A/N: I decided to do a double chapter update to go ahead and answer some of the questions you guys have had in your reviews. It's also been very hard to keep my mouth closed about certain things, unless someone asked me about them directly (and only one person did), so I figured, why drag it out? Let's blow the door wide open on this whole thing.
They arrived at the Westensees' residence two and half days later than originally planned, toward late afternoon. After Emma's near-fainting experience, Killian had insisted on taking a couple days to rest before they returned to traveling, in order to give her time to recover. Emma thought it going a bit overboard, herself, but Killian wasn't swayed from his course of action once he'd settled on it, despite even her best persuasive efforts.
"We'll leave when you're properly recovered," he'd told her, after sending a courier ahead to the Westensees to inform them of their delay.
Emma nestled further into the corner of her carriage seat, remembering the way Killian had disappeared for quite some time, after summoning a maid to help her undress and settle into bed. He arranged for lodgings at the inn, both for themselves and for their footman and coachman. Not to mention securing feed and proper stabling for the horses. But despite the very real tasks he'd needed to take care of, Emma suspected that Killian had used the time away to give her some space. He knew how much she treasured any little time she managed to secure on her own. Princesses weren't often left to their own devices, suffering from an excess of duties, lessons, and social activities.
They'd spoken of it once, Emma remembered suddenly as the carriage rolled through the large Westensee estate, the wood-covered grounds glowing eerily in the orange and gold corona of the setting sun. She had been seventeen, and Killian had discovered her hiding behind a rather large sculpture to the left of the grand staircase, her feet sore and tired from dancing with so many princes, noblemen's sons, and dignitaries. Emma had just wanted to escape to her room, read a chapter or two of her favorite book, maybe just go to bed, but she'd known none of that would be possible for at least two or three more hours.
"Princess?" the deep, familiar voice inquired, startling her out of her wits. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you a fright," the Lieutenant said as she turned to face him.
"No, it's um, it's all right," she mumbled, mortified that the Lieutenant had caught her hiding from the guests. She smoothed down the skirt of her velvet ball gown, nervous in his presence. Although she much preferred the comfort of leather breeches and a loose tunic, she was nonetheless pleased that Killian was seeing her in the scarlet creation with its sweetheart neckline and beaded crystals sewn to the bodice, gloves covering her arms from fingertips to shoulders. Emma had been hoping to see him all night, dreamed of dancing in his arms; they always shared one dance when he attended their parties on shore leave. One treasured, precious dance. She almost hadn't left the crush in the ballroom because she'd been afraid she would miss him, miss her chance to dance with him, and yet here he was, under entirely different circumstances. Alone with her.
Emma knew her cheeks must be red, as much from her embarrassment as the effect his accent had on her. Gods, that voice! She bit her lip, an un-princess-like behavior according to her mother, trying to dispel the recurring thoughts of what Lieutenant Jones's voice might sound like when it was thick with arousal.
"I, uh, I'm just-"
"Hiding?" he supplied with a faintly amused smile.
"Yes," she sighed, "you caught me."
"Forgive me if I'm being too forward, Your Highness, but...why are you hiding?"
"I'm tired," she admitted. "These balls mother and father throw aren't high on my list of preferred activities."
"Such as archery and fencing and horseback riding?" he teased, arching his eyebrows.
"Just so," she agreed. "Here," she swept her hand toward the ballroom, "there's too much noise, too many people... and if that's not enough, my feet are sore, I'm sick of being polite, and I just want to sit for a while." She shook her head. "But mostly, I need some time to myself, to soak in the silence."
"I see." Their eyes met. Something like empathy shone in his eyes, warming Emma from the inside out. She smiled shyly. Lieutenant Jones smiled back. "I must confess," he admitted softly, "I'm not altogether fond of these events, myself, but it seems neither one of us has much choice in attending."
Emma inhaled, wanting to say something further: Thank you. Or, Stay with me. Or-You have the most beautiful blue eyes. Anything to keep their conversation going.
"Begging your pardon, Highness," he said suddenly, "there's someone I must speak with." He bowed, grazing a kiss across her knuckles that sent a shiver down her spine. "By your leave?" Blue eyes gazed up at her through long, dark lashes, the Lieutenant still bent over her hand.
"Of course." She withdrew her hand with reluctance. Emma watched him go, with no small amount of regret. She almost never had the opportunity to speak with Lieutenant Jones alone-truly alone, without her parents or state dignitaries or a ballroom full of guests surrounding them. As always, he'd been the perfect, polite gentleman. But in her most secret of fantasies, he was nothing of the sort. When she imagined them together, usually late at night when the palace was dark and still, and most everyone was asleep, Emma fantasized about a Lieutenant Killian Jones whose stiffness of manner and penchant for rules and good form melted away under her caress, who became a charming scoundrel of a pirate in her bed.
Emma closed her eyes with a breathless sigh. She leaned against the wall, imagining the sort of things he might do to her, the sort of liberties she might gladly let him take, if not for the differences in their station. Heat coursed through her, settling in her thighs. Emma hoped fervently that no one else would find her. She couldn't possibly return to the ball for a while; she had to be as flushed as a freshly deflowered virgin. And if she went back to the ball now, people would take one look at her and think that that was exactly what had happened.
"Oh Killian," she whispered under her breath, wishing she could refer to him so intimately, that he returned her feelings, that there was a path that would lead to happiness with him.
But that was nothing but wishful thinking.
"Princess?"
Emma's eyes shot open, surprised to see Lieutenant Jones standing before her again. He watched her uncertainly. "Lieutenant Jones," she said breathlessly, not quite recovered from her indulgence of intimate thoughts concerning him. "I thought you had left."
"I did. I went to speak with your mother. I hope you don't mind, princess, but I told her you were feeling faint, overheated in the crush of the ballroom." He studied her again. "It looks as if I wasn't too far off from the truth."
Her cheeks grew hotter. "I'm fine," she lied.
"Well," he said with a skeptical look, "I'm to escort you to your room, either way." He offered her his arm with a smile.
She accepted it, stepping out from behind the statue. Their shoes echoed on the marble floor as they approached the staircase. Neither of them said a word as they moved through the palace, arm in arm. It was a comfortable silence, and Emma had the odd sense that it brought them closer.
"Why?" she finally asked as they stood outside her room. "Why did you tell my mother that?"
"Everyone needs some time alone, some time to think," he said simply. "Overwhelmed princesses especially," he told her with a soft smile.
Emma's heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she clasped her hands in his. Shock shone in his ocean-hued eyes, and Emma flushed. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she murmured. She surged up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before her brain could catch up with her hormones. Had she been anyone other than a princess, the action would have been impertinent. As it was, it teetered on the line of impropriety, but Emma knew Lieutenant Jones would never take advantage.
Yet when she pulled away, for one crazy moment, when their faces were but inches apart, Emma thought she saw something heated in his gaze, thought he might kiss her.
But the moment passed, almost as fast as she could blink, and Lieutenant Jones stepped back. He pulled his hands from her grasp, clasping them together behind his back. "Goodnight, princess," he said softly.
"Goodnight," she sighed, turning away to unlock her door. She slipped inside her room, smiling at him once more before she shut the door. Emma leaned against it, listening to his footsteps fade away. Goodnight, Killian, she thought sadly.
"Emma."
Killian's voice shook her from the memory, and she looked at her husband, marveling again at life's cruel sense of humor. She'd never been able to have him when she'd wanted him. Her lovestruck younger self would have killed to be in the position she was in right now, never mind that Killian hardly loved her any more than he had ever loved her younger self. Still, if not for Neal, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she and Killian could have had the chance to be something more, to grow fond of each other, at least.
But then, if not for Neal, she'd never have married Killian to begin with. The irony, thick and bitter, was almost more than she could stand. The only way she had been able to secure the man she used to love was through the man she had thought she had a reasonable chance of a future with. And the worse part of it all was that neither of them, Killian or Neal, had ever loved her.
Maybe she didn't deserve love.
"Emma," Killian repeated from the other side of the carriage. Emma realized with a start that the carriage had stopped, and she had never responded to him. "We're here. You all right, love?" He watched her, blue eyes filled with concern.
"Yes."
"Don't lie to me," he insisted. "At least give me that consideration. You looked straight at me and then lost yourself in thought again."
She sighed, shifting restlessly. "I can't simply stop thinking, Killian, much as I'd like to."
"I know," he answered, his tone as serious and somber as her own. "But do come up for a smile now and then, love."
"Yours or mine?" she deadpanned.
"Why, lady's preference, of course," he answered with a straight face, blue eyes dancing with mirth.
Emma snorted. There was very little to be happy about these days, so far as she was concerned. But Killian was being very kind about everything. Too kind, really. She certainly didn't deserve it. He was making quite an effort on her behalf to make the best of things, and Emma supposed she owed him the courtesy of trying to rein in some of her moodiness-at least in his presence. It wasn't his fault he'd been roped into marrying her.
"Killian-"
The carriage door opened, interrupting her. Killian shot her an apologetic look. "Hold that thought, love," he said, exiting the carriage. He glanced in askance at Emma. She shook her head. Killian turned to the footman, waving him away with orders to take their luggage inside, and held out his hand. Emma took it, stepping out of the carriage with relief. She had spent too many hours cramped into its seats, even if they had broken their journey up. She inhaled the crisp air into her lungs, and Killian released her hand. "Come," he said quietly, "they're waiting for us."
Emma followed Killian across the courtyard, lifting the hem of her plum colored skirt slightly as they climbed up the steps to the palace. A woman in a powder-blue gown with long, wavy red hair and a bright smile waited at the top, next to a tall, clean-shaven man wearing a military uniform similar to Killian's, with neatly combed raven hair.
"Captain," Killian greeted him with a firm handshake and a smile. "Or is it 'Your Highness' while we are here?"
"Considering I did nothing to merit my position as prince, 'Captain' will do just fine," the other man returned with a smirk.
The red-haired woman swatted his arm gently. "Eric," she reproached, "do stop teasing."
"Yes, dear," he acquiesced with a fond smile. "Ariel, I'd like you to meet Her Highness, Princess Emma Charming. Of course, you're already acquainted with Killian, though his title is a bit more impressive these days." He smirked at his mate. "Prince Consort, Lt. Killian Jones, isn't it?"
Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Something like that.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Killian," Ariel said, sweeping him into a hug. She turned to Emma. "And you," she said, "I'm pleased to finally meet you," she said, pulling her into a hug. Emma sent a panicked looked to Killian. "I hope we can become the best of friends, Emma, as our husbands are."
"Uh," she stuttered, uncertain how to respond.
"Emma," Killian spoke up, "are you feeling all right?" She shot him a confused look. "You look quite pale," he went on with a significant look.
Ariel released Emma with a cry, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh, how silly of me! How could I have forgotten! You must rest, Emma! We'll have servants show you and Killian to you chamber. Supper won't be ready for another couple of hours yet."
Thank you, Emma told Killian silently, holding his gaze for a moment.
He smiled softly.
Supper was a casual affair-at least as casual as a palace meal could be-but it was private, and for that Emma was grateful. The idea of putting up a false front for a room full of strangers, smiling when she didn't want to smile, talking when she didn't want to talk, appealed to her about as much as imbibing a glassful of vinegar. As it was, her companions carried the bulk of the conversation, content to let Emma contribute as little as she wished. It gave her time to observe and consider her new husband, to acquaint herself with the Lieutenant she had once thought she understood so well, shared a connection with. What kind of man was as he really?
But as supper progressed, and Killian grew more and more relaxed in the company of his friends, Emma came to a disturbing conclusion: the Lieutenant was in fact as nice and genuine and charming as he'd always seemed to her as a lovestruck adolescent. And he had quite the sarcastic wit when occasion called for it, if the stories Eric shared about him were any indication. The prince was telling the tales as much for her benefit as to reminisce with Killian, she knew, catching the prince's clear blue eyes considering her from time to time as he spoke. But to what end, Emma had no idea. If Eric meant to spark her curiosity, well, it was certainly aflame, she'd give him that. But if he hoped to thereby draw her into conversation, he had sorely miscalculated. Emma couldn't have contributed to the conversation, even if she had wanted to. And, strangely, she found after a while that she did want to. But she was too much in shock, too confused, to even open her mouth.
"Emma," Ariel finally said over dessert (a delicious chocolate mousse that Emma practically inhaled, much to Killian's, and their hosts', amusement), "perhaps you would like to accompany me to my appointment with my dressmaker tomorrow morning?"
Emma slanted a look in Killian's direction.
Go, his eyes encouraged.
"What about our morning walk?" she inquired. Killian had taken to escorting her for a stroll each morning, since the exercise and fresh air seemed to do her some good, brightening her mood, if nothing else. It was the next best thing to her usual morning ride. The idea of spending her morning at the dressmaker's instead made Emma feel restless and unhappy.
"We can take our walk in the afternoon," he offered. His gaze drifted down to her belly, its slight swell disguised by the cut of her gown. "Get yourself some new gowns, love," he said softly.
Emma swallowed. He was right, of course. Her old dresses wouldn't be wearable for much longer. It was a reality she had been doing her best to avoid confronting. "All right," she told Ariel, "I'd be delighted to accompany you." A lie, but what else could she say? She had nothing against Ariel (she didn't even know the woman), but a dressmaker's appointment was the last place Emma wanted to be on a normal day. Now that she carried Neal's child...Well, it was even less appealing. Emma knew it was ridiculous. She couldn't hide from reality, especially when it was growing at an alarming rate inside of her, causing her to empty the contents of her stomach on a regular basis (most often during her morning walks with Killian, who simply held her hair out of the way and waited for it to subside). But going to the dressmaker's, getting new clothes... Emma wasn't certain she was ready for that.
"Wonderful!" Ariel smiled. "It will give us the chance to get acquainted with each other."
Dinner concluded soon after that, and the foursome retired to the drawing room. Eric and Killian took a little wine, but Ariel, Emma noticed, chose to drink water with her. "You don't have to do that," she told her host.
"Oh, it's no problem," Ariel said. She cast a glance over at Eric. "Besides, tea this late in the evening would only keep me awake all night."
"Uncle Killy!" a voice shrieked. A small form in a long, white nightdress streaked through the room, dark hair rippling behind her. She leaped, throwing herself onto Killian with a sigh of delight.
"Oof!" Killian grunted on impact. "Hello, Melly," he grinned, swinging her up into his arms and settling her against his side. "Snuck out of the nursery again when your nurse fell asleep?"
Her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically, while her parents looked on in amused exasperation. "I had to see you, Uncle Killy! Tomorrow takes forever to get here!"
"Well," Killian said, leaning head toward her conspiratorially, "it tends to arrive sooner, Melly dearest, when you sleep as you're supposed to!"
"But I'll miss all the fun with you!" she whined.
"I'll still be here for fun tomorrow," he promised, setting her down on the floor again. "But there's someone I'd like you to meet, first." He led the little girl over to the settee where Emma sat. "Melly, this is my wife, Emma. Emma, this is Melly."
"Hi," the little girl said with wide eyes. "You're pretty."
"You're pretty, too," Emma returned with a smiled of her own, entertained despite herself. "I'm pleased to meet you."
"Melly, time for bed now," Ariel said firmly, "You've said your hellos."
"You heard your mum," Killian said when Melly looked as if she wanted to protest. "And make sure to apologize to your nurse for sneaking away."
"All right," Melly grumbled darkly, a scowl on her face. She brightened. "Good night, Uncle Killy!" she said with an enthusiastic hug to his legs, her mood changing back to cheerful so fast that it made Emma's head spin. She skipped over to Ariel, leaving Emma to stare after her in fascination.
"How old is she?" Emma asked, after mother and daughter left.
"Four," Eric answered. "And quite the handful, as you can see." But it was quite clear, despite his exasperated tone, that Eric loved his daughter more than life itself.
"Considering some of your exploits," Killian teased, "I'd say she comes by it honestly."
Eric snorted. "You're one to talk. Liam's told me plenty about what you got up to before you enlisted."
"Perhaps the navy did us both some good," Killian admitted. "Congratulations again on your promotion, mate."
"Thank you. I'm just sorry duty precluded our attendance at your wedding. Melly would have loved to strew flowers down the aisle."
"And we would have loved to have had her," Emma said quietly.
Killian's gaze swung over to her. Blue eyes blazed with a mixture of gratitude and surprise. Emma dimly registered Eric saying something about being glad they'd at least arranged a visit. Killian replied to him, but his gaze still centered on Emma. He tilted his head speculatively, and his eyes traveled down to her belly.
Guilt surged through her. Did he regret that he would be father to a child that wasn't his? Of course he does, she thought. Don't be a fool. Self-loathing suffocated her guilt. A knot twisted in her stomach. "Pardon me," she said suddenly, rising to her feet. "I think I need to lie down."
Killian was at her side in a blink. "Are you feeling ill?" he murmured. "Or simply tired?"
"I-" She swallowed. Neither were accurate. Neither were a lie. "I need to go."
He reached for her. "Let me help you."
Her lungs closed up, and she began to sweat. "No!" she said harshly, moving away. He drew back with a frown, his brow furrowed. "No, I'm-I'll have one of the maids take me. I'm-I'm sorry."
"Emma, don't-"
But she fled from the room before he could finish, before he could say the hated words, because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was her fault. If not for her, for her stupid naivety, he'd be free; he wouldn't be trapped in a marriage he'd been given no choice about. She sniffed, tears of hatred and self-rage rolling down her cheeks. She lurched down the corridor blindly, and plowed straight into the returning Ariel.
"Emma?" Her voice was laced with concern. "Oh, Emma," she repeated softly. Her gaze was sympathetic, even compassionate, and Emma knew she didn't deserve it. "Come on," the other woman said. "I'll walk you to your chamber."
Emma followed, praying she would be asleep before Killian returned to join her. She couldn't bear to look in those blue eyes, the ones she had once loved and fantasized about, and see her own pain and loathing reflected in them. All she wanted, all she craved, was oblivion.