Chapter 6
Emma woke in the dark, the room still cast in shadows as she blinked herself into awareness. She felt strange, as though she'd slept wrong or woken far too early. The events of the night before lingered in her mind, thick with confusion and unease. Rumplestiltskin's words, his promises, the small vial he had left her with—all of it weighed on her as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, gathering her thoughts. The idea of a different life, one where she was free from expectation, had seemed so tempting in the dim light of night. But now, in the quiet darkness of early morning, the reality of such a choice felt far more daunting. Was she truly ready for that kind of change?
She pushed herself up, yawning, and threw back her covers. The coolness of the room pricked at her skin as she moved to her vanity, the familiar ritual of washing her face giving her a moment of clarity. Dipping her hands into the basin, she splashed the cool water over her face, letting it trickle down to her neck and chest, hoping it would clear her mind. The sensation of the water was grounding, refreshing, and she rubbed her eyes, willing away the remnants of sleep until she felt fully awake.
But when she finally opened her eyes and looked into the mirror, a strangled gasp escaped her throat, and she stumbled backward, falling to the floor. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. What had she just seen?
That face—that face—wasn't hers. It couldn't be hers.
Trembling, she looked down at her hands, her vision still swimming with shock. These hands—large, rough, and covered in coarse hair—were nothing like the delicate, familiar hands she'd known all her life. Her hands were slim, soft, and fair, but these were different. These were the hands of a stranger.
Her breath hitched as her fingers traced over the calluses, the thickness of her knuckles. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she pressed her hands to her chest. Her pulse was hammering beneath her fingertips, but her chest was broad, solid, her muscles firm and unyielding under her touch. She traced her fingers down to her abdomen, feeling ridges of muscle, foreign yet alive beneath her skin. Her legs, too, were strong and hairy, tanned and toned in a way she had never seen. Her gaze trailed down, her wide eyes watching as she wiggled her toes—toes that were somehow her own but belonged to this strange, muscular form she now inhabited.
She sat there, stunned, hands moving across her body as if to convince herself this wasn't real. It was a nightmare, it had to be. She would wake up any second now, back in her own body, her own skin. But each touch, each breath, each frantic beat of her heart told her otherwise.
Her eyes darted to the nightstand, and there it was—the empty bottle, lying on its side, remnants of red liquid staining the rim. She froze, staring at it, her chest heaving as she tried to piece together what had happened. Had she taken it in her sleep? Had she, in some half-dreaming state, drunk the potion Rumplestiltskin had left her and forgotten?
With a strangled cry, she scrambled to her feet, reaching for the empty bottle, her fingers shaking as they closed around it. She held it up to the light, the glass cold and slick in her grip, the reality of its emptiness sending another wave of dread through her. She scanned the floor, desperately searching for the contract that had been on her bed last night, but there was no trace of it. The silk bow, the fine parchment—gone, as if they had never existed.
Her heart pounded faster, her breaths coming shallow and quick as the enormity of what had happened sank in. This was real. This wasn't a dream.
She was hyperventilating, panic closing in around her as her mind spun. She tried to remember Rumplestiltskin's words, his cryptic warnings, but everything felt distant, foggy, her memory hazy with the weight of her disbelief. She staggered back, clutching the bottle, her body trembling as she tried to make sense of the impossible.
The potion had worked. It had done exactly what he'd promised. She had changed… she had become someone new.
Emma closed her eyes, feeling her heart pounding relentlessly within her chest. She needed to look again, to confront the stranger staring back at her. This was real, she told herself. Whatever she'd done, whatever choices had led her here, this was real. And she had to face it. She took a slow, shaky breath, steeling herself, and rose to her feet.
Her hands trembled as she moved toward the mirror, each step heavy with the weight of the unknown. She kept her head down, avoiding the sight until she stood directly in front of the glass, feeling its cool presence loom before her. Then, with a final, deep breath, she lifted her gaze and looked.
The breath caught in her throat as she took in her reflection, her heart beating painfully in her chest. The face staring back at her was strong, angular, with high, chiseled cheekbones and a defined jawline that she'd never known. Her once-soft features were replaced with the hard edges of someone battle-worn, someone who had seen things, who carried scars both seen and unseen. And her eyes—they were still hers, still the same shade of blue, but somehow deeper, more intense. A hint of her own spirit, her own fire, glimmered beneath this stranger's gaze.
Her hair was now cropped short, curls framing her face in a way that felt alien but natural all at once. She could almost see herself, the woman she was, hidden within the man who now stood before her.
But he was… handsome. Rugged. Strong in a way that startled her, that felt both right and wrong all at once.
She pressed a hand to the glass, her fingers trembling as they met her own reflection. "What… what have I done?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.
Emma strode over to her closet, heart pounding, hoping for something familiar—her dresses, her riding gear, anything to remind her of the life she had known. But as she threw open the doors, she found no trace of her old self. Instead, her closet was filled with trousers, shirts, and sturdy jackets, the kind of clothing meant for a man's life, practical and plain. Her heart sank as she pulled at the garments, tossing them aside one by one, desperate for some sign of the life she'd left behind. But there was nothing. Her dresses, the soft fabrics, even her worn riding clothes—all gone, replaced by this new, foreign wardrobe.
Frustrated, she shook her head, grabbing a pair of trousers and a simple shirt. She pulled them on, bracing herself for the discomfort of oversized clothes, the loose fit she was used to. But these clothes didn't hang off her body—they fit, snugly, hugging her form in a way she'd never experienced before.
She ran her hands down her arms, over the sleeves, feeling the fabric cling to her muscular frame. Every movement felt natural, as though these clothes had been made just for her. Her arms, her shoulders, her chest—all of it felt strong, powerful in ways she'd only dreamed of.
For the first time since she'd woken up, a small smile played on her lips. She flexed her hands, feeling the strength in her fingers, the weight of muscle that came with this new body. It was strange, yes, and terrifying. But in this moment, she felt a flicker of excitement, a taste of the freedom she'd always longed for.
A faint knock sounded from her door. Emma froze, her heart hammering in her chest, and panic surged through her. Other people. She hadn't even considered this. She couldn't let anyone see her like this, least of all her parents. They would be horrified, confused. What would they think happened to Emma? What if they thought she'd been hurt or—she swallowed hard—killed? A stranger standing in her room, Emma missing… it was a nightmare waiting to unfold.
The knock came again, a little louder this time, and a voice called from the other side of the door. "Sir? Are you awake?"
Her eyes darted to the door, wide with shock and fear. Sir? They had said "sir." Her heart skipped a beat as the realization sank in. Somehow, this transformation didn't just change her appearance; it had altered how the world perceived her. It wasn't just Emma who looked different—everyone else saw her as someone new entirely.
She took a shaky breath, the possibilities spinning wildly through her mind. They don't know I'm Emma. The world would see her as someone else, a man, a stranger. This could be a disaster… but it could also be an opportunity. If no one knew she was Emma, she could explore this new life, perhaps even attend the tournament.
The voice called again, sounding slightly uncertain. "Sir? It's nearly dawn. Shall I prepare breakfast?"
Emma's voice cracked as she tried to answer, the unfamiliar sound startling her as much as it would have startled anyone outside the door. It was deep, smooth, and sultry in a way that she had never imagined for herself. She swallowed, throat dry, and tried again, lowering her tone with careful determination. "Uh—yes. I'll be down shortly," she managed, hoping the slight waver would be mistaken for morning grogginess.
There was a brief pause, then the voice replied, "Very good, sir."
The footsteps faded down the hallway, and Emma took a shaky breath. She was safe, at least for now. She glanced at herself in the mirror, the man staring back, and felt a strange mixture of relief and terror.
Emma lingered in her room longer than necessary, her heart racing with the weight of what she was about to face. When she finally mustered the courage, she cracked the door open, poking her head into the hallway. Everything felt new and strange, each step heavy and unsteady, as though she were learning to walk all over again. She moved with caution, her body tense, her instincts screaming at her to hide from everyone. She felt like an intruder, a stranger who didn't belong here, and the fear of being caught gripped her with every passing second.
The hallway was quiet, her heartbeat loud in her ears as she crept along, keeping close to the wall. She darted into the shadows when a servant passed, carrying a tray laden with eggs and meat. She held her breath, pressing her back against the cold stone, watching as he walked past without noticing her. The relief was fleeting; she couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment, someone would see her, call for the guards, accuse her of trespassing.
Just as she exhaled, trying to steady herself, a voice sounded from behind, and she spun around, nearly colliding with a young woman who had appeared out of nowhere. They both gasped, the maid's eyes going wide with surprise. Emma felt her stomach twist with dread as the woman took a step back, her hands clutching a small towel.
The woman seemed to catch herself, hastily bowing. "My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to startle you," she said, her voice small, and Emma realized the maid was as anxious as she was. "Are… are you alright?" The woman's gaze swept over Emma's face, a flicker of concern in her eyes.
Emma took a steadying breath, nodding as she tried to maintain composure. "Yes, thank you. Just… finding my way," she managed, forcing the deep, unfamiliar voice to sound calm.
The maid seemed relieved, though a hint of worry lingered in her gaze. "Very well, sir. If you need anything, just let me know," she said with a polite dip of her head.
Emma nodded, giving the maid a tight smile before turning and moving quickly down the hall, her heart still pounding.
Emma took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs as she tried to calm the storm of nerves churning within her. She steadied herself, rounding the corner that led to the main hallway of the castle, the heart of the early morning bustle. She hesitated just before stepping out, squinting one eye open, half-expecting every servant and guard to freeze and stare.
To her surprise, the hallway remained busy and oblivious, filled with the soft clinking of breakfast plates, the quiet chatter of servants discussing the day's tasks, and the muted rustling of fresh laundry being carried to and fro. No one stopped or stared. No one looked twice.
Emma stepped forward slowly, her pulse racing as she waited for someone to notice her. But they didn't. The servants were preoccupied, consumed by their morning duties, unbothered by her unfamiliar presence. She moved carefully, testing her steps, expecting that at any moment someone would see through the new face she wore.
But the minutes ticked by, and still, she remained invisible. Emma could feel a strange mix of relief and disbelief settling over her. She was free to move as she pleased, unrecognized, unnoticed. The power of Rumplestiltskin's potion had cloaked her completely, as though Emma herself had disappeared, leaving only this stranger in her place.
A quiet thrill of possibility surged within her.
Emma's gaze fixed on the solid oak doors of the great hall, her last shred of confidence flickering like a dying flame. This was it. She would face her parents. But a sharp fear gripped her, rooting her to the spot. Would they know? she wondered desperately. Had everyone else just been too polite to say anything?
She swallowed hard, running her hands over her arms and chest, as if to reassure herself that the transformation hadn't worn off during her walk here. Her form was still solid, her skin still rough, her arms and chest still broad and unfamiliar beneath the tailored shirt. This body was as real as ever. But the desire to flee was stronger than her resolve. She could go to the docks, find Rumplestiltskin, beg him to reverse it.
Before she could decide, a movement caught her eye—a servant stepping out from the hall, his gaze meeting hers. He bowed deeply, showing no sign of surprise, and without hesitation, held the door open for her.
She wanted to turn, to disappear down the nearest corridor, but her feet betrayed her. Her legs carried her forward, one step at a time, until she was through the threshold, the doors closing firmly behind her.
Inside, her mother and father sat at the grand dining table, their backs turned as they spoke in low, familiar tones. The comfort of their voices—a soft murmur of tasks and plans—only made her heart ache more. They were discussing preparations for their journey to the Enchanted Kingdom, the mundane details of travel and who would oversee the affairs of the castle in their absence. They hadn't noticed her yet, but each step felt heavier as she approached, her breath shallow as she struggled to keep calm.
Regaining control over her voice, she cleared her throat softly, the unfamiliar timbre of it echoing through the room like a stranger's. Her father's head turned first, his brow creasing slightly as he took in the figure before him.
"Ah, there you are, I thought you were going to sleep all morning" he said, sounding faintly puzzled, but more surprised than suspicious. Snow's gaze followed, her eyes settling on Emma with polite warmth but no recognition.
"August," Snow said, her tone gentle but approving as she gestured for her to join them. "Good Morning. Come, sit. You must be hungry."
Emma froze, heart pounding. August. They didn't just not recognize her—they thought she was someone else entirely.
Emma stood stiffly, watching as her parents continued their conversation, oblivious to the turmoil inside her. They talked of plans and details, discussing their impending journey with the same calm efficiency they brought to every task. She found herself staring blankly at the plates of food before her, realizing only now how hungry she felt, but she couldn't bring herself to eat. Her nerves were too sharp, her mind too scattered to even lift a fork.
Snow's gaze drifted over to her, brows knitting together in mild concern. "August, are you feeling alright?" she asked softly, her voice motherly and kind.
Emma swallowed, forcing herself to meet her mother's eyes. "Yes… I… just a bit tired," she managed, surprised at how calm her own voice sounded.
Charming, her father, nodded, his expression firm. "This journey will require your strength," he said, though his tone was not unkind. "Queen Regina will be expecting us in three weeks. We'll need every ounce of resolve for this visit. This tournament will be no walk in the park. There is a crown on the line, son."
Charming's tone was serious, speaking to her like he would a son, with the weight of expectations and the urgency of their mission pressing down between every word. He talked of the tournament, of the prize, of the crown that awaited them, and without thinking, Emma blurted out the question that had been burning inside her ever since she'd heard of the contest.
"Will I get to be in the tournament?" she asked, forgetting entirely in that moment who she was—or rather, who she wasn't.
Her parents exchanged looks, and a frown deepened on Snow's face as she turned to Charming. "He must be ill," she murmured, her worry evident. "To forget something like that…"
Charming waved her concerns away, his gaze returning to Emma with mild irritation but unmistakable determination. "Yes, of course, you'll be in the tournament. Have you forgotten all our talks and preparation for this moment?" he asked, his tone steely but with a flicker of pride in his eyes. "This is what we've worked toward. Now is not the time to lose focus, not when we're so close to leaving. You're trained for this. I expect you to do what needs to be done, and I expect you to win this tournament for the family."
Emma felt the weight of his words settle heavily on her. Win the tournament. Her father believed in her—or rather, in August—with a certainty she had rarely seen before. For once, he was speaking to her as an equal, as someone who could bear the expectations and bring honor to the family. She felt a strange thrill, an echo of pride mixed with the realization of what she had inadvertently agreed to.
When she finished breakfast, she dismissed herself from her parents respectfully, and when she cleared the hall, she broke into a sprint down the corridor, her only thought focused on reaching the town. Ruby had to know. She needed someone—anyone—to help her make sense of this. She burst through the castle doors, the cool morning air hitting her face as her feet pounded against the cobblestones of the courtyard.
Her chest burned, but it wasn't the familiar ache of fatigue; it was alive with energy, with power. Each breath she took filled her lungs fully, her body moving with a strength and speed she had never felt before. Her legs pumped effortlessly, carrying her forward with ease, and with every stride, she felt the powerful muscles in her body engage, propelling her faster and harder than ever. Her arms swung in rhythm, every part of her body connected, fluid, unstoppable.
It was exhilarating. The world around her blurred as she ran, the townspeople little more than faint, surprised faces as she sped by. For the first time in her life, she felt utterly, undeniably strong.
As Emma raced through the town, she was vaguely aware of the curious eyes following her, murmurs rippling through the crowd as they watched a prince sprint through the streets. But she hadn't thought to hide or cover her face as she normally did. All that mattered was reaching Ruby.
Finally, she skidded to a halt outside the pub, but her feet slipped from under her, and she crashed hard onto the threshold. Coughing as she caught her breath, she looked up and found herself staring into a pair of worn brown boots. She glanced up, and there, framed by her fiery red hair, was Ruby, looking down at her with suspicion and a touch of concern.
"Ruby," Emma rasped, still gasping. Relief surged through her as she clutched at Ruby's hand to pull herself up. "Thank the gods you're here. It—it's true! The potion, Rumple… everything—"
Her voice was louder than she'd intended, drawing the attention of the nearby patrons. A crowd was beginning to gather, their eyes wide with curiosity at the sight of the prince gasping for breath on the ground. Ruby's expression shifted from confusion to mild panic as she quickly glanced around, then back at Emma.
Ruby, quick to sense the growing attention of the crowd, flashed a calm smile, her eyes darting around to signal that there was nothing unusual happening. She gave Emma—the prince—a firm but friendly pat on the shoulder, laughing lightly as if they were just old friends sharing a joke. "Nothing to see here, folks," she called out, her voice smooth and cheerful. "Just the prince, dropping by for a visit." Ruby smiled calmly, helping Emma up to her feet. "Smile and wave." Ruby whispered through her gritted smile.
Emma looked at her, confusion on her face. "What"
"Smile, idiot." Ruby elbowed her hard, and Emma quickly did as she was told.
The crowd, sensing there was no excitement to be had, slowly dispersed, grumbling as they returned to their morning routines. But Emma didn't miss the slight tension in Ruby's shoulders as she led her by the arm, pulling her through the pub doors and out of sight.
Once inside, Emma turned to Ruby, her pulse still racing, unable to keep her voice steady. "Ruby, you have to listen to me. I'm—" she began, but Ruby cut her off, her face carefully blank.
"I'm not sure what you're going on about," Ruby said, her tone breezy but her eyes sharp as she scanned Emma's face, searching for something that even she didn't seem to understand. "But if the prince has come all this way just to drop in, then he must be hungry. Sit," she gestured to a quiet booth at the back of the room, her words deliberately casual.
Ruby's voice filled the pub, loud and deliberate, cutting through the quiet murmurs and the clinking of glasses. She threw an almost exaggerated smile in Emma's direction, clearly trying to keep the situation under control. "Yes, Your Majesty, I assure you, all taxes were paid last week," she said in a tone that was more theatrical than sincere, giving a pointed glance at the few regulars slumped over at the bar, who were too deep in their cups to care about royalty gracing their presence.
Emma watched, a mixture of gratitude and frustration swirling inside her as Ruby kept up the act. Ruby's voice was a shade too cheerful, her words careful and calculated, designed to throw off anyone who might listen in. Emma's heart raced, and she found herself playing along, nodding solemnly as if she actually were a tax-collecting royal.
Ruby's eyes, though, kept flicking back to Emma, searching her face, her gaze trying to pierce the disguise. "We're quite diligent about it," Ruby continued, her voice overly bright. "You're welcome to examine our records if it would ease your mind, sir."
Emma couldn't take it any longer. She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper, hoping Ruby would finally see the truth. "Ruby, please. It's me, Emma. This is… all because of that potion. I need you to understand."
Emma stifled a yelp as Ruby's boot connected sharply with her shin. Ruby's smile didn't falter, her voice carrying through the room with forced cheer. "The records are in the back," she announced, giving Emma a pointed look. "You can follow me, Your Highness."
Emma managed a stiff nod, feeling both amused and exasperated by Ruby's barely concealed frustration. Without another word, she trailed behind Ruby, weaving past the rickety tables and patrons who paid them little mind. Once they were out of earshot, in the cramped storage room behind the bar, Ruby spun around, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.
As soon as they entered the back room, Ruby whirled around, her eyes flashing with anger. "What in the world has gotten into you?" she snapped, crossing her arms tightly. "I thought we had an understanding about all of this."
Emma blinked, completely taken aback. "What are you talking about, Ruby? I'm trying to tell you—last night, I met Rumplestiltskin. He… he gave me a potion, and I… drank it. And now—well, here I am."
Ruby's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. She shook her head slowly, muttering, "Have you been kicked by a horse, or something?" Her voice was edged with irritation as she gave him a skeptical look. "I didn't sign up to deal with a crazy person, August."
Emma's heart sank. "Ruby, it's me. Don't you remember—"
"Of course it's you, August," Ruby interrupted with a heavy sigh, exasperation clouding her face. She looked away, rubbing her temples as if trying to steady herself. "Look, whatever this is, snap out of it. You don't get to go crazy after all this time."
Emma stared at her, realization dawning painfully. Ruby didn't just think she was someone else. She believed she was Prince August—a person who must have existed somewhere, someone she was meant to embody. The transformation hadn't just changed her appearance; it had woven her into an entirely new identity, one that even Ruby, her closest friend, saw as real.
Emma's heart pounded, and she swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Ruby… please. I swear, it's me. I'm not August. I'm Emma. I'm still your friend."
But Ruby only looked at her with a mix of frustration and pity, her expression softening slightly. "August, you sound like you've lost your mind. Maybe you need to sit down. Get a drink. Whatever you're going through, shake it off. We need you focused, remember?"
Emma slid down the wall, sinking to the floor, her head spinning with the weight of everything crashing over her. She barely registered Ruby leaving the room, only to return a moment later with a bucket of water and a cloth. Kneeling down, Ruby dipped the cloth into the cool water and pressed it gently to Emma's forehead, her touch both comforting and unfamiliarly gentle.
"What's going on with you?" Ruby asked, her voice softened, a mix of frustration and concern. "We agreed to stop seeing each other, remember? Because of everything with the tournament… I thought you'd moved on easily, knowing you could be king one day."
Emma's heart raced at Ruby's words, her mind struggling to reconcile this version of herself with the life she'd always known. Her voice trembled as she ventured, "What… what exactly was our relationship?"
Ruby frowned, visibly taken aback. "You really don't remember?" she asked, looking deeply into Emma's eyes with a mixture of confusion and hurt. "You didn't seem to question it the last time we were together."
Emma swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Did we… sleep together?"
Ruby raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Oh, you're really going to play innocent now?" She sighed, the smirk fading as she looked at Emma with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "August, you've officially lost it."
Emma dropped her head into her hands, the weight of the morning pressing down on her. "I don't know what's happening, Ruby," she murmured, her voice thick with the strain of confusion and desire. She wanted to explain everything but knew that Ruby wouldn't believe her—not as long as she saw only Prince August standing in front of her.
Ruby, leaning against the doorframe, studied Emma carefully. "Is the stress of the tournament getting to you?" she asked, her tone gentle, almost teasing. Emma felt the truth catch in her throat. No, she wanted to say, it's so much more than that. But instead, she nodded.
Emma's gaze lingered on Ruby, noticing the way her expression softened, her concern breaking through the frustration she'd shown just moments ago. Gathering her courage, Emma asked, "Ruby… what are we, really? I need to hear it from you."
Ruby sighed, arching an eyebrow as she took a step closer. "Is this some sick attempt at romance, August?" she said, her voice half-exasperated, half-amused. But when Emma didn't respond, just looked up at her, Ruby's gaze softened. She sighed again, letting her shoulders relax, and leaned back against the opposite threshold.
"We've always been… casual," Ruby explained, her voice softer, almost tender. "Friends when it's convenient, more when it suits us both. We're not bound by anything other than how we feel in the moment. And last night…" She trailed off, her voice filled with a hint of nostalgia, almost fondness.
Emma felt her heartbeat quicken as Ruby described that night, the familiarity in her tone making it feel as if she'd been there herself. And maybe, in a way, she had wanted to be there all along. This was her chance, perhaps the only one she'd ever have, to make real what she had always kept buried as Emma.
Emma shifted slightly, leaning closer, her voice barely a whisper. "Tell me more. What happened… last night?"
Ruby's eyes darkened, and with a sly smile, she moved closer, reaching out to trace her fingers along Emma's chest, her touch exploring the unfamiliar muscles that now defined Emma's form. Her hands roamed, slow and deliberate, making Emma's breath hitch. A part of Emma knew this was wrong, a betrayal of her past self and her friendship with Ruby. But another part of her, a yearning that ran deeper than logic, told her to seize the moment. To let herself experience this, even if it meant walking a delicate line between love and deception.
Emma let out a shaky breath, her gaze locked with Ruby's, and she allowed herself, just for a moment, to close the distance.
Emma stood there, pulse racing, her clothes slightly disheveled as she tried to steady herself. The moment they had just shared felt like a revelation—something she'd yearned for, but deeper, more real than she'd ever dreamed. When Ruby parted from her, cheeks flushed, breath coming in soft gasps, Emma couldn't keep a grin from spreading across her face.
"Shit, that was amazing," she muttered, still trying to catch her breath.
Ruby chuckled, equally breathless. "Yeah, it always is. That's… that's why it can't be more," she said, her smile fading into something bittersweet as she straightened her clothes.
Emma frowned, the words hitting harder than she'd expected. "I'm a prince. I can have whatever I want," she said, the confidence of her new form lending her voice a depth she hadn't intended.
But Ruby only laughed, a sound that was both warm and sad. "You really believe that?" she asked, her gaze softening, yet unwavering. "After everything your parents have asked of you, after every plan they've laid out for you? You have a duty that goes beyond me, beyond this town, beyond anything we could ever have together."
Emma's heart sank as Ruby's words brought her crashing back to reality. She'd dared to hope, dared to imagine that she could just leave all of this behind, that maybe Ruby would go with her. "We could just… forget about them," she murmured, her voice tinged with a desperation she couldn't hide. "Run away together."
But Ruby scoffed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "We already talked about that, remember?" she said, her tone laced with both affection and frustration. "It didn't work then, and it won't work now. Your parents would come looking for you, August. You're not just anyone—you're their son. The future king, whether you want it or not. They'd find you, and I'd be sent away so I wouldn't 'distract' you from your duty. It's impossible, August."
As the weight of her new reality sank in, Emma felt the lines between her past and present blur. This life was no longer some passing illusion—it was real, down to the love and expectations that surrounded her. She was no longer Emma; she was their son, with a kingdom's hopes resting on her shoulders. And Ruby, the woman she'd loved quietly for so long, was no longer a distant fantasy. Their relationship, however complicated, was real.
Emma took a steadying breath, looking at Ruby, regret and gratitude mingling in her gaze. "I'm sorry, Ruby," she said softly. "For… for all of this. For dragging you into something that must feel so—"
Ruby waved a hand, her mouth twisting into a sarcastic grin. "Oh, I hated every second of it," she quipped, her eyes sparkling with amusement. They both laughed, the tension easing for a moment, and Emma felt a pang of joy she hadn't expected.
Emma took Ruby's hand, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Thank you for understanding, for… being here. Could I… kiss you one more time?"
Ruby's eyes softened, and without another word, she leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that felt like everything Emma had yearned for in her old life and everything she might now have in this one. The kiss was deeper, lingering, filled with a longing and sweetness that she'd never dared to experience before. It felt whole, complete, real.
But before Emma was ready, Ruby broke the embrace, her hand resting on Emma's cheek. She looked up with a playful but determined glint in her eye. "You're going to be a great king one day, August. But don't you dare forget me when you're the most powerful man in the realm."
Emma chuckled softly, the warmth of Ruby's words filling her with a mix of pride and sadness. "How could I ever forget you?"
With a final smile, Ruby turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Emma standing there, breathless and changed, feeling the full weight of her new life—and, for the first time, accepting it.