Title: misery

Rating: K+

Summary: He is not aware of the arrangement until his twenty-ninth birthday, when he returns from a voyage to find his brother the king looking gravely at a piece of parchment in his hand. She is told of the arrangement by reluctant parents whose eyes betray sleepless nights from searching for an out.

He's only one of many princes in the Enchanted Forest. A name in the histories of the land, to be mentioned across generations, but nobody of true importance. Killian Jones' own subjects see little of him, as he spends much of his time sailing through his kingdom with a group of scavenged men and misfits. He is not even aware of the arrangement until his twenty-ninth birthday, when he returns from a voyage to find his brother the king looking gravely at a piece of parchment in his hand. (He believes he'll never forgive him.)

She, on the other hand, is undoubtedly going to be a name for the ages. The Savior, the Warrior Princess, the girl with the sun in her hair and fire in her veins. Her subjects practically worship her, and her parents adore her. Princess Emma Swan (a nickname given to her by her people for her grace and beauty) is everything a kingdom could ever desire from a princess. On the surface, at least. She is told of the arrangement by reluctant parents whose eyes betray sleepless nights from searching for an out.

The arrangement was made years prior, between Killian's father and Emma's grandfather, in hopes of an eventual unification of their kingdoms. Councils from both kingdoms refuse to allow the arrangement to be annulled. Killian's kingdom has ports across the Enchanted Forest, and the strongest navy in all the realms. Emma's kingdom has trade relations with almost every other kingdom, and a land army to be reckoned with. Such a union would make their kingdoms the strongest in history.

"I am so, so sorry, Emma," says her father. Emma does not reply to his apology, eyes trained on the sea. She wonders if her husband to be will be gone often enough to allow her to live her own life.

She then grimly notes that her life has never really been her own in the first place.

Their first meeting is in court.

He stands at his brother's shoulder, not saying a word, as King Liam introduces himself to her parents, proclaiming his hopes of a peaceful unification of their kingdoms. Emma snorts, and Killian meets her gaze for the first time. She stares back challengingly, and he winks.

Rolling her eyes, Emma realizes that her snort did not go unnoticed, and mutters an apology to King Liam, whose good-natured smile does not waver. She can feel the weight of Killian's curious gaze on her, but does not look at him again. She figures she will have plenty of time to see his face in the future.

Liam agrees to return, brother in tow, for supper that night in celebration of the engagement. Emma internally gags.

Her mother accompanies her to her chambers to change into a new gown.

"What do you think of him?" she asks, unlacing the back of Emma's dress. Emma shrugs as her mother lets to dress fall to the floor, stepping out of it and opening her wardrobe.

"He didn't say much," she replies, selecting a tight, black gown.

"Perhaps he's shy."

"I think he's just as reluctant to marry me as I him," Emma admits. "Which is fine with me." Snow's eyes sadden.

"True love can take time," she suggests weakly. Emma just shakes hear head.

"Or it can just not come at all."

He sits across from her at the feast, only speaking when spoken to. She watches him the entire time, searching for even more reasons to hate the bastard than she already has.

After supper, he approaches her for the first time, bowing too stiffly to be anything but mocking. Emma's eyes narrow.

"Your highness," he greets smoothly. Emma curtsies in the same mocking fashion.

"You should be more polite to me," she says icily, "I am your future wife, after all." He chuckles, unaffected by her cold tone.

"Aye, and I assure you that I am just as happy about it as you are." He pulls a flask from his jacket and takes a swig. He studies her for a short second, and then offers the flask to her. She takes it without hesitation, downing the burning liquid. His eyes widen, and his lips twitch at the corners.

"Thanks," she murmurs, handing the flask back to him, feeling slightly lighter than before. He chuckles.

"You seem familiar with rum," he notes.

"Not at all, actually," she replies, "Alcohol, on the other hand . . ."

"Point taken," he concedes. Eyes roaming down her figure, he adds, "You look lovely." His comment, so casual in nature, is a sharp reminder to Emma that this man, such a charmer, is not just a stranger at a party. He's her future husband. His compliments, so seemingly earnest, are likely an attempt to make his wedding night more enjoyable.

"It's not for your sake." He snorts.

"Oh?"

"I only dress for men I care about," Emma says humorlessly, "And I'm afraid you're not in my books." His eyes darken slightly.

"If we're to be married," he murmurs, "Don't you think it would be wise to get along?"

"My good opinion is earned," Emma hisses, "And don't think I haven't heard all about you, Killian Jones."

"Have you now?"

"You act so quiet and modest," she sneers, "But you spend your time robbing your own people with a group of pirates."

"I spend my time sailing the seas," he snaps back, "And I assure you, Princess, that I can be persuaded to be anything but quiet and modest."

Disgusted, Emma turns and stalks away, not turning around to see him slump against a wall and shut his eyes in misery.

She takes a walk in the palace gardens the next morning, guilt for her behavior towards the Prince eating away at her, but for some strange reason her feet take her to the docks. There she finds Killian sitting at the edge of one, feet dangling over the deep blue water and eyes trained on the horizon.

She sits down beside him without a word.

He breaks the silence first. "I'm sorry."

"For your disgusting flirting or for the fact that you feel the need to in the first place?" she wants to ask, but instead all the says in reply is, "So am I." Silence again.

She allows herself a quick glance and finds his eyes on her as well.

"Which ship is yours?" she asks. He points to one floating a few hundred feet away.

"The Jolly Roger," he says with pride, "A marvel, is she not?"

"I wouldn't know," Emma admits, "I haven't been sailing before." His eyebrows rise. "Does that surprise you?"

"I'm going to marry a woman who has never been sailing," he muses aloud, drawing a chuckle from Emma before she can help it. "Is that a laugh, Swan?"

"An unintentional one," she clarifies quickly.

"I've been known to be entertaining every so often," Killian says with a small smile. "And I truly am sorry for our little exchange last night. I was out of line."

"So was I," Emma says. "I suppose I just can't help resenting you for being the man to keep me from-"

"Your freedom?"

She meets his eyes, so blue and piercing and understanding, and nods.

"Aye," she says in a poor imitation of his voice, "You could say that."

"Well this is rather fortunate," he remarks dryly, "I find myself resenting you as well."

Emma offers him a tight smile. "We're the perfect pair."

They revel in their unhappiness together, walking along the docks and reminiscing of the days before they knew each other. He gives her a ring, and together they throw it into the sea, laughing and wishing that their engagement could disappear as easily as the silver band.

The wedding is set for the beginning of summer. As spring brings new life to the kingdom, Emma finds new life in teaching Killian about the land he's never known. She brings him to her armory, secretly grinning while he admires her vast stash of knives, armor, and swords. She offers to teach him how to throw knives, but he says he'd have little use of them at sea, where he will be as often as possible after their marriage.

He challenges her to a duel, and after easily besting her ("Good form, love, but not good enough."), tells her that if he's being forced into marrying anyone, he's glad it's her.

"I still wish you didn't exist," he adds.

"The feeling is mutual," she replies.

He never does bring her aboard the Jolly Roger, and she never shows him her nursery. Both places seem pure, untainted by their engagement, and neither is willing to let their last symbols of freedom tainted by the other's presence.

"What will you do?" he asks one day during one of their rides through the forest. "When I'm at sea?" Emma brings her horse to a stop, unsure.

"What I did before, I suppose," she says, "Pretend I'm not married, sneak out of the palace, sharpen my swordfighting skills . . ." He watches her for a short moment before nodding and riding ahead of her. "And you?" she calls out, spurring her horse into a canter to catch up with him. "Classic swashbuckling life? Treasure and wenches?" He breaks his horse yet again as she catches up to him.

"Would you be . . . content with that?" he asks slowly. "The treasure and the . . . the wenches?" Emma finds herself unable to answer right away. The idea of him drinking and sleeping with random women shouldn't bother her- after all, she wishes she'd never met him, but despite everything . . . she can't help but feel a tinge of possession over her future husband.

"Of course!" she finally replies, ignoring her gut, "Why wouldn't I be?"

There's no clever reply, only the sound of hooves galloping away from her, and she briefly wonders if he was hoping for a different answer.

The solace in sharing their sadness is seemingly enough for Emma as the wedding draws closer. She complains to him after getting fitted for her wedding gown, and he tells her of the horrors of being told he cannot wear his favorite leather jacket to the ceremony.

She realizes Killian's misery shared with her own is not enough when she finally sees her reflection in the mirror the day before the wedding. Her wedding dress, by her own request, is untraditional in every way. Her back is left bare, and beautiful roses and thorns adore the gossamer fabric. It clings to her body, instead of flowing. It's fierce, deadly, a statement in itself. Even in a forced marriage, Emma Swan is a fighter.

"Beautiful," her mother breathes.

Emma stares at herself. Blinks once. Twice.

And hates how much she loves it.

The morning of her wedding, she doesn't say a word as her hair is curled, twisted, and pinned around her face. She doesn't choose to admire herself in the mirror. She asks for a moment alone, ignoring the concerned glance her mother sends her way.

And then she runs.

She finds him in a deserted corridor, dressed in his wedding attire plus his leather jacket. He's pacing, tense and unsure and everything that she is.

"Shouldn't you be getting you hair done?" he asks, not turning to face her. "Or something of the like?"

"Why would I be doing that?" Emma asks, breathless from her running and from what she wants to say. "I'm not getting married today."

This gets him to turn.

"I beg pardon?"

Emma smiles widely, unsure if she looks insane or not. The look on Killian's face suggests the former.

"I don't want to marry you. You don't want to marry me," she deadpans.

He blinks.

"What do you suggest we do then, love? It's a tad late for regrets."

"Run away together."

No goodbyes are said. Nothing is gathered. No crew is summoned. A single note is left on Emma's bed, and the two board the Jolly Roger without a second glance.

"Do you have anything else I could possibly change into?" Emma asks once they're safely away from the port.

"But I quite like you in that," Killian protests with a wink. "Look in the hull. I've sailed with many a woman before. I'm sure you will be able to find something."

Emma arches an eyebrow. "Many a woman?"

"None as lovely as yourself," he soothes mildly. "I've often found that lasses are easier to put up with than drunken sailors."

"Coming from the man who carries a flask of rum around!"

"I said drunk, not dehydrated." Emma snorts.

"Whatever you say, pirate boy."

He leads her through the ship's corridors, casually mentioning the location of bathrooms, storage areas, and the like. His quarters are located directly beneath the helm, and Emma snorts when she walks in.

"It's so clean in here. Do you have a maid?" she teases.

"I keep my ship in order," he mumbles defensively, tossing her a black corset.

"Am I supposed to wear just this?" she snorts. He winks at her.

"Whatever pleases you, milady." He contradicts his words almost immediately, however, throwing a black skirt and white shirt of his own her way.

She stays in his quarters on the first night. He doesn't join her, saying he'd be unable to sleep anyways. She grasps him by the hand and whispers quick thanks into his ear. She almost kisses his cheek, but thinks better of it, leaving him to brood alone at the helm.

She doesn't sleep, and wonders if she would be feeling more peaceful in her wedding bed.

tbc