Chapter Text
Killian Jones had fallen asleep in the safest place he could. Or so he thought. Milah’s fingers carding through his hair, his head in her lap, and a soft sea shanty falling from her lips. His contentment had been complete. Completely misplaced, that is.
To awaken from that sweet, blissful oblivion into harsh reality filled with rough hands and cold steel was disconcerting, to say the least. His eyes were still a bit blurry from slumber as he was hauled from Milah’s lap and tossed across the cabin. His first thought was her and her safety, which spurred him all the more to fight his captor’s grasp. He pulled away from the meaty hands to find himself encircled by members of the Misthaven Royal Navy. And Milah . . . he expected her to cry his name, expected her to be fighting right along with him. But she wasn’t. She stood a few steps away, her face awash in shame, and only then did it dawn on him that she was part of this noose that surrounded him.
“Milah?” he asked, voice broken, still wanting in the deepest parts of his mind to believe that there must be some mistake.
“I’m sorry, Killian,” she choked, a tear slipping down her cheek. Then she squared her shoulders and dashed at the wet spot. “Move him over there,” she ordered, “hold him down.”
“What? Milah, what are you doing?” Killian’s eyes never left Milah’s face as he struggled in vain against two of his captors. They wrestled him over to the desk, and a third man shoved him forward. Killian grunted as he was held down by both shoulders, his left arm extended and pinned down. His eyes widened as Milah pulled a sword from the scabbard of the lieutenant at her right.
“Again, I’m sorry,” she continued as she stepped closer, “but the Dark One has my son, and I can’t get Baelfire back without proof.”
Milah’s voice was cold, devoid of emotion, as if she had to cut herself off from feeling in order to go through with what she was about to do. Killian watched in morbid fascination as she raised the sword over her head, as if he were watching this happen to someone else. Even when he realized exactly what she was about to do, Killian still thought that it couldn’t be any worse than the pain of her betrayal. But as hard steel sliced through sinew and bone like fire, he learned he was wrong.
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Emma slumped in her uncomfortable, ornate chair (she hated to call it a throne, though it was), a sigh escaping her lips. Her father, to her left, chuckled and patted her hand in understanding. Holding open court was exhausting, even though it was also fulfilling. Watching her parents graciously handle the concerns and difficulties of their people had always been inspiring from the first moment they had allowed her to join them at the age of twelve. Now that she was eighteen, they deferred some of the issues to her, and though she still struggled at times to achieve the same justice mixed with compassion that her parents possessed, it gave her a sense of purpose. She led a blessed, charmed existence (pun completely intended), but she never wanted to be a pampered princess. She wanted to use her position and her gifts to help her people. The way her parents always did.
Emma sat up quickly, leaning forward slightly with concern as Graham Humbert, Captain of the Royal Guard, strode with purpose through the door. Graham bowed before the three thrones, and when he straightened, Emma could see a combination of worry and righteous indignation in his eyes.
“Your majesties, I know you are at the end of an exhausting day, but a situation has come to my attention that simply could not wait.”
“We trust you implicitly, Graham,” Snow assured him with a nod of her head. Emma had heard the story of how Captain Humbert had refused the Evil Queen’s orders to murder Snow. Ever since that courageous decision, he had been her mother’s most trusted guard.
“It’s about the newest prisoner in the dungeon.”
“The pirate?” Charming asked, “We have sent word to King Midas that he is here. Midas’ navy has been hunting the man for some time. I knew he would want justice served at home.”
“I doubt the man will live long enough for that, sir. That’s why I’m here. Misthaven is known for justice, not cruelty.”
Emma’s hands gripped the arms of her chair in anger as she leaned even further forward, “What’s happening in the dungeon, Graham?”
“He lost his hand during the arrest, m’lady,” Graham explained. Snow gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “The pirate’s injuries have not been seen too, your majesties. He lies in that cell with a dirty, bleeding stump that I’m sure has become infected. He shivers on a stone floor ravaged with fever.”
Emma rose with haste from her seat, “Take me to the dungeon immediately.”
“Emma,” her father said softly, gently grasping her hand, “this isn’t some hungry orphan arrested for stealing. This is a dangerous pirate. I know compassion and mercy in our justice system is your passion, and I love that about you. However, this man is a true criminal. A villain.”
Emma turned her palm to squeeze her father’s hand, “And wasn’t Aunt Regina? Yet you and mother showed her mercy, and look what happened?”
Her parents shared a look of pride and love, and Snow gave a gentle nod of her head.
“Besides,” Emma continued, “even if he deserves to pay for his crimes, he is still a human being. And he should be treated as such while he is in our care.”
Without further debate, Emma marched from the throne room, clutching a fistful of her skirts to aid her haste. Snow grabbed her husband’s hand and brought it to her lips for a kiss.
“We have raised her well,” Snow told her husband with a soft smile.
“Yes, my darling, so we have.”
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It wasn’t Emma’s first visit to the dungeon, so she strode down the cold, wet steps with confident purpose. The guards on duty stumbled to their feet, bowing sheepishly. “I wish to see the pirate,” Emma told them with an imperious tilt to her chin.
“Th-that’s not a good idea, miss. He be dangerous, m’lady,”
Emma heard a groan coming from the nearest cell and turned to see a figure shivering on the cold floor, curled in on himself. Emma turned to the guards, eyes flashing fire.
“Is that him?”
“Well, um . . . “
Emma cut the man off with a slash of her hand in the air, “Just answer the question”
“Yes, your highness.”
Emma narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line, suppressing her anger, “You call that dangerous?” she hissed.
Emma ignored the guards' protests, and strode towards the cell in question. She gestured to Graham, who quickly relieved the guard of his keys and unlocked the iron door. Heedless of her pale blue satin gown, Emma sank to the cold stone floor beside the man’s prone form. She took him gently by the shoulders and rolled him towards her, cradling his head in her lap. Even through her silk gloves, she could feel the fever radiating from him. She removed her gloves and handed them to Graham. She rested the back of her cool hand against his brow to find it sweaty and pulsing heat. He shivered in her grasp, his head lolling from side to side as incoherent mumblings fell from his lips. She brushed his thick, dark hair, which was drenched with sweat, from his forehead and whispered words of comfort in an attempt to calm him. In the corner Emma spied a full plate of food, untouched, and a full tankard of water.
“Has he eaten anything or drunk one sip of water?” Emma snapped at the guards.
Their shuffling feet and sheepish expressions were all the answer she needed. She reached down and lifted his left arm gently, but despite her tender touch, he still cried out in pain. Emma attempted to peel back the cloth covering the stump, but it was stuck to the wound with dried blood. The man cried out again and attempted feebly to pull away, but not before Emma caught sight of the puss oozing from the obviously infected wound.
“Has the castle physician been sent to look at this man’s injuries?” Emma demanded, and the silence in the room told her volumes. She eased the man’s head from her lap and stood, resolute, “This man is to be moved to the guest chamber on the east wing immediately.”
“The Rose Room?” Graham asked with a hint of concern.
“Of course,” Emma replied, matter-of-factly.
“Princess,” Graham said gently, “I must object. The Rose Room is right across the hall from you own chambers.”
“Precisely,” Emma told him, “that way I can see personally to his care.”
“But –“ Graham protested, “he is a pirate – “
“He is also a man,” Emma snapped. “Get the palace physician and tell him to meet me in the Rose Room.” Emma glanced around at Graham and the two guards who regarded her with slack-jawed expressions. “Now!” she snapped.
Graham bowed briefly, and took off to find the doctor. The guards hurried to follow Emma’s instructions as they procured a liter to transport the prisoner more gently to the upper levels of the castle. Once they arrived in the Rose Room, the physician was already there to see to the man. Emma now paced back and forth in the hallway as the man was bathed and given fresh clothes and bandages. At one point, she heard the man cry out, and her heart leapt into her throat at the tortured sound. She practically pounced on the physician as he came out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
“How is he?” Emma asked, wringing her hands. She wasn’t sure why her heart went out to this man’s pain so keenly; she didn’t even know him.
“Well,” the doctor told her, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I can’t be sure at this point if he’ll make it or not. Infection had set in to the wound. I cleaned it as best I could, even trimmed away some dead tissue.”
Emma cringed at the very thought.
“I have given him a brew of herbs to help him sleep and dull the pain. We have to just wait and see if the infection will pass. And his bandages need to be changed daily and a salve applied.”
“I’ll see to it personally,” Emma assured the doctor.
“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, princess,” the doctor argued.
“Appropriate or not, I’m doing it,” Emma retorted stubbornly. “Meet me here tomorrow after the noon meal to show me how to change the dressings.”
The doctor sighed, knowing from his long relationship with the Charming family that arguing with the princess was futile. “Yes, your highness.”
Emma turned as if heading for her chambers, but she paused with her hand on the doorknob and watched the doctor head down the corridor and around the corner. Once he was out of view, she turned back towards the guest room, her heart pounding in her chest. She had a compulsion to check on the man, and it wouldn’t let her go. Emma eased the door open and slipped inside the room as quietly as possible. As she had hoped, the man was sound asleep in his bed. She tiptoed across the stone floor, holding her skirts up slightly to keep them from rustling. She stopped, leaning over the bed to take in the face of the man before her.
She hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the dungeon, so intent was she on the state of his health. But now, she could clearly see how handsome he was. His hair had been thick and soft under her fingers, but now that it had been washed, its dark lustre was more pronounced, and Emma longed to touch it again. Despite the beginnings of a scruffy beard, he was younger than she had expected, perhaps only a couple of years older than Emma herself. How had a man so young come to be captain of a pirate ship? His nose and chin were angular, but in an attractive, almost aristocratic way, and the lashes fluttering against his cheeks were thick and dark. In short, he looked nothing like she imagined a pirate would. The only thing about him that hinted at his violent profession was a small scar on one cheek. Yet the scar did more to add to his handsome features than detract from them.
He stirred in his sleep, and Emma froze in fear as his eyes slowly opened. He looked at her intensely with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They were the color of the forget-me-nots that bloomed in her mother’s private gardens. She held her breath, unsure of how he would react to her presence.
“You’re not Milah,” he said groggily, and Emma wondered if he was still under the effect of the brew the doctor had given him.
“No,” she whispered softly, “I’m Emma. What’s your name?”
“Killian,” he muttered, voice fading, “Killian Jones.”
His eyes fluttered closed again and his head lolled against the pillows. Emma backed away slowly from the room, heart pounding. She slowly closed the door behind her and then fled to her room. She leaned against her chamber door, hand at her throat. Killian Jones. Something about the name thrilled her. And something about those eyes arrested her. She straightened and shook her head, laughing a little at her foolishness. Look at her, acting like a silly schoolgirl. He was an attractive young man with an attractive name to go with his pretty face. But Emma was interested in one thing alone: caring for his injuries as any humane person would. That was all.
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The next day, Emma entered the Rose Room on the heels of the chamber maid who was collecting Killian’s tray from lunch. The doctor was set to arrive at any moment to teach her to change the dressing on Killian’s wound. A bit of nervousness wound its way into Emma’s chest as she approached his bed. Did he remember her staring at him yesterday?
If he did, it wasn’t a pleasant memory, because as soon as he laid eyes on the princess, he scowled. “What are you doing here?”
Emma bit her lip as she took in his arched eyebrows and the flash of anger in his blue eyes. Somehow, his anger made him look even more attractive, “I’m taking charge of caring for your wound, Killian. The doctor will be here shortly to show me how to do it properly.” She stood by his bed with her hands crossed at her waist and her chin slightly tipped. It was the posture she always assumed when giving orders as the crown princess. It seemed to have no effect on Killian, however.
“The hell you are,” he protested vehemently, “and how do you know my name. It’s Captain Jones, thank you very much.”
Emma’s eyes sparked with anger of their own, “Yes, I am, and you told me your name yourself.”
Killian’s mouth ticked up at the corner at that, “So I didn’t dream that. The princess of Misthaven really was staring at me as I slept. Don’t be embarrassed lass, I am devilishly handsome.”
He gave her a saucy wink, and Emma’s face flushed. To cover her embarrassment, she retorted, “I was checking on my patient. And for your information, you smelled awful yesterday and looked worse.”
The chamber maid made a hasty retreat with the empty lunch tray as princess and her patient stared one another down.
“I am not allowing you to come anywhere near my . . . my . . .” he glanced down at his stump, his jaw clenching. He covered the bandaged stump of his arm hastily with a blanket and looked away from Emma. “I don’t need any help, especially not from you.”
Emma sighed in sudden understanding. How could she have been so thoughtless? It wasn’t merely an injury, he had lost his hand. Everything in his life would change from now on; there were so many things he would have to re-learn. He was obviously physically strong, confident, and the leader of a crew of pirates. He didn’t want a female seeing him weak. Emma laid a hand tentatively on his shoulder.
“The royal family of Misthaven apologizes for how you were treated in our custody. I’m attempting to make it up to you. That is all.”
He turned to her with narrowed eyes, “Well, the last thing I’m going to do is trust a female. So you can take your royal apology and shove it up your royal arse.”
“I . . . I . . .” Emma sputtered.
“Never had anyone talk to you that way before?” Killian spat, “Well, get used to it. Not everyone is going to grovel at your feet.”
“Why do you have to be so cruel!” Emma shouted, “All I’m trying to do is show you kindness!”
“The world is cruel, princess. Cruel and full of nothing but pain. And anyone who says otherwise is selling something.”
Emma almost told him to go to hell. She almost marched right back out of the room. But she was stubborn, and no one told her she couldn’t do something. She was going to dress Killian’s wound whether he liked it or not. Even if being in his presence was the worst hour of her life. The doctor chose that moment to enter the room, and Emma looked down at Killian with her most imperial expression.
“Sorry, Captain, but I’m your nurse whether you like it or not.”
Killian clenched his jaw so tight, she was surprised he didn’t break it. He looked away from her, clenching the bedding with his good hand. He refused to look at her as she gently lifted his arm into a basin of warm water, biting his lip to keep from crying out as the water soaked his lacerated skin.
“Let his arm soak as you prepare the fresh bandages,” the doctor explained, “it will loosen the dried fluids and make it less painful to remove the soiled bandages.”
Emma followed the doctor’s instructions carefully as she laid out the strips of linen for the bandages and mixed the salve, ignoring Killian completely. Even when she draped a towel across his lap, she avoided eye contact. It wasn’t until Emma removed Killian’s arm from the basin of water that ignoring him became impossible. It was fine at first, as she settled his wet arm across the towel and dried it off. But when she cradled the end of his arm in her hand to begin removing the old bandages, her fingers tingled at the contact. She bit back the gasp that threatened to slip from her throat, but touching him was like touching a live wire. Then came the difficult task of actually peeling the bandage from his tender flesh. She worked as slowly and gently as she could, but she could still feel Killian’s tension and hear his sharp intakes of breath. When his stump was finally exposed, she felt like weeping. The flesh was jagged and mutilated beyond anything she had anticipated. She had to take a deep breath to steady herself. The last thing she wanted was for Killian to see disgust on her features. She turned with practiced calm to the linen strips soaking in salve lying ready on the bedside table. She gently applied them as the doctor gave her instructions, smoothing the linen gently over the curves of Killian’s stump. She finally looked up to see him watching her movements, and when his eyes flickered to her face, she gave him a tiny smile. Killian’s face flamed, and he looked quickly away.
“Excellent job, Princess,” the doctor enthused, “I couldn’t have done better myself.”
Emma nodded humbly at the praise, rising to help clean up. The doctor collected his things and turned towards the door. Emma followed him as he gave final instructions, reminding Emma that the bandages needed to be changed daily to clear up the infection and keep any new ones from developing. Emma nodded her thanks as he left and then turned back to Killian.
“Would you like any company?” she asked hesitantly.
“Does it look like I want company?” he snapped.
Emma sighed, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress, “I suppose not.”
Killian turned away from her, staring pensively out the window.
“I’ll be back same time tomorrow,” she told him as she headed for the door.
“Princess,” he called out just as she reached for the door knob.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Emma just gave him a nod and slipped from the room. Her hands trembled at her waist as she made her way down the corridor. After that entire exchange, she should hate the man. But she didn’t. She should teach a chamber maid to tend to his wound. But she wouldn’t.
Killian Jones had somehow gotten under her skin. No, he had somehow latched onto her very soul. And as little sense as it made, she knew she would never be able to stay away from him. Something about his tortured words and his anguished blue eyes called to her. As if he were a drowning man, and she was his savior.