Chapter 4: A Fragile Thing Called Trust
Emma spent the next few days trying to forget about it, throwing herself into her usual routine—riding through the village, visiting the bookstore, sparring in secret with a few of the knights who would indulge her need for physical activity. But the more she tried to ignore it, the more the idea festered, growing until it became impossible to dismiss.
As dusk settled over the town, the familiar buzz of daytime trade along the docks gave way to a different sort of energy. The bright hustle of merchants and fishermen was replaced by the murmur of quieter, shadowed figures. Lanterns flickered dimly in the fading light, casting long shadows across the worn wooden planks. The smell of saltwater mixed with the scent of smoke from the hidden fires that burned in the distance, and Emma could feel the change in the air. This was a place where deals were made under the cover of night, where the rules of the day no longer applied.
Emma pulled her hood further over her head, concealing her face from the prying eyes of the dock workers who still lingered along the edges. She prayed no one would recognize her. Being the daughter of royalty carried its own dangers, but here—at night, among these people—it could mean much more. She had always been careful to keep her presence discreet when slipping into town, but something about this evening felt different. A nervous energy hummed in her veins, and despite her combat training, she couldn't shake the unease creeping into her chest.
She thought briefly of Ruby. Part of her had wanted to ask her friend to come, to have someone by her side, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Ruby was brave—wild and stubborn—but Emma couldn't risk putting her in harm's way. The docks at night weren't safe for someone who wasn't prepared for the kind of danger that could lurk in the shadows. And while Emma had been trained in swordsmanship and archery, she knew that Ruby's fire wouldn't be enough to protect her in a place like this. She needed to keep her focus, to have a clear head—and having Ruby there, worrying about her safety, would make that impossible.
Emma sat on a small, weathered bench at the edge of the docks, pulling her cloak tighter around her to fend off the chill of the night air. The moon hung high in the sky, casting silver light over the water, but the stillness of the scene only made her feel more restless. Ruby had said the man didn't show up every day—sometimes only when you needed him. But as the hours passed, Emma found herself growing increasingly skeptical.
She had heard tales of dark magic—of shape-shifters, drifters, and beings who could manipulate reality—but the idea of someone with that kind of power lurking in her parents' kingdom unsettled her deeply. Did her parents even know about this man, about the magic that slithered around their peaceful realm like a shadow in the night? Her father had always warned her to be wary of magic's dangers, to treat it with caution and respect. And now, here she was, waiting for a stranger who supposedly had the power to rewrite her very existence.
The night deepened, and still, no scaly men crossed her path. Emma sighed, shaking her head in frustration. Ruby must have had too much ale, she thought bitterly. Too many wild stories from the pub.
Annoyed with herself for even coming, Emma stood to leave. She was done waiting for a phantom, ready to head back to the castle and forget the absurdity of it all. But just as she turned to go, she froze, her heart lurching as she noticed someone sitting beside her on the bench. A man had appeared without a sound, as if he had melted from the shadows themselves.
"Leaving already, dearie?" the man asked, his voice low and mocking, with a strange rasp to it.
Emma's pulse quickened as she glanced at him, trying to make out his features, but his face was obscured by the darkness of his hood. His voice sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I think you have the wrong person," she said stiffly. She couldn't be sure if this was the man she was looking for—or just some creep lurking around the docks.
The man chuckled, and the sound made her skin crawl. "Oh, I don't think so, dearie," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "I know exactly who you are. The princess has a problem she can't quite fix."
Emma stiffened, her hand instinctively moving to the small dagger concealed beneath her cloak. "Did Ruby tell you about me?" she asked, her suspicion sharpening.
He laughed again, louder this time, and it sent a ripple of unease through her. "No, no. I don't piddle around with the common folk to gather my information. I have other means of finding out what I need to know. You called for me here. Not the other way around, dearie."
Emma's eyes narrowed. She didn't like this man—everything about him felt wrong, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. "I don't even know who you are," she said flatly. "For all I know, you're just another fake peddling cheap tricks."
The man's amusement faded, and the air around them seemed to grow colder. Slowly, he turned his head toward her, and though his face was still cloaked in shadow, Emma could feel his eyes boring into her. "A fake?" he repeated, his voice now low and dangerous. "Is that what you think? You insult me."
Emma held her ground, though her heart raced in her chest. "I don't trust men who appear out of nowhere and claim they know my problems. So yes, until proven otherwise, you're a fake."
In an instant, the man moved—faster than she could react. His scaly hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her throat, and Emma's breath caught as she felt his cold, rough skin pressing against her. His grip wasn't crushing, but it was firm enough to let her know he could easily choke the life from her if he wanted to.
"I don't take kindly to insults, dearie," the man hissed, his voice dangerously close to her ear now. His grip tightened ever so slightly, and Emma's pulse raced in her throat. "I know more about you than you realize. I know the thoughts that keep you awake at night, the dreams you bury beneath all that bravado. I know you want to escape the prison your family has built around you."
Emma's hand shot toward her dagger, but his grip tightened further, stopping her from moving. Her eyes widened in shock and fear, but she refused to show it.
"You came here looking for me. Don't forget that." He growled.
Emma's mind whirled, but she forced herself to stay calm. "You don't scare me," she managed to choke out, though her voice wavered slightly.
The man chuckled darkly, his hand loosening just enough for her to breathe easier, but he didn't release her. "You're brave," he said, sounding almost impressed. "But don't mistake bravery for wisdom, dearie. It'll get you killed." With one final hard squeeze of her neck, the man dropped her, and Emma fell to her knees coughing and rubbing her throat, sucking in air to her suffering lungs.
"You can leave anytime you like," he said, his voice slipping back into that mocking tone. "But don't forget why you came here in the first place. You want something, and I can give it to you."
"How can I trust you? Magic is unpredictable. For all I know you are delving into dark magic. Which is forbidden by the way."
The man turned to her, his jaw agape, as if she had surprised him with some kind of new information. "You must take me for a fool, princess. I would never break the laws your parents have set forth. I am merely an opportunist."
"What's the cost?" she asked, her voice firmer now, though her heart hammered in her chest. "Magic always comes with a price."
The man tilted his head, as if he were pleased by her question. "Ah, you're a smart one, dearie," he said, chuckling softly. "Yes, magic does come with a price, and this—this is no ordinary magic."
Emma's pulse quickened. "What is the price?" She asked again impatiently.
The crocodile man's smile stretched wider, and the sound that came from him—a low, raspy laugh—sent chills down her spine. "A new life," he said, his voice lilting with a strange mix of mockery and menace. "It's not an easy feat, even for magic. To give you the life you want... so, there must be an exchange."
Emma's brow furrowed. She didn't like the sound of where this was heading, but she pressed him. "What kind of exchange?"
"A life," he said simply, his eyes glinting in the pale moonlight. "For a life."
Emma stared at him, her mind reeling as the weight of his words settled in. Her life? Did he mean she'd cease to exist as she was now? Was that the price? She tried to reason through it, to make sense of what he was suggesting, but the thought sent a wave of cold unease through her.
"My life is the price," Emma said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I understand that."
But the crocodile man's laughter stopped her short, his rasping chuckle growing louder and more sinister. "Oh, dearie," he said, shaking his head as if she were a naive child. "You don't understand at all."
Emma's stomach twisted as his laughter died down, replaced by a creeping silence. She swallowed hard, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. "Then what do you mean?"
He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "You see, a new life isn't something that magic can just create out of thin air. It needs... a vessel. A body. So, yes, your life now would be part of the price—but someone else's life is needed too."
Emma's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her ears. The realization struck her like a blow. "You mean... someone would be killed for this?"
The man's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Kill is such a strong word," he said with a mocking tilt of his head. "Borrow is more like it. You'll take their life, and in exchange, you'll get what you want. But magic has its limits, dearie. This new form you desire—it wouldn't last forever."
Emma took a step back, her hand instinctively going to the dagger beneath her cloak. "Borrow? What do you mean 'borrow'? They'd still die, wouldn't they?"
The crocodile man shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Their life, for a time, will cease to be their own. And yes, they would... fade. But you'd have what you want. That's the point, isn't it?"
Emma's stomach churned with revulsion. The idea of stealing someone else's life for her own gain, even if it was temporary, made her skin crawl. She had known the cost of magic could be steep, but this... this was darker than she had imagined. She wasn't just paying a price with her own identity—she was being asked to take someone else's life, to snuff them out for her own freedom.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger, her heart racing as she looked the man square in the eyes. "And when the magic wears off?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "What happens to me then?"
The crocodile's smile faded, replaced by a more menacing tone. "You return to the life you left behind," he said, his voice a soft, cold hiss. "Only this time, you carry the weight of what you've done. And there's no undoing that, dearie."
Emma's mind raced. She had come here seeking a way out, a way to escape the life she felt trapped in. But this? This wasn't the answer she had hoped for. She couldn't take someone else's life—couldn't bear the thought of carrying that burden, of living with that kind of guilt. The freedom she craved would be forever stained by the blood of another.
"I can't do it," she said, her voice trembling. "I won't."
The man's eyes darkened, his amusement vanishing. "You called me here, Emma," he said, his voice dropping into something more dangerous. "You wanted this."
Emma stepped back again, her grip tightening on the dagger. "I wanted freedom, not murder." She turned to flee.
"Freedom without sacrifice?" he called after her, his voice almost mocking but now tinged with something else—an unsettling intensity. "You really think the life you want will just fall into your lap? You think you can have everything without giving something in return?"
Emma stopped in her tracks, her heart racing as his words cut into her like knives. She wanted to keep running, to escape the madness of the situation, but something in his tone—something dark and probing—rooted her to the spot. The air around her seemed to grow heavier, and she could feel him behind her, though she didn't dare turn around.
"Don't you want them to be proud of you, Emma?" the man asked, his voice softening, becoming almost tender in a way that made her stomach twist. "Your parents. Charming and Snow. Always looking at you, wondering when you'll finally become the person they always hoped you'd be."
The words hit their mark, and Emma clenched her fists, fighting the emotions that surged within her. The man's voice sank deeper into her mind, pulling at the desires she had tried so hard to suppress.
"Think of it," he continued, his voice weaving through her thoughts like a snake. "Your father, finally seeing the son he always wanted. Your mother, proud that her child is a leader, a warrior, someone who isn't just a princess waiting in the wings. They'd look at you with such admiration... such love."
Emma's breathing quickened. The images he conjured were too vivid, too real. She could almost see it: her parents standing before her, beaming with pride as they embraced the person she had become. She wasn't just their daughter anymore—she was a hero, a protector, someone who had stepped out of the shadows of expectation and into greatness.
The man's voice grew more persuasive, dripping with allure. "You've wanted that your whole life, haven't you? To be more than just a title. To be free from the cage they've built around you. You want adventure. You want purpose. And this... this is how you get it."
Emma closed her eyes, her chest tightening. His words felt like they were wrapping around her heart, squeezing tighter with every passing moment. Wasn't this what she wanted? To break free, to live a life on her own terms, to be the person she knew she could be?
"And think of your friends," the man continued, pressing deeper. "Think of Ruby. She'd look at you like she's never looked at anyone before. She wanted this for you. She encouraged you to do this."
The image of Ruby flashed in her mind—her closest friend, always so supportive, always encouraging her to chase her dreams. The thought of Ruby being proud of her, admiring her, made Emma's heart ache. She could almost see it—Ruby's smile, the way her eyes would light up as she watched Emma ride into battle, confident and free.
"And when it's all over," the man whispered, his voice sliding through the cracks in her resolve, "the life you took will be returned. The world will go back, but you... you will have lived the life you've always wanted."
Emma's eyes snapped open, her mind spinning with the weight of his words. Could it really be that simple? Take this chance, live the life she had always dreamed of, and then... give it back? No permanent damage. No real harm. Just a temporary exchange, a brief taste of the freedom she craved before everything was restored to its rightful place.
But could she trust him?
"You called for me because you wanted more, Emma," the man said, stepping closer. His voice was a murmur now, so close to her ear she could almost feel it. "You wanted an escape. And I have the answer. But freedom, true freedom, always requires sacrifice. There's no other way. The choice is yours."
As Emma turned to address the man once more, he vanished like a whisper on the wind. Her breath caught, and her pulse quickened. She looked down at her hand and found something unfamiliar—the weight of a bottle. Slowly, she raised her palm and there it was: a small vial of red liquid, warm as if it had been there all along. Emma stared at it, the heat seeping through her skin, and then shoved it into her pocket without another thought.
Panic clawed at her as she fled from the docks, her heart pounding in her chest, her feet moving faster than she could think. The moonlit path blurred as she made her way back to the castle. When she reached her room, she slammed the door shut and locked it, leaning against the cool wood for a moment, trying to catch her breath. But her heart didn't settle. Something was waiting for her.
On her bed, a small parchment sat neatly, tied with a silk bow, as if it had always been there. Emma hesitated before approaching it, dread pooling in her stomach. She reached out, untied the bow, and unfolded the parchment. The elegant script seemed to shimmer as she read over the details. It was a contract—perfectly outlined terms between her and the man who had vanished into the night. Her and Rumplestiltskin.
A cold shiver ran down her spine as his name signed itself with a magical flourish at the bottom, a spark igniting the ink. The weight of the paper in her hands made her head spin. She didn't need to read every word to know what it meant. He had sealed their arrangement, and now the decision lay entirely in her hands.
Emma's eyes darted to the small bottle in her pocket, and she pulled it out, placing it gingerly on her bedside table as though it might bite. The red liquid inside swirled, almost alive, glowing faintly in the dim light of her room. Her mind raced, torn between the temptation of what the potion promised and the price it demanded.
Suddenly, a soft knock echoed at her door, jolting Emma from her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she shoved the parchment and pen into her bedside drawer, throwing her cloak into the closet with quick, nervous hands. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to look composed, and approached the door. The knock came again, softer this time, and a small voice sounded on the other side. "Emma, it's your mother."
Emma opened the door calmly. "Is everything alright?"
Snow White, dressed in her sleep robes, gave Emma a tired but warm smile. "There's nothing wrong, sweetheart," Snow said, noticing Emma's concerned look. "I just... wanted to talk."
Emma's heart raced for a different reason now, but she forced a smile and stepped aside. "Come in."
Snow sat on the edge of Emma's bed, and Emma's eyes flicked nervously to the bedside table, where the vial still sat, glowing faintly in the candlelight. She quickly averted her gaze, hoping Snow wouldn't notice. She sat next to her mother, doing her best to keep her hands steady, still shaking from the night's events.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about this tournament, but you're hard to catch," Snow began, her voice soft but serious. "Your father has already sent word to Lancelot. He's looking for a suitable knight to compete on our behalf."
Emma nodded, her mind barely focused on the conversation. She could feel the weight of the bottle sitting inches away, its presence gnawing at her. But she forced herself to pay attention as Snow continued.
"This isn't just some tournament for fun, Emma. This is about finding the next king, securing an alliance. I know you've always been eager to prove yourself, but... it's not the right time."
Emma bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm. "I understand, Mom. I've had time to think, and I realize I was wrong to ask to participate. I'm sorry."
Snow's expression softened, relief washing over her face. "I'm so glad to hear that, Emma. I knew you'd see reason."
But despite her mother's approval, Emma felt a heaviness settle in her chest. She stared down at her hands, feeling a distance between her and the life her mother spoke of, the life she had been born into. Snow noticed her quiet demeanor and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Is there something else on your mind?" Snow asked, concern lacing her words. "You seem troubled."
Emma hesitated, debating whether to speak. She hadn't meant to bring it up, but the conversation with Rumplestiltskin, the contract, the vial—it all weighed so heavily on her. "I overheard Dad talking about... about not having a male heir," Emma admitted softly. "I know how it works. I know I'm expected to marry to secure the kingdom's future. But... do you and Dad ever regret having only me? Do you wish you'd had more children?"
The vulnerability in her voice took Snow by surprise. Her mother wrapped her arms around Emma, holding her close. "Oh, Emma, of course not. We love you more than anything. You're our daughter, and you've always been more than enough."
Emma leaned into her mother's embrace, but the weight in her chest didn't lift. "Would it have been easier if I were a man?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
Snow pulled back slightly, her expression shifting from warmth to concern. "Why would you ask that?"
Emma quickly shook her head, waving the question away. "I don't know. I've just been thinking too much, I guess. Maybe too much wine at dinner."
Snow didn't seem convinced, but she smiled and kissed Emma on the forehead. "You're perfect the way you are, Emma. Don't ever doubt that."
Snow stood and gave her daughter one last look before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Emma waited until the footsteps faded down the hall before exhaling a long, shaky breath. Her hand trembled as she reached for the bottle again, her mind swirling with everything the night had shown her. The contract, the potion, the temptation of a life she could never otherwise have.
Her mother's words echoed in her head, but so did Rumplestiltskin's.
Freedom comes at a price.
Emma stared at the red liquid, her heart pounding. The choice was hers now, but she wasn't sure if she could make it.