Chapter 3.

"Killian Jones, Dark One, I Summon Thee."

A cruel smile wormed its way across his face as he heard the words whispered into his mind.

At last.

He closed his eyes, allowing the connection born with the words to link him with the desperate soul who had spoken them, trying to gauge the distance and whether he would bring his ship or just teleport. He was shocked, not a feat easily achieved, when he traced the tendril a short distance to the shore that traced the horizon on the port side. He decided, since whoever it was had come all the way down to the shore in the hopes of meeting him, they should be treated to the full experience. Just to know what they were getting into.

With that thought in mind, he raised his hand to release the magic that would direct his ship toward the shore when he realized that for the first time in nearly three decades, his ship had taken action without him. She had turned course toward the shore and let down her sails, seeming almost, dare he say, eager to arrive at the shore line.

"What the bloody hell has gotten into you?" he growled out, scowling at the planks. The rigging creaked a bit and some of the planks groaned.

"What the bloody hell are you on about, exactly what I need? I have everything I need. Why the hell am I even talking to you, you're a bleeding boat."

A rope snapped, smacking him in the back of the head as it whipped passed. He whirled around with a growl, ready to burn the offending rope to nothing, but he was distracted by the carefree laughing as the sails flapped. That was a sound he had not heard from his ship since he had found his revenge. It almost reminded him of something Liam would do.

With an irritated, and yet, against his will, slightly entertained sigh, he reached up to rub the sore spot on the back of his head, "Aye, beggin your pardon. And a fine ship at that. You finished beating me over the head about it?"

The sails gave another chuckle but the wood settled complacently, while the wind swirled to caress his hair apologetically, and he couldn't help but run a hand over her rails, affection for her so deeply rooted that no darkness could do away with it. He took his position back behind the helm, feeling the wheel turn as easily as it ever had under his hands, no longer fighting his touch, and he couldn't help but raise a curious brow at what had gotten his long-brooding ship into such a state.

He would have his answer soon enough, for the shore was fast approaching, at a speed he'd not been able to coax out of his old girl in a long time. He could make out the figure draped in white and a stallion as black as the soul that now slithered through him standing at the shoreline. A cruel smile snaked onto his lips.

"Oh look at that old girl, they're bloody terrified... Marvelous," he chuckled. He continued to regard the two figures as the ship slowed, noticing that she had again fallen into a angry silence at his words. He rolled his eyes at the temperamental lady.

"Fine, you want to be surly, be my guest." The wood under his hands creaked threateningly, and the main mast practically scoffed at his words. He felt his black rage flare again, but before he could take action the ship jolted roughly, causing him to take a step to steady himself. He righted himself, growling obscenities under his breath at the vessel, before making his way down to the main deck, watching with surprise and irritation as the gangplank lowered itself with a splash into the water. He walked to the edge of the deck before looking back up at the two who awaited him. From this distance he could make out porcelain skin and blood red lips. A woman.

With a quick wave of his hand, he lowered the gangplank and parted the shallows, allowing him to step down onto the moist sand beneath without wetting his boots. At the gesture, he heard siding of the ship scoff at his flair and he pit back another growl of frustration as he made his way toward the two desperate souls that stood just above the tide line. He noticed, as he made his way leisurely up the shore, the well groomed state of the horse and the fine quality of the garments the lady wore. He allowed his eyes to roam over the beach, taking in the now risen sun and the surf. His eyes returned to the horse, which was, if he didn't know any better, looking at him with both apprehension and accusation. A horse. Looking at him with scorn. Was his reputation so dulled with time that he had descended to the level of being judged by a horse? Or a bloody BOAT for that matter? The darkness within him sat and coiled at the thought.

Once he was a few feet away, he observed that the woman was terrified, though her face was concealed by the hood of her ermine-lined cloak. Satisfaction blossomed in his chest. The bloody horse and his bloody boat weren't important. The ones who knew better were still afraid, and that's all that mattered. The darkness reveled in every tremble he could see rack her frame.

Always one for manners, he sketched a casual bow, allowing his hooked arm to raise behind him with an unnecessary flourish, reveling in the gasp of fear and horror the dainty bit before him gave as she took it in. He could barely contained a chuckle, but a smile would not be restrained.

But as he straightened, the thing slid off his face at the same rate as the woman before him lowered her hood with shaking hands. The sun caught on her golden hair and lit up her pale skin, making her almost glow in the morning light.

"My name is Emma, Crown Princess of Misthaven, and I am here to make a deal with you Dark One."

He almost didn't believe his eyes. He saw. She was beautiful.