He remembered his princess most fondly when he ate apples. When they had been small she had insisted he let her eat slices of apple from his fingertips, and he could still remember the moist velvet of her lips with each bite. She had trusted him implicitly back then. What had happened?

He might never know. But should he meet his end before seeing her, he would finally ask a wish from the Genie: for the freshest most delicious apple in the world. Then he could bask in the taste of his darling's little lips against his fingertips as the Genie dragged him down to hell.

Chapter 5: Father's Apples

Again the desert dancer appeared to her in a blaze of sunlight and heat. The unseen drums beat out the heartbeat, the keening horns a cry, and the zills a tinkling of breath. She flung her fire red ponytail about her like a whip.

On meeting Zelda's gaze, she slowed into a simple hip shimmy, her hands aloft of her waist.

"What is it that you wish?"

As before, Zelda didn't even hesitate. "Jeremy."

The woman shook her head, her smile sadder than before. "That isn't right. Men aren't something to be wanted. They come as a part of life."

Zelda huffed in frustration. "What is it that you want me to say? I want Jeremy."

"And what would happen if you had him? Would you want that?"

Zelda faltered. The scenario played before her in a blink of an eye. Link's broken expression; her father's heavy disappointment; her new truth as an adulterer and a liar; the loss of her people's confidence and the loyalty of her favorite servants; Hope's dismay, almost as heavy as her father's disappointment.

The woman flashed her a bronze and alabaster smile, her gold eyes glittering.

"Come here, little princess."

And without seeing her move across the space between them, the woman stood before her, taking up her hands with burning fingers. She tugged her across the sand, pulling her arms up, pushing her into a spin—but Zelda stumbled, faltered, she wasn't sure what the woman wanted of her, or what she was trying to do. If she meant to make Zelda dance like her in the burning sun and expanse of sand, that was impossible. She'd faint from the heat, let alone look like a fawn trying to flee with a broken leg.

"Who are you?" she asked.

In response, the woman turned her closer, purple lips smiling, and bowed her head to place a soft kiss upon her brow.

And Zelda woke in a cold sweat, as though the heat in her dream had been real. The cold of her bedroom said otherwise. For a minute she sat in confusion in the early morning grey, wondering what had woke her, when a loud sneeze followed by a hacking cough answered her question.

Ignoring the chill, she slipped out of bed and crossed the space to the couch. Sure enough, a bleary-eyed, blotchy faced Link looked up at her, a handkerchief to his nose.

"I'm so sorry I woke you," he said. His dark wheat hair stuck up in a perfect rooster's crest on his head, and she couldn't help but smile.

"You look like a chicken, sir Hero."

His eyebrows scrunched up, as though to ask why, before he stuffed an explosion of a sneeze into his handkerchief. Without thinking better of it, she slipped her hand onto his forehead. She couldn't be sure with the chill of the room to contrast against it, but it did feel hot to the touch, and the rooster's crest vibrated with his shivers.

"I declare you sick," she said imperiously. "And thus you shall suffer the consequences of your stupidity."

"I'll be fine." He said thickly before blowing like a trumpet into the already soiled cloth. "I've got the immune system of a horse."

"A horse wouldn't have gotten sick running around in a storm all day."

"A horse wouldn't have been dumb enough to run around in a storm all day."

"Ah, he learns."

He pushed his legs out from the quilt to stand. "I'll find a guest room for today so you can get more sleep. I'm sorry I didn't leave sooner."

He stood but, using the brief spell of dizziness that hit him, Zelda pushed him back into the couch cushions.

"You aren't going anywhere. What would the staff think of me if I kicked out my sick husband just so I can sleep? I'm a morning bird anyway, so you just stay where you are."

He blinked up at her, rubbing a temple and sniffing. She resisted the urge to make another chicken joke at his bed head and went to her bed to pull off the comforter, which she also threw over the snotty, miserable looking war hero.

"Thank you," he said, sounding touched (though it could have just been his stuffed nose).

"The word you're looking for is 'I'm sorry.' This better not be another habit of yours."

"It won't be," and that particular, tender thing of a smile, the one that said too much and made her insides tense, spread across his lips.

She clenched the fabric of her gown. She shouldn't do things to bring on that smile. She still had her heart to Jeremy, after all, and deceiving Link into thinking otherwise would only hurt them both, even if they were married. She shouldn't mislead him into thinking he could expect more of her.

Even so…the woman in her dream was right. She wouldn't—not couldn't—return to Jeremy now. She valued other things more than the dark knight, and that in of itself made her sick. Jeremy had been right. She hadn't loved him as he had loved her; she had been selfish. He had always sworn to have her first in his life, and she had promised him the same, but apparently, she had been lying just as Jeremy said. She really had held back, and she really had been the reason to Jeremy's weakness to the red-haired beauty.

She tossed a pillow at that stupid, smiling face.

"I'm getting dressed. Don't look."

Downstairs in the kitchen, Hope was already at work kneading the sourdough that had risen over night. Zelda's tarts sat untouched in the corner where she had left them, and she took them up.

"Sleep well, princess?"

"Well enough, though I had some pretty weird dreams."

"To be expected. Big change in your life right now." Hope's eyes caught the covered basket in her arms and frowned. "You better not be planning on eating just tarts for breakfast."

"No, actually…" she went on to explain Link's state, and the frown of disapproval melted into sympathy. Thus, Hope helped her to unload some of the tarts from the basket (the maids and guards were use to eating the princess's extra pastries and would be delighted), and slipped in a closed bottle of venison broth from the night before and one of the most beautiful, huge apples Zelda had ever seen, with skin a swirl of sunset colors.

"The royal family keeps a private apple orchard here, did you know?" said Hope. "We got here at just the right time. Gorgeous creatures, they are."

"No kidding. Can I have more?"

And thus, close to half a dozen apples joined the basket, along with a small knife to peel them.

Just then, the little scullery maid from the evening before came in, yawning. She still had her bonnet in her hand, revealing the massive poof of tightly curled, yellow orange hair Zelda had suspected. She froze on seeing Zelda, skin pale beneath her abundance of freckles.

Hope let out an impatient snort. "Finally. Can you believe the princess got up before you, you lazy arse? I expect a dozen eggs in my hands by the time I've got these loaves set."

"Actually," said Zelda, suddenly remembering something, and feeling just a little bit of empathy for the panicked looking maid. "The fire in our bedroom has died out and I doubt that cold's good for Link. Would you mind lending her to me to stoke the fire?"

Hope flapped her hands in a shooing motion to say 'go ahead.' "But I still expect those eggs, Diana. One more late morning and I'm writing to your folks."

The girl nodded fervently, which made a rather awkward site as she was trying to stuff her hair back into hiding beneath the bonnet. She was still fumbling with the strings by the time Zelda and her stepped onto the landing of the honeymoon sweet. Zelda was just reaching for the doorknob when she heard the girl speak for the first time.

"Wait, your highness."

She squeaked more than spoke. Zelda pulled back her hand.

"Yes?"

"I-I have something…for you…from a—a friend." From her smock she pulled out a crisp envelope with a featureless, wax seal. Zelda's name was scrawled across the front in an uneven script. Even as she received it from her outstretched hands, her heart picked up and heated at the same time her blood ran as cold as rainwater.

Before Zelda could figure out what to do with it, let alone to asking how the little maid had gotten a hold of such a thing, Diana curtsied and slipped into the bedroom where Link slept with as much courtesy as a child. Without thinking, Zelda hid the envelope in her blouse.

Inside, Diana scurried to the couch side, curtsied (or more like jerked her skirts up and her head down), and all but ran to the fireplace to get the fire going. Zelda followed her, settling the basket on the coffee table.

"I hope you feel up to eating," she said.

Link didn't look like he had even bothered to try and sleep after she left. He had somehow procured another handkerchief, though, and had that held beneath his chin should he need to swipe it to his face. He smiled again at her, however.

"If you wish me to eat, I shall."

"Please, I'd rather not watch you force yourself." She pulled out the venison broth first and set it within reach of him. Then she set out a napkin, topped it with the first tart she could grab, and then settled down to work on the first apple. She tried not to be too aware of the sharp corner of the forbidden envelope digging into her breast.

"That apple," he said. "It's beautiful."

"Same thing I said. Apparently, there's an orchard here on the property." Even as she nibbled on the first slice of skin she had peeled off, she inwardly purred at the perfect balance of sweet and tart. When the storm cleared up, she'd make a pie. Apple pie.

Surprisingly, rather than reaching for the broth, he picked up the tart and took a tentative bite. Then, eyes widening in surprise, he took another, bigger bite.

"Again, Chef Hope has blown me away. What is this?" He took another bite and chewed slowly.

"A berry tart of my own invention."

"Of your own-" his eyes went wider. "You made this?"

Despite the cold hard point of the letter, Zelda couldn't help but smile. She lived for moments like these: when someone enjoyed her sweets.

A sudden clanging and a cry like a large mouse brought their attention away from their breakfast. Diana had snapped her hands from the fireplace, where an ember had popped and set the kindle she had set atop it alight. She had her fingers to her mouth.

"Oh, don't do that!" Link threw the blankets aside, left his tart, and got to his feet. He stumbled a bit, but made it to the tiny maid with random screws of her ginger hair popping messily around her bonnet. He grabbed a pitcher from a washstand beside the fireplace and kneeled down next to her. "Give me your hand. Do you have a handkerchief? Good, let me borrow that."

As Zelda watched, the peel of apple in her mouth went bland. The memory of the ice-hot prickling of that day in the library window prickled her insides. More and more ice pricked her as she watched the blush spread across the girls face as he dipped her fingers and the handkerchief in the cold water and wrapped the later around the first.

"Your mouth is quite an unclean place," he was saying. "Last thing you want to do is stick a wound in it."

There was no mistaking the faraway look in the girl's eyes as she watched him. Behind them, the newborn fire gobbled at the kindling and doubled.

But, could Zelda really blame her? No noble would display such kindness as to leave their sickbed to tend to an unthreatening burn, let alone that of a servant's. And many a greater woman had fallen for Link, from the stories of his bravery and goodness, combined with his boyish handsomeness.

Zelda put the knife and half-peeled apple on the table.

"Excuse me, I just forgot something."

Away from the scene and in the privacy of an unused storage room, Zelda came to herself.

"Ridiculous," she hissed to herself. "You don't even like him."

No. She couldn't be jealous. No. Worse.

She was afraid.

She clenched her eyes tight and slid down the smooth, plaster wall. The dim and silence of the storage room comforted her, but tears still prickled to her eyes.

"I'm not worth it. I never was. It's my fault."

Jeremy had deserved more. Link already did. And should she ever manage to unstuck her heart from Jeremy to reattach it to Link, the later would find her as she truly was: unloyal, flimsy of heart, selfishly needy to be loved more than she could give, little more than a whore. She hadn't been able to make the sacrifice to leave with Jeremy when her father arranged her marriage, and how inconsistent would she be to so easily fall for Link? If she really was jealous of that little ginger maid when her heart was to another, how petty must she be?

Trembling, she pulled out the letter from her blouse, warmed by her skin, to reread Jeremy's handwriting on the front. The yellow morning light from the cracks between the dusty curtains was just enough to read by.

The conflict became very real. She wanted nothing more than to read the letter, to hear the comfort of the friend she missed so much, but she knew she mustn't. It would be wrong.

She broke the seal and unfolded it.

Zelda,

All my talents flee

When you aren't there.

My darkness is my lover,

Not the sunshine princess.

And even though, to look

Would damn me,

I can't move on.

I can't.

And fear I never will.

J.

She returned the envelope to the side of her breast and went back to her bedroom sometime after to find Link asleep on the couch. Cold, hot, burning alive, she went to the fire like a zombie and tossed the letter in and told herself the curling parchment would make the feelings go away.

"Princess…"

Inside she flinched, though her limbs seized up.

"Yes?" she prayed her voice sounded normal.

"These apples remind me of a story."

She puffed a breath of relief and brushed her skirts out of habit before she stood.

"I'm not surprised," she said. "You and stories."

She returned to his side to pick up where she had left off on where she had peeled the apple, to find nothing but a core remaining. He gave her a sheepish smile of gratitude. "Sorry. I sort of, um, have a thing for apples."

"At least you left one for me." She took up her own. "Anyways, what's this story of yours?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You actually want to know?"

She shrugged, eyes to her apple. Anything to distract her from the sick squeezing in her gut. She didn't have anything else. Honeymoons were like that.

He coughed to try and clear his gravely throat, but it didn't do much to help, so he settled with what he got. "It's a story my grandfather told my mother after my father died. She was pregnant with me at the time and needed all the comfort she could get. Though personally, I think it just reminded her how much he was gone every time she saw an apple tree after that. Not much help. But…" he sniffed and felt around the couch side. "Grandfather seemed to think so."

"Here," she pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket, which he thanked her for and blew his nose. Her first ring of apple skin broke and she took the chance to nibble on it. "These are amazing."

"Aren't they?"

"Can I hear it?"

The look he gave her was different from the times before. The smile was weak and the bright blue of his eyes seemed dulled, maybe because he was sick. Perhaps it was rude of her to request a story when he was sick, but before she could changed her mind, he had started.

"There was once a beautiful newlywed couple who had the bad fortune to marry during a time of war. Due to it, only a month or so after they were brought together the young husband was carried off into war and killed before she brought forth their first child. They brought him home in a cart filled with flowers and buried him behind their small home. So great was her grief that she cried the rest of her days before delivering. She nearly died. But when her child was born she saw her husband in him, so she decided to live on for her child. No sooner had she decided this when she looked out her window and beheld a beautiful tree beginning to grow above her husband's grave."

Coughing broke his rhythm.

"You sure you can do this?" Zelda asked, mouth quirking. She didn't actually feel bad for him. Being sick was his own fault.

Instead of countering that, he just ate more apple, cleared his through, and continued on.

"When she found herself in poverty with hardly enough to keep her baby alive let alone herself, the tree bore fruit out of season and the most beautiful fruit of its kind it was. They were apples of the whitest flesh and of the brightest red skin. So beautiful and delicious were the apples that they fetched a high price in the market and soon began to spread myths of curing illness with their sweetness, so rich and royal men alike from all over the country began to seek for the fruit. The apples grew whenever they were in need, and in that way her lost husband provided and cared for his family even after death. As the child grew, so did the tree, and her son grew up eating the apples that grew over his father's grave.

"He was an adventurous child," and at this he smirked wryly. "Really, the similarities in this story is uncanny. I've often thought my grandfather was a seer or something. Anyways, as a boy the kid would get into all sorts of trouble and drive his mother ragged with worry. She tried to put her foot down after a few dangerous cuts with beast in the forests and strangers for fear that she would lose him as well. When he grew into a young man, however, he began to resent his mother for holding him down and expecting him to be a good, boring farm boy. He dreamed of something bigger and grander. He dreamt of dramatic wars and winning damsels in distress, as all foolish young boys are prone to do when they haven't been smacked upside the head properly with reality. At least, that's how my grandfather would say it. One day when he had caused a serious accident in the village, his mother declared to him that she was glad his father was dead, for he would've disgraced him."

He brought his half-eat apple to his eyes and rotated it in his hands before wetting his throat with a few more crunchy bites.

"Unable to handle his shame because of his great pride and arrogance, the boy planned to flee that night in search of adventure and leave his mother behind to miss him and regret ever insulting him."

"In the dark of night he took up his belongings and wrapped himself in his finest, warmest cloak. As he went out the back door, however, a glow from their precious apple tree caught his attention. Apples had not grown in the tree for a while, but tonight there grew the most beautiful fruit of all. Instead of red, the apple was yellow as gold. It called to the young man and, thinking shamefully of his father, he decided to take the apple with him. As he plucked it from the tree the glow vanished to leave only the moonlight. The boy didn't have to travel far before it began to rain. As he came upon an inn he met a beautiful young maiden curled up next to the common room fire. He made little time in inviting himself to her side and striking up a conversation. Her wit and kind, clever humor captured him more than her beauty. By morning he felt he was in love, but by the time he awoke the rain had gone and so had she. It was through the tavern owner that he learned, to his dismay, that the girl had been no other than the royal princess of the land."

"Another princess." She snorted softly, unable to restrain herself. "Why is it always princesses?"

"Because, your majesty, princesses are supposed to be legendary beauties." He made a small show of eying her up and down from his slumped position on the couch, to which she threw her apple core at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder and into the opposing wall.

He laughed as she blushed.

"What? You are my wife."

"You are so uncouth. And I haven't..." She stopped herself before she could finish that sentence. She technically had given him permission to call her his wife when she agreed to the marriage, even if it did leave her feeling sick and icky.

The black curdles of what had once been Jeremy's poem glowed yellow along the edges, taking its sweet time to completely decompose.

"And yet you cannot see me being a brat as a child. Your vision surpasses my understanding," said Link

"Pardon me for my misconception." She reached into the basket for another apple and watched as the black curl of paper in the fireplace finally broke apart into ashes. "Now continue your story before I throw another at you."

"Well, naturally he was set on winning her hand despite his lowly birth, for all good adventurers get the princess, he figured. He made his way to the castle, which wasn't too far, and demanded an audience with the King. His request was met with laughter. How could a foolish boy of lowly birth expect to have the King make time for him? They laughed harder when the boy expressed his wish to discuss the terms of winning the princesses hand with him. He was tossed out the castle walls in contempt, for the princess was already engaged to a prince from a faraway kingdom. Dismayed, but not discouraged, the boy moved to sneak into the castle and meet with the princess alone. Surely, he thought to himself, he could win the princess's heart and have him for himself. Or perhaps, even better, he could put the king in a spot to hear his demands. Unfortunately, that night as he attempted to sneak into the castle he was quickly captured and thrown into the dungeons with all his belongings taken from him, except for the golden apple in his pocket.

"He stayed there for the rest of the night. In the morning the princess heard of his capture and came down out of curiosity as to who would've wanted to see her so badly. She was flattered as any girl would be and wanted to see the face of him who thought so much of her. She was surprised to see the boy from the Inn, and he was more than happy that she had come to him. In his haste and excitement, he offered the beautiful golden apple to her, declaring it a sign of his love. The princess was so enamored by the beautiful fruit, with its yellow skin like unto gleaming gold, that she returned to her father with requests on the boy's behalf. The father, humoring his daughter, summoned the young man up. Wanting to get rid of him, he told the young man that if he could slay the great Black Knight of his enemy kingdom, he would give his daughter's hand to him in marriage. Ecstatic with the thought that his adventure was reaching a climax, he quickly agreed and allowed the king to send him off. Before he left, however, the princess returned the apple to him with sorrowful eyes, knowing he wouldn't return. 'I don't deserve such a gift of love for where it has sent you.' The young man protested, saying that he would return and to have faith in him, but she refused to take back the apple."

"You should take a breath to cough," broke in Zelda.

"I'm not that sick," though his raspy voice said otherwise, and he did take a moment to clear his throat and finish his apple.

"And the princess's presumptions were true. There was a great war happening on the borders between the kingdoms. The young man quickly found himself in the midst of the battle he so dreamt about, but it was nothing how he dreamt it to be. By the time he came upon the Black Knight he had shed the blood of men who had wanted his life. He had watched the horror of death and was reminded of his own mortality. In the battle that ensued he would lose his lower leg and one of his eyes. He barely got away from the terrible beast of a warrior the Black Knight was because another ambitious man had stepped in front of him for his own turn. It was in the midst of this that his mind turned to his mother. He longed for the peaceful times in his village and regretted how he had been a nuisance to his poor, widowed mother. With his pride gone, his shame overwhelmed him. How could he have left her so? How could he have been so prideful? Suddenly, his goal to win the princess's hand became foolish to him. The princess had always been out of his reach. He couldn't care for her. He couldn't even slay her father's greatest enemy to protect her. And lastly, in search for comfort, he thought of his father and the only memory he had of him: the sweet flesh of freshly plucked apples from his father's tree.

"And in the depths of despair, he took out the golden apple of his father's tree and took a bite, feeling forgiveness was so far away. As he chewed a strange sensation came over him and from within the broken skin of the apple raised the vision of man who looked so much like himself. Instantly the young man perceived his father and begged his forgiveness and wept at his feet, for his mother had been right. In return, the father embraced his son and whispered into his ear, 'Cut the apple in half, horizontally. I've only ever wanted your happiness. Please, remember this day.' And the vision vanished. Eager to change and be obedient, the maimed young man quickly cut the apple horizontally. Inside he found bright gold seeds placed in the apple in the shape of a star. As he watched one of his tears fell on a seed and it popped out and began to grow. From it came a beautiful woman, as naked as the sky, with golden hair like unto the apple skin. She smiled to him and he wrapped her up into his arms. She healed his lost leg and eye with her soft hair and tears. Once whole, he carried her home, keeping the remains of the golden apple in his pocket, to present to his mother. He named her Applestar. On that day he lost all thirst for glory and adventure and brought peace to his new family, and his mother found rest next to his father when her time came."

"That was supposed to help your mom feel better?" Zelda asked.

"I guess. Afterward, Grandfather planted an apple tree next to my father's grave. My mother didn't get to see it bear fruit since she died a few months later. I don't know what he was trying to tell her with it, but I know what he was trying to tell me. Keep your face down and don't chase after princesses. A lot of good that did me."