#ashleyswrittenwords

Once the procession is done, Zelda makes a mad dash to meet with the head maid. Down the long hallways and around two corners, she barely manages to avoid colliding with another body as she sidesteps away. However, she doesn’t see the arm that catches her waist and spins her around, bracing her against the hard planes of a red doublet lined with gold. 

Breath veritably knocked out of her, whether due to impact or the realization of who is holding her remains undetermined, Zelda immediately pushes out of the unintentional embrace and curtsies low to avoid meeting the eyes of the Crown Prince of Hollander.

“My apologies, Prince Link. I was not watching my path.” 

After all, he has been her distraction. 

“Rise, Miss Zelda. There’s no need for apologies.” She reluctantly concedes, raising her head slowly and meeting brilliant blues full of mischief. “You seem to be in a hurry. Is there something I can assist you with?”

She stiffens just slightly. She could ask him to reassign her and no one would be able to question it. However, that might require answering questions she does not want to answer.

With a smile plastered on her lips, she shakes her head. “I was simply on my way to see Mrs. CeCe to discuss matters of the banquet with her.”

He gives her a look, the glint in his eyes dimming, but nods nonetheless. “Will I see you later today?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” His brows shoot to his forehead but again, does not voice whatever discerning thought he has. Instead, he takes one of the loose strands of her hair and tucks it back under her cap.

“Until then, Miss Zelda.”

He dips out of view and she forces herself to not watch him go. Only when she can no longer hear his footsteps does Zelda continue down the corridors.

Right. Mrs. CeCe. 

-o-

When Link finds Zelda later that day, she is already at their secret alcove warming up, though her warm-up appears rather aggressive. If he is being perfectly honest, there are one too many stabs in her routine, as if she has a makeshift opponent in her mind.

He shudders. Hopefully it is not him.

He unsheathes his sword and juts out his arm, interrupting her mid-flurry. He expected her to regroup quickly, expected her to perhaps expect him, but her rapier flies out of her hand and falls pitifully to the dirt. She stares at him, shocked; he feels slightly at a loss too, not used to her being so inattentive. 

But then her eyes narrow, sharp and glaring, and she sends a kick flying at his left side. He blocks it with his forearm, unable to dodge, a surprisingly heavy force behind her swing. It’s all he has time to acknowledge before she aims a fist at his face, and then another to his chest, and another, and another. He evades some, takes the brunt of others with a shoulder or leg, and sweeps low in an attempt to knock her off her feet. This she seems to have foreseen—leaping with grace out of the way and backflipping to where her rapier had landed. There’s a smirk on her lips as he realizes his mistake. 

Link barely manages to parry her attacks when she charges at him. Zelda is swift, light in her steps as she twirls and slashes, relentless in her efforts. The glint he knows so well is back in her eyes as he’s forced into a defensive stance. It makes her look haughty, regal almost, and undeniably stirs something in his chest. He tries to temper that feeling as he swerves to avoid another hit.

Another parry, a swoop down, a swivel to the left, then the right. She’s been practicing, that much is evident, her footwork impeccable as if she’s memorized his movements. And maybe she has; everything about her screamed diligence and meticulousness. He finds it rather admirable.

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to go easy on her.

He pivots and lunges at her, letting the metal of their swords clang together in a dance of blades. She stumbles a half step before recovering, spinning out of the way of his next jab. Her teeth grits as she’s put on the defensive now, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t feel smug at his victories. Going in for the final blow, he twists to his left to disarm her, only to see something black flying into his face and losing a breath as she tackles him to the ground.

He groans on impact but she’s shaking on top of him, her chest rumbling and shoulders quaking until laughter finally bubbles from her throat. It’s loud and triumphant—not ladylike at all— but rings delightfully in his ears. 

Zelda presses upward, and her blonde tresses fall around them like a curtain, and the only thing he can see is the flushness of her cheeks and the pink of her lips and the lovely smile on said lips. It was her maid’s hat she tossed at him, he realizes, fingers idly coming up to scoop those long, golden strands behind her ear and weaving through them on the descent. Her mouth parts slightly, enticingly, then snaps shut just as his mind wanders to things not wholly appropriate, and her darkened emerald orbs are sparkling again. 

“I win,” she declares proudly, but her voice is soft and something lodges in his throat, so he merely nods. She heaves herself up and proffers a hand. He takes it, savoring the warmth of her palm and resisting the urge to hold it longer. Instead, he lets go, opting to grab her cap and sling it to her.

“That was particularly underhanded,” he finally says, grateful that the sound comes out clearly. She simply shrugs, but her joy remains apparent.

“All is fair in love and war, My Prince,” she sings conspiratorially, righting her clothes before dusting off his. He catches her hand and brings the knuckles to his lips, gaze keen on hers.

A smirk, poorly hidden behind her fingers. “And which is this?”

Zelda stares back unfalteringly, analyzing, considering, and unleashes a mischievous grin of her own.

“War.”

He laughs in agreement, only because if she said the other, his heart might just stop.

-o-

The banquet is in full swing. Zelda isn’t able to hide away in the kitchens all night, being switched to the wait staff, but it’s better than having a permanent post in the grand hall. She weaves through the crowd of noblemen and noblewomen and their fine tunics and dresses, keeping a sharp eye out for Duke Raynor and whoever else might find her familiar. It is her greatest hope that should she have a direct run in, he will not recognize her, especially with her hair hidden. They’ve met only a few of times prior to her departure after all.

She places down a tray of appetizers, rearranging the dishes and stacking up empty ones to return to the kitchen. They’re ridiculously heavy and Zelda pities the servants back home. Should she ever return, she would certainly see to some changes.

A group of young girls rush by her, knocking into her elbow and threatening to send the plates crashing down. It takes several seconds of a balancing act and a cessation of breathing to get the pile under control, and she has to place it all back down to catch her breath. Turning to send a withering glare at the perpetrators, Zelda is suddenly rooted in place.

Prince Link is standing in the middle of the ballroom dressed in a fine green and gold doublet. With all of the chaos of the night, she had scarcely the chance to interact with him, and perhaps that had been for the best. He’s too pretty, too attractive; makes her want to storm over to him and loop her arm around his so that all the dignitaries know their place.

But—she’s not that person anymore; would only look foolish if she did that in this black and white uniform. It’s not like they’ve given voice to the tension that danced between them either. So she tears her gaze away and busies herself with the dishes once more. 

A tap comes at her shoulder and she freezes as an all too familiar voice nags, “Maid, go fetch me another glass of champagne.”

Zelda bites down a curse, admonishing herself for being so careless. How could she have missed Duke Raynor approaching? Keeping her back turned, she nods, and pitches her voice lower. “Right away, Your Grace.” 

Unfortunately, the path she needs to take is behind the Duke. She tries to duck her head as she passes him by, but he suddenly grabs her wrist and wrings her back. It is pure discipline that allows her to keep her head low and not mash his face in with her fist.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? If you’d like, I can allow you the honor of entertaining me in my room tonight.”

Discipline is not enough to stop the snort from escaping her. 

“Excuse me?” He grabs her chin and yanks her head until she’s looking at him square in the eyes. She doesn’t bother trying to hide her disdain nor defiance; a whipping would be more preferable than sharing a bed with this monster.

But his expression shifts to one of confusion. “Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

Zelda swallows, urging down the frantic shrill threatening to crawl up her throat. “We have not, Your Grace. Allow me to fetch your drink.” She twists out of his grasps and quickly darts behind another just as he reaches for her again. To her horror, she hears his pounding footsteps following even as she dips into the corridor leading to the kitchens. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene, but perhaps choosing a desolate hallway was also not wise.

Her cadence picks up, winding through different passages in hopes of losing him, but the echoing steps behind her never faltered. She chances a glance back, only to slam into something hard.

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Miss Zelda,” Prince Link chuckles. She might have found it endearing if not for current predicament. Instead, she stares at him in alarm, and his cheerful features melt into concern. “Zelda?”

“Hide me,” she whispers urgently, still looking over her shoulders periodically. When he doesn’t move, still shocked or confused, she takes a fistful of his doublet and shakes him. “Please.”

He’s likely never seen her look so panicked.

At the sound footsteps drawing nearer, the prince swings her around, tugs her cap down low, and tucks her head into his chest.

“Duke Rayner, what brings you down this way?” he says conversationally, but she can hear the way his heart speeds up. 

The duke takes a moment to catch his breath before answering. Zelda almost wishes she could see how winded he looked. “That maid there is rather obstinate. I thought to take her with me to teach her a lesson.”

Link's fingers tighten around her shoulder. “Considering she is a maid in my castle, I do not believe that duty falls on you. If you have discourse with her, you may address them to me.”

“My apologies, Prince Link. I had thought she would be of no consequence to you. Though,” Zelda grimaces, knowing nothing he had to say would be tactful, “I do not fault you on your choice. Sometimes, obstinance like that makes for a fine time in bed.”

She feels Link shift his weight, angling her further away from the duke. 

“I do not understand what you’re trying to imply, Duke Raynor,” her prince says, even as she can hear his teeth grind. “Surely you’re not suggesting that I behave inappropriately with my staff?”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” the duke answers flippantly. There’s something conniving in his tone. “You’re the crown prince. Everything you do is justified.”

“That is not—”

“Do you hold all your servants like you do her?”

Link stiffens, and for a moment, Zelda thinks he’s going to push her away. But then he relaxes, though the beats beneath her ear are still erratic.

“She sought help from me. Women do not enjoy being stalked like prey.”

Raynor does not sound remorseful in the least. “You cannot blame me. She has a pretty face. In fact, it reminds me of the Princess of Hyrule.”

At this, it’s Zelda who freezes, but she hopes neither of them notice. “What does the princess have anything to do with this?”

“Oh? Don’t you know? I was once her betrothed. But then that foolhardy woman decided to run from the castle.”

“Sounds like a smart woman, if you’re inquiring about my input.”

The duke scoffs. “She was a bore, a poor excuse for a lady. Why, the only thing she had going for was her pretty face and, of course, her assets—”

Zelda nearly rips out of the embrace to inform him who the real bore and poor excuse of a man truly is, when Link’s arm wraps across her back. 

His voice is stern, cold. “Duke Raynor, I must ask you to refrain from slandering the princess in my presence. Currently present or not, she is still your future monarch.” Her ears perked at that. “And if you’re speaking ill of someone from your own nation, I can hardly expect you to view the Royal Family of Hollander with reverence.”

There’s a threat veiled with his words, one the duke does not miss if the squeak he releases is of any indication. “T-Two very different matters, Your Highness. I assure you, I regard my king with the highest regard, as well as you and your father.”

“Then you should hold the same regard for your princesses.”

“But—”

“You are dismissed, Duke.”

There’s a shuffle of clothes—he must have bowed—and then heavy boots trudge away. It isn’t until the sound completely fades that Link lets out a sigh.

“Thank you,” Zelda says, but it’s muffled with how she’s still pressed to his chest. He startles, as if he’s forgotten how close he’s been holding her, and takes a quick step back. She schools her expression before she can look too disappointed. 

He, on the other hand, looks rather sheepish. “I—Yes, of course. I’m sorry you had to witness all of that.” Suddenly, his gaze turns stony, and his gloved hand comes up to cup her cheek, tilting her head to examine her briefly before letting it drop back to his side. “Did he touch you?”

She blanches at the thought. “No! Not like that. My wrist, my chin, but I would never let that pig touch me like that.”

He frowns. “I’d prefer if you didn’t let him touch you at all.” Then, as if realizing exactly what he just said, amends, “Since you seem unfond of him, of course.”

“An understatement.” Zelda rocks back on her heels and gnaws at her lower lip. She shouldn’t ask, lest she gives him any hints, but her curiosity is getting the best of her. “Prince Link, I am surprised you defended the princess. Might I ask your thoughts on her?”

Link looks at her strangely, but obliges her anyway, running a hand through his hair. She resists the urge to reach up and fix it for him. “To be honest, I don’t know much about her. Initially, I thought her to be spoiled, running off because of something insignificant. But if he was one of her problems, I cannot blame her.” He pauses, licks his lips. “And the Crown is not an easy burden to bear.”

She laughs, mutters under her breath, “Spoiled, is she?” 

He must have heard. “To leave a kingdom behind is unwise. However, she is applauded for her wisdom, so perhaps there’s more to it than I know.” Shrugging, he turns away from her. “I cannot judge her harshly. The temptation to run...is a difficult one to temper.”

Her cheeks heat. Somehow, he seems to shine brighter in her eyes despite the dimly lit hall. “I believe she would find it quite admirable that you’ve chosen to stay for your people.”

“You think so?” He dips his head back, shooting her a smirk. “Why the sudden interest in the princess? Because you share her namesake?”

She smiles wryly. “That, and apparently, we look alike as well.”

At the reference to the duke, he stiffens again, then paces back to her. “I will have him removed from the castle immediately, if you wish.”

Her gaze softens. A familiar warmth seeps through her skin, one she has become accustomed to in his presence. She can hardly deny the implications.

“Do you give all your servants that much power?” she asks, almost paraphrasing the earlier question. Not with the intent to antagonize him, just the desire to know. 

He clears his throat, the tips of his pointed ears reddening. “I believe you are an exception. Have been for awhile, considering I have yet to throw you in the dungeons with all your attempts on my life.”

The blue of his eyes glitter, and Zelda wonders, had they met under different circumstances, if he would’ve still looked at her the same.

“My Prince, who would keep you out of trouble, if not I?”

Something darkens alluringly in his gaze, and she suppresses a shudder when his hands lift to rest on her shoulder. She takes a step closer.

“If I recall what just transpired correctly, it is I who kept you out of trouble this time.” His thumb draws circles through her sleeve. “You can rely on me more, you know.”

“I thought you preferred me not to want from you?”

“Did I say that?” Fingers flex at her shoulder. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

Another step closer. She can’t tell from who. Their eyes lock in a battle, observing, deciphering, and Zelda allows her own hands to slide up his torso. His next breath is sharp.

“Zelda,” he says, sounding like a parched man in the desert, “I would really like to kiss you right now.”

A thrill runs through her. “Then perhaps you should.”

And so he does. The touch of his lips to her is gentle, barely there, and so, so sweet. Her arms wrap around his neck and he allows one arm to fall to her waist, the other to knock off her cap and bury his fingers into her hair. His grip is warm, protective, and the blood beneath her skin is thriving at his touch. He leads her back until she hits the wall, and she surges up to deepen the kiss. He hums contently into her mouth.