Chapter Text
The Jewel of the Realm cut swiftly across the sea. Aboard were the King, the Queen, their nineteen-year-old daughter, Emma, and a full crew. They were bound for the Northern Kingdom—a voyage that could take three months in calm waters, and significantly longer should the temperamental seas turn against them.
Emma’s parents had finally done the one thing they had long promised they never would: they had betrothed her to a prince from a neighboring land. The kingdom was desperate to mend ties with the Queen’s mother’s homeland, and it seemed the princess was the price they were willing to pay to secure the alliance.
Despite her royal status, Emma was far from the typical princess. Under her parents' instruction, she had mastered statecraft and the formalities required of a ruler, but her true education lay elsewhere. She could loose an arrow faster and more accurately than most veteran archers, and she could disarm the finest swordsmen in the realm. Yet, the expectations of her station remained; she was expected to possess all these lethal skills while still maintaining the grace to serve tea to important dignitaries.
Emma had no intention of becoming the delicate ornament her mother envisioned. She eschewed long skirts, tiaras, and slippers in favor of cream-colored leather breeches and a practical blue leather vest worn over a soft, delicate blouse. While she had no use for dresses, she still appreciated the finer things—though she drew the line at makeup. She wore her long blonde hair in a sturdy braid tossed over her shoulder, preferring the scent of her favorite perfume to the heavy, painted artifice of the court.
As Emma took in the salt air, her nanny, Johanna, approached with a look of stern disapproval. "Princess, are you really wearing pants? You have a trunk full of new gowns, and this is what you choose?" Johanna, who believed a princess should be in tiaras at all times, knew better than to expect total compliance from her charge, who possessed a stubborn streak as sharp as any blade.
Emma merely leaned over and pressed a kiss to the older woman’s cheek. "Johanna, it's a new world, new rules. I don’t mind dresses; I just don’t want to wear them all day."
Johanna sighed, taking a seat on the trunk beside her. "I don’t suppose I could interest you in a needlework lesson?" When Emma questioned the utility of such a skill, the nanny offered a pointed reminder: "I won’t be here forever, you know; then who’s going to darn your stockings or mend the breeches you shouldn’t be wearing?"
Emma smiled, her expression smug. "You will, because you’re going to live forever."
"Am I now? And how do you suppose that will happen?"
"Simple," Emma teased. "We’ll stage a mutiny to take over the ship and sail to Neverland. I’ve heard tales that you never grow old there."
Johanna let out a sharp laugh. "Ha! Mutiny. I’d like to see you try."
A tall, dark-haired man approached them, wearing the royal navy uniform: ivory linen breeches, a matching vest, a white shirt, and a navy jacket with a golden collar. Around his neck was a navy scarf, and his black hair was topped with a tri-cornered hat. He was strikingly handsome, with bright blue eyes and wind-kissed cheeks. Where his hair was dark, his face was shadowed by a dusting of auburn scruff. He was mouthwateringly handsome, but Emma had no intention of letting anyone know she thought so.
“Mutinies are frowned upon around here,” he said, his voice smooth. “The culprit is either hanged or set adrift in the middle of the ocean, left to hope they’re eaten by a shark or taken by mermaids before they die of hunger, thirst, or exposure.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound fun,” Emma declared.
“I imagine not.”
“We might let you live if you were to bless a sailor with a kiss. Kisses from pretty ladies are always worth more than gold to lonely sailors.” He took Johanna’s hand and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. She blushed and giggled.
He then turned to Emma, removed his hat, and bowed low. “Your Highness.” As he straightened and walked toward his captain, Emma noted the tiny ponytail tied at the nape of his neck with a navy ribbon.
“He’s mighty pretty,” Johanna stated unnecessarily.
“I guess. If you’re into that,” Emma muttered.
On the port side, three men were laughing as two others sparred. Emma narrowed her eyes; their footing was abysmal. She touched the scabbard on her hip and grinned.
“Your Highness, that would not be a good idea,” Johanna warned.
“True, but when do I ever have good ideas?” Emma walked over to watch as one man lost his sword. The victor took his obligatory, self-satisfied bows.
“Next!” the man bellowed before taking a swig from a flask hidden in his waistband. These sailors were dressed far more simply than the officer who had spoken to Johanna, wearing plain black jackets and caps with tassels.
Emma stepped into the circle. The men immediately bowed, but she waved a hand. “As you were.” They stood at attention. “I believe I’ll have a go at it.”
“Your Highness, I don't feel that it would be proper for me to fight you.”
“Proper, shmoper. Fight or flee. Your choice,” she said, drawing her sword.
“As you wish.” The sailor pulled his sword and tapped hers, clearly intending to humor the princess. As he turned to grin at his companions, Emma smashed the flat of her blade into the back of his knees. He buckled face-first. She stepped in, placing her foot firmly on his back.
“Never underestimate your opponent—or a princess. We’re not all about tea parties.” She held out a hand to help him up, squaring her legs so he couldn’t pull her down. When she didn’t budge despite his attempt to off-balance her, his eyes widened. “Smarter than I look,” she quipped.
He jumped to his feet, serious now. They circled, blades clashing, until Emma was crowned the champion.
Killian stepped close and offered a canteen of water. “Good form, Your Highness.”
“Call me Emma. We’re going to bump into each other often in the next few months, Lieutenant.”
“How did you know I was a lieutenant?”
“My parents had me schooled in military management. Among other things.” She refused to swoon at the devilish grin in his eyes.
“Sword fighting?”
“Yes.”
“What else did they teach you?”
“A lot.”
“I see. Well, you fight very well, Emma.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s see how well you really fight.” He raised his sword. They sparred, circling each other until he tripped and landed hard on his backside, his sword out of reach and hers at his throat.
“Bested by a girl,” she boasted—only to scream as she was suddenly shoved off balance and pinned to the deck by the sailor, who now held a knife from his boot to her throat. The crew hooted with laughter.
“I’m sure your father told you never to turn your back on your enemy.”
Emma seethed, embarrassed by her lapse. Killian stood and pulled her to her feet.
Queen Snow White approached, nodding at the officer as he bowed. She placed a hand on Emma’s elbow. “Come now, dear. You need to dress for dinner. Lieutenant, please inform the chef that we will dine in our cabin tonight. I feel Emma has had enough sun and wind.”
“Yes, at once, Your Majesty.”
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was stifling. "What were you thinking? You are a princess, not a deckhand. Tomorrow, you will spend the day with Johanna and me. You need a refresher on how to be a lady. I’ve informed Johanna you are not to leave your cabin without a corset."
Emma rolled her eyes the moment her mother turned away. She went to the captain’s cabin, her home for the voyage. Inside, a green evening gown lay on the bed next to the dreaded corset. She groaned as she stripped, brushing her blonde curls. When Johanna arrived to help, she dabbed perfume on Emma’s collarbone and wrists. Walking to the bureau in her bare feet, Emma chose her favorite accessory: a black velvet choker with a pearl swan.
“Why must I dress like this just to go to dinner with my parents?” Emma complained.
“Because you are a princess, and you should always be proper.”
“I despise corsets.”
“Don’t we all?” Johanna responded.
Dinner was a tense affair, with David arguing for Emma’s autonomy while Snow remained firm. As soon as the meal ended, Emma slipped away, bypassing her room to scramble back onto the deck. The night air was cool and restorative.
“Feeling queasy?” Killian asked, coming to her side.
“No. I just wanted some air.”
She turned to find him staring at her. She knew she looked good—the corset was the only part of the ordeal she didn't mind. He leaned in, flicking a finger over the swan on her choker.
“It’s a swan.”
“Yes, a gift from my father. My prized possession.”
Killian took a moment to appreciate the picture she made. The gown pushed her chest up, her waist was cinched, and she had used subtle makeup to make her green eyes pop.
“You look lovely, Emma.”
“Thank you. My mother forced me to act like a lady.”
“And this causes you pain?”
“You try being squeezed into a whalebone corset and stockings…” She trailed off as his cheeks tinted red to the tips of his ears. She found it adorable. “I’d much rather be in breeches and sailing the world. I want to see a million lands. You are very lucky.”
“Am I?”
“You get to travel all over. Meanwhile, I am confined to my cabin because I didn’t act lady-like enough.”
“I hope the cabin suits you. My brother and I are bunking together—he snores something awful—so I took the first shift.” He winked.
Emma tilted her head. “Which one is your brother?”
“The captain, Liam Jones. I’m Killian.”
“Nice to meet you officially, Lieutenant Jones.”
“Please, call me Killian.”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “Killian.”
“Do you read?”
“Of course. I can read, write, and speak six languages.”
“Impressive, but I mean—do you like to read?”
“Oh. Sorry. I’ve been to one prince’s ball after another, full of pompous little boys who think princesses are dumb porcelain dolls.”
“I bet it’s a riot when you show them you’re intelligent as well as beautiful.”
“It is. I do like to read.”
“What is your favorite?”
“Adventure stories.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“The third shelf closest to the door, the sixth book over from the window, green leather. It’s a collection of travels.”
“A favorite of yours?”
“You could say that.”
“Thank you for the recommendation.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Good night, Swan.”
Once in her cabin, Emma leaned against the door, her heart racing as she touched the spot on her hand where his lips had met her skin. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Drawn to the bookcase, she retrieved the book and began to read, immediately losing herself in the sailor's vivid account of ice-covered seas.