She remembers the day she first met him, so many years ago. She watched his wavering figure through a rainy window pane, forehead pressed heavily against the cool glass in the eastern drawing room before her mother's funeral. His small frame was dwarfed by that of his father's, a mop of blond hair atop his head which stuck to his face where the rain pierced the safety of their shared umbrella in a sideways wind.
She remembers the cold glass chilling her to the bone as she watched their haggard approach, and feeling grateful for it. It didn't matter that 'cold' wasn't supposed to be desirable. She felt, and that was something she hadn't done in many days.
She remembers her father introducing her to Sir Nothiel, the Knight who would be her guard for the duration of the procession through the city; and she remembers Link's ice-blue eyes as he gazed silently at her by his father's side, studious yet gentle and tender and far too understanding. She greeted him politely as was expected of her but quickly turned away, retreating to her seat by the window.
She remembers thinking that she didn't like how he looked at her; couldn't bear his gaze. It made her conscious of the fact that her heart felt now as cold and devoid of life as the window pane—and equally breakable as glass.