He didn't know if it was the mulled wine, the wassail or a combination of the both but the room was dark and bright, close and far too large at the same time. Of course that could have had nothing and absolutely everything to do with the woman sitting across the bench smiling with all the good cheer of Midwinter. Killian was keenly aware of the holly sprig jutting from his lapel (even more so than when the prickly leaves had been threatening to slice his chin open with every whirl of the dance around the room) and so intensely aware of the ivy leaves shining against her golden hair. He was so very, very far out of his depth, and he placed every morsel of blame squarely on the shoulders of his older brother.
Liam had insisted. Of course Liam had insisted. Liam always insisted. It's not that he was a complete killjoy himself, but the idea of just whirling into a foreign port on Midwinter's Eve and throwing themselves headlong into the intimate celebrations was a bit more than he would have proposed, but nearly two months at sea had even his brother, the most seaworthy of captains, antsy for a crackling fire, a piping cup of grog and a steady floor for dancing - a bit of a breath and a laugh before the slog of official business, royal balls, and diplomacy to come in the next few days. So make berth they did, and with the blessings of their captain, the crew descended like a merry storm on the snug little pub in the center of the bustling capital port.
Not that diplomacy was off the table - not by a long shot. Upon discovering that this corner of the Enchanted Forest didn't dance with the holly and the ivy, Liam took it upon himself to become the cultural ambassador of the night. Sure, in this kingdom they hung a sprig of a glossy-leaved plant with berries that looked like drops of frozen snow in the lintels to allow for a fair amount of stolen kisses throughout the night, of which Liam professed to the crowd he heartily approved, but, he continued in his best raconteur's voice, Midwinter kisses exchanged after exchanging the holly and the ivy, well, those kisses are like the next day's sun, growing ever brighter and brighter. Killian groaned inwardly at those words repeated every year around every fire in their kingdom, but the locals, eyes already shining from drink and dance were more than eager to participate in a bit of cultural exchange, especially if more kisses were in the cards.
So the large holly wreath on the door of the pub was taken down and snipped into sprigs for the men; a few moments later two young lads barreled through the door, arms triumphantly laden with ivy vines pulled from the side of the next building, and were promptly descended upon by eager ladies looking to pluck the shiniest leaves to tuck into their hair or dress laces.
And so the dance began - Killian watched as married and betrothed couples immediately exchanged leaves with each other punctuated with kisses and giggles all around ranging from the chaste and coy to the rather more...joyous. As husbands arranged their new-gotten ivy and wives their holly, Killian wanted nothing more than to shrink into the darkest corner of the pub, as long as it had a clear vantage point from which he could stare daggers at Liam over the rim of his cup for refusing to spare the lot of them the embarrassment that inevitably came along with the various findings and fending-offs this ridiculous tradition entailed. No such luck, of course, as said gracious older brother grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily into the thick of the dance.
And the night became a blur of heat and music, hands and smiles, eyebrows arched in the direction of his holly sprig which would inevitably bring the colour high into his cheeks as he allowed himself to be swept away into the next dance step. He was struggling to balance concentrating on his feet, keeping a safe distance between the holly thorns and his neck, and elaborate plans of fratricide, when the next keychange sent a golden blur turning into his arms. He looked up from his wine-clumsy steps and in an instant he was lost.
When he thought about it later on that night from his chilly bunk, he realized that that hers was the first face he truly saw since the madness had begun - the rest of his partners he could remember in mere bounces of hair, a wink or a blush, a flash of teeth - she came to him full force. In the low light, he could catch the barest glint of green from her eyes, the candles flickering warmth on the full apples of her cheeks and burnished gold in the tumble of her hair. She grinned at him and suddenly they were whirling together and he couldn't help but answer back with a grin of his own. He was moving along side her as if they had been practicing for years, eyes fixed on each other crinkling at the corners with growing mirth. He felt boldness creep into his belly and he laced his fingers with hers at the next step and her answering breathless laughter set new fire into his heels. It was like the room sprung to life around her, music and warmth and light all playing to her leading role as she quite literally led him through the steps with blistering confidence. The chant that had been beating rhythm through his mind since the beginning (step-and-two-and-three-and-turn clasp-and-round-and-back-and-step) was now beating a solid ignore-the-partner-change-you-twit, dance-with-her-the-whole-night-long.
He heard the music making its crescendo and he could sense the motion of the people around him, heads craning around to find the next partner for an easy transition. His eyes remained trained on hers (as if he could divert them if he tried) and found hers answering with amusement and a hint of a challenge. The music climbed ever higher as his lips curled into a smirk; all around the room, blossoms of colour unfurled as ladies spun circles towards their awaiting partners and a split second before he could steel himself to hold firm to her waist to keep her from joining them, he felt her own hand tighten on his shoulder to anchor herself in place by his side. Their eyebrows shot up in mirrored surprise, his face breaking or into a mad grin and hers an answering coy smile. Their reverie only just slightly interrupted by Killian's next partner careening into them, all three tumbling hard into the nearest table.
They stumbled off the floor unable to breathe for laughing, grasping onto each other as if the floor were moving, and truthfully, in all his years of sailing the high seas in sometimes vicious weather, Killian had never felt more exhilarated or unsteady. They toppled onto the nearest bench and she gasped for a calming breath through her laughter while reaching up to fix her ivy that had gone askew in the kerfuffle - any hopes that he gather himself together as well died as she turned her smile back onto him.
"Very graceful, Lieutenant."
"So you know who I am, and I've yet to discover your name."
"Now, where's the fun in that?" she grinned and twisted away to pilfer two half-full cups of mulled wine from the table behind them plonking them down with a proud little smirk.
"A toast to Midwinter?" she proposed raising her glass to just allow her eyes to peek at him over the rim.
He knew what he must look like. He could feel his eyebrows softly raised and his mouth curled in a lopsided, besotted smile but he also knew there was absolutely nothing to be done about the state of him. And again, perhaps it was the wine or perhaps his resignation to her particular brand of enchantment that emboldened him, but all he could think was how much sweeter it would be to press his lips to hers rather than the rim of his cup - his fingers flew to his holly sprig, plucked it off his lapel and plopped it straight into her upraised glass.
He was so completely out of his depths. Her gaze never left his although he could see her triumphant smile soften into something more appraising and he held desperately onto any scrap of boldness he'd been feeling second before just to meet the challenging tilt of her chin as she set her glass down beside them. She was looking for something in his eyes - hesitation? Jest? - and he knew if she found anything other than the earnest anticipation he was feeling, she'd walk out of his life as quickly as she whirled in.
The pause seemed to stretch on interminably; his only warning was the briefest flicker of her eyes to his lips before he found himself hauled by the lapels to meet hers. His grunt of surprise quickly gave way to an appreciative groan as her lips pressed insistently to his. She kissed like she danced, sure and fiery, and he was helpless but to follow her every lead, involuntarily sliding closer to her on the bench. He was intoxicated by the drink and her warm scent and he couldn't remember when his hand tangled in her thick hair but he would keep it buried there forever if he could, he was sure.
And it was over all too quickly. A sharp cough from a nearby table - what the stocky, bearded man scowling in their direction had against them, he was hard pressed to understand considering that they were hardly the only ones...exchanging pleasantries - and she sprang away from him, her eyes wide with shock and (he noted with a thrill of hope) a fair measure of heat.
"Good night, Lieutenant. Perhaps tomorrow, then?"
He barely registered the words so completely was he fixated on her kiss-stung mouth and her fingers trailing in his hair as she quickly made her way out of the pub. For a stunned second he was powerless to do anything but watch her slip through the crowd when suddenly something toppled out from behind his ear and into his lap. Her ivy. A quick glance to the cup she set down. She'd taken his holly sprig with her. His heart leapt into his throat and he nearly broke his neck swinging his legs from around the bench to stumble out of the pub after her -
But the street was empty of all but the glow from the windows and the muffled sounds of music and laughter. He stood there for a moment trying to decide which street to bolt down in pursuit when a warm hand clasped his shoulder.
"Quite the night for you, hasn't it been, little brother?" Liam grinned down at him - it was a testament to how stunned he was the he couldn't even register a blush at recognition that Liam had been watching everything, or spit out his usual retort correcting size for age. "Shall we head back to the ship before you're completely ruined for the celebrations tomorrow?"
He nodded hollowly and allowed his feet to move along side Liam's in the direction of the docks. He discreetly tucked the glossy leaves into his pocket and began making his plans.
For the umpteenth time during the ride from the ship to the castle, he slipped his fingers into the pocket of his dress uniform to finger the ivy he'd secreted away. Liam made a great show of noting his fidgeting from the corner of his eye.
"What's that you have there, little brother?"
"Nothing." An arch of Liam's brow. "Shut it. And can I please, just for the next few hours be your younger brother so that the King and Queen don't think you've brought the cabin boy along?"
"Oh, anything that will get you focused, Kill - I know it's their Midwinter gala, but you know as well as I that we're not just there to present gifts over mince pies. Here's me hoping that my Lieutenant will keep himself tuned into the guests at tonight's party. I can't have you distracted like this, brother."
"I'm not distracted," Killian scowled.
Killian was distracted. If one of the court wizards ever wanted to bottle distraction, he'd merely need to create distilled essence of Killian, because with every stroke of his thumb along the leaves in his pocket, her eyes flashed before him as if the night had never ended. He was going to meet her tonight. Royal gala be absolutely damned, her parting words were a bloody siren's call and there was no situation in any world or realm in which Killian could imagine not following after her. He'd play the good first mate, but really, Liam would be the person of interest as far as their representative party went - once the feast was over, he wouldn't be afforded a second glance by the court and the rest of the visitors. He'd slip out and somehow he'd make his way through the unfamiliar city to find the pub again. It wasn't an elaborate plan. It wasn't a very well thought out plan. But it was his plan and he was going through with it and if Liam wanted to rail at him tomorrow, well, he'd be happy in the knowledge that he'd been waiting where she knew he would be if she chose to meet him again.
Just a few hours. He could keep his head for a few hours.
They hopped out of the coach and made the long way up the promenade to the castle doors and were ushered into the main banquet hall. Killian began to make his way into the room when he heard the steward.
"Excuse me Captain? Lieutenant? If you would please add these to your ensemble." The man walked over to one of two laden platters and returned to them holding out two sprigs of holly.
Liam's laugh rang out "My my, good news does travel fast, doesn't it, brother?"
"Mmm, a new tradition it would seem. The princess was adamant we adopt it," the steward sniffed as he turned to greet the next guests.
Killian took the leaves from Liam and began to absentmindedly affix them to his lapel - seeing the glint of the berries in the corner of his eye brought the previous night back in full force and he was more convinced than ever that his plan, should he pull it off without a hitch, was the absolute best one he'd ever come up with. He'd wait for her and when she arrived he'd have a new sprig to present her with. Her kiss was seared in his mind and if nabbing official royal ball decorations could assure him another one, well, he was more than happy to suffer the consequences of piracy.
"Killian! Are you even listening at all?" He snapped back to reality with a shake of his head.
"Yes, Captain. I... what?" he had the decency to blush as Liam rolled his eyes.
"You're distracted again, Lieutenant." Liam raised his eyebrows and Killian's blush deepened. "I had asked if you'd spoken to anyone in the Royal household last night. It seems that however they related the holly and ivy, they've managed to get some of the details across to the princess slightly confused. Have a look." he nodded towards the dais.
Killian followed his gaze and saw the back of a woman's head, blonde hair wound in intricate plaits. He could make out the leaves tucked by her right ear - prickles and red berries. A flicker of amusement ran through his mind at how the tipsy, mad evening must have been carefully relayed to the princess by one of the previous night's party-goers to no doubt coddle her delicate sensibilities. Somehow the details must have been lost, whether in the storyteller's wine-addled memories or through the censored retelling. All manners and courtly kisses he was sure, and oh gods, why did he think about kissing again?
"What do you think, litt-younger brother? Should we set things straight during the formal introductions?
If Liam was expecting an answer, he was slated to wait the rest of the night.
She turned around.
For the second time in as many days, Killian's entire world became a face framed in gold. The very breath went out of his lungs and literally nothing registered, not his brother's bemused glance, not the dull chatter in the room, not the fact that she was the bloody princess he was soundly kissed by the bloody princess, except her green eyes sparkling with a heady mix of amusement, boldness, warmth, and even a bare flicker of something uncertain - their green only emphasized by the holly sprig (oh gods, his holly sprig) just framing the corner of her face.
Never leaving her gaze for a moment, he felt his hands move of their own accord to the holly on his jacket, plucking it off and dazedly handing it over to Liam. He grasped in his pocket and pulled out the ivy, her ivy, and fumbled it into the vacated space.
A smile broke out across her lips and he was lost all over again.
And now to wait for the dance to begin.