Thanks for your patience with this one! It was a fun chapter to write and I am really excited for the next one :] enjoy!
It was only a practice match and one for a bunch of Eton lads he didn't actually know - two teams of young men representing the Alma Mater legacy he had once been destined for - but despite the particular scrimmage's insignificance, Killian soon found himself fiercely focusing on the field. He'd been seeking distraction at first, knowing that the Queen had sent him out on this afternoon task as a reminder that he could still inspire others on at least some athletic level. He'd been an avid rugby player himself during the small handful of years he'd had the opportunity and he had found out part way through the second half of this particular match that the role he had once played was the same position of Admiral Nolan's only son. Liam had made sure to mention that fact while Killian felt his eyes drift to the spectator space near the goal line below. His stare had narrowed briefly, zeroing in on the girl he definitely shouldn't be wondering about. The sounds around him seemed to fade away as he studied her and the anxiousness she seemed to possess.
Her nervous quirks were mesmerizing and frankly a bit adorable - everything from her quick smiles to the way she kept subtly tucking her hair behind her ear. He was almost sure he'd caught her gaze flickering once or twice in his direction, a realization he was trying awfully hard not to hinge on. Forcing his sight back to the sport, Killian crossed his arms in silent frustration as he somewhat registered his brother's cheers of encouragement.
He truly had no idea what Liam was all that excited about - hell, he'd lost track of the score a long time ago.
"Pity about all this rain," his brother said in a loud voice that rivaled the noise of the crowd. "Can't say I was expecting a storm today."
He didn't respond to his sibling's weather related small talk as he blinked rapidly, pulling his attention from her once more as he adjusted his well worn hat. He was usually glad for the fraction of notoriety the old baseball cap provided, but as he let his sight fall on her again, Killian admitted silently just how much he didn't want to blend into the small crowd.
He wanted her to acknowledge him. He wanted an opportunity to catch her eye and perhaps perplex her the way she intrigued him. Most of all, he wanted a chance to fix the blubbering, incoherent, downright ridiculous conversation they'd had right after colliding beneath the boldly gray sky.
"So I heard about your chat with Gran," Liam said casually, making eye contact as the players left the field for a short break. "I'm happy for you, brother. I don't know that she could have selected a better man for the job."
She could have picked you, Killian thought with a weak smile. Guilt swept over him as he observed his brother's congratulatory expression. It wasn't fair to constantly interpret these situations as a competition, especially because he knew Liam's sentiment was genuine, but it was difficult to stray from old patterns of thinking. Killian knew he could carry any role the Queen bestowed upon him, but he wasn't naive enough to believe he was often the first choice for any royal task.
The fact was that in most things, he'd always play second fiddle to his brother. It was part of his birthright job description.
"I suppose there's far worse things she could ask," Killian replied casually. "Catching a match here and there at Her Majesty's behest probably won't be all that bad."
"Try not to sound too enthusiastic," Liam teased, elbowing him once. "If your royal duties include spending afternoons watching amateur rugby, I'd say you're in an optimal position, Killian - even if some of that spectating means commuting to Berkshire once in awhile."
Killian cringed slightly at the reminder of where they were, his eyes darting around nervously. He'd never told Liam the full extent of just why he'd opted to complete his schooling via private palace tutors instead of returning to Eton for his final term all those years ago. The trouble leading up to the decision to leave the prestigious school behind wasn't something he liked to recall, especially because the foolish choices he had made could have landed him in much worse circumstances than they actually did.
He'd been barely seventeen at the time and after struggling to find his niche with friends for a few years, he'd finally found comradery with a group of fellow rugby players. Their studying had been mediocre, but they played hard when it came to the sport and each victory and even most losses ended with them sneaking off campus once darkness fell. They typically wound up at a tavern with very lax regulations only a few blocks away and while Killian himself wasn't initially that interested in drinking, it wasn't long for his standards to lower on that principle and a few others.
By the time the season ended, Killian had found himself rather fond of a few things - cheap rum, eight ball pool, and the company of a woman he now hoped he'd seen the last of.
"Looks like traditions are still strong here, brother," Liam commented with a nod toward the goal, his words subtly braggy as the older boys posted the higher score. "Seems like the Nolan lad has quite the talent though - perhaps we'll have to ask him about it this weekend."
"Uh," Killian said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. "This….weekend?"
"Yeah, when they get back to the palace," Liam answered as he offered a matching expression. "I believe the admiral said his son would be joining them in London this weekend before they head back to Leeds. You know they're all staying at Buckingham for a few days, right?"
Killian felt his mouth drop open as he silently wondered just how he hadn't pieced this news together yet. He was grateful that the chants from players on the field had stolen Liam's attention before he was forced to give a reply that might raise suspicions he wasn't sure he could explain. A million scenarios of just how the very unexpected next few days could unfold flew through Killian's head as he allowed himself one more glance toward the girl who was somehow shaking up his world. Her hair tangled in the breeze as the chill lingering from the rain brought color to her cheeks, drawing out a grin that he immediately felt taken by. Killian was in the middle of pondering how many different smiles a girl like this one might possess when she quickly peered upward at him. The smirk her lips formed didn't answer any of the questions piling up in his mind, but it certainly made his breath hitch - and dealing with that all weekend was going to be a royal duty he might not be able to endure.
"No," he answered with a mumble Liam likely didn't hear. "But I suppose I do now."
It was barely seven by the time Emma arrived back at the palace gates, the sunset coloring the sky in light reds and a dusty purple hue that gave evidence of the passing storm. They'd returned from the school grounds a few hours earlier with Neal and with a few parting gestures from the regal brothers they'd run into - a wave with a kind smile from Liam and a much more uncomfortable nod from the other blue eyed royal who was still vexing her in the strangest way. She'd spent the entire drive back thinking about the mysterious prince with the baseball cap and the jet black Ray-Bans shades, reminders of his intent stare and apologetic stammering making her lips battle the threat of an unexplained smile. It had been almost too easy to entertain such a recollection while her mother went right into interrogating her brother about the happenings in his life since they'd seen him last. It was these silent wonderings, however, that had led to the solo outing she was able to plan just after dinner.
With her parents consumed by the presence of their son, she'd managed to hit the nearest bookstore with the help of an unexpected but very appreciated ally.
"Thank you again, Mr. Gepetto," she said as the black sedan came to a halt. "I hope you were serious when you said that ducking out for a bit wouldn't cause trouble for you."
"As serious as I am about you calling me 'Marco' rather than mister anything," he grinned, placing the vehicle in park and unclicking his seatbelt. "Allow me to get the door for you, Miss Nolan?"
"If we can stick to 'Emma' instead-" she smirked. "-then I guess I'd be okay with that."
"I'll make note of it," he laughed, hurrying around to open the back passenger door. "It was a pleasure accompanying you….Miss Nolan."
"Well, I'm grateful for the help," she sighed, shaking her head at the way he hadn't accepted her instruction. "Goodnight, Marco."
"To you as well," he said with a slight nod. "Happy reading."
Emma offered him one last thankful wave before clutching the cloth tote that contained her purchases a bit closer. It had been a relief when she'd reached the register to see that the charming and rather vintage shop would provide her with a bag that would easily conceal the literary material she'd picked up. It wasn't that she was completely embarrassed by what she'd set out to find, but it was more the fact that she had ended up with more than just some light reading. Emma had convinced herself as she flipped through a few magazines and two biographical novels about the royals that she was conducting a sort of research project - though perhaps 'research' wasn't the most honest term.
Truthfully, she just wanted to know a little more about the man who'd owned her attention since that night on the balcony. She merely wanted to understand just what about him was pulling her in so magnetically - and, well , the small collection of text she'd procured would definitely allow the mystery to begin unraveling.
Her parents hadn't been trying to contact her since she'd left the dining space in search of fresh air, a realization she soon decided was her father's doing. He had always been accommodating of the quiet time she required to recharge her mind and she would always be thankful for his willingness to give her a break. She knew they were thrilled with Neal's short term company and for now, she opted not to begrudge that as she started up one of the cobblestone walkways that led to the garden's small pond.
Just like home, she thought with a small sigh as her mind drifted to recent memories of the house back in Yorkshire. Well, not her actual home, but the place that had masqueraded as such for a few months anyhow.
The space was peaceful in the low light of dusk and she took in the solitude carefully, her feet moving with utmost caution as she located a lone bench. The sound of crickets was faint and the distant view of multicolored flowers offered a serenity that would certainly suffice. Taking a seat and allowing subtle relaxation to sweep over her, Emma wondered briefly just how long it had been since she felt somewhat carefree. Drawing a quick breath, she propped her bag open and reached inside for a few of the items she'd decided to buy. With a shaky breath, she tried to ignore the guilt that prodded her as she sat the gossip magazines in her lap. Looking at the brightly colored headlines, Emma reminded herself that they probably weren't the most credible source, but she hadn't been able to stop herself from picking them up.
The first one was completely mainstream and likely quite vague, but the feature story titled Home with Honors: HRH Prince Killian Returns had made her smile oh so slightly. There was a picture of him as well, though it did look slightly outdated. His hair was shaggy and his beard wasn't exactly well trimmed, but his camouflage gear and properly equipped flight helmet certainly made him look the part of a proper member of the Royal Army. She didn't know enough about air combat to decipher what sort of helicopter he was manning, but he definitely seemed to know what he was doing. He wasn't paying any mind to the photographer who had been allowed to chronicle that militant moment, but was instead focusing intently on the control panel beneath his hands. His touch hovered above the numerous dials and buttons, a courageous soldier suddenly all she could label him as.
She saw it then - the bravery and the brokenness that seemed to drive his determination. It was all there in a single picture. He wasn't merely a prince in that photograph - he was a pilot. He was a leader.
The other glossy covered issue was something of a tabloid - a fact that now made Emma roll her eyes - but seeing the bold yellow letters that spelled out a title story claiming The Spare's Royal Temper is Back had been difficult to ignore. The true selling point, however, was the vastly different picture printed just below those words.
He was clearly on the tail end of intoxication, his dark hair a total mess and his clothes obviously disheveled. This snapshot had been taken from a distance at what seemed to be an alternate entrance to the palace. She wasn't completely sure, but as he followed Liam into the grand building, he also appeared to be wearing the marks of a fight - a slightly split lip and a bruised cheek. Tension seemed to be thick between the brothers in the printed image as Emma noted the space between them and the frustration etched in Liam's features. She quickly flipped through the pages to find the short article outlining the story behind the photo and her eyes widened at the vague explanation of a bar brawl and a hot-headed prince who was falling back into old patterns - or so the reporter had written.
Emma felt her head shake slightly in disbelief as she read the bulleted list of exclamations that littered the page. This particular journalist almost seemed to be bullying the prince a bit as everything from his slanderous word choice to his blatant assumptions sent Emma into a tailspin. The way two types of stories about the same complex man made her opinion waiver was astounding and she tried to straighten out the facts from the falseness as she peeked back at the first article. The task of reading between the lines seemed near impossible, but she needed to know.
Who the hell was this guy really? How was she ever going to piece together the puzzle that was this unpredictable prince?
"Nothing like the royal treatment, right, Em?"
Emma looked up instantly at the sound of a voice she knew well but didn't hear much of these days. The chiding lines and happy tone belonged to her younger brother, Neal - and as much as she wasn't really in the mood for his chosen idiom, it was strangely comforting to see him stroll out onto the garden path.
"I guess the hospitality is pretty one of a kind," she quipped in return, smiling softly as she swiftly shoved the magazines back into her bag before placing it by her feet. "Glad to see you're avoiding it too."
Neal chuckled at that, his hands deep in the pockets of his dark jeans as he strolled up the sidewalk. It was difficult to deny just how much he resembled their father - everything from his strong jawline to that purposeful walk. His hair was still sandy colored, though it had darkened a bit over the years, and it was pushed to the side in a familiar style. His eyes were a light green shade that matched hers and she knew they were likely filled with signs of teasing. He'd finally been able to dress down once they arrived back in London and he appeared to be quite relaxed in a gray hooded sweater and a newer pair of dark blue suede sneakers. His smile was contagious and though Emma wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to the hint of stubble growing on his face, she was starting to admit that her little brother wasn't all that little anymore.
It was another rapid change she wasn't ready for, but the one thing she'd learned long ago about time was that it didn't halt for emotional preparation.
"So," she smirked. "Is this the part where I say something witty about the 'prodigal son' returning?"
"Well, 'prodigal' might be a stretch," he started thoughtfully with a flash of his teeth. "But I'm always game for your sisterly sass."
"Yeah, well," Emma offered, trying to fight the flustered blush warming her face. "Something….witty."
"Hmmm," Neal chuckled, taking the empty seat at her side. "That's all you've got, huh?"
"I'm out of practice," she said with a gentle elbow to his side. "So who sent you to hunt me down?"
"Hey, what makes you think I'm on a recon mission? Can't a guy check in on his big sister?"
"Well, yes - but we both know that whenever you visit, Mom keeps pretty close tabs on you until you leave," Emma reminded him, her smile amused when he scoffed at what they both knew to be the truth. "So if you're out here by yourself, I'm guessing it's because she's sent you to find me."
"That was always her go-to plan of action, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," Emma sighed, raising an eyebrow. "Some things never change."
"Oh, Em, she's not that bad. Mom's just….well, Mom….and we've learned to live with that and Dad's-" he replied as he leaned back against the bench. "-I think he….he seems….better?"
Emma nodded lightly as they shared a quick glance of understanding - one that proved they both knew just how much they'd nearly lost. Neal had missed as much school as possible without failing over the course of the recovery time and he'd visited several weekends once they'd finally moved from the hospital's around-the-clock care back to the borrowed house. Neal had always been close with their father - though it really wasn't much of a secret just how much their mother adored him - and the accident had threatened the bond Emma knew her brother valued. His eyes in this moment of conclusion regarding their father seemed a bit uncertain though and Emma knew he was looking to her for reassurance that the man who'd raised them wasn't at risk anymore.
"He is," she told him, squeezing his arm. "He's happy again….and lord knows know how long we've all been waiting to see that."
"Well, I think you get credit for most of that, sis," he said with a grateful expression. "You've done so much to help him….and Mom throughout all of this. I hope they both realize that."
Emma could hear the hint of pain in his words and she knew he'd obviously spent a fair amount of time beating himself up over not being present for more of the difficult moments they'd endured. It made her heart sink to see him quietly fighting that guilt. She'd felt irritated over her brother's actions in many instances of their past, but this wasn't one of them. As comforting as his support might have been, Neal was fifteen and she was his older sister. It was her job to protect him and she'd spent plenty of time convincing herself that keeping her brother clear of the worst parts of their father's recovery was the right thing to do - even if it wasn't.
"I'm not the single handed savior of the Nolans," she groaned, her posture shifting as he nudged her. "Truthfully, we all played a part in it, Neal. We all did the best we could."
"Or more than, in your case, Em," he countered, standing his appreciative ground. "I gotta say that it makes me curious about just what's on your agenda now that he's back in commission again though."
"Hmmm," she stalled with obvious knowledge to what he was asking. "What do you mean?"
"You've just….given up a lot, Emma - basically put your life on hold to come back here and take care of everyone," he continued. "So I guess I'm just wondering what's next. What are you going to do for yourself now?"
Emma held his sight for a moment, praying silently that she could somehow deflect the question she still didn't know how to answer. Everything had changed so much since she'd returned to England and leaving her goals across the pond wasn't something she liked to reminisce. Though she'd come home to be supportive - to do the right thing - the facts were still uncomfortably true.
She'd failed at following her own dreams. She had shoved aside all of it - completing her education and chasing the independence she'd never had the option to know while growing up. She'd abandoned the plans she'd so delicately crafted with little hope that reviving them would ever be possible, but here was her teenage brother - telling her she was surely allowed a second chance at finding success.
It was deciding to take that opportunity that suddenly seemed quite daunting - and as he gave her a hopeful gaze, she wasn't totally sure she could make a commitment to anything except agreeing to wait out a long weekend at Buckingham Palace.
"I guess….when I figure that out-" she finally answered. "-I'll let you know."
"Well then - that's a start," Neal smiled softly before turning to look toward the pond. "So besides hiding, what are you doing out here?"
Emma glanced toward the cloth tote she was using to conceal just what she'd been up to, biting her lip as she prayed he wouldn't try to peek inside while awaiting her answer. She knew she couldn't explain her reading choices without her brother launching a very curious inquiry and this was definitely not the time for that.
"Just….getting some air I guess," she fibbed, reaching for the bag's strap. "Are you heading back in?"
"Hell no - not without you," he scoffed, wincing when she slapped his chest in warning about his mild language. "I was kinda of hoping we could help each other out with this whole palace survival thing. I mean, I don't even know who to ask for the wi-fi password, Em."
"You never fail to keep your priorities in line," Emma laughed as she rose to her feet, picking up her bag as casually as possible. "Come on - let's see if we can solve your internet crisis."
"Ah, a 'teaming up to save the technological world' mission then," he grinned, tapping his chin as they started to walk. "We can call it 'Operation-"
"Please no code names," she grumbled, shoving his arm. "They really aren't helpful."
"But they are amusing-" he chided. "-and that might be just what we need to make it through the next couple of days, Em."
Emma sighed in defeat as she realized just how right he was. The acceptance of staying in one of the spare wings of Buckingham was still quite deterring, especially when she knew the possibility of running into the royal man she'd set out to study hung tauntingly in the unfamiliar air. Making light of the next few days was likely the best method for ignoring the uncomfortable situation she'd fallen into and as she grinned at her brother's teasing remarks, she suddenly found herself beyond thankful for his offer of an alliance - even if he did propose the ridiculous mission label of 'Operation World Wide Web' while wiggling his eyebrows.
Approaching darkness had blanketed the regal grounds surrounding Killian as he huffed and puffed, his lungs heaving for breath as his running pace slowed to a stroll. His hands felt heavy on his hips as he walked down the paved path concealed by the freshly trimmed shrubbery of the legendary garden. The weather brought by the sunset had been perfect for a quick run and he'd allowed himself to seize the solitude presented with the mild temperature in hopes of drowning out the noise of the day. His feet plodded the ground fervently as he navigated the route with the most cover. Night wasn't far off and while the promise of little light normally gave him an opportunity to jog in peace, a recent experience he'd had with the false assumptions of hiding beneath a dark sky made him quite skeptical of being permitted to exercise without company.
Then again, any chance of being alone with his thoughts was squandered when Liam decided to join him.
"Whoa, brother," Liam said as they halted, equally gasping for air. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were training for that marathon coming up….which we do still need to discuss - the opening address and what not."
Typically, Killian would have reveled in the moment of insignificant victory and at the idea of his often superior brother struggling to keep up. He should have known Liam would find a way to shove that opportunity aside with a not so subtle reminder of an impending royal commitment. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he let out a hard breath as sweat rolled down his back.
"Aye, suppose we do," he managed as he stretched his legs, brushing off his sibling's words in distraction. "I think I'll go around once more - perhaps just to the south end of the pond and back. Up for it?"
"Think I'll leave you up it," Liam answered with a tired smile. "I'm going to head back home. If I see Marco, I'll let him know you'll be along soon."
"Sounds good," Killian nodded. "See you tomorrow?"
"Mmm-hmm," Liam confirmed. "Bright and early."
Killian feigned a smile as he watched his brother trek back toward the doors that were immediately opened by palace guards. Brushing his damp hair away from his eyes, he waited until Liam was out of sight before starting up the path he'd said he was going to use for one last lap. Yet as the sun finally fell below a distant horizon, Killian found himself needing to walk rather than run. The entire day had been a blur - everything from his morning chat with the Queen to the Eton match - and now in the absence of so much of what made him royal, he finally found the silent setting he had been hoping for since the morning he'd argued with Liam.
He'd acquired the blue Nikes on his feet after attending the company's annual launch of a new line as an endorser and hearing the soles of those shoes fall upon the stones underfoot was soothing in a way. He settled into a steady, rhythmic stride while making his way toward the quiet and closest end of the pond. The journey was much shorter than the race worthy one he'd just completed alongside his brother and as he reached the bench that had always been stationed along the sloped bank of the shallow water, he felt glad that he was alone for the brief jaunt.
Slumping down on the wooden seat and glancing out toward the glassy pond, he realized that he truly didn't know what agenda Liam had been alluding to before taking his leave. He had been distracted during the lax dinner with Cora and their father a few hours earlier - a detail of the meal that was probably very fortunate considering the hostility that seemed to be lingering - and though he knew he was supposed to be ready to go early the next morning, he had no clue why. It wasn't crucial to know really - no matter what the event or obligation was, he knew he'd been expected to dress and act as accordingly as always.
Wearing a crisp, clean cut suit while offering a charming smile was the routine. Standing beside but a step behind Liam was the standard. A desire to be anywhere else would likely be the thought drifting through his mind - as per usual.
Killian steadied his breath as a memory prodded him, the picture vague in his mind as he thought back to a time his mother had lovingly reminded him of his place in line. She'd had a way with it - making him feel needed in a way nobody else ever could.
"There's always been more than one child meant to carry on royal legacies, Killian. Just because they were second born didn't mean they weren't important. Henry the VII was one and King George - even your grandmother had a younger sister. Liam might be the heir, but you are just as historical as any king will ever be. Don't forget that, my sweet boy."
Killian sighed shakingly at the recollection of the woman who'd always had perhaps too much faith in him. She had always seen it - his possible strength and his potential for good. He wished silently that he deserved it, but he'd accepted deep down long ago that it might never be enough.
He would probably never be enough.
The lightposts that dully illuminated the garden's walkway began to glow before his mind sunk too far into a detrimental spiral and with a final exhale, he rose to his exhausted fee. Eight in the morning would likely arrive far too early and tracking down Marco to take him back to Kensington was still on his to-do list. His steps shuffled once and though he expected to hear the sound of his shoes on the solid ground below, the noise was instantly halted by the scrape of something along the path he was about to follow. Realizing that he'd unintentionally kicked whatever the object was, Killian narrowed his vision before bending to see just what had fallen victim to his foot. With his fingers smooth on the item's surface, it took only a second to figure out what he'd literally stumbled across.
It was a book - a very well known one he noted as his eyes followed the flow of the title and his stomach dropped. The edition looked quite new though the story written on the pages definitely wasn't. He had been haunted by the summary of this particular novel and harassed by endless journalists seeking a comment from the royal family when the book had been released over a decade ago. The author who'd chosen to chronicle his young life had certainly not left out details of Killian's rebellious years and the biography the man had chosen to call Prince Killian: The Untold Story had loomed over him for years now. The picture on the cover was an older one, but taken just before he entered his officer training at Sandringham. The life in his eyes portrayed in the photograph felt worlds away as he traced the gold letters with his exasperated eyes. It took a minute of analyzing the hardback tale for a question to form in his head, but as he flipped the text over, he found himself needing an answer.
How had this book ended up beneath a bench at Buckingham - and just who did it belong to?
Killian peered to each side, quickly noticing he was the only one in the vicinity aside from the several guards manning the doors and the few security personnel circulating through the area. It wasn't likely that it had been abandoned by a palace employee seeing as how many of them likely already knew their fair amount about his ways. His fingertips skimmed the spine of the text, following the cover back to the top where there was a piece of paper protruding from between the pages. He tugged gently on it, immediately recognizing the tan and orange slip as a train ticket. It was an odd type of bookmark and his focused stare ran carefully through the information printed on the standard stub.
It was a few days old - a first class pass from Leeds to Kings Cross. He read through the few details and quietly noted the time the ride had departed as he zeroed in on the bottom of the smooth paper. Killian had endured his fair share of undercover train travel over the years and while the appearance of the small boarding pass was quite common, the name printed just beneath the date certainly was not. His eyes widened as chills ran down his arms, his hand tingling as he realized the railway passenger turned book owner was someone he truly wasn't expecting.
"Emma Nolan," he read quietly, his muscles tense and tired. "Bloody hell."
