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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

Emma's parents had never quite understood why she was so fascinated with the cobbler's shop.

It wasn't much to look at, her mother argued. The main room was musky with the odor of fresh leather, dusty from the collection of shoes littered all over the place. The windows were dirty, as if they'd never been cleaned.

But, Emma would counter with a huff, the shoemakers themselves were the best in the entire realm, accumulating thousands of orders over the years ― and when you're busy like that, it's hard to keep everything in order all the time.

Her father would just shake his head and smile knowingly at her, as if he was exactly aware of why Emma kept demanding so many new pairs of shoes.

The life of a princess is serious. The life of a princess is important. The life of a princess is―

Monotonous.

Preposterous, really.

Emma cared about the fate of her subjects, she really did. She put an effort into her studies, she practiced the rules of state and etiquette until her head ached, and she tried her best to always obey her parents.

She tried to be a good princess. That counted for something, right?

But this whole suitor business was really a pain in the ass. Expectations everywhere she turned, choices that she didn't want to make.

There were a lot of moments, when she would have some free time to stare out her bedroom window at the sea, to drift off and let her imagination run free, where castles and kingdoms and futures were inconsequential.

Dreams that included her and a certain blue-eyed, dashing young man from a particular shop.

The first time she had noticed Killian was when the old shoemaker had died. David had paid a regal visit to the man's abode, mainly because the shop had been closed for days on end without any notice. The neighboring villagers had gotten worried and sent a man to ask the king and queen for their help. Her father had dragged her along as one of their lessons, as he called them. Emma, you need to interact with the people and get to know them. You will be queen someday.

She had pouted and kept her face glued to the carriage window during the entire ride there.

It turned out that not only was the wizened gentleman lying still in his bed, but there were two exceptional items hiding in the storage closet. Two dark heads, with elvish shaped ears, bodies shivering in each other's arms when David yanked the rusty door open and let the light in to shine on their faces.

The shoemaker at the time didn't have the best reputation. He was called miser, thief, cheat ― and that was on a good day. Who could have known that he had taken in two vagabonds as his apprentices, having them do his work at night and giving them scraps to eat as payment? They had been ordered never to come out of the closet during the day, to stay out of sight and not make any noise. Two orphan boys, abandoned years ago by their father and scared to death, even after David had given them Emma's lunch (she had fumed at that) and asked the guards to find some damn blankets.

Of course, her father just had to introduce her to them, still in a tantrum about the trip and her missing lunch and the whole day altogether. She was Princess Emma of Misthaven. They were Liam and Killian Jones, older and younger brother. She shook hands with them, curtsying only because of one whisper in her ear (be polite, sweetheart, or no riding for a month).

Amazed by their handiwork, David decided to give them the shoemaker's shop, seeing as he had no relatives to speak of and by God, the town still needed a resident cobbler. Emma wears out her shoes and slippers all the time, you'd think she was dancing all night, he told the two boys with a laugh.

Liam said he was old enough to take care of both of them. Killian hid his face in his brother's shoulder. Emma looked them over, curious why the smaller boy was so shy.

When he peeked at her, she was shocked by the color in his gaze, so clear and intense and decisive. She had never seen eyes like his.

Tentatively, he smiled at her, his cheeks red. To her own chagrin, she smiled back, blushing herself.

Naturally, she still fought her shoe fittings, but every month of every year, it was with a little less fervor, a little less resentment. By the time she was seventeen, she only pretended to be flummoxed by her parents' insistence she go to the cobblers.

Secretly, she'd take whatever chances she got to see Killian. There was a good reason why the village girls all swooned over him whenever he'd run errands in town.

When Liam was older, he was placed under the king's personal tutelage and offered a position in the Navy. After a while, Killian followed in his footsteps, and the shoemaker's shop was closed for a time.

The day they came back, safe and sound, to the Enchanted Forest was the happiest of Emma's life.

For Lieutenant Killian Jones, decorated by her father and knighted by her mother, was the man she wanted by her side and in her bed.

"Another pair ruined, Your Highness?" Killian tsked with a mocking smile. He held the shoes up with a curled finger. "What have you been doing in them?"

Emma pointed her nose in the air, peering out of the corner of her eye at the other customers. They were all fawning over Liam as he showed them the latest wares.

"That is frankly none of your business, Jones," she said briskly, sweeping past him to eye a lavish set of ballroom slippers. They were blue and white and extremely elegant, tailored for small feet.

Scratching behind his ear, Killian motioned toward the shoes. "Those are for Princess Ella, Your Highness. Your mother―"

"Commissioned them as a birthday present ― I know." Emma raised her eyebrows, glancing at the stairs that led to the workroom above their heads. "Don't you have anything special in my size?"

He nodded, extending a hand. She followed him up, taking each step carefully so she wouldn't trip over her dress. A small smile crossed her lips when he cursed as he fiddled with the keys, searching for the right one to slam into the lock.

They stood in the open doorway for just a moment before he was pulling her into the darkness, shutting the light out behind them.

Her back was pressed against the thick door, his hands on either side of her as his mouth found hers in a clashing of teeth and tongues. Their hungry moans echoed in the small space.

"Good God, we need to stop doing this." His lips slid down her throat, stopping at her decolletage. "Because 'the last time' always leads to a next time, and I may not be able to stop next time ― bloody hell, I want you, Emma."

She groaned out "Killian" before kissing him again, until there wasn't any breath left for words.

Chapter Text

Attraction was never something Emma had understood very well.

She could see the sense of it when she eyed her mother and father (only when they thought she wasn't looking). But she couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't grasp why the kitchen girls would gasp and giggle over the knights during their jousting practices but sneer at the gangly stable boys.

When she turned ten, she caught her maid kissing one of the servants in a hallway corridor. Gawking only for a second, she had turned on her heel and vowed that it was disgusting, awkward, and just― Well, nonsensical.

And that was the end of it. For some time, she didn't give any boys a second glance. She continued to sneak out during the day and convince Killian to show her how to make shoes, following him around the shop like a puppy and teasing him endlessly. To his credit, he teased her back, tugged on her braids, and always had the brightest smile on his face when he'd find her on the shop's doorstep, ready to knock again.

Until that fateful summer.

Her fifteenth.

Oh, that was something.

Emma remembered it perfectly: Baelfire was visiting with his stepmother. He was pretty annoying, trailing her everywhere with those mournful brown eyes, clumsy and timid and unsure. It wasn't like he was horrid ― he was just...he wasn't really someone she wanted to know.

Killian, on the other hand...

She had conducted a one-woman mutiny by digging out her best pair of shoes and hacking at them with a paring knife.

Needless to say, her mother had a fit when she saw them ― Emma, what on earth have you done?

Finest dress and perfume, a working carriage, one free afternoon to spoil herself in the cobbler's shop and feast her eyes on the beauteous creations her closest friend and his brother came up with. Yes, shoe repair was the best excuse for the escape of royal duties in all the realms.

It wasn't like the trip was any different from the ones before. After all, Liam and Killian knew her from childhood. The moment the smell of fresh leather wafted past her nose, every nerve in Emma's body relaxed instantly. It was familiar, welcoming, home. She was here often enough that it was like slipping in an old chair you always sat in by the fire.

Of course, she had primped herself on purpose to so that her mother couldn't reprimand her for being rude to their guests and her father couldn't accuse her of running away when she was making an official royal visit to the cobblers.

Hah, they saw right through her ruse. But they smiled, and nodded, and said nothing, so off she went.

She hadn't expected her reception, though.

For one thing, Liam wasn't around. It was just Killian, bent over the long crafting table as he sewed together two pieces of dyed leather. The slow movements of his hands as he pulled the needle back and forth...the careful twists of his fingers when he adjusted the thread and stopped it from tangling... Her breath caught in her throat. She'd never seen him at work before ― true, he had shown her how to make shoes ― but alone, unwatched... He looked different this way.

A lump formed in her throat. She was impressed.

He was clearly dedicated to his trade, and his designs were true artistry.

His hair, tied back cavalier style, swung to and fro as he cocked his head, tsking when something didn't go his way. Emma smiled to herself, admiring how his sleeves were rolled up his arms so that nothing could interfere with his task. Strong, muscular arms that were never idle or lazy.

Wait...admire? His arms?

That should have been her first sign. She didn't admire men. Well, with the exception of her father, but still... That wasn't the same.

This was Killian. Her friend.

They once played with wooden swords, for God's sake.

She sighed loudly to get his attention. When he turned around, it was with a deep bow and a muffled apology.

There it was ― the second sign something was certainly wrong.

He never bowed to her because she never wanted him to. He was the one person who treated her like an equal, and heavens above, she liked that.

"Hey ― it's me, silly," she laughed, spreading her hands over the folds of her gown and swishing from side to side. "I didn't want to come like this, but Mom and Dad made me come in style, otherwise Bae and Belle would have been offended by my absence."

His posture stiffened. "How can I be of assistance, Your Highness?" He chewed on the words slowly, his drawl more pronounced, and he didn't meet her eyes, his cheeks burning red.

He was nervous. But why?

Brushing off her worries with a toss of her hair, Emma smiled widely and proceeded to throw herself on the nearest chair. "My shoes are in pieces." She quickly withdrew the guilty pair and showed them to him.

When his shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes at the obvious cuts, she felt better. This was the Killian she knew ― the one who never put up with any of her antics. "Lass, I can clearly see that. Though what manner of weapon did you use to attack them, if I may ask?"

She shrugged. "First, the file. Then, when that didn't work, I stole a knife from the kitchen."

He shook his head at her, chuckling. The new grin didn't reach his soft glances toward her. "You'd do anything to get your way, wouldn't you?"

She huffed, whining, "You make me sound so selfish, Killian."

"Selfish? Maybe a little. But to me, you're just a rebel. Rebels defy the odds. That's just who you are, Emma."

"How can you tell?" God, it was so good to hear him say her name. All morning and noon it had been "Princess Emma" and "Your Highness."

"Because we're one of a kind, you and I." He rustled about, searching for his tools. "I want to please Liam, you want to please your parents...but our innermost selves want us to be pleased."

Settling her dress apart so that he would be able to access her feet, Emma readied herself for the footstool.

Which never came.

Killian was standing in front of her, the measuring tape in his hands ― but no stool. He started stammering when she asked what had happened to it.

"Bloody― damn ― bugger." He gaped at her. "Liam took it. He went to visit Lady Priscilla, and..."

"Oh. Well, I trust you," she smirked. "I'll survive without it." Then, she stretched out her leg, so her right foot was perfectly poised for him, dangling in the air.

His jaw dropped.

Emma couldn't understand why he was so flustered. It was just a foot ― stocking-clad feet, that she had made sure were washed and groomed. Like always. She always came prepared. It was the same old routine. He knew.

So why was he so...so...so uncomf―

"I ― uh, um...I...okay." His smile was strained as he knelt down.

Killian had been touching her feet since she had her first fitting with him. It was nothing new. In fact, she was quite used to it. So no, she absolutely shouldn't be getting tingles up and down her legs as he inspected the length of her sole and traced her instep and measured her ankles.

But she did. It was the lightest feeling, going up her spine in waves. And...she began to look at him ― really, really look at him, up close.

She noticed how dark his hair was, his fine cheekbones, the light stubble on his chin, his tailored attire, the width of his palms. He was concentrating on the usual, but he was acting unusually. His fingers were trembling as he touched her, and there was obvious sweat glistening on his forehead.

When he finished his ministrations, he hesitated, pausing in motion between feet.

Emma's self-control wavered. "Do you need me to pull up my skirt for the other one?"

He snapped out of his daze, his striking blue gaze fixated on her. "W–what?" he stuttered, blushing again.

"Do you need my skirt higher up?" she said, gritting her teeth. Despite her curiosity, her patience with his strange behavior was waning.

Instead of answering, he suddenly gave her a look ― such a bold look, that it was difficult to describe. All sun and no shade, is what her mother would say. There was no respite from how he stared her down, unspoken challenge in those eyes, one eyebrow raised, his lips curving up in a smirk of their own.

What challenge Killian was on about, she had no idea. But she would accept it, nonetheless. Biting down on her lower lip, she dragged up the fabric inch by inch.

Gentle but firm, his fingers wrapped underneath her now exposed calf. The stocking was up to her knee. Slowly, he rolled it down. Then his other hand reached out to cup her heel, as if cradling her leg, and the stocking came off entirely, leaving her foot bare. It was all she could do to stay still and not move, not even fidget as his touch pierced through her skin and swarmed her blood with the stabbing of a thousand blunted knives. He took his time, even though she had just come last month for new measurements.

Her face was hot, but her feet were cold when he left them, standing up to stride to the table.

As soon as he was out of earshot, she was gasping for air, trying desperately to get ahold of herself.

Later, at home, she finally figured it out ― the fumbling, the reactions... It was what all the servant girls had gossiped about.

Desire.

She had just experienced desire.

Oh God, no.

She was attracted to Killian Jones.

And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Chapter Text

She was, without a doubt, the most exasperating, frustrating, and self-assured lass in all of Misthaven.

She also was the most adventurous, imaginative ― and so bloody good-hearted, even if she didn't want to acknowledge it.

A true beauty, with piercing green eyes and hair finer than gold.

And he loved her. God above, he loved her, with all of his being.

Realizing at sixteen years that the object of your affection is not only your best friend but also the goddamn princess...

Bloody hell, was all he could think to himself.

Killian was never one for words either. That was Liam, with his penchant for duty and titles and always doing the right thing.

He tried to follow that good example of his brother's ― he really did. But then Emma would come into the shop, bringing her laughter and smiles and warmth, and he'd be lost all over again.

It was so wrong of him to peruse her figure when she wasn't looking, admiring that waist and those hips and not understanding why.

Well, that was a lie. He knew exactly why. Before his coming-of-age, he didn't care if the lass was adorned in dresses or simple trousers and a shirt ― she was here and with him and that was all that mattered, really. But now that he had started...noticing women, all he could see was Emma in dresses with low decolletages, short skirts, and her hair bundled up on her head so he could gaze at the curve of her neck.

That one time she had arrived, sporting the latest fashion of corset (and complaining about it to no end), he was sure his eyes would bulge from his head and drop on the floor. He had never been particularly taken by breasts, but now with every heady breath she took, Emma's generous bosom was attracting ample attention. He nearly tripped over his own feet because he was too busy looking at her rising chest instead of her face.

On lonely nights, when Liam was off on some errand and he was by himself in the shop, squirming in the cold bed upstairs, his dreams became quite sordid. Cold baths always did the trick to stop those kinds of thoughts in their tracks. Even if those thoughts were rather muddled, because all he had to go on was Liam's personal romantic exploits and some of the foul talk drifting into the streets from the local tavern.

Bloody hell, he'd never even worked up the courage to kiss a girl.

Once he tried. Just for the sake of it, to see if this need for Emma was imagined or passing.

There was this dark-headed lass who worked at the bakery ― Liam teased him that oh, she fancied him ― and she would come in at the oddest times, as if she knew their most crowded hours and when the shop was empty. And her attention was focused entirely on Killian, asking about this and that, staring at every bloody shoe with a purposeful fixation as she led him on and on with her vigorous chatter.

He was most surprised when the retreat of his brother upstairs caused her to quickly grab him and plant a rather forceful kiss on him.

To his utter chagrin, he was pushing her off after only one moment, apologizing profusely until he was red in the face.

Disappointed, she left with more than one huff and some very unladylike words.

Safe to say, Milah never bothered him again after that.

And he kept daydreaming about Emma, the trill of her voice and the shine of her hair.

Those rosy lips, that parted so beautifully as she giggled at something he said to make her laugh or for her smile when he tried to cheer her up.

Killian wanted to kiss her lips, not anyone else's.

That was why he was so bloody conflicted.

Fantasies about a possible courtship, where Emma reciprocated his feelings, followed Killian all the way to the castle.

It seemed that King David, too occupied with affairs of state to travel out, needed repairs done on his boots.

Suddenly, the idea of confronting the girl he liked ― in her home, of all places ― was terrifying.

But when he made excuses, Liam grilled him so mercilessly ― why on earth, little brother, would you pass up a visit to the castle? ― that Killian gave up, just to shut his brother's mouth.

Younger brother, he had snapped back, re-tying the ribbon around his queue, polishing his shoes, and dusting off his clothes.

Of course, images of Princess Emma didn't leave him alone during the carriage ride. When Liam needed a break to "give nature a call" ― no peeking, brother ― Killian took advantage of his absence to hunt down wildflowers along the road.

It was hell to hide the rather tousled and windswept bouquet under his coat, but he managed. Liam noticed nothing. He soon fell asleep out of sheer need to avoid motion sickness.

By the time they reached their destination, the flowers were rather wilted. Killian hid them behind his back and practically pushed his brother to enter first.

As he anticipated, the king embraced Liam, showed him the offensive boots (the heels wore out and Snow's trying to make me wear new ones she made for me ― stiff as a board, I tell you, and pinching my toes), and off they went to discuss a redesign of the king's favorite footwear. He was very attached to those boots.

Killian, being more inexperienced in repair and better at making shoes from scratch, was left alone in the throne room to wait.

Emma found him first.

Because the guards were outside, he had snuck up to the thrones and tried on David's, just for size. Seeing the steps and elevated view made him a bit dizzy, so he was about to leave when two hands covered his eyes from behind.

He yelped and jumped from his seat.

"Oh, hush ― it's just me, Jones!" Emma laughed, twirling in front of him and emerging from her hiding place.

God, she was light itself. No wonder the kingdom called her the Golden Swan. Her namesake was quite fitting, if he did say so. His breath caught in his throat. Seeing her really was the best elixir of all.

He descended the stairs backwards, trying to escape her proximity. It really was too much, being within reach of her soft skin and not able to touch it.

"Are those for me?"

He looked down at the suffering bouquet. "Oh ― bloody hell ― yes, they are." He swiftly handed them to her, feeling burnt, and looked away. "I saw them, growing on the road, and I thought..."

"Of me?" Her smile was teasing.

"No ― of course not." He faked a grin. "I just thought they belonged here, as opposed to that dusty, hole-filled path."

Her brows lifted at the same time, and she smirked. Killian catalogued the look as adorable. "Then why didn't you just uproot the bunch and have the gardener plant them in the royal gardens?"

Damn her skills of perception. His jaw went slack, and true to form, he started sputtering. He never knew what to say when he was nervous. "Well...I forgot my knife?" he said weakly.

Her smirk widened. As she swished from side to side, stepping down to the main floor with an air of faux importance, cradling the flowers in her hands, he glanced at her. Oh bloody hell, it was one of those dresses ― a little revealing, but tasteful, showing off her lithe body with a lovely, seductive flair.

But the happy, playful expression on her face belied the suggestion that she was being flirtatious. She was young and genuine and natural― He gulped at the sight of her heaving cleavage. A wish to take off her corset entered his mind. His cheeks grew hot.

"Why, Killian ― you're blushing." Instead of smiling at his discomfort, she frowned. "Did...did I say something wrong?"

"No," he snapped. Her scowl deepened. Exhaling loudly, he hastened to say, "It's not you. It's..." Make up an excuse, Jones. "It's Liam. He dragged me along, then he abandoned me. I swear, he never lets me help."

Shaking her head at him, she rolled her eyes. "Mother does the same to me at all of her tea parties." Then her gaze lit up. "Never mind that ― look on the bright side. Instead of toiling over leather and stitches...you can go riding with me!"

He smiled to himself, growing warm inside. He did so love to ride. Especially with her.

Before he knew it, she was grabbing him by the hand and pulling him toward the exit. During a run through the corridors, she told a passing servant to put the flowers in a vase ― in her room, and please don't forget.

Killian was giddy with relief. And very pleased. He had to bite back another smile, no doubt a very silly, satisfied one.

Laughing in tandem, they entered the sunshine and collided with blue sky. While gazing at Emma as he tore by tall grasses and trees, following her to the stables, he stored this moment in his memories as well. He never wanted to lose sight of her, blissful and free as she reintroduced him to the horses, chuckling when he fed one stallion too many sugar lumps and the black villain nipped at his trousers to extort more.

But what that made this day bloody perfect was the prospect of having Emma all to himself. Even for a few hours. Even if eventually, he had to bid her farewell and go back to the dreary little cobbler's shop.

If only he could spend all the time in the world with her.

If only a princess could love a bloody shoemaker.

Chapter Text

Ironically, one of Killian's best childhood memories was when he was invited to "the princess' royal birthday party," to celebrate her reaching twelve years.

King David had made certain that Liam and he would be in attendance. But while his older brother charmed the ladies, courteous and respectful and charismatic, Killian was hiding in the corner of the ballroom, feeling out of place. All the children who came to the party were royals ― there weren't any servant boys or ladies' maids present. The young princes scoffed at him, muttering about peasants being allowed around kings, and the young princesses turned their noses up at him when they passed by. It didn't matter if he didn't care about them ― it all hurt.

He felt more and more dejected, crumbling as more and more people disregarded him. Of course, it was Emma's party ― she was the center of attention and outshone everyone there. Dressed in the finest gossamer gown, she was golden and brilliant as she cut the cake, handing out slices, or while she thanked each and every person for their presents (whether or not she truly liked them). Ultimately, with Liam preoccupied and no one caring whether he was there or not, Killian was desperate. He wanted to give Emma his gift ― the riding boots he'd sewn together and crafted for months ― but all this talk of him being worthless had gotten to his head. He saw himself as inferior and wretched. That Emma deserved a better friend than some lowly shoemaker's apprentice.

"What are you doing here?"

He had come to with a start. Emma. Did she think so low of him like the others did? Had they changed her mind about him? Should he leave? "Um―"

"No, I meant..." She rolled her eyes. "Why are you hiding out here?"

Killian bit down on his lower lip, unsure what to say. His voice was quiet when he stammered, "I thought...I thought you were busy."

"Busy?" Emma stared at him, a shrewd glint in her eye. "Or you didn't want to be around?"

He stiffened, but she squeezed his arm in reassurance. "I know how all these royal idiots talk. Don't listen to them. You're my friend. Of course I want you here."

God, he'd forgotten how easily she could read his thoughts. Sometimes it was incredible, how well they understood each other.

"I didn't want to embarrass you," he finally muttered, eyeing the floor. "I thought―"

"That being next to me would make me look bad?" She shook her head at him, half-grinning. "You don't know me as well as you think, Killian." He only dared to look at her when she lifted his chin up with a finger. "Anyway, the hardest part is over...so why don't we go on a picnic?"

"A picnic?" Killian was incredulous. What on bloody earth― "A picnic, when you're entertaining royal guests?"

She shrugged. "I want to go on a picnic. With you. It's my birthday ― shouldn't I get my birthday wish?"

Warmth, not from pain or hurt this time, blossomed in his chest. He didn't know what to say. Being with him was her wish?

"Come on." She tugged him by the hand. "We can still make it to the meadow if we leave now―"

"But what will your parents say?" Heaven forbid if the King or Queen got mad at him...

Again, Emma surprised him. "They won't mind ― they just want me to be happy." Her tone softened. "I've missed you. I haven't had a chance to visit the shop recently because of all these silly preparations."

He didn't know what to do with all he was feeling. His insides were in turmoil, and his head was spinning. Eventually, his tongue loosened enough so that he was able to choke out, "I...I've missed you too. A lot."

Her face brightened. "So does that mean...you'll go with me?"

He began to smile. "As you wish."

It was King David who first noticed Killian's intentions toward Emma.

Queen Snow was lovely and very perceptive, but she couldn't keep a secret to save her life. Or so the King informed Killian, accosting him on his way to the marketplace and offering him a carriage ride.

Of course, he got a parental lecture straightaway. Now I like you, Jones, but you are going to be careful with my daughter and if you only dare to―

Aye, he could only imagine. Royal chopping block, the hangman's noose, the archery field, the works. The fierce protectiveness in David's eyes was almost frightening. Killian had cowered in his seat, wishing it were Liam who was doing the talking instead. Bloody hell, this was their king, and Liam was just...Liam. His brother might scold him and argue with him, but he'd never do anything to hurt him.

But no matter how much he claimed to like the Jones brothers, King David would most certainly hurt Killian if anything happened to Emma.

If you break her heart, for example.

Shaking his head, Killian vowed that he was in this for the long run, that he wanted to win her heart without any trickery or tomfoolery.

The king had smiled at that, seemed to be pleased. He'd clapped him on the shoulder, shook his hand...

Then they were right back at the shop. David's final words were advice to keep his courtship quiet for now, to not let Emma know there even was a courtship.

If she only finds out...

Well, it was no secret that the princess was not eager to get married to anyone, let alone invite any suitors to Misthaven. She was determined to find her own happy ending.

Killian, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was looking for.

Emma.

She was his happy ending.

"Why are men so interested in breasts?"

Killian almost choked on his last sip of wine, praising heaven above that it was in a wineskin and not a bloody glass.

Reclining on the blanket, long legs and golden curls spread out, Emma gazed up at him from under her eyelashes.

"Well?" she demanded.

He gritted his teeth together, wondering what her father would say now. Liam, help. "Lass...perhaps that's a question you should ask your father."

She scrunched up her nose in disgust. "Ask Papa? Ugh, no."

Killian swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sight of her rising and falling chest. But of course Emma noticed. She slid up and sat on her knees.

"See ― it's happening," she accused, pointing a finger at him. "What's so fascinating about them?"

He blushed, scratching behind his ear. "Apologies, love...that was bad form. But...really...it is rather inappropriate to ask me such a question―"

"But Killian!" she whined, tugging on his arm. "You're the only boy ― man ― I know."

"You could ask Grumpy."

"No."

"Liam?"

"Your brother? You want me to ask your brother why men ogle women's breasts so much?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh...just why...are you asking me? The truth?"

The resolve in her eyes dimmed. Biting down on her lip, she shrugged. "I trust you."

"Hmmm." What a position to be in. "What exactly do you want me to tell you?"

She cocked her head. "You're a boy ― sorry, man. When you look at...you know...what do you feel? Why do you find breasts so...so...?"

"Attractive?" he finished. Emma nodded at him. "To be honest, I've never pondered that particular subject before, but I guess...it's an asset of a lady that...draws us in."

"Why? Because they're round and flabby and jump about?" She wiggled a little to demonstrate. "I can't even wear a shirt without those things being a problem. Dressed mean corsets, and if Mother ever catches me not wearing them..."

The turn of the conversation was starting to feel a little less uncomfortable. The lass was merely curious about the behavior of men ― just like he was puzzled by the behavior of women. And she was young...so young, and needing confidence. She was growing up every moment and no doubt had many questions about the ways in which she was changing.

Which still pointed to the fact that these discussions were meant for her parents, not for him. Who was he to speak of―

"Do I have nice breasts?"

Killian's jaw dropped. "Emma―"

"No, honestly." She pulled her hair back behind her neck, and shifted forward so that her bosom was closer and open for his inspection. "You've seen many women, so... Do they look okay?"

Not exactly a dignified topic for a picnic.

Alright, he took it back. This was ridiculous. Bloody, bloody hell.

It was hard for Killian to disregard said breasts, the tops of which were...heaving...right in front of him. And she was wearing a dress ― light and pink and pretty ― and a corset that was pushing up the very body parts she wanted him to inspect.

His mouth went dry, and he clawed at the collar of his shirt. "They...ahem...look quite nice, thank you." From an entirely objective point of view.

Emma looked miffed by his reply. "Nice?"

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Lovely?"

"Voluptuous?" she offered. Well, wasn't she expectant...

"Emma...you look fine." He grimaced, his jaw taut. It wasn't every bloody day that the Crown Princess wanted you to describe her―

"Okay," she said in a small voice, deflating. Killian felt relieved. Perhaps she now saw how awkward this was.

Then her eyes lit up, and she chirped, "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you what happened in the stables the other day..."

Killian couldn't help how his mind drifted off, content to rest with him on the soft blanket, staring up at the blue sky and passing clouds. There was a light breeze, tickling the grasses and making the trees sigh.

He felt Emma lean into him, her head on his chest, her hand on his. It was careful and innocent and everything friends were, the comfort and reassurance and honesty and lack of shame. He knew she understood that as well as he did.

But things were changing. She was changing. And so was he.

She would soon be a woman, not a girl. A beautiful princess, who would find a prince.

And just where would that leave him?

Once you let the devil in...

Bloody hell. There's nothing like a damned question that won't leave you alone.

Chapter Text

It wasn't too surprising that Emma wore the boots Killian made for her everywhere.

Really, everywhere.

If it weren't for Snow demanding her daughter put on slippers for the sake of propriety ― sweetheart, it looks sloppy if you wear the same shoes all the time ― Emma would have happily even slept in her boots.

No, maybe not that, but still.

The boots were beautiful, comfortable. Their design was incomparable to any other shoe she had ever had ― and the sole itself was heavenly to walk on.

She felt confident and ready for adventure when she had them on. As if she could run for hours or even days at a time. Couldn't her mother see that? They were made for her. They fit her like a glove.

Shoes weren't any different than a favorite dress. Some matched who you were, and others... Well, they were a disappointment, to say the least ― or they were the simply wrong kind.

The same could be said about the people you met.

"Walsh is an arsehole."

Right on cue, Liam froze. He then turned to give Killian a long, hard look. Oi, he knew that look ― when his older, meticulous brother was deciding just how to scold him with the precise amount of truth and righteous anger.

After all, his lectures had to at least sound believable.

"And just what provoked this bout of ire, little brother?" he asked in the quiet, sensitive tone reserved for the stern matrons and cross old ladies he placated in their shop. Or to soften his only sibling's short temper. "What did the man ever do to you?"

No doubt there was an expression of complete loathing on his own face. Killian scoffed at Liam's tolerance of that bloody charlatan. "First, brother, he has planted himself at court like a viper, slithering about and hissing in everyone's ears. Always ready to do the king's bidding, to fawn over the queen's every word." His heart was beating furiously, and he could feel his face grow warm. "And second ― bloody hell, Liam, haven't you seen―"

"Language, Killian―"

"Oi, damn the language ― that sodding ape is stealing our business right out from under us, with all his talk of enchanted slippers that take the wearer to any world ― and worse of all, the bastard has the gall to say he has the original pair and knows how they were made."

He shrugged. "A tall tale for foolish women and little children. No one with any measure of common sense would fall for such drivel."

"But the whole kingdom is racing into the castle, wanting to catch a glimpse of some silver shoes that don't do anything. I even asked if I could have a look, but he shooed me away just like that," he snapped his fingers. "Of course, he won't let anyone touch them, let along try them on ― not even the princess―"

Liam cocked his head to the side, pausing his stitches on the latest pair of shoes Killian had created. "What about the princess?" He had a faint smile on his lips, as if he were holding back some particularly interesting thoughts.

Thoughts that were headed in the wrong direction.

Killian wasn't complimented for being quick on his feet for nothing. However, this time, his confidence deflated the moment he opened his mouth. "He ― he ― he seems to have a special interest in Emma." In his mind, he cursed himself.

His brother's answering smile was too kind and too knowing. "And you care for her welfare a great deal, don't you?"

It was like blindly walking backward, trying to evade any confessions of feelings or longings that were right at the tip of his tongue. "Naturally. We're friends, ever since we were children."

"But, Killian..." Liam crossed his arms over his chest. "You are not a child anymore. And neither is she."

He gulped. "What are you saying, brother?"

"I'm saying," he said with a deep sigh, "that our Princess has become a young lady ― a young royal who is going to be courted by many, whether you like it or not. A traveling thief with a penchant for lies is not a keeper, no matter how much he flatters the royal family. And besides, she's a smart lass, and her parents are wise folk who will keep her out of trouble. Walsh is just―"

"A necessary evil? A half-witted git from Oz whom half of our customers are flocking to, while they refuse to pay us on time and would rather commission magic shoes from a fake than the cobblers they have trusted for years? That asinine fop even told the court about some magic boots that take you leagues away in a few mere footsteps ― and still, the bloody fools listen to him!" By now, Killian was breathing hard. He was so upset, he could barely speak.

His brother smirked, of all things. "Yes? Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "The princess...Emma... She seems to be quite taken with him."

"Oh? And how does that concern you?" Liam was occupied in sewing the sole of the shoe to the leather.

His heart jerked. "I...I don't want her to get hurt. I care about her."

"I know you do, Killian." He tugged at his cravat to loosen it. Midday was coming and the exposed wooden shop was getting heated inside from the strong sun. "But there is a line between caring out of friendship and caring...out of love."

His hands clenched into tight fists. "Now, Liam..."

"Ah, but you forget. I'm your brother ― I notice everything. Did you think I'd not see how you pine after her when she's not here, the glances you throw her way when she's not looking?" He tsked. "For shame, Killian. You can trust that I will keep your secret."

The relief that sprouted in his chest nearly overwhelmed him. "Thank you―"

"Don't be so quick to thank me." He patted him on the shoulder. "Remember that she's a princess and you're a tradesman. Your duties are separate and not the same. So this affection you have for her ― it will not be simple or easy. Your stations in life will make it difficult for you to be together." Liam's gaze was shrewd. "Does Emma know? That you fancy her?"

He was crestfallen. "No ― she doesn't." And he didn't know how to bloody tell her without chasing her away from him and their friendship.

"What about the king and queen?"

Killian shrugged. "Well, I...might have confided in David how I feel."

Liam let out a low whistle. "And he approves?"

"Aye ― said that he guessed it himself a while ago. As long as I behave myself, he will continue to be understanding."

His stiff posture relaxed. "Well..." He cleared his throat. "That's alright, then."

"Make me a crown of flowers ― please?"

Killian groaned. "Aren't you too old for such things, Your Highness?"

"No." Emma wrinkled her nose at him, then giggled. Springing to her feet, she ran to the corner of the field with the most blooming flowers. Petals of many colors surrounded her as she twirled around, arms open wide so her fingers could touch the long grasses. Her face tilted upward.

In that slip of a white dress, golden curls bouncing on her shoulders, she was a vision to behold. To many, she was beautiful. To him, she shone brighter than the sun and he was hopelessly drawn to her.

And moments like these only strengthened his love for her.

Rising, he stretched his back and craned his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a wild patch of daisies were growing not far from their picnic spot.

White petals and creamy yellow centers. The perfect kind of flower for a crown.

She continued to dance in circles, spinning faster and faster, laughing and smiling at the sky.

Being careful to pick the best blossoms, Killian rested on his haunches while his fingers began to weave the ends of the stems together.

"Killian, come and dance with me," she cried, swaying dizzily.

Eyes set on the task at hand, he waved her off. "Not much of a dancer, love."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Liar, liar ― you can dance. I've seen it."

He bit down on the tip of his tongue when one of the bloody stems broke and he had to start all over again with that part of the chain. "Most of the time, I have two left feet."

"Uh-huh. That's not what happened at the last ball. Or any ball, for that matter."

Almost done. He struggled to tie the ends off in order to finish the crown.

"Killian Jones, if you don't get your behind over here right now―"

"Quiet, lass." He shuffled over and, amused by her angry expression, grabbed ahold of her by the waist. Her arms dropped to the side and her mouth opened in surprise. "Why scold me when I've done as you commanded?"

Leaning back in his arms, she gave him a haughty look. But the smile curving her lips told him her pride was mere pretense. "Have you?"

He cleared his throat with mock severity. "Aye. Princess Emma of Misthaven, I do believe it is time for you to have a royal coronation."

"Oh? Is that so?" She raised an eyebrow. "Where is my throne? My scepter? My robe and my crown?"

Chuckling, Killian clasped his hand behind his back ― the hand holding the crown of daisies out of her sight. "Ah, one step at a time, dear princess. First, I would like to ask you for a dance."

She pursed her lips and cocked her head. "There's no music."

"No? But of course there is." He started to hum a wordless melody. "Our hearts can keep time."

Her tight expression broke and her gaze had a playful glint. She offered him her hand.

Waltzing with Emma was always a pleasure. Because of David's confidence in him, Killian was the first listed on her dance card and they rarely spent a single ball out of each other's company.

In this instant, though, time moved differently. He was dressed only in a billowing white shirt, brown woolen trousers, the simplest boots. There was no finery. No crowd. No stares of the high and mighty, watching a servant of the realm dance with his princess.

Here, she was Emma and he was Killian. Two friends. Two best friends.

Friends who were sharing a dance.

The way she was looking at him... Soft adoration. Firm trust. Trust, that his embrace was safe, that he was safe. He wanted to memorize the emotions in her eyes, there were so many.

The interior of his chest was fluttering. He hated that. He hated feeling so damn hopeless and hopeful and confused all at once.

Hopeless, because she might not feel as he. Hopeful, that she does.

Bloody confused about all of it.

His voice grew hoarse, and he couldn't sing anymore. Just as soon, their quiet waltz came to a stop.

He let out a strained laugh when he saw how many flowers they'd trampled over by accident. One could even see the trace of their footsteps on the grass. "Oh dear... It seems we've sacrificed nature for pleasure."

She smiled. "I think it was worth it... Don't you?"

"Hmmm..." His fingers were becoming numb. Bloody hell― "Damn it, I almost forgot. Your crown." He grinned, embarrassed, and pulled out the suffering chain of daisies. "If, milady, you could bend your neck for me..."

"Wait." She stayed his hands, staring at the slightly wilted crown. "Killian, how did you...?" Her fingers outlined the flowers' centers, the woven stems. It was a fine piece of work, if he did say so. "It's...it's beautiful. Thank you."

He gently slipped it on top of her head, fitting it into place. Still gazing at him with wonder, she had bent her neck accordingly. With those flowers, she looked like a wood nymph, lithe and ethereal and...out of his reach.

"Emma...it was nothing." He swallowed hard. "Nothing can compare to you. You're...you're more beautiful than any flower. To me, you're more beautiful than anything in this world ― or any other."

His heart was now beating like a drum. He was hanging on her next words, her next breath. She seemed to be considering what he had said, even though he had expected her to just laugh it off.

Now she was holding his hands. Her eyes, green and sparkling and lively, met his. Slowly, her hands rose up his arms, until she was clasping his neck. "You really think so?" She bit down on her bottom lip and peered up at him from under her eyelashes.

He tried to smile. But his anxiety got the best of him and all he could manage was a sickly grimace. What if she was holding off her laughter until he really made a fool of himself?

"Aye..." He gulped. "I do. You're..." Oh, sod it all. "You're a part of my life, Emma. A great part. The best part. You always have been."

Her eyelids fluttered shut. Before his mind processed what this meant ― because it bloody meant something ― her lips were rising up to meet his.

And when they did...when the daisy petals tickled his forehead and her hips pressed into his, he lost all reason and all thought of good form.

The sweetness of her, how she fit against him...

"My Emma," he murmured. He could feel her smile on his mouth before she deepened the kiss, pressing more insistently into him, her fingers entangled in his hair. Somehow, his hands found the small of her back.

It lasted for many glorious minutes.

Then she pulled away.

Killian was dejected. He must be a sight, panting hard like a winded horse, tightening his hold on her. He didn't want her to leave him like this, without at least stating her feelings. Was this just the heat of the moment, so to speak? Or was the kiss genuine, bona fide―

Brushing hair out of his eyes, she finally whispered back, "Don't you know, Killian?" She smoothed down his collar with her fingertips. "You're the best part of mine, too. I don't...I don't ever want to lose you."

When she surged forward to kiss him again, his entire body and mind rejoiced.

It was not impossible.

Despite everything, they just could be each other's happy ending.

Chapter Text

It had been a week.

A week without him. A week of silence.

Miserable, torturous, gut-wrenching silence ― the kind that squeezed every part of you in a vise grip.

Emma herself could see she was driving her parents crazy when she had five temper tantrums in one day, snapping at everyone and behaving like a brat ― her mother's exact words, actually.

And she hated it, hated that she was hurting the people around her because she felt she would die from not seeing Killian.

No one had ever said attraction would be like this. There was an ache in her heart from it. More importantly, she cared about him to the point that she was willing to drop all her duties and just flee to the shop. She was desperate to see him and make sure he was alright.

What if something bad had happened to him? What if she never saw him again?

"Emma, I'm sure the Jones brothers are doing fine," her father would reassure her. "Why, Grumpy said he saw Liam go into the tavern just the other night."

That wasn't like honorable, good Liam at all. Something was wrong.

Which was why she decided to sneak out of the castle under the cover of darkness, using the secret tunnels to get herself inside the stables and riding toward the cobbler's shop. It took less than an hour to accomplish.

Fixing her dress, Emma descended from her mare, tying the horse's reins to the post at the back of the building. Then she tried to open the back door. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked.

In the moonlight shining from the windows, the shop's objects looked magical, as if Killian and his brother really were the elves people believed them to be, spiriting art and wonder out into this world in the form of their designs and beautiful creations. The pair of golden slippers in the corner, decorated with small diamonds, made Emma smile. Those were shoes for her mother, no doubt ― David had droned on and on to Liam about his wife's endless fascination with shiny footwear the last time the brothers visited the castle together. Queen Snow had been very offended when Walsh the magician suddenly disappeared with all his wares ― especially the magic shoes ― and without saying good-bye.

But now the shop was empty, cold, and lonely. Where was Killian, with his glowing smiles and exquisite soul that had won her heart?

"Killian, Liam," she called out, clinging to her coat to protect herself from the draft, "are you here?"

Receiving no answer, she ascended the stairs leading to their bedrooms. Killian's bedroom door was wide open.

She peered inside to see no lamp lit, no sign of movement. But there was something next to the bed ― a human form, curled into a ball, arms clasped around its knees.

"Killian!" Emma rushed down to him and tried to lift his head up. His eyes were cloudy and shimmering, his eyelashes laced with teardrops. "What is it? Where have you been? Damn it, what the hell is going on?"

"Ah, so the authoritative princess has come to pay us a visit," he finally choked out. His chuckles sounded more like sobs to her ears. "It's nice to see you too, Emma."

The sarcasm in his voice was so frustrating that she literally tried to shake it out of him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Tell me what's wrong. We're friends ― we always tell each other what's wrong."

"Aye, and when I tell you my problems, you try to be my savior and fix them. Like that time I couldn't afford a suit to wear to your coming-of-age ball and then you brought one sewn for me by your father's tailor. Or that other time when I wanted to participate in the yearly joust contests. Your parents sponsored me above all the knights who entered. Your father gave me sword-fighting lessons."

The despair in his tone hurt more than his pointed remarks of not wanting any favors. "And what of that? That's what friends do ― we help each other."

"But I have nothing to give you in return," he cried. She sat back on her haunches, mimicking his sitting position. This was going to take a while. "I am poor, a village merchant who will never be anything but. I can never help you the ways you have helped me."

Emma was dismayed and intrigued at the same time. She was going to get to the bottom of this dark mood of his if it was the last thing she did.

"Liam wants to join the Navy. He has already asked your father when he can ship out." Sighing, Killian rubbed at his eyes with his hands. "We...we had a fight some days ago. This is not the life he wants. He wants more. I want him to stay with me. His heart longs for the sea, he told me. Our father's wayfaring spirit is in our blood. But Liam wants to go alone, without me. He wants me to run the shop while he's gone."

Now she was getting anxious. "What is it you want? Do you want to go to sea too?"

His smile was sad and boyish. "Perhaps someday, lass. I won't deny I love it as he does. But there are...certain people I don't want to leave behind ― not for anything."

Her heart pounded. She knew he was talking more about her than her parents. "You'd sacrifice a life at sea for me?"

His hand reached out to pet the curls framing her cheeks. "Aye. You are the greatest love of my life, Emma. I don't want to be parted from you."

We're so young, her mind cautioned. Are we really True Love at such a young age? Because it feels like we are, but are we, truly?

Ignoring this, she leaned forward and kissed him. In turn, he cradled her face in his hands, lengthening their embrace. The connection was heated and left her feeling very light-headed.

Their foreheads touched and his nose bumped hers. "Would you like me to stay the night?"

"What about your parents, darling?" Blushing, he appeared to be flustered by the offer.

"They think I'm sound asleep in my own bed." She rolled her eyes. "Besides, you need me. They'd want me to be where I'm needed."

"You sneaked out just to see me, did you?"

She nudged him with her elbow. "Of course, silly. I missed you terribly." He looked like he very much wanted to kiss her again. The dark circles under his eyes made her push him back when he leaned in again. "No, no, no ― no more kissing. Bedtime for you, sailor."

He smirked, a playful glint in his stare. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Tugging the bedcovers over them, Emma snuggled into Killian's side. This was a more comfortable setting than in her own room. His bed was so cozy ― as was the man next to her. They were fully clothed, except for taking off their shoes, but she wasn't bothered.

"You...you really don't mind staying?" he whispered, playing with her hair.

She sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you, Jones? I'm in this for the long haul. Don't argue and get some rest."

It was rather cute when she woke up an hour later to find his ear resting right above her heart, his mouth breathing soft gusts of wind against her dress. Though it was dark, she could tell he was smiling in his sleep.

Pressing kisses onto the top of his head, she settled in for what would be one of the best slumbers she had ever had.

Chapter Text

Inevitably, the Jones brothers made peace with each other. Their arguments were always short-lived.

Liam was duly enlisted in the Royal Navy. He tried on his new uniform and proudly exhibited it to a thrilled king and queen, with a shy princess peeking from behind their thrones and an even more bashful shoemaker peering over her shoulder. A grand farewell party was hosted in his honor, with everyone who knew him there to congratulate him. Killian was right by his brother's side, looking dashing in his best attire and trying hard to maintain eye contact with the guests who came to talk to them.

Every now and then, his gaze would search for Emma's, wandering over passing heads and bodies until he could lock eyes with her. She would subtly touch her lips with her fingertips. His roving stare would then turn intent and meaningful.

They were always seeking moments alone, so frequently that it was becoming difficult to hide their feelings from the world. Despite their not so secretive glances and the longing that swept back and forth through the room, her parents seemed to be unaware of the blissful romance right under their noses. Killian had insisted they keep things quiet for her sake, but she knew that was an excuse. He still didn't believe he was worthy of her or her love.

It was Emma's self-assigned task to convince him otherwise.

"Attention, one and all," her father called out, his fork pattering against his wine glass in his efforts to summon silence for his speech.

When he turned to face her mother, the warm, loving smile on his face made Emma's heart stutter in its beats. That was how Killian smiled at her when they were together.

"As you might know, my acquaintance with Liam Jones started years ago, when he was about this high." He gestured to the middle of his chest. The crowd chuckled as one. "The first thing I noticed about him was how he well protected his brother, Killian, and how hard he worked in the cobbler's shop, which I'm sure you're all familiar with. This speaks of true devotion, dedication, and discipline. I am honored, truly honored, to welcome Liam into our admiralty and help him seek out the future he desires."

A round of applause and cheers swelled across the room, causing the young man next to David to bow and grin his thanks. Killian was smiling too, looking proud.

"Which is why, as part of our thanks, the services of our resident cobbler will be available exclusively at the castle. We are pleased to announce that within a fortnight, Killian Jones will be staying with the royal family for as long as Liam is in service to our kingdom."

Emma bit back a laugh at the Jones brothers' opposite reactions. One eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his chest, Liam was the very image of surprise, relief, and amusement. Killian, on the other hand, seemed too shocked to breathe.

For the remainder of the party, Emma hardly saw either of them, too occupied with playing the grateful hostess alongside David and Snow. It was a trying experience, meeting every citizen of the kingdom and maintaining one's composure, but she was enjoying it nonetheless. Her parents kept reminding her that expertise is only acquired over time. The more she practiced these skills, the better prepared she would be, as a future leader and a ruler.

Slowly, the audience died out, with servants left to scurry about and empty the grand dining room. Every remainder of food, drink, and cutlery swiftly disappeared into the kitchens, with only large bouquets of flowers left as evidence of what had passed.

Emma picked at the gauzy pink dress she had worn for the occasion, dismayed at how spacious the room felt. This was what Killian couldn't understand. The castle had many inhabitants but was the loneliest place she knew. She loved her parents, but they were quite busy, caught up in royal affairs and doing their best to run the kingdom. They made time for her, of course, but she found herself wanting something more these days than the usual swordfighting and etiquette lessons. She couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but each return of the familiar feeling brought to mind the many afternoons she has spent at the Jones' shop, the countless picnics Killian and she have shared over the years.

It was growing stronger and stronger, this sense that she belonged with Killian and had always belonged with him. But there was no way she could tell him that. Being with her meant he would be king someday, an occupation he despised. There was no freedom in being a monarch, with endless responsibilities and sleepless nights. He would come to hate her for ensnaring him into such a life.

If he married a village girl, he could keep his dreams of being a sailor, of seeing the realms. With her, he would be confined within stone walls that barely let in light and selfless duties. He would never have the same opportunities that he could have without her.

It was selfish of her to ask her father if Killian could stay with them, desperately seeking some way to be in his company every day. It was even more selfish of her to hope that by some magical twist of fate, he would want to stay with her, even after Liam came home.

She just couldn't imagine living without him or being married to some fool of a prince.

And she would be married, when she came of age. Her parents would expect her to choose a husband. Marriage equaled stability and strength. A carefree crown princess was frowned upon, even in Misthaven. Unless her mother had a son ― and there was no telling if or when that could happen ― Emma was to be the next queen of the land, as per her birthright. And a queen needed a consort, for protection and for children.

Thinking of the whole business had left a nasty aftertaste in her mouth. Pulling out a chair, Emma sat down on it, sighing into her folded arms on the table.

"Is this seat taken?" The soft, flowing brogue trickled into her ears and warmed her limbs, tired from overuse during the party.

She motioned toward the empty table. "Go for it." In her side vision, she could see Killian fidget in the chair next to her.

"I've been looking for you," he began, sounding uncertain. "Your father said that you stayed behind here."

Emma stared ahead, unsure of what to say. All her present worries resurfaced, and she was afraid to share them with him. He deserved to bask in his brother's happy day, not deal with her insecurities.

Again, her heart wanted to be selfish, to implore him to choose her.

But it was too soon and too much. He needed what Liam had gotten, the power to create his own destiny.

Princess Emma had one destiny: to be regent of Misthaven. She could never be just Emma for him.

"He also said," he continued in a shaky voice, "that my staying here was your idea. All yours."

Emma looked down at her hands, clasped on top of her lap like a proper lady would do. Tears pricked at her eyes. How could she be hurting over something that was supposed to make her ecstatic? Killian was going to be here, in her home, with her. He wasn't going anywhere or being with someone else. And her parents had agreed to it. Her mother was so pleased with her daughter's noblesse oblige.

"Yes," she finally replied, squeezing her hands together, "it was."

"Why?" His gaze was incredulous and wondrous, fixed on her as if she were one of the night stars he loved.

His eyes closed when her hand cupped his cheek. "Because Liam will be gone and you'll be alone. I don't want that. I want you to be with me ― with us." She cleared her throat. "To be with the people who love you."

His lips stretched into a wide smile. "You know, I was going to protest such an act of generosity, but the king advised me not to."

Her eyebrows rose. "He did?"

"Aye, because he believes there's no arguing with the fierce, obstinate princess who must have her way."

She was about to counter her father's choice of words when Killian silenced her with his mouth. The kiss was languorous, slow, and deep, as if he couldn't tire of tasting her lips. It left her with a dreamy grin, flushed cheeks, and an erratic heartbeat.

"Emma," he murmured, licking at his own lips, "you made me the happiest man on earth that moment your father invited me to live here. I didn't know what I was going to do, cooped up in that empty shop."

She chuckled. "So you want to be here because you're afraid of being lonely?"

He shook his head. "I'll miss Liam, there's no denying that. But being by myself in the shop means not seeing you often, if at all. And I cannot have that ― I won't have that, love."

Now it was her turn to ask why.

He reached for her hand and placed her palm on his neck. Veins beneath skin quivered under her touch. "You know why. You know how much I want to be near you," he breathed.

Before she could stop herself, Emma threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. His hold on her was just as tight and firm.

This was love, her heart pounded. This was truly real love.

Why was she doubting his feelings for her? She needed to believe that their love was enough to overcome anything.

Enough for him and for her.

But, her mind warned, love means sacrifice.

Chapter Text

Life in the castle will certainly take some getting used to, Killian mused. Sighing, he tried again to start repairs on the latest pair of footwear, only to be interrupted by another knock at the door.

The past few days, news of his arrival had spread around the courtyard and servants' quarters until it seemed every person throughout the land of Misthaven knew he was even more accessible at the home of the royals. The village itself was due east of the castle, making the journey a hassle for traders and merchants who only wanted to do business with the king and queen, not the village marketplace. Villagers also found it convenient to visit him while they took care of petitions to the king and other matters.

He had honestly believed that after Liam's departure, business would die out. Instead, the opposite occurred. There had never been more customers than now, and it was rather overwhelming to handle all by himself. There was no friendly brotherly advice, no assistance from the master cobbler, no breaks to leave the shop and escape customers. The bloody arse was out to sea, floating like a cork on a lovely ship, enjoying his dream, while Killian was confined within blocks of stone, pressured to finish so many requests on time. The worst was not being able to have a few spare moments to talk to Emma, or to just be by her side.

Many evenings, when his head was hurting and his eyesight was blurred from the long hours of work, he wanted to throw his tools at the wall and be done with the whole bloody occupation. Come to Killian Jones, master shoemaker. King David meant well, but he shouldn't talk about things he knew nothing of.

The knocks continued.

Killian gripped the back of his neck, willing the pain there to go away. "The door's open," he shouted, gritting his teeth, "you can let yourself―"

It did open, and Emma's head appeared. "Hmm, you sound upset ― are you sure I can come in?" she teased, grinning. Her smile faded on closer inspection of his face. "Killian, are you alright?"

"Yes," he snapped. "Of course I'm bloody alright, why shouldn't I be? Fifty orders on the first day I settled my sorry behind in this room. Countless people rushing into my workspace and demanding I make their order a priority. No damn peace of mind since I renewed business without the help of my brother. Have I left anything out, Your Highness?"

She bit down on her lower lip, and he felt guilty. He shouldn't be taking out his frustration on her. Not only he has been extremely busy the past week, he also hasn't had a chance to really spend some time with the main reason for his staying here. It was hurting her too.

He softened his voice, saying, "Emma...Emma, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I love being here ― you know why ― but I will not deny that it's been hard, adjusting to this. I'm not used to being the center of attention."

She sidled up to him, hands clasped behind her back. "I understand. Now you know how I feel."

He nodded. "Aye, that I do. I feel at times like I want to run back to the village. Don't tell your parents I said that, though. Castle dinners are bad enough ― I don't need pity speeches as well."

Emma smirked. The warmth of her luminous gaze quickened his pulse. "Speaking of Papa, I spoke to him yesterday, he went to Marco, and..." She suddenly presented a large wooden sign (ah, that was what she had been holding in her hands), which had the words "open" and "closed" respectively carved into the front and back of it, with wiring at the top for hanging. "He made you this, so you won't be bothered at all hours of the day and night."

Killian ran a hand over the polished surface of the wood. The lettering was elegant and finely wrought ― so much more than he deserved. "It's beautiful, love. Thank you for thinking of me."

Tilting her head to the side, she pursed her lips, tapping them with her forefinger. "Perhaps some gratitude is in order."

He swallowed hard, and his face grew hot. "That was what the 'thank you' was for."

She raised a brow. "That's all your leisure time is worth to you?"

This was getting out of hand. If the sparks between them ignited, there was going to be a fire.

Taking a deep breath, Killian sidestepped her, searching for a nail and a mallet. "Let me just," he said shakily, "put this out–outside."

It only took him a minute to nail his availability to the thick oaken door. He made certain it was turned over on the right side.

When he returned, Emma was fingering the laces of boots he was sewing together for one of the king's guards. The sideways look she threw at him smoldered his skin. His throat went dry.

Gathering his resolve, he strode up to her and kissed her with all the building want he felt. She pressed herself against him, pulling on the lapels of his shirt.

"Now we won't be disturbed," he whispered, threading his fingers through that beautiful hair as he'd been longing to do all week long. Her answering smile caused his lips to tingle, and he kissed her again. She moaned into his mouth when his tongue met hers.

Their shared moment, passionate and intense beyond words, was interrupted by another timely knock at the door.

"Killian? Are you in there?"

Emma hid her face in his shoulder. "Oh no, it's―"

"David." Killian cleared his throat and spoke louder. "Aye, sire ― I'm here. Just getting a change of clothes and ― a bit of a wash."

They could hear some shuffling, as if the king were a little embarrassed. "Take your time," came his voice again. "We can talk later, at dinner."

Neither made a sound until his footsteps receded and couldn't be heard.

Emma was blushing scarlet, but Killian could barely hold back his laughter. "Well, love," he coughed, "it looks like your father doesn't know how to read."

She muttered under her breath, "Mother's teaching him. It's not her fault he likes practicing his sword skills more than reading."

Chapter Text

To Killian's surprise, King David did not bring up any special topics during dinner conversation later that evening. And he did not pull him aside to talk afterwards either.

Instead, Killian was summoned to the king's chambers the next morning when breakfast was over. David wasn't alone; Sir Lancelot, the Queen's bodyguard, was there as well.

Swallowing his fears, Killian clasped his hands behind his back and respectfully bowed. "How can I be of service, Your Majesty?"

"First of all, none of that." The king waved away his formality. "'Your Majesty' makes me feel so old. From now on, I'd like for you to call me David."

He winced. This was quite odd, to be sure ― a king wanting a subject to address him by his given name? What was next? His face blanched. Perhaps this was fatherly concern for his daughter because he had found out about their shared moments of love. Though he himself had given permission for Killian to pursue Emma, Killian doubted that the king would approve of some of their more ardent embraces or physical explorations.

Steadying his voice, he replied, "Thank you, Your ― David. I'm grateful for such an honor." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Lancelot was watching him. Bloody hell, what on earth had he done?

"Now, Killian..." David cleared his throat. "I'm not very good at giving speeches, so I better get to the point of this meeting. The reason I asked you here today is to discuss your future. I realize that with Liam away, you must feel a lot of pressure to keep up the business and maintain it until he returns. Therefore, out of consideration for him and our family's history with the both of you, I must ask you something."

He gulped. "Aye?"

"What is it that you want?" The king's gaze seemed kind and friendly.

Gathering his resolve, Killian tried to form all his wishes into words. The best that came out was a timid squeak. Lancelot chuckled at that. His face grew hot in an instant.

David sighed, shaking his head. "Now you see why even Snow says I'm no good at this. I phrased that badly. Killian, what are your plans for the future?"

He shrugged, feeling at a loss. Should he tell his king and sovereign that he wanted his daughter by his side, that he wanted to give her everything he possessed and build a happy life for them both? Was it truly alright to talk about his uncertainty and doubts in front of the man who expected the best for Emma?

"I guess...I've always thought I would follow in Liam's footsteps. He wanted to be a sailor; I suppose I want the same."

Arms crossed over his chest, Lancelot interjected, "And yet, you are not by his side."

Bristling at the knight's defiant tone, he glared at him. "I have responsibilities, Sir Lancelot. I owe my brother, and this kingdom, more than a half-fulfilled dream."

David looked pleased by this response. "And that's why we're talking now. I know how much you and your brother value honor and loyalty, and I respect that. However, it seems unfair to me ― and to Snow ― that you haven't been given the same chances as Liam just because he's older and you're younger."

Killian thought immediately of Emma, and how her face had lit up at his proclamation that she mattered more to him than the sea. Being around her was his chance to win her love. "I wouldn't say that, sire."

"Because you care for Emma," David said quietly.

Lancelot added, "There is no shame, though, in caring for yourself as well. You don't have to sacrifice everything to prove yourself."

He eyed them warily. It was well known that Lancelot had sacrificed much for the love of Guinevere, Queen of Camelot. "Gentlemen, what is this really about?"

Both men grinned. "Killian," David began, "have you ever considered becoming a knight?"

"Knighthood?" Emma's jaw dropped. "My father is serious?"

Killian covered his face with his hands. "Aye. It seems he, your mother, and Lancelot have conspired together and drafted me into this crazy idea," he groaned, letting his weight sink into her soft bed.

She patted his shoulder in consolation. "But what do you think? Do you want this?" She hurried on breathily, "Because if you don't, I'll talk to Papa and we'll forget the whole―"

"No!" He took her hands in his. "No, don't do that."

"Why?" She stared at him. "You said yourself that you think it's crazy. Don't tell me my mother's optimism is rubbing off on you," she said with a chuckle.

He snorted. "This has nothing to do with your parents, love. It has to do with you and me. With us."

"Oh? And why is that?"

He heard the fierceness in his own voice when he gritted out, "Emma... I don't want my words to frighten you."

As expected, she tossed his warning back as quickly as she did her hair. "I'm not scared, Jones."

"Really?" he whispered. Sadness struck his heart at the thought of her reaction to what he was about to say. "So if I said that my greatest dream is being with you till the end of time, you wouldn't be scared of that?"

Emma furrowed her brow. "You can't really be saying what I think you're saying."

Abruptly, he stood up. "Exactly how I thought you'd respond."

Her eyes glinted with anger. "How can I respond when I don't understand?"

He growled back, "Well, Princess, let me make it easier for you. I'm saying that I, a lowly cobbler, love you. I love you so much that the thought of leaving you pains me. I love you enough that I would grasp at any offer to make myself worthier of you. I told your father that since a future without you in it is none at all, being a knight in your court is bloody worth my efforts―"

Her kiss, a powerful one that nearly knocked him off his feet, silenced his fury. Up on her tiptoes, hands in his hair, she was shaking in his arms as she insistently entwined their mouths, refusing to surrender her hold on him. He was breathless by the end of it, moaning softly when she kissed him again, sweetly and gently.

"Killian Jones," she murmured, cupping his cheek with her hand, "how could you possibly begin to imagine that I don't love you just as much? You mean everything to me."

He answered hoarsely, "Darling, you're young. You might meet another―"

She shook her head furiously. "You're young too, but our age doesn't change how I feel about you, Killian. You don't understand ― I don't want anyone else. I just want you."

Leaning forward, his forehead touched hers, and his eyes closed. "And I want you to reach your dreams."

"Good thing I've already found them, then," she giggled, planting a kiss on his nose.

The gesture made him smile. He peered at her. "But is this enough? Will I be enough?"

The loving grin Emma gave him almost stopped his heart in mid-beat. "When I said before that I'm not afraid, I didn't finish. I meant that as long as we're together, I know we make a great team and there is nothing we can't face. You're my best friend. You are more than enough, and you always will be."

For the first time since they declared their feelings, Killian felt an absorbing sense of peace. He would become a knight of the realm, become a sailor ― bloody hell, anything he wanted to do or be, he could accomplish it. Emma loved him back, her parents supported him. She and her family truly believed in him.

That hope alone had worked its own magic.

Chapter Text

Emma often watched her father train his knights, and after Lancelot had made his way to their kingdom (before you were born, her mother said), the army had grown to a considerable size. Those who excelled in swordplay and hand-to-hand combat went on to teach others, creating a wildfire chain of teachers and students. The number of soldiers rose from a band of fifty to a thousand in a year. Her father was a good, caring leader, and Lancelot was also an excellent strategist. Camelot had fought against plenty of marauders and raiders in its own struggle for power.

The next step was a naval force, with sturdy, swift ships and men willing to sail them; Queen Snow's friendship with the mermaid princess, Ariel, earned assistance from her husband Prince Eric and his maritime kingdom. Though horses were hard to come by, neighboring allies sent gifts of sires and mares for their growing cavalry.

Thanks to her mother's skills of diplomacy, the Enchanted Forest was well protected and Misthaven's troops were no longer small in numbers, whether on land or the sea.

For reasons unclear to Emma, her father had taken it upon himself to teach Killian the skills he would need for knighthood. Lancelot stood by and contributed if needed, guiding them in combat and using himself as an example of the correct way to fight.

From her vantage point, it looked like they were giving him a hard enough time of it.

"Defend yourself," Lancelot reminded Killian, who was using his sword as a shield against the king's oncoming blows. The heavy armor he was wearing was impeding his movements. "Don't just wait for him to attack, plan your defense."

"I'm bloody trying," he gritted out, forced backwards.

"Come on, Killian." David grazed the tip of Killian's sword with his, standing off. "If you don't want to be on the defensive, be on the offensive. Attack me and show me what you've got."

He did a double take. "Attack you, sir–David? But..." he sputtered. "You're the king."

"I'm also a man who can be good in a fight ― or so I've been told." Her father had a silly grin on his face. Emma rolled her eyes. That had probably been her mother's compliment, during her days as a bandit. "Don't be afraid."

That got to Killian, if nothing else. He hated when his courage was in question. Baring his teeth, he held himself in position and then lunged at David, who parried back. Soon there was so much loud clanging that she had to cover her ears. Killian had worked himself into a heavy sweat and was biting down on his tongue, deep in concentration as he swung his blade with sure strokes.

"That's it ― keep them coming ― remember your form and your footwork," Lancelot commented in between the clashing of their swords.

In one quick move, Killian sidestepped around David and used his surprise to his advantage, disarming him. Instead of being upset at losing their spar, her father looked overjoyed, clapping Killian on the back and offering his congratulations.

"It's been slow, but you're improving," Lancelot added. David nudged him with his elbow. "I meant," he amended reluctantly, "that you're getting quite good. Keep practicing and you'll be a master."

Making his excuses, the knight left the weaponry room.

"Don't mind him ― he's hard on every student. It's his style of teaching, to make you want to get even better."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, with a flourish of his sword, he bowed to the king. "Nevertheless, I want to thank you for taking me under your wing. I've learned so much in the past weeks that I never believed possible. It is all your doing―"

"Not all my doing." David nodded, winking at Emma. Sheepish, she slipped out from her hiding spot behind a suit of armor, clasping her hands in front of her.

Killian threw his sword back to him. With a pleased and proud grin, David caught it, sheathed the weapon in its scabbard, then lifted an eyebrow at her before exiting through the same door.

She gazed after him until something sharp poked her backside. "Killian," she squealed, righting herself with a huff.

When she had turned around to face him, the rascal was grinning mischievously, wielding one of the extra swords lying about. "Your father says you're excellent with the sword yourself, Your Highness," he purred, giving her a sultry stare from under his eyelashes. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma harrumphed. "Killian, I'm wearing a dress and slippers. That puts me at a certain disadvantage for sword-fighting."

Air got caught in her throat when he raised an eyebrow and said, "Are you saying I should wear the same to make us even handed, love?"

"Goodness no." She wrinkled her nose. Was he serious? "Perhaps wooden swords would be a better trade."

"Hmm." He was actually going to debate on this with her. "I think I have a better idea."

Emma stood there, open-mouthed, as he began to undress. "Are you insane?" she hissed.

"Oi, just taking off this bloody armor, lass." He made a face. "It's heavy and has been keeping me down all afternoon. Um, could you give me a hand with undoing some of these laces?"

Heaving a sigh, she walked over and began to untie the knots. "You know, you could have asked Lancelot or Papa to help before they left. They're much quicker at this than I am."

"True, but..." His warm breath brushed over her neck when she leaned over to take off the metal plates covering his shoulders. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Their mouths were inches apart. Emma resisted the temptation as best she could and continued her task. She smiled when she heard Killian groan under his breath.

Slowly, they made progress. He was left in a simple shirt and trousers by the time all the armor was removed and put away in its proper place.

"Want me to help you with your boots?" She eyed the tight, knee-high leather with doubt.

"No, I rather like them." He grinned down at the shoes. "Feels dashing in comparison to the shoes I regularly wore in the shop."

She chuckled. "Mmhm, because now you're a knight in training ― and knights protect princesses. They don't make shoes."

Cocking his head, he leered at her. Familiar heat traveled across her skin. She knew she was blushing.

"I prefer the term 'squire,' actually. And given my new duties... Does that mean I'm your knight in shining armor?"

"I can save myself." She picked up a sword from the dozens stored. "I don't need a knight."

He continued to flirt with her, clearly determined. "So what is to be our challenge? If the knight bests the lady, does he win a prize?"

Emma giggled. "If I best you, you'll be sitting on a cushion during dinner."

"And if I best you," he rubbed at his chin, deep in thought, "I would like...a private moment."

"By yourself?"

"With you." His intense gaze spoke volumes. "Alone."

"Any conditions?" She lifted her chin.

"I say when the moment starts. You may say when it ends."

Nodding, she readied herself for their duel. "Sounds fair, Jones. Ready?"

He got into position, shouting, "Princess, en garde."

For all their doubts about their own skills, it became a fierce fight, far from the playful spar she had imagined. She tried every trick in the book to get him on his back, but he was a better pupil than she had expected. Her father had prepared him for every scenario, every possible move. Hesitation or not, Killian Jones was a natural with the sword. His dedication and practice were paying off.

Also, the stray chest chair peeking from the wide open laces of his shirt was more than a little distracting. His boldness exuded singular confidence, and it was intoxicating.

One of his lunges took her by surprise, and before she could blink, he had disarmed her and she was tumbling to the floor. The tip of his sword was pointed right at her neck.

"Do you surrender, love?" His grin was teasing, but his eyes were smoldering.

"Very well," she replied stiffly. "You have won and bested your princess. You may claim your prize."

His weapon clanged on the ground. He extended his hand to her, helping her up. "Thank you, milady, but I will only claim my prize if it's alright with you."

Now she was truly confused. "You won fair and square, Killian."

His fingers entwined with hers, and his face was next to hers. "Aye, but the prize I have in mind," he licked at his lips, "is not so easily obtained. I won't take anything you're unwilling to give."

He body was begging for some kind of reaction, some respite from the dizzying exclamation of want echoing in her head. She didn't know who kissed whom first. All she felt was the glorious rush of his lips slanting over hers, and then a building fever that could not be denied any longer.

His hands were on her waist immediately while hers sought his hair. In the back of her mind, she realized that the fervor of their tryst was causing them to collide into certain objects. The standing suits of armor swayed precariously until she broke their latest kiss and suggested a room with more space.

Which happened to be a small, empty closet just down the hall, which they barely made it into without being seen.

Pressed up against the wall, with Killian pressed up against her, she came to her senses. This wasn't the first occasion they had been more intimate, but it was the first where the possibility of crossing more boundaries didn't frighten her. He had seen her undressed from the waist up, but he had never dared to touch more than that exposed skin.

What if...?

"Emma?" His hand ran up her arm until it was cupping her shoulder. "We can forget all about the prize. It was reward enough to duel with you ― you're more bloody talented than anyone I've even seen. You'll make a fine warrior queen someday."

His rational words were supposed to be cold water, dousing her desires. He was giving her a choice, as he always did. She could be the good princess. She could ignore what she felt.

Or she could do exactly what she wanted.

Roping her fingers in his hair, she pulled his head down to her and kissed him hard.

"Emma," he groaned into her mouth, holding her closer. "I love you too much to let you go now."

"Then don't," she whispered over his lips, tracing the muscles of his chest. "Kiss me. Touch me."

When his lips roved over the column of her throat, she moaned. It was if with every new caress, they descended more into an unnamed madness. She clawed at the laces of her dress, then helped him take off his shirt. Amidst all the chaos, his elbows hit the wall and he cried out, but she kissed away the pain.

There was a pause where they looked at each other in their state of disarray, eyes accustomed to the darkness by now. Killian's lips were red, his eyes wide and hungry. Her breasts were spilling out of her corset, and her dress was pushed down to her waist.

They were in dangerous territory, but Emma didn't care.

Taking his hand in hers, she guided it under her skirt.

"We can't, darling," he whispered brokenly. "You have no idea how much I want you, but we can't."

His fingers danced along her bare thigh. Her eyelids fluttered closed. "Please."

He bent his head forward so he could kiss along the swells of her breasts. She wanted to swoon. "You're bloody beautiful, Emma," he groaned, his hand continuing to circle around her thigh. "But I can't."

"Yes, you can." Her hands ran down his back. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly. "I don't want to wait. I want―"

"What do you want?" His voice had thickened. His hips pressed forward over hers. "Do you want me?"

When he began to rub against her, she whimpered, "Killian―"

"Now that's enough in there," came an irritated, husky shout from outside the door. "Get a room. Don't want the king and queen to find you tangled up, do you? Especially on the job."

They were frozen to the spot. Emma recognized the voice to be Grumpy's, so when Killian was about to speak back, she covered his mouth with her hand.

"Silly kids ― why does Snow insist on hiring young ones from the village? And on my patrol too..." they heard him grumble, his voice growing fainter.

As soon as they were sure he was gone, they both burst into laughter. She rested her forehead on his chest, disappointed that the heated moment had passed.

Without a word, he gently helped her get dressed. His eyes held no reprove.

Before she could turn the doorknob, he said, "Emma, this changes nothing. There are no conditions on our love ― none. Someday, we will be together in the way you desire. Believe me, I want that more than anything. But..."

His sense of honor wouldn't allow it. And in a way, she was grateful for that. He always knew when she needed him, even if it was to curb her lesser judgment.

"Killian, I love you, so of course I understand." His broad smile lit up her heart, and she flew into his embrace. "You're not the only one who's willing to wait until the end of time if it means we're never apart."

After they left the closet together, he gave her a cheeky bow in the hallway. "I just want to be a man worthy of you, Your Highness," he smirked, winking before he straightened and walked away.

Leaning back against the wall, she touched her lips and sighed to herself, "You're already more than worthy, Killian."

Chapter Text

After installing Liam and Killian as young attendants of the shoemaker's shop, David was the very image of an overeager adoptive guardian. He personally checked on their well-being at least twice a week, and they were invited to all royal and social events.

For a time, Emma was jealous of the Jones brothers and the attention her father gave them ― and in her ten-year-old mind, the feeling was justified. With so many responsibilities at hand, her father barely had time for her. Why did these two scruffy orphans deserve his love more than she did? She was actually his daughter. He didn't know them.

When she dared to complain to her mother, Snow gave her a time-out, scolding, "This isn't how we raised you, Emma. You're to be the future queen. You need to be kind and understanding. These poor boys have no one. What's wrong with showing them some compassion and consideration?"

And true to her words, she invited both boys to Emma's tenth birthday celebration.

Emma was furious beyond belief. David hovered over Liam and Killian like they were something special. When the time came to cut the cake, he was too occupied, socializing with noblemen and the gentry, introducing the brothers and their talents to anyone who would listen.

She could see the sense of his actions, and she knew her father meant well. He was once a shepherd, so he saw firsthand how dreadful it was to be disconnected from others when you needed help. He was trying, in his own way, to be helpful.

However, when the castle staff and all the guests toasted her and wished her a happy birthday, all she could see was how her papa was smiling down at Killian and Liam, arms around their shoulders.

He loved them more than her. He was ignoring her on her birthday.

She burst into tears and then ran from the room.

Despite her mother's pleas and the general outcry of the crowd, Emma didn't stop crying or running until she was inside the stables. The stable boys were all at the party, so only the horses were there to witness her runny nose and watery eyes.

Caring less about spoiling her special dress, she plopped down on a small hill of fresh hay and felt sorry for herself. After a few minutes, it got boring.

Her mama and papa loved her ― so much that they would do anything to make her happy and keep her safe. The scene she made was silly and childish.

She needed to stop being childish. She was ten now.

Longing for a slice of sweet cake to take her mind off things, Emma rummaged in one of the sacks by the door, withdrawing several shiny red apples. She quickly distributed them to the royal steeds, finally visiting her pony.

Because she was growing taller and bigger, her pony was too small for her to ride anymore. So he spent his days chewing grass and resting in the fields, appreciating the finer points of a lazy life (like oats and apples and frequent brushing and too much petting).

What she had wanted most for her birthday was a horse of her own. She would always love her little pony, but he deserved his rest and she weighed more pounds than he could carry. But since she had abandoned her own celebration, there was a high chance her parents would punish her for embarrassing them and take away her presents, not reward her with such an expensive gift.

"How old is he...Your Highness?" The younger boy, Killian, was peeking through the door, halfway in and out.

She couldn't imagine why he had followed her. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose from her disappearance.

Careful to not look at him, Emma focused on her pony, stroking his muzzle. "He's nine. I've had him since he was a baby."

Killian whistled under his breath. "That's a long time. He looks well taken care of." There was a pause. His voice deepened. "He looks loved."

Guilt colored her cheeks. Her parents' affection for both boys wasn't just compassion. They were loving people who couldn't stand to see someone in pain. David wanted to be the father they never had, and Snow mothered them for the same reason. They had a tremendous capacity for love.

All these months, she had been so selfish, only seeing the Jones brothers as a problem in the way of her own happiness. The truth was they would never have what she had: two parents who cared about her with their whole hearts. How could she deny them even a second of that?

The boy still looked afraid to approach her. She waved him over. "His name is Samson. Would you like to meet him?"

Biting down on his lower lip, Killian trudged to her side. He was blushing. "Why Samson, Your Highness?" he mumbled, staring at the ground, hands in his trouser pockets.

She tickled Samson's ears. He snorted, as if chuckling. "Because when I was little, he was the only pony I could ride without screaming my head off. Mama said that was a sign I trusted him. He's strong, silent, loyal, and brave."

"I always wanted to have a horse, but..." Placing his fingers by the pony's searching nose, his smile faltered. "My father never kept his promise to buy me one. We never had enough money, anyway."

His face said what he could not. His silenced wish must have been dear to him and hard to give up.

Slowly, she slipped her hand in his free one and gave it a soft squeeze. "I understand. Thank you for coming to my party, by the way," she said shyly. Gosh, she was worse than Bashful right now.

Killian shrugged her gratitude off. "It was nothing, Your Highness." The sound of her title grated on her ears. "It's good for Liam to be among people again. The past months have been really hard on him. We can't begin to thank your parents ― uh, the King and Queen ― enough for everything they've done for us."

His eyes were as blue as the day she first saw them, gazing at her. Emma never wanted to look away from him.

"Come on, then." She tugged him toward the door. "We should go back."

"What about Samson?" he asked, giving the pony another glance. He neighed and stomped his hooves at the sound of his name.

"He'll be alright. You can come see him again, if you like."

Nodding, he gave Samson a final pat.

Her return to the party was tactful, thanks to the Queen's coddling. No one said a word about her outburst, including Killian. Before he and his brother left to go back to the shop, Killian waved at her.

Tentatively, she waved back.

She really did get a horse for her birthday. But she refused to accept the gift on one condition: that Killian and Liam get a horse as well ― a fine gelding, white with gray spots, and very well-mannered. He was delivered without delay to the cobblers, along with blankets, provisions, and a servant to repair the tiny stall behind the shop.

The short royal message, brown ink on stiff parchment, was simply signed "Emma."

Her father was beaming for days afterwards, and her mother said this was proof their little girl was growing up.

Neither of them knew she had insisted because she wanted to see Killian smile again.

It didn't matter that she was a princess and he was a shoemaker.

He deserved to have his dreams come true.

Despite his ensuing duties as a squire, Killian was determined to also complete his work as a cobbler. Early morning sword practice meant he was up at the crack of dawn, training with the other knights and keeping in shape through daily exercises. Once that was finished, he returned to his temporary shop, where a steady flow of customers kept business running. Thanks to the recently built clock tower in the castle courtyard, he was able to keep an account of time and create a steady schedule for himself, balancing all the activities in his life.

David told him that a true knight doesn't go looking for quests, but helps those in need when such people cross his path. Lancelot had argued that surviving a series of chivalrous adventures were required to obtain knighthood, but the King had insisted that good men were scarce. Sending someone off by himself to prove a silly point was, in his eyes, an absolutely ludicrous idea.

However, Killian had offered to prove his valor differently. He would seek opportunities to offer assistance to residents of the castle and, on occasion, citizens throughout the land. More or less, he would an "on-call" knight, ready to use whatever means necessary to accomplish the task at hand.

So far, his test of worth had been a complete failure.

He looked ridiculous, toting around a sword in the village and surrounding roads while he searched for instances where he was needed. The count up till now was zero, unless he considered that time he rescued a beaten donkey from being sold to the tanner, found escaped chickens from a woman's yard in the depths of the woods, or helped a traveling farmer gather wares that had accidentally fallen from his overturned wagon.

One of his lowest moments was when the royal blacksmith, a burly fellow missing half his teeth, asked him if he was planning to use his sword as a skewer for sausages, since the blade was becoming rusty from disuse.

That nasty comment had made him want to punch the bastard.

Moreover, every passing day seemed to make Emma more beautiful and more desirable. Her energy and buoyant spirit enlightened the entire castle. Visiting noblemen already wanted to court her, but she rejected them all. The Queen wasn't happy about that, but her daughter had her own mind and followed it to the letter. No one could make Emma do anything she did not choose to do.

That didn't mean he had no rivals.

The most important one was undoubtedly snuggling into Emma's lap right this minute, purring happily.

Always involved in castle affairs, Emma's visit to the kitchens had resulted in a wayward present from the cook: a stray cat had been searching for scraps and then stole a fish meant for the king's table. The cook had wanted to drown the wretched thing or at least take a broom to it. Defiant as ever, Emma had scooped up the feline in her arms and refused to do anything but pamper the creature.

The cat was named Marigold and got her own cat-sized bed in the Princess's room, which she promptly lounged in after a battle of a bath at the hands of the royal groom.

Ever since that day, "Goldie" followed Emma everywhere. His lass was preoccupied with her new friend ― too occupied. Then again, he didn't have much free time either, between work and training to be a knight.

If he couldn't balance every aspect of his life, would Emma get tired of waiting for him and find another suitor? She was loyal and true, but she could be impatient. He just wanted to do his best and not disappoint her. Making something of himself was essential if he was ever going to work up the courage to ask for her hand in marriage.

Trailing the tip of his sword in the dirt, Killian crouched over the ground as he drew the beginnings of a proud naval ship ― the Jewel of the Realm, his brother's vessel. Guarded from the midday heat by the willow tree just outside the castle gates, he decided to take some form of repose. In less than an hour, he had to put his dreams of honor and his sword aside, and return to the shop.

"Killian? Killian, where are you?" Emma's voice was unmistakable. Right now, she sounded frantic.

He turned to see her running at him, golden curls streaming behind her. As soon as she was by his side, she grabbed him by the hand and tugged him forward.

"Quickly, quickly!" she urged, streaking out of the courtyard and into the royal gardens. He didn't have a moment to ask what the hell was the matter.

They startled two mother swans on the small palace lake and frightened a wandering stag before they reached the royal orchard. Unsurprisingly, there were no apples in sight, given the Queen's bad history with them. There were flowering peaches instead.

He finally inhaled. The air smelled heavenly. "Now... Will you please tell me why we almost trampled through your mother's flowerbeds and scared the royal chickens half to death?

Coming to a halt in front of the tallest tree, Emma said in one breath, "I don't know how or when she got up there, but she is there and she doesn't want to come down." She pointed up at the tree's highest branch.

Marigold is a black and white striped ball of trouble, he growled to himself, hands on his hips when he decided that aye, the tree was quite the climb and it would be some time before he got down again. "How is this my area of expertise, love?"

He was surprised to see his lovely lass near tears, clutching at her arms. "I didn't know who else to ask. Papa is in a council meeting; it will be hours before he can arrange something. Mama is busy in the village. The dwarves are working in the mines. Everyone is somewhere else." Sniffling, she looked down at her feet. "I guess I thought of you first ― I know you've climbed trees before, and Marigold likes you. I knew you could help. I don't want anything bad to happen to her."

Killian tilted her chin up with his finger, brushing her lips with his thumb. She smiled. He planted a soft kiss on that smile. "Of course I'll help you, Emma. Hold my sword and scabbard, if you will?"

He cracked his knuckles as he eyed the trunk for the best footholds. Bloody hell, the bark was peeling and there weren't that many footholds. Well, there was no room for doubt either. He began to ascend slowly, getting quicker the closer he was to the top. Leaves got into his hair and nearly cut at his eyes. Then he hit his head on an unanticipated branch.

Liam had loved climbing trees when they were children. Killian was the one who ended up with scrapes and cuts, never quite enjoying this sport.

Contrary to what he had imagined, the feline up for rescue didn't bloody look like she wanted to be rescued. Her eyes were near slits, her tail swaying to and fro, and she was curled into a ball of comfort. A ray of sunlight was shining right on her, and a few birds were tweeting overhead, an enticing view for a cat.

Marigold saw him but didn't move. One meow, and her eyelids shut closed, as if to say, "Go away."

Sure, she likes me, the rascal.

He peered down at Emma, who was watching anxiously. Catching his gaze, she gave him a wide smile of encouragement.

Sighing, he rolled his eyes before grabbing the reluctant animal by the scruff of her neck. She yowled in protest, but he didn't care. The branch he was hanging to was precarious and not sturdy. If he fell to his death or ended up a cripple, it would be Goldie's fault.

All because he couldn't deny Emma anything. And his stupid sense of honor.

Thankfully, nothing dramatic happened on the way down. He slipped a couple of times, since he had only one free hand to switch from tree limb to tree limb. When his boots hit the soft earth, he let out a sigh of relief.

Marigold wriggled out of his grasp and ran to Emma, circling around her legs. She bent over to pet her, squealing, "You're safe, Goldie!"

He retrieved his sword and swung it over his back. Small adventure or not, he had to get back to the shop or his customers would kill him instead for slacking.

"Thank you, Killian." She flung her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. Her touch melted away all his irritation and worry. There was nothing quite like Emma's love, free and wild and strong. It was part of who she was and at the same time, it made her who she was.

She always touched his heart, in all she said and did.

Something was scratching at the toe of his boot.

"Oh, Marigold wants love, too." Emma scooped the cat into her embrace and gave Killian a coy look. "She also wants to thank her brave knight ― her champion ― for his assistance."

A foolish grin crossed his lips. "Anything to please my fair lady," he said with a bow.

"You may take a kiss as your reward, Sir Killian." She seemed to share a knowing glance with her pet before she stretched out her hand.

Taking it, he pulled her forward into his arms and covered her mouth with his.

For once, he felt confident about himself and could bask in their love. He didn't even mind when Marigold rubbed against his chest, eager for their attention.

He had completed a task with honor, saved a fellow creature from harm, and won a kiss from his fair maiden.

All in all, not bad for a first quest.

Chapter Text

"I do not need an assistant."

"I beg to differ. You fell asleep holding your sword ― I almost knocked you out right now ― and by the way, you could have fallen on your sword. And don't take this the wrong way, but you look terrible." David rubbed at his chin, cocking his head. "Doesn't he, Lance?"

Lancelot carefully placed the last of the practice weapons back in their rightful places before glancing at Killian. "Yes, sire." He seemed like he was trying hard not to laugh. "He looks like he was run over by a peddler's cart."

"He is standing right here, listening to the two of you gossip about him." Killian glared at both of them. "Aye, I haven't slept well a few nights. What of it?"

"You've seen those dark circles under your eyes, right? Your bloody fingertips?" David said, frowning. "And you seem ready to collapse. Being exhausted to that extent means you are overworked. You need to rest, Killian."

"I am not..." His legs wobbled dangerously when he tried to walk toward the door, and his eyelids fluttered shut. Bloody hell. "...overworked, Your Majesty."

The king crossed his arms over his chest. He looked very displeased. "Yes, you are," he insisted. "Calling me that horrendous title is the first sign of a tired, vexed mind."

Lancelot chuckled. Killian turned around to glare at him again.

"Look, I'm not saying that it will all come together right away. But this isn't good for your health, Killian ― and while I applaud your hard work and your efforts, I don't want you to die." David scratched his head. "Don't worry. I'll take care of this."

"Whatever you say, sire." When he attempted once more to reach the room's exit, Killian tripped over his own shoes and fell flat on his face. Lancelot offered him a hand and had to actually pull him back onto his feet.

Shaking his head, David took a sip of water from his flask and sighed. "From the looks of it, the sooner, the better."

At first, when David promised to weed out a suitable assistant who would help with the duties of his trade, Killian was hopeful that perhaps a golden-haired princess would take up that position. He would like nothing better than to have Emma by his side for that many hours, helping him repair shoes as well as fashion them. She had an artistic eye, and despite her protests otherwise, she was good at sewing and embroidering. She would be the perfect assistant.

For the first few days, Killian was relieved from his duties as squire to the King, practically confined to his room and his shoemaking. Whenever she could find spare times from her own responsibilities, his lovely lass would visit him, but with no news of any progress on his behalf.

He didn't mind. He didn't really want someone to be meddling with what he was fully capable of doing on his own. And he loved spending time with Emma. Alone.

"Killian, is it really shoes that are keeping you up at night?" she asked him one day, intertwining their fingers. They were resting on his bed, and she was lying on her side, curving one arm around his waist so that her head was pressed against his shoulder. "Or is it something else?"

It would hurt to reveal his heart, but he could keep nothing from her. "Truth be told...I've been worrying about Liam. When I close my eyes, I keep having nightmares about him, that he's in danger." He gulped. "It's been ages since I received his last letter, and... Well, anything can happen at sea. I don't want anything to happen to him."

"I'm sure he's fine." She squeezed his hand and then hovered over him to kiss his cheek. "Papa is keeping a close eye on him for you. He even asked the Blue Fairy to give Liam a ring with a protective spell―"

"What?"

"Yes... Papa didn't tell you? She gave Liam the ring before he left." She bit her bottom lip when he shook his head. "The ring is enchanted to protect the bearer from any magical or physical harm."

No matter how relieved he was at this, he felt even more annoyed with David. This knowledge would have helped tremendously to alleviate his distress, not talk of a bloody assistant. But the cute pout on Emma's face made him smile. "Did you memorize that sentence word for word, Princess?"

"No." Her nose nuzzled his neck. "I just pay special attention to anything that involves you."

His heart jumped a bit. "Is there any possibility that you could, um, stay here?"

"Hmm?" Her lips pressed a kiss right behind his ear. He shivered. "What do you mean?"

"Your father has generously offered to find someone to help around here, with customers and orders, so my life would be less stressful. I disagree, but as far as you are concerned..." He grinned widely. "I have no objections to such an arrangement."

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him, golden curls falling about her arms and onto his chest. God, she was marvelous. And he was lucky to be the object of her affections.

"And how would that work, exactly?" She smirked, one eyebrow raised. "Would there also be a chaperone in here, watching our every move?"

"I think you're quite capable of looking out for yourself, darling. Your need for independence is one of the things I love best about you." He raised himself up to meet her lips, sighing into her mouth. The best part was her hand cupping his head, fingers threading through his hair, as she returned his kiss.

"Agreed," she said breathlessly after they finally broke apart. "And I would love to help you. But you have to admit that we'd get very distracted."

"By this?" he whispered, playing with her hair. "By how much I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms every moment we're together?"

"Yes. This." The back of her hand caressed his jawline. "We would be more likely to end up in 'compromising positions' than get any work done."

"And what is so wrong with that? I don't care." Now he pouted.

She chuckled. "You're not good at lying, Killian. You're a wonderful shoemaker and squire, but a terrible liar. I know you care about your duties. That's part of what makes you, you. You are honorable. But an assistant, even if it won't be me, is not such a bad idea."

"Because Lancelot had to throw me over his shoulder and carry me up to my chambers when I fell dead sleep?" He rolled his eyes. "Bloody git didn't have to make such a scene out of it..."

"Because," she continued quietly, "your body is saying what your mind cannot. You need to take things more slowly. If you're not careful, you'll strain your heart. You worry about Liam, but I worry about you."

He gently pulled her back into his embrace, running a hand down her back. His chin rested on the top of her head. "Aye, you're right," he sighed. "I do care ― and I don't want you to worry, lass. But I don't want an assistant to be more trouble than he's worth. Maybe David is on to something ― or should I say, someone. His judgment is sound. I trust it."

Some of her smile, warm and cheerful, came back and lit up her face. "So do I."

Chapter Text

One week of rest wasn't long enough to change Killian's mind concerning an assistant.

Despite the King's good intentions, teaching an assistant would be a trip to hell, not a blessing in disguise. Liam was patient, understanding, open-minded. He would make a fantastic teacher.

Killian, on the other hand... His resolve to trust David's sense of judgment was wavering. The idea simply wouldn't work out, for a number of reasons.

And that was exactly what he was planning to tell the King when he visited the shop, new assistant in tow.

Fixing his gaze on the shoe he was repairing, Killian struggled to keep his tone neutral. However, frustration was already building inside his chest like an explosive volcano. “Good day, sire. How may I be of service?”

“The other way around!” David chuckled. He sounded too cheerful when he continued, “It's been a lengthy search, but here he is, your new assistant: Mr. William Smee.”

He did a double take. The stout, balding man standing next to the King was the last person Killian could have ever imagined to be an assistant. Red cap in hand, beady eyes darting this way and that, Mr. Smee hardly looked like he wanted the position in the first place. The contrast between his dour expression and David's happy grin was quite telling.

Then Killian thought about what Liam would do in his shoes. His brother would at least give the poor man the benefit of the doubt before he kicked him out the door.

“Mr. Smee,” he said between gritted teeth, “what was your former trade?”

He didn't look like he wanted to talk at all. David nudged him hard. “Uh, I was a purveyor of rare objects...if you've heard about it in a story, I can procure it. Magic lamps, flying carpets, tools that work by themselves―”

“Well, I'm perfectly capable of sweeping the floor by myself, and I'm much more comfortable with my feet firmly on the ground and my hands steady on the cowl. I have no need for magic. What I meant is if you have done any labor work in your life, Mr. Smee.” He scowled hard to make sure the man knew he was being serious.

“Um...I helped my grandmother with the cooking from time to time?" He stared beseechingly at David. “You said this was a job I could do, Majesty ― you never said I needed manual skills.”

Sighing, Killian covered his face with his hands. Bloody hell, his new assistant was an idiot. Reasoning his way out of this would not be necessary.

“Killian, may I speak to you for a moment?” The King ushered him to the side, out of earshot. “I know this looks bad...”

“Aye, and it feels bad, too.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Will you or I be the one to inform Mr. Smee that his services will not be needed here?”

David crossed his arms over his chest. “For what it's worth, I want you to know that no one can ever replace Liam, and no one ever will. I just thought that someone who can run errands, gather supplies... He may not be what you expected, but I think this Smee can be a hard worker if he puts his mind to it.”

That pang of loneliness in his chest throbbed at the mention of Liam's name. “He was working for himself before. What on earth does he know about working for another?”

“He says he's a quick learner. And he knows how to bargain well, which will be somewhat helpful in the marketplace, right?” The King glanced at the man, who was eyeing Killian's work table with curiosity. “I saw his stand in the corner. He seems to be down on his luck in business, but he has no family and there's no accounting for his history. But I believe ― and so does your brother ― that every man deserves a chance to prove himself. He might become quite the loyal assistant.”

Killian smiled grimly. “Or he might be a thief who will rob me in the middle of the night.”

David appeared to be on the verge of laughing, biting back a grin. “About that... I kindly informed Mr. Smee ― William ― that any nonsense of that sort won't end well for him. The Blue Fairy has turned animals into humans before. She is more than capable of doing the opposite if needed.”

A smirk crossed his lips as he scrutinized his prospective helper. Would that pudgy little man even be able to keep up with his busy schedule? “Very well, David. It seems I've been argued into a corner.” He waved Mr. Smee over. “I will agree to a trial period of a week, within which time I will decide if he has what it takes to be my assistant. If not...”

“I don't want to go back to that stand!” Smee's sudden exclamation took them both by surprise. “That spot was smelly, and dirty, and too close to that awful, loud tavern. I love good deals, but when the king mentioned a position in the castle, I imagined I'd be...” His eyes closed, and he smiled. “An accountant, or something of that sort. My own room, a soft bed, rich food, and I'd never be cold again.”

David shrugged. “And all of that can be yours, if this arrangement works out. Your duties are to deliver orders, purchase supplies, and assist in any way around the shop. Whatever Killian needs, you take care of. He is the master shoemaker of Misthaven.”

Beaming with pride, Killian nodded in thanks toward the man he considered to be a second father to him. The lives of the Jones brothers would have never been the same if he hadn't taken a chance on them as well once. He owed it to David to do the same for Smee.

But bloody hell, if this choice came crashing about his ears...

“So, Mr. Smee, what do you know about shoes?” he asked. The man was a former merchant of sorts ― he could prove to be knowledgeable.

“Uh...um...well...you wear them?” he blurted out, glancing at them.

Killian ran a hand over his face, more exasperated than when they met.

“Well, then.” David clapped him on the shoulder, as if in consolation. “I'll let you two get to know each other. Good luck!”

He heaved a great sigh as he watched their monarch move towards the door, undoubtedly pleased with himself. David could remain optimistic about this, but whatever hope Killian had had just flown out the window. Mr. Smee had a lot of learning to do, years of skills that took both brothers so long to perfect.

It would be like teaching a child how to walk.

A bumbling, clumsy child, who just piled into a box of supplies and knocked all of his materials onto the stone floor.

“Sorry, so sorry!” Yanking his cap onto his head, Smee scrambled onto his knees, scooping pieces of leather into his arms ― pieces that had taken Killian hours to separate into organized piles for each customer's order ― and dumped them back on the work table.

He winced. That would take all night to rearrange.

Then the man entangled long spools of thread that had rolled under the bed, struggling to pick up every needle that had also fallen. Pins were scattered everywhere.  One accident, and the entire bloody room was a mess.

This was going to be a long, long day. And with Smee's constant presence in the room, a certain young lady could not visit as often as she pleased, bringing her sunshine with her.

Why, oh why had he not insisted on enlisting Emma's help and hers alone?

A bright dream of her lips and warm eyes made him all the more desperate to see her. But now he surely wouldn't, because this imbecile had just given him work to do until the next morning.

“Is there any thing else you need me to do, Master Jones?”

Rolling his eyes, Killian marched to the corner and grabbed the damn broom.

Chapter Text

Snow White was known throughout the realms for her unwavering optimism. She was famous for it. Whenever Killian had a sour day full of disappointment, he tried to look up to her example and stay hopeful. Having never known his own mother, the boy he was had secretly appreciated all of her mothering when Liam and he had been "adopted" by the royal family.

However, there were those odd remarks at the dinner table over the years ― pointed comments from David and even Grumpy that Snow's younger self was not quite so forgiving and cool-headed, that she had had quite the temper once and occasionally still did.

Staring into her wine goblet, she would cough and quickly change the subject.

But Emma gave away some of her mother's vague history by smiling smugly at Killian and then winking at him. Whatever the Queen's childhood was like, she clearly wasn't telling. And Killian knew better than to ask.

No matter. Even if Snow White had irate moments, like any human being would, it was nothing in comparison to the fury boiling underneath his skin right now.

Mr. Smee would certainly try the legendary patience of the Queen and the saints above.

Killian could be forgiving and tolerant. He could. But it had been one bloody mistake after another, ever since the day they met in his workroom.

Buying the wrong materials from the marketplace. Misplacing tools so that all customer orders were delayed for days. Using boot polish to wax suede leather ― the man was either a complete dimwit or practiced idiocy on purpose.

Still, Killian hoped and prayed that Smee could do at least one task correctly. Exasperated by his failed attempts to help with making shoes, he sent his assistant to deliver the finally completed orders, as a form of apology for his late work.

It was a viable request. Surely, that was simple enough, aye? Not too difficult to manage for a man like the forgetful and careless Smee?

Wrong.

How bloody, bloody wrong he was.

What the hell was going through that git's head?

A flood of angry disappointment filled the castle within hours of the deliveries. It seemed that Smee had given the wrong shoes to the wrong customers, gone from their doors before they could notice the error and make any complaint.

Luckily, the Blue Fairy was present in the throne room and more than willing to quickly, efficiently correct the mistakes with a wave of her blue wand.

Thank God for that. Because some of those customers had been really distraught and about to throw something at Killian's head.

The wrong shoes they'd gotten, for example.

After the ordeal was over, David had scolded and berated Smee. However, the King sounded compassionate even when he was angry, and for a man like this would-be assistant, kind anger flew over his head and nothing changed.

It took all of Killian's composure not to scream and yell at Smee later, One more mistake, and you're out the door, you imbecile.

Every time he opened his mouth and wanted to give the bloody bastard a sound verbal beating, he couldn't do it. He couldn't, because he would think of how a knight would behave, and how Emma would want him to behave. Would he treat Emma this way if he were (hypothetically) upset with her? Would a knight of the realm demonstrate his temper over a miniscule misstep when there were greater wrongs to right?

Instead, he let his resentment brew against Smee, wishing for the day when Liam would return and this lousy assistant would disappear from sight. Hacking furiously at the practice stump with his sword, Killian pictured the pudgy little fellow in his mind and how many nights of sleep he'd lost on his account.

Over the next several weeks, that poor stump became dangerously close to resembling an oversized toothpick.

Perhaps Smee realized that no one was happy with him. Perhaps, deep down inside, something pushed him to be more eager to please. The mistakes didn't stop.

But something did change.

Someone was taking care of the small tasks ― taking out the dump pile, leaving meals for Killian in the corner, neatly arranging tools in their rightful places overnight. Once, he woke up in the morning to find the workroom swept clean and spotless.

Magic.

Or not.

A hurtful memory suddenly returned to his mind, of two homeless boys desperate to please a hard man for fear they'd be thrown out and have nowhere to go. Every night, when the old shoemaker was passed out drunk in his bed upstairs, both Jones brothers would sneak out of their closet and clean the workroom from top to bottom. A sign of appreciation, for the man who gave them a bite to eat and somewhere to sleep.

Smee might need a firm hand, some insightful management. But in the words of one wise shepherd king, there was always room for a little compassion.

He had ordered the usual supplies: rolls of leather, freshly spun thread, dyes. A special request he had been saving coin for was a new tool box, as his old one was coming apart from such frequent use over the years. Marco had sent for special hinges and fasteners to ensure the box's longevity, and he was using sturdy cedar wood for the frame; Killian's name was to be etched on the top, with inlaid gold trim.

As Killian made his way through the courtyard, he noticed that the royals were strangely absent this morning. The usual hustle and bustle of a busy crowd remained, but there were no usual greetings from a smiling King David or blushing Emma, walking among people to wish them well or browse their wares. When he spied Lancelot standing guard by the gate, he waved and hurried toward him.

"Sir Lancelot."

The tall knight flashed him a gleaming smile, also raising his hand in recognition. "Squire Jones. What pressing matter forces you to leave our lovely stronghold? Have you found another quest?" His eyes brightened. "I heard about Marigold and the tree, by the way ― very heroic of you to tackle that nasty greenery all by yourself."

He rolled his eyes. Lancelot liked to tease him a bit too much. "Certainly not your usual quest, Lance ― I'm off to pick up my purchases for the shop."

"Isn't that Smee's job now?" Lancelot peered around. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen that chubby little man all morning. Maybe he went ahead to the village and is on his way back with your purchases right now."

Killian's eyes widened. The last time Mr. Smee had tried to be helpful with that, he had ended up chasing after a farmer for miles because the man had carted off the wrong goods by accident. "Sorry, mate, but I have to run."

 Killian was furious.

So much for trying to have faith and hope. Smee had yet again disappointed him.

Marco wasn't in his shop, but his son Pinocchio had informed Killian that the git had stopped by to collect a box under his name. All the supplies were gone as well. When he rushed back to the castle, desperately wishing that Smee had simply put the items in the wrong room, the man was still nowhere to be found.

Winded and dejected, Killian traipsed into his chambers, slumping into the nearest chair. Damn it, he couldn't do anything right.

Where was Liam? Where was his organized, helpful brother, whose laughter and advice always made an opaque day seem clearer?

Head in his hands, he imagined Liam on the high seas right now. He was probably as happy as could be, with the wind in his hair and endless sky above him. To see him miserable again, cooped up in their village shop, was certainly not something Killian wanted.

"Killian? Are you alright?" Soft, gentle hands covered his own, prying them apart. Emma's eyes, as aquamarine as the sea, stared down at him. He hadn't even heard her walk in. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

He was too tired and full of self-pity to rant and rail. "I was busy, looking for Mr. Smee. He's either gotten himself lost in town ― again ― or he was sidetracked by something he saw meanwhile."

She gave him a small smile. "He's still giving you trouble?"

He shrugged. "Smee...tries. One moment, he's almost bloody thoughtful, and then... I don't know, Emma. The man is a mystery."

"Just take it one day at a time, I guess."

The way she was combing his hair with her fingers was soothing. A broad, satisfied grin crossed his lips, and his eyelids fluttered shut. He likely looked like quite the fool, but he didn't care. All the worries of the day seemed to evaporate with each calming touch.

It was because of Emma. No matter what happened to him, Emma was his reminder not to give up. She was worth fighting for, every single day.

"Ah, there's that smile I love," she teased, starting to massage his scalp with her fingertips. "Feeling better?"

"Aye." He deftly rose to his feet and guided her into his arms. "But what would make you feel better, my darling?"

Her smile, now mischievous and playful, was the last thing he saw before her lips met his.

That kiss, as powerful as the light in her gaze, made him feel like he could battle the world if he had to.

When she drew away, he whined in protest. "Don't go." Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned forward to kiss her once more.

She wouldn't let him. "Killian, we need to go."

His eyes snapped open. "Why? What could possibly be more important than this?"

Emma held a finger to her lips, whispering, "It's a surprise." Then she winked at him.

Suddenly grumpy, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Does this surprise require better clothes than my work attire?" he grumbled, glaring at the dusty shoes on his feet. "Or perhaps this surprise is an additional spar with Lancelot, so he can have another laugh at my expense when I lose out of exhaustion?"

"Hey, you can have a week off if you want ― even a month ― but first, you need to come with me," she insisted. "Never mind Smee or Sir Lancelot; this has nothing to do with them. Come on, then. Let's go!"

Mind in a whirlwind over their slow kiss and Emma's new urgency to leave, Killian blindly grabbed the nearest rag on his worktable and rubbed at the toes of his shoes, then hurried to the washtub in the corner. He barely splashed water on his face, washed his hands, and checked the ribbon of his queue before she was tugging him through the door.

They soon broke into a run, with him tailing behind her. Perhaps this was another quest, where one of her animal friends was in trouble. Or perhaps her parents were involved.

He nearly stopped mid-stride from shock. Aye, David could have become fed up with keeping his confidence and told his wife about Killian's affections for their daughter. This could be a summons ― or an interrogation by an angry mother. But didn't Their Majesties know he would never run from a royal audience? And somehow, his heart denied the odds that Snow White, believer in true love, would despise the idea that an orphan boy and her only child were in love.

By the time he came to his senses, they were standing by the royal lake. But they were not the only ones present. The seven dwarves were there, Emma's parents were there, Marco and Lancelot were there, and so was Smee, standing next to David. There were also a handful of other people, some of whom he didn't recognize, and they were all smiling. No one looked upset.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Killian noticed a heavily laden table in the corner, stacked with food and neatly wrapped packages (or what appeared to be presents). There were colorful streamers tied to the wooden archways, and even though the sun was still shining, there were beautiful paper lamps hanging from every available outpost.

What the bloody hell was this all about?

"What do you think, boy? It's all for you, to wish you many happy returns of the day."

"Grumpy!" the Queen chastised. "What we all mean to say, Killian, is we wish you the happiest of birthdays. We'll never forget the day you became part of our family, and we're extremely grateful you did."

He rubbed at his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. Had he really forgotten, in the midst of the day's chaos, that today was his birthday?

"It was my idea," said Emma proudly, hands clasped behind her back. "I helped Mother plan everything."

Killian swallowed hard. "You did all this, for me?" His eyesight got blurry. "Why?"

She sidled up to him, reaching for his hand. "Because you've been sad lately. Because you do such a good job of taking care of others, but you need to be taken care of, too." She was almost embracing him. "Because I want to make you happy," she murmured, entwining her arms around his neck.

"Emma," he hissed under his breath, between gritted teeth, "your parents are here. They'll see..."

"Killian, they know." Now her eyes were shining. "They've always known how much I love you ― that I want to be with no one else but you."

So Lancelot, paragon of truth, had lied to him about Smee's whereabouts. Killian grinned at that, resolving to torment the knight about that later during their sparring practice.

"Sir? Mr. Jones?" Smee interrupted. "I'm truly sorry about this morning. Her Highness asked me to undertake a different errand, so that was why I was absent from the shop."

Looking sideways, he could see the box Marco had worked on, wrapped in a red bow and lying on the table. There were other gifts as well, and no doubt his supplies were present as well.

All he could think of in this moment was that aye, he had misjudged his assistant ― and that the girl of his dreams, the woman he wanted in his arms forever, had just admitted to the world that she loved him and only him.

"That's quite alright, Mr. Smee," he heard himself reply. "I understand your obedience to your future ruler over me. Though I'm still puzzled over keeping everything in the dark, as it were. Seems rather messy."

"It was all a ruse," came a familiar voice.

Killian's ears perked up at the sound. No, it could not possibly be...

"It was a wild goose chase, little brother, so King David could quickly escort me from the harbor to the castle in a few hours and be ready for your celebration. We wanted my return to be a special surprise for your birthday."

A figure emerged from hiding ― a figure beloved and well known, dressed in a navy lieutenant's uniform. All the nightmares and despair that had plagued Killian for the past months transformed into a sigh of relief. Magical protection or not, there was no vision that could compare to seeing Liam, safe and sound, in person.

As Killian barreled into his brother's open arms, ecstatic and breathless, he heard cheers and applause in the background.

Everyone was shouting, "Hooray for the Jones brothers!"

Chapter Text

Papa was smiling. That was a good sign. But Mother didn't seem happy at all. She was actually quiet, and her lips were pulled into a frown.

Queen Snow White always smiled. And she never stopped talking unless Papa interrupted her.

Worried, Emma cautiously approached their thrones. Was this their reaction to her announcement at Killian's party? Were they angry with her?

On noticing her presence, her father sat straight and cleared his throat twice. "Hello, daughter. Well, it's a fine mess you're in," he said in a scolding tone.

His unchanging smile made Emma start to perspire. She was in a great deal of trouble if King David the Mild was hiding his temper behind a happy face. "Yes, Father?" she squeaked out.

"Do you see your mother?" He glanced her way. She still said nothing. "Look at her. She's so overwhelmed she cannot speak."

Emma sighed deeply. It was better to own up to her mistakes now than later. Though proclaiming her love for Killian was far from a mistake. It was the most amazing, thrilling, satisfying—

"Ahem. Are you paying attention, dear?"

She felt dreamy. That wasn't a convincing pose for the stern parents in front of her. She forced herself to reply in a calm voice. "I'm sorry if I offended you or Mother. But I'm not sorry I love Killian." All her enthusiasm threatened to burst out in endless silly grins. "Falling in love with him was unexpected and wonderful. I know, without a doubt, that we're meant to be together. I won't marry anyone but him, and that's final. Whether you approve or not."

Instead of reprimanding or advising, her father turned again and stared at her mother. Emma too was curious about her reaction. The legend of True Love remained silent.

"Liam," Papa suddenly commented, "loves Killian as well. He's missed his brother a great deal. Since his return, we've been discussing Killian's future."

Her eyes narrowed. "Without including me?"

"Or him. Isn't it fun to keep your plans a secret from everyone?" Her father never taunted, but his smirk seemed almost smug.

"We never wanted to keep our love a secret, but I was afraid."

"Afraid we would disapprove? When you just said you don't care?"

"No! Yes! And that you would want me to marry a prince. And that...if you offered Killian a future outside of this kingdom, he would never choose me."

Her mother smiled, bright and encouraging. "Emma, dear." Her voice was soothing and peaceful. The tension in the room disappeared. "We're not angry with you. But I must ask you: if you truly love Killian, you have to be willing to wait for him. Don't you trust him? Don't you have faith in him, that he will make the right choices?"

Of course she was right. Emma simply didn't know how to cope with her fears, as ridiculous as they were. She really was afraid of her own future, not Killian's. "I do." Her tone sounded defeated. "And I do want what is best for him. Even if it's not...me. "

"In that case," her father began, "Killian is going to be given a naval commission. He will start as a sailor in our navy, under his brother's care, and return to Misthaven in one year's time for his knighthood ceremony. Liam mentioned that the boy loves the sea. It's a lifelong dream of his, sailing. I'll miss my faithful shoemaker, but who am I to step in the way of his happiness?"

She wanted to wail and screech and protest, but she had debated this by herself before. She also wanted Killian to be happy. Still, that didn't decide...

"Do you approve, then? Of our courtship?" It felt nice to say that word aloud and in the open. She was tired of worrying that their romance would be forbidden.

Her mother gave her father a pointed look. "What do you think, David?"

He laughed. Emma's mouth dropped open. "What do I think? Snow, I'm sorry to say that the only one who has been in the dark all this time is you. Killian asked for my permission months ago. Months."

"What?" she and Emma exclaimed in unison.

"Such a smart young man. Respectful, honorable, kind, hardworking. Loyal and dedicated. I could go on listing his admirable qualities, but there's no need. Emma knows. She is a smart young woman with a wonderful future to plan." Her father winked at her. "I confess: when I first confronted Killian about his feelings for you, I was worried that you were both too young and immature to understand love and all it entails. But I was wrong. He clearly deserves you and your hand in marriage — if that is something you want as well."

Her head was spinning. "He asked? To marry me? When? How?"

"Yesterday." There was no trace of mockery in King David's expression. "You might have a long engagement — your suitor is quite ambitious. He also personally confided in me that he won't leave until he has your answer."

Suddenly, her pride felt stung. "Is he going to propose to me himself?"

"Yes, he certainly will. Tonight, over dinner. It's all been arranged," he replied cheerfully, ignoring her hurt tone. "However, we were going to share some news with you first. News that may affect your choice."

"Sweetheart, this is a little abrupt," her mother protested. "Killian Jones wants to marry our daughter, but you didn't tell me?"

"Because you would undoubtedly tell Emma right away and spoil the surprise."

"She looks like she's shocked!"

"Nonsense, she'll be all right. My dear Snow White, I love you. But you have to admit it: you can't keep a secret to save your life." Seeing her parents laugh, then share a mixed look of adoration and exasperation, made Emma hope with all her might that Killian and she would still be as much in love after so many years.

If they were married. He hadn't proposed yet.

Then she smiled to herself. Of course, he would propose. He almost had, once, and he did say that he wanted nothing more than her.

No matter where life took them, they would be together.

"Now, where were we?" Her father reached for her mother's hand and squeezed it affectionately. "Ah, yes. My beloved girl, your darling mother and I are blessed to have you as our daughter. Since your birth, we didn't expect to be fortunate enough to have more children. But we never gave up hope. We just confirmed it with the Blue Fairy and the royal physician. In half a year's time, you're going to have a baby brother."

Overjoyed, she raced up the stone steps and into her mother's open arms.

She was going to have a brother. She was no longer an only child. She wouldn't have to be Queen of Misthaven someday.

She was free to be with Killian forever.

And with a love story like this, their adventures were far from over.