Whew! It's been a little while, huh?

I wasn't kidding when I said that this wasn't much of a priority, but I was feeling inspired earlier and knocked out about 75% of this in one sitting. So here it is, ready for your enjoyment.

Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I was blown away that so many of you have so much faith in this with that little to go off of. It's super sweet.

Hope you guys enjoy!

~Alyssa

o(OXO)o

She knew that Dorian must really be kissing up to her when the head chef wheeled out the cake.

Standing at least as tall as the man himself, it was a replica of the old palace before it had been rebuilt. It had been painted with care, every brick and paneling distinguishable from the next. Each of the towers stood tall and proud, surrounded by trees spun of toasted caramel exactly the color of autumn foliage. The windows were plated with glass of thin sugar. There were even people; noble ladies in pretty frosted dresses dotted the grounds, and little marzipan figurines of guards stood at their posts on the walls.

Everyone knew Zelda had a passion for sweets.

But as magnificent as the creation was, it was also completely profligate. Many things still hadn't recovered from the war, and luxury crops—like the western-grown sugar—were among them. Though there wasn't much of a utilitarian use for the sweetener that she adored, a part of her thought it was wrong for it to be used so extravagantly when there were still shortages. She could only imagine what the price had been to get it all, and funds should have been allocated towards more important things than pleasing her.

But at the same time, she was grumpy and willing to be babied. Six courses, and she had gotten exactly six words out of her intended—"Could you please pass the potatoes?"

It wasn't from lack of trying, either. Every time she mustered the courage to try and speak to him again, he always managed to have his mouth full or in the middle of a conversation with someone else. After the tenth or so time, when she opened her mouth only for him to excuse himself to the restroom, she was suspecting that it was purposeful.

So much for acting.

Dorian was well aware of the reluctance she had for this match, but if he had even an inkling of the way she had been treated so far, there would have been a much bigger cake. Perhaps even some custard to go with it.

Abruptly, she didn't care one bit about responsibility. The western economy was past due for some Crown-backed stimulus anyway.

She didn't have to pretend to be delighted as she extolled the talent of the chef, helping herself to a large slice of the east wing. It was the only thing she had to be excited about all evening. Between the nightmare that had been her hair appointment and the equally traumatizing hour of dodging questions from the younger ladies of the court, she'd been miserable for most of the day.

And by the look of it, this celebration would be going strong for a few more hours yet.

So she ate her cake and pretended like she was having the time of her life. She was debating how long it would take before everyone got drunk enough that they wouldn't notice her sneaking away when someone behind her tugged on her hair.

She whirled around at once, ready to led whoever it was have it, but it was only her brother with laughter in his eyes.

"Care to dance, little sister?" Diaval asked, his arms spread wide.

Immediately, she was suspicious. It was the first time in a long time she'd seen him without a girl on his arm at an event.

"Who are you trying to hide from this time?" she asked, raising a brow.

Caught, he gave her a guilty smile. "Lucille Wentworth. Word is her father told her to get herself pregnant so I'd marry her, like that would ever happen. I don't have the heart to ruin her reputation, though, so I need you to help."

She snorted, wondering how many children he already had sired and then a second later deciding that she'd rather not know. "Fine, but you'll have to drag me away from my fiancé."

"Yes, how is the goat herder?" he asked as he led her from her seat to the floor, where a few couples had struck up a dance.

"Don't say that!" she hissed, her head whipping to the side where she knew the Hero was sitting. Thankfully, he was engrossed in conversation with a few of the higher ranked knights, making no indication that he'd heard. "He heard you earlier when you made a joke of him, and he was not amused. I don't want to make him angry again."

The smile fell a bit from his face. "He's not violent, is he?"

"No," she assured him, even though it didn't matter. They both knew that the Hero could be senile and the engagement would continue. Dorian loved her as much as a brother could, but he wouldn't compromise the stability of a country over the instability of the only man in the right position to marry her. "Still, I'd rather you not mock him. He will be my husband soon, and where will I be if everyone thinks him a fool?"

"All the better, once the war is only a bad memory and you annul."

Diaval always knew how to make her smile.

The music was light and lively, and he led her through the steps of the complicated dance with ease. Though all of the royal children had taken lessons with a dance master since they could walk, Diaval had always excelled. He lifted and spun her around with a practiced grace that left her fumbling to keep up. Even so, he was doing much of the work, and it was worlds of fun. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so relaxed at a party.

After a song or two, the music shifted into something slower. Grateful for a change in pace and a chance to take a breath, they began to talk again. She was laughing at a joke he had made when she looked up, the sound choking in her throat when she saw the Hero coming up from behind him.

"What's the m—Oh." Diaval stopped, as the Hero had tapped him on the shoulder. "What can I help you with?"

The Hero flashed him his most winning smile. "Could I steal my intended away from you for a dance?"

"Of course," her brother bowed out gracefully, handing her over with an equally friendly grin. But while the Hero wasn't looking, he shot Zelda a look. This one is good, it said.

The problem with the song he had chosen to intercede in was that there were barely any steps at all. It left them face to face, closer than either of them wanted, and all the time in the world to talk.

Except he wouldn't. He seemed determined not to, in fact, as they spun slowly around the floor. And so she would not speak either. Instead, she focused on leading him through the simple dance. He was clumsy and awkward, nothing like the sure-footed Diaval that she had left behind.

"You look lovely," he finally said after a minute of silence, his tone almost begrudging.

"Thank you." She struggled to keep her face impassive. "You look rather nice yourself."

It wasn't a lie. Someone had cleaned him up—cut his hair and given him a shave and put him in presentable clothes. He had been handsome when he first arrived, even covered in the muck from the road, but now that he was clean and dressed like he should be…he was dashing. Almost regal.

More silence.

"How has your evening been?" she tried.

"Fine, until now. I'm not very keen on dancing."

It was another one of those remarks that made her feel like dirt. "Why ask me, then?"

His jaw tightened. "Someone I was talking to mentioned I hadn't been with you since dinner. I didn't want anyone to think there was anything wrong. But I didn't realize how much we would have to talk."

"What's wrong with talking to me?"

"I don't have anything to say."

"Why are you acting this way?"

"Don't you have anything to offer besides questions?"

At a stalemate, they glowered at each other. The air was thick with angry tension, though around them couples swayed oblivious to the angry words they had shared.

But however absorbed they all were in their own worlds, there was bound to be someone watching.

She doctored her expression into a lovesick smile, replicated from Dorian's stupid grins when he saw his wife. "Do not raise your voice at me in public," she hissed. "I could care less what you think of me, but as far as anyone else knows, things are wonderful, do you understand?"

A mask fell over his face as well. "As long as you leave me be in our private time? Fine."

She laughed like he had said something particularly charming. "It's a good thing that I have no desire to see you more than necessary, then."

"The feeling is mutual."

The music changed then, and he stopped, reaching down to bring her hand to his lips. "I'm glad we're on the same page," he murmured, gently giving her a kiss. "We'll be able to work something out tomorrow."

Her eyes were icy. "Until then."

He strode away, back towards the group of knights he had been speaking to earlier, and she was left alone. Aimlessly, she wandered over to one of the tables lining the walls and helped herself to a drink.

And hours later, when her brother made the official announcement to all attending that the Hero would be her husband, hers was the biggest grin of all.

o(OXO)o

She could tell by the position of the moon in the sky that it was nearly morning by the time she slipped out of her window, but she didn't care. After the night she just had to endure she deserved some time away, even if it was just for a few hours.

She felt like a person reborn as she glided across the rooftops, finally free of the constricting ball gown and corset she was forced to don. Here was a place that was free of obligations and pretenses, where she wasn't forced to pretend to love a man that hated her. There was nothing but the sweet smell of the night air and the light of the moon. She savored it.

The feast had been disastrous—there was simply no other word for it. Once the engagement had been announced she'd been swarmed with congratulations and questions and advice. Apparently they were both consummate actors, because most everyone believed that it had been a match for love instead of an arranged marriage. It brought a layer of earnesty to the whole thing that Dorian adored and encouraged, so she had to spend the rest of the night hanging on the Hero's arm and blushing as he recalled the night he proposed. The whole thing had been nauseating, especially considering their conversation earlier in the night, and it left her more frustrated than she'd been in a very long time.

After a time she found a bakery somewhere buried in the streets of the South District and realized how long she had been gone when she could already smell the morning's bread baking through the chimneys. She would be missed if she stayed out much longer, and though it barely felt like a few minutes had passed, she turned and began towards home.

Even though she was saddened by the return, there was something comforting in going through the motions to get back to her room. There was a smile on her face as she climbed from the roof to the castle wall, from the castle wall to the tree, across the tree to the third floor hall—

The hair on the back of her neck stood, and as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the hallway she realized that she was not alone.

Leaning against the wall was a tall man dressed in green, completely undone. His hair was mussed like he had run his hair through it, his jacket was tossed carelessly on the floor, his fancy shoes were discarded down the hall, obviously thrown.

And his eyes, a blue deeper and more piercing than ice, were fixed on her. Like he knew her. Like he saw right through her façade and into the very depths of her soul. Despite the layers of clothes wrapped around her from head to foot, covering even her most innocuous parts, she felt naked. Caught.

She blurted out the words before she could stop them. "You're not supposed to be up here."

But rather than taking on the cold and defensive tone that she had become so accustomed to and resorting to anger like she had expected, the Hero only raised a brow. "And you are?"

This threw her. She had always been careful, so careful, not to engage anyone when she was like this. Her disguise was meticulously crafted through her magic—even her voice was a few tones off from what it was when she was herself—but there was something about the way that she held herself that made her certain that anyone could see through the masquerade. And so she had never spoken to anyone when she was like this. Consequently, she never had to explain herself, either.

Again, her response was thoughtless. "No one has ever stopped me before."

And to her ultimate surprise, he began to laugh. "Well, I'll tell you what," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I won't tell if you won't."

There was something contagious about his laughter, something that made her want to forget all the hostility of the past day and laugh with him. But she couldn't. It was impossible to reconcile the harsh words he had said to her at the ball with the smiling, friendly jokes that he was sharing with her now. And more than that, she was angry. What could this stranger have possibly done to earn the smiles of the Hero that Zelda hadn't already? She didn't understand. It wasn't fair.

He must have noticed her defensive demeanor, for his smile fell a second later. "My apologies. Have I done something to offend you?"

"No," she said quickly, though every bit of her heart screamed yes. "You took me by surprise, is all. There aren't many people awake at this time of night."

"Yes, well, I could say the same. I'm not exactly dressed for company." He paused then, considering. "But why don't you stay? I haven't met a halfway normal person since I came to this blasted town, and you seem decent enough."

Halfway normal? "What do you mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know if you happened to be at the feast, but everyone and their mother has on twelve pounds of makeup and enough jewelry to keep my village fed for a year on their person. Not to mention they're all smiling and pretending while they scheme. One wrong move and I'll end up with twelve daggers in my back, but it's impossible to tell from who. The masks they wear are absurd."

She felt her hand rise to touch the covering that masked her own face. "And mine isn't?"

The scowl that had formed on his face broke in an instant, his eyes lighting up. "That's what I mean. I can see right through your mask. You're decent. Farore forbid any of those blundering idiots make a joke."

For some absurd reason, her heart sang. She made him smile. He called her decent.

But no, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her, he hadn't called her decent. He'd called a stranger decent.

The warmth that filled her chest was gone in an instant, and she suddenly felt very deflated and very confused. Why did she care so much about what this inconsequential man thought of her? Why did she love it so much to see his smile, to have him on such wonderful speaking terms?

Goddesses, it was all so baffling. But she couldn't puzzle it all out here, where she might let something accidentally slip.

"I don't think I'm the right kind of company for you." She took a step backwards, towards the window.

He noticed. "Don't go," he pleaded. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I know we've just met, and under very strange circumstances, but you seem so normal. It's impossible not to speak freely to you."

She shook her head, reminding herself that he was only talking to a façade. She backed up another step. And though he tried to reach out to her, tried to grab her arm before she made her move, she was faster. She was out the window before he cleared half the distance between them, managing to latch onto a tree branch in a precarious grip before dropping to the grass.

Unable to help herself, she looked up, and sure enough, he was leaning out the window. It was too late to call out without waking up half the castle, but even from here she could see the pleading look in his eyes that asked her back.

She wouldn't, though. Couldn't. Because as soon as he learned the truth, he would surely take this last freedom away.

She darted away to the cover of the wall, finding one of the many familiar footholds in the brick and beginning to climb. Though it was risky without her extensive knowledge of the guard rotation there, she managed to find a way inside through a second floor balcony and took her normal route to her bedroom from there, avoiding the corridor that she knew hosted the Hero with a wide berth.

And as she went through the ritual of unweaving the spell from her skin, her eyes couldn't help but linger on her face.

Ever since she was old enough to truly understand what hatred was, she knew that there were people somewhere that hated her. It was the nature of her role—as a princess, there would always be those that opposed the crown.

But that was an impersonal kind of hatred. It wasn't anything that she had said or done that had inspired it; it was just the way that things were.

With the Hero, though…there was something awful about the way he despised her. No one in her life had been so outwardly caustic towards her, and she didn't understand what she had possibly done to make him the way he was.

The shawl melted from around her and her hair came tumbling down in wave. The bones of her cheeks rearranged as her lips became thinner, her nose wider. The mask of a stranger that had somehow captured the attention of the Hero morphed into her own face, the one that he abhorred so much.

She could only wonder why who she was wasn't good enough for him.

I'm so frustrated with both of them they're such stubborn babies.

I'm still getting a sense of both of their characters; I had to rewrite that dance scene five times before I was satisfied that it was in-character. There's so much of Link that is guarded from Zelda that I haven't had a chance to explore just yet, so figuring out what he'd say and do is still a bit tricky. Bear with me.

That being said, I'm working hard, and I'd love to hear what you think! Leave a word!

Until next time!