This is a bit of a darker chapter, and I decided to change the story rating as a result because of the more mature themes. Again, there are no explicit descriptions, but the subject matter is far better suited to a mature audience.

The Past

Seeing Aunt Jayne was always a treat when Killian was young.

A few days after the king died, he was playing with Ciarra at her house when Liam came running in through the door. As Killian was accustomed to, this resulted in a surprised Sari, which meant that she dropped whatever she was holding. In this case, it was the pot of stew she was about to put over the fire.

"Liam!" She admonished, looking at the mess of potatoes, lentils, vegetables, and broth in dismay.

"Sorry, Aunt Sari. Killian, Aunt Jayne is here!" He panted, his eyes alight.

Killian jumped up immediately and sprinted after his brother. Ciarra scowled at the interruption, but she knew from experience that Aunt Jayne arriving at Killian's house meant that playtime was over. Killian ran through his front door and immediately threw his arms around his aunt, who was talking seriously with his mother. When she came, his mother usually became quite serious, but sometimes whatever Aunt Jayne had to say made lines of worry fade from Christine's face. Usually, that sort of conversation involved words like "still secret" or "Southern Isles" or "not looking for you".

It took Killian only five seconds to realize that today was not one of those days.

"Hello, little one," Jayne smiled down at him, lifting him into her arms. Being up closer to her face confirmed his suspicions; those were definitely tears on her cheeks.

"You're upset," Killian stated as if waiting for someone to contradict him. In his experience so far, adults didn't really cry, so this was rather strange.

"A little," she laughed through her tears, hugging him tightly enough for the strong scent of vanilla to pervade his nostrils.

He found out the reason as soon as his father came home.

"Jayne," he said in something almost like relief as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. She held on and didn't let go for some time.

"I feared you would be unable to come," his father commented in his deep voice.

"As did I," Jayne admitted.

Edward led her over to one of their chairs. She always looked a bit out of place in their home, even in her less fine clothes. She tried hard to disguise herself to a degree, but even the most ragged of her clothes were still made of fine materials and stood out among the less lavish decorations of the Jones home.

"I really just came to say goodbye," she sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm to be crowned queen on Friday, and I doubt that I shall be able to sneak out again once that happens. It was hard enough today."

"We appreciate it very much," Christine told her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

Killian stared at his mother in amazement. Why wasn't she telling her that she had to come back and visit? Jayne's visits were rare, yes, but he loved his aunt. She was quiet but she smiled when Killian played violin for her, and she was always happy to join in the children's games (she could be an excellent pirate when they played 'pirates versus navy'; only Christine was better).

"But you'll come see us eventually, right?" Liam cut in. Killian could always trust him to ask the important questions.

Jayne started to cry in earnest and Killian looked to Liam in alarm.

"It's uncertain, darling, but perhaps not," Christine explained quietly.

Jayne left soon after that, and everyone cried, even Killian's father.

"I'll miss you all very much. You're more my family than anyone," Jayne sobbed into Edward's chest. "I love you all more than you know."

"Be careful," Christine murmured pulling Jayne into a hug.

Then, with a few last hugs and goodbyes, Jayne was gone.

The Present

"Did you ever see her again?" Emma asked softly.

"You're ruining the story, Swan," Killian said petulantly. "I can't tell you things out of order."

"But she's dead?"

Killian rolled his eyes. "Of course she's dead, Swan. Everyone in these stories is dead."

He said it so matter-of-factly that Emma felt strangely sad. Then again, perhaps so many years had passed that he'd learned to divorce the words from emotion.

The Past

It was a very sombre night in the Jones household after that. They sat down to dinner in silence except for a few sniffs.

"I thought that it was good that the king died," Killian finally said in confusion.

His parents looked at him in surprise.

"Well, you didn't seem to be very fond of him," he muttered rebelliously into his mashed potatoes.

There was a long pause. "It's complicated, love," Christine told him gently.

Killian still didn't understand, but he went back to his dinner anyway.

That night, Edward came to tuck his boys in. Liam insisted that he was far too old at eleven to need to be tucked in, but he agreed that it was acceptable for a four-year-old. He never seemed to really mind his father's presence, though, which led Killian to believe that he just wanted to appear mature when he really enjoyed the excuse to talk to whatever parent was doing the tucking in.

Liam's secret was safe with him.

"Father, will Aunt Jayne be alright?" Liam asked worriedly as Edward secured the covers around his younger son.

Edward looked unhappy, but said, "It's likely she will be, yes."

"Promise?" Killian asked with a pout.

His father smiled and ruffled his son's hair. "I promise that your Aunt is an intelligent woman, which can get one through most things in life. That's why it's important for you both to study hard."

Both boys had received the education lecture many times before, so both of them nodded automatically without really registering his words.

"Are you terribly sad, Papa?" Killian inquired, feeling very concerned about the tears he had seen earlier. Yes, his father cried very stoically, but up until today he'd believed that adults never cried.

"Well, yes, Killian. I'm going to miss my sister, but you don't need to worry about me."

He blew out the candle and left with the usual "good night"s and "I love you"s.

"He's lying," Liam stated authoritatively the second the door closed. "We do need to worry about him. He and Mama are terrified about something."

"Evil grandfather?" Killian asked, just to confirm.

"Of course," Liam said derisively. Killian fully accepted that Liam was far more wise than he was, but he still disliked Liam's know-it-all tone.

"What do you think he looks like?" Killian wondered aloud. "Do you think that he has fangs and red eyes and-"

"He has a beard," Liam interrupted authoritatively. "All bad men have beards. And he's probably fat from the children he eats."

"Oh," Killian said, trying to picture his grandfather. He hoped he didn't like eating small boys. Surely he'd prefer bigger ones like Liam. The thought was comforting, because Liam was better at pretend sword-fighting and he thought he might stand a chance.

"Well, good night," Liam said cheerfully, turning his back to his brother and closing his eyes.

The next morning, Killian woke up before Liam. He walked into the living room to see his mother writing in her journal, still dressed in her nightdress and robe.

"Mama?"

Christine looked up with a smile. "Yes, love?"

Killian looked around to make sure the coast was clear before creeping forward into his mother's lap.

"Does evil grandfather really eat children?"

It wasn't that he didn't trust Liam, because he did, but he knew that sometimes Liam tried to scare him. If he wasn't ever totally sure about the validity of Liam's claims, he always went to his mother because he was fairly certain that she was the smartest person he knew.

Swallowing a small giggle, Christine shook her head. "No, darling, he doesn't eat children. He eats happiness. That's why we don't like to have him around."

Killian nodded seriously. Her theory made more sense than Liam's. He'd bitten Liam once when Liam was being too bossy, and even though Liam yelled very loudly, he hadn't bitten a piece out of him. He'd only left teeth marks. That meant that unless his grandfather had fangs, eating children would be very difficult.

The Present

"You bit your brother?"

Emma began to laugh helplessly at the thought.

Killian was unbothered. "It is infinitely clear that you are an only child, Swan."

The Past

"Today we're going to see the ships," Christine told them brightly over breakfast. Too brightly.

Her younger son paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Why?"

Liam looked at his mother equally suspiciously. "Are we leaving?"

She sighed, but Killian thought he detected a glimmer of pride in her eyes. "No, loves, but we need to be out of the house today. Your father is building us a hiding place, just like hide and go seek, and we can't be in the way."

"Couldn't I help?" Asked Liam, insulted.

"Not today, darling. I know you're growing up, but we'd still rather you didn't get hurt accidentally."

"I wouldn't," Liam argued.

"Why do we need a hiding place? If we all know where it is, it won't be any good for hide and seek," Killian interrupted, feeling thoroughly confused.

"We won't be playing hide and seek with each other, Killian," his brother retorted scornfully.

Christine and Edward exchanged a look. Killian hated the look, and he was fairly certain Liam did too. He could sometimes understand what they were saying, but his parents insisted on doing it anyway. He wished they would just tell him exactly what they were saying to each other. It wasn't like he would tell everyone, and he was more than old enough to understand whatever his parents were trying to hide from him.

"It's just a precaution," Edward said in his posh accent (Killian much preferred his mother's). "But, no, it will be for if we need to hide from-"

"Evil Grandfather?" Killian interrupted.

Liam rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Or the king, right Mama?"

Edward and Christine exchanged the look again, only this time it seemed to be a proud look mingled with exasperation.

"We should know better than to attempt to keep anything secret from these two," Christine grinned.

Smugly, Liam nodded. He'd been trying to tell his parents that for a long time, but Killian doubted that this one conversation would yield the results his brother wanted.

"Apparently," Edward said with a sigh, looking slightly concerned. Killian knew that his father had a fairly sheltered childhood, at least if Mama's teasing was anything to go by. That was probably why he thought that they couldn't handle the truth.

Edward gave them each a kiss as they went out (or tried to; Liam insisted on a handshake, so his father settled on ruffling his hair).

Now that Killian knew they weren't running away on a ship, he was happy to go down to the docks. He liked it there. Everything was always busy, and there was always a market set up there where merchants arriving from far-off places would sell their wares. It smelled like spices, and sometimes there would be musicians playing along the docks. They were never as good as Christine or Killian, but he liked their playing anyway.

He also liked looking at all of the ships docked in the harbour. There were huge, graceful ships and smaller, more efficient looking ships. He couldn't decide which he liked better. Fortunately, he had Liam to tell him all about them, because Liam was a veritable expert on ships. Killian didn't know as much since he was younger, but he hoped to be as clever as Liam one day.

Killian was gaping at one huge ship that was just sailing off when he walked straight into a well-dressed older man with greying hair and sharp grey eyes.

"Pardon me," he murmured, backing up.

The man glared at him in disgust, wiping off his pants with a handkerchief that smelled strongly of lavender.

Christine had noticed what had happened and was now rushing back.

"Killian, come along," she told him gently, grabbing his hand.

"You need to keep better track of your children," the man was saying coldly. Killian bristled at his tone. No one talked to his mother like that.

"Apologies, sir," she said politely, but she trailed off as their eyes met.

Killian looked between the man and his mother as silence fell between them. The blood had drained from his mother's face, and she was currently looking as though she wanted to sprint away. Her hand tightened around Killian's, and he could swear he felt her trembling. The man looked just as shocked but oddly triumphant. He reminded Killian of a mad, stray dog that had once prowled down his street. He'd watched through the shuttered windows as the dog had tracked one of Martha's offspring and snapped him up in his jaws (Gavin had looked close to tears). The dog's eyes had looked empty, but his lip had curled in a very menacing way that sent shivers down Killian's spine. This man looked just like that dog, if that dog had been rich and not foaming at the mouth.

"I told him you weren't on the Southern Isles," the man commented.

"I don't believe we've met before, Sir," Christine said with the curtsy and accent she used when she played paupers in the opera.

The man raised his eyebrows skeptically with a knowing smirk. "As I told you before, my dear, for someone who acts for a living, you really do a terrible job at lying when it truly matters."

Killian glared at him and debated kicking him in the shin. Unfortunately, Christine knew him too well and gripped his hand harder, shooting him a warning look.

The dog-man followed her look and seemed to look at Killian for the first time.

"And this is your son? Handsome boy. He looks just like you."

Killian's scowl deepened.

"Especially with that face," the man added with a humourless chuckle.

Killian stuck his tongue out at him.

"Killian, go find Liam, sweetheart. Mama needs to talk to this man," she ordered, leaving no room for argument. He rarely heard that voice, but, when he did, he didn't dare disobey. With a final dirty look at the fancy man, Killian scampered away.

He didn't find Liam, though. Instead, he watched his mother and the man from a distance. His mother looked angry and frightened, and the man looked as if he'd just won something. Killian hoped that he had won something, like a ship. If he had, he hoped that someone burned that ship into a pile of ash. Or maybe he'd won a horse. If he'd won a horse, he hoped the horse kicked the man in his smug, stupid face.

Liam found him eventually, and stared at the man with Killian.

"Who is he?" Killian asked worriedly.

Frowning, Liam looked him up and down. "I have no idea."

As they watched, the man walked closer and closer to their mother, who stood her ground and kept her face neutral. Finally, he leaned forward and appeared to be whispering in his mother's ear. As he stepped back, his mother nodded tersely. The man smirked and walked away, leaving Christine standing there looking miserable. She closed her eyes, before returning her face to a neutral position and looking around for her boys.

Killian ran to her and wrapped his arms around her legs.

"Change of plans, my loves. I'm afraid I have to run an errand this afternoon. I'll have to drop you off at Aunt Sari's, alright?"

"Why?" Killian asked suspiciously as Liam asked, "Is the errand related to that man you were speaking with?"

Christine clenched her jaw. "I'm afraid I can't discuss it anymore, but you have nothing to fear, understand? However, I do need the two of you to keep a secret. You can't let anyone know that I ran into that man. Can you do that for me?"

Her sons nodded solemnly and she smiled, pulling them both into a tight hug.

She dropped them off with Aunt Sari, saying something about buying Edward a birthday present. Then she kissed them goodbye and ran off. Aunt Sari was frowning as she watched her leave.

"She'll figure out something's wrong. Aunt Sari is smart," Liam muttered to his brother.

"What's wrong?" Asked Ciarra, popping up beside them.

"Nothing," Liam replied in irritation.

Killian hoped that it really was nothing.

Christine opened the door with trembling hands.

It was surreal to be back inside the palace. The rooms and halls were all achingly familiar, but it had been so long since she was there that it felt as though she was dreaming. Very little had changed within the palace over the years, but everything still felt ridiculously strange. It was after a moment of reflection that she realized that perhaps the most important part of this equation had changed since she'd been here: herself. She'd been seventeen when she was last here. She had been infatuated with Edward, frightened for the fate of her brother, and thoroughly helpless and trapped. Now she was twenty-nine. She was a mother. She was someone who had grown accustomed to independence, love, and control. But one thing had not changed.

She was terrified.

She had so much more to lose now, and so many more people would be affected if she played the wrong cards. Losing wasn't an option, not if it meant that her loved ones would suffer. She had to win, and to win, she had to play.

The door swung open with a creak, and the repulsive scent of lavender wafted towards her. She wrinkled her nose and walked into the office she remembered well from many terrifying hours of "political" discussion.

Lord Alasdair sat just where she remembered, with his back towards her. Cold grey eyes watched her reflection in the window as he fiddled with an almost empty wine glass.

"No mask tonight?" Christine inquired, proud that her voice was steady.

The man at the desk smiled. "You knew it was me."

"Of course, I knew. You really ought to try out different scents," she suggested tightly.

"And you didn't tell Edward."

Christine scoffed. "How could I? You're his father. How on earth would I explain to the man I loved that his father had some sort of perverted obsession with me?"

"I shouldn't be surprised. You've always been far wittier than my sorry excuse of a son," Lord Alasdair said with something almost like grudging respect.

"Then perhaps you ought to have gotten to know your son better. Heaven knows that I could never marry a dimwitted man," Christine retorted.

"Come in, my dear," Lord Alasdair invited smoothly. "I can barely see you."

Christine sighed. That had been the point, of course. She walked to her customary seat across from him at the desk and sat down hesitantly.

"Wine?" Offered Lord Alasdair.

Christine raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose there's a reason that you've survived this long," Lord Alasdair chuckled, taking a dainty sip from the proffered glass.

"You could have built up an immunity to certain poisons. In any case, I'd rather be fully sober for this conversation," Christine said.

"Very well," Lord Alasdair said with a shrug, taking a long drink from his own wine glass.

The wine was very red, and it had stained his teeth and lips. It looked as though he was drinking blood. Christine shuddered.

"I wasn't certain that you would come," the man continued, ignoring her reaction. "Age has done nothing to destroy your looks, my dear."

"I wish that I could say the same, but, as you've said, lies do not flow from my tongue very well," she replied sarcastically.

"I've always enjoyed your sharp tongue. Life can be quite dull here now," he chortled.

Christine decided that it was time to get to the point. "Why am I here?"

Lord Alasdair raised his eyes from her chest to stare at her face for a few seconds. "Well, I'm sure that you can guess. You have children, a husband, a brother, a life, lord knows what else... and you want to keep them safe. I have the power to destroy them bit by bit. I could have your loved ones torn apart piece by piece until they begged for death, all before your very eyes. In fact, if I let the king in on your existence, I'm sure he would happily do even worse.

"But I haven't. Why, you ask? Because you have something that I want."

"And what is that?"

"Can't you guess?" He asked intently, eyes boring through hers once again.

Christine shivered and locked her hands together in her lap, praying that he couldn't see her shaking.

"Of course, I've been going mad ever since I saw you. You're a beautiful woman, as I'm sure you're aware. Most beautiful women are, bless them, and they love to use it to their own advantage. You, for instance, used it to seduce my son, perhaps even to escape prison; I understand you had an accomplice within the jail-cell. Oh, and that foolish court astronomer, you clearly managed to seduce him as well. Then, I realized that you had a brain underneath all of that, and what is more attractive than that?"

"Perhaps the knowledge that your son was sleeping with me?" Christine quipped.

"Yes, rather irritating," Lord Alasdair admitted as he took another long drink of wine. "It was a relief to rid myself of him, of course. He failed to take after me, and I'm afraid I've never forgiven him for it."

"Thank God for that," Christine muttered. She couldn't stop shaking, and it was turning her red with shame.

"Anyway, I'm sure your position is quite clear to you. You are welcome to leave now, but I guarantee that I will track you and your loved ones down and destroy them. Then, once you're mad with grief and suffering, I may, if I'm in a good mood, end your suffering. Alternatively, you can give me what I want, and I'll forget that we met today."

Christine looked at him in revulsion. It was bad enough to threaten just her son if she didn't come to the palace tonight, but this was beyond the worst thing she could have imagined.

"Are you even human?" She hissed. "What about your son?"

"I thought I made it quite clear that I don't give a damn about him," Lord Alasdair drawled. "And I shall happily show you just how human I am through human desires, if you let me. Your answer?"

"I'll give you what you want," she spat between gritted teeth. "But only because I have no choice."

And she did. She gave him what he wanted multiple times, until she could barely walk. She bit back her tears and let him look at her and love her, even if she hated every second.

When he was finally finished, she started to shakily dress as he continued to watch her. He, of course, had only partially undressed, but insisted that she was entirely naked.

"You know, it's interesting," he commented.

Christine didn't respond. Her throat was too tight.

"You really weren't worth it. Very disappointing, in fact. Nothing more than a common whore."

Tears fell lightly from her nose onto the floor. She knew he was lying to add insult to injury, but somehow it didn't matter.

Lord Alasdair rang a bell and a servant promptly opened the door, blushing when he saw a still half-naked Christine.

"Please escort this whore outside the palace. I'm finished." He waved her away without another glance.

Christine gathered up her clothes and held them over herself as the servant walked her out, doing her best to ignore the whistles and jeers of anyone she came across. The servant gave her a final push out the castle gates, causing her to lose her footing and fall, scraping her hands and her knees on the way down. Instead of getting up, she sat and screamed until her throat was raw. Then she sobbed, no longer caring about who saw or heard her.

In truth, she didn't feel like getting up again. She half hoped that she would just be struck by lightning and die, but that didn't happen. Finally, once the moon was high in the sky, she shakily pulled on her remaining clothes and limped home.

The house was quiet when she came in, and she bolted the door behind her. Even after a day of work, the house was neat and in perfect order. Clearly, Edward and Gavin had worked very quickly; now there was just a new carpet covering the trapdoor they had built.

Quietly, Christine boiled some water and drew herself a bath. She scrubbed for an hour, intent on getting every last trace of lavender and Lord Alasdair off of her skin. Then, without a second thought, she threw the clothes she'd been wearing into the embers of the fire and watched them burn.

She pulled on her nightdress and checked on her children first. Killian and Liam were fast asleep and looked incredibly peaceful. Christine pushed away Killian's hair gently and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Then she kissed Liam; his hair was shorter and curlier, so she didn't have to push his away.

"I love you so much," she whispered, wiping away her tears.

Then she went to Edward.

His face had been so careworn lately, but he always looked so relaxed and childlike as he slept. It reminded her more of the boy she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

Carefully, she crawled into bed beside him, reminding herself that this was what she lived for. She would go through any amount of suffering for her family.

"Christine?" Edward murmured sleepily.

"Shh, go back to sleep, my love," she murmured, gently placing a kiss on his heavy eyelids.

"Are you crying?" He asked softly, gently running a hand over her cheek.

She relaxed into his hand and sobbed. He held her as carefully as if she were something precious and breakable. He made her feel so loved, but now she felt as though she didn't deserve it.

"You know that I'd do anything for you," she cried.

"Of course I do," he said in confusion. "And I for you."

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed into his shoulder. "For everything I put you through."

Edward lifted her chin gently. "You don't put me through anything. I love you, and that means that I love everything that comes with you. Even the difficult parts."

"I love you too. More than anything," Christine sobbed.

"It's been a stressful few weeks. Everything will look better in the morning," Edward promised, giving her a kiss.

Christine nodded and curled into her husband. She held onto him all night.

The Present

"Wait, so she never told him?" Emma asked, her own throat feeling tight from revulsion.

Killian shook his head, clenching his jaw. "No, not to my knowledge. I think she was too ashamed to tell anyone."

"Except you?" The thought confused Emma.

"No, certainly not me. She passed long before I was old enough for her to tell me anything like that, never mind her darkest secret. I read it in her journal, actually, and only after I was told it by the other party in the tryst."

Emma looked at him incredulously. "What was that conversation like? 'Hey, Killian, just to let you know, I screwed your mom?'"

"Something like that," Killian said, clenching his hand angrily. "But I'll disclose those details at a later time."

Emma was beginning to feel like she didn't want to hear them, but, at the same time, she felt that she needed to.

"Alright. So what next?"