#it took 3 hours 2 settle on chairs so its probably gonna take forever

[peonypyxels]

wip 👀

[bbrandy2002]

Fearless

Chapter 2: Take My Hand And Drag Me Headfirst

Book: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairing: Prince/King Liam x MC (Riley Brooks), Drake Walker x OC (Alyssa Devereaux)

Series Premise: Riley Brooks and Alyssa Devereaux became best friends as freshmen at Syracuse University, a borderline-sisterhood that lasts forever after. When Riley meets a handsome prince and is asked to compete for his hand in a mysterious faraway kingdom, she invites Alyssa along for moral support.

What the girls think will be a crazy temporary adventure becomes two sets of happily ever afters … with twice the shenanigans to show for it.

A/N: This series is written in loving collaboration between @bbrandy2002 and @burnsoslow​.

Series Warnings: Smut 🍋🍋, language, canon violence (gun violence, bombing, terrorism), drug use, probably more stuff as we think of it. By reading this series, you agree that you are at least 18 years old and are prepared to deal with adult themes.

Thank you @burnsoslow​ for the beta and putting some of your magical finishing touches where needed.

Chapter 3 will be written by @burnsoslow​ ,  I’m so excited for that!!

___________________________

Propped against the railing of the rear deck of a small tugboat in the middle of the Hudson River, the warmth of Liam’s arms wrapped around her from behind, Riley thought back to the words Daniel spoke to her earlier about fairytales and happy endings. Maybe it was the hope in his voice she needed to hear during a vulnerable moment to lift her spirits, but she was really starting to believe them herself.

The newly fired, down-on-her-luck Riley Brooks had left the Tapped Out Bar with a mysterious man that she plowed over during an escape from rats while taking out the garbage. A little while later, she accidentally attacked him again in the alleyway of her former employment with her sad little stick. They struck up a conversation, and through some awkward stalling on his part, he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out for a drink. 

Riley wasn’t someone who normally took off with random guys she just met to flit about the city, but there was just something about Liam that was different -- that was special. 

Call it intuition. An inclination. Instinct or inkling. Whatever it was, was a possibility. Of what? That remained to be seen. 

After talking to his friends about his plans, and at her behest, the pair headed west on foot until they reached a busy late-night cafe that overlooked the choppy waters of the New York harbor. Sitting on the open deck, moonlight cascading off the ripples of the sea, a light jazz tune playing through the outdoor speakers, they talked for over an hour about everything and nothing, while sipping coffee and plucking at a large cinnamon roll they shared. It was the most Riley had spoken in a long time. When you live with and are friends with the more outgoing Alyssa, you learn to appreciate the fine art of listening. She spoke about her dads, her friends, places she traveled to and what not. All very light, casual conversation. Liam mentioned he had family, his country of origin, how much he was enjoying New York, but never revealed too much.

Not wanting to sound too whiny and pathetic, she stuck with the positive things in her life; she surprised even herself that there were a lot more than she realized. But he captivated her in a real way that made it so easy. Liam laughed with her and made her feel interesting and personable; maybe even desired.

And as the night carried on and the patrons of the cafe dwindled down, a Miles Davis tune began to play: “Blue and Green.” A bright smile tugged on the corner of Liam’s lips as he pushed his chair back and rose from the table to offer his hand. “My lady.”

Riley looked around the deck to see if anyone else was dancing -- they weren’t -- but how could she say no? 

She didn’t want to say no.

Beside their little round table and under a string of hanging white pearly lights and garland, they slowly swayed together like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was chemistry in motion with every soft blare of the trumpet, rhythmic taps on the snare drum, and light pitter pats on a piano played in G major. The tempo was leisurely and elegant, creating the perfect ambience for the feelings that were stirring within them.

With her head resting snugly against his firm chest, the thrumming of his steadily-beating heart reverberating in her ear, Liam revealed, “I’m the Crown Prince of Cordonia, Riley.”

Never breaking their stride, Liam lifted one of her tiny arms in the air and twirled her around gracefully. Riley smiled up at him as they returned to formation; their hands intertwined between them. “And I’m one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

Liam laughed as they continued their gentle side-to-side movements. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m not lying to you. Perhaps I should have been a little more upfront with you from the beginning, but I’m normally not allowed to go out without the Royal Guard.” He paused for a moment to lower her into a deep dip, sensually inhaling the perfumed scent around her decolletage, before pulling her back into his arms. “And I was only allowed out on the condition that I kept my identity a secret. But, just for one day … I wanted to be free.”

It was one of the most romantic nights Riley had ever experienced in her life, but as the music continued to play, their steps gliding in sync, she nuzzled her cheek against his firm body and responded, “You’re so full of shit.”

Liam pulled away, amused by her choice of words and disbelief. “After I told you all of that, you still think I’m lying?”

Riley shrugged. “I dunno.” She casually pulled out her chair under his watchful eye and sat down, crossing her legs. Lifting a coffee mug to her lips, she winced at its cold temperature, and the fact that she hated coffee. “So, I’m not really into the whole role-playing thing, but if you’re gonna be this ... Prince of Condomania, how about if I play the sultry villainess spy who comes to steal the treasures from your castle and you catch me in the act?” She batted her eyelashes and splayed her hands across her chest. “I will neva surrenda, Prince Liam. If you wont me, you’ll haf to take me right heya.” Riley animatedly flung her arms out and arched back over her chair.

Liam knit his brow. “What the hell kind of accent is that?”

Riley sat up and smiled proudly. “It’s Cajun. I have this friend and I really like how he talks; it’s so sexy. Do you think it sounded convincing at all? Maybe a little too nasally? You want me to try to do your accent next?”

With a grin, Liam shook his head and took the seat across from her. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She sighed. “That’s what they tell me.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Riley watched curiously as Liam pulled out his phone and began typing something on it. He held it out to her. “I want you to look at this, Cajun Villainess Spy. Tell me what you think?”

“Oh God, you’re gonna show me a dick pic, aren’t you?” Riley slammed her eyes shut as she reluctantly reached for his cell, but sort of peeked out one eye.  

“Eh, no. That’s never really been my style.” He gestured insistently for her to look at the screen as he sat back and crossed his arms. “I think you’ll find everything you want to know about me right there.”

It only took her a second to study the images and gloss over the text he pulled up, but a satisfied smirk formed on Liam’s charmed features while watching her eyes grow larger. Riley jumped up from her chair, the momentum causing it to tip over. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a real prince?” 

Liam guffawed, “I did!”

“No, you didn’t! You had I’m joking written all over your face. How was I supposed to know your serious face and your joke face look the same?” She tossed the phone back to him like it was molten iron scorching her palm. “I’d rather have the dick pic.” 

After picking up her tipped-over chair and getting settled again, she took a moment to just process the identity of the man she had spent the last couple of hours talking and dancing with. Her real-life Prince Charming. This incredibly sweet, hot guy sipping coffee in front of her was part of a royal family, and she was an unemployed everything. What on earth possessed him to want to spend time with the likes of her?  

She looked up from her fidgeting fingers that were picking at the green fabric covering her thighs and smiled softly at him. “I’m sorry I overreacted. It’s just …”

“A lot to learn about someone? No, no, I get it. I probably would have had the same reaction if I were you.”

“So ... what happens now?”

What happened next was what led them to the boat they were on for an impromptu midnight ride to see the Statue of Liberty.

Liam laid out the details of his situation: He was a prince visiting New York City with his friends who were throwing him a last-minute bachelor party. Riley listened attentively while he explained his upcoming social season: not knowing yet who he was going to marry, but that duty required him to take a wife by the end of the year. He had hoped while he was in the city to visit its most famous statue; however, his friends hadn’t planned for it. Riley heard the disappointment in his voice and it tugged at her heart.

It was definitely too late to catch one of the many tours that traveled to Ellis Island during the day, but Riley was determined to do what she could to make it happen for him. Part of her was motivated by the fact that she liked him a lot and enjoyed his company; he was charming and refined, different from anyone she’d ever met. The longer she got to spend with Liam and got to know him, the better. But there was also this other part that felt sorry for him. Riley could see the struggle in his eyes and the weight on his shoulders between what he wanted to do, and what his position forced his hand to do. In her mind it was clear that Liam was the kind of guy who got everything -- except what he wanted.

In some ways, she knew the feeling.

To Liam’s surprise, Riley assured him she would find a way for him to see that statue. So, while he paid the tab, her mind raced with how the hell she was going to pull this off. And just before the actual possibility of having to hijack a vessel began to fully take shape in her mind, she pulled out her phone in one last-ditch effort to not break the law. Riley knew no one who owned a boat, but there was one person in her life that seemingly had a connection to everyone in the damn city.

Riley bit at her fingernails as the phone rang, glancing over her shoulder once to watch Liam paying the cashier. “Come on, come on. Pick up. Pick up.”

“Heyyyy!”

“Alyssa,” Riley whispered in an urgent tone into the phone, unclear whether her friend would even hear her over the party music and raucous chatter that was blaring in the background. “I need your help with something.”

“Riiiiley!” she slurred. “My bestie. My sister from another parents. I love you soooo much. More than everyone in the whole wide ... something. Hey, guys! Riley’s on the phone; say hi to her!” 

“Wait, Lyss! No.”

A loud chorus of drunken greetings could be heard through the receiver as Alyssa held it up in the air.

“Alyssa!” Riley repeated in frustration while listening to her best friend start another conversation with a partygoer about the perfect symmetrical shape of the cheese cube she just ate. Apparently, it looked like a “tiny little house, for teeny, tiny little cheese people.”

Riley smacked her forehead. “Alyssa!” 

Liam returned from paying the bill, his hands stuffed in his pockets and bouncing on his heels. He raised his eyebrows at Riley as if asking eagerly whether she was ready to head out on this adventure she told him she would make possible. Riley smiled back and raised a finger, indicating she’d be ready in a moment. Panic started to set in as she cursed under her breath and continued to try to get her friend back on the call. “Lyss.”

“Riley,” Alyssa laughed. “You’re still on the phone? No way! Hey, guys! Riley’s still on the phone. Say ‘hey’ to her!”

“NOO! Please, Alyssa, I need your help.”

“Whatcha need, Ri? You know I’ll do aaaanything for you.”

“Ok, do you remember when you caught our dorm room on fire senior year cooking ramen noodles in the microwave, and all my stuff burned up?”

“That checks. Sure.”

“Well, it’s time to pay up on that favor you said you’d owe me.”

Somehow, the planets must have been aligned just right, because a very inebriated Alyssa comprehended Riley’s request enough to talk to Damien about it and have it actually make sense. Luckily, the private detective knew a guy who drove a tugboat for the Port Authority working the night shift and was more than willing to see what he could do for Alyssa’s best friend.

-----------

Riley felt Liam’s arms tighten around her waist as the Statue of Liberty came into view. She had seen the landmark more times than she could remember in her life; perhaps she had become so accustomed to it being there that she took for granted how it would affect someone seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t until she twisted around in his arms to view his reaction, to see this beacon of freedom reflecting in his mesmerized eyes, that it all made sense. Liam was a beautiful man with a beautiful soul; if anyone deserved this moment to reflect on what it truly meant to embrace the freedom he longed for, it was him.

“What are you thinking, Liam?” She broke the silence.

He shook his head in wonderment. “It’s magnificent, Riley. I’ve heard art has meaning because of what it makes the viewer feel. Whether it’s ink splatters on a canvas or on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, it only matters if it moves you.”

“And?” 

Liam let out a sigh of contentment and lowered his gaze to her. “And right now, looking at this view with you … I feel like … anything is possible.”

“I feel that way too.” She slowly nodded, finding herself lost in his eyes, his voice, his embrace. Nothing in this moment mattered to her anymore: the long stream of bad luck, the crappy job she just lost, her epic failures at relationships. They all seemed to just wistfully fly out into the ocean and bury themselves below its sandy bottom. 

Wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by the salty sea air and a skyline full of hopes and dreams, Liam pulled her as close to himself as she would go, his other hand moving up to caress the side of her face. Both searched longingly into each other's eyes, waiting for the other to make that next big move. 

Feeling an awakening of courage and fire in the depths of her fluttering stomach, she threw all fears and caution to the wind. Riley grasped on to the lapels of Liam’s jacket and gently lowered him to her eagerly awaiting lips.

The kiss was tender and brief, but magical; it left her spellbound. Riley could swear she floated out of her body and traveled into the clouds that blanketed above them and enveloped her wholly.

Liam rested his forehead on Riley’s; his hands reached down to grasp hers and swing freely alongside them. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Riley.”

“Is that before or after I knocked you out earlier?”

He chucked, rubbing the bump on the back of his head. “Both times. I’m certainly not sorry about either, though. I’ll never forget this night … or you.”

If you have a concussion, you might. She smiled up at him, “Me either.”

As their boat rounded the island, Riley took one last glance back at the statue that now represented so much more in her mind. Her gaze traveled across the expanse of the gleaming torch, down the long arm of the statue, over to the dim lights shining through the glass within the crown. Something caught her attention -- an odd movement -- and she couldn’t help but squint real hard to make out the image that was quite small from her vantage point. She tilted her head, trying to figure out what the hell she was seeing before it finally became clearer to her. She let out a loud gasp. “Oh my God!”

From behind, Liam leaned down next to her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked curiously, trying to match his view with her line of sight. “What are you seeing?”

Riley pointed up. “I see ass cheeks!” she replied in disgust. “And not just any ass cheeks … big, gigantic ones smooshed right up against the window. There’s two people up there just going at it and … oh, no wait, she just got turned around. Yep, yep, those look like boobies now. Who does that kind of thing, having sex where anyone could just see? And in the Statue of Liberty, of all places?”

Letting out a forced cough then clearing his throat, Liam squeezed Riley’s shoulders several times and laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I know. Sick freaks, huh?���

The pair watched the display for a second longer than they should have before turning to look at one another, blushing and smiling sheepishly. Riley only hoped she played off her disgust well enough that he didn’t realize she was a sick freak too.

Liam looked away, hoping the same.

---------

It was well past midnight.The Brooklyn streets were mostly bare, with only the occasional late-night dweller cruising the sidewalks or a yellow cab making its weekend rounds. Just a stone's throw across the bridge, the city that never slept, with its flashing lights and bustling tourist, lay in deep contrast to this quiet residential district that was only lit up at that hour by street lamps and halogen headlights.

Riley considered where she lived to be a fairly safe neighborhood. Crime and lawlessness weren’t unheard of, but it was rare for that area. Like many women of her young age, walking alone in the dark wasn’t something she usually set out to do unless she had no other choice. That’s why when Liam insisted he accompany her the few blocks from where they finished their excursion to see her home safely, she was more than willing to oblige him.

“This is my stop. Home sweet home.” Riley stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led to the entrance of her building and turned to Liam. She looked more gleeful than she actually was.

He glanced up at the plain red brick building. It was nothing special, but he made a mental note of the address numbers over its clear glass entryway. He knew it was unlikely he’d ever see her again, but on the off-chance, maybe someday if he was ever in the neighborhood … no, he thought … there’s no point in going there. “I see that ...it’s nice.”

Riley looked at him with a hopeful expression. “I know you said you had an early flight in the morning, but … if you’d like to come up …”

“I wish I could, Riley. Trust me, I want to more than you know; however, the limo will be here soon with my friends, and ...” he swept a strand of blowing hair from her face, memorizing her every feature. “... I don’t want to make this harder on either one of us.”

Nodding, Riley gave a half-smile. “I understand.”

They stared at one another for a moment, hoping to prolong the inevitable. “Come here, you.” Liam pulled her into him and wrapped his arms around her. ”I can never thank you enough for everything tonight, Riley. I’m so glad I ran into you. Well ... actually you ran into me.” Riley let out a soft laugh that made his heart skip a beat. “You were the best part of my trip, Riley. I mean it.”

Before they knew it, the limo pulled up alongside the sidewalk in front of Riley’s apartment. Both felt a sinking feeling, knowing this was the end, and embraced a little tighter as the squeak of the limo’s brakes dulled and the awaiting engine ran in the silent backdrop.

Riley drew in a breath, the heels of her shoes tapping one another. “I guess this is goodbye?”

Frowning, Liam’s palms moved up to her face and rested along her jawline. “I’m afraid it looks that way.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, her arms winding around the back of his neck to hold him there for as long as she possibly could.

Knowing if he didn’t end it there, it never would, Liam broke their kiss, stroking his hand through her hair and said, “Take care, Riley.”

She smiled back. “You too, Liam.”

Not wanting to leave until he was sure she made it inside safely, Liam watched from the sidewalk while Riley slowly made her way up the concrete steps, scouring through her bag as she did so. When she reached the top, she stepped in front of the locked door, frantically digging and shaking her bag in search of the keys to get in. 

“Everything okay up there?” Liam called up to her as she knelt down and started frantically tossing items from her purse, slamming them down next to her feet: wallet, cell phone, lip gloss, ink pens, breath mints, hand sanitizer, a half-eaten bag of skittles, a box cutter she didn’t know she had, a marshmallow bunny from Easter, Midol, tampons …

“Mother fuck,” she grumbled in frustration to herself before yelling back cheerfully, “Yes, just looking for my keys. They’re always at the bottom,” she laughed, trying to make light of it. 

“They’re in your hand, Riley,” she heard him point out when she finally gazed down into her hand and slowly opened her palm. Liam let out a laugh when he saw her face twist up, realizing she had them the entire time. 

“Get out of here. You said you didn’t want to make this harder.” Riley began stuffing everything back into her bag.

He continued to laugh as he threw his hands up and stepped away. “I’m going.”

As soon as she unlocked the door and walked inside to the lit-up entryway, she heard the limo pull away. Everything in her wanted to look back in hopes he’d stayed behind by some chance and was walking up those steps, approaching the door, wanting her to let him in. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; the greatest guy she’d ever met was gone, and the only way to see him again would require a Google search. 

In her mind, though, she had made a prince’s dream come true. Maybe she wasn’t half bad after all.

In a huge way, Liam did the same for her. Too bad he would never know it.

___________

Riley opened the door and stepped inside her dark apartment, closing it behind her. After such a long day, feeling a little disheartened, all she wanted to do was slip into some comfy night clothes, wash her face, brush her teeth and crash until next week. Taking two steps away from the door, her foot caught on something and she went flying forward, landing with a hard thud to the floor. 

It felt like the wind had been knocked right out of her chest when she hit the ground. “Son-of-a--?” She pushed herself up on her knees, shook out her sore hands, then reached over to flip the light switch on.

“Alyssa?” Riley whispered.

Lying on the ground, curled into a peaceful little ball, was her roommate, still in the same clothes she last saw her in, hands pressed together and tucked under her cheek like a sleeping cherub. Riley crawled over to Alyssa, swept her hair out of her face, and checked for breathing. The strong smell of alcohol emanated from her tiny sighs -- Alyssa wasn’t a heavy drinker. 

Concerned, Riley jiggled her arm. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

An angelic murmur was the only answer to her question.

Not wanting to leave her on the floor, Riley stood up and bent down, her hands grasping both of Alyssa’s wrists before she pulled her down their hallway as gently as she could and stepped into her best friend's bedroom. 

Huffing out of breath, she made it next to Alyssa’s bed. Riley crouched down and tried to lift her onto the mattress, but Alyssa was dead weight. Maybe she had no other choice but to leave her there. 

Riley pulled a blanket and pillow from the bed, rolled Alyssa to her side, and got her as comfortable as she could. After placing a wastebasket next to her friend and leaving a bottled water on the night table, she patted her back. “I have so many things to tell you in the morning, Lyss. You’d be so proud of me.” Riley swallowed down the emotions that had threatened to escape since she realized Liam had left for good. Her voice broken and feeble, she continued, “I took that risk. I was fearless, just like you told me to be. It didn’t work out the way I had hoped, but …” she sniffled through a small smile, blinking back tears. “... I have no regrets.”

Riley rose to her feet and headed for the door when she heard a faint voice call out from behind that stopped her in her tracks. “Ri?”

She turned her head. “Hmm?”

“I’m always proud of you.”

Switching the light off, Riley smiled back at her friend, who still appeared to be resting in a calm slumber. “I know. Good night, bestie.”

---------------

The next morning, just as the sun had peeked from behind the clouds and the air was fresh with newness and warmth, Riley woke. Today would differ from every day before. She didn’t want to lie in bed all day and dwell on what-might-have-beens or how her life was a dead end to nowhere. She was determined she wanted something more out of it -- whatever that may be.

Slipping on a pair of trainers, running tights and a long sleeve shirt, she pulled her hair up in a high ponytail and headed out.

She made it two blocks before collapsing on a bench, gasping for air, and flipping off a kid on a bike who was laughing and taunting her.

After five more blocks of running and taking a break at nearly every bench or stoop along the way -- that same jerky kid still deriding her as he circled around each block -- Riley made her way back to her building, hunched over and sweaty. She didn’t jog as far as she’d liked to, but she made the effort, for which she was pleased with herself. 

It also didn’t hurt that there was a mouthy kid out there somewhere with two flat bicycle tires, crying to his mom, that was giving her a new boost of life. 

Reaching for the door of her building, she chuckled to herself thinking about his pouty little face -- haha, sucks to be you, kid -- when someone yelled out her name.

“Shit,” she panicked, thinking the boy’s parents had found her and had come to beat her ass. Riley fumbled with her keys, trying to make a quick getaway inside.

“Hey, Riley! Stop.” The voice sounded oddly familiar, and curiosity couldn’t stop her from whipping her head around to take a quick peek. She instantly recognized the man who was racing up the stairs towards her, from the bar. He was one of the guys from Liam’s party last night who helped after the collision. 

Pulling the keys from the lock and gripping the pepper spray attached to them, she jumped back when he suddenly hopped up next to her like a fireball of energy.

“Riley. I’m so glad I caught up with you. I’m Maxwell -- we met last night -- and this is Rashad.” He pointed over his shoulder. The man gave a simple nod in return. “He was there, too.”

Her brows knit in confusion. “Oookay. You both aren’t here by chance upset over a couple of slashed bike tires, are you? Because that wasn’t me. I saw who did it, though, if you need a witness statement.” Riley’s eyes shifted around, looking for a person to match her fake would-be description.

Maxwell shook his head with a chuckle and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her gaze falling to it. “Nah, I came to talk to you about Liam. You’re all he could talk about when he got back to the hotel last night. He went on and on about the cafe, and the trip to the Statue of Liberty, and how beautiful you are ...”

“He -- he did?” She was pleasantly surprised, her heart bursting at his words.

“Yeah. We’re heading back to Cordonia so Liam can find someone to marry and all that jazz. But before I go, I wanted to officially extend to you an invitation to join us for the festivities in Cordonia. Sooo … is there somewhere we can talk?”

----------------

“You want me to do what?” Riley jumped up from the sofa, her eyes wide and mouth gaping as she gawked back at Maxwell, who was sitting at the far end. Her trembling hand shot to her forehead before she paced back and forth. “Let me get this straight. You want to sponsor me to compete to marry a man I just met last night? And not just any man, a prince. You’re going to fly me halfway across the world -- You could be the Official Royal Serial Killer, for all I know -- then prance me around like some beauty pageant contestant?  And all I have to do is say ‘yes to the dress’ that you can’t afford? Just hop right on a plane with two strange men, huh? How naïve do I look to you?” Riley paused for a second. “Don’t answer that.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I saw how Liam looked at you last night at the bar, and later when he returned from your date. I’ve never seen him that happy before. Honestly, I don’t want him to lose that. We’re kinda crunched for time, though. I’ve got a plane leaving in an hour.”

“An hour?” Riley questioned as she plopped down on the coffee table, her back to Maxwell and the guy in the chair across the room who hadn’t said a word the whole time. It was a once-in-a-lifetime offer to travel somewhere new and exciting and literally rub elbows with royalty. To live out that fairytale that most girls could only dream of. But more importantly, it was a way to see Liam again, and she wanted to so badly … if Maxwell was indeed telling the truth. 

Even if nothing came of it, there was no job tying her down anymore. Her dad had just gotten married to her stepfather and stayed busy as a chef for Beyonce and Jay-Z, so he would be fine, and she had enough money in savings to pay her portion of the rent while she was gone and expenses for her travels. There was just one thing she would insist on.

Riley spun around on the table, her eyes flashing between the two men. “I will do this -- on one condition.”

Maxwell clapped his hands excitedly. “Yes! Just name it and it’s yours.”

“Max.” Rashad leaned forward in his chair, his elbows pressed into his knees. “You don’t even know what she wants yet.”

“I’m getting to that.” Maxwell turned to her with an arched brow. “Okay, Riley. What is your condition?”

She hadn’t even asked Alyssa yet, but Riley steepled her fingers and volunteered her, anyway. “My roommate has to go with me.”

“No problemo.”

“What -- Really?”

“Sure. She can ride the jet back with us and I’ll even help her find a good hotel room nearby so you two can visit … if you’re able to find time in between all the competitions, balls, traveling, lessons, and what not. It’ll be great!”

Riley shook her head adamantly, not willing to budge on the issue. “No! I want Alyssa there for all of those things. If I even have the slightest chance of being a serious contender and a fully functioning human being, I need someone there to make sure I don’t do anything stupid … and I will … a lot.  Plus, she’s my best friend, and I’m not doing this without her.”

Feeling the pressure to relent and the seconds ticking away until takeoff, Maxwell’s shoulders slumped, taking in Riley’s pleading expression. “I -- I don’t know what to do. Your friend would have to be sponsored also in order to stay with you. She would have to be a suitor and compete for Liam’s hand just like you and all the other ladies, and there can only be one sponsee for each noble house. If you’re our pick, then she would need to have someone of nobility who doesn’t have a suitor yet and knows it’s all a ... ruse …” he trailed off, grinning impishly, as an idea suddenly popped into his head. Maxwell’s gaze swept across the room and landed on his friend, Rashad, who had a deer-in-the-headlights look, knowing exactly what he was getting at.

“Oh no. Leave me out of this,” he insisted while waving his hands back and forth. “This is all on you, Maxwell.”

“No, don’t say that yet.” Riley sprang to her feet and grabbed a picture frame from a nearby table, falling to her knees in front of Rashad to beg. “This is Alyssa.” She cheerfully pointed her friend out in the picture, delighted when the Lord of Domvallier’s eyes grew and seemed more than intrigued. “She’s not only beautiful, charming, and supportive, but she’s the smartest person I know. Everyone just loves her. And even though she won’t want to win because of me, she’ll represent your house with the greatest of integrity and propriety. I swear it.” 

“It’s for Liam,” Maxwell interjected, wagging his brows. “Imagine how grateful he’ll be when he finds out your part in making this happen for him.”`

Rashad let out a heavy groan. “Max, you know I would do anything for a friend -- especially Liam -- but it’s not that simple. There’s a reason why Domvallier opted not to have a suitor join this season: I have business dealings in California that coincide with some of the competitions. And with Mother’s and Father’s health in decline, I couldn’t possibly burden them with traveling and overseeing a suitor. It just wouldn’t work.”

Riley turned to Maxwell. “Well … couldn’t she just hang out with us most of the time? It’s not like she’d be in it to win it, anyway.”

“I don’t see why not.” Maxwell shrugged. “We all travel and stay together for the most part anyway.” He glanced over at Rashad, who could do nothing but stare at the two of them bouncing like eager children with big cheshire grins, while he literally decided the fate of a woman who had no idea she had just been volunteered to “pretend” compete for the hand of a prince the entire summer, in another country, and had to board a plane in just under an hour.

Rashad sighed and took the photo from Riley’s hand, giving it a quick glance. He was definitely smitten by the bright, blue-eyed woman with the big dimpled smile and wouldn’t mind getting to know her better, particularly if she was everything described to him. “I should have gone with Drake back to the plane.” He shook his head and handed the photo back to Riley. “Can’t believe I’m doing this, but --” 

Before he even finished his thought, Maxwell and Riley leaped to their feet to celebrate, whooping and howling around him, ruffling his jet black hair, hugging, and clapping him several times on the chest.

“What’s going on?”

The three of them whipped their heads around at the raspy-sounding voice that caught their attentions.

“Lyss!” Riley’s eyes lit up at the sight of her best friend standing there; she couldn’t wait to share all the good news with her. Maxwell, and particularly Rashad’s, jaws dropped at the sight before them. They both did a double take of the picture in the frame and then back to the petite brunette who wore a rumpled party dress, was missing one flat shoe, and sported smudged mascara under her sunken eyes and hair flying in every direction.

Riley moved over to Alyssa, placing a gentle hand on her arm with a smile. “Alyssa. These gentlemen are from Cordonia -- It’s somewhere you need a plane ride for. This is Lord Maxwell Beaumont.” She gestured and received a wave back. “And this is Lord Rashad of Doberman Pinscher,” she stated in a posh accent.

“Domvallier,” he corrected, stunned and still unable to take his eyes off his new suitor.

“Lords?” she questioned in a feeble tone; Riley nodded back at her.

Alyssa smiled at the two strangers, then lowered her head and curtsied like she was wearing a ball gown before them. “How do you do? Welcome to House Devereaux-Brooks. It’s so kind of you to stop by and make our acquaintances. Please do make yourselves at home.” She straightened back up and immediately turned to Riley. “I’m dying. Where’s the Advil?”

Riley insisted Alyssa have a seat while she retrieved the Advil and a glass of water for her. Feeling that was a fair deal, Alyssa stumbled over to the couch, accidentally stepping on Maxwell, who held onto her arms and helped her the rest of the way. When she was seated, she leaned forward, rubbing soothing circles around her temples, willing the room to stop spinning. Riley shuffled back with two pills and a cool bottle of water, and handed them to Alyssa, who hastily threw back and chugged nearly the entire thing. She couldn’t remember a time when she felt so thirsty.

No one knew really how to respond just yet. Rashad conferred in hushed tones with Maxwell, as Alyssa kept her eyes closed for a moment, taking in slow, deep breaths. Everything from head to toe ached and throbbed. 

Finally, she smacked her still-dry mouth and announced, “Okay, I’m going back to bed. Goodnight, everyone. It was so nice to meet you all.” She moved to the edge of the sofa when Riley pressed lightly on her shoulders, holding her back.

“Wait a minute, Lyss. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Lowering the shades in the living room to block the sun from Alyssa’s sensitive eyes, Riley began to explain how she met Liam at the bar last night and was asked to go out for a drink with him. Alyssa nodded her head slowly as she followed along, somewhat remembering their phone conversation about the date, how he was a prince, and the Statue of Liberty -- Lyss was proud of herself for being a part of making that happen. The next of their conversation continued on to Liam returning to his country for the social season in which he was expected to find someone to marry by the end of the summer. “I’m so sorry he had to leave, but what does any of this have to do with you, Ri?” 

Riley glanced over her shoulder. “That’s where these two guys come in.”

Alyssa followed her friend’s gaze then shook her head. “I’m not following.”

“Maxwell wants to sponsor me to travel to Cordonia to compete for Liam. And we leave in an hour. Yay!” She raised her arms in a V, trying to garner excitement from her roommate, knowing she’d probably freak out.

And she did. “YOU CAN’T GO TO A FOREIGN COUNTRY! FOR ALL YOU KNOW THESE GUYS ARE SERIAL KILLERS OR SEX TRAFFICKERS!” Alyssa looked at Rashad and smiled shyly. “Not you, of course.” She then eyed Maxwell. “Probably him.”

“I know, I know. But that’s kinda, sorta where you come in.” Riley’s eyes danced around the room while tugging on the hem of her shirt.

“What do you mean?”

Maxwell checked the time on his phone as Riley laid out the details, point by point, to her friend, who guzzled the last bit of her water as she found out she had basically been enlisted into becoming a suitor as well. Alyssa spit out her water. “WHAT?”

Rashad sighed and looked for paper towels to dry off his lap.

Taking in Alyssa’s bug-eyed stare, Riley scrambled to make the whole situation sound more appealing to her.

“There’s skiing --”

“You know I can’t ski.”

“There’s ice skating --”

“Are you trying to break both of my ankles at the same time?”

“There’s horseback riding --”

“Oh, God, horses?”

“And beaches.”

Alyssa started to complain before stopping herself. “Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad. But still, Ri --”

“Please, Alyssa,” Riley pleaded, her still-small voice just above a whisper. She sat down on the coffee table again, across from her friend, eyes glassy. “I would never ask you to do something so big for me. But, I want you there … I need you there. This … this is the guy, Lyss. He’s the one.”

Seeing the hopeful expression staring back at her, Alyssa’s heart sank. She set aside the empty bottle and leaned forward, placing a compassionate hand on Riley’s. “First of all, you don’t need me. You’re more than capable of doing this on your own. I mean, give yourself a little credit … you landed a prince.” They both let out soft laughs before she continued. “But, secondly, you know I’m a hopeless romantic. So if this is the only way you’ll go … count me in.”

As the two of them hugged and Riley expressed her fervent thanks, Maxwell cleared his throat and interrupted their happy moment. The girls turned to him as he stated, “I hate to break all of this up -- I really do. This is like the totally awesome stuff I live for -- but we’re pressed for time now. Our friend Drake is already on the plane waiting and isn’t above leaving without us.”

“Oh good. Doesn’t he sound like a little ray of sunshine?” Alyssa scoffed, causing Riley to snicker and drawing half a smirk from Rashad.

The guys headed down to the limo while the girls rummaged through their rooms, stuffing as many of their things as they could possibly fit into suitcases and bags. After taking turns getting quick showers, being vigilant of the time, they double checked to make sure they had what they needed for an extended trip, planning to  call friends and family on the drive to the airport to let them know where they would be.

Alyssa slipped on a pair of sunglasses as she stepped into the hallway, while Riley locked the door to their apartment behind them. “And you’re sure this Liam is worth all this?”

Riley regarded her thoughtfully before letting out a contented sigh, “Yeah. He’s worth it.”

Alyssa shrugged and pushed the sunglasses higher on her nose. “Well, if we don’t die, we’ll have a hell of a story to tell.”

-----------

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[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (15/18)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

Rating: Mature

a/n: And the weekend shenanigans continue for these crazy kids 😘😘

ao3: beginning | current

Found on Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

-/-

“Do we have any more chocolate?” Emma asks, standing from her chair and walking toward the folding table where all of their food is spread out. “Or did we eat it all?”

“I think we’re out of chocolate, but there are some more marshmallows,” Elsa tells her.

“Damn,” Emma mutters before turning around and plopping back in her seat. “I love those, could eat the entire bag so my stomach, like, expands forever, but all I really wanted was a Hershey’s bar. Do we have the stuff to make hot chocolate inside?”

“Killian was in charge of food,” Anna suggests. “Ask him.”

Emma glances around the fire to look at the faces that are illuminated by the flames, but there’s one that’s missing.

Where the hell did he go?

“Has anyone seen Killian?”

Ruby whistles and stumbles a bit. She has had far too much whiskey, and Mulan is going to have a great time getting her into bed tonight without her flopping on the floor first.

“Looking for lover boy so you can make out with him again?”

“You, my friend, are drunk,” Emma sighs, placing her hands on Ruby’s shoulders and steering her back to her seat. “You need to stay away from the fire and the water, okay?”

Ruby falls back into her seat and sticks her bottom lip out. “Why do you have to ruin all of my fun?”

“Because you’ve had more than enough fun tonight.”

“So much fun,” Ruby giggles, resting her head on Mulan’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you actually kissed Jones.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Emma rolls her eyes and look over at Mulan, who is shaking her head from side to side. “You gonna make sure she doesn’t fall into the fire?”

“I will try my best.”

Emma nods and walks away, passing by David and Mary Margaret, who ask her where she’s going. She says to see if she can find anything to make hot chocolate in the kitchen, which is only a half truth. She does stop in the kitchen first, rifling through cabinets and the fridge to see if there’s anything good, but most of it looks like food that’s waiting to be cooked tomorrow. So she grabs a bottle of Gatorade that she is definitely going to need tomorrow and starts heading upstairs so she can grab her stuff to shower and find Killian. He’s not in the bedroom when she walks in, so she figures maybe he went back out. He was probably only gone to go to pee or something anyway.

Emma grabs her bag from the floor, shuffling through it to find a pair of shorts and a t-shirt as well as her shampoo and conditioner, and once she grabs all of it, she walks back downstairs to the hallway bathroom. It takes a few minutes for her to figure out the shower. It goes back and forth between scalding and freezing, and she eventually settles on almost-freezing, quickly going through her routines and washing her hair before jumping out and wrapping her hair in a towel before getting dressed and finishing her nightly routine.

The towel around her hair drops when she bends down to pick up her clothes from earlier today, and instead of putting it back on, she hangs it over the shower door and lets her hair fall down her back. She’ll figure out what to do with it later.

The light is on in the bedroom when she gets back to it, and Killian is now in bed, his back propped against the small headboard and his phone in his hand.

“Hey, where have you been?”

“I took a shower in Liam’s bathroom. Couldn’t figure out how to get the bloody shower in that hall bathroom to work.”

“Me either. I basically took a shower in ice water.”

Emma drops her bag, and reaches up to grab her hair, twisting it around into a bun on the top of her head. Then she turns back toward the beds, and while she could easily climb up the ladder to get to her own bed, she’s not ready for that quite yet. So, instead, she walks over to the bed, puts her knee down on the bottom mattress, and settles herself over Killian’s lap while he still taps through his phone.

Sighing, she leans down and presses her mouth against the underside of his jaw, tasting his clean skin and the scratch of his scruff before trailing her lips down to his ear, nibbling in the spot she knows he likes all while her hips gently roll against his.

“I was thinking…”

“As you say, dangerous thing that.”

She bites down, hard, on his ear, and she hears his phone lock before there’s a gentle thud on the ground. “Shut up and listen.”

He grumbles, there’s some kind of curse, but really, she has no idea what he said.

At this point in time, she doesn’t care.

“I was thinking that we’re up here, separated from the rest of the group, and while we didn’t get a big, comfy bed like everyone else, it doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”

Emma dips her head down, nosing along his neck and down to his t-shirt, moving the material away from his skin until she can worry a mark against his collarbone. Or, at least, the beginnings of one that will fade in an hour. She doesn’t want them to get into another hickey situation with Ruby.

But when Killian doesn’t say anything, Emma looks up, settling back on her legs and looking down at Killian who is staring at her with pressed together lips and hooded eyes.

“What? Are you – ”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence because then Killian is leaning up and slamming his lips into hers while his hand cups the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair and pulling her closer to him. It’s all tongue and teeth and is giving her no time to think or to set the pace on her own. She knows that she’s had a little to drink tonight, that Killian has too from the taste of rum still on his tongue, but there’s a buzzing emanating over her skin that has nothing to do with that.

It’s like she’s floating as he’s kissing her. Every inch of her body is on a high, one that she doesn’t want to come down from, and when Killian juts his hips up into hers, she knows it will be awhile before she does.

Killian tilts her head while his other hand wraps around her back, inching up underneath her t-shirt. He groans when his fingers get to the bare skin where her bra usually is, and Emma can’t help but laugh into the kiss, pulling back with a pop and a gasp of air.

“I was planning on going to sleep. Did you think I was going to wear a bra?”

“Can’t say I put much thought into it, love.”

“Really? I kind of figured you were always thinking about – ”

He interrupts her again, pressing his mouth pressed hotly against her neck while he gently flips them around. There’s not much space on the bed, and Emma’s leg slams against the wall, but then she’s managing to remove her t-shirt and settle under Killian while his mouth moves to her breast, lips wrapping around a nipple while she curls her leg around him and pulls him closer to her. She can feel his cock pressing into her through his boxers, almost exactly where she wants him, and God, it feels good. He’s heavy and thick, and she swears that her body goes even higher as her skin tingles with the buzz of anticipation of having him buried deep within her.

“Take off your boxers,” Emma gasps, scratching at his back.

“Not yet,” Killian mumbles into her stomach. “Not yet.”

She almost questions why, but then he’s moving down her body while he moves off the bed, settling down on his knees and tugging her to the edge. Emma takes the hint, lifting her hips she he can tug her underwear off and then wrapping her ankles around his shoulders.

Killian is damn good at what he does next, the warmth of his mouth pressed to where she’s aching and the roughness of his beard scratching against the inside of her thighs. She doesn’t need to tell him what to do, doesn’t need to instruct him, because he’s learned just what to do over the past few months. She’s already on edge, her body unable to stay pressed against the mattress, and her hands bury themselves in Killian’s hair, tugging on the soft, still slightly damp strands as he keeps moving in just the right direction that soon has her gasping for breath and having to mumble his name when she remembers that they’re not alone in this house.

Fuck.

After, he takes his time trailing his lips up her leg, settling his chin against her hip and staying there while her heart still pounds far too quickly and while she can’t even out her breathing. His eyes are hooded, deep blue showing itself from the blackness of his arousal, and after pressing his mouth against her side, he starts moving up her body again, kissing every inch of skin until he’s kissing her while she adjusts her hips so that he can press into her in a slide of heat that has her burning.

“So good,” she mumbles while he slowly rocks into her.

“You’ve got no bloody idea,” he rasps as his hands settle on her hips, fingers digging into skin, while he adjusts her underneath him. “Fucking temptress, doesn’t give a man a moment to breathe.” “You’re one to talk there.”

She can feel his laugh vibrate against her cheek, and she turns her head to capture his lips in a slow kiss as he begins moving within her and over her, pinning her to the bed. He’s warm over her, his back slick with a sheen of sweat, and she manages to press her hips tighter against him while he settles into a rhythm, slow and measured and one that she has a feeling could last forever if they wanted it to.

Right now, she can’t decide whether or not she wants this to go on indefinitely or if she’d like for him to fuck her into the mattress.

Killian seems to decide for her, keeping his thrusts slow as his lips ghost over her neck and her collarbone and then her nose, lingering there while his forehead presses into hers. She can see every eyelash, her freckle, every scar, and she’s so caught up in the feeling of him over her and within her and the subtly of his smile that her orgasm surprises her before overwhelming her, prickling at her skin in one long, slow simmer that she could definitely live in forever.

Emma’s nails dig into Killian’s shoulder hard enough to leave marks, and while he’s still pushing into her, she lets her hands fall to his lower black, pressing flat against the skin while Killian’s head falls to her shoulder, his lips pressing warmly against her. He keeps rocking into her, faster and faster until he stills and speaks something unintelligible into her skin.

Damn, Killian Jones.

Just, damn.

“And you complained about the bunkbeds,” Emma laughs as she waits for Killian to catch his breath.

“Not enough bloody space,” he mumbles before rolling off of her and standing up, grabbing his boxers off the floor and cleaning up with them. “If we mess these sheets up, someone will definitely see before we manage to get them in the wash.”

“You think ahead way too much.”

“I like to be prepared.” He shrugs and walks over to his bag, grabbing another pair of boxers and slipping them on before tossing Emma her t-shirt.

“Why are we getting dressed?”

“Door doesn’t lock, and our friends have no boundaries.”

“Ah, I have a solution for that.”

Emma rises from the bed, her legs still a little shaky, and slips on her t-shirt before walking across the room. She grabs the small chair next to the dresser and walks it to the door, propping it up underneath the knob.

“There,” she claps, “problem solved.”

Killian chuckles and settles down on the bottom mattress again. When Emma joins him, he shifts to the side, turning so she can stick her leg between his calves and rest her head on his shoulder. His hand wraps around her back, and he draws circles on her back, soothing her into a drowsy bliss that soon takes her.

-/-

Emma wakes to the extremely obnoxious sounds of birds outside her window, a constant chirping and chittering, and she should have put in her ear plugs before falling asleep.

“Oh my God, why do people like nature?” she huffs, opening her eyes and stretching her aching back only to realize that the warm body she slept next to last night is no longer there.

Huh.

This is a ridiculously small bed. It’s literally made for children. She should have felt Killian getting out of bed.

Emma sits up and reaches her arms above her head, stretching and pulling at all of the sore muscles. It’s like her entire body is on fire, and they’re probably going hiking again today. She is definitely going to need some ibuprofen or something.

Is she old in that the first thing she thinks of when she wakes up is ibuprofen?

Throwing the covers off her legs, Emma stands from the bed and reaches down on the floor to grab the t-shirt she’d put on after her shower last night and then pulls all of her hair up into a messy ponytail. She’ll have to fix that later, but from the feel of it, she can tell brushing it is going to be beyond a nightmare.

She slept with it wet without brushing through it and then Killian had run his hands through her hair, so there was really no way she was getting out of this predicament.

The door to the bedroom opens with a creak, and Killian steps inside. His hair is black with water, and he’s already dressed in a pair of black running shorts and a fitted pullover. Did he go running?

“Hey,” he mumbles in greeting, popping out an Air Pod she’s just now seeing.

Yeah, he went running.

“Good morning. What time did you get up this morning?”

He shrugs and toes off his trainers. “Early.”

“You should have woken me up. I know I’m no Skipper, but I make a good running partner even if my entire body hurts right now. My legs can be steady.”

He quietly chuckles, and she keeps waiting for him to look her in the eye and flash that smile she’s so accustomed to, but he keeps staring at his fingers as the hold onto the bottom of his pullover.

Something’s wrong.

Her superpower is going off, but it’s not…she doesn’t know why exactly she has this heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

“Swan, can I talk to you about something?” Killian asks, finally looking up at her.

Emma can see his eyes, but the smile is definitely not there.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma nods.

Killian reaches up to scratch behind his hear before he paces back and forth in the room, moving over to the window before leaning up against it.

“Look, you’re,” he finally begins, “damn, Swan, you’re fucking incredible. It’s bloody insane how good it feels to be with you. But I think it might be best for us to stop.”

It’s like she’s been slapped.

That’s the only thing she can compare it to.

She’s been slapped and punched in the gut and suddenly her legs aren’t so steady anymore.

Where the hell did this come from?

Emma opens her mouth to ask why, but she quickly snaps it shut. Killian isn’t one to mince words. He chooses them carefully. He always has. If he wanted to give her an explanation, he would have before he gave her any time to talk.

If he doesn’t want to sleep together anymore, that’s fine.

That’s what they agreed to.

There’s probably someone else. Women are always floating around him, flirting and talking and trying to make him laugh. He has to meet as many people in a day that she does, and maybe he found one that’s piqued his interest.

Emma swallows the lump in her throat and attempts to balance the toothpicks that are holding her up right now. She really needs to sit down or lean up against something, but she’s not going to budge from her spot.

“Oh, o-okay,” Emma finally sputters out, losing a bit of her balance despite herself. “If that’s what you want, that’s fine.” “Love, I – ”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she interrupts, holding her hand up. “It was a good arrangement, KJ, but that’s what it was – an arrangement. Either of us could end it whenever, no hard feelings.”

He nods, slowly, all while his gaze never leaves hers. She swears that she sees his jaw clench, but that could have just been an illusion, a product of her still tired mind and body.

“Right. No hard feelings.” Killian moves away from the window and walks toward her, hovering so close she can feel the heat of his body and smell the saltiness of his sweat before his lips lightly brush against her cheek, his scruff scratching soon after. “I need to take another shower. I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast, aye? Maybe do something with that mess you call your hair.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, pushing his chest so he moves away from her. “Half of that is your fault.”

He half shrugs before bending down to grab clothes out of his bag. “Perhaps.”

And then he’s walking out the bedroom door like she’s not standing here with shaky legs and a heartbeat so erratic she hopes an ambulance can get here soon.

Fuck.

What just happened?

No, no.

Nope.

Emma is not going to let herself think about any of it. It’s early and she’s got half of a hangover, and her brain isn’t functioning. That’s why she feels so off-kilter.

It’s the half hangover and the distinct lack of coffee and greasy breakfast food in her stomach.

Coffee and food. That’s what she’s going to focus on.

With a deep breath in and out, Emma goes to her own bag, grabbing her brush and working through the knots in her hair. It’s painful as hell and takes far too long, and while it leaves her hair bushy and a little too much like Hermione Granger in the early movies, there at least aren’t knots anymore. She pulls on a pair of shorts and then some socks before gathering all of the things she needs to get ready for today.

Everything is completely and totally normal, and she is not going to act otherwise.

By the time she’s brushed her teeth and washed her face, Emma feels almost normal. Her hangover is definitely still there, the headache creeping into the corners of her head and settling there, but thankfully, she smells bacon and coffee when she walks into the kitchen. David is standing at the stove, and Emma pumps her fist when she sees pancakes on the griddle.

“Bless you,” Emma sighs as she walks toward him. “You’re making enough for me, right?”

“I know better than to be in the same five-mile radius as you and to not cook you pancakes.” He leans down and brushes his lips over the top of her head because David is the epitome of a father figure right now. All she needs now is some kind of misguided lecture on her life choices. She could actually use one of those right now. “You’re up earlier than I thought you would be. Everyone but Elsa is asleep.”

“Killian’s awake. He apparently went for a run this morning.”

“He was smart and didn’t drink as much as us, so he’s probably the only one thinking clearly.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Emma muddles around the kitchen, finding the largest mug she can find and pouring coffee in it before adding milk since there’s no creamer, and then fixing herself a plate of food. As she sits down at the counter, she sees Elsa walk into the kitchen. She doesn’t look anywhere near as dead as Emma feels, but she also probably got a heck of a lot more sleep last night and wasn’t broken up with – wait, no. That didn’t happen to Emma. She needs to wipe that thought right out of her mind and never think of it again.

This is fine.

This is normal.

This is how it has always been.

Elsa and David talk as David continues to cook, and Emma stuffs a forkful of eggs in her mouth. She needs food and to get over this hangover, and really, she is far too young to have such a bad hangover after so few drinks.

She isn’t even twenty-eight yet. She should be able to still drink and then not feel like hell afterward.

“Something smells delicious,” Killian sighs as he walks into the kitchen. His hair is now wet from his shower instead of sweat, and he’s changed into an almost identical pullover and pair of shorts.

“Thanks, mate. It’s just from a box,” David chuckles.

“Oh, Dave, I hate to break it to you, but I was talking about Emma, not your cooking. Though, it does smell heavenly in here.”

Emma feels heat rise in her cheeks and something else drop in her stomach, and she doesn’t even try to avoid Killian’s gaze. He flashes his teeth at her before winking, and it’s like nothing has changed.

Good.

That’s good, right?

Killian jokes around with David and tells Elsa good morning as he fixes his own plate. He sits at the counter next to her, and he stays there throughout breakfast, even as everyone else wakes up and stumbles into the kitchen, all in different states of distress. He stays and talks and laughs, and for a few moments at a time, Emma can imagine that everything is normal, that nothing has changed despite this pit that keeps growing in her stomach.

“David,” Elsa starts, “I have to say that you make a hell of a breakfast. Liam could learn from you.” “Oi, what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Liam grumbles, his mouth obviously full of food.

“That I didn’t fall in love with you for your cooking.”

“Really? Then what was it? My looks? My undeniable charm?”

Elsa laughs as she leans forward to press her lips into Liam’s cheek. “Your humbleness, honey, obviously.”

“Oh, Elsa,” Anna interrupts, “what about what you told me that one time?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“You know – ” Anna waves her fork in the air before putting it down as the room quiets, everyone suddenly listening to this conversation “ – like when you said that you knew that you loved Liam because he was the first man who had ever made you feel comfortable in a relationship. It was like he didn’t make you chase him or play games. You knew where you stood, and it was just, you know, solid.”

“Solid,” Liam repeats slowly. “I like that. I mean, I think of myself as passionate and romantic and thrilling, but I like solid too.”

“I like that my sister just told everyone something I told her in confidence.”

Liam chuckles and then reaches up to cup Elsa’s cheek, his hand covering the blush that’s painted itself there, and then he kisses her.

Emma looks away, suddenly feeling like she is intruding on the most private of moments, and as she turns her head, she catches Killian’s eyes and the hard set of his jaw as he looks at his brother.

Solid.

Comfortable.

He makes her feel comfortable in way that she has never felt before, and that’s how she knew that she had true feelings for him.

Oh fucking hell.

That’s how Killian makes Emma feel, how he always has even when she didn’t realize it.

Neal used to always have her on edge. He was always playing games and making her second guess what his intentions were or if he was being truthful, and in their five years together, she doesn’t know that she ever felt comfortable.

What an utterly shitty thing to realize as she finally realizes why she has this pit in her stomach.

She’s fooled around and developed feelings for the one person who has the ability to shatter her, and he ended a part of their relationship that she’d really grown accustomed to.

It hasn’t been just sex for her in a long time, and Emma had no idea.

Maybe Killian did, though. Maybe that’s why he ended it.

He was trying to save her from herself by stopping things before they went too far.

Too late.

-/-

-/-

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[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - prompt #1: It's all my fault.

Chapter 11 is up, in which Belle and Gold go shopping. Please send me a prompt from this list or this list to fuel the angst and smut

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] 

[AO3]

x

When she had found out that she was pregnant, Belle had gone through a range of emotions. The first was panic, closely followed by denial, then by bitter anguish. She had spent much of the day of the test results crying in the university restrooms and lamenting the day she had ever decided to go to bed with Alexander Gold. For a brief moment, she had been tempted to call him to give him the news, just so he could share in some of her misery, but the thought of his cold disdain was too much to face, especially after her father had practically disowned her.

She had made up her mind almost immediately that she would keep the baby, which was one less decision to fret over, but that meant that a number of other choices had to be made, and made quickly. She had the test result confirmed, was given an approximate due date, and had talked to the university about deferring completion of her studies once the baby arrived. She had sought advice from Emma about what to expect throughout pregnancy, had read every book on the subject that she could find, and had tried to ensure that she ate a balanced diet. When she could keep her food down. Overall, she felt that she was about as well-prepared for motherhood as a single woman in her early twenties making minimum wage and with no family to support her could be. Which was not very prepared at all.

Belle had assumed that having Gold tell her categorically that he intended to help out both financially and physically with the baby would make her relax, but in reality it only caused her more anxiety, and she was unsure why that was. Certainly having the apartment had given her some security, and waking up in its large and comfortable bed every morning was like letting out a deep, calming breath. She was free of the constant worry over money and making ends meet, of the landlord knocking at the door to demand rent that she didn’t have. And yet, she still felt an ongoing, exhausting sense of stress, an acidic ball of iron that had settled in her belly and refused to leave. 

He was true to his word, picking her up from outside the university in his Cadillac and driving her to the new clinic for her check-up. Belle sat in silence, hands folded in her lap as they went, and once they had parked up Gold offered her his arm. Taking it felt strange, but she tried to put it from her mind, focusing on the doors of the clinic, and beyond them the gleaming waiting area with its plush leather seats and fresh coffee. 

There was paperwork to fill out, and tests to be run, but it was nothing she hadn’t been through before. Gold seemed anxious as the doctor held the consultation with her, but Belle was unfazed by the questions asked and the measurements taken. She had expected this first visit to take a little longer, given that she was a new patient. Dr Jekyll was a nervous-looking man who blinked a lot, but he seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Well, the baby seems to be developing as expected,” he said at last. “You’re a little underweight, though. You could do with eating a little more, if you can manage it.”

“I’ve been trying to tell her that,” put in Gold, and Belle glared at him.

“Yeah, well, there’s only so many hours in the day,” she muttered. “I have work and study to take care of, alongside everything else.”

“Then try to make sure you get as much nutrient-dense food as possible,” said Dr Jekyll kindly. “Carry snacks with you as you go about, and make sure you don’t go too long between meals. Building a baby is hard work, you need to make sure your body has the fuel it needs.”

“I’ll try to feed her up,” said Gold.

“Good, good,” said Jekyll vaguely, looking at his notes. “I don’t expect there to be much change between now and next week, but try to make sure she eats a range of quality foods, not just sugar.”

Belle bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from snapping at both of them.

“Well, the good news is there’s not long to go now,” said Jekyll, peering at his computer screen. “You’re due on May fifth, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“A spring baby,” he said, glancing at her over the top of his glasses. “This cold weather will have cleared up by then. A little sunshine to welcome the new light in your life.”

He smiled at her, and Belle couldn’t help smiling back. Yes. She was looking forward to the baby being born. Quite how it would change her relationship with its father was still to be seen.

x

After the doctor’s appointment, they went to buy paint. Belle had chosen the colours she wanted: lilac and pale blue for the nursery and terracotta for the kitchen. She hadn’t made a decision on the lounge and bedrooms yet, and Gold said it could wait until she was sure. He bought paint trays, rollers and brushes, along with a set of painting overalls for her to wear and several large sheets to spread over the floors and furniture.

“Thanks,” she said, as they packed everything into the trunk of the car. “You know how clumsy I am. I’ll probably track paint all over the apartment without these.”

“I could still get professionals in to paint the walls,” he said.

“Thanks, but I’d like to do it myself,” she said. “It - it would help to make the place feel more like mine, you know?”

“I understand.”

Gold closed the trunk, taking a step back.

“I can always help you out, if you like,” he ventured, but she shook her head.

“Emma and Neal have already said they’ll help,” she said. “We’re gonna have kind of a paint-the-apartment party this weekend.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

He flashed her a brief smile, the light catching in his eyes. He looked very handsome with his short hair, and she looked away, pain making her mouth twist. She hadn’t been lying when she told him she couldn’t move past him. How long would it take for her to fall out of love with him? Forever, she imagined, if he continued to act like a decent human being. Damn him.

x

As the afternoon wore on, he continued to treat her with a gentle solicitude, insisting on taking her for tea at a nearby deli and watching as she ate a piece of pumpkin pie with cream that had been laced with cinnamon and whipped to soft peaks. Pumpkin pie probably wasn’t what Dr Jekyll had had in mind when he told her to eat more, but it was so delicious she didn’t really care. Gold waved away her offer to share, merely drinking a black coffee, and she wondered if he had appointed himself her nutritionist. Chief engineer of the baby-making machine. The thought made her frown to herself, but it didn’t stop her from eating the pie.

After the deli, Gold took her to a large department store that she had never before set foot in due to the prices. Inside was a beautiful glittering paradise of sleek synthetic marble and polished wood, filled with the scents of hundreds of perfumes and toiletries. The baby section was large, a sea of pink and blue and white, and she felt out of place in her scuffed boots and five-year-old coat, although she tried not to let it bother her.

Gold seemed almost animated by the shopping trip, having lengthy discussions with the sales staff about items to purchase and displaying a surprising amount of knowledge about what babies needed. Belle largely left him to it, wandering along behind him with the little shopping cart and only giving input when he asked. They agreed on a set of furniture in pale grey and white, a chest of drawers and dresser with a large, well-cushioned chair in which she could sit and feed the baby. It was a strange thing to think of, that the child inside her would very soon be on the outside, in her arms and looking for her to feed it and keep it safe. It was overwhelming if she thought about it too much, so she tried to put it from her mind. Low-level terror over being responsible for a tiny human would have to wait.

“So, the furniture can be delivered on Wednesday afternoon,” he said, making her look up. “Is that alright?”

“Uh - can we make it Thursday?” she asked. “I have to work Wednesday.”

“Ah. Well, how about next week?” he asked. “You’ll have stopped working by then, right?”

“Right.”

“And I suppose it’ll be better, because the nursery will have been painted,” he added. “You can just take everything for the baby in there, rather than store it elsewhere in the apartment.”

“Right,” she repeated.

“I’ll tell them when it comes to paying for everything,” he said. “Let’s keep looking.”

He hurried off with what was almost a spring in his step, and she watched him go, a wave of sadness washing over her. She became more withdrawn as they made their way around the section, and responded with unenthusiastic murmurs to his suggestions. Gold eyed her with a slight frown on his face at first, which made her bristle, although she tried not to show it. 

“I have a crib,” she told him, as he was looking over the third one that afternoon. “Emma was going to lend me Henry’s.”

“Our child doesn’t need hand-me-downs,” he said dismissively. “Besides, what if she chooses to have another baby? She’ll need it back.”

“I think that’s highly unlikely in the middle of her studies, don’t you?”

“I think babies come when they come,” he replied.

Belle sighed, and left him to it, merely nodding when he asked if she agreed with his choice. She could feel herself getting ever more anxious and resentful, and while she told herself that he was stepping up and supporting her as she had wanted, and that she was therefore being unreasonable, she couldn’t seem to shake her negativity. The reactions of the staff didn’t help.

“Are you and your husband finding everything okay?” chirped the third sales assistant in ten minutes, as Belle pawed listlessly through a rack of romper suits. Gold was some way ahead, his free arm filled with clothing in a myriad of colours.

“We’re not married,” she said coldly, and the sales assistant beamed.

“Oh, sorry! Still, plenty of time for that. I guess you’ve been concentrating on preparing for baby, right?”

“I’ve mostly been concentrating on not killing him,” said Belle flatly, and flourished one of the suits. “Do you have this in any other colours?”

“Uh - let me check out back.”

The sales assistant wandered off, and Belle heaved a sigh of relief.

“What about these?”

She looked around to see Gold holding up a pair of patterned booties with pom-poms hanging from strings. He shook them at her, a wide smile on his face as the pom-poms bounced.

“Adorable, hmm?” he said. “How could you resist them?”

“What are you doing?” she demanded, and he looked puzzled.

“Picking out baby things.”

“No,” she said. “No, I mean - I mean what are you doing?”

His confusion only seemed to increase.

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it,” she sighed, snatching the booties off him and dropping them in the cart.

She could feel him staring after her as she walked off, but to give him his due he soon caught her up, dropping his choices into the cart and making quiet suggestions as to other things they might need. It felt as though he had picked up on her mood and was trying to placate her, which only made her more irritated, and then annoyed at herself for being irrational. It was a relief when he announced that they probably had enough to be going on with, and went to pay for everything. She was silent on the way back to the apartment, and the atmosphere between them was heavy and dark, making her feel awkward as she plucked at the skin on the back of her hand: a nervous, repetitive gesture. 

Gold could sense that Belle was annoyed with him, although he wasn’t sure why that was, other than the massive fuck-up that had led to them being in this situation in the first place. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, though, and he didn’t know what to say, so he endured the painful silence on the journey back to her apartment. He helped her carry up the tins of paint and the bags of brushes and rollers, and she thanked him quietly as he set them on the kitchen counter. She had stepped back, towards the window with its view over the park, and was looking out of it and chewing her lip.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, his voice seeming loud in the tense silence, and she shook her head. He heaved a sigh.

“Belle, you seem upset with me,” he said wearily. “I don’t know why, besides the obvious, so can you please tell me what I’ve done?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

It was said automatically, and in something of a monotone. He wasn’t sure she believed it any more than he.

“Please,” he said again. “I know this is a difficult time for you, and I know the baby’s arrival must be making you nervous, so if there’s anything I can do…”

He left it hanging, hoping she would help him out and tell him what she needed. Belle seemed to wriggle uncomfortably, sucking her teeth a little.

“It’s - it’s hard,” she said eventually.

“I know,” he said carefully. “That’s why I’m trying to make sure you have as little to worry about financially as I can, and why I wanted to get everything the baby might need.”

“No,” she said. “It’s hard - it’s hard having you around.”

She wasn’t really looking at him, her eyes darting furtively to him and then away, her shoulders hunched a little. It felt as though a heavy weight had lodged in his throat and was making its way slowly down towards his stomach.

“Oh,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. You’re a fucking idiot. Of course it’s hard. Why would she want the person who broke her heart back in her life? Moron!

“It feels—” Belle screwed up her nose, glancing away. “It’s like when we’re out shopping together and people treat us like we’re a married couple or something, and it’s like a slap in the face every damn time.”

“Why do you care what people think?”

“That’s not the point…” She ran her hands over her face. “It’s not what they think, it’s - it’s what it is. Maybe I’m not explaining it all that well. I’m not sure I even know what I mean.”

“Okay,” he said, bewildered. “Well, in that case, why don’t you tell me what you need?”

“I need you to go,” she said decidedly, nodding.

The weight settled in his lower belly, spreading outwards and anchoring his feet to the floor.

“Right,” he said, his voice hollow. “Right. Then I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

She was hugging herself now, arms folded protectively over the top of her swollen belly. He wanted to hug her himself, to take her in his arms and hold her close, to offer her comfort and reassurance. It hit him hard in the gut, a painful, breathtaking blow as he realised that he had never done so. Not once. He tried to think of a time when he had shown her some intimacy without them having sex, and couldn’t. God, no wonder she hated him! He swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

“Can I still take you to your next appointment?” he asked, his voice sounding eerily calm in his head, and she nodded.

“Of course.”

“There’s still the matter of seeing my lawyer,” he went on. “Perhaps we can schedule them both for the same day.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Right,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Then I’ll see you next Monday.”

She nodded again, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders, still hunched against him, shutting him out.

“I’ll go back to Storybrooke,” he added, figuring it would do her good to know he wouldn’t be in the city. That he wouldn’t be haunting her, stalking her from the shadows as she tried to go on with her life.

“Thank you,” she said again, and hesitated. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he said, his tone wry. “It’s all my fault, after all.”

She hung her head a little, as though she agreed with him, but didn’t want to say it aloud. He could feel his hand beginning to ache from gripping the cane handle, and loosened his grip. 

“Well,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

She nodded, giving him one final glance. Her blue eyes were filled with sadness, and guilt, and regret. He could feel his own emotions rising up inside him, wanting to burst out and drown him, and so he nodded stiffly and turned away, heading for the door with a slow and heavy tread. She needed space. He could give her that, at least.

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

The Serpent and The Swan - Ch.5

Thanks so much for all your comments, kudos and support. It’s the most heartwarming thing and I’m truly grateful for you all <3 This chapter felt like it took forever to write, long gone are the days of pounding out a chapter in a few hours *sigh*. I hope you enjoy, the drama is gonna start picking up soon…

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Read on AO3

“Jug?”

Jughead’s footsteps faltered, his eyes sliding closed in frustration as FP called out to him. He reversed a few paces, leaning apprehensively around the embossed doorframe. It wasn’t worth trying to avoid his father.

“I’m supposed to be meeting Betty,” he said in a clipped tone by way of greeting, hinting that there was no time for conversation. FP’s thick, greying eyebrows lifted towards his hairline at his son’s use of the nickname. His legs were thrown carelessly over the wooden arm of the high-backed chair he was occupying, one boot tapping to an inaudible rhythm. He swung them down to the stone floor with a solid thump.

“Betty, is it? That’s decidedly less formal than ‘her royal highness’.” There was a knowing tilt to his smirk that had Jughead bristling, defences rising instantly. “Getting more acquainted with your lovely bride?” he asked, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. Jughead didn’t meet his imploring gaze, staring resolutely out of the window over FP’s shoulder. He dug in tongue into his cheek and waited for his father to get to the point. “Good man.”

FP rose, heading straight for the decanter set up on the bedside table. He took his time pouring the drink, swilling it round in the crystal glass, watching the tiny whirlpool he was creating with unseeing eyes. Jughead sighed, not in the mood for any of his father’s games.

“What is it you wanted? I’m on your schedule, or did you forget that this was all your doing?” the prince snapped, finishing his words by pulling his lower lip roughly between his teeth, to keep more accusations from falling. FP’s eyes flew to his, narrowing minutely until their usual almond shape resembled that of the animal emblazoned across their family’s crest.

“You’re a smart kid – always have been. Take after your–  I just need you to see that everything I’ve done, everything I’m doing, is for the benefit of you and your sister,” he said slowly, enunciating each word carefully. Jughead’s first instinct was to scoff, to throw the empty promises he’d given over his lifetime back in his face. But there was something in the intensity of FP’s dark eyes that made him pause.

“How?” he probed instead, voice as cautious as his stance. FP let out a heavy exhale through his nostrils, finally dropping his stare to the floor and giving his head a subtle shake.

“I can’t tell you that now,” he began, causing a humourless laugh to burst through Jughead’s lips. FP took a few hurried steps towards his son before seeing something dangerous in his expression that made him think better of getting any closer. “Just… be patient, alright? Just give me that and you’ll see why all this is so worth it.”

There was something hiding behind FP’s words, something pleading that didn’t sit right in in Jughead’s stomach. He turned to leave, allowing his body to remain half-facing the room for a moment as he addressed the man before him.

“I wish I could trust you, but you’ve never given me reason to,” Jughead mumbled, annoyed by how defeated he sounded. FP blanched but Jughead barely acknowledged the motion before he was gone.

***

Joaquin was waiting for him by the archway leading to the gardens. Jughead’s lips curled up as he took in the sight of his loyal companion, always awaiting his duties with a laid back ease to his countenance.

“Chaperone?” Jughead queried, raising one dark brow coyly. Joaquin shrugged, gesturing for the man to step out first into the light of the high noon sun. He squinted as he moved forwards, lifting a hand to shield his face from the bright afternoon’s rays. “Of course.”

“I’m just doing as I’m asked; I’m still merely in your humble employment,” Joaquin reminded him as they strolled towards the orchard. Jughead peered at him from the corner of his eye.

“This won’t be awkward,” he muttered beneath his breath, still loud enough for his man servant to hear and chuckle at the prince’s disgruntlement.

“I’ll keep my distance,” he assured him as they wound their way through the smattering of trees, their branches bending with the weight of the thick growth of leaves found there. Jughead ran some of the smooth greenery between his fingers in passing, noting in the back of his mind how everything inside the castle walls seemed far more fruitful than when they’d been riding in. Of course, there was a dense array of green foliage and wildflowers, but nothing looked quite as bright and flourishing as it did this side of the defences.

“I appreciate that, but it probably won’t have any impact on the discomfort I’m feeling towards this mandatory ‘getting to know you’ meeting,” he lamented, letting the branch he was pushing aside spring back into place.

He’d been surprised to see Betty in the courtyard in the early hours of the morning, not that he’d let it show. Her limbs had seemed heavy as she strode, barefoot, into the courtyard, her hair falling about her face despite being rigorously pinned. She had looked worn, but there was something so appealing about her beauty, even in tiredness, that Jughead hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out and presenting her with a flower from her own gardens. He felt himself quake with a distinct shiver of embarrassment. It was so out of character, even the memory felt like he was watching someone else do it.

And now he had to spend the whole afternoon with her, in an attempt to keep up some charade of courting, despite the fact that everyone involved already knew the outcome.

They reached the crest of the hill, Jughead stopping them in their tracks at the sight that greeted them.

Betty was dressed in a bodice of periwinkle blue, the fabric parting over her hips to reveal cream coloured pleated skirts beneath. The sunlight caught the stray wisps of hair that had been tugged from her braided up-do by the persistent pull of the cool breeze that was taking the edge off the summer heat. Jughead noticed, with idle amusement, that she was once again barefoot, her shoes and stockings strewn haphazardly at her side whilst her legs were tucked beneath her. Her lips were brushing against one another with practised slowness as she read, enunciating each word clearly for Jellybean who was perched in her lap. Another woman Jughead didn’t recognise was sitting with them amongst the blades of grass but he barely acknowledged her. All he could see through his tunnel vision was the protective hold Betty kept around Jellybean’s waist with her free hand, the gentle sway of their bodies as she rocked them both, and the content on his sister’s cherubim face.

He moved closer, his footsteps muffled and unnoticed by the trio until his shadow fell across their gathering.

“Juggie’s here!” Jellybean exclaimed, squirming to be released from Betty’s arms so she could go to her brother. He dropped to his knees in the grass with a smile, catching the toddler as she launched herself towards him.

“Hello, Jellybean,” he murmured, smoothing her hair. He flicked shy eyes to Betty’s face, finding she was watching their interaction with an unsettlingly fond expression. “Um, sorry I’m late. My father asked to speak with me,” he explained, unable to hold her eyes for long.

“That’s alright. I was just waiting with Ethel,” she started, and only then did Jughead notice that her handmaiden was standing some distance from them with Joaquin. “When I saw Mistress Geraldine walking with Princess Thia,” she explained, gesturing to the older woman with silver hair who was now rising from her seat.

“We were going to find a nice spot by the lake to start our lesson; in fact, we should be going now,” she said with a degree of subtlety, holding out her hand. Jellybean took it with some reluctance, glancing back at the couple one last time as she was led away.

“I’m glad you enjoyed Babiole, Thia,” Betty called after her. “I hope we can finish it soon.”

“Bye, Betty,” Jellybean replied with a wave, before disappearing down the hill.

“What were you reading to her?” Jughead asked curiously, settling himself more comfortably on the ground. The dirt felt springy beneath him.

“It’s a translation of a French fairy tale that Polly read to me when we were young, about a princess who is turned into a monkey at birth. She falls in love with a prince but… he scorns her,” she stammered, glancing up at him apprehensively. Jughead hoped she couldn’t see the heat he felt in his cheeks, attributing it to the weather himself. She cleared her throat and continued. “But after half a lifetime of misfortune she is turned back into a princess, and in the end they both save each other, coming together to unite their kingdoms.” Jughead narrowed his eyes.

“Very poignant for a three year old,” he joked. Betty stared at him blankly for a beat before she cracked, chiming laughter ringing out across the orchard. Jughead joined her, something clenching at his chest.

“Well, I think she enjoyed the mystical qualities nonetheless,” she replied, pursing her lips to stop more laughter escaping. A brief silence fell over them, but it didn’t feel as weighted as before. He heard her take in a deep breath, her slight shoulders lifting with the action. When he looked back at her she had closed her eyes, face tilted towards the sun as if she were feeding from its energy. He realised how out of place she would feel in the winters of the Southside.

“I–” he went to talk, not quite sure what words were going to come from his mouth, before she interrupted him, eyes opening suddenly.

“Can we start again?” she asked, a new determinedness in her voice. She fixed him with a look equal parts resolute and pleading. When he didn’t respond she continued. “I realise that in dreading meeting someone I pictured to be a certain way I ended up creating the worst possible circumstances for us to become acquainted. And if I hadn’t been so ‘Princess Elizabeth’ about the whole thing then it could have gone so much better because, really, there is nothing we can do about this union so why make it any harder than it has to be,” she babbled, voice rising with every word. He still didn’t answer, mouth pinched with some kind of bemusement. “Jughead?”

“Did you really just turn your name into an adjective?” he asked instead, eyes sparkling. She let out a delicate groan, ducking her head and pressing her hands to her cheeks to hide their colour.

“It’s not a title I try and associate with often,” she clarified, peeking up bashfully. “So? Can we start over?” she tried again. Jughead’s shoulders lost some of their permanent tension as he reached out a hand.

“Jughead Jones,” he announced. She eyed him impishly, slipping her hand into his.

“Betty Cooper,” she replied. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He felt the pressure of her cool fingers, holding them a little longer than would be deemed standard. He cleared his throat, dropping his limb to rest uselessly in his lap.

“Should we walk?” he suggested, standing up and brushing the grass from his pants. She followed suit, folding her stockings over her arm and letting her shoes dangle from her fingertips.

“Alright. There’s a pathway that follows the length of the lake here and curls around to the stables,” she relayed, starting forwards. “It’s far enough away from the castle for us to avoid being watched by everyone,” she mumbled as an afterthought. He fell into step beside her, hearing the steady, plodding footsteps of their chaperones some paces behind them.

“Does their presence feel as obvious to you as it does to me?” he asked sometime later, chancing a glance over his shoulder to see Joaquin and Ethel trudging silently in tandem. Both had their gazes tastefully averted, but he knew they would be keeping very watchful eyes on the pair.

“Yes,” Betty sighed, following his line of sight. “They’re only doing their job, I suppose,” she reasoned. He nodded, eyes returning to his feet.

“As are we,” he said nonchalantly, not meaning anything by it. Betty’s teeth began to worry her lip as she thought something through.

“I am sorry that you’ve been dragged into this,” she finally said, turning her head towards him. His brows nestled together.

“You shouldn’t feel the need to apologise. You’re just as much the unwitting party as I am.” She sighed again, and he noticed her fingers curling slightly around the heel of her shoes, pressing into the bunched fabric of her stockings.

“Yes, but I get the feeling that your father is doing this as a favour to our faction. There’s something my parents aren’t telling me, I think we’re in bigger need than they’re letting on,” she fretted. Jughead didn’t interrupt, waiting for her to voice her concerns. “Everything is always about appearances with my family. Even if it’s not, everything has to seem as though it’s in its place and is completely perfect.” He didn’t miss the way the word curdled on her tongue. She turned her wide eyes to him, their watery depths betraying the true extent of her emotion. “I’ve already see the lengths they’d go to, with Polly, to protect our reputation. I should have known it would only be a matter of time before it was my turn to become a sacrifice in upholding their façade,” she finished, her mouth twisting as a tremor invaded her voice.

“Hey,” Jughead said tenderly, lifting a hand to cup her cheek before he could stop himself. He dismissed the twinge in his chest towards her threat of tears as a side effect of looking after Jellybean for the past three years – his nurturing instinct had heightened beyond his years. “It’s okay, Betty,” he murmured, thumb jutting out to catch a stray droplet from her lashes before it made its way down her cheek. She looked up at him hopefully. “I’m sorry that they sent your sister away. And that we’re only pawns in our parents’ games.” He dropped his hand. “I think you should know that my father might be planning something,” he admitted, her openness inspiring him to be candid. It was Betty’s turn to look confused.

“What do you mean?” she questioned.

“Your parents aren’t the only ones who are obsessed with reputation – must be a monarchy thing,” he added wryly, drifting from his point. “The only difference is that my father tries to uphold a reputation entirely the opposite of yours,” he explained.

“I still don’t understand.”

“He doesn’t just do favours, as you put it. Things always come at a price where I’m from. He’s been… dropping hints, I just can’t figure out what for,” he finished, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly. She followed the movement as the dark curls disobeyed him and fell back over his forehead.

“What would the Serpents want with the Swans?” she asked, turning to face him. He hadn’t realised they’d stopped walking. They were on the water’s edge, small ripples in the surface reflecting the sun’s light like thousands of tiny diamonds. There were a few swans floating gracefully downstream. “It’s not exactly a natural union, especially if our faction is damaged.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“I don’t know – nature has a way of surprising us,” he remarked. She rewarded him with a sweet smile. “Besides,” he continued, not wanting the look she was giving him to vanish quite yet. “They have a lot of things in common, serpents and swans.” She lifted a questioning eyebrow. “They may look beautiful but swans can be deadly, too.” The weight of his words settled over them and Jughead hurried to continue their walk. “I should know, I remember being chased by some when I was a child. One of my less fond memories,” he muttered sourly as she threw her head back in joyous laughter.

“Chased?” she asked, all trace of saddened tears wiped from her eyes.

“Yes,” he confirmed, back straightening. “It was terrifying, Betty!” he chided when she only laughed harder, but he was laughing too.

They had made some headway up the path now, edging ever closer to the stables. Movement from their right pulled their gaze. A stable boy in dowdy dress was leading a white and grey speckled mare across the grounds, stopping every so often run a hand across its graphite mane.

“Is she yours?” Jughead asked, tipping his head over in their direction. Betty scrunched her nose in distaste.

“No, it’s Polly’s. I don’t care for horses; I hate riding,” she clarified at his inquisitive look. His head bobbed back in shock.

“I didn’t think you were capable of hating anything, let alone something as required of you as riding,” he jested. They carried on in their stroll, and he could sense the faltering in her footsteps as the large animal drew continually nearer.

“They’re just so… intimidating,” she struggled, shifting slightly behind him as the horse shook its head and let out a low, gritty breath. Jughead tried not to enjoy this new side of her, holding out an open palm as if to bar her from the creature, in protection. “And you get to put one leg over the saddle when you ride. It’s a lot easier to slip when you’re only allowed to ride side saddle,” she grumbled.

“But don’t you ever just ride for fun, one leg over the saddle?” he questioned, turning to face her. She shook her head.

“I’m not exactly allowed to go far.”

“I’ll take you,” he vowed, looking out across the expanse of the castle’s grounds. At her wary expression he continued. “You’ll like it, I promise. It’s freeing,” he assured. She still didn’t look as if she fully believed him. “Even Jellybean is less afraid of horses than you,” he teased. Her lips parted in offense, poking him softly in the side as he chuckled.

“That’s not fair,” she moaned, lower lip pushing out in a delicate pout.

They passed the horse eventually, the castle coming into view over the hill. The sun had dipped lower still, beginning its descent towards the horizon.

“Archery,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“Instead of riding, I mean. My favourite sport is archery,” she shared with a timorous up-tilt of her lips. He returned it with more confidence.

“Really?” Jughead asked, trying to stop himself from being surprised at every detail she revealed about herself. He didn’t know her, he reminded himself. He was getting to know her. “I’m not very handy with a bow and arrow,” he confessed.

“I’ll teach you, in return for the riding lessons,” she bartered. He realised how smoothly this meeting had gone, only remembering Joaquin and Ethel’s presence behind him when his friend cleared his throat softly.

“This has been nice,” he offered, cringing at his choice of words. It sounded pathetic, not nearly conveying his feelings on the afternoon. But if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings were yet.

Everything felt as if it had changed so quickly. One minute he was being informed of his impending marriage, his belongings hauled in the carriage after him. Then he was being confronted with a whirlwind of a girl, her family betraying her by causing her to be mistrustful, wary of every new person she was introduced to. She was always wanted for something other than simply herself. And he hadn’t precisely given her a reason to trust him from the offset, he thinks ashamedly, her harsh words ringing in his ears.

“Cheryl isn’t my mistress,” he announced all of a sudden, cheeks flaming.

“She… she isn’t?” Betty replied, unable to hide the note of hope in her voice. He met her gaze steadily, after taking a stabilising breath.

“No, she isn’t. I meant what I said when you came over to us at the festival. She is an old friend… well, I suppose acquaintance would be more appropriate. She comes with her father every time he visits our faction. She’s… quite forward,” he tried, blinking a few times at memories of Cheryl’s attempts at engaging him. “But I’ve never indulged any of her requests, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he confirmed. Betty felt a heat creep up her spine, and Jughead could see the residual heat at the base of her throat.

“Oh. T-thank you, for telling me. I shouldn’t have assumed. It wouldn’t be my business… if you had,” she stuttered, clearly flustered at their topic of conversation. “Not that I wouldn’t have minded if you…” She sighed, closing her eye briefly to gather her nerve. “Anything that you have… indulged in before we met is of little importance,” she finally managed, her fists curling at her sides.

He caught the movement, shoulders relaxing when her fingers uncurled again. He’d seen her, last night, before her friend had interrupted. She was standing alone, oblivious to her surroundings, eyes squeezed shut and fists balled. When they’d danced later that night he felt the distinct ridges of cuts in her otherwise soft palms, stirring something in the pit of his stomach.

He had wanted to ask her about it, but it was clearly one of her deepest secrets. He would be a fool to think someone as controlled as she appeared to be wouldn’t need some kind of outlet, but the thought of her causing herself harm now seemed to provoke a dull ache behind his own temples. Jughead decided to wait, to address it when they knew each other better. In the meantime he promised to try and make their integration as easy on her as possible.

“I have a lesson with Mistress Geraldine in the library this evening, if you would like to join us,” Betty suggested shyly. “You just seemed like you enjoyed literature,” she squeaked in clarification. He drifted closer to her side.

“I do,” he affirmed. “My mother used to read to me all the time. And when she was expecting Jellybean I used to read back to her, to them,” he shared, feeling slightly exposed.

“Thia did seem very happy while we were reading earlier,” Betty reminisced fondly. Jughead bumped her arm with his own, in a way he hoped could have been mistaken for an accident.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. They were nearing the archway back into the main corridor now, both standing on the edge of the imposing building’s shadow.

“Do you think we would have been friends? If things were different and we hadn’t met like this?” Betty asked out of the blue. Jughead started, taken aback by the question.

“We can be friends now, can’t we?” he answered instead, brows knitted in apprehension. To his relief she nodded.

“Yes, I think we can.” They stood before one another for a moment, unsure of how to end their afternoon together. “Till this evening,” she finally supplied, moving to curtsy in departure. He caught one of her hands before she could do so, bowing at the waist to bring it to his lips. He placed a light kiss upon her porcelain skin, eyes deliberately fixed on the branching veins he could see there instead of upon her own, not knowing what he would find reflected in them.

“Till this evening.”

***

Betty couldn’t tell if the heat from the sun or Jughead’s departing gesture was what was making her head feel light. It was utterly confusing to go from being so unsure of someone one minute to feeling the flutterings of unidentifiable feelings churning in the pit of her stomach with each glance he threw her way.

The most unsettling thing she found was that these feelings were something entirely new to her, never before experienced by her green heart. Her mind was suddenly bringing Archie’s image into her imagination. The thudding now in her chest and his face didn’t match up in her memory. It threw all of her expectations into a spiral and she wasn’t quite sure how to cling onto the newfound emotions.

The harsh mutterings of hushed voices brought her out of her reverie, pace slowing as she neared the sound. Betty pressed herself against the wall as her ears pricked, straining to catch some of the words floating towards her.

“…up to something, and I’ll find out what…”

“…Allie. Never were…”

“…snake, and not even a very good one from the looks…”

“…see about that. You’ve gotten too comfortable…”

Her mother’s familiar tone made her freeze, pounding of her heart picking up for a new reason altogether. Betty caught her breath, lips pressed together as she slid her shoulder around the pillar she was hidden behind.

The sight that greeted her made her blood run cold. She was used to seeing fury blaze in her mother’s eyes, but they were now coated in a sheen of fear, hard and wide as Alice attempted to wrench her arm from the grip of her company.

FP leaned over her, fingers turning her mother’s skin white with the pressure of his hold. Their faces were impossibly close, chests heaving in unadulterated anger. Neither of them moved, locked in a stare to the death, the way a snake hangs suspended before leaping on its prey.

Betty fled from the room, vision blurring. Their conversation wasn’t one of strangers, only having met a few days prior. Her mother knew the King of the Serpents, and now she needed to know why.