I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FIFTY YEARS.

"We trusted you to keep your word, Emma, and you sit here telling us that you are aware of this fact, yet you still managed to miss a very important meeting!" Snow's face is pinched with anger, her long locks a frazzled mess as she sighs heavily and leans back in her chair to look skyward.

(All it took was a daughter like Emma for her to suddenly become religious, apparently.)

Emma ducks her head, moisture already stinging her eyes as she tries not to feel the heated gazes of her parents, burning through her skin like the hottest of fires.

(She thinks fire would actually be less painful.)

Counting the tiles on the floor does little to soothe their angered stares, not that she expected it to in the first place, but it's somewhat of a welcome distraction. She hears her mother sigh again, softer this time, disappointment further laced into it, and her heart sinks so low in her chest that she fears it will fall out completely.

Part of her thinks that may be the best occurrence, if only for the fact that it would ease the ache pulsing through her body. Her parents have told her of how Regina would rip hearts out when she was freed, and Emma can't help but wonder if it takes away the human spectrum of emotions. She wonders if without her heart, she would not feel this terribly. She can practically feel her failure and their disapproval soaking into the room's air, and no amount of lying to herself or pretending to be distracted can take it away. Glancing up at them through her lashes, she takes a shaky breath.

(She's a failure, absolutely the worst daughter in any realm at any time.)

"I am so sorry," she whispers, and she means it (really, really she does), but her mother's lips purse as her father opens his mouth to only further berate her.

"We continue to be lenient where you are concerned, Emma, and we truly do not mean to inconvenience you by trying to attempt to integrate you into the ruling of this kingdom. Are we wrong to assume that you care about it at all?" His brow is furrowed, his face flushed with his fury.

She had spent just a little too long with Killian in their spot today, missing a meeting with some officials who were wanting to discuss security and military, both of which she would need to know about in detail before she becomes queen.

And she'd forgotten.

And her parents would never forgive her this time.

"I just got distracted while I was walking about in the town today, and I did not keep time very well during my activities." She swallows thickly, staring intently at the wall in front of her. Her answer is immensely cryptic, and she desperately hopes they do not notice, that their anger is at least strong enough to keep from giving herself away. "I did not mean to miss the meeting, and I do care about this kingdom."

"It's just very difficult for us to believe that, Emma," her mother murmurs, her soft, deep rooted nature returning, though it doesn't lessen the tension in the room. Her parents share a glance, and her father relaxes just a bit before Snow continues. "We just want you to think of your actions, how they may affect you and those around you. It would also be extremely beneficial if you started taking some of this..." She gestures around her vaguely. "...the kingdom, your up-and-coming reign of it, and all the additions that come with that... more seriously."

Emma nods, any fight she ever had gone now. She doesn't want to give up the reason for her most recent distractions (that is her secret and her secret alone to keep), but suddenly all she wants is to be once again sitting beside Killian on their rock, letting him pretend to care about her mediocre stories and listening to his own grand ones.

And yet, she knows that her parents are right. One day, she will take their place and she does need to be ready, but are they expecting her to do that so soon? She isn't ready yet, and as much as she adores The Enchanted Forest and those who inhabit it, she doesn't want to be ready yet.

Waiting another moment to make sure her parents are, in fact, done with their lecture, she stands and walks to her room, sighing once she closes the door behind her. Sliding down it, she buries her face in her hands and finally lets herself cry all the tears that she hid from her mother and father.

She cries for all that she wants- the adventures and journeys and Killian's stories (or just him, if she's being honest- with his grand smile and his soft eyes and his beautiful heart)- so distant and unreachable. She cries because she doesn't want to disappoint her parents, but she does not quite see things the way they do, either. She cries because it's hard, so achingly hard to figure out the compromise that is just out of reach and then to accept it after it's been finally found.

It's times like this where she hurts, not having a confidant to bear her soul to, to ramble on to when she's feeling so low.

Except maybe she does.

She squeezes her eyes shut tight as she estimates how much time she'll need to wait before slipping out, wishing and hoping and praying that she finds him.

(She thinks that if she does, it will be a sign.)

(That only makes her hope harder.)

The cape covering her head hides what the darkening sky fails to from the common people, masking her face from those who would recognize it. The air is brisk, night falling quickly, but she doesn't care. She just wants to see him, even if it's only for a moment.

She walks by the inn where he's staying, and stands outside the door for the longest time debating whether she should go in. It is why she's snuck out, and it would be a shame to come this far only to turn back. She gathers up all the courage, thinking of how much Killian possesses, and walks inside. There aren't many rooms, and she's sure not all of them are full. She could just knock until she finds him.

It's what she plans to do, until a door down the hall opens and he walks out, wearing only his white shirt and pants. He comes to an abrupt halt when he sees her, blinking a few times as if seeing a ghost, and then he slowly makes his way toward her.

"Emma?" he whispers when he's closer, his eyes darting around and his brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you doing here, love?"

For a moment, she just stares at him, playing the speech her parents had given her over in her mind. She could make something up and he wouldn't ask questions- it is simply how he is, accustomed to following orders (and, perhaps, smitten with her enough to listen to her requests).

(She hopes.)

But she doesn't want to lie to him.

"To see you," she murmurs, her chin trembling just slightly as she looks down at the floor, suddenly wondering if she's made a mistake. "I just... my parents are so mad at me because I messed up today, and I didn't know... I just wanted..."

"Shhh," he soothes, reaching out for her wrist and gripping it firmly, his thumb finding her pulse and making it hard for her to breathe. His proximity relaxes her in the same instant (she is no longer aware of how her body functions, especially in his presence). His breath is on her forehead, and somehow, it makes her think more clearly. "Give me two minutes to get properly dressed, and we can go for a walk."

Extreme gratitude floods through her body all at once, because he understands, of course he understands. His small smile is sweet and caring, and it's just what she wanted, exactly what she needed. She wraps her arms around his frame and holds tightly for just a moment (Must she let go soon? She certainly doesn't wish to), breathing in his scent and wondering if perhaps this is all the sign that she needs.

"Thank you," she tells him softly, and she swears she feels his lips press to her hair, the ghost of a touch near the top of her head, but an instant later he's turned around and disappeared back into his room, only to return to her a few moments afterward.

Just as he said he would.

"Sometimes I am not sure if I will make a proper predecessor to my parents after all," Emma sighs whilst watching her feet, as they are automatically drawn to the sea's edge together, no questions asked.

"I believe you will, Emma." Killian's hand is warm in her own, and she briefly wonders if it would cause a scene for someone to see them like this. The idea sends a thrill through her that she pushes down after only entertaining for a second. "You are simply having a difficult time with it all at the current moment. I have the utmost certainty you will be an excellent, ruler- just, kind, and exceedingly beautiful."

She blushes almost instantly, the heat flooding her cheeks as she avoids his gaze. "My parents are right," she manages to say between the tightening of her throat. He squeezes her hand and she smiles just a little. "I do need to take it more seriously, I suppose. It's just so difficult."

"You're young," he tells her, and for the first time since she's met him, she wonders how old he truly is. She tucks away the question for later. "I do not believe it should be easy, at your age."

"You make it easier to deal with," she admits in a whisper, her voice almost lost in the breeze coming off the ocean. His hand tightens in hers, and she stops when he does, glancing up at him and hoping she hasn't overstepped.

"Never in my life have I been privileged to know someone who I care for as I have come to care for you, Emma. Even in the short time we've known each other." The smallest hint of a smile twitches up the corners of his lips, but it fades after only a moment. He swallows thickly, and her heart clenches in anticipation. "But I would hate to think I'm holding you back from what you need to do. A Navy official stealing away your time from more important subjects is not what I aim to be."

She shakes her head, moisture already gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You are the only thing that makes sense right now, Killian Jones. I will not lose that."

He breathes in a long inhale, holds it for a moment, and then breathes out just as slowly before meeting her gaze. "As you wish."

It's so late, and exhaustion would take over her if it weren't for how enthralled Emma is by Killian's company, the comfort of his listening ear, the warmth of his hand in her own.

"And what of your parents?" he asks as a breeze blows her hair around her face, the feeling wondrously relaxing.

Sometimes, she envies the wind, able to go wherever it pleases.

She sighs deeply, glancing over at him before deciding that the ocean provides a better buffer for this conversation. "I adore them, truly I do, though sometimes I feel as if… I have to live up to their standards. They have their natural ability to lead, and somehow it skipped me, I do believe."

He's silent for a long moment, but his hand tightens in her own. "Well, then I must inform you that you are mistaken in that belief, my love."

"My love?" she asks, her voice not nearly as timid as she expected it to be (inside, she's trembling).

His smile is slight, almost shy, but then he squeezes her hand and she feels heat filling her to the brim, burning and aching in the best way. It's exciting, the lingering moment before he finally speaks. "Perhaps."

A small laugh escapes her, but then it falters, because suddenly all she can think about is her parents, and everything they have, and if she wants that (her ages old dilemma). Could this be? Does she desire for it to be?

He notices, and his grip lightens as if he'll pull away completely. "Something wrong?"

She hesitates, but refuses to let go of his hand in the process. Can she tell this man, so kind and otherworldly, the whole truth about her confliction over her parents and what they share? She pulls his hand closer and holds it in both of her own, playing with the singular ring on his finger with a Navy insignia embedded in it. It's a beautiful distraction, giving her something to look at other than his face, so open and willing to listen to what she has to say.

She isn't sure if she could handle it.

When she speaks, she does so slowly, each word soft as she speaks her worst fear, the nightmare that always hangs on her product-of-True-Love heels.

"I don't even know what love is other than my parents, and maybe... maybe that's not what I want," she whispers, the words feeling like a betrayal. She shouldn't say such things, especially to a man who, less than a month ago, was a face without a name, simply a sailor that she was fascinated by and liked to watch when he docked at the shore near her home.

Except now, he is so much more than that, and she is not quite sure when the transition happened.

"Do you feel as if their relationship is to be expected of you in the future?" he questions quietly, not slandering her for being uncertain of something that is usually anything but, not judging her confusion and doubt of True Love, with its large letters and overemphasized reputation.

Once again, she doesn't speak until she's sure she's found the right words. "Maybe. The basis of why they rule so well is on their ability to… make decisions together, to be a strong united front no matter what the occasion. Can I run a kingdom as well as they can… if I don't have this love that seems to bring with it so much strength and power?"

Her heart clenches in her chest so tightly that it hurts, and the fact that the silence between them stretches only makes it worse.

"Just because they need it, doesn't mean you do," he says slowly, and she can tell he is carefully choosing his words as well. Yet, his eyes are downcast to contrast his voice, hope brimming dangerously in his eyes. "And you will not know if True Love is something you want unless you find it and see, correct?"

Their eyes meet, and time suddenly freezes as she looks at him. His eyes are dark with emotion, and she wonders again if this is what True Love could feel like. If it is, perhaps her ideals about it have been incorrect, because this feeling stirring in her chest is certainly not unpleasant. It makes her feel alive and adventurous and everything that she's longed for in her life.

It makes her feel strong.

Is a curse breaking kiss the only way to be sure of True Love?

If so, how do others who have not had the occurrence know in their souls that what they have found is true? Do they simply hope that it is?

What happens to those who believe so deeply that their love is strong enough for anything, but then are faced with a curse that they cannot break? Do they toss that love to the side in order to continue searching for something more legitimate?

Her questions must show on her face, because Killian moves just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against her own gently. "Are you alright?"

She pushes away all of her uncertainty, for now, opting to take off his ring and place it on her thumb. It fits, and as she tilts it to admire the details of it, she catches his smile out of the corner of her eye. His own thumb is tracing circles into her other wrist, and she tries not to think of it in order to maintain a bit of her sanity. He's watching her curiously, his eyes a bit lighter now.

"Keep it," he tells her suddenly, and her mouth immediately falls open in shock.

"Killian, I couldn't." Her heart hammers in her chest, too quick for an instant before resuming.

He shakes his head, picking up that hand with his other and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "You should have it, for when I am not here with you. It will be your reminder that I am surely thinking of you whenever you look at it."

"I doubt you think of me that often," she counters, but the way he is gazing at her disproves her statement before it's even fully left her lips.

"On the contrary," he murmurs, his smile softening. "I think of you more than you realize, love."

She doesn't know what to say, her heart still beating away frantically, minutely afraid of his words and terrified of where they could lead. Could he be to her what others search so long and hard to obtain? If so, will having a True Love make her more like her parents than she wishes to be?

The unknown is suddenly frightening, variables that she doesn't control making her wonder and question her path.

Is it worth the chance that the love they are forming is True?

(Her heart says that it must be.)

After thinking for a moment, she slips the ring off of her finger and then removes her longest necklace, placing the ring on the chain and then accepting his help at putting it back on. The ring just does fall beneath the hem of her dress, just beside her heart.

She knows that is where it must stay when she looks up at him, his smile as secret as their romance. He seems so serious, and he's so close that she could...

When he kisses her, her heart stutters once—twice, but then it keeps beating—the rhythm changing just enough to make her wonder if it's significant. The hand he puts on her cheek anchors her to him, but from the second his lips touched hers, she had no intentions of going anywhere. Here with him, sitting by the shore that she's stared at more times than she can recall, it feels as if there is no one else. There are no parents to compare herself to, to feel inferior to in every aspect. She is not a princess who must focus on ruling a land—she is simply Emma, a woman who may, or may not, be starting to believe in the possibility of a True Love to call her own.