11

Preperations

The next morning at breakfast with her family, which they ate together, while the Chesterfields slumbered still in their beds, Belle made an announcement. "I have something to share with you, Bae, Aurelia and yes, even you, Emma," she said excitedly, her face glowing with joy. She put a small hand over her husband's. "We're expecting a baby in September!"

Aurelia squealed in delight. "You mean I'm gonna have a little brother or sister?"

"That's what we mean, dearie," laughed her father.

Bae's mouth fell open. "But . . . but . . . Mama . . ." he sputtered. "How? I thought . . . you couldn't after you . . . err . . . lost my two brothers . . ."

Emma frowned. "Lost? You mean . . .?"

Belle nodded sadly. "Yes." She turned to Aurelia. "I was with child inbetween your brother and you, Relia. But the baby was born too soon—a little boy—and he died. Then I quickened again three years after you were born and the same happened again. You've seen the two graves in our little cemetery. Those were your brothers."

Aurelia nodded. "We go and put flowers on them every spring."

"Yes. But this time—this time is different," Belle murmured, cupping her still flat abdomen. "Because Bonnie used her magic to bless this child and me. So I have no fear of the baby being born before it's ready. This time—we shall have a new addition to the Gold family!"

"That's wonderful, Mrs. Gold," Emma said sincerely. "Congratulations."

For one moment envy flared within her, at the thought that this baby would have such a loving family—one who would protect and love it the way her own parents never had. The next moment she felt guilty for being angry at something that the innocent baby couldn't help. You're being silly, Swan! As if the baby had a choice who its family was. But oh—oh how I wish I had been born to parents like Rumple and Belle-instead of ones who threw me away like so much trash! It was the battlecry of every abandoned orphan child, and Emma squelched the familiar longing with practiced ease. There was no sense mourning what was done and over with. Life was hard, she had always known that. She simply would have to make the best of the hand she had been dealt.

You have a second chance here and now, with the Golds. Don't throw it away on silly envy and resentment, she scolded herself. Suddenly she had a magnificent idea. "Mrs. Gold? If . . . if by some chance I . . . am acquitted of the worst charges against me, maybe you'd consider me staying on to . . . to help with the baby? I'm pretty good with little ones. I used to look after the younger children in Morningside sometimes."

Belle smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. "It would be lovely to have your help, Emma. Mrs. Potts isn't as young as she used to be, and taking care of a baby is a full time job."

"But we can discuss that later," Rumple cut in. "After the holiday and the trial, Miss Swan. For now, can we rely on your discretion to not mention this to the Chesterfields? Your mama wishes to tell her sister herself and we don't want your cousin knowing until he's away from here."

"I won't breathe a word," Aurelia assured him.

"Me neither," chorused Bae and Emma.

Privately, Bae wasn't sure why he'd bother telling that news to his relatives anyway. It wasn't as if they'd care. Aunt Anne only cared about fancy balls and dresses and Uncle Karl was too wrapped up in his business, besides which babies were a woman's business. As for Avery—Bae would rather be shot dead then tell his snake of a cousin any good news like that. Avery would be sure to throw a fit or say something rude and insulting just to get attention. Besides which, Bae didn't trust the little brat as far as he could spit.

"Have you picked out names for the baby?" whispered his sister curiously.

"Not quite. But we do have some we're considering," her papa answered. "If you have any suggestions, write them down and give them to me or your mama."

"I will!" his daughter pledged eagerly.

"We'd best get started sewing also," Belle proposed. "The baby will need lots of new clothes, nappies, bibs, and so forth. Can you sew or knit, Emma?"

"Umm . . . not well, Mrs. Gold," she admitted.

"I can show you how to sew simple smocks and knit booties," Belle told her. "And even Aurelia can sew nappies and bibs."

"Mama's right. But Mrs. Potts can sew better than either of us. And Papa can knit."

Emma gaped. "You can, Mr. Gold?"

"Yes, Emma. I learned how while I was in the army. I didn't have a sweetheart to knit me scarves or socks, and neither did some of my men. So we learned to knit them ourselves. It passed the time when we were between engagements on long winter nights."

She glanced at Bae. "Can you?"

He nodded. "Papa taught me when Mama was carrying Relia. I made her a little hat."

"I still have it," his sister said. "Mama, can I give it to the new baby?"

"You may if you wish," smiled her mother.

"I'd like to learn," Emma said quietly.

"I'll show you," Bae offered. He was silently thrilled that he could use these lessons as a way to get closer to Emma, who was sometimes as tightly shut up as a clam.

"But not till after Yule," Rumple said. "Making clothing is best done during the winter. We also have Emma's trial coming up the week after the final Yule Ball, so we need to focus on that."

If she is still here after the trial, he reminded himself. She will be, the hopeful part of him insisted. Papa will be able to convince the jury. Perhaps if they catch that scum Hook, they can try him in her place and send him to hell. Please all the gods let that happen!

For he feared he was falling in love with Emma, and if she had her life cut short his heart would remain broken forever.

Emma toyed with her eggs and bacon, a lump in her throat. But it was not her usual fears that plagued her. This was a new realization brought on by the fact that tonight was the little Yule ball. There would be merrymaking, feasting and dancing. The very thought filled her with dread.

Because she had never learned how to dance.

She would be a disaster. And there was only one person who could help her.

"Mr. Gold, may I speak with you privately after breakfast?"

"Certainly, Emma," the attorney said, wondering if the girl's sudden pallor was because of her worry about the trial. He did have some news to share with her about her former paramour but it could wait till they were alone in his study.

Feeling slightly better, Emma finished off her plate, the food was too delicious to let go to waste. After wiping her hands on her napkin, she rose and followed Mr. Gold to his study.

Gold limped to his desk and sat down, shuffling a few papers. "Now, Miss Swan, what's this about? If you're concerned over your case, perhaps this news will ease your mind."

"What news, sir?"

"One of my contacts in the navy shipyards has told me that a ship was recently stolen and the entire crew killed by members of the Jolly Roger gang. Only the cabin boy survived, they knocked him on the head and tossed him overboard, but luckily the salt water revived him and he was able to cling to some crates and swim to shore with the help of a friendly dolphin. It appears your Captain has now turned into a pirate as well as an outlaw. And now he has the Royal Navy after him as well as our sheriff and deputies."

"He's not MY Captain, sir," Emma refuted. "I want nothing to do with him ever again." She prayed that Hook, now that he had his ship, sailed far away from here with his leman and crew. He didn't need Emma Swan, penniless orphan and pickpocket anymore. He never had. He had only been playing games with her. Emma never wanted to see him again. Her future was just beginning to show promise and hope.

"I hope they catch him and hang him for his crimes," she declared hotly.

"Me too. But not before we try him for the rape of the Woodman and Hopper women and other things. If we can prove he was the mastermind behind your thievery, Emma, and you were but the catspaw, we'll have won your right to start anew."

"I hope so, Mr. Gold. But that's a big if."

"But possible, dearie. Have faith," he said encouragingly.

"Umm . . . sir we have another problem," she muttered.

"Oh? What is it?"

"I can't dance. And the first ball is tonight," the girl said wretchedly. "Can-can you help me?"

The second the words left her mouth she wanted to kick herself hard. Emma, you idiot! You just asked a man with a gimp leg to show you how to dance!

To her shock, Gold chuckled. "I can, dearie. Just wait right there."

She watched as he rose and limped over to a chest against the wall, opened it and pulled out an odd contraption made of leather and jointed wood. When he began strapping it to his bad leg she realized it was a brace.

He straightened and said wryly, "While this only gives me limited range of motion, it does enable me to stand for the time it'll take me to show you how to do a few simple dances-like the minuette and pavane."

He walked towards her without his cane.

"Mr. Gold-you're WALKING!" she blurted.

"Only temporary," he explained. "This won't last. The brace is only able to be worn for a few hours at most. Then it begins to rub me raw and my leg cramps up despite it. So I only use this when I absolutely have to."

He shut the door, pivoted on his braced leg slowly, then came to stand before her. "Now, the key to dancing is to follow your partner's lead-if he happens to know the dance and you don't." He took her hands in his. "Most dances are simple-a one, two, three measure and then turn . . ."

At first Emma felt frozen, her feet glued to the floor. She was sure she was going to step on Mr. Gold's feet and cripple him worse than he already was.

"C'mon, Emma. In order to dance you DO have to pick up your feet," he coaxed, his brown eyes twinkling.

Flushing, Emma slowly lifted her feet, and with Rumple coaxing her, began to cautiously revolve around him. She found soon enough that Rumple was easy enough to follow, moving slowly enough for her to find her rhythm. He also made jests when she misstepped.

"Hey, I thought I was the only one with two left feet," he teased when she tripped over his foot because she was going the wrong way.

"Sorry, Mr. Gold. Sister Agatha always said I was a clumsy ox."

"That's because the good sister never met an ox. If she had, she would have had a broken foot!"

Emma burst out laughing. "Sometimes we used to wish that happened. Then she couldn't chase us with her broom."

He clucked in disapproval. "Stupid woman. Brooms are for floors, not disciplining children. Now, one, two, three, one, two three, side step and turn . . . very good! See, you're not so clumsy at all, dearie! You simply need to relax."

Emma found if she concentrated on following Mr. Gold and not on her feet, she seemed to dance much better. "I wish we had some music."

"Well, unfortunately that won't occur till tonight. But if you know the measure, you won't be confused when the music starts," he told her. Then he halted.

"Is your leg bothering you, sir?"

"No, dearie. I want you to listen closely to what I'm going to tell you. The key to having a wonderful time dancing is-to have fun. You don't have to be perfect. You just have to relax and enjoy yourself. Do that and your feet will follow."

"I just-don't want to make a fool of myself."

"Emma, we all make fools of ourselves at one time or another. It's part of life. But if we worried all the time about never making fools of ourselves, we'd end up like your Sister Agatha, a pinched prune-faced bitter cleric who took out her frustrations upon little children. And we don't want that do we?" He tweaked her nose playfully.

She giggled and shook her head. His smile was infectious. Like his son's, she thought and blushed. Bae had inherited Rumple's sweet smile.

By the end of an hour Emma felt confident enough to be able to get through one dance without breaking Bae's feet. "Thank you, Mr. Gold."

"You're welcome, Miss Swan." He patted her cheek in a fatherly gesture. "And remember, just have fun, dearie!"

While Emma and Rumple were dancing in the office, Belle was upstairs, rearranging a flower vase in the hallway. Mrs. Potts was just wheeling the tea cart out of Anne's room when the lady in question came out in the hallway in her silk lilac dressing gown. "Belle, can't you tell your cook not to make my toast so crispy? I feel like I'm eating wood pulp."

Belle turned to see her sister with a familiar pinched expression on her face. It was one she had seen countless times growing up. "Really, Anne. Yesterday you complained your toast wasn't done enough, now this morning it's the opposite. I think you're being a bit . . . ridiculous."

Anne pouted. "Ridiculous? I think you need another cook, sister dear! One who knows how to follow orders."

"My cook is perfectly fine," Belle returned spiritedly. "The problem, Anne, is you and your continual demands. No wonder half your staff quit. Because you're impossible to please."

"And you are too soft-hearted, Belle, to get rid of staff that don't pull their weight," snapped her sister.

Belle's eyes flashed. "You know what your problem is? You're angry about the mess your son caused and you need to take your bad temper out on someone, so you've chosen Cuisinaire. And me."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh I think I do," Belle returned, crossing her arms over her chest. "You forget, I used to share a room with you when we lived with Papa. I know all about your nasty moods. You used to "accidentally" break my things, and rip pages from my books when you were in a snit."

Anne put her nose in the air. "Oh Belle! You were such an odd girl, always had your nose stuck in a book. You didn't even care if your skirt was wrinkled or your sleeves had ink stains on them. You were a walking disaster! No wonder the only way you could get a husband was to bang into some cripple on the sidewalk!"

"Rumple is NOT a cripple!" Belle snarled. "And he's a damn sight better than any noble I can name. At least he's home to help raise his children. Unlike yours!"

"Well, I NEVER!" Anne shrieked. "At least MY husband is an important man, with a title and a thriving business. Not stuck in this backwater village helping widows, orphans, and criminals for free!"

"At least my husband makes me and my children happy," Belle growled.

"What do you mean?" Anne demanded.

"You heard me. I know you, Anne. You're jealous and taking it out on me whatever way you can. Just like the time Papa went to the fair and brought back each of us a locket. Mine had a little cat on a book and yours had some flowers. You broke yours by being careless and I still had mine, and when you saw me wearing it to breakfast one morning, you went "let me see that!" and deliberately broke it. You never could bear to see someone else enjoying something you didn't have."

"You're delusional. Besides, Papa always favored you-his little wordsmith! He loved it when you sat on his lap after supper and told him about the latest boring book you'd read. And when I tried to tell him about my day, he'd say "that's nice, Anne, now run along." But he ALWAYS made time for his little Belle!"

Belle flinched at the venom in her tone. "Anne, you're not recalling it right. Papa always took both of us on his lap after supper and you always insisted upon being first to tell him all the silly gossip and so forth. You could have gone on for hours if he hadn't told you to hush and let me talk. Papa was always fair to us. It's not his fault he preferred books to high society."

"Papa was a bit touched in the head," Anne made a twirling gesture. "Only you'd never admit it."

"Papa wasn't crazy!" Belle flared. "All the crazy in the family went to you! You drove us all insane, whining about how you needed this or that, new shoes, a new dress, new jewelry. It was always about you, Anne. And I see things haven't changed."

"No, things haven't changed! You are still the coddled little girl, with your perfect country cottage and your war hero husband and two children!" Anne snarled. "Everything's always fallen into your lap like a ripe persimmon!"

Belle laughed scornfully. "That's what you think! I've had my share of troubles, Anne. The only difference is I don't bitch and moan about them to everyone. And you, sister, are pea green with jealousy!"

Anne huffed and glared daggers at her younger sister. "Jealous? Of mousy funny little Belle? With your crippled country lawyer husband and your two moronic children? What, pray tell have I got to be jealous of? My estate is bigger than this hovel you call a house, and I have more money than you'll ever see in a lifetime."

Irritated and just then realizing they were arguing in the hallway in front of anyone who happened to go by, Belle pushed Anne back into her suite. Shutting the door, she hissed, "You may have more money than a bank, Anne Chesterfield, and have your servants bow and scrape to you and call you milady, but there's one thing you haven't got-you haven't got the love and family I have. And it's the one thing all your money and power can't buy!"

"What are you talking about? I have love-" Anne blustered.

"Do you? Can you look me in the eye and say that Karl truly loves you? He's never home long enough to be with you! And I know you didn't marry him for love-you married for his title and his money."

"So what? Other marriages have begun with less! And I have my son . . ."

"Yes, your son! Whom you spoiled rotten and don't even notice unless he whines for something. Your son who nearly killed a valuable horse out of spite. And you pretend you don't notice because you can't bear to open your eyes and see the truth-that your perfect boy is a menace, cold, vicious, and a danger to us all!"

"You're wrong!" Anne shrilled. "Avery is sweet and loving! I know he is! He's just at a-difficult age and your husband being a barbarian and spanking him didn't help any."

"I know it didn't," Belle said in a softer tone. "Because no spanking will cure what ails him. Oh, Anne. I know it's hard, but please-please try and open your eyes. Before something horrible happens and Avery is responsible." She tried once more to get her sister to see reason.

It was fruitless.

Anne stiffened, her body going rigid and her face poker stiff. "You're wrong! My son is a brilliant boy and someday he'll be a lord and make you and all of your family get on your knees in homage! You're pathetic, Belle! Seeing ghosts and shadows and silly fancies! You always had too much imagination! Papa should have locked you away instead of encouraging you!"

Belle shook her head sadly. "Someday, Anne, you'll regret those words. You're blind to your child's own malice. But one day you'll see clear-when it's too late. Ask yourself-when was the last time Avery told you he loved you?"

"Shut up!" shouted her sister. "You mealy mouthed fool! Going on about love! What's love ever done for you?"

"Love taught me to live according to my heart," Belle answered calmly. "Something you have never done. Well, I'll leave you now to dress. If you want to help with the decorations come down to the ballroom. Otherwise supper is at seven and the ball directly afterwards."

But Anne had no intentions on helping decorate for the ball, that was what servants were for. She took her gown out of the wardrobe, recalling the complaints from her seamstress while she was sewing the rubies into it. She would be the Ruby Empress, her husband the Emerald Emperor and their son the Prince of Diamonds. The jewels in their costumes had been imported from Agrabah at her insistence. She would spare no expense to have the finest costume at the gala.

It mattered little that poor Mabel suffered from gout and was losing sight in her left eye, she was still the finest seamstress in all the realms but the work she'd done on the Chesterfield costumes was far too much for the ailing woman to bear and she could not finish the costumes for her favorite clients, Bonnie and Archie Hopper. The couple decided to finish them themselves with help from Mabel's daughter who was still learning her mother's craft.

"I need time to get ready. I won't have any spare time to decorate," Anne said coldly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to dress now."

"Then I'll see you at seven," Belle said and closed the door, shaking her head. Their mother had never been so self- centered, nor had their father. There were times when she wondered if a fae had somehow switched her real sister with a wicked changeling but Bonnie assured her Anne was not a changeling, just a woman with a cruel streak, a streak her son had inherited only his was far more dangerous.

I'll show her, Anne thought bitterly. I'll have the finest costume at the ball and they'll notice ME...not her. She heard laughter behind her as she was dressing and froze in fear.

"How...what are you doing here?" she gasped.

"I'm not really here, Anne. Haven't you learned that I don't have to be to make certain you keep your word to me?" the shade of Angelique Bouchard taunted.

"I...I invited them...like you asked...what else do I have to do?" she stammered.

"You will make certain that Josette spends all of her time in the company of Barnabas's uncle Jeremiah or his cousin Quentin. And you will obtain the ingredients I will need for my spell."

"W...What do you need?"

"An unbroken spider's web and locks of their hair."

"I am not touching a spider's web! Get Ben Stokes to do it! You have him doing all your dirty work at Collinwood now."

Angelique appeared in the room in corporeal form, a clay doll in her hands. "It would be a shame if you were to miss the gala tonight, a lost opportunity to overshadow your sister." She took a pin out of the pocket of her dress and held it above the doll.

"No! No, I'll do it!" Anne cried.

The witch smiled. "That's better. Bring them to me after the gala. Unless you also want your husband to know about the favor I did for you before you wed."

That 'favor' guaranteed that Anne would be forever in the former indentured servant's debt. Though she married for money and position, Anne was not above taking lovers of a lesser rank, including her estate's head groom and shortly before marriage she'd had several assignations with a disgraced naval officer. Fearing her prospects would be ruined if anyone learned she'd surrendered her virtue before she entered the marriage she decided she would have to dispose of the fruit it bore.

But Angelique had a rather creative solution to her problem...they would claim the child had come early and use one of the oldest tricks devised by women loose with their favors, stain the sheets of the nuptial bed with animal blood.

As for the father, she heard rumors that he'd drifted into a life of a crime and she didn't give a damn what he did as long as he didn't dare show his face around her, her son, or her husband.

"Karl is not going to hear anything about that!" Anne snarled. "I've worked too hard for what I have and I will not have it taken away from me."

Anne glared at her. "And I'm not the only woman who would need animal blood on her wedding night...but you have it your mind that you're going to marry the same man you threw yourself at a year ago...your own sister's beau!"

"Barnabas was MINE first," Angelique hissed. "And Josette is no sister to me despite us sharing a father. Andre Du Pres used my mother and discarded her like rubbish and left me to be raised by a man I could hardly call a father."

She smiled again. "I'll see you this evening, Anne," she said and vanished. Anne leaned against the bedpost, sighing with relief. The less she needed to be in the company of Angelique Bouchard the better.

She eyed her costume, noting it was still pristine, then hung it back in the wardrobe. Tonight she would wear the crushed wine velvet and silk with ermine trim—another gown which she was sure would overshadow Belle's. Her sister had no fashion sense to speak of.

Page~*~*~Break

"...Are you okay, Mrs. Gold?" Belle heard Emma ask her after she'd finished lighting the last candles in the ballroom.

"Oh! I'm fine, Emma, fine," she insisted.

The younger girl shook her head. "Meaning no offense Mrs. Gold, I know a lie when I hear it. Sometimes anyway. Do you need me to go get Mr. Gold?"

"No, I just had a little disagreement with my sister."

It hadn't sounded like a little disagreement to Emma, she'd overheard some of it when she passed Anne's room on her way downstairs.

"Are you sure?" she pursued, wanting nothing more than to see the harpy tossed out on her backside along with her pompous husband and insane son.

"It's fine, Emma. Let's get this ballroom finished and then it's time for our wild swan to shine!"

"I'm not gonna shine like those diamonds you have in Mrs. Gold. I'm just gonna be me...but a little more ladylike because I don't wanna embarrass you."

"You won't now stop fretting over it."

Emma helped Belle and the other Rose Heart maids to arrange all the roses in their porcelain bowls upon each of the tables in the ballroom. Each table was covered with a white damask table cloth with either red or green trim. Each table had a centerpiece of roses, cut from Belle's arbor.

The ballroom itself shone with several coats of lemon wax upon the oak floor and the walls were papered with lovely gold, white and pink roses. The ballroom was designed by a master architect and had a soaring ceiling painted to look like a sunset sky, gold trim accenting the cornices, and many many candelabras and a huge crystalline chandelier.

A raised dais on the left side was were the musicians would play, and large double doors with a stained glass motif of a rose, castle, and the scales of justice opened onto a wide garden.

Everything was polished until it gleamed and the fresh scent of the roses permeated the air.

Emma smiled happily, imagining herself twirling in Bae's arms. If she ever got up nerve to indicate she wished to dance with him. For a lady always let a gentleman invite her onto the dance floor. Lost in her daydream, she hummed as she straightened the chairs, and Belle caught Mrs. Potts' eye and smiled a conspirator's grin.

Page~*~*~*Break

After Emma left his office, Rumple headed down to the stables to check on Victorious and Bastet and her kittens. He found the stallion looking much more like his old self, with no temperature, and his cuts healing. Rumple scratched him between the ears and murmured, "Hello, old son. Feeling better, are you?"

Victorious whickered and leaned into his beloved master's chest. Rumple took a curry comb which he kept nearby and began to comb the bay horse's mane. Victorious was vain and enjoyed being groomed. "Guess you don't mind Bastet and her kits being here, do you?" he asked while he brushed the black mane to a silken sheen.

Bastet was happily curled up in a straw nest beneath the manger, purring and nursing her brood.

Victorious shook his head, he had known all along the cat was there, and even sick he knew not to harm them.

"Mr. Gold, shall we leave the cats there for now?" asked August. "I'm a little worried about Victorious stepping on them by accident."

"Yes, he's not bothered and Bastet and Whisper always liked to sleep with him. The family is underneath the manger, and he can't crawl so no danger of him stepping on them."

"What about when they get bigger?"

"Well, then we might move them," Gold conceded. "For now, leave them. Bastet's been upset enough."

He handed August the comb and then rummaged in his pocket for a carrot to feed his horse. As he was doing that, Karl appeared and asked diffidently, "How's he doing today, Rumple?"

Rumple latched the stall door and turned. "He's much better today. His breathing has cleared, no fever, and he seems more alert. August, did he eat his breakfast?"

"Yes, Mr. Gold. Gave him a bran mash and his medicine in his water like you said. He finished them both and I gave him some alfalfa and more water."

"I'm glad to hear it," Karl said sincerely. "He's a fine horse, Rumple." He reached out to stroke the stallion and the big bay permitted the caress.

Rumple considered that, unlike his son, Karl was to be trusted around horses. Victorious had good instincts.

"Well, I'm off to get ready for tonight's small Yule ball," Rumple said. "I'm happy this isn't the full costume yet."

"Yes. Anne loves these galas," Karl sighed. "Me, I can take or leave them. Though they are good for business."

"Well, I'll see you at supper, Karl." Rumple said cordially.

Karl remained beside Victorious for a few more minutes while the grooms swept the aisle after Rumple had departed. He knew he should also be getting ready for tonight's gala but he was reluctant to leave the peaceful stables. He fed Victorious a sugar cube he'd filched off the tea tray this morning. "I'm sorry for my son," he said into one pricked black ear. "Peace, brave one."

Victorious eyed him intelligently, before lipping the sugar off his palm.

Satisfied the stallion accepted the offering, the noble strolled away and made a quick decision to speak with his son before he took a bath and shaved. He knew he'd been remiss in doing so, but he wished to remedy that now.

Even as he mounted the stairs to Avery's room, he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Retrieving the key from Cogsworth, who was currently on duty outside the door, Karl unlocked it and went inside.

"What do you want?" his son demanded angrily. "You better be letting me out of this dung heap."

It was no dung heap by any means but the boy had taken his frustrations of being confined out on one of the chairs. It lay in pieces on the floor and the walls had been slashed with a broken piece of the mirror.

The boy had also carved a vulgar message into the oak nightstand.

"Avery, what...what have you done?" Karl sputtered.

"What do you care?" Avery countered. "You let them lock me up in here like an animal and I was bored."

"So you decided to vandalize the room?!"

He shrugged. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"What you SHOULD be doing is figuring out how to behave like a decent person not a lunatic!"

"Why?" demanded Avery sulkily. "You let Uncle Rumple beat me like a servant! I couldn't sit down the whole of yesterday!"

"You wouldn't be sitting for a week had I let my tutor deal with you!"

The boy pouted. "It's not fair! You're my father, you're supposed to stick up for me. Like Mama," he sniveled, trying to play the guilt card.

"Not when I see you for what you are but you are going to straighten up, boy! I won't have my son locked away in an asylum."

"Nobody's gonna lock me up!" Avery growled truculently.

"I will if I have to!" Karl threatened. "You might think I've been oblivious to your misdeeds but I'm not. . . not now!"

Avery stared up at the older man in alarm. This was not a side of his father he was used to seeing. "You can't prove anything," he blustered.

"Oh don't think I can't find ways to. I didn't get where I am being a fool."

Abruptly the boy changed tactics. "Papa, don't be mad at me! I . . . I'll do better, I promise." He put on his pitiful face, which always worked like a charm on Anne.

"You'd better and don't you dare use that look with me. It doesn't fool me as it fools your mother. I'll be watching you."

"Okay," his son muttered.

He began plotting ways to escape this prison.

"Clean up this mess," ordered his father abruptly. "I won't be owing your uncle any more money for your nasty habits." Then he strode from the room.

The door shut and the lock turned.

Avery thought about ripping apart the bed next, but restrained himself. Sullenly, he began to pick up the broken chair and covered the ruined nightstand with a towel. He would make it seem like he was repentant. He would fool them all.

Then, when the time was right, he would escape. And go to the only other person he knew would help him. Lady Bouchard.

Page~*~*~*~Break

At a tavern near the docks a group of men were having a premature celebration of their biggest haul over pints of ale.

"More ale for you?" A young woman asked them.

Killian Jones smiled devilishly, his gaze focused on her bodice. "Aye!"

As she reached for his mug he pulled her onto his lap. "More than my mug needs filling, love."

She giggled flirtatiously. "If you're wanting a tumble it's gonna cost you three pieces of silver."

"I like your boldness, love. What's your name?"

"Cora."

He tossed three silver pieces onto the table. "Well Cora, why don't we retire to the captain's quarters!"

The others hooted, raising their mugs in salute. "Stuff her a few times for us, Cap'n!"

He led her down the dock to where the Jolly Roger was moored grateful he wouldn't have to listen to Milah's caterwauling while he entertained himself with the tavern wench. He would enjoy her favors for a few hours before they set out to deprive the wealthiest families of the town of their gold and jewels.

In the shadows beside the mast, a scrawny dark-haired waif watched as his father went below with the wench. This was nothing he hadn't seen before. But he wouldn't waste this opportunity. Quick as wink, he slipped down the gangplank and vanished into the warren of buildings near the docks. With the captain thus distracted, the boy wouldn't be missed till morning.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Emma straightened the white feathered mask she was supposed to wear that night along with the rose gold dress Belle had commissioned for her. The mask was supposed to represent swan's wings, and each feather was lightly dusted with golden glitter and tiny colored pink crystals edged the eyeholes.

Her gown was already laid out, she would return to dress for the ball after dinner. For now she wore the borrowed green silk gown, and after checking to make sure her hair was still pinned up, left her room to go down to dinner.

As she was about to descend the stairs, Bae emerged from his room on the other side of the hallway. He was wearing a beautiful navy blue doublet of crushed velvet with a gold chain across his chest. His shirt was cream silk and he wore black breeches and mirror-shined boots. At his waist was a fine belt with a curved golden dragon buckle. His hair had been freshly washed and curled rakishly over his ears.

Emma caught her breath, thinking what a fine figure he cut. "Good evening, Bae," she said softly, lowering her eyes.

"Hello, Miss Swan," he responded, giving her a bow. "Shall I escort you to dinner?" He offered his arm, his eyes twinkling.

"Thank you," she said, and put her hand on his arm, feeling like a lady in a tale.

Carefully, she walked down the stairs, thankful her hems were not hitting the ground. But on Bae's arm, she felt like a glorious lady, instead of an orphan thief. Tonight, she vowed, she would have fun, as Mr. Gold had suggested. Feeling as though she strode on air, she accompanied Bae down the stairs.

As they walked, Bae shot surreptitious glances at the girl from beneath his lashes. Beautiful. She's beautiful, my wild swan. And tonight we shall show everyone how a wild swan spreads her wings.

A/N: thanks to everyone who has reviewed, faved, and followed this story! You have our sincere gratitude! If you like please recommend this Swanfire fic to others!