Chapter 11: Wish

If someone was to ask Zelda what she thought of fairy tales as a child, her answer would have been generic: a world of fascinating wonders and daring adventures. Over the years, while these thoughts retained, they also evolved into something a bit more… wishful. Intimate, even. Some could call it a typical adolescent phase, but she had learned past that.

Years of acquired wisdom and persistent lecturing had prepared her to take the role of a full-grown adult, ladened with duties of a monarch, not to waste time with unattainable daydreams.

Thus, she was not prepared for this.

It was as if this man, this perplexing mystery, had delved into the very depths of her fantasies and glimpsed at her most inner secrets. This complete stranger, who somehow managed to courteously enter through the walls she had so carefully built around herself. This should have given her an indication to be all the more suspicious of him, particularly at a time like this, but she could not seem to associate him with such a potential threat right now.

Not when she felt a certain static, a tingling sensation on her fingertips when she accepted his hand. His pleasant warmth seeped through the material of the black leather of his glove. Such a simple contact, and yet she could not recall ever feeling anything so powerfully complex.

Zelda could almost imagine Impa, who would likely notice them soon, chide her for letting her guard down in such a way. How peculiar though. At this time, she did not feel so gullible.

There was something about him…

She could not place what it was. For he too, appeared to be affected, because she felt him tremble at their first contact. The unsteady, but discreet rise and fall of his chest as he placed his other hand around her waist, drawing as close as he dared. Nervous, confident, and for this reason, this made everything feel more natural to her, made her feel less alone in her apparent trance-like state.

The princess was no stranger to dancing, however, it had been several years after all, since she had her last choreography practice session. The basic steps hadn't eluded her memory, but neither were they particularly fresh in her mind. She had remembered the demanding movements and her rigid dance partners. Like the tentative strums on her harp… stiff and mechanical.

But this…

If she could play the chords as beautifully as the way he led this dance, the way he held her as if destined to part away from someone very dear to him - then her music would have taken flight. An enigmatic melody, composing the sweetest sounds and saddest tunes.

His movements did not make her feel like she had to follow a strict pattern. They patiently flowed, never forcing her, always attentive and adjusting to the pace she felt most comfortable with.

"I'm… a bit rusty at this," she said, embarrassed. "I apologize in advance if I trip on you, or do something equally humiliating."

A twisted smile formed at his lips. "So does this mean I get to teach the royal to dance?"

Zelda was about to give him a playful retort, when he spun her around with one arm during their dance. "Don't worry, it's an honor to guide you," he continued, and even with that smugness, Zelda could detect a certain happiness in his tone, like he was genuinely thrilled to be able to do this. That she was allowing him to.

"If you trip," he spoke again, following through what he had initiated, gently turning her around in his arms. For a brief moment, her back settled against his chest, and Zelda had to suppress the urge to try and visualize every contour of muscle that embodied this creature. "I won't let you fall, Princess," he whispered behind her ear, causing a shudder of foreign delight to trail down the nape of her neck.

She was not swooning. Her legs merely felt a little wobbly, that was all, though it was enough to cause a reaction.

Zelda felt his arms wrap around her from behind, his very warmth and feel lulling her to want to do nothing more than just relax in his embrace. Was she dreaming? Or was she so deprived of a man's physical contact, that she'd succumb so readily, even to a stranger? But this was a masquerade, wasn't it? He could act however he wanted, for the most part. No man would have been so daring and dreamy to her without a mask.

And then he said something that sent her mind into a complete daze.

"I missed you."

Volga didn't want to let go. He knew he had to, but he did not posses the power to do so. Not unless she did, which he would of course, oblige, even if…

He felt like there was a gap in his chest. Something burning that only she could soothe. Having her in his arms helped alleviate this. But now that she was here with him, now that he could finally rejoice with the one he had missed for so long - he wanted this… whatever this was - to stay.

She had remained quite still in his arms. He was not sure what was going through her head, or if he had said too much. Perhaps she knew now. His identity. Or perhaps she thought him to be completely insane. It would certainly describe the multitude of feelings he had been experiencing.

"Your heart," she said, slowly turning around in his arms, and placing a hand on his chest, to where the subject of her comment had been pulsating within him. "It's beating so fast."

"I k-know," he rasped. Every fiber of his being was on fire underneath this woman's fingertips.

How quickly Zelda was able to move him, to have him feeling so proud one moment, to being humbled with adoration the next, and then repeat. She had the ability to bring out so much in him, and she probably didn't have the faintest idea why.

His breath hitched in his throat when she raised her hand from his chest, to his face, to the lower portion that wasn't covered by his mask. Zelda's fingers touched his cheek, her skin so soft against his more coarse texture.

And he was struck with deja vu. Of a little girl reaching out to a dragon, of how peaceful it felt. Of the first time they embraced. These feelings hadn't really changed since then, had they? No. There was never a change. There was just innocence, but one that lacked acknowledgement. Yet this did not make it any less confusing to him now.

Volga watched Zelda behind half-lidded eyes, completely oblivious that he was leaning into her touch. Needing this. Needing her. She was lightly reaching for his mask. He had almost forgotten it was on his face at all. He knew what she intended to do, but out of respect, she still asked.

"May I?"

She wanted confirmation. Volga could not blame her, but he would be lying if this wasn't more than a little nerve-wracking right now.

Was he really in a ball room filled with humans? The whole time he felt as if he and Zelda were the only two in the room. It was like he had been on a different plane entirely. Impa had said that he would be a distraction to her, and he could see that being true, but no one had told him how much the princess would distract him.

The nostalgia was coming back again. The familiarity of it all. This was like when he first met her, back in her garden. Her asking permission to remove something that covered his face - back then a helmet, and this time a mask. The circumstances had been different, but the irony was still there.

Lost in his enraptured state of mind, he nodded.

Impa was going to kill him. But quite frankly, he could not bring himself to feel intimidated. He couldn't move, couldn't refuse the woman in his arms. Otherwise she might remove her hand.

Her fingers never made it to the edges of his mask however, for in that instant, the light in the room suddenly extinguished into darkness. The chandelier, which had been the ball room's main source of lighting, was put out, like water dousing a flame.

Volga felt her body stiffen, but before he could react, before he could even acknowledge what was going on - a glimmer surged from the top of her hand. He barely caught a glimpse of the triangle outlined there, and he saw the fear in her eyes. Somehow, he had a feeling that he was not supposed to know of this. He was not sure anyone was, for that matter. Volga could not remember ever seeing this mark on Zelda's hand before, and she certainly never brought it up.

"I'm sorry," she said worriedly, the incident stirring her to take action, the weight of the world falling into place at her shoulders. And he saw there, not a fabled princess, but a woman burdened with responsibilities. She slipped away from his arms. "I need to go."

Unwanted panic took over him. His arms, now empty, hung at his sides, but they felt detached from his body. Like they weren't a part of him. He understood the urgency of the situation, but he was not expecting it to have been so cruel.

"Zelda, wait -"

But she was gone.

At first, there was silence. The stunned, awkward reactions from the crowd as they looked around in mingled fear and excitement. Some thought this was part of the festival, a theatrical show of enchanted lights meant to entertain them. But Zelda knew better. She grabbed a hold of the wine glass she had put aside, hidden from view, the one where most of her drink had spilled. The one that man had knocked out of her hand earlier. The man who just couldn't be who she thought - who she secretly wished it would be. Who she'd dream about, of linked hands strolling in a busy town, sometimes of dark wings folding around her.

Focus, she told herself, carefully making her way past the mob. The room wasn't entirely dark; candles were faintly lit from the tables and wall scones. Zelda looked up at the ornate, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The light from within the delicate glass would have normally been lit up, not with fire or oil, but with magic.

Zelda closed her eyes, placing her hand over her glowing mark, as if to cover it, when she was in fact, drawing magic from within. Small, spheres of light surrounded around her, before she redirected them toward the chandelier. For a few seconds, the room was lit up again, in its same splendor as it had been before. She headed toward the main entrance of the ball room, to where Impa had been. And then…

The lights went out once more. Whoever was doing this was presumably using magic of their own, and was apparently just as proficient at blotching out the light as she was in lighting it. Theoretically, yes, Zelda could just try and light the place up again, but, unless she wanted to give her people a seizure from the constant flickers, she was likely wasting her time right now.

"Impa," she approached the Sheikah, who had shut the doors and was pacing near the king, her fingers around the scabbard of the giant blade on her waist. "Father. Are you two alright?"

The king nodded, his mask lifted above his face, and even in the semi-darkness, she could see the worry etched along the wrinkles of his forehead. But he looked nowhere near as agitated as Impa did. He must have still been unaware of the prevalent danger. Now might be the time to tell him, but Impa spoke up at first.

"That man you were dancing with. Did he say or do anything to you?" she demanded.

Zelda gave her a quizzical look. She was not so unaware that Impa knew who he was. Unless someone had managed to sneak in here past Impa's utmost scrutiny, Zelda knew Impa had kept a list of names of those who attended, and the description of their chosen mask and costume. A list she was very interested in looking at, herself. But something kept her back from referring to it right now, especially with Impa's current reaction.

"If you're asking whether he's done something improper," said Zelda, with mild sarcasm and emphasis on the word. "Then no." Impa did not need to know how she had felt around him, or the words he had told her. That was something for herself to decipher, when she didn't have an ominous threat lurking around.

With a tense sigh, the princess continued. "I suppose… there was this drink he knocked out of my hand. He said I shouldn't drink it, but nothing more. Not that it matters, since it's pretty much gone now anyway," she held out the mostly empty glass in front of her.

Impa reached out for her wine glass. There was barely any liquid left, perhaps five drops at the most. She took a sniff, and frowned. "It smells like normal alcohol and red wine."

"Wait," said the king, interrupting their conversation. "Let me see that."

Impa handed him the glass, and he placed it on the table in front of him for closer inspection, moving one of the candles next to it for better visibility. Zelda and Impa watched as he took a small piece of bread from his plate, and dropped it in the glass.

The crust that surrounded the bread broke apart like crumbling walls. Inside, the soft dough suddenly began to twitch violently, the sight appearing like a bug convulsing inside an acidic pool. This went on for several minutes, before the bread, or what was left of it, became perfectly still.

"What is this?" Impa asked, disturbed. "Poison?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Poisons found in our lands are not normally colorless like this. And most of them have a distinct, acidic scent. This one was clearly distilled, and desaturated to a transparent state. But I can't possibly see this being feasible without magic being involved. And more importantly, the very nature of where this venom had come from. The closest that I could relate to its effect would be toxins from the Deku Babas, found more commonly deep within our forest. But to be able to produce such a powerful substance would require a Deku Baba of tremendous size, or a multitude of them."

A grave expression settled on his face as he peered over at his daughter. "My dear, this wasn't just any poison. Whoever gave this to you not only intended to kill you, but to give you a most excruciating death. If a few drops of this caused this much of a reaction, I am horrified to imagine what a full glass would have done."

"Your Majesty," Impa said apologetically. "Forgive me for not highlighting the potential dangers of this festival."

"That's quite alright, Impa," the king answered, though he sounded more stern than forgiving. "I have gathered as much."

Zelda felt ill as she glanced between them, hoping someone would wake her from - what had previously been a dream, was now a growing nightmare. Her eyes fell to the Triforce piece on her hand, which, as much as she tried to hide it, was still gleaming distractedly. If Impa and her father noticed, they made no comment on it at the moment. That man had seen it though.

That man kept me from drinking this…

"Impa," said the king firmly. "Take this glass to our apothecary wing, and have our alchemist inspect its contents. While there, bring any antidote you can find, in the unfortunate event that someone here gets inflicted. Meanwhile, I'm going to notify our servants to take away all the drinks in sight until this situation is handled. Zelda, you know what the waiter who served you looked like, correct?"

She nodded vaguely. "Yes, but the body was so heavily covered with cloth and black feathers, that the gender was a little androgynous. The mask was shaped like a beak at the nose, and the overall costume seemed to be some kind of crow… or raven."

"Do we have anyone listed dressed as such?" the king asked Impa, and she immediately began to review the list.

Impa mumbled under her breath. "Let's see, we have swans, chickens, peacocks…" it would have sounded as if she was describing something from an aviary. "No, it does not appear that we have anyone listed here as a crow or raven."

"May I see that list, Impa?" Zelda prompted, trying not to show too much interest on her… additional motives.

There was an uncomfortable pause, as Impa stared at her for a moment. Then, "Yes," she said slowly, before reluctantly handing Zelda the list. "Of course you may, Your Highness."

Zelda skimmed down the list, and just like Impa, she saw no one listed as the suspect in question. However, she was searching for more than just the suspect. And Impa knew this too. In the category of costumes, there was only one prince. But on the section next to it, rather than the name of the individual, like everyone else had, it simply read:

Prince: Confirmed

With an indifferent expression on her face, Zelda calmly handed the list back to her care taker.

Clever, Impa, she thought, amused. But in some ways, you made this more intriguing. If you didn't want me to know, you should have made up a name.

Zelda looked away from them, and gazed over at the heads of the crowd in the candle lit room, hearing their quiet chatter. "I don't believe the cause of the lights going out was a coincidence. This was more than a means to frighten us," said the blonde quietly.

"And what are you suggesting?" Impa asked, clearly not liking where she was going with this.

"It's possible, assuming any of this is truly some scheme to get me - that this was a warning meant to lure me away from my protection here. If this is indeed so, I will have to face this alone. I'll need to find that server," she said decisively. "Before someone gets hurt."

Volga watched the humans with inquisitive sullenness. He wondered how many of them would have chosen to attend this event, if they had known the princess was in danger. Would they even have cared? Would they have looked past the crown on her head? If it weren't for Impa and her father, would she have to carry all the weight on her own?

These thoughts were not new to him, exactly, but they had become more than just floating questions. Because now, he actually wanted to take action about it. He wanted to ease her burdens in some way, even if he didn't have the authority to do so. He wanted to be there for her, not just offer words of consolation behind a letter.

"Yes I did! I saw a shadow surge right out of the ground!" an elderly woman's voice argued nearby. "Who does that?"

"Oh, grandmother," a younger woman responded. "You probably mistook it for one of the court mages and jesters performing magic tricks. It's part of the festival, remember?"

"No, no, I'm telling you. It went right out of that window!"

Volga followed his gaze to where she was pointing to. In a more secluded corner of the room, there was an open window against the wall, a window that had not been open previously before. Could this have been how this individual had gotten in the castle?

Approaching the place where the suspect had potentially gone through, Volga shifted the curtains to the side, and stared out the window. Being that this was the ground floor of the castle, the jumping height out of this window wasn't an issue. He turned around and surveyed the humans behind him; it was difficult to tell how many of them noticed what was going on behind their masks, other than the occasional painted face looking in his direction.

The Dragon Knight crawled through the window and leapt outside, landing swiftly on the pavement beneath him. There was seemingly no one nearby, and the silent court yard felt as if it was holding its breath in anticipation.

He continued exploring, taking note of a majestic fountain in the center of the neatly-trimmed lawn. A set of sculptures were arranged, coated in what looked like liquid gold. They formed a triangular pattern, the shape becoming more apparent with the object it took the place of, like the mark on Zelda's hand. For there, was a replica of the Triforce. Every piece was embraced by each goddess that represented them.

And the Triforce… there were so many myths about it, but what was actually factual? It was rumored that the relic could grant someone a wish, even the most desperate desire of their hearts. Was that was this was - a wishing fountain?

A wish…

Desire was such a cunning concept. Volga glanced at the scattered coins inside the fountain, and saw the lone silhouette of his reflection before him. It was not riches he craved for, surrounded by bountiful treasures. It was not even power, may it be raw strength or conquer. Of the mighty warrior he constantly strived to be.

The water rippled softly, like the imaginary caress of rain drops upon its bleak surface. His reflection was clearer now, like looking into a mirror. But they did not mimic his actions. There wasn't even a mask. His wings were present, but he was still dressed in this outfit. Still a prince. And like with the capability of any prince, he had his princess.

He knew it shouldn't have been so shocking to him, but he was rooted to the spot as he stood there, watching his reflection encircle his arms around her from behind, much like he had done earlier, because he had not yet known anything else with her. Was this what they had looked like? They seemed so… intimate, that Volga almost felt as if he was intruding.

Zelda leaned her head against his chest, a smile of contentment on her lips. A smile that matched his own reflection, something that was so rare, that he could very well see why this was only the hopeful fabrications of his mind. He held her tenderly, and she was tilting her head slightly up at him, her fingers cupping the side of his face, bringing them closer… their reflection slowly becoming a blur.

Bringing his hand to his own cheek, he let his gloved fingers linger there for a few seconds, reminiscing on the feel of her soft skin when she touched him. Even if she only intended to remove his mask…

When the image faded, Volga desolately reached for the sculpture in front of him, pressing the palm of his hand flat against the center of the Triforce replica. As if hoping in the absurd possibility that the goddesses would alternate the dimensions of the universe and reconstruct his longing into reality.

An abrupt stir came from the rose shrubbery beyond the fountain, startling him. Volga gazed through the gap of the center triangle, and saw the slightest movement from the shadows. He took a deep breath, his mind still dazed from what he had envisioned. Moving away from behind the sculpture, he strode over to where the sound had come from.

That scent again. The mild whiff of ivy he had detected from earlier. Only this time, it was much stronger than before. Where were the guards? But of course, even if they were around, they wouldn't have been able to detect its scent.

Furthermore, Impa had been so focused on guarding inside the ball room, that the outside wasn't as protected as it should have, or at least, this court yard wasn't. If it had been up to Volga, he would have stationed at least two guards on each side of the exterior, and a third to patrol the entire grounds.

Volga came to a halt in his footsteps. There, behind the sharp, prickling leaves of the bushes, was the suspect. It was crouched on the ground with its back to him, glossy, ebony feathers trailing down the tail coat of its cape. From this angle, Volga could see the elbow-length gauntlet, of material akin to black deer pelt. Dark, ashen fingers protruded from the fingerless gauntlet, likely for nimbleness and to facilitate with what it was doing. But Volga could not tell if this was paint on its skin, nor could he determine its gender yet.

The suspect held up a pipette with its hand, squeezing several drops into a vial of plum-colored liquid. At this, the liquid began to diffuse colors - until it became as transparent as spring water. Plucking one of the roses from the shrub, it released a single drop of this recolored liquid onto the rose for experimentation. Nothing happened. Hissing, the suspect grabbed another vial, and tried again.

This time, the flower contorted erratically, as if it was being electrocuted. Soft petals shriveled up and detached itself from its support. The stem ripped apart from inside out, nutritional fluids trickling onto the grass. To Volga's revulsion, he noticed these weren't a few vials the suspect was hoarding. Because as he leaned forth, he saw at least fifty vials, stashed inside a wide pouch.

Volga reached for the cutlass on his waist, the weapon that had been so carefully concealed within his own cape. While he preferred his spear, this had no bearing on the current situation. A weapon was still a weapon, after all. And he would make use of this one just as any other.

Pointing the tip of the silver blade at the suspect's shoulder, Volga narrowed his eyes. "Stand up," he commanded. "Drop everything in your hands."

The suspect froze, before carefully letting go of the vials on the grass and pouch. Slowly, it stood up.

"Turn around," Volga continued, maintaining the cutlass poised in place. When the suspect didn't do so, Volga spoke again. "Now," he said darkly.

In a sinister motion, the shadowed figure turned, not its body, but its head, until Volga could see a sideways profile of its face. The hair was either too short, or it was covered by the mask, but Volga could see the pointed ear… similarly to Zelda's. The top of its face, up until its mouth - like his own mask, was covered with a black mask. Only this mask encompassed feathers along its edges, and a beak prominent at where the nose would be, the tip curling slightly. Its lips were drawn on a thin, emotionless line.

Then it was reaching for something - a weapon of its own. The weapon was on its back, hidden underneath its feathered cloak. And Volga could distinguish the shape of a shield on its back as well. But it did not grab the shield, only the sword. The blade itself looked as it had been made from dark matter… it did not even seem entirely solid. The hilt was suspiciously mythical, like something modeled from an ancient tale.

So it wanted to fight him. Very well. At the very least, he would be able to buy time until Impa found them and took it away for interrogation.

They both initiated their attack at the same time, silver blade meeting black.

Zelda took on a hurried pace, almost sprinting, before Impa could trail after her to find out what she was up to. If not for her father needing their body guard at his side, this would have been more of a challenge. Both had protested against the idea of Zelda using herself as bait for the assassin, but the time for observing was over, and she needed to take matters into her own hands.

She only needed to make one quick stop.

Closing shut the main doorways behind her, she spotted two of her guards marching back and forth on the hallway. They stopped in their tracks to give her a salute. "Your Highness," one of them stated. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Zelda lied. "Have either of you seen or heard any strange activity during duty?"

They shook their heads, and she nodded in acknowledgement. "Very well," she replied. "Please stay on your guard, and be careful. I will return to the ball room shortly. I need to make a visit to the armory."

Zelda knew perfectly well that she didn't have to explain herself to her soldiers when it came to trivial things, such as where she was going. But given everything that had transpired so far, she felt it wiser to keep them informed of her whereabouts. She would tread lightly where she needed to, but she would not keep her tracks covered. Not for this.

Upon reaching the armory, she was met with a locked door, and glanced around to make sure her guards were not staring in her direction. Once she found the opportunity, she lifted the ruffle of her dress with deftly sophistication, her hand sneaking up her leg until her fingers grasped a ringlet of keys that had been dangling from her lace garter belt. Unclasping the ringlet, she skimmed through the few keys, finding the brass key with a rugged edge.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The scent of coal dust and molten iron filled the air as she took in sight of the weapons in the room, both polished or in development. From rusted daggers to bows made of flexible Deku willow, to spiked maces forged from the sturdiest volcanic ore. There was a certain smoky incense that Zelda found strangely enticing.

Licking her lips, she began to work on removing the royal armor that had been displayed neatly on a mannequin. She would not have time to go and change outfit, so she would have to put her armor pieces on her dress as she was. Just when she was about to finish the plate along her hips, however, something had caught her attention.

On a pile of weapons against the wall, were the guest weapons Impa must have confiscated from those who had come armed. Amidst the stacks of swords and occasional shield, was a long, familiar spear. The tip was shaped like a spade, the material reminding her of the prehistoric dragon bone sketches she had seen in the castle's museum collection. Something that Impa would have access to after all, since she once owned this spear before passing it to the one for his trial.

Volga…

Zelda felt a sensation hit her, so powerful that she nearly dropped the armor plate in her hands. If this wasn't any more evidence to fulfill her doubts, she didn't know what was. Other than the mask of course, but she had missed her chance with the turn of events. She had missed…

I missed you… his voice, so unrestrictedly composed, yet so restrainedly despondent when he held her in his arms. It all made sense now, and at the same time, it only brought more questions and confusion. She was supposed to focus on her task, but she found that she could not focus at all.

She reached for the spear, struggling to settle her thoughts into place.

And in her moment of weakness, in the mere minutes she allowed herself to reflect upon her feelings, a creak came from the door. Somewhere in the figment of her imagination, she found herself hoping it was him. That she had turned a chapter in a pinnacle of foreseen happiness and he would come right through that door. She was not quite sure how she would react either, given her current emotions.

But though the door opened, no one came. Not even foot steps could be heard. Biting her lip, she walked forward toward the door, subconsciously tightening her grip around Volga's spear.

Then she saw it.

A hulking shadow appeared on the wall next to the partially open door, one that was not the shade of anything else in the room… for nothing here contained its shape. She could see that unmistakable beak along its masked face, the distorted form of its body growing larger as it moved. Then a leg stuck out of the wall, coming right from the shadow itself, followed by another. Before she knew it, its entire body was in the room with her.

Something about this individual was different than the one who had served her the drink. It was the feathers on its mask and costume - rather than being pitch black, the tips were coated in red. Was there… more than one of these things?

With no words, with no warning, the assassin suddenly drew a sword from its back and lunged right at her. Zelda jumped backwards in alarm, the attack knocking away the axes and cleavers that had been on a shelf just barely away from her. The weapons fell to the ground with a loud, resounding crash. From the second shelf, steel helmets tumbled over in the assassin's direction, providing a brief distraction for Zelda to react.

The shock however, had momentarily numbed her with fear. She darted behind one of the other shelves, away from its view. There was a table behind the shelf, and Zelda hid underneath it, clutching the spear in her hand. Her heart was in her throat as she tried to muster the courage that she could not seem to find right now.

And then everything went silent.

Zelda tried to breathe, but she found that she had been holding her breath the entire time. She could not move from where she had been crammed underneath the table. I need to face this, she told herself harshly. I can't lose my nerve… it is not expected of me…

Words of course, were easier said than done. Just when Zelda was about to force herself out of her position, a faint dripping sound caused her to remain still. Perhaps she could attack from stealth? If she was going to play hide and go seek, she figured she might as well make use of it. She needed to conjure her rapier. But if she did, surely, the assassin would spot her. That glowing sword would stand out like the beam of a light house.

Drip. Drip.

Zelda flinched at the sound, for it was growing louder, and the lack of foot steps were unsettling her. But though there were no foot steps, the shadow's boots came into view, as it was walking slowly in the room, searching for her.

Why am I hiding?

There it was, that dripping again. What was that sound?

As if reading her thoughts, the boots turned to face her direction. Those boots were all she could see from her current view from underneath the table, and yet they appeared just as intimidating as seeing its full form. And when they began to walk toward her, ever so languidly, Zelda felt her mouth go dry.

I'm hiding because I am afraid.

The walking ceased, the boots standing right in front of her table, as if was taking a moment to amuse itself by the cover she had so instinctively chosen to hide herself in. She felt like she had pins and needles on her hand, and she realized, stricken, that the persistent mark on her hand was still glowing. It was casting a distracting triangular light on the surface of the table right above her, even through her attempt to conceal it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Zelda could see the shadow of the assassin's sword next to its boot, pointing downwards. Something dripped from the tip of its sword, the source of the sound she had been hearing. The liquid splattered on the rug, causing the fabric to compress, until a hole was singed through from where the drop had landed. It was that poison. The blade was coated with it.

She had to get up. Fear was out of the question now. Even if this assassin walked away and left her be, she could not simply allow it to get away. Not when it could harm others, and after the way she had seen it attack so mindlessly…

But it was not going anywhere. Before she could move, before she could conjure her weapon, the table suddenly split above her. Her eyes widened as she saw the dark hilt, cut through the wooden surface like a knife through butter. Had her leg been a mere step away from where it was currently, she would have been struck. Instead, the sword plunged into the edge of her dress, tearing through and causing a slit on the fabric next to her leg.

Zelda screamed, her body shaking as she crawled away from the now broken table, pushing away the wooden clunks that were falling on top of her. One of the pieces, sharp at the edges, nicked at her now exposed leg, but she had not felt the pain or the warmth of her blood until she stood up, stumbling against the wall.

The assassin turned to her, like a hawk who had just spotted a fish, its prey, close to the surface of the water. Carelessly kicking away the scraps of wood between them, it stepped over the pile toward her, ready to corner her from where she stood. This time however, Zelda did not sit idle.

Somehow in all of this, she never let go of Volga's spear, and she turned it swiftly between her fingers. Zelda aimed the weapon at the assassin, who stopped in its tracks, seeming far more apprehensive now. The range of Volga's spear conveniently kept the enemy away, something she was all the more grateful for.

This time, she did not wait for it to make a move, and she stepped forward, thrusting the spear upwards, the tip snagging onto the cloth of the assassin's chest. The assassin jerked away, shoving the spear away with its sword. In some ways, the rapier and spear were not so different. Both were relatively light and agile, and they both focused more on thrusting and stabbing, rather than cutting and slashing.

Though this did not mean she was experienced using the spear. In fact, the fight had been quite clumsy, both Zelda and the assassin knocking away everything around them as they moved, the closed space with which they fought not giving them much room for finesse.

The assassin grasped at the wound on its chest, and Zelda could have sworn she saw a flash of red behind the eye sockets of its mask. She would not have known there was a wound because there was no blood to indicate this. It was the assassin's backwards staggering that began to show her that its vitality was weakening.

It then reached for its back, pulling out a shield she had not known it had. She could not see the details on the shield, but she noticed that the heraldry looked uncannily similar to that of the design of the legendary Hylian shield, only without its more colorful variant… instead more of a black base with silver outlining.

Zelda entered a meditative state as she held out her unequipped arm before her. A thin, ray of light floated in the air above her fingers. The particles slowly began to take on a solid shape, as they turned into a slender hilt, followed by a curved grip. With both rapier and spear in each hand, she stepped forward, trying to adjust to the difference of weight in each hand between both weapons.

With a heavy bash, the assassin hid behind its shield, attempting to ram into her. Zelda slammed the tip of Volga's spear on the ground, hard. Holding a firm grip around the spear with her fingers, she wove a leg around it, using her momentum to spin away from the assassin's attack, almost as if she was in a dance.

When the assassin missed, it turned around sharply, propping up its shield to block Zelda's rapid stabs with her rapier, the element from her weapon burning into the darkness of its shield, forming dents along where she had slashed. With an unexpected noise of frustration, the shadowed figure suddenly threw its shield, full force, right at her.

Zelda held out her armored arms in front of her, but the weight of the shield knocked her backwards onto the ground, and though she parried the blow with the spear, there was burning pain on her abdomen from the collision. Rolling away from the ground and wincing in pain, she scrambled back to her feet.

She took advantage of the assassin's lack of shield now. Zelda thrust the spear at the assassin's sword hand, knocking the blade from its grasp. With her rapier, she pointed the glowing tip at its chest.

"Enough," she said, in a hoarse, but tired voice.

She was about to make another move, when the assassin suddenly sunk, its entire body seemingly going through the ground even as it was standing up. But rather than going through the ground, it disappeared into a black portal beneath its feet that had not been there before.

"Your Highness!"

Two of her guards dashed inside, barely catching sight of the assassin warping out of the room. Impa followed shortly after, her usual, narrowed eyes widening when she spotted the princess, and even further when she noticed the weapons in her hand.

Before any of them could say anything, Zelda spoke. "I'm alright," she said, even though she knew perfectly well that she wasn't. "Impa, where is the other one? I know there is more than one."

"There's…" Impa broke off. "Some kind of commotion in the court yard." Then with a sigh of defeat, she added. "He is fighting one of them right now."

The blades looked like a blur of black and silver as they clashed, the metals ringing throughout the court yard. Volga wasted no time; he moved quickly, forcefully, putting his strength into every swing, his animosity into every opening he could find. He thought of the wilted rose, and thought of Zelda. This… vermin could have done that to her.

"Why?" Volga gnarled. "Why would you try to kill her? What do you have to gain from this?"

But the enemy made no reply, in fact, Volga had not heard it say anything other than make a few disgruntled sounds. Was it even human? And on that subject, the Dragon Knight took notice of a handful of on-lookers who had most likely began to notice the background noises coming from outside their window to the ball room. A small group even dared to go out to the court yard to spectate, their jaws dropping at the sight before them.

Taking advantage of Volga's brief distraction, the shadowed figure made a vertical motion with its sword, and though he was far enough away from it, Volga was met with three, linear projectiles that had come from the sword. He could feel his body give painful spasms to the dark sorcery, threatening to force him to the ground, but Volga would not have that. He would not be defeated in such a disgraceful manner.

Regardless, he had not been expecting this fighter to be a spell sword. Magic was not… something Volga was as proficient in fighting against, compared to melee combat. He would have to be more careful with that projectile.

Volga focused on his enemy's next attack, taking a defensive stance this time as he tried to analyze its fighting techniques. He noticed that whenever he had the upper hand, the assassin would make a spinning motion with its sword as a panic option to get away, but doing so slowed it down by the time it was done. This has been the first time he had seen the assassin show any sign of fatigue.

Seeking his opportunity, Volga sliced forth - from the front of its cloak, to across its face, cutting its mask and cloak right off, black feathers scattering all around them. Just like the skin tone on its fingers, its face was the same shade of charcoal. A gash was spread diagonally across its face from where Volga had injured it, but there was no blood. Perturbed, Volga looked up at the pair of red eyes that were glowering at him.

There was a distinct masculinity to its face, and the gender became more apparent when Volga took notice of the flat, squared chest from the black tunic, the tunic that had been underneath the feathered cloak. Light chain mail could be seen from the edges of the tunic. A dark cap was on his head, along with an ebony scarf that had been partially shredded from their fight.

The assassin was losing his grip on his sword. This blow had weakened him.

"Surrender," Volga advised, his cutlass aimed and prepared for his next move. "I won this round."

But he did not give Volga the satisfaction of a victory. A smirk curled on his lips. Not like Volga's smirk of dry humor or pride. This one consisted of a certain deranged glint, of something with malicious intentions.

And before Volga could react, the shadow suddenly disappeared.

There were sounds of awe from the humans, who had grown in number now. Disoriented, Volga looked around. One of the humans was pointing to something in the air. "There! He's over there!"

Volga looked up and saw that the shadowed figure had materialized up on the battlements of the castle, so high up, that it would have taken countless floors to get to him. He could see his dark outline in front of the the full moon, which was a sinister orange hue from the transitioning lunar eclipse. Had he teleported? This sorcery was infuriating.

"Coward!" Volga roared at him.

But now came the conflict. There were humans in this court yard, and Impa had made an emphasis on the matter of his discretion. What was he supposed to do? Allow this assassin to get away? Even if he could make it up to the battlements, in a humanely manner, how many ramps and flights of stairs would he have to run to reach him? How long until a life was taken tonight?

"Volga."

Just like that, his wrath and doubts began to ebb away at that voice. Surely he had imagined it. Didn't his mind torment him enough today as it was?

No, because there she was. Princess Zelda, holding two weapons in hand. A magnificent, golden rapier and… his spear. If that hadn't been enough to blow his mind away, she had armored parts of her dress; her shoulders and upper chest, the sides of her hips, and along her lower arms and legs. There were blood stains scattered across the front fold of her dress, like blotches of red, painted flowers. She had been in battle.

Volga lost resolve of everything and anything. He ambled over to her, not caring who was watching, not caring who would reprimand him. Getting down on one knee, he took her free hand, the one that had not been holding their weapons. "W-who did this to you?"

"I'm alright," she reassured him, blue eyes shining mysteriously as their fingers intertwined. "I just finished fighting one of them."

"One of…" he mumbled incoherently. There was more than one.

"Take me with you, Volga. To the battlements. We will finish this together."

Volga had not asked her how she found out, how she had come across his weapon, how anything came to be that led up to this point. The time for questions would come, but it was not now - just like when they had fought off the Beamos together in the cave where he had his trial.

Two enormous wings sprung out of his back, tearing through the expensive threading on his uniform, even though Volga had practiced such transformation enough times to reduce as much damage to his clothing as he could. His full form would likely not be needed, especially if he had to tread along the more narrow pathways of the battlements. He did not wish to potentially damage the foundation of her castle either with what his dragon weight could pose.

Even with the present, crucial situation, the faces and reactions of the humans right now were amusing him to no end. He spotted Impa among them, who had arrived with the king at her side, holding a satchel of potions that Volga could only assume were antidotes. They had been more caught up with this than he thought.

"I'm ready," said Zelda, looking slightly flustered despite her weary determination. Volga exhaled softly when she closed her arms around him. She was shaking… what had she gone through? He gently hefted her off the ground, bridal style, placing one arm firmly around her back for support, while his other arm carefully moved over her dress to hold her behind her knees. Kicking off from the ground, he flew into the night sky, carrying her in his arms.

Volga felt her tighten her hold on him as the court yard shrunk beneath them. Aside from the current company below, he could see that the majority of the guests were still in the ball room. Through the glass panel windows on the ceiling above the ball room, he noticed that the room continued to reflect with faded light, absent from the mystical source of the chandelier. The candles almost appeared to be floating within, its glow like little fire flies scattering in the dark.

There were still people dancing too, likely those who were not yet alerted to what was going on. Lost in their moment, as he had been when he danced with Zelda. Tailored coats and abstract costumes, dancing with women of colorful, flowing dresses that resembled spinning parasols from this height.

Landing on top of the battlement from where Volga had originally spotted the assassin, he set Zelda down, and looked around the empty ramparts. The shadowed figure was nowhere to be seen. He glanced at the princess, unable to help the protectiveness burning inside him. "You don't have to fight," he consoled her. "I can handle him."

He was expecting her to refuse, but she did not say a word - and neither did she comply. Instead, she drew close, placing a hand on the cobbled wall behind him, sealing the gap between them. Volga's body felt pinned against the wall, this… tall, bulky frame before this petite human. There was something in her gaze that he could not understand, like some kind of assertive need to give her proof, a little flair of hope amidst all the dangers that surrounded them.

The princess took off his mask, discarding it on the ground behind them. Since she had already asked before, she was merely continuing what she had started. Volga could not recall feeling both anxious and relieved, but in that moment, he never felt both emotions so strongly as he did now.

She was studying him from head to foot, and Volga felt a fluttering sensation in his stomach. He thought of futile things, such as how tousled his hair must have been, how ragged his prince outfit looked now, with his wings outstretched behind him. Zelda was staring at him with such an intensity, that he could not meet her eyes. He found that he was beginning to blush, so he tried to speak in an effort to regain some sense of dignity.

"Princess, we should…"

"You are breath-taking."

Volga gave a choked laugh, unprepared for such a comment. She was one to talk, too. The bands that held her braid were loosening, her hair slightly frizzled and her cheeks flushed from all the tension she had been enduring. The sight made her appear more human, and less of an ornamental doll to be displayed for everyone. But to him, she was radiant.

Remembering what he had pictured in the fountain, and aware of where his thoughts were taking him, he forced himself to focus on his words.

"Did you come with me just to tell me that?" he tried to sound teasing, but he was not sure that he succeeded.

"No," said Zelda bashfully, lowering her arm from the wall, looking down at their combined weapons on her other hand. "I…"

And she began to explain everything. She told him of what her father said about the deadly wine, about the list of guest names Impa had kept, and how his name wasn't on there. She told him about the armory, and how she had found his spear. She told him of her battle with one of the assassins, though he had a feeling she left out a lot more detail than she wanted, that she was more affected by everything than she attempted to hide.

Volga placed his hands on each one of her shoulders, a subconscious action, in his desire to comfort her. While he would have enjoyed the sight of Zelda using his weapon, he did not wish for her having to gone through any of this. Battling had always been something he had regarded as a kind of leisure, one of honor, like during his training with King Dodongo and spars with the elder reptilians. Or even more childish during the times he and Amusei would be at each other's throats, like cub siblings playing around on the ground. But he had yet to experience it in such a way where life and death had become so evident, and he didn't think she did either.

"This is all very real now, isn't it?" Zelda said in a small voice. "Everything Impa and my father had warned about, has it all started happening? I think they had, even before this. Volga, these assassins… they're not breathing beings like us. They do not bleed. The one you were fighting, I think he wore off now."

"Wore off?"

Zelda nodded. "I'm almost certain they are being summoned, which is why they keep reappearing, and why they wear off after a certain amount of time. There are - enchantments that protect this castle, barriers meant to keep away dark magic. But the barriers are not always so strong. These assassins have been trying to get to me for several days. I thought I was imagining things when I started seeing distorted shadows in my bed room. But I… I believe they've been trying to…"

He could not hide the concern in his eyes, even if he wanted to. These… conjurations, this sickening dark sorcery - had been pursuing Zelda even before tonight. They had been trying to spawn in her room. If it weren't for these barriers that Zelda spoke of, he was horrified to imagine what they might have done to her in her sleep.

"I will fight them, Princess," said Volga defiantly. "I'm going to fight every one of them, and we'll find the one responsible for summoning them."

She rested a hand on his arm. "When I found it was you today," her voice filled with emotion. "I was… I am, still a bit overwhelmed. I cannot possibly explain everything I feel, seeing you here right now. It's too much. But all I know is that with these dangers surrounding us, I don't expect, or want you to be fighting them alone. I don't want to fight them alone either. I want to fight them at your side."