Once Upon a Time AU: "Two Princes" (inspired by the song)

Captain Swan, CS, OUAT, AU

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All characters are owned by whomever owns them (not me!), and nothing but respect is felt by the author toward said characters!

Chapter 1

Princess Emma stood on her balcony, staring out over the sea. The sun was just rising on the horizon behind her, and the waves caught the light and tossed it into the air like so many glittering jewels. Early-rising birds flew in lazy circles in the cool morning air. A cool, salty breeze tugged at Emma's long, blonde hair and thin silk robe, making her shiver.

Reluctantly, she went back into her room, shutting the doors to the balcony and moving closer to the fire. She warmed her hands, rubbing some feeling back into fingers stiff from holding the cold railing of the balcony. Slowly, her eyes drifted to the ornate gown draped over the chaise lounge.

The gown was lovely, all worked in silver and gold brocade, with flowing sleeves and a waterfall of silken skirts. The neckline was more daring than any gown she'd been allowed to wear before; it was wide and open, and would leave her shoulders and collarbones bare. There was a note pinned to the dress written in her mother's hand: A birthday wish and a command (softly worded, but a command nonetheless) to wear the new gown down for breakfast.

With a sigh, Emma rang for her maid.

Today was Emma's sixteenth birthday, and she would be paraded through the streets like a prize pig en route to market. That was a lie, though. There would be a ball in the evening, to celebrate her debut, but she wasn't taking suitors tonight. She'd been engaged since before she could walk.

She liked Neal—Prince Neal—and she was almost sure she loved him ("Of course you do!" her mother always said). She knew she'd be happy with him, give him a son, and some day rule their parents' kingdoms together. But part of her wanted more. She couldn't even define what it was that she desired—that she lacked. She'd lived a life of privilege and prosperity.

And yet…

Her red-haired maid arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits. Emma was grateful, because she knew she wouldn't really be able to eat at breakfast. Breakfast was a show in the castle. Honored guests were brought in to have their meal with the royal family. King David liked to stay connected with the people of the kingdom, so every morning, he invited a few common folk to break bread and talk. This morning, she knew her presence was to be a special present for the brave hunter or hard-working farmer or clever spinster that her father had invited.

Emma lifted the teapot to pour herself a cup and was surprised and pleased when she found rich dark cocoa instead of tea. The smell of chocolate and cinnamon made her mouth water. She turned to thank her maid, and found the girl already grinning at her. She dipped into a deep curtsey.

"Happy birthday, your highness," she said. "Weren't much else the staff could do for you, but we could manage this."

"It's perfect, Gwen. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, ma'am."

Emma lost herself in the cocoa and biscuits while Gwen busily worked around her. The serving girl brushed out her hair and plaited it into an intricate nest of smaller braids looping through larger ones. Gwen bathed Emma's hands, face, and feet, and laid out the appropriate undergarments for the dress she would be wearing.

Gwen stripped Emma bare and anointed her with sweet-smelling oils before wrestling the princess into her corset. Stockings and petticoats followed, and then the gown. The metallic brocade made it heavy, and coupled with the cinching on her corset and the weight of her responsibilities, Emma felt trapped in her birthday attire. She examined herself in the mirror as Gwen slipped on her long gloves and fussed about her hair again, setting her tiara just so.

Emma didn't think that she looked sixteen. She certainly didn't feel sixteen. She felt older. But then, she'd been raised a princess, and her mother had told her that it meant growing up faster.

Breakfast was a nightmare. The king's honored guests were a group of farmers who were trying some new method for harvesting grain. David was obviously fascinated, and the queen feigned interest with every ounce of her seemingly endless grace and patience. Emma was bored half to tears. Beyond a quick bow and a mumbled "happy birthday, your royal highness," the farmers had completely ignored her.

The teapot on her end of the table didn't even have tea in it, just hot water. When she'd opened her mouth to say something, her mother had stopped her with a look, silently telling her that she knew Emma had already eaten and that no harm would come to that gown before the ball that night.

Emma dismissed herself from breakfast at the earliest possible second that she was allowed, swishing her way quickly and determinedly to the gardens. She thought defiantly about rolling around in the grass to ruin the damn dress, but she honestly wouldn't have been surprised if her mother had had three of them made just in case.

But, gods, she longed to do something childish!

Instead, she sat on a bench, her back perfectly straight thanks to the boning of her corset. She couldn't even slouch today!

"I wish…" she muttered to herself.

"What do you wish?" said a warm yet somehow mocking voice behind her. She turned around to find a beautiful, dark-haired woman standing on the cobblestones that wound their way between the sculpted shrubbery and flowers. She was dressed in dark colors; reds, purples, and black. The neckline of her gown plunged to the bottom of her breastbone. Her skirts were narrow, hugging her hips and thighs before fanning out dramatically to lap at the stones like a thousand tongues of purple flame. There were iridescent panels in the skirt there—or perhaps the hem was on fire, because colors danced and the fabric writhed with every swaying step the woman took toward the seated princess.

Emma was certain that she should know who the smirking woman was, but she just couldn't put her finger on it.

"Who are you?" Emma asked.

"Today, you can think of me as your fairy godmother," she said, her smile widening. "What do you wish, Emma?"

Emma was confused, and she wanted to be cautious, but it had been so long since someone had asked her what she wanted. And the woman's voice was strangely seductive, like the call of a siren.

"I wish I could have a childhood—just be girl, instead of princess of the realm," Emma sighed. Then she realized she sounded childish, so she hastily added, "just for a while."

"All you had to do was say so," the dark haired woman replied in her voice that sounded like honey and poison at the same time. "You wish is my command."

The dark-haired woman opened her hand with a flourish, revealing a sparkling little bean.

"With this," she said, "you can go to a place where you can be 'just a girl' for as long as you like."

"Really?" Emma said, wide-eyed. "But, I can come back, too, right?"

"Of course," the woman said, her tone not quite as friendly. "Everything will be exactly as it was when you left. If you come back."

"If? You mean I have a choice?"

"Yes, my dear. Perhaps the place this bean takes you will be so… enchanting that you won't want to return."

"But I have to come back."

"If you say so, my dear," the sorceress said in a slightly patronizing way.

"And… everyone here will be okay?" Emma asked, her brow furrowed.

"Of course! Like I said, nothing here will change," the witch replied. "Not a jot."

"Why are you doing this?" Emma questioned, still cautious.

"Let's just say I owe your mother a favor."

"You know my mother?"

"Yes. She and I go way back."

Emma was thoughtful for a moment.

"How does it work?" Emma asked, gesturing to the bean.

"I'll show you," the dark-haired woman said, suddenly wearing a manic smile. She threw the bean to the grown, creating a swirling vortex. Emma stared at the portal in shock. She didn't hear the dark-haired woman approach her. The witch grabbed Emma by her shoulders and dragged her to the edge of the vortex. Emma struggled, but the grip on her arms was too tight, and her confining clothing made it difficult to breathe, let alone fight back.

"Thinks lovely thoughts," Regina said sardonically as she threw the screaming princess into the rift.

Emma landed hard, the air knocked out of her. Her skirts had flown up around her face as she fell, and she flailed and foundered as she tried to free herself of them. The fabric caught her tiara, which was twined tightly in her hair. Emma yanked, ripping the cloth and dislodging the tiara, which took some of her hair with it when it shifted. She cried out in frustration and pain.

Once her skirts were righted, Emma looked around. She was sitting on an unfamiliar beach. Dark jungle loomed inland, and unforgiving seas stretched out endlessly in the other direction.

Emma pulled herself to her feet, her dress dragging in the muddy sand. Her heeled shoes sank worthlessly into the shifting ground. She tried to walk, but her ankle turned suddenly as her foot hit a shell or rock or crab or something, and she fell gracelessly back into the dirt.

"Well, aren't you the queen of swans," called a cold, sardonic voice. Emma's blood ran cold and she looked around frantically. She'd been alone a moment before, but now there was a boy on the beach with her. He was leaning casually against a large piece of driftwood, smirking down at her with obvious glee over her distress. He was dressed in shades of green and had his arms crossed over his chest.

"Who are you?" Emma exclaimed. "Where am I?"

"You're in Neverland, little swan," he said mockingly. "And I'm Peter. Peter Pan."