oOo

VIII

DUTY

When sunrise bled across the tiles of the Spirit Temple, Zelda, Queen Consort of the Gerudo, watched her husband rise and go to the window.

Zelda lay coiled in the bed sheets, her eyes half-shut, contemplating the long line of Lord Dragmire's figure in the milky light of dawn. If he turned, she thought, she would close her eyes and pretend to sleep. She tried to keep her breathing slow and deliberate, but her body ached like a fresh, shallow wound. She did not realize that she was holding her breath until Ganondorf spoke.

"Don't be coy, Zelda." His eyes flickered across her, back to the window. "Pretense is unbecoming, even for a Hylian."

She shivered, when his voice broke the silence of the chamber, hearing her name in his mouth. Did his tone never change? He had spoken in that same steely murmur on their wedding night. Always that same voice, whatever he did. Whatever he said. She was not quite sure that the shiver was one of discomfort.

She surfaced from the sheets, unsure of what to say. But before she could speak, Lord Dragmire said, "You will leave this room the Queen Consort, Zelda. But you are not Queen of the Gerudo." He paused. "Do you understand?"

She pushed herself upright, clutching the sheets to her, trembling with exertion when all she wanted was to lie still, her body clamped up like irons. Ganondorf looked at her.

"I said, do you understand?"

It was on the tip of her tongue: yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. What right had she to say anything else? She was a Hylian among Gerudo, a girl enthroned over women. Of course she was not their queen.

But another thought niggled at her, tightened the breath in her lungs.

If she yielded, what would be left to her?

She thought of herself, reduced to a shadow in the Consort's Corridor. The decades would blind her, bleach her, buckle her spine. Yes, she would always have her books. And children, perhaps—though she could not fathom what it would be like to want children, let alone have them. But as she sat there, the coming years yawned emptily before her, vast and unfathomable. What would be left to her, if she simply said yes?

Instead, she said, "What is the difference, my lord? Between Queen Consort and Queen?" She looked him directly in the eye.

"Well," he said, after a moment, "perhaps I shall indeed make a woman of you yet."

She licked her lips. "What is the difference?"

"A Queen is sovereign ruler." He turned back to the window, as if the answer did not interest him. "The Consort wields no power outside the Consort's Corridor. It is not the way of the Gerudo that two sovereigns may rule at once. There is only ever one sovereign and one consort."

"And what are my duties, as Consort?"

"Whatever I deem fit."

"What is it that you deem fitting, my lord?"

"The Hylian envoys are your first duty. You will see them off when we return to Gerudo Valley. The courtiers and the sage as well. They have overstayed their welcome."

Her stomach twisted. She had not realized just how much comfort she had taken from the presence of the Hylian envoys, courtiers, and sage until now.

"But surely, my lord—" she began.

"Surely what?" He stared her down. She shrank back. "Do you champion envoys in lieu of the Sheikah woman, now?"

Again, words tingled on Zelda's tongue: of course not, my lord. I did not mean—I do not wish—

But instead she sat silent, staring at the tiles.

What did she mean that she did not wish? She did wish. She wanted the Hylians to stay, even if she did not know them well. She did not want to be alone.

She would not be alone, if she could help it.

"My lord?" She peered up at him, from beneath her lashes. "Are there are no stipulations, in the pact between you and my father, that a Hylian presence must be maintained in Gerudo Valley?" Hylians envoys would be necessary to maintain the pact, she thought. She could not represent the Hylians in this desert alone.

Ganondorf quirked an eyebrow. "There is such a provision," he said. "You will suffice."

She caught her breath. "But my—"

Derision crossed his face. She trailed off.

"Such protest." Lord Dragmire's eyes raked her, from head to foot, slow as a caress. "I would have never guessed you capable of disapproval, Zelda."

She twisted her hands beneath the sheets. "I am here because of the pact," she said. "And I must ensure that it—" Her voice was so soft, so strained, that she stopped to clear her throat. "I must ensure it is maintained. For my… father's kingdom."

She was King Harkinian's daughter first and foremost, she thought, even if she was also Queen Consort of the Gerudo; she was a daughter, and it was for her father's sake that she was here. It was her duty to remember this.

But when she said "my father," Ganondorf's face darkened. Zelda's stomach twisted. She had said the wrong thing.

Lord Dragmire faced her. She looked away from him, at the floor; she blinked and heard the slap of his bare feet on the tile, as he approached, slow step by slow step. Her body went still.

And then he was upon her, grasping her jaw with a single hand, dragging her face around. She braced herself for his anger but found only frosty disdain. He settled himself onto the bed and she slid against him, her hands jerking in an attempt to catch herself. But in the swaddling of the sheets, her hands were useless.

"Do you fear I will break my promises, Zelda? What is it to you if I do?" Ganondorf's grip relaxed; he stroked a finger down her throat. "What has your father ever done for you, except sell you to me?"

"Please let me go." Her voice was scratchy. She swallowed.

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. A frisson coursed through her belly at the weight of his arm upon the tops of her thighs.

"He sold me every inch of you." Ganondorf kissed the back of her head. "And before that, he hunted women down like game. With dogs and spears and hunting horns." He kissed her nape. "I could tell you stories about your father, Zelda. About the promises he made." He paused, and his warm breath left a trail of goose bumps down her neck. "I could tell you about your Sheikah woman, too."

Impa. Zelda's heart lurched. She dugs her nails into her palm. Her breathing quickened. Liar. The word rustled through her mind.

"Protect your father's interests all you want," Ganondorf said, mouth against her ear. "You will be sorry that you did. He had little enough interest in you."

She flexed her hands. She could feel the half-moon craters imprinted in her palm, trailing up toward the base of her thumb. It came to her that Ganondorf did not lie when he spoke of her father, whatever else he meant by his words. A thought crawled from the back of her mind, putrid and ugly, one she had not dared to entertain before now.

What does your duty mean now, girl? It meant nothing to your father.

She stared, hollowed-eyed, out across the room.

I could tell you stories about your father, Zelda, Ganondorf had whispered. About your Sheikah woman, too.

Liar.

"Let me go," she said.

Zelda jolted forward, trying to free herself. The king released her jaw, but the arm around her waist was unyielding. She twisted, feet scrambling for purchase.

"Such protest," Ganondorf said again.

"You lie," she gasped. Her voice broke, and "lie" came out frail, almost a question. "Impa is good. She—"

Ganondorf stood, hoisting her after him, so that for a moment, she dangled in his arms. He flung her face first against the marriage bed; she wriggled onto her back, gathering the sheets to her, breathing hard. "What had the Lady Impa done to you, that you would—?"

"I have changed my mind," Ganondorf said. His face was grim and unsmiling; he glanced down at her, then away. "We ride at midday for Gerudo Valley. You will see the Hylians off by tonight."

"But—"

He swept the room, as she clutched for words, ducked through an archway that Zelda knew led into a bathing chamber. She stared after him. His words beat through her like a pulse.

I could tell you stories about your father, Zelda. About the promises he made.

About your Sheikah woman, too.

"No." Her voice quavered in the empty room. "You can tell me nothing."

oOo

Author's Note: Another chapter of the "gave me heck!" persuasion. Hard turns into new storytelling territory can be discombobulating—but entertaining as well, I hope!