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It wasn't working.
Waking Emma from this dream, forcing her to remember that she was the Savior, was turning out to be impossible. Especially since Regina was once again the Evil Queen and nobody here trusted her. The Charmings were actively trying to destroy her, which made even getting close to Emma a bit difficult. She was never going to listen to anything Regina had to say.
She needed someone else, someone connected to Emma, someone she would trust. None of her family would work. This version of the Charmings and Henry considered her a monster. They wouldn't help. There had to be someone...someone open to working with her.
Of course. The pirate.
He had to be somewhere in this Wish World, still swaggering around in leather pants and open-necked shirts. And knowing him—that old version of him—he'd probably be more than happy to help out if there was something in it for him.
He and Emma had already proved their connection was more than just pheromones. Hard to say if it was True Love, but it had gotten them out of plenty of sticky situations before. Regina hoped it still would, even if they didn't know each other here.
Now to find him. Pirates didn't exactly leave easy-to-trace paper trails, especially in Wish Realms. None of Regina's magic seemed to be working. She didn't have anything of Hook's to cast a locator spell with and magic mirrors didn't seem to work here. Probably because this place wasn't precisely real.
In the end, she just asked someone, some peasant trembling in her presence. Turned out, Hook had a reputation that preceded him. Everyone here knew who he was, and breathless tales of his villainous acts were traded like celebrity gossip. Good lord, the real Killian was going to love hearing about this.
Regina magicked herself to a few of the places he was rumored to have been in recently, and found him at the third. He was in a pub, naturally, boozing it up with a bunch of grubby deck rats and a serving wench.
Deciding that a dramatic entrance might get his attention, she magicked herself into a truly over-the-top Mistress of the Night get-up and blew the door off the hinges in a cloud of purple smoke. The pub erupted into panicked chaos.
"Leave us!" Regina bellowed. "Everyone but the pirate. I have business with him."
Secretly, she had to admit it was kind of fun watching the room empty in a heartbeat as the pub's patrons fled in terror. She'd missed this a bit.
Hook was not afraid. He leaned back in his chair, legs splayed and left arm flung over the back so that his hook gleamed in the light from the hearth. He kept his good hand on his tankard, nudging it in tiny circles as he smirked at her from across the room
Regina had gotten used to him the way he looked back in Storybrooke, still with the dress sense of a two-bit rock star, but far more toned down than he'd once been. It was a shock, seeing him this way again, the scruff on his jaw heavier, the black smudged around his eyes more dramatic, and a black jewel dangling from his ear. How had this man ever turned Emma's head? Well, to each her own.
"All this fuss just for me?" He drawled, still smiling that lazy, knowing smirk that the ladies couldn't seem to resist. Ugh. "You make quite an entrance, Your Majesty."
"So you know who I am."
"Your reputation precedes you. Or perhaps I should say, your infamy."
Regina inclined her head in acknowledgement.
"And I know your mother."
Ah yes, Cora and Hook went way back, even here, apparently.
"I'm not here on my mother's business."
"I'm not sure how you're here at all." Hook's eyes narrowed as he assessed her. He had always been much smarter than anyone gave him credit for. "The King and Queen destroyed you years ago. They raised a bloody memorial to commemorate the event." His subtle eye-roll perfectly illustrated how he felt about that.
"Yes, well, I'm back. The details of that don't concern you."
"What does concern me? Why has the Evil Queen sought out little old me?" He clapped a hand to his chest dramatically. God, she'd forgotten how insufferably arrogant he used to be. The Killian back in Storybrooke was positively modest in comparison.
"There's something I need done, and you're the only man who can do it."
One heavy black brow arced dramatically. "You want to hire me for a job?"
"Of a kind."
He sat up and reached forward, slinging his hook around the leg of a chair and dragging it closer. "Have a seat, Your Majesty, and let's discuss your proposition."
Regina crossed and settled on the chair, kicking yards of black satin skirts out of her way. Really, these outfits were so inconvenient.
"What sort of job are we talking about? A heist at sea? A highway robbery?"
"A seduction."
Hook blinked, and Regina enjoyed his moment of shock. "Pardon?"
"I need you to seduce someone."
He concealed his surprise quickly, the languid smile once again firmly in place. "Your Majesty, I've seduced three lasses just tonight. That's hardly work for me."
Now that she knew him better—the real Killian back in Storybrooke—this bragging Lothario was hard to believe in. There was something glossy and plastic about his delivery, as if it was just a carefully constructed mask he hid behind. Regina suspected he was more bluster than reality. Well, for Emma's sake, she hoped at least some of his seduction skills were genuine.
"This is no ordinary woman. I want you to seduce Princess Emma."
Once again, she caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly and his eyes went wide. "Are you mad?" He said at last, all traces of teasing gone.
"I thought seducing women was easy for you."
"Ordinary women. Bar wenches and merchants' wives. Not the bloody precious only child of the King and Queen. Gods, the woman is practically a saint."
It was true, Princess Emma's reputation in this realm was beyond reproach. The beautiful and sweet daughter of the King and Queen had a charmed childhood, cosseted and adored. She'd married young, to Prince Neal of a neighboring kingdom. It had been an advantageous alliance, but was rumored to have been a love match as well. The story was practically a legend. He swept her off her feet at her very first ball, claiming her first dance, and then every dance after that. They'd been betrothed within a week. Knowing the real Neal, Regina suspected it had been more infatuation and hormones than true love, but whatever.
Then just a year later, the handsome prince had died, slaying a damned dragon. Of all the ridiculous, heroic ends he could have met. Princess Emma was now a tragic, beautiful, young widow, and her people loved her for it. When it turned out she was pregnant, too, their adoration of her knew no bounds. She was nauseatingly perfect, even more than Snow White had been.
"You think Princess Emma would be immune to your... dubious charms?"
There went the eyebrow again. "I didn't say that." Hook sat back in his chair, the mask firmly in place once again. "Assuming I'm interested...which I haven't said I am yet...what's in it for me?"
Regina gave an impatient wave of her hand. "What do you want?" Whatever it was, she'd just magic it into existence.
Hook looked down at the floor, absently scratching behind his ear with the tip of his hook. The gesture was familiar, something the Killian she knew did all the time. It was his tell, the chink in his confident armor. Hook was nervous.
"This isn't exactly my line of work, you understand."
"I'd imagine there are worse ways to earn a living."
"Seducing a beautiful woman? Aye..." There was something distracted about the way he said it, very telling. He'd thought of her before...he wanted her.
"So? What can I offer you that might tempt you to take on this...difficult burden?"
He shrugged and named a figure, one that she'd suspected he'd come up with off the top of his head. The money wasn't important. She'd just given him the excuse to do something he already wanted to do. The rest was beside the point.
"Done." A leather bag of coins appeared on the scuffed wooden table between them, a puff of purple smoke swirling around it.
Hook reached for it, but stopped, hand resting on it where it sat. "Can I ask, Your Majesty... Why this? Why her?"
"Let's just say I need to unlock something hidden away in the perfect Princess Emma, and I have a feeling you're the only man who can do it. Do we have a deal?"
Hook hesitated a moment, but Regina knew she had him. Even without the money, he was too intrigued by the possibility she'd presented to back down now. He wanted Emma and he was determined to have her. God help the woman.
He extended his good hand to her. "Yes, Your Majesty, I believe we do."
"Excellent," she replied, shaking his hand to seal the deal.
"It's all well and good to set out to seduce a princess, but how do you suppose I'm to get a crack at it? They keep her on a rather short leash and I doubt they'd open the castle door for me if I paid her a visit."
"Leave that part to me."
Regina flicked her wrist, and in a puff of purple smoke, she and Hook disappeared.
"There she is. She's coming."
Hook blinked, mildly disconcerted. One minute they'd been sitting in a pub and now he was in the woods, standing behind a tree with the Evil Queen. As he shook his head to orient himself, he heard it—someone singing. No, humming. It was a sweet melody hummed in a woman's lilting voice. His stomach clenched in anticipation.
The melody grew louder and then she was there, just across the small clearing in the trees. She had her head down as she sorted through the flowers in the basket on her arm, so she didn't see them. He didn't want her to, not yet. He wanted a chance to see her first. He'd never been this close to her before.
Her dress was white, embroidered all over with gold flowers and leaves, probably the costliest garment he'd ever clapped eyes on. Her sun-gold hair was caught back in a loose braid down her back, tendrils escaping to curl around her face. With her eyes downcast, her long dark lashes cast shadows on her high cheekbones. He still couldn't see the color of her eyes. Pale elegant fingers—hands that had never known a day's hard labor—sifted through the petals in her basket.
"Well, shall I leave you to it?" The Evil Queen murmured at his side.
He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "Err... not yet. Not here."
"But she's right there."
"And no doubt a dozen palace guards are right behind her. I need to be alone with her." He paused before he said the words, his tongue thick with nerves he'd never admit to. "Her bedchamber. I need to be in her bedchamber."
The Evil Queen smiled slickly. Why was she doing this? What did she want from Princess Emma? Well, it was no matter now. He'd taken her gold and made the deal. Not that the money mattered. Now that he was here, he wouldn't turn back for all the gold in the world.
"Well, then," the Queen said. "Hang on. And good luck."
The purple smoke cleared and he was alone. And in her bedchamber. Princess Emma's private rooms.
He took a moment to look around. It was as opulent as he'd have guessed. Thick gray stone walls were hung with rich tapestries, and the flagstone floor covered with a lush carpet. A fire crackled merrily in the massive hearth. He'd wager that fire was never allowed to go out. Above the hearth, a portrait of her son, the young Prince Henry hung. He was a good-looking lad, following in his heroic father's footsteps, kitted out in gold armor, hand resting on his sword.
Hook looked away, eyes skimming over the rest of the room. It was feminine and soft, awash with gilt furniture and strewn with brightly-colored tufted cushions. Her bed was massive, with four carved pillars holding up a canopy of diaphanous white fabric. He circled it, imagining, as he lifted a corner of the sheer white fabric and brushed it against his lips. Soft, but not as soft as she'd be, he guessed.
Beside the bed, candles burned in an ornate holder, and next to it, a stack of books. He thumbed through them. Adventures, all of them. Stories of daring feats and far off lands. So the princess was a dreamer.
He was across the room, perusing the contents of her vanity, when footsteps sounded in the corridor. The door opened and she was there, entering the room in a flurry of gilt fabric and golden hair. She crossed to her bed, retrieved a book off the pile, and was turning to leave again when she spotted him and froze. What must he look like to her, all black leather and glinting steel in the middle of her pretty, feminine bower?
"Wh-who are you?"
Green. Her eyes were a remarkable shade of green, like a piece of sea glass.
Extending his arms with a flourish, he bowed very slightly at the waist. "Captain Hook, at your service, Your Highness."
Her eyes went wide, taking in his hook. "What are you doing in here?"
He lifted a little silver box at random from her vanity. "Stealing." He set it down again.
"From the King??"
"Pirate." He shrugged apologetically, turning half away from her as he continued picking through her things.
"You'd better flee. I'm calling the guards."
She could have done that the second she walked into the room, but she hadn't yet. And she certainly didn't need to announce it to him that way. She was intrigued, in spite of herself. Interesting.
"I thought you might." He stayed where he was, on the other side of the room where he was no physical threat to her, picking up tidbits from her vanity, examining them, and then setting them back down again.
"Well, I am."
"All right. I'll wait here."
"But..." She scowled, her fine golden brows drawing together over those remarkable eyes.
"It's okay." He flashed her a smile over his shoulder. Her throat moved, as if she'd just swallowed with some difficulty. A primitive flare of satisfaction bloomed in his chest, but he shoved it away. Not yet. This was a delicate dance. "You can call them."
"I will." She hesitated for another moment. He didn't look back at her, but he could feel her eyes on him.
"I know who you are," she said.
“Yes, I told you.”
“I don’t know why I asked that. I already knew who you were.”
A prickle of awareness skated across the back of his neck. "You did?" Lots of people knew who he was. That was the point of all the pirating and marauding. To make sure people knew who you were. He'd gone to a lot of effort to make sure the name "Captain Hook" went down in legend.
"You were pointed out to me once.”
Ah, so she meant she knew him by sight. Interesting. He'd seen her before—more than once. He hadn't realized she'd seen him, too. And remembered him. His masculine pride swelled again, but he didn't give into it.
"I see. And what did you think?"
Her hesitation spoke volumes. "They said you were a black-hearted villain."
"Yes, I'm sure they did. But what about you? What did you think of me?"
Another endless pause. Finally, she spoke, barely a whisper. "I think I should call the guards."
"As you wish."
Then came the rustle of her skirts as she turned for the door.
"One question first, Your Highness, if you will indulge me."
When he finally turned to face her, she was waiting for him, her curiosity obviously piqued. "What is it?"
"Don't you ever tire of this?"
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
He waved his hook around the room. "It's all quite fine, this life you've got here—"
Color flared in her cheeks and her eyes widened. "My life is perfect."
"Is it? Really? Remarkable."
"Why should that be so remarkable? I'm a princess. I have everything I could ever want."
He hiked an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Everything?"
"I have a wonderful family. I have my son." She indicated her surroundings. "I want for nothing."
"Hmm. I suspect that's not quite true."
She took a few steps toward him, no longer anywhere near the door. "What are you implying?"
He took a few steps, too, closer to her, but circling around to the side, as if he had no intention of ever approaching her. "Why haven't you ever remarried?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He shrugged again, running his palm over a red and gold silk pillow on her little couch. It was luxuriously smooth against his rough fingertips. "It's been years, after all. Why no new prince?"
She dropped her eyes to the carpet and crossed her arms over her chest. "Not that it's any of your business, but I simply haven't wanted to. There's been no one worthy."
Now he did look at her, letting his gaze rake over her. "Now that I can agree with. No one is worthy of you."
Her eyes flew up to his and her lips parted as her breath left her in a gasp.
"How dare you—"
He'd reached her bedside table again and was sifting through the books there. "And while I agree, you live surrounded by luxury, it seems as if you might yearn for something more."
He could hear her drawing closer behind him, unable to help herself. "You presume to know a great deal about me."
Lifting one of the books, a large heavy book, bound in brown leather with the words Once Upon a Time picked out in gilt letters on the cover, he smiled at her over his shoulder. "Just a guess."
She reached out for one of the bedposts, wrapping her hands around it as she leaned against it. "I like to read about brave people on great adventures. That doesn't mean I'm unhappy."
"Are you happy, then?"
"Of course."
He turned to face her and she startled, since they were now just a few feet apart. "Satisfied?"
"I..." Trailing off, she swallowed, fingers clutching at the fabric swirling around her bed. "I don't—"
"Oh, but I think you do." Finally, he let himself advance on her, just one slow step at a time. She didn't move, eyes widening as she watched him draw nearer. He could smell her now, some heady scent of flowers and spice that made his mouth water.
"I think you dream of something different. Something more."
At that, she frowned, as if trying to remember something. "I dream..."
"Do you dream, Emma?" It was a risk, using her first name. It might snap her back to reality and make her realize she was slipping into an intimate situation with a strange pirate. But she was lost in her own memory, unaware that they were now only a foot apart. He could reach out and touch her, although he didn't.
"I do dream," she whispered. "I dreamed about another world, a very strange world. Everyone I love was there." Those green eyes snapped up to his, freezing him in place. "You were there."
A frisson of energy and awareness skittered down his spine. He wasn't expecting this. "I was in your dream?"
"I didn't realize it was you until now."
Slowly, he reached out to grasp the bedpost beside her, bringing himself even closer to her. "What was I doing in this dream?"
"I saved your life," she murmured. “I saved you from darkness.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Imagine this angelic princess, saving the life of a flea-bitten villainous pirate like him. "Is that so?"
She nodded, still half-lost in her remembered dream. "You were with me."
He braced the curve of his hook on the bedpost on her other side, caging her in. “Yes, I assumed so, since you were saving my life."
"No, you were... we were..."
Another jolt of electricity. She'd been dreaming of him? Like that? He'd been aware of her, thought about her, fantasized about her, for years. But she'd been aware of him, too?
Leaning in, until his face was just inches from hers, he whispered his next question. "In this dream, did I kiss you?"
She nodded slowly.
"Well, that's one dream I can make come true, Princess."
It was not what he expected. This was a seduction, something he understood quite well. Perhaps he didn't undertake as many as he led the world to believe, but he'd had his fair share. And yes, this interlude with the princess was a bit more intense, because he'd thought about her for years, sometimes bordering on obsession. But in the end, it was basic, simple. He was a man, she was a woman, and the physical exchange was something he was quite familiar with.
But something happened when he kissed Emma, something more that heat and an arousal that was about to drive him to distraction. Light flared behind his closed eyes, and his skin crackled with energy. The heat where his lips met hers was wholly new, enchanting, enthralling. He fell into the kiss, no longer in control of any of this. She fell into it, too, so fully that they were no longer Pirate and Princess, but simply a man and a woman who seemed to have been fashioned just for this moment.
When it ended, after a passage of time impossible to measure, he held her face in his hand, just inches from his own. His fingers, splayed across her cheek, bore the evidence of his hard life. Scars from swords and knives, skin shredded with rope burn, and browned from the sun. The contrast with her pale, soft cheek was alarming, almost obscene. How dare he touch her perfect loveliness? Except that it felt as if he'd been crafted to do only that, put on this earth just for this moment.
She'd confessed her secret to him, that she'd dreamed about him, and he felt as if he owed her the same.
"The first time I ever saw you," he began. "You were sixteen. You were on the balcony of this castle, with your parents as they presented you to the kingdom."
"You were there?"
He smirked. "Not as anyone knows me today. I was a mere Ensign Jones, sailing for the king's navy."
"The King?"
"A different king, in a different land. We'd put into port and were exploring the town, my...my brother and I. And there you were, in a pink dress with tiny yellow flowers just here." He drew a finger along the edge of her gown and she shivered. "As your father spoke, the sun came from behind the cloud and struck your hair." Absently, he brushed strands of it away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. "I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life."
"But you left?"
"Perhaps I wasn't yet a black-hearted pirate, but I was still just a lowly sailor, and you were a princess. So I left, and tried to forget I'd ever seen you."
He felt her hands curl into his shoulders, as if she meant to keep that youthful boy he'd been from leaving. But it was no good. He’d had a long, dark road ahead of him and there had been no place for her on it.
"Do you want to know the next time I saw you?"
"You saw me again?"
He nodded. "Two years later, on that same balcony. Life had taken a bit of a turn for me, and I was looking a bit more like I do today. We were passing through port, and the lads and I came ashore for a drink and stumbled into it…your wedding announcement."
"Oh."
He leaned forward and captured her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. "You looked so happy," he whispered between kisses. "Were you happy?"
"I felt happy that day," she answered, which wasn't the same thing, he noted, as actually being happy. "Prince Neal was a hero."
"Mmm a hero. But was he a hero in all ways?"
"I don't—"
Sliding his hand around the back of her neck—Gods, but her hair was so soft and silky—he angled her head to the side so he could drop a line of kisses down her neck. She trembled, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Never in my life have I envied a man more than I envied Prince Neal that day." He spoke into the curve of her shoulder, interspersing the words with open-mouthed kisses against her skin. Soft, soft, soft. As soft as he'd imagined, and she tasted sweet. His hand left her hair, sliding down to shape her waist, to stroke her side.
"I envied him not for his crown or his lands or his gold. Do you know why I envied him?"
"No, why?" Her words came out as a gasp.
"I envied him because that night, he'd take you to bed. His hands and mouth would know this glorious woman."
Something like a moan broke from her throat and she arched her body into his. His own body was clamoring for release, but he was determined to drag this out, to savor every delicious moment of it.
"And did he know you that night, Emma? Did his hands learn the shape of you like this?"
At that moment, his palm came up to cover her breast and she cried out.
"No!" She shook her head frantically. "It wasn't like this. It never was."
Gods, he couldn't bear it. That heroic idiot had never unlocked what lay beneath the surface of this amazing woman. And then he’d gone and gotten himself killed, leaving her here in this suspended animation for years, untouched and alone. What a waste. Well, it was time that oversight was rectified.
He swung her away from the bedpost and lowered her down to the bed, underneath his body. She pulled at him, dragging him over her and his mouth back to hers.
It was happening again, this dark slide into oblivion, just like the first time he'd kissed her. It was a little like drinking a knock-out potion, feeling something more powerful than you sweep aside your consciousness. But there was no drug at work here. Only Emma, and this mysterious force between them. Underneath her, his fingers began to tug at the laces of her dress while she pushed his leather coat back off his shoulders.
"It's you," she murmured, giving up on the coat and taking his face in her hands so she could kiss him again. "Now I know. I was waiting for you."
A sharp, sweet ache bloomed in his chest. This was why he'd never been able to forget her. A glimpse of a pretty girl on a balcony should not have haunted him his whole life, especially considering the life he'd led. But Emma was no ordinary woman, and what was happening to them was something he had no words for, something bigger than both of them.
Reaching down with his hook, he snagged the hem of her dress and began to slide her skirts up her legs. "Emma. I don't know what this is."
She cradled his jaw in her palm. "It's okay. I feel it, too."
The emotion rose up like a wave, threatening to drown him. He had no choice but to let it out. "I lo—"
A loud crack, a thunderous pounding and sound of wood splintering, cut him off. The door to her chamber burst inward and in an instant, they were on him, palace guards seizing him by the arms and hauling him backwards.
"Get off the princess, you wretched animal," one growled.
He saw a flash of Emma's bare legs, a flurry of skirts, and her frantic face as she scrambled upright.
"No, wait!" Her hands were outstretched to him as the guards hauled him across the room. Pain bloomed in the back of his head as he was flung down on the stone floor.
"Run the beast through!" one of the guards shouted. Looming over him, the other guard raised his sword and drew his arm back.
Oh, I'm sorry, Emma. I've just found you and now it's all over.
"Killian!" Emma's scream filled the room, as did a flash of blinding white light. In an instant, the guards were gone, thrown five feet away from him on either side. Carefully, he raised himself on one elbow. Emma was still hunched on the bed, hair tangled and unbound around her shoulders. Her hands were outstretched, palms up, still glowing faintly white.
"Good gods..." he murmured. Magic. Emma had magic.
"Killian," she said again.
Wait. He'd never told her his name. Not that name. "How did you—"
Another flash, this one purple, cut him off.
"Oh, thank God, it worked."
The Evil Queen was standing in the middle of the room, hands planted on her hips.
"Regina," Emma said, but she sounded different, older, worldly, and as if she and the Evil Queen went way back together.
She was scrambling off the bed, shaking her skirts out, as Hook clamored to his feet.
"What worked? What's going on?"
"You broke the spell," the Queen said, gesturing to Emma.
"What spell?"
"More like a wish gone wrong," Emma replied. "Do you have a way for us to get home?"
"I've got it covered. Let's go."
"Wait," Hook protested. "Emma, what spell? Where are you going? This is your home."
She crossed to him and reached for his face, holding it in her hands. "No, it's not. Sometimes I wished it had been, but I'm glad it wasn't. My life is so much better the way it is."
He swallowed hard, understanding her perfectly, even if this situation was still baffling. "Without me, you mean."
"Oh, no, you're there, too. A version of you, anyway. Although I have to admit, it was fun to be with this version of you again for a while. I've missed the leather." She tugged on the lapels of his coat, a look of naked lust in her eyes as her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “You were wearing this the first time we kissed.”
“I know. It was just—“
She shook her head. “No, not then. We’ve kissed before. A thousand times.”
Suddenly, Hook knew it was true. He didn’t know how, but he’d kissed this woman—more times than he could count. He knew her, inside and out. That’s why it had felt so different now. It wasn’t the first time. He’d been coming home.
“Love—“
"Emma." The Queen was tapping her foot with impatience. "There's a seriously nasty version of me stalking around Storybrooke and we have to get back there and put a stop to her."
"I have to go," Emma said. "I'll see you soon." She rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you," she murmured.
"You do?"
"Yeah. And you love me, too." She smiled, running a hand through the hair on the back of his neck. It felt familiar, like she’d touched him that way a hundred times before.
"I do. But how—"
"Just trust me. It'll all be fine. And that?" She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the bed, where just minutes ago he'd been taking off her dress. "We get really good at that. I wasn't exactly myself a little while ago, but what I said? About nobody being as good as you?"
He nodded. "Yeah?"
She pulled his head down so she could whisper in his ear. "Totally true."
Then, with a crack and a puff of smoke, Emma and the Evil Queen had vanished. The room was quiet, just the heavy breathing of the two guards Emma had incapacitated with... magic? Gods.
He crossed back to the bed, where just minutes ago, she'd lain under him, when he felt his entire world shifting on its axis. Ruffling his fingers through his hair, he turned and sat on the bed.
He didn't understand what had happened here, but he had faith in her. She said she'd see him again, and that she loved him. He chose to believe her. He had hope. Reaching for the book by her bed, he dragged it to him and flipped it open. The pages ruffled in a non-existent breeze, as if turned by an invisible hand. Hardly the strangest thing he'd witnessed in the past half hour. The pages settled, open to a tale he'd never heard before, and he began to read.
The Princess and the Pirate.