"Killian," she hissed his name under her breath, struggling to maintain a calm facade on her face as she tightened her fingers in his hand, forcing her breathing to remain steady.

But they were surrounded by sparkling swishing dresses and a high ceiling and drifting music and the last thing she was was calm.

"Swan?" came his hushed reply. He offered her a slight sideways glance under his long eyelashes, but was equally careful not to draw attention to them as he studied her face, eyes slowly glinting worry. "What is it, love?"

"This," she flicked her eyes out across the crowd as he tugged her deeper into the mix, between dress after sparkling dress, brushing the shoulders of men who had to be lords and kings and dammit she did not belong here. When he finally stopped, it was in a space that was hardly a clearing— but no one else was moving and the music had fallen silent, so now only a softening buzz of voices and laughter rung through the hall.

"Aye?" he lined himself up with her, bringing his free hand (the wooden one), to rest gently at her waist, and glancing pointedly at her own arm.

"I don't know how to dance, Killian!" she muttered, holding his gaze firmly with wide and surely openly concerned eyes.

The asshole smirked. Actually smirked, ducking his head sideways as a chuckle bubbled out of his damn mouth.

"Killian!" she repeated, appalled. Everyone around them was arranging themselves with their partners and Emma's heart was racing because after everything this was it. They were going to screw everything up because she couldn't dance.

"Emma, love, calm down," his voice was steady now, albeit quietly amused, but when she met his eyes they held only gentle reassurance. "Put your hand right here," he shrugged his left shoulder, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as she curled her fingers around, "That's a good girl."

Her breath unexpectedly caught in her throat.

"I was a lieutenant, love," he teased further, clearly not missing the uneasiness in her expression. Now it was safe to say her heart was racing. "I can handle a ball."

His voice was so gentle and soft and his eyes so wide and open and despite the fear racing through her veins, she felt… home.

"Follow my lead, then?" he added carefully, brow furrowing.

"Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second," she forced herself to hold his gaze as the words crossed her lips, and something physical seemed to crumble away from him, seemed to open him up entirely to her. His eyes glistened as the music began to pick up and her heart stuttered.

"I would despair if you did."