"You did very well today, Emma."
Emma smiles politely at her mother in the mirror, watching as Snow finishes brushing out her hair from where it has been up all day. "Thank you," is all she says, focusing on trying not to let her shoulders slump.
She's exhausted. Between keeping a secret romance and trying to please her parents, she's finding herself tired often, sleeping well past dawn on most mornings. Prior to tonight, Killian's ship had not been docked at their port for a while, however, and she'd had time to shift her main focus to appeasing her parents—going with them into town, meeting with an infinite number of people, learning history and rules, exceptions to rules, everything that she could fit into her brain at one time.
She'd thought of Killian constantly regardless, and as soon as she had noticed his ship earlier today, her heart had raced with anticipation. She had put on a good smile, done what she was supposed to do and, when she was finished, told her parents that she wanted to walk around town a bit. Her excuses were perfectly executed—she wanted to talk to some of the locals and get to know more about them, to even further her abilities to be a good queen one day, and she wanted to do so on her own to show how well she could do without them. Beaming, her parents agreed, and she was in his arms only minutes after bidding them goodbye.
Now, her mother is smiling widely, blissfully unaware of her secret, and Emma returns the smile as their eyes meet in the mirror.
Even with all of her want for adventure and excitement, the approval she feels radiating from her mother makes her heart feel warm. The emotion is comfortable and she revels in the way it floods through her, but it is the complete opposite of the rush of Killian's touch still beating through her veins. She ducks her head slightly and looks at her lap as she relives the feeling of his lips against hers, his hand tangled in her hair as he kisses her breathless. His kisses are electric, and even though she does not have too many others to compare it to, she's sure it would not matter if she had millions.
His would stand out. His would be the best.
The brush finally moves from root to tip of her hair without snagging, and Snow sets it down on her vanity. "There. Beautiful."
Emma shakes herself out of her thoughts, refocusing on her mother. Snow is so proud, so happy to see her daughter doing what she's meant to do, and Emma never wants her mother to look at her in any other way. She hesitates, turning in her chair to look up at Snow, and she feels as if she is a small child again, about to apologize for trying on her mother's lip stain.
"I wanted to apologize for how distracted I have been lately. I want to convince you that my intentions when it comes to our kingdom are as true as I say they are." Emma tangles her fingers together in her lap and looks down at them, trying to keep the moisture in her eyes under control. The truth of her words cannot be missed.
A finger tilts her chin up, and Snow tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Sometimes, in the midst of all that we deal with, I forget how young you still are. Perhaps sometimes we are too hard on you, but we only want you to be the best you can be."
"I know," Emma says, reaching up to hold her mother's hand where it rests at her neck. "I understand your concerns."
"But we are very proud of you, and we know that at the end of the day, you are doing the best you can, and we are confident in your abilities to be an amazing queen one day," Snow tells her, smiling softly.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice cracking, as Snow presses a kiss to her head.
That should be it for the night. This would be where her mother should bid her goodnight and retire to her room, but as she starts to leave, her heart stirs and she's spoken before she's even registered doing so. "Mother?"
Attentive as ever, Snow returns to her side. "What is it, dear?"
"How…" And now she's nervous to speak the words nagging at her mind, her throat suddenly uncomfortably tight. She should have refrained from saying anything.
Except her heart really wants to know.
She needs to know.
"How did you know that father was… your True Love?"
And there it is. The question she's been terrified of asking even to herself, as treacherous as it is. Part of her hates that True Love has become something she is so absorbed with, something that is making her heart race and her palms sweat as she waits for her mother to respond. She's ruined everything she used to stand so firmly on because of him, and she cannot even find it in herself to be angry or upset with him or herself. All she can feel at the moment is nervous.
Snow's brow furrows slightly, and Emma internally panics—has her question given her away?
She swears time is standing still.
"Well, him waking me up from a curse with his kiss was a fairly good indicator," she says, searching Emma's features closely.
Emma does her best to seem only mildly interested, as if her inquiry is merely a curiosity of her parents' beginnings. She picks up a section of her hair, picking apart the separate strands. Her hands are shaking, and she tries to will them to stop.
"And… you didn't… know before?"
Her mother must sense her genuine interest, because she sits down on Emma's bed, hands tucked into her lap. A faraway smile pulls up the corners of her mouth as she answers. She's looking just past Emma, lost in the past for the moment.
"I think part of me knew before." Her smile deepens, her entire face brightening. "It was little things, like the way my heartbeat got faster every time I was with him, how easy it was to joke back and forth with him even though we had just met. It was certainly not love at first sight, but… somewhere between me trying to steal from him and him waking me up, something… clicked. I know… you laugh at these sorts of things, but… I truly believe it was a matter of fate's design."
"Oh," is all Emma says as she processes, her thoughts mulling over how she feels around Killian. She can feel the weight of his ring against the skin of her chest, his promise that he's always thinking of her. To remind her to think of him.
(As if she needs a reminder.)
"Is there… any reason that you're asking?" Now, her mother's brows are raised, a sparkle in them that frightens Emma just a little as she refocuses on the conversation.
She shrugs, relaxing her face as she turns back to her mirror, running her fingers through her hair slowly. "I just realized that I had never really asked much about your story, and it is why I am here, so, I was merely curious."
(Internally, she pats herself on the shoulder for not allowing her voice to tremble.)
Snow seems to accept her answer, though curiosity remains in her expression. Still, she stands and touches Emma's shoulder gently. "Alright. Well, you can always ask me anything, and I will answer. I hope you know that."
Emma nods. "I do. Goodnight."
Once she is alone in her room, she runs one more hand through her smoothed out blonde locks while the other pulls Killian's ring out from underneath her dress. She slips one finger into it and holds tight, closing her eyes and thinking of him, of how easy it is to talk to him, how his kiss makes her feel like she could do anything, how merely his presence can lift her spirits effortlessly.
"I miss you already, darling," she murmurs into the silent air. She knows he must be long into the sea by now, as he set out only moments after she kissed him goodbye. She'd watched him sail away, wondering if he could feel the ache in his chest like she could. Does he miss her the way she misses him?
There are more words that she thinks she could say, to express more than just the emptiness that his absence leaves her with, but even in the quiet of her room, she does not know if she is ready to hear the words out loud. She replays her mother's words in her head, thinking of her parents—the way they look at each other, their gentle touches and supportive words, the way they automatically move toward each other in a room without even seeming to realize it, the way their smiles light up their faces when they whisper "I love you".
Her chin trembles, and though she holds tighter to his ring, she admits that she is not quite ready yet. So, she leaves the words unsaid, even to herself, but she falls asleep with his ring gripped firmly in her hand, dreaming of a life where they can run away together, completely free—not held back by anything as trivial as duty or responsibility.
For a while, Emma gets lost in all the things that she needs to do in order to do them well. She smiles at all the people her parents introduce her to, shakes their hands politely, and listens as her mother and father fulfill their responsibilities with her dutifully at their side. She pays attention to their lectures and does her best to understand the way that justice can be served for various crimes, asking questions if she doesn't understand.
One day, during a conversation with the royal guard at a diner in town about how many men should be posted as her twentieth birthday celebration approaches in a few months, her parents turn to her and ask for her opinion. She had noticed Killian's ship out the window, and had been distracted, but she does manage to not make it seem that way.
She takes a moment and then gives her response, giving an answer that she does think but that she also knows will make her parents happy.
They're satisfied, as she suspected they would be, and she smiles to herself at how well she's doing.
Her eyes drift back over to out the window, and her heart drops as she sees the vessel that she has come to recognize so easily beginning to head away from the shore. Her throat gets tight all of a sudden, and sadness washes over her.
She didn't get to see him while he was here this time, and the pain in her chest is nearly unbearable. It's already been such a long time, and she has no idea when their next time will be. Her throat is tight all of a sudden, her eyes stinging as the shape gets farther and farther away. She wonders if he looked for her, if he tried to find her or if their business had been short on this trip.
Details do not matter. Her heart still aches. Her throat still tightens and her chin still trembles slightly. Thankfully, her parents are distracted in their discussion, and they do not notice the single tear that slips down her cheek before she wipes it away.
She wouldn't have given it much thought, except she's meeting with a few of the dwarves to discuss mining season on a walk a few weeks later when, once again, she reaches the shore and sees his ship heading away from her. Dread builds deep in her gut, and Grumpy has to repeat his question two more times before she finally can turn her attention to him.
She is not her parents. She does not believe in signs, or fate.
Except, she had started to. He had made her begin believing that maybe these things do exist, only to those who wind up lucky enough to be blessed by it.
She had started to think that maybe she was that fortunate.
Is this a warning? A precursor of what is to come as she even further prepares herself to take the throne of her kingdom? Will duty pull her away from him?
Is it only right that it should?
If she lets herself think about it, she knows that their odds were not favorable to begin with. Even if he does happen to feel as strongly as she, what would it mean? What would she do? How would they go forward? How would her parents react if she came out to them about it?
Her heart does not want to know the answers. Her mind, however, cannot deny that it is bad luck, at the very least.
(And she hates it.)
Her doubts nag at her, eating away at her heart until she's sure there could be none of it left. Yet, when she does happen to catch him one night, sitting on the sand and staring out into the sea, it all seems to melt away.
She tucks herself into his side immediately, reveling in the feeling of his arms wrapping around her, his lips pressing to her hair.
"I missed you, love," he says in a hush, his voice barely heard over the sound of waves crashing.
She buries herself even further into him, her heart beating wildly in a way that she had almost forgotten. "I missed you more," she breathes, afraid to speak too loudly in their quiet space that they have created.
He goes to protest, but she kisses him, silencing his words long enough for him to not argue with her. "Not fair," he mumbles against her lips, but his smile matches her own as he kisses her again.
"Too bad," she teases, all of her fears evaporated completely as he stares at her. His expression becomes more serious, and he lifts a hand to her face, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.
"I would delay my brother as much as I could on our journeys here, but I have not seen you our past few visits. I began to think that perhaps you had forgotten of me or… that your feelings had changed." She can hear the sadness in his voice and she starts shaking her head before he's even finished.
"I was so caught up trying to make my parents happy. They're obsessed with me learning to be a good queen—by the time I found a moment to spare, you were gone. Nothing has changed, Killian." He takes a moment to absorb her words and she thinks that perhaps he doesn't believe her.
How could he not? Does he not comprehend the rush of happiness that she feels when she sees him? Does he not understand that he reigns over her thoughts no matter where she is? Has he not figured out that her world got better the day she met him?
She can't read his expression, and she can feel the edges of agony threatening to crush her. In the seconds that drag by, his eyes scan over her face, and she has no idea what they could be searching for. Finally, he nods, resting his head against hers as he looks out at the sea, pulling her tighter against him as a breeze blows. Unsure of what had just transpired, she holds him tightly despite his suddenly stiffer posture and asks for a story. He hesitates, but then he begins to speak, his voice painting her a picture of a beautiful island with dark shadows and secrets.
She closes her eyes and tries to commit everything around her to memory—the smell of the sea and of him, his finger drawing patterns into her arm, his cheek resting against her forehead, the way he whispers his tale as if it is a secret meant only for her—she never wants to forget a single second.
About halfway through the story, he relaxes again, and the kiss he presses to her head is still just as sweet, but she can feel a different kind of sadness radiating from him as their time ticks away. Something deep inside of her knows that it is more than just unwillingness to say goodbye. When she asks about it, he brushes it off, and dread sinks low in her stomach.
When they go to part, they stand and he pulls her close, one arm tight around her waist and the other cupping her cheek. He kisses her with such fervor that she sees stars in her vision, and all she can do is cling to him until he lets her go. When her eyes meet his, his expression is somber and she has no idea why he's acting this way, why all of a sudden his demeanor has changed so strongly.
She almost tells him then, almost crushes his mouth back to hers and confesses everything that she feels for him, her own fears be damned. Her throat is too tight, however, and by the time she's cleared it enough to speak, he's gone.
