Reverdie
Chapter 3: "the heart beats in three"
A string of electricity galvanizes the ironhearted veins of the castle when the evening of the ball finally arrives.
As twilight descends upon the land, Link revisits the latest avocation of waiting patiently outside of Zelda's door, watching women of all shapes and sizes zip in and out through it as they aid her in preparation. Her maids have teased him about his patience, have insisted with mischievous glints sprinkled across dark eyes that the wait will surely be worth it. He's unsure as to whether or not he ought to indulge in their jests; the last thing he wants is to give anyone any reason to implicate him, though he surmises they've already exchanged many inquisitive thoughts since the early days of his appointment. They're a rather lovely group, and although Link cannot say that he is fully content with the notion of being the subject of such causerie, he knows that it's far better for any gossip to remain among their excitable lips than to have it creep its way into the next council meeting.
A small patter of footsteps catches his attention, and Link glances over to find Laurel approaching the quarters. She sinks before him in a small curtsy, cradling various stitchery tools in lithe arms.
"No peeking," she beams with a timid flush. Link obliges, averting his eyes to catch sight of the penultimate strains of the afternoon bleeding away through the nearest window. In his left ear, the door creaks open, and Link has to force himself still as he hears a small, delightful squeal from the girl, her call echoed by a wave of equally enthusiastic consultation from the ladies in the room.
"Oh, Princess!" Laurel's voice deadens as the door thuds shut. She'll never know that she's suddenly sparked something wild within him, giving him half a mind to break the heavy oaken door down himself for a mere glimpse of his most coveted pearl.
Where to begin?
Their last encounter has haunted Link nearly every second since its transpiration–since the moment they parted ways with suffocating desire and throbbing want. He's lost hours of his days recalling her taste, running his tongue against the bow of his lip to recreate the sensation of her while the miniscule voice deep within him looks on in horror– after all, it isn't merely a kiss they've shared; he's laid his head between her legs, dragged the Princess of Hyrule through a fracturing climax—Gods, he knows what her orgasm tastes like — would have undone his trousers and buried himself deep within her without a second thought.
With so many engagements occupying her hours in the last week–a carousel of conversations and rehearsals with seamstresses, cooks, florists, and musicians all threaded between council meetings and her usual obligations–he hasn't had a moment to address their rendezvous. But then, when he thinks about pulling her aside in an empty corridor to share his thoughts in the same, hushed voice he might use to make love to her with, he finds himself utterly lost; he arrives at the impasse steeped in both pain and pleasure.
When at last the moment arrives, Laurel and Mara, a pretty, heavyset brunette with an inexplicably kind face, poke their heads out to invite him in. With a thundering heart, Link steps into the room, a fist balled at his hip in dithery anticipation. When his eyes sweep across her, the knight realizes that the wait has indeed been worth it.
Zelda appears before him as a sumptuous, golden vision. Her hair has been curled gently, half of it gathered up and cascading over a second layer of lightly tousled hair. Thin, lace sleeves dangle from elegant shoulders, exposing so much more of her upper torso than any other the seamstress has permitted for her in recent memory. The bodice hugs tightly in the usual ways he loves, a bit of beading ornamenting the slight dip between her breasts. The portrait neckline, a wrap of champagne against her chest, runs the ridge of her collarbone, and from the waist, a thin gold tulle splays out above mauve skirts to create a breathtakingly elegant color. Her comparisoned form shimmers slightly, embedded flecks of gold glinting with each turn; she's as bright as a star blazing against an obsidian night.
"And what do you think, Sir Link?" The seamstress inquires from behind the girl, voice laced with tact. The knight bites back every instinctive, indecorous thought that snaps to mind, fumbling for a moment and causing the ladies in the room to all giggle in stifled, infantile ways.
Link doesn't hear any of it.
He cannot tell if the sprawling pink across Zelda's cheeks is organic in nature or if he's being taunted by a recently applied rouge. Her eyes are smoldering, a darker eyeshadow kissing her lids while a pale, golden dust has been set upon them. Her lips are painted the color of deep blush, and Link can suddenly think of nothing else besides finding a way to place his own upon them. Her assistants might enjoy such a show, he thinks.
"You look beautiful," he finally manages, respectfully, and she awards him a superlative smile. Neither notices the dreamy, knowing glances that her handmaidens share with one another.
"And you look quite presentable yourself," Zelda responds, hungry eyes pinning to him as though she can see right through his formal attire. "I must say, the royal uniform is really quite fetching on you."
I'd like to tear it from you. He translates the quiet shift of her gaze and the hesitant twitch of a smile engraving its way into her cheekbones, and the heavy rise of her bosom as she inhales proves to be a bit slightly too stimulating for him in such close quarters. He burns for her in agonizingly familiar ways that the voice inside, graced with hindsight, scrambles to dispel.
A hush falls over the quarters. The seamstress clears her throat with the force of a foot against the back of his shin.
"Thank you," Link finally remembers to speak. "Well then, do you need to warm your voice up?"
"Yes. We need to meet Sir Barto in the music room." Zelda speaks up as she reaches for the sapphire clad arm that he offers: "Shall we, Hero ?"
She inclines just enough to tease the hint of her breasts, and the way she lingers on his sacred title causes his wick to flare. The resonance of her infiltrates his head, settles between his ears to curl up behind his eyes and peal like a celebratory bell. Zelda places her hands on him, squeezes just gently enough to make him painfully aware of her while thin fingers spread subtly to catch a hint of his bicep.
The attendants swoon, practically wilting against her furniture once the pair have left entirely. They pack up their belongings, retrieve lost pins that have clattered to her rug with fingers long grown numb, tidy up the space to keep it presentable for the Princess' eventual return. If they move with haste, they will be able to find their own amusement in the town's festival. The two younger girls are asked to extinguish the lighting while the older women depart first. They oblige.
In the end, Mara chooses to leave a handful of candles flickering; surely the Princess will want to be able to see exactly how–or who – she's undressing.
The opulent ballroom sparks with jovial energy as the dyad enters, both members bracing against waves of bewitchment.
Violins saw away at a tempestuous melody, one that evokes images of a hot, titillating summer to come. From the tall ceilings, lavish banners in hues of golds, oranges and various blues burst against the saturnine stone of the castle. Elegant gowns sweep across the dance floor, draping across dress shoes as those adorned in them glide across the room. A scintillating chandelier sparkles overhead, and still, Link sees nothing but her.
It's a cool relief when Zelda breaks contact to descend the stairs behind her father. Link stations himself with the royal guard for the first portion of the evening, eyes trained upon his companion as though he might very well implode if he were to tear his glance away. He watches as Zelda is shared among the guests, passed along to provide individualized greetings to couriers and acquaintances and Hyrulean aristocracy. Link smirks as jealousy registers in noble, feminine faces, finds himself glowering when prospective suitors pin her beneath suggestive glances. She politely denies appetizers, settles for a glass of water—though the wine will follow after her songs, she decides. She prefaces each dive into new conversation with a quick glance back at her knight; she smiles each time she finds him, and her eyes linger on him just a fraction longer than expected that it sends a ravishing flurry through him, aching his bones and stroking the fire that purrs within.
When the hour draws to a half, King Rhoam rises and halts the orchestra, welcoming his guests with humble words of gratitude before turning their eyes to Zelda. He beckons his daughter with such warmth that the gesture causes her gorgeous brow to crease. The crowd pulls apart like retracting waves to oblige her as she glides back towards the staircase, ascending a few steps so that she stands just above the heads of her attendees. The guests bow instinctively at the sight of her palms raising skywards, and they tip their heads forward in kindred orison.
"Goddess above, mother and protector of all, you have blessed us with generous abundance. You have permitted the seeds of life to take root and have allowed them to blossom beneath our feet as novel vigor and strength. We ask that you guide us through the warming rays of the sun, in the light that greets the day and stirs the ground beneath us. As we go forward, may you shed your light and wisdom on your people. Renew our hearts, our courage, or dedication. Lead us in the thoughts that we share, in the words we speak, and in the actions that we take."
As the prayer ceases, a soft murmur of ratification plashes from the guests. Zelda muscles a soft smile and continues, her voice committing to her texts in such a sensitive way that Link cannot recall the last time he's ever heard such tones from her.
"We thank you for sustaining us through our trials and for showering us with your everloving counsel. For illuminating our paths in times of need and uncertainty. You continue to show us truths, unravel mysteries and lead us down the path towards further growth. Thank you for granting us companionship, wisdom and love. May we continue to serve you and bring prosperity to the land you have blessed us with."
Link's brow furrows. She's dictated the message to him numerous times in recent weeks, but her mentions of companionship and love are novel concepts to his listening ear. Though the thought of improvising in the midst of such an already unprecedented evening rattles him, his inhibitions soothe as he hears an approving murmur from the crowd; Link raises his head to find several nodding with optimism.
"Before the merriment continues," Zelda's voice sets the hushed, supplicatory tones of the prayer gently aside to gather strength. "I have a very small token I'd like to share with you all." She says nothing further, only cues the conductor with a brief glance. He lifts his baton quietly, and the orchestra begins.
Link recognizes the opening strains– the plaintive orchestration pairs well with her prayer, he thinks. Though he strives for apathy, the chord progression only invokes heated memories of what followed on the fateful day that he'd first heard it. Zelda inhales, and the sound that she emits is just as pleasant as Link expects it to be. There is a hint of a stumble in her onset, but she recovers well; inexperienced ears shall never suspect a thing. Her knight, stationed just behind her and off to the side, is granted a view of the endearing sight of fingers twining at her back.
"In the dawn of the day, I shall sing your name…"
Link finds himself dragging his gaze across the onlookers, eager to find approval scrawled across captivated expressions. There is a murmur from the guard beside him, a soft wow that has Link's dapper chest swelling as though he's taught her the song himself. He can hear the new surge of assuredness in her voice, fingers untangling to outstretch arms as though ushering her people into her prayer.
"I give you every part of me."
Zelda's voice ascends for her final note, trembling gently as it tapers off into silence, and the violins bring about a whistling conclusion with one delicate, upwards motion. Calm relief and undulent pride coalesce to bubble up inside of the knight when the princess is greeted with thunderous applause. He catches sight of the tension dissipating from her shoulders, the subtle fall of her chest in subdued ease.
Who can say if every member of the court is mollified, but Zelda exudes a long-lost confidence that has rekindled itself at the most opportune time; Link realizes that she's already captured some success in placating them, tempts the notion that she lingers on the precipice of awakening. Despite the lack of any formal announcement-any proclomation that yes, victory is imminent-there is a renewed sense of hope that shines upon the room.
He supposes it's just another secret she will carry with her.
When the ovation finally calms, the orchestra hums to life once more to introduce her second piece–the upbeat air in triple meter.
"In birdsong high above…"
The buoyant folk song eventually escalates into a raucous orchestral piece, just as Barto had said it would. Zelda raises her hands as the music intensifies, and soon, all of those in the ballroom, courtiers and noblewomen and invited guests, are moving about and twirling in ways that the hall is unaccustomed to hosting. Link's never been a musician, but feels the rhythm festering in his bones, aches to sweep his princess up and carry her out to the middle of the ballroom himself. When the driving piece finally reaches its final beat, guests burst into wildly enthusiastic applause in her honor. Zelda curtsies and gestures to the conductor before acknowledging Sir Barto in the western corner of the room, a drink in his hands and his glasses slightly askew from the merriment.
With her responsibilities for the evening concluded, Zelda traverses the room to reunite with her knight. Link is grateful to see her draw near–he's been mourning the short distance between them.
"Sir Link," she calls out."Would you accompany me for a drink?"
He agrees with haste. His abdomen sparkles while she curls her fingers around his elbow, distracts him so fully that he forgets to compliment her. When Zelda finally acquires her first glass of wine, she sips it tenderly, taking special care to ensure that Link catches her watchful gaze from above the rim of the cup.
He chortles and leans in. "Perhaps you are not as subtle as you think you are."
She pays the observation no mind and forces another wash of wine down her throat. "Care to dance?"
"I'd love nothing more, Princess."
Zelda drains her glass entirely. Link swallows thickly, desirous eyes fixed upon the elegant branch of her throat.
"Shall we, then?"
They plunge into the assembly of bodies. As they position themselves closer to the orchestra, Zelda places a delicate hand upon her knight's shoulder while the other seeks his own. Link nearly shivers at the sensation of her settling into his grasp, and her body instinctively moves closer, starved for a contact she longs to recover. The orchestra paints the air around them with a sweet, excitable melody that rouses their initial steps. Link counts the rhythm out in his head, tries to ignore the way that her eyes never leave his lips. He's anxious, he admits, at how explicit her want is, out in plain sight for all to witness. And yet he can't stop his mind from harping on the fact that she wants him. That, not so long ago, she had been prepared to give all of herself to him.
They sweep around the ballroom, Zelda shimmering far brighter than anyone else as she inches her way closer to her knight with each pass as the strings and woodwinds grows rhapsodic. Luminiscent eyes lock as she pants up at him, a wonderfully entrancing jade against the glinting gold across her body. She leans in slightly, angles her head to whisper into his ear.
"I can think of nothing else but you these days."
It takes everything within him–every muscle, every ounce of diligence– to smother the howl that demands liberation.
"Your mouth…" she continues.
He's grateful for the muscle memory that propels his steps across the ballroom floor.
"...and whatever else I still have yet to explore." She closes her eyes and sighs against him, voice growing impossibly quieter. "I keep thinking of your face…when I looked down to find your mouth on me. It haunts me, Sir Link."
Link releases a heavy exhalation that brushes against her skin to pluck another murmur from her.
"Oh, Princess… you're gonna kill me, you know." he whispers, eyes shining with an unbecoming whimper that riles her.
She tips her head back and laughs, the cachination deliquescing into the hues of the orchestra.
Dances come and go–waltzes and quadrilles and a sprightly carole dance that brings about their only separation of the night–interspersed between excursions to the refreshments for an assembly of fruits and cheeses and chocolate. The moon sails high into the sky, and the merriment swallows them so wholly that neither can recall exactly how many dances have passed between them.
"Link…" Zelda sighs his name, forgets his title entirely as she collapses against his chest after what feels like their hundredth dance. She's alfush with alcohol, though respectably so–she carries herself with more decorum than any other guest in the ballroom, save for her knight.
"Would you like another drink?" he asks.
"It's grown a bit late. I think I might like to retire for the evening," she says. "Would you be willing to escort me to my room?"
Link's stomach gives a tremendous lurch, but a wave of uncertainty crests over him as he realizes that, for the first time in months, she's made herself perfectly indecipherable. If she burns for him still, she has taken special care to mask it. Perhaps the spark has finally dulled, trampled out by fatigue or ennui; he can't decide how the thought makes him feel.
"It's getting a bit too loud," she comments. Link surveys the room to find that there isn't one entirely sober face in the crowd. King Rhoam himself sits at the head of a long dinner table, boisterous and flush with mead. Their eyes meet, and the monarch greets him from afar with a besotted wave, beckons for the knight with a quick flick of the wrist.
"I think your father is asking for us," Link tells his prized Princess, wincing slightly as he finds himself still fixated on the idea of lingering on the precipice of her bedroom at such a late hour.
Zelda retrieves one last berry and pops it into her mouth with a hum before setting off across the room, navigating the traffic of bodies with ease. Her father welcomes her presence with a shockingly warm embrace.
"Dearest Zelda," he half slurs, "My lovely daughter. This has been a successful evening, wouldn't you agree?"
She does. The King leans in further.
"And it seems that you have grown closer to your objective…is this true?"
Zelda scrapes the last hint of berry down with her tongue, jellying skin latching uncomfortably to the roof of her mouth. "I truly believe so, Father. I feel…something. Something is certainly different within me. It was a good plan–I'm confident we're close." Link eyes her carefully; he finds himself surprised at how easily she deceives him.
Rhoam cups the back of her head and grips at coiled hair comfortingly. "Good. Wonderful. Let's pursue this avenue further…if music turns out to be the key to all of this...then every child shall own an instrument. We'll have concerts each week…increase funding for the finer arts..." He turns to Link. "And her voice–beautiful, wouldn't you say? Just like her mother."
Link nods. "Beautiful, indeed." It's unlikely that the King has heard the sentiment against the cacophany of of conversation and song, but Zelda wears an expression that informs Link that it hasn't gone entirely unnoticed by listening ears.
"Father, it's grown quite late. I've asked Sir Link to escort me to my quarters now."
"And you, Sir Link, will you be returning to us?" The King asks with a glazed expression, reaching for tumble of grapes.
Link bows his head politely. "I may retire as well. But it's been a wonderful celebration. Thank you."
"Very well," Rhoam muses. He places a kiss against his daughter's crown and bids them a pleasant evening, though Link doesn't expect the King to remember their conversation come morning light.
It takes more than a few moments to extract themselves from the festivities completely. Zelda bids farewell to her guests as she crosses the room, accepting the last kind words for her performance and wriggling out from beneath drunken gazes while Link intercepts unwanted embraces. He hears her exhale behind him all the while, wrestled with admiration.
Perhaps she hasn't forgotten about him after all.
On the way out, Link requests a detour.
"Of course," Zelda says, head canted in playful suspicion.
He guides her in the opposite direction of her quarters, down a dimly lit hallway that they've frequented at least once a week all season, and Zelda soon finds herself being escorted into the music parlor. Link pushes his way in first to illuminate the space as light from the hallway spills across the entrance.
"Haven't you had enough music for one evening?" Zelda jests, leaning against the frame of the entryway in a most beguiling manner.
"I have something for you," he says, disregarding the fluttering in his heart to gesture towards the piano.
"Do you, now?" She slinks her way over with deliberate steps, and it only takes a moment for her to catch sight of her gift; atop the instrument is a pale vase filled with bright summer flowers. Radiant blooms of marigold pop against the dark lid, interspersed with familiar bright, blue blossoms.
"Oh, Link.." she murmurs as a finger dances around a petal. "They're beautiful. They're.. for me?"
Link nods. "For a wonderful performance."
A deluge of pink tints her face. "That's so sweet of you. I'm honored, truly. How thoughtful…" She picks a flower from the bouquet, rolls the verdant stem between fingers. She grows silent and nuzzles it against her cheek, inhaling deeply and humming into its petals.
"You sang so beautifully," he presses on. "I knew you would. And I think…I think you accomplished what you set out to do." Mostly .
A small laugh loosens from her lips as she places the flower back into the vase.
"I know it must have looked like I was swindling my father, but… I wasn't lying. Not entirely." She reasons softly. "I have changed. And I've discovered many things these last few months. Surely you must know that." She raises her gaze to hold his own, and it touches something deep inside of it, wraps him in a blessed embrace as though she's placing gentle kisses across his eyelids. "Something is different–perhaps that is what the Goddess needs. Perhaps, I just need to be… a different sort of Zelda for her."
Blasphemy. "Anyone who demands that you change a single thing about yourself is a damn fool."
Link seems to have developed a mystical talent in recent weeks–the once silent knight now has the ability to transform an atmosphere with just a single phrase. He hears the low, needy gasp that he wrestles from her throat.
"Do you…do you remember the last time we were alone in this room?" she finally whispers.
"I'll never forget it as long as I live." He watches her, steady with resolution, eyes shining darkly without even intending to. "I've dreamt about it every night since." He ventures a step closer to her, and another one still, advancing further until she's pressed up against the familiar crook of the piano, fastened against it with his own body. Zelda closes her eyes as his breath kisses her; he's close enough to capture her mouth again. "No matter how hard I try to think of other things…all I can think about is you. And how wonderful…"
You may ask anything you wish of me.
"...how I..."
The words fail. Link's eyes flutter shut, tight and crinkled at the edges.
"...but I shouldn't have said what I said. It shouldn't have happened. It was wrong of me. I'm so sorry."
The world suddenly blurs around her, like oils smearing beneath a bristled brush; he's blindsided her, sent her plunging through turbulent terrain to crumple in shattering dejection.
"D-did you enjoy it?"
"Very much so," he aches.
Words gnash between her teeth, desperately seeking an escape route.
"Do you…do you regret it?"
He can't look at her as he says it.
"...yes."
The admission swallows Zelda whole, sends the room crashing down around her, her brows furrowed as though she's misheard him. Her gaze swaps its focus on him to linger on the bouquet before shifting back to his pained expression, wilting with confusion.
"I'm not worthy of touching you in the ways that I want to." He explains, his voice small, yet earnest. There's no pretense in his declaration, no bait to try and see how quickly desire will wither her. "I am your Knight."
"You said that before," her voice quivers with vitriol. "And yet that did not stop you from putting your mouth on me."
"And I am trying to right that wrong now." he exhales, masking a blissful shudder at the memory. "I am not worthy. "
"Worthy?" she laughs, scornfully. "If the Chosen Hero is not a suitable enough lover for me then I suppose no one can be."
Somehow, in the midst of a raging storm of hormones, he's forgotten about that duty entirely. He's lost in thought, his mind ruminating over that damned five-letter word she's just used, again and again, like water washing across stone– though Zelda mistakes his silence for defeated acceptance.
"Ridiculous," she says bitingly, blinking away tears. "You're ridiculous, you know that, right?"
He compensates her with thunderstruck silence, his heart breaking between her words.
Zelda instructs him to retrieve the vase in a voice that he thinks might be trembling, and she soon leads him from the room, strained and taciturn. Silence shrouds them as they move, the far sound of an orchestra nearly imperceptible from their current wing. Link struggles to recall the last moment of reticence between them–she's acclimated to their kinship so wholly that he's forgotten how the stretches of silence from days past fill the space between them; the wound is greater now, he thinks. The guilt marrs him, though his yearning for her burns brighter than ever.
Zelda arrives at her bedroom door without a single sound once passing her lips. She pushes the heavy oaken door open and, for the first time, gestures for him to lead.
"Put the vase down on the vanity." Her voice rings with a metallic sheen.
Link, with a racing mind and a pounding heart, obliges to set the vase a safe distance away from candles that her ladies' must have forgotten to extinguish. The slight hitch of the door locking behind him goes undetected in agitated ears.
"And here I was, beginning to think that I was more than just your Princess." she softens, bound with disappointment. The ache in her voice is so apparent that it practically chafes against him.
"You are. " Link asserts, stepping closer to her. "I mean to say, I'd like you to be…but…"
"But what? You are not worthy ?" she asks so acrimoniously that Link feels he might as well have struck her against her cheek. The knight inhales deeply, focusing on the abdominal muscles that she had once run her fingers along. He finds the courage to meet her eye.
"You are a Princess and I am your knight. I cannot give you what you—"
"Enough, Link. Speak honestly." Zelda forces a deep breath. "You have full permission to reject me if you so choose. You are not obligated to feel any particular way about me…but…but I want to know. No, I must know. Would you–as you are– like me to be more than your Princess?" She's trembling slightly in anticipation.
Link stills for a moment as he drinks in the image of her, her lips parted gently and head tilted to the side as if she's been painted into such a pose. Zelda stands tall before him, her proud chest an indication of her diplomatic pedigree betrayed only by the agonizing want that's fought its way onto her expression. Wordlessly, taut with the furious tension of a drawn bowstring, she silently begs for a release that only he can grant her.
He manages a wounded nod.
When Zelda finds a strengthened resolve, she finally speaks:
"Then may Farore strike you down if you do no not touch me in the way you want to. The way that I want you to."
The heat that Zelda has given off in the last few weeks of their mutual pining has been ragged and scandalous, pulsing with the intensity of a dying star whose spilling light exists on borrowed time before it inevitably vanishes, but as she pleads with him in the privacy of her quarters, it's taken on new life; it's tearful and impatient, shed of all composure and burning with a flame that rivals the one that Link has come to accept in his own body. In the stillness of her bedroom, away from the glamor of the festivities, it finally dawns on Link that she truly, deeply, loves him.
But not before he realizes, for the first time, that he truly, deeply loves her, too.
"Be with me. I'm yours, Link. I'm all yours."
