#princess!emma

“No,” Emma shook her head, arching her back as she chased his lips, “but it’s not nearly as sinful as yours yet.”

Killian raised his brow at that. Yet? As much as he wanted to think she was taunting him, he knew she didn’t realize what she was implying.

He would just have to enlighten her to that eventually as well.

“Patience, love. We’ll get there.” He kissed her inner thigh. “If you want to, of course.”

Killian laughed lightly as Emma swallowed hard. His cock twitched with desire to feel her do that around him, but he wouldn’t force her to try. For now, he focused on bringing her pleasure with his own mouth, as well as on how much he was enjoying the taste of her.

“Tell me, Emma,” he said, meeting her eyes once more as he brought his fingers to her core and traced her slick entrance, “have you ever touched yourself like this before?”

Emma hesitated before answering honestly, “N—no. I haven’t. I don’t know how, and I was afraid of hurting myself.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. “Imagine having to explain that to my parents if I did.”

“Fair enough,” Killian smirked, drawing more small gasps from her as his coated fingers slid easily over her clit. “But you deserve to feel the pleasure of which you’ve been depriving yourself.”

His mouth returned to her flesh as he thumbed at the sensitive nub. He moaned approvingly as he gently prodded her with his tongue, carefully stretching her with its soft touch, coaxing her to open for him. She was like nothing he’d ever tasted before, and he knew he could happily spend forever tending to her like this if she’d let him. As he licked at her inner walls, she hissed at the invasion but told him not to stop.

“Does that feel good?” Killian checked as he continued his efforts to bring her to completion.

“Very,” she encouraged. “Please, I need more.”

As Emma’s hips began to buck, Killian introduced a finger to her core. She seemed to welcome it as he curled it and found another highly responsive spot inside her.

“Oh gods, Killian,” she whimpered, “it’s—it’s too much!”

“It’s supposed to be, Emma, I promise. Don’t fight it.” As he suckled her clit, he worked in a second digit, spreading her just enough to keep her gasping but painless. “Relax and let go. Let it consume you.” Slipping his tongue between them, he brought her closer to the edge.

Emma came crashing over it with a loud cry, her whole body shaking as her orgasm took her by surprise.

Killian wrapped his arms around her thighs and held her steady as she tried to jerk away, guiding her through it with his mouth until she finally settled again.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he kissed along her leg to calm her down.

“Yes,” Emma panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Yes, that was….”

“Beautiful to witness,” he smiled. “And only the first of many, many more, if you’ll allow me to continue.”

“Please,” she nodded, urging him onto the bed above her. “Please, I want to know everything.”

He kissed her, passionate and deep, letting her taste herself on his lips. As his cock brushed her stomach, she met his gaze, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Killian canted his hips away from her. “I will be careful, and I won’t hurt you. But I need you to be sure. It’s alright if we don’t do this.”

Emma’s hands settled on his back, tracing his muscles with her fingers.

“I’m sure,” she reassured him. “Show me what I’m missing.”

——

Silver was a slimy fellow, broad shoulders and yellowing teeth and he leered at Emma and Red from his place at the helm.

“We can’t exactly be choosy, Emma,” Red murmured, but by the way her eyes flashed when she glanced back at the captain, she’d been thinking the same thing.

Emma scanned the deck rather than focus on Silver, her eyes flitting from person to person as she surveyed the crew and their movements. Her gut tangled itself into a knot at the scene before her, though there was nothing innately wrong about anything she saw.

But Emma had spent her whole life training. Her father had put a sword in her hand as soon as she was big enough to hold it on her own. Her mother followed with a bow not long after. Tracking, fighting, surviving—these lessons were interwoven between court etiquette classes and political strategy lectures. Her parents had taught her to trust her instincts, and that feeling in her stomach told her that something wasn’t right.

“Let’s just keep our heads down and get to Arendelle,” Red advised, her voice cool. Emma’s godmother was a fiery woman, a force of nature who didn’t need her wolf form to take down men twice her size. But she was also her only counsel, the only one who had made it out of the attack.

And she was right, of course. Emma knew that. But Emma also knew that men like Silver were not to be trusted, and if there’s ever a case where one should keep their head up, it’s when someone untrustworthy is nearby.

It only took her a few hours to learn what made her skin crawl.

Emma emerged from below deck, her hand itching to reach for her sword on instinct the second she met the eyes of one of the crew. Red had stayed below, encouraging Emma to stretch her legs and take some air above, but it wasn’t the relaxing scene she’d expected.

Silver towered over a man on his knees, and the captain’s disgusting expression revealed something vindictive in his manner.

“Captain, I’m sorry, he was only—”

Silver’s hand was quick, cutting off the pleading man with a smack to his jaw. The punch was enough to knock the man over, a quiet groan of pain falling from his lips as another rushed to his aid.

This man’s glare came from sharp blue eyes that were partially shadowed by the dark hair that fell onto his forehead. “It was my fault, Captain, you needn’t punish my brother for my mistakes.” His words were firm, clear, but edged with desperation that felt too familiar to one particular observer.

Captain Silver chuckled, shaking his head at the man before him. “Twenty lashes wasn’t enough to teach you before, boy. Perhaps if it’s your brother who takes them this time, you’ll learn.” The captain waved a hand, and two of his crew grabbed the man by the arms, dragging him away from his brother.

Several feet away on the deck behind, Emma remained perfectly still, but it wasn’t fear, shock, or unwillingness to intervene that had her so.

The brother pushed himself up, cool resolve settling over his features. They were softer than his brother’s, his hair lighter and slightly curled, but his eyes were the same piercing blue. Those eyes tightened when he was ordered to turn, but it disappeared when he caught sight of his brother—younger, by the looks of it—kneeling at the other end of the main deck, his shoulders braced by the captain’s men as he was made to watch.

“No!” the younger cried, watching in horror as Silver pulled the whip into his hand.

But before the lash could connect with his brother’s back, its path was obstructed, wrapping around the blade of a sword. Emma tugged, the whip slipping from Silver’s grasp and flying into her hands.

She had waited—for Silver to be more distracted, for the men to least expect interference, for the perfect opening—and then she had slipped from the quarterdeck to prevent the monstrous act from taking place.

“Please, tell me exactly what you thought you were going to do just now,” she said, and although her voice did not boom across the deck, it was fire and ice, and it sliced through the ears of anyone within range.

The captain turned to face her, his eyes angry despite his smile. “Come now, Princess,” Silver cooed, “you shouldn’t be on deck for this.”

It was almost a warning, nearly a threat, and Emma narrowed her eyes. “Answer me, Silver.”

He smirked, glancing around at his men before returning his attention to her. “What, a man doesn’t have the right to punish his own slave? Is that what your kingdom has come to?” he asked innocently, laughter lacing his tone.

If Emma had looked around, she would’ve seen the surprised and curious looks of the crew and the slaves in question, but her gaze was focused only on the captain. “If you knew anything about this kingdom, Captain, you’d know that slavery is prohibited and punishable by death.” She did not tremble, did not raise her voice, did not allow her immense rage to overpower her.

The captain scowled, his eyes hardening as he reached for his cutlass. “You’re out of your depth, Princess,” he spat.

“Am I?” she asked, her tone imitating the clueless princess they believed she was, cocking her head to the side. “Perhaps you really know nothing about my kingdom, because there’s another thing you should know.” She paused, and maybe it was for the dramatic effect, but she was her father’s daughter, so no one could really blame her. “If you draw your weapon against me, you’ll lose it before you have a chance to blink,” she promised. If anything, her voice had gotten quieter, but there was no doubt that she was heard across the deck.

It seemed, however, that Silver was one of those ‘see it to believe it’ types, because he didn’t take her at her word. She moved as soon as the sound of scraping metal reached her ears, and a few steps and a simple twist of her wrist had his cutlass thudding against the deck.

“Now do you believe me?” she asked. “Or would you like a more detailed demonstration?”

Silver growled, but he’d barely taken a step before Emma’s quick feet had her behind him, the hilt of her sword bashing into his skull and knocking him clean out. She could’ve given him a real fight, but it wasn’t worth the energy. And there were other, greater concerns she had at the moment.

When she turned to face the open-mouthed men, she caught sight of Red who leaned casually against some rigging, a nod and a small, encouraging smile sent from her godmother for her to continue.

“I hereby strip Captain Silver of his rank and his ship,” Emma announced. “As his crew, I ask you to join me on my journey to Arendelle. If anyone has a problem with this leadership change, I’ll be happy to lock you in the brig beside Silver.” No one moved, either too stunned or too enraptured by the princess to do anything.

She cleared her throat, “Now, unless there are any questions, I suggest you all get back to work.” It must’ve been her regal voice that made them all comply so willingly. Her mother had trained it into her just as harshly as she had trained her to shoot and curtsey. It was, in many aspects, a well-rounded education.

Red threw her a grin, Emma signaling her to dispose of Silver. And just like that, she kindly rid the deck of the scum that was the former captain.

Once he was gone, Emma turned back to the brothers. She studied them for a moment, resheathing her sword as she did. Both were still wide-eyed, though the younger was now sitting of his own volition, but neither of them seemed to have fully processed the turn of events.

The elder recovered from his shock quickly. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he told her, his head bowed.

Emma’s fierce anger and all of her noble posture disappeared as she took in the man who still knelt before her, the look in his eye and the hunch of his shoulders. And then that other thing her mother had taught her, kindness, rose to the surface and softened her gaze.

“And what is your name, sir?”

The man fumbled, blinking up at her. “Liam, Your Highness. Liam Jones.”

“Well, Liam, think nothing of it. What kind of ruler would I be if I allowed such horrors to continue?” She offered him a hand, but he just stared at it. “Let me help you,” she said softly.

“I am already indebted to you, Your Highness, my brother and I, we can’t possibly—”

She grabbed his protesting hand, forcing him to his feet. “There now,” she said, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Emma smiled, ignoring his flabbergasted expression and moving instead to the brother. He stared up at her, and it seemed to her that he was peering directly into her soul. When she offered him her hand, he took it.

“And your name, sir?”

“Killian Jones, Your Highness.” Emma’s lips twitched, and though she still hated the way her title sounded, she found that she didn’t hate it quite so much when it came from this man.

Emma stepped back, watching as Liam crossed to his brother, and their embrace had her missing hers. She sighed, tossing the whip unceremoniously overboard before facing Red who had appeared from below.

“How fares our guest?”

“Oh, I’ve ensured that his journey will be as uncomfortable as possible,” Red smirked.

Emma nodded, her eyes moving across the deck before returning to her companion. “Good,” she replied. “Stay here. Deal with any…problems. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

Red saluted, and it was only partially teasing. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she grinned.

Emma rolled her eyes, then turned to face the brothers who stood a few feet away, their heads bowed in close conference. The second they realized she was watching them, they turned their attention to her.

“Brothers Jones, follow me,” she said, and they were almost too quick to obey.

They were silent behind her as she crossed the deck, the other men parting to let them by. No one dared meet her gaze, but it was with an air of respect rather than insubordination, or so it seemed to her. She wasn’t naive enough to think her control would hold, but Red’s presence on deck would likely keep them at bay for the time being.

When the door to the captain’s quarters swung open, Emma didn’t try to hide her grimace. A sharp contrast to the spotless deck, Silver’s cabin was covered in papers that had been thrown about, there were clothes littering the floor, food tossed aside and even lingering on parts of the walls.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, turning back to the brothers. She got her answer when Killian’s eyes darkened. “It’s like this until you clean it,” she deduced. “I see.”

They exchanged a look, but she ignored it. “Well, this won’t do. Come along!” she called, leaving them behind her as she headed towards her own quarters.

Liam and Killian hesitated in the doorway of her cabin, and she turned to them with raised eyebrows, her hand gesturing for them to sit at her table. When they shifted their feet reluctantly, she added, “Please sit. There are several questions I have for you, but first I’d like to tend to your injuries. This will go much more smoothly if you sit.”

When they finally acquiesced, Emma moved to the trunk in the corner of the room. It was a recent purchase, one that she’d agreed upon only after Red promised to make use of it as well. Emma was used to living out of the leather satchel that she dug through now, as months running and searching were better suited to packing lightly.

Emma retrieved the small wooden box from the bag, setting it on the table between the two men who watched her every move. The lid creaked when she opened it, revealing the few healing supplies she’d managed to hold onto throughout her travels. The jar of salve was something she’d made herself—her mother’s recipe—and after finding a clean cloth from beside the water basin, Emma dapped at the mixture.

Liam flinched when she raised the cloth to his face, relaxing a moment later when she waited for him to assure her that all was well with a small nod. She eased the salve over the bruise that had already begun to form, attempting to be as gentle as possible.

When she was done, she set the cloth over the jar, her hand finding the back of the empty chair as she looked between them.

“Any more injuries I need to know about?” To another, their silence might have indicated that the answer was no, but she read their expressions before they were schooled, measuring the looks they exchanged.

Emma’s arms folded over her chest, and something not quite as biting as a glare cut through their silence. “Hiding them isn’t going to help you very much,” she added.

Liam shifted uncomfortably. “Your Highness—”

“Call me Emma.”

His lips pulled down sharply as he looked from his brother to her. “You’re a princess,” he replied, “it isn’t proper.”

She let out a suffering sigh, releasing her arms from their hold around herself and gripping the back of the chair instead. “I’m barely a princess anymore,” she told them, her tone too matter-of-fact to reveal the devastation that came with the confession. “My kingdom is in ashes, my castle is little more than rubble, and my people are terrified, lost, or dead. My command on this ship may be the last royal duty I have, and I intend to do it right. That starts with helping the two of you.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, and Liam relented. “Killian’s back…”

“Is fine,” Killian finished quickly. Too quickly.

Liam’s eyebrows shot up at his brother, his head shaking slightly. “It’s not,” he told her, his pleading eyes slicing into her. “But I’m not sure it’s work for a—” he caught himself, pausing and starting again, “—for a lady.”

For a princess. The words, though unsaid, haunted her.

Emma’s lips pulled together as she glanced between them again. “I don’t know if you were paying attention back there, but I’m hardly the type to shy away from getting her hands dirty. And trust me, I have years of experience tending to my own wounds,” she said, “I think I can handle it.”

The months she’d spent with Red swirled in her mind, pointed memories of biting on straps of leather and suppressing cries, stitches rushed beneath moonlight with nothing but alcohol to numb the pain.

“If you supply me with sutures, I’m sure I can make quick work of it,” Liam offered.

Anyone else might have let him, but there was something in her gut that told her she needed to do it. To prevent Liam from having to cause his brother pain again, however helpful that pain might be, or perhaps to ensure that the wound was being properly taken care of, or maybe she was just too damn stubborn to let them do it themselves.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Emma replied, “but between my work with injuries and needlepoint, I think I’ve got you beat with even stitches.” They didn’t have a response to that, and she counted it as a victory.

But that victory was rather hollow when she recalled the words of the captain, the ‘twenty lashes’ that had failed to teach whatever twisted lesson Silver believed was fair, and she was reaching for the numbing gel in her box before she realized what she was doing. It had become her most precious item in the past months, aside from the few trinkets she had from her parents and her father’s dagger, but if made to choose, she’d have to pick the more practical one.

“Liam, I’m not certain—”

Emma didn’t let him finish. “Look, I realize that this is less than ideal. I’m just a stranger to you, and I understand that I’m asking you to trust me. But if this is about pride or protecting my sensibilities, you’re wasting time for both of us,” she said firmly, holding Killian’s gaze. “The reality is that I can help you. You just have to let me. So either tell me to leave you to your pain, or take off your shirt and let me help you.”

Killian did not move right away, blinking up at her with his eyes blown wide. But Emma was never one to back down from a challenge, and she wasn’t going to be the one to break the staring contest they’d gotten into.

“Killian, she’s right,” Liam said, Killian’s eyes flitting from hers to look at his brother. “Just do it. You’ll heal much faster this way.”

When Killian finally stood to unbutton his shirt, Emma returned to her box, gathering the other supplies rather than look at the man she found dangerously intriguing. She forced herself to focus, not looking up until he’d laid on the bed, his back exposed.

“Is there anything you need?” Liam asked her as she crossed to the bunk, pulling the chair so she could sit beside it.

“A wet cloth, thank you,” she replied, laying her supplies out onto the small table next to her.

Part of her training to become an effective ruler included learning to put her mind in a box. She had to be rational even when being rational nearly killed her, and letting her emotions surface now, when there was a person who needed healing…she wasn’t going to let that happen. So she swallowed every thought and feeling that rose in her stomach and in her mind, examining the torn skin before her as if it were a war that had to be fought, and order, strategy, precision would let her succeed.

Emma accepted the wet cloth from Liam before he returned to sit at the table. “I’ll have to clean it first,” she told Killian softly. “It will sting for a moment, but once I’m done I’ll apply the numbing gel.” It was confusing for her, trying to dance the line between empathy and cool rationality. Comfort, kindness, but calm, exact, detached but not apathetic.

Killian didn’t meet her gaze, nodding as his hand gripped the pillow. His jaw was taut, and she recognized the expression. The anticipation of pain, the kind that came with knowing what was to come.

It was the lack of a cry, a groan, or even a whimper that tore into her heart and almost shattered the dam that restrained her emotions. The cleansing liquid burned, she knew it did, but as she dabbed it against the bright red gashes that covered his upper back, he did not make a sound. She followed with the cloth quickly to ease the fire, but it wasn’t enough. It never had been for her.

Emma forced herself to breathe when she returned the bottle to the table, taking the numbing gel in hand. She grounded herself in the release of tension the second it touched his skin, how his jaw loosened and the way his exhale was almost a sigh.

“Alright, Liam, tell me who’s gonna be a problem,” she said, eager for both the distraction and the information.

“What?”

She didn’t turn to look at him, reaching for the needle instead. “You talk while I work,” she told him. Killian didn’t show any sign of pain or even sensation when she made the first stitch, but Emma knew it wasn’t because he couldn’t feel it. The numbing gel was good, but it could only do so much.

“Who is going to try to mutiny?” she asked, pausing before forming another stitch.

“Carver,” Killian grunted. “He and Johnson aren’t likely to be your biggest fans,” he said, and he spoke as if he were sitting beside her at the table.

She kept her eyes and her hands focused on making quick, even stitches. “Greatest assets? I need to know who’s going to be the most helpful on our voyage, who can navigate, who I can trust.”

“Terry’s the best sailor we’ve got,” Liam said.

Killian made a sound, and at first, Emma thought she’d hurt him. “I’d say you’ve got at least as much skill, brother,” he muttered.

Emma stopped her moving hand, glancing back at Liam. “Is this true?” Heat spread across his face, answering before he could.

“Aye,” Killian replied.

“Okay, we’ll discuss that later,” she said, resuming her task. It was easier to think of it like that, a task, just something she needed to do. “Is there anyone else on board who will be needing my nursing abilities?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no,” Liam said softly.

Emma nodded, letting silence fall for a few minutes while she worked. Half of her energy was channeled towards the actual stitching, the other half spent on trying not to think about the scar tissue on this man’s back. She wasn’t sure she’d ever stitched something faster in her life.

“If I didn’t make it abundantly clear before, you’re both free,” she said after a while. “If you’d prefer it, we can drop you off at the nearest port, but you’re welcome to stay. I’ll see to it that you have proper wages—retroactive ones, either way—but you’ll have a place among the crew should you wish it. The choice is entirely yours.”

“We’ll stay,” Liam told her, his tone more resolved than she’d ever heard it.

“Aye,” Killian agreed as if there were no question.

She smiled softly, relieved at their choice, if she were being honest with herself. She would’ve kept her word had they chosen otherwise, but it was a comfort to know that she’d have at least two she could rely on aboard the ship.

It didn’t take much longer for her to finish the last of the stitches, and she covered his back in her special salve a little more liberally than normal. Her hand froze as she pulled it back, her ears catching the sounds from the deck.

“Damn,” she muttered, wiping her hands with the wet cloth quickly, “I thought we’d have more time.” She left the room before Killian could even replace his shirt, but the brothers Jones were not far behind.

Her sword was in her hand when she reached the deck, scanning the scene and finding Red in the center of it. Several men had gathered around her as she bared her blade and her teeth, but Emma was at her side before the first man had the chance to attack.

Emma’s sword was fast, although it wasn’t the cutlass the crew used, and she parried her opponent’s first attack, then his second, the metal clanging so familiar that she got lost in the fight, a lunge and a hit against him and then a step to the side at the last second that threw him off balance. A sweep of her leg brought the man down faster than he could recover, his ass then his head slamming against the ground.

A half-turn brought her to the next enemy, a quicker man who still wasn’t quite quick enough. She used his size against him, tricked him into an ill-timed attack that revealed more of her target, and she nicked him in the arm, just enough to make him falter. She disarmed him with a move her father had taught her, knocking him out with the butt of her sword without waiting to watch him drop onto the deck.

But when she spun to face her third opponent, someone else was there to interrupt her.

Liam charged with a fallen blade, his footwork a little clumsy but good enough to face the oversized mutineer. He lunged at the man, catching him in the side, and Liam took him down with just a few more swipes.

The fourth was already engaged in a fight with Killian when she turned. This brother was quicker, more agile, better suited for the blade in his hand. He was skilled, that was apparent to her even in the thirty seconds or so she was able to observe before he disarmed the attacker. The hilt of his sword collided with the man’s head, and then Killian turned to face his princess and captain.

Red cast her weary gaze across the deck, eyeing the rest of the crew who had gathered to watch the events unfold. “Anyone else?” she taunted, and Emma joined her in measuring them up. “Good, at least we’ve retained the ones with common sense. I could use a hand taking these traitors to the brig,” she hinted.

Several men moved right away, both brothers with them, but Emma stopped Killian with a hand on his shoulder. His startled eyes met hers, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

“If you pull those stitches, all of my hard work will be for nothing,” she said. She felt her lips pull up at his sheepish expression, his hand reaching to scratch behind his ear.

She turned to his brother who was hoisting an attacker over his shoulder. “Thank you, Liam.” Another hand held out to him, this time to shake.

“You’re welcome, Your Hi—” he paused, taking it. “Emma.”

It was just her name, but it really wasn’t. It felt like acceptance, like loyalty. Fighting for each other, crossing enemy blades to defend. With Liam, the use of her name was respect and a promise. She watched him join the others in heading below, and then she turned to his brother.

“Thank you, Killian,” she said, offering him the same gesture.

“We owe you much, love. It’s the least we could do.”

Emma tried to pretend that she didn’t feel a jolt rush through her when her hand touched his, like lightning didn’t shiver up her arm from where their skin met. She mourned the sensation when it disappeared with the release of his hand.

“You’re a better swordsman than your brother,” she said suddenly.

“Aye, well,” he hesitated, ducking his head. “He was a little busy covering for my mistakes to learn the footwork.”

“That was more than just footwork,” she pointed out.

Killian flushed, his ears turning a most delightful shade. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted when a man approached.

The newcomer was older, slightly graying, and he wore a kind smile. “Your Highness,” he greeted, bowing properly. “My name is John Terry. I’d like to offer my navigational skills to aid Your Highness on our voyage to Arendelle.”

Although she was put off by his terrible timing, she smiled her sweetest diplomat smile. “Thank you, sir. I am certain that Liam will appreciate the assistance, as he will be leading the charge, so to speak.”

She hadn’t entirely decided on this particular detail, not until she saw how readily he fought for her, how quickly he and his brother came to help her. After all that, how could she not trust him to lead their way? As always, she listened to her instincts, and her instincts were screaming at her to trust the Jones brothers.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Terry nodded. “I will meet with the elder Jones just as soon as he finishing helping Lady Red.” With another bow, Terry retreated, the sincere expression never wavering.

Killian was staring when she turned back to him. “You…”

“Took you at your word?” He nodded. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret,” she said, her voice low, “I can always tell when people are lying.” It had saved her life more than once, and though she’d had reservations about giving Liam the post before, his skill was never in question.

Killian’s eyes didn’t leave her, they only widened as if he couldn’t help himself but look at her in awe.

“What?”

“You’re bloody brilliant,” he blurted, and red came to stain his cheeks again. “Apologies, Your Highness,” he muttered.

Emma sighed, resheathing her sword so she could twist her hands together. “What did I say about my title?” she reminded him.

Once again he was prevented from speaking, unable to amend his statement before Red and Liam returned from below and joined them. And force of habit kept Emma from dallying, turning to Liam to get right to business.

“I’ve told Terry he may assist you in leading our navigation,” she told him. “He wishes to meet to discuss our course, but make no mistake, you’re taking the reins on this. And I want not a word from you against it,” Emma added, narrowing her gaze as if to prove that she was serious.

Liam nodded, but he wisely remained silent.

“Red, I want you at the helm until one of them takes over.”

“Of course, Emma.”

“Report any relevant information or concerns you have directly to me,” Emma told them. “I’d rather not have to defend the ship from a second mutiny, if it can be avoided.”

Red huffed, shaking her head at the thought. “And if we need you? Where will you be?”

“I will be learning the ins and outs of the ship from Killian—unless he has any objections?” Emma raised an eyebrow, looking to him to confirm. When he did, she continued, “Right then, we’ll remain on deck to keep the crew from deciding to do anything extremely stupid.”

And with that, they dispersed, Red towards the stern and Liam below while Emma led Killian to the forecastle where the fewest men lingered to work. But the eyes of the crew followed the princess wherever she moved, until her biting glare forced their attention back to their tasks.

“Would I be wrong to assume that the two you mentioned are now occupying the brig?” she asked. “Carver and Johnson?”

“No.”

She’d already guessed this, of course, but it was satisfying to have her hunch confirmed. “So I’m also assuming that you know quite a bit about how this crew works, based on the accurate prediction.”

“I suppose,” he replied, eyeing her curiously as they walked along the railing.

“Perfect,” she grinned.

It only took a few strategic questions from her before he was laying out the exact dynamics of the crew, the hierarchy that was always present, the groups that would form in the right climate. With Killian’s knowledge, she had a clear picture of who could be trusted and who she’d encourage to vacate the premises the second they were docked.

Emma had anticipated this. He was perceptive, clever, and his mind worked more like a soldier than a sailor. Killian’s instincts were much like hers, and she would’ve made bets on his intuition.

“What’s in Arendelle?” he asked once his information was exhausted and silence had settled over them.

She sighed, dropping to sit on a nearby barrel. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, or even that the information was particularly secret, but she hated revealing that she was truly just searching blindly in the dark for anything at all to help her succeed.

“They’re our closest ally that has magic,” she said honestly. It wasn’t all of it, but it was the truth.

He was the curious sort, and she could read all of the questions in his eyes. But he held his tongue for whatever the reason, and the opportunity was lost anyway when Liam joined them. Though Liam’s information was likely vital, she couldn’t help but feel that something else was rather important, too. Red requested an audience before she could consider it further.

They located a secluded part of the deck rather than going below for privacy, neither willing to risk it so soon after the mutiny attempt. Emma braced herself for the oncoming lecture. Well, Red wasn’t exactly the lecturing type, so perhaps she’d simply scold her and move on.

“You did the right thing.”

“I think so, too,” Emma replied.

“Silver is a slimy little bastard, and I can’t say that I’m upset to see him and his friends in the brig,” Red chuckled.

It was true, Emma knew, but she’d expected to have to defend her actions, her recklessness, to her godmother. “So you wanted to talk to me,” Emma prompted.

Red sighed, leaning against the rail that overlooked the deck. “You forget, kid,” she began, “I watched your mother do this the first time. It’s not enough to just get them back, to save them, we need allies. You need allies. And that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Emma smirked, “You’re telling me to keep up the good work?”

“I’m telling you to use that gut of yours, Emma. Trust it, just as you have been. If you continue to do that, continue to lead the way like you’ve always been trained to, we can’t lose.”

--

Emma stood at the helm, her sharp eyes trained on the deck before her. Silence enshrouded the ship, only the gentle crashing of the waves sounding in the air. Light was scarce, the half-formed moon above giving her just enough to assure her that all was well.

Red had long since gone to bed, her and Emma’s things moved into the first mate’s quarters for the time being—the previous occupant had recently relocated to less comfortable arrangements far below. Naturally, Emma had dispatched Red to order the Jones brothers into the newly vacant cabin, and she’d been given express instructions to ensure they’d both reapplied the salve. But that was hours ago, and Emma had a few more before Red was due to relieve her at the wheel.

“Liam or I would’ve gladly taken the night shift, Princess.”

Emma turned at the voice, unsurprised to find Killian already beside her. “Be that as it may,” she said, “I still wished for both of you to get a good night’s sleep.”

“And what of our fearless captain?” The moon lit the side of his face, an eyebrow raised in her direction. “Doesn’t she deserve a restful night?”

Her grip tightened on the helm as the memories flickered before her eyes without her permission, the calm nights that turned into chaos foreshadowed only by a single twig snapping or the turn of a doorknob, the things she would’ve missed had she not been awake.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to get anything resembling a restful night,” she confessed bitterly.

“Is this your brilliant war strategy? To be so exhausted that your enemies pity you and surrender?”

She shot him a glare, but his expression didn’t falter, remaining open and questioning. “Fair point,” she relented. “However, my bunk won’t be free until Red returns to take the next shift, and I don’t think the floor would be very comfortable.”

“Ah,” he breathed. “Luckily for you, the matter has been taken care of,” he told her. “I think you’ll find that the captain’s quarters are more to your liking now.”

Concern and frustration made a strange combination in her voice. “Killian, you didn’t—”

He held up a hand. “It was no trouble, I assure you. I found the task much more pleasant when I knew it was for you and not Silver,” he smiled. “And before you can ask, I was careful with my back. Liam checked my stitches, and your handiwork hasn’t been ruined.”

“And now I’m just supposed to let you finish the shift for me? After you worked for who knows how long cleaning that horrible cabin?” she nearly snapped at him, pausing to take a breath. “You need sleep more than I do, Killian. You’re healing.”

“I’ve already slept for a couple of hours, but if it suits you, Your Highness, I’ll rise late tomorrow.”

“I thought I told you to call me Emma,” she interjected.

“And as my brother already said, it isn’t proper.” He didn’t cower beneath her pointed gaze, holding his head high as challenged her.

She deliberated a moment before speaking. “I’ll let you take over as soon as you call me Emma.”

Killian’s eyebrow shot up again, his expression a mixture of irritation and something softer, fondness with an edge of awe that revealed to her that she’d impressed him yet again. Their locked eyes brought a new tension between them this time, until Killian seemed to remember himself and glanced away quickly.

He sighed, and moonlight reflected in his eyes as they moved to meet hers again. “I owe you much,” he said.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Killian nearly snorted at that. “Saving Liam? Relieving Silver of this ship? Freeing my brother and myself, essentially saving our lives? Tending to my wounds? Giving Liam the chance to be a real sailor?”

“Okay, not nothing,” Emma mumbled. She cleared her throat in an attempt to start over. “I did what was right. Don’t…I don’t want you to feel trapped because of a sense of obligation, not when you’ve just gotten your freedom back.”

His eyes were gentle, almost tender, and she wished it was light enough to see their exact shade. “Don’t you see,” he paused, and when he finally said her name, it was almost a prayer, his lips caressing as he murmured, “Emma?”

She couldn’t reply, not when she was lost in his eyes and his voice and his expression. Where Liam’s use of her name was respect, loyalty, Killian’s was something more. It was something far too deep, vast and powerful like the seas that rocked them. When Killian used her name, it was as if the world trembled around her, pausing for a fraction of a second just to revel in the sound.

“You’ve given us our freedom—freedom to choose,” he continued. “We’ve gone so long having to witness Silver’s atrocities and those done by others just like him, never able to stop it, never able to do anything but watch. But with you here, you’re giving us a chance to do something about it. Now we can do the right thing. And after seeing you today, love, I’m certain that the right thing is to remain at your side.”

Killian smiled, his hand taking the helm. “And you can’t very well lead us into battle if you’re passed out,” he added.

Emma’s hands dropped from their hold on the wheel, and she stepped aside to relinquish her post. He immediately slid into her spot, a satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“I expect you to rise late, remember,” Emma reminded him.

“Of course.”

“And if there’s trouble—”

“There won’t be.”

“If there’s trouble,” she repeated, “make sure I’m the first to know about it.”

He nodded, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Here we go,” she said under her breath, turning away from him to head towards her cabin.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing!” she called over her shoulder. She stopped before she reached the opening, glancing back at him. “Good night, Killian.”

“Good night, Captain.”

It wasn’t her name, but at least it wasn’t ‘Your Highness,’ which was much worse. And he’d said her name once. Given her reaction, it might not have been the best idea to make it a regular occurrence. Besides, there was something about the way he said Captain that felt like…well, it was nice.

The organ begins to play and the guests rise to their feet. Killian can feel Liam behind him, standing straight and palpably tense. He wishes he could offer his brother some reassurance but he can’t move—every particle of his focus and attention is directed at the chapel doors. When they open a bright flare of sunlight bursts through and then there is Emma, more radiant than any beam, and he catches his breath. 

Her hair is twisted into an elegant updo, and though he prefers it loose and curling around her shoulders for his fingers to tangle in he cannot deny that she is stunning, the graceful curve of neck and shoulder bare and just teased by curling tendrils. Her dress is long and flowing in the traditional style, ivory silk shot through with gold, and he would swear that every inch of her gleams. 

He swallows hard as she approaches, his heart thundering though not with nerves or even excitement. It’s closer to awe; the culmination of years of study and work and dreams, planning their life together and building its foundations, slowly, until the day it could at so long last be realised. 

(“I’d go down on one knee for this,” he said to her on the morning of the happiest day of his life so far. “I probably should, tradition and all, but people kneel to you all the time and I don’t wish to be one of them.” 

He stopped walking and turned to her, tightening his hand in hers. It was a cool day, cloudy but dry, and they were in the palace gardens where the mist lilies were just beginning to fade, making way for the late summer flowers with their richer colours. He looked down at her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, her posture tense with expectation and excitement. He knew her answer, had known it for years, but the question still required asking. 

“So I won’t kneel,” he continued, “but instead I stand here before you as your partner—if not precisely your equal—to tell you that I love you with everything I have in me, and that I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days at your side. Or two steps behind you, should the occasion require it.” 

She gave a bright laugh, even as a tear escaped the corner of her eye. He wiped it away with a gentle brush of his thumb, framing her face in his hand. 

 “Emma, my love,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”) 

She arrives at his side and her father lifts her hand to his lips—Killian startles; he was so absorbed by Emma that he forgot the king was there—kisses it gently and passes it to Killian, who takes it in his own hand and kisses it in his turn. 

King David nods and makes a formal bow, and when he straightens his eyes catch Killian’s. Understanding flashes between them, and there in that moment they are not a king and his subject but a father and the man about to become his son-in-law. It’s a brief moment but heavy with meaning, and when it passes David gives a nod and the barest curve of his lips before stepping back and taking his seat next to the queen. 

Killian returns his attention to Emma, tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and attempts a smile. 

“Swan, you look...” he trails off, for once at a loss for words. 

She gives him a cheeky smile. “I know.” 

His own smile blooms, the breathless tension broken, and they turn together to face Lancelot. 

(The footman announced him and Killian entered the king and queen’s private residence to find them waiting with tea already laid. They looked surprised to see him alone, then comprehension dawned and they sat up straighter, more formally, and he bowed, first to Snow then to David, then waited at military attention until they bade him to take a seat. 

“I know that you know why I’m here,” he said. “We’ve never spoken about it in so many words but I know that you have always understood how much I love your daughter and that my dearest wish for a long time has been to marry her. I believe that now, with my new position on the Council and with Emma officially taking on her royal duties, that it is the... well, the time.” 

He sat as straight as he could, shoulders back, and met their eyes without a waver. “Yesterday I asked Emma to marry me and she said yes,” he continued. “Today I am here to ask for your blessing—not your formal approval as the king and queen, but your blessing as parents. I know I wouldn’t have been your first choice for her, but I promise you that no one could love her more than I do and I will devote my life to her happiness.”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly, awaiting their reply. They were silent for a moment, sharing that unspoken communication they had, that he and Emma had as well. Then Queen Snow pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes and King David’s stern face softened. 

“Oh, Killian,” said Snow, sniffling. She rose to her feet and he hurried to follow—it was very bad form to sit while the queen was standing—but she waved away his attempts at protocol and took his face in her hands with a tremulous smile. “It’s true you weren’t our first choice but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best one. You are Emma’s choice and you make her happy, and that’s all we care about. Of course you have our blessing!” 

She pulled him into a hug which he attempted to return both warmly and respectfully—not the easiest balance to strike—and met David’s eyes over her shoulder. The king was attempting to look stern, but Killian knew him too well by now to be fooled.

So did Snow. “David,” she said, turning to him and dabbing her eyes again. “Come greet our son-in-law.”  

David stood and offered Killian his hand. “Welcome to the family,” he said.)

Lancelot’s smile is wide and his voice resonant, but Killian does not hear his words. He is conscious only of Emma beside him, the soft weight of her hand on his arm, the magnitude of this moment. His heart is so full of love for her he fears it may burst, and though he supposes he should listen to the vows he is taking, he doesn’t truly need to. He knows what they say and more importantly he feels them, those words that speak of love and trust and partnership, of solemn duty gladly undertaken, and he has no need to hear the words to promise to uphold them. 

“I do,” he says, when the time comes, and Emma repeats this vow in her turn. Then he is turning to her, his hand firm on the small of her back as he leans in to kiss her. 

And with that, they are married. 

(“Killian!” Emma tapped gently at his door. “Killian, are you there?”

“Swan!” He leapt from the sofa where he and Liam had been lounging, exchanging an alarmed glance with his brother as he approached the door. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” 

“I just wanted to talk to you,” she said quietly. “I miss you.” 

Liam rolled his eyes but Killian ignored him. “I miss you too,” he said. “But—”

“I wish I could see you.” 

Killian sighed. “Love, you know that’s bad luck.” 

“I know you think it’s bad luck.” 

“A seafaring man knows better than to mess about defying superstitions,” he told her sternly. “Even ones that may be foolish. Perhaps it’s not bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding, but I don’t care to take that chance.” 

“I know,” she sighed. “And I do understand, I just—I hate sleeping without you.” 

“I know, darling, me too.” Killian leaned his forehead against the door, knowing that on the other side she was doing the same. “But it’s just one night. Come tomorrow there’ll be no getting rid of me.” 

Emma’s voice dropped so low he could barely hear her. “Promise?” 

“Aye, my love,” he whispered back. “I promise.”)

The organ music swells as he and Emma walk arm-in-arm back down the aisle. The doors swing open as they approach and the glare of the sunlight outside momentarily blinds him. When his vision clears he sees a crowd of people filling up and spilling out of the chapel grounds and into the streets, where traffic has been blocked off for the occasion. A great cheer erupts as they emerge and stand together at the top of the curving steps so the people below can get a good look at their princess and new prince. 

Bloody hell, thinks Killian. Prince. 

It’s a courtesy title that holds no real weight, and he won’t even technically assume it until Emma takes the throne. But the tabloids are already calling him Prince Killian, which makes him blush and Emma laugh, and as the crowd cheers and she smiles and waves as naturally as breathing, Killian feels overwhelmed. This is his life now, he thinks. He is a public figure, a member of the royal family. He has a duty to these people, a responsibility, and—his head begins to spin and bile rises in his throat and then he feels Emma’s hand tighten on his arm. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing tiny, gentle circles on his bicep with her fingertips. “You’re okay. I love you.” 

Her touch grounds him and her voice quells his rising panic. He looks down at her and she smiles, radiant with happiness and love and sunlight and he feels himself relax. This is just them, after all. Just Killian and Emma, together, as they’ve been now for more than five years. That’s all that matters. 

He smiles back at her then turns to the crowd and raises his hand in a tentative wave. Cheers swell and cameras flash, and Emma’s voice is low in his ear. 

“You’re a natural.” 

~

The rest of the day is a dizzying whirl of speeches and toasts and hands to shake, people bowing and calling him ‘sir’, Liam’s tight, proud hug and the tears in the queen’s eyes. There is dancing and a meal they don’t have time to eat, and so many camera flashes that Killian begins to think the spots behind his eyelids when he blinks may be permanent. 

Emma smiles through it all but he can see fatigue begin to settle on her shoulders and around her eyes. She’s been awake since dawn at least and moving nonstop, with constant demands on her time and attention. She bears it brilliantly, sustained by a lifetime of royal training, but he knows how much it drains her and wishes he could whisk her away to someplace quiet and private, just for a moment, where they could lean against each other and just breathe. 

Finally the time comes for them to leave for their honeymoon, which they do in one of the palace limousines. One with tinted windows, Killian notes in relief, and comfortable leather seats, quite different from the stiff, open-topped carriages that conveyed them to and from the chapel. Everyone gathers round to see them off, and they muster the energy for one last round of smiles and waves. The instant the car pulls away Emma droops, collapsing against Killian’s chest with a small sigh. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her close. 

“Long day,” he says. 

“You’re not kidding,” she murmurs. “But a good one.” 

“Aye,” he agrees, and lets his cheek rest on his wife’s head. His wife. “The best day.” 

They sit in comfortable silence as the car moves through the streets. People still line them, hoping for a glimpse of the royal couple, but the tint of the windows is dark and Killian is glad of it; frankly he feels no obligation to give the public any more of himself or of Emma today. He’s exhausted and she’s already asleep, snoring faintly into the crook of his neck. 

They drive to the palace and through the grand front entrance, around the main buildings and towards the rear exit and the road that leads to the airport. The limo pauses briefly in a small alcove that’s invisible from outside the palace grounds, where Killian nudges Emma awake and they perform a quick-change operation worthy of a spy film, slipping from the limo—which then proceeds through the rear gates without them—and into an ordinary, unmarked car.  This car Killian drives out a small side exit where no crowds are gathered and down the quiet streets that lead to the coast, as Emma curls up in the passenger seat and dozes again with her head pillowed on his coat. 

It’s quite late when they reach their destination—a small house on a tall cliff overlooking the ocean. The housekeeper is there to greet them, giving them a brief tour of the amenities then showing them to their room, with a curtsey and a reminder that she lives just next door should there be anything they need. 

“Thank you,” Killian says with a smile. “I think we’ll be all right.” 

He turns back into the room where Emma has already shed the sleek dress she wore to the reception and is snuggling into the dressing gown that was laid out on the bed for her. Killian follows suit, pleased to discard his stiff dress uniform in favour of slipping into something far more comfortable. He considers making a quip along those lines to Emma, but considering how tired she is he doubts the innuendo would be well-received. Something like 80% of couples don’t have sex on their wedding night, he reminds himself. And he and Emma have three weeks’ worth of nights to look forward to, alone here on this rocky stretch of shore—one final interlude just for them before they return to their life in the public eye. They can spare this one night just for sleep. 

Their bedroom has a set of wide French doors leading to a balcony that overlooks the beach, and these Killian opens, stepping out into the fading twilight and breathing deeply of the crisp sea air. It’s unlikely he’ll be able to spend much time on the sea in the future and he would be lying if he claimed not to feel a twinge of sadness at that thought. But he’ll have a lifetime with Emma instead, in the face of which joyous prospect all other concerns pale into insignificance.

Emma. His wife. He wonders how long it will be before that word stops making him feel giddy. Possibly never—and honestly, Killian reflects, he’s okay with that.  

Emma’s arms slip around his waist and she rests her chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” she asks. 

He turns so he can wrap her in his arms. “I’m thinking about how much I love you,” he replies, “and how much I am looking forward to living the rest of my life by your side.” 

“Mmmm,” she says. “Those are good thoughts.” 

She leans up for a kiss and he gladly obliges, trying to keep it light and sweet—but Emma is having none of that. She presses herself firmly against him and slips her tongue past his lips and Killian’s body leaps to attention before he can stop it. 

“Are you sure, Swan?” he murmurs. “You’re exhausted.” 

“I had a nap,” she replies, nipping at his lip. “And this sea air is really quite  invigorat—oh!” She shrieks as he scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the bed where he lays her down with a gentleness that belies the fire in his veins. She watches as he slips off his dressing gown, biting her lip in that way she knows drives him mad. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes, love,” he purrs. 

“Why don’t you come down here and do something about it?” 

She shrieks again as he pounces on her then sighs into his kiss, and as the rising moon casts the room in a gentle glow they share one last celebration of their wedding and their love. 

___

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @kmomof4 @stahlop​ @darkcolinodonorgasm @katie-dub @teamhook @snidgetsafan @mariakov81 

A sudden surge of pain coursed down her scarred arm. Emma cursed and dropped the books she was holding. She staggered to the nearest table, slapping her palm on it, trying to hold herself up. Emma ripped off the sleeve of her dress, seeing the dark blue and purple scars fade to white, the table became incredibly hot beneath her hand. The candles in the library flickered. A familiar warm feeling spread through Emma. A feeling that she hadn’t felt in a long time, in many years. She almost didn’t want to believe it, simply because she didn’t want to be wrong. Emma brought her hand up from the table and saw her handprint burned into the wood. Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and focused on the books on the floor. With every bit of her being she willed the books back into her arms. Without hesitation they leaped into her arms in a neat stack. Her magic was back. She dropped them again in excitement and began extinguishing and relighting all the candles. Emma might just cry. It was something that had been gone for so long, something she thought she’d never have back. After the excitement wore off, fear struck her, if she had her magic then what happened to Regina? 

Emma ran out of the library and down to the throne room. With a flick of her wrist the doors opened, and she smiled. She hasn’t felt this good in a long time, in years. Her mother and father were gaping at her. 

“Did you…?” David asked her. Emma nodded. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Snow gasped. 

“I have no clue; I was hoping you two would. If I have my magic, then what happened to Regina?” Emma asked, confused. 

“Have you seen Killian today?” David cleared his throat. Emma looked at her father confused. 

“No, why…” she paused then realization hit her, “No! You two let him go through with that crazy plan!” 

“Emma, he was willing to do what none of us could do. He was willing to do that for our kingdom, for you,” Snow explained. 

“For me?” 

“You’ve had your magic back for what maybe ten minutes and you’re happier than I’ve seen you in years. I know you tried to accept your life without it, but it's always been a part of you. He knew that, he’s an accomplished soldier and he'll return home safely. Graham went with him.” Her mother had an all-knowing look in her eyes. The one Emma can’t stand. 

“Who said I was worried about that?” Emma won’t make eye contact with her. 

“Sweetheart, we see the way you look at him. It’s clear you care for him,” David stepped in. 

“Oh,” She was about to swear up and down that they were wrong, that she couldn’t possibly care about him, but she could barely make herself say the words. The truth was she did and had for a while. She may even love him. If you had asked Emma when she sailed to Arendelle if she thought, she would fall in love with Killian she would’ve laughed in their face. She could never love the enemy she fought most of her life. He’s surprised her from day one and he’s never run from her. Killian’s been by her side, at first it might have been for the treaty, but it developed into something else over these last few weeks. 

Emma summoned a white cloud to transport her back to her room, not wanting to deal with her parents and their knowing stares.

“I can’t say I miss her doing that to run away from an argument,” David sighed, throwing his arm around his wife. 

“No, I can’t say I did either. You know her, she just needs to process this on her own.” Snow looked up to meet her husband’s gaze and he nodded. 

“Oh no, it can’t be,” Emma paced around her room, pondering what this meant for her, for Killian. His actions changed everything; he was willing to risk his life for her. He said things yesterday and so did she. His words kept ringing in her head, he all but admitted he cared for her. Did he feel the same way about her? She had often wondered about what he felt for her. That one night on the ship he had mumbled something, but she thought that was due to the fever, not his true feelings. Emma never knew what to think of that night. 

Emma was mad at him for leaving without a word, but mostly she was mad at herself for not making sure he went through with this. She wanted Killian here, she wanted to talk to him about what she had been avoiding for weeks, but she had to wait. Mostly she wanted to be sure he was in one piece. She paced around her room for hours watching the sun slip lower and lower in the sky. 

Emma moved out onto her balcony and looked down to the front gate, to see it closing behind two figures on horseback. From this distance she couldn’t see who it was, but she had a good idea of who they were. The horses headed toward the stables and Emma transported herself in a cloud of white smoke to the same place. She wanted to talk to Killian before her parents did. 

Emma folded her arms tightly as they rode up. Both Killian and Graham looked tired as they dismounted. 

“How long have you been waiting out here?” Killian asked her as a stable boy took his horse back. 

“Just a couple of minutes,” Emma said, anger clear in her voice. Killian raised an eyebrow at her tone. 

“How can you possibly be mad about this?” Killian sighed, knowing her mood from her tone. 

“How can I-? You snuck out to kill her without a damn word!” Emma shouted. Graham quietly heads into the castle, leaving them alone. 

“Well did it work?” Killian responded. Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, he’s standing directly in front of her. His gaze never leaving her, hopeful that his hard work paid off. She held her hand out palm up, a warm soft light emanating from it. Killian’s face reflected shock and complete wonder. 

“Emma, why are you mad? I know you’ve missed your magic. You told me as much. What is this about?” Killian asked her, his eyes searching hers. 

“Because you ran off on a dangerous mission without a word to me! What if something happened to you?” She snapped. Surprise filled his blue eyes. 

“Do you care about me?” She put both hands on his face. 

“Of course, I care about you! You stubborn man, it's quite possible I love you.” Killian just blinks at her, floored by her response. In a million years he never thought she’d feel the same way he did. Without thinking about it Killian swept her into his arms and kissed her in a way she never has been kissed before. He can’t form words to say to her right now, his actions will have to be enough. Emma gripped the collar of his coat and kissed him back. It’s everything she had imagined and more. His soft lips against hers, his hand firmly pressed against her back. Emma pulled away and rested her forehead against his. 

“I love you too.” He had finally found the words. His gaze unblinking, unwavering. 

“I was mad you left without saying anything. I was worried something would happen to you,” she muttered, still holding onto him. 

“I know. I won’t do that again. It was bad form.” He smirked at her. 

“Please don’t, why did you?” She loosened her grip on his collar. 

“I was afraid you would have tried to stop me; tell me it was a bad idea. It wasn’t by the way. You gained back something that was lost for too long and I had no qualms about killing her. Perhaps this is how it was supposed to be.” 

“Perhaps, but another reason I didn’t want you to go was because her blood is on your hands because of me,” she sighed, moving out of his grasp. He caught her elbow, turned her back to him. 

“Emma, we all have blood on our hands because of that damn war. She took something precious from you and I was willing to take it back for you.”

“I know and I will always be eternally grateful for that, for you,” she said with a glimmer of hope and understanding in her eye. Killian swept her into his arms and kissed her once more. He would be content to do this for the rest of his days. She truly had never felt anything like this before. His kiss filled her with warmth and longing she had never felt anything like before. She would be beyond happy to kiss him for the rest of her days. They broke apart once more, much to her dismay. 

“Love, I’d gladly kiss you forever, but your parents might object.” He chuckled. She groaned, but agreed. Their hands joined together, and fingers were intertwined as they strode into the castle. 

The day went by in a whirlwind, Emma found she didn’t want to be far from Killian’s side. She supposed it had been like that for a while now, but she let herself gravitate to his side or hold his hand. Emma didn’t miss the looks her parents exchanged, but they said nothing. They were beyond thrilled that Emma had her magic back and that they were happy she was smitten with a certain prince. Killian had to restrain himself; he wanted to be touching or holding Emma at all times. 

Before they turned in for the night Emma and Killian had a long goodbye in the hallway. Filled with lingering kisses and soft touches. Both desperately didn’t want to say goodnight to one another. 

“I can’t seem to let you go,” Killian mumbled before pressing another kiss into her neck. 

“A spring wedding seems rather distant now doesn’t it?” Emma chuckled moving her hands up and down his back. 

“Very.” An idea comes to Emma’s mind, “What is it love?” 

“What if I told you we didn’t have to wait until spring to spend a night together?” Emma bit her lip. 

“Emma, your guards are right there. They would know if we did. I won’t put your virtue at risk,” Killian shook his head, “Also if you want your father to not kill me where I stand, I suggest you go sleep in your own bed.” 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Of course, love, but what does that have to do with this?” His brow furrowed and confusion spread across his face. 

“Everything,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “Say goodnight and go into your room.” Killian frowned, but knew better than to question her. He told her goodnight and kissed her cheek before going into his room. Emma went into her room as well and quickly changed into her nightgown and brushed her long golden hair. Her room and Killian’s shared a wall she stood before it and took in a deep breath. With the wave of her hand a door appeared. Emma had expected her magic would take some getting used to again, but it was like nothing had changed, like no time had passed at all.  

Emma knocked on the door before entering, she found Killian standing in the middle of the room wearing his night clothes with a dumbfounded look on his face. 

“I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t that,” he said, blinking rapidly. Emma shut the door behind her. 

“I’m glad I can keep you on your toes,” she smiled. An awkward silence fell between them. Emma didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. Killian’s ears turned red. Neither one of them knew what to do next. Emma’s gaze drifted toward the bed. 

“Why is this different? We’ve spent the night together before, we’ve shared a bed much smaller than this…” Killian reached out and took her hand in his. 

“Before we didn’t love each other. Before we hadn’t kissed. Before I hadn’t held you in my arms like this. It’s different for many reasons, none of them bad.” His free hand cupped her cheek, caressing it. 

“Trust me?” He mirrored her question from minutes before. 

“Yes,” Emma said on her exhale. Killian embraced her, his lips caressing hers. Her hands exploring his body. He guided her toward the bed, lying her down gently. He joined her on the bed, his hands all over her. Emma released little gasps and moans that made his cock twitch. He pushed up her nightgown, and found her bare underneath. She pulled the gown off over her head and onto the floor. He kissed her lips once again as his fingers stroked her entrance. Emma moaned again. 

His fingers found her clit and her eyes snapped open. 

      “Killian…” His eyes met hers, filled with lust and wanting. He stopped moving his fingers but did not remove them from her. 

      “Do you want me to stop?” He whispered and a shiver went down her spine. 

      “No…” her eyes never left his. His thumb moved in small circles on her clit. She began to writhe beneath him, and it made him want her even more.

      “Then let me give you pleasure.” Keeping his thumb where it was, sinking two fingers inside of her. 

      “You’re so wet for me. Have you thought of me touching you?” He slowly began moving his fingers in and out of her. Emma gripped his forearm. 

      “Yes…” she breathed out. He sunk his fingers deep inside of her, his thumb moving faster over her clit causing her to cry out. He pressed a kiss beneath her ear. 

“Now, my love as much as I love your noises, the whole castle will soon know what dirty things I’m doing to you.  Shhh.” He whispered in her ear. Emma bit her lip in desperation, she didn’t think she would be able to keep quiet. He began to move his thumb and fingers in tandem. Her breathing became erratic and fast paced. Even with biting her lip Killian could hear all the little moans in her throat. He applied more pressure to her clit, his movements quicker. Emma’s eyes opened and released her lip. Killian could feel her walls clenching on his fingers. She went limp in his arms. He slowly removed his fingers; they were dripping wet. He gladly licked her essence off of them. She tasted like perfection; he would be happy sinking his tongue deep inside her. That would have to wait for another day. Her eyes fluttered open and he pressed a kiss into her lips. She savored every second of it. Her hands brushed against his hard length through the fabric of his pants. She dipped her hand into his pants, her hand wrapping around him. He hissed. 

“Emma, you don’t have to.” 

“I know I want to,” she said with an edge of eagerness in her voice. Her thumb spread a bead of precum around his tip. Her hand moved up and down slowly. Her other hand pushed his pants down giving her freedom to move. Emma gave him a few quick pumps before moving to take him in her mouth. The move surprised Killian to say the least, he hissed once more and groaned at the contact. She moved her mouth and tongue up and down, making sure her tongue swirled around his tip. Her movements became quick, she released a slight gagging sound when he hit the back of her throat. She used one of her hands to cup his balls, Killian thought he might combust from the stimulation. He buried one of his hands in her hair, guiding her head. She kept up with the fast pace, wanting to bring him as much pleasure as he brought her. Emma hollowed out her cheeks, the extra pressure finally sending him over the edge, his cum spilling down her throat. Killian collapsed against the bed. Emma released him and swallowed with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Proud of yourself?” 

“Yes,” she licked her lips once more. Emma flopped on the bed next to him. Killian pulled her close to him. Exhaustion and the warmth emanating from Killian pulled Emma into slumber, his arms wrapped around her. 

      They woke in the early morning hours, the sun barely poking over the horizon. Emma turned to face Killian who was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

      “Killian…” 

      “Yes, love.” 

      “I never thanked you for what you did, returning my magic. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.” Tears welled in her eyes, but did not fall down her face. Killian brushed a few stray strands of hair off of her face. 

      “Emma, I’d do just about anything for you. If it brought you happiness, then my mission was a success.” 

      “Your mission?” She smiled, questioning him. 

      “To make sure you are happy for the rest of our days, no matter what.” Emma shook her head, still smiling. Emma’s heart melted slightly, and it was hard to believe there was a time when she hated the man whose bed she was in, harder to believe she loved him. If these weeks and months had taught her anything it was that nothing is expected and perhaps everything had led her here. 

      “Off to a good start then… I unfortunately should head back to my room before someone notices I’m gone.” A certain sadness filled her voice. 

      “Of course.” Killian kissed her forehead, holding her tightly for a moment longer. Everything they had last night was amazing and he can’t wait for the day she no longer has to leave him. He released her reluctantly. Emma gave him a sad smile before she kissed his cheek, slow to leave his embrace. Emma sat up and got out of the bed, a chill ran down her spine as she was met with the chilly morning air. Killian couldn’t help but let his eyes explore her gloriously naked body. Like he had said before she was beautiful no matter what. 

      Emma found her night gown and pulled it on quickly. At the door Emma paused with her hand on the knob. She looked back at Killian, who’s eyes were still on her,

“See you at breakfast, my love.” Emma nodded and blushed slightly before going through the door. 

The door shut and with the flick of her wrist the door disappeared. She didn’t want to leave any evidence behind of what they had done. Ruby will probably be able to tell based on their scents, but that couldn’t be avoided. Emma cleaned herself up quickly and messed up her bed to make it look slept in for the maids to clean later. She chose a simple green dress for the day, hoping later maybe Killian would have some time to spar with her, so she’d have an excuse to wear pants again. He could never take his eyes off of her when she did. 

The sun rose above the mountains when there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Killian fully dressed and ready for the day. He gave her a charming smile and offered his arm. 

“Good morning,” Killian gave her a wink, “Ready, love?” Emma nodded and linked her arm with his. Both of them were smiling the whole way down. 

Snow and David were whispering when they walked into the dining room. The couple exchanged a worrying look when Emma and Killian entered. 

“What is it?” Emma asked, cutting to the chase. Killian’s arm dropped and he fumbled for her hand. Emma squeezed his hand once it was in hers. 

“Two things actually, Killian’s ship is about two days out, so you two will be heading to the safe house tonight with the supplies.” David stated. 

“The second thing?” Killian asked. 

He’s contemplated it many times. More specifically, he’s contemplated how he would do it. Would he wrap his hand around her long, elegant neck and strangle her until snuffing the light from her eyes or would he use the dagger currently secured in his sash to end her life? He encases the hilt with his ring embellished fingers to feel the leather in his grip. If he did use his dagger, what part of her would he aim for? The heart? No, he wouldn’t go for the heart. The thought of going for a woman’s heart, like when Rumplestiltskin had ripped out Milah’s heart, makes him cringe. It makes his stomach twist, makes his heart constrict. No, he wouldn’t go for the heart. Instead, he’d go for the neck. 

As he tightens his grip around the hilt of the dagger and brushes his thumb over the pommel, he contemplates how good it would feel to slice the sharp steel blade through her jugular. How satisfying it would be to watch the bright red liquid spill over her creamy skin. To watch as all the youthful life vanished from her sweet face, as her body fell limp, as all the blood left her body, leaving her skin paler than it already is. 

He’s contemplated the task he’s been endowed with; he’s contemplated it many times. So why can’t he follow through?

Killian Jones is not a good man, he has never hidden that fact nor pretended he was. He steals and murders and does anything necessary to get what he wants, especially if it gets him closer on his path of vengeance. He didn’t earn his rings or his reputation by being a good man. He’s a pirate, the captain of the Jolly Roger, the most feared captain of all the seas. He stole the ship after its former captain, his brother, died while battling in the Royal Navy five years ago. Liam’s death destroyed a part of him that day and ever since then, Killian has led his band of pirates. 

Since then, he’s spent years building his reputation as someone who gets the job done, so why does his current job make him hesitate? Normally he can kill without mercy, normally he’s numb to the emotions that are supposed to come along with taking a life. After watching Liam die in his arms and then holding Milah’s lifeless body, he’s become numb to the world, he’s become dead inside. But for reasons he can't explain, he can't kill the princess of Misthaven. Since the day he laid eyes on her, as many times as he’s thought about it, he just can’t find it within his cold, black heart to kill her. 

He doesn’t even know her, only what he’s learned while being primed by the Evil Queen, and he’s only ever seen her as he stalks after her in the forest or watches her from outside the tavern. He’s grown familiar with the way her long, golden hair blows in the wind as she rides her horse, he’s grown familiar with the sad, lonely look on her face as he watches her at the bar while she’s wearing a long dark cloak, disguised as just another peasant to the patrons. He’s grown familiar with how feisty she gets when the sailors have had too much to drink and get handsy with her. He’s seen her slap a few in the face or throw her drinks on them. What a waste of perfectly good drink, but then again, the satisfaction of watching the fierce princess stand up for herself and give the sailors what’s coming to them is well worth it. It’s just too bad he’s never had the good fortune of interacting with her. 

Part of him wonders why the queen wants her dead in the first place. He understands the ongoing feud between the queen and Princess Emma’s parents; he understands wanting revenge, but still, Snow is not the one who murdered Regina’s lover. So why go after her innocent daughter? This is coming from a pirate who killed a man in front of his wife for calling him one-handed Jones and a man who drowned a sailor for drinking the Captain’s wine. Maybe it’s because she reminds him of himself when he looks at her—like she’s dead inside—and that’s why he can’t find it in him to kill her. His reputation as a merciless pirate captain is at stake, though. Many ships surrender their cargo without a fight because of his reputation, so if it’s compromised, then things will have to get bloody while he repairs his tarnished name.

He can kill the princess, get his gold and be on his not so merry way, or he can leave her be and incur the consequences. He has spied on Princess Emma for a couple of days while his ship is docked in Misthaven, and he has until sunrise to murder her before she leaves Misthaven and marries Walsh, the King of Oz, who is twice her age. If Killian doesn’t murder her, he’ll receive the wrath of the Evil Queen, and then she’ll hire someone else to finish the deed. Unless…

There is one other option, but before he can ponder the thought any further, a familiar face enters the tavern. Seeing the owner of that particular face makes him twitch and fills him with conflicting emotions. It reminds him of the past, both the good and bad memories. Good memories because the man he’s glaring at is Milah’s son, and bad ones because he’s also Rumplestilskin’s son. Baelfire is another person he’s considered murdering so he can finally get his revenge for what Rumplestilskin did to him. He murdered his Milah and took his hand. So it’s only fair that he take the life of Rumplestiltskin’s son in return, right? The only reason Baelfire isn’t dead yet is because he’s Milah’s son.

Although every second he sees Baelfire on this particular night, he becomes more fueled with rage. And not because he’s Rumple’s son, but because he’s engaging Emma in conversation, and she seems to be allowing his attention. 

“Come on, slap the bloody bastard,” Killian growls through gritted teeth. “Or throw your drink in his face.”

But she doesn’t, and instead, she leaves with him after a while. Killian hears Emma chatting with Baelfire when they walk out of the tavern. Her voice is much prettier than he’d imagined, as he’s seen her before but he’s never heard her speak until now. Killian peeks around the building and sees her smiling, although it’s the saddest smile he’s ever seen, and perhaps Baelfire has found a way to get through to her. His father is the master of manipulation, so it doesn’t surprise Killian in the least that his son is too. 

Killian ducks behind the building so they don’t see him as they head toward the forest. Killian swiftly follows behind them, tiptoeing carefully and quietly without snapping any twigs, which isn’t easy when his only light source is the moon and he has to steer clear of the trail Emma and Baelfire are on. He hides behind a tree when they stop somewhere inside the woods. Killian notices they’ve stopped deep enough into the forest where no one leaving the tavern would be able to see them or hear them. He turns around and tilts his head back until it hits the jagged edges of the bark and he waits. If he’s following through with his plan, he needs Baelfire to disappear. 

The air grows eerily silent for a while, he can only hear the hoot of an owl, and he’s not sure why they’ve stopped talking. He thinks he can hear the faint sound of kissing, but he could be wrong.

“Bae, stop,” Emma demands firmly after a minute. 

Killian’s ears perk up as he peeks around the tree. Baelfire has her pinned against a tree a few meters away.

“Oh, come on, we’re just having fun before you leave tomorrow,” Baelfire says, his words muffled by her neck as he kisses her there.

“I said stop!” she cries out again, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.  

Killian can see the frustration in her movements, the amount of force she uses, and he can hear Emma’s dress ripping as Baelfire reaches under her skirts and presses his body into her. She slaps him hard, tears streaming down her cheeks. His heart actually hurts as he watches the scene unfold. It’s one thing seeing her slap sailors in the tavern when she's been groped or disrespected—Killian at least found a bit of humor in it—but now she’s actually being attacked.

Baelfire grows angry, and after soothing the sting in his cheek with his hand for a few seconds, he captures her wrists and presses them above her head, against the tree. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he barks in a menacing tone as he breathes against her cheek. 

Emma turns her head away from him, her features twisted with disgust. “Someone help me!” She continues to shriek until he wraps his hand around her neck and presses her firmly into the tree to silence her pleas. 

“Your screams are useless, there’s no one here to save you. So shut up, you stupid—”

Baelfire’s sentence is cut off by the blade of Killian's dagger when he plunges it into Baelfire’s back. His lifeless body falls to the ground, blood seeping into the dirt and coating the tips of the leaves. “I’m here.” 

He’s never been this close to the princess before, and for the first time, he sees that her eyes are a mesmerizing green as they widen in fear. Emma’s whole body trembles as she gapes at him. 

He once again contemplates slicing her neck, it would be so easy to do, while she’s too frozen in fear and shocked to even try to escape. Whoever would find her and Baelfire’s corpses would think some lurker attacked them in the forest. Only the Evil Queen would know it was Killian’s doing. She would think he was seizing the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, which would be a correct assessment. She would smile sinisterly and be very satisfied with the turn of events. But Killian doesn't care about pleasing her. For some reason, he cares more about the frightened princess’s safety than satisfying the Queen. So he throws the bloodied dagger to the ground next to Baelfire and raises his hands, lifting his gaze to her fearful one. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs sincerely.

“Why did you…” she stammers, trying to retrieve her voice after almost being strangled to death. She soothes her fingers over her neck, her lovely pale complexion slowly returning to her face. “You didn’t have to…”

“I didn’t have to kill him?” he finishes for her. “Let’s just say I carry a personal vendetta against his father after what he took from me,” he snarls, raising his hook.

Emma stares at the curved steel as it gleams in the moonlight, growing even more wide-eyed and frightened. “You’re… you’re Hook?”

Killian steps close to her, flashing her a cheeky grin. “Aye, that’s my more colorful moniker. So you’ve heard of me, princess?”

Emma tries to step back, but the tree behind her halts her attempt. She reaches behind her, gripping onto the bark underneath her fingertips as though it will protect her from whatever Killian plans on doing to her. “I’ve heard stories,” she replies, her voice shaking. “And apparently, you've heard of me, otherwise you wouldn’t know I’m a princess.”

“I told you, love, you don’t have to be frightened. In fact, I’m here to save your life.”

“One, I’m not your love. Two, what are you talking about?” she demands, narrowing her eyes at him, anger quickly replacing her fear. “You may have rescued me from being defiled by that pig, but I highly doubt he’s a murderer like you. And three, how do you know I’m a princess?” 

“Because I was hired to kill you.” He steps out of her space and offers his hand. “Now come with me before the Evil Queen realizes you’re still alive.”

Emma’s even more confused, her mouth falling agape, her face paling. “What?!”

Killian sighs and looks toward the sky, praying to the gods that Emma will not make this difficult for him. He looks at her again and can't help but get lost in those luminous green eyes. “I’m taking you aboard my ship so I don’t have to kill you. Which means you have two options; we can do this the easy way, and you can come with me on your own... or we can do this the hard way and I can drag you to my ship kicking and screaming. It’s your choice, love.”

Emma scoffs. “You think I’m going with you?! You’re out of your mind!” She shoves him and storms away.

Killian shakes his head and sighs. He should have known she would try to run away. “The hard way it is.” He turns around and quickly follows behind her, scooping her up in his arms and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She screams and flails her arms and legs, fighting fruitlessly against him, her fists pounding relentlessly into his back. “Unhand me, pirate!” 

“That’s captain to you. Captain Killian Jones at your service.”

~*~

Emma opens her eyes to the light of the sun pouring into the window and finds herself in a warm bed with soft silk sheets and fluffy pillows. At first, she mistakes it for her bed but once her eyes adjust to the light in the room and she sees a wooden ceiling instead of the stone one of her parent’s castle; she knows she isn't in her room. The bed sways slightly from side to side as if she’s on a boat, but that's impossible. What boat is she on? Her brows knit in confusion as she sits up with an urgency her brain isn't quite prepared for, and she gets a little dizzy and cradles her forehead in her palm. She can't even remember the last time she was on a boat; it must have been years ago, when she was merely a child. 

After the sleepy fog filters from her brain, she looks around the room. The furniture is sparse and consists of a desk, a bookcase, a hammock and the bed she’s currently sitting in. This is not her family's ship, and once she takes a moment to take in her surroundings, images of last night flash through her mind. 

Running off to the tavern once again even though her parents forbid it. Thoughts of escaping Misthaven so she didn’t have to marry a man twice her age. Meeting Baelfire. Having a decent conversation with him. Leaving with Baelfire. Being attacked by Baelfire. A pirate saving her. But not just any pirate. Captain Hook. She remembers him taking her to his cabin and tying her to the bed with rope so she wouldn’t murder him in his sleep.

Emma peers down at the inside of her wrists, which are no longer restrained, and runs her fingers over the red marks where she had struggled to escape. She’d been hoping it was all a bad nightmare, but it was all real. The fearsome Captain Hook had taken her.  

She’s heard stories from her parents about him and the Jolly Roger that always make her shiver as if it's a cold winter's night. Then she remembers Hook telling her the Evil Queen paid him to murder her, but instead of murdering her, he wanted her to go with him. She remembers laughing in his face, right before he picked her up and carried her to his ship. Which means she is now on the Jolly Roger. With Captain Hook.

Emma's eyes widen as her heart flits with panic. Why would he save her life? He’s a pirate and a murderer. He stabbed Baelfire easily and effortlessly while his eyes were devoid of any remorse. So why would he spare her life? Emma shifts, attempting to get out of bed, but a figure appears in the doorway. A figure wearing a pair of black boots, leather trousers and a crimson red vest. Her gaze travels up his lean form, appreciating the dark hair poking out of his chest, scruff on his chin and cheeks, the ocean-blue eyes and the dark, unruly hair atop his head that's been ravaged by the sea winds. Emma immediately recognizes him as the man who took her last night. “You… you kidnapped me,” she snaps, glaring at him, the anger she’d felt last night bubbling in her chest.

The toothy smirk he gives her increases the detestation she harbors for him, and she wants to smack it off his face. “Good morning to you, too, princess.” He walks into the cabin carrying a tray of food, wine and a chalice and sets it on the bedside table. 

Emma shuffles across the bed, putting more distance between her and her abductor as he pours wine into the chalice. He tries to offer it to her, but she refuses to drink it. “It’s probably poison,” she accuses sharply.

He frowns at her. “I told you I would not harm you, didn’t I?” 

“If you aren’t set to harm me, then why did you kidnap me?!”

He sighs and sets the cup on the table. “I could have killed you instead,” he points out, as though it makes up for what he’s done. “But I didn't, and here you are, alive and well, with all of Misthaven thinking you’re dead.”

“They think I’m dead?” Emma shrieks. Her parents? Her brother? They must be devastated. Her heart cracks at the thought, eyes welling with tears.

“Aye, I had to tell the Evil Queen you were dead so she didn’t come after you. I burned Baelfire’s corpse until there was nothing left, and I told her it was your body I burned.” Hook throws a pile of clothes on the bed and sets a pair of boots on the floor in front of the bed. “Some clothes for you, Your Highness,” he says with a snide grin, “so you can change out of your tattered dress.”

“But why… why didn’t you just kill me?!” she huffs and grabs the clothes, chucking them at him angrily. 

He dodges them and frowns at her. “Your beauty is more impressive than your aim.” 

She responds by reaching across the bed to grab the chalice full of wine, and hurls it at him. He dodges that as well, and it bounces off the wall, its contents splattering the wall and the floor. He grits his teeth, impatience flaring in his eyes. “I’m beginning to ask myself the same bloody question,” he grumbles while picking up the clothes and placing them on the bed. “Just be thankful I spared your life, princess.” 

She eyes him suspiciously as he bends over to pick up the chalice from the floor. “Why would you? You must have a reason. My parents say you’re a dirty pirate and a cold-blooded killer without a shred of mercy.”

He scoffs as he curtly sets the cup on the table. “Ah, so you think you know me just because you’ve heard some tales? Please enlighten me and tell me more, because I’m dying to know what the hoity-toity princess thinks of the dirty pirate. The pirate who saved your life, not to mention saved you from being defiled outside the tavern and saved you from entering a loveless marriage with King Walsh.”

“Oh, please tell me what a selfish brat you think I am,” Emma retorts as she springs from the bed and steps into his space. “You think because I’m a princess you know everything about me, right?”

He shrugs. “You’re somewhat of an open book.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, irritation lacing her words as she crosses her arms. “You read minds, pirate?”

“I told you, it’s Captain. And I know you’re unhappy. I could see it when I saw you in the tavern.” His voice is surprisingly soft, but it does nothing to change how she feels about him. Annoyance. Anger. Hatred. The list goes on and on.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Please, that’s called spying, not perception.”

“Eyes are the windows to our souls, Emma. They don’t lie.”

“Oh really? And what do my eyes say?”

“That you’re unhappy, that you don’t want to get married to a man old enough to be your father. You’re too lovely to belong to an old man, anyway.” 

“And who should I marry then, hmm?” she challenges, cocking an eyebrow.

Tilting his head, he takes a step toward her and she tries to step back to get away from him, but the edge of the bed stops her. Killian grins and moves in, closing the distance between them. She swears he’s purposely stealing all the air from her lungs. “Perhaps if you had a lusty young lad between your legs, it might take the sadness from your eyes.”

Emma’s face flushes crimson, his husky words vibrating through her. “You forget yourself, pirate!” she warns.

He leans in closer until their lips are only inches apart and speaks in a low voice, “I’m willing to bet you’ve never had a man between your legs.” He licks at his lips as his eyes fall to hers, this time whispering so close she can taste his breath. “Perhaps we should change that.”

Fear surges through her as it did when Baelfire attacked her. She lifts her hand to smack the filthy smirk off his face, but he firmly catches her wrist and lifts the back of her hand to his lips, holding her startled gaze as he places a kiss to the center of her skin.

His lips scorch her skin, the kiss sending a painful ache through her. “Love, you and I both know you didn’t really want to marry Walsh. We both know I did you a favor in more ways than one, so stop pretending like you hate me and show a little gratitude.” He rubs the back of her hand with his fingertips, where his lips had touched and he releases her before walking away. “Now eat your food before it gets cold and get dressed. Then meet me on deck,” he says in a commanding tone, shutting the door behind him to give her some privacy.

Emma is too stunned in her spot, she can’t even throw a tantrum. She can’t huff and puff and yell out her frustrations. Instead, she stands there as stiff as a statue and a little turned on if she’s being honest. She certainly isn’t imagining Hook’s body between her legs as he drives into her. Certainly not. She doesn’t know whether to hate him or...

She shudders at the thought and once she’s able to reassemble herself, she picks up the clothes from the bed and dresses. The outfit comprises a white button-up shirt with long sleeves and black leather trousers, but the fabric smells like the sea and rum and Hook, and she’s definitely not appreciating his scent. The clothes may be too big and baggy on her, and they’re definitely different from the usual attire she’s accustomed to, but she thinks she can get used to them. She hates wearing dresses and corsets. Emma eats her breakfast begrudgingly, deciding it's not poisoned—if he wanted her dead, he would’ve killed her by now—and tugs on his big, heavy boots before she makes her way to the deck.

As she ascends the steps, she hears Hook speaking with one of his men. 

“We’re sailing to the island of Crete to sell the princess to the highest bidder. She’s a virgin so she’ll be worth a pretty penny.” 

Emma’s blood bubbles under her skin. He had saved her life just to sell her at the slave market?! She’s heard enough. Full of rage, she bursts through the cabin door and storms up to the deck, sprinting to the rails of the ship, but before she could jump overboard, two hands grasp her tightly and haul her back on deck. She squirms in the arms of two pirates as they keep her from attacking the captain who seems to find amusement in her rage. 

“You bastard! I’d rather die than be sold as a slave!”

“Looks like you got yourself a tigress,” one of them comments with a hearty chuckle.

“Settle down, love, we won’t hurt you,” Hook says in a soothing voice. Like that’s supposed to comfort her.

Emma scoffs. “You’re just going to sell me off is all.” Her features twist in disgust. “My parents were right, you’re nothing but a dirty pirate.”

She can see the anger spiraling through him as he steps into her space. “In case you haven’t noticed, princess, I am just a dirty pirate, and you’re just another mouth to feed. We, pirates, do what we can to survive. At least you’ll be sold somewhere where the Evil Queen can’t find you.”

Her eyes grow wild, rage cracking through her soul like a lightning bolt. “You think that makes it better?! That I should be grateful you saved me, well it doesn’t! I will never thank you, you bastard!” She spits in his face. “Go to hell!”

Hook grits his teeth and wipes off her saliva, flinging it to the floor and wipes his hand with a handkerchief. She expects him to retaliate but he doesn’t and instead instructs his men to escort her to his cabin to cool down.

But Emma refuses to calm down. She refills the chalice with wine and gulps it down, hoping to keep her body from vibrating with rage.

~*~

As the Jolly coasts smoothly and steadily, rocking gently on the waves, Killian debates with his conscious—something he rarely does. He has to continually remind himself that selling the princess is the best decision. Once Rumple finds out his son is gone, and that Killian is responsible, he’ll be after him. Emma’s not safe on this ship. If the Evil Queen discovers she’s here, she’ll kill her. And he can’t let that happen. So is it better to sell her off, somewhere far away, where she’ll be safe from the Evil Queen, and from himself, or to let the Evil Queen enact her vengeance against Snow? He’s not sure, and he looks out toward the stars for some kind of answer as they glitter in the vastness of the dark sky. 

Emma hates him, but he’d rather her hate him than have her dead. But why is he taking such measures to keep her alive? Maybe it’s the fire that burns strong within her or maybe it has to do with how much he wants her. She’s so beautiful and brave and she’s developed a high tolerance for the situation in a small amount of time. 

She is captive on his ship, yet she helps out with the chores voluntarily. And she gets along with his crew. Although he has yet to see her wield a sword, he knows she’d make a fine pirate. But he doesn’t trust her enough yet to be sure that she won’t murder him in his sleep. So he ties her to the bed at night while he sleeps in his hammock.

“So beautiful.”

Her lovely voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks over from his helm to see the princess gazing out into the starry night with a silvery moon perched big and bright in the sky. “Very beautiful,” he murmurs, a small smile taking over his face. But he’s not referring to the stars.

Emma doesn't look at him; she hasn't spoken to him or looked his way much since she discovered his plan, but he doesn't blame her.

She has her arms crossed and is wearing a nightgown that had belonged to Milah. Luckily, Milah was a similar size. He sees the princess shiver, but he’s not certain if she’s trembling because of him or the situation or because she’s just cold. Either way, he pulls off his long leather jacket and comes up behind her to slip it over her shoulders. 

Emma grabs onto the lapels, securing it around her and turns her head slightly toward him, speaking softly, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, princess.”

When she stops shaking, he breathes a silent sigh of relief knowing she isn't afraid of him, or at least she doesn't appear to be. He wants to wrap his arms around her to provide further warmth and so he can hold her and comfort and tell her everything will be all right, but he doesn’t even know if it will be. Besides, it’s better to keep as much distance from her as possible. She doesn’t need a man like him in her life. She deserves so much better, even if it pains him to admit it. 

“You know, the stars are more than just for show,” he says, standing beside her, gazing over the ocean.

“I know that. I make wishes upon them.”

“What kind of wishes?” he asks curiously.

Emma shrugs. “Well, I used to wish I could travel the world, you know, be away from the castle. Then I was betrothed to Walsh, and I wished I weren’t.”

“It looks like your wishes came true then, love.”

“Yeah, I suppose they did,” she answers solemnly. 

They both know this isn't how she had expected her wishes to turn out. His stomach clenches at the thought. “Then I kidnapped you and you wished you could get away from me?” He can feel her stare burning into his skin as he avoids looking at her. 

“I wished you weren’t selling me, but no, I don’t wish to escape you. I quite like it here on your ship.”

Killian looks at her in surprise, meeting her gaze, and sees the sincerity pooled in her depths. He could easily get lost in her eyes, just as he’s lost his way in life. He can’t believe after all he’s done to her, she still wants to be aboard the Jolly Roger. She is a tough lass indeed. He peels his eyes away, breaking their trance when he realizes they’re both staring at each other, and he clears his throat. “But do you know how to navigate by the stars?”

She shakes her head. “Isn't that what a compass is for?”

“Aye, a compass determines direction,” Killian says as he leaves her side to grab his sextant from near the helm. “A sextant determines latitude and longitude by measuring angular distances, like the altitude of the stars.” Reclaiming his spot next to her, he holds out the instrument, showing her how to align the guiding star with the horizon. “You can read the angle between the north star and the northern horizon,” he explains, pointing to the brightest star in the constellation with his hook while he holds the sextant with his right hand. “So if you’re ever lost at night, you can look up at the stars to find your way.” She takes the sextant and looks through it as he helps her adjust it, not failing to notice how close they are or how her breath catches when their hands brush. The wind blows through her hair, and he picks up her sweet scent as he turns his head to watch her, their cheeks almost touching. Good lord, she’s breathtaking.

“Wow,” she whispers, gazing through the sextant in fascination. “Where did you learn that?”

“I served as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy before I became a pirate. My brother, Liam, was Captain, and this ship was called the Jewel of the Realm.” His eyes darken at the memories and he looks grimly out over the ocean. “Liam, he died in battle and after that... I lost a part of myself.”

“You lost your way?” she asks, even as she already knows the answer.

He nods, flashing her a quick glance before looking up at the sky again. He can’t believe he revealed that much to her, but somehow he feels like a small weight has been lifted from his shoulders. 

Emma hands him his sextant. “It looks like you need this more than I do.”

Killian offers her a weak smile as he takes it back from her.

She yawns and pulls off his jacket, returning it to him as she announces she’s going to bed. “Night, Hook.” 

“Goodnight, Emma.”

He stays in his spot and decides to take a page from Emma’s book and wish upon a star. Killian wishes that he had Liam back, so his wise brother could tell him what to do, to help him find his way again. What he wouldn’t give to hear Liam’s voice again, what he wouldn’t give to hear Liam call him little brother again. 

Killian also makes another wish. He wishes there had been someone there the night he had kidnapped Emma, to save her—someone who could've actually protected her. From the Evil Queen. From him.

~*~

Emma wakes to the booms of cannons being fired and the captain shouting orders to his crew. Panic ripples through her blood, her heart racing as she rushes to catch a peek. Emma gasps when she sees Regina’s ship fast approaching, gliding through the water like silk. Guilt rises in her chest. She knows the only reason why the Evil Queen is after the Jolly Roger is because she’s looking for the princess. Had she discovered Emma wasn’t the one who Killian murdered? Or is she here for Baelfire? Emma’s not sure, but she knows she has to do something to help, rather than cower idly below deck and hope Killian and his crew will defeat Regina’s men. But if she goes out there, they will try to take her. As she returns below deck, she thinks quickly and comes up with a plan. Searching around the first mate’s cabin, she finds exactly what she’s looking for.

~*~

Cannons blaze and muskets fire as the fierce battle rages. The air is thick with smoke, reducing visibility, but both sides continue to fire. Killian wouldn’t be the Captain he is today if he gave up so easily. Besides, he has a princess to protect, and the Evil Queen’s men will have to go through him to get to her. Musket balls, cannonballs and even bolts from crossbows fly from both sides. Blood is spilled, bones broken and limbs severed by the onslaught, but it doesn’t faze him. After years of bloodshed on the high seas, Killian has become immune to the horrors of battle.

“Prepare to fight!” Killian cries as the ship closes in on the Jolly Roger. He looks back at his crew to see the pirates drawing their swords, confident and eager for battle. He glances over when someone stands beside him, sword drawn, and he doesn’t recognize them at first and has to do a double-take, his eyes flickering over her face. He’d recognize those emerald green eyes anywhere. “Emma?! What are you doing?!” 

She’s dressed in the pirate clothes he’d given her, with the addition of a cap pulled below her ears, her blonde hair nowhere to be seen. 

“I want to help. I am well versed in swordsmanship.”

“Go back below deck,” he growls at her. “You’ll get hurt!” The thought pains him more than he’s willing to admit.

“I won’t! I know how to fight, Captain.”

Before he can argue any further, the Jolly Roger is swarmed with enemies, and the sound of metal clashing against metal rings throughout the deck. Killian wants to stay close and keep an eye on her, but that will get him killed quickly. Besides, he doesn’t know if he can stomach the idea of watching, especially if she gets hurt or worse.

“The Queen has sent us for Rumple’s son. Hand him over!”

“He’s not here,” Killian assures them, blowing out a breath of relief.

Emma’s opponent rushes at her with his sword flying high in the air and brings it crashing down. She dodges his attack with a side step but he's quick to recover. With quick speed, he slashes at Emma's stomach, nearly catching her with his sword, but she manages to jump back just in time to avoid being split in two. She fights off several others, sending a few of them overboard, and Killian’s heart swarms with pride. And also relief.

“I knew there was a little pirate in you!” Killian cheers, glancing at her for a second while continuing to fight off Regina’s knights. 

Emma flashes him a cocky smirk. “I told you I can hold my own.” 

“That you can, love,” he agrees as a sword is thrusting at him. He surges backward, but not before the tip of the sword knicks his neck.

When the battle is over, they have won, at least for now; the Evil Queen had retreated. Though Killian had only sustained a minor injury, several of his pirates are badly wounded. 

The ship surgeon and his apprentice retrieve their dressing boxes to tend to the mortal and dangerous wounds first. There are too many pirates down for them to handle at once, so Emma chips in and tends to the men with simple or compound wounds.

Killian is surprised to see her darting from one pirate to the other, applying pressure on their cuts to stop them from bleeding. She does it so quickly and calmly, he’s sure she’s done this before. 

Once the situation at hand is under control, Killian goes to his cabin to retrieve his flask full of rum. Emma has proved she would make a fine pirate, and the guilt of her fate is weighing heavy on his mind. She’d be a valuable asset to him and his crew, but the problem is, he doesn’t wish this life for her, which is rather contradictory since he’s about to sell her off as a slave. Perhaps he should just grant Emma her freedom and leave her somewhere, hoping the Evil Queen will never get to her, but for reasons he cannot explain, he can’t stomach that idea. And if she stays on his ship, she won’t be safe either. Not from the storms, not from pirate attacks, not from him.  

The rum burns down his throat as he comes close to draining his flask, trying to numb the pain he feels. He thinks the pain is only consuming his heart, but when Emma enters his quarters, she’s studying him with a scrupulous eye and lifting her hand to his neck. Killian’s heart flutters at her touch and he loses a breath as he stares into her gorgeous emeralds while she eyes his neck. Killian shudders at the thought of her kissing him there. It’s not until she removes her hand when he realizes he’s bleeding.

“I need to borrow your flask,” she says, holding out her hand.

Killian cocks a brow at her boldness. “Love, trying to take a pirate’s rum is a way to get yourself killed.”

Emma rolls her eyes and shakes her head, offering a tight-lipped smile. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”

“Fair point,” he chuckles and hands her the flask.

Before he realizes what Emma’s doing, there’s a splattering of rum on his neck and a sting so strong, he hisses and tries to pull away from Emma.

“You’re hurt. Don’t move,” she murmurs and cleans up the wound. Her face is so close to his, he can feel her breath on his skin. He looks up, trying to ignore how warm and soothing her hands are and how they scorch his skin. It’s been a long time since he’s actually enjoyed the touch of a woman.

“You seem to know what you’re doing, love. You took care of my men without batting an eye at the blood.”

“You forget that I live in the same kingdom as the Evil Queen,” she replies gravely, her eyes still focused on her task. “My parents and I have cleaned up many of her bloody messes before. She leaves innocent townfolk either injured or dead wherever she goes.”

“That much I’ve gathered about her. So, tell me something, why would you help me and my crew when we’re sailing to the island of Crete, where we’re selling you to an auction house?”

Emma’s jaw twitches as she looks up from her task to glare at him. “Because my parents didn’t raise an ingrate wretch. Your crew has shown me kindness and hospitality on your ship and I am grateful for that.” 

When Emma’s finished dressing his wound, she hands him his flask, her eyes flicking to his. “All done.”

“Thank you, love,” he says appreciatively, offering a small smile. “You’ve been a lot of help.”

She arches a brow. “So, does that mean you’ll keep me on as a permanent crew member?”

His eyes darken at her question, a solemn look clouding his features. “The Jolly is no place for a woman, love.” He turns around and walks away from her, heading for the cabin door.

“Why not?” she demands stubbornly. “Because of what happened to Milah?”

Killian stops dead in his tracks and closes his eyes, sadness and anger coursing through him. Though he’d gotten his revenge on Rumple, it didn’t make Killian feel any better.

“I found her drawings in the desk drawer, all of them signed by her.”

Killian takes a deep breath, drawing the courage to face Emma again. He turns around slowly, seeing the way Emma looks at him. Not with sympathy, but with a steely look embedded in her lovely features. “She would still be alive if I had never allowed her on this ship, Emma.”

“Hook, you can’t blame yourself for her death. Rumple is the one who took her life, not you.” Emma steps toward him, speaking gently. “You want me to believe you’re only a dirty pirate, but I can see a goodness in you. You loved Milah, you loved her deeply, which means you’re capable of love. You’re capable of being more than a murderous pirate.”

Killian looks at her in awe. “How can you be so sure?” he asks bitterly. “You know the things I’ve done, you know I’m about to sell you off and yet you stand here and tell me I’m capable of being a good man?”

She offers him a small smile. “You’re not the only one who can read people. I just hope one day you’ll realize the type of man you can be. I hope that one day you can find your way again.” With that, she leaves him to ponder his thoughts.

Later that night, he can’t sleep. In fact, he can’t sleep for the next three nights, and the night before they are to arrive in Crete, his mind weighs heavy with regret. He doesn’t wish to send the princess away. He’d even go so far as to say he’ll miss her when she’s gone. But he’d never tell her that. The more distance he can put between her and himself, the better.

From where he lays in his hammock, he can hear Emma huff out a sigh of frustration and hears her shifting in bed, although she’s unable to roll over because she’s tied to the bed. She’s proved to him she’s capable of wielding a sword and he wouldn’t blame her if she tried to kill him in his sleep.

“Can’t sleep, either, love?”

“Tomorrow I’ll be sold as a slave. What do you think?”

“Fair enough,” he sighs. 

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“Because I’m the pirate who will be responsible for selling you off as a slave.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, and Killian slowly climbs out of the hammock, walks over to his bed and begins untying the ropes from Emma’s wrists. 

Even through the darkness, he can see her eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re so sure I won’t kill you in your sleep, huh?”

Killian chuckles. “If you did, it’d be quite ironic—the only person I’ve ever spared is the one to kill me. At this point, I wouldn’t blame you, love. Besides, something tells me it will be a sleepless night for both of us.” Once her hands are free, he soothes his fingers over the inside of her wrists, pressing his lips to each one. Emma’s breath catches and she watches him intently.

“Care for some rum?”

“Please,” Emma replies, practically begging for it.

So he fetches his refilled flask and they both make their way topside. Sitting on the deck and leaning back against the railing, they take turns drinking from the flask.

“So, tell me about Milah,” Emma says, passing him the rum.

Killian is hesitant at first, but with the alcohol flowing through his system and the position he’s in, the position he’s put Emma in, he lets himself be open with her. More open than he’s been with anyone in a long time. The most open he’s been since Milah. And before she came into his life, Liam.

After Killian divulges the painful memories of his past, the conversation flows more easily. They chat about everything. Emma tells him about her life in the palace and he tells her about his adventures at sea. They share a few laughs and they exchange a few smiles, both happy and sad, and a few soft caresses of the cheek that almost lead to a kiss, but Killian refuses to let it get that far. So instead he drops a kiss to the top of her head and lets her rest her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her. 

He can’t help but think how twisted the set of circumstances are. She tended to his wounds, she confided in him and now she finds comfort in him. She trusts him. Even with the knowledge that he’s selling her tomorrow. After her first couple of days aboard his ship, she has been nothing but helpful and kind and compassionate. And as much as he hates to admit this, he’d be a bloody fool to get rid of her. 

Killian looks up to the stars again and makes a wish. This time, he wishes nothing for himself. He deserves nothing this life has to offer. No, what he wishes is for Emma to find happiness. He wishes for her to find something that will permanently take away the sadness from her eyes. Perhaps someone.

~*~

Emma wakes to the bright sun streaming through the window, and she stretches her limbs, taking a moment for her brain to wake when she realizes something. Make that two things. One, her wrists aren't tied to the bed, and two, she’s still on the ship. They were scheduled to arrive in Crete at dawn. And it’s well after dawn. Emma can tell by how big and bright the sun is over the horizon. Emma gets out of bed and retrieves Killian’s compass from his desk to look at it. They’re not even heading toward Crete. They're going the opposite way. Emma’s completely baffled and confused as she goes up to the deck and finds Killian at the helm. 

“Hook, where are we going?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s not sure why she is irritated, because they haven’t arrived in Crete, but she needs to know what's going on before she can think about getting her hopes up. “We’re not docked in Crete as you had planned.”

Killian shrugs without even turning his head to look at her. “We’ll be docking soon, but not in Crete.” 

“Then where are we docking?” 

“We’re stocking up on supplies…” He turns his head to look at her, donning a grin, “and you’re getting some proper clothes.”

“Proper clothes for what?”

“Clothes that will fit you, love. If you’re going to be a permanent crewmember on my ship, you will need your own clothes.” He turns away from her to continue manning the wheel. “That is if you can handle it.”

Emma scoffs and places her hands on her hips. “I can handle it. I’ve been trying to tell you that all along.”

He sighs and looks at her, guilt and regret flickering in his eyes as he turns around to approach her. “I know that. I’ve just been too stubborn to listen.”

Emma snorts. “I could've told you that.” 

He flashes a sarcastic smirk and steps into her space, cocking his head to the side. “So what do you say, are you in or are you out?”

She smiles big and wide and launches herself at Killian, throwing her arms around him. “I’m in.” 

Once the shock he feels from her embrace subsides, he smiles weakly and wraps his arms around her, stroking his hand through her hair. “In that case, welcome to the crew, love. Now you’re a true member of the Jolly Roger.”

“Thank you,” she whispers in his ear, squeezing him tightly, “for everything.”

“No need to thank me, Emma,” he murmurs, relishing in the feel of her body pressed against his. But the hug ends too quickly and soon she’s pulling away, leaving him shivering from the loss of her warmth.

Killian informs the others of the new addition and after stocking up on supplies, they celebrate with lots of rum and teach Emma some sea shanties and folksongs. 

“So, you lied to her and yourself,” Smee says to him later that night. They’re watching as Emma laughs and socializes with the other crew members. 

Killian turns his head to frown at him. Smee is the only man Killian would allow to still have his tongue intact after expelling such an accusation. “What do you mean?”

Smee offers him a small smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I think we both know why you let her stay, even if you won't admit it.” He leaves Killian to consider his statement. 

He knows Smee is right, but he’s also right about another thing—Killian will never admit the real reason why he wanted Emma to stay.

~*~

“Bloody hell...” 

Emma smirks, her cheeks tinting with blush as he walks into the cabin. “I take it you like how I look?”

Killian can’t even begin to answer, his eyes still navigating over her form and her curves, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. She’s wearing long leather boots, red leather pants and a fitted top with a wide belt that accentuates her breasts. She’d bought the clothes when they had docked to stock up on supplies.

“How do you expect me to captain a ship with you dressed like that?”

Emma shrugs, a sly smirk curving her lips. “You’ll figure it out.”

She leaves the cabin, and he has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he can join his crew on deck. As much of a distraction as she is, he knows he made the right decision to keep her on board.

Later that night, Killian lays in the hammock and Emma takes his bed as usual. He thought he’d be able to sleep that night, but he struggles once again. He almost made a huge mistake, he almost sold her into slavery. How would he have ever forgiven himself? His heart aches at the thought. He’d prefer to say he doesn’t know why he changed his mind, but that would be a lie. He knows exactly why.

“You know, you don’t have to sleep in the hammock anymore. There’s room in the bed.”

Emma’s voice surprises him. He thought she was sleeping peacefully. He cocks a brow and turns his head to look at her from across the cabin. “You’re asking me to join you in bed?”

She props herself up on her elbows so she can see him. “Why not? It’s your bed.”

Killian is a little bewildered and a bit hesitant, but he climbs out of the hammock and strides over to the bed, slipping under the covers. Emma turns on her side, laying her head on the pillow as he stares up at the ceiling. 

“Tell me something, Captain.”

He turns his head to look at her, offering a warm smile. He’s tempted to wrap her up in his arms, but he doesn't want to risk losing his spot next to her. He’s not sure how she would react to such a move. “Call me Killian, love.”

“Killian?” 

The sound of his name rolling off her tongue is decadent, even better than her calling him captain. There’s something much more intimate about Emma calling him by his real name. He has to pause his thoughts for the moment as she stares at him inquisitively.

“What would you like to know?”

She’s silent for a moment as she bites her bottom lip, mulling over her thoughts. “Why didn’t you kill me that night?”

Ah, he should’ve known his original answer wouldn’t be sufficient for her. She is a stubborn lass after all. “Because I’m a pirate, love. I knew I could make additional gold by selling you.”

Emma nods against the pillow. “Mmhmm, that’s what a pirate would say, for sure. So, what’s the real reason?”

Killian lets out a depleted sigh. He also should have known she’s no imbecile. Lying to her is futile. “Because, love, when I saw you in the tavern, you reminded me of someone.”

“Who?”

He gazes into her eyes through the dark, the moonlight providing the cabin with a silver light that spills over the side of her delicate face. Her green eyes shimmer through the darkness and pierce through his damaged soul. “Me,” he answers in a husky, barely audible whisper. 

Emma’s brows furrow with confusion. Then comes the question he knew she would eventually ask him. “So, why didn’t you sell me?”

“Because I knew you were more useful as a pirate on my ship.”

Emma frowns at him in an attempt to pry the truth out of him with a single look.

“Love, if you’re trying to prove that I'm a good man, you're wasting your breath.”

“Why’s that?” she challenges. 

Stubborn lass.

He looks away from her again to avoid her intense gaze. “Because my reasons for keeping you aboard the Jolly are purely selfish,” he admits with a heavy sigh. 

“And how’s that?”

Killian drags a hand over his face. He knows she won't stop questioning him until she gets every ounce of truth from him. He drops his hand to his side and inhales a deep breath before turning on his side to face her. She waits silently and patiently for his answer and he can’t help but bring his hand to her delicate cheek to stroke her soft skin. “Because everyone I have ever cared about is gone. I can’t lose one more person I love.”

Emma is still silent, her mouth opening slightly, but no words form for a whole minute.

“Well, now I know how to silence you,” he teases with a smirk.

“You love me?” she asks, ignoring his joke.

“Aye.” 

His confession surprises her. Hell, his confession surprises himself. He would like to say he’s done a very good job at hiding how he feels about her; at first, he was too afraid to allow himself to feel something for her, but at the end of the day he knows Emma is precious to him. More precious than any gold or jewels or treasure chests. Probably even more precious than the Jolly. He cares about her too much to deny his love for her.

Emma doesn’t respond after that, at least not verbally, and maybe she doesn’t love him yet, but her eyes say much more than her words ever could. And her actions do too when she grabs onto his shirt collar before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It lasts for a few seconds, or at least he thinks. He can’t register the passage of time as his mind clouds over from the feel of her soft lips on his. Killian is sure he looks dumbfounded as he stares at her and tries to process what had just happened. She kissed him and he’s not sure what he did to deserve her affection. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Emma seals his lips with hers again, combing her fingers through his hair, and his brain turns to mush. His eyes flutter shut as he moves his lips against hers and slides his hand under her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. He wraps his free arm around her waist, pulling her in and closing the gap between their bodies. He wishes he had his other hand right now so he could grasp onto her hip and stroke her curves, but he really is not in a position to complain when Emma makes no effort to pull away or shove him away in regret and instead deepens the kiss by sweetly darting a shy tongue between his lips. He parts his mouth, granting her access as he emits a deep, approving groan, and sweeps his tongue into her mouth, getting lost in how sweet and decadent she tastes.

The kiss quickly heats up, he just doesn’t realize to what extent until she’s climbing on top of him and straddling him. She leans over to kiss him again, but Killian pushes her away slightly, gazing up at her with a confused expression. “Emma…” he manages, trying to catch his breath. “What are you doing?” He knows exactly what she’s doing, judging by her lustful stare and the way she drags her center against his throbbing erection. And it’s not that he doesn’t want this. He just doesn’t want Emma to regret anything in the morning.    

Emma answers by removing her nightgown and tossing it to the floor. Killian groans as his eyes drink in her beautiful naked form, his manhood hardening even more under her entrance. 

“So gorgeous,” he groans and grabs her hip, fighting the urge to fondle her aching, rose-tipped breasts. 

She dons a little, sly smirk and leans in to whisper in his ear. “I want to see if you were right. I want to see if having a lusty young man between my legs will take the sadness from my eyes.”

His heartbeat quickens, breath catching in surprise. He never thought he'd see the day when she'd take him up on his offer. “I'd be happy to show you,” he growls, swiping his tongue over his lips. The smirk she offers him makes his shaft twitch underneath her core.

“Good.”

Her luminous eyes are practically glowing as he slides the curve of his hook along the inside of her thigh and up her toned, cream-colored stomach, trailing it toward the valley of her breasts. He slowly and teasingly circles one of her breasts with the curved steel, delighting in the way her nipples harden at the touch. When he reaches for her other breast with his hand, brushing his thumb over her nipple to feel the lovely, pliable flesh in his palm, she produces a delicious, skin-tingling moan and leans over him, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck, her tongue darting out to lick him, searing his skin like a branding iron. Heat pulsates through him as she unbuttons his shirt and pushes the fabric away so she can nip at his shoulders before kissing slowly down to his chest. He closes his eyes, sighing softly, enjoying the feel of her wicked lips on his skin as he cups the back of her head in his hand, entangling his fingers in her hair.

Needless to say, he doesn't need further convincing. 

And it turns out he was right. 

When she’s in his arms again, both of them panting and sated, he gazes into those soft emerald eyes. They no longer hold the sadness they did when he first laid eyes upon them. She looks content. She looks happy. He'd like to think it’s because of their tryst, but perhaps the sadness had slowly dissipated since the night he’d kidnapped her and took her aboard his ship.

Killian kisses her forehead and laces his fingers through hers, his heartbeat slowly abating as she lays her head on his chest.

To think, when he first saw her, he had been debating with himself about whether or not to carry out the Evil Queen’s orders and snuff the light from Emma’s eyes; now he has snuffed the sadness from them. 

Many moons later the sadness is permanently gone from her eyes when she gazes upon their wee pirate. She cradles Liam in her arms while singing him lullabies her mother had sung to her when she was a young princess. 

Killian’s heart warms at the sight and he presses a gentle kiss to each of their foreheads. Looking to the stars, he thanks each one for the precious gifts he doesn’t even deserve but loves with all his heart nevertheless.