When the Morning Comes for onceuponacursedcaptain. Rated: M just in case.
Prompt: may i pretty please have an au where the curse never happened and emma the crown princess meets the charming captain hook? if you want a quote prompt or whatever just message me and thanks for being so generous! i LOVE you!
This wasn't the first ball they had thrown this year. Or even the second, or the third. It was something like the two dozenth, in fact, and Emma was convinced, no matter how much her parents protested that it was to celebrate the new treaties they'd signed, the successful negotiation of peace with the last rebels loyal to King George's cause, and the defeat of the militant Winkies who'd been plundering the dwarves' mines in the western marches, that it was entirely to do with her. She was twenty-three, the heiress to the kingdom, able to ride a horse and handle a sword better than half the pompous young knights in the tails of visiting monarchs. She had been tutored in politics; she knew that the Winkies were robbing the mines in a desperate attempt to raise funds for a fight against a particularly wicked witch, and that solving the problem was not as simple as throwing them in the dungeon for thievery. Her mother had taught her how to bend a bow, her father had taught her about statecraft, her godmother Red had taught her about tracking and hunting, and her godfather Grumpy had taught her how to deck any misbehaving lout with a conveniently dwarf-sized punch to the kidneys. In short, she was tall, accomplished, blonde, and beautiful, and the kingdom's pride and joy. No wonder they wanted to put her on display. And, well, the other thing.
Emma's parents were the last people to tell her that she had to marry for state, or politics, or alliances, or any other reason besides love, but nonetheless, they were concerned about her apparently total lack of matrimonial prospects. When she was seventeen, she had rebelled, declared that she didn't want to be a princess and this place was stifling her, and ran off with an older boy, a sorcerer's apprentice named Baelfire. Bae clearly enjoyed showing the naïve, spoiled princess what life was "really like," but Emma had worked out fairly quickly that he wasn't quite who he presented himself as. He made cryptic allusions about being older than he looked, that some kind of rift with his powerful and mysterious father had caused him to run away from home, and that his mother had been killed by a band of pirates when he was quite young and he was still searching for the man responsible. A villainous hooked bastard, ugly as sin, seven feet tall with glowing red eyes and a coal-black soul to match his rotten heart. Emma took this description with more than a grain of salt. Bae liked telling stories.
Nonetheless, for a girl who'd lived her entire life in a castle, her every need attended to, her family close and loving, her godparents ready to support her if she ever felt she couldn't tell her parents anything (and in Grumpy's case, take her to do things that she couldn't tell her parents about) Bae's worldliness was a revelation. She thought he was the smartest man alive, the edgiest, the cleverest. She'd had to disguise herself on their travels, otherwise word would certainly have gotten back to Snow and Charming, but she cut her hair and dressed as a boy. And after Bae told her that he loved her and would never leave her, she'd given him her maiden's gift in the sheets of a shabby bed at a crossroads inn. She'd believed him.
Only a few weeks later, however, when they were crossing through the northern boundaries of the kingdom on the way to find a mythic treasure that Bae promised was hidden on the other side, they ran hard afoul of a band of vicious ice giants. Emma unslung her sword and shouted at him to help her, but he'd just hesitated and stared at her. She'd lost sight of him, fighting for her life, and when the tumult finally cleared, she realized in utter, numb horror that he was gone. He'd cut and run and left her to, as far as he knew, be slaughtered and torn apart limb from limb. All the promises. All the visions of a better life. He'd dropped it in an instant and booked it.
Emma, obviously, hadn't been killed, but that didn't make it better. The giants were bloodthirsty, but they weren't stupid, and they realized that with the missing princess in their hands, they were now in position to ask anything they wanted from Snow and Charming, who had been fighting to cut down on their general lawlessness and disruption. They liked to treat Emma as a plaything, a doll and a pet, once giving her to one of their children for a particularly nightmarish few days of playing "baby." By the time it was done, Emma was a mental and physical wreck, finally reunited with her distraught parents, who couldn't understand why she would ever leave when they had always given her everything she needed and wanted. A wisewoman was discreetly procured to ensure that the scandal was not deepened with an illegitimate pregnancy, and the kingdom had been in an uproar for months afterward.
Ever since, for obvious reasons, Emma had been bitterly lukewarm at best at the idea of contracting a new romantic engagement. She supposed she would have to marry someday, eventually, provide an heir for the kingdom and all that, but she had never again wanted it.
It had, however, now been six years since the Bae incident, and her parents, while they'd patiently stood by her as she healed, had started gently encouraging her to move on. When she'd pretty much blown them off, they started organizing the balls, each with a thin veneer of political pretext in an attempt to throw her off the trail, but she was well aware of what they were really up to. Even if they really were celebrating the defeat of the Georgian faction who claimed that her father was an illegitimate impostor to the throne, polite manners surely didn't dictate that every halfway attractive, decently born, breathing, male, and trouser-wearing individual in the kingdom had to score an invite. They'd all want to dance with her, they'd all tell her how much they'd heard of her talents and of course, her beauty, and they'd all be perfect gentlemen until she told them bluntly that she'd never marry a man who couldn't outfight her, and challenged them to a bout in the training yard. Every time they picked themselves out of the mud, fuming and humiliated while Grumpy and the other six dwarves laughed uproariously from the sidelines, they'd rush out the gates and never be seen again. Emma didn't miss them. Maybe it was something about her father being Prince Charming, but she had high standards for men.
This ball, therefore, was clearly going to be the same again. She didn't want to upset her parents by flat-out refusing to attend, as they had gone to a lot of time and trouble for it and even gotten her a brand-new fairy-made gown, but she couldn't face the prospect of the whole inane rigmarole again. Her maids helped her get dressed, and the blue fairy flew in to add a diamond necklace, earrings, and tiara to her ensemble, the last nestled delicately in Emma's long blonde curls. Then Blue turned her to the mirror. "Look. You're beautiful."
"I don't really care about being beautiful," Emma mumbled. "It just seems so… pointless. I'm pretty sure they've invited every so-called nice boy in the Forest by now. I don't know, maybe since I'm the product of true love myself, I don't have one. I'd … cancel it out or something."
"I don't think so," Blue said reproachfully. "Everyone can have a true love. Believe me, Princess, you will find yours, as long as you look. You just have to keep your heart open."
Emma crossed her eyes and pulled a face at Blue's back, causing the fairy to remark, "I saw that," before evanescing in a ball of sapphire light. Keep her heart open? Sure. That kind of thinking was what had gotten her in trouble with Bae in the first place. She wondered if she could get away with just making a cameo appearance at the ball tonight, then shuck off the dress, the prissy slippers, the jewels, and slip into a tunic and breeches. Find her best friend, Red's daughter Ruby, and hide somewhere in the castle like they were still sixteen, sharing fevered secrets and whispers about boys. Emma had used to think that Ruby was so lucky, being a wolf and all, able to run out whenever she wanted to. It had been that urge for adventure which had caused her to run away herself, the next year.
Emma sighed, chasing the memories away, and turned around at a knock on her door, just in time to see her father enter. Charming had been on the throne for almost twenty-five years, twenty-five hard years, and his original boyish handsomeness had given way to a dignified, mature man, silver touching his close-cropped sandy hair and lines framing his blue eyes. But they still lit up on the sight of his daughter. "Sweetheart. May I escort you to the ball?"
"I guess so," Emma said, mustering up a smile as she took his arm. "What's the excuse tonight?"
"We've finally dealt with the pirate threat that's been menacing the coast. You'll remember the tales of a crew led by a terrible captain, causing all kinds of havoc in search of something… a knife, I think the story was. I don't understand it, but we finally captured the first mate, a man named William Smee. He was willing to talk, after a while, and he told us where the ship, the Jolly Roger, makes berth. We sent soldiers in, ambushed the crew, captured the ship. One of them fessed up to being the captain, and he's in stocks and fetters, awaiting his trial." Charming smiled; he liked doing justice. "That deserves a ball, don't you think?"
"I suppose," Emma murmured, taking mincing little steps to avoid trodding on the hem of her dress, as they descended the sweeping staircases into the castle and everyone turned to look at them. Suddenly and most unwantedly, she couldn't help but think of Bae, and the tale he'd told her about hunting for the fearsome pirate who had slain his mother. Seven feet tall with glowing red eyes? Apparently not. Just a small-time criminal who liked killing and hurting people, until he turned into a coward and paid the price. Like the rest of Bae's fables, that was a lie too.
The great hall of the castle was festooned with fairy lights and icicle sculptures, all the kingdom glitterati milling around and socializing, eyeing up each other's fashions, a hum of well-bred conversation filling the air. They all turned to pay their respects as Charming and Emma entered, and Emma glanced around in an attempt to locate the latest dolt who would be putting the moves on her tonight. She saw any number of likely culprits, and permitted herself a small sigh as the master of ceremonies formally opened the occasion and the seneschal gave a long and boring speech about how they'd finally quashed the pirate threat. Then the music struck up, a lively, toe-tapping reel with pipes and viols and lutes and drums, and the dancing began.
Emma was whirled through the expected paces by the expected squad of well-meaning but tedious young noblemen; tonight's crop was so dull that she couldn't bring herself to feign even the most perfunctory interest, and she hoped she didn't accidentally cause a diplomatic incident. She was just about to detach herself, go get a cup of punch, when a man she had never seen before stepped out from behind a pillar. "Before you flee, Your Highness… the honor?"
She gaped at him, partly because of the surprise and partly because she had never seen anyone, ever, who was that sheerly, viscerally attractive. She couldn't imagine how he'd gotten in without causing half the women present to faint, unless he'd worn a mask. He was taller than her, lean and trim, with crisp dark hair, blue eyes, stubble, and a shirt open at the throat deep enough to reveal a sculpted, furry chest. He wore a black glove on his left hand, which he held oddly stiff, and the usual costume of rich clothing, fashionable half-cape attached to his doublet with a golden brooch in the shape of a fishhook. He reached out with his right hand, tarnished rings glittering on his fingers, and gave her a crooked grin that caused her blood to rush to all sorts of unladylike places. "May I steal a dance?"
"I…" Emma swallowed. Oh no, she was not just going to fling herself into the arms of this living god; she could tell just by looking at him that he was one of those men who knew exactly how to use that face. "I was actually…"
"Oh, come on, lass. Just one. This is my favorite song."
The minstrels were currently playing what Emma recognized as an old sea shanty with an irresistible, upbeat tune, "The Fisherman's Wife," and she hesitated; she'd always liked the song too. And besides, one dance, why not? She was probably never going to see him again.
"All right," she said, and curtsied.
He grinned at her again, bowed, and wrapped his left arm around her waist, taking her right hand in his own, and steered her immediately onto the floor. As they waltzed and spun, eyes locked on each other, she said lightly, "I didn't catch your name, my lord…?"
"Catch my name? Did I drop it?" The smile he gave her this time was distinctly feral, a flash of white teeth, a hot breath on her throat as the dance drew them close again. Just being pressed up against his body like this… she hadn't been close to any man since Bae, hadn't even felt like this since Bae… who was he?! This wasn't fair! Five minutes of knowing each other, and her heart was tripping too fast, her breath trapped in her throat. He wanted something, but what?
"This song would be even better if they'd actually sing the words," her partner murmured, lips brushing her ear. "Yet I can see why that wouldn't be advisable at a formal royal ball."
"What words?" Too late, she realized this might not have been the wisest question.
Indeed, that wickedly seductive smile took a turn for the even wickeder. He had a cultured accent, a gentleman's manners, an angel's face, and a devil's soul, as proved when he leaned still closer and began whispering the lyrics, so ribald that Emma felt her cheeks turning a flaming shade of red. About halfway through, she pushed his face away. "You… pervert!"
"Pervert, darling?" Apparently nothing could shake that smug smirk. "Oh now, let's not go there, Your Highness. Everyone knows the stories about you."
Emma could have slapped him. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, I don't know. What am I? You've always behaved like a perfect princess, haven't you? No rebelling, no running away… ladylike as could be, that's you. But you're restless. You don't fully belong in the castle, and yet you were burned by what happened the last time you left. You want adventure, but not at the cost of vulnerability." He leaned in, his mouth in her hair, surely able to hear the way her heart was hammering as he whirled her across the floor, as if they were the only two people in the entire great hall. "Try something new, darling. It's called trust."
"What the…" Emma had never met a man like this in her entire life. "I don't know your name, I don't know why you're here, I've never seen you before, and you want me to…?"
He slid his gloved left hand lusciously down her back, coming to rest in the small of it. It felt…strange, like wood, almost. That, and shockingly intimate. "Come with me, Your Highness."
"The last time I ran away with a man…" She bit her tongue. She had no need to admit any of this to him, especially after her parents had worked so diligently to cover up the scandal and make it go away. It was none of his damn business, either. Who was he?
Somehow, he heard that thought. "If you want to know," he murmured, in the most mind-meltingly unfair voice she'd ever heard, "you have to take a chance."
And with that, he released her so suddenly that she stumbled, cold air rushing against all the places his body had been pressed up against her just a moment ago. He tipped her a sarcastic salute and strode away.
Emma stared after him. Part of her wanted to abandon every scrap of royal dignity she had, run after him, and throw herself around his neck like a common floozy. The rest of her, the rational side, forcibly intervened. No, are you crazy? Seriously, are you crazy? You can't take a chance like that, for a man like him… no. No. No.
But now that she'd seen him, for the rest of the night she couldn't get him out of her head.
—
The next day brought the trial of the Jolly Roger's captain, a sniveling middle-aged man who insisted that they were doing him a wrong and if they'd just not hurt him, he'd show them where to find more treasure. His arguments were unpersuasive, however, and for the terror, havoc, and death he and his crew had wreaked up and down the coast, he was sentenced to die. But as it was being prepared, the archers brought in and the post mounted, he began squealing and pleading that he wasn't actually the captain. It had all been a ruse. He wasn't Captain Hook. He wasn't, really. Hook had been forewarned of the ambush, and got away in time.
A condemned prisoner would say anything in hopes of sparing the noose, but when Charming glanced at his daughter, Emma, looking troubled, nodded slowly. She'd always had the talent of being able to tell when people were lying, and while it had seemed to desert her around Bae, some men were more transparent than others. So far as she could tell, this pathetic little footstool really was just taking the fall for someone else much more formidable and elusive.
This caused quite a disruption to the previously straightforward execution, and it was decided that until they knew who he was for sure, they couldn't run the risk of killing an innocent man. Not that this fellow was innocent either, as he'd surely had his part in the pirates' crimes, but he wouldn't die in Hook's place. He was returned to the dungeons, under heavy guard.
Emma returned to her chambers in a distracted haze, not sure why she felt so oddly unsettled by this news. Her father had been so certain that they'd caught the pirate, but if not… That did argue a considerable degree of cunning and danger, perhaps actually coming close to the dread tales Bae had told her of the blackguard's reputation. And if so…
Emma entered her room, barred the door behind her, and removed her princess' tiara with a sigh; she had to wear it for formal events like this, and it gave her a headache. She took a step toward her bed, intending to sit down and read for a while, otherwise clear her mind. She had far too much to even think about and she –
At that moment, a figure stepped out from behind the curtains, grabbed her wrist with one hand, and clapped the other over her mouth.
It was almost unnecessary; Emma was too shocked to scream. Then sense returned, she began to struggle, and her mysterious attacker held her tighter against him. Something about her flesh responded, recognized his, and by the time he turned her around, she already knew who it was. The mysterious man who'd almost seduced her at the ball, apparently back for – what?
"Don't scream, love," he whispered, thumb caressing her lips. "It would get messy."
"You…" Emma's heart was screaming off the rails. "You… what are you…"
"I'm here for you, lass." He smiled. "A man takes my woman from me, I become… peculiar. Well, the crocodile took one woman from me, and now your father has taken another. I might not be able to face off with the Dark One just yet, but I think I can manage a princess."
At that, Emma's paralysis snapped. She was still stunned, but now she was reacting; all that warrior training hadn't gone for nothing. She grabbed his hand and wrenched his arm over his head, threw his feet out from under him with a leg sweep, and took off running. There was a secret passage in her room that she'd used to sneak out of the castle many times, and she jammed it open, throwing herself down it and frantically trying to slam it shut as he roared and charged after her. She couldn't get it latched; he caught it full with his left hand and flung it aside, shoving himself down the passage after her. She let go of the trapdoor and ran.
Her breath grated in her ears as she took one crazy turn after another, down, down, deeper under the castle than she'd ever been before. She was praying to lose him in the labyrinths, but he was fast, cunning… dangerous. He seemed to anticipate her movements, apparently not even winded, while she was gasping and flagging. Finally, as she dove around a corner into an unused dark cell filled with straw, the only light coming from a slitted air hole fifty feet above, she realized that there was no way out. He'd cornered her.
"That's… a good girl." He loomed in the doorway. "No need for this unpleasantness. I'm not going to hurt you. But your father stole my woman, and I plan a much more enjoyable revenge."
Emma stared blankly at him. Her parents had an exceptionally happy and faithful marriage, Charming had never taken a mistress of any kind. "You're lying."
"Am I, love? Use your little talent and find out. But this woman wasn't the flesh-and-blood type. No. Wood and sails. Taken from me most uncouth."
It took a moment, but it hit. She felt faint. "You. You're Captain Hook."
He raised his hands as if to applaud. "Very good, love."
"And you…" Her back hit damp stone. There was nowhere else to go. "What do you want?"
"As I said." He looked surprised that she was even still asking. "You."
"Why?"
"Well, your charming father having taken my ship from me… it seems only fair that I get to seduce his daughter in his own castle."
"And just what makes you think that will happen?"
"Because of the way you were looking at me at the ball." He was closer now, though she hadn't seen him move. "Because I'm not like any of the idiots you've met before. You bested me, princess. That makes you intriguing. I love a challenge."
Emma did her best not to shudder as he reached her with one more step, those dazzlingly blue eyes staring down into hers. "You're a villain," she said weakly. "All those people you killed on the coast, looking for – what? A knife? There are knives everywhere."
"Ah, but darling, this is a very special knife. And I didn't kill them. I'm not that messy of an eater. If one or two got in the way and had to be disposed of… that's not quite the same thing."
"Yes, it is. It's still murder. You're a…"
"Pirate?" he whispered, lips half an inch from hers. "You could say that."
Emma shuddered. His body was pressing her full length into the stone, his right hand sliding down her side, his knee between her legs. Despite the situation, she wanted nothing more than to seize his head and kiss him, to fight back… to best him. Did he think she was a shrinking violet, a damsel in distress? He was about to get a big damn shock.
"Oh, I see," she whispered coyly. "You've come to ravage me."
The smile he flashed back was criminal. He lifted his head, turned toward her, she leaned in, and they crashed together in the middle, devouring each other in a mad, wet, hot kiss. She opened her mouth, dueling her tongue with his, sliding her hands beneath his shirt, exploring the hard grooves of muscle and the column of spine, so hungry for him, hungrier than she could have possibly believed. When he tried to pull away, she bit his lower lip hard enough that he gasped, and trailed kisses on the underside of his jaw, that ridiculous jaw, to his ear, back to his mouth like a pilgrim coming home. She waited until he was heaving before she let him breathe.
Hook wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking stunned. "Where the hell did a sweet little princess learn to kiss like that?"
"Who said I was sweet?" Emma murmured, leaning forward just far enough to torment him. His eyes almost crossed as he stared at her; she could recognize the symptoms of dumb lust well enough. Perhaps he had cooked up this whole madcap plot to steal into the king and queen's castle and bed the princess simply in revenge for them capturing his ship, but he clearly hadn't wagered on wanting the princess herself quite so badly.
Well. Too bloody bad for him.
As Hook moved toward her again, Emma reached for him with both arms, pulling him closer as they slid down the cell wall and tumbled into the straw together, kissing open-mouthed, heavily, rolling over and over. She got on top of him, and he groaned and arched his hips, grinding his hardness into her through their clothes; her head went light, and she pressed back on him, sustaining the friction. Then she got hold of his wrists, drew them slowly over his head, and pressed them flat, feeling with her fingers that his left hand was in fact made of wood; he had apparently attached something to the stump to deflect suspicion. Hook… of course. All the tales Bae had told her flashed through her head again, and what the pirate himself had said. The crocodile took my woman from me. But Bae had said his mother was killed…
Emma bent down and kissed the pirate again, deeply, luxuriously, caressingly, until his long lashes swept over his blue eyes in a veil of starving lust. She waited until those eyes were fixed on her, until she was certain she was the only thing he saw. Then she reached out, snagged one of the old iron cuffs chained to the wall, and linked it around his right wrist and snapped it shut.
Hook almost didn't realize what had happened; he was too involved in getting his mouth all over hers. But something tipped him off, and he stopped abruptly, frowning. "What the…?"
Emma gave her hips one more little thrust against his, pleased to hear the actual whimper that emerged from his throat. Then she rolled off and stood up. "How does revenge feel?"
He stared at her, honestly confused. "Princess… what did you…?"
At that moment, he realized that he was chained, and the expression on his face turned into shock. "You!" he bellowed, trying to shake it free with no success. "You lying little – "
"Pirate?" Emma whispered. "Oh, but I'm not a sweet little princess, am I? And you want me to take a chance? All right. Listen up. I won't tell anyone that you're down here… until the morning comes. Then they'll be along to retrieve you and I'm sure, imprison you and sentence you to death. But if you can escape beforehand…" She shrugged. "Aren't you the feared Captain Hook? It should be easy for you."
"Emma!" He rattled at the handcuff. "You – "
She bent down, pinned his flailing left arm with her hand, and kissed him, fast as a snake. "When the morning comes," she repeated. "I'd say you have about twelve hours."
He actually didn't have words to answer that one. She had soundly gotten the better of him, and she had a feeling he'd remember it. Remember her. She had a feeling that she was going to see him again, that he was not done with her. But she only smirked at him and turned around, striding out of the cell. Then slammed the door shut.
"EMMA!"
She grinned wickedly, and started to run.