For my darling Kenya. Happy birthday!
1
She'd never been the type to try and grab the spotlight. As the people flowed around her with their silky dresses, dark suits and contagious laughter, she found herself in a corner of her parents' ballroom, fingers brushing the soft lace laid out on the punch table: a simple distraction for her racing heart.
It was her twenty first birthday and she felt that she should be doing a lot more than sharing her clammy hands with what seemed like thousands of strangers in her own home. She wasn't going to be crowned Queen today—she hoped that wouldn't happen for a long time—but still, the seriousness of the situation remained in the open air: she was to be queen one day, if not today, and the overwhelming political faces were enough for her to want to hide for the night.
Okay, maybe not hide. She was Princess Emma, daughter of the legendary Snow White and Prince Charming: there was little she was scared of, and her favorite form of badassery came from her quick instincts to punch those who wronged her in the face.
The ball had started not too long ago; her best friend of another kingdom, Elsa from Arendelle, wasn't going to make it tonight—she'd be busy attending her sister's wedding. Another close friend of hers, Mulan—who matched her in many of her fierce qualities, mind you—was a bit busy dealing with a flaming beast deep in the Enchanted Forest.
Alas, Emma was alone for the night.
That is, she was alone until she felt a pair of fiery eyes on her. Looking up shyly, her fingers played with the lace adorned table. Perhaps the man was just coming for punch.
She smiled lightly at him, but his blue eyes and curly hair met her with a much more serious air. It took her a moment to depart and look at the rest of his body, admire the Captain's uniform he adorned in sudden recognition.
She curtseyed. "Captain Jones."
He bowed in reply. "Princess Emma."
An arm was offered out to her, and she accepted gracefully. The heated eyes of the other Jones brother were what she didn't notice from across the room.
He watched her take his brother's hand, a sharp pang of jealousy shooting through his chest. Liam wouldn't do this to him, would he? It wasn't until he saw Emma turn and lock eyes with him that he truly felt helpless. Relief flooded his veins when she broke their eye contact with a quick wink.
Fortunately for him, his breaths were coming out measured and slow (almost natural!) when she and his brother stood across from him.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Jones." A smile graced her visage and a pink blush accompanied it. "Thank you for all of your service."
With a haiku he knew would win over the princess, Killian replied, "If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it." Maybe he had those damn ogres to thank after all. He winked confidently at her before grabbing her hand and sharing a dance—a dance at which she learned he was a natural.
2
They were exchanging letters one week later. She could sense his infamous smirk through his elegantly written script. When she wasn't distracted by the ink on the paper, she was hearing his voice over and over in her ears. It was so unlike her but she found herself giggling.
Johanna's voice rang through the palace. Emma's fingers moved quickly to fold the letter and place it in the top drawer of her vanity before descending the steps to meet the maid, who was more like part of her extended family.
"For you, Miss Emma," the woman's sweet voice bounced off the walls, and her large brown eyes were a mixture of love and knowing.
Just for that, Emma's cheeks flushed a bit as she mumbled a thank you in the best way she could, clutching the envelope in her excited hands. When Johanna didn't leave, Emma supposed it had to do with the merciless teasing she never seemed to get enough of. Surprise flooded her features, however, when Johanna gently shoved a small package into her hands before shaking her head and walking away. (Probably at her insistent daydreaming.)
Emma smirked. So what? She was a princess and could daydream all she liked!
Daydreams didn't have anything on her responsibilities, however. If it were up to her, her feet would have carried her back up to her room—but she had French and piano lessons today. Still, she let her mind drift as she descended the stairs and took slow steps to the library.
Choosing to sit at the piano bench was a struggle, so much so that she felt she should soon be rewarded by the completion of such a simple task. Her thumb ran over the soft parchment of the envelope's paper, soothing the worry out of it.
C Major was the only octave she played before her heart got the best of her.
My dearest Emma,
Tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. Though I'm sure you can reference this Scottish tragedy without me having to name the play, you deserve a break. Not that I have the right to tell a princess what to do—I have the greatest honor of being your obedient servant, and I hope to see you soon. – K. Jones
A smile washed over her face with the power of the flood, and her hands rushed to open the gift he had bestowed upon her. The brown canvas fell to the ground as a worn copy of Peter Pan revealed itself in her hands. A chuckle escaped her lips. It was so Killian Jones to be filled head to toe with innuendos, then offer a story of the child who wished to remain young forever.
Her fingers brushed through the pages, tempted to disregard the wishes of her tutors to study music and language; reading was becoming, so reading Peter Pan had to be becoming, too! Despite her soft sigh, she smiled.
Walls of books surrounded the entire room, and she quickly decided it'd be best to do at least some studying before diving into Killian's book. Once she pushed away her thoughts of him, she sat once again at the keys, focusing with the determination only she had.
Killian found her there a few days later, thinking momentarily of his friend Belle who would be jealous of his steps into such a lovely library. The piano overlooked a large window—and he himself was jealous for a moment, seeing the gentles waves of the sea just beyond the clear panes of glass.
Emma was leaning forward on the bench, shoulders hunched and eyes intense. Her pencil was making quick marks on what he assumed was the sheet music resting in front of her. The sun outside set her blonde tresses aflame—something more akin to gold.
"Can I help you with something, Lieutenant?"
He would have sworn there were stars in her eyes, just as she'd caught him staring at the sunshine in her hair. Smooth Jones, smooth. "How many times have I asked you to call me Killian?"
"Once too few." It was only when Emma slid down the bench that he sauntered over to her, accepting the space she offered him.
"Well, your highness," he licked his lips, "I would prefer you call me Killian."
Vibrant green eyes remained on his lips before her voice pulled her gaze to his eyes. "Only if you call me Emma."
"It's a deal, your highness."
She playfully hit his arm. "You're not getting off to a great start, buddy."
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
Their eyes never once faltered. It wasn't until Emma realized how affected she was that she allowed herself a breath and a glance at the smooth keys of the piano.
"Today's a rehearsal day?"
Emma sighed. "Unfortunately." She was met with raised eyebrows. "Hey, just because it's becoming of me doesn't mean I have to like it."
Killian felt he could actually see a wall of defense behind her eyes. He gave her a small smile of encouragement before replying, "Of course not. What would you rather be doing instead?"
Locking eyes with his she said, "Maybe reading the marvelous gift you got me."
"So you liked it, love?"
"But of course! Peter Pan?" For a moment her eyes drifted down to the way her hands were playing in her lap. "I don't want to grow up just yet."
Killian moved closer to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. "You don't have to."
"I'm going to be queen."
"Aye, love."
She was almost stunned to silence. Almost. "All you have to say about that is 'aye?'"
"No, all I have to say to that is: aye, love."
Her heart stopped—or maybe it sped up, it was hard to focus on anything when he went on winking at her and repeating sentiments like "aye, love" for not the first time in that dashing accent of his.
This second time he said it she was stunned to silence. "What? Emma, you could rule a kingdom." Her eyes remained unamused. He bit his lip and scratched the back of his head, saying, as casually as he could muster, "But, if you want to practice bossing someone around…"
Emma's laughter followed his wickedly charming wink. "Okay, okay, okay. I think I get your point."
"Do you?" he challenged.
"I do," she gleamed brightly. Clasping her hands together she redirected the conversation. "Though, I wouldn't mind fighting, either."
"Fighting? In the Ogre Wars?"
"What, you don't think it's fitting for a woman?"
"No, love; just didn't expect it is all."
The corners of her mouth pulled into a smirk. "Are you dismissing me, Lieutenant?"
In a matter of seconds, his expression was mirroring hers. "Of course not, your highness. Though, I would love if you'd entreat me."
"Is this a challenge?"
"Aye, I do love one."
"You're on."
Grabbing his hand, she happily fled the library. Outside the gates of the palace was a large green field surrounded by what seemed like thousands upon thousands of Middlemist flowers. When both of them had planted their feet firmly in the greens outside, swords dangling at their sides, breaths finally coming out a little even, Killian spoke up. "So, Emma. What are we playing for?"
The helpless lieutenant tried to convince himself it was the sun that lit up Emma's visage, not the prospect of a cute little duel. It was the sun tempting him, right?
She asked, "Bragging rights?"
Oh, what was he thinking—he was so fucked.
Putting his heart behind the wicked gleam in his eye, he nodded yes.
And so it began: quick, nimble movements; sword meeting sword; expressions hiding emotions like love and adoration; laughs turning into quick intakes of breath at the prospect of being knocked over; sounds emanating from the other that shouldn't turn the other on but absolutely, totally did.
Caught off guard and trying to contain laughter, Emma was knocked gently onto her back. So gently so, she winced for the roses beneath her rather than her own body meeting the earth.
Killian's sword was pointed at her neck, but she still felt the giggles threatening her heart. Hell, he could have been holding the Excalibur itself to her and she'd succumb to his cheeky idiocy.
As if he could read her mind, he pointed the end a bit more sharply at her, though still didn't allow it to touch her creamy skin, and remarked, "Usually I'd like to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back."
That was it for the princess, whose violent laughter caused Killian to drop the sword next to hers. He feared her shaking would cause her to brush the sword. He wasn't even about to risk a scratch with this one here—royalty or not.
Killian was still towering above her when she finally caught her breath, and she used what was left of her weakened strength to grab the lapels of his jacket and fuse her mouth to his. The cutest sound escaped his mouth in surprise but she was in no state to tease him about it, too concerned with how his lips felt on hers.
Oxygen is necessary for life, however; so when she felt her lungs were about to explode she settled with resting her forehead against his.
"Swan," he murmured so breathlessly she almost didn't catch it. Her state proved equal to his when she demanded "what" in the softest of manners. He grabbed her hands, pulling her up to sit on the green grounds of the garden. "I called you a swan."
Her eyebrows raised in the same quizzical manner his sometimes did. A stray of golden hair fell forward and Killian distractedly twirled it between his fingers as he explained. "Elegant, even when fighting. Fierce, when you don't need to be. Beautiful." He tucked the strand behind her ear. "Very much like a swan, love."
"Only if I'm yours."
"Aye, love. Not a day goes by where I don't think of you."
She smiled weakly. "Good."
3
Emma was wearing that same smile another day at another ball. She was dying inside, trying instead to wine and dine—but Killian had made his way across the room to her father, and she was helpless.
While attentively listening to Killian, Charming remained stone-faced. Emma's own attention was drawn away from the two of them only when she felt a presence beside her.
"Worried?" Liam's blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Of course not," Emma retorted.
Liam's eyebrows raised, less dramatic than his brother's, but Emma didn't say anything, just smirked a little to herself.
The memory of her duel with Killian came cascading back.
They were lying in the field of flowers after, faces towards the sun, hands intertwined, breathing in the air beneath a very blue sky. It was peace, serenity defined. A question still tickled the edge of her lips. "Killian, what made you come today?"
"I wanted to see you, love."
Sitting up a little, but not daring to let go of his hand, she teased, "What, the letters weren't enough?"
"Of course not, love. How could they be? Ink has nothing on you, even if written in your fine hand."
A smile with the force of the sun beamed back at him. "I missed you, too." Bashfully, she glanced at their entwined hands with shy adoration. "My father… he didn't say anything?"
The wide, toothy grin that crossed Killian's face sent her nerves straight to hell. "A few things, maybe." A wink followed the quick squeeze of her hand. "But I'm winning him over, love. I can feel it."
The memory consumed her mind.
She'd finally see the validity of his statement. Not that she doubted Killian for even a second. But the thought of losing him was not something she wanted to face. Ever.
"Emma, take a breath. My brother is a good man. Your father wouldn't have appointed us Captain or Lieutenant if he didn't believe in us."
"You mean so much to him, Liam. He admires you with all the world."
"Well, then, if he proves to be anything like me, your father will certainly approve."
He winked and Emma snorted back. Snarky Jones brothers.
Hesitantly turning, she witnessed a handshake between Killian and her father. And like everything was right in the world, he sauntered over to her and Liam, nodding at his brother before taking her hand and whisking her away.
Emma never thought she'd die from smiling, but today she truly questioned it. Killian's eyes had never seemed so bright, smile so true, hair so offhandedly playful.
Sounding like she was holding back a giggle, she asked, "Killian, where are we going?"
"Just outside, love. We deserve a few quiet moments, aye?"
In response, her hand tightened in his and she truly felt she could follow him to the end of the world.
When they finally made it back to the garden—or, as it was becoming, their garden—Killian stopped. For a moment all he could do was stare, like she was some sort of universe set out before him—perfectly beautiful and all his. "I spoke with your father." He took a short, unbelieving breath. "He told, warned, me to stay true. But I could only answer him that you couldn't possibly be in better hands."
He paused, a smirk following the corners if his lips. "And so. Now that we're alone…"
Emma watched as his reached into one of the deep pockets of his uniform to pull out a ring. Her eyes widened and she couldn't stop her joyous expression if she wanted to. "Yes, Killian. Yes."
"I know you're a princess, love, but you're depriving me of a dashing proposal."
"But I do. I do, I do, I do!" She was fumbling with her hands, wanting to kiss him, hug him, hold his hands in hers. Anything to somehow contain the love and happiness she felt for him.
"I knew I was irresistible, Emma, but—"
"Oh shut up." She pulled him by the lapels of his uniform and shut him up with a kiss.
She'd always be helpless when it comes to him.