. Soon enough, no one dared to so much as breathe in her general direction and that was precisely how she liked it.

Looking back at those days, the polar shift in her tactile response is remarkably dramatic, or at least it is within the confines of the bedroom. Seven years of sleeping next to her beloved werewolf has made her almost as dependent on nocturnal contact as Red is. Those rare nights she has to sleep alone are intolerable. It's hard to get any rest at all when she's tossing and turning endlessly, sporadically reaching for an uncommonly warm body that is painfully absent. The silence of the night becomes increasingly oppressive as she strains to listen for the rhythmic sound of Red's breathing or the cute little noises she makes when she's dreaming. Sleep elixirs are a requirement whenever one of them has to travel, thus necessitating the other to stay behind to run the kingdom, and those provide a few inadequate hours at best. Although the herbal aids are sufficient to keep her functional, waking bleary eyed and run down is an unwelcome reminder of a mode of existence she has mercifully left behind.

Before Red assumed possession over half her bed and all of her heart, she was used to existing on very little sleep. Recurring nightmares plagued her to the point she was afforded only a handful of hours on the best nights and as little as an hour on the worst. By the time Red was sharing her bed on a regular basis, she had long since adapted to functioning on unhealthy portions of rest. But now she does not need to settle for paltry scraps. Red's proximity is a pacifier that quells those old terrors that once kept her awake until the wee hours of the night. She is still plagued by nightmares, as she always will be, but they are blessedly infrequent and far less intense. And while she still does not sleep more than six hours per night, those hours are more regenerative than they have been in over a decade.

Nightmares were not the only reason she once had trouble resting, either. Sharing a bed with Leopold had created a sense of claustrophobia that transformed them into isolation cells designed specifically to physically, emotionally, and psychologically torture her. Back then, crawling in under the covers next to her much older husband was a nightmarish scenario consisting of roiling nausea triggered by a clawing fear running up the length of her spine over whether or not the king would be in the mood that night. At the time, she was powerless to refuse his advances, as it was a privilege of his position to demand use of her body at his convenience. There was nothing in all the world she hated more than the feel of his hands on her flesh or the weight of his heft resting upon her, suffocating her as he destroyed with one grunted thrust at a time what little light she had left in her soul in the wake of Daniel's death. When the torment was over and he rolled off her, passing out soon thereafter, she could do little else besides curl up into a ball to mitigate her trembling. She would then either lay there for hours numbly or cry silently so as to not wake the callous brute back up.

Upon ridding herself of Leopold's loathsome presence, the first order of business was to torch the royal bedchambers, bed included. She watched the room burn from the courtyard below, secure in the knowledge the flames were contained by her magic. It was quite a spectacle. The grand windows had all burst from the heatwave, raining down glass onto the crowd gathered to witness the symbolic event. The purpose behind the act was not merely a method of purging any reminders of her late husband, but of declaring to the entire kingdom that she had no intention of suffering any further mentions of him. The message was clearly written by flame. If the nobility wished to keep their wealth and position, Leopold White's memory and name were to be regarded as he was, forever dead, reduced to ashes that were soon enough swept away and disposed of in the refuse pile behind the stables. A fitting end, she thought, to the possessions of a beast.

Sadly, while her efforts produced immediate results and made her very happy for a week or so, her insomnia continued on unabated. Even years after she procured new furnishings for her bedchambers, she never felt truly at ease sleeping in a bed. Which is why she kept a luxurious chaise lounge handy. Before Red came along and upended her life in the best way possible, she rarely ever slept upon the spacious bed she'd custom commissioned upon assuming the throne, preferring instead the relatively cramped confines of the lounger. There was only room for one upon the narrow but cushioned piece of furniture, which helped alleviate her anxieties at having the weight of another body nearby while she was most vulnerable. Normally whenever she enjoyed a tryst, she would simply force her lover out after she was finished with them, but on the rare occasion she let them remain in her chambers until the morn, she would abandon them in lieu of curling up on her lounger. She didn't want to risk dredging up sickening recollections she was desperately trying to keep buried.

Red changed all of that. With her relentless patience and devotion, she transformed their bed into a refuge, a sanctuary free of past torments that Regina could retreat to when feeling overwrought. There, securely wrapped in strong arms and her high-strung demeanor disarmed by an easy smile, consolation could be found whenever she was distraught and rejuvenating rest when she was so weary she could barely hold her head upright.

Red has always been hyper-aware of her state of mind. One of the many benefits of being a werewolf is possessing an innate, unique insight into human behavior. For instance, she can smell subtle changes in pheromones and detect the slightest irregularities in breathing or the most minute shift in the rate of a person's heartbeat that indicate the onset of rage or joy or arousal. Those supernatural senses make her the best bodyguard – and lover – Regina has ever known. At least a dozen times now Red has intervened to prevent violence that would have claimed multiple lives; five of those instances one of the lives might have been Regina's. It is equal measures comforting and unnerving that she no longer needs to utter a single syllable for Red to suss out her mood. And although that unnatural perceptiveness is occasionally irritating, mostly she is grateful that her capriciousness hasn't driven Red away.

The value of having someone who knows and understands her so intimately without being disgusted by the darkness festering in the depths of her soul is immeasurable. Rather than exploit the knowledge, Red wields her insight with all the skill of a surgeon and the tenderness of an angel. Whenever Regina is feeling unworthy, Red is there to offer earnest affirmation; when dispirited or depressed, Red pours out endless waves of affectionate encouragement; and when Regina gets so angry she can barely make sense of her own thoughts, Red's calm assurance never fails to eventually soothe the rampaging beast. The love of a simple peasant girl has elevated the marriage bed from something that once was a hideous dungeon into a beautiful sanctuary.

What Red has managed to do, and without really trying, is nothing short of miraculous. Having sanctified what was once desecrated and redeemed what was formerly condemned, she has transformed the defiled place into a haven of peace in the midst of the worst storms life can throw at them. Now that Regina has acclimated to this blessed refuge, she can not imagine inhabiting it alone. She needs Red's supernatural strength, feminine softness and familiar warmth next to her with a fervency that should be, and sometimes is, frightening.

Inhaling deeply to take in the sweet, earthy scent of her wife, Regina basks in her good fortune. It's on mornings like this that she opens herself up to the potential existence of deities. Her father is to this day a devout practitioner of the monotheistic religion of his country, but her mother had only believed in what the senses could interpret and the mind could comprehend. To Cora, magic was a natural element simpletons could not fathom and was therefore no proof of any higher order to the universe. By carrot and by stick, she drilled that skepticism into her daughter.

Regina did not think to question her mother's wisdom until she met Daniel and was introduced to the concept of love. How could anything so potent as to overwhelm the human heart and soul originate by natural means? The drive for procreation could explain physical attraction and the compulsion to provide stability for any offspring was surely responsible for emotional bonding. But when her lips touched his the first time, she knew the forces at work in her heart and soul were beyond what any textbook or learned scholar of a groundbreaking branch of science could rationally explain away as the mere product of brain chemistry. In that very instant she realized it was True Love and no one could have convinced her otherwise.

True Love is a power no ancient wizard or vaunted intellectual has ever been able to adequately explain. The origins of that mystical energy are as mysterious as those of magic itself. There is no other force known to man that can break any curse, instill a faith and hope that cannot be extinguished, and which can inextricably link two people via tethers time or distance can never sunder. So many have tried to study it, to bottle it, to break it down and scrutinize it's inner workings, only to fail miserably at every attempt. With the recent advent of telescopes by astronomers across the sea, the secrets of the cosmos are slowly but surely being unfolded. Medical advances have provided detailed schematics of the human body. Those in more advanced worlds, it is purported, are even beginning to understand the mechanics of the infinitesimally small substrate that exists beneath the surface of the material world limited human senses can perceive. And yet True Love remains stubbornly esoteric to science and incomprehensible to men.

In her youth, Daniel persuaded her this was proof that there is more to reality than what can be explained in a billion years of intensive study. Something greater, he had passionately argued, thrives beyond this plane, something that possesses consciousness, intelligence, and willpower to affect change wherever it sees fit. He called this entity – or entities – the gods according to the traditions of his ancestors. And while she was unwilling to project her own definitions upon this force, her doubts of its existence were daily fading into obscurity. One stolen kiss at a time, she was starting to believe in a higher power.

Daniel's death all but crushed that brief flicker of revelation. Her mother succeeded where the Pantheon failed in preventing Prometheus from instilling the secrets of the flame within her all-too-human heart. Perhaps that was a secondary motive for her mother's dreadful actions that fateful day in the family stables. Perhaps it was more than just Cora's lust for power and her scheme to gain it vicariously through her daughter that precipitated the cold blooded murder of the most gentle, loving person – aside from Red, of course – that Regina has ever met. She had made the critical mistake of questioning the worldview she had been painstakingly programmed to subscribe to, a worldview that had shaped her mother's every decision for longer than she had been alive, and that could not be permitted to continue for even a second. Whatever the impetus for the deed, it nearly ensured she would never again so blindly place her faith in intangible concepts that only fools followed.

Only she hadn't counted on a leggy brunette with a heart even bigger than her smile to revive those old questions. Meeting Red that day on the mountain pass was no coincidence. No certifiable evidence existed to verify that, but she is nonetheless convinced there were forces at play beyond the limited corporeal plane humanity inhabits – forces no mind, however brilliant, could begin to comprehend. Call it fate, destiny, or a god of some irrelevant designation, something inspired her to listen to her heart for once and pursue Red every bit as much as it guided Red to leave Snow's side and consequently save the life of an undeserving tyrant. It sure as hell wasn't any rational thinking on her part that propelled her feet down that narrow pass, risking her death for another glimpse of the creature who, through only a brief exchange, arrested the fullest extent of her interest. The internally memorialized evidence compiled over years that have since rolled by did nothing to alter that view. If anything, she is more convinced than ever that her mother was wrong. About everything.

Red is here with her because she is meant to be. While their love unquestionably involves an element of choice in that both of them could have walked away from the pull being exerted upon their hearts that day on the mountain, it was also predestined, written in the stars, spoken by the bones, and read in the tea leaves that they should meet and be given the opportunity to choose correctly. By whom or what the encounter was arranged is of no consequence in the grand scheme of things. All she cares about is the exceedingly precious gift so undeservedly bestowed upon her, a gift she has no intention of ever taking for granted. To do so, she is sure, would evoke a wrath she would have rightly earned.

Few ever experience such a love once in a lifetime, not to mention twice. And that the second is even greater than the first puts her in rarified air belonging to the grandest of legends and mythologies. If she squanders this heaven on earth that is Red's love, there will be no escaping the fiery judgment that will greet her in the afterlife. This degree of happiness is not meant for mortals, yet she is bathed in it each and every morning. Sometimes she is unable to breathe for how unspeakably grateful she is. Grace has, in the form of one slumbering angel, provided her deepest craving out of life, and there is no power in all of creation can take it away from her without a fight.

Overwhelmed by an onrush of adoration, she softly winds a fingertip down the muscled plane of a gently curved back. Her contentment intensifies into a silly smile when her touch produces a tiny whine of protest from Red, who then flips over to her other side. Now facing Regina, the junior Queen of Misthaven breathes a deep sigh. As she does, her nose scrunches up adorably and she snuggles her head deeper into the pillow. Long, dark lashes flutter briefly only to grow still once more.

Reaching out with as little movement as possible, Regina tenderly tucks a strand of silky brown hair behind Red's ear. "I love you," she whispers. "More than I you'll ever know. More than I can ever express in words. Every moment with you is blessing my heart can hardly contain. I wish an effective method existed to properly translate how much you mean to me so that I could tell you how I truly feel. I suppose I'll just have to take it on faith that you know, and hope the way you love me is evidence you understand because you feel the same way."

That Red cannot hear any of this does not matter when there is a burning need to say the words. Her love for this incredible woman is the one defining thing more pertinent to her being than her own selfish desires, and with the darkness of the night to shroud her, she feels a freedom to express herself that she wishes could extend in the light. Decorum and a need to appear indestructible in public prevent her from addressing Red the way she wishes she could. When unwelcome eyes are watching, it is often more than she can bear to be so close to her wife yet unable to touch her or hold her or simply say those three little words for no other reason than to receive one of those glorious smiles no one else can replicate. It is only here in the safety and seclusion of their bedroom that she can indulge her every affectionate whim, and she does so whenever the compulsion hits.

It hasn't always been that way. There was a time she valued her revenge more than love. She used to spend all of her time plotting to kill Snow White, the source of her every torment. It was Snow who caused Daniel's death, which in turn lead to her being married off to an elder king at the tender age of seventeen. It was Snow who spent her days yammering on about how glad she was her hero became her new mother while Regina gritted her teeth against the urge to scream. Each night, she chewed the inside of her lips until they bled to block out the anguish of being mounted by an old man she despised. Snow's betrayal had cost her everything, and after Leopold's death, her every waking moment was a lucid fantasy revolving around the day Snow would turn eighteen, after which the wretched brat would become fair game.

The day after the Princess's eighteenth birthday bash, not a single moment was wasted before setting in motion a plot she spent months contriving. Through a series of clever payoffs, she manufactured a paper trail that made it appear as if Snow was responsible for hiring out assassins to dispose of her stepmother. That was all the leverage required to banish the Princess from the kingdom and forever stake a claim to the throne. In remembrance of the sweet young girl she had once saved from a runaway horse, Snow was afforded three months to adapt to her new way of life before the proverbial hunting horns were sounded – and sound they did.

The hunt climaxed two years later on a cold, bitter day after the latest in an endless string of attempts at apprehending Snow was thwarted by the stunning werewolf who kept company with the fugitive princess. The rest, as they say, is history. A week later, Red showed up to dinner, and then again the next week, and the week after that. Pretty soon, Red was spending days at a time at the Dark Palace. Within six months, she was practically living there. Being that Snow had found her True Love and with the bounty on her head suspended, Red was no longer needed to protect her dearest friend on a daily basis. Regina was glad of it. Having come to prize her time with Red above all else, she loathed their partings whenever Red would venture back to Snow's side.

Three months later still, the inevitable happened when they fell into bed. It honestly astounded her that she lasted so long without claiming her criminally enticing prize when there were days it took all of her considerable willpower to resist temptation. The war to resist those annoyingly persistent urges to rip Red's clothes from her body and ravish her against the nearest solid surface was one she was unaccustomed to waging.

Upon becoming Queen, practicing patience in sexual matters was no longer required. If she saw someone she wanted who seemed equally interested, she merely had a trusted knight discreetly escort that individual up to her chambers. Once the door was shut, nature took it's course with no strings attached. This method of scratching a very pleasant biological itch was an ideal solution for a woman who believed herself to be cured of interest in romantic entanglements.

With Red, though, she found herself longing for companionship that extended beyond a torrid affair or quick tryst. Although her desire to know Red in a carnal sense was maddening at times, she was too afraid to take that step knowing it would irreparably alter their emerging dynamic. She worried that, as with Daniel, they would inevitably to be torn apart. In the process of time, she would drive Red away by simply virtue of attrition, meaning her selfish, cruel, vindictive nature would eventually erode Red's unwarranted affection into bitter loathing. Or worse, the unthinkable would happen to Red and it would be like losing Daniel all over again. She didn't think she could handle either scenario, so she tried her damnedest to maintain the status quo.

The great upheaval finally came one day in the early months of autumn. Regina can clearly remember dragging into her chambers, exhausted from a long day of court-related tedium. Upon arriving she'd found the door already open with Red waiting inside. Perched upon the seat below the bay window, she was completely engrossed in a thick tome containing an assortment of Eastern literature. She hadn't heard Regina approach, and as she read intently, so peaceful and still, it seemed as if she was posing for a portrait. The evening sunlight filtering into the room cast her in a faint orange glow as it played across her features and filtered through strands of rich brown hair left hanging down from a hastily applied leather tie. The sight was so breathtaking that Regina would eventually commission a likeness to be preserved by the royal artist that hung in her study to this day. Red had not enjoyed having to recreate and then maintain the position long enough that it could be translated to canvas for posterity.

Anyway, despite having adjusted to constant exposure to Red's beauty, Regina was nonetheless so awestruck that she gasped aloud, finally catching Red's attention. When Red lifted her nose out of her book, her entire countenance lit up at the sight of Regina standing in the doorway, as if she had become the sole source of her every joy. It was at that very moment acceptance of the hard truth arrived. Their current arrangement was no longer sufficient. They had waited long enough to consummate their undeniable feelings. That evening, they made love for the first time as the last rays of the sun set over the horizon, and they did not sleep until the moon had risen high in the night sky. That terrifying yet exhilarating step from a deep and meaningful friendship into sexual intimacy precipitated a fall from which she has yet to recover.

Never one to let the grass grow beneath her feet, she wasted no time thereafter claiming Red as her own. Privately she marked her new lover in ways that made Red blush for days while publicly declaring to the kingdom that Red now belonged to her and was therefore to be treated with the utmost respect properly due to the Queen's official companion. Not that it did any good insisting Red be shown respect when she was just as soon to be found roughhousing with the soldiers on their training days or milling among the peasants in the village below the Palace as to be about the castle carousing with nobles whilst adorned in the opulent and incredibly expensive dresses she was provided. The people adored Red unconditionally, accepted her as their own, and approached her without fear because they knew she was one of them. That she had risked her life on a daily basis to protect their not-so-secretly beloved Snow White only endeared her all the more to them.

In a turn of events that Regina hadn't predicted, Red became a bridge over the gaping chasm between the Crown and its subjects. As she would soon discover, Red's mere presence among them served as proof that their Queen was moving past her vendetta, that she was not just the maddened tyrant they had once rightly believed her to be.

This was proven one day when she ventured out of the castle in disguise.

_RQ_

Arrayed in the rags of a peasant, much as she had posing as Wilma to gain insight into Snow White, Regina was a woman on a mission. Red's daily excursions to the village below the palace were no secret, nor were her motives, which were obvious to anyone with a brain. What she could not figure out was the reason behind her lover frequenting the village bakery in particular.

The subterfuge, she felt, was necessary due to what she thought was a justifiable suspicion. Red was spending so much time in the bakery of late that paranoia over potential betrayal was creeping in. That the baker and his wife had two highly attractive and eligible children did not help matters in the slightest. Their son was only two winters older than Red's twenty-two, was stout of build with sandy blonde hair and possessed a relentless kindness that no doubt made him a kindred spirit. The couple also had an overly friendly daughter Red's age with bouncing blonde curls and large almond-shaped blue eyes the exact shade of a summer sky. How could there not be an attraction to at least one of them?

With that in mind, Regina glamored herself into peasants garb and slightly distorted her features to avoid detection. As when Rumple transformed her into Wilma, she proceeded to slip past her guards while they thought she was using the facilities. It wasn't much trouble traversing the palace, the courtyard, and the outer citadel without being detected. Servants often were invisible to those with the authority to detain them. So effective was her disguise that she made it to the bakery without attracting even a single second glance.

When she arrived, the baker's wife – a middle aged woman she could tell was once every bit as beautiful as her daughter – was standing out front speaking to a friend. Seeing an opportunity to glean some intelligence into the target family, she maneuvered around to the side of the building to eavesdrop.

"Why do you let that...that gold digging strumpet hang around so much?" the friend asked, clearly referring to Red in a derisive tone that implied other less savory aspersions. The slight upon her lover, however inferred, had Regina gritting her teeth against an urge to anonymously out the woman as a dissident to the nearest guard.

"If you'll recall, I'm not from around these parts," the baker's wife explained to her friend. "I knew Red's grandmother long before she was a twinkle in her mother's eye, but in the time she's been here, I've come to know her personally as well."

Hearing that embarrassed Regina. She had jumped to unfounded conclusions when Red had just been seeking a connection with someone who was once close with her grandmother. Even so, she continued to listen, spellbound by the ensuing conversation.

"That 'gold digging strumpet,'" the baker's wife continued, "is the sweetest thing I've ever met aside from my own babies. And that's sayin' somethin'."

"Makes you question what she's doin' with the Queen, don't it?" the friend then asked, contempt for Regina on open display with the familiar company. Regina had bristled silently but continued to hold her tongue in pursuit of her objective. "I wonder how she can stand to sleep next to a monster every night."

"It's because her heart is as tender as Princess Snow's," the baker's wife replied without hesitation. "That tells me all I need to know. If Red can love the Queen, then we've been wrong about her all along. Because I'll tell ya, she couldn't love someone who isn't worth lovin'. There is good in the Queen, we've just been too blind to see it."

The words had shaken Regina down to her foundations, not only because it seemed her subjects were beginning to perceive her differently. It was jarring to hear someone other than Red so boldly declare that Red could not love her if she was not worth loving. Regina realized that day how much she'd started to change, that she was remarkably less austere of late, more patient in general and increasingly equitable in her judgments. Without the pursuit of Snow being her primary mission and with Red's unwavering love and support rounding some of her razor sharp edges, she'd begun to invest herself more in ensuring she had a healthy, functioning kingdom.

The exchange that followed only served as further confirmation.

"But what about all the evil she did?" the friend had countered, verbalizing Regina's own negative inclination. She'd never really cared what the people thought of her, but at that moment she discovered that it mattered anyway. She had been a terrible ruler, had treated her subjects reprehensibly, without even realizing it, had become exactly what her mother wanted her to be. It was a wake up call, to say the least. "She slaughtered entire villages," the critical friend continued with a vehemence that bespoke personal investment, "and hunted the princess down like a dog for no good reason. How many people has she killed since she stole the crown from King Leopold? Dozens? Hundreds? More? She's called the Evil Queen for a reason, ya know."

Pressing her back into the wall she was tucked against, Regina felt white hot shame creeping up on her, inflaming her cheeks and turning her stomach until she felt sick. It took all of her hard learned restraint not to bolt from the uncomfortable discussion, but she'd been glued to the spot, unable to move as her eyes and ears were finally being opened to the truth she'd so long repressed. Snow was not the criminal; she was. In her lust for revenge, her sanity had slipped away from her like sand from a sieve and she had abandoned what once was an ironclad conscience. Without those preventative factors, the darkness her mother instilled in her took over, influencing her every thought and deed as she committed one atrocity after another. Now that a modicum of sense was coming back to her, she was revolted.

Suddenly she'd wondered what the hell Red was doing with her. What had Red seen in her worth loving when she could see so little in herself? How, she wondered as tears pooled in her eyes, was she ever going to learn to live with what she'd done without being crushed by the enormous pressures of a guilt she was unprepared to deal with? At the time, it had seemed an insurmountable obstacle to reconcile herself to what she had become in the name of a vengeance Daniel would have abhorred.

"No doubt the Queen was a wicked woman," the baker's wife then replied, and hearing it from so fair a woman's mouth was like a vicious slap to an already raw cheek. "But haven't you seen how different she is since Red came 'round? For a long time, I was ignorant of it, too, but then I tried a bit harder, if only for Red's sake, to see what made her love the woman. Know what I found?"

"What's that?"

"I saw someone who is capable and strong," the baker's wife then elaborated. "She's truly becoming a good ruler. Is she severe in judgment? Yes, but not how she used to be. Used to she'd have someone flogged for burning an apple pie, but not anymore. She's much more fair now, more willing to be persuaded for clemency. And she's always been shrewd with finances, but she's started giving back to the people that need it most.

"Don't get me wrong, I hated the cruel, vindictive witch that stole the throne just as much as you did, but I think that woman is slowly disappearing. I don't even think that woman was really her. I have become convinced, like Red has told me so many times, that what we're seeing now is the real person that just got buried under huge mountains of hatred and anger, a person Red saw and loved before anyone else. We have a lot to thank that girl for...the kingdom has a lot to thank her for. So as far as I'm concerned, she has a place here any time she wishes, and that's that!"

_RQ_

Not needing to hear any more, Regina can remember rushing away far enough to magic herself into her chambers. Alone at last, she sequestered herself for the rest of that day to contemplate what she'd heard. It was late when Red got back, and by the time she had begun to process what she had learned and found to her amazement that she was not totally repulsed by it. The baker's wife had been right. Red was helping her to change organically. Without her hardly being aware, she was slowly rediscovering the idealistic young lady who once fell in love with a stable boy and without thought for her own safety rode to the rescue of a princess in distress.

In further analyzing the subtle transformation she was undergoing, she realized those words she'd spoken to Red on the mountain weren't empty platitudes meant to entice a gullible girl into tangled web. She really was tired of fighting for something that could never make her happy, and she was sick of being a prisoner of her mother's persistent, insidious influence.

Daddy had been right all along. So long as she continued to react the way her mother taught her to, she would never stop being that scared little girl who had trembled before her imperious and heartless mother, begging not to be punished for the slightest infraction. In a stark moment of clarity, she realized she didn't want to be a scared little girl anymore. Through every encouragement, every smile, every kiss, every touch, Red was reminding her of who she used to be: a young woman who refused to allow her totalitarian mother to dictate her life, whose heart was full of love, and whose convictions were set in stone. And though she could never fully reclaim her former innocence, she was actually learning to accept the person was becoming, someone who inhabited the gray area between the looming shadow of ever-encroaching darkness and the morning sun so full of promise.

What made reconciliation of this epiphany all the more palatable was that Red never asked her to change. Once, she even plainly declared that she had fallen in love with the Evil Queen with eyes wide open, then went on to reassure her that there were no expectations or strings attached to that affection. Regina was not expected to earn her love by being good. All she ever asked was that Regina be considerate of her feelings on certain subjects and to curb her violence whenever possible while in her company.

Admittedly, at first even that little request was difficult to abide by. She found it exceptionally difficult not to react according to her deeply ingrained programming. To stop and think about her actions and words before going off at the drop of a hat required a reservoir of self-control she hadn't tapped into for so long she was amazed anything remained of it at all. She had always been impulsive, but after Leopold was disposed of, she surrendered any and all restraint, self-imposed or otherwise, that might hold her back from taking whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it.

Nevertheless, she started to make a concerted effort to do better. And she succeeded to some degree. If not everyone was thrilled with her progress, so be it. Red is happy as a lark, and keeping her that way is Regina's primary concern.

"Hey," Red suddenly interrupts her thoughts. Her wife's voice is slurred as she regards her through bleary eyes. "What're you still doin' up? Need ta be sleepin', hon."

"No reason aside from just waking at random," Regina replies. "A lot on my mind, I suppose." She does not mention that it was Red's inability to stay still that initially roused her from a very pleasant slumber. It is nothing new for her to be awakened in the middle of the night by a stray poke from a sharp elbow or a glancing kick from a bare foot. Much like an excitable puppy, Red is in constant motion even when she sleeps, which Regina finds endearing. Mostly.

Red frowns sympathetically and reaches out to rub Regina's arm comfortingly. "'M sorry."

Regina leans in to give her wife a chaste kiss. "It's not your fault, my love," she then whispers against Red's lips. Drawing back slightly, she caresses a pale cheek. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

Tomorrow is the appointed monthly date for petitions to be made in court. Usually the cases consist of those unable to be resolved locally due to conflicting or convoluted laws and instances where the parties involved successfully argued with the local magistrate for an appeal directly to the Queen. Very rarely do they have to make life and death judgments, and those they tackle together. Only with both of their consent can a death sentence be rendered, which has happened exactly two times in five years.

Their day is likely to be as boring as it is stressful, but that doesn't mean the decisions they make aren't important. Rest is vital for a clear mind. If only her brain got the message.

Red leans into the touch and then shifts her head to press a responding kiss to Regina's palm. "Only if you do, too."

"I can try but I make no promises of success," Regina concedes. She runs her fingers through the silky hair at Red's temple, tucking it behind her ear. "I'm afraid my mind is awhirl at the moment."

Red's brow furrows worriedly. "You're not stressin' 'bout what I mentioned earlier, are you?" The question is not without basis.

Earlier, Red had informed Regina that their handmaid Iris and her husband were trying to get pregnant. During the course of the short conversation that followed, Red not-so-subtly worked in a hint that she was interested in the idea of expanding their own family in the not too distant future. Despite having frequently thought about that very subject over the years, Regina was unprepared to entertain a discussion about the possibility of bringing a child into their lives. She is still raw from being strong-armed last week into putting a deadline on producing an heir.

The only positive out of being blindsided by the Council is that she's gained an important ally. Lord Maurice is the wealthiest man in the realm by far, and with his merchant days having afforded him connection all over the known world, his vast influence has all but invalidated the novelty of his title.

In the week since the stressful meeting, he has kept her apprised as agreed of the nobles acceptance of her terms. No one was pleased at yet another delay in her decision, but they have thus far all acquiesced, in large part because Lord Maurice convinced them it was in their best interest. Twice she has met privately with the physically imposing but otherwise gentle man, and each time he has reiterated his sympathy with her difficult circumstance. Whether or not his support is for Red's sake or hers is of no consequence when she has it. The lesson of gift horses and mouths is not lost on her.

That said, she remains reluctant to discuss the topic. To avoid getting into another argument with Red about over it, she changed the subject quickly. It did not escape her attention that the hasty deflection hurt the feelings of the most important person in her world. To Red's credit, she hid her reaction well, just not well enough. The pain in her eyes would not have been obvious to anyone else. But Regina was not anyone else. It was her job to read her wife's every mood, to be able to interpret her body language and know what every conceivable emotion looked like in her eyes. As she shifted the discussion to safer waters, the disappointment lacing through those green irises was unmistakable. That she felt like a callous bitch having put it there did not deter her from putting her own emotional fragility ahead of Red's. And that only made her feel worse.

They went to bed last night with a cloud of sadness over them that no amount of flowery language or affectionate petting could dispel. One night suffering Red bravely bearing her discouragement was bad enough. However much she would rather avoid this uncomfortable topic, she cannot allow this heaviness to continue.

Red's moods are infectious when they are in full bloom. Ruling has taught her to mask her emotions quite effectively, but when they are brimming to overflowing, they virtually inundate everyone around her. When she is happy, which thankfully is more often than not, everyone in her proximity is happy, too. In that way, the metaphor her smile lights up a room is actually accurate.

Unfortunately that means the opposite is true as well. Regina has watched both happen in real time, but none were as frightening as an incident three years ago. They were scheduled to attend a party in Baron's mansion not far from the Palace that regrettably fell on the anniversary of Anita's death, only Regina didn't know that because Red hadn't mentioned anything about her mother's demise aside from generalities. Without the full picture, she hadn't been able to figure out why Red was so withdrawn during the carriage ride, and watched in muted horror as the death of all gaiety seemed to follow her morose wife around wherever she went. It was one of those rare occasions where nothing or no one, however interesting, could engage Red. She was totally disassociated and operating as if an emotionless automaton whose strings were being pulled only in the directions she did not want to go. Later on back home, she finally confessed the reason behind her strange behavior.

"I just felt so empty," she had said, hugging herself as if she was freezing and brittle and marred by a thousand spider-webbed cracks. "Like a balloon that had all the air let out. Just elastic and useless. I'm sorry I ruined the party. I really tried to make it go away. It just wouldn't."

Regina kissed her pleas away and held her tight all night long so she wouldn't feel alone. But that valuable lesson was never forgotten. As startling as it was to rows of people simultaneously succumb to gloom prompted her to take extra notice of Red's emotiveness. They never again ventured out into public when she was feeling, as she had described it, empty like a deflated balloon.

There are few individuals she has ever met that are as strong as Red is. With all she's gone through, that that sort of thing doesn't happen continually is testament to her resilience. That said, being denied something she clearly and ardently desires over and over again is sure to eventually push her straight into the poisonous fingers of depression. The last thing they need is a castle full of weepy, dispirited, and demotivated servants.

Besides considerations of Red's state of mind, she also cannot abide allowing her wife to continue to fret over the misconception of having upset her. Not when the truth is she has been wrestling of late with a similar desire to be a mother. The only difference between them is that she is too cowardly to admit it. And for obvious reasons.

For one, she doesn't feel like she deserves to have that kind of pliable medium in her life. She is not so far removed from the Evil Queen that any sane individual would entrust her with a the welfare of an impressionable child. Even more so, she worries about repeating her mother's mistakes. She was not blessed with the best example of motherhood, and while Red's grandmother was a far cry from perfect, she at least loved Red and put Red first at the expense of her own ambitions. To the contrary, everything Cora ever did for her daughter was for her own benefit. To that end, she had groomed Regina to be a selfish and vindictive woman who is disturbingly likely to irreparably corrupt a child's innocence in the same way her mother had hers. The thought is as distasteful as it is terrifying that she might do to someone else what was done to her, thus keeping the cycle of abuse intact.

Frustrated with herself, she heaves a furtive sigh and determines to be honest for once. If not for her own sake then for Red's. "Perhaps I am a bit disconcerted about it," she admits, finding the words difficult to spit out. She feels better, though, once they are out in the open.

"Oh," Red responds, looking crushed, although she rallies quickly by putting on a false smile. "I totally understand. I love our life together, and I'm happy with the way things are. I just thought I'd see how you felt about adding to our family now that some time has passed. But since I know you don't want to, we can just move on. No harm, no foul, okay?" Though she tries to hide it, Regina can tell that Red is about to withdraw and feign going back to sleep so that she can let the tears fall silently without them being seen.

When she begins to shift away to face the wall, Regina stops her immediately with a firm hand on her hip, keeping her in place. "Sweetheart, I am not dismissing the idea outright," she explains, holding Red's eyes. "I just have concerns, mainly related to me and my capability to be a mother. I didn't have the best example, as you well know." And Red most certainly does know. Firsthand at that.

When Cora suddenly reappeared about eighteen months ago along with that backstabbing pirate, Captain Hook, she went about implementing a series of convoluted maneuvers to reintegrate herself in Regina's life. The last attempt involved removing Red from it, which she'd very nearly done by taking Red's heart and then using it to force Regina into compliance. With that much leverage at her disposal, Cora was able to rule the kingdom by undeclared proxy, thus granting Red an up close and personal glimpse into Regina's childhood hell. It was, perhaps, the second worst period of her life.

During that most trying time, she'd had to endure going through the motions of court, deferring every major decision to her mother who insisted on attending each session. Every meal was taken in tense silence, with only her mother's occasional questions and Regina's clipped answers to fill the coldness of the atmosphere. Eyes were on her everywhere she went. When her mother was not present to watch over her, Regina was accompanied by members of her personal guard whose hearts had also been collected by Cora to assure their loyalty.

The nights were the worst, as she'd had to suffer being separated from Red, who was kept confined to the tower of the citadel, for the first time in years. 'It's for your own good,' her mother had told her. Each night following Red's detainment, Cora made a show of visiting the tower after saying good night to her daughter. The unnecessary drama served as a pointed reminder that the slightest failure to be obedient would result in Red's defilement on any number of grotesque and unthinkable levels. Her mother was not above selling access to the most universally desired woman on the continent.

To prevent the worst atrocities imaginable being visited upon Red, Regina kept her rebellions minor. Sadly that did not stop her mother from doling out less perverse punishments upon the woman she saw as the primary factor behind Regina's aberrant lifestyle. Had things gone on much longer, she was certain her mother's nightly visits would have inevitably included graphic descriptions of what activities with Red tonight's customer had purchased. The sole purpose of that most atrocious lesson would have been to enforce Cora's supreme dominance over every aspect of Regina's life, something she could not, would not, allow to happen. Not at Red's expense.

The charade went on for another whole month before she was able to surreptitiously locate her mother's well-hidden heart, which she then used to command the power-hungry witch to relinquish Red's heart. Once that was back in place, Regina ordered Cora to her knees. With the organ in hand whose absence had caused so much suffering throughout her childhood, she'd realized there was no other alternative than to permanently end her mother's machinations. Weeping openly while Red pleaded for her to reconsider, she said her final goodbyes and then crushed the heart to dust right in front of her mother's disbelieving face.

That excruciating tribulation for the most part cured Red of any remaining curiosity about Regina's childhood. The stripes she received at Cora's hand, both physically and magically, served as ample evidence of the horrors Regina was made to endure. Surely, then, she should understand why Regina feels reticent to bring a child into her life, why she feels as if she has been set up for failure. Deep down, she believes Red does understand, and is relieved to be proven correct when her wife's features soften with sympathy.

"I get why you feel that way," Red says sympathetically, "I really do. I just happen to think that your worries are misplaced."

Regina frowns. "I fail to see how. You met my mother."

"Yes, I did, and she was a nasty piece of work. But you are not her." Regina scoffs in objection. "You're not!" Red insists more forcefully. "Are you like her? Yes. But you're not her. That means you have a chance to learn from the mistakes she made with you so you don't repeat them. If the past seven years have taught me anything, it is that you have a good heart beating inside your chest." Regina scoffs a second time at that. "Don't be so dismissive," Red grouses, irritated now on her behalf. "I'm being serious! I think you've always wanted to be a good person, you just lost your way for a while."

"That's an incredibly generous description of events," Regina retorts. If only her enemies could see it that way, she'd have a lot easier go of diplomacy. In her experience, people simply cannot let go of the past...

"Maybe. But it's true." Green eyes swimming with unadulterated love, Red cradles Regina's chin between her thumb and forefinger, keeping their gazes locked. "I see your goodness every day in the way you love me unconditionally. I'm not without my faults, but you've never held them against me. I'm stubborn and reckless and sentimental and emotional, yet you've never asked me to change to suit your preferences. You accept me as I am, and I happen to think that is an indicator you will make a wonderful mother."

Regina nibbles at her lower lip, caught between implicit trust in Red and a woeful lack of it in herself. "I'm glad you think so," she says. "Unfortunately I do not share your unbridled optimism."

Unbidden memories of Snow invade her thoughts. How easy it had been for her to pretend to love her step-daughter like a good mother should! All the while she was consumed by a ravening hatred that made her crave giving the girl a second smile right in front of her bastard of a father. Funny how talk of having a child of her own illuminates how depraved she became where another was concerned. And while Snow certainly bore her fair share of responsibility in Daniel's demise, there was no arguing against her being a minor incapable of comprehending the ramifications of her betrayal.

Ultimately, Regina had chosen to unleash the fury of her devastation on the victim least capable of surviving it, which made her not only a coward but decidedly not the type of person to be responsible for a helpless infant wholly dependent upon her for vital nourishment. How many innocents had she slaughtered in her mad quest to kill Snow White? More than she can reliably account for. Would that effusion of blood stain her child by association? Worse still, how corrupted could that malleable life become were her degenerate nature take control again? In investing herself in extending her line, would she, like her mother before, only wind up raising another monster whose generationally-compounded malevolence surpassed that of it's predecessor? Would the kingdom come to rue the day the Evil Queen spawned a devil worse than her? She just couldn't imagine ever taking the chance of unleashing that much evil upon the unsuspecting world.

Instead of being swayed by her very rational concerns, Red just keeps holding her eyes, that remarkable faith shining all over her features. "In that case I'll just have to keep on reassuring you every single day you until you believe it yourself."

Regina, unsure of whether to kiss the woman for her dedication or shake some sense into her, heaves out a frustrated sigh. "You're not going to let go of this are you?"

"Not a chance." Red releases Regina's chin as she shuffles in close and presses their foreheads together. "I want us to have a baby together," she then says in a breathy whisper full of promise. "Many babies. A castle brimming with babies if I have my druthers."

Regina recoils away with a noise of disbelief, putting a hand's width of space between them. A castle brimming with babies? Adopting an heir will not be so simple. No doubt the nobility will require any potential successor to be of at least minor pedigree, of which there are exceedingly few within the swelled ranks of the kingdom's orphanages. Finding a suitable child will be a delicate task that will entail a measure of luck if any success is to be had. If Red wants many children as she has so stated, biology will have to be involved. And how, exactly, does she expect that to work when there are obstacles, both obvious and secret, that would prevent her from fulfilling her end of the reproductive process?

"You can't be serious." Red says nothing but her eyes tell that tale that she'd spoken truly from the heart.

Regina grows more horrified by the second at the very prospect of enduring multiple pregnancies even though she knows very well it is impossible for her. Endless months of hormonal mood swings followed by hours of ripping pains as she passes an object the size of large vase through a hole tight enough to grip around a single finger. Frankly it sounds like torture, and one she cannot ask Red to endure in good conscience even if they possessed the means to make it possible in the first place. Which they most assuredly do not.

Seizing on the impracticality of conception under the circumstances, she adds, "Just how exactly do you propose to accomplish this miraculous feat? Last time I checked, we're missing an essential appendage required for conception."

Red nods, unperturbed by these irrefutable facts. "So? Like we discussed, we can adopt."

Regina concedes the point with a shrug of her shoulders. Insistent with confidence as Red is that adoption is a wholly acceptable choice, she cannot help but balk at her inability to provide so essential a service to her spouse.

Feeling insecure, she picks at the sheets between their bodies. "That is a viable option, of course. But I fear we will be fortunate to find one suitable child to adopt that the nobility would approve as legitimate successors. They will vastly prefer natural heirs. Which brings up the fact that you're young and fertile and I am neither. Don't you want to get pregnant, to grow large with a child that's been made out of love and bond with it before birthing it into the world?"

Just because she's not keen to go through such an awful ordeal doesn't mean Red feels the same. And judging by the wistful yet pained expression that overtakes that pretty face, Red does not share her reticence.

Red sighs, and the disappointment with which she speaks squeezes at Regina's heart. "You know I want that or else you wouldn't have brought it up. But tell me, who am I going to make a baby with out of love, huh? Because I have to tell you, you've ruined me for anyone else. It's just not possible for me to love anyone else other than you. So that's not gonna happen. And besides, there are so many kids out there of every age that need a home. Wouldn't it be incredible to give some of them a home that is full of love and support and encouragement? One where their parents are madly in love with each other, and have so much to give to a child who only wants to be loved. I don't need to give birth to be a mother, Regina, and neither do you, so don't let that be a hindrance to us having a family. And who gives a rat's ass about what the nobles think? This isn't their kingdom last I checked. They'll accept our kids or take a damn hike. I'll tell 'em myself if I have to."

Regina stares at her wife with a wonderment she ought to have run out of by now. But Red keeps finding ways of surprising her, of exceeding her expectations, and of showing her just how astonishingly vast her reserves of love are.

Tears of joy well up, and she reaches for her wife's hand to thread their fingers together. "You really mean that don't you?" she asks, tone matching her awe of the woman she neither deserves or appreciates nearly enough. "You would really be okay with adopting and never getting to have your own child or fulfill your somewhat illogical dream of singlehandedly repopulating the castle?"

Red gives her a longsuffering look as she thumbs away a tear that Regina hadn't noticed escape her lids. "Of course I would, you silly woman. You're the love of my life! I want a family with you, however we have to go about making that happen."

"Okay, then." Regina whispers the words so faintly that no one else could have heard them but her werewolf of a wife. Her reward is a smile so wide and bright and beautiful that it could never be adequately portrayed by even the most prodigiously talented artists of any realm.

Still smiling, Red's grip on Regina's hand tightens until it is a bit uncomfortable. Her excitement is unmistakable. "Yeah? You really, really want to?"

Regina nods, feeling her own excitement grow. "I really, really do."

"Oh, Regina! Oh! I didn't think you'd say yes, but I'm so happy you did, 'cause I've been talking to Matron Vilenda at the orphanage, and she was telling me about this one couple who waited for so long to adopt..."

Regina listens as Red goes on about the tragedy of a woman who lost her husband and her entire family only to then die in childbirth. Nodding sadly and smiling encouragingly where appropriate, she lets Red gush about the resoundingly successful adoption of the infant boy without a soul in the world left to claim him.

And when Red is finished, eyes alight and cheeks flushed with excitement, she swallows down her many, deeply rooted apprehensions and simply says, "Alright. You've convinced me. As soon as we are able, we'll pay a visit to Vilenda."

Red's exuberant shout of unadulterated joy fills the room and Regina's heart, too. When she finally makes it back to sleep half an hour later, she has a tiny but hopeful smile upon her face.

#once upon a time fanfic #red queen #regina x ruby #this is a long chapter #lots of introspection #regina is scared of being a mom and with good reason #good thing she has Red to encourage her

1 note · View note

katealexandra26 · 6 years

Text

A Matter of Choice (1/1)

Summary: Princess Emma is seeking answers. Captain Killian Jones is seeking revenge. Their paths converge in front of the Great Gate of Danann. Reluctantly, Emma chooses to place her trust in him and work together. But Killian seems to be stuck in the past and Emma is terrified of the future. Both must face the consequences of their choices and live with them for the rest of their lives. And for the Fae, that’s a very, very long time indeed.

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, potential dubious consent between a married couple, brief mentions of past abusive relationship, graphic violence, major character death, revenge, and murder

Word Count: 14,925

Also on: ao3 | ff.net

Author’s Note: Here is my contribution to the 2018 Captain Swan Little Bang. This is the single longest completed story that I’ve ever written and I am so happy it’s finally time to post this.

So I decided to scrap my original idea 1 week before the final deadline and go with a different Fae story. I wrote over 15,000 words in 7 days (before it was trimmed down to the current version). I got to tell the story I wanted and still managed to include references to Star Wars, Game of Thrones, JM Barrie’s original Peter Pan play and a few others (if you find them, drop by my ask box to fangirl if you want). A HUGE thank you to @jarienn972, @cocohook38 and @forestiyari for dealing with my indecisiveness and last minute changes.

@jarienn972 : You helped me hone my writing to tell a better story and I appreciate your work more than words can express. Thank you for also being a friendly ear when I ran into roadblocks not just with writing but life and encouraging me to make the right decisions for my story.

@cocohook38 : Your work for my story is so incredible. I have never had someone do original artwork for a story of mine and it was humbling. Merci beaucoup, mon ami.

@forestiyari : Both you and @cocohook38 being in different time zones was hard to manage but you were so patient with me and stayed up well past a normal hour for your time zone, all to complete your lovely, ethereal cover art that I’ve attached to this post. Thank you so much for being so accommodating and working with me to find the right way to introduce my story.

And finally to @ohmakemeahercules : Thank you for being my friend, cheerleader and back up beta reader through this whole process. I am truly glad we encouraged each other to do this project. Everyone else you MUST check out Kristen’s story here and my art for it here and here.

And without further ado…

Princess Emma of Misthaven was never permitted beyond the bounds of her parents’ kingdom; she had known this since she could remember. Her rational mind kept screaming at her that she shouldn’t have chosen tonight, All Hallow’s Eve, of all nights to test those bounds as an ominous feeling settled itself in the pit of her stomach. Emma shoved the thought down and argued that tonight was the perfect night as it was the full moon. Between the two converging events, Emma’s magic would be powerful enough for what she wished to accomplish.

The prospect of dangers she may very well encounter, especially from her step-grandmother, had been something she had considered, but she wouldn’t let fear rule her. Bravery wasn’t the problem. Despite not permitting her outside of their kingdom, there wasn’t much King David and Queen Snow forbade her as she had grown. She mastered the art of war with Sir Lancelot, learned from her Aunt Ruby how to track with all of her senses, and her parents’ Master of the Hunt, Sir Graham, taught her there was more to hunting than taking the life of her prey. Her curiosity was just too much to contain, but the day that her magic bloomed, she ran to her mother in alarm.

“Mother! Mother!” Emma shouted as she ran through the halls of the palace, ignoring the stares of the staff as she ran with unladylike haste.

“Slow down, Princess Emma! You don’t wish to fall and miss your birthday ball.” her tutor urged as she approached the library annex her teacher inhabited.

Emma slowed down and watched her teacher as he leaned against the door, pulling his long white beard between his thumb and forefinger as he so often did when Emma’s behavior was less regal than it ought to have been. Though the man’s wrinkled, time wizened faced held a degree of mirth and conspiracy as he observed her disheveled state, Emma smoothed her skirts back down and stood tall facing her elder.

“What has you in such a rush, my dear girl?” Magnus asked, ushering his pupil to his study.

“Master Magnus, I have discovered something puzzling” Emma answered. Her teacher stared at her, waiting for her to reveal the discovery that had sent her running through the castle.

Rather than explaining with words, Emma grabbed a candle holder from the long wooden table in the center of the workroom. She used her left hand to steady it on her right palm. Then her left hand fell away, leaving the candle holder perfectly centered. She studied the wick, focused on the task she wished to accomplish. She imagined a bright orange flame at the end of the candle. She closed her eyes and breathed out.

The gasp of her teacher informed her she must have met her goal. She opened her eyes to find that every candle in the workroom was alight. Emma smiled with pure glee and the candle holder in her palm began to float inches above it. Emma expected to see a similar reaction from her teacher, but rather than joy or even pride, Emma saw concern etched in every pore on his face.

His hand came up he waved gently, extinguishing the excess flames not lit prior to her entry into the room. Emma sighed, unsure of her tutor’s change in demeanor.

“You must be careful, my dear princess. Magic can be dangerous. It is said by some that all magic comes at a price but your magic is a gift of light, of love. However, you must learn control, because to lose control could be dangerous,” Magnus warned, eyes softening as Emma’s filled with tears.

“Why do I have such magic? I don’t want to be different, I didn’t ask for this,” Emma wailed, hugging around the old man’s waist. Her teacher was one of the kindest people she knew and Emma liked to think that he cared for her, not just as a master may for a pupil, but as a grandfather loved his grandchild.

Magnus knelt down in front of her, titling her chin up to meet his blue-grey eyes. “Do not fear. Mastery of magic is a skill that one can learn, just as you’ve learned to hunt, ride or shoot a bow. I can teach you, but the answers you seek should come from your lady mother. Dry your eyes, my child,” Magnus advised, conjuring a handkerchief, handing it to the young princess. “Now, let me take you to the Queen and see if she can provide the answers you seek.”

Emma smiled at the memory, wondering how her dear teacher would judge her current journey. After Emma had shared her discovery with her tutor all those years ago, he had led her to her mother’s study and her mother revealed that Emma was half-Fae, as Snow herself had been born in the land of the Fae and had been banished from that land by her horrid stepmother long ago. Snow herself rarely used her magic anymore, explaining to her daughter that the last notable time was the day she took David, then Prince of the Realm and heir of King George, as her husband. As they sealed the bonds of matrimony, Snow shared half of her heart with David, granting him her immortality. Snow explained that along with her magic, the moment Emma reached the age of twenty-five, she would cease to age, as Snow had once done.

At thirteen, the idea didn’t make much of an impact on how she lived her daily life or imagined her future, other than beginning a new course of instruction with Master Magnus. At eight days passed twenty-five, part of Emma was horrified at the thought that she would outlive most of the people she loved whom were not of her blood. It wasn’t even a choice she had. She would live forever and while she loved her parents and her younger brother Leo, it felt as though she had been robbed of something.

It was her intention to journey to her mother’s homeland and find answers about her immortality, perhaps even a way to end it if she so chose. It wasn’t that she wished to, but Emma had come to feel over the last few years that perhaps the purpose of living was knowing someday it would end. Her mother had shared her immortality with her husband and Emma knew that it was perhaps possible for her to do the same if she fell in love with a mortal. Though given she was merely half-Fae, her mother had no definitive answer as to how the ritual bond might work with her.

Guilt plagued her for deceiving her parents, her brother, for not disclosing her plans to a single soul, but her mother couldn’t help her and Misthaven had no records of Fae. Master Magnus once jokingly whispered this was likely because the Fae guarded information, real information about themselves and would often cull the libraries of men to keep those secrets as such. As much as Master Magnus had been a wealth of knowledge about magic, he also couldn’t give her the answers she sought.

As Emma urged her black horse through the dark woods, she was afraid. Not of the forest. She knew every inch of this forest like she did the back of her own hand. No, Emma feared what she would find or worse, that her journey would all be for naught. The trees overhead were thickly bound together, almost curled in an arch over the Kingsroad so that the moonlight barely illuminated the part of the path she traveled.

The howling of wolves distracted her as she rode, likely her Aunt Ruby’s pack out for their monthly hunt, drawing her focus away from her path before she gave the animal its head. Ruby was born of a long line of werewolves but she was Snow’s closest and oldest friend, which was saying something when one considered that Snow herself was at least two hundred years old. The magic of Ruby’s gift, or curse as many others would call it, gave a similar extended life to werewolves, given they continued to embrace their inner wolves and shifted regularly. Emma could feel the magic in the air tighten around her as the wolves ran close to her position.

Emma used a mild spell to hide her scent from the pack so that the harsh wind whooshing eerily through the trees, and any creatures of the wood observing her racing her steed through the night could not carry trace of her back to any who may seek to find her. Her senses tingled once again as she drew her horse off a new and unfamiliar path, the magic growing stronger the closer she got to her destination. Emma reigned in her horse and dismounted with a grace that only years on the back of the majestic animal could teach.

Emma led the horse on foot towards the source of the magic, her body tensing as she heard voices near her.

“Down, Arion,” Emma whispered to her horse, watching as he knelt down on the ground and laid lower than the hedgerow in front of them.

Emma saw an ancient and gnarled tree in an opening of the forest, just beyond where she hid. There appeared to be a locked gate just to the left of the deformed tree. To most it would appear the gate led to nowhere in particular, just an overgrown garden of someone’s long abandoned home. Emma knew better than that. She trusted the gut instinct that led her here. The rusted metal gate was her passageway into the Fae realm.

The voices she heard minutes before suddenly had forms to go with them. A man in a long, black leather duster entered the clearing. Emma could not make out his face. His hair was short and blacker than the leather he wore. She could make out little else about him.

“Smee, where in the seven hells is that powder?” a smooth, lilting voice called out.

Emma observed as a short, fat man rushed from the other side of the clearing. He was red-faced and huffing as he stopped before the other man.

“Here, Captain, here it is,” the man, Smee, bowed, offering a small blue pouch to the Captain. He backed away, pulling a red cap from his head. Smee clutched the cap desperately, his hands wringing it nervously as he backed away from the Captain just a little further.

The Captain marched up to the rusted metal gate, purpose in each stride. Reaching the gate, he sprinkled the contents of the blue pouch onto the ground. He held up his hand towards the gate and began muttering something in a vaguely familiar language. It was Dark Elvish! It was a spell she had not heard before but she could hazard a guess as to its purpose, tonight of all nights. The Captain clearly had the same idea as she. After several minutes, he was no longer speaking, but Emma still felt the presence of magic. Only nothing happened and Emma wondered why. The spell should have worked, if the caster had a proper grasp on the magic being used.

Curses emanated from the man, some in languages Emma understood and others that were foreign to her ears.

“Gods damn that woman!” the Captain cursed, whipping around to face the hedgerow where Emma was concealed. At first Emma feared that the man meant her but she was confident she had not been discovered yet.

Emma took the opportunity with the man facing towards her to study his face. The Captain, as the other had called him, was one of the most handsome men Emma had ever laid eyes upon. The dark locks covering his head were barely swept back off his brow. Raven hair peppered with auburn made up the beard and mustache that covered the lower half of his face. He wore a blood red doublet, that showed off more of the sinful hair that covered the rest of him. Emma shook her head and looked back up towards his face. His hand came up to tuck some wayward hair behind his left ear.

Emma gasped as she saw what she had missed in her perusal. Her right hand flew to cover her mouth and her left ran gently over her own slightly pointed ears. This man was half-Fae. Of course he was! It explained why he was in the middle of nowhere trying to open a gate that only those of Fae or magical descent could open. Lost in thought, she failed to take note of four men behind her, two whom had already secured Arion. The other two grabbed her, hauling her up, unfazed by her kicking and screaming in effort to escape. Emma forced her panic away as her hands were bound and her magic wouldn’t respond to her call. The men dragged her into the clearing to face their Captain.

Emma swallowed hard, channelling every bit of royal training into this moment. She might be captive but she wouldn’t be for long and she needed to be prepared for that opportunity.

“Well, what do we have here?” the Captain grinned, closing the distance between them in two quick steps. Emma didn’t answer, merely watching as the man looked her over. She was wearing a sapphire blue tunic vest, soft cotton blouse, (one that showed more cleavage than her mother would approve of) dark blue breeches and knee high riding boots. Her black cape skimmed the ground and the hood no longer hid her blonde tresses from view.

“Where are my manners,” he smiled, executing a courtly bow. “Captain Killian Jones, at your service,” Captain Jones provided as he resumed his former position. “What is your name, love?”

Emma thought about lying but something in her told her this man would know a lie from the truth. “Emma,” she said simply, not lying but refusing to expound upon her answer.

“What are you doing in the middle of the woods on such a night, Emma?” Captain Jones demanded.

Emma didn’t know how to answer without lying because telling the truth would give this man a reason to hold her prisoner, perhaps even longer than he intended. One of the two men flanking her, shook her violently when she failed to reply. Her hair, which had been braided loosely with several strands carefully arranged over her ears to prevent anyone from noticing the slight difference between hers and a human’s, fell free of its bonds when the Captain’s minion shook her. Hair tumbled down, obscuring her field of vision and tickling her nose while she tried to shake her head so that her hair was no longer in her face.

A pair of rough hands parted her hair in front of her nose, fingertips skimming gently over her forehead and carefully tucked her hair behind her ears as he had done with his own not so long before. His right hand stopped as it passed over her left ear. His eyes found hers. Emma tried to suppress the shiver that tore through her, failing miserably as his hand caressed her left ear, his left hand repeating the process on her other ear, thumbs lingering on her earlobe. The gesture was a deeply intimate one, creating a feeling Emma had never experienced before. Her eyes locked on his cerulean blue ones, she could see a million thoughts flash through them before he settled on one. Triumph.

“Well, Emma, I think there is a lot more to your story than meets the eye,” Captain Jones purred, his face mere inches in front of her own. Emma still hadn’t broken eye contact.

Just then Arion neighed loudly and reared back from those that tried to hold him against his will and the Captain turned to see what was going on.

The men holding her hesitated and she felt whatever was blocking her magic fade. She pulled free and spun around, waving her hand at the minions holding her, sending them catapulting through the air. She didn’t watch to see where they fell.

“Arion!” she shouted, calling her horse to her. Arion was almost to her when Captain shouted several Elven words that brought the animal to a halt next to the vile man. Emma’s sword was still in its scabbard, tied to Arion’s saddle and she had been relieved of her dagger when captured.

“Fuck,” Emma cursed. She had no weapon to defend herself; if she aimed a magical attack at the Captain, she had no doubt he could easily counter it. Or worse, she or he could accidentally hurt her beloved Arion in their struggle. She was plotting various outcomes as his voice broke through her inner thoughts.

“Princess Emma, you want the answers you came for? I have a proposition for you,” Captain Jones offered, walking Arion towards her.

“How did you know that I was the princess?” Emma deflected.

“A number of small details that, when added up, gave a pretty clear picture of who you were.”

Emma glared at him and he seemed to understand what the look said. “Firstly, your name is Emma.” Emma scoffed at him but he continued. “Secondly, your ears are those of the half-Fae, courtesy of your mother,” he explained. “Thirdly, your horse, Arion? There are many tales of the beautiful Princess and her faithful steed Arion who are frequently seen together riding the length and breadth of these woods.”

Emma wanted to knock the smug, self-satisfied smirk off his handsome face. “What is it you are proposing?” Emma grimaced at the choice of word.

“Regina, the Queen who rules over much of the Realm of the Fae, has barred me passage back, spiteful bitch that she is. I believe she did the same to your mother, Snow White,” Captain Jones spat. “Anyway, to get in, I need someone who is not barred from opening the portal and accompanying me through. Once you’re done, on my honor as a gentleman, I vow to set you free to find whatever you came here to find.”

“Your word as a gentleman?” Emma huffed angrily. “I’m supposed to believe the man who held me against my will and somehow bound my magic? You must be insane!”

“I am always a gentleman, love. I apologize that my men were rough with you, that was not my intention when I advised them to capture you. And I resent being called insane!”

“What else should I call a man such as you?” Emma growled as he invaded her personal space once more.

He stuck his tongue out and ran it lavisciously over lips, a frustratingly arrogant and obscene gesture in Emma’s mind. “Oh, love, I can think of many things you can call me,” he drawled. “But perhaps not in the middle of an open field littered with so many of my unconscious crewmen.”

Emma gasped at the outright nerve of the man. Suggesting she let him take her to bed. Emma had never done such a thing. “If I should take a lover, it’d never be you,” Emma vowed.

“Never is an awfully long time, darling. So what do you say? Open this portal and we can be on our way. The sooner we leave, the sooner you’ll be rid of me,” he said before looking up. “This full moon won’t last forever and I would prefer not to have to do this all again in a month. I have revenge I’d like to seek.”

“You want me to let you through this portal to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world? What kind of woman do you take me for?” Emma asked.

“There is a warlock by the name of Rumpelstiltskin who sought sanctuary there and I intend to kill him for once and for all. Nothing and no one will stop me,” the man clarified, glaring at her harshly.

“Why do you hunt this man?” Emma asked, frustration seeping into her bones that she even had to ask the question.

“He is more monster than man. He took someone from me, someone I loved very much and I have hunted him for centuries. Now that I know how to kill an immortal creature, I will finally put an end to the Dark One!” Captain Jones vowed, looking her in the eyes. The determination Emma found in his blue eyes frightened her.

“As long as you promise not to harm anyone but the man you seek, I will aid you,” Emma promised, extending her hand to the man in front of her.

“Unless I am attacked first, I promise not to harm any innocent souls on our quest,” Captain Jones said, grasping her hand and shaking it once. Emma felt a warmth spreading through her gloved hand and traveling through her. A glance toward the Captain revealed him appraising her with curiosity in his own gaze.

“Enough of that, Captain Jones. Let’s open this portal and be on our way,” Emma grumbled, withdrawing her hand from his for fear it might burn if she didn’t retract it.

“Enough of ‘Captain Jones’. My name is Killian. If we’re going to be companions, you might as well use my name,” he smirked, eyebrow arching in challenge.

“I think not, Captain Jones. Now, let’s get to work. Send your men back to where they came from.” He waved his hand, unconscious men disappearing in a puff of red smoke, and then turned to her once more.

Emma retrieved the scroll she had packed into the saddle bag before she had left and removed her gloves, tucking them into the saddle bag. She had to feel in order to properly perform the spell to remove the enchantment long enough for them to pass through.

As she approached the gate, her right hand reached out to feel the barrier the portal had protecting it. Emma pushed back against the cold she found on the edge of the gate’s barrier, her steps bringing her closer to the gate. Emma rested her hand on it, ignoring the feeling that she should turn around and walk away, expecting there may be some sort of spell here designed to keep humans away. Emma eyes fell closed as she focused. She had spent twelve years honing her magic and she was more in touch with her Fae half at the moment. A rich, post-rain earthy smell with a faint hint of cinnamon reached her nostrils as her left hand rested on the rusted metal. It encouraged her as she dug into the power of the barrier.

Emma’s mouth opened, speaking the carefully constructed spell to open the gate.

“Stop!” she heard from somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t stop now. Her power was so alive, she could feel the magic of the barrier loosen. The power started to wrap itself around her. Emma encouraged it until she was struggling to take in a single breath of air. She tried to fight the feeling, tried to disentangle herself but it was too late.

Warm fingers trailed against her right hand and threaded themselves into hers. The smell of salt, sea and seaweed melded with the earthy smell from before, completely enveloping her as the constriction on her chest lessened and air flowed easily into her body. A thought reached her mind, Repeat after me. Emma focused on the words the voice fed to her, not saying them outloud but focusing her feelings on the meaning of the words, willing them to be reality.

A burst of wind washed over her as she felt the barrier break. The hand grasping hers didn’t let go when the way before them was free to be travelled. Emma turned to face the owner of the hand, Killian Jones. Logically, she knew it was him, but she was surprised he had saved her and was still in a state of shock from the way the portal had defended itself - nay, brutally attacked her for seeking entry.

“I am sor-,” Emma started before he cut her off. “No, don’t say it. It is I who should be sorry. I fear that my attempt to probe the gate previously, must have triggered a curse built in for encountering my magic. It retaliated on the next attempt to open it.”

“I realized what was happening as you cast your attempt. I felt Rumplestiltskin’s magic all over it. He must have placed this here in case I sought entry. It must be why Regina, your grandmother, accepted him. We don’t have a pleasant history and she probably wanted me dead too,” Killian explained, a bit sheepishly, looking remorseful he was the reason she had almost died.

Emma almost missed that she began referring to the Captain by his first name in her head. After what she felt, his mind against hers during the spell, she simply didn’t want to bother with such formalities any further. It didn’t feel right.

Arion felt uneasy next to her, she turned, muttered softly to him. “It’s alright boy. There is nothing to fear. The danger is gone. You should be able to pass through the portal with me.”

Arion neighed nervously and shook his head, gaze turning towards the scoundrel with whom she had made a compact. Emma shook her head at Arion’s description of the man.

“I promise not to hurt your mistress, Arion. On my life, I promise to keep her safe.”

Emma had hoped he wouldn’t know the ancient Gaelic tongue that she had used with Arion since he was a colt. Given the brief mention of centuries chasing the same foe, Emma guessed he might even have been alive when the language was more commonly spoken. Emma tried to shake the unsettling feeling that arose at his promise. He was a stranger who’d held her briefly against her will and manipulated her into helping him. Why would he make such a promise?

“Shall we go?” Killian asked, having retrieved his own horse. Emma shook herself and swung into the saddle on Arion’s back.

The gate now opened with a gentle wave of her hand and they passed through into a forest that appeared the same as they had left behind except that magic pulsed through every tree, branch, leaf and root. The rusted gate slammed shut with a loud bang. An ominous feeling lingered in the back of her mind. Did she really have any idea what she was getting into? It was too late to turn back.

Killian watched the princess carefully as they trotted at a slow pace down the trail. Her power was unlike anything he had encountered in his nearly six hundred years. Guilt nagged at him that his reckless attempt to open the barrier had unleashed a counterspell meant to kill him. He had no idea what possessed him to grab her hand other than pure instinct. The instant he touched her hand, he felt her power, willfully ignoring the part of his mind that coveted that power for himself. He pushed away those thoughts, knowing if he was going to get into Danann he needed to focus towards helping the young princess break the counterspell since she had successfully broken the initial barrier.

It had been more than seventy years since he had been back to Danann. This was not the world he remembered. It was dark, no creatures or people visible as the road from the gate merged with the main road. Even at night, this place used to be more alive. A once busy thoroughfare was reduced to an overgrown dirt path. This had Rumplestiltskin’s dirty fingerprints all over it.

Anger flared deep within his soul, bound with satisfaction that the damnable warlock would soon meet his end. Killian didn’t even care that the cost may very well be his own life. Half life that it was since Milah had died. The day echoed in his mind as clear now as the day itself.

“Okay, lads. One night here in this port and we’ll be on our way with the morning high tide. Any man who misses the departure will no longer have pleasure of serving on this crew,” Killian sneered, looking around at the men on deck. “See the purser for your share of the haul.”

With that Killian departed and made his way down to his cabin. Milah was sitting at his desk, dark hair a mess around her face as she stared at the drawing in front of her, completely lost in her regret. Her face was covered in tears and she was only half dressed, wearing her leather pants, heeled boots and a white blouse. Her favorite corseted-vest lay discarded on the floor despite her knowing how much he valued clean and tidy living quarters.

Killian knelt on the floorboards next to his lover. He could see the gray which now peppered her raven locks as he pushed her hair out her face.

“I know he wouldn’t look this way, but it’s the only comfort I have. He’d be twenty now,” Milah sobbed, turning to Killian. He gathered her into his arms and coaxed her to let go of her pain.

About eight years after he and Milah had run away from the little port town at which they were now docked, they’d received word that Milah’s son, Baelfire had died.The circumstances were still a mystery even years later. The one detail they had discovered was that her husband, Rumpelstiltskin, had acquired some kind of magic and had been terrorizing the local villagers in sadistic revenge on them for having always called him a coward. Baelfire got caught in the crossfire of the conflict and had been found dead. Townsfolk whispered that it had been Rumplestiltskin himself that had accidentally dealt the death blow to his own son.

Milah’s grief had been untamed, much like the woman herself, and in the early days after he used magic to help heal her which led him to finally tell her of his own heritage. The lasting gift that his mother had given him. His mother, after giving birth to Killian, decided that she want to bind herself to his father, Brennan Jones. For a Fae, it was an enormous commitment to bind their heart to a mortal, to share eternity with them. Ailsa had been certain Brennan was worthy of this honor but to her horror, during the binding ceremony, Ailsa split her heart and Brennan proved untrue. Ailsa died before completing the ceremony.

Milah had wanted it of him then, wanted him to bind himself to her, and Killian had felt guilty that he could not do it. Milah, though she was his in his heart, had bound herself in marriage to Rumpelstiltskin and nothing but death could break that bond. Over time, Milah had accepted what they were able to share, his wife in all but name, and she eventually began to heal from the pain the death of her son had reaped from her heart.

It took years, but Killian had convinced her that since her husband had moved on from their former home, she could finally pay her respects to her son’s final resting place. When the day was upon them, Killian felt regret surge up, his magic screaming at him to weigh anchor and leave. Killian ignored the instinct.

“Milah, we have made port. Just get dressed and we will go seek what we came here for and then we can go to the tavern and get as drunk as you’d like. Can you do that, my love?” Killian asked, tender care for her emotional state at the forefront of his mind.

She compiled without the utterance of a single word. Killian hated seeing his fiery sea goddess so diminished and defeated by ghosts of the past. When they reached the quarterdeck, most of the men had received their pay and departed for the local taverns, brothels and gaming houses. Only the second mate, Smee (a half-Fae as well), their gunner Kincaid, and ship’s doctor, Whale, still sat on the deck and as consequence, no one was guarding the gangplank to the dock. A man, extravagantly dressed in a fine blue silk doublet and brown suede breeches, knee high stockings, paired with jewel-bedecked heeled shoes, now stood on the deck of his ship without invitation. Kincaid made a move to draw his sword and the stranger waved his hand and the blade flew to his outstretched fingers.

The gasp Milah let out and the shaking fear he felt radiating off of her told him immediately who this man was. This was her husband, Rumplestiltskin. The man whose abuse pushed her into Killian’s arms. He was older than Killian had imagined, with long gray hair that hung just above his shoulders and a bit of a bulging belly that showed he was well beyond his prime. Killian surged with anger at this man who had tormented Milah for many years. A woman who had the misfortune to have been sold by her noble father to a man who made his fortune selling weapons to people on both sides of a conflict. The man who had taken advantage of a young girl’s misplaced affection and asserted his martial rights even when she would have preferred anything other than her husband rutting harshly into her, without thought for her pleasure, until he was spent and she was pregnant.

Killian could feel the sparks of his anger translate into the sparking of his magic.

The other man looked directly at him in that moment. “Tsk, tsk, wouldn’t want to start something you can’t win, now would we, Captain?” Rumpelstiltskin cautioned, wagging his pointer finger reproachingly.

“Rumple, why are you here? I simply came to pay my respects to our son. Please just let me visit his grave and we’ll be on our way,” Milah begged, eyes red again from unshed tears.

“You were no mother to our boy when he lived, I’ll be damned if you get to pretend that you were mother to him after he is gone,” Rumple raged, face turning a pale, shimmering blue.

“I knew if I left, you’d wish good riddance upon me but if I dared to steal your heir, then you’d follow me to the ends of the Earth to get him back. No matter how awful you were to me, I knew you loved Bae,” Milah sobbed.

“YOU DO NOT GET TO SAY HIS NAME, YOU FILTHY WHORE!” Rumplestiltskin roared, appearing in front of her with inhuman speed. His hand was on her chest - nay! - within her chest and with a sharp tug, the monster pulled her heart, enchanted by the magic he had used to remove it from its home. Killian had only ever heard of this magic. He had never, despite the evils he had done in his lifetime, used magic against another in such a purely despicable way.

Killian’s hand flinched as he watched the other man squeeze Milah’s heart ever so slightly. Milah fell to her knees on the hard wooden deck, howling in pain.

“If you move, pirate, I’ll crush her heart,” the warlock threatened, squeezing again until Milah screamed louder and several tiny cracks appeared on the surface of her heart.

Killian paused, uncertain what to do. The man before him seemed to sense when he was using magic and there was no way in such close quarters that the man wouldn’t notice Killian unsheathing his sword. Killian reached out to his ship, his beloved Jewel of the Realm, once Liam’s ship and then Killian’s after his half-brother’s tragic death. The Jewel had always had a magical quality to her and had often responded to his magic calling for help. He cloaked his effort and slowly, one of the rigging lines crept towards Rumplestiltskin. Just as the line was about to ensnare him, the warlock turned and directed the rope around Killian so tightly he could barely breathe. Rumple ordered Milah to her feet and with no choice but to comply, she rose. The man dragged Killian through the air until he was just inches from Milah’s face.

“Now, pirate, I want you to look into the eyes of the person you love most in this world. Tell her how much she means to you,” his tormentor ordered. “Now!” he screeched when Killian didn’t comply immediately.

Milah spoke first. “Killian, I love you. Thank you for the adventure of my life. I will always be with you. Never forget me. I don’t regret loving you,” she lamented, pressing her lips to his for what she knew was their final kiss.

“I love you, Milah. I promise that no matter how long I live, I could never forget you,” he pledged, wishing he could run his hand along her cheek.

“Ah, how sweet. True love,” Rumple crooned. “But love never lasts,” he cackled, crushing her heart. Milah crumpled to the deck, light gone from her eyes.

In his glee, the monster let his spell slip and Killian broke free of his binds. Killian drew his sword and ran the monster through. Instead of dying, the monster laughed as Killian stumbled back. Rumpelstiltskin drew the sword from his torso and swung it around to chop off Killian’s hand. The sword sliced clean through but Killian picked up the severed hand, held it up to the bleeding stump at the end of his arm and reattached it with his magic. It still pulsed from the repair but his magic was working on the inside to knit sinew and bone back together.

“Not easy to kill, are you pirate? Well, neither am I,” Rumpelstiltskin laughed, dropping the bloodied sword to the deck.

“I will find a way to kill you, know matter how long it takes,” Killian swore, venom surfacing in his magic in ways he had never experienced.

“Good luck living long enough to try,” the monster hissed, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

“Captain Jones?” a sweet voice jostled him out of the memories.

“Aye, lass?” he replied, uncertain how long he had been unfocused. Taking stock of their position on road, he had zoned out for a very long time - if the setting sun was any indication, he’d lost more than sixteen hours. He was grateful that even with his mind unfocused, he managed to keep them on the right path toward civilization. Killian turned to his companion to see she was slumped over slightly and looked like it was taking every ounce of her strength to keep her seat.

He really should have accounted for how much strength - magic - she had exhausted.

“There’s a tavern a short distance up the road,” Killian supplied. He grabbed her reins and drew her steed to his. Tying them around his wrist he turned to her. “Get some rest. Between, Arion and I, you shall arrive safely.”

She blinked at him suspiciously, clearing not trusting him as she adjusted herself so she sat ramrod straight in her saddle. She turned and nodded for him to lead the way. She was headstrong, this princess. She reminded him of Milah in many ways. But just like the differences of their hair color, he suspected the two women were as diverse as night and day.

Night was fully upon them before they reached the inn. He guided them to the stable and hopped to the ground. He gathered his things from his horse and turned to find the princess still sitting perfectly straight in her seat. He walked around to the side of her horse that wasn’t tied to his.

“Princess, you need to come down now. We’ve reached our destination,” he implored gently. She seemed to rouse herself from whatever trance she was in and tried to dismount. Unlike the grace she had shown earlier, she couldn’t seem to summon the will to come down.

Killian placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down. He suppressed a groan as she slid down along his body. The second he had her on the ground, he realized she had cast a spell to keep herself upright but now she was dead asleep. He was going to have to wake her because, unless the inn before them had changed hands, Tiana would not appreciate him hauling an unconscious woman inside and demanding a room. Killian deposited the sleeping princess on a bale of hay outside the stall, waiting for a moment as she slumped over against the wall. Certain that she wouldn’t fall and injure herself, Killian removed her saddle bag and placed it near her feet and brushed down both of the horses. He started with Emma’s Arion and then his own gray, Kelan.

“Where are we?” the princess asked groggily, scrubbing her hands over her face in an effort to wake herself.

“At an inn,” Killian replied, turning back to his task. He could feel her surprise.

“I’m surprised a man such as you would take the time do such a simple task,” Emma scoffed, rubbing Arion’s ears, conjuring an apple to her palm for her valiant steed. The horse snapped up the treat with enthusiasm.

“Don’t judge a man by appearances. You don’t know me, love,” Killian chided, turning to look her in the eyes.

“I’m not,” she said defensively. “I’m judging a man who had me held against my will, manipulated me and almost got me killed. But you did also make sure that I didn’t die back there, so for that, at least, I thank you,” Emma conceded.

“Well, perhaps there is more to me than meets the eyes,” Killian smirked, arching his eyebrows in challenge. The princess blushed and looked away and he had to wonder what exactly prompted that reaction. “Now let’s go see about a room for the night. I know the innkeeper,” Killian remarked, picking up their bags and letting her walk before him.

Just as before she reached to open the door, Killian rushed in front of her and halted her progress. “Before we enter, I just wanted to ask that you let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don’t stare,” he cautioned.

“At what?” she asked indignantly, as though a he should expect a princess would have better manners than to stare.

“Any of it,” Killian grimaced, just wondering what kind of creatures they were about to encounter, grabbing the latch and pulling it open.

The music inside the tavern was loudy and heady, there was a siren on stage. The taproom was dirty and dark, half dressed faires bustling from table to table keeping the alcohol flowing. This certainly wasn’t the place he remembered.

At the table closest the door sat two disgustingly ugly goblins, their greenish-black skin glimmering in the low candle light. Their companions were three bridge trolls, dressed in heavy firs with small bugs running across their coats every now and again. Killian took note of several dwarves, gremlins, a singular warlock and two male fairies with black-tipped ears, a sign they were dark magic practitioners.

The energy in the room was murky and ominous. A damp, dank, black magic signature pressed against Killian’s until he felt like gagging. Killian froze as he recognized whose magic this was.

“Killian Jones?” a tall, slender dark-skinned man inquired, slithering from the back room of the tavern to the bar. “As I live and breathe, I thought Regina banished you.”

“Ah, Shadowman, I thought you knew better than to underestimate me. Regina did exactly that. She failed miserably,” Killian laughed confidently.

“And who is this lovely young woman?” Shadowman cooed, dropping his elbow to the bartop and resting his chin on his palm. Killian watched the wizard assess the young princess with a disturbingly lustful glint in his yellow eyes.

“My wife, Emma,” Killian said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it hard. He could feel her anger radiating through her at his statement and his touch. He gave her a sharp look and she nodded. “We need a room for the night,” Killian said, extracting his hand from Emma’s to summon the needed coin to pay Shadowman. Killian had truly missed how much easier it was to call on his magic here in Danann.

“Just your luck, Jones. I have one left for the evening,” Shadowman said as a key appeared in a puff of green smoke and dropped into Killian’s palm. “Mrs. Jones,” Shadowman said, tipping his hat at her as they left the taproom.

They traipsed up the stairs and found the corresponding room for the key number. Killian let her enter ahead of him again and then followed. He dropped his bags and drew out his dagger, slicing a small cut on his wrist. He pressed his bloodied wrist to the door and sealed the room from any of the shady patrons occupying the taproom. Emma was leaning against the wall, whispering something he couldn’t hear. He felt her seal off the sounds of their room with a silencing spell. No sounds in or out. He was certain the only reason she was able to bind the room was because of the well of magic that this world held.

“Your wife? What in the hell were you thinking?” Emma demanded, shaking angrily.

“I was thinking that Shadowman would have harmed you if I hadn’t claimed you as mine. I was trying to protect you. If you think I’m the villain in this situation, just know that all the horrors I’ve visited on others are NOTHING compared to that man. That collector of souls! Even if I hated you, I would not let you fall into the hands of that man,” Killian huffed, ripping off his duster and throwing it in the opposite direction from her. Something to release the tension he felt.

“I am no man’s, least of all yours!”

“I’m well aware of that, Princess,” Killian sighed, watching the exhausted princess rail against him, despite knowing she just wanted to sleep. She faltered and he stepped to her side and helped her lay down on the bed.

“Just try to get some sleep,” Killian begged, removing her boots with a flick of his wrist. She was staring at him and he wondered how much longer before she reached for the dagger she had tucked into her bosom on the trek.

He chuckled, “I’m not sleeping here, the bed is yours. See,” Killian gestured to the pallet he conjured for himself. “No need to fear for your innocence.”

He laid down and let sleep claim him, thankful he could almost always count on his slumber to arrive on swift wings.

Emma awoke with a scream. She looked around the room for the cause of her fear but found nothing but a scantily clad pirate with towel wrapped low on his hips, apparently having just emerged from the bathtub behind a three-paneled screen with elaborate paintings on each pane. The dark chest hair she had seen before trialed down below the line of the towel. The sound of him clearing his throat caused her to abruptly turn away, she could feel the redness of embarrassment from her chest to cheeks.

“Like what you saw, Princess?” Killian chuckled.

Thoughts pooled in her mind and lower but she voiced none of them. “You shouldn’t call me that,” Emma settled on.

“Princess? I suppose not since I told a whole room full of people that you are my wife,” Killian reminded her.

“I am not,” she huffed again.

“Perhaps, I’ll call you Swan. Given how you kept your seat on your horse with your neck as elongated as possible and with more grace than most could in such a state of exhaustion. What do you think of that, wife?” he said, empathizing the last word just to heckle her.

“I like it I suppose, but I’m not your wife,” Emma chided.

“Very few people will believe that, given you’ve been holed up with me in this room for a week,” Killian said calmly, disappearing behind a screen once more to dress.

“A WEEK?!” her shrill cry surprising even her. How on Earth could a week have gone by?

As if understanding her confusion, he just laughed and she was not pleased. He appeared from the other side of the screen dressed in a white shirt that was open to the middle of his chest and his leather pants, boots still near his pallet on the floor.

“Time passes differently here. A week here is usually close to a day in the realm of your birth,” Killian explained, sitting down in a chair by the table in opposite corner from the bath. He pulled his boots on, watching her closely.

“What have you been doing for all this time? Why didn’t you leave?” Emma asked, unsure why this man did anything, let alone protect her.

“You should bathe and change. I’ve left fresh, hot bathwater and clean towels for you,” he nodded towards the screen, avoiding answering her questions.

Emma had no desire to be naked in a room with a man, let alone one she didn’t exactly trust but her muscles were sore and stiff from disuse. The toll the counterspell had taken on her body was greater than she had anticipated. She slipped behind the screen and disrobed, setting her dagger on the small table by the tub just in case. Instinctively, she knew if he had meant her harm, he could have done it whilst she slept. Instead, she had awoken still fully clothed, save her boots and wholy unmolested. Still, the dagger remained accessible as she prepared to cleanse herself.

A moan escaped her as she sank into the steaming water of the tub. She heard the Captain falter in his steps and the unmistakable sound of his groan just before she submerged her head under the water. Emma relaxed and tried to let her mind go blank. She had dreamt even though she couldn’t remember any of it. Strange thing for her because she always remembered her dreams. Sometimes her dreams were prophetic, though not in large, world changing ways. Her dreams often revealed fragments or details about a future event, most just a small but concrete sense of déjà vu.

Emma sat back up out of the water, frustrated she couldn’t let her mind clear. She tried again, letting go of everything until the only sound she could hear was her own rhythmic breathing. She let her mind drift back into the dream state.

Emma opened her eyes to find she was in the middle of a burned and desolate ruin, that of an unfamiliar castle. She turned to see if anyone was around but found no other souls. She walked through the rubble until she came to a wall that was still standing. In the center of that wall was a heavy oak door with no burn marks like the rest of the structure. Everything in her was telling her not to open the door, but she couldn’t listen to that voice just now.

The door handle jostled as she attempted to open the door and upon her second attempt, it gave way. The room she entered was undamaged like the door had been. There were walls lined with ancient looking tomes, a table of to her right stacked with potions and potion making supplies and in the very center of the room was a giant spinning wheel.

Emma stepped closer to it, curiosity unabated. On the floor below her feet she heard crunching sounds so she knelt down to inspect the source of the noise. ‘It looked like straw’ was the first thought that flashed through her mind. Her finger grasped the thin object and brought it in front of her eyes for closer inspection. It was gold. What a strange thing to find in the midst of her dream. Emma stood, thin gold piece still in hand and found herself face to face with a scaly monster with bright yellow eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Dearie,” the creature hissed, hand reaching out towards her throat.

Emma awoke in the tub, screaming once more. Shuffling on the other side of the screen and the clatter of something being dropped.

“Swan, are you ok?” Killian’s voice croaked from the edge of the screen. She could tell he was trying to be gentlemanly but his concern was unnerving. She wished he would leave.

She exited the tub and cloaked herself in the oversized towel, using another to dry her hair. “I am unharmed, stand down.”

He did as she asked and when she sensed he was away from the screen, she quickly dressed in a clean blouse she had packed, along with a dark blue vest that laced up the front for ease of wear. She donned a pair of soft, brown leather riding pants and pulled on her knee high boots. Clothing secure, she stepped out to face the Captain.

“What did you see?” he demanded, every inch the commanding man she had first seen.

“Nothing,” Emma lied.

“What did you see?” he repeated, blue eyes glaring at her, anger brimming at her dissemblance. “The spell I cast on this room when we entered should have blocked you from harm, but it didn’t,” Killian said, handing her the mirror from the table next to him.

Emma accepted the mirror and held it up. On either side of her neck were purple fingerprint bruises. She set the mirror on the table and slumped into the chair. That had never happened before. Her dreams had never left a physical mark before and it terrified her.

Killian sat across from her and was silent, awaiting her response. Emma sighed and relayed the dream to him. When she was finished, she looked over at him to find he looked pale and uncomfortable.

“You know the man with yellow eyes, don’t you?” Emma asked cautiously. “Yellow eyes are a mark of a warlock of non-magical heritage.”

“Yes, he’s the warlock - demon - I am hunting,” Killian said after several long moments. “Why he’d be after you, I have no idea.”

“Because of what you said in the taproom. When you claimed me as your wife, you marked me. Someone down there told him we were here. So now if he comes, he’ll come for both of us,” Emma predicted, confident in her statement because, strategically at least, it made sense. If she was really his wife, then she would be a weakness to be exploited. A means to get to the man who sat before her.

Emma wanted to be angry, part of her was irate, but she also recalled what Killian said about losing the one he loved to this monster. She couldn’t imagine how she could have recovered from such a thing had she been in his place. She might have even considered a path of revenge herself if this Rumpelstiltskin had done to her as he had done to Killian Jones. She pushed away the thought, cursing her sympathetic heart and her stupidity for getting mixed up with this man.

“All I wanted when I journeyed here was to find answers about my heritage. To learn where I came from and why my magic is different. My mother told me that when I was younger that upon my twenty-fifth birthday that I’d stop aging and I’d never grow older. Never die. I wanted to know, even if I never use it, how an immortal, such as I am, may seek to have finality,” Emma raged, not talking to him in particular but rather at the ether.

“If you help me rid the world of Rumpelstiltskin, I’ll accompany you to the library in your mother’s former home,” Killian promised.

“My mother’s former home is the current home of Regina, my step-grandmother who drove my mother out and banished her from this realm. I doubt she’ll just let us waltz in and use her library,” Emma scoffed.

“She’s in league with Rumpelstiltskin so I imagine we will have to face her as well,” Killian pointed out.

“So we’d be taking on the evil warlock who killed your love and the evil queen who tormented my mother and murdered my grandfather?” Emma asked, feeling the need to make sure they were on the same page as far as the level of insanity for this venture.

“That’s the sum of it, yeah,” Killian agreed, having the decency to look her in the eye as he confirmed her assessment.

“I suppose given that if I say no, I’d still be walking into a quarrel I never asked for, I don’t have much of a choice,” Emma conceded, ceasing her pacing and siting once more on the soft mattress of the bed.

“You’ll find, the older you get, that there is always a choice. Whether or not you like the choices, but there is always a choice involved,” he advised, tone sounding wistful and mournful at the same time.

Emma had to wonder how many lifetimes this man had lived. It was plain to see he had lost a lot in his life. Suffered immense pain but also experienced immense joy. Was that what awaited her? Eons of emotional ups and downs with no true destination. Fear crept into her skull and rooted itself firmly. Emma knew at some point she’d have to look the fear in the eye and give name to it, but today wouldn’t be that day.

“Do you have some kind of plan?” Emma asked after a lengthy pause, decision made.

Killian smirked, but then schooled his features. “I do have a plan and as much as I am confident in the spells we have placed upon these walls, I would prefer we depart from this place and gain some distance.”

“I understand. A strategy is worthless if your enemy knows what you intend,” Emma agreed.

They finished dressing and gathered their things in silence. Emma and Killian approached the door in unison. Emma lifted the silence spell from the room and Killian broke the blood magic seal on the room. Emma walked behind Killian as he seemed very familiar with the inn. As they entered the tap room, a brief silence descended upon the patrons before the chatter resumed. Emma could feel eyes lingering on her as weaved through the tables towards the door. Killian grabbed her hand and hurried her along.

“People are leering at me,” Emma whispered in his ear, her body pressed closer to his back than was appropriate.

“They are probably wondering how you are able to walk if I have spent the last week fucking you on every surface in our chamber,” was his gruff reply.

Emma made a noise of indignance at his coarse words, which he seemed to ignore. Emma coldly ignored the traitorous voice in her own head that was intrigued by the idea.

Once outside to the stables, they each quickly attended to their horse, preparing to ride away as quickly as possible. The sound of straw breaking behind them caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Emma quietly drew her sword from its sheath, turning to bring her blade against her assailant. Steel clashed against steel as the goblin she had spied in the dark corner of the taproom days ago slashed at her without pause. Emma turned her head slightly to see Killian was occupied fighting two other goblins, their green skin cut in several places and a reddish-black substance - their blood she realized - oozing from their wounds.

Emma turned to her own opponent, testing his defences for a weakness. The goblin’s long, bony fingers of the hand not gripping his sword made an attempt to grab her hair and Emma dodged him. After a few moments, Emma realized the goblin was leaving his right side open every time he attacked. Emma fented and dodged his blade while driving hers into his side. The goblin’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise. Emma withdrew her sword and stared at his failing body, shaking.

Killian appeared in a rush behind her, hand on her back. “Time to go, Swan. Get on your horse,” he commanded. Emma stood there, hands still shaking, watching the goblin bleed out in front of her.

“EMMA!” he shouted, dismounting and at her side in seconds. He took notice of the corpse in front of them, understanding dawning on his features. “Emma, you had to. It was you or him and I’m rather glad it wasn’t you. We must go,” he urged, panic in his voice at the sounds of others preparing to arrive.

When she didn’t move, he physically grabbed her waist and flung her over his shoulder. He threw her into her saddle and vaulted into his own. Killian took off at a gallop and Emma was grateful Arion followed without her commanding him too. She had taken a life. The goblin had been an assassin or maybe just a thief but Emma grappled with her actions. Arion galloped at full speed just behind Killian’s gray, putting as much distance between them and the danger of the inn.

After nearly three hours of hard riding, Killian pulled up and guided them off the road to a stream, letting the horses drink freely and relax after the hard ride. He turned to Emma and without words, gathered her into his arms, as she crumpled against him. Emma sobbed and he simply held her as one would a crying child. Eventually Emma dried her eyes and reluctantly withdrew from his embrace.

“I feel a guilt I can’t shake. I know if I hadn’t chosen as I did that I’d be the dead body in that stable, but that doesn’t make it easier. Will it ever be easier?”

Emma could sense the empathy he felt for her situation. “I wish I could lie to you, but you’ll never forget your first,” he sighed, hand swiping his wind-blown hair out of his face. “For me, all my years as a pirate, I was a ruthless man at times. I’ve killed more than I can remember. Sometimes it haunts me, all this blood on my hands,” he held out his hands towards her. “I feel the shame of it at the worst times. I shove it away and move on. If I look back, I’m lost,” he confessed, sitting down on the sandy bank of the river.

Emma studied him for several minutes. This enigma in front of her, this man who had dealt more death in his life than Emma could even fathom, and yet he seemed to be weighed down and felt some measure of regret. If I look back, I’m lost, he said it like one might a prayer or mantra, something oft repeated to help him bury the regrets of the past.

Emma sat on the sand next to him. “So now what do we do?” she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her head on top of her arms, looking out at the horses they wandered up the grassy embankment.

Killian removed a dagger from his boot and held it out to her. It was an ordinary dagger, she looked at him puzzled. His hand passed over it as she held in both hands. It transformed in her hands to kris dagger made of the finest steel, inlaid with a black obsidian, a name inscribed along the length of the blade. She open her mouth to speak and Killian’s finger pressed to her lips, silencing her.

“Don’t say the name,” he warned, taking his finger from her lips. She nodded.

“This controls him. I’ve hunted it for a very long time,” Killian said.

“If it does as you say, why wouldn’t he carry it with him?” Emma wondered aloud. Emma had always been warned by her various teachers that if an enemy knew her weakness, she would be extremely vulnerable.

“He buried it at the foot of the monument he erected for his son,” he said calmly. Emma listened intently as he wove a story of love, tragedy and vengeance. Emma’s heart constricted watching Killian relive the worst of his memories.

“I’m sorry,” Emma apologized. She almost wished she hadn’t asked but to make sound choices going forward, she needed to be able to see the whole board.

“Thank you, but you have nothing to apologize for. Anyway, this blade was once part of a mystical blade, Excalibur, forged here in Danann by the great wizard Merlin. For the research I’ve done here in Danann and in the realm of men, the sword is rumored to be hidden in the town of Camelot.”

“Camelot doesn’t exist,” Emma insisted.

“It does. And it’s here in Danann. The birthplace of the first Dark One. We must retrieve the other half and use this,” he pulled a small box from his coat pocket, “to reforge the sword. Once the broken blade is renewed, one nick from it will cut all immortal ties.”

Emma absorbed the new part of the plan. “But you don’t just mean to nick this warlock with the renewed blade, do you?”

When he turned, Emma could see bloodlust and anger in his blue eyes, making him look a madman. “No. No, I do not. I intend to stab him through the heart. Or in the chest as it is unlikely the monster even has a heart.”

Emma said nothing about his plan. She hauled herself from the ground, brushing the sand and dirt from her breeches and mounted Arion. Killian shook off the demons on his mind and mounted up as well. “Lead the way,” she nodded.

Emma had a lot of time to think as they rode. After their short respite, they rode hard again, stopping only for the bare necessities of water, sustenance and to relieve themselves. Two days passed this way. In silence. Killian seemed determined to make sure the distance between the two of them was as great as the distance between their current location and Shadowman’s inn.

She simply had to take cues from his behavior to know what might be expected of her. Not that reading his body language was a problem for someone who had lived in a royal court her whole life, Emma wondered at the change. He had shown her glimpse that he wasn’t just a bloodthirsty pirate. Emma knew he wasn’t whenever he used his magic. If he had been the evil man he seemed to want her to believe, she would’ve sensed it in his magic.

He always seemed of two natures and Emma knew what it was like to feel like two parts of herself were at war with the other. Emma was human and Fae, but she didn’t exactly fit in either world. She knew very little about the realm of her mother’s origin and there was much Emma still had to learn about her own power she wouldn’t learn at home. And at home, she couldn’t truly fit in because she was different, not entirely human and it bred a distrust among some people. There was one person who could give her answers but he wasn’t taking.

After the third day of silence, Emma had had enough. In the middle of the path she pulled Arion to a stop and jumped down. Arion followed her after a brief flicker of his head towards Killian.

“I’ve had enough of the silence. It’s maddening,” Emma bellowed, crossing her arms over her chest. Killian looked taken aback, red creeping alone his neck to the tip of his ears. Whether in anger or desire, Emma had no clue.

“Swan, I-,” Emma cut him off with a harsh glance. “Don’t make excuses. We agreed to be allies in this assine quest. I even got answers that I’ve searched for for months all within days of meeting you, but I almost regret this trip now. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but walling yourself off isn’t going to make it easier for me to trust you when this plan inevitably goes to hell. So cease acting like a child!”

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I will do better.”

“Thank you. I have never in my life met another half-Fae. I was curious about your life, what you know about our kind. Maybe you can tell me as we journey towards Camelot?” Emma prompted.

“Seeing as it will take three weeks to reach Camelot and another three to reach your grandmother’s stronghold where the monster resides, I suppose that it not an unreasonable request,” Killian confirmed.

“You were going to be silent for six whole weeks?” Emma shrieked.

“It’s not the longest I’ve gone without talking to another soul. That number would be more like three and a half years,” Killian laughed at the horrified look Emma knew must be plastered on her face.

Killian seemed to be lighter once Emma snapped him out of his stupidity. During the day they would ride and share stories of their lives. At night they made camp, and he would tell her tales of the peoples of Danann, its history and its magic. Emma’s short years meant she listened to Killian’s life story more often than not. She had been right that he had lived many lifetimes. He was nearly three times her mother’s age. He didn’t hide any of the unpleasant parts of his past, often looking away when he told a tale that involved him as the villain. He would always follow such stories with self-deprecating humor and tales that had Emma roaring with laughter.

Emma had never laughed so much in her life as she did when they shared bits of their embarrassing moments. Sometimes she felt a wistful longing when they laughed together.

“I was so drunk, I stumbled on to my ship to the wheel where I lashed myself to it to keep me upright. Once I was finished I promptly passed out. When I awoke my helmsman, Anderson, was standing so close to me that I could feel his co- his um, presence against my arse. His hands spread on either side of my head to grasp the wheel. He made a suggestion in my ear and I was still too drunk not to take him up on it. He was very good with his hands,” Killian smirked, lost in the memory.

Emma looked away, half disgusted by the implication, yet still half aroused at thoughts of her own hands exploring the Captain’s body. Emma shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, sighing a little at the friction her movement brought. Killian’s head whipped around to look at her. He heard her. Emma burned crimson, a color she felt all the way to the tips of her own half pointed ears. He continued on with a different story, but Emma could feel his steely blue gaze fixed on her the rest of the day’s ride.

In the nearly four weeks she had known him, she knew her attraction to him was undeniable. His dark hair that he ran his fingers through so often it seemed like a tic. His blue eyes that seemed as changeable as the sapphire seas he loved and thick eyebrows that could convey an entire conversation separate from his words. He was a very well educated man who told her of his collection of books back on his ship. Killian was so smart and witty (and damn if he didn’t know it, the bastard), they could spar verbally for hours on end. He also challenged her to spar with him and more often than not ended up correcting her form or critiquing her technique. Emma tried not to let her irritation cloud her learning, Sir Lancelot’s and her Father’s lessons of ‘don’t lose focus’ and ‘remember not to let your emotions cloud your actions in warfare’ always in her mind. After their sparring, blood running high, Emma thought about grabbing him by his lapel and dragging his face to her lips. Which she didn’t do - wouldn’t do, but very much wanted to.

As the sun was getting low, he suggested they stop to camp for the night. They had been following the river for weeks and not once had Emma taken advantage of its cool waters.

“We should reach our destination tomorrow,” Killian said as he lit the fire and stored his flint. Emma was glad to find as much as he was versed in magic, he preferred to do simple tasks without it as often as possible.

“I’m going to go down to the river. I haven’t had a bath in weeks and there is only so much my magic can do for me before I need the actual thing,” she grimaced, referring to her magical hygiene routine. She turned her head over her shoulder and winked at him before she beat a hasty retreat.

Why had she done that? Emma focused on her destination and task at hand. Simply magicking the dirt away was effective but Emma loved the feel of the water and she just needed to do one thing she truly wanted to. It had nothing to do with the idea of a certain pirate gentleman who would be nearby with knowledge that she was naked in the river. Emma smirked as she shed her clothes and dove into the water.

Killian nodded soundlessly and stared at the hedgerow she had walked through long after she had disappeared. The bloody siren winked at him. For the love of the gods, she was trying to kill him. After he had seen her shifting and moaning in her saddle earlier in the day, he had been hard. He wanted to chase after her and run his fingers along her lithe form, to cup her cheek as he brushed his lips against her, to fuck her under the stars.

Killina groaned, his thoughts not helping his situation. Emma was a bright light in the darkness of his endless years. For the first time since Milah was alive, Killian felt some measure of happiness. He felt guilty at his feelings. He was never one to slowly slip into love. No, Killian Jones fell head first into it without thinking. Without realizing how lost he was until he was drowning.

Killian peeled off his duster and left it on the log beside the fire. He resolved himself and made his way to the shore. The moon was full again and he could see Emma was farther out in deeper waters. His clothes hit the sand in record time before he could think too much or talk himself out of it. When he reached the water’s edge, Emma turned to face the shore. Her eyes were wide as she took in his nakedness. She swam closer until he could see her emerald eyes, blown wide with shock and desire. He hadn’t been wrong then. She had meant for him to follow her. So he did.

When he reached her she was smiling as she tread water. He kept his distance still, wanting her to be sure. She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her pert breasts, floated buoyantly, her dusty pink areola brushing against his chest. She shivered at the contact. He ghosted his fingers along her jaw towards her forehead before tucking her wild, wet locks behind her ear.

“May I kiss you, Swan?” he asked, reverently pressing his thumb along the seam of her lips. Her mouth opened slightly and his thumb brushed against her tongue. He rubbed his thumb down her chin, tilting her open mouth to his.

His tongue tangled with hers as she pulled herself closer. He groaned into the kiss. Killian had never tasted anything sweeter, though the thought brought to mind something that might be just as sweet. Emma legs kept grazing over his cock and he could tell from the mischief twinkling in her look that it was not an accident.

“Let’s get out of this water,” Emma suggested, her voice hoarse. They swam the short distance quickly, he made it first so he could see her when she emerged. His eyes roamed over her, head to toe, pausing briefly at the thatch of darker curls covering her womanhood. Killian growled at the sight and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to their fire.

Killian laid her down on his duster, relishing her naked form against the aged-leather. He kissed a trail from her lips to her breast, spending an age lavishing each nipple with attention before kissing the underside of each breast and continuing down in his exploration. Emma gasped when his hand pushed her thighs apart so he looked to her for her approval. A nod. Killian ran a finger though the slick residue and brought his finger to his lips. She was sweeter there. He lowered his tongue to her core, ignoring her yelp of surprise as it faded to soft mewls of pleasure.

He lapped at her teasingly, enjoying how her hips chased his mouth when the pressure lessened. He pressed a finger into her slowly opening her, waiting until she was relaxed and squirming before adding another and then another. Killian watched her chest heave as she struggled to breathe, fighting her body’s reaction.

“Let go, Emma,” Killian commanded as he fucked her harder on his fingers. Emma’s scream rang out through the deserted wood.

“Please, Killian, I want you,” Emma begged as he tried to disentangle himself.

“Are you sure?” He could walk away if she commanded him to, but he had never wanted anyone more in his life.

Emma guided him to lay down. She straddled him and positioned herself over his cock. She sank onto him in one swift motion and Killian couldn’t help the curses that left his lips. She stilled when they were fully joined.

“Are you alright?” He knew there was discomfort for a woman’s first time, which was hardly fair.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Just feels strange,” Emma muttered, clearly overwhelmed by the sensations.

“You should move, love,” his hands settled on her hips and helped her move up and down on his length.

Soon his hands wandered her body, no longer needed to help her find her pace. She looked like a goddess above him, riding him under the moonlight. Her long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, covering her breasts until she pulled it behind her head. Emma’s movements were becoming more erratic so Killian leveraged his strength and flipped their positions. He slipped out of her before lining up and pushing in with a hard thrust. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Her hands were wrapped around her breasts as he bucked against her. His thumb trailed down her body and pressed on her clit as he increased his pace. Green eyes met blue and in that moment, he was certain they were a perfect reflection of the other. Her core tightened around him and she hollered his name. He pumped his hips twice more and followed her into blissful aftermath.

Killian woke a few hours later, Emma curled to his side, blankets covering their naked forms from the chill in the night air. He drifted back to sleep, mission forgotten in the arms of the woman he loved.

The next morning they roused themselves and broke camp as usual, but with a lot of pausing to kiss, touch or hold each other. Arion and Kelan neighed loudly at them several times to hurry them on their way. It took only four hours to reach their destination, a large moss-covered boulder that sat before an ancient ruin, the castle of Arthurian legend. In the center of the stone, the hilt of a sword was visible. He and Emma shared a look of triumph as they trotted to a stop in the clearing. Once they were free of their mounts, they approached the stone.

There was a barely discernible inscription carved on the bottom of the stone: Whosoever wields this sword, be he worthy, shall possess power over life and death.

“Go ahead, love,” Killian encouraged, “Take the sword and we shall bind it together with the promethean flame.”

Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “Love, as much as I wish I could do this, I’m not worthy. But you, you are pure and wonderful. Do it,” Killian ordered.

Emma had to climb onto the stone until she stood next to the blade. Both hands grasped it and tugged and it let loose without resistance, shocking Emma but apparently not Killian.

She clambered down and passed over the broken blade. Killian retrieved the little box from his pocket and set it on the ground. It was a white mass but there was no fire to it. Killian knew he would have to give something up for it to work. All magic had a price.

“For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the future,” Killian breathed to Emma, resting his forehead against hers.

He turned to find the flame was lit. He held the pieces over the flame and within seconds, they were joined. He stood and handed her Excalibur. “For you, my darling Princess.”

Emma accepted the blade in awe, promptly leaning it against the rock so she could embrace Killian. “I was worried when I found I would live forever, that time spanned empty before me. Eternity with you might not be so bad.” Killian laughed and kissed her. “Or growing old with you if we chose.”

“To die would be an awfully big adventure,” Killian laughed, stepping away from her.

“I couldn’t agree more,” the voice of his nemesis cried gleefully. Killian grunted as he felt something hit him in the stomach. He looked down to see Excalibur sticking out of his chest before he collapsed to his knees.

Emma watched in horror as the unattended sword flew through the air and impaled Killian. The monster with the yellow eyes stood before her along with a woman clothed in a black leather riding outfit. Emma realized the dark haired woman accompanying the monster was Regina.

“See Rumple, I told you they would do all the work if you let them live,” Regina cackled.

“Indeed, dearie. Per our deal the girl is yours to do with as you please and Excalibur is mine, once I pry it from the pirate’s corpse.” Rumple clapped his hands together and hopped jubilantly.

“I won’t let you have that sword without a fight!” Emma vowed, kneeling next to Killian.

“You have to take the sword, love,” Killian encouraged.

“If I do, then you’ll bleed out!”

“I’m going to die anyway, remember? The sword reforged cuts immortal ties.” His eyes pleaded her to take the sword and defend herself.

She stood back and as she pulled the blade from his gut, he let out a terrible scream. Regina came for her first, her own sword in hand.

“Magic is too good for you, half breed!” Regina charged her.

Emma found that the Queen’s skills with a blade left something to be desired, perhaps from an overreliance on magic. When Emma saw her opening, she struck hard and true, slashing across the Queen’s chest. The other woman fell to the ground, a look of complete shock on her face as she fell forward into a pool of her own blood.

Rumpelstiltskin looked a little impressed Emma had taken out his pawn. Emma stalked towards him sword in hand. He looked like he wanted to fight, changing in an instant to looking as though he wished to flee but he was immovable as the mountain. Emma glanced at the blade, the man’s name still emblazoned on the portion that made up the kris dagger. Emma realized she still had command of him as his name was bound to the sword she wielded.

“Whosoever wields this sword, be he worthy, shall possess power over life and death,” Emma muttered, scrutinizing the blade.

“Come here!” she ordered. The demon walked towards her grudgingly. When the scaly man was close enough, “Hold out your hand and do not move a muscle,” Emma ordered. A palm outstretched in front of her as the monster stood rigid per her order.

Emma drew the blade across the monster’s palm, ignoring his screams. Emma waved her hand and he was silenced by a gag, hands and feet bound. Emma felt relief for a brief moment until the triumph died with the realization Killian was dying. She turned on her heel and sprinted to Killian’s side, placing her hands over his wounds. She willed her magic to heal him to no avail.

“That will not work, child,” a familiar voice called out. Magnus, her once-teacher, knelt at her side. Emma thought he knew nothing of her mother’s people, of the Fae.

“There will be time for questions later,” he chided, sensing her train of thought as he had always done. “To save him, you must bind your heart to his.”

“No,” Killian begged weakly. “I won’t let you do that. If you’re wrong, old man, she’ll die and I’d rather die a thousands deaths than see her die before my eyes.”

“And I cannot imagine a thousand lifetimes without you. I promise, you will be alright,” Emma said, pressing a kiss to his pale lips. Turning to Magnus, “What must I do?”

“You must remove your heart which I will split. One half for you, the other for him. This is considered a sacred bond of marriage that nothing but death can break. Do you understand and choose to proceed?”

Emma bowed her head in agreement. Killian mumbled his assent quietly. Per Magnus’ instruction, Emma plunged her hand into her chest and with a sharp tug, pulled out a glowing red heart. She placed it in Magnus’ hand and when he rent it two, Emma let out a yelp but brushed aside Killian’s concerns. She knew that if she survived her heart being cleaved in two, there was nothing left to fear. Emma felt the moment Killian’s heart stopped beating as though she too had stopped breathing. She never dreamed he would die, succumbing to wounds Rumpelstiltskin inflicted. Sobbing, Emma healed the open wound on his abdomen, praying the ceremony would bring him back to her. She was confident today was not the end as Magnus had already begun the ceremonial blessings. If wrong, Emma knew with certainty she would find him in the life beyond.

“Two souls, one life. Two halves, one heart. From this day until your last day,” Magnus intoned, quickly shoving one half of the heart into each of their chests. After a tense, unending moment, Killian gasped for breath. He shot up, confused. touching his chest, then Emma’s face.

“Swan? How?” he asked, kissing her her fiercely before she could respond.

“I bound my heart to you, my beating heart has enough love, enough life, for both of us,” Emma cried, throwing her arms around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, the passing of time unnoticed.

The sound of throat clearing had Emma whipping around to address her teacher. “Master Magnus, how did you know?”

“This was my home once, when Camelot was more than a ruin. Guarding the Grail was my duty, until duty led me to become the teacher to a wonderful young princess,” he smiled at fond memories.

“Isn’t the Grail a chalice?” Emma asked, confused.

“It was once, before my master forged it to a weapon to break immortal ties. Now it can be a chalice once again,” Magnus said, conjuring the promethean flame from the ground to his palm. He held the sword over the flame and it morphed into a chalice of silver, inlaid with the obsidian design like the blade.

Magnus offered her the chalice. “Killian was right when he told you there is always a choice.”

“If I- if we drink from this chalice then we’ll grow old and die?” Emma asked in awe.

Magnus nodded. “You’ve bound your hearts in love and in life. With this,” offering the chalice a second time, “in death and what lies beyond. For a mortal, it would grant life eternal if one was worthy.”

Magnus paused for a long moment before adding, “Though I think you may want to wait at least nine months before you decide.”

Killian looked back and forth from Magnus to Emma in shock and disbelief until understanding dawned and his hand rested gently on her stomach.

Emma looked at Killian, tears in her eyes as she smiled. She wasn’t afraid any longer. She knew what she wanted. Emma wasn’t certain about what tomorrow might hold. Rumplestiltskin once told Killian that love didn’t last, that true love wasn’t real, but she and Killian were living proof of how wrong he had been. She had shared her immortality with him and couldn’t regret that.

Perhaps at some point, maybe in fifty years, a hundred, or a thousand years, they may decide to drink from the chalice, breaking their immortal bonds to live a single mortal life and journey to whatever life awaited beyond this one. Perhaps not. Even in the end, it was all a matter of choice.

Killian’s grin matched hers as he realized her choice.

“To die would be an awfully big adventure,” Killian said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

“No,” Emma protested, “To live will be an awfully big adventure.“

Fin

#cslb #cs oneshot #captain swan #cs au ff #cs fae au #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan little bang 2018

68 notes · View notes