Note: This one is a little bit shorter. Thanks for reading!
Mania
[mania: obsessive and possessive. jealous]
Zelda sees the way the Zora Princess looks at him.
And she despises it.
And even worse, there is no vague indifference in her knight's expression when he looks upon Mipha in return. His arid glance suddenly brims with understanding and honesty, and Zelda instantaneously feels minute in the shadow of their conversation. She withdraws into herself, feeling all signs of sympathy redirect bilaterally so that three has become far too much of a crowd. It's in his amiable glance that Zelda realizes the true extent of her shortcomings. She's lingering in the shade of the beloved Zora Princess; Mipha is prized by her people, highly capable in combat and masterful in matters pertaining to her divine gift. A most dutiful daughter, an exemplary older sister. The unrivaled pride of the Domain. Surely, Link has reserved his reverence for only the most superlative of princesses, and there is nothing available for those who cannot serve to the fullest ability.
Zelda has no business yearning for his approval, and it seems asinine to imagine she will ever earn it.
In the placid evening, the valiant duo is perched upon one the jeweled fixtures outside of the domain's throne room. Link has earned a slit of a wound, a small price to pay for exterminating a devastating Lynel atop one of the neighboring peaks, and Mipha is tending to him as she always does after such a fray. He is, understandably, admiring her handiwork as he watches her talents patch him up before his very eyes. Zelda notes that Mipha's own amber eyes, incognizant, are fixated upon the Hylian champion's handsome face, and something within her abdomen begins to swelll; not in the lovely, blooming way that betides her when she allows herself to slip into some of her most private-and most unattainable- fantasies, but in a much more sinister way. A way that is certainly not befitting a gracious and just ruler.
Zelda forces herself to look away, sickened by the sight. They're speaking again, their voices low as though with words not intended for her ears, and Zelda instinctively moves away. Her company is unwanted, she assumes, and she moves towards the perimeter of the landing, further out into the cool evening air. She grips the slickened edges of the railing, her fingers wrapped so tightly around it that she can practically hear the bones within them fissuring.
Truthfully, whole hearted regret courses through her veins as she glances around the dimly lit domain. It's not so beautiful to warrant a special excursion, she insists to herself. The blues and violets and greys of the architecture blend together in such a bleakly monotonous way. Cold and soggy, suitable only for the natives-and certainly inhospitable for Hylians who may be interested in spending extended periods of time in it. She surprises herself by thinking that she would have been happier confined in the greyed dread of her castle prison.
A sound catches in her ear, and it causes her body to harden so tightly that she swears she'd be able to deflect an arrow with her bosom out of sheer will. It only lasts for a moment, but the sound is unmistakable: it is a laugh.
His laugh.
Zelda thinks she might be sick over the railing.
Link is chortling at something Mipha has said. Laughing, when he can barely manage a simple greeting to his princess in the morning.
Drenched in a wave of decidedly ungraceful animosity, Zelda blinks repeatedly, praying to the Goddess above that she can keep the nascent tears from streaming down her cheeks. She'll blame the falls, she decides. She has to tear herself further away, because the sound of Mipha's small response, laced with such innocence and unadulterated complaisance, is slowly acquiring some sort of divine ability to instill white-hot aggression within her.
And then, Zelda feels the crushing weight on her shoulders proliferate as she realizes that the Zora Princess would never allow herself to harbor such feelings, especially towards a fellow Princess.
A despondent Zelda struggles to imagine a possibility in which she's able to extract herself from such a nightmare of an existence. She prays for a day in which she achieves all her heart has set out for, in which she is finally able to convince those around her that, yes, a girl can possess an exceptionally scholarly mind and excel as an accomplished warrior; that she can purify the world with her sanctity, but strike like a viper when the situation calls for it. That she can sing the ballads of days past in warm, ambrosial tones while she brandishes her weapon of choice. She is chaste, virginal, but never a prude. Because the only way to surpass Mipha is to possess everything she has and more. She must be everything, to everyone, at all times. Certainly to everyone, yes, but in recent weeks the unspoken thoughts and opinions of one person in particular weigh more heavily than they ought to.
Is there a moment in her future in which Link is proud to be attending to her, Zelda wonders? That when he is asked about his appointment, his eyes shimmer with delight as he speaks of the hours that pass between them? That he beams with pride as he speaks of her, or that he wilts at her beauty and work ethic?
How good it would feel to be wanted by him, she thinks.
And then Link gives another laugh, even shorter than the first, and yet the slight sound of its reverberation in the hall weighs significantly.
The burden has become far too heavy to bear. If she remains in the vicinity any longer, the vexation that ricochets in her chest will spill out in hot, malicious affronts.
"I shall retire now," she states flatly. Her voice cuts so thinly and her words are so gnashed that it's a marvel that any vowels escape her lips at all. Any lingering sounds between the pair ceases.
Link quickly bows his head to the diminutive Zora. "Thank you, Mipha. Your expertise is greatly appreciated, as always. I'll see the Princess off to-"
"No, no, that's perfectly fine. Stay here with your healer." An invidious Zelda storms. She assumes they must be sharing a look behind her.
She hears a small shuffle, the sound of Link drawing away from Mipha. In the most sadistic manner, she finds that it brings her the smallest bit of joy; that no matter how much he may prefer the other princess, he is already divinely bound to one. When she calls, he will always come. Fate has intervened on her behalf to ensure one small victory in her life, as inauthentic as it is, but she will accept it without question to preserve some peace of mind.
"Good night, Princess," Mipha says, bowing forward politely and receding a few steps. "Good night, Link."
Zelda bids her goodnight through gritted teeth and strides away, though she lingers slightly when she doesn't immediately hear Link's trailing footsteps. She turns just in time to find that Mipha has snuck her way into his arms, pulling him into a long desired hug. It isn't distinctly romantic in nature, but it is far more of an intimate moment than Zelda has ever shared with him. Link visibly hesitates, but is soon reciprocating with a brief, albeit warm embrace of his own.
Zelda swallows thickly as though forcing fire down her throat. The suppressed strain in her body amalgamates with the vociferous thunder that brews in her stomach, dizzying her. Zelda turns on her heel and hastily propels herself towards the chamber that has been prepared for her, trying to distance herself from Link as much as possible. She can hear when he finally realizes the space she's already put between them, and the sound of his renewed footsteps only drives her away faster. She refuses to let him catch the childish tears that now swim in her eyes.
"Princess-" she hears him start, but she's reached her chambers just in the nick of time.
"You may rest in the soldier's quarters' this evening. You are dismissed." Her throat feels as though shards of ice are puncturing it as she fights to restrain herself.
"Princess, are you-"
"Good night, Sir Link." Her tone is icy, as bone-chilling as the waters that run beneath them. He lingers, unsure, perhaps even surprised. With its sweeping, open archways, the domain has offered no privacy from Link's watchful gaze; Zelda can practically guarantee his departure by reaching to undo the fasteners at her bodice.
He reacts exactly as she predicts that he will as the realization dawns upon him, and she hears his footsteps recede, growing quieter and quieter until there is no doubt that he's disappeared into the night to sleep off the weariness of the day. He scurries away from her, like prey from gnarling teeth, eschewing the insistence that she so desperately craves for him to assail with her with; she feels, with every fiber of her disordered state, that she would sell her soul for Link to suddenly whirl her around, beg for her thoughts, hold her close, kiss her head...
But instead, he disappears without any trace of friendly laughter. No hugs. No parting words.
Zelda begins to weep.