A/N: This story is rated M just to be safe. There isn't much in here that is truly explicit.

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
-The Corsair, Lord Byron

Chapter 1: In Which a Princess Meets a Pirate

Emma paused with her fork halfway to her mouth as footsteps pounded across the ship's deck above her cabin. Curious, she tilted her head, hoping to make out something of substance above the racket.

"Come about!" the captain bellowed. "For gods' sakes, men! Move! She's got us broadside!"

Emma had only a second to wonder what was happening before the distant rapport of a canon blast echoed like thunder along the ship's starboard side. She dropped her fork and gripped the table in front of her as the ship began to turn, its timbers creaking against the weight of the sea.

Soon, she knew, the captain would hoist their colors and this bit of excitement would draw to a close. Hers was a royal ship carrying papers from Queen Regina that guaranteed them unmolested passage through these waters. And, from what Emma understood of this kingdom, no one dared disobey the Evil Queen.

Under normal circumstances, Emma would never have entered Regina's domain at all. Her parents had been rebuffing the woman's attempts at forming an alliance against the ogres for years. They wanted nothing to do with her or the way that she waged war, even if they shared a mutual enemy.

That was, at least, until Emma found herself a mere breath away from the war's bloody front.

She'd been sent north to negotiate with a powerful nobleman's son, Baelfire. Emma had met him once, briefly, during her coming-of-age ball years ago. Apparently she'd made quite the impression, because when rumors reached her kingdom that Bae's father had secured his estate and all its vast environs against the ogres, her father immediately sent envoys to meet with the man, and every single one of them returned with the same message requesting a meeting with Emma - only with Emma.

She'd known when she agreed to go that she would likely end up fielding a marriage proposal - her hand to seal her kingdom's safety. She hadn't decided what to do about it yet when an urgent message reached her caravan informing her that ogres had attacked close by and the battle lines were retreating west, right in her direction. She'd been ordered to turn around, board a ship that her father had arranged for her, and hurry home.

As luck would have it, her route took her straight past Regina's kingdom.

Dusting her hands, Emma got up from the table, her uninspiring little meal of hard flour biscuits, dried meat, and uncooked root vegetables forgotten.

Another canon blast rocked the ship, this one much closer.

The door to her cabin flew open a moment later and the first mate rushed in, his face ruddy.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"We are under attack."

"No kidding."

"There's nothing to worry about," he hurried to reassure her. "The captain plans to outrun them."

She crossed her arms. "I don't understand. Why don't we just stop and show them our papers?"

"Because." His throat worked hard as he swallowed. "It's pirates, m'lady."

Emma stared, real fear beginning to curl in her stomach.

"You're to stay here," he continued. "It's just a precaution, in case they get close enough to land a shot. They tried to ambush us - very nearly succeeded, too - but we spotted them in time. They'll give us a good chase, but it's doubtful they'll be able to catch up."

He didn't look as confident as he sounded.

Emma waved him away rather than press further, knowing the captain would need all of his hands on deck.

The mast groaned under the strain of the wind in the sails as she paced. Still, the boom of the canons drew ever closer until one shot finally found its way home, smashing into the hull with a sharp crack.

"At arms, men!" the captain cried out.

In her room, Emma searched for anything she could use as a weapon, wishing like hell she'd brought along a sword. The sound of fighting filtered down from above: swords clashing, men yelling, feet stamping. A clatter on the stairs warned her that someone was coming. In wild desperation, she snatched up a heavy water jug off the table.

The door opened and she swung the pitcher right into the pirate's unsuspecting face, rotating the full force of her body into the blow. It smashed in an explosion of water and pottery shards, sending him toppling over.

A second man, a toady looking guy wearing a floppy red hat, leapt over his fallen comrade's body and came at her, his teeth bared.

Damn.

She'd hoped there would only be one.

Emma ducked out of the way just in time. Her hip banged painfully into the table, knocking it over with a crash. Through the debris, she leapt to grab the first pirate's dropped sword.

Her fingers closed gratefully around the hilt, and she wheeled around to face her attacker.

He froze, the point of her sword poised dangerously close to his throat.

"You're the princess?" he squeaked.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

Parrying exactly the way her tutor, Lancelot, had taught her, she disarmed her opponent with a single sweep of her arm, sending his weapon flying across the room. It landed with a clatter near the overturned table. He gaped at her in astonishment for the second that it took her to draw back her arm and smash the heavy hilt of the sword into his temple, crumpling him into a sad pile on the floor.

Without waiting to see if he was out, she turned and darted toward the door.

Already, four other men blocked her path.

"Really? Son of a—"

All four came at her at once.

Emma struck out where she could, catching flesh at least once with her sword before it was knocked from her hand. Then she found herself flat on the floor, her head ringing, black spots clouding her vision.

"We've got her! Let's go!"

Strong hands hauled her to her feet and up the stairs, out into the bright evening sun. The cool sea breeze helped clear her head. She looked around to find the ship's deck in chaos: men rushing every which way, some still locked in battle, others racing back across the narrow plank to the pirate ship, and black, acrid smoke obscuring everything. She glanced up to find one of the mainsails on fire, the flames spreading fast, threatening to engulf the mast as well.

"Back to the Roger! Go! Go!"

Emma kicked her feet, but they had her fast, relaxing their grip only to heave her up onto the plank and shove her across the gap of open sea onto the waiting deck on the other side. Her hands and knees stung where she landed.

She'd barely gotten her wits about her before the pirates manhandled her into one of the ship's cabins. Dazed, she stumbled down the ladder, missing the last step. The door slammed shut behind her, a bolt sliding firmly into place.

She felt the pirate ship begin to pull away, its speed impressive as it cut through the water, making its escape.

She massaged her head with one hand where it ached.

What the hell had just happened?

Pirates should have wanted loot. They should have taken their time plundering her ship, searching for treasure.

Instead they had boarded, abducted her, and then immediately fled.

Why? They'd had her ship at heel. It had been ripe for the picking.

The cabin they had locked her in was small but bright and clean, its floors and walls whitewashed, with a narrow bed against one wall and several shelves brimming with books against the other. A wooden table took up the middle of the space, its surface covered in papers, knickknacks, and the remains of a meal similar to the one she'd just left behind.

Emma crouched with her back against the wall and waited, but no one disturbed her.

Then, finally, with the sun slanting long shadows through the narrow windows, the door above her opened and a man stepped through, down the ladder. Her gaze traveled up his body he took the rungs one by one: black boots, blank pants, and a long, black coat - the only color in his ensemble a red waistcoat with polished brass buttons. He wore several large, gaudy rings on either hand and a collection of medallions around his neck, the pendants resting against the 'V' of bare skin exposed by his only half-buttoned shirt.

The captain, she figured.

He dropped all the way down into the cabin and smiled at her, brimming with charm and incredibly, unfairly handsome — his dark hair mussed by the wind, his eyes the bluest she'd ever seen.

Her plan of attack forgotten, all of her guile temporarily defeated, she merely stared.

"So," he said slowly, his thumbs hooking on his belt as he leaned back against the wall. "You're the princess. You're Emma."

She crossed her arms tight over her chest. "You've heard of me?"

"In passing." He stepped away from the wall, closer to her. "My name's Killian Jones. But you can call me Captain."

Emma held her ground as he approached.

"What do you want with me, Captain?"

He smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Whatever it is," she said, squaring her shoulders, gathering up all of her bravado, "you're not going to get it without a fight."

His blue eyes narrowed with amusement and his teeth drew his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment as he continued to smile. "You're a tough one, lass."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Happily, it does. You'd make a hell of a pirate, love. Took down three of my crew all by yourself. Which is more fight than anyone else on that ship put up."

"And yet you risked coming down her to confront me all by yourself?" Emma retorted.

"I love a challenge," he replied, his soft, lilting accent growing suddenly more pronounced. He reached out and twined a finger in her hair. "You know, I had planned to let you have your run of the ship, but seeing as you've proven so surprisingly resourceful, I think it would be best if you stayed here for now, in my quarters and away from the crew."

"This is your room?"

"Aye. The best on the ship."

She looked around, taking in the meager decor once more. "Seems a little drab for a pirate captain. No booty?"

He laughed. "Well, there's you, darling."

At the innuendo, Emma felt her cheeks warm. No one had ever talked to her like that. She was not this man's princess, she realized, and he wouldn't treat her like one — something she found unexpectedly refreshing...even a little exciting. She'd long hated being forced to spend time with noblemen who saw her as a princess first and Emma second. She couldn't remember the last man who'd looked at her rather than her crown. But she also felt vulnerable with all the familiar power of her title stripped away. She didn't quite know how to reconcile the two competing emotions into a coherent response.

"Are you planning to ransom me back to my father?" she finally managed.

He didn't answer, turning instead to pick up a plate off the table. "You should eat," he suggested, handing it to her.

Emma sighed, supposing that she might as well play along for the time being and reached out to take it.

The smirk on the captain's lips dropped away as he looked down at her hand. Before she could react, he whisked the plate away and took her outstretched hand in his own.

"Hey! What are you—?"

"Your hand. It's hurt." His fingers wrapped tight around her wrist, warm and strong, and he drew her closer.

"It's fine."

She hadn't even noticed the cut, though now that he had pointed it out it began to sting.

"No. It's not. Let me help you."

"Help me? Are you kidding? After violently abducting me, now you're suddenly a gentleman?"

"I'm always a gentleman," he replied, sounding only half joking.

He put the plate down and picked up a metal flask.

Emma tried to jerk her hand away, uncomfortable with the way that he was holding onto her. His touch made her whole arm tingle with warmth, and the sensation was spreading, curling toward her heart.

He lifted the flask to his mouth, uncorking it with his teeth. Emma watched breathlessly as he carefully turned her hand over palm up, then titled the flask and poured liquid across the cut.

It burned like pure fire.

She let out a litany of oaths fluent enough to impress any sailor.

"What the hell is that?"

"Rum. A bloody waste of it, too."

He looked amused again, his eyes crinkled at the edges, his teeth bright white against the backdrop of the dark stubble dusting his jaw. He snatched a bit of cloth off the table and began to wind it around her hand.

"Now, darling, let me tell you about how things work on my ship. I give the orders. You follow them."

"I'm not a member of your crew," Emma reminded him. "I'm a prisoner. I won't be following any of your orders."

"I was rather hoping that you would be my guest."

"Not a chance."

He dropped her hand, fully bandaged now, and gave her a long, appraising look. She got the distinct impression that he saw straight through tough exterior.

"As you wish," he finally said, dipping his head in a mocking bow. "But don't say I didn't give you a choice, love."

He turned to leave, and Emma suddenly remembered that she had planned to beat the ever-living hell out of whichever pirate dared to speak to her first. Her hands clenched uselessly at her sides, the injured one pinching as it closed tight around the bandage the captain had so tenderly applied. She watched him go, lithe and graceful, his coat streaming up the ladder and out of the room behind him.

Damn it.

Damn him.

What was she supposed to do now?

Emma circled for a while, intensely aware of his voice issuing commands up above. Finally, at a loss, she sat down at the table and pulled over the plate of food. It tasted better than what she'd gotten on board the last ship: the bread marginally softer, and with sweet slices of fruit to accompany it rather than hard vegetables. With a shrug, she ate it all, then picked up the flask of rum Captain Jones had left sitting open, lifted it to her lips, and took a long drink.

The liquor settled warm in her stomach and helped to harden her resolve.

This Captain Jones thought he had her figured out. Thought he knew what to expect from the princess he'd captured. But he had no idea.

Killian Jones's life was about to become very complicated.

The Jolly Roger made good time as she cut through calm waters, sailing as fast as she could out of the Evil Queen's realm and into the wild, uncharted expanse of the open sea. Killian stood at the wheel in the dark, the moon and stars illuminating the deck below where a handful of his men milled about, tending to the rigging and talking amongst themselves about how they'd captured Princess Emma earlier that afternoon.

Admittedly, a rash decision. One Killian hadn't had time to properly think through.

Now he felt as if he had a dragon by the tail, and he wasn't sure what to do next.

The princess was not at all what he had expected.

She was beautiful, of course. He'd anticipated that. Her blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and soft face befitted that of the daughter of Snow White, once rumored to be most beautiful woman in all the realms. But he hadn't expected someone so full of fire, so brave, and strong. He hadn't expected her to leave Smee with a concussion, or Mullins with a black eye, or Starkey with a stab wound to the thigh.

And he sure as hell hadn't expected to like her.

He wondered what she was doing in his quarters. Looking through his things most likely, searching for a weapon to take his head off with the next time he dared pass through the doorway.

He sighed as he looked up at the sky, getting his bearings, considering his options.

All he knew for certain was that the Evil Queen wanted this woman, which made it his duty to keep Emma out of her hands. Thwarting the queen had been the only thing on his mind when he'd ordered the Jolly Roger to lie in wait for the princess's ship. When he'd learned of her journey and of the queen's plans to snatch her from one of his contacts in the palace, it had taken precious little thought to arrive at the dastardly plot to simply get the princess first.

But he had no idea why the Evil Queen wanted Emma.

Which left him with a choice: to hold onto her until he found out, in case he might be able to foil the queen's plans even further; or turn south and return the princess safe and sound to her own kingdom and hope that her father wouldn't have him put to death for the courtesy.

Bloody fool.

If his brother were still alive, he was certain he'd have earned himself a firm smack upside the head today.

At the thought of Liam, his grip tightened on the wheel. He still missed his brother dearly. He kept expecting some of the pain to diminish, for the memory of watching his brother die to stop haunting him. But if anything, it had only grown more vivid. He sensed Liam's absence as a gnawing ache in his heart that refused abate. He could barely remember not feeling this way, his heady few years as his brother's trusted lieutenant in the Queen's Navy more like a story he'd heard rather than a life he'd lived.

He scowled.

The Evil Queen needed to be brought to justice. His brother's ghost demanded vengeance.

Killian had vowed to do both.

Whatever that meant for Princess Emma, he'd figure out soon enough. For now, he changed course to head southeast, giving himself time to think while also making progress back toward Emma's home.

For most of the night, he remained on deck, tending to the ship and watching the waves. The moon made a wide arc through the sky before dipping into the sea just before dawn. By then, his eyes ached with exhaustion and his feet had gone numb with the cold.

When the crew began to stir, men appearing once again on deck, he fired off his orders for the day (maintain heading, keep it steady, call for him if anything came up), and, after removing and securing his sword, retreated back to his quarters, confident that the Roger was in good hands. Several of his crew had served with him under his brother and had loved Liam enough to follow join Killian's quest for vengeance. He trusted them as much as he could anyone.

He dropped down the familiar ladder in the pre-dawn murk, finding his way by muscle memory more than sight and discovered the princess in his bed.

The sight stirred something deep and primal within him.

However, his pleasure immediately vanished when she sat up, bolting straight from complete unconsciousness to battle-ready in the blink of an eye, and lunged at him.

He didn't see what she had in her hand until she was almost on top of him, swinging it like a deadly, golden scythe — his brother's sextant, the one which had led them to Neverland, to dreamshade, and to death.

Killian fell back against the ladder, just out of Emma's reach, and the sextant narrowly missed his face.

"Come now, darling," he said, ducking so that he could grab hold of her. He managed to catch both her arms and used his grip to shake the sextant loose. It landed with a heavy thud on the floor. "We can fight, if that's what you want. But I fight fair."

"Well, I don't," she bit out, her green eyes on fire.

He tugged her closer, tucking her hands and forearms tight against his chest, very aware that his heart was racing and that she could probably feel it. She glared and tried to knee him between the legs. He barely jerked his hips out of the way in time.

"What are you hoping to accomplish?" he asked, backing her up, trying to find a place to pin her, to keep her under control. "We're out at sea. There's nowhere for you to run. What good do you think this will do you?"

The back of her thighs hit the table with a thud, and her jaw worked back and forth as she stared up at him. "It think it would make me feel better."

"I have no intention of hurting you," he said, hoping she could sense his honesty.

"Then what do you want with me?"

How to explain, when even he didn't know?

"It's not so much that I want you, love," he replied, his voice dropping low, "as it is that I don't want someone else to have you. Though that may change now that I know what a sweet prize you are."

Her mouth fell open, making his gaze drop to her lips.

"You're…" She couldn't seem to complete the sentence. "Gods. You're a…"

"A pirate?" he supplied.

Once, he'd been more. A man of honor. A man with a code. But not anymore. All of that had slipped away after leaving the navy, believing that at least thieves kept their own form of honor, only to discover that they were in fact exactly the sort of ruthless criminals they seemed. He'd had to become one of them to survive, to follow through on his quest to see the queen overthrown and his brother avenged. It didn't mean he liked what he'd become. But he'd come to accept it.

"I'm tired," he announced, letting her go. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned away to walk toward the bed. When he sat down on the edge of the mattress, he saw her standing right where he'd left her with her bottom still perched on the edge of the table and her hands clasped in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What does it look like?" He shrugged out of his coat, then bent down to pull off his boots, before swinging his feet up onto the bed and stretching out.

Emma stomped over to him. "You're going to sleep?"

"Aye. Did you forget that this is my room, love?"

She looked down at him, her hands on her hips. "You can't sleep."

"I've been up all night, darling. I assure you, I'll be sleeping just fine."

"But I'm standing right here. Aren't you worried I'll try to hurt you?"

He rolled over to face the wall. "No."

She huffed, her exasperation positively adorable. "Why? I just attacked you. I could do it again."

"I will take my chances."

The mattress and pillow felt wonderful underneath him, still warm and sweet smelling where she'd been laying. He almost didn't care whether she tried to beat his brains out with the sextant again so long as she let him bury his face in the pillow for a while first. Although he suspected that being forced to look at him first would prevent her from doing him any harm, especially since he would be unarmed and asleep.

"What am I supposed to do while you nap?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"I'm certain you'll find something."

"Won't I keep you up?"

He rolled back over just enough to look up at her. "Would you rather join me?"

She huffed again and walked away.

Killian pulled a loose blanket up over his hips and settled in, the sound of Emma moving about his quarters easily blending into the shuffling of the crew up above. It was a comforting cadence, and he swiftly fell asleep.

From across the room, Emma watched the pirate captain doze. At first she thought that he was testing her, pretending to sleep, waiting to see what she would do. But soon his breathing evened out, his whole body relaxed. He didn't move when she walked back over to the bed and stood over him.

What to do?

The man had abducted her. He was a criminal, probably a murderer, and most definitely a thief. But while she knew, logically, that Killian Jones was a "very bad man"…he hadn't exactly done anything bad to her. Yet.

She sighed, wishing that he'd get back up so that she could demand answers or fight him fair.

For a few minutes, she knocked around the cabin, making no effort to be quiet, hoping it might rouse him. When it didn't, she decided to ignore him.

Captain Jones had a lot of interesting things stowed away in his quarters. Before falling asleep the night before, she had looked through everything he had out on the table, reading through all of his papers (none of which had turned out to be of a personal nature) and turning over every trinket.

A big chest sat at the foot of the bed, but a lock had kept her from opening it. Carefully, she picked up his heavy leather coat, half expecting him to sit up and cut her hand off for daring to touch it. He didn't. So she sat down cross legged on the floor, pooling it in her lap, and began rummaging through the pockets, hoping to locate the key. All she found was an old slip of paper, folded several times over and tucked into an inside breast pocket. Curious, she flattened the sheet out on the floor. It was a painting of a plant: weedy looking and thorny, the word "dreamshade" scribed across the top.

Okay…

She folded it back up, returned it to the pocket she found it in, then draped the coat over top of the chest.

Next, she set about browsing through his books.

The collection impressed her. For every volume filled with star charts and maps, she found another of poetry, and several novels. She only recognized a few titles. All the rest were new. She plucked one off the shelf and flipped through the pages, pausing to read just enough to get a feel for the story - something about a group of noble knights all seeking a magical cup.

Sounded interesting. Good enough to pass the time, anyway. She settled down on the floor at the end of the bed, her back to the chest, and let the book fall open to the first page in her lap.

A name was scrawled just inside the front cover.

Liam Jones.

Liam? Who was that? His father? Uncle? Brother?

She glanced up at him, unable to stifle her curiosity.

Just who was this man? This pirate captain who had kidnapped her but not looted her ship? Who kept her locked up in his quarters but never laid a hand on her?

She'd expected someone more menacing. More brutal. Certainly not someone who read poetry. Or bandaged the hands of his injured prisoners. She believed him when he told her that he had no plans to hurt her.

The ability was there though. He could be cruel if he wanted. He had a darkness about him, lurking just beneath the surface.

She still had no idea what he wanted.

Perhaps, she thought, he didn't plan to hurt her directly, but was even now on the way to deliver her to someone else who would. Someone with a vendetta against her parents. Or, hell, maybe just someone with a pet dragon who had a taste for princess.

Don't let him fool you, she reminded herself. You can't trust him.

When the time was right, she'd make her move.

But right now...

She leaned her head back against his coat, the leather soft and warm and musky, propped the novel open on top of her knees, and began to read.