It took less than two weeks of living in the palace for Christine to come to several conclusions.

Firstly, the king was an ass. King Clayton reminded Christine of one of the particularly ugly breeds of monkey in the Southern Isles that you could frequently find scratching inappropriately and flinging its own feces, which gave her some mild satisfaction. However, the realization that the king was an ill-tempered, impulsive brute with very little control over his own tongue helped her to realize that he was not her true concern.

No, the real problem was Lord Alasdair, the king's advisor. Just from looking at him, you could tell that he may not sit on the throne, but he was still the man with the power. He had a sort of evil charisma about him and a tendency to stare with cold grey eyes straight through a person, as if he was reading everything worth knowing and judging the person inadequate. He was a tall man and sturdily built, with greying brown hair and a face that was always clean-shaven. You could tell he cared a great deal about appearances, particularly by the always newly clean handkerchief that would appear out of his doublet if he had to touch anything that was not up to his standards of cleanliness. He smelled vaguely of lavender, and, as a result, the smell would remain unbearable to Christine for the remainder of her life.

After making this conclusion, she quickly drew several others. They had not killed her. They also seemed to have no intention of harming her; she was given her own rooms complete with beautiful clothes and servants, and treated quite well under the circumstances. The king dined with her about once a week along with Prince Julian, the queen, Lord Alasdair, and whoever else was unfortunate enough to receive an invitation from the soon-to-be-intoxicated king. From this and her brother's captivity, she had easily discerned multiple reasons for her captivity. The most likely was the old adage of keep your friends close but your enemies closer. Being in the palace meant that they could keep an eye on her and make sure that she made no move to reclaim her arguably rightful place on the throne. While keeping her brother elsewhere, she was unable to make any move against them or escape. If her father's adoptive family up North decided to stir up trouble, she would have no choice but to tell them to stand down, or else gamble away her brother's life. There was a possibility that they were trying to get her on their side, she supposed; perhaps they thought nice dresses could buy her loyalty. Christine would laugh at the thought if not for the constant images that often flashed through her mind of her brother, alone and scared. Since she hadn't seen him and her questions about him were answered with vague, non-answers, she could only imagine what was happening to him, and each thought was worse than the last. She was haunted not only during the day, but also at night, when she often woke in tears from her latest nightmare.

The last reason she could possibly think of for captivity was that they wanted her here for entertainment, since she sang for them most days of the week and spent much of her day learning music to perform. The king and his family showered her with praise for her voice, but their compliments fell on deaf ears. Lord Alasdair's one positive attribute was that he didn't deem this necessary; he reacted with cold calculation to each song just as he reacted to everything else in his life.

It was easy enough for Christine to tell that she was constantly tailed around the palace, and so she learned quickly that an escape attempt would be pointless. Each day had her feeling more and more stifled, until one day she decided to experiment. After a particularly good performance, she approached the drunken king.

"Would I be allowed to go into the city?" She asked, deciding there was no point in beating around the bush.

Lord Alasdair instantly appeared at the king's side. "Why?"

Christine swallowed hard. A million reasons quickly went through her head, but she knew that something like to get away from you wouldn't be received well.

At her hesitation, Lord Alasdair's eyes narrowed. "To stir up a rebellion perhaps?"

She shook her head quickly. "Of course not." She turned to the king, who was watching her with a slightly dazed grin. "It's just that I'm not used to such finery, your majesty. I am grateful for everything you've provided me, but I miss simplicity sometimes. Even if I could just go sing in a pub... I used to do that back home, and I miss it."

To her shock and to Lord Alasdair's obvious annoyance, the king agreed. That very night, she went to a pub in the surrounding city with a guard close on her heels. One audition later, she had a weekly job.

Several weeks after being given her new limited freedom, she walked into the pub to see someone that she didn't expect.

This someone had dark skin, large dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, long black hair that fell loosely around her shoulders...

Christine would recognize her sister anywhere.

"Sari!" She exclaimed, running towards her sister with open arms. Sari shrieked and dropped her drink, but didn't seem to care based on how tightly she hugged Christine.

"What are you doing here?" Christine demanded, suddenly fearful as she remembered the guard. She looked around nervously only to see that the guard was nowhere in sight, an occurrence that was becoming more common as time passed. They had watched and quickly realized that Christine did nothing but sit with a drink in the corner or sing, and she imagined it was a bit boring for them when they could be at a brothel or getting drinks themselves. She felt a twinge of worry that they would get into trouble, but she shoved it away angrily. If such evil people were punished, it shouldn't matter to her.

"I could ask the same of you! Did you escape? Should we run?" Sari whispered, eyes darting around nervously. Christine felt a twinge of sadness. Another reason for the guards' negligence was likely that they knew she couldn't run without killing her brother.

"God, no. I have a guard who follows me here," Christine said. "I'm just here to sing and retain my sanity."

"You'll have to tell me everything-" Sari said, eyes sad.

"Connor? Do you know where he is?" Christine interrupted, fear creeping into her tone in spite of herself.

"He's in a prison a few days ride to the East," Sari replied. "It looked like a high security place, so I didn't investigate much further before coming to try and locate you."

Christine bit her lip, suddenly feeling despairing. She'd hoped that he might be at another castle, perhaps with a relative of the king or a family particularly loyal to the crown. The news that he was in a prison implied far worse treatment. Christine had never felt more hopeless in her entire life.

"I'm certain that Connor will be fine. He's learned from the best, after all," Sari said gently.

"That's a little bit self-indulgent. You only knew the boy for a few months," Christine teased, attempting a smile but largely failing. Sari gave her a light shove in retribution.

"Oh, I have something to tell you!" She blurted, eyes lighting up. "I know it's not much, but I think it should make you at least slightly more cheerful. I was able to break back into our house after the soldiers left. I made sure papa had a proper burial-"

Christine winced. She'd been trying very hard to avoid thinking of her father, although it hadn't been very successful. Mostly, she just avoided thinking about it until she was in bed at night, when she was finally able to cry for as long as she needed to.

"That's not the cheerful part," Sari assured her. "The cheerful part is that I was able to smuggle out some of his belongings. I'm renting a room a few streets down, and I have them there. I was able to find the locket with your mother and father's portrait in it that papa meant to give to you for an eighteenth birthday present - sorry to spoil the surprise, but I see no point in secrecy anymore - and I also grabbed papa's violin. I know it was foolish of me to take that, of all things, but I just couldn't stand the thought of it being thrown away-"

Blinking back tears, Christine threw her arms around Sari's neck and pulled the taller girl into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

The Present

"I didn't see a locket. Was it lost?" Emma blurted before she could stop herself. Oh well, Killian was probably fully aware of the extent of her prying.

With a small smile, Killian shook his head. "No."

Carefully, he shifted and plunged his hand into a pocket of his coat, now sitting around Emma's shoulders. Emma watched, transfixed, as he pulled out a long, silver, ornate locket on a chain. It was circular and looked old, but also as though it had been kept in very good condition. In the middle, there was a small tree with swirling branches. Around the tree were three different borders: the outer and inner one covered in a delicate pattern and the middle an arrangement of tiny light blue jewels.

"I've kept it on my person ever since my mother's passing," he explained. "That tree is the emblem of my mother's side of the family, and the blue was their colour. It had been in her family for centuries by the time she got it, with new portraits inserted for each owner, as I understand."

"Can I hold it?" Emma asked.

She half-expected him to refuse, but, to her surprise, he passed it over without hesitation. Emma ran her fingers along the front, before flipping it open. On the right half of the locket, a woman with sharp, pointed features and intense blue eyes stared at her haughtily, with long strawberry blonde loosely arranged around her face. She was a beautiful woman, but Emma could definitely imagine her burning people at the stake. She saw the resemblance between her and the wedding portrait of Christine, though; both had the same pale skin, distracting eyes, and sharp features. Emma wondered if the official colour of Katie's family had anything to do with the eye colour that seemed to run in the family; Killian had clearly gotten that from his mother's side, along with most of his looks. She could see bits of his grandfather in him too, although less prominently. His grandfather sat with a small smile on the left side of the locket, with long, unruly black curls and intelligent grey eyes. Clearly, Killian's hair colour matched John's more closely. John looked much less severe than Katie, as if he actually had a sense of humour. For that reason, despite very different facial features, she could still sense something Killian-like about him.

"So, your past self had it in his pocket too?" Emma said wonderingly.

Killian nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable under Emma's gaze.

She passed the locket back a little bit reluctantly and watched as he gently placed it back in its pocket. Suddenly, she was struck with the urge to check the rest of his pockets. What else did he have in there?

"So, when did your mom meet your dad?" Emma asked quickly, before she gave into the temptation to pry further into his belongings.

Killian smiled.

The Past

The first night Christine wore the locket was on a particularly special night at the palace. The king was throwing a party to celebrate his own birthday, and Christine was, of course, expected to sing for all of the guests. Tonight, she wasn't just singing for dinner entertainment or an afternoon concert, either. Tonight, she was singing an entire opera that some knight had sworn he had traveled to another world to get. Christine had laughed for at least five minutes at the story because she considered the concept of "other worlds" to be the product of a few too many pints at a pub, but she had to admit that the music was thrilling. She'd had the chance to work with other people, which she had missed while singing solo, and, beyond that, she was singing the devilishly difficult part of a villain. This particular villain was called the "Queen of the Night", and while Christine was surprised she would be cast as royalty in an opera for the king, she enjoyed playing a villain. The Queen was wonderfully manipulative and dramatic, and, best of all, at least slightly mentally unstable. Christine hoped to give the king nightmares.

"I may need you to get me divine assistance for that one, though, Papa," Christine whispered to her locket as she tucked it down the front of her costume.

It was about halfway through the first aria that Christine noticed the man staring at her.

He was sitting between Lord Alasdair and the prince, and his eyes - a blue pale enough that they were almost grey - were wide and unblinking enough that she was almost concerned that he'd died and no one had noticed. However, much to her relief, he finally blinked. Perhaps he was staring to throw her off.

Well, two could play at that game.

Christine sang the remainder of her aria (mostly ridiculous, high, vocal acrobatic passages that sounded like maniacal - if very musical - laughter) staring down the man, who looked unbothered. At the end of her aria, he stood to applaud.

He stared at her through her second aria as well, and Christine stared back. If she hadn't been looking at only one person, she would have noticed that everyone else looked terrified. If anything, her impossibly blue eyes glaring at the man gave her character an even greater aura of mental instability.

She received a standing ovation during the bows by everyone and even had to come out and bow again. She smiled graciously as she did so, while secretly imagining running most of the people through with her knife.

She changed for the following ball with Carlotta, the singer who had played Pamina, the Queen of the Night's daughter. She was a young woman of no noble blood at all with a sweet voice and a sweet face to match, although she was several years older than Christine.

"They loved you," Carlotta said enviously as a servant laced up the back of her dress.

"I'd wager that they just loved the character and the music," Christine replied absently, rubbing off her horrendously thick character make-up.

The woman gave her a skeptical glance.

"Did you see that man staring at me for the entire performance? I confess that I was barely paying attention to the rest of the audience because I was so irritated," Christine said, now aggressively applying less dramatic make-up.

Her friend giggled. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately," groaned Christine. "Perhaps I ought to dance with him and step on his feet in vengeance."

"I wouldn't do that, Christine. He may be someone important."

"Even better," Christine muttered to herself, sweeping out of the room in a flutter of dark blue silk.

It took at least twenty minutes to pull herself away from all of the people congratulating her on her performance. When she finally escaped it was to walk directly into a girl hovering just behind her who must have been only about ten, although she was dressed as gracefully as any of the older ladies. Despite her elegant dress, however, the girl had plain features. Her eyes were grey, her hair a dull ashy light brown, and her lips thin. She looked uncomfortable, as if she wasn't quite aware of all of her limbs yet.

"Apologies, lady," she said, blushing.

"Apologies to you as well," Christine replied with a kind smile.

"I-I just wanted to say that I thought you were amazing. I wish I could sing like you," the girl blurted out shyly, staring at her toes.

Christine felt oddly flattered. "Well, I'm sure that you could if you worked at it."

The girl looked at her thoughtfully. "You're not nasty in real life?"

After a stunned silence, Christine's laughter bubbled over. "I sincerely hope not, but I suppose it depends on who you ask," she said finally, biting back her ridiculously large smile.

"Oh," the girl replied simply. "Isn't it terribly difficult to play someone that evil, then?"

Christine considered the question for a moment. "I'm not so certain that she is entirely evil. She lies, seeks revenge, and is horribly proud, but perhaps that's for a cause that she deems noble. Perhaps she really does truly just wish to save her daughter from being used by someone she views as evil. The evil that she does do, though, is easy to to act out. I just think of the evil people I've met in my life and take my cues from them. Or, if I'm in a particularly black mood, I can pretend that Sarastro is someone who has wronged me and imagine how much I would love to... cough on his breakfast."

The girl let out a loud snort, before flushing in embarrassment.

"That's actually very clever, lady," the girl said, looking up at Christine through her pale lashes.

"Coughing on an enemy's breakfast is clever indeed," a rich baritone voice said from behind Christine.

"Edward!" The girl said with a bright grin. "I got to meet the singer!"

"I can see that," the man chuckled, moving over to the girl's side.

"You," Christine blurted, now face-to-face with the staring man.

"Oh, yes, I apologize. I should have introduced myself. I'm Edward and this is my sister, Jayne. I have never been more impressed by a performance in my life. I wasn't even aware that it was possible to sing that high," he said with a charming smile.

"Well, it's simple, really. I just think of something frightening," Christine quipped.

"Like spiders?" Jayne asked eagerly, clearly unaware of the shift in Christine's mood.

"Or strange men who won't stop staring at you," Christine said, raising an eyebrow in challenge at the staring man.

The man laughed heartily. "That seems like a strange thing to think of... do you have much experience with that?"

"Not before tonight," Christine hinted.

Edward looked confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, you meant... apologies, my lady. I was very entranced by your performance and may have stared as a result. I assure you it was not something I was aware of. As I said, I'd never seen a performance like that before. However, while I can apologize for causing your discomfort, I certainly can't apologize for staring."

"Why is that?" Christine asked with a frown.

"Because I got the most lovely woman on stage to stare back at me as a result," he said with a crooked grin.

Jayne looked back and forth between them in amazement and giggled as Christine raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed.

Not really knowing how to react, Christine turned back to Jayne. "What was your favourite part of the performance?"

"The part where you told Pamina to kill Sarastro!" Jayne exclaimed without hesitation, face lighting up. "Mother was so nervous that she had to start fanning herself!"

"I wish I'd seen that," Edward commented.

"I think she almost fainted when you hit that last high note," his sister added, shaking with suppressed laughter.

She launched into an impression of Christine singing and then her mother reacting that had Christine gasping for air as she laughed.

"Good lord, did I really look like that?" Christine giggled.

Jayne opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Simultaneously, Christine became aware of the scent of lavender. Whirling around, her breath hitched slightly as she took in Lord Alasdair.

"I hardly think this is an appropriate conversation, Jayne," he said coldly.

"Sorry, father," she replied, staring at her feet again.

Lord Alasdair turned to Edward, his eyes ice. "And you. You should know better than to let your sister associate with-"

"I beg your pardon?" Christine interrupted smoothly, eyes flashing.

"We were only telling the Lady Christine how much we enjoyed-" Edward began to protest.

"That is hardly the appropriate title to use for her," Lord Alasdair interrupted again. "And there is no reason to congratulate anyone for going onstage and making a spectacle of herself. Come along, Jayne."

Jayne turned to follow her father with a dejected glance towards Christine.

"I apologize for my father's rudeness," Edward said after a moment, shaking his head slightly in embarrassment.

Christine took a moment to really study him for the first time. He was a good head taller than she was, which wasn't difficult as she was a fairly average height. He was sturdily built with a serious face. If she were being completely unbiased, Christine would go so far as to say that he looked handsome.

The soft strains of a waltz began to play, and suddenly Edward was looking at her hopefully. "Allow me to make up for his rudeness with a dance?"

A mischievous smile did its own dance onto Christine's face. "Certainly."

Edward escorted her towards the other couples swathed in jewels and every colour of the rainbow before beginning to lead her through an elegant waltz. Or, rather, it would have been elegant, if Christine didn't have other plans. She kept a serene smile on her face as she stared into the eyes of her partner, deliberately stomping on his feet on nearly every other step.

It took only about a minute of pain for realization to dawn on Edward's face. "Either you're stepping on me on purpose, or you're the most atrocious dancer alive. Unless you prove otherwise, I may have to assume that it's the latter."

"Oh, really?" Christine challenged.

The following minutes of the waltz had the other couples in a frenzy as they attempted to avoid the graceful whirlwind of Edward and Christine. The only thing better than sabotaging the dance was proving her own skill. She had hoped to make her partner look pathetically inferior, but he was unfortunately a graceful dancer himself. Christine found herself breathlessly swept away in his arms multiple times as he led her through various lifts and twirls. When the music ended, Christine was almost disappointed.

"Well, my lady, I concede. You are a wonderful dancer... with a strange desire for wreaking havoc on unsuspecting partners," Edward said.

"You're fairly decent yourself... for a son of Lord Alasdair," Christine replied.

The corner of Edward's mouth twitched. "Perhaps you would do me the honour of dancing again with me?"

Christine pretended to look around. "Well, I seem to have a mysterious lack of suitors." She was honestly surprised that anyone was dancing with her at all. As a general rule, people seemed to be frightened of associating with her, most likely for fear of the axe if the king suspected them of treason.

"Very mysterious," Edward agreed. Christine (barely) resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the compliment. The etiquette of court could be extremely tedious and dull, and Christine had no love for false gallantry. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but sense that there was some sincerity behind Edward's words. She hoped she was imagining it.

"So... Edward," Christine tried the name out on her tongue as he pulled her into a second waltz. "Are you training to be a king's advisor, like your father?" Regardless of her intentions, she couldn't keep the scathing tone out of her voice.

Edward shook his head. "Once Julian is king, if he asks me to be his advisor, I may have to consider his offer; he's been my best friend since we were children. But, no, up until about a fortnight ago I was serving in the royal navy."

"Have you been to the Southern Isles?" Christine blurted without thinking.

Edward nodded. "Yes, it's a beautiful spot. That was one of the first voyages I went on. In fact, the king wanted us to find you and your family. Small world."

"Apparently," his partner replied coolly, stepping on her partner's foot deliberately.

"Incorrect response?" Asked Edward, with something like amusement in his eyes.

Christine just smiled politely at him. "There's nothing more beautiful than the ocean there," she said wistfully, ignoring his last remark. "Have you noticed how you can smell it over the entire island? The smell always reminds me of home."

"And how are you liking it here at the palace?" Edward inquired, suddenly looking serious.

"Well, there are worse prisons," Christine replied stiffly, thinking of Connor. "I certainly don't enjoy the uncertainty of my situation. Perhaps you can use your influence to ask your 'best friend' if he would either get on with things and murder me - like the rest of my family - or else let me go."

"Surely you can see why they can't, though," Edward said with real sympathy behind his words.

"No," Christine said stubbornly. "Considering that they never bothered to ask me if I was actually interested in their ridiculous throne."

"Aren't you?" Asked her partner, sounding genuinely confused at the implication.

"Of course I'm bloody well not interested," Christine exclaimed in exasperation. "That throne is a bloodbath. All it brings is death and destruction to all who claim it. I would be perfectly content to live out the rest of my life hidden away with my family. I know nothing of ruling a country, and any attempt to claim my birthright would only lead to the death and suffering of its people, possibly even a civil war. I certainly don't want their blood on my hands. Perhaps you can tell that to your friend."

Edward was looking at her strangely. Whatever he saw caused his face to soften. "I don't suppose that he would listen."

"No, I know he wouldn't," Christine sighed.

Edward considered her for a moment more, eyes staring straight through her once again.

"Could you possibly stop staring at me?" She demanded, attempting to ignore the strange fluttering in her stomach at his gaze.

"You're not what I was expecting," he said finally, with a small smile.

"And what were you expecting?" Christine raised a mocking eyebrow.

"Someone a bit more... threatening, I suppose," he replied.

"I am threatening," Christine said haughtily. "If you can't see that, then you are simply a fool."

Edward shrugged. "Well, perhaps you can be threatening, but not out of any inherently evil qualities."

"Your side is the evil side," Christine corrected. "But you're not what I would have expected either."

Edward smiled at this, as if she had just given him a particularly kind compliment.

Christine danced with Edward many more times that night, finding that their steps seemed to fall into an easy rhythm that still allowed for banter. While she tried to maintain a hold on the automatic loathing she'd had for him upon sight, she was finding it more and more difficult.

That night, as Christine climbed into bed, she had never been more conflicted. Thoughts of her conversation with Edward kept floating through her brain. Just from his loyalties, she would assume that he was fully capable of manipulation, but there was something very open about his face. His emotions seemed to sit there like the words of a book, just waiting to be read by any stranger. It was oddly endearing.

Christine pushed away the thoughts forcefully. It would be an insult to her father and mother's memory to befriend someone whose interests were so opposite to her own. With any luck, Edward would be on the next ship leaving port.

Thanks for reading, and my extra thanks to those of you who have followed, favourited, and reviewed!

Again, I'm sorry for not responding to reviews yet. It seems to take a while for the ones that get emailed to me to actually appear on the site (particularly from guests), and I don't want to respond to something that is "invisible", so I may have to wait a bit still! Just know that I've seen them and they all bring a smile to my face. :)