Midnight Promises

Is All Of This Really Necessary?

I was pacing back and forth. I had been for- God, who knew how long? After Hope had fainted, everyone seemed to explode into action.  Klaus had been at her side in an instant, kneeling beside her and cradling her head in his hands. Thomas and the small green man, or the little Martian as I liked to call him, had jumped towards me. Each of them had grabbed one of my arms and ushered me down the winding stone steps of the opening in the ground that had still been an acorn moments before. I couldn't grasp a single coherent thought as I stumbled between the two of them, craning my neck behind me to see where Hope and Klaus were. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the Martian unlocked enormous oak double doors with a key around his neck.

I couldn't help myself as a small gasp escaped me when I saw what lay behind them. An ornate hallway of emerald stone floors and dark Mahagony walls stretched out in front of me. Thomas and the Martian rushed me down the hallway and I could see that the walls were covered with portraits of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. All of them wore beautiful gowns in different shades of blue and green and they each wore the same stunning golden crown, wrought with emeralds and sapphires.

The two men were now nearly dragging me forward with such urgency I couldn't examine the women more closely. Before I knew it we were standing in a small oval room with seven doors. The Martian stepped forward to the third door, opened it with the same key around his neck and Thomas, still gripping my arm, unceremoniously pushed me through. The door shut behind me with a deafening clang.

I turned and tried to open the door. Nothing. The handle wouldn't even budge. Fear rose in me. I surveyed the large room I had been dumped in. The same wood paneling adorned the walls but the floor was a white marble instead of the emerald. A huge canopy bed with gorgeous silken sheets stood against a wall. On the other side we're two armchairs, a small table between them, with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Next to that a large armoire and a door that was slightly ajar, giving me a view of what I thought was the bathroom. I tried the door again. Nothing.

What. The. Hell?

I checked the door next to the armoire and did find it to be the bathroom. Here the emerald stone was everywhere. The floor, the walls, even the sink. Only the bathtub, the enormous bathtub, was carved from a huge stone of obsidian. In all my fear and confusion, I couldn't help but admire it.

I returned to the room and checked the armoire. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of different gowns. And when I say gowns I don't mean a prom dress. These clothes looked like something royals would wear. I ran my fingers along the dark blue skirt of a particularly beautiful one. The dark blue silk was offset with a gossamer sparkly overlay that made it look like the night sky had been woven into it.

I huffed nearly ripping the dress off  it's hanger in frustration. What was this? Some underground bunker? Had I been kidnapped for a weirdo billionaire who lived as though he was in the freaking Middle Ages? This wasn't real. It couldn't be! I pinched myself. Literally. Nothing changed. Tears started to prick my eyes. No. I would not fall apart now! I couldn't. What about Klaus? And Hope? Was she even still alive? What did Thomas have to do with all this? I needed to prepare.

I scoured the room for anything I could use as a weapon. I turned the armoire inside out, all the pretty dresses now lying in a heap of silk, chiffon and velvet on the floor beside the armchairs. I had rummaged through the bedding and flipped the mattress over, finding nothing of use. The bathroom was completely bare of items. Not even a bar of soap. I tried to break off a piece of the obsidian bathtub with my heavy boot but to no avail. I returned to the main room, sweating and panting, my eyes darting around the room, scanning everything like an animal trapped in a cage. Nothing.

With a sigh that almost turned to a wail as I felt a lump in my throat tightening, I sank into an armchair, my head in my hands. I filled one of the glasses on the small table with water from the pitcher and drank deeply.

And then a jolt went through me. The pitcher! It was made of glass. A burst of energy filled me again, as hope bloomed in my chest. I grabbed the pitcher and, using my other arm to shield my face and eyes, slammed it against the table. The shattering noise it made might as well have been a symphony. I looked at the pitcher in my hand which had now become a jagged, sharp weapon. A chance. No matter what this was, I wasn't going down without a fight!

I stood up and positioned myself beside the door I had come in through and waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited. Nothing happened. No one came. I couldn't even hear so much as footsteps or voices behind the door. The ball of fear started growing in my stomach and I started pacing back and forth through the room like a Tiger at the Zoo.

And I kept pacing. And thinking. Thinking about Klaus. His eyes when he saw Hope collapse had been so intense, so full of rage and sorrow and fear. The image was burned into my mind. I kept pacing and thinking and pacing and thinking. It was a testament to my confusion, exhaustion, frustration or a combination of all three that I didn't even hear the door opening when it did.

"And you must be the famous Emma, I presume?"

The voice was dark and soft, it flowed against my skin like the silks of the dresses. It was quiet and yet had an intense authority that I whirled around without even thinking of brandishing my weapon which I held limply in my hand.

The man who had spoken was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed a small smirk painting his face. Without any shame or hesitation he looked me over from head to toe. His eyebrows rose slightly in... satisfaction?

A blush crept along my face. The man who was looking at me so incredulously could only be described as beautiful. His hair was a thick, rumpled tousle of black curls that grew slightly past his ears. He was tall. Much taller than me. And even in his relaxed stance there was an elegance about him but also a wildness, a danger.

My heart pounded in my chest as his eyes surveyed my face, my eyes, my cheeks, and rested a moment too long perhaps on my mouth. His gaze flitted back to my eyes and when I remained silent his eyebrows simply raised again, ever so slightly, in question.

I gathered myself and with more calm than I felt I answered, "I am Emma. Not sure about the famous part."

That earned me a soft chuckle that made my stomach do somersaults. He uncurled from his relaxed stance against the doorframe and slowly walked toward me. He was even taller than I had thought and big. Really big. His muscles rippled under his dark blue shirt which was unbuttoned enough to see the top of his smooth bronze chest. I stumbled backwards until my thighs slammed against the bed. I lifted the arm with my jagged weapon. In the wake of this beast of a man slowly coming toward me it seemed so feeble, so pathetic.

But the moment he saw it he halted. Surprise in his eyes and- something else. Hurt maybe? Or insult?

He considered a moment. Then he turned around and walked to one of the armchairs. He sat down in a fluid motion, so in control of every limb every muscle as though it was a choreographed dance. I didn't lower my weapon but did realize with appreciation that he had positioned himself as far away from me as the room would allow. He leaned back into the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.

"Who are you?" I demanded, much bolder than I should have been able to and jammed my weapon into the air in front of me as though to underline my intensity.

He gave a look. Disdainful and arrogant. I could feel heat rising in my cheeks again.

"Is all of this," he gestured to the shard of glass in my hand, "really necessary, my dear?"

I started at his term of endearment spoken in such a mocking tone. Anger now gripped me and pushed out the fear that had made its home in my belly.

"Excuse you, but I think I'll decide if it's necessary after my kidnapper," I gave him the best crushing look I could muster, trying to channel my inner Becks, "tells me why I am here and what he wants to do with me. So I'll ask again: who are you, my dear?" I spat those last words at him like a curse but he simply looked vaguely amused and slightly bored.

"Fine," he sighed, "If you insist on such savagery suit yourself."

I was about to fling the piece of glass at his head for his condescending tone.

"My name is Yerwen. I am Prince Regent of the Seelie Court. And technically," he gave me a sardonic grin, "I'm your betrothed."