"Princess?"

Goddesses spare me.

Please, what did I do to deserve this.

Just a few more sips and I'll be done. That will be it.

Oh, Hylia, end this suffering soon.

"Princess?" Old Grog Guildford sounded concerned.

"Oh! Yes, Lord Guildford?" I replied attentively, trying with every once of my will to not sound adverse. Lord Guildford is a minister and a relatively good friend to Father. Don't get me wrong, he's well-meaning but Goddesses in heaven can he make awful bread pudding. I can't even remember why I'm here to taste it.

"How is it?" He looked at me eagerly expecting. One look at the old man's face and I realize why no one has been truthful to him. He's like a little boy asking if his art is good, only the cold-hearted can say anything negative. But, wouldn't it spare the other poor bastards that would fall victim to it if I spoke up? I cleared my throat, trying to find anywhere else to look at beside the brown puppy dog eyes of Old Lord Guildford. Alas, I couldn't escape.

"It's delicious!"

Hylia, forgive me for I am weak.

"Oh, joy! I must share it with the chef for the next festival! Your Father comes up with the most fantastic ideas, Princess."

I smiled weakly and nodded. I watched as he talked his way into the kitchen. Something about the winter solstice festival. I stood slowly, afraid to upset my stomach anymore. The dining room was one of the largest in the castle, and here I was alone and possibly poisoned by bread pudding. Well, it wouldn't be the worst fate. I grinned up at the large, stoic murals. Here I am laughing at my own jokes as I stare up at ancestors who were able to do so much more than I ever will. Somehow I feel at ease, it's been a while since I was alone today.

"Princess Zelda!"

The irony of it almost hurts.

"There you are!" It's one of the head maids. She looks relieved to see me. "You must come for a dress fitting for the solstice, Your Highness."

A feel myself politely smile and my hands grip themselves behind my back. So close. "We should be on with it, yes?"

This has been amongst the many things that have conspired in the recent weeks. As Father grows older, he's believes that more responsibility should fall onto me. Whether it be bread pudding taste testing or short discussions about land disputes, it has indeed begun to take a toll.

It's been so hectic that I've barely been able to think. Learning who the ministers are, their wives, their political leanings has been one thing. I can deal with simple studying. An entirely different venture is the world of pandering.

Forget physical activity, trying to suck up to people is by far the most exhausting activity I have ever experienced in my life. Oh, Lord Hicks how impressive it is to learn how to differentiate milkwine by simply looking at it. Lord WhatsYourName, how is the mistress you've been having an affair with? And the kids?

Can you believe I was taught how to laugh properly a week ago? And here I thought I laughed just fine. Oh no, how wrong I was. Last week I was introduced to a woman who told me I sounded like an old rat stuck in drain pipe. I still haven't recovered from it.

A middle-aged blonde woman pulled a measuring tape around my waist. I looked at myself in the mirror as she focused. It's been a while since I was last measured. I stood there in my shift and stared. The old woman made a weird noise, "It's been a couple months since I last measured you, girl."

"I believe so, Mrs. Bea."

"You've widened by a few centimeters, Highness. Tsk tsk," she shook her head.

My cheeks lit up in embarrassment. Did she have to say that in front of two other maids? I didn't really know what to say. Sorry? It was the bread pudding, I swear. I have a feeling if I told her the joke wouldn't land well.

I looked at the mirror again as she took measurements elsewhere. It wasn't like I was overweight, but I suppose my cheeks did fill out a little. It wasn't awfully noticeable, but being the person that stares at themselves every other hour – it was more apparent now.

The day trudged on, and my thoughts moved elsewhere. To say that my head wasn't with my body was an understatement. Too much was going too fast. Between the pudding and the Mrs. Bea incident, the day was already becoming bigger than I can take on. With the sun now descending, I was able to slip away from preparations to climb the staircase. My quarters were on the fourth floor and what a long journey it was. I started to reconsider if I should exercise more.

Once I made it to the hallway, I saw a man standing next to my door. He stared straight ahead as if studying the lines on the opposite wall. There was a law somewhere in the books that soldiers were not to make eye contact with royalty. One of the many questionable rules that leave me wondering "What's the point?" Link always stood very straight. It'd been a couple years since he was promoted to my guard and the man had said a handful of sentences to me since then. There wasn't a law about talking to royalty, so instead I suppose he doesn't like talking. Or maybe just talking to me. It makes the relationship as awkward as you can expect. The castle walls aren't as thick as you think and I'm positive he's heard me ranting to imaginary no ones more than a few times.

I tried catching my breath before speaking, but the words came through breathless anyway.

"Um, Link," I spoke.

Much to my disappointment, he didn't answer. But the small shift in his step told me he was listening. As I looked up at him a thought occurred to me. We could easily have that forbidden Princess/Knight relationship. It's not like I lock my quarters anyway, with having one of the top men in this society outside to protect me and all.

Oh, Hylia, I need some sleep.

Not without a light flush, I responded to his lack of, "Link, could you keep anyone from disturbing me? It's been an awfully long day."

Again, he didn't move to say anything. So, I continued, "Tell them something along the lines of how I'm planning out my solstice speech." Which wasn't a complete lie. I'd at least think about it. And Link didn't disagree, I assumed it sounded alright. He was dressed in the traditional royal guard uniform. It was plated in a type of metal and I wondered if it weighed down on him.

You know… there's nothing wrong with a man in uniform. Or one without for that matter.

I told myself to shush and smiled a little, "I trust your day went well?"

Again, no response. Oh well, a girl can try. I walked past him and went for the door handle, "If another guard in your squadron comes by, you should tell him to cover your shift tonight. I know it's not the most thrilling job."

With that, I went into my quarters and shut the door behind me. I want to say we were close despite the lack of words, but we aren't. I don't know too much about him other than that he came from a small village in the southeast, my father trusts him, he talks to his peers often (those thinner-than-you-think castle walls), and that he's a prodigy in his profession. He also tends to fidget with his holster sometimes when I have a one-sided conversation with him. It's quite the resume.

I put down whatever journal I was holding for my manners courses and try to undo the outer layer of my dress. The laces have a tendency to tangle if I don't focus. The dresser mirror only gives so much visibility.

So what I have eaten a little more than I usually do? I'm a little stressed, okay?

I frown at my inner dialogue and shift my thoughts away from Mrs. Bea. Finally, the laces come apart and I lift the mess of fabric over and away from my form. What is left is my white shift. I sigh and sit in a red cushioned chair. It's in front of my desk filled with small trinkets. This is when I realize the fatigue in my legs and I almost slump over. I swear aloud at the relief and fumble through my things to find a small book.

Meanwhile I hear conversations outside. All I can make out is Link's deeper tone and a lighter, more uplifted voice – probably Anju, a personal maid. I can't help but smile a little, she's probably just checking in, but I appreciate Link's attentiveness. I don't think I can handle another interaction now. I grasp the metal ink pen and wipe off dried ink from the tip with a loose garment. The lid of the ink pot always gets a little stuck. I flip through my diary to find a blank page and fill my lungs with a breath.

"Dear Diary," I mouth, it does make me spell better if I do so. What follows is a recap of todays events and general frustration. Much of how I hated that bread pudding, the fake laughter, fake smiles of the court, Mrs. Bea's comments, and my inability to be able to connect to people on a personal level. The latter concern bothering me the most. Based on the books I've read and the interactions I've witnessed, every person I've talked to has been on business terms. The lords, the maids, and even Father at times.

I frown deeply as I spell out my thoughts in whispers, "One night many years ago, not long after Mother's passing he told me after hours of drinking that my conception was for the state's sake, and only for the state's sake." My throat closed, but I continued scratching the words into the paper.

"I'm starting to believe him."