This was written as part of a Captain Swan Secret Santa gift exchange on tumblr, and I hope you all like it!

My gift to all of you on here, happy holidays!

Somewhere in the realm of Misthaven, there lived, like in all great fairytales, a princess. This princess was beloved by all who met her, and enchanted by her mere presence. Her name was Emma, and she had eyes of emerald green, long flowing blonde hair, and a smile that could put even the sun to shame. She had her father's courage, and her mother's kindness.

It was the cusp of her eighteenth birthday, the one everyone—

and I mean everyone-had been waiting for. Everyone except Emma, that is. Turning eighteen meant Emma would have a suitor chosen for her, though she could marry him until after she was twenty-one, and the kingdom would find out who their future king would be. This angered her deeply; knowing the only choices she would ever have in her life would be the ones she made after she was crowned queen, she felt useless. She wanted to choose her lifetime companion, or her True Love, as her parents had before her. But the law forbade it.

"Emma, no. That is the last we will hear of it!" her mother would say.

"Please trust our good judgment in choosing a suitor," her father would plead.

Biting her tongue was all Emma could do from hiding her displeasure at this. She would return to her quarters, and plop herself ungracefully in the seat by the window in her room. Emma would sit here and ponder the inner workings of her mind, make plans she would never execute, and just watch the waves of the sea crash against the shore. She would watch ships make port during the day, with the occasional firing squad drill courtesy of Misthaven's navy, and witness the sometimes-crazy nightlife complete with bar brawls and loud drunken singing from sailors who were just stopping for the night. These were the future queen's lullabies, and she wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

The sun rose on her eighteenth birthday, and Emma was greeted by her parents in her bedroom, an occurrence which only happened once a year.

"Happy birthday, Emma!" they chimed in unison.

Groggily, Emma sat up in bed and smiled at her parents,

"Thank you! What's all this?" she asked pointing at the big pink box with a matching bow that was reclined against the wall.

Her father, known to all as Charming, motioned to the box and told her, "Well, go ahead. Open it."

Snow White, her mother, could barely contain herself. She grinned widely when she saw the look on her daughter's face when she uncovered the box and saw the beautiful red ball gown that lay inside. Red. Just the way Emma liked it.

"It's beautiful, Mom. Is it for the ball tonight?" Emma asked curiously, even though she knew it would be.

"Yes, honey. Isn't it perfect? It's all anyone is going to talk about for the remainder of the year, I can feel it!"

That, and my engagement, Emma thought while cringing inwardly. She had been dreading her eighteenth birthday since the day her parents had explained to her what would happen that day. Now it was here, and the hands of the clock weren't stopping anytime soon.

Later that day, just before the ball, guests were streaming in through the doors of the palace, wearing outfits of all sorts of colors and sizes. Emma was being fussed over by what she believed was every servant who did not work in the kitchens. Bows here, sashes there, a yank of a hairbrush that caused Emma to see stars, and the unwelcoming thought of wearing a corset underneath it all. Thankfully, the red ball gown was not as pompous or bulging as many of the dresses she had seen on other ladies while spying from her bedroom window. It was just the way she liked it.

A knock on the door caused everyone in Emma's quarters to be silenced. Emma approached the door, and opened it just a crack to see who it was. Her father stood on the other side of the door, fumbling with the sleeves of his "fancy-wear," as Emma always called it.

Clearing his throat and grinning, he whispered, "Hello Emma, you ready?"

"Why don't you see for yourself, Dad?" she replied, swinging the door open. Tears brimmed her father's eyes; his little princess, the one that used to step on his feet to dance with him, was now standing before him ready to celebrate her eighteenth birthday.

"You look breathtaking, Emma. Now all of this matchmaking is all your mother's business, if it were up to me, you wouldn't be married until you were 30," Charming reasoned.

"Dad," Emma pleaded.

"Fine. Twenty-five."

"Sounds much more reasonable. Now, will you escort me or is this going to work the other way around?"

Charming squinted at his daughter and laughed, remember how much she was like her mother.

The further down the staircases went, the more Emma could smell the food waiting at the party below. She could also already feel the cloud of perfume permeating her lungs from the amount of women who were to snag men for themselves as well.

They reached a pair of massive white and purple doors, the ones that would lead to the Grand Ballroom where the celebration was being held in.

"Ready?" Charming murmured, patting Emma's hand, which was encircled around his forearm.

She sighed, blowing a stand of hair back into place. "As I'll ever be."

The doors swung open, and the crowd took a sharp intake of breath as all eyes fell on Emma and her red gown. She hoped feverishly that her panic was not visible outwardly, so she smiled to cover it up. The younger men, the ones who were eligible for her hand in marriage, began to squirm in their shoes, which made Emma proud of herself. Some of the young women glared irritably at the sight, suddenly remembering that they were not the belles of the ball. Adults grinned, cheered, and wiped tears that threatened to spill.

"Presenting her Royal Highness, Princess Emma Odette of Misthaven. Happy birthday," a servant announced to the court. Applause began and ceased as quickly as it began.

Now began the part that Emma had been anxious about for weeks: the Dance of the Twin Flames. They called it this way because, at first, it was done between two people who kept switching partners until they found the one they danced best with. Now it was just done as an excuse to switch partners and cause Emma's panic to ride an all time high with every switch of a partner, with every new eligible bachelor.

She began with her father, who then spun her around and suddenly she was in the arms of a boy about the same age as she.

"How do you do, Princess?" he asked. He had dark brown hair, and equally dark brown eyes. He was handsome, with a charming smile. A good dancer, too, Emma noted.

"I'm fine, thank you. Is there a name?" she inquired.

Gracefully, he lifted her in time to the music and placed his hand again on her waist. "It's Philip."

Emma noticed that his grip wasn't as firm as it should be, and his eyes were wandering elsewhere. She trailed to find where his sight really was at, and her eyes spotted a pretty redhead in a lilac gown, looking quite bored with her partner.

"I take it you'd rather be dancing with lilac dress girl?" Emma asked.

"What? I mean, excuse me? I mean," he shut his eyes, sighing. "I apologize, Princess Emma. It is not that I am not interested, you're beautiful, but there is another in my sights."

Literally, Emma thought. "It's fine. Spin me this next time and switch to get closer to her, okay?"

"Got it. Thank you, and happy birthday, Your Highness."

He spun, her red skirt swirled, and before either could blink, Emma was now again with a new partner. This partner also had dark brown eyes, but a very thick accent.

Before he even had time to introduce himself, Emma knew he was of no royal status; he was simply dressed as such. Powdered sugar was specked across his shirt and he looked dreadfully worried.

"You're not a prince," Emma whispered.

"Ah, Her Highness is as intelligent as they say," the young man said.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Will Scarlet, I'm here for the food and a g—"

"Let me guess, you're here looking for girl as well?"

He pursed his lips in surprise. "I am, yeah. Have you seen a blonde girl?"

"I am a blonde girl. Try harder, or I'll inform the guards that there is an intruder in the palace," Emma said behind gritted teeth and tightening her grip on his hand.

"Alright, alright. She's a bit shorter than you, blonde hair, pretty smile, blue eyes, usually hangs around her brute of a sister and horrendous mother," Will explained.

Emma immediately knew who it was. "You're looking for Anastasia? She's behind that pillar hiding from boys. Please don't draw attention to yourself, and I'm sorry about your hand."

"Not a problem, Princess."

Will spun her once so he could run discreetly, and Emma was yet again in the arms of someone new. She changed time and time and time again. Emma met young men by the names of Eric, Naveen, Baelfire, August, Walsh, Hans, and Jefferson. Some too eager, others too bored, and one who was intriguing but Emma could sense he was nothing but trouble.

When she was spun for the eleventh time, Emma was already feeling dizzy and her feet almost numb. But those troubling thoughts were shuffled aside when she saw her new dance partner.

He must've been at least twenty years old, with a chiseled jawline and hazel eyes. His hair like honey and a smile that could probably make you feel warm even when the biting cold came in.

"Sorry about crashing into you, I'm afraid I'm not too graceful," he apologized sheepishly.

Emma returned the smile, "Hardly. One of them had about as much rhythm as a deaf duck trying to dance the polka."

This made the young man laugh, which impressed Emma, since he was the first one that had laughed at one of her remarks. They continued to talk and dance, enjoying each other's company.

"I didn't quite catch your name." Emma told him.

"I'm Graham," he replied, his smile never leaving his face.

"Where are you from?"

"A kingdom not too far from here, they call it Corona. However, I spend far too much time in the forest, none at all at court. You know, much to my parents' dismay and all."

"Ah, Prince Graham of the Forest has a nice ring to it," she teased.

Grinning, he continued, "It does, doesn't it? Where the wolves are, that's my home. My sister had gone missing for years. My parents thought she died and that's when I came along. Shortly after I turned sixteen, she returned, and there was no doubt about it. She was the spitting image of my mother. So now she's in line for the throne of Corona."

"Is that why you're here?"

"That, and I heard that you were a sight to see. Glad to know it was no exaggeration," he said with a grin.

Emma blinked in surprise at his words, and he lifted her by the waist in time to the music. Their time together was about to expire, and Emma wasn't sure how she felt about it. Graham brought his lips next to her ear and whispered so only she could hear,

"I hope we meet again, Your Highness."

One last twirl, and their embrace was torn apart. Part of Emma wished she were still with Graham, even if he was not meant to be the twelfth and final dance partner of the night.

Emma felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her when her green eyes met a pair of the brightest blue she had ever seen before, bright as the forget-me-nots that lurked in the secret gardens of the palace.

This one was about a year older than she. He was definitely not a prince, but a decorated naval officer. Emma could've sworn she had seen him before.

"Hello, Your Highness," he greeted flirtatiously, something the previous ones had not done.

"If I knew your name, I'd greet your properly," she returned the banter, surprising herself.

"The name's Killian Jones. I'm a lieutenant in your father's navy."

"Then hello, Lieutenant Jones!"

"Please, Princess, just call me Killian."

"Fine, then call me Emma," she insisted, a smirk playing on her lips.

His entire aura had a touch of mischief, which excited Emma, but she would never admit that. There was something different about him. She didn't know whether it was the way he smelled like the sea, even while he was far away from the shore, or the intensity of his gaze.

His lilting accent broke through her thoughts, "Emma, you're quite the talented dancer."

"Am not," she retorted.

"Are too! You're a natural."

Emma blushed, praying her cheeks weren't the same hue of her dress. Judging by the pleased look on his face, they probably were.

"Tell me, Killian, why are you here?" she pressed.

His eyes widened, "What do you mean?"

"I mean why are you at this ball? Naval officers show up to these, make a fancy show and leave. Why did you stay?"

He wasn't sure if he heard correctly, but he detected a mixture of hostility and curiosity. "Because I promised myself I wouldn't leave this ballroom without sharing a dance with the princess. Thank Heavens I stayed."

Emma's feet stopped dancing abruptly. No one had ever been so sincere with her before, and that scared her. The rest of the room was literally spinning around them in time to the music, while they stood still, like music box figurines that no longer moved.

She wanted to run, she wanted to finish the dance, and she hated the way her heart was pounding in her chest. This wasn't meant to happen. They had only just met, and to relax her heartbeats, she told herself that it was merely an infatuation.

"Emma, are you alright?"

Shaking her thoughts away, she breathed, "Yeah, I think. Sorry, um, would you like to finish this dance?"

He grinned, and the way it lit up his whole face made Emma's heart return to the same pounding from before. But there was something naughty to it.

"Tell me, how would you feel if we went elsewhere?"

Emma's eyebrows shot up. How very unbecoming of a naval officer to ask such things to a lady, much less a princess. But how much more unbecoming would it be if the princess accepted the offer?

She had heard stories before from maids in the kitchens; some girls would find a man, and make him their lover for the night. He would leave in the morning, their affair forgotten somewhere between the morning sun and the sheets on the bed. Some girls were fine with it; some were left wanting more and ended up heartbroken. The question was: where along that line would Emma lie?

In a sudden spike of confidence, she mirrored his smile. She scrunched up her nose while she intertwined her fingers with his. Leading him away from the crowd, they both snuck closely by the columns to hide themselves from wandering eyes.

"I take it this is a yes?" he asked in a voice so low, Emma could feel herself feeling short of breath already. She turned to face him a second, "Ask again and your window of opportunity closes, Lieutenant."

Killian's heart began to slam against his chest. What had he gotten himself into exactly, he didn't know, but it's not like he wanted it to end in the first place. After they both were able to make a clean escape, Emma couldn't hold back her laughter.

Perplexed, Killian uttered, "I'm not quite sure I'm catching on." Emma, while still laughing, said in her best imitation of her mother possible.

"Princesses are not to break the rules. Not ever."

"What I'm understanding here is that even slightly breaking the rules is giving you a bit of a thrill, isn't it?" he guessed coyly.

She stopped in her tracks, head cocking to the side as she surveyed his posture and the expression on his face. His eyes looked innocent but his entire aura oozed a sexual charm, hungry like a tiger finding its prey.

"Would you like breaking some right now, Princess?" he continued, lingering on the last syllable, which made Emma's skin become covered with goose-bumps.

Instead of answering, Emma studied his face. She grabbed the lapel of his coat and kissed him, to which he responded enthusiastically. Without realizing it, she had him pressed against one of the walls of the long corridor. Killian tried suppressing a groan while cupping her face in his hands.

He pulled away, teasing her and pressed his lips to her jaw. She surprised herself with just how breathless she sounded when she told him, "Follow me, I don't want us to get caught."

Moments later, she had pushed a wall open, much to his shock, leading to a secret corridor that would take them to Emma's favorite place in the castle: a secret pond and garden where the stars always somehow shined their brightest.

"No one will know we're here," she whispered assuredly.

"May we continue?" Killian asked, his voice a low rumble and one of his eyebrows raised in question.

At that moment, it hit Emma just how striking this young man was. She wasn't sure if the intensity of his eyes was being caused by the light of the moon or by the passion that was probably brewing in him as much as it was in her. Emma could feel her entire body pulsing, and she prayed the phrase 'my heart is going to jump out of my throat' wasn't true.

This time, he pounced on the opportunity to kiss her senseless, something she was growing to love. Digging her hands in his dark hair, she pulled him even closer, if such things were possible. His arms were encircled around her waist in an embrace that not even a force of nature could tear them apart. They stumbled to find balance on the ground, but the way his teeth nipped at her bottom lip made Emma's legs give way and they collapsed on the ground.

Her hair lay in a pool around her, as did her red skirt. Emma could care less as to the location of the tiara that had been on her head a minute ago. She could worry about that later. In the meantime, Killian was now straddling her while he laughed into her neck and kissed it roughly, his facial hair tickling her slightly. He placed a trail of kisses down to her collarbone, and back up again to her jawline.

"Killian Jones, are you teasing me?" she inquired flirtatiously. Smiling, he had lips now hovering above her own, his right hand trailing down her side until it reached her thigh.

"Teasing royalty? Hardly. I'm merely entertaining you, love."

She couldn't handle it anymore, not with the feel of his hand on her thigh, not his voice like a melody in her ears, not with eyes that could probably burn a hole through your soul if you let them. Emma tried lifting her hands up to bring his face down to hers but he was quicker: he pinned both of her hands above of her head with only one of his.

Killian began to run the skirt of her dress up her leg until it was partially bunched up near her side. He pecked her lips once, twice, and a third time, hoping it would make her beg.

"Don't even bother to try undoing my corset or the top half of my dress, it's far too complicated, and I still need to make an appearance at court after this," Emma advised.

"As you wish, m'lady," he promised. Despite the circumstances, he sounded so earnest that Emma suddenly felt like she could trust him. He let go of her hands, and kissed her gently, unlike before.

Emma suddenly felt his hands grip her hips, and her undergarments were slowly removed. Her heart was pumping too fast to be humanly possible, so fast, in fact, that she thought it might burst.

Utter silence fell over them, the only sound being the water in the pond right behind them. Killian unbuckled his trousers, exposing himself, but never once breaking eye contact with Emma. He took his time, realizing he enjoyed watching her squirm. Not once had she begged, something he was very impressed with.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked slowly, enunciating every syllable.

Although she was fighting every fiber of her being to tell him to hurry, Emma simply raised an eyebrow as if daring him to finish the job. "Affirmative, Lieutenant."

Moments later, she was gasping in surprise as the two became one. His laughter rumbled from his chest, sending chills down her spine. Emma's nails dug into his hair while she bit down on her bottom lip, trying not to make a sound. He pressed his lips against hers, which she welcomed happily. Killian felt like the two of them were encased in flames, alone from the rest of the world in a moment that he prayed would never end.

"Emma," he moaned into the crook of her neck, making her grin in satisfaction. When he began to pepper kisses down her jawline, Emma cried out. This caused Killian's head to shoot up from where it had been resting to make eye contact with her.

"Shhh, Shh…" he coaxed, while slowly covering her mouth with his hand. "Someone might hear us." His eyes had a whole new, almost devilish look to them when he smirked in such matters. He felt her lips curl up into a smile against the palm of his hand.

"Are you going to be quiet now?" he asked after removing his hand.

"I'll try my hardest," she murmured against the shoulder. Kissing it softly, which made him mimic her and bite his own lower lip. With every thrust, Emma's breaths came in short gasps. Killian carefully moves his hands from their place around Emma's hips and takes her hands in his, locking fingers with each other.

Loosening the grip on her hands, he inched his fingers down to her wrists, and pinned her down once again. Picking up the pace, Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes back. It was the only thing she could do to keep from screaming like she so desperately wanted to, but wanting not to get caught was something she wanted even more. What a scandal it would be if the High Court found out the heir to Misthaven had left her own birthday party to be deflowered by a naval officer in a hidden garden. She'd be eternally shamed for it, and Killian would probably be discharged of his services. Emma also knew, deep down, that she'd probably never see him again so she might as well enjoy the fact that breaking the rules had never looked nor felt so good.

Killian's lips crashed against hers over and over again, the occasional bite here and there. She chuckled in response as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and ran her hands across his chest. Killian heard her breathing becoming more and more shallow, much like his own. Emma was getting closer and closer to the edge, she tried to fight it, wanting this to last all night but she couldn't. Tightening the grip of her legs around him, she inhaled sharply.

"Killian!" she whimpered breathlessly, her vision going spotty. Her voice shaky, "I would ask for a round two but I'm expected in the ballroom."

He laughed at the sound of that, as he collapsed on the spot next to her while trying to catch his breath. "Surely we'll see each other again, Princess?"

Biting her lip, she wondered if maybe there was the possibility that they would be reunited. Even if they didn't, Lieutenant Killian Jones would always be the one who took the part of her the laws of the kingdom had tried so desperately to protect. For that, she would always be grateful; it was her secret form of rebellion against it all.

Curling on her side to face him, she nodded against his arm. "I hope so." The ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

Minutes later, the two had fixed themselves to look as least disheveled as possible. Her curls, while now limp, were intact. His shirt was now impeccably back in place.

Before leaving, Killian cleared his throat. Emma turned to face him, and noticed he had her tiara in his hands. He placed it carefully on her head as it had been an hour before, his blue eyes accidentally getting lost in her green ones. Kissing her one more time as passionately as he could, he silently wished they would meet again. Killian placed his forehead against hers, then he let go of her hands, despite every part of him fighting against doing so. Killian bowed once and turned to leave.

"Killian, wait!" she called. He turned sharply.

"Yes, love?"

Before she thought about it too much, she flirtatiously blurted out, "Thank you. Best birthday gift I could've imagined."

He grinned, cheekily licking his lips. "The pleasure was all mine," his expression dripping with innuendo. He left, much to Emma's sudden dismay, and she returned to the ballroom.

The party ended as quickly as it began. It had been filled with forgettable small talk, larger-than-life personalities, and insincere compliments. Killian stayed on Emma's mind for the remainder of the night, creeping his way into her dreams as well.

The following day, she was standing in court before her parents, like a criminal waiting to hear his sentence. A part of Emma hoped they wouldn't even bother to choose a suitor for her, but alas, her mother would never pass up that opportunity. Not when there was a kingdom to run, not while the King and Queen were aging, not while they wanted grandchildren. The craziest part of her prayed the young lieutenant from the night before burst through the door and begged her to take her on an adventure away from the palace walls.

"Emma, honey, your father and I have made a decision. We spoke with the boy's parents at the ball and they accepted our offer." Snow White explained.

Offer your only daughter like a business transaction, of course, Emma thought bitterly.

"Prince Graham of Corona and Princess Emma of Misthaven shall be united in matrimony as soon as the Princess turns twenty-one," she recited, like if a decree or invitation had been scripted overnight.

Emma's eyes went wide in shock. Graham, sweet Graham; the 'Prince of the Forest' she had named him. She was grateful it was someone she had actually gotten on with, and someone handsome.

"What am I supposed to do now? Do I accept, do I storm out angrily, do I…" Emma trailed off. She was doing it again: babbling when she didn't know how to react to a situation.

Her father spoke this time, "Well, we want to know what you think."

She scoffed, "What I think? Don't get me wrong, I'm beyond glad you picked Graham but what kind of person agrees to an arranged marriage? Yes, I danced with him. Yes, we enjoyed each other's company, but you auctioned me off, like a prize. I'm your daughter, a human, with emotions of her own, thoughts of her own. I'll agree to this marriage, but don't expect me to be blowing kisses and fluttering my eyes flirtatiously any time soon. It's not the boy, it's the way my life is being planned out."

Silence overcame the courtroom. Emma, not knowing what else to do, curtsied and left the room.