It had taken a sleepless night to decide how to reply. His earlier feelings about how this act, this duty, could somehow help atone for the past did not abate. Still this was not a situation he had anticipated. He had never reckoned he would marry. He loved the sea too much- and even more he was too headstrong to see himself partnered with anyone other than a captain. Or his brother.
Liam was the marrying kind. He had often talked of how he wished to have two strong sons, much like themselves, to follow their path into the navy. But that chance had been ripped away from him by the cruel blow of a pirate's sword, Killian unable to do a thing as his only family - his world - sank to the deck with a belly full of blood.
The memory of that day taunted him. He hadn't been able to save his brother. If he'd have been a little faster, or more careful, well, it was something he often dwelled on. It hadn't mattered that he was able to play a key part in beating back the attackers and that his actions had been essential in saving the lives of a dozen more men. He was unable to save the one who mattered.
He tossed and turned, reckoning that if he were able to fulfill his brother's wish to carry on their bloodline that it could provide some comfort to his soul. Commander Gibbons had been true in his assessment that Liam would have approved of Killian marrying. The circumstances were unexpected but the outcome would have pleased the elder Jones, of that he was certain. Now Killian was truly alone, he knew his brother would want him to form a new family.
And the matter of a partnership… Any marriage he had thought of before would have been different. One with a traditional courtship. And love. This was an entirely different matter. It was a situation designed to produce a specific outcome: heirs for the kingdom and the ensuing stability. Emotions and feelings did not factor into this arrangement. In some way that made things easier. It was almost clinical in the way he could approach his decision. Or at least that was what he told himself.
And the princess… Emma, he reminded himself. She was beautiful. Refined, educated, regal. All fine qualities to be sure. Under other circumstances he could never have dreamed being connected to such a woman. But history had dealt them all a strange hand and now he could be her consort. As much as he tried to imagine such a life with her would be like, he struggled to do so. She was such a mystery to him.
He lay in bed, the word marriage rolling around in his head like a marble on an unsteady deck. He dedicated hours to weighing up each aspect of the offer and the benefits and constraints. The letter proposing the engagement had contained reference to his commission and that the king and queen wished for him to be able to continue with his career 'in as a full a way as possible'. He took that be mean they supported his role in the navy. That eased his mind.
But was he ready to marry? Would he ever be - even if to serve a greater purpose?
Admittedly, he still wasn't sure when the sun rose, or when he took his pen and placed it on the hot pressed paper, or when he sealed the note with blood red wax, nor even when he passed it to the courier for return to Misthaven. But something had told him this was the right thing to do. To accept the proposition. To marry the princess.
/
The response from the Lieutenant arrived mere days before his ship returned. Her mother had brought the news to her in her chambers as she prepared for dinner. The queen seemed happy, yet wary. Emma had certainly surprised her when she had approached with her decision on how to proceed. She had told the queen that a formal courtship period - which would usually be at least a few months followed by an equally long engagement - seemed old fashioned, given the circumstances. She had also pointed out that she herself had not followed these rules when she married. Emma had explained, factually, reasonably, that of all the possible suitors, the naval officer seemed most appropriate in rank, temperament and education. It had taken a few days of discussion between her mother and father before they had devised a plan of action: to inform the Lieutenant of the princess's wishes, to seek his acceptance and then to plan the wedding post haste.
Emma was happy.In a way. Or perhaps relieved would be a better description. The issue of the continuance of the royal line could soon be put to bed. She could move into a more formal role with the kingdom. Perhaps she could travel somewhat, as she would have an official consort. And then children-
She was not naive. She was fairly familiar with what would have to happen between them. Children were not expected instantly in such circumstances, but soon enough she would need to produce an heir…
She would worry about that later.
Once she had assured the queen of her happiness at the news, the older woman had thrown herself into talk of gowns and flowers and guests and all the practicalities of a royal wedding. Her mother came alive, more jovial and youthful than she had seemed in years. Emma was pleased she had made her mother happy. The latched onto her mother's joy, as if by proxy she could feel the same.
/
When the Jewel of the Realm docked, it was met by a royal entourage. The Lieutenant appeared in his fine uniform once more. He took the princess's hand and placed another chaste kiss upon it and then rode to the castle with them to finalize the formalities. Emma felt rather strange, this man she barely knew, was to be her husband. She wondered if he felt the same discombobulation. She knew not what was his favourite book or meal, whether he preferred summer or winter or even simply what the sound of his laugh was like. Never mind to speak of his past, his family and his dreams for the future.
Either by accident, or some element of design, there was very little time to learn more of his thoughts and feelings. The wedding was fixed for a mere six weeks time. It would be midsummer by then, a fortuitous time to marry so they said. Between his naval duties and the Jewel's next journey, there would be little time to get to know one another. Emma wasn't sure what she thought about that. But in the end, it didn't matter. They were marrying. They would have all the time in the world to become familiar with each other once the marriage contract was signed.
The crown princess of Misthaven was nothing if not always practical.
/
It seemed indecently quick how soon she was standing draped in fine lace, saying vows before an assembled gathering of family and selected dignitaries. There had been a few conversations between them in the proceeding weeks. The half dozen dinners he had attended she had sat beside him. At the formal engagement party they had danced twice. It was all so… polite. But beyond that, there had been so little time for such niceties. He was committed to his duties on the Jewel and she respected that. It was something to admire, his dedication to his work.
Still, her knees shook as she recited the words. Her heart raced as she looked at the man she was joining herself with. Her mind began to fill with doubt at the wisdom of this union.
There was little time to think as the emerald ring that belonged to her mother was slipped on her finger and the ceremony was completed.
She kissed her husband.
(Her husband.)
It was a little awkward. Stiff. Two almost strangers pushed into intimacy.
Oh what had she done.
/
He thought of Liam during the ceremony. How he wished he could have been there.
(Or how it even should have been him at the altar.)
He stood tall, held back his shoulders and recited the vows with as much sincerity and nobility as he could muster.
It was impossible to ascertain the princess's feelings. Her face was a mask; a thin smile upon it with no other emotion revealed. They had spent so little time together before this moment; he was needed more often than not for official naval matters. In honesty, he had been glad. He had been avoiding really thinking about what he had agreed to do. But it was more difficult with her in front of him, beautiful in pale blue lace, her golden hair in tumbling curls. Her face unreadable.
When he kissed her, she froze in his arms. Their lips barely touched for the briefest of seconds, enough time for their guests to stand and congratulate them. That their first kiss should be for an audience was perhaps apt occurrence, all things considered. A public spectacle as everything between them had been so far.
Discreetly, the queen had indicated that the pair ought to spend a moment together before the formal dinner, out of the sight of prying eyes, and he was inclined to agree. They slipped away to the queen's drawing room.
"Your highness," he nodded, with a soft smile as the door closed behind them.
"Stop," she replied softly, "No need for such formality."
He paused and stood upright. She approached him, the soft swishing of her dress the only sound in that quiet part of the castle. Sometimes he missed the creaking of oak planks and the crashing of waves against the hull when he was ashore. The lack of ambient noise on land threw everything else into sharp focus.
She clasped her hands about her waist. The ring on her finger glinted in the last of the sunlight that shone through the windows. "You must call me Emma, at least in private."
"Of course," he nodded, "Emma."
She seemed to look him over, her eyes darting about his form. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if he would ever be able to decipher her looks. Only time would tell.
"I feel like we rarely have a moment alone. I wonder if we shall ever be able to ascertain more beyond our names and our preferences when dining," she asked, a lighthearted edge to her voice but there was an undercurrent of something beneath it.
"I hope so. The naval command have been most understanding, and though I will be asea sometimes, you will have plenty of opportunity to grow tired of my presence."
"We shall see," she nodded, a half smile on her lips as if she were teasing him. He bit back his own smile.
He watched as she walked towards the large windows that looked out onto the harbour. It was late afternoon now, dusk beginning to peek at the edges of the horizon with its dusty pink hues painting over the crisp, Misthaven blue. She walked with the regal posture, back straight, head held high.
He hesitated, not sure if he should join her. In fact he found himself most uncertain about all aspects of how he was to behave. They were married. They had signed the documents, said the words, but really nothing much had changed. They were still two almost-strangers.
"How are you feeling?" she finally asked, not turning around.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, hoping she understood his meaning. In this instance there did not seem to be an appropriate answer. So honesty was what he decided upon.
Emma looked back over her shoulder. "And I'm also not sure how to feel," she admitted, "So at least in that we are equal."
"It has been a strange time," he said as she returned to him.
She nodded as he smiled at her. A tentative gesture, but one that eased a little of the worry she wore upon her brow.
"Our guests are waiting - should we?" he asked, holding out his arm.
Quietly, she agreed, taking hold of her husband, ready to face their guests.
/
They dined, danced and made niceties. There was barely a moment to dwell on the fact that they were now married. Not until the night drew in and it was time to retire.
She had slipped away first. A maid had helped her remove the most cumbersome parts of her dress and veil, allowing her to pull on a long nightdress before she was joined by him.
There was a knock at the interjoining door that connected to the private dressing room that adjoined her room. Emma slipped beneath the sumptuous covers of her bed before she bid him to enter.
His head was down. The nightshirt he wore was soft linen and reached down to his knees. She was secretly thankful that he was so well… covered. These past weeks, she had tried not to think too much on what would happen that evening. She was not a fool, she understood the ins and outs the marriage bed. At least in principle. But it was still the case that she yet to see a naked man, save in scientific illustrations, much less be alone with one.
Clearing his throat, he frowned. "You look comfortable, I can sleep elsewhere-"
She balled her hands in the quilt. "No, you are my husband." She swallowed and looked away, "We must…"
He gave the briefest of nods. She knew quite well if she were to say she was not ready he would have left her in peace. The marriage, however, would not be legal until this threshold had been passed. And if it were today, or a week or a month from that date, what would it matter? Best to get it over with, she thought.
The bed shifted with his weight. She had never shared it with another- not even a friend for a girlish sleepover. Her body rolled backwards towards him with the motion and she gasped lightly as he snuffed out the candle and pulled the blankets over them.
Minutes - hours seemed to pass - she froze in place. Not quite sure what to say or do. She was beginning to think they would stay in that position for the rest of the night until one or the other passed out in exhaustion.
It was he who broke the impasse. He reached out, placing a gentle hand upon hers.
"Are you scared?" he whispered.
"No," she lied. But she was scared in a way, not of the act, not of him- but of something else she didn't understand. Then she frowned. "Well, not really."
Her heart raced as she felt him inch closer, the gap between them disappearing until he was hovering over her, his features masked by the darkness, but she could feel the warmth of him and the scent of his soap even though they barely touched.
"Are you sure, love?" he asked.
The little term of endearment sent a spark through her body. It was the most intimate thing he had said to her, just a silly little word. But right then it meant everything.
She nodded, her teeth pressing down on her lower lip, her toes clenching in anticipation.
Gently, he lifted the cover until he was draped across both their bodies. He paused again and for a moment she thought he may have changed his mind. Her cheeks reddened at the thought that he didn't want her-
But then she felt his hand against her cheek, the barest of touches, featherlight and soft.
"You looked beautiful today," he whispered, the compliment unexpectedly making her heart swell. She felt herself blush as his fingers moved to cup her cheek.
"Thank you," she replied, not sure how else to respond. She thought she could perceive him smiling a little, before he leant down and kissed her.
A soft kiss. A reserved kiss, she thought. She felt he was holding something back, which made her grateful yet curious. His mouth moved over hers, slowly sparking something inside her. He seemed careful to avoid touching her more than he was. The hand on her cheek and his lips the only points of contact. Did he truly want her or was this duty?
Did she want him?
He was pushing up the linen of her nightgown as those thoughts lingered. The scrape of his finger tips against her bare legs left a tingle in their wake. He shifted over her, his kisses deepening, yet still holding back. Her own hands went to his shoulders, his neck, holding his mouth to hers as their hips aligned and she felt the heavy weight of him and his desire that she had only read about before.
A sudden warmth overcame her. It was a rush of wanting - instinct telling her to let her legs fall apart, his soft grunts telling her that this was the right motion. And then it all became a blur.
His urgency seemed to increase, he tugged at his own nightshirt, sighing when skin met skin. It felt strange, but wonderful, so oddly intimate, a kind of contact that she had not yet experienced. And then fingers wandered over her body, teasing and meandering, finding the apex of her legs, wavering there until she gave a small nod of approval. And he touched her. And oh- it felt so good. Just that singular sensation of another upon her intimate places. Her breath caught. The kisses paused and he held back, drawing his fingers through her flesh-
"Is this alright?" he asked, a slight timbre to his voice.
She couldn't speak, so she nodded, her breath shaking.
And then a blur. The feeling inside her growing, his fingers working over her, his mouth on her lips and her neck and then - then-
He was at her entrance, waiting again, bidding her allowance, until she tilted her hips and a maid she was no more.
/
It hadn't seemed real. Even when the vows were said and the wedding breakfast was taken. Even as he undressed. Even as he slipped into her bed-
But there he was, bedding the royal princess, sealing their wedding night. This intimate act between two so unfamiliar with each other, yet now so intrinsically linked.
Finally, he was letting himself go. Letting that naval reserve that his behind slide away, just for a little while. Let himself enjoy the beauty of this woman, this lady of whom he was now joined - of whom he felt so unworthy.
He hadn't wanted to rush this. He would have waited. He was holding back, he knew it, he was sure she could tell. But he must be gentle, mindful of her inexperience, not selfish in his wants.
Yet as he found himself giving into carnal bliss, a clarity of mind occurred. He looked into the princess's eyes and it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. And he wanted to know her, learn her, consume her-
He wanted everything, yet he feared that was a lost cause.