#deep forest green tall straight hat with golden chains all over it but in a tidy way

[mistyycowoa]

Just took a longass nap, I'm now grateful I'm not that girl living in a tower made of dirt fused into the side of a mountain, nor am I a mother trying for children who had multiple miscarriages taking care of a boyfriend's 2 kids with a previous woman

Saw an epic witch hat design tho

[writeblrfantasy]

here it is!

my pride and joy, the piece that has completely hijacked my brain and my life for the past 24 hours. this is the prologue, some might say, to TDOSA, featuring the vibes of an endless, sunny summer, the sense of floating through time and space, and a lot of lesbian yearning and projection, i present: the summer of seret ashling.

cw implied sex, blood

word count around 6300

one time tags of interest @ashen-crest @ettawritesnstudies

tdosa taglist (lmk to be added/removed) magic-is-something-we-create @hysteriwah @imjustalonesomewriteblr @a-forgotten-dusk @bronwennjames @metanoiamorii

Lysandra Fleming’s summer begins like this: a lonely night in Briar Bar, sipping a warm mug of cherry syrup. Not because she is cold—the heat in Vashiri Valley does not begin with summer, nor does it end there. Cherry syrup is vile and bitter and sweet at the same time, made worse warm, but the smooth way it goes down reminds her of childhood, the strange days when she actually liked this stuff.

Not home. She has not had a home since she was a child, when the supposed charm of the palace still worked on her. What were once silky ribbons in her hair became the invisible chains and rules of her parents, tying her down.

Lysandra, you can’t do this, it will reflect badly on us, or Lysandra, you can’t speak to that person, can’t smile at them, can’t see them, don’t you know what they did ten years ago? Don’t you know who their parents are? Vashiri Valley is struggling for power enough without you mucking it up.

Lysandra stopped smiling altogether.

Now, she comes to Briar Bar to be left alone with her cherry syrup, to melt into the crowd, to be normal, for once. Instead, others smile at her the way her parents always encouraged she smile, fake, polite enough, with an ulterior gleam in their eye. So many eyes watch her in want, but she does not feel seen at all by any of them.

The room’s quiet conversation dims and dissolves into whispers, prompting Lysandra to glance over at the reason. The reason is facing away from Lysandra, wearing a tall black hat and a black suit that nearly blends into the darkness of the walls, if not for the white shirt the woman is wearing underneath.

Lysandra didn’t see her come in, and all eyes turn to the tall, dark stranger, wondering the same thing. Her companions across the room point her in Lysandra’s direction, who braces for another meaningless smile, another delighted to meet you, Highness.

The woman turns, and Lysandra sees brown skin, black hair falling in long, loose curls, a subtle, close mouthed smile that draws her attention instantly. Brown eyes meet Lysandra’s green.

“Seret Ashling, my princess.” Seret Ashling leans down, never breaking eye contact, and kisses the top of Lysandra’s hand, holding her fingers delicately, but not like she’s glass. She treats Lysandra like she knows, instantly, her boundaries, how far she can safely push, what Lysandra can take—which is a lot more than most people guess.

Already, Lysandra likes her.

Lysandra is not her princess. She knows the name of every person in this valley, and she knows she’s never even seen Seret before. Even the name is foreign to her. Seh-reht.

That makes it all the better.

She moves her stool a little farther from the empty one beside her, raising an eyebrow in an invitation Seret accepts, removing her hat and tucking it under her arm to smoothly mount the stool. Seret sits with a straight back but ankles curled around the legs of the stool, adding enough humanity to her presence to make Lysandra smile.

She does not prop her elbow on the table, she does not order anything, but she does stare at Lysandra like she’s the most interesting person in the room. Lysandra can tell, somehow, that this gaze is genuine, not hastily crafted and practiced to impress her.

She offers to buy Lysandra another mug of cherry syrup, and Lysandra lets her.

***

Everywhere Lysandra goes, Seret seems to find her. She’s the talk of the valley, enrapturing them with her tall, dark, handsome aura, her small smile, the way the sun shines off her hair.

Finally Seret takes the leap and asks her out to places in Vashiri City Lysandra has been a thousand times, but somehow Seret’s presence paints color to her world again instead of the dull greens and golds the valley has become.

Their connection is instant, from Briar Bar to the lane of potion shops to the muffled awe in Seret’s face when she sees the Academy. At some point, Seret takes Lysandra’s hand, and they stroll through the town like they are not a princess and the new obsession of Vashiri Valley.

Everyone has been asking Seret about herself, where she’s from, what family she has, but she slips out of answering like a snake from a trap. Her smile is quite persuasive. Lysandra doesn’t even try to pry the answer out of her, though she might be the one person to succeed. Seret still looks at her every time like she’s the sun and the moon and the stars.

Lysandra’s heart thrums with nerves every hour before their dates, afraid of messing things up and driving Seret away, but the moment Seret enters the room, her heart calms. Seret gives her a warm hug that envelopes her whole soul, tells her she missed her dearly, and Lysandra wonders why she was ever worried. Seret seems impossible to offend.

“I am going to buy you a gift,” Seret announces on one of their dates in town, in a tone which makes it clear this is non-negotiable. Lysandra only nods. Seret pauses between two shops, one being the most popular jewelry store in the city with a line out the door, the one across the street being an adorable but little known competitor.

Lysandra waits for Seret to get in line for the popular jewelry store, but instead the woman lingers in front of the door of the other shop before opening it. “Don’t peek,” she says with a little smile, shutting the door and triggering the little bell. Lysandra stands there gawking like a fool until Seret emerges ten minutes later holding a little square box.

When Lysandra opens it with trembling hands, she finds a little heart shaped necklace, gold with a silver center on a golden chain. The gold probably isn’t real, probably just paint, but the pink paper wrapping the necklace and the little thank you card inside the box make her smile when the shop across the street wouldn’t.

The plain red and blue shelves in the windows of the other shop, where her family’s jeweler gets his jewels, have nothing on the soft pinks, greens, and browns of the cheap shop owned by twins. They keep flowers in their windows, pink carnations, and prices written in loopy court script.

“Do you like it?” Seret asks nervously, and Lysandra realizes she hasn’t said a word.

“I love it. Thank you.” She offers it up to Seret to clasp around her neck. Seret’s warm fingertips brush the back of her neck, and shivers run down Lysandra’s spine. This is special, her heart keeps telling her, like she doesn’t already know. This is different.

“How did you know?” Lysandra asks.

“Know what?”

“That I’d like this better than the shop across the street.”

“You’re a princess, you’re used to expensive jewelry, and you’ve publicly and loudly denounced royal life. Also, I’d rather give my money to them, seems like they actually need it. Don’t you agree?”

Lysandra has to take a deep breath to keep from blurting out something stupid. “Yes. I agree.”

Their first kiss a day later is a ray of light and a shadow of darkness, colliding and exploding in a glorious show of white and black, settling as ashes and debris into serene, calm gray. They are not the sun and moon. Lysandra is too sharp to be the sun, Seret too dim to be the moon.

It is the death of something. The birth. Lysandra can’t define what.

***

When Lysandra asks, Seret says she came to Vashiri Valley to visit and experience its delights, after which she meets Lysandra’s eyes and kisses her hands.

Lysandra hangs around the city apartment Seret rents. It’s close to Wynn’s cabin where she sleeps. She hasn’t slept in the palace in months. The layers of security and scrutiny she has to pass to enter are not worth the temporary comfort of a soft bed and her favorite meals.

She’s sleeping beside Seret before long, unable to bear being apart from her for that long, wondering how she behaves during such a precious time. Seret’s arms are even warmer around her under cool sheets, and in the morning, Seret brings her coffee before disappearing behind a white door.

She reappears in a cloud of steam, smelling like sweet flowers and honeysuckle. Lysandra gets to kiss her good morning and wonder how she got so lucky.

They’re invited to plays, the nights at the bars for amateur bards, the travelling witches who perform at the amphitheater. Lysandra has been to every event in this valley at least once, usually at the request of her family, but Seret loves going. Like the city and the shops and the Academy, experiencing Seret’s joy secondhand is intoxicating.

Everywhere they go, every table they sit at, whether it’s the theater or the bar or a café for a simple breakfast, people are fawning over Seret. The entire valley is enamored with Lysandra’s new lover.

Seret seems to find it amusing, the way they pat her arm and show a comical amount of interest in everything she has to say, just waiting for an opportunity to ask questions that they must know will go unanswered.

Lysandra sits quietly, burning from the way Seret entertains them, smiles at them in her private way. She wants Seret all to herself. She’s used to sharing things with the public, she’s had to share herself her whole life, but Seret is different. Lysandra doesn’t care if it’s selfish, Seret is hers.

When everyone finally seems like they’ve gotten their fill of Vashiri’s new inhabitant, Lysandra takes her to the edge of the forest and the dead tall grass fields beside it. She gets to watch the exact moment Seret falls in love.

Seret has never grinned, never raised her voice louder than a murmur, but her hitch of breath and the way she reaches for Lysandra’s hand is all she needs. Pride blooms in Lysandra’s chest at the realization she’s learned Seret’s little tells like that.

“It’s just a field,” she laughs. She’s laughing more, now, thanks to Seret. Stoic, cynical, unpleasant Princess Lysandra, laughing. This is why she hasn’t let Arlin near Seret yet, she’d never hear the end of it.

“No, it’s not,” Seret breathes, radiating darkness and mystery in a way that is curious, enticing, instead of harmful. Lysandra just wants to follow her into the shadows where no others can see them, hurt them, touch them. “Can’t you see?”

Lysandra strains her neck, but it’s not the fact that Seret is taller than her that’s the problem. “No.”

Seret pulls her along and begins running instead of answering. Lysandra yelps in surprise and stumbles along, staring enviously at Seret’s long legs—long legs, long arms, long face, long fingers, everything about Seret is long. She sweeps Lysandra up in her arms and spins her around, feet in the air, Seret’s strong arms keeping her up.

Seret is grinning for the first time, showing perfect white teeth, her joy the only reason Lysandra doesn’t scream in shock. She trusts Seret utterly, she realizes in a paralyzing moment of clarity, the sun warming her back, the wind blowing through her hair. Seret has never given her a reason not to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lysandra asks, though she can’t keep the joy out of her own voice. Seret is infectious. Anything she feels reflects on Lysandra.

“We had fields exactly like this in the city where I grew up. I can’t believe I haven’t seen these yet.” She finally sets Lysandra down and immediately kisses her, as has become a habit the last week. Lysandra gives in, gives over entirely.

She has twisted and forced a key into the lock of her heart, but now, she hands the broken key to Seret and wishes her lucky trying to fit it in the rusty, damaged old lock. Lysandra knows she’ll unlock it fast, her eyebrows pinched and frowning in concentration, long fingers working quickly.

She doesn’t tell her that, of course.

Even then, Lysandra knew.

***

They find a cabin at the edge of the fields and the forest which they quickly move into, abandoning Arlin and the boys and Lysandra's family and Vashiri Valley for themselves. Lysandra has no remorse.

Seret shows her how to live in darkness, in quiet, in peace. They prepare coffee in the mornings before the sun floods the fields with light, arms brushing and using only using their sleepy voices when they need to, not wanting to disturb the holy peace of the morning.

They bathe in the evenings indoors where the fading sun doesn’t reach, sitting close in a tub of river water that Lysandra heats.

They spend all day laying on their backs in the fields, one of them lying on the other while someone’s hair is stroked and someone speaks over the wind.

When the afternoon heat turns the sunlight from pleasantly warm to scorching, they move to the shade of the big oak tree near their cabin to eat.

The shadows are their friends in this haven, where no one and nothing else exists but them. Seret trusts them like they trust each other, content to close her eyes and lay her head back against the trunk when she’s done eating.

Lysandra loves the warmth of the sun, but she hates the harsh white spotlight of her family, the prickly rules tying her down, the sense that she can’t ever escape their restraining eyes. She can hide in the darkness from Seret. They’ll never catch her.

Lysandra has never been so invincible, light enough to be picked up on a cloud every time the wind blows. Seret is the only magical thing she’s met that doesn’t have a drop of magic within her.

Seret is ineffable. Unknowable. Larger than life. Lysandra can never hope to understand her fully, but she can try, she can watch and observe, attempt to learn the inner workings of Seret’s mind.

“Seret?” Lysandra asks one afternoon just like every other, where the peace and warmth of their retreat cannot be broken. “Where are you from?”

It is the first time she has asked. She holds her breath, waiting for Seret’s answer, which takes a long time to come. Seret chews on her lip, her expression as guarded as always, until she finally smiles. “Wherever you want me to be from. North, south, east, west, I’ve visited them all. Pick one and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Lysandra’s chest opens to swallow an ache of emptiness. “Maybe later.” It’s not what she wanted, and they both know it. Lysandra inches mere breaths away from Seret’s side, but it won’t go unnoticed. She thought Seret might actually tell her. She rubs the small gold heart between her fingers and sighs.

“Hey,” Seret says, turning Lysandra’s chin towards her. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone, more than you know.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?” Need, embarrassing and whiny, sneaks into Lysandra’s voice, but she ignores it. She’s entitled to this answer, at least.

“I don’t want to shatter your world.” Seret sighs and shifts to take Lysandra’s hands in both of hers. “I am from the south. I ran away from home at a young age to travel because my upbringing was hell, and I’ve never stopped since.”

Lysandra breathes out.

“None of that changes how I feel about you,” Seret continues, pleading, the most passionate Lysandra has ever heard her. “I have never met anyone like you, even with everywhere I’ve been. I do not want anyone but you.”

No one has ever said anything like that to Lysandra, and hearing it now gives her pause. The way Seret’s eyes burn on her skin with their dark intensity is exquisite. Lysandra will never get used to it. She does not want to.

“I would not want this with anyone else.” It does not mean the same thing, but Seret smiles, close mouthed, anyway. At times like this, Seret’s secretive nature makes Lysandra’s blood boil, unvoiced screams rise in her throat. She has given so much of herself already, why can Lysandra not know of her past, her family, her ugliest emotions?

She never wants Seret to treat her like glass. The first day they met, Seret got it right. Lysandra can’t bear the thought that Seret is any less perfect than she thinks, that would shatter her, not knowledge of the world beyond the valley.

Lysandra has gotten all she will today. She is content to sigh deeply and lay her head on Seret’s arm. Seret will stroke Lysandra’s hair, and the wind will ruffle her own, and Lysandra’s urge to push it back will fight the warmth settling into her bones. They are fine. They will be fine. Nothing more.

***

On lucky occasions, Seret shares stories of her travels from who knows when, who knows where. She has been everywhere, she said, and Lysandra believes her. She asks about the north, the far east, the west, and Seret’s homeland, the south.

The south could mean any number of things. Lysandra has never been out of Vashiri Valley, and her family have always been vague about what lies beyond their mountains, but Seret describes an actual ocean, the cold water wrapping around her ankles, the hot sand burning her feet.

She takes Lysandra to a desert in her mind, great, sprawling cities, icy lakes and snowy mountains to the north. To the east, she says, more ocean with great brown ships. Lysandra doesn’t care if she’s lying.

She lays in the grass on her side and lets the wind blow her skirts while she travels the world in her mind. Seret closes her eyes and traces mountains, rivers, canyons on her spine, unconsciously pointing in those directions. Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat.

Seret opens her eyes briefly to ask, “Am I boring you?”

Never. You couldn’t if you tried.

Lysandra shakes her head. Seret’s slow, easy smile returns, and the warm fingers on the skin revealed by her backless dress whisk her away to a thousand new worlds so big she can’t even imagine them.

***

“Does it ever bother you that I’m a princess?”

Seret smiles. “That isn’t something that would bother most people in my position.”

“I’d disagree. As the lover of a princess, you have no privacy, there’s expectations, rules you have to follow, harassment…I suppose a better word would be faze. You met and introduced yourself and spoke to me as if I were normal.”

“I called you my princess. the day we met.”

At Lysandra’s withering look, Seret chuckles. “Who said you aren’t normal? You didn’t have any control over what family you were born into. I would still feel the same if you hadn’t rejected your family and your role, if you were princess first and person second. It would be a bit harder to get to you, though, in that stronghold. To me, in that bar, you were just the prettiest girl in the nicest dress with the most captivating eyes. They told me you were a princess—so what? I love you anyway.”

Lysandra’s cheeks burn hot, and she chokes on saliva. The wind picks up, and she feels like she’s falling. How can Seret just say things like that and expect Lysandra not to explode and melt into the sun? “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Seret smiles again. “I’m not looking to get anywhere. I’m not like those people at the bar when we met. I’m not trying to be like anyone. I’m not not trying to be like anyone. I’m not looking to impress you, honestly. I’m just being honest.”

Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat like a branch stuck in a river, unfazed by the powerful oncoming waves.

Seret is clearly not looking to hear it back, but Lysandra gathers all her courage and quietly says, “I love you, too. I--”

She shies away from Seret’s intense gaze, burning on the back of her neck. “I’m not good at, uh. Saying things like this. Like you. But I want you to know that you’ve changed my life. I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done for me, given me. This place is nothing short of perfect. Every minute we’ve spent together has been nothing short of perfect. I’m sorry I haven’t given you anything back.”

“My dear, you are quite mistaken. You’ve given me the ultimate gift: yourself. The opportunity to know your heart, your mind. You’ve let me in when I can tell you have trouble doing so.”

She kisses the back of Lysandra’s hand, looking up at her through her eyelashes, as she often does. It still makes Lysandra’s entire being heat like the sun itself came down to lay its rays gently onto her, powerful but careful with her.

“You are my entire world,” says Seret, the sun. “The most precious creature in all the places I’ve visited, all the creatures in this valley alone.”

Lysandra smiles. “You haven’t met Wynn Scylla’s dragonlings.”

Deflect. Defend. Dismiss. Seret sees through it.

Lysandra lays their lips together, hoping to convey without the painful process of words said aloud just how much Seret makes her hurt. Seret makes her burn and ache in the best of ways, like a satisfying stretch after waking up from a stiff nap.

Seret challenges her to face things she loves shying away from, things like the swelling of her heart which she hasn’t felt in years. Seret is terrifying, all consuming, but Lysandra can’t imagine a world without her. Much of her allure comes from her mystery, however infuriating her secrecy is.

Hours later, when they’re full and sated from dinner, after they wash the dishes side by side at the river and after they’ve bathed in the tub in the house, Lysandra hears a faint hum, high and low, continuous, lulling and soft. She turns her head and discovers it’s Seret, humming to herself as she drapes the wet towels out to dry. “What’s that you’re humming?”

Seret pauses her sweet melody. “Hm? Oh, just some music from the east. If I had the proper instruments, I would play the tune.”

Lysandra chokes on air. “You can play music, too?”

Seret smiles. “I can do many things.”

“Oh?” Lysandra doesn’t know where her sudden burst of courage comes from. Perhaps she’s the one looking to get somewhere. She raises an eyebrow and crooks a finger, hoping a low tone will convey her point. “Come here and show me.”

Seret is quiet, face blank. Lysandra wonders, belatedly, if she does in fact have unknown boundaries.

When Seret desperately searches her eyes for consent, Lysandra realizes it was shock and not disgust that rendered her speechless. “You mean—” Seret asks, hoarse, never breaking eye contact. Lysandra shivers. She had that effect on her?

“Yes.”

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, Seret’s hungry gaze fixed on Lysandra’s pale shoulders, the towel wrapped around her middle. Then they’re both moving at once, mouths moving in the same pattern of Seret’s melody, a symphony of hearts beating in time.

If Lysandra is Seret’s world, Seret is the center of Lysandra’s.

***

At long last, Lysandra’s family gets wind of Seret. Lysandra doesn’t want to know how. Maybe Wynn and Petrus spread it around by accident—she loves those boys, but they couldn’t keep a secret if they tried. Maybe it was Arlin, who Lysandra finally let meet Seret.

All she does know is that her family is demanding to meet their middle princess’s lover, which means they’ll clarify if they’re allowed to be together or not.

“I’m sorry,” Lysandra whimpers, on the edge of tears in Seret’s arms. “I don’t want them to touch us with a ten foot stick, but if we don’t go, they’ll send someone out here to find us and disrupt our world. I’m so sorry.” Something about her family interfering in her and Seret’s affairs makes Lysandra boil like nothing else.

“It’s okay, my princess,” Seret murmurs into her hair, cupping the back of her head, rocking them back and forth. “We’ll go, I’ll tell them what they want to know, we’ll come right back here. It will only be a few hours. Their opinion won’t change how I feel about you, but I’ll do whatever you feel is best.” The sorrow in Seret’s tone implies too much.

Lysandra pulls back. “Don’t you ever think I’d leave you for my family. Right now, I’m thinking much the opposite.”

Seret purses her lips. “What objection would they have to me? The whole valley seems to like me, why wouldn’t they?”

“You’re not a noble, you don’t have a title, you have nothing to offer them, you won’t even tell anyone where you’re from, and you’re the lover of their middle child.”

Her voice is bitter, matching her heart. Seret’s arms tighten protectively around her. Lysandra switches from bitterness to anger to guilt in a second. How dare her family do this to them? What makes them think they have this right?

They control Vashiri Valley, but Lysandra can’t remember the last time they appeared in public, and their power is distant at best.

They control Vashiri Valley, but they can’t control her.

“No matter what they say,” Lysandra says into Seret’s chest, “I am never leaving you. You’ll have to pry me away. Whatever polite, diplomatic accusations or insults they throw at you, ignore them. You don’t have to tell anyone, especially them, about yourself. You’re with me because I love you, and that’s all we care about. Okay?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one who needs reassuring, Lysandra.”

“Shut up. I’ll be fine.” She pulls back from warmth to wipe her eyes, hot shame from crying coating her face, but Seret pulls her back in.

“There’s no shame here,” she whispers, kissing Lysandra’s temple. “Comforting you is my pleasure, though I wish you didn’t have a reason to cry. Everything’s going to be okay, my princess.”

Lysandra breathes.

She wears the gown she wore when she and Seret met, soft pink with a low neckline, tiered ruffles reaching down to her ankles, frilly short sleeves. Maybe familiarity will give her some comfort, whether that’s Seret’s hand on her thigh or this dress pinching her arm.

Seret wears the same black slacks, white shirt, and black jacket she always wears, thoroughly combs her hair, but leaves the hat at home.

At the dinner, she is perfect. she speaks only when spoken to, sits with that straight, enviable posture, praises the food like it’s the substance of heaven itself, the best she’s ever had.

She’s gracious, thankful, answers every question they ask. If she had a title, Lysandra knows her family would be simply begging them to marry.

Things start out pleasant, her family treating Seret with the polite, arm’s length attitude Lysandra expected. Finally, the dreaded question comes.

“So, Seret,” Lysandra’s mother asks, folding her hands, “where are you from?”

Lysandra clutches her necklace, the one Seret gave her, and prays. Please don’t let them be the first ones you tell. They don’t deserve that.

Seret smiles. “This soup is delicious, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, thank you, you’ve said so already.” Her mother is reaching the end of her patience—Lysandra has been on the other end of that short patience dozens of times. Her blue feathered hat and perfect red lips cover up a much nastier woman. “Please tell us about where you live.”

“Well, Lysandra and I have been living next to the forest all summer. The fields there are positively peaceful, you should visit them sometime.” She pauses to let horror sink into the hearts of luxury groomed royals. Lysandra bites down on a smile. “But I am technically still renting an apartment in the city.”

“Where you came from,” Lysandra’s father adds, sharp, on the end of his patience as well. Lysandra wonders how much Seret prepared for this. Seret is smart, she must’ve known she couldn’t wiggle her way out of the question with her usual tricks. “Maybe who your parents are.”

Seret appears to consider the question. “I’d rather not say,” she says, stirring her drink with her spoon. Silence falls onto the room. Lysandra holds her breath.

Her mother nods her head tightly. “Very well. In that case, we’re going to have to insist you stop seeing our daughter.”

Seret bows her head in humble acceptance, but Lysandra stands up, every fiber of her being filling with inexplicable rage. She told herself she wouldn’t display a reaction, she would just accept the denial and then ignore it, like Seret will, but hearing it so frankly from her mother’s lips is different from imagining it.

“You don’t have the right to tell me who I can and can’t see just because you feel like it,” she spits. “I’m an adult. I haven’t lived here full time or done the duties you ask of me for years. You should disown me. Save yourselves the trouble of dealing with me any longer.”

Seret’s hand lands firmly on her knee as if to say no, don’t. Lysandra captures her hand and holds it above the table for the whole family to see.

“You’re the one who chose to come here,” Lysandra’s mother says.

“Yes, because I knew you’d hound us if we didn’t.” Lysandra can feel her chest being ripped open from the top down. Seret’s fingers squeezing hers is the only thing tethering her to herself. She pulls tightly on Seret’s fingers, who takes the hint and stands. They walk out without another word, without a glance back.

When they get back to the cabin, Lysandra sinks onto the couch in their living room face first, and immediately begins to cry. The seconds it takes for the door to click and Seret’s boots to march across the wood are far too long, until warm arms wrap around Lysandra’s back and Seret buries her nose in the back of her hair. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, which only makes Lysandra sob harder.

“I don’t know why it still matters. I knew this was exactly what they’d say. I didn’t want it to affect me. I want to move on from them.”

Seret stays quiet, just letting Lysandra exist and holding her through it. They don’t speak about it again.

Things are different after that. The fields and the cabin have been tainted with mere mention of the royal family’s presence. The spell has been broken.

The wind comes less, the sun seems to burn in a way it didn’t before. Lysandra doesn’t treasure dawn and dusk the way she used to, and baths are just baths. The only thing that hasn’t lost its magic is Seret, as kind and loving as always.

A week later, Seret begins taking trips into the city to gather everything from her apartment and bring it to the cabin, everything of Lysandra’s from Wynn’s cottage.

No matter how many times Lysandra offers to help, Seret insists she’s fine, she doesn’t want Lysandra to come into the city and get hounded and harassed by the usual people dying to meet the princess.

Arlin and the others come to visit a few times to keep her company while Seret’s gone, to speak about the upcoming Academy year, their last year, to learn the place Lysandra disappeared to the entire summer.

She’s happy to see them, happy for the company, but her heart never stops aching for Seret, wondering what she’s doing. Arlin and the boys stay for dinner well after Seret’s back, so she’s never given a moment alone to think.

This continues for a month.

Arlin and the boys become as intimately familiar with the cabin, the fields, the river, and the forest as Lysandra was with Wynn’s cottage on the forest’s other side.

Lysandra flies toward the end of summer in a haze, perpetually afraid to break the peace, shatter the dream, feel the cold seep into her bones once more. She has grown so used to the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, the safety of Seret’s arms and her soothing voice.

Seret is never too loud, never jarring. Seret seems to float on the wind; sometimes her mind is lost to Lysandra as she stares into the sky at nothing.

Seret is—

Seret is many things. Nothing at all. Everything all at once.

Ineffable.

On what Seret says will be her last day of moving, she kisses Lysandra’s cheek and says, “I’ll be back,” like always. Lysandra thinks that’s rather silly—of course she’ll be back, that’s a given—but it’s sweet.

Arlin and the boys won’t be over since they have to collect their books for school in two weeks and otherwise prepare. Lysandra spends the day in the river, letting the water suck all the thoughts from her head.

By the evening, as Lysandra waits on the porch with dinner ready, Seret is still not back.

She probably got held up with the loading carts she’s been using, Lysandra tells herself as she gathers her shawl, puts on a dress fit for the town’s eyes, and begins the long walk there. She stopped to have dinner, or something. Maybe she met Wynn’s dragonlings at last.

Seret would’ve run back here herself to tell Lysandra she wouldn’t be back until later because of the dragonlings, or she would’ve sent a magical letter, or something. Seret has told her over and over how much she hates to see Lysandra in pain, and how she’ll never, ever be the cause of even the slightest worry.

Dread sits heavily in Lysandra’s chest.

The area near the school is in chaos, looking for her. No one she meets will tell her what’s going on, why they refuse to meet her eyes, why they offer faint smiles in place of explanations.

When Lysandra is shown the rooms in the Academy Seret broke into, the bizarre circles drawn on the floor in chalk, the thick books lying open, the blood splattered all over the floor, and finally, Seret’s body lying on the floor with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, Lysandra falls to her knees and doesn’t get up.

Her entire being is shattered with a force she didn’t know existed, with waves of invisible pain too strong for this realm. Everything feels empty and quiet, but not quiet in the serene way of Seret’s.

She screams, and it rips her open. It rips every part of good out of her and replaces her with numb, muffled, faint feeling. Later the waves of pain will come back, the longing for Seret’s warm arms to wrap around her and make everything all better, but now, she’s able to look at the body with only thin trails of tears streaming down her face.

Seret’s white shirt is soaked through with a circle of bright red blood. The whole scene is almost unreal. If not for the blood and the cold feel of her hand, Lysandra’s Seret Ashling looks the same. Her hair is neatly arranged, her face free of the splattered blood.

Death is too simple a word for what happens to Seret.

She is gone, says a voice, Seret’s voice, her smiling face haunting Lysandra behind her closed eyes. The ghost of Seret’s fingers cup her jaw, stroke her cheekbones, brush soft lips over her forehead, push her spectacles up.

I love you, my princess, Lysandra hears when she touches her ear to the floor, soaking the front of her dress with her blood, such a cruel reminder of Seret’s humanity. She was brutally, unfortunately, unbelievably human. She may have reached beyond this realm to grab a fist of love for Lysandra, a greater capacity than any human could hold, but that couldn’t save her from her own humanity.

I’ll be back. Seret’s last words to her.

She wasn’t just going into town to move.

Lysandra clutches the necklace Seret gave her and squeezes until it hurts. It fits easily in her palm, hangs right over her heart. The death of Seret Ashling is going to hit Vashiri Valley like the rare storms, unforgiving and violent, bringing destruction that takes years to recover from.

Lysandra squeezes the necklace, closes her eyes, and breathes slowly, steadily. The storm will wipe her out faster and harder than anyone else, but she’s the one who has to control it singlehandedly, and that will be about as easy as trying to capture an actual storm from the ground.

She won’t survive this, but she’s known for months that if anything ever happened to Seret, she never would. She can only submit to the darkness—the bad kind, this time—awaiting her, return to reality behind this door.

[thewitchofbooks]

Hiii gorg I love your style of writing 😳👍 can you maybe write about ikepri suitors in the modem world? Just general stuff like what music would they like or what jobs do you see them working? Anything that you find fit tbh

You're amazing, stay safe and well <3

Hi!!!Thank you for the compliments and the request, i really appreciate it!It took me some time to write for all of them, so i apologize!Please, keep in mind that i don’t know everything about the characters and they might be ooc.I hope you like it~

Type: Headcanons, Modern AU

Game: Ikemen Prince

Characters: All characters

Warnings: Spoilery, characters might be ooc, not the best out there, haha, mentions of alcohol (trigger warning), not the best english (especially with many words).

I’ll write their favourite music, dressing style (both casual and formal), their jobs, their hobbies, their favourite type of food and their favourite drink(s).Keep in mind that these are not all real, i just think they would like these.Thank you!

~Clavis Lelouch

Favourite type of music:Clavis hears anything that sounds good.He can go from pop, to rock, to metal and everything in between.Sometimes, he likes to play songs, like twinkle twinkle little star and he sings it in a childish voice, just to annoy his big bro, Chevalier.Chevalier probably threw a vase full of cold water on him.He would have thrown more, but he doesn’t like wasting precious water for the “laughing clown’s” idiocity.

Dressing style (1~casual):Clavis likes to wear fashionable clothes with lots of twists.He probably wears animal printed clothes and accessories, like a leopard printed hat or coats.For a more casual outfit, he wears a white button up shirt tucked in black skinny jeans and he tops it of with a leather biker-style black jacket (if it’s cold).                                                               (2~formal):For formal wear, he chooses a purple stripped button up shirt with a light grey vest and light grey pants.He puts on a grey long coat to finish it up.

Job:Clavis works as a spy for the Cyber Crime Division.He seems like a maniac to his coworkers, but they know how good he is at what he does.Also, he is good at spying his brother and he sees it as exercise.

Hobbies:Clavis’s hobbies are:drinking smoothies, while spying Chevalier, annoying Chevalier (especially when he is tired) and making things (because he is good with his hands).Clavis doesn’t have a lot of time for himself, but when he does, he makes sure to spend it doing all these things.

Favourite type of food:Clavis loves sweets and junk food.It was a rare treat when he was younger, but now he can eat them.At least, he prefers a healthier version like, fruits on top pf his sweets and salads as side dishes for the food.

Favourite drink(s):This man loves starbucks.He doesn’t drink alcohol due to personal reasons, so he buys them everyday.He buys unicorn coloured drinks & sweets and he tries to give some of them to Cheva.It doesn’t work.

~Chevalier Michel

Favourite type of music:Chevalier listens to classical, rock and metal.He likes songs with deep meaning, because it makes him think/daydream in his free time.He also plays the piano and violin, which got him into classical music.Sometimes, he is forced to here Clavis’s loud stereo, so he hears childish songs and he gets mad.

Dressing style (1~casual):Chevalier wears a white turtleneck shirt, black skinny pants and a long black coat.He also wears black reading glasses.He doesn’t like having a lot of strange addings on his clothes, because he likes being fancy, without being too much.                                 (2~formal):Chevalier chooses suits, which fit perfectly on his body.On top of his suits, he likes wearing black or while long coats and a pair of gloves in the same colour.He always has a golden pin with chains on, which keeps his tie straight and neat.

Job:Cheva works as an Army Strategist and as a Defence Minister.All the people trust him, so they voted for him.He was already a strong man before, but now he became even more, to help protect his country and those in need.

Hobbies:Chevalier, naturaly, loves to read romance novels.His mansion has two rooms as libraries.He also keeps shelves of books in his room.Another thing he likes is learning more and more (languages and other things), because he is fast at learning and they might come in handy.

Favourite type of food:Chevalier doesn’t care much, though he prefers eating foods with a lot of protein and vitamins.He is used to eating mostly these types of food, because of his work.He sometimes eats sweets, but never the unicorn ones Clavis tries to feed him.

Favourite drink(s):Cheva is not a big fan of alcohol.Alcohol has a lot of bad sugars for his health and he also doesn’t like getting drunk.Especially when he works.He drinks plenty of water and tea.

~Luke Randolph

Favourite type of music:Luke listens to pop and classical music.If he likes a song that is different, he is going to hear that as well.He doesn’t really care, but he prefers soft and gentle sounds.

Dressing style (1~casual):Luke picks long green t-shirts with V-Neck as a top and dark purple sweatpants as bottoms.On top of all that, he wears an oversized dark grey jacket.He likes those colours, because they remind him of the forest and nature in general.                                                         (2~formal):Luke wears a grey button up shirt in a pair of grey jeans.He tops it off with a stylish but still comfortable grey jean jacket.

Job:This tall gentleman loves honey, so he decided to work as an apriarist.Not only does he help feed and keep safe as many honey bees as he can, he takes the honey away without hurting them or destroying their houses (beehives).

Hobbies:One of Luke’s hobbies is helping and playing with the forest animals.These animals are drawn to him and want his attention.He puts water and food all over the place, so they can find it easily and get ready for the cold weather.

Favourite type of food:Of course, his favourite food is honey.It had to do with a lot of hard things he went through in his past and he doesn’t want to forget.It’s also sweet and healthy, so he prefers it.He also likes homecooked meals, because they are warm and he feels safe.

Favourite drink(s):Luke’s favourite drinks are tea and milk.These drinks are both warm and sweet (he drowns them in honey).They are perfect for a cold day and a hot day.All the stress goes away and he is calm again.

~Leon Dompteur

Favourite type of music:Leon listens to alternative rock and pop.He likes to dance around in his days off, when he is at home.He goes to a lot of concerts with a few of his brothers to enjoy a night out.The music he hars goes well with his personality and he always has fun.

Dressing style: (1~casual):Leon lives for more casual outfits that are different from the stiff clothes he wears at work.He goes for a black t-shirt that shows his abs and black pants that hug his waist.He is naturally warm, so he believes he doesn’t need a jacket.                                            (2~formal):Leon wears a black turtleneck shirt and black or dark grey pants.Sometimes, he puts on a dark grey suit jacket to look even better.

Job:Leon works with Chevalier as an Army Strategist.He gets well with the soldiers and they follow all his commands.He knows his brother is harsh, but he informs the new soldiers how much he cares for their country.

Hobbies:Leon’s hobby is having fun with his loved ones.He’ll prefer social gatherings and talking with people.He is easy to talk to, so his family gets together because of him.He might enjoy dancing, so he could be ready to impress his lover.

Favourite type of food:Yves’s baking/cooking.Not only does the food he makes tastes good, it’s also very fun to tease him.Sometime, he dines outside.If a person he loves makes food, he’ll eat it without much care if it tastes good.He is happy they did it.

Favourite drink(s):Leon can drink nearly everythinng.He can go from drinking alcohol with Jin, to drinking tea and milk with Luke.He doesn’t want to get drunk, because it’s bad for his job and his health, so he doesn’t do it too much.

~Yves Kloss

Favourite type of music:Yves listens to whatever sounds good and has style.He secretly listens to meme cat meowing his favourite songs.He learns the choreography in every song that has one.If his brotherd catch him doing that, he tries to deny it while blushing.

Dressing style (1~casual):Yves wears skinny black jeans with cuts on the knees and a pink oversized sweater.On top, he wears a grey cardigan.His clothes look big on him and it makes him look cuter.                                    (2~formal):He wears a white button up shirt, tucked in grey pants.He wears different coloured ties, but prefers pink, grey or black ones.He also wears a pink suit jacket.He likes being stylish in everything he does.

Job:Yves works at a pet shop.All the pets that live in here love him.The people that want to buy a animal have to watch him trying to put the animals in their (boxes/the things they put them in when they go somewhere).The animals are cuddling him and pawing at his cheeks.Yves is happy they found a home, but he is also sad, because he liked playing with them (even if that meant getting teased by his brothers).Yves secretly works as a stylist and he sketches clothes for women and men.

Hobbies:Yves hobbies have to do with beauty.He changes hairstyles or he goes shopping for clothes and accessories.He is calming down whenever he does that.Yves also enjoys doing new things, like joining art classes (painting, writing, dancing).

Favourite type of food:Yves loves cakes with fruits on top.He likes it when fresh berries are used to make them.They are not too sweet, but they live a nice taste in his mouth.He eats other foods, of course, because he knows that he has to be healthy.He eats for every meal of the day.He scolds Clavis for his choices and is discusted with his eating habits.He also cooks for himself (and some of his brothers).

~Nokto Klein

Favourite type of music:Nokto listens to pop (because most of the explicit songs he likes are pop).His tastes may change, but it also depends on his mood.If he is in a certain mood, being withh his lover and all, he stays with his normal choices.

Dressing style (1~casual):For a more casual look, he braids one side of his hair and it goes up in a high ponytail.He wears grey skinny jeans and a baby blue t-shirt.If it becomes too cold, he’ll get a white jacket.                    (2~formal):Nokto can go from a total white look to a white and baby blue look.He’ll choose a blue tie, with a white button up shirt and white pants.Nokto will take a white suit jacket on his shoulders and it’s kept on it’s place by a silver chain.

Job:I can see most of the brothers working together, so he’ll probably would be a spy for the Army, set by Chevalier himself.He is not scared to do reckless things and get in trouble.He knows how to keep secrets from the others.

Hobbies:Nokto’s hobbies are learning things about other people and most of all, what his lover enjoys.He likes trying new things with his S/O, that both are comfortable with.Another hobby of his is annoying and teasing his brothers that don’t want that don’t want that type of attention.

Favourite type of food:Nokto enjoys sweet, salty and savoury foods.Of course, there are some that make him feel better than others, so he prefers them.He finds some foods amusing, like the rainbow coloured ones and he wants to try them.

Favourite drink(s):If he is not at work, he likes strong liquor, but when it’s work related he’ll drink something softer and give the strong drinks to his enemies.That doesn’t stop him from enjoying drinks like sodas.Nokto tries Clavis’s favourite drinks, but he isn’t the biggest fan.

~Licht Klein

Favourite type of music:To most, Licht seems like a very quiet guy, but the music he likes isn’t always like that.He listens to every type of rock, pop and hip hop music.He is someone that likes the deep meaning every song has and he always remembers their lyrics.

Dressing style (1~casual):Licht has an angelic face and he knows what goes better with that.He wears a white oversized button up shirt with baby blue buttons in the middle and light blue skinny jeans.                                  (2~formal):For formal wear, Licht chooses a blue-grey suit, a yellow bowtie with a red ruby in the middle.On top, he wears a grey cardigan to keep himself warm.

Job:Licht is a soldier, who is not afraid to lose his life.Just like his twin, he doesn’t care about doing reckless things, because he lives for others, mostly.He doesn’t show that he cares for his brothers, but it can be seen.

Hobbies:For Licht, martial arts is the way to relax.Marial arts are not for fighting and killing someone.The first thing you learn is to keep yourself calm and then safe in front of difficult situations.That’s what Licht likes, so he follows it.Other things Licht likes to do is sing lullabies from his childhood and dance hip hop.

Favourite type of food:Licht absolutely loves sweets.Tarts full of chocolate, berries and other fruits are to die for.Sometimes, he secretly wants to eat Yves’s cakes, so he pouts at him, which always works to his favor.

Favourite type of drink(s):He doesn’t drink too much, he prefers water, tea and milk.First of all, it’s easier to drink them when eating.Second of all, he doesn’t want to get drunk (he doesn’t know if he can hold it).

~Sariel Noir

Favourite type of music:Sariel has gone through so much stress, so he just listens to screamo.If he feels better, he’ll hear to classical music while sipping his tea.He won’t say no to a new beat, but he’ll hear it if he can hear the voice clearly (so he can judge).

Dressing style (1~casual):If Sariel has time to go out without having to care for his work (or babysitting the brothers), he’ll wear a black, long sleeved shirt tucked in a nice pair of black pants.                                         (2~formal):He wears a black button up shirt with a silky red tie.He prefers black suits to go with, which have red details on top.He is stylish and he believes that black goes with everything.

Job:Sariel is a babysitter.Just kidding.He works as a Judge.He is amazing and fast.He knows when people feel guilty and it’s easy to find who is at fault.Definitely takes a lot of painkillers for those headaches.

Hobbies:He plays every classical music instruments when he has free time.He learned to play when he was younger and it always calmed him down.He also enjoys reading books (classic literature).

Favourite type of food:Sariel eats healthy most of the time, but he has cheat days.He can relax and eat sweets and junk food, while watching a movie or eating with company.

Favourite drink(s):Sariel drinks alcohol, not until he is completely wasted.He enjoys drinking if the company is good.But he prefers drinking tea and relaxing by his own.

~Rio Ortiz

Favourite type of music:Rio listens to everything.And by everything, i mean everything.He doesn’t care if the voices are clean or good, he is just happy to have something to hear.If his future S/O has a fave, then it’ll become his fave as well.

Dressing style (1~casual):Rio works a lot of hours a day, so he doesn’t dress too casual.If he can choose, then he wears blue jeans and coloured t-shirts.(Or a pair of pjs.)                                                                                (2~formal):Rio wears coloured button up shirts and black or white pants and a matching jacket.He doesn’t care much about his style, but he is forced when he works.

Job:Rio works as a lawyer, next to Sariel.He is clever and witty.When the other lawyers face him, they think they have to do with a child, but he is fast at gathering iinformation and he uses it against them.That’s the only reason Sariel keeps him.

Hobbies:Rio searches information about new people he meets, just for fun.He also has a puppy, but it mostly stays with close friends.When he is at home, they cuddle together and he feed it with it’s favourite treats.

Favourite type of food:Rio knows how to cook special meals, so he enjoys eating them.If he is too tired, he’ll eat pizza and he’ll later have some cookies to make himself feel better.

Favourite drink(s):He drinks a small amount of alcohol (to drown his pain).He likes drinking nearly all kind of drinks, even the crazy ones, especially if he has good company to share them.

~Jin Grandet

Favourite type of music:Jin listens to pop songs and the songs that are heard in bar-clubs.Sometimes, he hears the songs his brothers send him in the messenger app they all have.

Dressing style (1~casual):Jin wears forest green shirts or t-shirts and black pants or blue jeans.He might wear t-shirts with tie stamps on them.   (2~formal):He rarely wears formal clothes.He thinks they are too stiff and it’s not easy to move his body.Sadly, Leon takes him on gatherings, where he is forced to dress up.Jin tries on dark blue suits and green button up shirts.

Job:Jin is a bartender.It wasn’t because he liked those places.Not only, at least.He has women with big chests to work around the place.Sometimes, he stops his work, just to look and flirt.

Hobbies:His favourite hobby is staring at chests and have Clavis next to him, telling him that women with beautiful legs are the best.Another hobby of his is making a chaos in his house and calling Yves, only to laugh while he runs away.

Favourite type of food:Jin eats foods with lots of protein.He likes to eat everything tasty.He is one of those that trick Yves into cooking.

Favourite drink(s):Jin is used to drinking alcohol and he doesn’t get drunk easily.He enjoys cocktails from his bar and juices.He is okay with tea as well.

THE END.

NadiaSilver~

AN:Thank you very much for reading, and i’m sorry for repeating so many words!I hope you enjoyed it!Also, my requests are open to everyone!I write for ikemen revolution, ikemen vampire and ikemen prince!

[claybefree]

Excerpt- Mule Skinner Blues

The man guided Kit up the trail until it merged within a hair's breadth of treeline next to the tracks, running like that until it met the railyard. The two lines coming in from the outskirts split and branched into a multitude of tracks like veins of a leaf stem spreading across acres of junctions and ballast rock.. The trail there was halted abruptly by a wall of chain link, complete with a man sized hole in it. Not far was what must have been a dead line as along it’s back were parked huge lengths of what Kit guessed to be track laying equipment, low slung, enveloped with clumps of Queen Anne’s lace and left to rot away. Hulking wrecks with a rainbow of multicolored patina, years of different owners individual paint schemes peeling away over one another. Red and yellow gave way to yellow and orange which gave way to blue, with the deep burgundy of Lord Rust presiding over all. 

“Okay, Hobo 101 meets under that barge there,” the thin man said. 

“What, underneath?”

“Yeah, don’t worry it ain’t goin anywhere.” he said with a grin. “It’s a Sunday so there ain’t that much personnel but if you see a white truck a comin’ you better coon it, quick.”

In response to Kit’s confused look he said “Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Hustling through the hole in the fence, he started off across the sparse grass hunched almost to squatting, hands just above the ground as if he were about to drop to all fours. A sneaky kind of lope, Kit decided, that looked almost exactly like a racoon. 

The weeds were almost four foot tall and clustered thickly so that once underneath, they were well concealed.  Kit crawled up next to the thin man and lay across the rails, the smell of creosote impregnated timbers all around. They peered out through a multitude of top heavy stalks each bearing a small continent of impossibly intricate white flowers waving gently in the breeze. 

“Okay, so if you run across a worker that wants to talk, it’s probably safe. Most of these guys work a twelve hour shift, so bullshitting with a hobo is a fun way to burn time. Plus you might find out something useful. You’ll know a bull if you run across one, they usually cuss and yell. There’s this one red-faced old drunk who works here, means as hell. If you see him my recommendation is you haul ass.”

As they were talking, the rumbling in the earth beneath them grew to where it filled the air around them and a locomotive rolled out from between the lines of freight heading towards them. Kit resisted the urge to wave at the engineer. The thin man paused, waiting for the building fury of diesel fumes and machine grumble to pass them. A rogue’s gallery of battle scarred boxcars followed behind as the train picked up speed heading into the wild heart of forest just outside the yard.

“So the mainline he’s on is headed East, besides he’s local. You need a mountain train. The line on the other side goes North. That’s the one you want. At some point he’ll make a left, hopefully, at which point you’ll be on the mighty Highline. Ride that til you can’t anymore. It stops at the Pacific ocean. Think you can manage that?”

“I think I can.” Kit chuckled. 

Rows of oil cars rumbled past, black as pitch with streaks of pitch spilling down the sides from the lid. Then a number of boxcars, pale sun-faded yellow with black doors slid open. Red company emblem a flying “W” tucked in amid a riot of graffiti, brash hieroglyphs that might have been slurs in purple and green.   

“Now if you wind up on a boxcar, make sure you jam the door open, so you don’t accidentally wind up locked inside. Also, I wouldn’t recommend riding topside of a trash bin or a coal car, you’ll freeze to death.”

“Freeze? Ain’t it August?” Kit said, “What month is it anyway?”

“Don’t matter where you’re going, friend.” He smiled. “You do got a jacket in that rig, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay- so the ideal is that type car right there, a grainer,” he gestured at the silver and grey walled construct rolling past, it’s box battered and slightly concave from too many years being in service. Black iron trucks and wheels spinning diligently away underneath.  “You’ll want the ass end of things, shetler wise, under that triangular edge. Not the side where the mechanics are located, mind you, the brakes and such, there’s no real estate there. Oh and make sure it’s got a porch. Otherwise you’ll have to ride suicide which is not nearly as fun as it sounds.”  

“Growing up on a farm so I learned early on how to behave myself around heavy equipment.”

“That’s pretty comforting, actually. Oh yeah, see those three bolts on the wheels? If they’re going to fast to count, then the train is moving too fast to catch. When you go for it, make sure you get both hands on the thing before you haul your shit aboard. If it pulls out of your hand it’s going too fast and you’ll need to ditch it into the rocks. Ballast rash ain’t no fun but I think you understand the importance of not winding up under the trucks.”

“Imagine that’d put a hitch in your giddy-up.” Kit said.

Noticing the grim turn of his mouth, the thin man said, “I know this is a lot to take in but be careful, don’t die and you’ll be a gentleman of the yards in no time.” and slapped his shoulder.

“No chance in talking you into coming with me is there?”

“And take the chance of watching you get chewed into hamburger? Sorry but no.” he laughed. “Besides, I got to stay here and mind Screwdriver. At least until he realizes his lady love ain’t coming back anytime soon, and then probably a week or so after that. Maybe I’ll talk him into going home to the farm. Hopefully you won’t have to wait long. Just do me a favor and don’t start drinking until you’ve successfully boarded your ride, okay?”

“Will do.” 

“See you on down the line, Kit-By-the-Way.” and with a smile he doffed his floppy hat, scrambled out from under the car and was gone into the treeline. 

 In the end, it took no time at all. Hidden away from the heat of the day, he dozed until awoken by the familiar rumbling that sounded like the end of all things. The engine passed in a blaze of orange and yellow, gleaming bright as a sun in the afternoon light. He picked a grain car and made for it straight away, making sure not to linger in the sight line along the locomotive’s edge, the only hitch being almost getting decapitated by the skeleton frame of an empty lumber rack. The beast was going slow enough to catch with ease, and as luck would have it, the porch was enclosed in a steel case with a large circle cut into it that he could squeeze into. Once inside, the diamond plate steel of the floor was clean and spacious, a fresh coat of battleship grey. There were even half a half dozen comic books left by another traveller. Spider-man versus the Rhino. Black Panther. He crawled inside his enclave of welded steel and made himself hidden and comfortable.

Just as the thin man said it would, the train slowly thundered out the yard and made a hard left, heading North, at which point it stopped entirely. Fearing he would be discovered, Kit remained sequestered and read his comic books. After an hour of this he ate a can of ravioli, raw, slurping cold meat sauce from his fingers.  During the second hour he ventured outside to pee into the rock between the cars and then quickly hid himself away again, even though he was completely enveloped entirely by forest and had seen not a soul since they’d left the yard. He developed a welcome case of the stares and let his gaze drift across the lines of the coupling he was told not to cross, even mimicking the shape of it with his two hands, cupped one inside the other. He watched the way the ladder on the car across from his rose, battered and worn, to the top edge, and convinced himself he didn’t need to climb it.  Still the train sat motionless with not even an occasional tremor to indicate shunting yet for this or that. Finally, with nothing else to do, he broke into the handle of Jack he had hidden away in the depths of his bag, having endured the nagging weight of it for what seemed like an eternity.

“Well, the old guy didn’t say nothing about drinking after I got on the train, which I did manage to do. Seems like time to celebrate to me.”  He would have to portion it out if he could, as he had no idea how far it was to California. Tipping it back, the burn in his throat and consequently his stomach was like a lover’s embrace. Everything immediately softened, the colors of the woods brightened, the filth covering everything fell away and the world didn’t seem so big and scary. 

Eventually he heard a series of bangs from far away as the engine began to pull the train along it’s chain length to move out, a clamor that echoed well into the woods and back towards town. His turn came and he was thrown back into the hole, the slack jerked taught, and the great assembly of steel and iron and rust began to roll. Naturally he took another shot to celebrate his departure. 

It occurred to him that unlike the tractors he’d grown up riding, this was more a moving city as it was a piece of equipment. It was not a smooth ride, which surprised him, and there was always a sound of metal creaking somewhere. As they gained speed, and the woods parted and they spilled out onto another limitless ocean of wheat fields, he realized that everything left in his mind would shortly be pushed out by it. The train would consume his entire existence, there was no arguing with it, the train was terrible and absolute. 

Presently the woods surrendered to wheat fields spreading away from both sides of the train. Off to his left the sun fell below the racing clouds, setting the whole thing alight into a golden blaze that threatened to consume him. A conflagration of yellow and orange set to consume the prairies. The train, picking up even more speed, rocked him like a child.

“Sadie-girl, I sure wish you could see this,” he said quietly. 

The engineer poured on more speed such as to send them flying through towns and countryside. It sounded like a mile up the track from him but Kit could hear him laying on the horn as they roared through each crossing. Towns that seemed only to be out there to harvest wheat, maybe they were able to muster a downtown, sometimes just a convergence of a road and rail, with few houses thrown in just to indicate a population. Occasionally there was a water tower or a fallen down depot giving a name to the place to be noted and then immediately forgotten. Monolith grain elevators stood vigil, rising windowless out of the landscape, clapboarded in faded black or white or grey, an architecture completely foreign to him. As dark fell and the train picked up more speed, he became drunk and yelled at it all, incoherent, raging against his own insignificance.     

Morning found him under his leather jacket, body inside the hole and head on his boots as a pillow on the perforated steel walkway outside, woken by a light rain or cloud vapor accumulating on his face. In a literal fog, his waking gaze followed the rail, polished to a mirror finish and passing smoothly beneath him like a pair of silvery ribbons. The pace of the locomotive seemed to not have abated in the least, and he figured he must have caught the famed hotshot he was looking for. He sat up. The softness of the fog obscured the morning, but as near as he could tell the sun was off behind them. They must have turned West somewhere in the night, and his friend was right, he was freezing. 

No coffee to be had, he rummaged around the pile he’d made to sleep under until he found the bottle of Jack, on it’s lower third, and took a three finger belt. The mist cleared enough to reveal a martian landscape. They were in the mountains sure enough. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe just being unfamiliar, but everything looked jagged and angular and desolate. Tall aspens, he gathered, maybe doug fir. Pines of every kind. The only familiar thing was the rail flying beneath him, it’s gauge holy and absolute, punctuated with a million crossties.  

“Sadie, I don’t particularly care for all this ponderosa bullshit, no ma’am,” and pulled again on the bottle in his lap. “Too many pines, rocks and dust. Not enough green. I feel like I might dry up and blow away as it is.”  He stood up and stretched, swaying slightly due as much to the train as the fact he was not at all sober. He threw his jacket over his shoulders and clutched the bottle by the throat for good measure. Didn’t want it getting away from him. 

At this point the engine up the line let loose with a blast from its horn, sending ghosts of echoes to fill the canyons. 

“Ah yes, good morning to you too, Captain!” Kit shouted back. “You heavy handed sonofabitch!”

Suddenly the earth fell away into a chasm that must have been a thousand feet deep, the floor of it buried in the fog and unseen. He grabbed onto the ladder mounted to the outside corner of the grain car. “Holy shit. I guess that’s what all the noise was about.” 

The trestle was immense, a miraculous web of cross bracing filling the valley in what amounted to a straight line through the air yet neither side had a rail or walkway. It occurred to him to just let go and fall away into the clouds. The rocks or river or whatever below waiting would hold him close until the vultures and wolves and whatever else came to claim him, and he could belong to the forest from then on. Listening to the pines whispering, the occasional train whistle, coyotes crying, perhaps he could become a whisper in that valley himself. 

Instead the locomotive pulled him across the abyss to the other side before he had formed a proper mind to leap. He sat down hard, thumbed off the top and pulled on the Jack once again. There was a bag of beef jerky stashed somewhere he’d considered for breakfast, but decided against it. 

“Hey Sadie, wake up and come look at this,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Purple mountains majesty and all that.” For a moment it seemed the same shade as the lavender she had left on the dash of the Toronado. Delicate purple flowers windswept from the open window and perched on a skin of turquoise leather.  Maybe they should have stayed in the farmhouse, he thought. 

He lamented the he never showed her the network of rabbit tunnels crisscrossing the yard, long mounds of soft earth stretching this way and that between the house and the barn. He decided he would hang on just in case he ever saw her again so he could describe this to her. The soft earth with rabbits hidden beneath, the ground yielding underfoot oddly comforting. He drank a little more and thought these things and in this way passed into California. 

[alexandralyman]

Beyond the Horizon: Chapter 40

Fic Update: Beyond the Horizon

Summary:  When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.

Read this chapter on ff.net here

                                              Chapter Forty                                                 Pixie Dust

Killian took a deep breath when he came up on deck, inhaling the sweet scent that perfumed the air in the small cove where the Jolly was anchored. Lieutenant Courtice’s accusations had burrowed under his skin more than he wanted to admit, each expertly-aimed barb reminding him of the man he used to be. Or the man he still was, a few recent good deeds could hardly be enough to wash away the considerable sins of his past. The lieutenant clearly didn’t think so, and neither did Emma’s father, Killian could tell. There was no sign of the the two of them or of Emma’s mother, and he wondered if Courtice had gone to tell the king and queen about his many crimes, letting them know exactly why the name Killian Jones was feared and reviled across the sea. Perhaps he was even pressing his own suit, putting forth his name as a possible match for their daughter once they returned to the Enchanted Forest and regained their kingdom at last. He wasn’t a prince or a lord, but Killian was sure the lieutenant came from much more honourable stock than he did. The glory that would have redeemed the Jones family at long last had died along with Liam, when he’d been cast adrift in the world to forge his own destiny alone.

It was warm in the cove but not humid, not like the thick jungle on Neverland where sweat had beaded on his brow and plastered the linen of his shirt to his back as he’d followed Liam unknowingly into danger. Everything about that island had been wrong, it had felt wrong, it had looked wrong, it had even smelled wrong, though lush and green there had been an unmistakable whiff of decay hanging in the air like the rotting of overripe fruit left too long on the vine. But the Fairy Queen’s domain was as beautiful as a perfectly cut jewel and when he took another deep breath the smell was like a mix of all the good things he could think of. Freshly baked bread and highest quality rum, and the sky after a heavy rainstorm, when the clouds parted and everything had been washed clean and fresh from the downpour. But most of all it smelled like roses, a scent he was rather more intimately familiar with now than he ever had been before thanks to the soap he bought Emma every time they made port. The floral aroma was particularly stubborn, it clung to the collars of all his shirts, lingered in his bed linen and permeated the handkerchiefs she unabashedly stole from him while he pretended not to notice. Would the scent of roses remain even after she was gone, another ghost to taunt him in the dead of night when he was left alone in a cold bed and sleep wouldn’t come no matter how much rum he drank?

“Captain on deck!”

The crew all snapped to attention at the cry from McIntyre until he released them with a flick of his wrist and an order of, “Back to your stations, lads.” The deck was a hive of activity under the bright afternoon sun, the men preparing the ship for departure so they’d be ready to set sail the moment the tides turned the next morning. Ropes were tossed back and forth, the lines were being checked and rechecked, but the sails were still down. They’d be raised last, to catch the wind that would carry them home.

Emma was standing at the rail, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle around her while she stared across the water at the narrow gap in the forbidding cliffs. It was the only passage back out to the open sea, and Killian supposed the Fairy Queen would use her magic to widen it again so they could leave. As it stood now, a rowboat couldn’t even squeeze through it at the moment, let alone the much wider bulk of the Jewel.

He blinked, his stride faltering for a moment at the mental slip. An old memory drifted through his mind, of a dark beach littered with flotsam and jetsam and white sails raised high against a stormy sky.

“She’s very pretty. What’s her name?”

“Killian?”

Emma had turned to face him, appearing completely calm and unruffled despite the chaos that had followed them at every turn. She was the only one who called him that now, he was “Captain” or “Sir” to the crew, “pirate” or “scoundrel” (and...worse) to men like Courtice and those who had been forced into surrender at the point of his sword, but never Killian, not anymore. Nor had anyone defended him so vigorously as she just had to her own parents, like he was worthy of more than fear or scorn. He’d almost believed it, too.

“That was quite passionate back there, Princess. Reminded me of the day we met, though I find I much prefer being your ally instead of your opponent.”

This time he leaned against the rail next to her, crossing one foot over the other and watching her own memory of that day play across her face with the echo of her voice in his ear.

“Withdraw your men or I will throw myself in and you will lose your prize!”

Now she smiled instead of threatened, looking up at him with a teasing gleam in her eye, “What would you have done if I’d had jumped off the ship?”

“Gone in after you, of course,” he answered , with a wink, “What kind of pirate would I be to let such a valuable treasure slip through my fingers?”

He reached for her hand and their fingers twined together easily in the space between them. Killian felt a tiny spark like the strike of a match to flint, a pulse of magic leaping from her palm to his that stole the breath from his lungs and made his heart skip a beat. Loose wisps of golden hair had escaped from her plait and stirred against her cheeks while he brought their joined hands to his lips again, brushing a kiss to the white skin that was as soft and seemingly as fragile as a rose petal.

Leather danced around his knees and he felt a cold draft on the back of his neck that made him frown with Emma’s hand still tucked in his. The wind was picking up, making crewmen shout as hats were almost snatched off their heads and a loose kerchief took flight like a bird, rising high in the air amid the rigging while the water in the lagoon started to move. Waves formed, tiny ripples that quickly grew and crashed white against the hull. Killian frowned, with the island on one side of the cove and the cliff on the other to give shelter there shouldn’t be more than the slightest breeze and he looked up, expecting to see stormclouds rolling in over the main mast. But the sky was still clear, a brilliant blue as far as the eye could see without a single cloud in sight. It was perfect weather for sailing, the wind was even coming in from the west now and if they were out on the ocean they could be making good headway towards the Enchanted Forest in the east with such favourable conditions. The gold and silver leaves on the trees fluttered towards the east as if pointing the way, while the tide began to run out and the beach grew so rapidly that a few fish were actually left behind, flopping on the sand until the next wave washed them back out. It was all happening so fast, too fast, and the Jolly drifted with the pull of the tide until it strained against the anchor line that kept them tethered in place. It held, but he could hear the thick chain begin to squeak and groan in protest and was almost afraid the links would snap from the sudden force of it.

“She’s coming.”

Emma’s voice and her hand squeezing his tight drew his attention and he followed her gaze, to the ball of violet light that heralded the Fairy Queen’s imminent arrival. It was crossing the lagoon towards his ship and was followed by dozens of smaller white ones, like a swarm of fireflies that spilled through the trees and skimmed low over the water, heading straight at them. The crew all stopped and stared, googling like schoolboys at the sight of them all while high, tinkling laughter echoed in the air.

No, not just tinkling. Knowing laughter.

“It is time.”

The Fairy Queen appeared in a gown that was even more fanciful than the last, her skirts wider than she was tall and lavishly trimmed with lavender ribbons that fluttered and danced on the breeze while she hovered above them. She wore a different tiara and a necklace even more elaborate than Emma’s sapphires, made up of hundreds of diamonds that cascaded down like a waterfall to cover her deep decolletage and sparkled brightly in the sun. But for once he had no eye for the jewellery, ignoring the display of wealth in front of him to glance from side to side at the other fairies surrounding his ship. They were too small to make out even at a squint and he groped for the hilt of his sword with sudden unease. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them, still laughing and giggling as they darted around his men. This wasn’t Neverland...but old habits died hard and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the little queen knew far more than she was letting on.

“We’ll sail first thing in the morning with the tide,” he assured the queen, keeping watch on the others from the corner of his eye, “As you can see my men are making haste as we speak to prepare for our departure.”

“No, Captain, I’m afraid that time is no longer on our side. You must leave and you must leave now, I can feel the Dark Magic rising more than it has in decades and I fear that Regina is attempting once more to enact her terrible curse. Our only saving grace is that she does not yet possess everything she needs, but if she gets her hands on the final missing piece and you don’t stop her in time then all will be lost, and so it will remain until the day that was prophesied.”

She stared at Emma with a significant look that made her stiffen beside him, her free hand reaching up to clutch at the lapel of his coat.

“My twenty-eighth birthday,” she whispered, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Emma was still nineteen, he’d taken her ship in the spring and she’d been born at the end of fall, she’d yet to celebrate her twentieth birthday and her twenty-eighth was nothing but a distant speck on the horizon.

“Yes,” the Fairy Queen nodded, “Until then time itself will stop, all the Happy Endings will be undone, and no more will come. No one will wish upon a star and even magic itself will be forgotten.”

The cold feeling ran right down his spine and it wasn’t from the wind. The Happy Endings will be undone….he’d been happier than he ever dreamed possible and with each word the queen spoke he could almost see it being snatched away right before his very eyes. He never backed down from a fight...but he’d been unable to stop his father from abandoning two small, trusting boys like a thief in the night, he hadn’t stopped the poison from reaching Liam’s heart and taking away the only person in the world who’d loved him...he couldn’t lose like that again. He couldn’t. More than the cut of any lash…it might be the thing that finally broke him at last.

Her strange violet eyes met his while his thoughts raced ahead. If they kept sailing west they might be able to outrun this Dark Curse and he could shelter Emma safely for the next decade, keep his own happiness close and leave the rest of the kingdom to suffer under Regina’s thumb. He was selfish enough to want it with a desperation that clawed at his belly, while a little voice whispered in his ear that her own parents had planned for it when they’d sent her away in the first place, and he’d promised her mother to follow through if push came to shove. “Take her and run”, the voice whispered, “You’re no great hero, Killian Jones.”

“Even if these winds hold all the way back to the Enchanted Forest, the Jolly will be lucky to break twenty knots and we can’t sustain that pace for more than a day, two at most, or the ship will start to break from the stress. It will still take us weeks to return.”

Killian glanced down at Emma, steeling himself for another argument. He told himself it wasn’t a push, exactly, just a tiny nudge and not a lie. She’d know if he was lying, but that didn’t mean she’d be happy about what he was about to propose. She still hadn’t said yes to his tentative offer of marriage, even though the sea diamond continued to reside on her finger. He’d been tempted to ask her again, to do it properly, like a gentleman, and get down on one knee, but-

He was no coward, but he was afraid to hear her answer. Taking him impulsively as a lover while alone and stranded far from home was one thing, but a husband...that was forever. Emma looked up at him and her hand splayed across his chest, over his heart. He told himself it didn’t matter, his sword was hers either way by his own sworn oath. If she wouldn’t be his wife, she was still his queen.

“I’m sorry my love,” he murmured, willing her to accept this, at least, “If there was any other way to get us back in time-”

“Leave that to me, Captain.”

His head jerked up and he saw that the Fairy Queen was still watching them close, a tiny smile on her rosebud lips.

“Your Majesty?” he asked, alarm bells starting to ring in his head. He’d never sat at the gaming table with a fairy before, but he could tell that she was still holding trump cards close to her chest.

“Raise the sails and bring up the anchor, and I will show you,” she said, a cryptic statement that revealed absolutely nothing. The question of how she planned to get them across the whole of the western sea when she couldn’t leave the island raised to the tip of his tongue but he hesitated. The little queen had said that it was his belief that had brought him to the place when others faltered and Killian sensed that this was another test of his faith. His hand twitched and he felt the weight of his rings, two conflicting orders warring within him as the smooth metal rubbed against his skin.

“Mr. Smee!”

Smee was trying to bat away the little fairies away from his face as if they really were flies, without much luck. He muttered something under his breath that only made the giggling louder, eyes crossing comically when one flew right at his nose and banked at the last possible second before darting away again beyond his reach.

“Aye, Captain?” he replied absently, clearly distracted by the balls of light taunting him.

“Raise anchor. Hoist the sails.”

That got the first mate’s attention and his hand abruptly fell back down at his side while a fairy lifted his knit cap and dropped it back down so that it flopped heavily over his forehead, “Captain?”

“You heard me. Relay the order.”

His lips disappeared into his beard as he blinked rather owlishly at them a few times, but then he quickly fixed his cap and bellowed through cupped hands, “Raise the anchor! Hoist the sails! Captain’s orders!”

“Raise the anchor!”

“Hoist the sails!”

“Captain’s orders!”

The cry was taken up by the rest of the crew as the men still up in the rigging began to climb down, calling back and forth as they tied off lines with grim determination. With the high winds and the rapid current if the anchor was raised and the sails were hoisted into place then there’d be nothing to stop them from slamming right into the cliffs, the cove was too small for any kind of maneuvering that would save his ship from being smashed to pieces against the rocks. Whatever the Fairy Queen planned to do, she would have to do it quickly.

“I should go tell Mother and Papa that we’re leaving now,” Emma said, pulling away from him. He immediately felt colder and it wasn’t from the whip of the wind. His shoulders hunched under the heavy leather while she picked her way over the thick ropes that snaked across the deck and disappeared down below.

“Captain.”

The fairy swooped down so that they were face to face and the cacophony surrounding them seemed to fade at once into a muted hum, as if it was coming from a great distance. She looked both young and old with her unlined face and white hair and he could feel the magic that emanated from her like the darkening of the sky before a lightning storm, crackling with immense power despite her tiny form and fanciful dress. When she spoke it was with the air of a pronouncement, a royal decree that was tinged with a hint of warning.

“Our pasts do not define our future, Captain Jones, and forgiveness is a gift. Remember that, and remember that love will always be the most powerful magic of all.”

“Even for a pirate?”

His voice cracked on the words and he turned, forcing a cough to avoid the piercing stare of her violet eyes. His whole plan hinged on dredging up the dark past that Courtice had thrown in his face and once Emma saw him like that...finally saw him for the man he truly was, how could she possibly forgive him? How could she still love him, after all was said and done?

The queen’s voice softened, going as gentle and as soothing as a long-forgotten lullaby, “Take heart, dear Captain. There’s a Happy Ending out there for everyone, even pirates. You just have to believe.”

With that she flew off, across the deck to where Emma had returned with her parents in tow. And Lieutenant Courtice, but Killian ignored him and watched as the queen spoke directly into Emma’s ear for several long moments, hovering in the air with her wings beating in a quicktime rhythm that made them nothing but a blinding blur of lavender against her back, a bright spot of colour that drew all eyes to the sight. But whatever she was saying was clearly meant only for his princess, her mother and father both hung back when the fairy raised her hand to keep them at bay and it was impossible to hear anything above the snap of the ropes in the wind and the shouts of the men.

“Captain! We’re ready to hoist the sail!”

The Fairy Queen kissed Emma on the forehead, a shower of violet light falling over the both of them and the feel of magic pricking under his skin again as he watched, before she rose up with a smile and came back to the middle of the deck.

“You’d best take the helm now, Captain. Keep to the east, and the wind will carry you home.”

Killian glanced at the cliffs and the narrow passage between them, still completely impenetrable for the Jolly, and over the expectant faces of the crew, all in position to set sail. They would follow his orders to the death, he knew, he was the captain, and he held all the lives aboard in the palm of his hand. Not for the first time, but never quite like this. Another test of his mettle, he supposed. You just have to believe.

Emma’s hand slipped into his again and she looked at him with nothing but absolute trust. She believed, and it was time to fulfill the other half of the vow he had made all those months ago when she’d returned to him against all reason and sense, and take her home. He took his place at the helm with her standing behind him, resting his hands lightly on the well-seasoned wood.

“Hoist the sails!”

“Aye, aye, Captain! Hoisting the sails!”

There was a great rattling noise as the men pulled on the lines and the sails began to rise up both masts, filling at once with the wind as they went. In the same instant, the Fairy Queen and all the little fairies rose up high in the air as well, above the top of the main mast and the crimson flag that hung there. The grinning skull and crossed bones disappeared under what looked like a sudden fall of snow, raining down from the sky. Only it wasn’t snow and there still wasn’t a cloud in sight, it was-

“Fairy dust,” Emma breathed, one hand resting on his shoulder.

Once, long ago, the Jewel of the Realm had flown on the feathers of the last remaining Pegasus, second star to the right and straight on til morning. The magical sail was gone, but a fine glittering powder drifted down and coated the lengths of waxed canvas with a sheen of pure gold. The sails billowed and snapped, and Killian kept both hands firm on the wheel as the prow started to lift. Crewman rushed to the sides of the ship and looked down, open-mouthed, while he could see the king and queen quickly grasp hands and Fergus whooped, pulling off his hat. The cliffs loomed and Killian felt his jaw tighten even as a thrill ran through him at the feel of soaring into the air, wind in his face and sky instead of sea.

You just have to believe.

The Jolly Roger sailed over the top of the jagged rocks with room to spare and when he glanced over his shoulder the island was gone. White mist rolled over the ocean as the Fairy Queen and her little kingdom disappeared, hidden once more by the magic that kept them shielded from the rest of the world. Or not, Killian thought, remembering the queen’s warning about the Dark Curse and wishing that he’d thought to ask what it was that Regina still sought, the missing piece the queen claimed the powerful sorceress still needed. A few faint shouts were heard as they flew over the Mermaid’s Song, still anchored and waiting off the now absent coast and undoubtedly stunned by the sight of the Jolly soaring overhead. The other ship quickly retreated into the distance as they kept climbing higher and higher, into the very clouds themselves. Some part of him realized that he was now saddled with Liam Courtice for the rest of the journey, there was no way the man could survive the drop, let alone swim back to his own ship, and he gripped the wheel a little tighter, knuckles going white. The winds filled the golden sails almost to bursting as he laid in a course to the east, back to the land of his birth and the destiny that awaited them all.

There was no turning back now.

                                                  ......

“Emma?”

Killian came into the cabin and shut the door behind him, an expression she couldn't quite decipher on his face. He looked a bit nervous, which was rare, but she supposed everyone on the ship was a little nervous at the moment. The shock of it hadn’t worn off yet and Emma didn’t imagine that it would, they weren't sailing, they were flying, high in the air above the clouds themselves. The Fairy Queen had given the ship wings, a parting gift like the ones bestowed in the many tales of her kind. Emma wondered if she’d ever see Violet again, somehow, or if she’d have to remain forever hidden away on her strange isle.

The price she paid for being queen.

“Where’s Fergus? He was supposed to stay here with you.”

He glanced from side to side as he spoke, looking for the boy while one hand disappearing inside his coat.

“Galley,” she explained, drawing a pattern on the table with the tip of her finger, “He said he was hungry.”

That got a hint of a smile, “He always is.”

In truth, she’d also sent Fergus to fetch a bite because she’d needed a few moments alone to think. Everything had happened so fast and her head was still spinning with it all, the Fairy Queen’s warning, the Evil Queen’s curse, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, to wake in her lover’s arms with his kiss on her lips and her great destiny forgotten as nothing but a dream.

“He loves you, you know. Fergus. He’s always loved you.”

“Hmm,” Emma mused, “Is he the only one?”

She loved him too, the boy with the sandy mop and the large dark eyes. He was like Killian, but dark where he was fair and fair where he was dark. She loved them both, just as she loved Red, and Melody, they weren't blood, but they were family.

Killian leaned against the ladder with one booted foot propped against the bottom rung, watching her. Her skirts rustled with a whisper of silk when she stood up from the table and went over to the window, looking out through the panes of glass to the endless expanse of blue beyond the hull of the ship. She could feel the magic of the fairy dust, running through the wood under her hand like the vibration of distant hoofbeats on an empty road. The path ahead was shrouded in mist and at the end of it lay only uncertainty. A woman Emma had never met, a power she didn’t understand, a destiny she didn't want...a stray rose petal lay on the ledge below the window like a drop of blood, red, and curled at the edges that were just starting to turn black.

“It’s difficult to be certain, but I believe that at this speed we’ll reach the Enchanted Forest at some point before sunrise tomorrow morning. Once we land, your parents will have to remain hidden down below while we search out a ship flying the Evil Queen’s flag.”

She nodded without turning around, that made sense. Regina still believed that her parents were dead, they would have to maintain the ruse when they returned.

“Emma…I….when we,” he said, somewhat haltingly, as if each word pained him to speak, “When we make contact with the queen’s men, I will have to act in a manner that betrays nothing of what I truly feel for you. I will have to say things that I don’t mean, perhaps even threaten you-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, twisting to face him.

The dark eyebrows rose while his voice dropped and took on an edge that made her back go straight, “Doesn’t it?”

A knife suddenly appeared in his hand as if by magic, gleaming in the light as he turned it to and fro. He touched the edge to his thumb and she gave a sharp inhale, feeling her nostrils flare and a burn in her lungs, but the blade only pressed a line into the skin without breaking it.

“Blunted,” Killian drawled, looking at the knife and not at her, “Wouldn’t even cut through butter now. But will it feel that way if I have to hold it to your throat?”

Emma felt a cold shiver run right down her spine at the image his words conjured in her mind. She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and his chin dropped, long lashes resting dark against his cheeks as his eyes closed. The distance between them was small, but it loomed suddenly more large and forbidding than it ever did before. It was so quiet without the crashing of the waves outside to break the silence, the only sound was the faint echo of the wind.

He looked up when her hands landed on his chest, a shadow slashing jaggedly across his face. She’d been afraid of him once, fearful of the darkness that clung to him like the long leather coat. Now she reached up and touched her fingers to his temple, sweeping down and tracing the strong line of his whiskered jaw. He went utterly still save for a ragged breath, knife still clenched tight in his fist. His lips began to move, but she laid a finger over them before he could speak.

“No matter what you have to say or do, I’ll know that you’re lying.”

The knife fell to the planks with a clatter that she ignored, pushing the hilt aside with the toe of her shoe. Blunted edge or not, it couldn’t hurt her.

Night was beginning to fall outside the ship and the shadows lengthened around them even more. A few stray flecks of fairy dust glittered in Killian’s hair, catching the last of the light and bright against the inky locks. She went to brush them away and his hand seized hers, his eyes going wide.

“Where’s your ring?”

The fourth finger on her left hand was bare, or at least, that’s how it looked. Both their heads bent over it and she covered it with her right hand, making the sea diamond appear again in a brief flash of magic.

“Glamour spell,” she whispered, “To hide it. I knew I couldn’t wear it once we got back home...not in front of the Evil Queen...but...I didn’t want to take it off.”

The look that crossed his face at that almost broke her heart, staggering relief that had him slumping against the ladder at his back as his knees began to buckle and a hand flew to her hip while the other curled around the ring.

“It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

His eyes flew to hers as she said it again, as blue as the stone held between them. A mermaid’s tear, and another slipped down his cheek and over the scar that marred it in a damp trail. Emma told herself that this would be what she remembered when the time came, when his face was hard and his mouth was cruel. The memories were seared into her skin like a brand, the first dinner at his table, the night he had gambled for a kiss and lost, a hot bath and his arms around her in the dark, promises whispered into her hair while his heart beat softly against her chest. It fluttered under her fingers now when he pressed their joined hands to the rich silk of his waistcoat, brilliant red, the same one from that first night. Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger, pirate, jailer...she remembered the harsh turn of the key in the lock, the fall of the shadows through the iron bars of the cell. When the time came she would remember the shadows that played across his face now, how open and soft he looked with a smile curling at the edges of his lip even as another tear joined the first. They don’t turn to diamonds when they fall, but then, he’s the sailor and she’s the princess.

“I thought we’d have a bit more time,” he sighed, “More time before I had to...I never wanted you to see me like that again.”

“Like what?” she asked, thumbing away the tear.

“A villain. I wanted to be a hero for you, Princess.”

She shook her head in disbelief, cupping his cheek, “You are a hero, Killian.”

“If you believe that, then maybe it's true.”

His arms went around her, drawing her to him and enveloping her in the warmth of his body as he rested his chin on top of her head. She felt the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek, “I can’t do this without you. I can’t face….her, alone.”

“You won’t, I promise. My sword is yours, always.”

“I love you.”

It came out as the barest whisper, but he heard it, his arms tightening and lips pressing to her hair.

“Say it again.”

Her eyes drifted shut, the spreading heat of him making her limbs slack as she was lifted off her feet as easily as if she were a small child. Flying without wings, but that’s what love was, wasn’t it? The words slipped easily over her lips while he carried her with his sword at his hip and fairy dust in his hair.

“I love you.”