“You mean he took his shirt off and you didn’t jump him?” Malon shrieks, making many innocent bystanders look our way.

Behind me, Darunia chuckles in obvious amusement.

I should be annoyed that I have to be followed by a bodyguard everywhere I go, but since Darunia is so nice, it doesn’t matter.

That is, it wouldn’t matter if Malon didn’t feel the need to shout on the rooftops how much I pine after my publicist. If Darunia has been spared the gory details so far, it’s really just thanks to plain luck. It’s just a matter of time, though.

We’re walking down Market Avenue. It’s the most fashionable street in Marcastle and it leads directly to Market Square. Market Avenue has all the designer shops and the boutiques are practically museums in honour of clothing. When they’re not busy telling me I should jump Link’s bones, Malon and Ruto seem to be in heaven.

At my side, hanging onto my arm, is Anju. She’s dreamily examining the sunny store windows. On my other arm is Aryll, clinging excitedly, having insisted on coming to ensure I chose the perfect clothes for my stage appearance.

But right now I’m focused on the two other young women with us. They’re walking behind us and before Darunia, giggling about our antics.

The eldest of the two is Cremia Hands, grand duchess of Termina, though it’s only a symbolic title. She’s definitely pretty. She reminds me of Malon, but gentler. She’s soft-spoken, extremely mature, and she has a silent sort of good-humour, the kind that makes you like her instantly. She has Anju’s maturity, actually.

Next to her is Romani Hands, also grand duchess, a girl approximately Aryll’s age, whose attitude reminds me of an excited puppy. She presented herself this morning with a broad grin and a claim that she was allowed to act stupid if she wanted to, since she was on vacation. She also seems more than eager to help Aryll pick out clothes for me.

The two are from Termina. Considering that Termina is a democratic country, their titles as throne heirs are symbolic. They kept the lineage alive, but stepped back to allow their country a fairer democratic system, occasionally overseeing national debates and fair power use. Not, I can see, that it keeps them from sleeping at night. They’re very nice, just like Link said they’d be.

Actually, Link had to stay at the palace today, explaining that he had some rumour management to handle. I didn’t press him. It’s not like I want him to hear Malon’s comments, after all.

At any rate, I will not let anyone discuss my non-relationship with Link.

“I don’t intend to jump him,” I tell Malon, in spite of the fact that we both know I'm lying, “because in case this has slipped your mind, he’s my publicist and our relationship is one of respect and professionalism.” I’m saying this mostly for Aryll’s sanity, considering that she seems mildly disgusted by the idea of her brother being anywhere near sexy.

Even though, you know, his picture is in the dictionary to define the word.

“Yeah right,” Malon mumbles teasingly, turning around just to shoot me a smirk, “because you obviously don’t wish he’d give you a full body massage with his tongue.”

I gasp indignantly and let go of Anju’s arm temporarily to give Malon a tiny slap on the shoulder. Beside me, Aryll is scrunching her nose in distaste. I look back at Cremia and Romani to roll my eyes and ensure that they realise this is just friendly banter and in no way a reason to call the press. They seem to understand.

In retaliation, I say, “Like you’re one to talk. I’m not the one who’s been secretly sucking face with the stable boy.”

Instead of denying this claim, which is met by hoots and loud squeals, Malon laughs and says, “Sheik Strike is more of a professional rider than a mere stable boy.”

This causes the jokingly scandalized laughter of our whole group. Aryll lets out a loud giggle. “I am so telling him you said that!”

Malon seems to cool down after this, and reddens prettily. “Well, it’s not like he doesn’t know,” she stammers.

Ruto turns back to look at me, then grins broadly. “Nice one.”

I smirk back. I wouldn’t be nearly this relaxed if Darunia hadn’t promised all our conversations would remain a professional secret. Gods forbid Link should hear about any of this. It’s bad enough that Aryll overheard us talking about her brother already.

“On to more important matters, ladies,” Ruto suddenly says. “Not that discussing your respective sweethearts is of no relevance, of course.”

We stop in front of the Temple of Time, on the forecourt. I look up at it for the first time.

Inside is where the coronation is supposed to be held. I don’t know yet if I’ll become Hyrule’s queen, but I can guess this place calls for something grandiose. The façade is intricately carved in white stone. It was aged and eaten away a bit by pollution, but I can see the cleaning scaffolds. At least they washed off the black and grey of exhaust from the stone with power-jets.

A huge stained glass rose window on the front catches the bright sunlight. I can already imagine how the multicoloured shafts of light hit the cool white stone floor inside, and the stillness and reverence that seem so out of place in such a bustling place of Marcastle.

In fact, the ancient building seems out-of-place on such a lively and modern avenue. On this building, no lights, no logos, no ads. It seems untouched and safe.

It’s beautiful.

Ruto has gathered us all in a circle with a grave look. It almost seems as though we’re about to prepare a military expedition. Even though we’re just supposed to be shopping.

“Now let’s make a list of what we need to retrieve.” Retrieve. Hah.

“Clothes for Zelda to wear to her concert!” Aryll pipes up excitedly.

“I want to visit the Fairy Shop,” I simply say.

“And Wattemples,” Malon adds.

The list goes on, but we start with the Fairy Shop, since it’s closest to where we are. There’s something to be said, besides, about glow balls and winged creatures. Everything is decorated in cheery colours and nature themes. The shop itself feels more like a shrine to fays than a store for trademarked items.

Since the shop is divided into different areas, we spent a lot of time in the Perceptions booth. It’s a kiosk where you can test the latest Fairy perfume and get a preview of their upcoming brand of chocolate. You’re then asked to fill in a report on how good the products are in your opinion.

Other areas are dedicated to stuffed animals or desk items. In that section, I realised that of all the notepads available, Link definitely chose the cutest Fairy notepad on the shelves. I even checked the price tag, and it turned out to cost thirty-five rupees! For a notebook!

“He doesn’t spare expenses, does he?” Anju comments, and if I didn’t know her better, I’d swear she sounds sly.

In the end, Aryll and Romani wind up purchasing a plush cuckoo, an alien puppet, a Fairy bookmark and two assorted Fairy pens.

“You got ripped off,” Malon tells them with a grin, causing them to smile right back.

“We don’t care,” Aryll says.

Romani smirks. “At least we can prove we were in Marcastle and tried the Fairy Shop.”

“Right,” Cremia says. “And you bought a stuffed cuckoo.”

“You’re just upset because it’s cuter than you,” Romani teases, taking the plush chicken out and shaking it in her sister’s face.

The antics continue until we reach Wattemples. The store is Ruto’s favourite. I can’t blame her: the whole place exudes style.

Unfortunately for us country freaks, the concept of museum shopping is completely new and intimidating. Let me explain. Museum shopping was created mostly due to the fact that renowned and expensive designer stores make their shops into fashion museums: please be silent and do not touch under any circumstance. The salespeople also have a way of gauging you that completes the unwelcome atmosphere. This sort of subconscious message makes it hard for anyone to actually want to stay long enough to buy anything.

Well, you know. Romani and Cremia are rich and titled, so they’re used to it. Ruto’s father has money, and she was in here before, so nothing is new to her, but whatever. I still feel like an intruder.

Except… I’m actually supposed to be welcome here. I’m the possible future queen, after all.

An elderly and uptight looking manager seems to recognise me, though. Instantly, the whole staff greets us with smiles and extreme courtesy. It’s princess this, your highness that, and it’s all enough to make me blush.

Then again… how fake.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cremia whispers to me as we are ushered up the stairs. “With time you’ll get used to this sort of treatment.”

I’m still debating whether that’s a good thing or not when a saleslady shows up with what she calls the ‘autumn collection’. This sends the whole of our group into a fit of excited squeals and inspires us awed comments. It also causes Darunia to mumble about going to chat with the Wattemples security guard.

“This fall,” the saleslady says, “pastels and copper tones are the new black.”

She shows us vests, coats, shirts, pants, skirts, and for nearly forty-five minutes, we’re completely preoccupied with trying them on. Ultimately, Anju settles on a skirt in dark orange and copper; Ruto buys a coat, and I buy a whole set: pants, shirt, belt, vest and coat. I pay it with a credit card Link gave me. He assured me I wouldn’t be taking Hyrule’s money.

I trust him, but I also swore to repay any of my expenses with my inheritance money. So far my father’s fortune has remained untouched, after all.

“You don’t suppose those clothes were overpriced?” Malon asks when we finally emerge from Wattemples, a tired Darunia in tow. I notice her looking at our bags with envy. She doesn’t have the kind of money it takes, and though I offered to buy her something, she said she would never be able to repay me, and that she couldn’t accept owing me money.

“Not buying anything would have been rude,” Ruto calmly states.

Malon, I can see, feels the natural need to respond to that, but she suddenly notices another store and perks up. “Oh! Forhaven!” and hurries into it.

Forhaven is one of those slightly more mainstream stores where young women tend to gather in large clusters. I try to figure out how else to describe it, but that’s really it. It’s like a magnet for shopaholics.

It doesn’t take long for us to raid the summer dresses stand. Malon winds up buying a light pink, off-shoulder, knee-length dress, while Cremia opts for a square neck one with a vest to cover her bare arms.

That’s when Aryll exclaims, “Zelda, you don’t have clothes for the concert yet!”

The statement initiates a new stampede towards Maples. Maple, I remember, is the designer from Holodrum who created my dress for the function some time ago. She opened a small store in Marcastle before trying the greater fashion market of Calatia, and she modestly named it after herself, though one might argue that the addition of one letter makes a whole difference.

Bah, humbug.

For half an hour, the girls pick out some dresses for me to try out, playing on the fact that I’m the possible future queen, which of course has the saleslady completely in awe of our group.

“You really do look like a princess,” Romani finally sighs when I choose a dress-pants suit. Her cobalt blue eyes examine my choice with some amusement and cynicism. “Though I can’t see why you’re not jumping at the occasion to purchase thousand blinks ball gowns every occasion you get.”

This causes Darunia to snort in laughter. I ignore him.

“Stupidity,” I assure her even as the saleslady takes my credit card with reverence, “and an age-old instinct for financial survival.”

“Oh please,” Ruto mumbles, eyeing a gorgeous dress that was left on a mannequin at the last minute because I reasoned I didn’t need it so why was everyone pressuring me into it?! “You’re rich now.”

I smirk at Ruto’s discomfited gaze. She’s such a fashion whore. To Romani, I conclude, “Old habits die hard.”

“I don’t blame you,” Anju comments looking down at her Wattemples bag with both joy and doubt. “I don’t think my bank account will like today’s excursion.”

“Whatever,” Malon butts in. “Over my dead body are you retracting that purchase. I might borrow it from you.”

Cremia and Anju exchange hopeless yet amused glances.

When we all walk out of Maples, Darunia gallantly transporting my purchase box, I look at the numerous signs of other stores, pondering our next raid.

“So many shops, so little time,” I whimper.

“You tell me,” Aryll acquiesces with poetic sadness, which, in light of our dilemma, is both fitting and comical.

“Wasn’t it, ‘So many men, and so little time’?” Malon asks, furrowing a brow when we begin to amble slowly down the sidewalk.

“It is,” I smile. “But who cares for men when you have shops to raid?”

“Right,” Malon squeaks. “This is me leaving you to jump Sheik Strike’s bones instead.” She jokes, but she’s not stepping away.

“I knew you were hooked on men, but I can’t believe you’d drop your best friends and shameless money spending to be with some stable boy,” Ruto teases.

“Didn’t we settle on the fact that Sheik Strike is more than a stable boy?” I ask. Aryll grabs my arm and makes a face, like she can’t believe we’re talking about this.

“The things you girls say are gossip material the likes of which would sell magazines all over the world.” She grins devilishly. “Now if Link hadn’t sworn me to secrecy, I’d be rich.”

“Ooh,” Malon coos amusedly. “The publicist protects his charge even though he could get inside news on how sexy he is? How gallant.”

“Maybe he does it to protect his own sanity,” Romani jokes.

“Or he simply doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Cremia suggests.

Or he just knows it already, I think. He knows everything, it’s not like he’s unconscious of his perfection. If he were unawares, he’d probably not be as confident and…

“Maybe he’ll end up hearing it though the press won’t,” Darunia comments, and we fall silent.

Whoops. It just occurred to me that Darunia has a point. Link is entitled to information. Just because Aryll and Darunia swore not to tell the press doesn’t mean…

“You know, Darunia,” Aryll comments after a long and a bit nervous silence, “you just revealed our only blackmail material right there.”

“Blackmail!” Malon shrieks hysterically, though her face is straining against a large grin. “Blackmail! Shame on you!”

“Oh now,” Ruto says with a teasing cringe, as though she has to admit that Darunia and Aryll just proved they could be as sneaky and crafty as her. “That’s a cruel threat, Mr. Rocks. Could you really withstand the idea of ruining Zelda’s chances with her sexy publicist forever?”

I can’t believe she just said that. I am going to kill her.

Darunia doesn’t answer. Aryll looks positively disgusted, hopefully not by the idea of being my sister-in-law.

“At any rate,” she says, “I’m not the one who’s going to spill the beans to my brother about how he’s…”

“The most gorgeous god in existence?” Ruto helpfully supplies, amused by Aryll’s clear dismay. We all laugh when Aryll grimaces, imploring us to stop saying such twisted things about her brother, claiming there’s something very wrong about her sibling being the object of women’s lust.

In sympathy, Cremia passes an arm around Aryll’s shoulders.

“Don’t you worry,” she says. “It’s just friendly teasing.”

“Except it’s founded on reality,” Romani adds, causing her elder sister to roll her eyes.

“You know,” I break in, uncomfortable with hearing the girls discuss Link this way, “let’s stop talking about this. We should try out Reefs for—”

“Lingerie?” Malon teases.

It’s true Eye Reefs is best known for its suggestive clothing and high-quality undergarments, but, “Actually, I was thinking about raiding their dress racks. I figure something hip, clean but still sexy will do the trick for the show. Because Maples was a bit too princess-y for a jazz-rock concert.”

“Loud and clear,” Ruto agrees. “Let’s find you a baby-doll to woo your publicist with.”

Okay, so she didn’t listen to me at all.

“Ruto,” I screech, alarmed by the clear misunderstanding, “I am not trying to get in bed with Link Forester!”

Cross your fingers, Zelda, and pray they won’t notice you are desperately lying.

“Oh, sweetie,” Anju says comfortingly, “You don’t have to hide it. The two of you would be very cute together. If you had more nerve and actually made a move.”

Ah crud. If this was supposed to make me feel better, it sucks.

Romani and Aryll just shove me into the store without much reverence, and promptly save me from more teasing. I can only be grateful, because really, this outing isn’t supposed to be stressful to me. It’s supposed to be a way for me to relax between one hectic event and another.

I should have just stayed in bed. Sleep was never stressful, and it never teased me about wanting to jump my publicist. Much.

Unless you count that one time where…

“Ooh my gods,” Aryll exclaims, grabbing my arm and dragging me across the store. She apparently spotted some—

Oh my gods.

Ooh, no.

“No,” I categorically say. I try to dig my heels into the floor to slow her down, but Aryll’s strength is impressive when she’s determined. Plus, it doesn’t help that I’m wearing sandals and that we’re walking on a varnished hardwood floor. I eventually just look like I’m jet skiing and she’s towing me.

Whimper.

“Aryll,” I say when Romani squeals excitedly and runs ahead of us, “Aryll, no. I will not submit to any show of strength. I will not be bent on this matter.”

Which is kind of ironic considering that she’s basically towing me along without any resistance, no matter how much of it I’m trying to put up. When did teenagers get so strong? I know if I’d been this powerful back in high school, my gym grades might have actually been better than they actually were. Imagine all the push-ups I could have managed!

Just thinking about it makes me tired.

“This is for your own good,” Aryll claims. “Just because I don’t enjoy hearing sick humour about my brother doesn’t mean I don’t want the two of you to get together.”

Oh. Great. Aryll is a matchmaker.

It’s nice to know I have her approval though.

Not that I’m going to get with my publicist, because he’s my publicist and because I’m the future queen and―

“It’s only sick humour to you,” Romani comments. To me, she says, “Besides, you need to lose that uncertainty. This is a wonderful way for you to do just that.”

“I refuse to try on lingerie,” I declare categorically. “I have standards and they’re not going to be lowered just because you think it’ll get my publicist―”

“Who happens to be the Hunk of the Century,” Malon cuts in, having dived in after us.

“―into bed with me,” I finish, but then I frown. “Hunk of the Century?”

“Well,” Ruto agrees, “he is. I’d have snagged him myself if you weren’t so obviously meant for each other.”

“Oh, right,” I say, sarcastically, wondering why such flimsy pieces of fabric could possibly cost so much and if Link would like that pale blue one Malon’s holding out― Oh, gods. “Thank you so much, Ruto. I needed to know you’re going to catch him like a vulture.”

“Please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Such manliness mustn’t be wasted.”

Aryll lets out an exasperated sigh. I grab her arm and look at her pleadingly.

“Please,” I beg, “don’t force me to do this.”

This dissipates her annoyance and causes her to laugh. Things aren’t looking well for me.

A bright pink piece of what I suppose is meant to act as underwear is shoved in my face. Beyond it are Malon’s overly enthusiastic face and Darunia’s extreme amusement.

Well, bugger.

“You have the choice. Either you make the appropriate moves to get your publicist in love with you or we embarrass you and ruin your chances of ever getting a man. Ever.”

I stare at Ruto with a suspicious and a bit frightened look. “And how will you do that, pray tell?”

Ruto shoots me a knowing look. “I have yet to forget the episode of Mr. Knuckle.”

Oh. Shit.

“That,” I exclaim, “is unfair and cruel!”

“Who’s Mr. Knuckle?” Aryll asks, morbidly curious.

Ruto and Malon exchange another knowing look, but thankfully they say nothing. Sure, they’re holding that episode over my head in obvious blackmail and I think that as long as I live they’ll be willing to use it against me, but as long as they don’t actually reveal it to the world…

Well, I should be fine.

“Who’s Mr. Knuckle?” Romani asks too, when none of us answers her.

Anju, who until then has been very quiet, says, slowly, “It’s a valid threat and it will most certainly make her move within the next week.”

This sentence hangs ominously over us. Well, over me, really, because everyone else is just amused or perplexed.

Aw, crud.

Aryll breaks the silence by asking, “Do you think my brother knows about Mr. Knuckle, whoever he is?” Because she clearly hopes to learn it from him and the prospect makes me feel ill.

“No one knows about Mr. Knuckle,” Malon says, a big grin spreading over her features slowly.

“Yet,” Ruto adds, threateningly.

Maybe fate wishes to spare me, because Darunia’s phone rings right then. We all glance at him, having forgotten that he was a witness to our insanity. He shoots us an apologetic look and lifts his phone to his ear.

“Yeah?”

Cremia leans towards me and whispers, “Where did he get those arms?”

I shrug and whisper, “I don’t know. I think he was born with muscle power.”

Meanwhile, Darunia is listening intently to his caller, his face neutral. Eventually, he smiles and says something about transmitting the message. He shuts his phone. We all wait for him to speak.

“Time to head home, everyone,” he says. “Sorry to interrupt your spree, but Link says a special dinner has been organized for our guests from Termina.” He nods and smiles at both Cremia and Romani, who look a bit embarrassed.

Oh. Right.

“How did he know we were tormenting you?” Aryll mumbles, pouting. “He always cuts the fun short.”

The more I think about it, the more Link is turning out to be the best man on earth. Considering how biased I am, I think that I’m lining myself up for a painful letdown.

Not that, right now, I care.

“Let’s just leave the lingerie shop, shall we?”

“Dammit.”