Chapter 11: Kyle’s Thrashing

Link sent the young messenger out with the note. Hopefully in a few moments he would have permission to visit Wren and Paris in her chambers, where they had remained for three days without hardly leaving. The only bit of the two new-found lovers anyone had seen was them strolling through the royal gardens once, wrapped up in each other. Their meals were left outside their door, dirty and very empty dishes were gathered daily.

Link smiled and stood, walking with his hands clasped behind his back to the floor to ceiling window to one side of his office. Below, he could see the Palace orchard and the farmers tending it. The peach harvest would be ready soon; the fruits were ripe and numerous on their bright-green leaved trees. The vineyard was coming along nicely to have only been planted last year.

It was good that Paris had finally returned to his normal self and gone back to Wren. It was good that they had found each other again. Wren had proven that she could live the life of a Hylian and Paris had proven his love for her. But that didn’t mean that their trials were over. Paris was still very much out of favor with a good many people for slapping Wren without reason at the ball all those nights ago.

They had a lot of work to do to restore Paris’s good name.

The fact that Link and Zelda still backed him held some weight. And the fact that Wren had taken him back was significant. Maybe when they emerged from their bedchamber, they might even announced a betrothal. But those things really paled when the high ranking guests who had been in attendance that night remembered what had happened. Not so many people had actually seen it, a few more had heard the slap, but word had spread. Some of the more exaggerated versions could be overcome, but the hard-core truth was the most damning and the most damaging.

Of course, Paris and Wren could leave Hyrule for a time, travel about. It wasn’t a totally farfetched idea. Link decided he would put it past the couple. But it needed to be done with careful style and a special air, or it would look like a beaten dog retreat—cowering, lowered ears, tail between the legs. They couldn’t have that.

There was a sound knock on his door and one of the lower butlers came in and bowed low.

“Your Majesty. Lord Paris and Lady Wren bid you come.”

“Thank you, Henry,” Link said, walking toward the young man and the door. The butler returned to his post and Link headed down the hall, taking two lefts and then a right before he reached Wren’s door.

There, he knocked and the door was opened almost instantly by Abigail. She curtsied to him, a bit of a frown on her face, and let him in. He stepped in and Paris and Wren stood from the table where they had been about to break their fasts at the other end of the drawing room.

Link strode over to the table and joined them as he had yet to eat.

“I take it you two have had a satisfactory few days?” Link asked.

Wren instantly turned a deep shade of red and Paris beamed with completely male pride.

“We have.” Paris said. “And we have news.”

Link raised a fine eyebrow, guessing mentally at this news.

“Wren’s pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” Paris was practically floating on his own joy, the smile wide and bright on his face, his eyes dancing.

Link reached out and took Wren’s hand into his and kissed her knuckles. “Congratulations, Wren. Paris.” He smiled. He knew very well that for Wren to know she was pregnant, they would have had to have become lovers when Paris had still been enlisted in the armed forces of Hyrule, and Wren still Gerudo. But it didn’t matter. If anything, it was another testament to their oneness.

“Speaking of babies,” Wren said, changing the subject quickly. “How is Savannah?”

“She and Zelda are both well,” Link said, smiling as he thought of the tiny bundle of Hylian that he was privileged to call his daughter. “You can see her later, if you wish.”

Wren nodded. “I’m flattered by the name, by the way…It’s somehow appropriate.” She looked at Paris and smiled a secret, feminine smile. “A baby seems the end to so many troubles.”

Paris leaned in his chair and kissed her gently, almost chastely on her lips.

“A baby cannot end some troubles, I’m afraid.” Link said with solemnity.

Wren and Paris turned to look at him, their bubble popped. “What do you mean?” Paris asked.

“There is the matter of a rather public slap,” Link reminded. “You hit a lady of the realm, and even though things have turned out alright between you, your reputation, Paris, as a gentleman, is rather tarnished. If Wren and your children are to have decent lives, your name must be restored.”

Paris considered this. Link was right; Wren and their children would forever carry around a wounded name if they did not amend his appalling lack of judgment. And soon.

“What do you propose, Link?” Wren asked.

“My suggestion to you is two attend another ball, one very soon, give the impression of forgiveness from you, Wren, and apologies from you, Paris. Show them that everything is alright between you two, and then gently go away.”

“Go away?” Paris asked, his brows drawn together.

“Take an extending vacation. Go about and abroad for a year or so, let everything calm down, let the gossips find some other juicy tidbit, and when you come back, spread stories of a wonderful time.”

Wren tilted her head to the side. “Where could we go?”

“Out of Hyrule. Perhaps to the Arsedian Empire? The Hills, or both. Anywhere and everywhere.”

The couple looked at each other, communicating with their eyes, then they looked back at him. “Such a trip, as extending and far-reaching as you say, would cost a fortune.” Wren said, hesitantly. “Neither of us has the—”

“Now see, that, can be taken care of easily…” Link said, a wicked grin on his face. The two leaned forward when he didn’t immediately go on. “If you were to announce an engagement—which would further give the impression of rightness between you—I could easily pay for your honeymoon.”

Paris glowed anew with the idea, turning to look at Wren. She had a thunder-struck look about her as she stared, eyes wide, at Link. Link passed an amused glance at Paris, who took it as encouragement.

Paris stood, moving his chair out of the way. Wren turned to watch him as he went slowly, smoothly down onto one knee in front of her. He took her hands into his so that their joined palms rested on her knees. She bit her lips, her eyes swimming.

“Wren, I know I have not been the best lover a woman like you could ask for. The Goddesses know you deserve better…but I want to be your husband. If you’ll have me?”

A tear ran down Wren’s cheek and her mouth quivered. Her voice was tear-choked when she spoke, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek.

“Oh, Paris. Of course I’ll have you.”

Paris’s eyes were strangely misty too as he pushed himself up to press his lips to Wren’s in a much more devouring kiss.

Link laughed softly, standing and backing out of the room, watching them fall into their heady desire. He signaled Abigail to leave and she exited before him.

“Sleep well today, because tomorrow will allow you no rest.” And with that, he closed and locked the door, instructing the guards to allow no one in.

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A Week Later—the second Royal Ball of the Season

Paris was rather uncomfortable. For the ball before this one, the one during which he had utterly humiliated himself, he had worn passably fashionable clothing that had been comfortable. Now he was decked out as the best gentleman with the most exquisite taste. His cravat was too tight, the pants hugged his thighs far too much, and the ruffles that foamed around his wrists were far from practical or even probable.

But aside from his clothing, Paris was uncomfortable because people were staring at him. Some were shunning him. One woman had given him the cut-direct—turning away from him with her head held high, her shoulders straight, an obvious display of disdain and un-acceptance. Men were glaring, women were staring, some were scowling as they caught sight of him, few dared not to shy away from where he walked, where he was headed. The crowd generally swayed to the opposite end of the room from where he was, and in a ridiculous crush to get away from a fallen man.

It was damnably prickly. And if Wren’s future didn’t depend on this night, he would have left. But, for Wren, he pasted a smile on his face and pretended not to notice all of this, and bear his torture in grim silence.

Well, he decided, if he was going to be staying in hell for the evening, he might as well find his heaven. Wren was standing near the punch table, talking with three other grand-looking women. One had peacock feathers in her hair and another was draped in strands of pearls, her hair done up in a neat and elaborate bun. The other wore an earth brown tone with braided decorations.

Paris steered through those gathered, which for him wasn’t too hard because the crowd tended to part like the Red Sea for him.

He bowed when he reached her. “Ladies, would you mind terribly if I stole my fiancée away for a brief moment?”

The pearl-draped woman narrowed her eyes on him. He offered up a smile for her speculation and after a split few seconds, her eyes un-narrowed and she offered him a smile. “Of course, go right ahead, my lord.”

“Do bring her back, though, my lord,” the peacock-feathered one said with a flick of her peacock feather fan.

“Yes, my lord, please return her to us when you’re finished, unharmed if you please,” Earth-lady said. The last barb was spoken with a deliberate sound in her voice, like she was testing him. He turned and offered her a dazzling smile.

“My lady is always safe with me; her welfare is my top priority.” Paris promised, and then he took Wren’s hand and pulled her away from the trio, toward the open balcony doors. They stepped outside, into the notably cooler and fresher air.

“Are you alright? You look a little pale,” Wren said, touching his cheek. She was stunning tonight in a dress of black and dark green, no hoops or stays, a high waist and a low neckline. Her face paints were light, but under the candle- and moonlight, she was gorgeous. A virtual moon goddess.

“I’m fine,” he promised, putting his hand over hers on his cheek. “I just wanted a moment alone with you.”

Wren smiled at his words; they warmed her heart. She didn’t bother chastising him because this night was important. Instead, she pulled him into her arms and held tightly to him, pushing the world around them out until there was only Paris. Only his arms around her, his body pressed to her front, his smell, the feel of him under his clothes. For a moment, he became her entire world, and she would never have wished it to stop.

But it abruptly did.

Because when she opened her eyes, intent on looking deeply into Paris’s while she kissed him senseless, her eyes snagged not on her lovers…but on another familiar pair.

Kyle stood watching her from near the middle of the room, a narrowed and calculating look on his face. His pinched features and shrewd eyes, the way he raked her body with his gaze, everything about him sent a bone-deep shiver through her so that she jerked in Paris’s arms.

He immediately opened his eyes to look at her, “What’s wrong?”

When she didn’t respond, he trailed his gaze along hers to see the man across the way staring at her. He didn’t recognize the older man, but he obviously recognized Wren.

She began to shake. Paris turned his attention back to her, stepping between the mysterious man and his fiancée, pulling her to him. “Wren?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes were wide and haunted, not yet swimming with tears, but very glazed over.

Anger rushed through Paris. He hugged her, putting her head on his shoulder. He was not going to let anything ruin this afternoon. And no one would ever hurt Wren again. Ever. It simply wasn’t an option with him around.

“He attacked me,” Wren whispered, her voice a thread of sound, muffled by his clothes. “He tried to…he touched me.”

Wren’s mind swirled with memory. She couldn’t find breath as she shook. She felt the impression of Kyle’s hands on her body, remembered the bite of his nails, his breath on her face, rushing between her breasts. She felt dirty and humiliated all over again. Thank the Goddesses that Paris was there, otherwise she didn’t know how she would be managing this right now.

Paris tilted her chin up. His eyes were dark and radiated anger. Then he kissed her gently on the lips and let her go, leaving her feeling rather cold and confused. He turned and she watched in mute horror and fascination as Paris approached Kyle.

When Kyle realized that Paris was coming for him, he tried to flee. The ballroom was so packed, however, that the bastard only managed to worm a few feet from Paris before he was caught.

“My lord,” Paris said pleasantly, the steel in his eyes beguiling his words.

Kyle’s look of pure terror satisfied Paris—the man obviously knew he was in trouble. “My-my lord,” Kyle stuttered out.

Paris’s smile was normally-deadly. “My lady Wren tells me that you were less than gentlemanly toward her.”

Kyle looked past Paris to Wren. She stared back, a pained look on her face.

“I assure you, my lord,” Kyle said, overcoming his stutter and matching Paris’s velvet-covered steel voice and comfortable facial expression. “That I don’t know any Lady Wren.”

“Then why are you staring at her?” Paris leaned forward. “Why does she say you attacked her? Are you calling my fiancée a liar, my lord?”

The panic returned to Kyle’s face, his ill-found reassurance forgotten, and he backed up a step. Paris matched it. “You attacked her.” Paris spat. “You attacked her and there’s nothing to stop you from hanging for it. Never mind a trial, Wren and I are personal friends of the King and Queen.”

“My lord, I-I—”

“Don’t. You had best pray that Link gets a hold of you first, you bastard, because if I ever cross your path outside these walls here tonight, your properly earned hanging will look good as water in hell. Make no mistake.”

Wren could only barely hear what Paris was saying, catching words and rage in his voice. But she could see the full weight of Paris’s power hounding Kyle and she was enjoying the look of fear and the way he was backing away from her lover.

But more than that sadistic satisfaction, she was proud of Paris and touched. That he would defend her like he was, it displayed so much. She truly was lucky to have him back.

“Now there is someone worth the gossips’ time.”

Wren turned to see Link speaking in an undertone to one of the most flighty gossips in Hyrule.

“Oh, what did that man do, Your Majesty?” the woman asked, standing on her toes to see the heated exchange.

“Perhaps you should go find out.”

“Oh, yes.”

Paris turned and walked back to Wren. This time, though, the crowd did not give way for him out of disgust. People actually swarmed around him, asking questions and quotations. But Paris had eyes only for Wren.

He came to stand before her, a small smile on his face. “He won’t bother us again.”

“I do love you,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“And I love you, Wren. Kiss me?” Paris asked, remembering when he had asked her to kiss him before giving her the reversal potion. He’d lost her then; now he wanted a kiss to seal their future together.

She smiled and he knew she was remembering, too. “Always, Paris. Always.”

She kissed him.

Epilogue

Wren and Paris did leave to travel the known world—and some of the unknown world, too—shortly after the ball. But before they left, Wren found Beatrice staying in the city. The old woman, frailer then Wren remembered her, cried a great many tears as Wren told her of everything that had happened since they had parted company not so many weeks past.

Beatrice passed on three days later. She died peacefully in her sleep, holding Wren’s hand.

While the newlywed couple was in the Hills, Wren gave birth to a daughter. She had her father’s light-colored hair and her mother’s dark eyes. She also had her mother’s temperament, and Paris—though he never said so to Wren—could see much of his younger brother Olean in the child. They named her Vera.

Link had been wise beyond conviction when he’d predicted that upon their return, they would find the gossips chewing on new meat. They were met with nothing but courtesy and curiosity.

Paris took up a government position, working closely with Link, effecting Hyrule like very few were privileged to. Wren also took a government position, but hers was in diplomacy rather than management. Link appointed her the Gerudo’s representative. Abinan, Queen Gerudo, met with and personally approved their envoy.

As the years passed, Paris and Wren had eight more children, four girls and four boys. Each child was special and uniquely gifted, but the youngest boy, Rhys, had a defining trait. He was the only member of their horde to have his mother’s blood-black-brown hair. It grew in outrageously adorable curls and on that mischievous young boy grew to be a symbol of strong youth, uncommon valor, and dedicated love.

Aww! I think I might cry. I cannot believe it’s over; that at long last Paris and Wren have come full circle and realized they are meant for each other. I’m so very proud of them both. Wren was so traumatized and yet she is still a kind and loving person. Paris was inadvertently betrayed in more than one way and he still held true to what he believed and what he wanted.

Though the epilogue gave a bit of what happens to them after the end of the story here, I wish them all the best. With that many kids, they are going to need it!

I’d like to thank all of the reviewers for the story: TheFireSage, Thawn716, FireNymphe, and Suburbia. Very special thanks goes to TheFireSage and Thawn716; you two were my most faithful reviewers. It means so much that you both read the whole story, enjoyed it, and reviewed.

Happy Reading and Writing,

DreamWeaver010