They were shopping. Or they had been shopping, and now they were pausing from shopping to consider more shopping. They had seen stacks of leathers, rolls of ribbons, and bolts of fabric so thick and long they could have been used as oars for the little rowboats docked near the Jewel. Killian, Liam, Emma and Duke what's his name—along with a whole cadre of the younger lords and ladies of the court that seemed to trail after Emma everywhere they went—stood stock still in the center of Misthaven's most bustling marketplace. And they were, and Killian could not put too fine a point on this, still bloody shopping.
"Oh, this is impossible."
Killian couldn't help agree with the crown princess, though it had been an uncommon occurrence for that entire morning.
"These laces will never work," the fair haired princess told Prince Graham, whose name Killian still pretended to not know. Emma and the duke were considering a carton of leather laces, apparently meant for new boots, though Killian couldn't understand why as he'd seen the princess buy at least a dozen new pairs of shoes since they'd arrived at the marketplace a few hours earlier. And they'd all seemed to have their laces.
The vendor they stood at now had her wares spread out on a low, long table, crammed in between a man selling large wheels of cheese and a young couple offering shoe shining services. The marketplace was located in the center of the kingdom's city district, the most popular place for most of the realm's citizens to do their shopping, but also a place where schools could be found, where a young gentleman could learn a trade. The marketplace was surrounded on its edges by neat little inns and a pub or two, all above board, the seedier establishments located more on the outskirts. It was a place where children came to run around the pretty fountains, where senior ladies could feed the birds, where a pair of lovers might buy an ice cream and stroll the cobblestone streets hand in hand.
Killian couldn't stand the sight of it.
"I'm afraid they might be too wide," Emma murmured, still running the laces through her fingers, giving the things a focused look Killian truly did not believe they deserved. Emma asked the vendor is she had anything thinner and when the stout, plump woman told her unfortunately not, the princess purchased three sets of the laces anyway. Killian never did pretend to understand women.
The laces purchased, the party moved on.
They'd made a merry picture leaving the castle that morning. Emma and the duke, Prince Neal of course, a handful of fashionable young women—the likes of Princesses Ariel and Aurora among them—as well as a handful of servants trailing about, carrying parasols and bags. It had taken at least six carriages among the lot of them to get everyone from the castle to the city center, though Killian had stood firm on his need to ride along on horseback. He was a gentleman of the navy, after all. What place did he have beside a princess in a carriage?
Yes, they'd made a merry picture indeed. Unless, of course, anyone looked too closely at Killian's scowl.
"You're scowling again," Liam whispered harshly. "Pull yourself together, man."
Killian steadied his face but not on Liam's account. His brother was one to talk. Killian had it on good authority that Liam had spent all evening last night and the better part of the early hours of that morning in the arms of his betrothed, Milah. After years apart, Killian didn't begrudge them their happiness. But Liam was the last man in their party who should be lecturing him about steadying emotions in front of a woman.
"Having a good time yet?"
Killian's scowl immediately returned as the source of this new voice, Neal, wrapped one dodgy arm around his shoulders. For almost the entirety of this mind boggling morning Prince Neal had been cozying up to him, and Killian couldn't for the life of him figure out why. It's not as if they'd ever been fast friends, though they had spent plenty of time in childhood together. In fact, there was a time when the pair of them had been obvious enemies, each so clearly hanging on the every word of one Princess Emma. The rivalry seemed to fade, of course, after the prophecy made clear to Killian and Neal and anyone else paying attention that the young Jones boy wasn't to be considered as even in the running for the crown princess's affections.
"Splendid," Killian finally replied tersely, pushing Neal off and straightening his jacket. He remained, as ever, at the back of their party. What he was doing there, he still couldn't figure, and he'd spent most of the day so far glaring in equal measure at both Graham and Neal, and counting the minutes until he could spirit away to the Jewel and busy himself with the stacks of captain's logs that needed indexing. It certainly sounded more enjoyable that whatever this was.
They stopped suddenly outside a smaller looking pub, with a gleaming wooden sign out front proclaiming it the "Snuggly Duckling." Killian couldn't remember having ever heard of such a place and figured it had opened in the years since he'd been gone. Nevermind, he mused, as the royal group made its way into the tavern. So long as the place offered a dark corner and a cold mug of ale, he'd be mollified. Somewhat.
"I think you'll like it here, Killian."
Killian startled to realize the Duke of Hunter, Prince Graham himself (blast, apparently he did remember his name), had sidled up to him as the ladies entered ahead. "They serve a good stew, and an even better whisky," the duke continued, his good natured air doing little to set Killian at ease. Killian gave a quick nod of comprehension, lest the prince began to believe him a total mute, and followed behind as Graham entered the establishment. Though Killian decided he would enjoy a whisky (or two) he made a decision right there and then not to enjoy himself too much. In what world could he and this prince share anything in common in the way of taste, save for the one glaring exception?
The object of that exception had chosen a table at the back of the pub. She sat expectantly, knowing the rest of them would follow, and follow they did, every one of them including the dark haired lieutenant who's scowl had almost certainly returned.
Emma was having a terrible day.
They'd been shopping of all things. Emma had resisted her mother's suggestion for the day's outing, of course, but how many suitable activities were there for young men and women of nobility in the middle of the day, unchaperoned? Emma had tried to beg out of the entire venture altogether, but her mother's admonishments left that out of the question. The court was full to the brim with visiting guests, what with the preparations for her upcoming birthday gala, a morbid fete that would almost certainly mean the beginning of one of the most ill fated days of her life, but apparently a party was still in order. And with the return of the kingdom's largest naval vessel, it meant Misthaven was bursting with young men and women in need of entertainment. And so Emma was sent to entertain.
Most of the party seemed to be enjoying themselves, Emma comforted herself as she settled onto a long bench at one of the Snuggly Duckling's larger tables. The ladies in the group had certainly been amusing themselves with all sorts of flirtations, though none straying too far away from the realm of good manners. Liam, who she was so happy to have along much as she'd missed him, had been a lovely addition to the day, though from time to time it seemed he was mightily distracted, his thoughts miles away. And Prince Graham had been, as usual, a perfect gentleman and an agreeable co-host of sorts for the day, making sure everyone received attention—the perfect would-be consort to a queen, she supposed.
Even Neal appeared to be enjoying the day, even though Graham's position at Emma's side should have made it perfectly clear that his years of vying for the heir of Misthaven's hand was not to be. The young noble seemed to have taken it in stride and had spent plenty of the morning trailing Killian, of all people.
Killian. Upon thinking his name Emma's eyes couldn't help but fly to him. And what a picture he made. The young boy who had left for the sea all those years ago was gone, replaced with a man that was as handsome as he was a stranger. He'd always been good looking obviously, but his looks now were something else altogether. His skin tanned from the sun, his build wider and stronger thanks to his days laboring on the deck of a ship. His dark hair and piercing blue eyes, combined with just the right amount of beard, resulted in the sort of man that had women stopping in their tracks all morning to get a second look.
And that was where the compliments ended.
For however handsome he may be, it was all negated by the air of disdain, the pretention, the downright hubris that oozed off him in waves. Killian spoke little, smiled less, and didn't seem to have a kind word to say to anyone or of anything. This man might have the looks, but he had none of the good humor she remembered from her Killian.
Except that wasn't right. He wasn't her Killian at all. Somewhere in this town Emma knew Milah was waiting, separated from her betrothed for so many years, so why was Killian bothering with all of them? Why was he even here? He could run off with his lady love, not sparing a glance behind him, and it's not like anyone present would miss him.
Emma accepted a glass of water from the newly-arrived waitress and tried to convince herself it wasn't a total lie.
"And what can I bring you and your guests, your highness? Your grace?"
Emma listened idly as Graham began ordering a selection of drinks and dishes for the group. Their presence at the Duckling wasn't an entirely unusual one, the place was a personal favorite of her father's friend Rapunzel and as such the waitstaff was accustomed to serving both everyday workers as well as royalty. The food on the menu was indeed excellent, but Emma couldn't find it in herself to care all that much, particularly when she noticed the waitress stop abruptly from scribbling on her notepad, taking notice of the spot where Killian still sat brooding.
"Oh, Lieutenant Jones, I almost didn't see you!"
With that, the waitress threw herself into Killian's lap, her arms going around his neck and her mouth drawing close to his ear to whisper something familiar. For his part, Killian had the good sense to look at least mildly embarrassed, though Emma noticed he didn't immediately push the young woman off, leading Emma to understand there was at least some level of acquaintance between the pair. Emma wondered hotly what Milah might have to say about it all had she been present.
"Cassandra, lovely to see you, lass," Killian said finally, the tips of ears going red in his classic tell. "But I best not take up all your time, plenty of hungry lords and ladies at the table."
The waitress, called Cassandra apparently, begrudgingly lifted herself from Killian's lap though she did so with a few more giggles and one over obvious wink. She had long red hair and ample curves, though her low cut dress and tawdry makeup would have made Emma believe she couldn't have been Killian's type. Emma never did pretend to understand men.
Emma met Cassandra's departure with one stony, raised eyebrow at Killian, who shrugged and smirked impishly back at her, as if to say 'What can you do?' It was the most interaction the two of them had had all day.
"Friend of yours Killian?" Neal asked with a low chuckle.
"Yes, well I'm sure the Lieutenant had chance to meet all sorts of ladies on his travels," Emma snapped back quickly. She regretted it immediately. Killian was an engaged man and she was in a courtship with one of the most powerful dukes in the realm, a man who had the power to break an unstoppable curse that was headed her way. These were facts that could not be undone and for years she had been training herself to appear unmoved, unbothered by anything having to do with Kilian Jones. And he seemed to have done the same thing with her. Never mind the unending letters he'd sent her from the sea, the only evidence she had that he might still think of her from time to time. She'd stored those letters, unopened, in boxes under her bed, just as she'd boxed up any other feelings she might have regarding the man, and she wasn't about to let her feelings get the better of her now, not when she was so close to her end goal.
"And what's it to you?" Killian replied quietly. His words were low but his gaze was steady, his eyes boring into hers as if he could convey some secret message.
"Nothing," she replied tersely. "It's absolutely nothing to me."
"You know, I'm not completely in the mood to be lectured by someone whose entire day has consisted of picking out new party frocks."
"Excuse me?" Emma snapped back quickly, taking in a sharp breath at the jab.
"I just find it a little ironic," Killian continued, his eyes narrowing. "We've all watched you spend hours on what I'd argue counts as some of the most frivolous, idle activity man has ever invented, yet you don't hesitate to question how others spend their time."
Emma couldn't believe it. The man had clearly lost his mind. Openly criticizing his crown princess, in front of a captive audience no less. The eyes of their party were wide as saucers as each lord and lady waited to see how their princess might react to such open and obvious scorn.
Emma swept up regally from her seat, towering over the others and calling on all the grace and wisdom her mother might have bequeathed to her.
"And I find it ironic," she said steadily, "that a man so concerned with frivolity has spent his first remaining hours back in his kingdom trailing after others whom he so clearly doesn't belong with."
With that she removed herself from the table, pausing to murmur to Graham that she had an appointment and would meet him later. She left before the others could pose their objections, though she did catch one last quick glance at Killian as she swung out the front door. His head was bowed, his arms were crossed, and he looked like he wished he could be anywhere but there. She understood the feeling perfectly.