#listen. we were so blessed to get emma in the flower crown and killian in the red vest and that jacket in the same scene | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wistfulcynic · 4 years

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Love Reigns

SUMMARY: On his wedding day, Killian reflects on his life and his future with Emma, and his new role as the crown princess’s husband.

Part Three of the Modern Misthaven series that began with Error 404: “Little” Brother Not Found.

Tumblr: Part One | Part Two AO3: One | Two | Three

a/n: The lightest, sweetest Lieutenant Duckling fluff, because writing in this verse is very soothing. Have the dentist on speed-dial.

Rating: G-ish Words: 3.1k Tags: Lieutenant Duckling, Royalty AU, Modern Royalty, Wedding

LOVE REIGNS:

The flowers are beautiful.

It’s probably an odd thing for Killian to be thinking at this moment, but they truly are. Mist lilies, the national flower of Misthaven, with their unusual blue-grey colour and subtle fragrance—mid-June is the height of their season and they’re Emma’s favourite flower so there was never really any question as to what time of year the wedding would be.

The chapel is awash in them, draped in garlands over the chairs and gathered in bouquets on either side of the aisle, bouquets rounded out by sprays of Queen Anne’s lace and the sunshine yellow roses that are their country’s second most populous flower. There’s a lily tucked into his buttonhole, just a small one nestled in a sprig of lacy white. Liam put it there not an hour earlier, his usual jovial smile dimmed by the weight of solemnity and nerves.

(“Nervous, little brother?” he attempted to joke, adjusting the flower and smoothing Killian’s lapels.

Killian smiled, content to let the nickname slide. Just for today. “No,” he replied.

“What, not at all?” Liam fiddled with his tie as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m a bloody wreck.”

Killian turned to examine their reflection in the mirror—both in their formal dress uniforms, though he had technically given up his naval commission when he accepted a seat on the Royal Council. “I suppose it’s because I’ve had such a long time to get used to the idea,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for this day since the first time I kissed her.”

“How?” Liam shook his head. “How could you know after one kiss?”

Killian doubted he’d ever be able to fully articulate how it felt, that calm certainty that had settled within him from the first touch of her lips on his, even as the taste of her set his blood racing. It was the certainty of knowing exactly where you belong, and he had known from the first that he belonged with Emma—by her side always, despite how impossible such a thing had seemed at the time.

He couldn’t explain it and even if he could there wasn’t time. The chapel bell began to chime and Liam jumped, then chuckled at himself. Killian reached up to clasp his brother’s shoulder and give it a reassuring a squeeze. “When you know you know, as they say,” he quipped. “With Emma I’ve just always known.”)

The organ begins to play and the guests rise to their feet. Killian can feel Liam behind him, standing straight and palpably tense. He wishes he could offer his brother some reassurance but he can’t move—every particle of his focus and attention is directed at the chapel doors. When they open a bright flare of sunlight bursts through and then there is Emma, more radiant than any beam, and he catches his breath.

Her hair is twisted into an elegant updo, and though he prefers it loose and curling around her shoulders for his fingers to tangle in he cannot deny that she is stunning, the graceful curve of neck and shoulder bare and just teased by curling tendrils. Her dress is long and flowing in the traditional style, ivory silk shot through with gold, and he would swear that every inch of her gleams.

He swallows hard as she approaches, his heart thundering though not with nerves or even excitement. It’s closer to awe; the culmination of years of study and work and dreams, planning their life together and building its foundations, slowly, until the day it could at so long last be realised.

(“I’d go down on one knee for this,” he said to her on the morning of the happiest day of his life so far. “I probably should, tradition and all, but people kneel to you all the time and I don’t wish to be one of them.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, tightening his hand in hers. It was a cool day, cloudy but dry, and they were in the palace gardens where the mist lilies were just beginning to fade, making way for the late summer flowers with their richer colours. He looked down at her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, her posture tense with expectation and excitement. He knew her answer, had known it for years, but the question still required asking.

“So I won’t kneel,” he continued, “but instead I stand here before you as your partner—if not precisely your equal—to tell you that I love you with everything I have in me, and that I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days at your side. Or two steps behind you, should the occasion require it.”

She gave a bright laugh, even as a tear escaped the corner of her eye. He wiped it away with a gentle brush of his thumb, framing her face in his hand.

“Emma, my love,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”)

She arrives at his side and her father lifts her hand to his lips—Killian startles; he was so absorbed by Emma that he forgot the king was there—kisses it gently and passes it to Killian, who takes it in his own hand and kisses it in his turn.

King David nods and makes a formal bow, and when he straightens his eyes catch Killian’s. Understanding flashes between them, and there in that moment they are not a king and his subject but a father and the man about to become his son-in-law. It’s a brief moment but heavy with meaning, and when it passes David gives a nod and the barest curve of his lips before stepping back and taking his seat next to the queen.

Killian returns his attention to Emma, tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and attempts a smile.

“Swan, you look...” he trails off, for once at a loss for words.

She gives him a cheeky smile. “I know.”

His own smile blooms, the breathless tension broken, and they turn together to face Lancelot.

(The footman announced him and Killian entered the king and queen’s private residence to find them waiting with tea already laid. They looked surprised to see him alone, then comprehension dawned and they sat up straighter, more formally, and he bowed, first to Snow then to David, then waited at military attention until they bade him to take a seat.

“I know that you know why I’m here,” he said. “We’ve never spoken about it in so many words but I know that you have always understood how much I love your daughter and that my dearest wish for a long time has been to marry her. I believe that now, with my new position on the Council and with Emma officially taking on her royal duties, that it is the... well, the time.”

He sat as straight as he could, shoulders back, and met their eyes without a waver. “Yesterday I asked Emma to marry me and she said yes,” he continued. “Today I am here to ask for your blessing—not your formal approval as the king and queen, but your blessing as parents. I know I wouldn’t have been your first choice for her, but I promise you that no one could love her more than I do and I will devote my life to her happiness.”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly, awaiting their reply. They were silent for a moment, sharing that unspoken communication they had, that he and Emma had as well. Then Queen Snow pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes and King David’s stern face softened.

“Oh, Killian,” said Snow, sniffling. She rose to her feet and he hurried to follow—it was very bad form to sit while the queen was standing—but she waved away his attempts at protocol and took his face in her hands with a tremulous smile. “It’s true you weren’t our first choice but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best one. You are Emma’s choice and you make her happy, and that’s all we care about. Of course you have our blessing!”

She pulled him into a hug which he attempted to return both warmly and respectfully—not the easiest balance to strike—and met David’s eyes over her shoulder. The king was attempting to look stern, but Killian knew him too well by now to be fooled.

So did Snow. “David,” she said, turning to him and dabbing her eyes again. “Come greet our son-in-law.”

David stood and offered Killian his hand. “Welcome to the family,” he said.)

Lancelot’s smile is wide and his voice resonant, but Killian does not hear his words. He is conscious only of Emma beside him, the soft weight of her hand on his arm, the magnitude of this moment. His heart is so full of love for her he fears it may burst, and though he supposes he should listen to the vows he is taking, he doesn’t truly need to. He knows what they say and more importantly he feels them, those words that speak of love and trust and partnership, of solemn duty gladly undertaken, and he has no need to hear the words to promise to uphold them.

“I do,” he says, when the time comes, and Emma repeats this vow in her turn. Then he is turning to her, his hand firm on the small of her back as he leans in to kiss her.

And with that, they are married.

(“Killian!” Emma tapped gently at his door. “Killian, are you there?”

“Swan!” He leapt from the sofa where he and Liam had been lounging, exchanging an alarmed glance with his brother as he approached the door. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” she said quietly. “I miss you.”

Liam rolled his eyes but Killian ignored him. “I miss you too,” he said. “But—”

“I wish I could see you.”

Killian sighed. “Love, you know that’s bad luck.”

“I know you think it’s bad luck.”

“A seafaring man knows better than to mess about defying superstitions,” he told her sternly. “Even ones that may be foolish. Perhaps it’s not bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding, but I don’t care to take that chance.”

“I know,” she sighed. “And I do understand, I just—I hate sleeping without you.”

“I know, darling, me too.” Killian leaned his forehead against the door, knowing that on the other side she was doing the same. “But it’s just one night. Come tomorrow there’ll be no getting rid of me.”

Emma’s voice dropped so low he could barely hear her. “Promise?”

“Aye, my love,” he whispered back. “I promise.”)

The organ music swells as he and Emma walk arm-in-arm back down the aisle. The doors swing open as they approach and the glare of the sunlight outside momentarily blinds him. When his vision clears he sees a crowd of people filling up and spilling out of the chapel grounds and into the streets, where traffic has been blocked off for the occasion. A great cheer erupts as they emerge and stand together at the top of the curving steps so the people below can get a good look at their princess and new prince.

Bloody hell, thinks Killian. Prince.

It’s a courtesy title that holds no real weight, and he won’t even technically assume it until Emma takes the throne. But the tabloids are already calling him Prince Killian, which makes him blush and Emma laugh, and as the crowd cheers and she smiles and waves as naturally as breathing, Killian feels overwhelmed. This is his life now, he thinks. He is a public figure, a member of the royal family. He has a duty to these people, a responsibility, and—his head begins to spin and bile rises in his throat and then he feels Emma’s hand tighten on his arm.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing tiny, gentle circles on his bicep with her fingertips. “You’re okay. I love you.”

Her touch grounds him and her voice quells his rising panic. He looks down at her and she smiles, radiant with happiness and love and sunlight and he feels himself relax. This is just them, after all. Just Killian and Emma, together, as they’ve been now for more than five years. That’s all that matters.

He smiles back at her then turns to the crowd and raises his hand in a tentative wave. Cheers swell and cameras flash, and Emma’s voice is low in his ear.

“You’re a natural.”

The rest of the day is a dizzying whirl of speeches and toasts and hands to shake, people bowing and calling him ‘sir’, Liam’s tight, proud hug and the tears in the queen’s eyes. There is dancing and a meal they don’t have time to eat, and so many camera flashes that Killian begins to think the spots behind his eyelids when he blinks may be permanent.

Emma smiles through it all but he can see fatigue begin to settle on her shoulders and around her eyes. She’s been awake since dawn at least and moving nonstop, with constant demands on her time and attention. She bears it brilliantly, sustained by a lifetime of royal training, but he knows how much it drains her and wishes he could whisk her away to someplace quiet and private, just for a moment, where they could lean against each other and just breathe.

Finally the time comes for them to leave for their honeymoon, which they do in one of the palace limousines. One with tinted windows, Killian notes in relief, and comfortable leather seats, quite different from the stiff, open-topped carriages that conveyed them to and from the chapel. Everyone gathers round to see them off, and they muster the energy for one last round of smiles and waves. The instant the car pulls away Emma droops, collapsing against Killian’s chest with a small sigh. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her close.

“Long day,” he says.

“You’re not kidding,” she murmurs. “But a good one.”

“Aye,” he agrees, and lets his cheek rest on his wife’s head. His wife. “The best day.”

They sit in comfortable silence as the car moves through the streets. People still line them, hoping for a glimpse of the royal couple, but the tint of the windows is dark and Killian is glad of it; frankly he feels no obligation to give the public any more of himself or of Emma today. He’s exhausted and she’s already asleep, snoring faintly into the crook of his neck.

They drive to the palace and through the grand front entrance, around the main buildings and towards the rear exit and the road that leads to the airport. The limo pauses briefly in a small alcove that’s invisible from outside the palace grounds, where Killian nudges Emma awake and they perform a quick-change operation worthy of a spy film, slipping from the limo—which then proceeds through the rear gates without them—and into an ordinary, unmarked car. This car Killian drives out a small side exit where no crowds are gathered and down the quiet streets that lead to the coast, as Emma curls up in the passenger seat and dozes again with her head pillowed on his coat.

It’s quite late when they reach their destination—a small house on a tall cliff overlooking the ocean. The housekeeper is there to greet them, giving them a brief tour of the amenities then showing them to their room, with a curtsey and a reminder that she lives just next door should there be anything they need.

“Thank you,” Killian says with a smile. “I think we’ll be all right.”

He turns back into the room where Emma has already shed the sleek dress she wore to the reception and is snuggling into the dressing gown that was laid out on the bed for her. Killian follows suit, pleased to discard his stiff dress uniform in favour of slipping into something far more comfortable. He considers making a quip along those lines to Emma, but considering how tired she is he doubts the innuendo would be well-received. Something like 80% of couples don’t have sex on their wedding night, he reminds himself. And he and Emma have three weeks’ worth of nights to look forward to, alone here on this rocky stretch of shore—one final interlude just for them before they return to their life in the public eye. They can spare this one night just for sleep.

Their bedroom has a set of wide French doors leading to a balcony that overlooks the beach, and these Killian opens, stepping out into the fading twilight and breathing deeply of the crisp sea air. It’s unlikely he’ll be able to spend much time on the sea in the future and he would be lying if he claimed not to feel a twinge of sadness at that thought. But he’ll have a lifetime with Emma instead, in the face of which joyous prospect all other concerns pale into insignificance.

Emma. His wife. He wonders how long it will be before that word stops making him feel giddy. Possibly never—and honestly, Killian reflects, he’s okay with that.

Emma’s arms slip around his waist and she rests her chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” she asks.

He turns so he can wrap her in his arms. “I’m thinking about how much I love you,” he replies, “and how much I am looking forward to living the rest of my life by your side.”

“Mmmm,” she says. “Those are good thoughts.”

She leans up for a kiss and he gladly obliges, trying to keep it light and sweet—but Emma is having none of that. She presses herself firmly against him and slips her tongue past his lips and Killian’s body leaps to attention before he can stop it.

“Are you sure, Swan?” he murmurs. “You’re exhausted.”

“I had a nap,” she replies, nipping at his lip. “And this sea air is really quite invigorat—oh!” She shrieks as he scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the bed where he lays her down with a gentleness that belies the fire in his veins. She watches as he slips off his dressing gown, biting her lip in that way she knows drives him mad.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, love,” he purrs.

“Why don’t you come down here and do something about it?”

She shrieks again as he pounces on her then sighs into his kiss, and as the rising moon casts the room in a gentle glow they share one last celebration of their wedding and their love.

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@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @kmomof4 @stahlop @darkcolinodonorgasm @katie-dub @teamhook @snidgetsafan @mariakov81

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#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #royalty au #modern royalty au #modern lieutenant duckling #modern misthaven #captain swan #princess!emma #lieutenant!killian #wedding #lieutenant duckling wedding #love reigns #profdanglaisstuff

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courtorderedcake · 5 years

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Hi! Thanks for tagging me in the WiP game. Your titles look quite interesting. Im curious about: A Crown of Buttercups, A Curse of Wings. Is it an EF AU?

Is it an EF AU?

Not exactly.

This piece was written as part of my HALLOW anthology series that I originally intended to post for CSSNS, but ended up leaving on the back burner due to work, life, and stress. It is a retelling of the Six Swans from fairytale lore, where Emma is the singled out child tasked with the curse of breaking the curse on her siblings.

An excerpt from my outline :

The only way to save them is to sew six shirts of buttercups (ORIGINALLY ASTERS) over six years without speaking. She sings instead.She climbs into a tree in the forest and begins to knit/craft these shirts together. ((Goes to a tree or meadow everyday to knit?))One day, the king of this kingdom ((Killian)) is hunting in the forest. His hunters find the girl in the tree and ask her who she is. ((Maybe instead, he courts her? And visits everyday, much to her annoyance?))

((Family: August, Robin, Snow, Ruby, Will, Merida )) ((Henry as the son or possibly a fae counterpart, page?))

((Royalty: Killian, Liam (dead), Cora as the Evil Queen (killed the Queen/Liam to usurp the throne), David, Jefferson, Graham = Hunters, Belle as Emma’s handmaiden, Mulan as her guard, Princess Regina as Killian’s close (And jealous) childhood friend who eventually warms to Emma. ))

EXCERPT I: Intro

Once upon a time, as so many stories begin, there was a man and his wife who loved each other very much. They could not have their own children, much to their deep regret, and set to living in the deep woods to live a quiet life. Every evening they’d walk together hand in hand, a tried and true path through the wood and around the streams and ponds that unseen creatures called home. The couple knew the woods were as old as time, and respected them as such; they left gifts of sweets, bread, and any other offerings they could spare.

The wrath of the wood and what lived within was not a kind.

One night, as evening fell with its profound grace, they returned to their cabin to find a wailing child on their step. Pale as milk and beautiful, they took him in as their own. When it happened again after 2 years, their beautiful son toddling along the path to the squall of another child, they celebrated further. The husband was so overjoyed that he built on to the small house, and the wife extended her garden. They left more gifts to appease those in the wood.

Another child, and another, and another and then one more appeared at their door and their house grew with the many smiling faces they raised. Though they did not suckle at the woman’s breast, she was there’s in everything but blood. She would fight for her children to a bitter end.

On the full moon that rose over the summer swell, the wife felt the sharp pain of labor in her back, her body bowing to its need to push. Her husband and her surprise at the child that had grown unknown in her belly caught them unaware as they tried to keep both baby and mother alive. There was only one survivor.

The baby was a beautiful child, a girl with bright eyes the color of moss and clover.

The husband buried his wife, becoming the father.

His family became his world, watching his children grow into beautiful children, and then almost adults. The children would soon have to leave the nest. On their long evening walk, the Father made a wish most Fathers make:

I wish my children would not leave the nest.

The wood listens. The wood and those within it listen well.

They returned to their home, all but one falling asleep. The youngest child climbed high, out of the loft and the haphazard but cozy add ons of their home, out into fresh air and a blanket of midnight silk and twinkling diamonds. She sat and watched like she liked to, the quiet blissful and serene. It was hard being the youngest in some ways, the small voice under the loud cacophony of her siblings.

She heard them even now, their shouts breaking the silence. Something was wrong.

She climbed back down into the house, down to where her siblings and father were yelling and light was shining brighter than any candle.

A woman stood, wings spread and body swathed in spider silk. Her voice boomed through the house like thunder and the light pulsed brighter.

“Your wish has been granted, they will remain.”“NO! No this is not what I meant!” The Father cried, but the gift had been given, the children given by fae taking fae form. The woman looked at him with bewilderment.

“You do not like my gift? Is this not what you wished for?”

“No, I wish there was a way to fix this!”

“A gift given cannot be undone by the giver. And you are the one who wished it.”

The youngest child, with bright green eyes and golden hair, jumped from her perch to stand before the woman. She was without fear, brash fury and courage.

“You were silent as a mouse, little one! To you I will give this task, but be warned, to take back my gift for siblings 6 will take great effort.”

The child did not falter, her eyes gleaming emeralds.

“Then you, little one, quiet swan on still waters, you will be silent, unless in song, until my gift is returned.”

The child felt something taken from her, and she grasped her throat. No sound came out when she opened her mouth.

“My sweet soundless child, your task is not done. To save your siblings from their fate, you must sew them garments of buttercups. You must swim in my spring with a stranger to you. Finally, you must dance with every full blue moon.”

A bright glow filled the room once more, a buttercup appearing on the child’s wrist.

The winged woman disappeared in a silver mist.

And so a gift was given, or a curse was cast, the tasks set to return her siblings to normal. For only at night did they retain a semblance of their human form, in the day’s sun they flew.

So she sewed. Buttercup after buttercup sewn into small rows,held tight with soft thread. Days went by as she weaved yellow flowers together in silence, only broken in the still of the night, when her family changed to their true forms. Their Father passed, filled with guilt over his mistake. They did all to assure him he was forgiven and loved. Pain filled their house for many months.

One night she found that she could sing and started humming to her family’s delight. In the lonely sunshine of the next day, she raised her voice, surrounding herself in songs that her father had sang to her, and her mother had sung before that. Days turned into months, months turned into years, with only a shirt and a half to show for it.

Her family changed. They all grew taller, with skin the color of cream and pale cheeks with the slightest blush. The girls were full of grace, a soft sway in their movements now. The boys grew unafraid and brash, used to fighting air currents and diving into dark waters to bring Emma gifts. They learned languages from different cultures, observed storytellers in markets, saw new foods being made, and listened to lectures in the monasteries on the sciences.

There were more somber silences as they discussed a future, but they told Emma stories of their flights over the many lands she could not see. Over time, her silence became a language they could understand, her looks or dismissive body language a code they easily cracked.

Occasionally, Emma would find her fingers bleeding or her eyes tired from making minute stitches. Her siblings would fuss over her.

“Emma,” Snow whispered, quietly rubbing a salve Will had made on her bleeding fingers. ”You don’t have to do this. You could go live your life, we would understand.”

Emma sighed, and gave her a look. I’d never do that. You are my family, and this is my home.

Emma changed. Gone was the girl. She grew taller, her hair flowed out in sun bleached strands of gold. Her days spent sewing under the canopy of the forest left her subtly kissed with peach, in contrast to her pale siblings. She was lean muscle, quiet, serious, focused drive, with one goal in sight: Save her family.

EXCERPT II :

Prince Killian hated hunting. He went out of duty and tradition, but found himself bored the entire time. This trip was an exception, however. With his closest friends in tow, he was heading out to celebrate his last days of freedom before meeting his betrothed and his coronation. The forest that sprawled across the west of his kingdom was full of life: deer, rabbits, pheasant, grouse, wild turkeys, boar, and other various game animals. They were relatively untouched in the old woods, the animals fattened and unaware of the threat of hunters. Not only was hunting not a challenge, but it felt almost too easy.

He was joined by David, one of his very good friends and a lord of Southernmost Barrens; Jefferson, a court musician well known for his flamboyant nature; and Graham, a friend of Killian’s for years who was one of the best hunters the land was blessed with. Only Graham and David seemed excited by the prospect of catching anything. Jefferson was content to enjoy fine wine and get away from the ladies of the court, and Killian… the only consolation of this excursion was a reprieve from castle life, and his step mother.

After his brute of a father’s sudden death, peace had been held by his brother, Liam. When Liam had died unexpectedly, Killian had been given the crown, but being unmarried, the Queen Mother helped him rule with an iron fist. A few weeks away from her and her revulsion for commoners felt well deserved.

He held his face up to the forest sky, it’s green leaves creating a canopy over them, and leaned back in the saddle. It was warm out, an early spring after a cold and long winter. Color was a welcome relief to his eyes. They came to a small glen where towering oaks broke to shower a glade with sunlight. They were deep in the forest, the trees ancient and tall. When his mother was alive, she had warned him this was the type of place the Wee Folk hid, witches lived, and the spirits of the wood moved between realms.

“Here looks good,” David said, hopping off his mount. There were some low lying berry bushes, a small stream, and a dogwood that dropped petals like snow. They undid the saddle bags of their horses, stretching after the ride. After a camp was roughly set, they separated, drawing their bows and arrows. They would meet back in the clearing after a successful hunt, or if unsuccessful would gather firewood, water, mushrooms, sweet onion, or young shoots to use later. Graham was insistent that no hunt or trek was truly unsuccessful. Killian set off following the stream as it widened into a creek.

He hadn’t walked long before he heard it. A song lilting on the breeze, rustling through boughs and thicket. The beautiful tune was not familiar to his ears; sad and mournful, but somehow full of hope. Following the melody to a small pond the creek emptied into, sunlight gleamed and sparkled off of its surface, and the tune mixed with the babble of the water took his breath away. He could vaguely make out the words:

‘Fire, earth, water, air,I did have 6 siblings fair,now they glide through the sky,and left all alone am I’

Stepping closer to the water, the song stopped abruptly.

Looking around he could find no source of the beautiful music. A siren or fae creature, maybe? He began to wash his face in the pond, one hand reaching for a dagger in his boot. If a creature hunted him he was prepared. As he touched the handle a flicker of movement caught his eye on the water’s surface. Killian was shocked to see green eyes and a tangle of blonde hair in the reflection of the crystal pool staring at him. He turned, staring at the blonde woman holding a bundle of buttercups, her lithe form almost entirely concealed by the canopy of the tree.

They stared at each other and she tensed, curling her body into the tree with her head peeking out to watch him warily.

”Who are you?”

She didn’t answer and simply stared at him with eyes the color of the forest.

“What are you doing here?” He had to be hallucinating, or this was a Fae creature using it’s beauty to trick him or steal his soul. He continued to press her, knowing Fae were compelled to answer. “Are you all right?”

Her gaze blew through him, a flicker of something in her face as she cocked her head slowly to the right. Killian’s mother had told him Fae were compelled to answer riddles, should he ever need to face one.

“No one can see me or catch me in their palms. I spread the noisy sound of my voice quickly through the world; I can break to pieces the oak with my loud, crashing strength, as I beat against the high poles of the sky and traverse the fields.” He said, reciting from memory his tutor’s favorite riddle. The woman looked confused for a short moment, then narrowed her eyes. She stepped back, completely covered by leaves and out of sight.

Killian shouted after her, “Wait! I’m sorry -” Shock radiated through him as he watched her swing her body easily to a higher branch, staring down at him from her perch.

Her silence chilled him. She shifted, letting her legs hang, her dress far shorter than he was used to in the courts. He could feel his face flush. She tugged at the hem when she saw where his gaze fell, and her face and chest flushed pink. She looked away from him, chewing her lip.

”Do you need help getting down…?” That caused her gaze to snap back at him, and she shook her head no furiously. She opened her mouth to say something, but after a long pause, pursed her lips with a sigh. He moved under the tree, his hand pressed against the bark. She was still far above him, but he could see her well worn dress was a faded jade, bleached to mint. It was decades out of fashion, and looked to be made for a child. Her hair was tangled gold with curls springing wildly.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He said softly.

She gave him a sad, pleading look, and made a shooing motion. Her face almost looked pained.

”Can’t you speak?” Her gaze was green fire, sunlight through a piece of sea glass. She shook her head no, and glared at him. “Alright, look, I’ll leave you be then. I just… We’re staying in the clearing over at the mouth of the stream. If you want to be left alone, stay clear of us. We’ll give you a wide berth.”

Her face softened, and she cocked her head to the side again, moving forward. He watched her slowly climb down the tree, until she stood only a few feet in front of him.

“I’m…” He hesitated. She would know who he was if he said his name. “Jones.” He said reaching out a hand. She didn’t take it, and shrank away at his movement. He noticed that she clutched a garment made of flowers to her protectively. Maybe she was one of the Drue, or a Nymph?

EXCERPT III :

David stood as she stepped into the moonlight. Her eyes flashed under a shock of long brown hair dusted in silver, and a white slip of a gown stuck to her body. A flash of silver shined in her hand, as two tall men crept out of the wood to support her. They were all graceful in their movements, gliding towards him. David began to believe he was dreaming as they glistened, somehow dusted in silvers and opalescent mother of pearl on their skin and hair.The point of a dagger rested under his chin, the stunning woman before him staring up at him.

“You owe a debt to me. Help me. I need medicine.” Her voice was lilting, and he felt his mouth go dry as long lashed eyes glinted blue green. David’s heart skipped, and he remembered Killian’s words in shock.

“Who… Who are you?” it came out in a stutter. She smiled, and the men behind her shifted uncomfortably.

“Call me… Blanche.” she whispered, lowering the dagger and cocking her head slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you David.”

His name from her lips electrified him, and he understood. He would do anything for this woman.

She extended a hand, and he took it with wonder.

As she lead him away, he didn’t notice her companions move towards their palace.

#WIP #aloha-4-ever #WIP game #Courtorderedcake #My writing #A Crown of buttercups #A Curse of Wings #send me an ask #These are all like #23k one shots #send halp #I need someone to finish what I start

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