Chapter Seven
The Eye of the Storm

Emma was cold.

She stood on the deck of the Jolly Roger, staring out at the swells of sickly-looking green water with her arms wrapped tight around her. The ship rose and fell with the movement of the waves and she felt slightly ill. She had been beset with seasickness on the first few days of her voyage from home, spending miserable hours in her cabin with a basin at the ready and Red bringing her cool cloths for her forehead. Once she finally got used to the constant rocking under her feet she had been fine, but the feeling had returned of late. It was a roil and pitch deep down in her stomach that made her long for dry land.

The air was no longer warm, the sea was no longer blue. Emma had no need of her parasol, there was no sun. The sky was overcast, grey and cold and she could somehow feel the dampness right down into her bones. The salt in the air stung her eyes and settled in her throat, and she could think of nothing but home, that imposing stone castle far from the sea. Warming herself in front of a roaring fire kindled in the hearth by a smiling maid, sinking down into the feather mattress of her own bed at night without a care in the world, and the feel of her mother's kiss on her forehead. No Evil Queen lying in wait behind every shadow, plotting her revenge.

No pirates.

One of them was looking at her now, Emma didn't know his name, but he was on the shorter side, with brown hair and a drooping moustache that gave him a rather mournful air. She ignored the stare but she was aware of it, his furtive glances and longer speculative looks with gold glittering in his eyes. She'd been watched her whole life, by servants and courtiers, bodyguards and aristocrats, ambassadors and peasants. Everyone had a different agenda when it came to her, the palace sycophants looking to curry favour with the future queen, the lords seeking a royal bride, the foreign dignitaries sent to secure an alliance, and she had learned from a young age that most saw her as what she was, the Crown Princess, a title she had done nothing to earn, rather than who she was. After a lifetime of being appraised by almost everyone in some way Emma was well-versed in the art of appearing indifferent when she was anything but.

The crewman slunk away eventually towards the rear of the ship and disappeared behind the heavy mass of ropes and rigging that was flexing and snapping in the wind. She rubbed her hands on her arms in a vain attempt to warm herself and strained for a glimpse of shore. It felt like years had passed instead of weeks since she'd stood on solid ground.

"You should go down below."

"Is that an order, Captain?" Emma asked without turning around. She didn't want to sit in the brig, that tiny, narrow room, and remember her spacious bedchamber and private apartments. She didn't want to look into the enchanted mirror and see an image of her parents instead of the real thing.

"It's going to rain."

She looked up at the sky. It had grown darker, despite the early hour, and she sighed. "Does that matter?"

Her voice was cross and petulant. So what if it rained? She was already miserable, being wet couldn't make it any worse.

"I will make it an order if I have to, Your Highness."

Her shoulders hunched forward in annoyance under the wrinkled silk of her gown. Emma wanted to remind him that she was the heiress to her mother's kingdom and she did not take orders, she wanted to slap his face for daring to stand so close to her, close enough to feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. Most of all, she wanted to be off his ship and back home, where there were no blue-eyed, black-haired pirate captains who smiled at her like she was more than just a golden prize.

Captain Jones's hand touched her elbow and Emma moved away. She needed to stop allowing him so many liberties with her person, she needed to stop pretending that he was paying court to her instead of holding her hostage, she needed to go home and forget about him.

"Princess?" he asked, sounding confused.

Emma ignored him, but she was acutely aware of him behind her. She was cold, and he would be warm to the touch, if she turned and took his hand. She wanted to be warm, she wanted to be safe, but she could be none of those things as long as she was on his ship.

His voice dropped. "Have I done something to offend you?"

Captain Jones had threatened to sell her people into slavery, had locked her in a cell, had cornered her in his cabin and all but demanded she kiss him. What hadn't he done to offend her, and why had she even bothered worrying about him, when she had seen the grief for his brother etched on his face? Why had she tried so hard to make him smile? Why had she been happy when he did?

Emma felt his hand again, taking her by the arm and turning her to face him. She stared at the little charms on his necklace instead of meeting his eyes.

"Look at me."

She kept her gaze lowered despite the order and she heard him huff out a breath, his fingers going under her chin and tilting her head up. He looked so concerned, and she wanted to push him away and tell him to leave her alone. Her hands came up and rested lightly on his chest, ready to give him a shove, but she couldn't make them move. Emma saw a flash of surprise in his eyes, his head lowering as he looked down at where she was touching him.

Her hands were shaking, and she blinked at them, confused, before her whole body seized with a violent shiver and her teeth started to chatter. The temperature had dropped even more in the last few minutes and the sky was nearly black.

"Now, it's an order. You're freezing, you need to get inside."

"I don't want to go back to the brig," Emma said in what was more of a plea, wrapping her arms around herself again in a vain attempt to ward off the chill.

"Captain!" a voice called, and his head whipped around.

"Start tying everything down!" he yelled back, before his arm came over her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Despite the wind and the imminent rain, he was warm, so warm, and she wanted to lean into him even more.

"You don't have to go to the brig. My quarters are at your disposal, Princess."

A loud clap of thunder split the air, and Emma flinched. The captain's mouth was set in a thin line as he moved them both over to the hatch that led directly into his cabin with her skirts whipping about their legs. He fought the rising wind to life the cover and she started to climb down, numb fingers almost slipping off the rungs of the ladder.

"Do not come back up," he said, the order clear. Emma looked up into his face for a brief moment before he shut her in, seized with sudden concern. She could hear his muffled shout, calling to the crewmen on deck.

"Get the sails down now!"

When the rain started it was clearly not a gentle downpour. The sound was deafening, so much so that she actually had to cover her ears at first and her teeth rattled from the force of it. Emma went to the window and watched it lash violently against the glass, the ocean beyond no longer visible. Her stomach was in knots and she grabbed at the back of a chair, holding herself up and praying desperately that she wouldn't be sick all over the floor. The door swung open and she looked up. Fergus swayed slightly against the jamb, mouth open and face white.

"Captain told me to stay below," he squeaked out, his voice high and terrified. She thought of how young he was, still a child in so many ways, and she tried to push some of her own fear aside, opening her arms. He ran into her embrace, clutching her around the waist and burying his face in her shoulder.

"I don't like storms," he mumbled, and she rubbed his back in soothing circles.

"It will be over soon," Emma lied, trying to find some way to reassure him. In truth, she had no idea how long storms at sea lasted. The windows rattled so hard she expected the glass to shatter right in the frames and the ship began to buck and heave worse than a wild stallion. They fell to the floor, amid a shower of books and maps and everything in the cabin that wasn't secured down. Fergus was shaking and Emma held him tight, feeling the sharp lines of his bony shoulders through his shirt. They huddled together against the leg of the table and she felt sheer terror hot in her throat. She was no sailor, but this could not be a typical storm. This was the vengeance of an angry sea-god, and Captain Jones was still up on deck, right in the middle of it. What if he got injured? What if he got swept off the ship? Emma closed her eyes, the terrible images flashing behind her lids. A bleeding and broken body, a dark head slipping beneath the waves. She imagined the whole ship breaking apart, sinking down and dragging them all to the bottom of the ocean with it. She would be lost forever, her parents never knowing what had happened to her. They would spend the rest of their lives looking, searching fruitlessly for her. They always found each other, but they wouldn't find her.

Emma bit back a scream. She felt tears burning behind her eyes and she dropped her head, pressing against Fergus as hard as he was pressing into her.

The rain stopped so abruptly that she honestly thought for a moment that she had gone completely deaf. A few seconds later the rocking ceased as well and Emma stood up on shaky legs, pulling Fergus with her, as the hatch opened and Captain Jones came thundering down. He was soaked to the skin, hair plastered to his forehead and rivulets of water flowing off his leather coat to puddle on the floor.

"All right? he asked, throwing open one of the cabinets and rummaging around inside. Emma nodded mutely while he hauled out several tools. His eyes searched her face before his gaze flicked over to Fergus.

"Fergus, get on deck, I need you."

With no further explanation he went back up the ladder, Fergus following behind. He didn't close the cover and Emma had to know what was going on, despite his order to remain below. She climbed up after them and stepped onto the deck, shocked by the devastation the storm had wrought. Crates were scattered everywhere, loose ropes hung from the rigging and snaked wetly across the deck, she even saw a few fish flopping helplessly on the planks. She could only imagine the height of the waves that had tossed them onto the ship.

She looked up and gasped. The main mast, the solid column of wood that had looked nearly indestructible, was snapped nearly in half. The top part hung limply, like a puppet who's strings had been cut, and she realized the ship was starting to list in the same direction.

"What happened?"

"It was hit by lightning."

Captain Jones appeared next to her, raking his wet hair back with his fingers. Emma gaped at him.

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked, laying a hand on his sleeve. His expression softened at the concern in her voice.

"Aye, but they'll mend."

He shouted orders and Emma watched as the crew hauled up the loose rigging, scrambling to pull the ship back together again. But something prickled at the back of her mind and she realized it was still darker than in should be. If the storm was over now, shouldn't the sun have come back out? She glanced around and was struck even more by the strangeness of it all. The ocean around them was completely flat, still as a mirror with nary a wave and the temperature was noticeably warmer despite the heavy cloud. Her gown hung limp, there was a stillness in the air, a shocking absence of any hint of wind or breeze. Aside from the frenzy of activity on deck, everything was unnaturally calm.

"What is this?" she asked. It was unlike anything she had come across in her days at sea.

"We're in the eye of the storm," the captain said, voice grim. "Smack in the middle. The mast has to come down before the storm drifts back or it will tip us over. Keswick! Cut the lines!"

He moved across the deck towards the mast, yelling at the crew. Emma's hand crept to her throat. The storm wasn't over? They had to go through it again? She wanted to go back down below and hide in his quarters but she was rooted to the spot, unable to move. The crew were all working frantically, voices raised as the called back and forth, the captain the loudest of them all as he directed them where to go and what to do. Emma watched him climb up the tangled rigging, knife between his teeth and gaze fixed firmly on the damaged mast. She caught a glimpse of Smee's red knit cap, bobbing up and down, his round face flushed and strained. All of them were focused entirely on the ship, for the first time since she'd stepped on board, Emma didn't feel that anyone was paying any attention to her. She backed up, trying to stay out of their way as they hauled rope and bundled up lengths of sailcloth. Fergus was high up in the rigging, holding on with one hand while he sawed at hanging lines with a knife in the other. She watched each one he cut snap in two and fall back down to the deck in a wet heap. From the other side ropes were being wrapped around the damaged section of mast. Captain Jones was yelling, gesturing wildly as it swung back and forth like an enormous pendulum. The ship rocked hard with the movement and Emma nearly fell over.

It was clear that they were trying to pull it away from the rigging but it swung back and hit the lines, ripping them as easily as parchment and a terrified scream rent the air. Emma's head flew up at the sound and she saw with horror that Fergus had lost his grip. He started to fall, tumbling like a feather on the wind and she heard her own voice as if from very far away.

"Fergus! FERGUS!"

He went plunging past the ship and Emma scrambled over to the rail, slipping and falling heavily to her knees on the soaking wet deck. She scraped her hands trying to catch herself but she ignored the pain, getting back to her feet and frantically scanning the ocean below. She caught sight of him, flailing madly in the water and she was vaguely aware that she was still screaming his name. His head went under and didn't come back up again, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was in serious trouble.

With a hard tug Emma yanked her hidden knife free from her boot and quickly cut a long slit down the front of her skirt, from waist to hem, the silk tearing apart easily under the blade. She pulled off her petticoat, leaving it in a heap on the deck, and climbed up on the rail. Fergus hadn't resurfaced, she saw nothing but the dark water, so forbidding and deep. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and jumped.

The water was cold, much colder than she expected, driving the breath right from her and seizing her heart in an icy grasp that almost made it stop completely. Emma came back up, gasping and sputtering from the shock of it, before gritting her teeth and diving back under. She searched for Fergus in the cloudy netherworld, praying desperately that he hadn't sunk too far down. When she caught a glimpse of something she had to force her arms to move, her water-logged gown clinging to her like lead and making the motion almost impossible. Finally her leg kicked out of the slit she had cut in her skirt and she propelled forward, grabbing at the shape that loomed out of the darkness and giving another kick to push them both up. It seemed to take forever and she was fighting the urge to breathe, lungs practically screaming for air and the need clawing inside her like a wild animal until finally, finally, she broke the surface of the water with Fergus in her arms. He was unconscious and she shifted, trying to get his face clear of the waves. His head lolled against her shoulder as she held him with one arm around his chest, her other arm treading water, keeping them afloat. But she was already so sluggish from the cold that every sweep of her arm and kick of her legs was taking more and more effort. Emma knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up for long.

There was a sudden nearby splash and turning her head and blinking the salt from her eyes she saw the captain in the water, swimming towards them. He was attached to a rope that rose out of the water and went back up to the ship. "Give him here," he said, and Emma passed him Fergus's limp form.

"Put this around you."

He lifted a coil of rope, tied at the end in a loop that was large enough to slip over her head. Emma managed to get her arms through and grabbed onto the line. The captain nodded. "Hold on!"

They were quickly pulled up in tandem, the rope biting painfully against her back and under her arms but she held on for dear life. Captain Jones had Fergus flung over his shoulder, he still hadn't moved. Emma couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

Hands reached over the rail and lifted her over, settling her down on the deck. Emma immediately collapsed, her legs numb with the cold and unable to support her weight. She struggled weakly to her knees, staring at Fergus. He was laid out on his back, the captain and Keswick bent over him. Captain Jones pinched Fergus's nose shut and breathed into his mouth, once, twice.

"Come on lad!"

Time seemed to stand still. The crew were all frozen in place and Emma felt tears running down her cheeks, warm against the icy skin. She made no move to brush them away, unable to do anything but stare helplessly at the small white face.

"Breathe! Breathe!" the captain commanded, his voice a lash across the deck, like he could order Fergus back to life. She echoed him silently in her head. "Please breathe."

The thin chest heaved and a strangled sound escaped from his mouth. The captain and Keswick quickly turned Fergus onto his side, facing her, and Emma saw water spill over his lips. His eyes blinked open and her own closed as she fell back down, shuddering with relief. Fergus was alive!

A cheer sounded from the men. Emma opened her eyes and her gaze locked with Captain Jones. He was sitting back on his heels, staring at her with open-mouthed astonishment.

"Captain."

Smee squatted down next to him, speaking in a low voice. Emma couldn't hear what the first mate was saying and she didn't much care. Fergus was sitting up now, coughing into his hands while Keswick pounded him on the back.

"Right. We're not out of the woods just yet," Captain Jones said, standing up. "Everyone, back to your stations!"

The crew scattered at the order, Smee pulling Fergus up and leading him away. Emma wanted to follow them, but she still had the heavy rope wrapped around her and she couldn't get it off. Her soaked gown tangled around her legs and wet clumps of hair hung in her face while she struggled with it.

A pair of hands grasped the rope and lifted it off her, setting it aside.

"Are you injured?"

Her hands were scraped, and they along with her feet were tingling with pins and needles as the numbing from the cold was started to wear off. Her eyes burned from the salt and her whole body felt bruised and battered.

"No," she answered in a whisper.

Captain Jones put his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. His other hand pushed her hair back and his blue eyes searched her face.

"How is Fergus?" she asked, reaching up to grasp his sleeve.

"Alive, thanks to you. He'll be a bit sick from the seawater he swallowed, but he'll be fine."

Some of the tightness in her chest eased at that, knowing that he wasn't lying. He opened his mouth again to say something else and hesitated, simply looking at her until the wind suddenly picked up, ruffling through his wet hair and his head jerked up, scanning the sky.

"We're going back in," he said, and Emma wanted to scream at the thought of plunging back into the storm.

"Will the ship make it through with the damage?" she asked.

He looked back down and winked at her. "Never doubt the Jolly Roger or my prowess as her captain if you please, Princess."

She managed a watery smile that was returned with a pleased grin that made him look somewhat boyish and even more handsome. She'd told him that smiling suited him and it did.

He had to help her to her feet and together they made their way slowly back down to his cabin, where he surveyed her ruined gown with narrowed eyes.

"Captain!" a voice called from above.

Emma ran her hand self-consciously down the slit in her skirt, holding it modestly closed. "You better go back up."

Once more he looked like he wanted to say something, but he shook his head and silently opened a cabinet his wardrobe. He pulled out a linen towel and a thick robe and passed them both to her. Emma gratefully wiped her face and rubbed the towel over her wet hair.

"Captain!" the voice came again, sounding more insistent.

She watched him set foot on the ladder. He looked at her over his shoulder for a brief moment before he headed up, the long coat swirling around his legs. This time there were no orders before the hatch cover closed after him.

...

...

...

"What the hell were you thinking?"

The words came out as a near shout and Princess Emma was clearly taken aback by the vehemence in his voice. It surprised Killian as well. The storm was over, they had made it through safely, and he had come back to his cabin intending to check on the princess and thank her for saving Fergus's life. But when he saw her, sitting in a chair with his robe wrapped around her, looking pale and sick, he felt a great swell of anger rise within him. She had come so close to losing her own life during the rescue, much closer than she probably realized. But he had spent years at sea, he knew the dangers that lurked beneath the ocean. He'd seen men drown before, had lost members of his own crew to the mermaid's kiss. When Fergus had fallen in amidst the chaos, he was certain that the boy would join those lost souls of the deep.

Princess Emma wasn't the only one who had seen Fergus fall, Killian had watched it happen but been unable to react. The mast had finally separated, the top end falling free of the part that remained in the deck, and the whole crew was occupied in getting it off the ship without letting it crash onto the deck or ripping a hole in the hill as they heaved it over the side. He had to save the ship first or they'd all die.

"What is she doing?" Smee had shouted.

His head had turned and he saw the princess standing balanced on top of the rail but before he could call for her to stop she jumped, and he had felt his stomach plunge to his knees and his heart leap into his throat. Before the mast even hit the water he was running to the other side of the ship, looking over the rail and searching frantically for any sign of them.

"Get a rope!" he'd yelled, throwing off his coat. As soon as the line was secured around his waist, he'd followed her in.

"You can swim?" he snapped, pacing back and forth while she eyed him warily from the chair.

"Well, obviously I can. You know, I never actually said that I couldn't, you just assumed that."

Killian wanted to tear his hair out at the flippancy of her response. "Do you have any idea how foolish that was?"

"Was I supposed to just watch him drown?" the princess's own voice rose and it only fueled his anger even more. No one back talked him on his own ship.

"I told you to stay below!"

"Fine, then throw me back in the brig for disobeying orders, Captain."

She stood up, hands on her hips and glaring at him fiercely. Killian didn't know why he was yelling at her when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and thank all the gods of the sea that she was safe. It was a miracle that no one had been lost during the storm, while there were a few minor injuries and McIntyre had broken his wrist, they were all alive and still afloat.

They were all alive only thanks to her. The ocean had tried to claim a blood sacrifice from the Jolly Roger and she had snatched it back. But he couldn't stop shouting at her.

"You both could have drowned, Princess, I don't care how well you can swim, jumping into the ocean in the middle of a bloody storm? That's near suicide! You could have died!"

"Yes, and then you'd have lost your precious ransom, right?" she shot back, obviously misinterpreting why he was upset.

He hadn't even thought of losing the ransom when he saw her jump, it hadn't entered his mind at all. Killian took two steps forward and grasped her by the upper arms, wanting to shake some damn sense into her.

"Why would you do that? Why would you take such an insane risk for a pirate?"

She looked honestly confused. "He's a child. And it was the honourable thing to do."

Honourable. The word struck right through him, like the lightning that had struck his ship and shattered the mast.

"It was foolish," he said again, but his voice was quiet, the anger drained away. He let go of her arms and she sat down heavily in the chair, the fight going out of her like a snuffed candle. Her face was white as milk and she was clearly exhausted, lifting a hand to rub wearily at her brow. Killian frowned, crouching down in front of her and grasping her hands, turning them over to look at her palms. They were badly scraped, angry red lines criss-crossing her skin.

"You said you weren't injured."

He looked up into her face. She didn't meet his eyes, her gaze darting away.

"It's nothing," she replied, trying to pull her hands back. He tightened his grip instinctively, thumbs brushing across her slim wrists. He heaved a sigh and stood up. Bloody obstinate princess. He found a bottle of rum that had thankfully not broken, and a clean cloth. He poured out some of the liquor onto it and knelt down in front of her again.

"It's not nothing. Now hold them out, I need to clean the wounds."

She uncurled her hands with obvious reluctance and he grimaced, warning, "This will sting."

He pressed the cloth against the wounds and she let out a cry of pain, a tiny, choked sound. It tore at something inside of him but he didn't stop, making sure that everything got flushed out. When he was finished, he set a dry cloth against her palms as gently as he could and raised his head.

"I forbid you from jumping off the ship again."

Her eyebrows lifted and a half-smile quirked her lips. "Even if you're the one who's drowning, Captain?"

He had no response to that. "Thank you," he said, after a beat. "For Fergus."

Killian had lost crewmen before, in battle, to illness, but if his cabin boy had died in the storm, he knew he would have had a new nightmare to try to keep at bay with copious drink and nameless women.

"I want to see him."

The princess lifted her chin, the defiant look back as she clearly expected another argument. He wanted to order her to rest first, but he knew it was futile. If she wanted to see Fergus, then she'd see Fergus. If she wanted to jump off the Jolly Roger again and take his heart right along with her, she'd undoubtedly find a way to do it.

Never actually said she couldn't swim.

Princess Emma would make one hell of a pirate.