X.

'Daphnes?' said the Queen. 'What on earth is going on?'

The Prince didn't look at her, too consumed with pleasure to face away from the spectacle in front of him. 'Everything is under control, mother,' he assured her. 'Whisper here was just attending my guest.'

'By pinning him to the floor?' she demanded.

'An old Sheikah custom.'

He left her there on the dais, shouldering past the wall of guards to stride over to where Loam still sat on his knees, blinking vacantly. Along the way he collected Loam's glasses from the floor, and bent at the waist to slip them back onto the bridge of his nose with a look of obvious enjoyment.

'Stand up, my friend,' he encouraged.

Loam stared at his outstretched hand for a long time. Beside him, the shadow stirred; he could sense her red eye on him, observing with cold interest from behind a hanging curtain of ink-black hair. His thoughts were slow and grey, like trickling mud, and apart from the vague sense that he ought to be outraged, his feelings were likewise oddly muted. He was bemused.

'Red Leon?' he repeated, trying to focus.

The Prince grinned more broadly still. He was devilishly handsome, although light and delicate-looking, with porcelain skin, pointed features and crystalline blue eyes. Thick hair like spun gold framed his face, and fell almost to his shoulders at the back.

'Yes,' he laughed. 'It's me.'

'You sent me through the dungeons,' said Loam slowly. 'Through the sewers.'

'And you've done a spectacular job making it out the other end, may I be the first to say!'

'You wasted my time,' Loam went on. His voice was becoming clearer — and harder. 'You wasted time I don't have, instead of helping me.'

'You're wrong,' said the Prince, his permanent smile taking on a patient air, like a parent. 'The moment you disappeared down that hole, I returned here to the castle. I sent a messenger to retrieve a whole garrison of soldiers from the front lines in the western desert. I woke the royal smith and set him and his boys to work at the forge, preparing blades and shields for every man in Ordon Village. They're down in the armoury as we speak, if you'd like to see for yourself. Loam, listen to me — are you listening? I've taken care of everything.'

Loam felt something start to crumble inside of him. His head swam momentarily as he processed the information. Still, there was defiance.

'I could have been killed,' he croaked, with a nod to the shadow woman.

'Not a chance,' the Prince beamed. 'Whisper was under strict instructions only to get in your way. Real intruders never even see her — they're dead before they get the opportunity.'

It was all too absurd.

'Why did you do this to me?' Loam's voice was so small it was almost a plea.

'Because,' said the Prince, and for a moment his startling eyes became avid and serious, 'I needed to know that you had courage, Loam. I needed to know that you possessed the truest courage there is: the desperate, unthinking willingness to lay down your life for love. And you do.' He burst out laughing once more, and seemed, bizarrely, on the verge of tears. 'You really do! From now on, no matter what happens — and whether you like it or not! — I count you as my brother. Your quest is over, brother. Now, stand up!'

There was nothing else for it. Loam took his hand, and rose heavily to his feet. The Prince clapped him on the shoulder. From his flowing robe, he produced the Ordon Sword, still in its scabbard and bound up in its own leather belts.

'Here,' he said, placing it in Loam's hands. 'Take it, and with it the freedom of the castle. Whatever you ask, it shall be given you.

Loam thought about this, though not for very long.

'If it's all the same to you,' he sighed, 'I could use a bath.'

It was past midday when he stirred.

Splendour surrounded him. The curtained four-poster on which he lay was a tangle of silk sheets and feather pillows under a quilt that warmed him like a cuddle. On the nightstand, a pitcher of water caught the band of sunlight that shone through the window, causing warm patterns to crisscross over the opposite wall.

For a long time he lay still; staring, gathering himself, held in place by the comfort of the mattress and a deeper weariness that could not be satisfied by simple rest. When he rose, he did so very gingerly, wincing at the stiffness up and down his body. He limped to the window and peered out, shielding his eyes against the glare with one hand as the castle compound came into focus. It was magnificent. Bushels of privet were planted in beds of earth around immaculate green lawns; ivy formed lush walls around stables and a keeper's cottage; and a beautifully precise, symmetrical hedge maze framed a stone fountain, its many spouts at play around three golden goddesses.

'Wow,' murmured Loam.

He was wearing a long white shift, his own dirty clothes nowhere in sight. Instead, a blue tunic and cotton trousers were draped neatly over a three-panelled mirror in the corner, along with a pair of new brown boots on the floor beside. Loam stood before the reflections of himself and removed his shift, staring for some time at a body he barely recognised; lean and muscular as before, but with brilliant, angry bruises the colour of weak tea and storm clouds patterning his torso like a dungeon map.

'Wow,' he said again.

But he said it with a tiny smile.

'Three days,' the Prince promised.

Loam nodded, gratitude and disappointment vying for control of his face.

'There's nothing can be done, Loam. My forces are abroad. It will take my men three days to cross the land from the desert, even at speed. The moment they return, we leave for Ordon.'

'I understand,' said Loam. 'And I'm forever in your debt. Um. Your highness.'

The Prince flashed him a pained grin. 'Please. Just "Red."'

'Red.' It felt strange, but he asked no questions.

'Now, walk with me. There is so much to be said.'

And they walked, side-by-side, two men of near-equal height and age, through the castle's many exquisite halls and corridors, and in the afternoon sunshine, around the ramparts that formed the perimeter. Red was full of questions — about village life, the forest, swordsmanship, and the threat that hung over Loam's family and friends.

'I am sorry,' he said, rounding on Loam unexpectedly.

They were standing outside one of the drawing rooms. Loam could hear gentle piano music coming from within. He blinked at the Prince, not knowing what to make of his apology.

'For what?'

'Grist is right,' Red went on. 'The monsters fled the desert only after my army invaded. It's thanks to my decisions that you're even in this predicament at all. But the Gerudo must be stopped.'

A shadow crossed his face, even as he turned it to the setting sun that streamed through the high mullioned windows. He propped his elbows on the sill and looked out at the world, and was quiet in a way he hadn't been all day.

'Who are they?' asked Loam from behind him.

'Thieves,' said Red at length. 'Murderers. Heathens. Call them what you like — they're bad news for our world. "History shows, and legend tells," as Cojiro himself might say. My ancestors tried to broker a peace accord with them, once upon a time, but it fell apart after a Demon King rose up from their ranks and brought the whole of Hyrule to the brink of destruction.' He laughed then, a soft, bitter thing. 'That dark man would plague this green land for generations. But his kind were dealt with quickly. They haven't been seen by anyone for many hundreds of years.'

Loam thought better than to ask where they went, or why they had returned. He processed the information carefully, and tried to imagine the kind of power it would take to conquer and destroy the whole world.

'I'm to ascend the throne in the summer,' Red continued, a little uncertainly, 'after I come of age. My mother will step down as Queen — she was only ever Regent, after my father died — and all of the responsibilities of this kingdom will pass to me. She gave me early command of the army, but, when the Gerudo took the Arbiter's Grounds last month. My generals presented me with plans for a campaign to purge them forever. They said it's what my father would have wanted — and I agree with them.'

He seemed to draw strength from his own words, and stood up to look Loam full in the face as he moved to be by his side.

'It will be a successful war, and a quick one,' he assured Loam, his handsome face ablaze in the orange light. 'You'll see.'

The piano music had stopped, and a moment later the door to the drawing room opened. A small girl poked her head through, her flaxen hair bound up in a shiny plait. The moment she saw the Prince, she broke into an ecstatic sprint.

'Daffy!' she cried.

'Zelda!'

She leapt into his arms and he bundled her into a tight embrace, before sitting her in the crook of his elbow and turning to face Loam.

'Precious sister, this is our new friend, Loam,' he told her.

The girl appraised Loam shyly through eyes the colour of her brother's, though somehow bigger and even more luminous. 'Hullo, Loam.'

Loam was smiling. 'Hi, Princess. Good to meet you.'

'Good to meet you, too.'

He tried to force the memory of his intrusion into her bedroom from his mind, and instead explored the odd sensation that pricked at his heart all of a sudden — a lonely, anxious feeling tied inextricably to Wren. Fresh worry coursed through his veins; a sense of being trapped and paralysed in his luxurious surroundings, while the people he loved the most lived in terror — if they even lived at all.

Red seemed to sense the change in Loam's demeanour. He set the Princess down and caressed her face in both hands.

'Go and get ready for supper, my love,' he whispered, and obediently she took off back towards the door, where a stooped old woman stood waiting and smiling.

'Sorry for that,' sighed Loam, after they'd gone. 'Just…'

'I know,' said Red, averting his eyes out of respect. 'It's all right. Come.'

He clasped Loam's shoulder, and together they continued walking.

It was the afternoon of the second day, and Loam and the Prince were in the training yard.

'Handy with a blade, then, are you?' challenged the Prince.

Loam shot him a game grin, and drew the Ordon Sword from its sheath with a clear ring of steel.

'I know a thing or two,' he replied modestly.

Red chuckled, and produced a blade of his own — a silver rapier, a needle as long as Loam's own arm. 'Perhaps you do,' he said. 'Perhaps. On guard!'

He thrust the blade at Loam, who deftly deflected it with the flat of his own. Tensed and ready, they circled around a point, studying the other's strafing gait, his posture, the way he turned his weapon in his hand. Then they engaged, and the experience was electrifying.

The Prince's footwork was superb. He darted and spun, having perfect control over where his feet were to land, and slashing with his sword like a master painter at the height of his powers. Loam had never been so thrilled by swordplay — it was no longer math, like it was with the Ordon boys, but dance; something beautiful, something terrifying. They laughed, even as they took brazen risks, and bright sparks rained out from where steel struck steel. From the stables, Apona watched them with disinterest, chewing languorously on grains and straw. Just as Red had Loam cornered among a pile of crates, he overstepped and became unbalanced for a fraction of a second — enough time for Loam to strike the rapier from his hand and raise his own sword for the finishing blow.

He had only meant to touch the Prince's shoulder with the tip of the blade, but was denied the opportunity. Something like a rush of wind blew past him, and Loam found himself lifted from his feet and thrown backwards against the wooden crates, where he remained, hanging four inches off the ground by the sleeves of his tunic. It took him several stunned moments to realise what had happened: two diamond-shaped throwing knives had pinned him there, leaving him to dangle uselessly with his mouth agape.

'Whoa!' cried Red, who quickly grasped the situation after a few seconds spent looking as Loam did.

He turned on the spot and held out both hands, just as a figure dressed all in black appeared from the shadows, carrying another throwing knife in her hand. Her red eyes were smouldering over the mask that concealed the rest of her face.

'Stand down, Whisper!' he cautioned her.

She glared at Loam, though her head was bowed. 'He was about to strike,' she said in an undertone.

'Of course he was!' laughed the Prince. 'He disarmed me! But he wasn't about to draw blood, were you, Loam?'

'No!' gasped Loam. 'No, absolutely not, I would — I would never —'

'There, see?' He drew near to her, and his own voice became quite low, enough that Loam had to strain to hear. 'You're too vigilant sometimes, my lady of the Sheikah...'

Then he pressed his mouth to her ear and said something Loam could not make out at all. The shadow woman nodded slightly, averting her eyes from the Prince, closing them for a moment. When they opened, they were empty of emotion, and blinked at Loam once as if to apologise. Red was smiling when he turned back to face his friend, and did not observe her as she melted into the shadows.

'You'll have to forgive Whisper,' he chuckled. 'She can be a little protective.'

'That's okay,' said Loam, his own chuckle rather weak. 'Uh…can you let me down, please?'

'She's the last of her kind, that we know of,' Red explained.

Night had fallen, and he and Loam sat on chintz armchairs in the moonlight, sharing a bottle of wine.

'The year before I was born, my father sent his forces to crush the bulbin horde in the north. He succeeded, but got more than he bargained for — through a gap in the rock, he found a passage to a hidden village, a shanty town, which the bandits had been using as a hideout. It was totally deserted, of course…except for a tiny shack, under deadbolt, at the farthest end. When he broke inside, who should greet him but a newborn baby on the floor, wrapped up in the clothes of an old woman and bearing the bleeding-eye mark of the Sheikah.'

He shook his head, still amazed by the tale.

'They were a race,' he went on slowly, 'a death cult of incredible power, bound by order of the gods to serve as protectors of the bearers of light — my family. Like the Gerudo, they disappeared, went extinct, long ago. War, abuse, heartbreak…a dark history for a dark people. So you can imagine my father's delight to see the line begin afresh under his reign. He called her a gift, a miracle. As soon as she could walk and talk, she was put to work learning the ways of her own ancient tribe.'

Loam was utterly fascinated. 'Well, she's very good at what she does,' he offered.

'Isn't she?' the Prince agreed, grinning. It remained on his face for a moment, before slipping away. He looked solemn as he observed the white-blue castle around them, and the glittering canvas of stars above. 'When I'm King, it'll be my duty to dismiss her from this place, send her out into the world.'

'What?' exclaimed Loam, frowning. 'Why?'

'Father's orders. Before he died, he wrote a decree that Whisper should be sent on a quest to find others of her kind when she was old enough to do so. He reasoned that if the gods had given her as a gift to Hyrule, then they would also gift her with a mate to carry on the shadow line.'

'I see,' said Loam. He sipped his wine thoughtfully. 'Well. I suppose that makes sense.'

'Mm.'

They were quiet for a time.

'I'll miss her,' said Red. He was peering down into his glass with a hard look in his eyes. 'I'll miss her a great deal. We've always been close. And she's a faithful confidant. Only Whisper knows about my involvement with the Resistance…'

Loam set his glass to one side, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

'I'd been meaning to ask about that,' he said. 'Why are you even a part of it? How did it happen?'

Red was dismissive. 'It's not complicated. When I looked to my own ranks, I saw that there were none who truly loved Hyrule — not as my father loved it, not as I do — and I became determined to gather to me those who did. I began to roam the streets of Castle Town at night in disguise. One evening, I encountered Cojiro in Telma's Bar, and bought him a drink in exchange for some local history. He told me about his own father's involvement in the first Resistance, back during the Twilight War, and I proposed that we carry on his legacy.'

He fixed Loam with a sad smile.

'Grist joined soon afterward, and Maggie after that. Lady Rahala we found desperately wounded on the banks of Lake Hylia. She had overheard two conspirators from among her own people, plotting to murder the Zora King, Ralis. We gave her potion, raced to Zora's Domain, and stopped the assassination in time — luckily.'

'And they've never suspected you?' wondered Loam.

'My true identity, you mean? No. I count them as my dearest friends, but it can never go both ways.'

He drained his glass in a single gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

'It's late,' he sighed. 'We must be getting on. Tomorrow, we'll have everything we need to march on Faron Woods and rescue your people.'

'Yeah,' said Loam. Hope pulsed through him, making him restless. 'I can hardly believe it.'

'Believe it, friend,' said Red, as he stood to his feet. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

'Goodnight, Red,' said Loam.

He watched the Prince disappear inside, but remained where he was, drinking fine wine in the moonlight and reflecting on his adventure. He imagined strolling through a forest meadow with Raya by his side, seeing her bright eyes light up with wonderment, her nose wrinkle with happy laughter. Excitement warmed him. But he thought, too, of the places he had not been, the places he had only heard described in stories by Red and Cojiro, and another kind of longing, a sharp pang of it, muddied his feelings and caused him to shift uncomfortably in his armchair.

Across the courtyard, midway up the western tower, firelight appeared through the windows of the Prince's bedroom. Loam observed it with detached interest, then did a double-take: a shadow was prowling up the tower's stone face like a spider, moving with inhuman grace and ease in the direction of the Prince's balcony. Loam got up from his chair and retreated from the moonlight to watch in secret, wondering if he should raise the alarm. It wasn't until the shadow crept onto the balcony and stood in the ring of firelight there that he relaxed — it was merely the Sheikah girl, Whisper.

The Prince appeared before her, looking satisfied, expectant…

…and wearing nothing at all.

'What?' hissed Loam to himself, wide-eyed with astonishment.

The two of them embraced in a passionate kiss, before disappearing into Red's chambers, leaving Loam completely agog in the shadows across the way.

He did say they were close, he reasoned. Then, more forcefully: It's also none of my business.

Blinking rapidly, he recovered his senses. 'It's none of my business,' he said out loud, for emphasis.

Even as he said it, he felt his heart break for his new friend. "It'll be my duty to dismiss her from this place," Red had said. "Send her out into the world…gift her with a mate…"

The tragedy of it was profound to Loam. He understood now why Red had become so sombre during their discussion about her, and wished there was something he could do. Destiny, he thought. Fate. It could be a cruel thing. He thought of Ilia, old and broken by bitterness, as he turned the handle on the door and entered the castle. Pondering in his heart, he came to an important decision, something he knew he must do the moment he returned to Ordon Village.

He had just started in the direction of his own bedroom, when a piercing scream split the silence of the castle like a knife in the dark.