The steady pacing of heavy boots echoed throughout the Gerudo King's chambers, pensive and privated away as he was to wrestle the musings of a sleepless mind.

Since the previous evening, Ganondorf had been placed into a bewilderment, left to puzzle over the curious Princess in his midst. It was not often he entered such a state, glances stolen of himself every so often by the reflection of polished armour, resigned as it was to a mannequin for the moment. He had not bothered to dress. He had not left his rooms. Most alarmingly of all—or telling, perhaps—the Gerudo had also neglected his daily habit of manifesting in Zelda's mirror.

It bothered him immensely that he could not bring himself to make contact, unsure whether he avoided it out of as yet undecided stratagem, or simply his own newfound discomfort. It seemed ridiculous how, so suddenly, he felt as if it may be Zelda's eyes watching him through the sheen of his own looking glass, silent in judgement. Without the weighted metals cladding his body, he moved about his rooms in utter stealth, sneaking as if her pointed ears may somehow hear his unrest.

"Guileless snake."

He hissed the cursing under his breath in native tongue, biting into the words with sharp teeth as if it were her flesh to tear. It struck him a grand and discouraging mystery as to how the paling wisp of a woman had managed to burrow so far under his thickened skin; one question, precise and callously timed, sent the fine hairs on his neck standing straight.

The sheer gall she had to even ask such a thing… the world's finest cards player wouldn't have bet on that start.

Twitching fingers unfurled and tightened in and out of fists as he went, Gerudian insults slithering out of him all the while. Over the night he had mentally retraced every step taken with her to lead them to such a point, and still found himself at a loss for why he'd missed it—every gesture, every argument, every look she'd ever given him with those icy eyes of hers. Any hint or sign from previous interactions that had gone amiss in his gloating or taunting, little variations on their page as the Princess constantly edited herself before him, allowing them to be steered to civility.

The more he thought on it all, the less sense it made. He had missed so many crucial, subtle turns between them and yet, he was certain of what the Princess intended to seed when she put her question to him.

His following unrest was surely a small victory on her part, and this fact only served to annoy Ganondorf further.

Was he paranoid of her? Certainly, but now more than ever the Gerudo felt that it was warranted. He was a sharp man, sure of himself and swift to his conclusions. Able to read others, it was a rarity to find himself mistaken or caught unawares. Even now, his judgement hadn't gone that far astray—rather than a corridor to dash down for some foolhardy attempt to escape, Wisdom's bearer had simply found a more refined avenue by which to open the doors of her cage.

Having been blindsided by all this though, Ganondorf was slowly coming to admit that his talents for reading people had gone rather far amiss where Zelda was concerned. Oblivious to the extent of her micro management, achieved only through an hour or so each day in amirror… his pride could barely weather the blow.

Sharply turning on his heel with another curse on his breath, the deafening crack of his knuckles against the wall seemed to shake the very room with stifled fury. The Gerudo King would seethe there for a moment, letting his anger seep into the cracked brick, and with measured breathing willed his head to clear and jaw to unclench. Thick fingers loosened from the fist, slivers of stone breaking free to shatter by his boots as he stared at the damage done, flexing his hand as it retracted. It did no good to rile and thrash with angered violence, he knew, when faced with the patience and undermining precision of Wisdom. This much he had learned already from her predecessor, and Zelda's game—as he now understood it—was well afoot.

But Gods only knew how he'd have liked to.

The tension left him with a sigh, and closing his golden eyes, Ganondorf allowed his forehead to rest against the wall. Cool against heated skin, he drew calm from it as he could, occasionally drawing back an inch to thud his head in frustration as he muttered.

"This is ridiculous," he scoffed to himself, weathered features drawn into a tight scowl as if a great headache had gripped him. "An idiot could've seen through that ploy for better meals, she was fooling no one. There should have been nothing more to it than that. Wishing to dine with one's enemy; it's the tactics of a spoiled child, demands turned to sweetness when they find resistance… to be expected."

Again, he conceded for the fifth or sixth time to himself over the course of that morning, she must've known he may underestimate her in exactly that line of reasoning, and haughtily agree to her request.

But, a double bluff, hiding the complex behind the obvious…?

That she had studied him enough to do so presented truth to his predictability, just as she had once foretold, and it was this that perhaps rattled him the most. He did hold habit of simply vanishing from her mirror and cutting conversations short whenever she overstepped her bounds, or simply bored him.

But, that was just it—he had maintained control of everything so seamlessly, it could only be that he had grown lax in guarding himself or too comfortable with the idea that they should speak.

Yes… that he had trouble admitting to himself.

And getting into his physical presence disallowed his aloofness to an extent, and left his reactions open for her to see—or at the very least, gauge him a little more accurately than before. Zelda had patiently built her manipulations until he had given her what she required to make her next strike against him, and he hadn't even noticed until it was already done.

"Din sear it all, she's probably been waiting to spring this for weeks, the conniving wretch… Gods only know what else she has managed."

There was no way of telling with certainty how nuanced the Princess' plans may be, but a rouse he was certain it was at present—doubt was there, of course, but he was not so unaware of her affairs as she perhaps thought. He had spent the night breaking it down as best he could.

Though she claimed to 'wake in wait of his company' for her isolation, Ganondorf knew this to be false, especially after her bitterness over dinner. What he didn't know was whether Zelda believed he had taken it as true, given he'd acquiesced her. There didn't seem to be any sincere affections growing on her side, as well there shouldn't have been.

Such a potent, loaded question—will you take a wife during your reign?

Clearly, she was probing for her chances of fulfilling the role herself, and politically speaking, those sorts of gambits were almost to be expected of royalty. But, what did she gain from it now? A union may have held its benefit in prevention, but her throne was already forfeit. Even in the case that he did take her hand in marriage, he would not afford her enough influence to undo him.

But neither was Zelda the sort of woman to sit idle as a personal plaything or a trophy of war. That much was becoming evident.

A surrender to save the lives of those who served under her was one thing, and a smart move on her part. Allowing herself to be owned by her captor, in a legally binding marriage, when even her father's blood was—technically—on his hands?

No sound mind would willingly consider that without an ace in the hole to dig them out again soon enough; that was where his suspicions began.

Then again, as a Gerudo, Ganondorf had to concede that Hylian marriage and all the rules it entailed mostly went over his head. As far as many of his sister's would've seen it, her wish to marry him—forced to lovingly serve someone she likely also feared—was the wish to enter abject slavery. It wasn't a thought he'd often entertained for his future or any woman that might have been part of it, regardless of how exposed to such a custom he'd once been in the Royal Court.

Not that I ever expected such a proposal to be made by an adversary, he reminded himself. But, fool me once, his mind chided hastily,she'll not have the same luck again. Even she must know that, once caught, her traction with him would vanish entirely.

If there was any ulterior motive that this business of marriage distracted from, the constant access and company to each other the arrangement entailed only seemed counter productive, once the shock of it faded.

It was irritating, too, but a small part of him even dared to suspect that trashy novella she seemed besotted with for its ill-timed influence. There was always the slight possibility that she'd brainwashed herself into romantic delusions, born of loneliness and desperation to find new purpose while locked up with that blasted thing. Doubtful, but…

He prayed, were that somehow the case, she at least had the good graces to deviate from the no doubtpoorly written plot. The very last thing he needed was to find out he'd been manipulated by something belonging in a sock drawer.

"We should hardly even be on speaking terms at all, let alone living out some depraved, second-rate writer's fantasies." He snorted resolutely, peeling himself away from the wall to turn, perusing his armour once more with a bemused frown.

Delusions aside, again, there was nothing he had done to warrant her developing any sort of sincere affection for him that he could think of. Strained civility was a far cry from the kind of good company that required, no matter how lonely or isolated one was, and even then he laced everything with an appropriate amount of hostility. Zelda also seemed to be in possession of all her faculties, from what he could see, and so paid no further thought to that notion.

Loathe as he was to do so, he could concede that—beneath his displeasure—the woman had earned some of his respect in the course of her capture, and he gave her far more credit than temporary insanity.

She hadn't cracked under the conditions, and she hadn't faltered in her dealings with him. She'd slipped by his guards on two occasions to make a fool of him, and had buttered him up for better treatment by subtly appealing to his ego over time. Zelda had made it pointedly clear that his future—alongside Hyrule's own—was her business to know and have a hand in.

A long sigh rolled free as, once again, his mind seemed to be running circles around him, coming to nothing the longer he laboured on her question and the danger it could pose. Whatever her game was, he was certain that his present conundrum was playing straight into her hand. Pacing about his rooms like a distraught lover, worrying over an adulterous partner and running every horrid scenario through their head. Perhaps that was his burden, for Power rose quickly by complicated design. Wisdom was said to be simpler, elegant; spanning all things effortlessly to see with ease the compromises that Power overlooked.

And there, Power took pause to think on Wisdom plainly for the first time in hours, as the many voices in Ganondorf's head quietened to the simple image of those calculating blue eyes. She had him doing all of this to himself, he knew. One sentence had shattered him for a night, and with that, she had stolen his control—no, he had given it over in panic, assuming it gone.

He was acting as she expected he would. She had not acted as he expected of her. That was his mistake. To be predictable was to see the same story play out—his defeat. That was what she'd said, and it was the example she had chosen to make of him.

Conniving, smug little harpy.

But her talons were not yet clipped, and he would not be dismissing her so easily after this.

An earnest grimace took his mouth to twitch, and Ganondorf began to recall another quote openly, as her voice spilled into his head once again.

"But on that note… What was that she said, about her usefulness to me not yet running its course?"

Golden eyes narrowed to squint momentarily, decisive, and the Gerudo's gaze wandered his chambers thoughtfully. "She assumed we both knew why, didn't she…? As if the answer was obvious…" He stepped as he spoke to himself, musing outwardly and listening to the soft echo of his voice.

Soft steps took him around the back of a large armchair, idle fingers brushing the leathered back fondly. There it was, that tiny sliver he had missed, glinting in the dim light of the fire.

"Wisdom is far too obvious, or precious, to be bartered with in form." A fiery brow arched, gaze falling to the embers. "She knows I have no need of advisement and specifically, no want for hers…"

And her forces are shattered or left to linger as useless spirits in the Twilight…

Except for one, of course, but–

No.

No, that couldn't be it.

The bulk of his frame stilled entirely as the Gerudo's head snapped upwards in realisation then, though he pitied that the hand Zelda planned to play was not nearly as persuasive as she seemed to think.

Her trump card, her secret last resort, couldn't possibly be the boy? All hours of the night spent pacing over a hollow threat, it seemed, if her precious bargaining chip was really so simple: an imp and a goatherd riding in to save the day. A Hero, as dauntless as ever to be taken straight out of legends and old superstition—his mind ventured it with ease, memory stirring for a flash of green and the blonde bangs of a similar boy in a courtyard long ago.

Yes, he remembered well the cost of the Deku Tree's messenger, and what his few words to the King had wrought.

"A loyal dog that only heels to his master's command," he savoured the private jest taken for the boy's lupine form in twilight, drumming digits against the top of his chair. "And she means to hold back his leash for my cooperation?"

Despite himself, he chuckled for the thought. He was almost a trifle embarrassed of his own fussing now, but he supposed it hadn't gone without a lesson learned—just as with Zelda, perhaps the boy was not one to underestimate either, lest he be blindsided once again by unpleasant surprises.

"Even so, she mustn't be too sure of the boy's pending success… whatever that may be worth."

A dying coal cracked open with a loud pop before him, sending a few fleeting flickers of red into the air, and Ganondorf inclined his head slowly to nod to himself. The threat of a Hero was not one he found to be pressing as yet, and by no means was it enough to be used as leverage from what he'd heard of the boy's endeavours thus far. The potential for Link to become a problem was something he could not evenly deny, given the boy's blessing, but there was little need for concern at present.

But, taking Zelda's hand would remove the possibility of a Hero's threat to Ganondorf's plans entirely, as well as eliminating the risk of Link's failure and a complete loss on her part. No matter what she believed—in Ganondorf's mind—the reality was far less about calling off her Hero and more like bargaining for Link's life, but he could easily see the merit in erring on the side of caution.

"And she does claim to favour altruism, so I doubt it simply revolves around who spares who…" he commented to himself sneeringly, only half hearted in the statement. "The end of the occupation may be her truest condition; lifting the veil of twilight so that those below can return to their pitiful existence as normal. Likely she includes the Twili in such a wish, given what I've enabled Zant to make of their… conscription, and whatever sob story the Imp fed her."

Likewise, it was a reasonable guess that Link himself only knew what Midna wished him to. The Twili Princess always was the self serving sort. As far as the poor goatherd understood, he probably thought Zant would be the end of his troubles.

If he survives long enough to make such a stand, golden eyes flashed with a dark humour. The boy may never hear of me at all, save only to learn the name of his new King when all is said and done.

Playing his cards right, Ganondorf could remove the burden of holding to his end of the deal where Zant was concerned as well—making a well-timed scapegoat of the usurping Twili seemed a fitting finale.

With access to her realm returned to her in the case of Zant's dismissal, Midna's only interest would be to restore order in her own tattered Kingdom, which would have to be handed back under Zelda's likely terms. In turn, though, he would have Hyrule in her full splendour, untainted by Twilight and returned to how he recalled it once was—the Kingdom he so coveted for his own.

Not the victory he wanted, but as Zelda removed the risk from herself—without the games of fate to intervene—the risk of his own failure, slim as he saw it, disappeared also. His jaw shifted with thought as he glared off into the dim light of his quarters, shifting to rest his elbows atop the back of his armchair and lean.

Wisdom sought compromise, it seemed. A true and unmitigated surrender in which Zelda forfeited even her freedom, so that his wrath might be sated and two worlds' worth of people spared its fires.

"…Yes, some measure of peace returned by the self sacrificing Princess, without all this bloodshed. How noble." He spat, uninspired.

The lines of his face darkened for the distinct lack of such compassion he could recall his own tribe receiving in the past, hissing at the shadows as if they still belonged to the ghosts of his people.

Perhaps she even hoped she might change him, temper her husband into someone she could actually stomach from the shadow of the throne and encourage mercy were it went so undeserved.

"Is that all it takes these days, when even Heroes are allowed to be spared their duties at your whim, and Kings are expected to curtail to the charms of a prisoner's smile? Set the whole world right, with nothing but a stiff upper lip and a few lies to sweep it all under the rug… how typical ofHylian Royalty."

Wisdom's edge seemed to have dulled some to him now as he thought on this, but maybe that was why its cut had stung him so these past hours, he realised. A strange and subtle stirring in his chest panged of recognition, of the same mistakes, and the pitiable end they often held.

It was the nature of a mind tainted by power, and a heart darkened by hate, to see the woman's intended sacrifice as rather cheap, despite the slim respect from him it had gained her. Seeing her endure this much, and seeing she apparently intended to do so for the rest of her days…

But she was young, and the world had yet been rather kind to her until he darkened her door. She had merely had a taste of the tragedy such a road would bring her.

He had lived far longer and seen the true nature of multiple worlds and those within them. Good intentions strayed too easily, changed too fast, and reality stripped down even the purest of dreams. There was always a higher road to be taken, and without exception, Ganondorf recognised this fact—he had tried to walk it in his own youth, when he too was hopeful, desperate and naïve. It was a long road, and a hard one travelled; sometimes that path simply demanded the impossible, while everyone else was out to serve themselves.

He lived as proof of that, and if Zelda's wish was to challenge him in all he'd seen and struggled against, she was more than welcome to make her mistake. Everyone had a vice, a secret, a desire to be exploited, a sin to be exposed and a virtue for the rending. It was merely a game of finding out which was which, and now he had his heading on hers. Let her martyr herself for the good of others; he knew he would be the one to collect the spoils in the end.

He would watch her break herself against his stones without issue, if that was what she wished.

As ever, Princess, I will indulge you, he thought cruelly, allowing the corner of his mouth to curve into malicious, knowing sort of smirk.

There was a lesson to be learned here.

"And I shall think on taking a wife, after all."

Within the confines of her tower, unaware of her captor's brewing counterplot, Zelda had also found herself the subject of restlessness.

Expectant of routine, the Princess had waited by her mirror for the better part of an hour for Ganondorf to show. Though she only had a vague method of keeping time, relying on her internal body clock for the most part, it had never been an issue for their habit before. No matter what time of day or night, it seemed whenever Zelda was near her mirror, the apparition of the Gerudo would join her soon enough—she suspected he had a sense for it, or some manner of charm to alert him. It was indeed possible that he was always exactly aware of what she was doing, though she preferred not to imagine that fact.

It was strange when, even after such patience, she was simply left to her own reflection.

That was when Zelda's concerns began to rise. At first, she resigned herself to reading upon her bed, glancing at the mirror now and again for any sign of the evil King. By the time she had turned the pages of an entire chapter, Zelda was merely pretending to read, her gaze stuck fast to the glass in search of black and red as her thoughts began to stray from her.

It was apparent that Ganondorf would not be checking in on her today, and this was by no means a comforting thought.

There were two reasons that she could think to name—firstly, the Gerudo was otherwise engaged. This could have meant any number of things, but given how rigid he was in seeing her well guarded and watched, it would take a rather pressing matter to distract him so much she'd be left to her own devices unchecked. She had every faith in the Hero's progress, and by this point, he and Midna may well be nearing the completion of the imp's Fused Shadow artefact. With the potency of such forbidden magic onside, she could easily see Ganondorf moving to intervene more directly—if such were the case, then his absence meant her allies were now in grave peril.

Barring that, the second likely cause was entirely her own fault, in that she'd been far too forward in her affairs the previous evening.

By no means did she take the Gerudo to be a fool, and having since settled from the barbs traded over dinner, Zelda knew she had toed a few lines. Her mixed signals surely didn't help things, for in retrospect, to go from pleading for his company to their most heated verbal spat in recent days when he granted it did little to make her seem genuine in her fondness of him. The instant he had given an inch, for her desperation, she had taken a mile. He could hardly be blamed if his absence was merely to put a bit of distance between them, given how sourly he reacted to her prompting about his romantic interests.

Zelda regretted how she'd allowed the evening to play out, as much as she took a guilty pleasure in it.

In truth, she had planned to present the matter as a political inquiry at first, but now Zelda feared she had missed her mark entirely in the heat of things. She had struck a surprising nerve in him when bringing up the business of wives, and there was a great deal of satisfaction in her for that, but driving him to avoid her was the very opposite of what she intended.

After all the bitterness and chastisement she had endured from that man, his venom seeping deep into her bones and leaving her spirit heavy, it was both liberating and refreshing to finally land a blow strong enough to visibly stun him. She'd revelled in the small victory over the course of the night, vindicated in creeping under his skin like he had so often done to her and catching his flinch in turn.

But perhaps she'd been too quick to pounce upon the opportunity to return fire, damaging her progress thus far—any flip in the power dynamic between them still had a while to come, if at all before the Hero finished things on her behalf.

Whatever the case, if Ganondorf's attention was not fixed upon her, then it would begin to focus elsewhere. If she could not correct this immediately, her plans would surely fail.

Once again, she turned to the novella for some inspiration, and by the time dusk had fallen outside, the Princess had read well on methods to heal a lover's tiff. She didn't bother to follow the clichés to the letter, but after a chapter in which the protagonist won interest back from the Duke when things went sour, Zelda prepared herself for dinner with a new tactic in mind.

With romantic gestures and enhanced beauty—entering the ball in the finest gown and reminding her lover of the radiance she bore—the title's debutant had bought the attention she needed, disarming her Duke, and was able to smooth things over as they danced. A demure conversation in which little insecurities were confessed saw things right again, the fictional fight boiling down to nothing more than nervousness and a touch of jealousy.

For her inexperience with cosmetics on top of her limited knowledge of romantic conquest, Zelda felt herself going out on a limb once again, but worked to follow her only example as best she could.

The Princess could easily forge a few reasons to similarly reframe her terseness from the night before with romantic overtones—perhaps she 'simply feared being dismissed by him' or 'mistakenly thought such an attitude may appeal to a man of his background and impress'. She could quite truthfully state her lack of experience in courting as the cause of her misreading the air between them, and hopefully turn things around from there.

As for her looks, Zelda had to improvise, but she was desperate enough to try anything that may help. With so little to work with, and no handmaidens to help her, she favoured subtlety.

A cold chunk of charcoal was pilfered from her fireplace, the soot of it tested on her fingers before being tentatively applied to her eyelids for a light shadow. She donned the dress Ganondorf had gifted her, once again doing her best to lace it herself until it held a satisfying fit. Her bottom lip endured idle chewing as she readied herself, so as to appear full and red. She combed through her hair for as long as it took to ensure not a strand would fall out of place, pinning it back simply in a modest, though neat, style.

Then, she found herself reaching for adornments, and the Princess' busy rush to impress halted there.

As her hand hovered over the gilded diadem, torn, Zelda paused to ponder its symbolism once again—she sometimes felt she had forfeited the right to wear it, though she knew it would frame her beauty, and perhaps her intentions, perfectly if she did. It was a strong statement piece, after all, though it required far more consideration than a necklace or a pair of earrings.

Representing the station she held, its weight upon her brow had been both an unwelcome and stifling thing throughout the years, though she drew inspiration from it where she could. It held the power of a legacy, and both reminded her of the great distance between herself and her people, set by status, while also symbolising her duties to them. It was a paradox that had never rested quite well with the Princess.

Not so long ago, before Ganondorf had appeared in her mirror, she was proud to have set her crown aside, feeling closer to her people than ever before in doing so. She felt fuller, more of herself. She felt right in suffering as they did, and Zelda did not wish to be held above them or given special treatment for her position. She had no issue in setting such a thing aside to spare them as much cruelty and death as she could.

But, even stripped of its authority, this simple adornment still seemed to carry with it all the expectancy of her to do what she must for the good of her country. In many ways, it reflected the necessity of putting herself through this grand rouse with the Gerudo King in the first place. It was fitting that she should wear it, almost ironic. Reminding her captor of her influence—the worth of her as a prize—so overtly, too, may also help to rekindle his attention.

On the other hand, it seemed such a cheap reason, for she knew it did no justice to her blood's true value. She guarded the hopes of her people, and she dared not disgrace that by ascribing her importance to a piece of mere metal.

Or by reducing myself to the heroine of a romance novella, she realised, catching sight of herself in the mirror to see a self forged pair of 'bedroom eyes'.

With a remorseful sort of smile, Zelda lowered her hand to trace the crown's filigree with a finger, and gave a wistful sigh.

"No, I'm being foolish… There's no point in trying to sway him with appearances. Power is the only thing that catches that man's eye. I might as well show up in rags." she mused to herself, decision made.

She scooped her diadem up by its chain then, holding it before her as if the sapphires were the eyes of her Kingdom—of her father—to witness and judge what would only seem like betrayals to them until her plans were complete. Zelda had to convince the Gerudo that her power was not dictated by status, and she was willing to do whatever was necessary in achieving that. Once he saw that strength, he would chase it down, just as the Duke had chased the debutant for her beauty.

Crowns were simply empty things made powerful by those who wore them.

A foreboding premonition seemed to take her for that thought as her gaze silently traced the gems of her diadem, but she knew then she had to leave it be, hide it within her vanity drawers and only take it out when she was sure the day was won.

She heard the knock at her door not a second after she'd slid the drawer shut, and Zelda steeled herself for their second meal together, grateful enough that their arrangement had persevered.

Far ahead of her this evening, Ganondorf once again filled the seat at the head of the dining table, patiently awaiting his guest.

Golden eyes watched in silence as a small band of monstrous servants laid out platters and cutlery as they had the night before, paying only the mildest of interest as he swirled a glass of wine. His thoughts were elsewhere, and that distraction was made plainly obvious; not even a grimace given when one lizalfos chose to light the candles with a small burp of flame. For the same reason, the Gerudo had also failed to notice the odd looks he received from the creatures when they had entered the room, rather surprised to find him bereft of his armour and casually attired.

Though none of them dared to make screeched comment—at least not within earshot of their Master—the beasts could not help but stare, taking twice as long as usual to set the table for their curiosity. One or two of them found it simply odd, settling on thoughts that he was indulging comfort or was feeling lazier that day. But the sharper servants, the ones longer in their service, seemed to recognise the significance of this with a great sense of unease, keeping as much of their distance from the man as possible while still performing their task.

The Master only relaxed like this when he felt totally sure of himself and his victories, and given how stringent his orders were surrounding castle security—especially the Princess, whose guards had already made well known as seeming 'unstable and dangerous'—the sudden lax appearance and these dalliances with his prisoner made little sense. Coupled with the rumours emerging amongst their ranks about the strange swordsman that was battling to lift the twilight, even the lizalfos knew his attitude was far too premature.

It was this concern that would be whispered in the castle halls after the Gerudo waved them away, sending them scurrying off with a grunt as he refilled his glass, oblivious to their doubts.

He cast a cursory eye over the spread, taking a sip of his drink and bubbling it on his tongue as he thought of how to play this evening off. Satisfied enough with presentation and reclining some in his seat, one would never guess the Gerudo had been up all hours plagued by paranoia. A lazy smirk had set itself upon his weathered features, golden eyes sharp and clear, as he set himself up to project the very picture of casual nonchalance.

This was the vision of him Zelda found when, escorted by the faithful Iron Knuckle once again, she stepped into the dining hall. She didn't quite know whether to be relieved or unnerved by the atmosphere; Ganondorf not only present on time but acting as if nothing were amiss. A breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding in left her freely, a silent nod given to her escort as the hulking beast left her to make its retreat back and away.

No sooner did the Gerudo's gaze find her, Zelda felt herself so suddenly exposed, as if standing upon a ledge and being dared to jump. There was a cold and alien silence in the air that filled the expense between them, something unusual that neither of them seemed able to pinpoint for that moment. A mutual stare seemed to echo out, calling attention to itself with expectancy as each of them waited for the other's reactions. It seemed a little like strained nervousness, or a lack of recognition.

Something clicked in the back of her head, and the more material difference to things was duly noted—Ganondorf had not chosen to don his usual regalia, just as she had forgone her Royal adornments. But Zelda hadn't any clue as to what that may mean or represent. Did he wish to forge an open, perhaps more approachable air? Was it an invitation of subtlety, or some sort of jab at her, as if she was not worth even the fuss of properly dressing?

Then there was the impression instinct delivered to her swiftly, settling into her stomach like lead—even without his armour, the man lost nothing of his overbearing presence. He was no more vulnerable without it, and he gave no impression of seeming weaker for being exposed.

No, if anything, he seemed welcoming to all challenges that could assail him and ready to overcome them. He boasted imperviousness, even when his enemy thought they had caught him off guard. It was a message that Zelda did not take lightly or dismiss, though she held her head higher as she stepped forward to join him, readying a rather diplomatic smile.

Not too sweet, but certainly not sour, she cut a graceful path toward her seat to settle gloved hand upon the top of it, offering her greeting.

"Good evening, Ganondorf." She ignored the feeling of unease as his gaze followed her movements precisely, like a hawk tracking a dormouse.

The lazy smirk he wore seemed to tick a fraction wider as he inclined his head slowly, his thumb idly tracing the rim of his glass. Much like the Princess, he was quick to take stock of her altered appearance—with no cosmetics on hand with which to gussy up, he couldn't help but be curious as to what she'd used. She'd enhanced her eyes with what looked to be kohl, and her lips seemed fuller. Her tresses sat perfectly groomed, and not a thing seemed out of place on her person. Without the aid of handmaidens, the effort was rather impressive, and indeed, he did have an odd love of symmetry and order that Zelda was currently appealing to; everything just so.

She must've caught his habit for picking stray hairs off his own person in the mirror too, observant little thing. He couldn't find a fault about her, even down to the way she walked toward him… wearing the dress he'd given her, no less.

"Princess," he returned evenly, quirking one brow and refusing to sit upright in spite of her presence. A negligent gesture tipped his glass toward her chair, a motion for her to sit. He remained silent for a moment as she took the invitation, something smug about him as he withheld any obvious reaction to her appearance. He cut in suddenly, before she had fully settled in, just to make the timing uncomfortable.

"I do hope you'll forgive me for my absence earlier. Unfortunately, our daily ritual went astray under the urgency of some more… important matters." He grinned curtly, flashing his canines to add a hint of sharpness to the smile.

She had stilled when he spoke, but with a roll of her shoulders finally settled into a comfortable position, her gracefulness purposely disturbed by it. Zelda ghosted a grimace before she swallowed it, a thoughtful—if slightly disapproving—hum leaving her for it.

"Yes, I thought as much." Crystalline eyes avoided his as she rearranged her plates and cutlery into more proper positions—force of old habit. "A shame, really. I thought on what you said the other day about the later works of Lord Danton, and I recall we have a good portion of that collection preserved in the archives… I was going to tell you about them, but you never showed."

A small spark of genuine interest crossed his features at the mention of that, but not wishing to be distracted, Ganondorf forced his enthusiasm to be doused for the moment. Oil paintings were a special fondness of his, and Zelda knew this—though he was secretly pleased at the opportunity to show her, in true detail, why it was so important to note that the man was partly colour blind when looking at his landscapes of the southern fields. The flowers were there if one truly looked, and it was springtime, rather than autumn as she claimed; the insects present could attest to that.

But plenty of time for that later, he reminded himself quickly, unwilling to give her any hint as to what he'd been doing that morning instead.

"That is a shame. Not that I don't enjoy listening to you confuse Danton with Denton, and getting it all wrong in between… but at least you can blame your old tutors for that." He chuckled boldly, a light sniping covered with jest as he reached for the bottle, seeking to fill her glass.

Despite herself, he caught a small breath of amusement from her as Zelda silently conceded—both knew he had it over her where art was concerned.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know I passed the time with some light reading, instead." She shot back with a playfully saccharine smile, taking up her glass before pausing to flash him a look. "And I'll thank you not to make any lewd jokes, before you start."

It drew a knowing laugh from him, an easy rumbling from his chest, and Zelda felt she had hit a comfortable stride. It was obvious that the both of them were dodging the issue from the night previous, hiding behind their usual banter, but against the tension she'd experienced all day, this wasn't a completely unwelcome change. At the very least, it was rather safe, and by now very familiar. Ganondorf, too, seemed to be in fair spirits and held no trace of the defensiveness he did in their last meeting.

Perhaps he'd thought on it and found the idea of marriage to his liking, after the shock had worn away… that, or whatever had busied him earlier had involved her losing serious ground elsewhere.

She hoped—her comfort aside—that it wasn't the latter.

"I make no promises," he mused openly, moving to finally gather a few morsels onto his plate and nodding for her to do the same. Off-hand as he did so, his gaze flicked over her once again, and he would finally relent a small compliment. "But you do look ready to set the minds of men turning to similar thoughts."

Zelda brightened, vindicated for her fussing and silently thankful for the advice of romance writers, whatever it may be worth. She tilted her head to flash a brief glimpse of a long neck, a subtle thing, as she took to buttering a bread roll.

As long as your mind doesn't get too far ahead of itself that way inclined, she thought, we'll be golden.

"And what about your attire?" she probed lightly, trying to keep hold of his good humour while she had it. "I must say, I was beginning to fear you slept in that armour."

The Gerudo set his plate down to return her attention with a self indulgent sort of air, a haughty curve on his mouth as his brows rose matter-of-factly. "Shocking, I know… but it occurred to me that there is little need to remain dressed for conquest, when in a place one has already conquered."

She flashed him a sharp glance to answer quietly, though not as bitterly as he expected, "Indeed…You look almost human."

Taking up his silverware, the Gerudo seemed unphased by her subtle dig, letting his gaze fall away from her as he began cutting some meat. "…Still monstrous enough to remove that tongue, Zelda." He mused, though the threat seemed mostly grounded in jest this time.

The Princess stifled her thoughts on that for a good moment or two, a light roll of her eyes hinting at her urge to speak, but she continued on with the meal as normal. He watched her chew the inside of her cheek as she held it in, flicking a curious glance her way for the silence, but the weight of his gaze seemed to undo her. In a precise set of motions, Zelda had laid down her cutlery with a light clatter of finality, chin held high as she laced her fingers before her.

She hesitated as the words brewed, but then a bold stare was sent to level him, peering through the Gerudo as if he'd spouted gibberish.

"You know, actually, I rather doubt that, Ganondorf." She ventured bravely, momentarily cocking a delicate brow to dare. "If the things I have said truly offended you, you'd have left me to rot in the tower alone and half mad for the solitude, or made good on your threat already. In fact, I would wager good money that you actually enjoy my speaking so frankly, even when displeased by what I have to say."

Having popped a bite into his mouth as she spoke, Ganondorf chewed it considerately, tilting his head and glancing to one side in thought. This was mostly for show, and swallowing, the Gerudo clicked his tongue dismissively to focus his attention upon his plate. He took his time to respond, idly poking the fork through his food.

"While I do have a healthy respect for the need to test one's boundaries, Zelda, this is really one of those lines that you can't jump back over once crossed." He shot her a rather flat look then, bordering on a grimace. "And not that you have any to gamble with, but I'd hate to take money from a lady, right after taking her tongue…"

He leaned forward a little to add a whisper, crinkling his large nose some, "That would just be rude."

Zelda weathered the sass stoically, crystalline eyes narrowing some as she stayed the path. "You've a wealth of mystical resource at your disposal. You could easily have watched over me through the mirror without making your presence known. On that note, surely a spell could silence me, if you wished… Instead, you've given me even more liberties and allowed me to dine with you. If anything, I've beenrewarded for a bold tongue."

The response Ganondorf gave was an exasperated sway of his head at first, gathering some morsels onto his fork in a point of tuning her out, as if she was prattling on needlessly about the obvious. A slight growl had crept into his voice by the time he spoke again, hinting of his waning patience.

"I will prove you wrong if you want to press the issue, Zelda."

Her head cocked upwards in a belligerent way, accepting nothing, and with a slight slam to force his attention the Princess would flatten her palm against the table to eye him. The Gerudo's head whipped to the sound, his features darkening for the disturbed atmosphere as irritation swept away any hint of his previous smirks. Razing him with the cut of a frown, Zelda acted before he could chastise her, snatching up a knife in her other hand by the top of its blade to hold the handle out toward her captor. A sliver of violence shook through the dark King for such a bold and dangerous temptation, as his gaze travelled from her hand to her face, a mixture of shock and anger swirling across his features.

Even Zelda surprised herself to find the words slithering from her so callously, unaffected by the chill running down her spine for what may happen if he wasn't bluffing.

"I count five fingers, two feet, and one tongue all untouched despite numerous threats against them, and even more reasons to follow through. I would've thought the line was well and truly crossed the way you reacted last night—" she saw the flash in those golden eyes and knew he understood, his scowl deepening for it. "—and yet here I am, enunciating. So either you admit that you've grown fond of me and leave this hollow intimidation behind, or you may as well start cutting."

With such a challenge put to him so brazenly, the Gerudo had to fight the twitch of his fingers to oblige her, and he found himself tracing the shape of the knife offered to him with a noticeable hint of malice. It was a hard thing to set his pride to the wayside and show her the truth of things—if not for the new horizon of opportunity that she'd opened his eyes to, even a day or so before and in a sour mood, he may well have taken her whole hand. He didn't care for Zelda's continued attempts to set them as equal, for he had earned his right to be as he was and command as he did, where she had lost—no, forfeited hers. He set her boundaries firmly, and if she did not adhere to them, in no way were his threats intended to be hollow.

But Ganondorf was not an unreasonable man, and luckily for Zelda, she thought those lines much closer than they actually were and had not yet stumbled across them.

Humour her, the tactful corner of his mind whispered; better she think it a by-product of affection than realise her leash is slightly longer than she thinks.

Because Gods only knew, she would strain it to the limit until it—and he—finally snapped.

As the Princess sat there, seemingly attempting to level him with her eyes, the Gerudo allowed his returned glare to lessen and his withheld snarl to fade. An eerie calm overtook him then, a thoughtful twiddling of his fork given as he slowly shifted back, lounging in his seat to set the utensil down and replace it with his glass of wine. He peered into the depths of the red liquid, choosing his words carefully as his brow twitched.

Only the gold of his eyes rose to move, pinning her over the rim of the glass, and he could already see the tiny tremble starting to tic at the corner of her mouth—second guessing her bravery, no doubt. She hid her dread fabulously, he had to commend her. A lesser man may well have missed it, but Ganondorf knew all the hallmarks of fear and had thrived upon them far too long now for her to fool completely.

A lengthy sigh rolled from his nostrils over a reluctant grimace to concede.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Princess," he began slowly, restraining his want to sneer as he tapped one black nail upon the side of his glass in point. "Banter and jokes aside, I am no more a monster than you are. I am a King." He hissed it firmly enough that she, too, began to lean back into her chair. "And before that, I was a brother and a son. Once, very long ago, I was even a father. Three of the things that gave me such titles have been taken from me over the years, but I hold very tightly onto the one that remains. I was a King when your ancestors called me a barbarian and a savage, and I remain one now as you goad me, trying to prove them right."

Zelda had lowered the knife now to lay it back down by her plate, taking some solace in the fact that—to some extent—she seemed to have made the right call and her digits remained intact. But they had bordered on this sort of conversation before, and this was where, despite many common interests, their view on history and each other dangerously diverged. Often, this was where he would retreat from her mirror and cut their spat short before it grew heated to bring out the worst between them.

But face to face, she knew this was a subject that required careful steps, and one they perhaps weren't ready to address while the tension was so raw. Her palm slid slowly from between them to retreat into her lap with the other, hands clasping as they often did to control her want to lash out further.

"The only thing I am trying to prove is that just as you are a King, I remain Hyrule's Princess." She offered evenly, her features set like stone. "If you wish to threaten and mistreat me as a prisoner that has no more worth to you than my suffering, do so. But, if you have any respect or affection for me at all—and I highly suspect you do—I deserve better than these mind games while you try to justify your own feelings."

A terse clenching of his jaw betrayed the Gerudo's ire at that, but knowing her game for what it was, he could see now exactly how she had managed to steer them to this point. She wasn't quite a liar, no, that wasn't it—a knack for twisted truth was more accurate. It was something the man could appreciate, even through the crime of trying to manipulate him with such technique. It was so genuine, elegantly taking what was already present and observed and reshuffling the facts to convince him.

He did enjoy their verbal sparring matches; she had gained his respect. Indeed, realising his predicament the night before, Ganondorf had struggled to admit that there were parts of her that he had, in fact, grown fond of.

But the mind game was her own, and in knowing that, the illusion broke—she was still the enemy, and her control only extended as far as he allowed.

"I was raised by the voices of bold women, and you're correct, I do respect and admire such a trait… but my feelings on the matter are settled, and my threats were never hollow. I may remind you of them a little too frequently for the sake of my amusement… that is cheap of me, I'll admit—I shall try to refrain in future." he would grant then, slowly bringing the wine to his lips for a small draught of it.

"Thank you," she breathed, exasperated by the effort it took to get him there.

"But," he interjected firmly, levelling a finger toward her from the side of his glass and offering a stern glare. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that I would not revoke your right to such speech, if you ever dared to echo some of the things your predecessors said. It was their tongues—their orders—that saw a prison built upon the bones of my people, and that debt has yet to be paid."

And you should count yourself lucky I haven't spilt your blood as a start, he added internally, swirling his glass in frustration.

Without further issue, the Princess wisely chose to let their discussion settle from there, satisfied enough with the slim progress made as she offered a curt nod. An affirmative grunt from the Gerudo in turn saw them return to their meals in relative peace, a few minutes of comfortable reticence taking hold.

Zelda noted him out of the corner of her eye, guarding her table manners carefully even now—though he wasn't overt, it seemed Ganondorf was rather fasciated by the way she ate. They each had certain customs about themselves when taking a meal, and she had already marked the way he set a table. He was very familiar with Hylian ways, but swimming in his movements were foreign habits that she, for her stricter upbringing, could pick quite plainly. Apparently nobody had ever informed him not to put his elbows on the table or slouch in his chair, for a start.

She had the niggling suspicion he found her eating habits to be stiff or slightly comical for their formality, but since he made no comment on it, Zelda allowed her nitpicking of his own table manners to go unvoiced as well.

It wasn't until the main course was over with that they spoke again, the Princess refraining from taking one of the tea cakes from the tiered stand as she tentatively asked, in a strangely meek sort of whisper, a question intended to disarm him.

"…Is that why you will not consider me as a wife?"

It drew pause from him as he was reaching for his own dessert, and a curious glance shot her way with furrowed brows as if he hadn't heard her correctly. After a second to process it, linking it back to the last thing said, the Gerudo let go of a heavy—tired—sigh. He sat back in his chair and toyed with the wrapper of his tea cake, folding the sides down and studying the crumbling mass as if reading something written there. His jaw wagged pensively, and Zelda knew he was holding back his first, and likely even his second responses in order to pick something better suited.

It was had to tell whether he was more irritated by it or simply torn, though when he looked at her again, Zelda couldn't help but suspect the man was fighting back the dull thud of a headache.

He didn't sound pleased when he answered, though what he said surprised her.

"It was one of a few good reasons that I initially dismissed the thought, yes…" he growled out low, reluctant to speak too forwardly on the matter. He took a careless bite of the sweets and licked a stray crumb from his top lip, looking as if he may say something more but unsure of whether he should.

There was a sour tone in how he looked at her that made Zelda feel as if she'd torn some dirty secret out of him by blackmail, though her eyes widened a fraction when his choice of words hit home. Tilting her head to eye him closely, almost in disbelief, she took in a breath to pursue it but faltered at the parting of her lips—the hard stare she received warned her away from it quickly.

Despite herself, and Ganondorf's discouraging glare, she couldn't help but offer him the ghost of a smile. A small nod, understanding, conveyed she wouldn't pry any further, and Zelda quietly went about picking one of the smaller cakes for herself. The Gerudo took note of this, and for the first time in the better part of twenty minutes, offered a wry and amused little smirk.

Arching one fiery brow, conversation returned with all the ease it had started, a negligent gesture waving his own half eaten dessert toward her.

"You eat like a sparrow, you know. You were so stubborn about eating better meals, and now you sit there pecking at everything." He mused, some private joke glinting in his eye as she moved the cake to a plate, taking to it with a spoon rather than simply biting into it. As if an afterthought struck him suddenly, he added haughtily, "If you're after a thin waist, Zelda, I could always send you back to apples."

Still chewing but not wanting to miss a retort, the Princess covered her mouth lightly to speak with a light frown. "Not all of us have a sweet tooth, Ganondorf," she managed before swallowing, flashing him a squint. "I saw your double helping of pudding yesterday. Just a shame your personality doesn't match your tastes."

A guilty snickered sounded from him, something strangely boyish about it for the mischief as he poked the last chunk of his cake into his mouth in spite. He chewed it with a wide smirk, fleeting dimples in his cheeks for the motion. Zelda pointedly ignored this, refusing to catch the smug expression he wore and waiting until he had washed it down with the last of his wine.

"Imagine if your personality reflected yours," he jibed, tongue clicking still to clear the last morsels from his teeth and brows raised in humour. "Surely, you must've read that book thrice over and again by now."

Then her eyes really did roll, a light shake of her head given with it—he was never going to let her live it down. She dug another gouge out of her cake and held the spoon before her lips, quipping before the bite. "Well, it isn't as if you've allowed me to choose any newmaterial… and I was still operating under the assumption that I'd be losing my feet for the trouble, if I tried."

Leaning an arm against the table, the Gerudo would drum his fingers lightly upon the wood, and it seemed his earlier nonchalance was slowly returning to him. He was considering something, a slight purse of his lips giving the hint before his eyes narrowed decisively. "Earlier, you mentioned Danton's later works being among the pieces you own…" he trailed off there, tapping the end of his unused spoon in idle distraction.

Zelda could hardly contain her sigh, but she humoured him, hanging her head some. "Ganondorf, I have seen 'The southern breeze of Hylia' over a thousand times, and I swear to you, there isn't a single flower to be found hiding on that canvas. It was painted in the fall for his ailing mother and—"

"And I am going to prove to you, once again, that you haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." He finished, resolute and high handed as he offered a toothy—if not eager—grin. A small rap of his knuckles against the table top reminded her of a judge handing down a sentence, and the Gerudo shifted in his seat, moving to stand.

"If you can manage to avoid making an utter fool of yourself tomorrow morning, when I'm pointing out the details right in front of your nose, Zelda, I may just be gracious enough to reward you with some more… wholesome reading options." A single brow rose. "Provided you don't stray too far from fiction, of course…"

The Princess found herself gawking up at the man for a moment as he offered his hand for her to take—partly for the fact that she simply hadn't grown used to the sheer size of his build yet, but more for how swiftly his good humour had returned. It was always slightly unnerving to her how flippantly Ganondorf seemed to switch from one mood to another at the slightest things. Some may have claimed him a passionate sort of man, as was common with the ambitious sorts, but she had always felt it much closer to instability.

Even so, the promise of new books to keep her sane was a most welcome thing, and any opportunity to be out of her tower was one she leapt at eagerly.

Not that I don't love being confined to cold, dark spaces.

"Oh… That would be suspiciously nice of you, if you weren't in it simply to gloat." She offered with a faint, though genuine, smile; a titter on the edge of her voice as she rose to take his hand. "But don't be disappointed when I fail to see the flowers that aren't there."

He gave an evasive hum, leading her slowly away from the table at a pace she could keep stride with easily. He smirked down at her, watching with mild curiosity as the Princess sought to hold his arm in a manner she found both appropriate and comfortable, and seemingly failing in this task.

"Oh, I think you'll find that I can be quite persuasive when I need to be." He purred low, satisfied overall with how they had recovered from the night previous. He held back the rumble of a chuckle to match it, but judging by the feel of her fingertips fluttering about the crook of his elbow, Zelda had found the foreshadowed intent within his remark.

As they walked through the halls, the notions it stirred seemed to hit the nerve intended, for within minutes, Ganondorf was aware of subtle probing about his arm and side. He caught her peering at him from the corner of her eye every so often as she did this, a light squeeze offered to the muscle revealed without his armour. His under dressings were lined with fur and quite thick to trap the warmth, but even so, the Gerudo supposed he may as well have been shirtless to her.

It occurred to him then that the Princess had likely never seen what a man looked like beneath his clothes, despite the trashy romances she'd read. Save only for the odd description or illustration in anatomy books required for her knowledge of healing magic, Zelda's imagination was probably the extent of her personal experience. Her father was something of a puritan that way, he'd found, if the distinct lack of nudes or sexual symbolism in his art collections had been any hint—from what he had seen of them thus far, anyway.

Thinking back on her formal attires and regalia, he found he somewhat pitied that. Cloistered within castle walls and covered up even in the summer, layered with fabrics that didn't breathe and tight corsets in which one could hardly bend. Zelda had grown up in a society that gasped at the sight of an ankle, after all. He could hardly blame her—if he were truthful—for favouring books about, or even wishing for, a star crossed romance full of passion and intimacies to replace the stifling and droll.

It had him wonder, in the back of his mind, just how far she'd be willing to go in order to 'trick his heart' as she intended. Then the darker parts of him stirred for the chance to find out, and a rather cruel smirk found him as they approached the top of her stairway.

Well, that is certainly going to be a learning curve for her, he snickered internally, but you never can tell with the quiet ones…

He came to a halt when the pair stood before her doors, half expecting her to leap from his arm and disappear inside without more than a cursory 'goodnight'. To his great interest, though, she lingered instead to offer him a smile, slow to remove herself and folding her hands before her politely.

Inside, Zelda was doing her best not to seem awkward or unsure of herself before him—by Gods above, the man had to be upwards of seven feet tall. One hand fluttered somewhat nervously to pat the side of her hair, lightly readjusting one of the pins that held her tresses in place, as she searched his face for any sign of dismissal. Surely he didn't expect to come in?

Oh, Farore's breath of life, do not let him come in.

"Well, I… suppose I ought to light the fire before it gets to late into the evening, and the chill sets in…" she fumbled, gesturing behind herself in a clumsy sort of manner and silently pleading with him to bid her a good evening first. "I'll look forward to seeing you in the morning, then?"

Please go away now.

Before she could lower it, the Gerudo had reached forward to snatch the stray hand, bending ever so slightly as he brought it to his lips. It was a chaste thing, and within the realms of polite contact—the hallmark of a gentleman, in fact, and a gesture Zelda had been on the receiving end of more times than she could count.

But the very instant she felt his mouth graze her knuckles, warm breath fanning over her fingers softly, the Princess froze. They both felt it, surely she wasn't the only one—it was like she'd been electrocuted, a powerful, foreboding flicker hitting her like a rush as Power bled into her bones, and Wisdom reached out in turn to defy her; momentarily syphoned. She didn't breath. She didn't blink. The shock rolled through her like a thunderous wave to shatter all the confidence she'd built up thus far, a seeping cold sinking into her depths.

He wore that awful, sneaky, knowing smirk as he pulled away to let her hand slip listlessly back to her, and the gold of his eyes seemed to flash like lightning as she was reminded of the storm that reflected him.

"Sweet dreams, Princess…" he purred as he slipped away from her with a nod, the hint of sharp canines seeming to end it on a predatory hiss.

The second he was out of sight, Zelda was through the doors to shut them quickly behind her, shoulders pressed against iron as if her willpower was stronger than any lock. She stood there shakily until her legs failed her, sliding down slowly to the floor and tending her hand as if he'd bitten it.

Whether it was the flutter of her relic set against the want and hunger of his, or the false comfort she was allowing herself to feel as she grew bolder around him, she couldn't be sure… Perhaps it was the memory of the storm, and the fury she had witnessed. Contempt and familiarity too closely run to be easily defined.

But something took hold of her heart then in terror that night, reminding her of the nightmare that man could bring.