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mindmeltonabun-blog · 4 years

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Tale of the Nine Tailed: Analysis and Theories of Ep 8

Welcome to another edition of Mind Melt On A Bun’s analysis and theories of TOTNT. I hope you all will enjoy this post, but fair warning it’s once again another VERY LONG POST! So if you want to turn on your thinking cap and face the risk of your brain blowing up into a million pieces then feel free to keep reading!

Snail Bride and Her Husband

Ureongi gaksi (우렁이 각시) or Snail Bride is a Korean legend which tells about a poor farmer who breaks a taboo and marries a woman who is actually a snail. One day while working in the rice paddy field, the farmer says to himself, “Who will I eat this rice with?”. To which a voice replied, “With me.”. Having heard this voice, the man turned around to see who it was, but only saw a snail. After having heard that, the man found that each day after returning home from work, a meal was always prepared for him.

The farmer was curious of who had been preparing his meal. So one day he pretended to go to work in order to catch a sight of whoever it was that had been preparing his meal. To his surprise, he had seen a beautiful woman emerging from the snail shell. Having been blown away by her beauty, he immediately asked her to live with him instead of returning to the snail shell. However, the woman told him it was not time yet and to be patient. Being the persistent man that he was, he eventually got the Snail to marry him.

The farmer became plagued with the fear that his beautiful Snail Bride might one day be taken away from him so he instructed her to never leave the house. The Snail Bride listened to her husband and did as she was told until one day when her mother-in-law told the Snail Bride to go and deliver lunch to the farmer. And so, the Snail bride did as she was told. However, along the way, the Magistrate who was enamoured by her beauty decided to kidnap her and make her his bride. Despite the farmer’s many efforts, he never found his Snail Bride and ended up dying of a broken heart and being reborn as a blue bird. Tragic I know !!!

Anyways, when applying this story to TOTNT, you will find that Ji Ah’s boss had shared many similar characteristics to the farmer from the Snail Bride myth such as persistency. Other clues that supports the ideal that Ji Ah’s boss is the farmer can be seen in the conversation between Green Juice Lady. The first clue is his fear of flying. This could be seen as a side effect of him being reborn in a previous life as a blue bird. I bet if Ji Ah used those Eyebrows of a Tiger Glasses, she would see him as a bird blue.

The second clue was in what the Green Juice Lady said, “ What are you doing here?”. I interpreted this as her knowing him in the past as well as her not expecting to see the farmer’s reincarnated self in the same vicinity as the Snail Bride.

Green Juice Lady Origin

In Korean mythology, there is a creature by the name of “Dueoksini/Dokeoksini” (두억시니는 ) that kills you by crushing your head (figuratively or literally). In Korean mythology, this creature is seen as an in between of a dokkaebi/goblin and a yokai. Because Dueoksinis have been mostly been forgotten throughout Korean literature, they are usually refer to as being a type of Korean Yokai.

Or the way I like to view the Green Juice Lady is that she's basically Pennywise, Freddy Krueger, and the Boggart rolled into one. After all its like Frank Hebert once wrote in Dune: “Fear is the mind killer”.

Taluipa

In TOTNT, the character Taluipa is seen as being the goddess of birth and fate, Sansin Halmoni. Besides having the ability of controlling birth and fate, Taluipa also can also foresee the future as well as grant immortality (i.e her husband). Given all of this, it is likely that her child, Bok Gil, would’ve had some pretty powerful abilities because he came from such a superior mother.

Now not much is known about Taluipa’s son other than he had committed suicide. Furthermore, the act of suicide was seen as a such a bad taboo that ensured he could never be reborn/reincarnated. In the context of TOTNT, it is inferred that even if you sacrifice yourself for the one you love, it is still considered suicide.

Lee Yeon’s Original Plan For the Imoogi

I think originally Lee Yeon had planned to take the Imoogi into himself and subsequently kill himself. However, when faced with the possibility that this would mean Lee Yeon could not be reincarnated, Ah Eum decided it was better that Lee Yeon killed her because at least she could be reincarnated.

Now you may think that well if Ah Eum sacrificed herself for the one she loves, isn’t that contradictory to what I said earlier about how sacrificing yourself for the one you love is still considered suicide and thus meant you couldn’t be reborn? It really doesn’t and here’s why. Remember that at this time, Ah Eum already had the Imoogi inside of her so her death by Lee Yeon’s hands were not seen as a sacrificial suicide. Rather, it was seen as him killing a greater evil and preventing the deaths of hundreds. Thus, this meant that Ah Eum could be reincarnated. Had Ah Eum ran into Lee Yeon’s knife or stabbed herself in the temporary moment she gain back control of her body, then that would’ve been seen as sacrificial suicide.

If both Lee Yeon and Ah Eum were able to find a loop hole at the very last minute that ensured Ah Eum’s reincarnation, I am sure that this time around Lee Yeon will be able to find a better loop hole given that he has had more time to than previously as well as learning from his past mistakes as it pertains to the Imoogi. I largely believe that this loop hole will have something to do with the favor Lee Yeon had asked of Taluipa’s husband. Maybe the favor Lee Yeon is asking Taluipa’s husband for is the elixir of life that is located in the Underworld (Hint: read my posts about Princess Bari). I think that Lee Yeon will want it just in case either him or Ji Ah dies in their battle against the Imoogi. Such an elixir could revive them!

Taluipa’s Son/Bok Gil = The Imoogi

As previously mentioned, I had theorized that Taluipa’s son, Bok Gil, must have been one hell of a powerful being given that his mom was a powerful Goddess herself. As to what those abilities could have been, it is still a mystery. However, I feel like his powers would’ve been connected the ones Taluipa had (i.e birth, fate, and ability to see what others cannot see). Again, not much was mentioned about him other than he committed suicide and that his name was Bok Gil.

Now let’s look at the Imoogi, we know that he has the power of life (bringing the bird back to life), death (sucking the life out of his nannies), and rebirth (being reborn as that boy).

By the way, I think it’s interesting that the cycle of life, death, and rebirth is represented as an “Ouroboros” or a snake eating its tail. Coincidence? I think not.

Anyways back to what else we know about the Imoogi. We know that he was born in a leap year as well as being born in a place between the living and dead (btw Lee Yeon was born in 420AD also a leap year..possible connection somehow?). The Imoogi could also see what others don’t see such as your soul and your deepest emotions.

If you think about it, when Bok Gil committed suicide, his soul/body was neither in the land of the living nor the dead. He was in between those two realms or in limbo. Connecting this to the fact that the Imoogi said he was born in a place between the living and dead, there is a significant possibility that Bok Gil is indeed the Imoogi. Furthermore, if you look at the kinds of power the Imoogi has and the powers that Taluipa has, you will find that they are strangely similar or related. If that doesn’t convince you enough then just compare the voice of Bok Gil to that of the Imoogi!

Imoogi and Lee Yeon

Initially, I had thought the Imoogi had wanted Lee Yeon for his fox bead (a kind of Yeouiju) so that it could become a dragon, but now I am beginning to think there’s more to the story than just Lee Yeon’s bead. If indeed Bok Gil is the Imoogi then I am left to wonder what kind of relationship did Lee Yeon have with Bok Gil before he died. Furthermore, could Lee Yeon have been part of the reason why Bok Gil committed suicide in the first place? If Lee Yeon had been part of the reason why Bok Gil committed suicide, then I can totally understand why Bok Gil/Imoogi would want to try to exact his revenge and/or anger on Lee Yeon. Maybe Bok Gil was jealous of Lee Yeon for getting more attention from his own parents than he was or maybe Lee Yeon got the girl he was interested in or maybe Lee Yeon was really mean and had bullied him or maybe the person who Bok Gil had died for (aka a loved) was somehow connected to Lee Yeon. I don’t know, I’m just purely theorizing and for all we know all the Imoogi wants is just Lee Yeon’s fox bead so that it can become a dragon.

Black and White Imagery

Other things I found interesting is the usage of black and white in Ep 8. For example, the shirts Lee Rang and Lee Yeon wears, the colors of the stones of the “Go Game”, and the cars in the background of the parking lot Lee Yeon was in.

Typically, the color combination of black and white represents Yin/Yang, Good/Evil, and Life/Death. In either cases, the concept is the same. Both represent the concept of dualism or the ideal that everything is interdependent, interconnected, and interrelated. Meaning you can’t have Yin without Yang, Good without Evil, and Life without Death. Or in the case of Lee Yeon standing in between the two cars and the two doors, both Lee Rang and Ah Eum/Ji Ah’s lives and fate were interdependent, interconnected, and interrelated to that of Lee Yeon’s.

Episode 9 Predictions

Lee Yeon will get Lee Rang out of the Forest of the Preta and Lee Rang will realize that his brother never really abandoned him in the first place. Additionally, their time in the Forest of the Preta is like a blessing in disguise because it helped both brothers to resolve the misunderstanding that occurred 600 years ago.

Now with Ji Ah, I think she will overcome her fear of the car accident. However I think she will be faced with another fear of hers which is seeing Lee Yeon die. I think she will overcome this too, but the Green Juice Lady will pull out one last trick out of the bag. Instead of making Ji Ah relieve some of her worst nightmares, she will make Ji Ah live in a world where all her dreams have come true such as having her parents back and Lee Yeon by her side. The Green Juice Lady will do this as a way to make sure that Ji Ah would never want to leave. After all, why leave a world where all your dreams come true right? Plus, Ji Ah’s mentality will become weaker because she will start to believe that the dream world she is living in is a reality. Therefore, in order to win against the Green Juice Lady, one must have a strong mind that is not killed by fear nor weaken by fantastical delusions.

This kind of reminds of the creature, “Black Mercy”, from Super Girl. Briefly, “Black Mercy” is alien parasite that makes its host dream their perfect fantasy world while it feeds off of them. The only way for the host to get the “Black Mercy” to detach itself is for the host to realize that the fantasy world they are living in is not real. So for Ji Ah, maybe she would have to do the same on her own or it would take Lee Yeon coming into her dreamworld in order for her to realize this.

Last Remarks

For all of those who are still left confused as to why Lee Yeon chose to save Lee Rang first, you can check it out here:

https://mindmeltonabun-blog.tumblr.com/post/633271037441818624/tale-of-the-nine-tailed-ep-7-thoughts-and

And if you’re too lazy to click/read all of that post, I’ll put it simply here:

In the past, Lee Yeon chose to go after Ah Eum first instead of saving Lee Rang from the villagers burning down the mountain. So this time around Lee Yeon did not want to make the same mistake twice and also Lee Yeon wanted to atone for his past mistakes. Plus, Lee Yeon knew that between Lee Rang and Ji Ah, Lee Rang had the weaker mentality so he would need more saving than Ji Ah would.

Happy Readings! I need a drink now after writing all of this !

157 notes · View notes

alexandralyman · 6 years

Note

Could you make a one shot/short story that’s sort of a prequel to Gloriana? Like how killian and Emma became close and what happened that night at Hatfield house?

Gloriana - my Tudor Court AU with Emma as Elizabeth I and Killian as a mix of Robert Dudley and Francis Drake - was one of those fics that I did intend to continue but time just got away from me, and it did work as a one shot so I left it as it was. But I had started writing a second part forever ago and when I got this message I pulled up the file, reread it and my inner history nerd came out again and….

….7,000 words later, here is Part 2. I always envisioned this as a non-linear story anyway, so there’s two flashback scenes plus a scene that takes place after the events of part 1 and I’ve included the night at Hatfield referenced in this line, “She hadn’t been a virgin since that night at Hatfield House lo those many years ago, when Killian had taken her to his bed and made her a woman in his arms, ruining her for any other man from that day forward.”

(so yeah, it’s rated M - hope you like it, Nonnie!)Part 1 is here on Tumblr and the fic is posted on ff.net hereGloriana - Part 2Hampton Court PalaceSome Time Ago

“I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my lord.”

“We have not, but I’m afraid I must correct you, Your Highness, as I am not a lord.”

“And I must correct you, good sir, as I am simply Lady Emma and in my sister’s court it is a foolish mistake to call me Highness.”

The tall man with bright blue eyes that reminded Emma of the sea leaned down slightly in a graceful hint of a bow and lowered his voice so that it carried only to her ears, “I assure you I am no fool, Your Highness. My name is Killian Jones, and I have come to court to swear my service solely to the Princess Emma, lawful daughter of the great King David and true heiress to the throne of England.”

Across the room Philip of Spain bowed somewhat stiffly to Emma’s half sister Mary, daughter of her late father David and his first wife, the repudiated Kathryn. The whole of the court was there to celebrate their marriage, including Emma, the rather inconvenient heiress presumptive who Mary could hardly bear the sight of at times but couldn’t quite ignore completely. The courtiers tended to follow their queen’s lead and few were brave enough to be seen conversing openly with Mary Blanchard’s daughter. Queen Mary’s memory was long and her hatred of the dark haired siren of a woman who had drawn her father away from Kathryn had never abated over the years, frequently spilling over to the only child of the passionate union between king and commoner.

“Watch your tongue, Master Jones. You very nearly speak of treason,” Emma warned in a hiss, back straight and gaze darting from side to side to reassure herself that no one had overheard. She might have been standing alone amid the wedding revels before the stranger approached her, but she was not so foolish as to believe that she was unseen. Spies were rife at the English court, as Spain, France and Scotland all vied for European supremacy and England was the board on which the pieces moved. Bishops, knights, kings, and a little white pawn with faint hope of being queened.

The man smiled, clearly unconcerned. “I merely speak the truth. Spain might be England’s bedfellow for a time, but planting seeds in a fallow field is no guarantee of a fruitful harvest.”

Emma was faintly shocked by his daring, both for speaking to her at all and for the rather crude reference to her sister’s marriage bed. But there was no denying that Mary was of an age where the prospect of children was far from assured, even with a virile younger husband like Philip and every restored Catholic priest in England praying desperately for their very devout queen to get with child. The petty, spiteful part of Emma had chosen to dress in a manner that flattered her own youth and bore the unmistakable hallmarks of her split bloodline for the festivities, golden hair inherited from her father just peeking out from under the curved velvet band of her French hood, whilst Mary’s graying locks were concealed completely in an attempt to camouflage the age difference between her and Philip. The queen’s gown was splendid, sewn all over with gems, slashed and puffed as a peacock, and in contrast Emma’s unfashionably plain dress was as spare and demure as a nun’s habit save for the wide Blanchard sleeves that unfolded so prettily and touched the floor when she’d curtsied to her frowning sister and new, speculative-eyed brother before retiring to her place in the shadows to watch and wait by herself for the tides to turn.

Only now she no longer waited alone.

She glanced at the man who stood boldly at her side while the rest of the court spurned her, a handsome figure in his black doublet, dark-haired, sharp jawed and an even sharper wit that was not unwelcome as he made several more cutting remarks towards the Spanish delegation. Emma was used to her solitude, it was as familiar as a lover to her, and she’d survived this long on her own, but she wondered with a sudden burst of wistfulness if she would ever be allowed to wed. Not so long as the queen remained childless, Emma knew, her claim on her sister’s throne was dangerous enough as it was, let alone if she bore a son before Mary did. Besides, marriage was a shackle that would bind her to the whims of a man as England was now bound to serve Spanish interests and her mother had been bound to her father until his professed True Love turned to something so dark and ugly in the end.

“I’ve vexed you.”

Killian Jones’s handsome smile turned to a frown as his eyes searched her face and his obvious concern pierced her disquiet. Her unringed hand found his sleeve, uncaring who saw the Lady Emma conversing so closely with a man of unknown loyalties, a Scottish spy sent to court by Cora de Guise perhaps, or a Protestant rebel looking to roust the Spanish delegation from English soil. She had the sense that he was neither, seeking not her secrets to sell nor a figurehead for his cause, and his offer to join her service was intriguing. If….when…the time came that the crown should need a new brow upon which to rest, she would need able men to help hold it steady, as a woman without a husband to wear it for her.

“No, milord, you have not.”

“Not a lord,” he reminded her with a saucy wink that made her colour as no nobleman ever had, “As you are not a queen, my Lady Emma.”

His lips just brushed the shell of her ear, whiskered cheek touching hers for the briefest of moments and Emma felt a flutter low in her belly under the stomacher of her gown at both the heat from his body and the promise in the single word he spoke.

“Yet.”

Several Years Later

“Your Majesty?”

Queen Emma didn’t turn around, standing at the window of the small audience chamber and looking down into the courtyard below. Ladies walked arm-in-arm in their bright gowns, followed by more soberly clad servants who carried shawls and baskets of necessities. Courtiers stood in small groups, their swords at their hips and their heads bent close in discussion. There was a clear divide, between the old guard of Catholic families who still retained a few drops of royal Plantagenet blood despite her father and her grandfather’s best efforts to stamp it out, and those risen to new estates and titles as rewards for supporting the young Nolan dynasty and its even younger Church.

She had such a reward to grant now to one who had always supported her since the day they met.

“Your Majesty we really must discuss this further.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” she replied in a crisp voice, tapping a long oval nail against one of the diamond-shaped window panes, “I shall make the formal announcement tonight.”

“But….Lord High Admiral? You are really going to appoint Captain Jones to such an exalted position?”

“After the success of his voyage he has more than proved himself able to hold the post.”

“No commoner has ever been named-“

“Which is why,” she interrupted, “I will also be conferring upon him the title of Earl of Misthaven.”

Silence reigned for a long moment before Sir Archibald Hopper, Secretary of State and longtime advisor to the queen, let out a heavy sigh at the news and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The Spanish Ambassador will not be pleased by that.”

Emma smiled, idly tracing patterns on the glass that bore more than a passing resemblance to the letters K and E. “Nothing pleases the Spanish Ambassador, and nothing ever will so long as I remain so inconveniently alive and in his master’s way. Ever since I refused Philip’s generous marriage proposal when my sister had scarcely grown cold in her tomb and denied him a second chance at England’s throne I have suffered much Spanish displeasure. You’d think the presence of his new French bride at his court would console him more, they do say Aurora de Valois is quite the beauty.”

“It won’t only be Spain, there are members of the council who will also object to this appointment. The Duke of Norfolk has been angling for his own candidate for several months now.”

She turned at that and arched a scornful brow, “While he corresponds behind my back with the Queen of Scots. His Grace is angling for much more than another royal appointment for his household, he is seeking a crown. But when he finally proposes marriage to Regina Stuart without my permission then he will either cool his heels in the Tower or join her in Edinburgh as an outlaw while I take his lands and title as forfeit. He can marry her as plain Robert Locksley and try to rule the Scottish chieftains if he is so inclined, but he will keep his greedy hands off my scepter.”

Her voice rose in anger and a lesser man would have backed down in the face of her obvious displeasure, but Hopper, her Conscience, as she called him, was made of sterner stuff and looked his queen right in the eye. “They say that Captain Jones also has his eyes on a crown, Your Majesty. You can name him Lord High Admiral and raise him to the peerage if you wish, but you must know that you can not marry a man of common birth.”

“Why is everyone in England so obsessed with the notion of marriage?” she snapped, two spots of colour appearing high in her pale cheeks, “I have no intention of marrying Captain Jones, Lord Hopper, nor any man, be he prince or peasant.”

“You can’t continue to hold all of Europe at bay without a husband and an heir to succeed you,” Hopper explained patiently, and not for the first time, “You have your choice of any unmarried noble from your court or the younger sons of all the royal houses, France, Sweden, Savoy, but eventually you must choose.”

The queen swept from the window, worrying at the gold coronation ring on her finger. “Have the letters patent drawn up. Killian Jones will be named Earl of Misthaven and Lord High Admiral of the English fleet. I trust you can handle any objections from the Council, and perhaps lay aside some smelling salts for when the news reaches the Spanish Ambassador.”

“Who is Killian Jones to you, Your Majesty?”

Hopper’s voice stopped her before she reached the door. The royal back went straight and silence reigned again for so long that he was sure she wasn’t going to answer. But at last she looked over her shoulder and regarded him where he sat on a low stool. Few were afforded the great privilege of sitting while the queen stood, only Hopper, Mistress Ruby Lucas, and one other who only ever exercised that right in private, never in public.

“He was a friend at a time when I had precious few and each was more valuable to me than any jewel. For his continued loyalty he has earned his reward, as I reward all who serve me and only me, yourself included, Sir Archibald. My family name is Nolan, for once we had had no land of our own and only the slimmest of claims to the throne. But now I am queen and I am England, and England has many enemies, some of whom dwell in this very court like snakes hiding in the grass. I need men like Captain Jones at my side to help flush them out and keep them from striking.”

The queen left Sir Archibald Hopper alone in the empty room, where he shook his head sadly and murmured to himself, “Killian Jones may walk behind you and sun himself in your glory, Emma Nolan, but he can never truly stand at your side.”

In a court where gossip was a currency more valued than coin the news surprisingly did not leak in the hours between the meeting of the Privy Council and the start of the banquet, another celebration thrown by the queen in honour of Captain Jones and the success of his voyage. The privateer was dressed all in black as was his custom and the queen had opted to don a new gown of white silk embroidered with thousands of pearls. Ropes of them also hung about her slender neck and fell from her ears, and it did not escape notice among the assembly that she had chosen to adorn herself so lavishly with gems from the sea. They all watched as she made her entry into the hall, framed between the carved oak doors that stood fifteen feet high on either side of her. Skirts rustled as the ladies curtsied to their queen, dipping down low when she passed with eyes demurely lowered to the floor. Emma walked straight to Killian, seeing nothing but him, the rest of the court was nothing but a smudge on the glass, unimportant and beneath her notice. Sir Archibald was her Conscience, her guide through the tricky and treacherous world of ambitious men and duplicitous women that she ruled, Mistress Ruby Lucas was Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, keeper of her deepest, darkest secrets and immune to any form of bribery or threats, while Killian Jones was bestowed with a secret title, one spoken only in stolen moments and known to only the two of them.

He was Emma’s Heart.

Not the queen’s.

Emma’s.

The sword at his hip was ornamental, a blunted blade beneath a silver guard and a pommel shaped like the neck of a swan, curved to fit his hand and adorned with emerald eyes that matched the gems in the necklace he had gifted her (and had, in fact, been chipped from one of the stones). A gasp went through the crowd when the queen unsheathed it with her own hand, reaching around his waist to do so in a gesture of breathtaking intimacy between Sovereign and subject. The Duke of Norfolk let out a strangled noise in the back of his throat while the Spanish Ambassador swore violently in his head, both realizing what was about to happen a minute too late.

“Captain Killian Jones, I confer upon thou as our most able subject for the post, the office of Lord High Admiral of the English fleet, to protect and defend the realm from those who would seek to do us and our kingdom such grievous harm.”

Killian had knelt obediently at Emma’s feet when she drew his sword, face betraying none of the smug satisfaction he felt. He’d known she would grant him this after the great success of his voyage, making the bitter years of separation sweet at last with his victory over all who’d sneered at his common name and scorned his prowess on the sea. No one would protect England as he would, for Emma was England personified, and he would protect her and defend her, until his dying breath. But her next proclamation caught even him off guard.

“I also name thee Earl of Misthaven.”

The flat of the blade lifted from his shoulder and caught the candlelight, flashing bright and seeming to ripple along the metal like a stone dropped in a still pool. So too did a ripple run through the crowd, as the implications of their queen’s decree sank in just as quickly. Emma Nolan had raised a commoner to the peerage, a dark-haired, French-educated commoner who groped for her free hand and kissed the back of it, head bent reverently over her slim wrist. David Nolan had done the same for Mary Blanchard once upon a time, the dark-haired, French-educated commoner he had loved so ardently.

And everyone knew how that story had ended.

“My Queen.”

The new earl looked up at his queen, seeing a smile playing at the edge of her vermillion lips. The memory tugged at the back of his mind, of another night, in another court, where he’d first paid his homage to a bastard daughter with barely a farthing to his name as a marriage was celebrated around them. Now she was the Sovereign, her inheritance firmly secured by nothing but her own skill and cunning, and he was a nobleman, one of the wealthiest in the entire country thanks to her royal patronage.

“My Lord.”

Emma swept back a lock of black hair from his forehead with a lingering touch, her expression tender and unguarded as she looked down at him and the court watched with bated breath. The Spanish Ambassador would write in his next dispatch that the English Queen “is clearly following in the footsteps of her father with the commoner Jones, now Earl of Misthaven, her close companion since his return from sea, and allows him to take unprecedented liberties with her person while he makes love openly to the queen with his increasingly lavish gifts and insincere flattery and is even said to be planning a marriage proposal” while Regina of Scotland sent a coded letter to the Duke of Norfolk upon hearing the news in Edinburgh and asked “Dearest Robin” if it was really true that “the illegitimate Blanchard bitch traded yearning looks and doey eyes with Captain Whoreson, a perfectly matched pair in their pretentions, as the self-styled Saviour of England has exalted a man of no name or family out from under her skirts” but no one openly challenged the queen’s decree and they all gave way to the couple when the earl rose to his feet and led the queen to the raised dais at the end of the hall where she gave the order to begin the feast.

“Will you come to me again tonight?”

His blue eyes were dark and imploring, the sea upon which she’d gladly drown. Emma rubbed a finger over one of the pearls sewn onto her skirt and gave an imperceptible shake of her head, speaking behind her goblet of wine.

“It’s too risky. The eyes of the entire court turn to you tonight, Lord Misthaven, and there is not shadow enough at Whitehall now to shield us from their scrutiny. Though you would not lack for feminine companionship in your chambers if you so wish it.”

“I wish only for you.”

The ladies of the court held no allure, and though he was a man of healthy appetites and knew he could easily charm his way into almost any bed he wished with his dashing countenance and new title, the Earl of Misthaven had his sights set on one only.

“Spain is watching us, as is Scotland through Norfolk’s eyes,” the queen cautioned, her own gaze finding the sour-faced ambassador and her scowling cousin Robert Locksley across the room. No one was close enough to overhear, but both men had other ears planted in the queen’s household, listening intently for any hint of scandal, and the most scandalous thing about the unmarried queen was her close relationship with her new, equally unmarried Lord High Admiral.

“If there is not shadow enough at Whitehall, my ship is docked at Portsmouth, and we could be there by the morrow on a fast steed. Say the word, Emma.”

A look passed between them that did not go unnoticed, a memory shared not by queen and earl, but by the woman under the silk gown and the man behind the moniker.

“It’s too late for that now, Killian.”

The pearl came free from the silver thread and was pressed into his palm in lieu of what she could not grant him tonight, her fingers closing his around it and lingering for a brief moment before the queen abruptly stood and everyone around who was seated scrambled madly to their feet. Mistress Ruby Lucas remained where she was in her chair, exercising the privilege granted to her by her royal charge until the queen passed the gaping courtiers and she finally rose to fall in step behind her, her scarlet gown like a trail of blood following the pristine white. In public Captain Jones always stood when the queen did, and he shifted his weight to one foot and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword with the pearl clutched tight in the other as he watched her walk away from him and his offer for the second time in his life.

“Congratulations, my lord Misthaven.”

He accepted Sir Archibald Hopper’s loud acknowledgement of his new status with a stiff nod, while several nobleman traded black looks and low conversations arose up and down the hall as alliances shifted like the sands to accommodate this latest development. He expected several to darken his door over the next few days with their proposals, to place younger sons in his service and even perhaps to attempt to arrange a marriage and see a daughter or a niece made a new countess at his side.

“Her Majesty was adamant that there was no one else who could fulfill the role and that any dissenting opinion would not be tolerated.”

That mollified Killian slightly and he flashed a smile that sent several of the young and not so young ladies standing nearby into a blushing tizzy. “I’m a hell of a captain.”

Hopper’s face was placid and his tone was light, but there was no mistaking the warning when he spoke to the man his queen had chosen if not as consort, then as something as unprecedented as her own unlikeliest of ascensions.

“Good. Because the storm is brewing on the horizon, and when it hits, all of England will feel the consequences of these decisions. Especially the queen.”

Emma had made her choice long ago, on a night when her path forked and a vow was sworn in blood. It had stained the sheets between them, the spilled drops a dark crimson circle on the pale linens like the red petals that ringed the white of the Nolan rose. The emblem of the royal house to which she would always truly belong to more than any man was inescapable, even during those few, secret hours when she was oh so fleetingly his.

He answered the Secretary of State not in the manner of a courtier, elegant and refined and as flexible as the wind, ready to twist and turn and follow whichever way it was blowing. Earl of Misthaven and Lord High Admiral of the English fleet he might be, Killian Jones was, at heart, a cunning pirate who’d sailed through his share of storms even before he was the queen’s privateer and it was that man who replied as he would on the docks, with a dip of his chin and a single, clipped, “Aye.”

HertfordshireLast Months of Queen Mary’s Reign

The lone rider urged his large black horse to a gallop along the winding roads and lush green fields of the countryside far from the capital, cloak flying out behind him and hat pulled down low on his head, raising a great cloud of dust beneath the sharp hooves that pounded unrelentlessly mile after mile as his own heart pounded madly against his ribs.

Not from the exertion of the strenuous ride.

From fear.

His gloved hands were cramped tight around the reins and only loosened a fraction when the squat rise of Hatfield House finally came into view, the low sloping roof stark against the rapidly setting sun that plucked fire from the red brick and leaded windows of the large country estate. In London the heretics burned at Smithfield and the sky above the city was black with the smoke for days on end, it drifted as far south as the docks at Portsmouth and carried the ash of the condemned souls away on the wind while the ships in the harbour still limply flew both English and Spanish flags in honour of the disastrous marriage pact between their half-Spanish queen and Spain’s king.

Captain Killian Jones served neither queen nor king, having sworn himself to another whose swan badge he wore in secret, close to his heart. He alighted from the saddle and left his lathered horse in the care of a white-faced groom before entering the house, scarcely stopping to knock the dust from his boots in his haste. Mistress Ruby Lucas met him inside the Great Hall as if she’d been expecting him, answering his half-entreaty, half-command of, “I need to speak with Her Highness. Now.” with a thin-lipped nod, not questioning the reason for such urgency.

“This way, Captain.”

There was hardly a servant to be seen about in the corridors or in the rooms glimpsed through open doors as Killian followed Mistress Lucas deeper into the house where Princess Emma had spent much of her uncertain childhood and remained her principal and favoured residence after the deaths of both her father and brother, an inheritance that went unchallenged by her sister to keep her away from London. Normally bustling with activity as the quasi-royal household of the heiress to the throne and shadow court to Mary’s, Hatfield House was strangely shuttered and still now, quiet as a tomb with only the faint retort of his own footfalls echoing along the long gallery. There were no squires cooling their heels and waiting for an audience, no messengers taking a mouthful of wine after delivering a letter, and Killian thought scornfully of rats deserting a sinking ship, as news must have spread that the Lady Emma had lost what little remained of her sister’s favour and the hangers-on had all fled lest they go down with her as well.

But not Killian Jones. He had made straight for Hatfield when his own man had sent the word.

It was at Hatfield where Emma had personally supplied Killian with the funds that went straight to his small ship, allowing him to purchase the foodstuffs needed for longer, more profitable journeys than he was currently able to undertake and speculate on cargos with no ready buyers to front the cost. It was at Hatfield where he’d brought her back the fruits of his voyages, spools of Brussels lace and costly Venetian glass, watching her face light up at both the gifts and at his safe return from sea and telling her tales by the fire of the lands he had visited as the wine flowed and the hours slipped by without notice or care.

It was at Hatfield where he had fallen hopelessly, utterly, wholeheartedly, in love with the girl who should be queen.

Mistress Lucas ushered him into a chamber and she was seated in a chair by the window, sitting straight-backed and staring at nothing. He hair was loose, a spill of gold down her back with no modest hood to conceal it, while she was garbed in a robe that was hardly suitable for receiving an unrelated man, though it was heavy and fur-trimmed against the chill it was low-necked and revealed the white swell of her bosom and the slim column of her throat, slender and delicate, as her mother’s was said to have been. Her former governess withdrew with a curtsey and closed the door behind her when she left, soft click of the latch loud in the silent room and leaving them alone without so much as the pretense of a chaperone to guard against wagging tongues and whispered allegations. Killian supposed it no longer mattered, not now, not when the worst accusation of them all was about to be levied against the Lady Emma’s Grace.

He spoke without preamble, “My spies have informed me that the queen signed a secret warrant for your arrest, on charges of high treason. They will be here no later than tomorrow afternoon to escort you back to London.”

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of emotion in response to his announcement, no gasp of alarm or draining of colour from her cheeks. There was only the barest arch of a brow as her gemstone-green gaze finally flicked to his.

“You have spies in my sister’s household, Killian?”

“Aye,” he answered, bothering to speak like a courtier as he moved to kneel in front of her and took her unresisting hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the rapidly fluttering pulse on the inside of his wrist. His informants had been well paid and it had been worth every penny to be kept apprised of the state of affairs at court, where Emma’s sister had failed to conceive a child and Philip had left his wife behind to wallow in her failure while he returned to his father’s empire and refused to come back to England. There would be no heir of Mary’s body born to succeed her, but she was loathe to let the daughter of her greatest enemy take her crown.

“My ship is docked at Portsmouth, we could be there by the morrow on a fast steed. My own is too spent from the journey, I’ll have the groom saddle a fresh mount from your stable whilst you don your plainest riding habit. The Dutch will surely offer you sanctuary inside their borders, or we could make for the Low Countries or-”

“I’m not leaving England.”

He reeled back as if she had slapped him, “What? Your Highness, please, if you don’t come with me tonight then they’ll take you to the Tower, and there will be no chance of rescuing you once you are secured behind those walls.”

She trembled and gave a heavy swallow at the mere thought of the ancient stronghold, but Emma did not waver in her conviction. “If I flee with you now, the moment I set foot off English soil my guilt will be confirmed in the eyes of the entire country. I will be convicted without fair trial, be branded traitor to the crown, and so will you.”

His face was a twisted mass of thunderclouds and storm, raging with the force of his emotions and the hand on hers tightened almost painfully. “Damn me for a traitor then, for I’ll not serve any crown or any prince save you and would rather sail lawlessly under the crimson flag for the rest of my days so long as you were kept safe from your enemies. For God’s sake, Emma, fair trial or not, you could still be executed for this, as your mother was before you.”

No one spoke the name Mary Blanchard at Hatfield, though her presence was the unseen ghost behind every fluttering curtain when there was no breeze and the shadow from every candle that flickered and danced so merrily before snuffing out. Once upon a time a king had loved a commoner he could not have, loved her beyond all reason and sense, a love so deep that it had nearly rent England right in two. Emma Nolan was her father’s daughter with her golden hair, but ambitious Blanchard blood ran through her veins, blood that had been spilled to see a daughter set upon a throne where no woman had ever sat before.

Killian begged and pled, “Don’t do this, Emma, please!” but she would not be moved. It was her destiny, set in motion long before she had even been born. It was a curse, inescapable, that had swept across the land and only she could break it.

There were tears on his face in the amber light from the fire, wet rivulets that carved tracks down his cheeks and she tasted the salt when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was a brand, a promise, a whisper of words she could not speak. Emma rose from her chair and let the robe fall from her shoulders to reveal the white silk chemise that she wore underneath, pure and unblemished, a thin, unsubstantial thing without corset or farthingale to shape and sculpt her form into that of a king’s daughter. Killian Jones sat dazed on the floor while she stood, too stunned by the sight of her to even try to arise to his feet when a lady did as a gentleman should.

“I will be queen and I will make you a lord, and all of England will one day be mine. But if I am truly fated to die on the scaffold like my mother before me, then I do not wish to die a virgin.”

She too loved a man she could not have, common born but with a noble heart hidden underneath that would best any prince. In a flash Emma was in his arms, pressed boldly against him from shoulder to shin while his mouth crashed down on hers and his large hands spanned the narrow turn of her waist to pull her even closer. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, sending it clattering to the floor in a heavy thump of leather and cloak and codpiece both quickly followed. In nothing but flowing shirt and close-fitting hose Killian lifted her up, striding into the adjoining bedchamber and kicking the door closed impatiently with his heel. The curtains were already pulled back and tied to the post, letting them fall straight to the mattress with his mouth never leaving hers.

Killian went onto his knees on either side of her and took the neck of the chemise in his hands, tearing it open down the front with no care for the cost of the silk in his ardour. Nude, she was much smaller than when fully gowned in sweeping skirts and padded bodices, delicate as gossamer with fine white skin that would bear the marks of his loving to be hidden away afterwards, his rough, sailor’s hands not meant to touch the likes of her. But touch her he did, thumbing over the apples of her cheeks as gently as he could and tipping her chin up to receive his kiss again. The long golden curls coyly veiled her breasts like a siren of the deep, he pushed the strands aside to reveal the rosy tips that went pebbled and tight from the exposure and even more so when he bent to take one in his mouth, a tiny gasp of surprise escaping her at the sensation and hands fisting tight in his hair with a burst of pleasure-pain that prickled all along his scalp. Killian slid a palm down over her hip and felt the brush of the downy hair that feathered over her mound against his stomach, making him twitch with need and fighting his baser instincts, laying his head on her breast and closing his eyes to take a breath and quell the boiling urge rising within lest he lose all control and just take her without care.

“Killian.”

The weight of his body on hers was not the burden she expected to have to bear, it was a comfort, warm and reassuring even as she trembled under him with the nerves she fought so hard to conceal from everyone but her most intimate of companions. There was nothing to conceal her now from his avid gaze, dark and wanting, and oh did she want, wanted nothing more to be the only woman he looked at like that. She laid her hands on his bare chest once he tossed his shirt aside, eager to touch and explore and marveled at the fine mat of hair that covered it all the way down to his navel, feeling the flex of his ribs and the scars normally hidden by linen and wool, lash marks laid on his broad back from uncaring masters who she swore would feel her own wrath one day. His maleness stood out proudly from the wiry thatch between his legs and was hot and velvet-smooth against her palm, while her heart raced and her pulse throbbed between her own, suddenly slippery thighs, an ache that only grew more demanding with every brush of skin to skin, every sigh that escaped kiss-swollen lips.

“Lay back, darling.”

The order was breathed into her ear and she reclined back against the pillow while his knees spread hers apart and his hips rolled forward until there was nothing that remained but the final join of his body to hers and it would be done. Her maidenhead belonged to England, not her, but Emma was already a traitor in the eyes of the Crown just by virtue of her birth anyway. High treason was committed at Hatfield not in any secret plot or plan to seize the throne, but in a pirate’s bed when he claimed her virtue for his own in a sharp thrust that stole the breath from her lungs and she let out only the barest cry as he pierced through the barrier inside with his forehead pressed to hers. Dark satisfaction filled her even as Killian did, firm buttocks cupped under her heels and hips positioned just so between her open thighs. She belonged to England, but she loved a man as her father had loved her mother and like the late King David she would have both, her land and her lover and let nothing and no one stand in her way.

Killian started to move, a heavy slide of flesh against flesh that made her shiver despite the fact that she was far from cold, clutching at his shoulders and giving in to the urge that had her legs hitch up higher on his waist, revelling in the low groan he let out in response.

“Bloody hell.”

The pleasure of their coupling rolled down Killian’s spine and pooled low at the base, making his hips jerk hard against Emma even as he tried to be as careful as he could, taking most of his weight on his arms when all he wanted was to pin her to the bed and take his pleasure hard and fast until he was fully spent. But they had all night and he had to make it last as long as he could, both because he didn’t know if he’d ever have this again and to make sure Emma did not go to the Tower carrying his bastard child. He railed against her going there at all, anger lacing his love for this stubborn woman and tempting him to spirit her away anyway by force. Killian swore to himself that if it came to that, the scaffold or sanctuary abroad, he’d find a way to smuggle her out of England on his ship come hell or high water and raise the crimson flag once more.

He was too close to completion, balls and belly both tight and poised on the very knife’s edge of satisfaction, buried as he was in her silky quim. He had to stop before it was too late and it was a whore’s trick to prevent conception that he employed, pulling out and finishing with his hand instead in a few quick pumps. The sticky mess soiled the formerly bedclothes, along with the small bloodstain smeared on the sheets that marked the moment of consummation. Royal blood spilled by his own sword, and Killian felt a surge of masculine pride that had his cock faintly stirring again against his groin before it softened again and curled limp. There was a basin and ewer on the stand and he’d clean them both up after regaining his breath, but for now he lay on his back with a princess in his arms and thanked every lucky star he could name, for fate had smiled upon Killian Jones and his own lips curled with satisfaction while a small hand settled over his heart.

A sailor always rose before the dawn, but the sun was streaming in through the window and he could feel it even behind his closed lids while he groped across the bed and quickly realized the pillow next to his was empty. Killian sat up, coverlet falling to his waist and blinking his eyes open to start at the sight of Mistress Ruby Lucas seated on the edge of the bed, gazing at him as placidly as a wolf would a rabbit. Still a striking woman, he sensed she’d have no scruples against striking him if she felt the need arise.

“I loved Emma’s mother, Captain Jones, and I love her as if she were my own.”

He was uncomfortably aware of his nudity under the bedclothes but he kept his face carefully blank, even when she threw a pointed glance towards where the coverlet dipped a hair too low.

“You must be gone before the queen’s men arrive. Dress now, and leave through the window, your horse is saddled and waiting. I’ll see that the bedding is taken out and burned afterwards. You were never here, and nothing happened last night. The Lady Emma spent the evening secluded in the chapel at prayer, if asked, I will testify to it under oath. Do you understand?”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of something settle on his shoulders. He understood perfectly and he nodded, knowing that like a fearsome she-wolf would protect her pup, Mistress Lucas would protect Emma from any hint of impropriety being discovered. A bundle of clothing was thrust unceremoniously at him along with a flask and a bit of bread and cheese tied up in a square of muslin for the journey back to the coast.

“Mistress Lucas?”

She paused in the doorway with one hand resting lightly on the wood and glanced back over her shoulder, “Captain?”

He spoke four words and then he stood, caring not for protecting his modesty as he shook the wrinkles from his shirt and began to dress. She understood his true meaning, he could tell by the knowing smile that flitted across her face before it was schooled back into a stern look.

“Long live the queen.”

#cs ff #cs fic #cs au #my fic #gloriana

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