*singing* On the second day of Midwinter, Miss Lyxie gave to me... more garbage by her and Cee-Emmmmm!

So, just a reminder: This was supposed to be a one shot, but then CM and I got a little, er, carried away, because we were honestly just having so much fun writing literally the worst possible work of trash we could imagine. For real. That was the deal: make it as bad as possible. I think we've set a new standard for how low the bar can go, and I'm not ashamed.

For those of you clever people who caught on, YES, this is inspired by every awful holiday movie, which CM and I love watching together. We recently screened "A Christmas Prince: A Royal Wedding" and we can absolutely recommend to anyone who wants to dissolve their brains like cotton candy in a vat of soda.

Anyway, here's Chapter 2. Enjoy your brain rot.

(Excerpts from our in-document banter at the end.)

Chapter 2

The brooch didn't turn up.

Link sat at the long table in the staff meeting room, drumming his fingers. He'd checked everywhere ― everyone else had checked everywhere, too, when they had time. Surely it had to be somewhere, right? Jewelry didn't just vanish, did it?

A hand waved in front of Link's face. He sat up, shaking his head.

"Huh?"

"I said," Granté repeated with exaggerated patience, "what's with you today? You're all glaze-eyed and you look like you didn't sleep." Granté studied Link's face suspiciously. "When did you go home last night?"

"Late." Once he'd gotten off work the day before, Link had taken a flashlight out and crawled around on his hands and knees in the dark, for hours, hoping that the light would set off the telltale glitter of metal and gemstones that might make the brooch easier to spot. But he'd had no luck, and the growing accumulation of snow had made all his efforts moot. He'd felt foolish, and he hoped nobody had seen him, but it bothered him. The mystery girl was clearly so sad that the jewelry was gone. For some reason, he wanted to be the one to find it and make her smile.

Who was she? Link had puzzled over that for hours as he'd laid in bed in his little apartment in Kakariko. He'd walked in on her yesterday with Miss Paya and that terrifyingly chic noblewoman, and he was rethinking his assessment of her as a nobody. She might have been some poor friend, perhaps a trusted maid, but with that bearing and that accent, he didn't think so…

"Man, you really are hopeless today," said Granté. He looked at Link for a moment longer, then shook his head. "Hey, did you hear about the princess? Apparently she's―"

Just then, Pipit, the head of Miss Paya's staff, strode into the room, clearing his throat. Pipit was new to the job, and had only been appointed to the coveted role of majordomo the summer before. This was his first Midwinter celebration, and he'd made sure everyone knew that everything had better go right, or there would be hell to pay.

"Listen up," said Pipit as he took his place at the head of the table. Everyone straightened a bit in their seats. "We have a lot to do today, and a lot to cover, so we're jumping right in. First: there's been a report of a lost brooch. One of the guests has misplaced it, and thinks it might have fallen somewhere in the East Gardens, the East Wing, or the ballroom. It's a very distinctive piece with a ruby firebird and Triforce crest."

If they were rubies, then she wasn't some poor friend, Link thought. But the Firebird-and-Triforce was a common enough sigil, worn by people wanting to curry favor with the royal family. So that didn't narrow it down at all.

"― contact me immediately," Pipit was saying, and Link forced himself to pay attention. Pipit looked around the table, then nodded. "Good. Next: I've been told that one of our dinner companions has fallen ill and will be unable to serve." Dinner companions were Pipit's fancy way of saying fancy escorts: it was their job to escort in single high-ranking men and women who didn't want to engage in social politics by choosing between multiple offers of escort from their peers. Pipit glanced at a piece of paper. "The man is your height and weight, Link, and his uniform will likely fit you. You'll be taking over his job in the evenings."

Link blinked. Blinked again.

"I'll be taking over what?" he asked, incredulous.

"You'll escort in some fancypants gal," Groose, the head of security, translated with a lazy wave of his hand. "Some rich broad who wants to avoid having to turn down a guy's invitation for dinner date."

"It's a simple job," said Pipit. "You'll pick her up from her rooms, be charming, walk her down to dinner, take her to her seat, get her settled, and then go downstairs. Once dinner is over, you'll come get her, escort her to whatever is happening next, and wait around on the edge of things in case she signals you. You might be called to dance with her once or twice, as well, though it's highly unlikely. Will that be a problem?"

Put that way, an imbecile could do it. Link looked at his boss' steely glare, swallowed, and shook his head.

"Not a problem at all, sir," he said.

"Good," said Pipit. "After this you'll go to the seamstress in the basement to get your costumes fitted. Now, next on the list…"

As Pipit droned on, Link felt a sense of sick anticipation swirling in his stomach. Escort a wealthy single woman to dinner? Yes, it was a simple enough task, but Link didn't know how to talk to wealthy women… or any women, really. Link wasn't sure he could be charming if his life depended on it. It was one of the main complaints that… that she had had against him.

You're so serious all the time, she'd laughed, petting his cheek once. Loosen up. Be charming. It won't get you killed, you know.

Link hoped that was the case. He'd have to be charming, polite, funny… not his usual awkward, bumbling self. If he said or did the wrong thing, he might cause offense, and then he'd be out of a job, and…

"Breathe, Link," Granté whispered. "You're going to do just fine."

Fine. Yeah right. Link was so totally dead, and judging by the concern in his friend's eyes, Granté knew it.

His assessment was only confirmed when, about half an hour later, he entered Miss Paya's Wardrobe, an ominous room full of racks upon racks of age-old dresses, suits, costumes, shoes ―gods, so many shoes― and a veritable army of hats, purses and other knick-knacks. Stuffed to the brim in the basement of the big house, the seamstress' workshop looked like the backstage area of a theater. No doubt entire generations of clothing were kept here, outdated and obsolete, to be shielded from the light of day until the pieces regained some sort of historical significance.

As Link pushed aside a particularly pink flounce, he seriously considered the possibility that he would have been better off claiming he felt sick.

"Gods! This stupid machine―"

A mechanical whir, a click, and then a decidedly terrifying SPROING sounded, and Link found himself dodging the treacherous flight of a metal needle, which landed somewhere over his shoulder, in a tangle of taffetas.

"Er, I'm looking for Miss Purah," he said, to the diminutive little woman, who was now busy performing percussive maintenance upon her sewing machine, each hit punctuated by a colourful curse.

When the woman looked up at him, blinking, her glasses magnified her eyes in a way that reminded Link of an owl.

"You're the gardener."

"I― er― yes?"

"Right." She pushed herself off of her padded stool, and Link realized she was much shorter than he'd thought. She barely reached the middle of his chest. Not that it kept her from scrutinizing him with the confidence of a violent Gerudo. From his booted feet ("Shameful!") to his work shirt ("Hmph!"), she studied him, making commentary under her breath, until at last her eyes returned to his face, and her expression shifted, ever so slightly.

"Is that your real face?" She asked, critically.

Link frowned. "What? Yes. Of course it's―"

Her fingers came up to pinch his cheek. "Not what I expected. But you'll do."

"Gee, thanks," Link deadpanned.

"No, no, you misunderstand," the tiny woman said, suddenly cheerful. "You're very handsome. This is very good. Very exciting. I was bracing for disaster. A giant oaf. Never trusted Pipit to assess measurements accurately―"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Link said, "but I… Are you Purah?"

The little seamstress rolled her eyes, flopping her head limply backwards, much like an annoyed teenager. "Yes, darling, get with the program. I am Purah. And you are the gardener. And this is my workshop. And we need to get you fitted."

"My name is L―"

"No, no, be quiet," she said, snapping her fingers at him and turning away, returning to her sewing machine. "I am submerged with work and there's no time for small talk." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Alright, handsome, let's not waste time. Take your clothes off."

Link inhaled. Paused. Looked down at her. "What." It wasn't a question.

"Your clothes. Or whatever those things are that you're wearing. Not sure they qualify. Who dressed you? No― don't say it, it was Malo Mart, wasn't it? No, shut up, I don't want to hear it. Just the sound of that name grates my ears. Be quiet. Why are you still dressed?"

"Uh. Is there some sort of changing room―"

She performed another dramatic sigh. But Link didn't miss the flicker of her glance over him, and the briefest moue of disappointment, before she pointed to a curtained-off area behind her. "Down to the knickers, please."

Knickers. Link rolled his eyes and strode off.

"What size shoes do you wear?" She asked, while he slid the curtain closed behind him and began to unbuckle his belt.

"Forty-two," Link replied. "Or nine, if that's the sizing you use―"

"Oh, good― Mr. Average, you are. Brilliant." Her voice was moving back and forth beyond the curtain, sometimes muffled or fading. "Your colouring is different than Misko's, so you'll need a different suit for tomorrow ― something understated. Classy."

"Aren't all suits classy?" Link asked, pulling his shirt off over his head.

Purah dignified that question with a scoff, followed by a superior giggle. Fine, then, Link thought, grimacing to himself, while she went on mumbling to herself, out of sight.

"Where in the world did I put my tape― Oh, there it is."

"You know," Link said, stepping out of his trousers, "if you have more important things to do, I can always come back."

"Oh, no. I've got nothing more important than this. Didn't you hear? The companion who called in sick was the Princess' very own hire. I'm told if she doesn't get a replacement for this evening, she'll have to contend with social requests from some of society's most titled worms."

Link braced himself on the wall of the changing cabin, ears suddenly buzzing. "What?"

"Are you hard of hearing, dear? I said, I need to get you fitted since you'll be escorting the Princess―"

Link shoved the curtain aside, ignoring the catlike grin of satisfaction on Purah's face. "What."

But Purah merely eyed him, from head to toe. "Oh, she's going to like you," she said, smiling.

Link strode out of the cabin, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, eyes wild. "I can't escort the Princess." That much seemed obvious. A princess! That was not in his job description. "I can't…" Converse. Be charming. Lighten up. "I can't dance," he finished, lamely.

This, however, did not phase Purah. In fact, Purah responded to this by cackling maniacally. "Oh, darling. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be practically a prince." And then, wringing her fingers together with delight that boded ill, she said, "Now stand very still, handsome. Auntie Purah is about to make some magic happen like bippity-boppity-SNAP."

"Take a deep breath," Midna commanded. Zelda tried, but the display was less than convincing.

"I can't go out there," she said, instead, smoothing her clammy hands against the silk of her evening dress. "Duke Ghirahim is out there. And he's going to want to enter the room with me on his arm if he sees me unaccompanied."

"Paya said she was going to fix it," Midna reminded her. In her black and blue slinky dress, she looked like the darkest night of winter itself, all deep sparkle and sensuality. By contrast, Zelda's own attire was positively prim.

Proper, she reminded herself. The people would want to see class, not leg.

"This is the only evening you have to play nice," Midna reminded her. "After tonight, Paya closes the door to journalists and you can spend the next two nights drinking to forget."

Zelda would have killed for a nice hard shot of vodka right about then. Some sort of burning courage with which to brace herself. "I am going to look like a loser," she said, calmly. "Now that Misko has called in sick, the whole world will see me all alone, or, worse, on the arm of a creep."

"You don't even like Misko," Midna pointed out. "After the last formal event where he escorted you, you called him your 'chatterbox of a human shield.' Am I remembering that correctly?"

She was. Midna had a mind like a steel trap. Zelda grimaced.

"He's annoying," she agreed. "But he's also pretty, and he doesn't get any ideas above his station. How are they going to find someone on such short notice to fill his spot? His costumes are all here, so they have to find someone his height and weight, and even though Lanayru is a nice enough province, I don't think there's a surplus of well-trained escorts, and I don't think there was enough to time to put a call in to the capital, find a suitable replacement, send him out here, get him through all the security checkpoints―"

Midna held up one exquisitely manicured hand.

"Darling," she drawled, "you're babbling. Breathe. Everything will be fine."

Everything wasn't going to be fine, Zelda wanted to rail. But of course, she wasn't upset about Misko… Not really. She was mostly terrified out of her mind that tonight was her first official appearance as princess of Hyrule… soon to be queen… and she was going to choke up, and if she'd at least had Misko he would've mumbled something out of the corner of his mouth about what she was supposed to do, and she could do it, but now she wouldn't even have that support, and this was going to be a disaster, and...

"Breathe," Midna suggested again.

Zelda took a heaving gasp of air. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. She felt dizzy, lightheaded. She wanted to stagger over to a couch and plop down, but she couldn't risk wrinkling her dress.

"And I have to take pictures," Zelda moaned. She buried her face in her hands. "I have to walk on the red carpet and smile and look charming. I'm not charming! I'm… I'm awkward! I can see the headlines on the tabloids now: Princess Awkward!"

"That's not catchy enough," Midna said. "And for what it's worth, if it looks like things will get really hairy for you, I'll do something outlandish and steal the spotlight." She waggled her brows. "I could have a wardrobe malfunction. Get caught in a compromising position. Say something rude to Lord Butler and give him a fit."

Zelda peered up through her fingers.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yes, but I'd expect you to pay me back." Midna plucked at her dress, resettling it over her hips. "And you know how expensive my favors are."

Zelda grimaced. The last time she'd owed Midna a favor, payment had included a private yacht, several bottles of very expensive champagne, and harem of handsome movie stars. Zelda's father had given her quite the stern lecture after that one… mostly because the yacht had been his and the paparazzi had been involved.

"Only as a last resort, then," Zelda finally said.

"Deal," Midna agreed. As she did so, a knock sounded at the door. Midna strode over to open it, saying, "I bet this is your―"

The countess opened the door and stopped dead in her tracks, leaving the door between Zelda and whoever Midna was gaping at. Dread sank in Zelda's stomach. Midna's manners were polished to perfection. Nothing would cause her to react like that except the most utterly horrid monstrosity to ever exist. Zelda swallowed a moan. Why her…?

"Good evening, Highness," said a mellow voice. It was a pleasant tenor, and soft, and a little familiar. "I'm here to escort you to dinner."

Midna stared at whoever-it-was in the hallway for a moment longer, then flung the door wide open, turned, and wordlessly stalked off. Zelda smoothed her hands down her soft lilac gown, took a fortifying breath, and looked up.

Oh.

The handsomest man she'd ever seen stood out in the hallway, clad in the costume of a royal guard from several hundred years ago. White knee boots and gloves, red tunic, blue tabard, all trimmed with gold… how was it that the blue of the tabard perfectly matched his eyes, and the gold was the exact same hue as his hair? He looked like something out of a storybook or a daydream, and he was here for her. And even more surprisingly, she recognized him.

She stared at him. He stared at her.

"I thought you were a gardener," Zelda blurted, because what else could you say when faced with such perfection? 'Hi, please run away with me' was a terrible opening line.

Her escort tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"I am," he said. "Normally. I've been conscripted." He shook his head, then realized he was talking to someone powerful, and went pale. "Not that it's a problem. I'm just… Uh..."

"He's nervous because it's his first time," said Midna, who had apparently recovered her powers of both speech and innuendo. "Be gentle with him, Zelda."

"Zel…" She could see him start to repeat the name, then trail off in horrified silence, mouthing the finish. Zelda wondered what it would be like to hear him say her name. He stared between Midna and Zelda, the blood slowly draining from his face. Something like horror dawned in his eyes as he stared at Zelda. She wasn't sure whether the look made her want to laugh or cry.

"I'm sorry I neglected to introduce myself before," she said. She dropped a neat little curtsey. The poor gardener looked like he might faint. "My name is Zelda Nohansen Harkinian Bosphoramus Hyrule, Crown Princess of Hyrule." She smiled. "It's nice to meet you formally."

The gardener was nodding mechanically, his eyes glazed.

"It's very nice to meet you, princess majesty," he said. "My name's Link." He held out an arm woodenly. "May I escort you to dinner?"

In the corner, Midna cackled.

Link's mind was spinning in circles like a drunken peahat. The girl from the garden ― the one with the missing jewelry ― the one he'd been thinking all manner of indecent things about ― she was the princess. She was Princess Zelda.

And he'd just called her 'princess majesty'.

Link wasn't one for prayer, but right about now it would be great if one of the Goddesses could bestir herself to fling a bolt of lightning down to earth and vaporize Link where he stood. In between cursing at her sewing machine and cackling over fabric, Miss Purah had coached him all day on his manners, and in his very first interaction with the princess, Link had totally bungled it.

And the princess, perfect creature that she was, merely smiled very gently. It made Link feel like the lowest, scrawniest, most insignificant worm. Scratch lightning bolts: he needed a legendary Biggoron to come squash him under its boot.

"We'll go in last," she told him. "Please, come and wait in here. The Countess' escort has yet to arrive."

"Yes, do come in," said the terrifying countess. "Tell us all about yourself, Link the Gardener."

This was a trap. This was definitely, definitely a trap. But Link couldn't refuse a direct order ― on that, Miss Purah had been very clear ― and so, praying he didn't lodge his foot any further down his own throat, he stepped into the room. The door swung shut behind him, and he was absolutely certain that the thud it gave as it closed was the same sound that the final nail would make when it was driven into his coffin in… oh, about four hours.

He wanted to tug at his collar, but didn't. Gods, but this costume was itchy. He felt like he was about to crawl right out of his skin. He raised a hand to fuss with his hat, then stopped. He groped for pockets to shove his hands into, but couldn't find any of those, either. So he opted for a parade rest, trying to ignore the terrifying countess' snickers.

"What would you like to know about me?" he asked, and was proud that he didn't squeak when he spoke.

"Let's start with your shoe size," said the scary countess.

Link felt his brows drawing together. He looked down.

"Is there something wrong with my boots? Miss Purah said I was perfectly average and that these should fit."

"Perfectly average," sighed the countess. "Shame."

"Midna," said the princess, admonishment in her voice. "Stop teasing him."

"It was an honest question," said the countess, holding up her hands in fake surrender. She was smirking, and Link had the whirling sensation that he'd missed something. Were they making fun of him…?

His sudden terror must have showed on his face because the princess smiled another of those gentle, perfect smiles at him. Goddesses, but she was beautiful: her hair had been braided with pearls and little white flowers, and hung down over one cream-pale shoulder. She wore a dress in an exquisite purple, made all the more elegant for its simple, modest cut. She wore no jewelry save for swaying drop earrings carved of the biggest amethysts Link had ever seen and rimmed in sparkling diamonds. She looked beautiful. Link should tell her so. That was what escorts were supposed to do, right?

He opened his mouth to speak.

"Lupinus," he said.

The princess blinked at him a few times.

"Beg your pardon?" She asked.

Link kicked himself mentally. Idiot. Moron.

"Your dress," he said. "It's the exact color of a lupinus flower." When she kept staring at him, he offered a what he hoped was a charming smile. "And in the language of flowers, lupinus means imagination." She kept staring at him, and Link wished for a hole to crawl into. "It's very pretty," he finished lamely.

"Ah," said the princess after a long moment. "Thank you."

Link was spared any further embarrassment by another knock at the door. He answered it to see a very posh older gentleman standing outside.

"Lord Belari of Minish, here to escort the Countess of Twilight," said the fellow.

"The academic?" Link heard the princess ask her friend in an undertone behind him.

"He's a family friend," the countess responded. Then she glided past Link, all dazzling darkness, smiling at the man. "Hello, Belari, dear. So good of you to come get me." She turned and smiled at Link. The grin she gave to the princess was positively devilish. "Have fun, you two. See you at dinner."

And with that, she swept down the hallway, leaving Link and the princess utterly alone.

The door clunked shut again. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"I'm sorry about―" he began, just as she said, "Please forgive―"

They both stopped and stared at each other a moment longer.

"What was it you wanted to say?" She finally asked him.

Link shook his head.

"You first, majesty."

The princess smiled.

"It's just highness for now," she told him. "I won't be a majesty until I've been crowned. Don't worry about it, though," she added, raising a white-gloved hand as he opened his mouth to apologize again. "I must confess I'm nervous too. I'm not used to these big events either."

Link tried to think of a suitably reassuring response. But what did one say to reassure a princess?

Well, it didn't matter. He had an apology to make.

"I'm sorry for not recognizing you yesterday," he said. "In the garden. I didn't realize that you were the princess," he stammered.

Her beautiful smile turned sad. "That's how my father wanted it," she said. When it became clear she wouldn't elaborate, Link spoke again.

"I'm sure you'll do well tonight," he hedged.

She shook her head. As she did so, the scent of the lilies in her hair washed over Link. White. That meant purity, or sympathy. The princess still seemed without words, so Link tried again.

"I'm sorry about your father," he said gently.

Her big green eyes widened, then saddened.

"Thank you," she said softly. She studied him for a long moment. "If this is your first escort session, is it safe to assume that you don't know how to dance?"

Link grimaced, remembering several unfortunate attempts to learn to do so earlier that day using a mannequin as a partner. Judging by the cackling that had come from Miss Purah, the only value of the exercise had been entertainment, not education.

"Miss Purah tried to teach me earlier, but I've still got a bit to learn," he said. "But― that is, if you require―"

She held up a hand again.

"That won't be necessary," she said. "Not tonight, at least. Partners for the formal dance on the first night are all arranged months in advance. However…" she tilted her head to the side. "You should come here tomorrow. We'll practice your dancing then so you can escort me through the first dance tomorrow night."

That was assuming he survived tonight's shift. Link wondered what it would take to get himself off of the escort job with minimal fuss and hassle. Not that the princess wasn't beautiful, enticing, alluring, really everything he could ever want in a woman….

That was it. First thing tomorrow he was telling Pipit that there was no way he could do this job.

The princess was still waiting for a response. Link smiled.

"As you wish," he said.

She smiled back at him, glanced at the clock, and held out her hand. Link took it and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and tried not to think about how nice it felt to have her touching him.

"Chin up," she told him as they left the room. "It's time to walk down to dinner." A spark of merriment came into her eyes. "If you're as nervous as I am, then I propose we make a pact."

"Oh?" Link asked, heart thudding. "What pact is that?"

"We'll call the evening a success if neither of us throws up on the other's shoes," she said. "Do we have a bargain?"

"Deal," Link agreed. "That's a nice goal. I like that goal. It's very realistic."

"Thank you," the princess said, smiling at him like she had in the garden the day before. Link felt his heart turn over in his chest, and smiled back at her instead of slamming his head against the wall as he so desperately wanted to.

He was in deep. Way too deep. There was only one way that this week would end, and that would be in his definite firing and probable death. But, hell, he might as well enjoy it.

And… the princess was getting nervous. He could tell by the way her grip was growing tighter and tighter on his arm as they neared the red carpet where the press would do their utmost to blind both of them with their flashbulbs. Outside the doors that led to the great hall― and the red carpet, beyond which laid the dining room― they paused. She took a jerky breath, and Link courted his own death by placing his gloved hand over hers.

"Chin up," he parroted back at her in a sudden surge of bravery. "You've got this."

She squeezed his arm once in gratitude.

"Thank you," she said. Link lifted his hand away, and the princess nodded at the doormen. The doors swung open ― Pipit ran too tight of a ship for the doors to ever do something as uncouth as creak ― and together, Link and the princess walked into the light.

Three in the morning. The darkest time of night, as far as Link was concerned. And he had just finished returning his borrowed clothes to the wardrobe, donning his usual jeans and sweater with exhausted relief. Gods, but the evening had gone on forever. He was still parsing it.

The palace was winding down ― the last journalism truck had left only twenty minutes ago, the Princess and the terrifying countess were both safely ensconced in their respective suites, most of the palace staff had switched shifts and had begun cleaning up, and Link was, for the most part, unscathed.

Mostly. The evening continued to replay in his mind in bits and pieces, in disjointed fragments of polite conversation punctuated by moments of focused terror, all set in a palatial display of wealth and glitz.

The only thing he could remember in full was Zelda. The Princess, he reminded himself. Princess Zelda. Princess Zelda with the lupinus dress and the sweet smile and the nervous habit she had of biting at her inner cheek whenever she was growing uncomfortable. By the third time he'd noticed that, Link had learned to instinctively approach, giving her a way out, and she'd greet him with a smile tinged with relief…

They'd developed a system: she did the talking, and he did the walking. He'd slowly walk her around the room, stopping when she slowed to chat, then offering her a smooth exit as soon as she grew antsy again. She hadn't said anything, so Link presumed she was alright with it.

Still, decanting it all now, he felt the raw bundle of his insides twisting and writhing nervously in recollection. No one had spared him a second glance― no more, she had assured him, than they'd ever spared for Misko, her usual companion. And aside from that one incident with the pale-haired duke…

Link shut the door to the wardrobe with a click, ensuring it was locked, and paused.

Duke Ghirahim of Faron. At first glance, the man seemed… groomed. Well-kept. Lithe and harmless, if a little vampiric in his complexion. And his smile had been somewhat cold… but there was no explanation for the clear hesitation Link had felt on his arm when Zelda― Princess Zelda ― had seen him. Hardly a tug, and for any onlookers she might have barely broken her stride, but Link saw her looking, noticed the clear change in trajectory from the Duke, and steered the Princess of Hyrule to the women's restroom.

Zelda ― the Princess― hadn't said anything about that either, but the relief on her face when she'd emerged to find the Duke in conversation with other people was unmistakable.

And now she was safely in bed, Link told himself, standing as he did in the darkened hallway, and hopefully they'd find a more suitable replacement for him in the morning.

He returned to the ground floor to find it in the midst of a different sort of activity― cleaning. A more subdued atmosphere hung over the place ― the music had been stopped, and no one seemed inclined to make much noise at this hour ― as the night staff moved efficiently from table to table, from room to room, collecting and dusting and stacking. They'd be back tomorrow night, and the night after that… Miss Paya's Midwinter Ball was legendary in that respect.

And to think, until last year, Link had always kind of wanted to be part of it. As a gardener, he'd always watched the festivities from the outside, literally, and longed to one day get a taste of that sort of Midwinter refinement.

Standing now in the doorjamb to the wide double doors, he could hardly believe what had just happened.

"Link, good. I hoped you hadn't gone home yet."

Pipit's voice was tired, but he hadn't lost his professional edge. Link turned to look at the majordomo and straightened.

"Yes, sir?"

Pipit flipped a page on his clipboard, then sighed. "You did a good job tonight. Miss Paya wanted me to tell you that you did very well. You'll get the necessary overtime bonus and a compensatory day off next month, to account for the night duty."

Link blinked. "Oh." Right. It was a job. "Thanks. I appreciate it―"

"Miss Purah wants you in wardrobe tomorrow at four," Pipit said. "So you should go home and sleep."

Link blinked. "Wait. Aren't you going to find someone else to replace me?"

Pipit smiled. It was a rare sight. And then he plucked a small note card from his clipboard and handed it over. "You've been requested again, and I'm not the sort to commit treason."

Confused, Link took the card from Pipit and watched him stride over to talk with some of the staff bussing dirty plates. Letting his eyes drop to the card in his hand, he blinked confusedly a few times.

Dear Link, Thank you so much for your presence tonight. Remember, dancing lessons! Be there at 11.

The signature was just a flowing, elegant Z. It set his heart racing into a mad dash of absurd hope.

Which was stupid, he reminded himself. The princess was only preoccupied with not looking foolish, as she must. It was stupid to feel as excited as a teenager.

And worse: he knew better. This wasn't going to end well. At best they'd part ways on friendly terms, and never speak again. At worst, he'd grow attached. And he remembered what growing attached could do to a person. It was bad enough to ruin Midwinter forever.

He'd had enough of ruin, in his humble opinion.

As he slipped on his winter coat and hat, Link tried to remember that he hadn't changed. He was still the same man Hilda had abandoned. He was still the same person she'd accused of being too serious, not charming enough. He ought to know better than to open up, especially now.

Still… As the snow fell around him in the endless driveway, Link hesitated. His eyes went to the distant street, where his car was parked. And then they slid sideways, to the garden entrance.

He wasn't a romantic. Not anymore. Hilda had cured him of that particular malady. So why was he hesitating?

It was late. There was a faint covering of powdery snow everywhere. And he wasn't the only person responsible for the search, after all…

But his eyes went back to the front door of Miss Paya's stately home, beyond which, he knew, countless men and women were working hard to make the holidays into something grand. And in which a certain young woman dreamed of finding a royal heirloom. He might well have been a learned cynic, but the thought tugged at something inside of him that he'd sworn he would never indulge again.

Be charming, for once, Hilda's ghost whispered, tauntingly. In another life, he might have promised to buy her a new piece of jewellery. After all, he was tired. It was late. It was cold. And no one would ever find a lost brooch in those gardens if it kept snowing like this.

Except maybe someone who knew the gardens better than anyone else.

"I'm an idiot," he muttered to himself.

He shook his head, focused on the street again.

Then sighed.

And, begrudgingly, headed into the gardens.

Lyxie: "Bippity-boppity-SNAP" ?! There's many reasons why I love you and this just made the list
CM: I just wanna say I love everything you do and you are my favourite