Emma struggled, cursing and spitting as she was hauled away from the one person who could stay the order for her death.

"I didn't take it! You have to let me speak to him!" Her legs splayed out beneath her as she refused to be led away on her own two feet.

The guards didn't respond as she tried to twist herself out of their tight grip, their faces void of emotion. She kicked out at the one on her right, bare skin meeting plate metal. The pain barely registered as she panicked.

"Please! Please I didn't do anything!" Shock turned to fear as she gibbered, pleading with the guards as they pulled her down a hallway, back towards the gaol.

For all her words and struggling, Emma didn't get any reaction until she hocked a gob on one of their cheeks. The guard made no reply but delivered a sharp punch to the side of her head. The pain burst like a rotting egg as she sagged to the floor. It wasn't until she felt something dripping past her nose that she realized she was bleeding. Her feet dragging on the ground, she left a wobbly red trail behind her. She didn't register much after that. Not the door, not the cell or the shackles being fixed around her ankles.

"So did the king believe your story? Are you innocent?" The voice in the dark cackled.

Emma made no reply. She was too busy trying to cope with the pain in her head. She could feel the blood drying on her face but didn't have the energy to care. Her outburst and subsequent struggle had drained the fight out of her. It was a familiar feeling, one she'd felt when first dumped on the streets, the empty pit of hunger gnawing at her from the inside, the exhaustion brought on from simply breathing.

Normally she would have slept off the pain, preferring to be unconscious with experience being a formidable teacher. But the pain kept her sinking into her regular oblivion so instead she was stuck listening to the snores and grumblings of her fellow cell mates. The room's sour stench, populated with human sweat and excrement was stifling and made her long for the brief moment when she'd been on the other side of the door.

.oOo.

No comment was made in the Throne room. There was no evidence anything untoward had transpired. In fact everyone acted as if nothing at all had happened, indicating it was such a regular occurrence that none took notice. The line of prisoners huddled silently; the soldiers stood vigilant at their posts; the king sat stiffly in his chair.

There was still the matter of the merchant to deal with. The man looked stunned, having witnessed the true power his sovereign held over every life within the realm, knowing that authority could be turned on him at any moment. His face was pale, his temple beading with sweat. He didn't dare look at the king who was now leaning forward on his knees, hunching over the dais, one fist clenching the ring tight.

"We know that you cannot possibly have purchased this ring for your wife. And so for the crime of lying to your king we sentence you to a fine of 100 gold. Should you find yourself unable to pay the fine we are sure a comfortable cell can be found for you." He rattled off the words with the speed that belied constant repetition.

Bocan felt a shot of ice splinter down his spine. "But…your Grace. My money.

James stared at the man before him with an amount of disdain. Were all his subjects truly this monumentally witless?

"If you were lying about the ring why should I believe your story about the money? The amount will be confiscated and put to good use." He leaned back, turning to the soldier reading off the charges, effectively dismissing the merchant.

Bocan stood for several moments, confused as to whether his audience was over until a soldier took him by the arm and roughly pulled him from the line. Escorted out he was still rather stunned when the door was shut behind him with a bang. A steward with a pinched face approached, indicating he should follow. Bocan felt numb as he stumbled after him. How has this happened? He'd only wanted to recover his coins and now he'd lost a far dearer amount. How was he to pay for the shipment of wool? More importantly, what was he to tell his wife?

.oOo.

Time passed but it had no meaning. The door was the only indication Emma received that days began and ended. It opened and closed, delivering prisoners and food. So she waited for the end, hoping it would be quick.

It didn't take her long to understand that though sentenced quickly, her death would not be swift in coming. Her skin was scraped raw from the shackles, her limbs ached from sitting on the hard ground and she had occasional headaches, possibly from the fist to her skull. She was always thirsty, her throat parched. But it was how the guards kept everyone in line. Moldy bread and a cup of water every few days was little enough to make anyone docile. And when the cup was passed around Emma made sure to hold the last gulp in her mouth as long as she could.

Time passed and the pain in her head receded. When she did sleep it was fitfully and filled with nightmares about her execution. They usually involved a faceless knight chopping off her head. Her body would crumple to the ground but her head would roll around, her hair whipping about as townsfolk kicked it down the street. The images always left her queasy and dreading the day when they'd come to take her through the door.

She apparently had to wait her turn however, as prisoners were often dragged out never to be seen again. There had been one man who'd fought Benthik when his time came. He'd nearly got hold of a sword before a gauntlet had come down on his arm with a quick crunch. The prisoner had ended up on the floor before he was kicked until he ceased moving. Hours later his body had been removed. Emma hadn't seen him since.

Her time would come though, she knew. There was no escape. But she was always watching, always waiting for an opportunity to exploit. She wasn't dumb enough to try brute force and bribery didn't work though she'd avoided speaking to Benthic. His threat still hung over her head. He often tried to manhandle other female prisoners if they got out of line. She had a feeling that Blue Eyes kept everyone in line though she never saw him. Without his invisible presence, it was likely her stay would be far more brutal than it had been. As it was the experience didn't have anything going for it.

As there was nothing else to do she found her pending sentence consuming her every thought. It was a struggle to decide between avoiding the waking world through sleep or foregoing the nightmares by staying awake. The choice was made for her when she discovered vermin scuttling about the cell, looking for food and shelter. She'd felt something crawl across her body in the half sleep before waking. Startled, she brushed her hand against something decidedly small and furry. Stunned, a sharp croak of fear was all she managed with her dry throat though no one paid her any mind. All had their own concerns and what care would they have for a stranger?

It wasn't long before the reason for the invasion became clear as one man was dragged out ahead of schedule for trying to escape. He'd been chained in the corner and had been trying to dig his way out, having scraped at the hard earth with his hands, loosened a stone in the wall. She never saw the hole herself, hidden by the press of bodies but the whispers started up in the torchlight, a likely entry for rats.

Emma soon found herself craving those momentary flickers of light brought by the soldiers, a small comfort amongst the fear and filth. This, despite knowing it often signaled the death of a fellow cellmate, brought relief she never knew she needed. It was a sickening truth but an injury she could bear, the consolation being that one day the light would be for her.

.oOo.

It happened one day when she'd finally fallen asleep on her own. The door opened and two guards were unlocking her shackles before she knew what was happening. She only fully woke when they dragged her to her feet. She struggled to pull away but the lack of food had left her weak. Instead she offered curses and threats, the best she could do while feeling light-headed. She blinked at the brightness of the torches as they yanked her into the passageway. She wasn't alone though. Before and behind her was a bedraggled group, heads hung low.

She'd never attended an execution, finding it horrifying to watch someone killed for the entertainment of others. With this city though it was just a witnessing of justice, it was a celebration, a reason for drunken merriment. Executions were treated like holidays though they happened too infrequently for the bloodthirsty citizens. This time though she had no choice. She would be front and center and the city would celebrate her death.

Led up out of the darkness, she stumbled on the stairs, feeling the ache in her joints as she fell into the poor soul in front of her. They shuffled forward as a mass, kept in line by soldiers on either side. Driven through the lower levels she couldn't help but cough at the stale air, her throat pinched and scratchy. She hadn't spoken since her outburst in the throne room as there seemed little point in complaining and now that it was almost over, the silence seemed appropriate.

Ahead she heard what sounded like a large beast roaring. For a moment she wondered what creatures might live down in the bowels of the castle before she realized it must be the crowd, a jeering mob of garbled sound. The passage ahead was lit by daylight, streaming in through large wooden doors as they were marched out into the courtyard.

She squinted in pain at the sudden flare of light and tried to ignore the people shouting and making wild hand gestures. Held back by a line of soldiers, they were far more eager than she'd anticipated. They'd come to witness a public hanging and they were impatient for the event to commence.

Ahead of her she could see the gallows, all straight angles, with freshly-tied nooses swinging from the crossbeam. Barefoot they were led onto the platform, a hastily assembled structure with a bright hard smell. The planks were rough underfoot as the prisoners were pushed into a straggly line.

Facing the crowd Emma tried to avoid looking at anyone in particular, lest she see someone she knew. It was bad enough that people were going to watch her death. So instead she chose to stare at the parapets and the soldier patrolling them. Dressed in heavy plate to deflect arrows, she supposed it was too much to hope for that they'd be attacked mid execution and interrupt her sentence.

A man in heavy black cloth ascended the platform. He had a stern face with a giant mole in the middle of his cheek. There was an official-looking document clenched in his hands as he stared out over the crowd, waiting for silence. The crowd wasn't interested in waiting though. They pushed at the soldiers, fighting for a better view of the gallows as some shouted for them to begin. They had no patience for order and procedure, only a dark thirst for the final act. Left with no choice, the man with the mole simply shouted over the crowd, reading from the orders in his hand.

"His Grace, King James has so ordered that these prisoners, guilty of many varied crimes, be hanged from the neck until dead."

His voice boomed across the crowd, loud and low. One by one the prisoners were led towards a noose. She listened to the man and the crimes listed for her fellow prisoners. Murder, rape, forgery, all more serious than the petty theft she'd been accused of. Why she'd been included in the group she couldn't fathom.

One by one the soldiers shoved everyone into place. Emma trembled as she watched each person step above a trap door, a heavy noose laid over their heads. An old woman with scraggly hair stood beside her, yelling obscenities into the crowd as she was maneuvered into place. She had likely been stocky at one time but now the rags she was dressed in draped off her like she was hardly there at all.

When it came time for Emma to step forward, she nearly stumbled and fell. Her heart was beating in her ears as a soldier set the rope about her neck. It was heavier than she thought, pressing down on her shoulders before he tightened it. She could only flinch as the rope bit into her skin.

The surrounding crowd started to point and laugh, the sound echoing off the walls in the courtyard. For a moment she thought they were laughing at her or at the whole idea of a public hanging. But when she looked to where they were pointing, she turned and saw a boy further down the line had wet himself in fear, a dark stain growing on his trousers, a puddle at his feet. His head was bowed in shame, cheeks red. The man with the mole ignored them all.

Instead he began to shout about the beneficence of King James and all Emma could do was keep her eye on the lever by his side. Once he pulled that it would all be over.

She twisted her hands, trying to loosen the bonds cutting into her flesh. There was sweat at her temple, hot sun on her head. Her throat was so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she swallowed. She felt dizzy and overwarm, all sound diminishing to a high ringing like a bell. And yet with her body practically vibrating out of her skin, she found she couldn't even cry. All parts of her had seized up, coiled in wait for the end.

There was no way of knowing whether the man with the mole was still speaking apart from the fact that she was still breathing. For she found she could no longer hear him. Instead she felt a slowly growing pinch start at the back of her head. Eyes wide she tried to still her brain and quiet her heart. But there wasn't much point in trying as she'd never been able to fight it before. Besides, if she was going to die anyway, what did it matter who knew?

A painful vice spiraled inside her, spreading out until she felt it in her limbs, as if her bones were twisting in place. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the pressure built pressing down into her body with every muscle clenched, fingers curled into her palms. Her breath short and shallow until her vision started to swim. She swayed from side to side with one singular thought in her head. I don't want to die.

A moment later her vision flashed white and she collapsed. A large blast like a cannon shot rang out over her head. The giant cross beam above the prisoners had cracked in half, pulling them to the floor as it fell, nearly choking them. Emma lay there, blood spilling from her nose and mouth, noose biting into her. Gasping for breath she wondered why the world was sideways as things slowly went dark.

.oOo.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe feasts?" Killian tugged on his cravat, despising the damned thing as he fought to tie it. It didn't help that he was fighting for space in front of Liam's mirror while his brother tied the perfect knot.

"I believe you've mentioned it once or several times." Liam smirked. "But unfortunately for you we're related and as such you're expected to enjoy yourself at the conclusion of the treaty talks. I was hoping the promise of a feast would keep you from complaining." He looked askance at his little brother, knowing what could possibly entice him. "The food's bound to be better than what Cook will be making."

Killian snorted. "Almost anything is. But if it means we sail that much sooner I think I can bear it."

Liam clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling. Always happier at sea than land. He too was anxious to leave. The Ambassador had overstayed his welcome, indulging in the many benefits of his office while stretching out negotiations to take advantage of King James' hospitality.

"Everything's been signed so we should be departing within a day or two. Besides, you should be gracious that I've decided to waive your watches for tonight."

"And I'm sure it had nothing to do with you needing a buffer between yourself and Lady Montaigne's daughters." Killian gave him a knowing look, having seen evidence of their advances before, accompanied by his poor brother's polite protestations.

Liam straightened his jacket. "Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of handling a pack of rabid women. I just don't want to monopolize all their time. That's what you're for." He tugged on his waistcoat, fidgeting with the buttons.

"Of course I am." Killian rolled his eyes and frowned at the thought of having to explain ships and sailing to nobles who had no real interest in either.

Both departed the "Jewel" looking forward to the end of the evening before the night had really begun. Lieutenant Hern had been left in charge as they walked up to the castle in silence. Passing the Day Market they were forced to maneuver around merchants packing up as the sun set, closing stalls and heading home with unsold produce. One woman was trying to rid herself of leftover cabbages, holding a head in front of Liam until he admitted he wasn't carrying any coin.

Up at the castle they were met by a long line of carriages filled with the nobility of the kingdom waiting to be admitted. Killian stared inside several, dazzled by the wealth on display until elbowed hard with a reminder to stop gaping. They entered the courtyard after a long wait to verify their names and ensure they weren't carrying any weapons. But a stern guard barred entrance to the Keep until Ambassador Parin came wafting out to retrieve them, miffed at being pulled from his seat.

"I honestly couldn't say why they held you at the door. I gave that foolish man your names. If he can't even be bothered to remember two measly people then they should replace him with someone more competent!"

He swept down a wide passage, ignorant of the slight he'd gives the Jones brothers though by now they were used to such things. The man was utterly in his own world, blissfully unaware of how cruel his words were. His one grace was his diplomacy. No one was as tactful or articulate once he focused on a target. Born with a cutting tongue he greatly enjoyed using it to pull others down. Some would say he suffered from too much pride. Liam would suggest he suffered from too much mouth.

Soldiers were posted every few steps and ahead of them they could hear the sounds of raucous laughter and music issuing from the Grand Hall. They were abandoned at the doorway as their guide drifted off to insinuate himself into a party dressed entirely in burgundy. Standing at the entrance Killian gazed at the large room filled with people dripping in jewels and rich fabrics. A long hearth burned at the centre surrounded by bulky tables and long banners hung from the rafters. He peered through the throng, trying to find the source of the music.

Never one to balk from a challenge, Liam pulled Killian into the hall and was immediately assaulted by a wall of perfumes and spices. Liam cleared his throat, treating it like he would any other unpleasant situation aboard ship, as something to be endured.

Killian fared worse though. His eyes watered and he started sneezing. It wasn't until a goblet was thrust into his hand and he drank deep that he was able to stop himself. He turned to thank his rescuer when he came face to face with a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Ah. Miss Montaigne." If he could have disappeared at that moment he would have. He turned around looking for Liam but the man had vanished into the crowd. Dammit.

"Are you quite well Lieutenant?" She stared at him with a measure of concern, her hair styled in the most complicated braid he'd ever seen.

"Yes thank you." He took another sip of the proffered drink to avoid conversing. The woman did like to go on about subjects he had no knowledge of. And in his experience she only needed someone to listen, speaking enough for two people.

Satisfied that he wasn't about to expire, she looked beyond him. "And where is your darling brother? He is here is he not?"

Her eagerness would have been amusing if he didn't know how much the woman and her sisters hounded Liam every moment they could. Latching onto his title and foreign origin, they seemed to expect to make a match. Killian was thankfully left out of the equation other than a means to get to his brother. He would hardly know what to say if her attentions were diverted in his direction.

"Yes he's here. I believe I saw him with Ambassador Parin but I couldn't say where they are." Hopefully it would lead her in the wrong direction.

She nodded and excused herself as politely as possible but he didn't mind in the least. He did feel rather out of place though, surrounded by those who knew each other while he was a stranger with little experience in court settings thought that was entirely by choice. He wouldn't admit he missed his dog watches but he was out of his element. While he may have begrudged Liam his fancy outings with the king, he had no qualms with leaving the socializing to him. The sea in all its terrifying power was less a worry than this room filled with its Dukes and Barons. The scheming and politicking of nobles had always been a reason to avoid any invitation to the palace at home. Now, he was simply fulfilling a promise to Liam. One he was starting to regret.

He subtly tried to stretch his shoulders, feeling the sore ache of tension threatening to constrict him. Dress uniform was always slightly stifling, the jacket too tight, the collar too high, pulling the back straight and the chin up. Fortunately the opportunities to wear such torture devices were few and far between. Earlier Crawley had attempted to help Liam and then Killian dress before being shooed out of their cabins. Growing up on the streets it was always somewhat chafing to have to follow the etiquette of the aristocracy in all its nonsense and both despised the rigid expectations of naval hierarchy which apparently included strutting about like plucked peacocks.

While he gulped his drink, a watered-down sort of mead, he looked around for his brother. Surrounded by the crush of boots and elbows he felt closed in. Perhaps it was the heat of the room or the lingering taste of perfume or maybe it was the effect of his weak drink that was causing the cloying sensation in the back of his throat. Fortunately he wasn't stuck for long as the music transformed into a lyrical fanfare with a man announcing the entrance of the king.

As one the crowd turned to face the door while King James entered with his wife Abigail on his arm, a serene look on her face. Guests parted like a wave pulling back from shore, bowing low and curtseying, eyes averted as the king and his consort made their way to the head table. Finally seated, the king gestured to his many waiting courtiers.

"Please be seated."

With a rustle of fabric guests were escorted to their seats, all according to rank and station from the lowest Lord to the highest Duke. Ambassador Parin as guest of honour had a seat at the head table and was looking rather smug about it. Killian had a seat next to an elderly woman whose hair was pinned with amethysts. He located Liam across the room next to a portly man with a gigantic white moustache. The two were already deep in conversation, the man's belly shaking every so often in a jovial laugh. The king stood, a firm smile planted on his face as he waited for the murmuring to cease.

"Honoured guests. We are gathered to celebrate the end of a successful negotiation with Grandis. Our thanks go to Ambassador Parin for his ceaseless commitment to obtaining my signature," James smirked and inclined his head towards the man seated further down the table, "and to Lord Gold for organizing this peace treaty," he nodded the other way to the man dressed in finery on his left. "And now we eat!"

This was met with a healthy exultation as the large doors opened and a line of servants carrying food entered. Their shoulders hunched and their arms shook under the weight of the dishes presented on heavy trays and in large tureens. The first course was a mixture of miniature pastries, eels in puree, cuts of boiled meat, marrow fritters and loach flavoured with sage.

Killian was practically salivating as he loaded his plate, ignoring the looks of disdain offered by his neighbours. He was far too hungry to care. On the "Jewel" Cook had a way of making inedible food slightly more tolerable but the fare available aboard ship was limited and the food was flavourless apart from the pervasive and inescapable taste of salt. Here though he could just smell the difference. Sinking his teeth into the various meats on offer he closed his eyes at the various spices running over his tongue. Triton's beard he'd missed that!

Courses continued to pour through the door and the hall was filled with laughter, the clink of cutlery and the crackling of the hearth. The musicians played a soft lilting tune as Killian engaged with the purple woman next to him. A widowed Baroness, Lady Selden was a distant cousin of the king, having gifted him with his first pony many years ago. She was fascinated by his life as she'd never been aboard a boat, being afraid of drowning.

"It's really quite safe. The "Jewel" is one of the newest ships in our fleet."

She gave him a look as she stabbed at one of the almonds on her plate. "That may be true but I rather prefer my feet on solid earth. Don't you ever get dizzy with all that tilting and swaying against the horizon?"

"I've never had a problem before Baroness."

She humphed in disbelief as she tackled a pile of beans in white sauce, waiting for the moment when he stood so she could observe him falling over. The feast continued much like this until the king stood again, facing the Ambassador.

"For our visitors from across the ocean, we present our centerpiece of the evening."

Four men entered the hall carrying a tray on their shoulders. A giant sturgeon was coiled on top, steam rising from its mottled skin with little ships of pastry surrounding it as if to attack the creature. Tiny fabric flags were attached to each, painted to match the royal colours of Grandis. The tray was carefully set in front of the king who was grinning at the presentation.

Killian tried not to grimace. Fish were a staple at sea and a constant at almost every meal. Here he was at least hoping for something a little different but not wanting to appear ungrateful he clapped politely along with the other guests. He watched as one of the cooks approached the head table, a large knife in his hand. With a swift slice he cut the fish in two and out slopped a glut of cooked lampreys, some slipping onto the floor.

Applause followed as the man responsible for the dish bowed and departed as servers quickly dished out the centerpiece of the feast. As men were rushing around with dishes Parin stood and grabbed his goblet. He'd rather avoid the lampreys if he could, detesting any and all things to do with fish. Standing as the hall hushed around him he held up his drink.

"I'd like to propose a toast. To the king for welcoming us as a new ally and friend and to Lord Gold, for making these negotiations an effortless affair," he drank to their health, managing to swallow down the swill they called mead without making a face. In truth he'd had stronger drinks at nunneries.

Gold nodded in return, but did not drink. He was instead more focused on consuming the sweets on his plate. The kitchens had gone all out for the feast, though it was only known to the local nobility that they didn't normally eat so well at the castle. As such, he was going to take full advantage while he could.

It wasn't as if he was starving at home but he did prefer to spend the money of others if he could. And while he had no hand in the menu, it had been his idea to hold a celebratory feast. After all, they need to make a good impression on their ally and he was nothing if not one to present a smiling exterior.

Killian accepted the slippery dish, complete with pastry ship and grimaced as he cut into the skin of the lamprey. It was hot enough to burn his tongue and quite chewy as he finished his first mouthful. Around him he heard several gasps and cries. Clearly he wasn't the only one having problems with the dish. Looking up in mirth his expression vanished only to be replaced with horror and confusion.

A bolt had sprung from Ambassador Parin's chest. Everyone started shouting and screaming at once. Killian was on his feet, hand to his sword by habit, finding it absent; Liam ran to Parin, standing before him while scanning the crowd; the queen was pale; the king was yelling as soldiers pulled him away, knocking the sturgeon to the ground in the rush.

Looking for a path to either side of him, Killian was desperate. The crush of courtiers scrambled to leave in fear and confusion. A line of soldiers barred the door, holding back the crowd. They didn't dare draw steel despite the pushing and shoving.

Killian was about to run to Liam when he felt a tug on his arm. Lady Selden was brandishing her supper knife, eyes to the rafters.

"Lieutenant," She grabbed onto his arm and pulled herself up. "Escort me to the wall."

He didn't bother questioning the order. Instead he helped her stagger on a bum leg to put cold stone to her back. Bowing he turned to look to the head table. Parin had a hand to his chest, struggling to breathe as Liam stood over him like a shield. The king had been unceremoniously shoved under the table along with the queen. A veritable forest of spears and swords surrounded them.

"Liam!"

Killian shouted over the crowd, his jaw clenched as he tried to fight his way past the soldiers barring his way.

Liam turned at his name, looking his brother in the eye. A nervous smile graced his face as if to be reassuring. He opened his mouth to shout just as two bolts thunked home into his chest. He stared down at the projectiles in confusion as his legs gave way beneath him.