oOo
V
BETROTHAL
Four days before the Princess Zelda departed for Gerudo Desert, the banns of her marriage to Lord Ganondorf Dragmire were read.
The banns—a series of announcements concerning the impending marriage, that were read by Hylian messengers in every corner of the kingdom—were traditionally read after the betrothal ceremony. But between the Mandrag's demands and Harkinian's indifference, Hylian tradition had gone by the wayside.
The speed with which the Royal Council arranged things—the reading of the banns over three days, rather than over the course of a fortnight; the betrothal ceremony, which would prove a shabby, shameful affair unless the Romani milkwine, imported all the way from Termina, arrived in time; and the Princess Zelda's hasty departure, which inspired scandalous talk among the gutter-minded—was unprecedented. By the evening of the second day, half of Hyrule knew that Zelda was to be married. The other half would know by tomorrow morning and would send gifts and congratulations accordingly.
"You are to leave for Gerudo Desert following the betrothal ceremony, Zelda," Impa said, when Zelda awoke on the morning of the third day.
Zelda sat up and rubbed her sleep-crusted eyes. "Has there been a messenger?"
Impa snorted. "No. But both castle and town hum with the news. It was not difficult to discover."
Zelda slipped from bed and eyed the ironbound chests spread throughout the room, piled with clothes carefully folded in linen. "Well—it is a good thing we did not wait to begin our preparations."
"Only fools wait," Impa muttered.
Zelda dressed and breakfasted with Impa in her solar. The chamber, furnished with two windows that looked into the courtyard, had originally doubled as a library. The library now slowly vanished into chests, to make room for the gifts that had been arriving from every corner of the kingdom since the reading of the banns: embroidered cloth, embossed plate, candlesticks and books bound in vellum, little chests packed with unguents, stoppered flasks of perfume oil.
"It is a wonder that these gifts arrived so quickly," Zelda remarked.
"They are merchants' gifts," Impa said. "To entice the favor of their liege lord."
Zelda smiled ruefully. "You need not sound so bitter. At least these things are nice to look at."
Impa harrumphed.
"My lady?"
Princess and Sheikah looked up. A chambermaid stood in the doorway of the solar. She curtsied.
"There's one of them Gerudos at the door, my lady," she said.
Zelda's stomach fluttered. Her mind moved, unconsciously, to Lord Dragmire; she imagined him standing in her chamber, gazing down at her from his immense height, imagined that he might hold out his hand, as he had in the great hall, and she would follow him into the corridor—where? Had he come for her already? She had not seen him up close since the feast in the great hall; she had not gone to dinner the previous two nights, but had spent them with Impa. What could she say to him? What would he want to hear? Her mouth burned, chalky and bitter with the aftertaste of the watered wine she has drunk with her meal.
She rose, but Impa was quicker. The Sheikah strode past the maid. Zelda trailed her.
When she entered the room, she found several Gerudo women. She recognized Lord Dragmire's regent, Nabooru, dressed in soft, lilac trousers, a dark, broad-collared blouse, and slender calfskin boots that reached her knees. She held herself like knights upon parade did—stiffly, ill at ease.
The women who accompanied her were also tense. Two were as slender as children. The third was nearly as tall as Nabooru, with shoulders so broad and a waist so undefined she looked a little like a man. All three were dressed in white, the fabric of their robes wrapped, draped, and delicate. Their hair was pulled back, severely. The biggest had braided ribbons into her chignon and painted her eyelids gold.
"Princess." Nabooru caught sight of Zelda standing in the doorway and snapped out a bow. "Good morning."
"Lady Nabooru."
"I came—" The Gerudo gestured at her companions. "I came to offer you my maids. That they might help you pack. Some of your garments—" The Gerudo's eyes flickered the length of Zelda's morning gown, with its dragging skirt, then slid away, "may not be appropriate for the desert. Your ladyship. These ones—my maids can be of service."
"Impa has been so good as to oversee my preparations," Zelda said, with a glance at the Sheikah. Nabooru looked at Impa too.
"It would please me to know what I could be of some service," she said, opening her hands.
Impa eyed the three maids. "Will they work well and follow direction?"
"Yes."
Impa nodded. "Then they are welcome."
Nabooru's shoulders relaxed. She nodded to the women. They filed past Zelda, their heads held so high that their necks strained visibly.
"Princess." Nabooru's words were like crossbow bolts, punched out, as if speech were awkward and foreign. "May I speak with you?"
Zelda tilted her head. "About what?"
Nabooru jerked a hand toward the door. "Can we speak outside?" She paused, as if considering something, then added, "If we might walk—in the gardens, perhaps…"
"Anything you must say to the princess may be said before me," Impa said.
Nabooru's face fell. "I—"
But then she paused. She blinked at the Sheikah, as if truly noticing her.
"Perhaps it would be best. Yes." She inhaled, exhaled sharply. "Yes."
Impa summoned chambermaids to tend to the packing; Zelda fetched a coif and hood to shade her face from the sun. The women then left the castle.
The Royal Gardens were a glorious affair in the summer: brick paths that snaked among lilacs and blue hydrangea, past fountains of bleached stone, up steps half-hidden by tangles of dog rose and baby's breath. The privacy offered by the hedges had always made the gardens feel close and hidden, and Zelda loved to roam its trails, avoiding the guards in their gilded armor, hiding away with books, watching for peacocks and rare insects, breathing in the mingled scents of lemon mint and chamomile. She preferred the gardens in the cool, wet dawn.
But today, so near midday, the sun baked the paths. The heat was wet and heavy. After a half-turn through the gardens, the women retreated to a bench beneath a hawthorn. "You must forgive me if I do not tolerate the heat as well as you," Zelda said, as she seated herself. The heat and sweat made her hands feel swollen. Impa and Nabooru remained standing.
Nabooru shook her head. "There's nothing to forgive."
"Will you sit?" Zelda asked, removing her hood. Her hair lay slick against her forehead. She undid her coif and patted her face dry.
"No thank you," Nabooru said.
"What did you wish to speak to us about?" Impa asked. She folded her arms, but her expression was calm and curious.
"The Mandrag does not wish you to accompany us, Sheikah, when we return to the Desert," Nabooru said.
Zelda went still, her face hidden in the soft linen of her cap.
"I'm sorry," said Nabooru. "That is all I wanted to tell you."
Zelda lowered the cap and looked at Impa. The Sheikah's arms were still crossed, but her face had frozen. Zelda turned back to Nabooru. "Did my father agree to this request?" Her voice was faint. She had thought she was done with surprises.
Nabooru's face tightened with discomfort. "He did."
Zelda folded her hands. "Did the Mandrag—" She paused, cleared her throat, and lifted her voice forcibly. "Did the Mandrag say why he does not wish my lady to travel with us?"
"He did not."
Impa dropped her arms. "I must speak with the king."
Nabooru looked alarmed. "Which one?"
"Impa, wait—" Zelda began.
"Sheikah." Nabooru held out her hands. "I know this is upsetting, but perhaps it is only temporary. I have spoken with the Mandrag on your behalf, and I mean to do so again. I know you love your lady well. But if the Mandrag does not bend in his resolution, I have an alternative."
Impa fixed her clear, grey glance on Nabooru's face.
"The girls I brought to you—they are good girls, all of them. Especially Diyena, the big one. They will be good to the princess—they, and I, will care for her while we are on the road. You needn't worry for her safety, my lady."
"But—" Zelda turned bewildered eyes on the Gerudo.
Impa's expression did not shift. "I will speak with the king."
"Sheikah." Nabooru's voice was urgent. "Do not be rash."
Impa's eyes narrowed to slits. "I will not be quiet, Gerudo."
"Of course not. Only, if you speak with the Mandrag, allow me to mediate. He may change his mind but we must go slowly—"
Sounds from the courtyard—of horses, the shouts of men, the barking of dogs—drifted through the still air. Zelda listened, then turned to gaze over her shoulder into the shrubbery. The tree blocked her view of the courtyard, but she could imagine the scene: the king's colors hanging limp on raised poles, the greyhounds, quick-moving and restless, her father, mounting his horse.
"The king hunts today, does he not, with Lord Dragmire?" Her question cut across the steady march of Nabooru's reassurances.
"He does, Princess."
Zelda rose. "Then I will speak to him," she said. "To him and the Mandrag both."
"Princess, perhaps—"
Zelda reached out and touched Nabooru's hand. The gesture was so unexpected that the Gerudo fell silent.
"Stay or join me as you will." Zelda said. "But I will speak."
I will not be quiet, Impa had said.
oOo
Every path that twisted through the Royal Gardens led, eventually, to the courtyard.
Zelda reached the courtyard and slipped among the dogs and horses, the bantering courtiers and peasants carrying staves, which they would use to beat the brush and chase whatever prey lurked there into the king's spear. She caught sight of her father near the castle doors. Lord Dragmire sat astride a massive, ink-black steed, motionless amid the river of courtiers, squires, and servants surging around him.
It had been Zelda's intention to speak with her father. But as she stared across the yard, she realized how futile such an action would prove. Her father had not demanded that Impa remain behind. Lord Dragmire had.
She straightened her spine and walked toward him. He caught sight of her when she was less than six yard away. He turned his head to watch her approach.
She stopped when they were three yards apart and swept a curtsy. "My Lord Dragmire." Her voice shook.
"Princess." He inclined his head. A smile lurked in his wine-red eyes.
"I must speak with you." She straightened and lifted her chin, met his gaze directly. "About my lady-in-waiting. The Lady Impa."
She waited for him to speak. He remained silent.
"I wish her to accompany me to Gerudo Desert." Zelda pushed out the words in rush. "I know that you have forbidden her, but she is my lady and I would have her company."
She waited, for a second time, for him to speak. He regarded her wordlessly. He looked seven feet tall upon that horse, a colossus risen from the desert sand. She had read of the Gerudo colossi in an architectural history: titans carved from limestone and alabaster, presiding over the Spirit Temple like gods, precious jewels set between their eyes, snakes in their mouths. The accompanying illustrations had been both wonderful and grotesque, unlike anything Zelda had ever encountered among Hylians. She had always wondered, idly, what it would be like to stand in the shadow of the Gerudo colossi, dwarfed by their majesty.
"You will be my queen," Lord Dragmire said, at last. "A queen does not need a nursemaid."
"She is not my nursemaid. She is my lady-in-waiting."
He leaned forward in his saddle. "And there will be a hundred ladies-in-waiting and more to serve you in the desert."
"But she—" Zelda's voice was paper dry. "She is my friend."
"Dragmire!" King Harkinian's voice boomed from behind the Mandrag. Lord Dragmire lifted his head. Zelda's father nudged his horse alongside the Gerudo's; a boy trailed beside him, carrying the king's spear.
"Are you prepared to ride, Dragmire?"
The Mandrag glanced at Zelda. "Quite."
Harkinian caught sight of his daughter; the bravado of his expression shrank to irritation. "Well," he said. "And do you mean to take her along?"
Zelda's heart contracted. Lord Dragmire barked a laugh. "I do not," he said. "We were merely conversing, the princess and I."
His voice dropped, as he said the princess and I. A slow shudder passed down her back, through her belly.
"You shall have the rest of your natural lives to converse, I am sure," said Harkinian. "Come—the hunt awaits."
He urged his horse forward. A horn blasted in his wake. Zelda jumped. Courtiers swung up into their saddles, turned their mounts to follow their king. Dust clouded the yard. Zelda sneezed.
A hot breath rippled across the top of her head. She gasped. Lord Dragmire's horse loomed over her, so close she felt the heat of its powerful body. She looked up into Lord Dragmire's eyes.
"You will learn to live without your Sheikah," he said.
"But I do not want to!" she blurted out.
"The Sheikah had no love for the Gerudo, when they walked this earth," the Mandrag said. "And I have heard that they thirst for vengeance in death."
She stared at him. He leaned down, slid his hand up the curve of her throat, and cupped her chin. His hand left a trail of fire on her skin. Her mind blazed.
"Until the betrothal," he said. He straightened, whipped his horse around, and was gone.
oOo
His touch haunted her, ate at her, until she was no longer quite sure that he had touched her at all.
oOo
At last, the day of the betrothal ceremony arrived.
King Harkinian and his Gerudo guest returned mere hours before the feast began. The hunters had brought down a stag. Its head was given a place of honor in the great hall, where all, including the bridal pair, could bask in its blind, bloodied glory.
The chambermaids bathed Zelda in water scented with the unguents she had received as wedding presents; they dressed her in white damask and set silk blossoms in her hair. She sat beside Lord Dragmire this time. He did not look at her as she was seated, but the corners of his eyes crinkled, ever so slightly, and he said, "I hope that this evening finds you well, princess."
"It does." Her lips barely moved as she stared out over the tables. Dignitaries from the Gorons, the Zora, and the desert folk sat at the head table; their escorts were seated below the salt, among Hylian courtiers. The air hummed. She smelled spiced beer and hippocras, broth and roasted veal, Hylian loach rubbed with garlic and stuffed with onions, nuts, and cheese. Her stomach ached—though she did not know if it was from hunger or nerves.
"And does this evening find you well, my lord?"
"As well as may be hoped." He shifted. His chair creaked. "We leave before first light."
Her stomach twisted. Nerves, then.
"My lord." She turned, suddenly, to him. "I still wish that my lady might join us. Perhaps… the hunt… has it—?"
"Softened me?" His smile was crooked. It left his eyes untouched. "No."
"Please, Lord Dragmire."
He looked at her, finally. "You are resolved, then, to have your way?"
"I will not stop asking," she said, a little breathless.
"And I will not say yes." He turned away.
The meal was served, seven courses, each more splendid than the last. Jellies and cakes were sculpted to resemble eagles, swans, and a seven-pronged crown; whole boars were served, spilling candied fruit, roasted nuts, and hard cheeses from their mouths. But on Zelda's tongue, parched by anxiety and soured by growing despair, each course tasted like the talcum powder the chambermaids had sprinkled between her breasts and thighs following her bath. By the fourth course, she found that she could choke down only the spiced beer.
People shot her underhanded glances as they ate, until even the beer became too much for her to swallow.
The final course was served, than cleared away. A silence fell across the room. King Harkinian teetered to his feet, his chair scraping the stone of the dais.
"Well," he said, slurring the word until it sounded like a groan, "some feast."
There was some pounding of fists and feet from the less civilized members of the party.
Harkinian grinned and raised a chalice. Beer slopped down the side. "My friends," he continued. "My allies. Today is a day for great rejoicing. Today, we celebrate a union—of kingdoms, of man and wife—though they aren't yet man and wife. That particular union must wait a little longer."
Laughter, again, perhaps from the uncivilized few and several more unhinged by the hippocras. Zelda closed her eyes.
"Who are they, you may ask?" Harkinian's voice rang against the rafters. "It's no secret, you've heard the banns. Lord Ganondorf Dragmire, king of Gerudo Valley, means to take my daughter and make her his queen." He saluted the Mandrag with his chalice. "The best of luck to you, good sir." His voice dropped to a muddy slur. "You might make a woman of this waif yet."
Lord Dragmire rose. Zelda, shaking, followed suit. Harkinian set down his cup and moved between them. Two pages scrambled onto the dais and took up positions on either side of the king. In their hands they bore velvet cushions. Upon each lay a plain, silver ring.
"First," Harkinian boomed, "the exchange of rings."
Lord Dragmire moved first. He plucked the ring nearest him from its cushion and took Zelda's hand. His palm dwarfed hers. He pushed the ring onto her finger.
She took her own ring and fumbled for the Mandrag's hand. She shook so hard that she nearly dropped the silver band. But she tightened her grip and eased it onto Lord Dragmire's finger.
"And finally, the binding of hands." Harkinian took the be-ringed hands of princess and Gerudo lord and pressed them together.
"Do you promise, Ganondorf Dragmire, to wed this girl within a fortnight of your arrival in Gerudo Desert, as is written in the treaty that makes this union sacred?"
"I do," said Lord Dragmire.
"And do you, Zelda Harkinian, promise to wed this man within a fortnight of your arrival in Gerudo Desert, as is written in the treaty that makes this union sacred?"
It took three tries for Zelda to whisper, "I do."
"Then in the name of Din, who did create this land; Farore, who did breathe life into it; and Nayru, who did bind this land with sacred law—in the name of Triforce our heavenly mothers did leave us as a token of their affection—may there be peace."
Harkinian dropped their hands and gestured for his chalice. But Ganondorf did not release Zelda at once. He turned with her to the crowd, who sat silent, breaths bated. He raised their joined hands.
"May there be peace," he said.
And slowly, like a storm rolling in from the lake, the people of Hyrule began to clap.
oOo
Author's Note: My goodness, you all, I never expected the surge of support you've given me since my last update. I've been so happy all week that I've been at a loss, xD Thank you, thank you, thank you so much, everyone who read and commented and favorite and followed this tale of mine. I'm sorry that I've been so bad about replying, but rest assured: I treasure each and every review.
Next chapter next Friday.