Archive of Our Own

Princess Zelda frowned at her knight. Her logic had made so much more sense last night when she’d had the brilliant idea. Only now, looking at the bluest eyes in the entire kingdom, at the way his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly when he was watching her expectantly, it didn’t make much sense at all, really.

She was to be wed in three months.

She pursed her lips. Closed her eyes for just a moment. She could do this. Right?

Her father would choose her husband.

“Link,” she said, meeting those eyes once more. He continued to wait in silence for her to speak.

It would be her duty to produce an heir as swiftly as possible.

There was no delicate way to phrase it. She should get it over with. Be direct. Leave no room for miscommunication. “Would you have sex with me?”

His eyes widened quite visibly. He blinked a few times. Swallowed thickly. “Hm?” He hummed out.

Perhaps she should explain. That would be fair. “My father has informed me that I’m to be wed in three months to a suitor of his choice. I’ve never been foolish enough to assume he would choose someone to my liking. I know what marriage means for the women of my family line. I’ve accepted it. But…” It was easy to state facts like that. And it was true, that she had accepted it. She didn’t care for it, but she had accepted it. She had never been under the impression that her future would be any different. She was a Princess, after all.

She closed her eyes once more, to spare her from the piercing blue.

“I’m not asking you to make love to me or anything,” she clarified. Easier to state facts. She knew her guilty pleasure steamy romance novels were all fantasy, weren’t real and weren’t supposed to be real. “I just want to be able to do it on my terms the first time.”

She opened her eyes again, and he looked… Was it pity on his face? Sympathy? It was certainly some form of sadness for her, though she knew he was too sweet for it to come from anywhere less than sincere care for her. “Princess…” he started, his voice so soft and quiet. He always spoke softly to her, when he spoke at all. It had taken time and trust, but he spoke to her, now. No one else that she knew of.

“You can say no, of course,” she said. “I realize that asking this of you is an abuse of authority,” she clarified.

He frowned, shaking his head. He grabbed her hand, something of distress on his face. “You’re sure?” He asked.

She wasn’t sure why the question surprised her. Perhaps it was that he hadn’t asked any other questions first. She nodded, squeezing his hand, and tried not to smile at the fact that his face was flushed.

He looked as if he was considering for a moment, and she hated herself for putting him on the spot like this. Her father would have him executed for something like this, but she had learned that he seemed to show loyalty to her over her father. “Okay,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Okay?” She asked, trying not to feel giddy.

He nodded, slight confusion on his face at her reaction.

“You don’t need time to consider?” She asked.

He shook his head. “When?” He asked.

It was her turn for her face to flush. She hadn’t really thought this far. All she had heard was married and three months and her brain had started spinning and it hadn’t stopped since. Every horror story she’d ever heard whispered in the halls from her maids about wedding nights, about selfish husbands, about the obligations of marriage—her father may have tried to shelter her, but Urbosa had taught her well that marital relations need not be miserable for women. Din, Urbosa was the only one who had taught her anything at all, and she was eternally grateful to her Gerudo godmother for giving her any real information at all.

“Um,” she started, pursing her lips again. He was allowed in her chambers alone with her, but surely if he spent the late hours of the evening with her, it would be suspicious. And they could hardly count on any privacy during the day when any number of her attendants might barge in.

It wouldn’t be ideal, but perhaps it would be better off castle grounds, where they might have more privacy. They’d spent dozens of nights together alone out on the road. No one would suspect anything.

“Probably best to wait until we are alone away from the castle,” she said. Yes, that would draw the least suspicion. And surely there would be plenty of opportunities in the next three months. She was certain her father would send her somewhere off in the kingdom soon enough.

He nodded, his eyes far away, brow furrowed once more. “Okay,” he said, meeting her eyes again.

“Okay,” she said, wondering why even though she had found the courage to ask him, and he had for some reason said yes, there was still a tight, niggling feeling left in her chest.

It was two weeks later that her father claimed she was needed in Zora’s Domain. Of all the tribes to send her to, this was perhaps the most fortunate for her purposes: it was far enough away to warrant spending one night traveling, but was free from any of the more extreme climates of the other races’ homes. There would be no sand to fear, no fireproof elixir to worry about, and no frigid colds to content with.

They were lucky that it was a wonderful temperate evening the night they made camp.

Link was nearly finished setting up their tent when he paused, turning to Princess Zelda.

“You’re still sure?” He asked her.

She blinked at him. “Yes,” she defended herself. “Why do you ask?”

Link’s eyes flashed to her tapping foot, to her hands fumbling with themselves in her lap. “You can change your mind, you know,” he said gently.

She shook her head. “I’m just nervous,” she said. He stared at her for another few moments before finishing the tent. She watched him in an attempt to distract herself—his precise movements with his hands, his deliberateness, his efficiency.

“Have you done this before?” She asked when he was finished.

He turned to her, standing in front of her almost awkwardly. He shook his head.

That made her feel better and worse. At least he would similarly have no expectations to put on her this evening, would have nothing to compare her to. But he would be as naïve as she, it would seem.

“Are you nervous?” She asked him shyly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “A little,” he admitted.

She smiled. He was human, too, no matter how expertly he wielded his legendary sword, how carefully he fixed his face, or how many goddesses he was blessed by. He was more than his fate, his destiny, his titles.

Link continued to stare at her expectantly, blue eyes sincere yet waiting, and she suddenly felt like prey staring down a lynel.

“Your terms, Princess,” he said softly, reminding her, and her cheeks flushed more.

She knew how this went in her scandalous boddice rippers that she had stolen out of the castle library. Large brutes of men sweeping secretly willing prim and proper ladies off their feet, tossing them onto beds and ravishing them. Taking what they want none too gently, but pleasing their partner all the same, awakening something in them that they never knew they had.

She knew how this went in the horror stories of her ladies’ maids and women of the court. Men less large than those in her novels, but far more brutish, in a terrifying way. Cries of pain and blood and tears and thinking of the family line and producing an heir. Drinking as much wine as possible beforehand to dull the senses.

She even knew how this went in the Gerudo tales Urbosa had shared with her. Women taking what they want from their partners, seducing innocent men into servitude, finding endless pleasure from their eager worshippers.

Link was no brute, at least not off the battlefield, and Zelda had no intentions of putting him under any sort of spell, even if she was kind of using him.

Her terms. He had agreed. Was waiting for her to set the terms. She knew enough about him to know that if she did not initiate, he would wait forever.

That was one of the reasons she had asked him, of course. She knew him to be all but incapable of hurting her in nearly any way. It had driven her mad, once, the amount of care he showed for her. Nobody else was nearly as considerate. Nobody else saw her as anything other than a failure who should hurry to incubate their true savior as quickly as possible.

Zelda stood before him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the tent, crouching to get inside.

She turned to face him, where he watched her expectantly still.

She took a deep breath. “Can I undress you?” She asked, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. She hardly ever felt shy, especially not about her curiosities, but she couldn’t help it.

He nodded, eyes still piercing on hers, and she reached for his scabbard first.

His gear was a bit of a nightmare—not nearly as bad as it could be, sure, but there were still so many buckles and fastenings. He waited patiently through it all, lifting his arms when it would be helpful, until she was finally able to lift his tunic and his undershirt over his head, holding it in her arms instead of discarding it onto the floor.

She had seen him shirtless before. It wasn’t indecent (it was perhaps a little improper for her to ogle, but she had been unable to stop herself from examining his physique each time it had happened). He was deceptively lithe; slender muscle with modest bulk, betraying his true strength. To the untrained eye, he looked ordinary, perhaps.

She let herself look at his scars, though. She’d never had license to examine those quite so closely before. She was familiar with the one that ran from the left side of his ribs to the right side of his hipbone—it was darker and thicker than the rest, easily visible from a distance, but not all were so pronounced. He had a smaller one vertically across his collarbone, thin and faded. Countless covering his arms.

She hadn’t realized she was touching him. He was still waiting patiently, allowing her hands to trace over his skin, and once she realized what she’d done, she flinched away from him. “Sorry,” she said.

“What for?” He asked, and her eyes were pulled back to his.

She blinked. It was sometimes hard for her to focus when he looked at her like that. So unbelievably blue, seemingly entirely focused on her. Like nothing else in the world even existed. “I should have asked to touch you,” she said.

“You already have my permission,” he responded simply.

Her face flushed further, but she decided not to press the point, turning her attention back to his torso (which thankfully lacked eyes so blue they pierced into her soul) and then finally his trousers.

That would be new territory. She’d never seen him this closely without a shirt, but she had seen him. She had never seen him without his trousers ever.

She reached for the fittings of his trousers with shaking hands. They looked simple enough to unfasten, even with her fingers feeling suddenly much less dexterous than usual. He was patient with her while she fumbled, even when she finally had them loose but left them hanging around his hips.

She stared, heart racing, frozen. Was this a bad idea? She knew it was—if her father ever found out, Link would probably be thrown into the dungeons, if not hanged; she’d be forever shamed for all eternity even worse than she was now—

Warm hands covered hers. “Princess?” Link said softly, his voice sweet.

Her eyes snapped to his again. So much concern in those blues, only ever filled with care for her.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked quietly.

Her lower lip trembled. “No,” she answered truthfully.

He nodded, pulling her hands up to his mouth so he could kiss them before letting them go.

That didn’t slow her racing heart. Was she queasy all of a sudden?

She furrowed her brow, bending her knees to squat down and pull his trousers down. It was a little too late that she realized she probably should have gone for his boots first, but no matter. Her face flamed as she pulled the knots out of his laces, refusing to look up at him, focusing on the task at hand.

She could do this. She knew how to tie and untie knots. One after the other, his laces were free, and she began to pull them off. He let her, until both boots and his trousers were gone, and she took a step back to look at him again.

She hadn’t taken his shorts off. One thing at a time, she told herself.

His legs, like his torso, were decorated with crisscrossing scars over lean muscle. Like this, as always, he wasn’t physically imposing; a few inches shorter than her, sweet face, posture relaxed.

She allowed herself to peek at his shorts. What was she to expect here, she wondered? She could see mass there, obviously, hidden behind the dark fabric, and her face flamed before she looked away. One thing at a time.

“Will you undress me?” She asked, meeting his eyes only after the words were out.

He nodded, stepping closer to her. She resisted the urge to step away, to step closer, to reach out to touch him.

She wished she could turn around. Her travel dress was such that she could lace it herself (as it would be indecent for her knight to help her on their journeys into the wilderness), but she was terrified to face him. His hands were steadier than hers, reaching for the laces at her front, carefully untying them, and pulling them loose. He leaned down to grab at her hem, pulling her dress over her head, and she shivered.

She was not bare. She had her own undergarments, but they were shapeless, thin, hideous things.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, in that soft voice of his, and she shivered again. “Should I do the shoes, too?”

She nodded, because she didn’t have words, and he knelt before her, like he had so many times, working on the laces of her boots.

Her fingers reached for her underclothes, to fidget with the fabric nervously. He was gentle, lifting each leg to pull each boot off, and she couldn’t help the gooseflesh that erupted over her entire body.

When he was done, he stood before her, eyes stuck to hers, curiosity in his gaze.

He was waiting for her to say what to do next, she knew. And she knew he would wait forever.

She had thought about how she wanted to do this. What she wanted of this. Sure, there were things described in those books she’d read that made her feel something foreign, something she figured she’d be scolded by many for, and she was curious about those things, but she was new. So, so new, and she hated being afraid.

She wasn’t entirely sure how to ask it. “Can I look at you?” She asked.

Link nodded, face softening just a little, and she took a deep breath.

She knelt in front of him, because she wanted no surprises on her wedding night (even if she might have to pretend), and reached for the hem of his shorts. She couldn’t look up at him, couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, before pulling them down.

She didn’t know where to look. She’d seen diagrams before, of course, in the educational texts Urbosa had given her (Hylia, thank goodness Urbosa had thought to prepare her that much, at least), so she wasn’t horribly surprised, but her eyes weren’t sure where to look.

The planes of his stomach gave way to curly hair not unlike her own, except for the glaring difference in front of her face. He was larger than expected, in a way that panged some anxiety in her gut at her plans for the evening, but not overly so. She frowned as she looked at his length, at the way his skin changed color and texture near his tip.

She reached out to touch, hand freezing before her fingers made contact. She looked up at his face, about to ask permission, surprised to see the frown on his face. He nodded, and she thought for a moment to question him, but that would be unfair. He had given her permission.

Just the tips of her fingers, first, ghosting over the length of him, skin softer and smoother than she expected, and he inhaled a sharp breath above her.

“Is that alright?” She asked, looking up at him again, and he nodded once more, lower lip between his teeth.

She traced her thumb up his underside until reaching his tip, where his skin was darker, and he twitched in her hand.

Of course. He was sensitive here, obviously. She knew as much. She cursed herself for how slowly she had caught on.

“How do you touch yourself?” She asked. Perhaps it was gratuitous. There wasn’t really any reason she needed to know how he touched himself. It wasn’t like she couldn’t ask her future husband the same question should she ever care to know.

The thought soured her, because she assumed she would never care to know, and she banished it from her mind as his trembling hand covered hers around his length.

She watched, wide-eyed as he slowly pumped up and down his shaft, her fingers moving with his. He hadn’t exactly been soft before, but she felt him hardening beneath her grip, and she suppressed the urge to grip him tighter, to feel just how hard he grew under the right touch.

“Could you finish from this?” She asked him, looking up once more. She was surprised to find his face flushed, cheeks red, eyes dark and locked on hers. He nodded, his breathing quickened. “Would you like to?” She asked. Perhaps it was an odd question. While she had grown adept at reading his nonverbal cues in other contexts, she felt quite at a loss here, and was perfectly happy to prompt him with questions.

He shook his head. She stood, pulling her hand away from him, and his movements slowed.

“Why not?” She asked. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair for her to ask for his feelings in addition to his body. It wasn’t even fair for her to ask for his body.

“Recovery time,” he said quietly, cheeks darker still. “Makes things awkward.”

She smiled, mostly because the idea was silly. Weren’t things already plenty awkward? Clearly she had no issue with awkward. But she wouldn’t ask him to finish before he wanted to. Even if it meant she had to move on to the next part, the part that made her the most nervous. “Then I suppose it’s my turn, then?” She asked.

“If you wish,” he said plainly.

Hm. Zelda stared at him for a moment, her voice caught in her throat. What was she to ask him? She certainly could not ask him to do anything from those romance novels. It was hardly as if he could rip her bodice off her now, anyway. She knew better than to skip straight to the part that scared her the most, knowing she needed time to warm up, but was she just supposed to—

“Would you like me to touch you?” He asked quietly.

She blinked, realizing her brow had furrowed and her gaze had strayed. She saw something on his face, beyond just the recognition that she had gotten lost in her thoughts. Compassion maybe? It would be like him, to feel compassion for her while she took advantage of him.

She nodded. So much easier to nod than to speak the truth. She understood why he preferred silence.

“You’ll tell me yes or no?” He asked, his voice slightly huskier than before, eyes dark and serious.

“Yes,” she forced herself to say. She owed him as much, if he would take the lead for her.

Without further preamble, he leaned in to kiss her, slowly, gently, just enough pressure that she could feel him so close to her. Her lips parted with a gasp, and he pulled away enough to meet her eyes once more.

“Yes,” she whispered, her entire body tingling. He leaned in again, and she met him halfway. Why hadn’t she considered kissing? Perhaps because she expected no kissing on her wedding night, that might be a boundary she could draw, an intimacy she wouldn’t be required to provide. Of course she would kiss her husband on her wedding day, however much she might not like to, but—

Link’s lips moved against hers, and she let him sweep all thoughts of her wedding day from her mind. Unlike how she presumed she would feel then, she wanted to be an active participant this time.

She felt his hand ghost over her back, chills shuddering through her until she reached up for his shoulders. His skin was so hot under her fingertips, rougher than he had been where she wrapped around him earlier. His tongue swiped over her lips then, and she squeezed him perhaps a little rougher than she meant to.

He pulled away, not nearly as breathless as she was but she felt his shoulders rise and fall under her hands. “Yes?” He asked.

She almost wondered if he wanted to hear her say it. Surely he could tell. She nodded emphatically, because she hadn’t intended for this night to involve kissing (hadn’t even considered it), but wasn’t it lovely? “Yes,” she said, tired of his caution and leaning back in once more, wondering if she could slide her tongue past his lips, into his mouth, taste him.

The hand behind her back pulled her closer, and she swore she heard a groan from his chest, felt it in his mouth, and she wondered if perhaps no one had mentioned kissing to her for fear that if she discovered it, she would never stop kissing her knight.

He let her lead with her newfound confidence, allowing her to kiss him until she ran out of breath, pulled away to try to catch it, feeling his hot breath on her face between kisses. For a moment, she forgot that she had asked him to do this for her, that he had generously agreed, that she was taking advantage of him but had a mission for the evening. For a moment, it felt real, like something sweet and genuine. As she waited to catch her breath, her hand reached up of its own accord to the tie in his hair, pulling it free, watching his hair fall over his forehead and shoulders.

She kissed him again, hands in his silky hair, marveling at how soft it was, at how it felt between her fingers. His arms wrapped around her middle, holding her body against his, letting her feel the heat of his skin.

She hardly got to kiss him at all before she ran out of breath again, pulling away just enough to rest her head on his shoulder as she panted for air. Her fingers combed idly through his hair, and she forgot what she had asked him to do.

“Why do you leave your hair long?” She asked him absently.

His fingers drew tiny circles on her back, and she tried not to shiver over how gently he touched her. “It’s easier to tie back, Princess,” he told her.

“Would you like your tie back?” She asked into his shoulder.

“If you want it tied back,” he answered.

Of course he dodged the question. The moment coagulated, sitting idle for too long—she remembered why they were here. That they weren’t in love. That she had asked him for something specific.

She pressed a kiss to a scar on his collarbone before meeting his eyes. “Is that the only way you planned on touching me tonight?” She asked. His cheeks flamed, and she tried not to smile too much at having flustered him.

“Is there another way you want me to touch you?” He asked, his voice so flat she almost would have thought he meant nothing by it if she didn’t know him so well, didn’t see the way his pupils obscured his blue irises.

She grabbed his hand from her waist, pulling him over to the bedroll, guiding him to sit with her. His eyes stuck to hers expectantly, maybe even eagerly.

She guided his hand between her legs, over her undergarments, simultaneously glad she hadn’t taken them off and wishing they would disappear. It was easy enough to move his fingers over her where she was most sensitive, inhaling at the warmth of his fingers over the thin fabric. “There,” she said quietly. “Gentle,” she added.

He moved slowly, exploring the shape of her, eyes glued to her face with rapt attention. She was sure he was reading her face as closely as he could, and though it felt too intimate for their arrangement, she let herself stare back at him.

There was no blue left in those dark eyes of his, and she watched as his tongue swept out to wet his lips. “Yes?” He asked, focusing his attention where she had directed him earlier, and she whimpered in response, legs closing around his hand.

“Yes,” she breathed, reaching down to pull her damned undergarments off, to feel his skin on her directly, and she had to close her eyes to limit the stimulation. Surely he had felt her moisture through the fabric before, but there was no hiding how soaked she was, now.

When she opened her eyes, his face close to hers, lips parted, eyes hungrier than she ever thought his could be.

“Like this?” He asked, breath hot on her face, fingers gentle but insistent over her, and she wanted more but could hardly think when he looked at her like that.

“Yes,” She repeated, leaning forward just enough to try to kiss him again, but she didn’t have enough breath to do anything besides uselessly drag her lips over his. One hand reached for his wrist, increasing the pressure of his hand, the other reaching around to grab his hair, pull his face closer to his. She couldn’t bear the combination of his fingers over her and the look on his face, needed to bury her face in his neck again.

“Princess,” he mouthed into her ear, and she fell back on the bedroll, taking him with her, but his hand didn’t falter, and she cried out in response, gripping his wrist tighter. “Princess, I…” He started.

She panted over his shoulder, releasing his wrist (clearly he had demonstrated his competence) to pull him on top of her even more.

He pushed his free arm against the floor beside her head to keep himself from crushing her, but she wanted his weight on her, could feel the hardness of his cock over her belly just above where he touched her.

“What?” She asked, wondering if he would ask if she was ready, wishing he would, because she had never felt emptier in her entire life.

“Can I try something?” He asked quietly.

She released his hair, and his hand froze between her thighs, and he pulled away with hardly anything but anxiety on his face.

She was unbelievably intrigued. “Try something?” She repeated, eyes wide, examining his features. His pupils were no less blown. Brows furrowed. Skin delightfully flushed. What could he so desperately want to try that he asked in this moment?

He nodded, regret passing his features.

“What do you want to try?” She asked curiously, reaching up to run her hand over his arm. He seemed too shy to share.

His face somehow became even redder. He leaned away from her over the bedroll, eyes turning away, hand reaching nervously behind his neck to scratch at exactly the place he got itchy when he was nervous.

“I’m desperately curious, Link, please,” she said, sitting up after him, moving her face into his line of sight.

Link’s eyes fell between her legs. His tongue darted out to wet his lips again. His eyes returned to hers. “I—I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head just a little.

“Tell me,” she said, bordering on commanding, because how dare he interrupt her pleasure without telling her why? “I can tell you no, you know that.”

He looked horribly sheepish. “Can I…” He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Taste you?” He breathed out.

Her eyebrows shot up, because it seemed he would act some things out from those raunchy romance novels.

She reached out to brush his hair out of his face, to feel just how hot the red of his cheeks was. His skin burned under her touch, and he leaned into her palm. “I don’t see why not,” she answered. They’d already strayed beyond activities she could expect on her wedding night. In fact, this might be the only time someone would ever offer this to her.

She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping to reassure him. His eyes turned to face hers, wide, as if he hadn’t expected that reaction.

She reclined again, spreading her legs, trying to keep her own face from flushing at the vulgarity of it all. Certainly they were past that?

He watched closely, eyes on her face, then down her body to her legs. He looked up at her face one last time, and she smiled. “Are you teasing me on purpose?” She asked him.

His eyes softened, and then his shame seemingly disappeared as he crawled over between her legs, face so close to her center she could feel his breath between her thighs, and she fought to keep her legs from closing out of shyness.

“You’ll tell me what you want?” He asked one more time.

She nodded, wondering if he could tell that she was growing wetter simply by his proximity to her, from the anticipation, and then without further preamble, he wrapped his arms around her legs to hold them open, and he licked her.

She twitched in response, because his tongue was hotter, softer, wetter than his fingers, and she hadn’t expected it to feel so different. Or so much better.

“Yes?” He asked her.

“Yes,” she responded instantly, perhaps too eagerly, but she needed to know if she hallucinated the sensation.

He licked up her again, nothing but a tease, familiarizing himself with her, probably taking mental notes of where his tongue made her tense the most. She was still trying to orient herself, trying to understand how her body could even feel this way, when one hand reached over to rub her softly again.

“Here?” He asked, and she couldn’t tell if it was a sincere question or he just wanted to hear her say it.

“Yes,” she answered, and he leaned back into kiss her, all lips and tongue, and she squealed at the intensity, the pleasure bursting through her. One hand clenched the bed roll, and the other found his hair. She tried not to pull, not to push, but her fingers on his scalp only seemed to egg him on, and soon she was just as desperate as she had been with just his hands.

“Link,” she said in warning, because she was certain she was close, that she would hardly last any longer, and he eased off just enough to pull her back from the edge.

“Yes?” He asked again, and she couldn’t tell if he knew he had denied her or not.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, pushing his face closer to her center. “Yes,” she hissed, and she felt his laugh against her core as he pulled away from her clitoris, moving closer to her opening. “Please assume yes unless I say otherwise,” she added breathlessly, because she couldn’t bear for him to pull that move again.

He hummed in acknowledgement over her, arms tightening around her legs, and she shivered at the sensation. She was quickly realizing that he really did mean that he wanted to taste her, which made her face so hot it nearly hurt. His tongue gently prodded at her, lapping away every drop of her, and making her squirm with pleasure.

He pulled away again, untangling one arm from her leg to replace his mouth, fingers tracing over her entrance. She huffed, and he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh before sliding a finger inside her, slowly and gently. “Yes?” He asked.

She sat up on an elbow to look at him, to glare at him, because what did she just say? The look on his face tempered her frustration, the way his hair ruffled between her fingers, the way he still had her all over his lips and chin. She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Please,” she added.

He kissed her again, exactly where she wanted him to, and she collapsed back on the bed roll. He slowly pushed and pulled his finger in and out of her, and she remembered that he had never done this before, either.

“Curl your finger,” she said to him, releasing the bed roll to grab the hand still holding her thigh to demonstrate. “Like this.”

He did, and she clenched his hand now, hips chasing his hand and mouth.

“Yes,” she confirmed, in case he thought it appropriate to stop long enough to ask, and she laced her fingers between his on his free hand to squeeze.

His curled finger was the beginning of the end for her, she realized quickly, with his finger finding exactly the right spot inside her, matching rhythm with his mouth, overwhelming her until she felt everything explode at the same time, crying out as her body shook, as he refused to let up, eyes so black she wondered if they had ever been blue, if they’d ever looked at her with anything less than the ravenousness that filled them now.

She had to push his head away as she descended, and he seemed reluctant to leave, kissing the insides of her thighs as he pulled his finger out of her. She fought to catch her breath, staring at him in awe and confusion as he lifted that finger to his mouth to clean it with his tongue. As if he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

She was delirious from the orgasm, clearly, she reminded herself, as her mental faculties slowly began to return. He had agreed to this for her sake, she knew, and it would do her well to remember that.

“Yes?” He asked innocently, and she couldn’t help but laugh, throwing her head back on the bedroll to stare at the top of the tent.

“Yes,” she confirmed, sitting up to reach for his face, to run her fingers through his hair, marvel at the softness. He smiled back sweetly, as if this had been their agreement. For a moment, she was almost satisfied to believe that it was.

She was thinking more clearly by the moment, though, and she knew that as incredible as that may have been, that wasn’t what she was here for with him, tonight.

The awkwardness should be gone, she thought, but no matter how he had touched her, she knew it had been at her request. That everything would have to be at her request, including this next part. That she would have to ask.

“Would you lie back, please, Link?” She asked, more breathlessly than she expected, and he complied immediately, hands at his sides, staring at her as if awaiting further instructions.

What a pity, she thought as she crawled over him, straddling his thighs so as not to obstruct the view of his length, that she would not have this on her wedding night. Eager eyes that she knew were blue but hardly looked it, struggling between her body and her face. Obedient hands at his sides—that wouldn’t do, though, she thought, reaching for them and running them over her body to feel his callouses.

“I’d much prefer you touch me, Link,” she said, surprised by her boldness, and again, he complied. His fingers traced over her calves, eyes stuck to hers with a look on his face she couldn’t quite identify. She could see the strain on his body to sit still, the way he wept against his own stomach. She reached down to touch him, feeling him flinch in her hand, hot and hard and silky smooth.

She wanted him inside. She could hardly believe it, but she wanted him inside. She shifted her hips forward to drag her center over him, and he groaned, hips twitching beneath him.

“P-princess…” he stuttered, fingers gripping at her legs.

She rocked over him a few times like that, letting her wetness cover the underside of his dick until he whimpered.

She stopped wondering what this might be like on her cursed wedding night. She knew she’d never be allowed such freedoms with whatever man her father picked out; that she’d be trapped beneath him, thinking of Hyrule, closing her eyes and pretending to be anywhere else.

Fuck her wedding night. Link had given this to her on her terms, lay beneath her at her mercy, skin flushed all over and sticky with sweat. She wouldn’t taint her experience with him tonight with anxiety about the future.

She sat up just enough to reach for him, to position herself over him, to press his tip against her opening.

“Princess,” Link said again, something of a warning, eyes pleading while his hands flew up to her hips.

She slipped down just a little, feeling him stretch her open. She collapsed on top of him, hands on his chest, gasping. It was new, it was slightly uncomfortable at first, but it felt better than she expected.

“Princess?” Link panted, palms over her cheeks, pulling her face closer to his. “Princess, are you alright?”

Gods, his eyes hardly had any blue left behind black pupils, and she let out a breathless laugh, nodding, biting her lip. He was so sweet to her, so devoted to her, it hurt, and she needed more.

She allowed herself to sink down on him a little more, thighs trembling from the exertion. She buried her face into his shoulder, resisting the urge to bite down into the skin there. He was so warm, arms so insistent around her, holding her close but allowing her to take her time, and she couldn’t take it.

It was easy to let her hips fall to his, even if he filled her deeper than she expected, even if it knocked what little breath she had left out of her chest, even if she did maybe nip at his shoulder just a bit.

His hands were everywhere, on her hips, her back, her arms, her legs, running over her skin, steady and consistent despite his ragged breathing in her ear.

Keeping her hips flush to his, she pulled herself up just enough to kiss him, to feel that hot breath in her mouth, to feel him everywhere. He tried to kiss her back, she could tell, despite his breathlessness, hands pulling her face close.

When she pulled away, she could hardly stand how debauched he looked. Hair messy, face flushed, lips kiss-swollen, eyes delirious. He was looking at every part of her with this hazy, unfocused look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite follow it all.

She sat up. She needed to focus, at least a little. Couldn’t have his mouth distracting her. She needed her strength. She lifted her hips off him slowly, wondering how she could possibly miss the feeling of him inside her so desperately after she’d only just discovered it, and then slowly lowered herself back down.

Link stared, eyes darker than night, at where they joined, at her chest, at her face, everywhere. He had moved his hands to the bedroll beneath them, clenching at the fabric there. She could feel his hips twitch beneath her.

She needed a minute or two to feel him like this before she gave him the reins. She would, she knew, because he was incapable of hurting her, and she wanted to watch him lose control. But not yet. She slowly worked up to a rhythm, planting her hands on his chest, allowing her body to learn the appropriate motion. His body twitched and flinched beneath her at the exertion to keep himself still, but he did, even if he whimpered through it.

It didn’t take long for the muscles in her legs to give out, for her to collapse on top of him once again, to feel him so deep inside her that she swore she could taste him.

“Your turn,” she mumbled, kissing his collarbone (or whatever part of him was closest to her lips), and he groaned in her ear.

His arms reached around her, pulling her hips even closer, making her gasp, until suddenly she was on her back beneath him, still stretched around him, hips still spread to his, and she froze in shock.

He rocked his hips against her slowly, never pulling more than halfway out of her, leaning over to kiss her, and she melted beneath him.

He hit inside her just right, a place that made her whole body weak and electrified, and she couldn’t even catch her breath over it with his lips over hers.

Finally, she reached for his hair, pulling his face to the side, where he began kissing her neck to allow her to breathe.

“Sorry, Princess,” he murmured into her skin, but she still couldn’t catch her breath with the rhythm of his hips pushing all her air out of her.

Not that she wanted him to stop. He was everywhere around her, overpowering every sensory input she had, and it was perfect.

“Gods, Link,” she gasped, arms clutching his back, the pads of her fingers pressing into his skin, ankles crossing behind his hips. Something inside her was snapping, her entire body nearly vibrating with the overwhelm, but she wanted more. “Please,” she breathed, trying to squeeze him even closer, to feel the planes of his chest over hers.

Despite her vice grip on him, his motions didn’t slow. “Please, what, Princess?” He said into her skin, and it took every ounce of her focus to push the single word out.

“More,” she begged, her skin tingling everywhere he touched and her insides feeling like a pot about to boil.

“More?” He asked, as if uncertain how to comply, as if he wasn’t sure if she wanted faster or harder or deeper. The idea of any kept her panting, until suddenly his hand was between them, fingers gently pressing just right between her thighs, and everything exploded.

She wasn’t sure exactly what happened between when he pushed her over the edge and she started coming down—she wasn’t entirely sure that Hylia hadn’t appeared, hadn’t blessed her, hadn’t let her feel the raw power of her mothers. She knew everything was tense, building, and then every nerve in her body sang in unison until she could hardly see, hear, taste; she knew he said something to her in her ear, so softly and sweetly, between kisses to the side of her face.

She knew she was boneless, wondered if she would ever feel the desire to do anything ever again except bask in this incredible afterglow, catch her breath, enjoy the feel of her knight gentle between her thighs. It was perhaps the first thing she noticed, when he pulled out, and she felt empty, until warmth bloomed over her stomach, and she realized he was enjoying his release, too. She was too slow to process what was going on to be able to watch his face, catching only the way his brow finally untensed, and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

She watched him catch his breath, only slightly ahead of him, finally feeling enough strength in her body to reach for him and pull him over her once more.

“Princess?” He asked quietly.

“Lie with me,” she said, a demand rather than a question, but one she hoped he wouldn’t protest. He rolled to his side so that his weight didn’t crush her, arms wrapping around her to pull her into his chest.

“Like this?” He asked, hand stroking her hair, and she worried she might fall asleep with how peaceful she felt.

“Yes,” she said, tucking her face into his skin. “Thank you,” she added, wondering if she would ever feel such contentment ever again.

“Princess,” he scoffed, clearly upset with the idea of her thanking him, but she would have none of it.

“I mean it,” she said, turning her head to look up at him. He was frowning at her. “I’m aware of the risk you assume by participating in this. And…” She told herself she wouldn’t think of her wedding night any longer, wouldn’t further taint this one perfect night with any anxieties of the future. “This was everything I could have possibly dreamed it would be,” she said finally, tucking her head back into his chest. He was so warm, so comforting. For a single moment, she let her heart break that it wouldn’t be her who got to spend the rest of her life curled up against him.

Link was quiet for some time, as if considering his response. She didn’t expect or need him to answer. She knew better than to think his preferred mode of communication was speech. In fact, she was almost asleep by the time he answered her.

“You’re welcome, Princess,” he said finally, voice soft, maybe even slightly sad. And just as she felt sleep claim her, she swore he pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

When Link got the summons a week later, he figured he knew what had happened. King Rhoam had somehow figured out what had happened, and he wanted to personally see to it that Link got what he deserved.

Perhaps he wouldn’t be killed, thanks to the sword on his back. Link wasn’t sure what the rules were there, if another hero would rise to take his place, if he would be reborn once more, or what. Link figured King Rhoam probably wouldn’t want to risk it. That would only buy him time, though. He might be thrown into the dungeons to rot until the Calamity, after which he would then be punished, if he survived. Maybe his reward for his part in saving the entire kingdom would be that he would be hung, drawn, and quartered. Publicly executed. Maybe privately, if the King wished to avoid scandal, and he was sure he would. Perhaps he would be killed behind closed doors, so the story could publicly be that he disappeared after his duty was done.

Link didn’t regret it. Not even a little. He would gladly accept whatever punishment the King thought worthy, anything would be worth it a hundred times over to be with Princess Zelda the way he had been. Really, his only regret was that they had returned to the castle instead of running away together, that’s he only had one night with her.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think she might return his feelings, no. He knew that he was in the right place at the right time for her. That was enough for him. More than enough, really. More than he deserved, more than he’d ever thought he’d get.

And she’d had the audacity to thank him, afterwards. As if he had done her a favor.

It was odd, Link thought, that he was going to hear about his impending torture and death in the King’s study rather than the throne room, but again, Link figured this was to avoid scandal. Prying eyes must be avoided.

When he entered and bowed, he steeled himself for the worst.

“Please, Link, sit,” King Rhoam nodded to the chair across his desk.

Link sat. Perhaps the King wanted to look him in the eye when he broke the news.

“I won’t mince words. My advisors tell me the court grows weary of my daughter’s inability to awaken her powers.” The King sighed, his eyes drifting out of focus. “If only I had gone in her mother’s place, perhaps this, too, could have been avoided.”

Link blinked. He didn’t let his confusion and surprise show. He never did.

King Rhoam focused once again on Link. “They gave me few options. Of the few, there was only one that I imagined she might one day forgive me for.”

Link waited. He liked to think that Princess Zelda wouldn’t forgive her father for assassinating him, but perhaps he did not have as much of her favor as he liked to believe.

“I have no misgivings about whether you might forgive me for it. I expect you not to.” Hard to forgive someone for killing you, Link thought. “They want her married in three months.”

Link didn’t react. He was aware, of course, because she had told him. He had hated the news, because she did not want to be wed. Whether he would be wildly jealous was none of anyone’s concern, hardly even his own, and certainly not the King’s. Why this would be framed as something Link could choose to forgive or not, why the King should think anything of Link’s feelings regarding this was unsettling.

“I was able to persuade them to allow me to choose her husband,” King Rhoam continued.

Link really wasn’t sure how this was going to lead to his execution.

“I know you will do right by her. And if I’m not mistaken, she has grown to have a certain fondness for you as well.”

Link couldn’t stop his eyebrows from shooting up at the implication.

“Do you have any objections?” King Rhoam asked sincerely.

Link shook his head. Of course he had no objections—he had a dozen questions, none of which he had the voice to actually ask.

King Rhoam nodded. “Very well. I will make the necessary arrangements.”

Link’s head was spinning. Everything was happening so fast. “Your Majesty,” he managed to choke out.

King Rhoam waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Link couldn’t say anything else. What was he possibly to say? Seriously? He stared at the King, eyes wide, perhaps some panic on his face.

“I will tell her, if you do not want to face her ire for this decision,” King Rhoam said.

Link shook his head—goddesses above, he didn’t care who told her. “Can I ask her?” He said finally.

King Rhoam furrowed his brow. “Ask her?” He repeated.

“If she’d have me,” Link clarified.

King Rhoam thought for a moment. “I have no alternative suitor to present to her,” he said. “I’m afraid she has no choice.”

It didn’t matter. Link needed to ask. Perhaps it was obvious that he would do anything on her terms, would find joy in anything on her terms, but he needed it to be on her terms. “Please,” he begged.

King Rhoam’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly at the plea. “Very well,” he said. “But I don’t have any other options,” he added. “You can have three days before I tell her. Do with them what you will,” he said.

Link would find an alternative, if she said no. He was sure. But he hoped, desperately, that she would say yes.

Link would not need three days. He would need perhaps half an hour to track her down and ask her, but perhaps the rest of the remaining time would be if he needed to find alternative arrangements.

There was a pang in his gut at the idea of attempting to find another man to marry Princess Zelda. He pushed it down, setting his course for her study, where he figured she’d be this time in the afternoon.

“Come in,” Princess Zelda said absently at the knock at her door. She figured it was Link—hardly anybody else knocked and waited for her to answer before opening her door. Sure enough, he entered, closing the door behind him, bowing as if she hadn’t asked him to stop doing that a hundred times already. She sighed, deciding it couldn’t be worth the argument today. “What is it?” She asked. She figured it must be something if he was interrupting her study time.

He met her eyes, and for once, she could see vulnerability on his face. “Princess,” he started, voice soft and pensive. “If you were able to choose who you must marry,” he started, face scrunched deep in thought.

She blinked at him. His eyes were a little wider than normal, as if he were anxious for her response. As if he needed it sooner rather than later. As if it made any sense why he had all but burst into her study to ask her such a thing. She frowned. “If I were able to choose?” She prompted, because he hadn’t really finished his question, not really.

She watched his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “Who would you choose?”

Her frown deepened. She was horribly worried that he might ask her that question. “I haven’t thought about it,” she lied easily. “I won’t be able to choose.” It was true. It was bad enough that she had thought about it, at length, that she had fantasized about it, that she had considered—she couldn’t voice it. She couldn’t admit it.

“If you were, though?” He asked.

She flexed her jaw in irritation. Did he know? Did he want to hear her say it? It wasn’t like him to need that sort of validation, to push her when she did not indicate interest. “I don’t know,” she lied again, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why do you ask?”

Gods, it was so hard to continue to frown at him when he looked at her with those big blue eyes all round and pleading. Like he needed to hear her say it. Like it would do either of them any good.

“I need to know,” he said finally, voice stilted.

He was a terrible liar, she knew. He could hardly stand it. His hands fidgeted with his tunic, feet shifting restlessly.

She supposed she owed it to him, after what he had done for her. Were her father ever to find out, he’d certainly be executed in the most painful way the king could imagine. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted her honesty, what good it could possibly do him. Even if he wanted the same, would choose the same—would it not hurt him, too, to know what could have been? She figured he did not want the same (how could he possibly?), which meant only pride, ego, conquest could drive wanting her admission. She knew Link to have none of these things.

She sighed, gesturing to the seat across from her at her desk. He sat instantly. “If you insist on asking,” she said, fighting to keep her composure. “Were I given the luxury of choice in my partner, I’d undoubtedly choose you.”

The length of his lashes was pure sin, she thought enviously, watching his face as closely as she could in an attempt to read him. “Why?” He whispered, as if he could barely get the word out from his throat.

If it weren’t for the look in his eyes, nearly pained, she would have chastised him for asking. Instead, she smiled just a little. “Worried I’ve grown too fond of you?” She teased.

He shook his head fiercely, as if he thought her question genuine and was desperate to correct her. “N-no, I—” he started, and she put her hand up to mercifully silence him.

“I don’t know what my options would be like if my father were to put me on the marriage market the traditional way and invite suitors in to court me, but I can’t imagine being interested in anyone who might try,” she said. “That makes it sound as if I would choose you out of comfort or convenience, which isn’t remotely the case.” Whatever he wanted the truth for, she wasn’t sure, but she would give it to him. “I know I haven’t always been kind to you—”

“Princess—” Link interrupted, probably to defend her right to have been cruel to him for whatever asinine reason he would be able to come up with (because he was always able to find ways to defend her), but she raised her hand again, and he clenched his jaw closed.

“I know I haven’t always been kind to you, but I hope it’s been abundantly clear that I have realized I was wrong about you. You are everything I could ever possibly hope to have in a husband and more. You are kind, considerate, loyal, hard-working, honest, generous, forgiving…” Her eyes fell from his for just a moment. Something panged deep in her gut at speaking her thoughts about him into existence. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to move on from him when their destinies were fulfilled. How could anyone live up to Hylia’s Chosen Hero? Saying it all out loud finally made it real, meant she had to face what she was going to lose. “I’d be a fool to choose anyone else,” she said, forcing herself to look at him again.

Link stared at her with pure awe in his eyes, and it almost made the crushing loss worth it, to get to see him like that. “You’d choose me because you want to?” He asked.

She nodded, eyes tracing over his face.

“Why do you ask?” She said finally. Perhaps she was wrong to assume he would see it like she did, like speaking it aloud would make the loss more painful, and that it would be better to pretend. She felt that way because she was a coward, she knew. If she never spoke the truth, she would never have to acknowledge how much it hurt.

It would make sense, then, that Link would want the truth. He was never afraid of pain, never ran away from his fears. Perhaps he felt the same, and it would hurt him just as much as it would hurt her, but he would want to know, anyway.

“His Royal Majesty has asked me to marry you,” Link said plainly.

Zelda blinked at him, not processing his words.

“I told him I had to ask you if you wanted that,” he continued, as if what he had said earlier made sense. “And he said I had three days before he told you.”

“Sorry, what?” Zelda asked, blinking again at him, standing up out of her desk.

“He said he didn’t have anyone else to ask, and I figured I’d have to come up with an alternative if you said no, but—” Link continued, saying more words at once than she had ever heard from him before, as if he were capable of nervous babble, as if there was a chance she would have said no.

“My father asked you?” She clarified. “When?”

“About half an hour ago,” he said.

Zelda sat back down, frowning again, eyes unable to focus on anything. “What alternatives did you come up with?” She asked flatly. She hadn’t missed that he had said nothing of his own feelings, which had spoken volumes. Whatever his alternatives were, she owed it to him to consider them.

“I didn’t,” he said.

She met his eyes again, her frown deepening once more. “Why not?”

He looked confused. “I didn’t want to,” he admitted.

“Why not?” She asked again.

“I wanted you to say yes,” he said.

“You did?” She asked, unable to frown any deeper now.

“Of course I did,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Why?” She nearly choked out.

At that, Link let out a full-belly laugh—she’d never really heard him laugh before, not like that. She watched in awe, at the way the corners of his mouth turned, at how handsome he was when he smiled. “Princess, I’m hopelessly in love with you,” he said through gasps of laughter. “Is it not obvious?”

Hopelessly in love. Obvious. His words. She couldn’t wipe the frown off her face in the disbelief of it all. “You are?” She asked stupidly.

He nodded. “Did you think I slept with you out of duty?” He asked.

Zelda paused for a minute, considering his question. Obviously he wouldn’t have slept with her out of duty. It was a pretty clear violation of his duty. It would have been a foolish thing to do out of solely lust, as well, given the risk. And while Link was certainly willing to take risks, risking execution to bed the princess out of lust would have been wildly out of character. And… well, he had pretty clearly enjoyed it. She wasn’t blind to that, even if she had tried to ignore it. She blinked. “I hadn’t considered it,” she said finally.

“Will you say yes?” He asked when she met his eyes again. “Or should I attempt to come up with an alternative?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I mean, no alternatives, please, gods,” she said, still frowning, because what in Hylia’s name was going on here? “You’re sure?” She asked.

He nodded, smiling, and she watched the corners of his lips as they turned upwards. “Positive,” he said.

She reached for his face, pulled him close and kissed him, and it wasn’t until he kissed her back so eagerly that the frown finally faded from her face.

Perhaps she would have something to look forward to on her wedding night after all.